Stonechild and Rouleau Mysteries 5-Book Bundle. Brenda Chapman

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      Susan laughed. “I’m not as convinced that I’m a target as you seem to be. I promise to be careful though. I’ll even key your phone number into my phone.” Fear froze her features. “You can’t let Clinton know about me and Tom. He probably doesn’t know. Promise you won’t say anything.”

      “The last thing I would do is put you in more danger. I’ll keep this confidential. In the meantime, I’ll see if I can arrange for an officer to patrol by your house until we have more to go on.”

      “I hope you’re wrong about this.”

      “I hope so too.”

      32

      Saturday, December 31, 7:30 p.m.

      Rouleau was alone in the office when Kala knocked on his closed door. She stepped inside upon his call to enter, leaving the door ajar. He stood near the window dressed in the suit she’d seen hanging next to the door.

      “Going to a party tonight, Sir?” she asked as she joined him at the window.

      “Something like that. I have to put in an appearance. You’re in the office late. Any plans this New Year’s Eve?”

      “No. I might take a trip to the ByWard Market and walk around. It’s milder than it’s been.”

      “I could meet you for a drink after this reception. I’ll be in the vicinity.”

      She studied the rigid line of his shoulders. He was preparing himself for something he didn’t want to do. “I’d like that. Name a time and place and I’ll be there.”

      “Is there something you want to discuss about the cases now?”

      “It can wait until we meet up if you don’t mind talking work on a night that should be dedicated to partying.”

      “I’ll look forward to it. Let’s meet at Vine’s wine bar at ten thirty. Do you know where that is?”

      “I’ll find it.”

      He looked at his watch. “I have to be going. You should take off too.”

      “I just want to check a few things. I won’t be long behind you.”

      “Good. See you in a bit then.”

      Kala poured through the reports, beginning with Tom Underwood’s disappearance. His affair with Susan Halliday and their plans to leave their spouses gave the information a different focus. Who would lose the most if they carried through with their plan? Who would be angry enough to kill? Had Benny Goldstone known something the murderer wanted covered up? It was possible the murders were unrelated, but it wasn’t likely. Odds were they were killed by the same person. Logic dictated there was a link. She might have believed the murders were work-related if but for the attempt on Susan Halliday. Someone was making them pay. Clinton? Max? Hunter? Laurel? They all had reason. She just had to find the missing piece to make everything tumble into place. Maybe discussing it with Rouleau would give new insight.

      At nine, she wearily turned off her computer and put on her coat. She found her phone in her pocket and checked for messages, relieved to find that nobody had tried to reach her. Perhaps, it would be a quiet night. She stopped at the main desk on her way out and spoke to the sergeant about having an officer patrol by the Hallidays’ overnight. He said that he’d see what he could do.

      She thought about heading back to her room to change, but she didn’t have anything better to wear than what she had on. Instead, she made a stop in the washroom to loosen her braid and comb her hair. Rather than tie it back again, she left it loose around her face. She washed with the soap from the dispenser and patted her skin dry with paper towel, then dug around in her bag until she found lip gloss. Next to Rouleau, she’d be underdressed but he probably wouldn’t care. For certain, she didn’t.

      The ByWard Market was busier than she’d ever seen. People were in a party mood, spilling onto the sidewalks in front of the bars and milling around in groups talking and laughing. Blasts of music assailed her ears whenever a door opened. The restaurants were brimming with customers sitting in tables of four or more; Christmas wreathes and strings of lights decked the buildings like party favours.

      She spent a half hour walking down side streets, looking in windows and keeping an eye out for a young Aboriginal girl. At nearly ten o’clock, she reached the Fish Market restaurant. The Internet had shown Vines in the basement. She climbed downstairs where she was greeted by a hostess in a red dress. The room was dimly lit with candles at the tables, dark wooden bar running the front width of the room, booths and intimate tables. People filled each table and a buzz of talking punctuated by laughter almost drowned out the guitar player in the corner.

      “I see my friend,” she said.

      Rouleau was sitting with his back to the wall and rose at her approach. She noticed that he’d taken off his tie and suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He smiled as she slid into the chair across from him.

      “I phoned and reserved a table, otherwise, we never would’ve gotten in.”

      She looked around. “The whole market is crazy with people. New Year’s Eve at home was never like this.”

      “I imagine not. I took the liberty of ordering a few appetizers. What would you like to drink?”

      “Soda and cranberry.”

      He signalled for the waitress and placed her order. He already had a glass of red wine in front of him. “So it looks like we’re spending the major holidays together.”

      “Our paths do seem to be crossing.” She smiled. “How was the reception?”

      “Good.” He paused. “My ex-wife remarried this afternoon. She asked me to attend and I did it for her.” He drank deeply from his glass.

      “That must have been hard.”

      “It was the least I could do.”

      “You still care for her.”

      He shrugged. “I had my chance. If I could pass on any advice, it would be not to let the job take over. You can lose too much.” He smiled wryly although his eyes were sad. She found herself liking him at that moment, a wounded man who didn’t wallow in it.

      They both leaned back as the waitress set down a plate of steaming mussels and crusty bread. They nodded at each other and dug in.

      “These are wonderful,” said Kala. “I love seafood.” Wine and garlic broth dripped from her lips onto the napkin. She reached for another mussel.

      “I was just hoping you weren’t allergic. I have some paté and finger food coming just in case. So what did you want to tell me about the case?”

      “I discovered something interesting today. Tom Underwood and Susan Halliday have been having an affair for the past year. They were planning to leave their spouses.”

      Rouleau stopped with a piece of bread in mid-air and looked at her. “Who else knew?”

      “That’s the thing. Susan believes nobody, but I can think of a few who would be very СКАЧАТЬ