Deadly Fall (2 page)

In the newspaper portrait, Callie's frizzy hair looked blond. Was that a fault in the print or had she lightened it this past year?

Paula removed her reading glasses to get a clearer view of the sunrise outside. The thermometer on the garage said forty-six degrees Fahrenheit. It would shoot up to sixty-eight this afternoon.

She got a yogurt for breakfast. The answering machine showed “01” message remaining. Thank God she hadn't replaced the ancient pre-digital contraption, so she could save the tape of Callie's voice. Like her friend's appearance, the voice was youthful. For the dozenth time since the news report, she pressed “play” to hear the rapid, high-pitched tones.
Hi Paula, it's Callie. Long time since we've had lunch. Are you free this week? I want to hear all about your move to Ramsay. There are some new restaurants near there that might be fun to try. Give me a call tomorrow.
The voice existed no more.

Callie had jogged the Elbow River pathway that led to Paula's house. The route snaked from the home she had purchased with Sam, whom Paula had never met. During the past two years, Callie had arranged several dinners that were canceled because something came up at Sam's work. He was an architect who had left for the States in the mid 1980s. Ten years ago, he returned to Calgary and resumed his friendship with Callie's first husband, Kenneth. Eight years later, love happened between Callie and him. Callie had been vague about the details.

How did Kenneth feel about his wife running off with his old pal? Callie had said, “You know how Kenneth is. He doesn't reveal much.” Right now, Kenneth would be feeling broken or numb. And Callie's children must be in shock. Her son lived in Vancouver, but, no doubt, would come home. Her daughter, Skye, shared an apartment with theater friends in Calgary.

Paula dug her spoon into the yogurt and stirred in the apricot chunks. She wasn't up to food, or anything else today. Last night, when she called Hayden, he had advised her to throw herself into work to take her mind off the murder. She couldn't bring herself to do that and rescheduled her afternoon and evening meetings to next week. One benefit of her insurance adjusting job was being in control of her time. Hayden had also offered to come over and spend the night, but in a voice so tired, she insisted she was fine. He never slept well when he was with her, so last night he needed to catch up on his rest. The ring of the telephone startled her.

“Mom?” Leah said.

The wall clock showed seven thirty-five. Her daughter never called at this hour. Paula's stomach tightened. She couldn't take more bad news. “You're up early.”

“I haven't been to bed. When I got home from work, I got to talking with Jarrett and some friends he had over. Mom, there was a murder yesterday, near where you live.”

“I know. I—”

“It was Callie Moss.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn't you call me? I can't believe it.”

“Me neither.” Paula leaned against the telephone stand. Last night, she hadn't felt like talking to anyone except Hayden. “I'm surprised you remembered Callie's new surname.”

“At the bar, people were discussing the murder, but I never connected her to you until this morning, when I heard her name on the radio. I recognized it because we went to that play Skye was in and we were talking about Callie's hotshot husband. Mom, this is horrible. You must feel awful.”

“I don't think it's sunk in yet.” Paula's legs wobbled and she slumped to a kitchen chair.

“I was thinking about that week I spent with Callie and Skye in Palm Springs,” Leah said.

“I forgot you and Skye used to be good friends. I should have called you—”

“One night we all went out to see this grunge band,” Leah said. “Callie got into it, singing along with the music. I mean, how many people her age got grunge?”

“Not many.” Paula coiled her bathrobe sash around her fingers. A cigarette would taste so good. She hadn't craved one in years.

“Callie told us she was in a rock group when she was young.”

“They were more like folk rock—”

“Does Dad know she was killed? When I talked to him yesterday, he didn't say anything.”

“Your father left me a message. He heard about the murder. I don't know if—”

“I was thinking I'd give Skye a call later,” Leah said.

“I'm sure she'd appreciate that.”

“Didn't Callie live in Mount Royal?”

“She did when she was married to Kenneth. Last year, Callie bought a house in Riverdale with Sam. Why do you ask?”

“Both are a long way from Ramsay. What was she doing there?”

“Jogging, apparently. The Elbow path runs from Riverdale to Ramsay.”

“Was she coming to see you?”

“At that hour in the morning? She knows me better than that.” Callie's picture in the newspaper stared up at her: smiling, carefree, unaware of what was to come. “I've been wondering. It's possible she wanted to catch me before I left for work. A few days ago, Callie left a message suggesting we meet for lunch. She sounded casual, but what if she wanted to discuss something important? I didn't return her call. I meant to. I wish I had. There's no excuse.” Her voice croaked.

Leah yawned. “I've gotta get to bed. Mom, I am sorry about Callie”

Paula massaged her throat. What if Leah was knifed tonight while working at the bar or walking home on a deserted street?

“Be careful,” she said as they signed off. “I love you.”

The line was silent. Her daughters weren't used to hearing endearments from her for no reason.

“Yeah,” Leah said.

“Bye, honey.” Paula set the phone in its cradle. It rang under her hand.

“Have you heard . . . ?” Anne, her fitness partner, said.

“About Callie?”

“I'm in shock.”

“Me too.”

“I found out this morning, from a woman at the center. I can't believe a whole day has gone by without my knowing it.”

Anne's fitness center business consumed her life. She spent fourteen-hour days on the premises and got most of her news from the center's
TV
s.

“What time are you coming in today?” Anne said.

Paula's arms ached at the prospect of lifting weights. “I have a ton of work . . .”

“I can't believe it.” Anne's voice quivered. “Callie was so full of life.”

Anne was Callie's long-time friend, too. Callie had introduced them. Anne would be going through the same thing as Paula.

“I'll aim for mid-afternoon,” Paula said.

“Two o'clock?”

“Three, at the latest.”

“I'll keep those hours open.” Anne said she had to leave to deal with the machine maintenance man.

Paula poured the remains from the coffee carafe into her mug. Outside, a squirrel nibbled a sour apple on the tree. Next spring, Paula would build a new deck or lay patio stones between the kitchen and tree. Grass seed would spruce up her backyard, which was mostly crabgrass and dirt. She put on her reading glasses
. The body . . . discovered . . . 7:00
AM
.

Moss was known locally for her charity work. She co-chaired the 1997 Fundraiser for Children with Cancer. Sam Moss is an internationally renowned architect. Her former husband, Kenneth Unsworth, president and
CEO
of Unsworth Oil Ltd., was twice honored as Calgary's entrepreneur of the year. She leaves a son, Cameron Unsworth, an award-winning graphic artist, and a daughter, Skye Ravenshaw, a Calgary actress and winner of this year's Betty award for supporting actress.

Family members reported that Moss was in the habit of going out alone for morning jogs. “We're both early risers,” Sam Moss told police. “I work out most days in the basement before work. I assumed Callie was jogging through our neighborhood. It never occurred to me that she would run on the (Elbow River) pathway before dawn.”

He wasn't surprised when his wife didn't return home for breakfast. “I saw no reason to worry about her being out at that hour. I've always considered Calgary to be a safe city.” He didn't report her missing.

An autopsy will be performed today. Preliminary evidence shows no indication of struggle or sexual assault. Homicide police are investigating.

No sexual assault, thank God, but what was the motive? Robbery? You wouldn't expect a jogger to carry much cash.

Strange that the article mentioned Callie's old volunteer work and made no reference to her current pursuit of a masters degree in music. Yet it highlighted Sam's, Kenneth's, Cameron's, and Skye's achievements. Callie was more than the wife of two alpha men and the mother of alpha children.

Sam hadn't realized his wife was missing. The police must have shown up at his office with the dreadful news and taken him to the morgue to identify the body. It had probably fallen to him to contact Callie's children, her sister in Toronto, her brother in Montreal, any close friends, and possibly her ex-husband Kenneth.

Paula had to call Sam. The article said he was an early riser, but he might be sleeping late after a troubled night. First, she would shower and dress, then phone Gary at his office. Her ex would want to know that the murder victim was their friend.

She got Gary's
voice mail. “Thanks for phoning last night,” she said. “Yes, the murder has shaken me up. Call if you want to talk.”

She tried Sam's house next. To her surprise, a woman answered.

“He's not in,” the woman said. “Who's calling?” Callie's voice.

It was all a mistake. Another body had been falsely identified. Callie was alive. Don't be stupid.

“Is anyone there?” the young woman said.

“Skye? Is that you?”

“Uh huh.”

“It . . . it's Paula. Paula Savard, your mother's friend.”

“You and a hundred others.”

“Pardon?”

“Now that she's dead, people are phoning non-stop, claiming they were her friends. Why weren't you there for her when she was alive?”

The answering machine's “01” message stared up at Paula. If she had returned that Monday call, she and Callie might have met for lunch and Callie might have told her . . . what?

“Skye, I'm so sorry about your mother,” she said. “The last time I saw her was at your play. Congratulations, by the way, on the Betty award. I phoned Callie when I heard. She wasn't home. I left a—”

“Look, Paula, I can't chat with you now. We're up to our fucking ears in funeral arrangements.”

Paula's stomach knotted. “Are you staying with Sam?”

“Why would I do that?” The voice was Callie's with an edge.

“I thought, maybe—”

“My aunt drags me over here to discuss funerals, and then Sam buggers off.”

The knot tightened. “Will he be back soon?”

“He didn't say.”

“I'll leave my number for him to call. Do you have a paper and pen?” Skye's aunt would be Callie's sister. Paula hadn't seen her in twenty years. The funeral might be too formal and pressured for a genuine talk. “Will there be a visitation?”

“We decided not to go through with that.” Skye's voice drifted from the phone. “Where the fuck do they keep pens around here?”

Paula looked out at the garage thermometer. It was already pushing toward sixty degrees.

“Never mind,” she said. “I'll come over for a short visit. Will you be there this afternoon?”

“Not me.”

“Will your aunt?”

“I don't imagine she's going anywhere.”

“Sam?”

“Who knows about him?” There was a bite to the tone.

Clearly, Skye was not impressed with Sam's behavior. His “buggering off” was odd. Or it might not be. People expressed grief differently. Lashing out was typical of Skye, who had inherited her mother's voice and delicate features, but not her temperament. Skye and Callie had often clashed, but Callie had been proud of her daughter's spirit. It was natural that Skye would be upset by her mother's shocking death and annoyed by ghoulish public interest.

Paula had promised Anne she'd be at the fitness center this afternoon, but could postpone that to the evening. Meanwhile, she had to get to work.

Seated at her
office desk, Paula skimmed the hit-and-run claim that had come in this morning. Damage along the vehicle's right side. Time of accident: 11:50
PM
. Driver states it was too dark and happened too fast for him to identify that car that sideswiped him. Minor whiplash.

Paula phoned for the police report; she called an appraiser to inspect the vehicle at the garage and left a message on the claimant's voice mail to arrange a meeting. A junior adjuster could have handled that. She would talk to Nils, her boss, again and insist he hire the next good candidate who came along. It wasn't fair of him to saddle her with routine work, while he grabbed the fun claims for himself. Right now, Nils was at a construction site examining a building that had collapsed.

She moved on to the liability claim: a neighbor fell off the homeowner's roof. Neither the insured nor the claimant had returned her Tuesday call.
Shit.
A junior adjuster would have followed it up. Nils' fussiness was dragging the business down. The claimant sustained a concussion, broken arm, and bruised ribs. What was he doing on the roof? The file didn't say. One story or two? The fall could have resulted in worse, so much worse. He was lucky.

Unlike Callie. She'd had no luck, at the end. Paula rapped her pen on the folder. From her bookshelf, Hayden and her daughters gazed from photographs. In Paula's favourite one, Leah's head leaned into Erin's, dark hair against fair, hazel eyes and blue. They were laughing, loving sisters, for the moment, despite their differences and frequent scraps. Paula had no sister. Callie was as close to a sister as she would get. Now Callie was gone. Forever. The end. Paula blinked and swallowed tears.