Stonechild and Rouleau Mysteries 5-Book Bundle. Brenda Chapman

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      He smiled as he pulled back from her. “Stay out of trouble.” He patted her rear end hard enough to leave a mark, if she hadn’t been wearing a layer of down.

      “Always,” she responded.

      She locked the door after he left and watched through the curtain in the living room until she was certain he’d gone. She drifted into the kitchen. As usual, Clinton’s dishes were rinsed and neatly stacked in the sink. She’d made him bacon and eggs but hadn’t eaten any herself. It was odd this feeling of never being hungry.

      She took a coffee mug from the cupboard over the sink and poured herself a cup from the coffeemaker. The first few swallows washed away the taste of him in her mouth. She pushed the hair out of her eyes, catching sight of her reflection in the window. When had she become this old woman with tangled hair and haunted eyes?

      She crossed the floor and sat down heavily at the kitchen table. She stared into her coffee cup and tried to find the energy to drink. A flush of heat travelled up her neck and cheeks and she remembered that she still wore her down coat. She wiggled one arm out of a sleeve and paper crinkled in the pocket. The note! She reached inside and pulled it out, smoothing it on the table as she shrugged out of the other sleeve. A smile tugged at her lips. Pauline.

      She was always leaving notes for people in unexpected places. An obsessive walker, she’d drop messages in the mailbox or under windshield wipers if it was too early or too late to visit. This one was short and unsigned. The letters were jerky as if Pauline’d leaned the paper against a tree while she scrawled the message. The usual place? Nine a.m.

      Susan sighed deeply. Maybe her friend was back from the deep well inside herself where she’d retreated to grieve. They’d hardly spoken since Tom died, but now Pauline seemed willing to revive their daily walks down by the Rideau River. Not for the first time, she was glad that Pauline had never found out about her and Tom. It would have strained their friendship, perhaps irreparably, and Susan would be bereft without this link to Tom and her past to hang onto, especially now.

      As their relationship had blossomed, Tom had confided how bad he felt about Pauline and their divorce and what it had done to Geraldine and Hunter. The weight of it had become a burden of guilt exacerbated by his failed second marriage and what he knew lay ahead for Charlotte. He’d gone to visit Hunter at her urging and had spent time with Pauline after she told him that making restitution would help to heal Pauline’s wounds — and his own. He’d been mending fences and had been finding a measure of peace before his death. This knowledge gave her solace now.

      That last night when he’d come over, he’d told her that he was ready to move out of the house he shared with Laurel to find an apartment in downtown Ottawa. He’d wait for her there to break free of Clinton. He didn’t care if they stayed in Ottawa, but if he fought for joint custody of Charlotte, it would be best if they remained somewhere in Ontario. He didn’t want to do to Charlotte what he’d done to Geraldine and Hunter, but she knew he was worried about how Clinton would react to her departure and would leave this city for her. She hadn’t told Tom how bad it had gotten at home, but she wondered now if he’d guessed and that was why he’d been willing to make a move. She’d been stronger that last night, determined to face Clinton and tell him that their marriage was over. Tom had given her strength. Now … well now she could barely muster the energy to lift this full cup of coffee to her lips.

      The sun had risen enough so that Susan could see the dark outline of trees beyond the patio doors. Cloud cover would keep the day a sullen grey but it would be plenty light enough for a tramp along the riverbank in Chapman Mills Conservation Area, a ten minute drive across Prince of Wales Drive south of Winding Way. Normally, she’d walk the distance, but today she’d be too cold by the time she reached their meeting spot.

      Susan stirred herself to stand up and get moving. If she hurried, there would be time for a quick bath and a bowl of granola before she set out to meet Pauline. Fresh air and a walk with her oldest friend could be all she needed to get her energy back. It would be two weeks before Clinton returned home from the base. Time enough to pull herself out of this dangerous funk. Time enough to decide the best way to leave him.

      37

      Sunday, February 26, 9:05 a.m.

      The snow crunched underfoot as if she was walking on shattered glass. Susan inhaled the sharp edge of cold air and surveyed the stretch of Rideau River cradled in pine, Douglas fir, scraggly cedar, and snowy banks. The current was strong in places, with eddies of black water visible under the thinning layer of ice that snaked upriver toward the rapids. This sudden cold snap couldn’t hold back the approaching spring. Already, the ice had been weakened by the two weeks of unprecedented warmth.

      Susan spotted Pauline standing in the shadow of a giant pine at the beginning of the path. From spring to fall this was a walking trail with heavy traffic morning to night. Not so in the winter on a frigid morning. It was unusually cold, but Susan had dressed warmly in her down coat and lined nylon pants. She’d put her hood up and wrapped a wool scarf around her neck so that the stinging wind only found her cheeks and forehead. Pauline looked to be dressed as warmly as well and completely in white — ski jacket, ski pants, hat, gloves, and boots. Dark, wrap-around sunglasses were the only bit of colour.

      “I could hardly see you standing there,” Susan said, puffing as she approached the meeting spot. “You blend right into the snowy day.”

      They hugged. Pauline laughed and held up a thermos. “Glad you could make it. I brought sweet tea for our break on the trail.”

      “I think we might be alone on our walk. This north wind will keep people inside.”

      “I don’t mind if you don’t. We can just walk to the big bend in the river. It’s only twenty minutes in.”

      They started into the wood side by side. The path paralleled the river, winding through pine, cedar, tamarack, birch, and stretches of bulrushes. Leafless sumac and honeysuckle bushes lined the river bank in places, their branches poking out from under a coat of snow. The canopy of branches had kept the snow from the path for the most part. Cross country skiers and hikers had flattened down the rest so walking was not difficult. Inside the woods they were protected from the harshest bite of the wind. When the trail wound into openings next to the river, the wind bit into their cheeks, but just as quickly they’d be back amongst the trees. Susan could hear the wind soughing through the pines, a lonely, animal sound, and yet she found it comforting. It reminded her that the wind was powerful energy that nobody could control. When she leaned way back, she saw the tree tops swaying like skirted women dancing a languid samba. She smiled at the image and let the peace of the day replace the unsettled thoughts that were with her now every waking moment. She turned toward Pauline.

      “I didn’t see your car in the lot.”

      “No, I had an appointment and came directly from there. I parked on a side street off Winding Way because I was early and wanted to stretch my legs. I’ve been sadly neglecting my exercise regime with all the turmoil. I’ll take a lift back to my car if you don’t mind.”

      It was the closest Pauline had come to mentioning Tom’s death. Susan linked her arm through Pauline’s. “It’s been a tough time but we’ll get through it together.”

      Pauline’s head swivelled so that she was looking at Susan through her dark sunglasses. They completely hid her eyes. Her mouth was a thin, tight line, and for the first time Susan felt a twinge of unease.

      “Yes, together. It’s the only way for friends to get through,” said Pauline.

      Susan СКАЧАТЬ