Stonechild and Rouleau Mysteries 5-Book Bundle. Brenda Chapman

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      “They’ve found a man’s body. The car is registered to Tom Underwood so looks like it’s him. We can take my car.”

      “Where is he?”

      “The Central Experimental Farm just south west of here. Should take us ten minutes. Somehow, his parked car missed detection all week. I hope you didn’t have any plans. This is going to be a long night.”

      “No plans.” Suddenly, she wasn’t tired anymore. Adrenaline was kicking in. She trudged through the snow beside Rouleau and felt as close to alive as she’d felt since she pointed her truck toward Ottawa four days earlier.

      9

      Friday, December 23, 7:00 a.m.

      Geraldine Oliver woke up before Max but pretended to be asleep. It was another hour before he shut off the alarm and finally got out of bed. Seven a.m. Forty minutes and he’d be gone for the day. The baby was heavy in her belly. For the past two months, she’d been forced to sleep on her side, her back to Max. She couldn’t believe she had four more weeks of discomfort before the baby was due. Surely the kid was full size by now. Any bigger and it would come out riding a tricycle.

      She heard Max rummaging around, getting his suit from the closet and searching for his shoes under the dresser. It was easy to keep her breathing deep and even. She even drifted off a few times. She sensed him standing over the bed looking down at her and slowed her breathing even more. What the hell was he doing? Did he think he could stare her into waking up? At long last she heard him cross the floor and start down the stairs. She let her breath out in a loud sigh when he reached the bottom.

      She waited a good fifteen minutes after she heard the front door slam before she swung her aching legs over the side of the bed. It would have been catastrophic if he’d come back for something and caught her up and about. He’d have known she’d been faking sleep to avoid him.

      She flicked on the flat screen on her way to the bathroom. Max had left it on CNN, and she didn’t bother to change the channel. She just wanted to hear another voice. If she hadn’t promised Hunter she’d drive to his place for lunch, she would have run a bath and spent the morning lying in bubbles and reading the Harlan Coben thriller she’d picked up at the library. She’d become good at idling away her days, but not today. A quick shower would do and then she’d eat something light and head off to the hairdresser’s for a shampoo and cut. There’d be enough time to stop at the bakery for fresh bread and dessert before the drive to Hunter’s.

      She reached for a towel and facecloth in the cupboard. Her hand lingered, her fingers stretching to the back of the shelf and under a pile of towels. Her hand closed around one of the two bottles she’d hidden the day before. The glass was deliciously smooth to her touch and she ran her fingers up and down its curved length. She remembered the colour of the bottle was emerald green, her favourite colour. She forced her hand away from the temptation and traced her fingers across her bulging belly.

      One day at a time. She could put off a drink one more day.

      The bathroom tile was cool under her bare feet. She sat sideways on the edge of the bathtub, awkwardly bending over to turn on the taps. Her fingers opened wide under the rush of warm water. It felt soothing and she sat for a while longer. Then, she stood with a grunt and slipped out of her nightgown. It pooled around her feet in a silken heap. Her face reflected exhaustion in the mirror but her eyes were determined.

      She stepped into the shower and raised her face to let the water pour over her in a steaming cascade, the drops hitting her skin like pin pricks. She kept her eyes closed and avoided looking down at her misshapen belly.

      Max had said he could hardly stand to look at her anymore. He’d told her she’d have to start dieting right after the baby if she wanted him to be attracted to her again. He’d prepaid her gym membership, not even asking if she wanted it. She’d imagined herself beautiful when they first met because he’d looked at her like she was. Now, when she looked into his eyes she saw the homely woman she’d been all along. His disgust hurt like a knot twisting in her chest. It was the most horrible feeling she’d ever known. At times, taking another breath had been an effort, the pain threatening to strangle her.

      Kala pressed Laurel Underwood’s doorbell one more time. Rouleau had dropped her near her truck after she’d offered to make this call on her way home for a few hours of sleep. He’d continued on to the station to update Vermette. Whelan should have been with her, but he’d left some jumbled message on her cellphone around midnight and hadn’t been reachable since. So far, she thought working with a partner wasn’t much different than working alone.

      It was the morning before Christmas Eve. She’d expected Laurel to be at home. A cheery evergreen wreath with a silver bow and red berries that hung on the door felt out of sync with the news Kala had come to break to Tom Underwood’s wife. She didn’t plan to give many details about the death. It would have done no good to talk about how they’d found her husband’s stiff body crowded into the trunk of his Mercedes. The coroner, Grogan, estimated Underwood had been dead a few days, but it was hard to say when exactly because the freezing temperatures had kept him preserved like meat in a locker. Grogan said that Underwood was alive when he was locked inside the trunk. He’d found scratch marks inside the trunk and Underwood’s nails were ripped and ragged, caked in dried blood. Underwood had definitely been alive and trying to get out. She thought about what he must have gone through when he realized the trunk would be his frigid tomb. The cruelty of somebody leaving him to freeze made her want to punch something.

      She pulled out her cellphone and called Rouleau. “Nobody home at the Underwoods.”

      “How about Underwood’s daughter, Geraldine Oliver? Are you okay to go over to her place?”

      “Yeah. I could do that, but I’ve never met her. It’ll be a shock, and didn’t somebody say she’s pregnant?”

      “Right. It might be better if she heard from a family member.”

      “I can drive out to Hunter’s. It won’t take too long now that I know where he lives.”

      “Sure you’re not too tired?”

      “I can go a few days without sleep. Anyway, somebody in the family has to be told before word leaks out.”

      “We’ll need him to identify his father, although there’s no doubt based on the photo Laurel gave us. You sure you’re okay to do this?”

      “I’ll be fine. I’ve broken the news of a sudden death to family members before. Any word from Whelan?”

      “Nothing. When I reach him, I’ll get him to meet you.”

      “I’m on my way then.”

      “Bring Hunter to the station.”

      “Will do.”

      “I’m pulling in Grayson and Malik. They’ll be here within the hour. I need to sign off. I’m being paged.”

      Kala tucked her phone into her jacket pocket and walked back to her truck. She trod carefully on the icy driveway. It hadn’t been plowed since the last light snowfall and drifts hid patches of black ice. The cab of the truck was still warm from her drive to the Underwoods. She turned the heater up high and pushed a John Hiatt CD into the player before starting down the circular driveway.

      She stopped when she reached СКАЧАТЬ