Deadly Fall (20 page)

“I'm sure I closed it.” Paula walked in to find a man standing next to her desk, holding a picture frame. “Sam?”

He wore a white shirt and shorts. Sunglasses arced over his head. He returned the photo of Leah to the bookshelf. He couldn't have missed the picture of Hayden she had added only last month.

“I was checking out a building near here,” he said. “I remembered you worked in the East Village and figured I'd look you up.”

“You don't look dressed for work.” Had she told him the name of the firm she worked for? She closed her office door. Alice was a bigger eavesdropper than Isabelle.

“I'm on my way to play squash.”

Where was her second visitor's chair? Alice must have borrowed it for the reception area. If Paula offered Sam this one, she would have to talk to him from behind her desk, which might feel too business-like. Clearly, he had made a special trip to see her. Why?

“I hear you've inherited Isabelle,” he said.

“Only until Saturday, I hope.”

He studied her bookshelves, rubber tree plants and wall paintings. One featured a mountain scene, the other a field with oil pump under a wide open prairie sky. “Your office looks homier than your home.”

“I've worked here longer than I've lived there.” She pushed her penholder away so she could lean against the desk. “Isabelle told me about Dimitri.”

Sam didn't flinch. “I kind of figured she would, she's not so good with secrets.”

“She kept a good one from the police.”

“It seems she's capable, when she wants to be.” From the bookshelf, he picked up her souvenir of Mount Saint Helens. “I was there, too. It was amazing, the trees all crashed down in the direction of the blast. They didn't know what hit them.”

“Sam, I have to tell the police about your son's interest in Callie. Or you could do it today. That would be better.”

“For whom?”

“For you, I guess. They'd appreciate your coming clean.”

“What difference would that make?” Sam returned the miniature volcano to the shelf.

Paula waited for him to turn around. “Were Callie and Dimitri involved?”

“Why would you ever think that?” His eyebrows rose in surprise that appeared genuine. “She was twice his age.”

“Women go for younger men.”

“Callie wouldn't, for him. She found him too priggish and too religious.”

“She joined a church last year.”

“Not Dimitri's fundamentalist one. Even if she was interested, he'd have been too prudish to follow through. It was a fantasy. Now that Callie's dead, it's over.”

“His feelings wouldn't end with her death. Have you discussed them with him?”

“Not recently.”

“Since she died?”

“No.”

He was so close she could see a faint dent in his left cheek. It made his face look so vulnerable at the moment.

She leaned harder against the desk. “After Callie died, you and Dimitri agreed not to tell the cops about his interest. So you and he did talk.”

Sam turned away to look at or pretend to look at her shelf full of photographs.

Paula pressed her hand on the desk so hard her knuckles went white. “What about Callie and Felix Schoen?”

“What about them?” The back of his shirt was bunched around his shorts belt.

“Why do the cops suspect Felix?” she asked.

“Felix is nervous. He's got a house load of guns. His house backs on the Elbow River and he saw her jogging every day.”

“Did he?”

Sam turned around. “Felix has a weird sleeping routine. Out like a rock for a few hours, prowling around the rest of the night. He saw her jog by each morning at the same time. In the summer, when she started, she would have set out in daylight. I guess she got used to leaving at that time, even when it was dark. She wasn't a nervous sort of woman, that way.”

Unfortunately, as it turned out. “Did you know about her routine before her death?”

“Felix told me afterwards.”

“Did he tell the cops?”

“Yes. That's likely why they suspect him. He knew her habits and could easily have followed her along the trail or driven to your neighborhood to intercept her at the murder spot. I'm sure he didn't.”

“How do you know?”

“For starters, he had no reason to kill her.”

“Could they have been having an affair?”

Sam chuckled. “That's impossible.”

“Nothing's impossible.”

“Felix would have told me about it, for sure.”

“Men don't usually confide their affairs to their lover's husband.”

He averted his eyes. “Felix knew about Callie's and my situation.”

“Did he know about you and Bev Berwell?”

Sam's face grew pink. He raked his hand through his hair, knocking the sunglasses to the carpet. “Shit. Isabelle told you? How did she find out? From Felix? Bev. Fuck. Biggest mistake in my life.” He squatted to pick up the sunglasses. “Scratch that. I've made worse ones. My whole life's a mistake.” He placed the sunglasses on his head. They pushed his hair back so it stood up like a giant cowlick. “You must think I'm a complete shit.”

“I wouldn't have thought Bev was your type.”

“Do you know Bev? Shit. Don't tell me she's your friend.”

“Hardly, I met her this morning.”

“Where? What do you think of her?”

She faced him squarely. How to sum up Bev? “I didn't totally dislike her.”

“I found her scary toward the end.”

“Only toward the end?”

He shook his head. “This is so totally screwed up. I don't think it can get any worse.” He spun toward her mountain painting. “This reminds me of the reason I dropped by. The Kananaskis hike with Felix is a definite go for Saturday. Did you decide if you're interested?”

Nils opened the door. “There you are.”

Alice appeared behind him. “I tried to keep him away.”

“I was just leaving.” Sam startled Paula by extending his hand for her to shake. It seemed oddly formal. “I'll call you tomorrow about the hike.”

He squeezed between Alice and Nils and out the door.

“Who was that?” Nils said.

“I thought he looked familiar,” Alice said. “He's better looking in person than in his newspaper pictures where he looks so somber. I find his face pleasant.”

“Is he one of our claimants?” Nils said.

Paula sunk to her chair.

“There's something delicate, yet strong, about his hands.” Alice stroked her own palm. “He could be a surgeon or violinist.”

“He's an architect.” Paula jiggled her computer mouse to get rid of the screensaver.

“For God's sake,” Nils said. “I'll be in my office when you're finished.”

“Not many men can wear shorts without looking foolish,” Alice said.

Paula recalled Sam's shirt bunched in the back above his shorts, the T-shirt sleeves hugging his biceps

“He's got the full package,” Alice said. “Legs, bum, arms, chest.”

“I didn't notice.”

For the second time in one day, Paula entered Mount Royal's winding streets, which had been designed to thwart traffic. The major city routes bypassed these wealthy homes. The few pedestrians she drove past today almost certainly either lived here or had come to service the residences. This wasn't Ramsay. No homeless people roamed the streets; no airplanes roared overhead; no trains enclosed the neighborhood and whistled when they passed.

She parked in front of Kenneth's house. Nothing had changed since she was here three years ago. A dozen mature trees drained the front lawn of nourishment. Patchy grass struggled through dirt in the sunken yard. The walkway bridge connecting the city sidewalk to the porch had been the highlight for her young daughters during their first family visit from Montreal. They called it a drawbridge and the yard, a moat, and played endless games of castle and fort with Callie's children and their friends. Gary, Paula's ex, kept an eye on the kids, while Paula and Callie went for walks that always ended up in 17th Avenue cafés. She and Gary had left thinking Calgary wouldn't be a bad place to live.

When she was halfway across the drawbridge, Kenneth opened the door. He greeted her with a hug that was slightly less stiff than the one they had shared at Callie's funeral. Inside, the house also looked the same. In contrast to the modern decor of her Riverdale home with Sam, Callie had furnished this earlier one with antiques, many of them purchased at estate auctions. She had reupholstered the French provincial sofa in 1990s mauve and gray. Perhaps the Riverdale decor had been a compromise, since Sam didn't find it contemporary enough.

Kenneth had set out a plate of cookies on the coffee table. He offered her a drink. She asked what he was having.

“Milk.” He tapped his long leg. “I have a touch of osteoporosis. I know it's unusual for a man.”

It wouldn't hurt to join him in a glass. The dog barked in the kitchen. Callie and Kenneth always gated the golden retriever when they had visitors. She followed Kenneth to the gate and petted Mandy, who had sprouted white fur around the muzzle. Bev had compared Kenneth's face to a basset hound's. Paula still thought Eeyore was closer to the mark. Kenneth was her age, fifty-two, but his bald crown, cardigan, and slippers made him look older. She hoped she didn't look that old.

She returned to the living room with Kenneth who had, evidently, been reading when she arrived. The lamp on the end table illuminated
Paris 1919
, a book Hayden had found fascinating. It was supposed to explain the modern, political world. She couldn't get past page three. Kenneth set the glasses on the coffee table beside a cigarette pack and ashtray with two butts. The room had a mild acrid odor.

“I thought you gave up smoking after college,” she said.

“I slipped back into the nasty vice a couple of years ago.” When Callie left him for Sam.

Paula turned down his offer of a cigarette; this morning's slip with Bev had been enough. “On the phone, you said you might have something for me.”

“I wasn't sure then. The kids and I have argued about it back and forth since the funeral. Finally, we reached an agreement.” He led her to the piano against the inside wall. The family photographs had been cleared away from the upright top. The only objects on it now were five boxes, lined up like stairs and painted with brightly-colored ovals and circles.

“Callie made these in
IA
.” Paula reached for the largest one.

Kenneth pulled her arm away from it. “
IA
?”

“Industrial Arts, at high school. Callie and I took that instead of Home Ec. like most of the other girls, to make a statement, I guess, but really to meet boys.” Paula waited. Kenneth didn't smile at her joke, if it was a joke. She and Callie had enjoyed
IA
and, between them, had picked up several boyfriends, Callie more than her, naturally. Kenneth's boney fingers let go of her arm. “Most of the class made practical objects like napkin holders and pencil boxes,” she said. “I made a tea chest for my mother. She still uses it. Did Callie's sister bring these out here? She must have found them when they cleared out their parents' home.” She touched the middle box, caught his glare and retreated. He must be really in love with Callie if he couldn't bear anyone's hands on something she had made.

“They've been here all along,” Kenneth said. “I kept them at the office, to remind me of what was important.”

The four largest boxes gleamed thanks to forty-year-old
IA
shellac. Paula would have expected the largest one to fade first, since it had probably been exposed to more air than the little blue and green one. The boxes would normally be displayed nested like Russian dolls.

“Do you remember the boxes from Callie's and my wedding?” Kenneth said.

“I wasn't there.”

His forehead lines deepened, as he considered this. “You're right. I'd forgotten. She presented them to me at the ceremony, as part of the vows.”

“Like exchanging rings? A ring would fit in the smallest box.”

Kenneth no longer wore a wedding band. “That one is for you, if you'll accept it.”

The box had been made by Callie's young hands. It could hold paper clips or safety pins and would look good with the pictures and souvenirs Paula had put on her office bookshelf to remind her of what was important. Evidently, Kenneth and his children placed great sentimental value on these creations if they had argued for three days about what to do with them. God knew how long it would take them to dispose of the remaining Callie artifacts. She picked up the faded, small box, with its crooked fastener and hinges that somehow managed to work. Callie didn't have the knack for woodworking. The boys had been glad to help her, while Paula produced her more complicated tea chest on her own. Did that sound bitter?

“Are you sure you want to break up the set?” she said.

“Don't open it.” Kenneth's bark made her shake the box. Something shifted inside. “The kids and I debated it endlessly, but couldn't agree on what to do with her ashes. We all had different ideas.”

“Ashes?”

“They call them cremains these days.”

“They're in here?”

Paula clunked the box on the piano top. She struggled to fiddle it back into position, knocking the next ones out of place. The stairs zigzagged to the largest box, painted yellow and orange and roughly the size of the elegant cherry wood urn at the funeral. Had they squeezed all of Callie's ashes into the blue and green box? What did he mean by it being for Paula?

“Skye wanted the ashes tossed to the sky,” Kenneth said.

“That seems appropriate. For Skye, that is.”

“Her argument was that her mother chose the name, so it must have meaning for her. Of course, Skye's name really came from the island in Scotland.”