Deadly Fall (9 page)

“We're in no rush,” the woman said. “The benefits of retirement.”

They were the only ones left in the sanctuary, aside from the staff clearing the flowers and candles from the altar. Bev and company were gone. Paula made her way to the lobby crammed with people, some teary-eyed, others chatting in groups. Detective Vincelli had probably left before the procession so the family and suspects wouldn't know he was there. A large group gathered by the far wall. Callie's son's sandy hair hovered above the mass of heads. Sunlight streamed through the open arched doors. Paula needed fresh air and would talk to the family after the crowd thinned.

She wove by strangers to the massive doors and blinked at the bright light. Across the plaza, Kenneth Unsworth chatted with a white-haired man. Kenneth bent closer to catch something the man said. Reporters and cameramen lingered on the fringes, waiting for the family to depart. There had been a lot more of them when Paula arrived at the church.

“Paula.”

Anne came up behind her. For the second time since Callie's death, they hugged. Anne introduced Paula to her husband, a sixty-year old man of medium height and weight. Doug's vigorous handshake contrasted Anne's portrait of him as frail. His heart and diabetes conditions were a constant concern for Anne. She had described them to Paula in detail during their workout sessions.

“I was telling Doug, we should have you and Hayden over sometime,” Anne said. “The service made me realize we shouldn't procrastinate about things. You never know what will happen.”

In the park across the street, toddlers scrambled up a jungle gym, surrounded by orange and yellow trees. Marigolds bloomed in planter boxes that lined the plaza. Paula put on her dark glasses, the sun burning through her black dress.

“This is your chance to meet Dimitri,” Anne said. “He's inside.”

Doug excused himself to go and speak with Kenneth. Paula followed Anne back into the lobby, which was called a narthex, Paula remembered from her childhood churchgoing days. An elderly woman grabbed her arm.

“Paula, my goodness me,” she said. “You haven't changed in twenty years.”

Paula couldn't say the same about Callie's sister. Dorothy, aged sixty-five, looked like an old lady, in her oxfords, black and mauve shift dress and hair worn weekly-hairdresser-appointment style.

“I'm sorry we missed you Saturday,” Dorothy said. “It's been non-stop since we arrived. I hope you're coming to the house.”

“I'm sorry; I won't be able to make it.” Anne looked up at Dorothy. “I have to get back to work. There's Dimitri. If you'll excuse me . . .”

Dorothy held onto Paula's arm as Anne hurried away. “Now, who is that woman?” Dorothy's wrinkled face was flushed. “I've forgotten. So many people to meet.” On top of the strain of burying her little sister, she had to greet all these strangers.

“Anne's the mother of Sam's son, Dimitri. She was also Callie's friend,” Paula said. “What's going on at the house?”

“We decided to limit the wake to family and close friends. That's why we didn't announce it at the church. Sam said he was going to call you about it.”

“I didn't hear from him.”

“I'm sure he meant to, though, Sam has a lot on his mind, naturally. I'm on my way to the house right now to get everything ready before people arrive. There is so much to do.”

“Can I help in some way?”

“The food's taken care of. I could use help with the setup.”

At the far end of the room, Callie's son stood alone, his hands in his pockets. Paula hadn't seen Cameron since he moved to Vancouver for a job in graphic art. An older couple zeroed in on him. She could probably talk to Cameron at the wake.

“Will Kenneth be there?” she asked.

“He said he had an appointment, but I suspect he would feel uncomfortable. Poor man, the situation is awkward.”

Paula spotted Callie's brother standing alone. “I'll say a quick hello to Tony and Kenneth and join you at the house.”

“There you are.” The minister came up to Dorothy.

Tony's lined, angular face held traces of the young man whose portrait had graced the family mantle while he roamed the continent. Paula introduced herself. “We met at your mother's funeral.”

He didn't remember her, although he vaguely recalled hearing about Callie's girlfriend who lived on their street. A scar ran from one eye down his cheek. Callie had said Tony joked, if it was a joke, that he had narrowly escaped jail several times. He credited his wife, Ginette, for settling him down.

Ginette approached them. Still pretty in her late fifties, she wore rimless eyeglasses and a scooped-neck black sweater threaded with glitter. Her black skirt showed off shapely calves. Isabelle dressed somewhat like her, but, in looks, took after the Lansing family side. Paula told Tony and Ginette she'd met their daughter, Isabelle.

Ginette linked her arm around Tony's. “Isabelle reconnected us with Callie, some. Before that, we barely knew her. Tony talked with Callie more these past months than he did his whole adult life.”

Paula glanced at Isabelle, who was tapping her black boot and talking with Cameron and the elderly couple. “I gather Isabelle moved here from Montreal last May.”

“It was her spur-of-the moment impulse,” Ginette said.

“That's my girl.” Tony sounded proud. “It felt odd asking Callie if the niece she hardly knew could live with her, but Callie said right away ‘Sure, we've got plenty of room.' Now that I've seen the house, I would say that ‘plenty' underestimates it. Our duplex could fit into the master bedroom.”

“Not quite.” Ginette squeezed Tony's arm. “Isabelle loves it here.”

“I gather she plans on staying,” Paula said.

“No fucking way,” Tony said.

Ginette rapped his hand. “Tony. We're in a church.”

“Fuck the church. My daughter is not—”

“Tony.” Ginette's voice was steel. “This isn't the place.”

“I need a smoke,” he said.

Ginette shrugged an apology to Paula, who started to follow them outdoors. A man called her name. Dimitri strode over and shook her hand, saying he was glad she had come. Close up, he didn't look totally like Sam. His skin was paler. Traces of Anne were in his hazel eyes and heart shaped face. He told her Anne had run into an old friend.

“Anne pointed me out to you?” Paula said.

“My father did, as we wheeled the urn down the aisle.”

Like Sam, Dimitri was more handsome in person than in his photographs. His dark hair was cut short and gelled to tiny points. It was starting to thin on top, which made him look older than his thirty years.

“You've been a support for your father,” she said.

“I'm glad I was here for the worst. Her death is hard enough without him being harassed by the cops.”

“Have they given him a hard time?”

“They grilled him pretty bad, at first. When they came around yesterday I got the feeling they were easing up.”

“Maybe their investigation is proving him innocent.”

“Let's hope. Well, I have to catch a plane.”

“I'd better get going too, if I'm to help with the wake. I don't see Dorothy or Sam anywhere. They must have already left.”

“Sam drove Skye to her place with the ashes,” Dimitri said, as they walked toward the arched doors.

“That's right. Skye's holding a service for her mother tonight. I think Callie would appreciate that.”

His face darkened, even though they were outside. “Knowing Skye, it's a slam against the funeral Sam arranged. He did his best. It was all very sudden and there were lots of people to accommodate.”

“He did fine.” So he called his father Sam.

Across the plaza, Anne chatted with Doug and Kenneth. She spotted Paula and Dimitri and disengaged herself to hug her son good-bye. Dimitri flashed Paula a charming good-bye smile and bounded down the plaza stairs. He seemed the opposite of bad-tempered and spoiled. Gone was the hostility he had shown on
TV,
and his comment about Skye had been surprisingly candid, unless it was all part of a well-honed political image.

“Your son's an impressive young man,” Paula told Anne.

“I think so.”

“He's very supportive of Sam.”

“It flows both ways. Did Callie tell you Sam left the job he loved in the States to move up here for Dimitri?”

“She didn't mention it.”

“In university, Dimitri got involved in a religion we considered oppressive, almost cult-like. I credit Sam for getting him away from that bunch.”

“Isn't Dimitri still a fundamentalist?”

“Too much for my taste, but he's mellowed the past few years.” Anne looked at the men talking across the plaza. “Time for me to drag Doug away. He has a doctor's appointment this afternoon. Would you and Hayden be free to come to dinner this Saturday? I'm sure he and Doug would get along well.”

“I'll have to check with Hayden.” This would be a shift in her relationship with Anne. Paula enjoyed Anne's company at the fitness center. Why not expand it into the social zone? So far, all of her and Hayden's friends who were couples had come from his side.

Anne hugged her, again, and left her alone with Kenneth, whose hug was always an awkward experience. Today, his arms felt particularly stiff. He looked more funereal than usual in his black suit. His long face reminded Paula of Eeyore, the donkey.

“Callie told me you're seeing an old acquaintance of mine.” Kenneth scanned the plaza. “Is he here?”

“Hayden has a trial next week,” she said. “He couldn't make it.”

“He didn't know Callie so much as he knew me, through the university debating team. We also played chess.”

“Hayden didn't tell me he played. I'll have to challenge him to a game.” There was so much to learn about a person you'd only dated for six months. With Gary, by the end, there were no surprises, aside from his bombshell confession that he was cheating on her. Callie had once suggested Gary had done it to prove he wasn't as predictable as Paula thought. Paula's neck ached from looking up at Kenneth. What could she say to fill the pause? “I enjoyed the service, especially the music. The classical choices must have come from you.”

“He picked the contemporary ones,” Kenneth grimaced. Was that distaste for Sam?

“I—” they said simultaneously.

“You first,” he insisted.

“I understand your daughter, Skye, is holding a private service tonight.”

“She's taking this hard.”

“It would be rough on any child, at whatever age.”

“Her fight with Callie makes it worse.”

“Fight?”

He blinked several times, as though he'd expected Paula to be aware of the fight.

“As usual, it was about Sam,” he said. “Obviously, Skye doesn't . . . There's a face I haven't seen in a long time.”

An older man shuffled toward them. Damn him for interrupting. Skye doesn't what? Kenneth had assumed Callie had been in touch with Paula this past month.

He introduced her to his cousin as Callie's best friend. She wouldn't have used that term, given their recent disconnection. Detective Vincelli had warned her Callie had overstated the level of their friendship, which might cause someone to worry she knew too much. At the wake, she might get an idea of whom that someone could be.

Sam started when he opened the door. “I was supposed to call you. Did I?”

“Dorothy invited me at the funeral.”

He had removed his suit jacket and tie, undone the collar button of his shirt, and rolled his sleeves up his muscular arms covered with dark hair.

She entered the house. “Dorothy asked me to help with the setup.”

“What setup?”

“Food, drinks, chairs . . . ?”

Dark circles shaded his eyes. Tension lines etched his forehead. “The caterers are taking care of that. Dorothy must have misunderstood.”

Down the long center hallway, servers were setting out bottles on the kitchen table. The dining room's stained glass doors were open. Candles and flowers adorned the table covered in white lace. Sam said Dorothy hadn't arrived. They concluded she must have been detained by the minister or someone else at the church. He added that Skye was skipping the reception, then offered Paula a drink and suggested she wait in the living room, while he got her wine and his beer.

Sam was in his stocking feet. Paula took this as a cue to remove her high heels. She padded into the enormous room. Its rich cranberry walls stretched the full length of the house. White crown moldings bordered the twelve foot high ceiling, which was detailed with flowers and ovals. Cherub faces in the moldings looked out from the room's corners. Light streamed through the plantation blinds. A music stand, stool, and Callie's clarinet stood in the front bow window. The room's middle section contained a baby grand piano and sideboard topped with candles, both pillars and votives. She started counting them and got to eleven when Sam arrived with their drinks.

He looked at the candle display. “It's a little excessive. There are dozens of unopened ones in the drawer.”

On their way to the conversation nook in front of the gas fireplace, she complimented him on the room's decor.

“It's comfortable,” Sam said. “I would have preferred something more contemporary.”

That didn't sound like a bereaved husband's remark. She sat down on a chair facing into the room. Sam took the love seat and remarked on the never ending work involved in renovating an old house. Dorothy would be here in minutes. He paused for a sip of beer.

Paula stared directly at him. “Why did Callie abandon her master's of music plan?”

His left foot was tapping the floor. “The cops asked me about that yesterday. I hadn't known she'd applied.”