Deadly Fall (33 page)

Cool night air flowed into her window. She passed the sandstone school, rounded the corner below the Stampede grounds, bumped over the C-train tracks, crossed MacLeod Trail and steered onto Felix's street. House lights shone down the block to his home and yard, which were dark. No police vehicles remained, no yellow tape; no crime scene guys prowled the grounds.

If it wasn't suicide, Felix's killer had probably entered via the trail at the back after midnight, when most of the neighbors were asleep. He would have helped himself to a gun and bullets from Felix's cupboards, tiptoed to the recliner chair and fired into the snoring mouth. He had to count on Felix staying asleep or, failing that, account for his own presence. It all pointed to an acquaintance or friend. Both Dimitri and Sam had lived with Felix for two or three years. Sam had said he would call her tonight and hadn't. No surprises there, considering what had happened. His house was a ten-minute drive away.

She crossed the Elbow River Bridge, entered Riverdale, and parked in front of Sam's home. Light streamed through the living room's plantation blinds. She had been here twice. The first time she had met Sam and Isabelle. The second visit, six days ago, she had come for the funeral reception. So much had happened since then.

Sam answered the doorbell. “I was going to call you.”

Hadn't he said something similar the last time? “I know you've heard about Felix's death.”

“I'm sorry you had to find him,” he said.

“It was a shock. You must be stunned.” They repeated Dimitri's platitudes.

Sam offered her a drink and left her in the living room, which looked essentially the same: baby grand piano, candle collection on the sideboard, cranberry walls, fireplace beneath a painting of a beach café bought to remember not Sam's and Callie's marriage, but Callie's and Dimitri's commitment ceremony witnessed by Felix and Sam. During that week the four of them stayed in Hawaii, had Felix loved Callie to the point of obsession, without either Sam or Dimitri noticing? How dense could two men be?

A change to the room was the addition of clutter. Newspaper sections covered the love seat. A half-finished bottle of beer sat on the glass coffee table next to a bowl of Hershey kisses. White sports socks lay on the floor.

Sam returned with two glasses of ice water. He was barefoot and wore jeans and a T-shirt. He gathered the newspaper sections into a pile to make space for himself on the love seat.

Like the previous time, Paula took a chair facing the piano and him. “How did you learn about Felix's death?”

“Dimitri and I were clearing the shrubs in the back,” he said.

“A damp, dreary day for yard work.”

“We were filling in time before his Ottawa flight.”

“Dimitri changed his mind about that trip,” she said. “He's out with Isabelle.”

Sam nodded. “He finds her amusing. She takes his mind off things. Dimitri's the one who heard the doorbell. I ran around to the front and caught the detective getting into his car. While he was talking, I kept thinking, if Dimitri hadn't heard the bell, if I'd walked not run, this wouldn't be happening. Felix wouldn't be dead.” He paused for a sip of water. “They took us downtown to get our statements.”

“Isabelle and I were at the downtown station. I'm surprised we missed you.”

“The reason for Felix's death didn't hit me until they asked about the scarf that was found in his hand.”

“It was navy with stars. Did it belong to Callie?”

“I couldn't identify it. Dimitri said it was her type. He hadn't a clue Felix was in love with her and insists there was no affair. Naturally, he wants to think that. I can't be sure.”

The bowl of chocolate kisses reminded her that she hadn't eaten anything since this afternoon's sandwiches. She took one and peeled off the foil wrap. “Three days ago you were sure there was nothing like that between Callie and Felix. You were sure his interest was strictly friendship.”

He flushed. “Who knows what people get up to in their private lives or what they really feel? You think you know someone, but you never truly do, in the end.”

“You'd think Dimitri would notice another man taking an interest in the woman he loved.”

Sam tossed a red foil kiss from hand to hand. “Like I said, Felix kept his feelings close.”

“Was that his style?”

“Everyone knew he was in love with her years ago. I'd assumed he'd gotten over it. Maybe he did for awhile and something re-triggered it.”

“This is so convenient for you and Dimitri. The killer is someone who can't answer for himself. It makes everything easy.”

“It's hardly easy to lose your best friend. You, of all people, should know that.” He twirled a foil kiss open.

She got up and paced to the sideboard. “Do you really think Felix would commit murder?”

“I can see him as a crime-of-passion type.”

“Anyone could buy a scarf that's Callie's style and plant it in a dead man's hand. Whoever murdered Callie stole your father's gun in advance. That's not a crime of passion. It also took planning to leave no clues at the site.”

Sam walked over and faced her by the sideboard. His chest moved up and down beneath his green shirt. “Crimes of passion can involve a series of impulses,” he said. “Impulse one: Felix steals the gun. Dithers for awhile. Typical Felix. Impulse two: he follows her on the trail to see where she goes. More dithering. Impulse three: follows her and does the deed.”

“Do you really think Felix would carry a torch for thirty years with no one suspecting?”

He touched her arm. “In hindsight, there were signs.”

“Such as?” She shook off his hand.

“Why are you hassling me? It's the cops, not me, who are calling it suicide.”

“And you're going along.”

“What else can I do?”

“You could tell them you're convinced Felix didn't love her.”

“I'm not convinced, not anymore, and the evidence is there. The scarf. His note. You found him with the bloody gun in his hand. Stress was obviously building in him since her death. You saw his weird mood yesterday.”

“How convenient I was there to see it.”

“What does that mean?”

She rested her hand on a candlestick. The crystal felt solid and thick. “Yesterday, you told me there were limits to how far you would go to protect your son. You said you wouldn't let them arrest an innocent person.”

“They can't arrest Felix. He's dead.”

“Pin the rap on the dead man.” She fingered the candlestick's glass grooves. “Is it fair that Felix's family and friends will falsely remember him as a murderer?”

“Would they feel better remembering him as a murder victim? That sucks, too, in my opinion. Whatever he's pinned with sucks.”

“If Dimitri is guilty—”

“He's not.”

“Are you sure? You never truly know someone, in the end.”

He scowled.

“Talk about stress,” she said. “Dimitri was a basket-case on Friday night. With his religion, he's big on sin. If he's guilty, don't you think it will prey on him the rest of his life and catch him eventually?”

“So, it's better he catches it now and spends the prime of his life in jail? I don't think so. If he's guilty, that is, which he's not.”

“You're not sure of that in your heart. You'll never be sure.”

Sam turned away. Paula picked up the candlestick. If she could only beat the truth into his head.

“The uncertainty will eat at your feelings for Dimitri,” she said, “just as it's eating at my feelings for you.”

“What's eating you? Last night, you thought I was innocent.”

“I'm less sure this morning.”

“Don't forget I was in your bed when Felix died.”

“You were gone an hour and possibly more. How do I know you didn't slip over to Felix's house to set up a suicide to protect your son? You've told me there are no limits.”

He scanned her face. “If you believe I'm capable of that, there's no hope for us.”

“Until the crime is settled beyond any doubt, I can't trust either you or your son. You adore him and I can't stand the sight of him at the moment. It makes me sick to think he's with Isabelle.”

“That's your problem, not mine. You don't trust any men.”

She clutched the candlestick. “Where do you get that? You don't know me one bit.”

“I knew you pretty well last night.”

“Push the cops, Sam, convince them to dig deeper into Felix's death. If you won't do it for Felix or Dimitri or yourself, do it for us. I can't be with you until I'm sure.”

His gaze took in the fireplace, the piano, the candle-topped sideboard and resettled on her. “Look, the bottom line is this: we had sex. It was nice, but I can't ruin my son's life for that.”

“Nice?” She raised the candlestick. It was heavy and hard. Good.

Sam's eyes widened. She hurled the candlestick. He ducked sideways. The crystal bounced off the piano edge and landed next to his foot. Had she really done that? She might have killed him. The piano's black enamel looked chipped.

He squatted to examine the candlestick. “I can't see any damage, except, possibly, this tiny nick. That was a lucky break. Or non-break, as it happens.” He looked up, head cocked, an odd smile on his face. He was enjoying this.

“Do you want me to throw another one at you?” Shit. She had played into his drama queen fetish. Her storming out would thrill him, but she couldn't help herself.

“Fine,” she said as she marched down the hall. “If that's how you feel, I'll go elsewhere for help.”

“Where?”

She struggled to squeeze her heel in the fucking shoe. Hardly a smooth exit.

“Stay,” he said. “We'll—”

She was out the front door, slamming it behind her. She breathed in the cold night air. Where else would she go for help? Good question.

The dog barked before Paula rang the bell. Kenneth answered the door and grabbed Mandy's collar as she lunged for Paula's skirt. On the way to the living room, she thanked him for fitting her into his morning, adding she was sorry about Felix's death.

“You and he go a long way back,” she said.

“Some thirty years, to university.” Kenneth's face looked as gray as his suit, shirt, and tie.

Ever the host, he had set the table with coffee and muffins. Mandy ran around in circles until she settled beside his armchair. Dim light filtered through the window sheers. There was no ashtray on the table, but she detected a faint acrid odor. The railroad clock beside the window chimed 9:00
AM
. Like her, he would be dashing to work when their meeting was done. She had to get down to business.

“Were you and Felix close in recent years?” she asked.

Kenneth leaned down to pat the golden retriever's head. “I wouldn't say so. We saw each other every few months, usually in social rather than intimate settings.”

“Everyone seems to know about his old romantic interest in Callie. Were you aware it had continued?”

“Like I said, I hadn't seen much of him lately, or him and her together, for obvious reasons.” Frowning, he leaned lower to scratch Mandy behind her ear. “The police said he left a note confessing his love and regret for murdering her.”

“I read the note. He didn't directly state that.” She wished she could see more than the top of his bald head so she could read his expression.

“People tend to confess in a roundabout way, in an effort to explain themselves or avoid getting to the point. As a lapsed Catholic, I should know.” He looked up, flashing his awkward smile.

“I was with Felix the day before he died,” she said. “He talked about struggling with a newspaper column, an explosive one he claimed would get him on the front page.”

Kenneth leaned forward to pour himself a coffee. He added cream and stirred. “Felix mentioned it Friday night when he dropped by.”

“Here? He told us he'd spent all Friday night working on the column.”

“Felix's idea of work mainly involved thinking about it.” Again, the smile on his long face.

On the drive to Kananaskis, Felix had admitted he hadn't accomplished any actual writing.

“What did he tell you about the column?” she asked.

Kenneth touched Mandy's head, prompting her to leap up and rest her forepaws on his lap. In the past, he had always gated the dog in the kitchen. It was odd he hadn't done that today, when she would shed over their work clothes. A glow appeared on his bald pate. Perspiration? His coffee sat on the table, untouched.

“Felix never discussed his newspaper columns with me,” Kenneth said. “He knows I consider them fluff.”

“Then why did he drop by Friday night?”

“No reason. He just wanted to ramble and clear his head.”

“Out of the blue, a day or two before he allegedly commits suicide, he drops by to talk about nothing?”

“It may have been his way of saying good-bye.”

“Dimitri phoned him late Friday night.”

Kenneth looked up, his lips narrowed to a slit.

“Dimitri told him Callie felt guilty about something unrelated to her leaving you. Do you know what it would be?”

He scowled, presumably at the reference to the hated Dimitri. “Perhaps, about living a lie with Sam? It confused our kids, especially Skye, who couldn't understand why she stayed with someone so indifferent
to her.”

It was cruel to return to Dimitri, but couldn't be helped. “I suppose, if the cops decide Felix didn't commit suicide, the heat will be on Dimitri again.”

“Much as I'd like that, I can't escape the facts. The bastard's probably innocent.”

“Did you tell the cops about Felix's Friday night visit?”

“Of course. Did you see the newspaper today? Felix told you he would make the front page? He got that part right.”