Deadly Fall (15 page)

It felt good to get out of her bra and into her sleep-shirt. Even better would be a crawl into the sheets, but no way could Paula sleep before she cleared up some details with Isabelle. She followed the popcorn smell to the kitchen, closing the basement door on the way. Isabelle opened the steaming bag and dumped the popcorn into bowls. Paula uncorked the merlot. She carried the food tray to the living room ottoman. The light timer had clicked off.

Isabelle wandered to the wall unit and picked up the monkey candle. “We can light this.”

“No, it's too cute to burn.”

“The back of its shirt is gouged. It only has one eye. Did you drop it?”

“Let's turn on the regular lights. I spent all night in a dark arena.”

Isabelle returned the monkey to the shelf. “How was your date with Sam?”

“It wasn't a date. Why didn't you stay with Felix?”

Isabelle settled into the armchair. “Stuff. Mostly, his drinking and acting weird.”

Paula turned on the table lamp. Isabelle twirled a strand of hair, dipping it into her tank top. Her navel peeked out of her skin-tight yoga pants. She and Felix had been drinking.

Isabelle dug her hand into the popcorn bowl. “His guns were creeping me out.”

“You seemed all right with them this afternoon.”

“That was daytime. My room had no door. What if Felix went psycho and came upstairs to murder me?”

“What made you think he'd go psycho?”

Isabelle munched popcorn. “After you left, the detectives came by. They sent me upstairs so they could talk to Felix alone. I tried to listen, but they were too far away. When they finished with him, they called me down and asked about . . . stuff. They didn't grill me as long as Felix. I don't know why. I'm as much of a suspect as he is.”

“Are you?” Paula picked up the merlot from the tray.

Isabelle wiped her greasy fingers on her pants. “I don't have an alibi. I was asleep when Callie was killed, but I could have snuck out. Sam was in the basement and wouldn't have seen me.”

“Which means you wouldn't have seen him sneaking out.”

“None of us has alibis. Like Felix says, at six thirty in the morning everyone's either alone or sleeping with someone who'd lie for them.”

Paula took a sip. “What did the police grill you about?”

Isabelle chewed pink glitter from her fingernail. “If Sam and I had some kind of deal about my staying with him.”

“Did you?”

“My dad made him change his mind. Sam said I could move in with Felix, which I thought was better, only it turned out it wasn't.”

Sam and Isabelle had done an adequate job of coordinating stories. Paula set the tray on the floor so she could prop her legs on the ottoman. “Do you know what they asked Felix?”

Isabelle's eyes widened. “They found out who owned the gun that murdered Callie.” She paused for effect. “It was Sam's father.” She waited. “You don't look surprised.”

“Sam told me about it.”

Isabelle's face dropped in disappointment.

Paula picked up a piece of popcorn. After her small dinner, this tasted good.

Isabelle resumed eating. “It's weird about him sticking the gun in a jar with Sam's mother's ashes.”

“It was more like a vase.”

“Felix says Sam's father loved Sam's mother totally.” Isabelle raised her leg and twirled her foot clad in a ballet slipper. “Felix thinks Sam messes up his romances with women because they don't measure up to the one he imagines his parents had.”

Paula finished her glass of wine. She could learn a lot about Sam from Isabelle. She made a guess about the cops' reduced grilling of Isabelle. “Why did they question Felix, and not you, about the gun?”

“They wanted to know where he was Friday night, when the person witnessed the killer tossing the gun in the Bow River. Felix said he was home alone. That's kind of suspicious when he has all these friends. They were phoning all afternoon.”

“About what?”

“Mostly about his writing work. Boring.”

Paula poured herself another glass of wine. Two would be enough on top of her two glasses of beer. With a witness to the probable disposal of the gun, the murderer needed two alibis. “Where was Sam Friday night?”

Isabelle licked butter from her fingers. “That was the night I quit my job at the video store. Sam drove me there around nine. He went home, I guess.” She started. “I couldn't have done it. They could alibi me at work.” Her face dropped. Another disappointment.

Paula ate a handful of popcorn. “What else did the detectives ask Felix?”

Isabelle bit the skin around her index fingernail, like Callie used to do when she was deep in thought. Clearly, the cops considered Felix a major suspect. Isabelle was either innocent or a gifted actress.

“He was too freaked to tell me much about it,” Isabelle said. “Do you want more popcorn? There was hardly anything to eat at his house. I finally found a can of Alphaghetti and had to look all over for the pots and pans. He doesn't keep them where you'd logically think. I opened a drawer and there was this gun staring up at me. I freaked. Felix told me, don't worry, you have to cock the safety to use it and he hides the bullets in the cupboard above the stove, but I mean, shit.”

Paula finished her second glass of wine. Since she was feeling no effects, she poured a third. “In what way was Felix freaked?”

Isabelle shrugged her bony shoulders. “He kept staring at his guns in the wall racks and drinking. He took out that old gun he showed you and me and turned it over and over in his hand. I let him make me some screwdrivers, figuring it would help if I joined in.” She adjusted her tank top strap.

“Did Felix make a pass at you?”

Isabelle looked up. “No. That would be gross.”

“What about you and Sam?” Paula tensed, dreading the answer more than she should. Her hunch that Callie's problem was Isabelle's pregnancy made perfect sense. Isabelle's stomach couldn't be flatter, but she wouldn't show for the first few months.

Isabelle fingered up the dregs from her popcorn bowl. “My dad asked me that, too. Why do old people always think these things? He'll be glad when I tell him I moved in with you.”

“It's only temporary. Did Sam—”

Isabelle jumped up. “I'll go make some more popcorn.”

Was she hungry or avoiding an answer or eating for two? Paula gnawed the corn kernels that hadn't totally popped. She was exhausted and half drunk, but before bed she had to find out about Sam and Isabelle. Isabelle returned with the fresh batch. Paula held out her bowl for a topping up. The wine was making her light-headed.

She poured a fourth glass anyway. “Sam told me, when Callie died, he was living in the basement. He said their marriage effectively ended last Christmas.”

Isabelle crossed her legs, lotus style. “He ate with us sometimes, when he wasn't working late, and read the paper in the den. I thought them not sleeping together was weird at first, but these friends of my parents have separate bedrooms because the husband snores.”

Did Sam snore? She shouldn't get distracted. “Do your parents know about his and Callie's arrangement?

“I didn't tell them,” Isabelle said. “Sam pretended to them he and Callie were still together. He gave them her bedroom upstairs. My mom thinks he's too broken up by her death to sleep there. She likes thinking Callie was happy with him. Why disillusion her?”

“Sam doesn't seem too broken up. How did he and Callie get along?”

“They were friendly.”

“Did they argue?”

Isabelle chewed her finger skin. “The detectives asked me that. I couldn't think of an example of them arguing. If they did, it wasn't so that you noticed.”

“Did you tell the detectives about their living arrangement?”

“Sam already told them he and Callie weren't sleeping together. That wasn't a secret.”

“What was?”

Isabelle's finger was bleeding around the nail. She sucked the blood.

“Why was your father so eager for you leave Sam's house that he thought Felix's place was better?”

Isabelle examined her finger and appeared satisfied the bleeding had stopped. “My dad doesn't believe Sam will sell the house. He thinks Dimitri will move in and take Callie's room. Or Sam will move upstairs and give Dimitri the basement.”

Paula's head started spinning. “Dimitri, Sam's son? So what if he moves in? Doesn't he own a condo in his riding?”

“My dad says that's for show, so people in the area will vote for him. After Callie died, Dimitri stayed with us all the time.”

“To support Sam.” Paula set her wine glass and popcorn bowl down on the tray. The light hurt her eyes. She switched off the lamp.

Isabelle's fuchsia yoga suit was so bright it glowed in the neon of the
DVD
digital clock. “On the weekend, Dimitri and I went out to a bar. He got stinking drunk. My dad waited up for us, pacing all over the place. He gave Dimitri hell for driving me home on his bike when he was plastered.”

Paula leaned into the sofa cushion, her feet on the ottoman. “Did Dimitri argue back?”

“Dimitri ignored him and went down to the basement, where he was staying with Sam. My dad called him an arrogant prick.”

Paula tittered.

“After Dimitri left, my dad lit into me. I kept telling him Dimitri's okay, that I'm not into him like that. My dad thinks he's transferring it from Callie to me.”

“Transferring what?” Her body swayed.

Isabelle beamed. “Sam didn't tell you that. He doesn't want anyone to know. I wish I hadn't told my parents. I didn't think they'd care.”

“Are you saying—?”

“He was into her.”

“Dimitri . . . had the hots for Callie?”

“When Sam told me she was killed, I asked if he'd told the cops about Dimitri's thing for Callie. Sam was surprised I knew and said it would wreck Dimitri's political career if people found out, with him being so religious and all. Sam said if I didn't tell the cops I could keep living with him.”

“That was your deal. Have you told the detectives this?”

“I promised Sam I wouldn't.”

“Sam reneged on your deal.”

“What's reneged? Like I said, I thought living with Felix would be okay, but it's better living with you. My dad will like that, and he's wrong about Dimitri's being into me. He just wanted company his own age.”

Paula found herself reaching down for her wine glass. Somehow, Dimitri's hots were significant. She couldn't think why. “What did you and Dimitri talk about at the bar?”

“Movies . . . music . . . when I tried to talk about Callie, he told me to fuck off.”

Dimitri, Sam's son, interested in Callie? At the funeral, Dimitri had been friendly and charming and had gone out of his way to talk to Paula because she was Callie's friend. Paula struggled to remember what he had said: the cops were easing up on Sam. Yet, Sam had seemed frantic at the reception. The cops' easing up should have made him more relaxed, unless Sam was worried their focus was shifting to his son. Did he think the cops had learned about Dimitri's hots? Learned it from Paula? That's why Sam asked her out to lunch. He wanted to know if Callie had confided this to her and if she had told the police. So, Dimitri had a thing for Callie, his stepmother twice his age. Well, not twice. Dimitri was thirty, maybe thirty-one. Callie was fifty-two. That made her, what? Two-thirds older than him? Paula couldn't do the math half drunk. Or was she three-quarters drunk? In last week's
TV
interview, Dimitri had objected to the reporter's use of the word “stepmother” not because he had disliked Callie. “How did you find out about Dimitri's interest?”

“By accident. I was coming down the hall and heard Callie and Dimitri fighting in the kitchen. I stopped to listen. They were arguing about him following her around the folk fest. After, I asked Callie about it. She said it was just a crush he'd get over, that he hadn't had that much experience with girls, on account of his religion and all.”

“The folk festival was in late July. When did this fight take place?”

“I'd started work at the video store. Early August, I guess.”

“Did he come by the house again?”

“Not until after she died. At least, I didn't see him there.”

Paula drained her wine glass. That fight was two months ago. Dimitri had a temper, the newspapers said. Callie described him as self-centered and spoiled. “Was it this past Saturday night that you went out with Dimitri?

“Sunday,” Isabelle said. “My dad's prejudiced. He hates politicians and religious nuts. He says you can't trust them not to go psycho.”

“The politicians or nuts?” Paula giggled. Definitely too much wine. “Why didn't your father tell the police about this?”

“He hates cops more.”

Paula picked popcorn from her teeth. Dimitri had stalked Callie. This was relevant to the case. “The cops need to know about this.”

“I was wondering if I should tell them about the other woman.”

Paula stopped picking. “What other woman?”

“I didn't before, since I wasn't sure that's what she was.”

“What other woman?”

In the darkness, Isabelle brightened at her second scoop. “The morning after Callie died, I woke up early. It was all the excitement, I guess. Aunt Dorothy and Cameron and Skye were in the living room talking about the funeral. On my way to the kitchen, I heard Sam's voice in the den.”

Sam's hallway seemed to be the place for discovering secrets.

“The door was open a crack,” Isabelle said. “I heard Sam say, ‘Beth, I promise I won't tell them about you.' Then, he looked over and saw me and started talking to her about business.”

“Did you ask Sam about this?”