FALSEIMPRESSIONS

AMEGANSCOTT/MICHAELELLIOTTMYSTERY

SANDRANIKOLAI

FALSEIMPRESSIONSCopyright©2012bySandraNikolaiwww.sandranikolai.com

Thisisaworkoffiction.Allnames,characters,institutions,places,andeventsportrayedinthisnovelareeitherproductsoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously.Anyresemblancetoactualpersons,livingordead,businessestablishments,eventsorlocalesisentirelycoincidental.

Allrightsreserved,includingtherighttoreproducethisbook,orportionsthereof,inanyformorbyanymeans.

VemcortPublishingISBN:978-0-9880389-7-4(eBook)ISBN:978-0-9880389-1-2(Paperback)

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CONTENTS

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Chapter1Chapter2Chapter3Chapter4Chapter5Chapter6Chapter7Chapter8Chapter9Chapter10Chapter11Chapter12Chapter13Chapter14Chapter15Chapter16Chapter17Chapter18Chapter19Chapter20Chapter21Chapter22Chapter23Chapter24Chapter25Chapter26Chapter27Chapter28Chapter29Chapter30Chapter31

AcknowledgmentsAbouttheAuthor

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ThisnovelisdedicatedtothememoryofmyparentswhoinspiredmewithaseriesofNancyDrewmysterybookswhenIwastenyearsold.

I

1

f I’d known I would be visiting the morgue just weeks after I saw myhusbandsittingwithPamatPueblo’sCafé,I’dhavegoneovertosayhello

thatsunnyMondayafternooninJulyandmaybechangeddestiny.ButIwaslateforafiveo’clockappointment.Thatnight,ItoldTomI’dseenhimatMontreal’strendydowntowncafé.“Yeah…talkaboutweird,”hesaid,undoinghistieandtossingitonthebed.

“Iwaswaiting for a clientwhen this blonde comesover and sits down atmytable. I didn’t recognize her until she introduced herself as your boss andmentionedtheChristmaspartylastyear.”

“She’salsothefriendItoldyouabout.TheoneIgotothemoviesandhavedinnerwitheveryweek.Didn’tshementionthat?”

He nodded absently, as if it were a vaguememory. “What did the doctorsay?”

My eyes began to sting, and I fought back the tears. “I’m not pregnant—again. So much for those home pregnancy tests.” I tried to rationalize thesituation.After all,we’d only been trying for sixmonths. Statistics showed ittookmost couples up to a year or longer to conceive. “The doctor toldme torelax andnot think about it.Sameconclusion as the shrink.Easy for them.” Iwriggledoutofmyjeansandkickedthemoff,myfrustrationflyingacross thefloorwiththem.“Neitherofushadsiblings.It’swhatmakeshavingababysospecial.Isittoomuchtoask?Imean,we’rebothhealthy.”

“It’smy fault,Megan. I’m never home.All those business trips to dig upnewclients—”

“It’s not your fault. Besides, those new clients got you that promotion toseniormanager.Nowthatyou’llbehomemoreoften,Icanrelaxand—”

“Notreally.Ihavetotravelevenmorenow.”Myheartsank.“You’renotserious.Imissyousomuchalready.”He shrugged. “That’swhyBOTCORpaysme the big bucks—to sell their

software.”BOTCOR Dynamics customized multimedia-training programs, to be

precise.Wayovermyhead.“Okay,sotheupsideisthatwe’llhavemoremoneytoinvestinthenewhouse.”

Forthreeyears,we’dpooledeveryextradimeintoasavingsaccounttowardthepurchaseofatwo-storybrickhomeintheprestigiouswestendofthecity—an area renowned for its tall trees and spacious parks. According to mycalculations,we’dbeabletoleavetheleasedcondoapartmentandmoveintoahousebynextspring.

“Whatdowehavesofar?Aboutfortythousand?”Iaskedhim.“Yeah…almost.”Tomdroppedhisshirtonthebed,thenunzippedhispants

andsteppedoutofthem.Hewalkedoverandslidhisarmsaroundme.“Aboutthebaby,it’llhappen.You’llsee.”

Istoodonmytoesandwrappedmyarmsaroundhisneck.“Youknowthattryingtogetpregnantisthemostimportantpart,don’tyou?”Ikissedhimonthelips.

He responded with a passion that made me want him even more andremindedmehowmuchIlovedhim.

Welingeredinbedlater,myheadrestingagainsthisback.Eveninthedimlight,Icouldseethesmalltattoooftwointertwiningrosesonhislowerback—thesameonewe’dbothhadengravedwhilehoneymooninginNassau.

“Iwishwecouldpackafewthingsandflyawaytoanexoticplace,”Isaid.“Whenwas the last timewe took avacation? Imean, a real vacation.Onourhoneymoon?”

“Yeah.”Heturnedtofaceme.“Mmm…tellyouwhat.I’ll try to takesome

timeoff.We’llgoawayforaweekend.Okay?”“You’veworkedeveryweekendfor the last sixmonths.Pleasedon’tmake

promisesyoucan’tkeep.”“I’llmakeithappen.Ipromise.”

Imanagedtogetaseatonthebustoworkthenextmorning—arareoccurrenceonaweekdayinthiscityofmultitudes.Itookitasagoodluckomenonthishot,humiddayandenjoyedtheviewofthemajesticmaplesandhistoricsitesalongSherbrookeStreetevenmore.

Halfanhourlater,Igotoffandwalkeddowntheblocktothefifteen-storybuilding that housed Bradford Publishing. I crossed the lobby, flashedmy IDcardatCarloatthefrontdesk,andtooktheelevatoruptothesixthfloor.

Lucie, the fresh-out-of-college receptionist Pam had hired last month,greetedmewith awave fromacrossherdeskas she spoke intoherheadset. Imademywaydownthecorridorandpassedtheglass-framedboardroom.KaylaWarren,theprojectcoordinator,wassittinginaclosed-doormeetingtherewithaclient and a woman named Helena who was a freelance ghostwriter like me.Nextupwastheadminassistant’soffice.EmilySaunderswastappingawayonher keyboardwhile talking into her headset. Lots of giggling andweird lingogoingon.Definitelynotwork-related,buttypicalforthetwenty-one-year-old.

MinutesafterI’darrivedatmydesk,voicesdriftedinfromPam’sofficeatthe far end of the corridor. Bradford’s offices only occupied fifteen hundredsquarefeet,soconversationsflowedeasilythroughtheairwhenthedoorswereleftopen.Icouldn’ttellwhotheotherwomanwas,buthertoneofvoicegrewargumentativeas“bitch”andotherslursreachedmyears.

Emily strolled in. “Who is that?” shewhispered, pointing a thumb towardPam’soffice.

“I haven’t a clue.” I did a double take. She was wearing a white blousealmostidenticaltotheonePamhadpurchasedlastweekatHoltRenfrew.Dittofortheredlipstick—

MythoughtsscatteredasthealtercationinPam’sofficeescalated.“I’mnot sleeping with him,” Pam shouted. “You have me confused with

someoneelse.”“I doubt it,” the otherwoman said, her tone curt. “Keep this inmind:My

familydoesn’ttoleratescandals.Wedon’tgetridofpeoplewhodisruptourlivesbypayingthemoffeither.”

“Isthatathreat?”“Callitpricelessadvice.”Footsteps approached. A woman with a stride that said, “Get out of my

way!”whizzedpastmyoffice.Well-coiffedhair,darkbluesuit,lotsofmakeup,fiftyish.Oldmoney.

ItwasTricia,thewifeofcompanypresident,BillBradford.Emilyturnedtome,herfaceashadepaler.“OhmyGod!What’sshedoing

here?”Themaindoorslammedshut.Irushedoutoftheoffice,Emilyonmyheels,andalmostcollidedwithPam

asshepeekedoutintothecorridor.“Good.She’sgone.”PamlookedpastmetoEmily,perceptionflickeringin

hereyesasshetookinthefamiliarblouseandshadeoflipstick.“WhatdidMrs.B.want?”Emilyaskedher, as if shehadn’toverheard the

conversation.“Nothing toworryabout.”Pamwavedahand in theair.“Em,didyoucall

thelabtofindoutifthephotosforthecookbookprojectwereready?”“Oops,Iforgot.Igotrealbusy.”Emilytwirledastrandoflongblondehair

aroundherfinger—ahabitshefellintowhenevershewascaughtinalie.“CallRaynow,”Pamsaid.“Ifthephotosareready,runoverandpickthem

up.WehavetoapprovethemASAP.”Emily’seyeslitup.She’dbeendatingRayFelton,photographerandkarate

enthusiast, on and off since he’d joined the company weeks ago. “Okay, butwhatabouttheclientswe’remeetingwithinhalfanhour?”

Pamgaveherapointedlook.“I’mmeetingwiththem.”“ButIneedtheirsignaturesonthecontractsthelawyersprepared.”

“Bringmethepaperwork.I’lltakecareofit.”“Whatever.”Emilyscowled,thengavemeaside-glanceandleft.I waited until she was out of hearing range, then said to Pam, “What an

attitude!Nowondershegotfiredfromherlastjob.”“Shewaslaidoff.There’sabigdifference.”Ishrugged.PamhadbelievedEmily’staleabouthavinglostherformerjob

due to downsizing, but I hadn’t.My phone call to Emily’s last employer hadconfirmedshe’dlied,butPamhaddecidedtokeepheronanyway.

“I realize she’smade a fewmistakes,” Pam said, “but shewants to learn.She’s just an ambitious girl trying to assert herself in this cutthroat world.Anyway, I can’t fireher.Wherewould shego?Companies aredownsizing allovertheplace.”

Isaidnothing.ItwasclearthatPamhadmadeuphermind.“IknowyouthinkI’marealsuckwhenitcomestounderdogslikeEmily.So

maybeIam.”Shewavedthetopicaway.“Come,let’ssitdown.”EnteringPam’sofficewaslikesteppingintoadifferentdecade.Thespacious

roomhad recentlybeen revamped in ablack-and-white60sdécor theme.Twoblack-and-white pieces of optical artwork, supposedly worth a small fortune,filledthewallatthefarback.Thecircular“opart”generatedmovementthroughvisual illusion, but it was enough to have anyone reaching for their migrainemeds. In the center of the room, a glass table with chrome legs provided alanding strip for three narrow metal sculptures winding their way up liketornadoes from hell—the creation of a localartiste whose bookBradford hadpublished.Sixblackvinylchairswithchrometrimcompletedthesteelylook.

The redo—along with a hefty salary increase—was Bradford’s way ofrewardingPamfor the stringofVIPclients she’dbrought inover the last twoyears.Thelist includedcorporategurus,five-starchefs,andfashioniconswhowere thrilled at the notion of producing their memoirs through BradfordPublishing,themostreputablepublisherintown.ThetalkwasthatPam’scharmhadluredthemin,butinsidersknewheroffertopromotetheclient’sbookwaswhat finalized the deal. From software to chocolate truffles to gold-platedbookmarks, her clients got the best freebies for their book launch. Not to

mentionmediakitsandTVinterviews.ThemetaltipsofPam’sthree-inchheelsclickedagainsttheblack-and-white

checkered linoleum as she moved to her desk, the trail of Prada perfumelingeringintheairbehindher.Shesunkintoablackleatherchair.“IguessyouheardeverythingMrs.B.said.”

“Hardnotto.”Isatdown,glancedathercollectionofcatfigurinesdisplayedin a corner bookcase. Trips-without-sex gifts from the oldermen she’d dated.Shehadn’taddedanyotherpiecessinceJanuary.

Sheleanedforwardandwhispered,“IfMrs.B.isrightaboutherhusband,Ineedtofindoutwhothehellisspreadingrumorsaboutme.Ihaveafeelingit’ssomeonefromtheoffice.”

Ikeptmyvoicelow.“Who?”“IheardEmandLucie talkingby thecoffeemachineyesterday.Emsaid I

dated differentmenmore often than she changed underwear. Howwould sheknow?Ionlyconfideinyou.”

“Maybesheoverheardyoutalkingonthephone.Soundtravelswellinhere.”“Maybe.”Shepaused.“IheardLuciesaythatMr.B.ogledmeinmeetings.

Thegossipcouldhavereachedhiswife.”“Itdoesn’tmeananything.Everybodyknowshe’sabigflirt.Heoglesallthe

girls.”Shegavealittlenodbutdidn’tseemtotallyconvinced.“Mrs.B.isjustfishing,”Isaid.“Ifyoudidnothingwrong,whyworryabout

it?”“You’reright.Shecan’tproveadamnthing.Tohellwithit.”Shedismissed

thetopic.“Thanksagainforlistening,Megan.”“Isn’t that what friends are for?” I smiled. “By the way, Tom toldme he

bumpedintoyouatPueblo’s.”“Youknow,hedidn’tevenrecognizeme,”shesaid,glancingaway.“Iwasso

embarrassed.HemusthavethoughtIwastryingtopickhimuporsomething.”Shelaughed,pushingstrandsofshortwhiteblondehairoffherface.

I laughed too. Pamhad datedmoremen in the last year than other thirty-three-year-oldwomenhadinalifetime.Heronestipulation:nomarriedmen.

“You’llfindsomeonespecialoneday,”Isaid.“Justwaitandsee.”“Noway,”shesaid.“The‘whitepicketfence’fantasydoesn’tworkforme

anymore.I’mallabouthavingagoodtimewithnostringsattached.Usethem,thenlosethem.Andbelieveme,I’menjoyingeverymomentofit.”Glossyredlipstickplayeduphersmile.

I should have known better than to go down that road again. A suaveinvestmentbrokerhaddatedherforalmost twoyears,evenpromised tomarryher.WhenPamdiscoveredhewasmarriedandhadtwokids,hernaivetédied—andwithitherdream.

She reached into her in-basket. “Can you fit a new client into yourschedule?”

“Sure.”I’dneverrefusedajobfromPam.She’dsentsomuchworkmywaythat Bradford had become my sole source of income two years later. Eventhough Iworkedathomemostof the time, she’darranged forme tohavemyownofficeheretoo.Friendshiphaditsprivileges.

Pam handed me a book and a flash drive. “Michael Elliott, a true crimewriter.Heself-publishedhisfirstbook.It’sabouthiscareerasaninvestigativereporter.Heneedshelpwiththesecondonehe’sdrafted.It’sontheflashdrive.He’s sohot, Iwas tempted to takeon theprojectmyself.”She laughed. “He’spromotinghisfirstbookaroundtown,sotrytoworkaroundhisschedule.Givehisproject threeweeks tops.Focusonclarityandorganizationof thematerial,consistencyofvoice.Youknowtheroutine.Billthecompanyasusual.”

Backatmydesk,IpickedupTheInsideTrack,thebookPamhadgivenme.Therewasnophotooftheauthoronthebackcover,soIcheckedtheinsideflap.Thereitwas.

Pamwasright.MichaelElliottwas“hot”…andafamiliarfacefrommypast.ThelasttimeI’dseenhim,hewasreadingTrumanCapote’sInColdBloodwhileourEnglishLitprofessorlecturedtheclassonRenaissanceculture.Ihadasecret“thing”forthisboywiththetousledbrownhairandblueeyes,buthedidn’tevenknowIexisted.Thenextsemester,Iheardhe’dleftMcGillUniversitytoattendtheSchoolofJournalismatRyersoninToronto.

I leafed through thepagesof his book. Itwas a compilationof newspaper

articleshe’dwrittenoncriminalactivityinmajorcitiesacrossthecountryoverthe last decade. Topics ranged from fraudulent marketing schemes to childmolesters and included reports on ensuing legal proceedings. I read aninvestigativepiecehe’dwrittenontheillicitguntradeinCanadaanddiscoveredhe’dwonanational award for it.Myadmiration for him suddenly soared. I’dhavelovedtoreadmore,butIneededtoworkonhisnewproject.

I popped the flash drive into my computer and spent the rest of the dayskimming throughMichael’smanuscript.Drug Trafficking in Canada focusedonasingleandobvioustopic.Iglimpsedpassageshereandtherethatreferredtoorganizedcrimegroups,anonymousinformants,andpoliceintervention.IhadtoassumethatMichaelhaddonehishomeworkandtheinformationwasaccurate.There was no time to check it. However, I did notice a less than smoothtransition in the flow of the contents. Topics and dates were assembled in ahaphazardmanner—notinchronologicalorderortheme.That’swhereIcamein.AndfromwhereIsat,threeweekswouldbeatightdeadlinetomeet.

Laterthatafternoon,Pamstoppedbymyofficeonherwayout.“Mr.B.justcalled.HewantsmetoattendaVIPmeetingwithhimtomorrowmorning,butI’mscheduledforpublicityphotoswithMichaelElliott then.Wouldyoufill informeattheshoot?It’llgiveyouachancetointroduceyourself.”Shegavemeanexpectantlook.

“Sure,”Isaid.

Thenextday,Ifeltlikeaschoolgirlandfussedwithmyhairforhalfanhour.Icouldn’t decidewhat towear and changed three timesbefore choosing a lightbluejacketandskirt.

I was applying lipstick in the bathroom when Tom peeked in, lookingimpressiveinadarksuitandtie,briefcaseinhand.“Peter’scomingbythecondotodropoffhiscompanycaratlunchtime.”Hestaredatme.“Ithoughtyousaidyou’dbehometoday.”

“Somethingcameupatthelastminute,”Isaid.

“Willyoubebackbynoon?”“Idon’tknow.Can’tyouwaituntilPetergetshere?”“No.Ihavetomeetwithaclientatten.”Hecheckedhiswatch.“Inaboutan

hour. Then I’m taking him out for lunch. On top of that, I’ve got a blastedheadache.”Hefrowned.

“Again?”“It’sokay.Ipoppedtwopills.”“Well…can’tyoucallPeterandsetanothertime?”“No. I need his car formy trip toToronto this afternoon. I have to go.A

taxi’swaitingdownstairs.”Hewalkedaway.“Wait!Where’syourcompanycar?”Ifollowedhimdownthehallway.“It’s with the mechanic for a tune-up.” He opened the front door, then

glanced back at me. “Please, Megan, you have to get back here in time forPeter.”

“Youcan’tdothistome.Ihaveclientstoo,youknow.”“Sorry.Ihavenochoice.”Heshutthedoorbehindhim.Damn!

I

2

entered Bradford’s photography studio and found Michael sittingcomfortably in a director’s chair, looking more charismatic than I

remembered.Heworeadarkjacketoverlightpantsandabuttoned-downsportsshirt.His tanned,chiseledfeaturessuggestedapreferencefor rigorousoutdoorpursuits,suchasmountainclimbingorsailboating,ratherthanwriting.Tousledbrownhairstillframedthoseblueeyes.

IwassurprisedtoseeEmilythere,chattingwiththemakeupartist.HadPamasked both of us to stand in for her at the shoot? Off to the side, Ray wascheckingthelighting.

IwalkeduptoMichaelandintroducedmyself.He stood up and shook my hand with a firm grasp. “Right. You’re my

ghostwriter.Pamtoldmeaboutyou.”Hesmiled,keptstaringatme.“Thisisn’tacome-online,butIknowyoufromsomewhere.”

Ilaughed.“YouwereinmyEnglishLitclassatMcGill.”“Ah, yes, I remember you now. You used to sit at the back of Professor

Becker’sclass.Ikepttryingtotalktoyou,butyoukeptignoringme.”Hissmilewidened.

Our eyes locked in a split-second of body chemistry, and I felt the bloodrushingtomyface.

Heglancedatmyweddingring.“Soyou’remarriednow.”“Yes,”Isaid.

“Howlong?”“Fiveyears.”Emily edged her way in and put a hand on his arm. “Um…Michael, we

shouldgetstarted.WouldyouliketositdownsoRaycantakesomepictures?”Sheswitchedhergaze tome.“We’ll takesomeofyouwithMichael inabit.”Shedismissedmewithanodofherhead.

Istoodofftothesideandwatched.Betweenshots,Emilyfoundanyandeveryexcusetoeaseherwayoverand

chatwithMichael.Shefussedwithhisshirtcollar,askedifhewantedsomethingtodrink,madesurehisjacketfelljustso...

Michael kept his cool.My admiration for theman grew each time Emilyinvadedhisprivatespace.

BeforeIknewit,itwaseleveno’clock.Peterwassupposedtocomebythecondoatnoon.IwasstillangrywithTomandhatedthewayhe’ddumpedthematterofthecompanycaronme,butIdidn’twanttoleavePeterstranded.I’dhavetoheadforhomesoon.

“Okay,Megan,”Emilycalledout.“Weonlyneedafewquickshotsofyou.”HermessagewassubtlebutIgotit.AsIsatdowninachairnexttoMichael,hesaid,“Toobadyouneversatthis

closetomeinclass.”Hegrinned.Ichangedthesubject.“DoyoumissMontreal?”“Yes.Especiallythedowntownarea.IgrewupinWestmountand—”“Michael,didyouknowtheBradfords lived inWestmount?”Emilycut in.

“Theirkidswent toSelwynHouse, anexclusiveall-boysprivate school in thearea.Reallyexpensive.Everheardoftheplace?”

“Yes,IattendedSelwynHouse,”hesaid.“Seriously? You were a rich man’s kid from Westmount?” Emily’s eyes

widened,andIcouldalmostseethedollarsignslightupbehindthem.Michaelshrugged.“Iwasaspoiledbrat.Myparentsbelievedthediscipline

wouldcureme.”“Well, I have the perfect antidote for that.”Emily laughed. “I know some

superhotspots in townwherewecanhangout.Wecancheckoutacoupleof

themlater.”Shesmiledathim,waiting.Justthen,Raysteppedintotakemorepictures.“Sorrytobreakuptheparty,

butIhaveascheduletofollow.Ineedtotakemoreshots.”HefrownedatEmily.Emilyglaredathim.“Wehaveenoughphotos.Theshootisover.”Raydisagreed.Heinsistedontakingmoreshots.Emilyrefused.Theymoved

offtotheside,wranglingbackandforth,thetensionmountingbetweenthem.With no reason to hang around any longer, I said toMichael, “I’d like to

meet later to discuss the timeline for your manuscript. Are you free thisafternoon?”

“Yes,Iam,”hesaid.“Is threeo’clockgoodforyou?”Outof thecornerofmyeye,IsawEmily

approaching.“Threeo’clockisgood,”hesaid.“CanwemeetinmysuiteattheElegance

Hotel?It’salotquieterthanyouroffice.”Iwasn’t happy aboutmeetingwith him at the hotel, but judging from his

earnestexpression,Icouldn’trefuse.“Okay.What’syourroomnumber?”“788.”“Seeyoulater.”IignoredEmily’sfrostystareandleft.

Grayhair at the temples, deepwrinkles, and rimlessglasses.PeterEwanshadagedtenyearssinceI’dseenhimweeksearlier.Aswestoodbythefrontdoortomyapartment, hehandedme the carkeysbutdropped them.Webothmadeamovetoretrievethem.Iwasfaster.

“It’s a beige Ford sedan,” he said. “I parked it at the back of thecondominiuminlot16,likeTomsaid.Thepapersareintheglovecompartment.Thelicensenumberisonthekeytag.Ihopeeverythingisfine.”Hehesitated,asifheweretryingtocomeupwithsomethingelsetosay,thenquicklyasked,“Doyoudrivetowork,Megan?”

“No,Itakethebus,”Isaid.Henodded,thenrearrangedhisglassesoverprotrudingearsandstaredatthe

floor.Anotherawkwardpause.“How’sAnndoing?”Iasked.“Ann?Oh,she’sfine.Stilltalkingaboutthebrunchwewentto—whenwasit

—amonthago?”“Yes.Itwaslotsoffun.”TocelebrateTom’spromotion,PeterandAnnhad

invitedus toa fancybrunchatLeCartet. I’d initiallymet the forty-somethingcouplethroughTomataBOTCORChristmaspartyseveralyearsearlier.We’dgottentogetherafewtimessincethen.

“AnnandI,wedon’tsocializealotthesedays,withbothofusworkingandthekidsandall.Soitwasaspecialtreatforustoo.”

“Maybewecandoitagainsometime,”Isaid.Hesmiledatme.“Really?Annwillbeveryhappytohearthat.”“Wouldyoulikearidebackhomeortowork?”Hiseyesbulged.“IntheFord?”“No,ImeantI’dcallataxiforyou.”“Oh…no,thanks.I’vealreadyarrangedforataxitopickmeupdownstairs.

Well,goodbye.”Hefumbledwiththelockonthedoorandlethimselfout.

Itwastwoo’clockandTomhadn’treturnedfromhislunchmeeting.I’dhopedtoseehimbeforehedroveoff toToronto,but Ihad to take thebusandgomeetMichaelintown.

Shortlybeforethree,Isteppedfromtheswelteringoutdoorheatintotheair-conditioned Elegance Hotel, one of the jewels in the city’s historic GoldenSquareMile.Marble tiles paved the lobby, and softmusic—maybeChopin—driftedmyway from speakers hidden behind parted drapery that revealed thebusystreet.

A reporter’s salary couldn’t begin to cover one week’s stay in this hotel.Thenagain,ifyouwere“arichman’skidfromWestmount,”chanceswereyoucouldeasilyaffordtostayhere.

Lookingcomfortable inaT-shirtand jeans,Michaelwelcomedme intohissuite and ushered me along a short hallway. The gray wall-to-wall carpetextendedintoaspaciouslivingroom.

Isquintedatthesunlightfloodinginthroughwhiteverticalblindssuspendedfromceilingtofloor.

“Here,”hesaid.“I’llfixthat.”Hedrewtheblindshalfway.On my right were two oversized reprints of unknown origin—a flowery

designyouwouldn’t recalleven ifyou’dseen thesameone indozensofhotelrooms.Beneaththemsataroyalbluesofa.Inthecenterofthelivingroom,twomagentaarmchairsflankedacoffeetable.

Michaelgesturedtowardthearmchairs.“Please,haveaseat.”Iplacedmybriefcasenext to thearmchaironthe leftandsatdown.Along

the wall facingmewas a credenza topped with a flat-screen TV, an AM/FMradio,alargeplant,andwaterbottles.Acorridortotheleftledtothebedroomandbathroom.Apurplesofahuggedthefarwall.

“Wantsomecoldwater?”heasked.“Ipickedupapackattheconveniencestoremoments ago.” He took two bottles and handedme one, then sat downoppositeme.

“Thanks.”Itwistedthecapoff,tookasip,sensedthecoolnesstrickledownmy throat. Ihadn’t realizedhowparched Iwas.Orwas it a caseofhormonesgonewild?“Howdidyoulikethephotoshoot?”Iaskedhim,raisingafamiliartopic.

“Ray was great,” he said. “Emily confirmed they’re going to place twophotosinTheGazettethisweekwithapromopieceaboutme.”Hedranksomewater.

Ihadtoknow.“DidRayandEmilystopsquabblingafterIleft?”“Yes.ThenEmilyescortedmedownintheelevator.”Hepaused.“Areyou

andEmilygoodfriends?”“No.Why?”“Ipracticallyhadtofightheroff.”Hechuckled,buthisfadingsmiletoldme

otherwise.Another strike against Emily. Imade amental note to tell Pam about her,

thenputmybottleonthetableandmovedthingsalong.Iretrievedapenandacanaryyellownotepadfrommybriefcase.“I’dliketo

setupaschedulethat’llworkforbothofus.Wecanstartwithyourbook-signingeventsoverthenextthreeweeks.Ifyougivemethedatesandtimes,wecansetupourmeetingsaroundthem.”

“Sure.”Hepulledouthiscellphone.“I’llcheckmycalendar.”I copied the dates andwe discussed potentialmeeting times.Michael had

book-signingsandinterviewsonmostdays,whichonlylefttheeveningsfreeforustomeet.

“Unlessitcausesaproblemathome,”hesaid.“No, it’s okay. I’d like to review your manuscript tomorrow.” I scanned

Michael’sschedule.“WecouldmeetagainFridayafternoontodiscussit.Istwoo’clockokay?”

“Noproblem.Here?Inmysuite?”IgottheimpressionhewasstilltryingtoavoidEmily.“Okay,”Isaid.“Now,

aboutyourmanuscript...”IexplainedtheconcernIhadwiththeflowofthetext.“Younoticed that,didn’tyou?It’snotmyusualwayofdoing things,but I

wasinahurry.Sorry.”“Youdon’thavetoapologize.”“ThenI’dliketoexplain.”“Goahead.”Isatback.“Iwascoveringacoupleofillegaldrugcaseslastmonth.Meetingwithstreet

informantsandhandingoverevidence to thepolice. Igot thego-ahead to ridealongwiththepoliceondrugbustsaslongasIstayedbehindthescenes.TheirmaneuverswentonlongerthanI’dplanned.BeforeIknewit,thepromotourformyfirstbookwasabouttobegin.Iranoutoftime.”

Isecretlyacknowledgedtheriskinherentinhiswork,hiscouragetofollowthrough in spite of it…and themellow toneof his voice.Qualities thatwoulddrawanywomantohim,nodoubtaboutit.

Michael went on. “Some details might be sketchy. Askme about them. Ididn’tsetupthemanuscriptthewayIwantedeither,butyoualreadyknowthat.”

“Don’tworryaboutit.We’llworktogethertogetitright.”

Wespenttherestoftheafternoongroupingsimilartopicsandsettingupthecontents inchronologicalorder.Weagreed that I’dreviewasegmentata timeand meet with him afterward to discuss any questions I had. I checked themeetingtimestomakecertainwehadenoughfreeeveningstocovertheentiremanuscript.

Michaelglancedathiswatch.“Sixo’clockalready?”“Oh.Doyouhavetobesomewhere?”Ihurriedtogathermynotes.“Justdinner.Wanttojoinme?”“Dinner?”Myfridgecontainedsixeggs,twoapples,awedgeofcheese,stale

bagels,andajarofmustard.“If you can’t make it, I understand,” he said, mistaking my silence for a

refusal.“Yourhusbandiswaiting—”“No,Tomisawayonbusiness.I’lljoinyou.”

Ablastofhotairgreetedus likeanopenovendooraswesteppedoutside theElegance.Theheavydowntowntrafficaddedtotheheatandhumiditythathadlingered in the city for weeks. Luckily, it was a short walk to Santino’s—Michael’ssuggestionfordinner.

IwasfamiliarwiththefineItalianrestaurantownedandoperatedbyafamilyofthesamenamefordecades.Theredbrickfaçadewasunpretentious,addingtoitsreputationforexcellentfoodandservice.

Indoors, the foyer housed a huge porcelain fountain with three ceramicangelspouringwaterfromdecantersintoabasin.Fontanadegliangeliwastheinscription on the gold plaque adorning it.Wood beams along the ceiling andwallslentanoldcountryambiancetotheplace.Aswewaitedtobeseated,thearomaofpastasaucewaftedinmydirectionandstirredmyappetite.

Themaitred’walkeduptous,thebuttonsofhisblacksatinveststrainingtocontainabellythatwasatestimonytothesuccessoftheplace—ifnothisloveofItaliancuisine.

“Hi,Luigi,”Michaelsaidtohim.“Tablefortwo,please.”

“Ihavetheperfettotableforyou,”Luigigestured,hisforefingerandthumblinkedtoforman“okay”sign.HeledMichaelandmetoasecludedcornerattheback of the restaurant, and I realized too late that he’d read more into ourrelationshipthanintended.

Maria arrived to takeourorders for pasta, then returned to fill our glasseswithredwine.

Aftershe’dleft,IsaidtoMichael,“I’mcuriousaboutsomething.Youself-publishedyourfirstbook,butyou’renotgoingthesameroutewithyoursecondbook.Whynot?”

“The truth? I’m lousyat self-promotion.After a friend toldmeaboutPamandBradfordPublishing, Imetwithher.And fromwhat I’ve seen so far, I’mgladIdid.”

“Bradford hasmany successful clients because of Pam’s efforts.You’re ingoodhands.”Itookasipofwine.

“Areyouhappilymarried?”heasked,catchingmeoffguard.“Yes…ofcourse.”“Anykids?”“Notyet.We’reworkingonit.Haveyoueverbeenmarried?”“Nosuchluck.”Ashadowflittedoverhisfeatures.“That’ssurprising.”Icaughtmyself.“Imean—Iwouldthink—”“Haven’t found the rightgirl yet.”Hebrieflyglancedaway. “Doyouplay

anysports?”Mylifehadbecomeprogressivelytedious,buthedidn’thavetoknow.“No.

I’mtoobusywithwork.Andyou?”“Igooutforajoginthemorning.Havetokeepfit.”Hepattedanabdomen

thatwouldbetheenvyofmostmen.“Youtravelmuch?”“We’vetriedtogetaway,butTomtravelsalotonbusiness.”“Evenonweekends?”“Yes.Sometimesheleavesfortendaysstraight.”“Itmustgetlonelyforyou.”“Ikeepbusy.”Idrankmorewine.“Wherever I travel, I canbe surroundedbycrowdsofpeopleand still feel

lonely.It’splaincrazy,isn’tit?”Hisexpressionreflectedsincerity.Withouttrying,he’dforcedmetoconfront

asadtruthdeepinsideme:thatImissedTommorethanever.ButI’dbedamnedifIwasgoingtostartfeelingsorryformyselfinfrontofa

stranger.Itookafewmoresipsofwineandsearchedforalessinvasivetopicofdiscussion.

I foundmyanswer in the terracottapots,old-countrychinaplates,andoddpiecesofearthenwarethatdecoratedthewoodenbeamsalongthewalls.Arowofantiquevases includedporcelainpieces thatwerechipped.Either theywereold and valuable, or someone had damaged them on purpose to make themappearthatway.“Iwonderifthosevasesarerealorfake.Whatdoyouthink?”

Mytacticworked.Michael began to tell me how one of his friends had a knack for finding

valuableantiqueswhilebrowsinginfleamarkets.Imadesurewestucktotopicsthatwerejustasneutralthroughouttherestofourdinner.

Laterthatevening,IopenedthedoortomyapartmentandwassurprisedtofindTomsittinginthelivingroom.“Tom,you’restillhere.Whathappened?”Ishutthedoorandnoticedhisluggageinthehallway.

“Ihadanaccident,”hesaid.“AwheelspunoffPeter’scar.Icrashedintoacoupleofparkedcarsdowntown.GoodthingIwasn’tdrivingfast.Itsavedmeatriptothehospital—orthemorgue.”

“Oh,myGod!”Irusheduptohim.“Howareyoufeeling?”Herubbedthebackofhisneck.“Ihaveaheadacheandabitofwhiplash.I’ll

be fine.” He frowned. “It’s eight o’clock. I tried reaching you at the office.Wherewereyou?”

“Withanewclient.”We’dagreedfromthestartthatwewouldn’tdiscussourboringjobsorclientswitheachother,soitwasn’tasifIhadtotellhimaboutMichaelandhowhe’ddrivenmebackhomeinafancysportscar.“DidyoutellPeterabouttheaccident?AndBOTCOR?”

Henodded.“Peterwentnuts.Thepoorguyalmosthadanervousbreakdownwhen I toldhim.BOTCORputmeona first-class flight toToronto tomorrowmorning and gaveme a travel bonus. They’re pissing in their pants, hoping Iwon’tsuethem.”

“Ithoughtthecompanyensuredregularmaintenancechecksontheircars.”“They do. The auto shop has high standards, but mistakes can happen

anywhere.”Heshrugged.“It’sPeterI’mworriedabout.He’salreadygotenoughissueswithmanagement.”

“Whatdoyoumean?”“Yourememberwhathesaidatthebrunch?Howitwasthethirdtimethey’d

passedhimoverforapromotion,howstunnedhewaswhentheyhandedittome—anewbie?”

“Yes,buthe jokedabout it andsaidhewas tooold for the jobanyway,” Isaid.

Tomrubbedhistemple.“It’sadifferentstoryatwork.Hetoldmehe’dlosteveryone’srespectthereandblamesmanagement.Sometimeshegetsrealangryaboutit.”

“Maybeheshouldn’thavelefthisoldjobasachemist.”“Don’tgetmewrong.He’sahardworker.That’swhyIkepthimonmysales

team.”Itmightnothavebeenthebesttimetore-visitthesubject,butIgaveitashot

anyway. “I’m looking forward to getting away for aweekend. Except for theoccasionaloutings,werarelygoout.”

“Whataboutyourfriendatwork?Yougooutwithheronceinawhile.”“Pam?No,Imeantwe—asinyouandme.Itgetssolonelyherewithoutyou,

Tom.”“IalreadytoldyouI’mworkingonit.”Hestoodup,massagedthebackof

hisneck.“Sorry.Didn’tmeantosnap.It’sthisawfulheadache.I’mgoingtobed.Ihaveanearlyflight.”

“Howlongwillyoubegone?”“Acoupleofdays.”Hekissedme,thenwalkedoutoftheroom.

IworkedfromhomeonThursdayandtriedtogetaholdofPam,butLucietoldme she was out of the office with clients and wouldn’t be available untiltomorrow.Ischeduledameetingwithherthen.

Fridaynoon,Iarrivedatwork.AsIpassedEmily’soffice,Isawherliftthepapier-mâché rabbit on her bookcase and put a small shiny item under it. Iassumeditwasthekeytoherdeskbutdidn’tgiveitanotherthought.

IknockedonPam’sdoor.“Lunchisserved.”Iheldupabrownpaperbag.“Two cream cheese and smoked salmon bagels. Two coffee lattes. A bag ofchocolatealmondstoshare.”

“Great!”Pamsprangfromherchair.“I’vebeeninmeetingswithclientsallmorningandI’mstarving.Let’seat.”

I dug the wrapped bagels out of the bag and placed them on the glasstabletop, then sat in one of the chrome chairs. “It’s beenweeks sincewe gottogetherforlunch.”

“I know,” she said, sitting down. “I’ve been so busy.” She glanced at herwatch.“Andmynextmeetingisinhalfanhour.Thanksforpickingtheseup.”Sheunwrappedherbagel.“LuciesaidyouwantedtomeettotalkaboutMichaelElliott.”

“Actually,it’smoreaboutEmily.”Ibriefedheronthephotoshoot.“Em’s a bit of a flirt, but I figured if youwere there, she’d behave.”Pam

tookabiteofherbagel.“What? You expected me to babysit her? She was all overMichael. And

fromwhathetoldme,sheharassedhimintheelevatortoo.”“Oh,no.ThelastthingIwantisacomplaintreachingMr.orMrs.B.about

this.They’llthinkIcan’tcontrolmystaff.”Isaidnothingandbitintomybagel.Pamwenton.“ThepossibilityoflosingaclientlikeMichaelElliottbecause

ofanincident likethiswouldreflectsobadlyonme.I’ll talktoEmilyand—”Shestopped,seemedtoberevisitingherplanofaction.“No,it’stoolateforthat.Fromwhatyoujusttoldme,Ishouldfireherandgetitoverwith.”

“It’syourdecision,”Isaid.Emily strolled in and I almost choked on my bagel. She stood there,

documentsinhand,hereyesboringintome.Itwasclearshe’doverheardpart—ifnotall—ofourconversation.“Pam,thisisthepaperworkyouwantedfortheDemetriaccount.”

“Thanks.”Pamwavedahand.“Leavethemonmydesk,Em.”“SohowdidyourVIPmeetinggoyesterday?”Emilyaskedher.“Fine,”Pamsaid,turningherattentionbacktoherbagel.“Justfine?That’sall?”“Idon’thavetimetotalkaboutit,”Pamsaid,hermouthfull.Emily’s lips tightened.“Mrs.B. leftmessagesforyou.Lucie tried toreach

youbut—”“Iknow,”Pamsaid,annoyancerisinginhervoice.“Seriously,youdon’thave tobitemyheadoff,”Emily shouted.She flung

thedocumentsacrossPam’sdesk,topplinganemptycoffeemug,thenstormedout.

“Anger-management issues,”Pamwhispered.She tooka sipofher coffee.“Allthingsconsidered,Ihavealotmorereasonstofireher.I’lltakecareofit.”

“WhataboutthecallsfromMrs.B?”“I’lltakecareofthattoo.”

IwenttomyscheduledmeetingwithMichaelattheEleganceFridayafternoon.“AreporterfromTheGazettejustphonedmeforaninterview,”hesaidaswe

stoodinhissuite.“He’sonhiswayup.HadIknownearlier,Iwouldhavecalledyou.”

“Oh…that’sokay.”“Canyoucomebackinhalfanhour?”“Sure. I’ll leave these here for now.” Frommy briefcase, I pulled out the

flashdriveandmanuscript. I founda free spotamong thecrumpledpapersonthecoffeetableandplacedtheitemsthere.Itbeatluggingthembackandforth.

“Seeyoulater.”Theheatandhumiditythathungoverthecitywaswearingmedown.Lucky

forme,itwasonlyablockdownSherbrookeStreettoBradfordPublishing.Iswungintomyofficeanddroppedmybriefcaseatthefootofthedesk,then

satdowntocheckmymessages.Threewerefromclients; thefourthwasfromTom.He’dcalledfromToronto.Itcouldonlymeanonething.He’dmadegoodonhispromisetospendaweekendtogether.

Notintendingtospoilhissurprise,someonefromaresorthadphonedmeathome earlier to request confirmation of the weekend booking. I searched mybriefcaseforthecanaryyellowsheetI’dwrittentheinformationonbutcouldn’tfind it. I opened upmy agenda andwrote downwhat I remembered from thecall,thenphonedTomback.

“Myclientwantsmetostickaroundafewmoredays,”hesaid,lettingoutasigh.“Ican’twaittospendaweekendawayfromthecityforachange.”

“Metoo,”Isaid,smilingintothephone.IlookedatthepagewhereI’djottedtheinformation.“LouisefromPineviewresortcalledtoconfirmourAugust10weekend.DinnerandJacuzzifortwo.Soundsrelaxing.”

“Pineview?”Hepaused.“Damnit.Ourpeople inadminscrewedupagain.I’mworkingon amarketingprojectwithPeter and the teamatGraniteRidgethatweekend.”

Disappointment enveloped me. “Oh. I thought you’d planned somethingspecialforthetwoofus.”

“I’msorry,Megan.Nexttime.Ipromise.”“It’s always the next time,” Imuttered, then regrettedmywords, knowing

thathishardworkwasforourmutualbenefit.“Ihave thePineviewnumber ifyouwanttocallthem.”

“No, I’llhave theadminpeople fix theirmistake.Have togonow.Talk toyoulater.”

Iscannedmynotes.“Wait.Onemore thing.Amanfromthe life insurancecompanycalled.Hedidn’tsaywhatitwasabout.”

“Yeah,hecalledmebefore.Triedtoup-sellmeonapricierpolicy.I’mgladI’mnotintheinsurancebusiness.”Hechuckled.“Okay,gottago.Bye,Megan.”

“Bye.”Ihungup.NoweekendalonewithTom.Again.Ireachedforthechocolate-coveredalmondsremainingfrommylunchwith

Pam.Theyhelpedtocalmme,butIneededtovent.Iopenedupmye-mail.Timeforacleanupofoldfiles.Pressingthedelete

buttonoverandoverprovidedanoutletformyfrustration.AfterI’dfinished,Icalledbacktheclientswho’dleftmessages.Twowantedbillinginformation;thethirdwasn’tthere,soIleftamessage.

IdugintomybriefcaseandretrievedthreelettersthatI’dpickedupfromthelobbymailboxonmywayout thecondoearlier.Mrs.Speckhadstoodnext tome then,making idlechitchat,gawking through thickblack-rimmedglassesatthelettersinmyhand.I’dheardhowshechattedupthelettercarriereverydaywhilehesortedthe letters,bills,andsmallpackages.He’dhurry toget the jobdone, but it was all he could do to stop Mrs. Speck from looking over hisshoulder.

Ishreddedthefirst twoenvelopes.Junkmail.GiventhatourbillpaymentswentthroughTom’sbankaccount,itamazedmehowadvertisersmanagedtogetaholdofourhomeaddress.

The last envelope was addressed to me. The return address read: SunnyWateringHole,BistroHotSpot,Montreal,Québec.I’dneverheardoftheplace.I opened it up. Inside was a photo of Tom and Pam. The scene was oddlyfamiliar.Ofcourse.ItwasashotofthemsittingatPueblo’s.ItwasthesamedayI’d seen them therebecausePamwaswearing the sameoutfit.Thephotohadbeentakenfrominsideacar.Thewindowwasn’trolleddownalltheway.

A search online turned up nothing for SunnyWatering Hole. No surprisethere.IassumedoneofTom’sfriendshadsentmethephotoasaprank.ProbablyGreg, thenewmarketing recruit.Tomtoldmeoneof theguys fromworkhadsprayedGregwithwoman’sperfumeatCoby’slastweekonhisfortiethbirthdayparty. Ithad takenthreephonecalls toconvinceGreg’spregnantwife,Ashley,thathehadn’tbeenwithanotherwoman.I’dfeltsorryforhiswife.IfI’dbeeninhersituation,I’dhavelostittoo.

ThephotowasoldnewsandnotworthcallingTomabout.He’dgetagoodlaughoutofitonhisreturn.

Onmy return toMichael’s hotel suite, I found the door slightly ajar. I heardvoicesandfiguredthereporterwasstillthere.Ipeekedinside.

Awomanwasstandinginthelivingroom,herbacktome.Darkbrownhairfelltohershouldersincurls.Ashortskirtshowedoffatrimwaistandlonglegs.

“Icomeallthewayhereandyousayyou’retoobusytomeetmeforcoffee,”thewomansaid.“Areyouserious?”

“Iam.Lookaround.”Michaelgesturedtowardthelivingroom.Thewomantookafewstepstotheleft,disappearingfrommylineofsight.

“So much paper... Which reminds me. I saw your publicity photo in thenewspaper thismorning, the onewith that pretty redhead from the publishingcompany—Megan whatever-her-name-is. Are you holding out on me?” sheaskedinasoftvoice,asifshewerepromisingachildhewouldn’tbepunishedifheowneduptobadbehavior.“Well?”

“You mentioned you had something for me,” Michael said, soundingimpatient.

Shewalkedbacktohim.“Yes.”Shereachedintohersmallshoulderbagandhandedhimapendantonagoldchain. “You forgot this inmyhotel room theothernight.Iknowhowimportantitistoyou.Andtothewomanyou’llwanttoshareyourlifewith.”

Heaccepteditfromherwithoutaword.“Ihavetorunbutweneedtotalk,Michael.Seeyouatdinnertonight.Maybe

Icanconvinceyoutoacceptyourgrandmother’ssettlement.”Shekissedhimonthelips.

Thatwasmycue.Isteppedback,slowlycountedtofive,thenknockedatthedoor.

Michael swung it open. “Hi,Megan. Good timing.” He introduced me toJaneBarlow.

IfJanewassurprisedatseeingmeintheflesh,shedidn’tshowit.Herblue-grayeyesstudiedmeforamomentbeforesheofferedsomevagueexcuseaboutrushingoff.

AsMichaelandIsettledinthemagentaarmchairsaroundthecoffeetable,hesaid,“Janeworksasaparalegal.She’sintowntoseeaclient.”

“Uh-huh.”“We first met a year ago in a Montreal court when we sat in on a drug

possessioncase.WemetagaininaTorontocourthousewhenIwasworkingonadrugcasetheretwomonthsago.”

Whydidhefeelobligedtosharethesefactswithme?Hewent on. “We dated for a while afterward, but there’s nothing serious

betweenusnow.”For someunknown reason,heneeded to clarifyhis relationshipwith Jane.

Heconcludedhistalewithasmileandafamiliargazethatgavemebutterflies.I gatheredmy thoughts and reached for themanuscripton the table. Iwas

astonished to seemy note with the name Scott and the Pineview informationsittingontopofthepile.“Howdidthisgethere?”Iheldupthecanaryyellowpaper.

“Oh…Iliftedyourprintouttomakeroomforthereporter’sstuff,anditfelloutfromthebottom.Ithoughtitmightbeimportant.”

“It’snot.”Icrumpleditandplaceditbesidetheotherdiscardedpapersonthetable.

That evening, I watched the late night news on TV and caught a clip ofMontreal’sInternationalFireworksCompetition.Upuntil threeyearsago,Tomand I used to attend those events live. Then ourwork got in theway andwehardlyspenttimetogether.AlltosaythatIsawTomallofthreetimesoverthenexttwoweeks.

The first occasion was dinner Monday evening after he’d returned fromToronto. I surprised himwith a home-cookedmeal—a rare occurrence in ourkitchen.I’dcalledmymothertogettherecipeforherlasagna,andithadturnedoutprettygood.Shewouldhavebeenproud.

We’djustfinisheddinnerthatevening,whenTom’scellphonerang.Aftera

briefconversation,hehungupandannounced,“I’mgoing toCoby’s.Have tomeetwithanewclient.”

“Ithoughtweweregoingtospendaquieteveningtogether,”Isaid.Heshrugged.“Icouldn’tsaynototheguy.Ifthedealworksout,itmeansa

paybonusforme.”Hesuddenlygrimacedinpain,rubbedhistempleswithbothhands.“Yougotanyaspirin?Ifinishedmybottle.”

Istoodup.“Youkeepgettingtheseheadaches.Maybeyoushouldgoseeadoctor.”

“I’mokay.Iwentforaphysicalinthespring.It’sjuststress.”HefollowedmetothemasterbathroomwhereIpluckedthebottleofpillsfromthecabinetandhandedittohim.Heswallowedtwopillswithagulpofwater.Hesmiledatme,thenkissedmeonthelips.“Dinnerwasincredible.Don’twaitup.”

Ididn’t.IsawTomasecondtimethatweek.Iwasworkingathomewhenhearrived

fromNewYork.Hourslater,hepackedacleansetofclothesbeforerushingouttotakeaplanetoWindsor.

Thefollowingweek,Ispentanafternoonhelpinghimpackforaseven-daytrip toToronto.That tripwould takehim through toFriday,August10,whichwas thestartofhisworkingweekendwithPeterand the team.Another trip inwhatIimaginedwouldbeanendlessscheduleofthesame.

Ironically,IspentmoretimewithMichaelduringthosesametwoweeksthanwithmyownhusband.Book-signingsand interviewswith themedia filled thecrimewriter’sdays,soallourget-togethersturnedintodinnermeetings.Michaelwasokaywithourarrangementsincehepreferredtodiscusshisworkwithmeinpersonratherthanonthephoneorthroughemail.IwasokaywithitbecauseitmeantIwouldn’thavetoeatdinneralone.

Every third evening, I’d meet Michael at Santino’s. We discussed thematerial I’d reviewedsinceour lastmeeting.Whether Ineededclarificationoffacts or whether he had comments regarding my interpretation of them, ourconversationfocusedonwork.Butbythetimeweorderedcoffee,ourdiscussionhadspreadtoarangeoftopics,fromfavoritemoviestoleastfavoritepoliticians,interspersedwithhilariousexperiencesfromouryouthandhisbackpackingtrips

toEurope.He rarelymentioned his family except to say that his parentswere retired

and lived out of town. I didn’t talk much about my family either, except tomentionTom’sweirdcaraccidentandmyMom’spenchantforplayingbingo.

I looked forward to Michael’s easygoing rapport and to our discussionsduring dinner—the stuff of which I hadn’t experienced with Tom in years. Iwisheditcouldgoonlikethisforever,butMichaelwasgoingbacktoTorontosoon, and I doubted I’d ever see him again. Reality soon rushed in with areminder of my upcoming work schedule at Bradford and its state of dullpredictability.

WeweresittinginMichael’ssuitethatlastFriday,August10—mydeadlineforhisproject. Iusedhis laptopfora finalsaveof thefileandsentacopybyemailtoKaylaatBradfordminutesbeforeclosing.Sheconfirmedsecondslaterthatshe’dreceivedit.

Ileanedmyheadagainstthebackofthearmchair.“Wemadeit.”“No kidding.” Michael smiled. “I’m flying back to Toronto tomorrow. I

thought we could celebrate our success over dinner…unless you have otherplans.”

“Noplans.Tomisgonefortheweekend.Anotherbusinesstrip.”Henodded,familiarwithmymantrabynow.“HowaboutgoingtoSantino’s

foroldtime’ssake?”ThethoughtofhavingdinnerwithMichaelonelasttimegavemepangsof

nostalgia.I’donlyknownhimforafewweeks,but it felt likea lifetime.WithTomoutoftownforthemostpart,eveningmealswithMichaelhadgrownintoascomfortablearoutineasonewouldexpectfromtwopeopletryingtogetintoeachother’sheadeveryotherday.

ButtonightI’dhavetosaygoodbyetohim.Ihatedendings,especiallywhentheyhadtodowithfriendships.ThatI’dpickedmyfriendscarefullyallmylifeandhadsofewcloseoneswouldexplainmyreluctancetopartwiththem.

Wewereenjoyingourpastadishes—lasagnaforMichaelandravioliforme—whenhiscellphonerang.Hereachedforitandglancedatthedisplay.“Emily.Shekeepscallingme.Atthehoteltoo.”Hefrowned,putthephonebackinhis

pocket.Pamhadn’tsaidanythingsinceourchataboutEmily’sbehavioratthephoto

shoot. And she hadn’t fired her either. Whatever she’d told Emily obviouslyhadn’tstoppedherfromhoundingMichael.

WhyshouldIcareanyway?Hispersonallifewasnoneofmybusiness.Infact,Michaelwouldnolongerbeapartofmylifeaftertonight.Onlybrief

memorieswouldremain:ouranimateddiscussions, thewayhelaughedwhenItold him about a funny incident that happened to me when I was a kid, theintensityinhiseyesthatgavemebutterflies...

By the time Maria served coffee, the verbal exchange between us haddwindled toa fewwords.Michaelkepthiseyesdowncast. Icouldn’t tell ifhewaseager to leaveor sad thathewas.Onmypart,mixedemotionshad takenover.Icouldn’tthinkofanythingtosaywithoutsoundingtrite.

Michaeldrovemehomeafterward.Wedidn’tspeak,andIwasthankfulthatthelowhumoftheair-conditionerfilledthesilence.Whenwecametoastopatthe front of my condo, he surprised me when he turned off the engine andsteppedout.Hewalkedaroundtothepassengersideandopenedthedoorforme—notpartofhisusualroutinewhenhe’ddroppedmeoffbefore.

Heofferedhishand. I took itandgotoutof thecar.Westoodfacingeachotherforalongmoment.TheexpressiononhisfacewasaspainedasthewayIfelt.

“Ihatesayinggoodbye.”Hewrappedhisarmsaroundmeandheldmetight.“I’mgoingtomissyou,Megan.”Hislipsbrushedagainstmycheek.

Mixedemotionsranthroughme.Iswallowedhardandmuttered,“Yes…I’llmissyoutoo.”

Hesmiled.“Thanksforeverything.”As hemoved away, I sawMrs. Speck in the window of her second-floor

apartment.She’dopenedthecurtainsandwasstandingthere,bonyarmscrossed.Evenin themoonlight, Icouldseeherblack-rimmedglassesandhergrayhairpulledbackinatightbun.IpretendedIhadn’tnoticedherandturnedaway.

I waved goodbye to Michael one last time and watched him drive off,sadness addingweight to the humid night air. Iwas losing a friend, if not an

idealdinnercompanion.YetIfeltadeeperloss—onesimilartothepainI’dfeltwhenIwassixteen

andmyfirstboyfriendhaddumpedme.I thought theworldwouldcometoanendthen.

Get over it, I scoldedmyself. The world won’t come to an end. Besides,you’remarried.YouhaveTomandhelovesyou.

Yes,mylifewoulddefinitelygoonwithoutMichael.ButlittledidIknowhowsoonourpathswouldcrossagain.

I

3

sleptintillnoononSaturday.WithTomgonefortheweekend,Ihadlotsoftimetotacklethehousechores.Thephonerang.Itwasmymother.“So?AmIanonna-in-waitingthismonth?”sheasked,her

wordslacedwithahintoftheItaliandialectshe’dretainedsinceheryouth.“No,Mom,”Isaid.“Youdidn’tmaketheGrannylist.I’mnotpregnant.”“It can’t be,” she said. “You’re from Irish-Italian ancestry.Practically blue

blood.Lookatmy sevenbrothers and sisters andmy four in-laws.Theyhavethirty-threechildrenaltogether.Theirchildrenarealreadyhavingchildren.”

Araretumorhaddashedmymother’shopesofhavingmorechildrenafterIwasborn.Isuspectedshewaseagertohavemybabiesfillthatvoid—aseagerasIwastogivebirthtothem.“It’snotarace,Mom.”

“Iknow,but the timing isperfect,sodon’twait too long,”shesaid,as if Iwereholdingtheeggsbackfromthespermonpurpose.

“You can’t possibly imagine how often I blame myself for not gettingpregnant.Idon’tneedanotherguilttrip.”

Adeepsighattheotherend,thensilence.I’dhurt her feelings. “Sorry,Mom, I didn’tmean to take it outonyou,” I

saidsoftly.“Ihavetogetbacktoworknow.”“That’s theproblem.YouandTomwork toomuch.Youneed to takesome

timeoff.Goonatrip.YourfatherandIusedtotaketripseveryyear.”

“Ihaveajob,Mom.Ican’tleavewheneverIwant.”“Nothing should stand in the way of a happy marriage, Megan. Family

values.That’swhatmyparentsbroughtwiththemwhentheycrossedtheocean.That’swhatI’mteachingyounow.”

Igaveitanothertry.“I’minthemiddleofhousework,”Isaid.“I’llcallyoulater.Okay,Mom?”

“Okay,butnottoolate.I’mgoingtobingowithmyfriendstonight.”I’djusthauledoutthevacuumwhenthedoorbellrang.Iignoredit.Ithadto

beapeskysalesperson.Afterthefourthring,mypatienceranout.Islammedthebuttonontheintercominthehallwayandshouted,“Yes?”

“MadameThomasScott?”Amalevoiceechoedinthefoyerdownstairs.Whowouldusesuchanunusualversionofmyname?“Whoisthis?”“IamDetectiveLieutenantMoreauoftheSûretéduQuébec.”Iperceiveda

heavyFrench-Canadianaccentthistime.“Iwouldliketoseeyouaboutagravepersonalmatter.”

Agravepersonalmatter?Alumpsuddenlymaterializedinthepitofmystomach.Ibuzzedhiminand

openedthedoortomyapartment.My heart pounded as twomen in plainclothes stepped out of the elevator,

eachwearingabadgeonachainaroundhisneck.Astheyneared,IrecognizedtheinsigniaasthatoftheQuébecProvincialPoliceforce,orQPP,asknowntotheEnglish-speakingpopulation.

“Bonjour,Madame Scott. I amDetective Lieutenant JeanMoreau. This isDetectiveSergeantClaudeDuchaine.Maywecomein?”

“Ofcourse.”IcaughtthescentofcigarettesmokeonMoreau’sclothesashebreezedpastmeintothelivingroom.Atweedjacket,alilacshirt,andatiethatlookedasifithadbeenusedtowipeoffpaintbrushesgavetheimpressionhe’dselectedhisclothesinthedark.Whilestrandsofmousy-brownhairmadeafutileattempt to cover the topof his head, a thickmustache filled thenarrow spacebetweenhisthinlipsandapointynose.Sportingablackattachécase,hecouldhavepassedforafifty-year-oldsalesmanpeddlinginsurancedoor-to-door.

DuchainestoodatleastfourinchestallerandthatmuchwiderthanMoreau.

Abuttoned jacket strained to contain his beefy physique.His brown hairwascroppedshort,tingedblondontop,andbalancedoutasquarejaw.Iplacedhimataboutthirty-five.

“Pleasesitdown,”Isaid,indicatingoneoftwoblackleathersofas.“Non,merci,MadameScott,”Moreau answered for bothof them,his dark

eyespeeringatmefromundereyebrowsasbushyashismustache.“Butperhapsyouwouldliketositdown.”

Theirfacesweregrimwithpurpose.AsuddenweaknesshitmykneesandIsunkintothesofa.

“Weregrettoinformyou...”Moreaupaused.“Yourhusband,ThomasScott,isdead.”

Myheartbeatoutofcontrol.“No!Itcan’tbe.Itmustbeamistake.”“Itisnotamistake,Madame.”“Doyouhaveproof?”Moreaupulledablacknotebookfromhisjacketandflippeditopen.“Thirty-

fouryearsofage,slim,darkbrownhair, tattooof tworosesonthelowerback—”

Iraisedahand.“Stop…please.”Hehadjustconfirmedthat the loveofmylifewasgone.

Istartedtocry.IgrabbedtissuesfromaboxonthetableandsobbeduntilIthought my heart would break. All the while, the two police officers stoodwaiting.

I took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Thiswasn’t the time to fallapart. I needed answers. “I’m sorry,” I said, choking on thewords as Iwipedawaythetears.

“Thereisnoneedtoapologize,”Moreausaid.“Isthereanythingwecandoforyou?”

“Yes.CanyoutellmehowTomdied?”Moreaushookhishead.“Washeinacaraccident?”“No.”ThefactthatTommighthavediedfromastrokecrossedmymind.Hewasa

TypeA personality and his excessiveworkloadwouldn’t have helped any. I’dalsoreadthatyoungermenweren’tasimpervioustostrokesasdoctorshadoncethought.“Didhediefromastroke?”

Moreaushookhisheadagain.“Washeattacked?”Again,silence.I waved my hands in the air. “For God’s sake, Detective, you must have

someideaofthecauseofdeath.”“We expect an autopsy report in several days. I am not amedical expert,

MadameScott.”IbitmytongueandrefrainedfromtellinghimexactlywhatIthoughthewas.

InsteadIcameupwithmorequestions.“Wheredidhedie?Whofoundhim?”“Abusinessassociatethoughtsomethingwaswrongwhenyourhusbanddid

notmeethimbeforeascheduledgameofgolfthismorning,”Moreausaid.“Whatbusinessassociate?Doyouhaveaname?”HemotionedtoDuchaine.“Votrecalepin,sergent.”Thesergeantproducedhisownblacknotebook.“HisnameisPeterEwans.”

Duchaine’sheavyFrenchaccentimpliedhehadthesameheritageasMoreau.“Peter…yes,”Isaid.“HewasworkingwithTomthisweekend.”Moreaustudiedme.“MadameScott,didyoueversuspectyourhusbandwas

havinganaffair?”His question threwme. “An affair?Of course not.We’re trying to have a

baby.”Hekepthis eyesonme. “Thebodyof ayoungwomanwas foundnext to

yourhusband.”“What?”Isaid.Heglancedathisnotebook.“PamelaStrober.”Istaredathimindisbelief.“Pam?”“Youknowthiswoman?”“Yes.She’s—shewas—mybossatBradfordPublishing.”“Didyouknowthatyourhusbandwasspending theweekendwithherata

Pineviewcottage?”

“It’s impossible.Shedoesn’tdatemarriedmen.”Thatexcusenowsoundedso pathetic. As I did, I imagined. “Pineview?” The name now sunk in. “Tomdidn’tgotoPineview.”

MoreausaidafewwordsinFrenchtoDuchainewhotooknotes.Myknowledgeofthelanguagewasn’tperfect,butIdidmanagetograsple

mobile du meurtre—the motive for the murder. “You think my husband wasmurdered?”

Moreau raised an eyebrow. Was he surprised that I understood French?“Anythingispossible,”hesaid.“Wherewereyoulastnight,MadameScott?”

T

4

henewsofTom’sdeathpropelledmetomyfeet.“I’msorry,Detectives,”IsaidtoMoreauandDuchaine.“IwantmylawyerpresentbeforeIanswer

anymorequestions.”“Verywell.”MoreauputhisnotebookawayandsodidDuchaine.“Untilour

investigation iscomplete,wearewithholding informationabout thiscasefromthemedia.Consequently,weaskthatyoukeepourconversationconfidential.”

“Of course,” I said, then surprised myself by saying, “I want to see myhusband.”

Moreau frowned. “ButMadameScott, it is not necessary.His identity hasbeenconfirmed.”

“Ihavearighttoseehim,don’tI?”Henodded.“Asyouwish.Whenwouldbeconvenientforyou?”“Now.”

The tall steel and glass building on Parthenais Street housed the QPPheadquarters. It also housed the morgue—the destination for people who haddied under “unnatural circumstances” such as murders, suicides, and work-related deaths. The stench of the place alone was enough to kill you, so thecorpses had an advantage in this respect. No kidding. Combine the odors of

bleach,urine,fish,rottencheese,andformaldehydewithstainlesssteeltrolleysandrefrigeratordrawers,andyouhavethemorgue.

Anattendantledmetotheviewingarea,butnothingcouldhavepreparedmeforit.Agaspcaughtinmythroat.ItwasTom,allright,buthelookednothinglike the handsome husband I once knew and loved. The corpsewas that of ayoungmanwithpastywhiteskin,bluelips,andagonyetchedalloverhisface.Therewasnoindicationofaknifeorbulletwoundoranyothersignoftraumathat might point to a physical confrontation—at least not on the part of theexposedtorsomadevisibletome.

Onetruthsurfacedaboveallelse:Pam’sbodyhadbeenfoundnexttohis.Sadnesswashedovermeandsankdeepinsideuntilithurt.Whatwereyouthinking,Tom?Whywouldyouriskourmarriage,ourfuture?Howcouldyoubetrayme?He’dleftmetoosoon.Toosoontoshareourmostintimatelovesandfears.

Too soon to build a future and have children. Too soon to work things outbetweenus.

Thenagain,whatwastheretoworkout?Nothing.NotadamnthingbecausePamhadwalkedintoourlives.

Pam. My so-called close friend. My blood boiled at the thought of thatwomanandhowshe’dstolenthebestpartofmylifefrommeforever.

Anger replaced grief and surged inside me. I clenched my teeth infrustration.Agutturalsoundemittedfrommythroat.

“Mrs. Scott?”Themorgue attendant peered atme through rimless glasses.“Wehaveseveralpersonalitemsbelongingtoyourhusband,”hesaidinaquietvoice.“Wouldyouliketotakethemhomewithyou?”

“Yes,”Imanagedtosay.AfterIsignedthereleaseform,hegavemeaplasticsleevecontainingTom’s

keychain and leatherwallet.Thekeychainwas a letterT in sterling silver. I’dhadTom’sinitialsengravedonthewalletandgivenhimbothitemsasChristmasgiftslastyear.Inreturn,he’dgivenmeapairofdiamondstudearringsthatI’dworneverydaysince.TheattendantassuredmethatTom’sovernightbagandits

contentswouldbesenttomeafterforensicscompletedtheirexamination.Inkeepingwithprotocol,Moreauarrangedforapolicecruiser todriveme

back home. I didn’t object. Everything had happened so fast and seemed sosurreal—as if I’d just viewed amovie in fast-paced clips. I couldn’t trustmyemotionsormysenses.Itwouldn’thavebeenwisetowalkoutofherealoneinmystateofmind.

Backhome,Idriftedintothebedroomandopenedthedoortothewalk-incloset.Twohangers layon the floor.Tom’s sweaterswere indisarrayon the shelves.These signs gave the false impression he’d rushed off on a business trip andwould soon return. I picked up the wooden hangers—Tom didn’t use wirehangers—and folded his sweaters. I ranmy fingers along his shirts and suits,adjustingajacketthathunglopsidedandatiethatthreatenedtosliptothefloor.Iarrangedhisshoes,aligningeachpairineachcubicle.

Tom’sbriefcasewastuckedinacornerbehindarackofpants.Howodd.Ithadalwaysaccompaniedhimontrips.Ontheotherhand,hewouldn’thavehadmuchuseforitatPineview—notwithPamthere.Igavetheclosetafinalcheck,asiftheorderlinessofthisaspectofhisworldwouldsomehowpreparehimforthenextone,thenIshutthedoorbehindme.

Thefloorleadingtothekitchenstretchedahead.Ittookforevertogetthere.Thetablehadn’tbeencleared.Therewasapileofdirtydishesinthesink.

Ipulledoutachairandsatdown.Thenervesinmybodybegantounravel.I’dlosttheloveofmylife.I’dneverseeTomagain.ButIcouldn’tcryanymore.Somethingwasholdingmeback.

Therewasa simpleexplanation. I feltbetrayed.Tomhadbetrayedme.Hehadcheatedonmewithaclosefriend,afriendwhosaidshedidn’tdatemarriedmen.

Ilaughedoutloud.Howironic.ThemanI’dlovedforthepastfiveyears,Inowhatedwithanequaldoseofintensity.Itprovedthatyoudon’treallyknowsomeone—evenifyouthoughtyoudid.

Iranthroughtheeventsofrecentweeks,tryingtoevokethewarningsignsImighthavemissed,anythingthatcouldmakethepiecesfit.NothinghintedofanaffairbetweenTomandPam.NothingexcepttheirchancemeetingatPueblo’s…

Nomatter.PamhadbeenwithhimatPineview.Therewasno justificationforherpresencethere.Shehadn’tjustpoppedinSaturdaymorningtohaveacupofcoffeewithhimeither.Tomhadbeendisloyaltomeand,bysomeweirdtwistoffate,sohadPam.

Mymindwent on a tangent. I grappledwith the possibility theyhadbeenmurdered.Thenotionwasterribleenoughtofathom,butthefactthatthepolicemightconsidermeasuspectpetrifiedmeevenmore.ThatwaswhatMoreauhadimplied,hadn’the?ThatIhadamotive.GoodthingI’dhadthecommonsensetocutshorthisinterrogation.

IneededtotalktosomeoneItrusted.Ipickedupthephoneandhitthefirstspeedbutton.Afterthreerings,mymotheranswered.Iaskedifshe’dbehomethisafternoon.Shesaidyes.IsaidIwasgoingover.

TohellwithMoreau.

Itwas a ten-minute taxi ride tomymother’s two-roomcondominium.Severalyearsaftermyfatherhadpassedaway,she’dsoldtheirsmallsuburbanhomeandmoved downtown to be closer to me and have easier access to the shoppingareas.Herpension incomewasn’t enough to cover themortgagepayments, soI’dbeenhelpingherbygivingherafewhundreddollarseverymonth.Ididn’ttellTombecauseIrespectedherdesiretoappearself-sufficient.

Mymothernowledmeintothekitchen,ourusualchattingplacewheneverIvisitedher.“Youlookalittlepale,”shesaid.“Whydon’tyousitdownandeatsomething?”Shemotionedtowardtheservingplateofgrapes,Briecheese,andslicesoffreshItalianbreadshe’dplacedonthetable.Itcouldhaveservedfour.“Ifyouwantmeto,Icouldcookyousomepastainstead.”

“No,no,thisisfine.”Isatdownacrossfromher.“Mom,I’mafraidIhavebadnews.”She’dadmiredTom,so I tried tobegentlewhen Ibroke thenews

abouthim.Her eyeswelled up. “Oh,myGod, notmypreciousTom!”She shookher

head,disturbingacloudofwhitehairthathadoncebeendarkbrown.Herreactiondidn’tsurpriseme.Tomhadbeenthestandardbywhichshe’d

judgedallprevioussuitorsinmylife—notthattherehadbeenmany—butTomwarranted the right to become her son-in-law. She’d shown her approval bythrowing a lavish wedding reception that two hundred family members hadattended.

Shetookatissuefromthecounterandwipedhereyes,thensatinthechairnexttome.“Howdidithappen,Megan?”sheasked,placingahandonmine.

Hercaringtouchmovedme,butI’dpromisedmyselfearlierI’dbebraveforhersake.“Thepolicedon’tknow,”Isaid,fightingbackthetears.“Theyaskedmenottotalkaboutthecasewithanyone,sokeepitbetweenus,okay?”

“But the family needs to know. We have to hold a wake, make funeralarrangements—”

“Induetime,Mom.There’ssomethingelseyouneedtoknow.”Her grief changed to shockwhen I told her about Pam. “Hewas sleeping

with another woman?” she whispered, as if saying it any louder would bringdownGod’swrathuponus.

“Morethanthat.Shewasmyfriend.Canyouimagine?Ican’twrapmyheadaroundit.”TheemotionalbarrierI’dfoughtsohardtomaintainuntilnowbrokedown.“Oh,Mom,Ilovedhimsomuch,”Isaid,shaking,thetearsrushingforth.“Wewantedbabies.”

“Iknow,Iknow.”Shestoodup,grabbedacouplemoretissues,andhandedthemtome.

Idabbedatmyeyes.“Itrustedhim.Heliedtome.HowcouldIhavebeensoblind?”

“These things happen. Sometimes the truth is right in front of us and wedon’tseeit—ordon’twanttoseeit.Itmightseemdifficultnow,butyou’llfindawaytogoon.”

Thesadnessinhereyestoldmesheunderstoodmypain.Myfatherhaddiedfromcancer sixyearsearlier,but the losswasas fresh inhermind todayas it

wasinmine.As far as Tomwas concerned, I was way ahead of the game: I’d cutmy

lossesthemomentthepolicehadtoldmeaboutPam.Mymothergesturedtowardtheplatesonthetableagain.“Wecan’tletthis

foodgotowaste,”shesaid,sittingdown.“Eat.Youneedyourstrength.”I’d slipped into the roleof thepampereddaughteronceagain—aprivilege

thathadnoagelimitswhenitcametomymother.Iwasn’thungry,buttopleaseher,Ipluckedaclusterofgrapesandputitinmyplate.“Whataboutyou?Aren’tyoueating?”

“The doctor said I have to cut down on bread and sweets and watch mycholesterol.”Sheplacedahandonatummythathadexpandedintoherwaistlineovertheyears.“Ah,whattheheckdotheyknowanyway?”Sheleanedforward,tookasliceofbreadfromtheplate,andspreadbutteroverit.

Wehadcoffeeandbiscottiinthelivingroom.Isatinmyfather’sburgundywing chair and ran my hands along the smooth teak armrests. My motherpolishedthearmreststwiceayearwithlemonoil,eventhoughthechairdidn’tgetmuchuseanymore.She’drefusedtogiveitawayaftermyfatherhaddied.“Familyvalues,”she’dsayasanexcusetohangontoit,believingthatdeepinherheart,itkeptherclosetohim.

I indulged in amoment of self-pity, knowing that I’d never feel that wayabout Tom. Lesson learned. I’d havemy head examined before I’d ever trustanothermanagain.

ThesolaceI’dfoundatmymother’svanishedwhenIreturnedhome.Iwanderedinto thebedroomand stared at theunmadebed. Itwasn’t right to sleep in thesamesheetsI’dsharedwithamanwhohadmarriedmeforbetterorforworseandhad chosen to givemeworse.Even if I’d foundout about his affairwithPamafterhisdeath,itdidn’tlessenthepainandrejectionany.

I tore the sheets off the bed, stripped off the pillowcases, and ditched thewholelotinagarbagebag.ThesheetsI’dstoredinthelinenclosetmetthesame

fateexceptforasetI’dreceivedasagiftfrommymotherthatIhadn’tusedyet.Ifingeredmyweddingring—agoldbanddottedwithtinydiamondchips.I

slippeditoffandputitinmyjewelrybox.Iremovedmydiamondearringsandplaced them in the box too. “There. Now it’s over for good, you two-timingcheat.”

I raced to the computer in my office. Within seconds, I’d deleted everydigital photo of Pam taken at Bradford’s Christmas party, at staff birthdayevents,atdinnersweshared...Satisfied,Imademywaybacktothebedroom.

A cacophony of phones echoed down the hallway. The one in my homeofficerangwithanormalringtone,andtheoneinthekitchenhadarollingringtone.Theofficewascloser.Irushedbackthereandgrabbedthereceiver.

“Hello,Megan.ThisisPeterEwans.”He’dsurprisedme.“Oh…Peter,howareyou?”Mywordsalmostdeniedthe

factTomwasdead.“Idon’tknowifyou’veheard…aboutTom.”“Yes.Thepolicewerehereearlier.”“AnnandI…we’dliketoofferourcondolences.”“Thankyou.”“Tom’sdeathwassuchashocktous.Wecan’t imaginewhatyou’regoing

through.Iwantyoutoknow,formypart,I’velostadearfriend.”Adearfriend?Strangechoiceofwords.IfonlyIcouldthinkstraight.Ihad

somanyquestions.“ThepolicetoldmeyoufoundTom.”“That’sright,”Petersaid.“Iwentlookingforhimwhenhedidn’tmeetme

before our tee-off. I tried his cottage first, but the door was locked. I lookedthroughthefrontwindowandsawhimfacedownonthefloor,notmoving.”

“Werethereanysignsofastruggle?”“I saw broken cups and plates on the floor near the kitchen table. I guess

TomandPamwerehavingbreakfastwhen—”Hestopped.“It’sokay.IknowallaboutPam.”Heletoutasigh.“I’msosorry,Megan.Tomtoldmethingsweren’tgoing

toowellbetweenyoutwolately.”“Whatthings?”

“Hesaidyouwereintheprocessofgettingadivorce.”“Adivorce?”Ilaughedattheabsurdityofit.“Helied.”Peterwent on as if he hadn’t heardme. “The teambrought theirwives to

Pineview.Itwasacompanyouting.Iwashopingtoseeyouthere.Ididn’tknowTomwasbringingPam.”

I lost it.“Therewasno talkofdivorce!Doyouhearme,Peter?YouknewTomwashavinganaffair,didn’tyou?You’recoveringupforhim.”

“No,that’snottrue.Heonlyrecentlytoldmeaboutthedivorce…threatenedto fireme if I toldyouaboutPam…saidhedidn’twant tohurtyou.”Anotherdeepsigh.“Megan, I’mfifty-twoyearsold. It’snoteasy to findanother job. Ihave a home, family, my children to consider. I couldn’t afford to loseeverything.Notatthisstageofmylife.”

SoIwasn’ttheonlyonewho’dsufferedaninjustice.“WhathappenedafteryoufoundTom?”

“IranovertotellLouise,themanager.Shecalledthepolice.”Peterpaused.“Youaskedmeearlieraboutanysignsofastruggle.Dothepolicesuspectfoulplay?”

“Idon’tknow.They’rewaitingfortheautopsyresults.”“I can tell you this much: It wasn’t a pretty sight. Tom and Pam were

sprawledoutontheirstomachsnotfarfromthedoor.”“Maybetheywereattacked,”Isaid.“Idon’tthinkso,”Petersaid.“Ididn’tseeanyblood.Justscratchmarkson

thefloor.”“Scratchmarks?”“As if theywere trying to crawl theirway out. Theywere foaming at the

mouthand—”I shut himout.That gross image and theoneofTom’spallidbodyon the

steelslabatthemorgueflashedbeforemyeyes.Anauseousfeelingsweptoverme.

I hungup andmade it to thebathroom just in time.After twopurges,mystomach settled. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, then went back to thebedroomandopenedawindow.

Thanks toabrief rainfall, cool,dryairhad replaced thehumidheatof thepastmonth—albeittemporarily.Beadsofwaterglistenedonthegrassandontheyellowandpurplepansiesliningthepathtothecondo.Itookinadeepbreath.Thefragrancefromlavenderflowersbelowwassoothingandrefreshing.Itookinanotherbreath,leftthewindowopenabit,andsatdownonthebed.

IhadtomakesenseofitallbeforeIlostmysanityforgood.IconcentratedonPeter’swords,thistimewithmoreobjectivity.Ifhe’dseen

notracesofbloodandnodisorderinthecottage,exceptforthedishesthatTomorPammight have knocked to the floor by accident,maybe they hadn’t beenmurderedafterall.Maybesomethingelsehadcausedtheirdeaths.

Ormaybeitwasjustwishfulthinkingonmypart.

N

5

othingdisturbsmemorethanhearingthephoneringearlyinthemorning.So when it broke the silence in my apartment onMonday morning, I

thought,“Oh,no!Nowwhat?”ThedisplayonthephonereadUNKNOWNCALLER.Myhearthammered

untilIheardafamiliarvoice.“Megan,didIwakeyou?”Michaelaskedattheotherend.Instant relief. “No, I was up.” Street traffic echoed in the background. It

soundedasifhewereoutdoorsornearanopenwindow.“Whereareyou?”“OutsidetheEleganceHotel.I’monmycell.Icalledtheoffice,buttheysaid

youweren’tgoingintoday.Areyouokay?”TherealityofTom’sdeathrushedbacktome.Iblurtedoutthenews.“I’mcomingover,”Michaelsaid.“Youdon’thaveto—”Buthe’dalreadyhungup.TheEleganceHotel?Wasn’thesupposedtobeinToronto?I’dfindoutsoon

enough.I checkedmywatch.Tenpastnine.Already?Onanynormalworkday, I’d

have been working on a project, meeting with a client, or confirmingappointmentsforupcomingprojects.

Butthisdaywasfarfromnormal.ThestaffatBradfordPublishinghadsurelyheardaboutPam’sdeathbynow,

with news of her affair with Tommaking the rounds of the employee gossip

circuit.Thepolicewereprobablythereandintheprocessofinterrogatingthem.Iimaginedtheshockwavesrunningthroughtheplace,thechaosinthework

routine,thephonesringingwithafloodofinquiriesfromPam’sclients...Regardless,Ihadtocalltheofficeasamatterofduty.Nouseputtingoffthe

inevitable.IhitthespeedbuttononthephonebeforeIchangedmymind.Kaylaansweredafterthefirstring.“Oh,Megan,howareyou?Iwasaboutto

callyou.”Someone next to her echoed my name. As the sound of chatter in the

background fell to a murmur, I visualized Kayla silencing the staff with anoutstretchedhand.Wasshestandinginthereceptionist’sarea?

“Everyone’s been so worried about you,” Kayla went on. “Our sincerecondolencesonthelossofyourhusband.”

“Thank you.” She’d excluded Pam. Whether Kayla was trying to beconsiderateordiscreet, Ididn’tknow.Maybeboth.“Ineed toprintoutahardcopyforaclient,soI’lldropbylater.I’mtakingtherestoftheweekoff.”

“Ofcourse.Takeallthetimeyouneed.Um…couldyouhangonasec?”Sheputmeonhold.Ihadnothingmoretosaytoherandcontemplatedhangingup,butshereturnedmomentslater.“Okay.I’maloneinmyofficenow.Thisplaceisazoo.Policeinvestigatorsareherequestioningeveryone.ThestaffisclingingtomelikeIhaveinsideinformationorsomething.IevencaughtEmilysnoopinginPam’sdeskagain.Shemusthaveaduplicatekey.”

Isaidnothing.IhadenoughproblemswithoutworryingaboutwhatkindofmischiefEmilywasgettingherselfintothistime.

Kaylawent straight to thepoint. “Wewere told thatTomandPamdiedatPineviewontheweekend.Doyouknowanythingmore?”

“No. The police are waiting for the autopsy results.” Just then, my doorbuzzerrang.Imadeupsomeexcuseaboutadeliveryandendedthecall.

IpressedtheintercombuttontoallowMichaelintothebuilding,openedmyapartmentdoor,andwaited.Itriedtobebrave,butwhenIsawhimstepoutoftheelevatorandrushdownthehallwaytowardme,Iburstintotears.

Hewrappedhisarmsaroundme.Hisleatherjacketmadeascrunchingnoiseasheheldmecloser.Ifeltsafeinhisembrace.ThenIrememberedthewayhis

lipshadbrushedagainstmycheekFridaynight,andIslowlypulledawayfromhim.

“Megan,I’msosorryforyour loss,”hesaid.“Ifyouwant to talkabout it,I’magoodlistener.”

His offer was sincere. I’d clearly misconstrued his embrace as one withromanticovertonesandfeltembarrassedaboutit.Iwavedhiminside.

Afterwesettledinthelivingroom,IgaveMichaelarecapofMoreau’svisit,Tom’saffairwithPam,andmytriptothemorgue.“Tomliedtome—evenaboutPineview.”

Michaelfrowned.“Hewantedtomakedamnsureyoudidn’tshowuptheretospoilhisplans.”

“I should have insisted on goingwith him,” I said,mymother’swords ofadvice coming to the fore. “If I’dbeen therewithhim,hemight still be alivetoday.”An image of Tom and Pam crawling on the floor and foaming at themouthpoppedintomyhead.Iblinked,wishingIcoulderaseitforgood.

“Didyouthinkhislifewasindanger?”“No.”“Sowhywouldyouhavegonewithhim?”HehadapointbutIinsisted.“Itmakesnodifference.Ishouldhave—”“The police don’t know the cause of death. It could have been accidental.

Right?”“ButIcouldhaveprevented—”“Stop blaming yourself.”Michael’s voice was firm. “Things happen for a

reason. Look at it this way. If Tom had brought you along, chances are theywouldhavefoundyourbodyonthefloornexttohis.”

Hislogichelpedmetoconcentrateonthefacts.Itallcametogetheratonceandtriggeredamemory.“MoreauaskedmewhereIwasFridaynight.”

“Whatdidyoutellhim?”“Nothing.”“Whynot?”“Iwasafraid.”“Ofwhat?”

“ThathewouldgetthewrongideaifItoldhimIwaswithyou,”Isaid.Michaelshrugged.“Itwasonlydinner.”Sothat’sallitwasforhim?Dinner?I’d clearly mistaken his smooth rapport with me as something else. “Of

course,buteighttimesinthepastthreeweeksmightraisearedflag.”“Itwasbusiness,”hesaid.“Wediscussedmywork.”“Moreaumightinterpretitasmuchmore.”“That’splaincrazy.”“Notatall.Whenhewashere,heaskedDuchainetotakenoteofapossible

motiveformurder.”“That’sastretch.”“Evenso,Ididn’twanttogivehimareasontofollowthroughonit.”“It’s a long shot,” Michael said. “First, he has to prove that Tom was

murdered.Second,usingour relationship as amotivedoesn’t cut it.Youhavenothingtoworryabout.”

Iweighedhisargumentsandoptedforcaution.“I’dfeelbetterifIknewmyrights.Ineedtofindalawyer.”

“I can refer you to one.DanCummings.He’s a top-notch criminal lawyerandaclosefriend.HeworksoutofMontrealandToronto.”

TherewassomethingaboutToronto.“Weren’tyousupposedtobeonaplanebackhomeSaturdaymorning?Forradiointerviews?”

“Ididthembyphoneinstead.Icouldn’tpassupaleadIpickeduponillegaldrug-traffickinghere.Itturnedouttobeimportant,soIdelayedmyflighthome.I’mgladIdid.”Hegavemeabriefsmile.

Ididn’tknowhowtointerprethisreply.Didhemeanhewasgladhestayedintowntofollowalead?Orwashegladtobeheretoconsoleme?

Ihad tostop readingmore intoMichael’swords thanwas there.“Whydidyoucallmethismorning?”

“Noparticularreason.”Hepaused.“Howisyourfamilytakingthenews?”“Mymother took it hard. The detective advisedme not to talk to anyone

aboutthecase,soIaskedhernottotelltherestofthefamilyfornow.”“I’llrespectyourconfidencetoo,”hesaid.“WhataboutTom’sfamily?”

“HisadoptiveparentsdiedyearsagoinaplanecrashtoSouthAmerica.HehasnootherrelativesthatIknowof.”

“Iwas very close tomy grandmother inToronto. She died about amonthago.”

“Howdidshedie?”“A nineteen-year-oldwas driving his father’s car and struck her one night

whenshewasoutwalkingthefamilydog.HewaschargedwithDUI.I’mstilldealingwiththerepercussions...financialandotherwise.”Atinymusclepulsatedalonghisjaw.

Standingoutsidehissuitethatday,I’doverheardJanementionasettlementthathad todowithhisgrandmother.Maybe theparalegalhadcounseled—andcomfortedhim—duringthattime.

Michaelwenton.“Youcan’tfightdestiny,buttimesureisagreathealer.”“I’llneedmorethantimeifthepolicestartquestioningmeagain,”Isaid.“Icanspeedthingsup.I’llcallDanrightnow.”Hepulledouthiscell.“He’s

noteasytoreach.Imighthavetoleaveamessage.Doyouhaveacellnumber?”Toobusywithwork,Ioftenletmycellphonedie.Withlandlineaccessatthe

office and home, I didn’t use it much anyway. “You can give himmy homenumber.”

Michaelplacedthecallandwaited.“He’snotanswering.”Heleftourphonenumberswithamessage.Hedugintohisjacketagainandpulledouthiswallet.“Here’sDan’sbusinesscard.”Hehelditouttome.

“Thanks.” I tucked it into the front pocket ofmy jeans. “Howabout somecoffee?Ionlyhaveinstant,butit’sColombian.”

“Soundsgood.”HetookaseatatthekitchentablewhileIfilledakettlewithwater.

Michael’spresencebroughtbackmemoriesof theenjoyableeveningswe’dsharedafterweworkedonhisbook.Therewasn’tabettertimethannowtotakeadvantageofthattrustingfriendshipbetweenus.

“Waitingfornewsfromthepoliceisdrivingmenuts,”Isaid.“Iknowhowyoufeel.It’sasifyourlife’sonhold.Speakingofwhich…I’ll

be flying back to Toronto on Tuesday. I scheduled book signings and have

enoughmaterialtostartworkingonmynextbook.”Emotionssurgedinsideme,readytoexplodelikeacanofsodapopsomeone

had shaken but not opened. “That’s great,” I said, forcing a smile. My eyesbegantostingandIturnedaway.IblamedTom’sdeathformakingmesensitivetoanyupheavalthatcamealong,nomatterhowsmall.Itooktwomugsfromthecupboard and placed them on the counter, then took two spoons out of thedrawer,takingmytimewhileItriedtocomposemyself.

“Don’tworry,”Michaelsaid.“Iwon’tleavetownwithoutmakingsureyouhavelegalrepresentation.IfDan’stoobusytotakeonyourcase,I’llfindanotherlawyerforyou.”

Iturnedtofacehim.“Oh,youdon’thavetodothat.I’llaskaroundfor—”Michael’scellphonerang.Heansweredit.“Hey,Dan.Howareyoudoing,

oldbuddy?”Hisvoicebrimmedwithenthusiasm.Dan’sreplymadehimlaugh.“Too long... Yes, I know. We’ll catch up soon.” The conversation took on aseriousnoteasMichaelexplainedthenatureofhiscall.“Inanhour?”

Inoddedyes.“Okay.Thanks. See you soon.”He hung up. “Talk about timing.Dan’s in

town.He’sstayingattheRegencyHotel.”No sooner had the words left his mouth than the doorbell rang. I rushed

downthehallwayandpressedtheintercombutton.“Bonjour,MadameScott.ThisisDetectiveMoreau.MayIcomeup?”IbuzzedMoreauin,thenopenedthedoortotheapartment.“Hemusthave

theautopsyresults,”IsaidtoMichaelashereachedmyside.Asuddenwaveofnauseahitme.“IthinkI’mgoingtobesick.”

“Takeafewdeepbreaths.You’llbeokay.”Hewrappedhisarmaroundmyshouldersandgavemeabriefhug.

Momentslater,IwasintroducingMichael,inbeigekhakisandrolled-upshirtsleeves,toMoreau,theembodimentofthepublicservantinawhiteshirt,darkbluejacket,andanattachécase.AKodakmoment.

IsharedasofawithMichael.Moreauunbuttonedhisjacketandsatoppositeus, his attaché case close by. He gave his mustache a rapid stroke. Was hesomewhat on edge?Maybe his uneasiness had to dowith the contents of the

folderhewasopeningup.“MadameScott,whatIamabouttotellyouisconfidential.”Hiseyesflitted

frommetoMichaelandlingeredonhim.“It’sokay,”Isaid.“Michaelisagoodfriend.Anythingyouhavetosaytome

isokaytosayinfrontofhim.”I caught the glint inMoreau’s eyes. It didn’t take a genius to see hewas

speculatingaboutthenatureofmyrelationshipwithMichaelandthemyriadofpossibilitiesthatcouldaffecthisfuturelineofquestioning.

“Trèsbien.”Hefingeredadocument.“Theautopsyisnotcompleted,butwehavereceivedaninitialreportfromtheforensicpathologist.”Hestudiedit.“ItstatesyourhusbandandPamStroberdiedunnaturaldeaths.”

“Whatdoyoumeanbyunnatural?”Iasked.“Itwasasubstanceconsistentwithafatalpoison.”“Poison?”Irepeated.Michaelleanedforward.“Whatkindofpoison?”“Potassiumcyanide,”Moreausaid.“Howisthatpossible?”Iasked.Adeepcreasegatheredbetweenthedetective’seyebrows.“Wedonotknow

ifthevictimsingested,inhaled,ortouchedthepoison.Itdoesnotappeartohavebeengivenby force,butourpathologist cannotconfirm this.”He returned thefiletohisattachécase.

A sinking sensation swept over me. “Are you saying they could havecommittedsuicide?”

“Itisapossibility,”Moreausaid.“Soismurder,”Michaelsaid.“Naturellement,MonsieurElliott.”“Doyouhaveanysuspects?”Michaelaskedhim.The detective fixed him with sudden interest. “If it is determined to be

murder,everyoneisasuspect.”Hefixedhisgazeonus.Angerroseinsideme,butMichaelremainedsilentandcalm.Itookmycue

fromhimandremainedquiettoo,concludingitwasinourbestintereststodoso.MoreauaddressedMichael.“AsImentionedtoMadameScotttheotherday,

thepolicewill continue towithhold information from thepublic. Imust insistthatyoukeepourdiscussionconfidentialaswell.”

“Noproblem,”Michaelsaid.Thedetectivepulledouthisnotebook.“MadameScott,ifyouplease,Ihave

morequestions.”He was persistent but I was prepared. “Sorry, detective. Not without my

lawyer.Here’shisbusinesscard.”Ihandedittohim.Hepeeredatit,thenslippeditintohisattachécase.I rememberedonemoreurgentmatter.“Detective, I’d like tomake funeral

arrangementsformyhusband.”“The pathologist has not completed his work, but I will contact him

regarding the formalities.”Hepickeduphisattachécaseandstoodup. “Goodday,MadameScott,MonsieurElliott.”

AfterMoreauleft,Istormedbackintothelivingroom.“Didyouseethewayhegawkedatus?And that insinuation?Hemightaswellhavecomerightoutandaccusedusofmurder.”Iwavedmyhandsintheair.

Michael nodded. “I can see it now: the vindictive wife and her obligingfriend.”

“I’mserious.”“SoamI.”Iploppeddownnexttohimonthesofa.“EverytimeMoreaushowsuphere,

thesituationgoesfrombadtoworse.”“OnceDancomesonboard,he’llputastoptothiscrap.”“Whatifherefusestotakemeonasaclient?”Heshrugged.“Idon’tseewhyhewould.”Fingerscrossedonthatone.Myminddivertedtoanothertopic.“Potassium

cyanide.Idon’tknowmuchaboutit.Doyou?”“It’soneofthemostlethalpoisonsaround,”hesaid.“Deathcanoccurwithin

minutesfromthetiniestamount.It’sextremelypainful.”“Whatarethesymptoms?”“Dizziness,stomachpain,amongothers.”“Wehavetime.Let’schecktheInternet.”

IledMichaeldownthehallwayandintomyoffice.“You’re quite the collector,” he said, gesturing toward my two bookcases

crammed with literature I’d gathered over the years. “Hemingway, Milton,Shakespeare.”

“Mostlyfrommyuniversitydays.Iusedtohavelotsoffreetimetoreadforpleasurethen.Nowit’scalledwork.”

“Tellmeaboutit.”I sat at my computer and clicked on the first website that came up on a

Google search.The site explainedhowpotassiumcyanideworked. “Less thanonehundredthofanounceisalethaldoseifthesubstancecomesincontactwitha liquid.” I scrolled down. Shocking photos of poisoned labmice surfaced. Iexitedthesite.

Anothersite listed theeffectson thebodyfromcyanide ingestion.Michaelleaned overmy shoulder and read them off the screen. “Initial symptoms areconfusion, dizziness, headache, difficulty breathing, vomiting, abdominal pain—”

“There’smore.”Iguidedthecursordownthelist.“Coma,seizures,cardiacarrest—”

“Talk about cold-blooded murder. This is gruesome stuff. What sick,dementedpersonwouldusecyanidetokillsomeone?”

“I can’tpossibly imagine.Noonedeserves todie like that.” I checkedmywatch.“Keepsearchingifyouwant.IneedtochangemyclothesbeforewegoseeDan.”Igotup.

“Okay.”Michaelslidintomychair.“Oh,Ialmostforgot.”Igrabbedaflashdriveonmydesk.“Ineedthisfora

client.”I headed for the bedroom and slipped the flash drive intomy purse, then

mademywaytothebathroom.A glance in the mirror revealed a pale complexion. Dark auburn hair

accentuatedtheobvious.Asarule,Ididn’twearmuchmakeupinthesummer.I’d apply sunscreen, then sit outdoors on the weekends and get my fifteenminutesofsunshine,butIhadn’thadthetimetodomuchofanythingthesedays

exceptwork.Icompromisedwithafewstrokesofpowderbronzeronmyfaceandatouchoflipstick.

Fromthewalk-incloset,Ichoseabeigejacket,awhitecrew-necktop,andapair of clean jeans. It spelled casual, yet conservative, and portrayed a figureother than thegrievingwidowpeoplemight expect fromawomanwho’d justlostherhusband.ButIdidn’tcare.I’dhavelotsoftimetomournlater.

Rightnow,myfreedomwasatrisk.Thedetectivehadhintedatmurderasapossible explanation for Tom and Pam’s deaths. Michael hadn’t missed theinsinuation either. Whether I was prepared to accept it or not, my futuredependedonthelegaladviceofonemanalone:DanCummings.

A

6

lightbreezedidnothingtoalleviatemyworriesasMichaelandIwalkeddownthepathfrommycondo.Wouldhislawyerfriendtakemeonasa

client?Michaelwasmakingsmalltalktoquellmyanxietybeforeourmeetingwith

Dan.AlthoughIhalf-listenedtohim,Ididcatchthegistofhischat:somethingabouthow living andworking inside fourwalls for too longdrovehimcrazy,howspendingtimeoutdoorswasgoodforhishealth,blah-blah-blah.

Two blocks down, we hailed a taxi. We rode eastward along SherbrookeStreet, home to heritage buildings, art galleries, and upscale shops. The drivewasamemorylaneofsortsforme—onethatIenjoyedwheneverItookthebustoandfromBradfordPublishing.Each timeIpassed theMontrealMuseumofFine Arts, I recalled my first visit there. I was only eight and too young toappreciateit,butI’dreturnedadozentimessince.

Michael’s voice dispersed my thoughts. “I met Dan four years ago in aToronto court.Hehas this amazingability to retainvolumesof legal jargon. Ienviedhimforit.Thingsleveledoutwhenhetoldmehowmuchheenviedmyknackfordiggingupleadsandgettingintotrouble.”Hechuckled.

Ismiledbutdidn’tfeelmuchliketalking.UpaheadwasCrescentStreet,or“partycentral,”as localscalled it.Along

thisstreetandborderingoneswereFrenchcafés,Irishpubs,andrestaurantsthatoffered the finest in culinary eateries spanning the gamut from American to

Russian.AmongthemwasPueblo’s,acaféTomandIhadfrequentedwhenweweredating.

The image of Tom and Pam sitting at that same café now tarnished thosememoriesforever.ToobadIhadn’tseenthroughtheir“impromptu”encounter.Thenagain,whywouldImistrustalovinghusbandwhogavemenoreasontodoubthimandaclosefriendwhomadedatingsinglemenherlifelongambition?

“We’rehere,”Michaelsaidasthetaxicametoastopatthecurb.TheRegencyHotelstoodtwentystorieshighonMountainStreetandshared

its prestigious downtown location with a bustling trade district. The interiordécorwas a far cry from the old-style opulence of theEleganceHotel. In thelobby,ceilingpot lightscastawarmglowondarkwood tables,brown leathersofas,andporcelaintile.GoldwallpaperwithatinyrepetitivemotifoftheletterRadornedthewalls.Tintedglasspanelsreplacedthestandardelevatorwallsandgaveonethefeelingofbeingairbornebetweenfloors.

Danwelcomedus intohis tenth floor suite. “Hey there,Michael,”he said,exchangingaheartyembraceandpatsonthebackwithhim.Heextendedahandinmydirection.“Mycondolencesonyourrecentloss,Megan.”

“Thankyou.” Icaughtawhiffofhiscologne.Theblendofwoodsyspicestold me there was a warmer aspect to this man than the strategic thinkingintrinsictohisprofession.

Iglancedaround.Pot lights,cushysofas,andaglossyoval tablewithfourblackParsonchairs.Thesamestylishvibesasthelobby.

Adigitalrecorder,ablackpen,andanotepadsatonthetable.Danobviouslydidn’trelyonhismemoryalonewhenheinterviewedclients.Itwasfeasiblethatall lawyers took the same safeguards against memory loss to preserve theintegrityoftheirinformation.

“Haven’theardfromyouinawhile,”DanwassayingtoMichael.“Whatnogoodhaveyoubeenupto?”

“RememberthatbookIwasworkingon?”Michaelaskedhim.“Theoneaboutthecourtcasesyoucovered?”“Yes.Ipublishedit.”Dansmiled.“That’sgreatnews.Congrats.”

“Thanks.” Michael gave Dan a recap of how we’d been working on hismanuscripttogetherduringthelastweeks.“I’monabooktournow…hittingthemajorcities…”

Whilethemenconversed,Icomparedthem.Dan stood about four inches taller thanMichael andhad the kindof build

that might have secured him a football scholarship in earlier days. Salt-and-pepperhairandafleshywaistlinenowaddedyearstohisage.Hisleathershoesmade a statement about the style of attire that people in his profession couldafford, whileMichael’s jeans and running shoes embodied the dress code forblaséwriters.

The dissimilarities between these two friends extended to the way theyspoke. Dan often dropped words in a sentence, as if he were in a hurry.Michael’stonewascalm,hischoiceofwordsintentional.

Astheirconversationended,Daninvitedustositatthetable.MichaelandIsatnexttoeachotheroppositeDan.

“Therecorderisformypersonaluseonly.”Danswitcheditonandcitedthedate, location, and names of the parties present. “Megan, let’s beginwith thepoliceinvestigationintoTom’sdeath.”Hepickeduphispen.“Whathavetheytoldyousofar?”

I gave him an account of Moreau’s two visits and the results of thepreliminaryautopsy.

“You stated you didn’t know about Tom’s trip to Pineview,” Dan said.“Whendidyoufindout?”

“When Moreau told me.” I mentioned Louise’s original phone call andTom’sclaimthatthebookingwasamistake.“IwasstunnedtofindoutTomhadgone to Pineview and not Granite Ridge as he’d told me. But I don’t thinkMoreaubelievedme.”

“Whywouldyousaythat?”Danasked.“Moreauthinksit’spossiblethatTomandPamweremurdered.Ifso,Icould

behismostlikelysuspect.That’swhyI’mhere.Iwantyoutorepresentme.”Tomysurprise,Michaeladded,“I’dlikeyoutorepresentmetoo.”“Whyyou?”Danaskedhim.

“Moreauwassizingusup.Ifitturnsouttobemurder—”“Itwasmurder,”Isaid.“Tomwouldn’thavekilledhimself.Hehadtoomuch

tolivefor.”MichaelgaveDananapprehensivelook.“IcanpictureMoreaucomingafter

usforaspeedyarrest.”“Then he wouldn’t be doing his job,” Dan said. “I’ll consider your

involvement after I hear all the facts.” He turned a page in his notebook.“Megan,wherewereyouonFriday,August10th, thedayandeveningpriortoyourhusband’sdeath?”

“IwasworkingwithMichaelinhissuiteattheEleganceHotel,”Isaid.Danscribbledanote.“Whattimedidyouleave?”“Aboutseven-thirty.”“Whatdidyoudotherestofthenight?”“IhaddinnerwithMichaelatSantino’s.”“Andthenwhat?”“Hedroppedmeoffathome.”“Whattimewasit?”“Aboutnine.”“Whatdidyoudoafterward?”“Iwenttobed.”DanturnedtoMichael.“DoyouhaveareceiptfromSantino’s?”“Yes,”Michael said. “I usedmy credit card. Left thewaitress a generous

tip.”“Then she’d remember you both,” Dan said. “What did you do after you

droppedMeganoff?”“Iwentforadrive.”“Where?”“Whatdifferencedoesitmake?”“Ifthesubjectevercomesupinapoliceinterview,you’llneedtoproveyour

alibi.”“Idroveoutoftown,”Michaelsaid.“Why?”Danaskedhim.

“Tomeetwithaninformant.”“Didyouhappentospeakwiththispersononthephone?”Michaelgrinned.“Areyoukidding?”“Required for trace purposes,” Dan said. “Provides proof of your

whereabouts.”“Nophonecalls.Amutualacquaintancesetupthemeeting.”“Wheredidyoumeet?”“Can’tsay.”“Can’torwon’t.”“Both.”“Youhavetogivemesomethingtoworkwith.”Danreachedforhishankie

andpattedhisface.Michaelhad toldmehowDan suffered fromoveractiveglandsanduseda

hankietowipeperspirationfromhisfacewheneverhewastense.Thiswasoneofthosetimes.

“Iwon’tjeopardizemyinformant’slife,”Michaelsaid.“I can appreciate that, but nothing beats a solid alibi,” Dan said, tucking

awayhishankie.“Moreauwilllaunchhisinvestigationbyseekingoutmotives.Fromwhatyou’vetoldme,he’salreadypointedafingerinyourdirection.”

IfDan interpretedmyassociationwithMichael as anythingbut friendship,hedidn’tshowit.

“Okay,okay.”Michaelraisedhishands,palmsup.“IwenttoSainte-Adèle,upintheLaurentians.”

“Yourentedacar?”Danaskedhim.“Yes,aMustangCoupe.”“Fromwhere?”“AvisonMetcalfeStreet.”“When?“Aboutaweekago.”“Didyoureturnit?”“Notyet.”“Whereisit?”

“Inmyhotelparking.”Dan jotted more notes. “Aside from your informant, did you speak with

anyoneelseinSainte-Adèle?”“Istoppedtogetacoffeeataroadsidedineronthewayup,”Michaelsaid.“Didyoukeepthereceipt?”“No,Ipaidincash.Idon’tliketouseplasticinstrangeplaces.”“Anyotherstops?”“IfueledupbeforereturningtoMontreal.”“Where?”“Atanindependentgasstationoutsideoftown.Beforeyouaskme,Ipaidin

cash. No, I don’t have a receipt because the point-of-sale machine wasn’tworking.”Michaelpaused.“If ithelps, thecashierat thecounterwasanolderguywithawhitebeard.”

Danscribbledanote.“WhattimedidyougetbacktoMontreal?”“Justbeforemidnight.”“AnywitnessesseeyoureturnFridaynight?”“A clerk at the front desk said hello to me. I doubt he’ll remember me,

though.Therewerealotofpeoplehangingoutinthelobby.Somekindofpartygoingoninoneofthehalls.”

“Whataboutyou,Megan?”Danasked.“Anywitnessesseeyoucomebackhome?”

“Mrs. Eloise Speck. A neighbor who lives on the second floor.” I wasgrateful for the oldwoman’s intrusive habits for a change. “She sawMichaeldropmeoffFridaynight.”

“All right.” Dan turned off the recorder. While he scanned his notes, heflipped his pen back and forth in rapid succession. I took it as a sign ofnervousnessordeliberation,orboth.

I prayed that he’d take us on as clients. If he didn’t, I’d have a hard timefindinganotherlawyerIcouldtrusthalfasmuchasMichaeltrustedDan.

Danpulledouthishankie.Apatofhisbrowandatuckbackintohispocketroundedouttheprocess.“Icanseewherethissituationmightbeheading.Unlesseitheroneofyouisconcernedwithapotentialconflictofinterest,I’llrepresent

youboth.”“Noproblem.”Michaelsmiled.“Thanks,Dan.”“Yes,thankyou,”Isaid,reliefrunningthroughme.“Can’t make any promises. We can try to freeze this investigation in its

tracksbeforeanychargesare laidagainstyou.”Penandnotepad inhand,Danheavedhimselfoutofthechair.“Havetomakeaphonecall.Helpyourselvestosomecoffeewhenit’sready.”Heflippedtheswitchonacoffeemachinesittingon a side table, then crossed the living room floor and disappeared around acorner.

Michael stood up and stretched his arms. “So far, so good—despite myscrew-upswiththereceipts.”

“Don’tbesohardonyourself.”IwalkedpasthimtothewindowandgazedupwardatthemetalcrossatopMountRoyalPark,thehighestsiteinthecenterofthecity.Atonehundredfeethigh,itgracedthedowntownskylineandwasapopular tourist attraction.Ever since1643when itsoriginalwoodversionwasmounted,localshaveacknowledgeditasasymbolofhope.

Hope.Howapropos.Michael came up to me. “You’re angry with me because I didn’t ask for

receipts,aren’tyou?”“No,I’mnot.”“Yes,youare.Icantellbythewayyoureyesareshootingthosetinydaggers

atme.”“I’m angry but not at you. What if this whole mess takes a turn for the

worse? It’s bad enough I’m under suspicion, but how are you going to proveyouralibiwithoutreceipts?”

“Don’tworry.Danwilltakecareofit.You’llsee.”Hewhispered,“Whatdoyouthinkofhimsofar?”

“He’smethodical,” I said. “IhopehecangetMoreauoffourbacksbeforeit’stoolate.”

“AfterDangetsthroughwithhim,Moreauwon’thaveachoice.He’llhavetowriteusoffandfocusoncatchingtherealmurderer.”

Icouldn’tsharehisoptimism.Lifewastooshortforwishfulthinking.

Wehumanswere so naive about the danger aroundus.Howoftenhadwebrushedagainstitsbordersaswewanderedthroughtheritualsofourlives,notpayingattentiontostrangerswhocrossedourpaths?Weonlyhadtorefertothenews for reports covering the abductions of children and women in broaddaylight. More often than not, their lives had come to a dreadful end withinhours,evenminutes.

TheimageofTom’spallidbodyatthemorguesuddenlyflashedthroughmymind.Iblinkeditaway.

“Cyanide,” I said. “What kind of monster could have carried out such ahorribledeath?”

“A lunatic,”Michael said.“I’dbet thecopshavealreadygathereda listofpotentialsuspectsfromtheirdatabase.”

“Smallconsolation.ItmightnotpreventMoreaufromzoominginonus.”“I can’t blamehim,” he said. “Theperpetrator is often someonewithin an

immediatecircleoffamilyorfriends.Statisticssupportthatfact.”“Oh,thanks.Ifeelsomuchbetternow.”Ishivered.HadDanuppedtheair

conditioninginthesuitetocompensateforhisperspirationproblem?“You’retrembling.”Michaelputahandonmyarm.“Come.Let’shavesome

coffee.”

WeweresittingatthetableenjoyingoursecondcupofcoffeewhenDanrushedback,tinybeadsofsweatlininghisforehead.Notagoodsign.

Hesatdownandswitchedontherecorder.“Allright.WelocatedPineview.It’s near Knowlton, about sixty miles southeast of Montreal. Sainte-Adèle isaboutfiftymilesnorthofMontreal.”

“Whatareyougettingat?”Michaelaskedhim.“The similarity in mileage from here to Pineview or to Sainte-Adèle is

something the police might jump on to refute your alibi.” Dan pulled out ahankieanddabbedhisforehead.

“Youcan’tbeserious.”MichaelstaredatDanasifheexpectedhimtofollow

upwitharedeemingstatement.“Didyoudriveanywhereelsethatnight?”Dantuckedthehankieaway.“Shortdistancesinthecity.Why?”“WeneedtangiblefactstoproveyouralibiASAP.”Michaelfrowned.“Howareyougoingtomanagethat?IalreadytoldyouI

didn’tkeepanyreceipts.”“MyteamwillvisitthegasstationinSainte-Adèle,”Dansaid.“Interviewthe

cashieryoudescribed.”“Somepeopledon’tdowellwithfacialrecognition.”“Mostgasstationshavesurveillancesystems.We’lltrytogetacopyofthe

videotape.”“WhataboutthesurveillancevideoattheElegance?”“We’lltrytogetthattoo.Couldhelptonarrowthetimegapinyourtripthat

evening.” Dan jotted a note. “Megan, does your condo have a monitoringsystem?”

“There’sasurveillancecamerainthelobby,”Isaid.“Howabouttherearexit?”“I’mnotsure.”Imulledoverhisquestion.“Ididn’tleavethecondobythe

backdoorafterMichaeldroppedmeoff,ifthat’swhatyou’rehintingat.”“Thepolicemightthinkotherwise,”Dansaid.“Thelackofasurveillancesystemcouldworkinherfavor,”Michaelpointed

out.“In the absence of a feasible alibi?” Dan nodded so-so. “I could use that

argumenttosupporttheclaimthatMeganwashometherestofthenight.Mightcreateareasonabledoubtinthemindsofthejury.”

“The jury?” Michael’s eyes went wide. “Whatever happened to innocentuntilprovenguilty?”

“Look at this from another perspective.” Dan tapped his pen against thetable. “An alleged double murder makes headline news and creates publicunrest.Pressurefromhigher-upsforcesthepolicetosolvethecaseASAP.That’swhy a flawless defense is of major importance for us. It has to includeconfirmationofyouralibis.”

“I’marealist,”Michaelsaid.“Istudythefacts.Whatifyoucan’tproveouralibis?”

“We’lldothenextbestthing.”“What’sthat?”“Proveyourinnocence.”“LikeIsaidbefore,Ithoughtthatwasagiven.”“Nottheoretically,”Dansaid.“We’llhavetoworktheflipsideofthecoin.

Explore other factors. Work at creating doubt about your guilt. Hint at theexistenceofothersuspects.Forexample,we’llverifythecheck-intimesoftheguests and staff atPineview.PeoplewhomighthaveenteredTom’scottage inthehoursbeforeandafterhisarrival.Notallsuspectscancovertheirtracks.”

“Soyou’redoingMoreau’slegworkforhim,”Michaelsaid.“Notreally.Hehastogothroughthesamemotions.”“Fordifferentreasons.”Danmovedon.“Megan,canyoustayawayfromBradfordPublishingfora

dayorso?”“Itooktherestoftheweekoff,”Isaid.“Why?”“My teamwill interview the employees at Bradford. Theymight open up

moreaboutPamifyou’renotaround.”Dan’sperspectiveshedanewlightonthings.Hadanyoneelseattheoffice

foundoutaboutTom’saffairwithPambefore Ihad?Emily?Lucie?PeterhadknownlongbeforethetriptoPineview.

Howdidthatsayinggoagain?Ah,yes.Thewifeisalwaysthelasttoknow.Dan continued. “If we go to court, the prosecutor is going to pitch tough

questions.Wedon’twantthejurytohaveanydoubtsabouteitherofyou.Don’twant themtowonderwhywedidn’task themostobviousquestion to the twomostobvioussuspects.”

Michaelleanedforward.“Whatquestionisthat?”WhenDanpulledouthishankie, Icouldhavebetmy lifeonwhathewas

going to ask us next. “Was the relationship between you two intimate at themomentofTom’sdeath?”

Aflushwarmedmycheeks.“No,itwasnot,”IsaidwithasmuchresolveasI

couldmuster.Dan’s insinuation didn’t faze Michael. “Megan and I had a professional

relationshipwhileweworkedonmynovel,”hesaid,hisvoiceeven.“Weremainclosefriendstoday.Endofstory.”

“Credible,” Dan said, tucking his hankie away. “Might convince theprosecution.Ifweevergettothatstage.”

Angerreplacedmyembarrassment.“Butit’sthetruth.”Dan shrugged. “Even so, the police might not buy it. They’ll shove your

relationshipwithMichaelunderamicroscope.Trytoproveyoutwohadaflingof your own. That’s where motive comes in. They’ll use your connection toMichaeltoshowyouplannedtogetridofTom.Wehavetoproveyou’rebothbeyondreproach.Ineveryrespect.”

“You’rerightaboutthat,”Michaelsaid.“Whencopsfeelpressuredtomakeanarrest, theypickthemostobvioussuspects—sometimesbasedonascrapofevidence.Onewayoranother,theymanagetogetaconvictionincourt.Statsonthenumberofguyswhospentyearsinjailandarefoundinnocentlaterareproofofit.”

Danraisedhispeninacautionarygesture.“Awordofadvice,Michael.UntilMoreaucompleteshisinvestigation,Iadviseyoutoremainintown.”

“You’rekidding,”Michaelsaid.“I’vegotabooktourtowrapup.”“Ifyouleavenow,itmightprovokeunduesuspicion.”“Okay.I’llcancelmyflight.”“Allright.”Danflippedtoanewpageinhisnotepad.“Megan,doyouknow

ifanyoneeverthreatenedTomorwantedtoseehimdead?”“Ifhehadanyenemies,hedidn’tmentionthemtome,”Isaid.“How did he get along with business associates? Bosses? Fellow

employees?”“Okay,Iguess.ExceptforPeterEwans,aco-worker.TomtoldmePeterwas

upsetwhenTomwontheseniormanagementpromotionoverhim.”“Peter Ewans.Why is that name familiar?”Michael paused. “Wait a sec.

Wasn’thetheguywhodroppedoffthecompanycaratyourcondo?TheonethatTomcrashed?”

“Yes.”IbriefedDanontheincident.“HowdidTomreact?”heaskedme.“Hesaiditwasanaccident.Peterhadahardtimegettingoverit,though.He

gaveTomticketstoPlacedesArtstomakeupforit.Twoofthebestseatsinthehouse.”

“Let’sbacktrack.DidTom’spromotioncreateanyanimositybetweenPeterandhim?”

“Idon’t think so. Itwasn’t the first timePeter hadbeenpassedover for apromotion. He told Tom he felt as if he’d lost respect at work and blamedmanagement.”

“Peter must have had loads of resentment brewing inside him for years,”Michael said. “Loss of advancement, loss of additional income, loss ofreputation—”

“Peoplegetpromotedeveryday,”Isaid.“Theircompetitorsdon’tkillthembecauseofit.”

“Oh,Idon’tknowabout that,”Michaelsaid,awrysmileonhis lips.“Thenews is full of stories about ex-employeeswho gotmad as hell because theywere laidoff.Did theygooutandgetcounseling?Noway.Theygot revenge.Theywentbacktotheirworkplaceandshottheirbossesandco-workersdead.”

Dan tappedhispen,endingourbanter.“SoPeterconfided inTom.A two-waystreet?MaybeTomconfidedinhimtoo?”Hegavemeaquestioninglook.

“If you mean about Pam, the answer is yes.” I recounted my phoneconversationwithPeter.“HecoveredupforTombecausehewasafraidhe’dfirehim.”

“AddthattothelistofPeter’sresentments,”Michaelsaid.Ipeeredathim.“WasitreasonenoughtokillTom?”“Resentmentrunsdeepinsomepeoplewhenthey’reforcedtodostuffthey

don’twant to do,”Michael said. “Peter could have beenwaiting for the rightopportunitytostrike.Andmaybehedid.”

“You’removingtoofast,”Isaid.“Wehaven’tevenbeguntomakethepiecesfit.We don’t knowwho the real target was. It could have been Pam and notTom.”

“Orboth,”Michaelsaid.“All right,”Dan said. “My teamwill interview Peter and other BOTCOR

employees. Megan, would you know if any Bradford employees harboredresentmentagainstPam?”

Emilycametomind.Ididn’tknowmuchaboutherprivatelife,exceptthatshelivedwithhermotherwhocouldn’taffordtolivealone.ShewasjealousofPamandmimickedher,butpettyofficeanticsaside,Idoubtedshe’dwanttokillher.

“Thestaffgetsalongprettywell,”Isaid.“WhataboutPam’sfamily?Friends?”Danasked.“I nevermet her family. Iwas her closest friend.” I almost choked on the

words.“Anymenfriends?”“Shedatedalot,butInevermetanyofthem.”“Anyenemies?”“Idon’tknow.”“Anybadbloodbetweenherandherclients?”“No,theylovedher.Wait.There’sMrs.BillBradford,theowner’swife.She

gavePamaroughtimeattheofficeonce.”Irecappedtheincident.“We’llverifyit.”Dan’spenskimmedacrossthepage.Therewasaknockatthedoor.Danswitchedoff therecorder.“I’ve taken the libertyofordering lunchfor

us.”Heopenedthedoortoahotelattendantwhowheeledaservingcartintotheroom.

Asweenjoyedourclubsandwichesandafreshpotofcoffee, thedialoguewove its way to common acquaintances that Michael and Dan knew. I wassurprisedwhenafamiliarnamepoppedintotheconversation.

“Remember thedrugpossessioncaseweworkedon together lastmonth inMontreal?”DanaskedMichael.

“How could I forget?” Michael said. “I’d tailed the guy for weeks. Mytestimonymeantnothingafterhewasacquitted.”Heturnedtome.“Ihadleadsonthisguythelengthofmyarm.ThenIheardhewalkedbecausethepolicehad

contaminatedtheevidence.”“Theirdefenseteamwasmybiggestcompetition,”Dansaid.“Includingthe

paralegalthatworkedforthem.”“YoumeanJaneBarlow?”Dan nodded. “The one and only. Sharp as a Samurai sword and twice as

lethal.Nevermissedadetail.Sheapproachedmeforajobseveralweeksago.”IexpectedMichaeltobringupJane’svisittohishotelsuitebuthedidn’t.“I hired her.” Dan beamed as if he’d discovered the next best thing to

importedleathershoes.FromthedazedlookonMichael’sface,itwasclearJanehadn’ttoldhimshe

wasworkingforDan.Michaelsaidnothing,reachedforhisglassofwater.“Iknowwhatyou’rethinking,”Dansaid.“She’sonlytwenty-five,butIhave

toadmitshe’sbrilliant.Ambitious too.Going tomakea fine lawyeroneday.”Heraisedathumbintheair.

“IssheworkingonaMontrealcasewithyou?”Michaelasked.“Wewrapped up a corporate case here thisweek. She’s staying in a suite

downthehall.Phonedherminutesago.Askedhertogetthewitnessinterviewprocessrollingforyourcase. Ithelps thatshespeaksFrenchbetter thanIdo.”Hechuckled.

Michael saidnothing, kept his eyes fixedon theglass ofwater in front ofhim.WashehavingdoubtsaboutDanassigningJanetoourcase?

TheawkwardsilenceintensifieduntilDanaskedhim,“YouhaveaproblemwithmyhiringJane?”

“Me?Oh...no.Noproblem.She’sthebest.”“Anyotherquestionsaboutourdiscussionsofar?”Danaskedus.“Um…yeah.” Michael glanced at me. “Megan and I were talking earlier

about the cruelty of death by cyanide poisoning. If you could showwewereincapableofsuchanattack,wouldn’tithelpclearus?”

“Perhapsonmoralgrounds,”Dansaid.“Nopreviousrecordofviolence.Nocriminalrecord.Andsoon.”

“I know one thing that would swing suspicion away from us,” I said.“Findingtherealmurderer.”

“Megan’sright,”Dansaid.“Itonlytakesonetinyleadtocrackacase.”Herose to his feet. “All right. It’s a wrap for now. I’ll update you both by thisevening.Wherecanwemeet?”

Fornoreasonotherthantheconvenienceofbeinginmyownhome,Isaid,“Myplace.”IlookedatMichael.“Ifyoudon’tmindcomingover.”

“Noproblem,”hesaid,slippingintohisleatherjacket.“Inthemeantime,I’llgiveyoumycellnumber.”Danjotteditdownonthe

back of two business cards and gave us each one. “Another word of advice.Don’t answer questions from the police or the prosecutionunless I’mpresent.Understood?”

“Orreporters,”Iadded.“Especiallyreporters,”Dansaid,thengaveMichaelapatontheback.“No

offense.”“None taken,”Michael saidwith agrin. “Iknow toowell how thoseguys

operate.”

MichaelandIrodetheelevatordowninsilence.Thesatisfiedlookonhisfacetoldmehe felt confidentaboutDan’s legalpreparation—even though itmeantJanehadresurfacedinhislife.Withsuchastronglegalteambehindus,Michaelgavetheimpressionthathe’ddismissedtheuncertaintyofourpredicament.

Buthehadn’t.I’dgarneredthatmuchfromhimfromhavingworkedonhisbook. Given the nature of his job, he thrived on uncertainty: meeting withinformants under the darkness of night; traveling to unfamiliar places to get ascooponastory;followingagutfeelingevenifitdefiedlogic…

I couldn’t live that way. I needed stability in my life. After all, weren’thumansknownascreaturesofhabit?Ididn’tknowwhooriginatedthatphrase,butitdescribedmymethodofliving.

Predictabilityofroutinegavemeasenseofcontrol.Myjobwasproofofit.Iworked in a structured environment where I arranged meetings with clients,scheduledeveryproject,andsetupPlanBintheeventofasetback.Athome,I

carriedoutspecificchoreseachweeksothatorderprevailedandchaoswasnon-existent—atleasttotheextentthatIcouldensureit.

Of course, Dan’s expertise reassured me. With horror stories of legalcorruptionhittingthenewseveryotherday,Iwasgratefultohaveanethicalandcompetentlawyerlikehimonmyside.AndfromthepraisehelavishedonJane,heconsideredheraqualifiedmemberofhisteamtoo.

ButwouldtheirinterventiondivertMoreau’sfocusfromMichaelandme?Thedetective’ssuspicionskeptmeonedgeandhadmecontemplatingwhat

his next movemight be. Not knowing in which direction his game plan washeadingdidnothingbutincreasemyuncertaintyaboutthefuture.

O

7

utside theRegencyHotel, ablazingsunhadpierced through thecloudsandchasedawaythecoolsummermorning.Theweatherwassovolatile

these days—just likemy life since Tom’s death.Withmy freedom at stake, Iexpectedmoreofthesame.Wouldthingseverreturntonormal?

“Theheatwaveisback.”Michaelremovedhisleatherjacket.Myeyesstrayedtoanewsstandonthesidewalk.“Holdonasec.”Ipicked

upacopyofTheGazette,thenwalkedbacktohim.“Idoubtthepolicespoketothemedia,butitdoesn’thurttocheck.”

He nodded, surveyed the heavy flow of traffic. “Are you going home orstayingdowntown?”

“I’llflagataxilaterandgobacktothecondo.Ihavetodropbytheofficefirst.”

Hestaredatme.“You’rekidding,right?”“Aclientwantsaprintedcopyof theproject Icompleted. IuseBradford’s

facilitiesforthat.”“Gettinggrilledbythestaffisthelastthingyouneedrightnow.Yourealize

thehornet’snestyoucouldbewalkinginto?”Ididn’tanswer.“Wantmetogowithyou?”“Ofcoursenot.Icantakecareofmyself.”Michaelstudiedmeforamomentasifheweredebatingthefact.“Icandrive

youbackhomelater,butIneedachangeofclothes.Wanttocomeovertothehotelafteryou’redone?”

“Okay.Seeyoulater.”Ontherideuptheelevatortotheoffice,mystomachbegantoknot.Maybe

Michaelwasright.Myappearance therewouldmake tongueswag.DidIneedmorestressinmylife?Onsecondthought,whyshouldIcareabouttheirgossipanyway? I owed it tomy client to deliver the project as promised, and that’swhatIwasgoingtodo.

I pushed open the door toBradford Publishing.Kaylawas standing at thefront desk, speaking with a receptionist I’d never seen before. A BlackBerrytuckedinherskirtwaistbandreinforcedtherespectthatherfive-foot-nineframealreadycommanded.TheybothlookedupasIwalkedin.

“Hi,Megan.”Kaylawalkeduptomebutstoppedshortofgivingmeahug.Itwasn’therstyle.

“Hi.”Idugouttheflashdrivefrommypurse.“Here’stheprojectItoldyouabout.”

“We’lltakecareofitforyou.”Shehandedittothereceptionistandsaidtoher, “Getme a printout of this, please.” Shewaited until the girl hadwalkedaway,thensaid,“Ihiredatempreceptionistfortheweek.”

“It’ssoquiethere.ApartfromLucie,isanyoneelseonvacation?”“Noone’sonvacation.After thepolice left thismorning, Igave theentire

staff the rest of the day off. Direct orders fromBradford himself. They can’tfunctionproperlyunder thesecircumstances.”Shepaused.“Is thereanything Icandoforyou,Megan?”

“IhaveBradfordclients—”“I’ll follow up with them to re-schedule.” She took a step closer and

whispered, “Emily is inheroffice.She insistedon staying.She’s applying forPam’sjobandworkingonacoverlettertoBradford.”

Icouldn’thidemysurprise.“What?”“IfdressinglikePamisamajorrequirement,thenshefitsthebill.”Shekept

her voice low. “I’d have fired her months ago. She spends way too muchfrigging time in the darkroom—in more ways than one, if you know what I

mean.”Just then, Emily strutted down the corridor toward us on black high heels

identical to a pair Pamhad bought atBrowns Shoes lastmonth. She couldn’tpossiblyafforddesignerstrapsandalsonhersalary.She’dnodoubttakenthemfromPam’sofficecloset.Bitsofmascarasmudgedhereyesandstreaksofpaleskin showed throughwhere tearshadwashedaway themakeup.Thatgirlwasgoingtobeatalosswithouthermentoraroundtocrackthewhipwhenevershespokeoutoflineorappliedherlipstickwrong.

She came up to me. “So sorry for your loss, Megan.” She put her armsaroundmeinalimpandhastyhugasifsheweregoingthroughaforcedritual.“Doyouhaveanynews?”

“Notuntiltheautopsyresultscomein,”Isaid.“Imeantnewsfromthepolice.Dotheyhaveanyleadsonthekiller?”“Theyhaven’tcalleditamurderinvestigationasfarasIknow.”“Whatelsecoulditbe?”Emilygrimacedinannoyance.Ididn’tanswer.“Sowhatareyoudoinghere?”“Icamebytodropoff—”“Seriously, don’t you have more important things to do, like meet with

MichaelElliott?”“Whatareyoutalkingabout?IhandedinhisprojectonFriday.”“That’snotwhatImeant.”Emilysighed.“Hedidn’treturnmycalls.Doyou

happentoknowwhy?”“No,”Isaid.“Whydon’tyoucallandaskhim?”“Veryfunny,”shesaidwithasmirk.“Youguysspentalotoftimetogether,

huh?”I didn’t like her insinuation, so I feigned ignorance. “For a book project?

Threeweekswasrushingit.Icouldhaveusedanotherweekortwo.”“I’llbetyoucouldhave.”She spitout thewords. “Whoknowshowmuch

morefriendlyyouandMichaelcouldhavebecomeif—.”“That’senough,Emily,”Kaylasaid.“Thisisn’tthetimeorplaceto—”“Thisdoesn’tconcernyou,”Emilysnappedather.Hereyesnarrowedasshe

glaredatme.“It’s thefirstchanceIget todatea respectableguy likeMichaelandguesswhat?You’vebeenscrewinghimrightunderournoses!”

Theblood rose tomy face. I had the sudden impulse towhackher on theheadwiththenewspaperIwasholdingandknocksomesenseintoher.InsteadIsaid,“Seriously,Emily,Ijustlostmyhusband.Ihavemoreimportantthingstodealwiththanyourdelusions.”Ipointedtohershoes.“Andhavesomerespectfor thedead.”Mycomment leftEmilygazingather feet. IexchangedaquickgoodbyewithKaylaandwalkedout.

Michael was right. Coming here was a mistake. Emily had displayedunwarrantedhostilitytowardme.She’dseenmyclosefriendshipwithPamasablock to a similar friendship she’d hoped to cultivate with her mentor, but ithadn’t happened. Her snide remarks about my working relationship withMichaelhadoriginatedfromthesamejealousplaceinherheart.

Anotherthoughtcrossedmymind,onethatcouldputmeinalotoftroubleifEmilyhadactedonit:She’dsharedherfantasiesaboutMichaelandmewiththepolicethismorning.

I

8

metupwithMichaelinthelobbyoftheEleganceHotel.He’dstoppedtobuytwelvesmallbottlesofwaterandwasholdingasix-packineachhand.Onourrideuptheelevator,heaskedhowmyvisittoBradfordhadgone.I

toldhimitwentokayandleftitatthat.IkeptmychatwithEmilyunderwrapstosavemyselffurtherembarrassment.

IwassurprisedtofindthecoffeetableinMichael’ssuitethewaywe’dleftitFriday evening: strewnwith crumpled notes and pages of hismanuscript thathadn’tmadeittothefinalversion.

Hefollowedmygazetothetable.“Sorryforthemess.Ididn’thavetimetocleanup.”Hesetthebottlesonthecredenza,thenhunghisleatherjacketinthehallway closet. “The hotel staffwon’t touchmy crumbled papers unless I puttheminawastebasket,butthereisn’toneinthesuite.Ileftthemthreenotesbutnoluck.Youcouldsaywehaveacommunicationsproblem.”

I didn’t say so, but I hoped his extended presence in townwould serve amoreusefulpurposethanwritingnotestothecleaningstaff.IwascountingonhisingenuitytoprovideafoolproofalibiforusandwipeoutanyconjectureinMoreau’smindthatwewereguiltyofmurder.

“I’llgetachangeofclothes,thenberightback.”Michaelroundedthecorneranddisappeared.

I sat inmyusual chair by the coffee table. I openedup thenewspaper I’dbought earlier and skimmed through the headlines. There were no write-ups

linkedtoTomorPam—notevenatwo-lineronthePineviewdeathsthatmighthaveexcludedthenamesofthevictims.

Moreau had kept his word about barring themedia from his investigationafter all. He probably had no leads in the case, whichwould account for theabsenceofanarticle.Anyoneelsemighthavearguedthathisinvestigationwasfar-reaching and therefore not yet completed, but Iwas inclined to think he’dmadenoheadwaywhatsoever.Whyannounceitandfacepubliccriticism?

I was only foolingmyself. The detective hadn’t droppedMichael andmefromhisscopeofinquiry.EvenwiththeprospectofDanonboard,myinstinctstold me the trend of ill-fated events was far from over. The ambiguitysurroundingTom’sdeathamplifiedmyfears,asdidtherealizationthatMoreau,withnoothersuspectsinview,mightintensifyhiseffortstopinuswithmurder.

Myapprehension lingeredafterMichaeland I arrivedatmycondohalf anhourlaterandcrossedpathswithMrs.Speck.Asshesteppedoutoftheelevator,hereyesdartedfromMichaeltome,thenbackagain,likeahawkassessingitsprey. I slammed my hand against the Close Doors button to cut short herinspection.

Upstairs,Ifoundabasketofredandwhitecarnationsoutsidemyapartmentdoor.Thecardread:“DeepestcondolencesfromBradfordPublishingandstaff.”The gesture of compassion had been timely and considerate—Kayla’s style ofdoingthings.Icarriedtheflowersinsideandplacedthemonacornertableinthelivingroom.

WhileMichael opened up his laptop in the kitchen and caught up on hisemail,Isettleddowninmyofficetocheckmyphonemessages.

Kaylawasthefirstcaller.Iassumedshe’dphonedtoseeifI’dreceivedtheflowers,butthenIwassurprisedwhensheleftamessageaskingmetocallherback. Tom’s boss and Louise from Pineview were the next callers. Theyexpressedtheirsympathies.Ididn’tfeelliketalking,soIdidn’tcallanyofthemback.Onlyonecallmatteredtome,andIwouldn’trestuntilIgotit:Dan’s.

Iwalked back to the kitchenwhereMichaelwas hunched over his laptop,tappingaway.“IwanttogothroughTom’spersonalpapers…legalfiles,”Isaidtohim.“WouldyoumindifItookcareof—”

“Noproblem,”hesaidwithaneasysmile.“I’mbusywriting.Don’tworryaboutme.”

Iretreatedtomybedroombehindcloseddoors.IsatonthebedandforcedmyselftoapproachTom’spassinginalogicalmanner,thesamewayI’dhelpedmy mother take care of things when my father had passed. I needed to findTom’slastwillandtestament,planthefuneralandchurchservices,packuphisclothesfordrop-offataSalvationArmyoutlet…

Iwanderedintothewalk-incloset.Tomkeptasmallfireprooffilingcabinetthere, inacornernext tohis shirt rack.Neitherofusbelieved in storing legaldocumentsorothersuchpapersinabanksafetydepositbox.

Itriedtoopenthedrawerbutitwaslocked.IhadnoideawhereTomkeptthekey.

Onawhim, I bentdownandpushedasidehispantson thebottom rack. Ireachedintotheothercornerandpulledouthisbriefcase.Itriedtoopenitbutitwas locked too. I retrieved a penknife that Tom kept in his side table in thebedroomandforcedopenthelock.

Inside the briefcase were BOTCOR marketing pamphlets, Tom’sappointmentbook,andhiscellphone.Itwasprobablythesamephonehe’dusedwhenhedidn’twantmetoknowwherehewascallingfrom,theonethatcameupasUNKNOWNCALLERonthedisplayscreen.

Icheckedtheincomingmessages.Therewasonlyone.ItwasfromBradfordPublishing,andIrecognizedtheextension.ItwasPam’s.I tookadeepbreath,thentappedthekeytolistentothemessage.

“Hi,Tom.It’sPam.Eagertospendanotherhotweekendwithyou.Can’twaittoseeyouthisafternoon.”

Ishivered.ItwasasifPam’sghosthadreturnedtohauntme.Iturnedoffthephoneandflungitintothebriefcase.

I stuckmyfingers inside the twonarrowpocketsofTom’sbriefcase.Theymightholdasmallitem.Nothinginthefirstone.Insidethesecondpocket,Ifeltsomethingmetal.Itwasakey.IinserteditintothelockofTom’sfilingcabinet.Itworked!

Ipulledopen thedrawerandfoundacopyofourapartment lease,our fire

insurance policy, and our last will and testament in which we’d named eachother as beneficiary and executor. I also found a copyofTom’s life insurancepolicyforonehundredthousanddollarsthathe’dboughtshortlybeforeweweremarried.Mynamewasonthefirstpageassolebeneficiary.

Therewasnothingelseinthecabinetbutmonthlystatementsissuedonthejoint bank account I held with Tom—the one we’d set up three years earliertowardthepurchaseofanewhome.I’djuststartedmyfreelancebusinessthenand my income wasn’t consistent. I gave Tom whatever I could afford, andautomatic deductions were made from his personal account to our joint oneeverymonth.

I’dbeensobusythatIhadn’tcheckedthebalanceinyears.ItwasacomforttoknowthatIcoulddipintothejointfundsnowshouldanemergencyarise.

Icheckedtheclosingbalanceonthemostrecentstatement.TheJulystatementread$128.16.Whatthehell?Otherstatementsrevealedsimilarlowbalancesattheendofeachmonth.A

depositofathousanddollarshadbeenpostedeverymonth—halfofitmine—butcashwithdrawalshaddrainedmostofthefunds.Allourhard-earnedmoneywasgone!

Itdidn’tmakesense.Therehadtobeanotherjointaccountsomewherewithforty thousand dollars in it. Had Tom opened another account without myknowledge?

Ipracticallytrippedinmyhurrytogettomypurseanddigoutmybankcard.I raced to my office, closed the door, and accessed the bank site from mycomputer. I couldn’t get through. My card had probably been deactivatedbecauseIhadn’tuseditinsolong.

I picked up the phone and called the bank.After the usual IDverificationritual,theservicerepresentativeconfirmedtheonlyjointaccountonrecordwastheoneIknewabout.AsfarasfindingoutifTomconductedotherbusinessinhisname,therepexplainedI’dhavetogotothebankinpersonwithTom’slastwill and suitable ID to prove I was the official executor of his estate. I alsoneeded to bring the required legal documents, namely a Certificate of Death

fromtheprovincialauthoritiesoracopyofthecoroner’sreport.I returned the bankcard to my purse and drifted back to the closet. After

placingthepapersinthecabinet,Ishutthedrawerbutleftthekeyinthelockforeasyaccess.

Therewasnotimetowaste.Ihadtogetorganized.Islippedbackintomyoffice.Frommycomputer,Iaccessedthegovernment

website, clicked under the heading, “What to do in the event of death,” anddownloadedtheappropriateforms.ImadealistofthepeopleandcompaniesI’dhavetocontactregardingTom’spassing: thebank, insurancecompany,funeralhome,accountant,notary,BOTCORforTom’semployeepensionfund…

Mystomachgrowled.Ireachedforthebagofchocolate-coveredalmondsinthe desk drawer and was disappointed to find that only three remained. I atethem,thenpreparedletterstoeachnameonmylist.AssoonasI’dreceivethelegalproofofdeath,I’dsendthelettersout.

I went back tomy bedroom and revisited the closet. Tom’s briefcasewasopen.Ihadn’tcompletedmysearchandnowreachedforhisappointmentbook.Maybehe’dnotedinformationabouthispersonalbankinginit.

Isatonthefloorandfannedthroughthepages.Notationsindicatedmeetingson adailybasis.Out of curiosity, I skipped toFriday,August 10, to seewhatkindofschedulehe’dkeptonhislastday.He’dpennedintwomeetingsandanote:P.S.Bradford4:00p.m.

Bradford?I leafed a few pages back and stopped at an entry under July 23: P.S.

Pueblo’s.ItwasthesamedayI’dspottedTomsittingwithPamatPueblo’s.TheinitialsP.S.stoodforPamStrober!

ThefollowingdayinJuly,anotherentry:P.S.HôtelLaRivière,afancyhotelwheredarkchocolatesareofferedasaturndowntreatbeforeslippingunderthecovers. My stomach churned at the thought of them in bed together, yet Icontinued to scan the entries, urgingmyself onwith a drive inherent in thosewhobelievethatpainbuildscharacter.

TheentryonJuly26read:P.S.Toronto.LuciehadtoldmePamwasawayonbusinessthatday.TomwasinTorontothen.

Armedwithanewperspective, I flipped through thepages tosee ifTom’sinscriptionofP.S.appearedpriortotheperiodI’dcovered.

Otherinitialssurfacedbuttheyweren’tPam’s.Thecitieswrittenbesidethemhad often been onTom’smarketing itinerary: Toronto,Windsor,Boston,NewYork.Didtheinitialsbelongtobusinessassociatesorpotentialclients?

Iturnedtothebackofthebookandfoundadirectoryofnames,addresses,andphonenumbers.Mostofthenameswerefemale.

IflippedbacktothefirstdayofJanuaryandworkedmywayforward.Everysetofinitialsmatchedawoman’snameinthedirectory.Companynameswerewritten next to some of them. Business contacts? Dozens of other notationssimplyhadfirstnames.

Whowerethesewomen?Anuneasyfeelingfilledmygut.Ihappenedtoglancedownandnoticedashoeboxtuckedunderthecubicle

thathousedTom’sshoes.Howpeculiar. Itwasa tightsqueeze,but Iyanked itoutandopenedit.

Hundreds of receipts were stuffed inside the box. The first one was fromCoby’sfor$200.00,thenextwasfromHôtelLaRivièrefor$400.00,anotherfor$350.00 from a fancy restaurant downtown... Other receipts were fromnightclubs,fancyrestaurants,andupscalewomen’sclothingstoresintownsTomhadvisitedonbusiness.

Oh,myGod!He’dspentallourmoneyonotherwomen!Myheartfilledwithanger,thensankasthedreamofhavingmyownhouse

vanished. I stuffed the box back under the cubicle, not surewhat purpose thereceiptsmightserveinthefuture,ifany.ItossedTom’sappointmentbookintohisbriefcase,slammeditshut,andshoveditbackinthecorner.

He’dhadsexwithotherwomen,thenhadthenervetocomehomeandsleepwithme!He’dputmyhealth,ifnotmylife,atrisk!

I tiptoed back to my office and quietly closed the door. I struggled withembarrassment for a few moments, then called my doctor and made anappointmenttogettestedforHIV/AIDSandotherSTIs.

I hurried back tomy bedroom, holding back the tears until I’d closed the

door.ThenIbrokedownandcried.ImuffledmysobswithapillowsoMichaelcouldn’thearme.

ThenextthingIheardwastheclatteringofplatesinthekitchen.Iglancedatmywatch.Sixo’clock.Imusthavefallenasleep.

I slipped into the bathroom and splashed coldwater onmy face. Iwaiteduntilthemostoftherednesshaddisappeared,thenheadedforthekitchen.

I foundMichael rummaging through my cutlery drawer. I hadn’t given itmuchthought,butallofasuddenthepresenceofanothermaninthehousesosoonafterTom’sdeathmademeuncomfortable.

Anotherman.Itwassomethingmymotherwouldsay.IscoldedmyselfforconsideringmyrelationshipwithMichaelalongsilly,romanticlines.

Hesmiledatme.“Hithere.Iwasabouttogogetyou.”Hesetforksnexttoourdinnerplatesonthetable.“Pullupachair.”

I sat down and stared at the meal he’d prepared.With the expertise of agourmet chef, he’d brought renewed vigor back to the tired omelet. Bits ofparsleyandbasildecorated theedges.Meltedmozzarellacheese formedasoftcloud in thecenter.Slicesof tomatoaddedcolor. “It looks terrific,but Idon’thavemuchofanappetite.”

“Indulgeme.Tryit.”Hesatdownnexttome.I took a bite, then another, until I’d eaten it all. “That was so delicious.

Wheredidyoulearntomakeanomeletlikethat?”“InParis.Iwasonassignmentthereacoupleofyearsago.Iroomedwitha

friendofafriendwhohappenedtobeachefnamedPicasso.”Hewentonaboutthe roommate he rarely saw who worked evenings and slept during the day.“We’d leaveeachothernotes.Hiswere inFrench,whichwasbadenough,buthishandwritingwasworse.”Hechuckled.

Ilaughedtoo,thankfulthathekeptthediscussiongoingwithoutreferencetothemurderinvestigationortotherednessaroundmyeyes.

Imadeamovetogetup.“Howaboutsomecoffee?”“Igotit.”Hewentovertothecounterandturnedonthecoffeemachine.“Thanks.”Iappreciatedourfriendship,eventhoughIrealizeditwasshort-

lived.AssoonasMoreaucompletedhis investigation,Michaelwouldbegone

forgoodthistime.Withcoffeecups inhand,weheaded to the livingroomtowatch the local

news.Anydevelopmentinthecase,nomatterhowinsignificant,wouldofferasliverofhope.

Buttherewasnomentionofthemurders.TheupsidewasthatMichaelandIhad bought more time.More time to prove our alibis.More time to find thekiller.MoretimetogetMoreauoffourbacks.

I held the remote and hopped from station to station.My reasons for notparkingitonaspecificstationranthegamutofexcuses:boring,alreadyviewed,inprogress,lousyactors,whatever.Ofcourse,theprogramchoicesweren’ttheproblem.ItwasthestressofwaitingforDan’sphonecallthatwasthrowingmyattentionspanofftrack.

Irritated by the futile exercise of channel hopping, I handed Michael theremote.“Here.Maybeyou’llgetlucky.”

“Ihaveabetteridea.Waithere.I’llbebackinafewminutes.”Hedashedouttothecornerstripmallandreturnedwithahugebagofpopcornandapacketofchocolatealmonds.Hesuggestedwewatchanoldmovie,TheAddamsFamily.“Wecouldusesomelaughs.”

Hewasright.EventhoughI’dseenthemovieyearsbefore,itwashardnottolaughatthehilariousanticsoftheghoulishfamilywhosemedievalabodelookedout over a graveyard. It gave me a chance to escape from a reality that hadweighedmedownfordays.

SoIhadnoexplanationformyoutbursthalfanhourintothemovie.“Tomsleptwithotherwomen!” I threwmyarmsup in frustrationandknockedoverthepopcornbowl,scatteringpiecesalloverthecarpet.

Michael grabbed the remote and pressed the pause button. “How do youknowthis?”

“I found his appointment book. It has the names of women he met onbusiness trips.” I chokedback the tears, got downonmyknees, andbegan topickupthepopcorn.“Ifoundaboxofreceipts.Themoneywesavedtobuyahouseisgone.Hespentitallonotherwomen.Damnhim!”

Hejoinedmeonthefloor,pickinguprandompiecesofpopcorn.

Icontinuedtovent.“Thathe’dsleptwithPamwasrevolting,butIcouldn’tletitgoatthat.Oh,no.Ihadtogoanddigupatruththatwasahundredtimesmorerepulsive.”

“Megan,please—”“I’man intelligentwoman, right?So tellme,Michael, howdid Imiss the

signs?Whycouldn’tIseehewascheatingonme?”“He was your husband,” he said. “Why would you look for signs? You

trustedhim.”“He destroyed that trust with his lies. To think we were trying to have a

baby.”Thetearsbegantoflow.Michaelplacedahandonmyshoulder.“I’mreallysorry,Megan.”“I was so naïve. Damn! Damn! Damn!” I thumped my fists against my

thighs.“Stop it.” Michael grabbed me by the wrists. “You’re not to blame. You

understandme?”Hiseyeslockedonmine.Ifroze.I’dseenthatyearninginTom’seyesbefore.Therewasnomistaking

it.Michael whispered my name. He drew me closer and pressed his lips to

mine.Icouldn’tdenythethrillofhiskiss.Myheartpoundedagainstmychest,and

atinglingspreadthroughmybody.Ikissedhimback—harder.Somethingclickedinmybrain,andIcametomysenses.What kind of wife was I?My husband had just died. Hell, I hadn’t even

buriedhimyet.I was overwhelmed with guilt. I’d definitely broken one of the Ten

Commandments.Whichone.Adultery?No,myhusbandwasdead.Itdidn’tapply.Regardless,Ifeltapangofshame,asifI’dsinned.Maybeevenamortalsin

—theworstkind.IblamedmystrictCatholicupbringingforlayinganotherguilttriponme.

I pulledout ofMichael’s embrace and regainedmycomposure. “What arewedoing?Thisisn’tright.”

“I’msorry,”hesaid,loweringhisgaze.“It’smyfault.”“It’snobody’sfault.”Iturnedaway,lookedforpopcornunderthesofawhile

Itriedtoexplainwhathadhappened.“We’reunderalotofstress.Yes,that’sit.Thepolicethinkwe’remurdersuspects.”

“ButDanwill—”“Furthermore,wehaven’tacluewhatMoreauisplanningforus.Wecould

endupin jail ifDancan’tproveouralibis.What’sworse thanlivingwith thatkindofanxiety?Tellme,Michael.Justtellme.”

Iwasrambling,avoidingtherealissue:Whywasmyheartstillfluttering?“Don’tworry.”Michael’s tonewas calm. “Danwill come upwith a solid

defense forus.Youcanbeton it.”Hedropped the lastbitofpopcorn into thebowl.

Thephonerang.Imadeadashforit.ItwasDan.“IsMichaeltherewithyou?”“Yes,”Isaid.“Stayput.I’mcomingover.”

D

9

an’s demeanorMonday evening increasedmyapprehension.Theworrylinesstretchingacrosshisforeheadhintedthattheoddsstackedagainstus

wereworsethanIsuspected.AsforJane,gonewerethesoftcurlsandshortskirtshe’dworninMichael’s

suite.Herhairhungstraightdowntohershoulders.Abandpulleditawayfromherfacetorevealhighcheekbonesandaccentblue-grayeyes.Sheworeanavyjacketandskirt,awhiteshirt,andapearlnecklace.Thestylewasaustere,butitwasallaboutdepictingreliabilityandasenseofbusinessethics.

What betrayed her woodenness was the scent of her perfume. A blend oflavenderandvanilla,italludedtoalighter,morecarefreesideofherpersonalityandwasmoreinlinewithheragegroup.Rather,ouragegroup.

Dan introducedJane tous.She smiledatMichaelandshookhishand,butneitheronementionedhavingrecentlyseentheother.Thensheshookmyhand.Hergraspwasstrongbutnottootight.AlthoughIwaspuzzled,IplayedalongforMichael’ssakeandmadenomentionofourinitialmeetingat theEleganceeither.

Aswesettledaroundmykitchentable,Dansaid,“Myteamdidoneheckofa job collecting valid data from prospectivewitnesses. Iwasn’t as lucky.”Heshrugged.“ImetwithMoreauatthestation.Didn’tgetmuchthere.”

No surprise. Since the police weren’t obliged to share evidence with adefenselawyerunlesstheylaychargesandthecasegoestotrial,itwasacatch-

22ofsorts.Thebottomline:Danwouldhavehadmorelucklookingforamiteinatruckloadofmattressesthantryingtopickthedetective’sbrainforanyfactsabouthisinvestigation.IfMoreauhadnoleads,hewouldn’trevealhisinabilitytosolvethemurders.Ontheotherhand,ifprovingourguilthadbecomehissolepreoccupation,hewouldn’tsharethatwithDaneither.

Danwenton.“Toupdate,Ihadtopullteammembersoffyourcasetoworkonotherprojectsoriginallyscheduledforthisweek.”

“Sowheredoesthatleaveus?”Michaelstaredathimfromacrossthetable.“I’llbehandlingyourcasemyself.StayinginMontreallongerthanplanned.

Jane and I will continue gathering info on your behalf.” He gestured towardJane,whosatnexttoMichael.

My apprehension soared. If the statements they’d obtained fromwitnesseshadinfluencedDan’sdecisiontoextendhisstay,maybethingsweren’tlookingtoopromisingforus.

Dan retrieved some folders from his briefcase, then said to Jane, “By theway,excellentjobinthefieldtoday.”

“That’swhatI’mherefor.”Sheopenedhernotebookandtookoutapen.FrommyseatnexttoDan,IstoleaglanceatJane.Herexpressionshowed

noemotionasshewatchedhimplacesixmanilafoldersonthetable.Howmanyyearsofpracticehadittakentogetthatstonyexpressiondownpat?

“Ihopeyouhavegoodnewsforus.”Michaeleyedhisbuddywiththeusualsparkofoptimism.

“Somegood.Somenotsogood.”Danopenedthefirst file.“All right.Ourexpert’sreportonpotassiumcyanide.Notdangerouswhendry.Whenitcomesintocontactwithacidicwater—evenmoistskin—itreleasesadeadlygas.Lessthan a fraction of an ounce can kill you. Sometimes a bitter almond smell isdetected,butnotalways.SafetoassumethatTomandPamcollapsedanddiedalmostimmediately.”

Peter’sdescriptionofthescenewasstillvividinmymind.Iblotteditout.“SoTomandPamhadno chancewhatsoever of gettingout of the cottage

alive,”Isaid.“That’sright,”Dansaid.

“Wheredidthepolicefindthecyanide?”Michaelasked.“They’rewithholdingthatinformation,”Dansaid.“Whataboutthetimeofdeath?”“They’rewithholdingthattoo.”“Anyfingerprints?”Danshookhishead.“Thepoliceareworkingthroughtheeliminations.Not

muchtogoonsofar.Wantmyunofficialtheory?”“Goforit,”Michaelsaid.“Staff—andotherguests—went inandoutof thecottage thedayTomand

Pamarrived.Theyleftdozensoffingerprintsbehind.Oddsarethesuspectworeglovesandamaskassafeguardswhenhandlingthecyanide.”

“Petermentionedseeingbrokenchinaonthefloor,”Isaid.“MaybeTomandPamingestedthecyanideintheircoffeeorfood.”

“It’spossible,”Dansaid.“Finalautopsyresultswillrevealmore.”Heputthefileasideandopenedupthesecondone.“Witnessreports.LouiseKirk,managerat Pineview. She confirmed the cleaning staff left the cottage at four o’clockFriday afternoon. Tom and Pam arrived at seven that evening. A BOTCORemployeesawTomandPamdropofftheirluggageatthecottageandgodirectlytoapartyheldinanothercottage.Theystayedthereuntilmidnight.”

AsIjotteddetailsonacanaryyellownotepad,IfeltJane’seyesonme.Shetried not to be obvious about it but didn’t succeed. She was sizing me up—perhaps curious about my marriage to a cheating husband, no doubt curiousaboutthenatureofmyrelationshipwithMichael.

Icouldtellshewasstillinterestedinhimbythewayherattentiondriftedinhisdirectionwheneverhespokeandeverysooftenwhenhedidn’t.Thatshe’dchosentositnexttohimatthekitchentablewasasuregiveaway.

Michaelgavenoindicationhe’dtakentheirrelationshiptoanewlevelsincetheirmeetingattheEleganceHotel.Itwouldexplainthepasshe’dmadeatmeminutesearlier.

No,Ididn’twanttogothere.Whycomplicatemylife?Hiskisshadbeenafleetingmistakeanditwouldn’thappenagain.I’dmakesureofit.

Danfingeredadocument.“Pineviewownershipandstaff.”Hehelditoutto

Jane.“Youwanttodothehonors?”“Thanks,Dan,butIdon’tneedtoseethereport.”Janesquaredhershoulders.

“Stewart Kirk and his wife, Louise, own and manage Pineview. They haveaccess to the facilities24/7.Theypurchased the resort tenyears agoandhavehadnotroublewiththelaw.StewartKirk’stwobrothershandlethefrontdeskintheeveningandhavecarteblancheaccesstotherestofthepropertyaswell.Allfourhavesolidalibis,asdotherestofthepeopleonstaff.”

“WhataboutthesecuritypolicyatPineview?”Michaelasked.“Lax,”shesaid,turningslightlytowardhim.“Itbasicallyrunsonanhonor

system.”“Surveillancecameras?”“None.”“HowmanycottagesdoesPineviewhave?”IaskedJane.“Fifteen,”shesaid.“HowmanywereoccupiedbyBOTCORstaff?”Iasked.“Ten,” she said without hesitation, which convinced me she’d read the

findingsmorethanonceorhadaphotographicmemory.“Whydoyouask?”“Peoplewhogotoaresortcangetlaid-backwhenthey’rehangingoutwitha

groupoffriends,”Isaid.“IfBOTCORemployeesoccupiedmostofthecottages,TomandPammighthavefeltsafeand left theirdoorunlocked.Anyonecouldhavegainedaccesstotheircottagewhiletheywereout.”

“Youmeantoplantthecyanide,”Janesaid.Wasshedoingitonpurposetomakemespellitout?“Well,yes,”Isaid.“Easyaccess,”Dansaid,scribblinganote.“It’sadoubtwecanraiseinour

defense.”He liftedanother report from the file. “A listof thecleaningstaffatPineview.Mostaresemi-retiredworkers.Eachhadaccesstothecottages.”

“Didanyofthemseeanythingsuspicious?”Michaelaskedhim.“No,”Janereplied.“I interviewedall fiveof them.Theyhadsolidalibis. I

didtheusualbackgroundchecksonthemtoo.Thosecameupclean.”“Whoelsehadaccesstothecottages?”Iasked.“Eachguesthadakey to theirowncottage,ofcourse,”Janesaid,blinking

hard,asifI’daskedasillyquestion.Iignoredherandbegantodrawcirclesonmynotepad.Doodlinghelpedme

tothink.Danopenedupthenextfile.“Myteamcouldn’tgetacopyofthevideotapes

fromtheElegance.Thepolicehaveacopy,but theydon’twant toshare.”Hislipstightenedinannoyance.“Megan,wehaveawitnessreportfromMrs.Speckatthecondo.SheconfirmedyourreturnhomeataboutnineFridayevening.”

Thankgoodness!Thatinterferingwitchfinallycamethroughforme.“Michael, the desk clerk at the Elegance saw you in the lobbywhen you

returnedtothehotelaroundmidnight.”Danpaused.“Oh,onemorething.Salesreceipts at Santino’s substantiate you both had dinner there until eight forty-five.”

ThemusclesaroundJane’seyestightenedatthementionofmyhavinghaddinnerwithMichael.

“About a potential problem we raised earlier, Megan, ” Dan said. “Weconfirmed there’s no surveillance camera at the rear exit of your condo. ThepolicemightquestionyourwhereaboutsafterMichaeldroppedyouoff.”

Exasperationcreptin.“WhatdoesittaketoproveIwasasleepinmybed?”Isaid.

“Avideotape.”Michaelgrinned.“Right.”Ilaughed.Janewasstaringatmeagain,butIpretendednottonotice.InsteadIwrotea

notetomyselfontheyellownotepad.I’dvisitthecondosuperintendentandaskaboutinstallinganadditionalvideocameraattherearofthebuilding.

Danliftedanotherreportinthefile.“OntoSainte-Adèle.Wetrackeddowntheclerkatthegasstation.Hedidn’trememberyou,Michael.”

“What about their videotape?” Michael asked, repeating what had nowbecomethecatchphraseoftheevening.

“The surveillance system was malfunctioning,” Dan said. “No tape wasavailable.”

“You’rekidding,”Michaelsaidindisbelief.Jane turned to him. “It’s true, Michael. I spoke with the owner of a

dépanneur locatednearby. Iwashopinghis storehada surveillance system inplace,butitdidn’t.IwishIhadmorepositivenewsforyou.Sorry.”Shereachedoutandputherhandonhis.

“Noproblem,”Michaelsaid.“Youdidthebestyoucould.”“Youdrove toSainte-Adèleand Pineview today?” I asked Jane, shattering

themomentbetweenthem.SheslidherhandoffMichael’s.“Yes,Idid.”Shegavemeahalf-smile,asif

onesideofhermouthfeltIdeserveditwhiletheotherfelt itwasn’tworththeeffort.“IwasvisitingfriendsupnorthSundaynight.DanpagedmethismorningandaskedifI’ddropbythegasstationinSainte-Adèle.Itwasminutesaway,soIsaidyes.SinceDanwasbusyintown,IofferedtodrivetoPineviewtodotheinterviewstheretoo.”

Her eager-to-please attitudewas beginning to annoyme farmore than herdiligence.Idoodledmorecircles.

“My team confirmed the mileage on your rental car, Michael,” Dan said.“It’s what we’d discussed. The equivalent of a two-way trip to Sainte-Adèle,plusextramilesdrivingaroundMontreal.”

“Or thedistancedriving toandfromPineview—giveor takea fewmiles,”Michaelsaid,ironyinhisvoice.

“Don’tevengothere,”Isaid,waryofanyevidencethathadthepotentialtobackfire.“Moreaucoulduseitagainstus.Right,Dan?”

“Hemight,”Dansaid.Michaelleanedforward.“Idon’tlikewherethisisgoing,Dan.Isn’ttheonus

onthecopstoprovewewenttoPineviewinthefirstplace?”Dan nodded. “From the prosecution’s perspective, whoever planted the

cyanide at Pineview needed controlled conditions. Plus a clear path and nowitnesses. IfTomandPamhad reached thecottagebeforeyoudidandstayedtheretherestof—”

“Wealreadyknowthatdidn’thappen,”Michaelsaid.“Allthemorereasontheprosecutioncouldargueyouhadtheopportunityto

sneakinandplantthecyanide,say,betweentenandeleventhatnightwhennoonewasinthecottage.”

“Holdon,”Michaelsaid,raisingahandintheair.“LikeMegansaid,anyonecouldhavewalkedinifthedoorwasn’tlocked.”

“Other suspectsmight surface in the interim,”Dan said. “In any case,wehavetobepreparedtodefendourpositionfromeveryangle.Raisedoubtsabouttheevidencetheprosecutionpresentsincourt.Ifitevercomestothat.”

Michaelsatquietly,saidnothing.Didhefeelasifhewerebeingsingledoutasasuspect?Ifso,Ihadtoshow

himhewasn’talone.“ButDan,TomtoldmehewasgoingtoGraniteRidge.Ihadnoreasontobelievehe’dgonetoPineview.NeitherdidMichael.”

“The prosecution might refute your claim,” Dan said. “Show how yourconversation with Louise substantiated the fact you knew Tom was going toPineview.Evenifheliedaboutittoyou.”

“Petercanvouchforme,”Isaid.“HecoveredupforTom.Hecouldprovideuswithanalibiofsorts.”

Dan tiltedhishead fromside to side. “It’sdubious.Theprosecution couldcreate a doubt aboutPeter’s credibility as awitnessbasedonhis cover-up forTom.Itwouldcanceloutthetruthfulanswers.”

“Great. That’s allwe need.”Michael ran a hand through his hair. “A caseagainstusbasedonlies.”

Thefrustrationinhisvoicewasjustified.Thelikelihoodwecouldbefacingmurderchargeswasunthinkable,yetpossible,ifwecouldn’tproveouralibis.

Danmovedontothenextfile.“TheBOTCORemployees.Solidalibis.”“PeterEwanstoo?”Michaelaskedhim.“I’ll check.”He flipped through the file, pulledout a report, andgave it a

quickscan.“PeterandhiswifearrivedattheBOTCORpartyatthesametimeasTom,Pam,andotherguests.Theyallstayedthereuntillatethatnight.”

“Itdoesn’tmeananything,”Michael said.“Petercouldhaveslippedout toplantthecyanidewhileeveryoneelsewasdistractedattheparty.Noonewouldhavenoticed.”

“Possibly,” Dan said. “However, witness comments contradict theimpressionyouhaveofPeter.It’sinheresomewhere.”Heleafedthroughthefileuntil he found it. “ABOTCOR employee said Peter became ill right after he

discoveredthebodies.Paramedicshadtogivehimatranquilizeronsite.”“Itcouldbeanaturalreactiontoatraumaticevent,”Janesaid.“Oracaseofnerves,”Isaid.“Definitelyaguiltyconscience,”Michaelsaid.“Alikelysuspect.”“Circumstancesmightsuggestit,”Dansaid.“However,studiesindicatethat

Peter’stemperamentdoesn’tfitthestereotypeofacold-bloodedkiller.”“Whynot?Fromwhat I learned in investigative journalism, thequietones

aretheonesyouhavetowatchoutfor.”Dantappedhispen.“Wecanspeculateallwewant.It’swhatMoreauthinks

that counts. Let’s move on.” His eyes zigzagged along another page. “WeinterviewedtheautomechanicwhorepairsanddoesmaintenanceontheleasedBOTCORvehicles.”

“So you do have suspicions about Peter after all,”Michael said, his eyesalert.

“It’saprecautionarymoveonourpart.”Danstudied thereport.“TheFordwas in excellent condition. The last tune-upwas amonth ago. Themechanicclaimsit’soddthatawheelcouldhavefallenoffthevehiclelikethat.”

“Unlessthemechanicdidn’tdoit.”Michaelraisedaneyebrow.Igraspedahorrificpossibility.“Holdon.PeterwasjealousofTom’ssuccess,

butIdoubthe’dkillhim.Itwasanaccident.”“Howcanyoubecertain?”Michaelaskedme.“Here’sanotheroneforyou.

HowwelldoyouknowPeter?”“Iknowhe’sagoodfamilyman.Somewhatinsecureandnervous.Why?”Hegrewpensive.“ThinkbacktothedayhedeliveredtheFordtoyourplace.

Didhesayordoanythingoutoftheordinary?”“Hedroppedthecarkeyswhenhehandedthemtome,butlikeIsaid,he’sa

nervous type of guy.” Then I remembered. “Wait. There was something else.WhenIaskedifhewantedaridebackhome,hewassurprised.HethoughtIwasreferringtotheFord.WhenIsaidImeantataxi,heseemedrelieved.”

“It’ssoundingmoreandmoresuspicioustome,”Michaelsaid.“Let’snotjumptoconclusions,”Dansaid.“Peter’sreactiontoMeganmight

havebeenbasedoncompanypolicy.Anoutsidepartynotauthorizedtodrivea

companycar,forexample.”Heglancedbackat thereport.“Morenotes.WhenmyteammentionedtheloosetireincidenttoPeter,hewentwhite.Lookedasifheweregoingtopassout.”

HiswordswerelostonMichael.“Itcouldhavebeenanact.”“Hemighthaveahealthproblemwedon’tknowabout,”Isaid,switchingto

doodlingtriangles.“Idon’tbuyit,”Michaelsaid.“I’dbethisplantogetridofTomfailedthe

first time. He waited for the next suitable occasion—Pineview. Motive andopportunity.”

“Possibly,”Dansaid.“ButwhyriskkillingPam?”“Whynot?MegancouldhavebeensittingintheFordwithTomthedaythe

tireflewoff.Peterwouldhavekilledthemboth.”His comment triggered anothermemory, and I voiced it. “Peter calledme

Saturdaymorning.HepassedalonghiscondolencesbutconfidedthatTomhadtoldhimweweregettingadivorce.TomandIneverdiscusseddivorce.”

“More lies.” Michael waved a hand in the air. “Peter’s suffering from adouble dose of guilt. It happens to the best of murderers. He’s still a primesuspecttome.”

“Pure speculation at this point,” Dan said. “We haven’t completed hisbackgroundcheck.Havetodeterminealinktocyanide,andsoon.”

Peter’sworkbackgroundcame tomind.What Iwasabout to revealwoulddefeatmyargumentinsupportofhim,butIhadtobetruthful.“PeterworkedasachemicalengineerbeforehejoinedBOTCOR.”

“Aha!” Michael clapped his hands together. “The trump card. One moreincriminatingpieceofevidenceagainsthim.”

Janejumpedin.“Dan,doyouwantmetocheckPeterforyou?I’dbehappyto.”

“As a witness,” Dan said. “Verify his contacts in the chemicals industry,formerandcurrent.GetacharacterreferencefromthepersonneldepartmentatBOTCOR.Askaboutpotentialproblemswithstaff,addictionsofanysort.Thatkindofthing.Speakwithhiswife,neighbors,friends.”

Jane’spenslidacrossthepagetokeepupwithhisinstructions.

I moved on to doodling squares and waited until they’d finished theirconversation.

Atonepoint,Danshuffledthefoldersandaphotoslippedout.ThepictureofacottagehadtobetheonewhereTomandPamhadstayed.Hehastilypickeditupandputitbackinthefolder.HeprobablythoughtitwouldupsetmeifIsawit.

“Dan,wasthatapictureofthePineviewcottage?”Iaskedhim.“Yes,”hesaid.“CanIseeit?”Hefisheditoutandhandedittome.Iexaminedthephoto.Threewoodenstepsleduptoanarrowverandaatthe

frontofthesingle-storycottage.Anarrowwindowborderedtheleftsideofthedoor. Eyelet curtains allowed a partial view of the inside.What I foundmostsurprisingwerethefourglasspanelsonthedoor.

“There’sasimplelockonthefrontdoor,”Isaid.“Itwouldhavebeeneasytobreakaglasspanelandopen thedoorfromtheoutside.”Ipassed thephoto toMichael.“I’msurprisedPeterdidn’ttrytobreakinwhenhesawTomandPamcollapsedonthefloor.”

“I’mnot,”Michael said. “Ifheplanted thecyanide,he’dhavemadedamnsurenottowalkinandgivethemmouth-to-mouth.”

“Iagree,”Janesaid.“WithPeter’sexperienceinchemicals,he’dhaveknownthedangersofexposuretocyanide.Hewouldn’thaveriskedit.”

“Theproofkeepspilingup,”Michaelsaid.HehandedDanthephoto.Our discussion triggered another memory—one that required immediate

actiononmypart.“Excuseme. I’llbe rightback.” Iwent to thebedroomandretrievedTom’sappointmentbookfromthecloset,thenreturnedtothekitchen.“ThisbelongedtoTom.”IofferedittoDan.“Itcouldhelpourinvestigation.Thenamesinthedirectoryatthebackmightproducealeadtotherealkiller.”

Michaelgavemeanadmiringlook.“Ittakesalotofcouragetodowhatyoujustdid.”

“Notifit’sourpassportoutofhell,”Isaid.Janeleanedforward.“Whatexactlydidyoufindinthere,Megan?”

“The names of womenmy husband slept with,” I said, keepingmy voiceeven.

“Oh.”Shesatback.AbriefdisplayofcompassionvanishedassheturnedherattentiontoDan.

Danscannedthepagesofthedirectoryandstoppedonceinawhiletoperusethenames.“Ifwemake inquiries into thenames listedhere,wemighthave topresenttestimonystemmingfromthem.Kitschydetailscouldsurfaceinacourtoflaw.Causeyoupotentialembarrassment,Megan.”

“Dowhateveryouhavetodo,”Isaid.“Wehavetoflushoutthekiller.”“Newwitness informationmight help your defense, but proving that other

suspectsareguiltyisbeyondthescopeofourresponsibilities,”heremindedme.“Iunderstand,”Isaid.DanhandedTom’sappointmentbook toJane.“Start the interviewprocess.

Contactasmanypeopleasyoucan.”Hereachedforthenextfileandopeneditup.“My teamspokewithMrs.TriciaBradford,wifeof fifty-five-year-oldBillBradford.Reputable familyonboth sides.Oldmoney—millions—onher side.Mrs. Bradford is involved with charities, social committees, lawn parties.Influentialinhigh-societycircles.Rumorhasitshe’sasilentpartnerinBradfordPublishing.”

“Whataboutheralibi?”MichaelaskedDan.“Confirmed.She left tovisithermother inHampsteadonFridaymorning.

Stayedthereseveraldays.”“Sowhat?”Michaelsaid.“Moneytalks.Iftheboss’swifebelievedPamwas

sleepingwithherhusband,shecouldhireahitmantogetridofPamandcoverhertrackslikeapro.”

Dan shrugged. “Why take the chance? Assuming she’s found guilty ofmurder,we’re talking twenty-fiveyears in jail.Heftyprice topay for revenge.Nottomentionshecouldforfeittherighttoherhusband’sestate.Hugestakes.”

“Youamazeme,”MichaelsaidtoDan.“Ithoughtthecontentsofwillswereofflimits.”

“Peopletalk,”Dansaid.“SoMrs.Bradfordisstillintherunningasasuspect.”

“Possibly,but it’snotup tome toprove it.”Danflippedopen the last file.“Allright.WitnessesatBradfordconfirmPamlefttheofficeatfourthatFriday.”

ItvalidatedthenotationI’dseeninTom’sappointmentbook,yetsomethingnaggedatme. “If it took them threehours toget toPineview, theymusthavestoppedalongtheway.”

“Forabitetoeat,”Michaelsaid.“Possibly.”Danliftedreportsfromthefileandfannedthemoutinhishands.

“Thestaff interviewsatBradford. I left thisbunchfor last.The interviewwithEmilySaunderswasexceptional.”

“Goodorbad?”Iasked,tryingtoquelltheuneasyfeelingstirringinsideme.Hepluckedareportandplaceditonthetopofthepile.“Bad.Hercomments

woulddamageourdefensewithoutadoubt.”After my run-in with Emily at Bradford, my instincts were on high alert.

“Whatdidshesay?”Danletoutadeepbreath.“ThatyouandMichaelwerelovers.”

T

10

his time Iwascertain I sawJane flinch.Notonly flinchbut shift inherchair.

Shecaughtmelookingatherandpretendedtocrossherlegs.Ipretendednottonotice.Iwasbattlingmyowndemons.MichaelandIwerelovers.Atleast,that’swhatEmilyhadtoldthepolice.Thememory ofMichael’s kiss popped intomymind. Butterflies fluttered

insideme,andIstruggledtocontroltheflushinmycheeks.Michaelspokeup.“Emilyaskedmeoutafewtimes.Isaidno.She’spissed

offandtakingitoutonmethroughMegan.”“AngerisanormalreactiononEmily’spart,”Janesaid.“Shefeltrejected.”“It’smore than that,” I said, findingmy voice. “Emily is jealous and has

anger-managementissues.”“All right.” Dan’s brow puckered, as if what he was going to say would

causeusmoreconcern.“AfterclosinghoursatBradfordonFriday,anincomingcall bounced fromMegan’s desk to the front desk. Emilyworked atBradfordSunday afternoon. She saw the flashing light on the phone and checked themessage.”

“WhenI’mnotintheoffice,Iputmyphoneoncallforward,”Isaid.“Whowasthecaller?”

Danglancedbackat thereport.“Unknown.Atechnicaldevicewasusedto

disguise the voice. The message said: Stop sleeping with Michael Elliott, orelse.”

Iwasspeechless.Michaeltensed.“That’sablatantlie,ifnotathreat.”“Emilysaidthepolicetookitasathreattoo,”Dansaid.Itwasmyturntocryfoul.“Shetoldthepoliceabout thecall?Whywould

shepromoteanotherlieaboutMichaelandme?”“Whatdoyoumean,anotherlie?”Michaelstaredatme.I summedupmychatwithEmilyat theoffice.“Sheblamesme forPam’s

deathandisspreadingrumorstogetbackatme.”“Thatmakestwoofus,”Michaelsaid.“Rumorsareharmlessschoolgirlantics,”Janesaid.“It goes beyond harmless.” Dan laid aside his pen and fixed his gaze on

Michael.“ThepolicenowhavegroundstosuspectyouhadamotiveforkillingTom.YoursecretloveaffairwithMegan.”

Michael leaned forward. “How can the cops rely on a ridiculousmessagefromanunknowncaller?”

“They’llinspectcompanyphonerecordstoverifythelegitimacyofthecallandgofromthere,”Danpointedout.

“It’salongshot,”Michaelsaid.“Emilycouldhaveaskedafriendtocalltheoffice fromanunlistednumberor a cellphone.Shecouldhaveconcocted thewholething.”

Granted, Emily’s accusation about me might have stemmed from a darkplaceinherheart,andyet...“Emilycanbedramaticattimes,butwouldshetakeachanceandlietothepolicewhenitinvolvesamurderinvestigation?”

“Goodpoint,”Dansaid.“Shecouldbechargedwithobstructionofjustice.”“Dan,Ishouldhaveagirl-to-girltalkwithEmily,”Janesaid.“I’msureIcan

clearupthislittlemisunderstanding.”“Not a good idea,” Dan said. “We need to play down the nature of the

anonymouscall.Ifwedrawattentiontoit,Moreaucoulduseitasaspringboard.Hecouldlaunchhisinvestigationinanumberofpredictabledirections.Mostofthembasedonmotive.”

Janepersisted.“Dan,theanonymouscallcanbeconstruedashearsay.”“Doesn’tmatter,”Dansaid.“Whynot?”“Theimplicationisthere.”AsharpglancefromDanendedthedebate.“I’llbetMoreaualreadylatchedontoit,”Michaelsaid.“He’llchaseanylead

ifittakeshimbacktoourdoorstep.”Dan patted his brow with a hankie, then returned it to his pocket. His

expressionremainedseriousasheaddressedMichaelandme.“Allright.Awordofadvicebeforewewrapthingsup.Fromwhatwelearned,youcouldbothbeatthetopofthesuspectlistasfarasMoreauisconcerned.Don’tgivehimareasontopursueyou.”Hegatheredhisfilesinapile.

“Whatdoyoumean?”Michaelasked.“He won’t stop until he finds reasonable and probable grounds to charge

you.”“Andthat’ssupposedtoscareme?Lethimbringiton.”Michaelraisedhis

handsintheair.“Ifhethinkshe’sgoingtodigupdirttoincriminateme,he’sinforahugedisappointment.”Hestuckouthisjawindefiance.

“That’sgoesformetoo,”Isaid,tryingtosoundasbold.Yetpartofmefearedwe’dneverbreakfreefromachainofeventsthatwas

headedfordisaster.

T

11

herewasacommotionoutsidemycondoTuesdaymorning.Ipeekedthroughthehorizontalblindsinthelivingroom.

Cameracrewshadsetuptheirequipmentonthefrontlawn.Reporterswerecompetingforprimelocationsneartheentrance.Theonlyplausibleexplanationforthemediapresencewasthatinformationaboutthemurdershadleakedouttothem.

IwasgladI’ddrawntheblindstheeveningbefore.Iteliminatedanychancethatarovingcameralensmightaccidentallyzoominandinvademyprivacy.

On thebackof this latestdevelopment,anotherhorrid thought ran throughmymind:Everydetailofmylifewasabouttobeplacedunderamicroscopefortheentireworldtosee.

TheflashingredlightonthephoneinmyofficecaughtmyeyeasIwentby.I’dswitchedoff theringeronbothphones lastnight togetsomesleep.NowIswitchedthembackonandcheckedmymessages.

Thecallswerefromreportersrequestinginterviews.Itwasamiraclethey’dmanagedtoreachmesincemyphonenumberwasunlisted.MaybesomeoneatBradford had given it to them. Emily, I thought unkindly. From their voicemessages,itwascleartheywereeagertogetmeinfrontoftheircameras.

Fatchance.Iplannedtoremainindoors,safeandsheltered.Then I remembered I had an appointment with my gynecologist this

morning.Ihadnochoice.Ihadtoleavetheshelterofmycondoandfindaway

tododgethemediacoverage.On that note, I was somewhat curious about the extent of their coverage.

Maybe one of the local channels had given the murders prime airtime thismorning.Icheckedmywatch.Eighto’clock.Ihurriedbacktothelivingroom,ploppeddownonthesofa,andclickedontheTV.

I’dmissedthefirstsecondsofthebroadcastbutcaughtaglimpseofafemalereporter pursuingMoreau up the front steps of the police station. The personholding the camera had a hard time keeping it steady and most of the shotszoomedinonMoreau’sbriefcaseorhisback.Justbeforetheyreachedthefrontdoors,thereporteraskedMoreauifhehadanyleadsinthecase.Helookedoverhisshoulderandsaid“nocomment”beforehevanishedinside.

What followed was a clip of a BOTCOR marketing executive whom IrecognizedfromacompanyChristmasparty.Hisnamewasn’tfamiliar,butthesilver-hairedmaninagraysuitattestedthatTom’scontributiontothefirmhadresulted in “a substantial financial boost to the bottom line during his shortcareerspan.”

Howcrass!Itwasallaboutthemoneyforthoseleeches—rightuptotheend.I satupwhen the frontofmycondobuildingappeared in thenext clip.A

camerazoomedinon theentrancewhereanotherfemalereporterstoodtalkingwith…

Oh, no! Mrs. Speck! She was being interviewed in the foyer downstairs.Live.Iturnedupthevolume.

“I seldom saw Mr. Scott,” Mrs. Speck said, tugging at the black shawlaroundhershoulders.“Nosiree,itdidn’tsurprisemetolearnthey’dseparated.”Herlipsshuttighttoformathincrookedline.

“Howdoyouknowforafacttheywereseparated?”thereporteraskedher.Mrs. Speck stuck out her pointy chin. “I sawMr. Scott leave the building

withasuitcasethatFridayafternoon.”“IunderstandMr.Scotttraveledalotonbusiness,”thereporterwenton.“He

must have packed a suitcase many times before. What was so different thistime?”

“Hedidn’treturn,”Mrs.Specksaid.“HeusuallyreturnsonSundaynight.I

saidtomyself,thisisnotagoodsign,nosiree.”Sheadjustedherglasses.“Thenontheweekend,IsawseveralstrangemencomingandgoingfromMrs.Scott’sapartmentatallhoursofthedayandnight.”

“Strangemen?”thereporterpromptedher.“I’malaw-abidingcitizen,soIwon’tgointothedetailsinpublic,butIwas

shockedthatawomanofillreputemightbelivingunderthesameroofasme.”Igasped.“Thatwitch!”Thereporteryankedthemicrophoneawayandconcludedhercoverage.IaimedtheremoteattheTVandturneditoff,wishingitwerethateasyto

turnMrs.Speckofftoo.Shemusthavebeenthrilledtolaunchmy“illrepute”asthismorning’sofficialtopicofgossip.

Itwasreassuring toknowIwasn’t theonlycondodweller thatMrs.Speckspied on. Other occupants got wise to her habits after she’d start up aconversation with them about the magazines they subscribed to—informationshe’d acquired frompeekingover the letter carrier’s shoulder as he sorted themailinthelobby.

Howoftenhadsheeavesdroppedonmeorstoodoutsidemyapartmentdoorto—

ThephonerangandIjumped.Icursedthemediaoutloudforputtingmeonedge. I rushed to the office and checked the display on the phone. It wasBradfordPublishing.Iansweredit.

“Hi,Megan,”Kayla’svoicecamethroughtheotherend.“DidIgetyouatabadtime?”

“Notatall,”Isaid.“Ireceivedyourflowers.Thankyou.”“Oh…well,it’stheleastwecoulddoforyou.”Shesoundedalittleflustered.

“Megan,Ihatetobethebearerofmorebadnewsatatimelikethis,butMr.B.has requested that we refrain from giving you any more contract work untilthis…situationisresolved.”

“Situation?”“He’sconcernedaboutthebadpublicitysurroundingPam’sandTom’sdeath

andtheirconnectiontoyou.”“What?That’shorrible!Howcanheevenjustify—”

“I’msorry,Megan.Ihopeitallblowsoversoon.”Great. Tom had squandered thousands of dollars from our joint savings

account.Therenthad tobepaidby theendof themonth, letalone thebills. Ihadlimitedsavingsandnoviablesourceofrevenue.

HowwouldIsurvive?Kaylawenton.“Ifyouwanttosendmeaninvoiceforyourworktodate,I’ll

makesureyougetpaidASAP.”Imumbledmythanksandhadbarelyhungupwhenthephonerangagain.UNKNOWNCALLER.Ipickeditup,intendingtohangupassoonasthemarketerbeganhispitch.Annoyance turned toreliefat thesoundofMichael’svoice.“HopeIdidn’t

wakeyou,”hesaid,soundingcheery.“No,butthereportersdid.They’reparkedoutsidethecondo.”Igavehima

recap of the interviewwithMrs. Speck. “That wickedwitch of the east! ShepaintedmeasaprostituteandsaideverywordofitonliveTV,totopitoff.”

Helaughed.“Strangemenvisitingyou?Danwillgetakickoutofit.AsforMoreau,Idon’tknow.”

“Oh,he’llbeflattered.”Helaughedagain.“I’moutjogging.Iwantedtogoovertoseeyou.Areyou

upforavisit?”“It’snotagoodidea.”“Right.Themedia.”Michaelpaused.“Canyouholdon?Jane’sontheother

line.”Afterafewseconds,hereturned.“Sorry,Megan.”“Anynewsaboutthecase?”“No.Janejustwantedtocomeovertothehotel.”“Oh.”“ItoldherIwasout,thatI’dbebusytherestoftheday.Speakingofwhich,

howaboutmeetingmeforlunchatSantino’s?”“Ican’t.ThereporterswillhoundmeassoonasIstepoutside.”“Throw on a pair of sunglasses,” he suggested. “Wear different clothing.

Theywon’trecognizeyou.Andusetherearexit.”Iconsideredhisinvitation.Ihadn’tboughtgroceriesindays.Ihadadoctor’s

appointment at eleven o’clock anyway. Escape seemed like a viable option—especiallytheincognitopart.

“Okay.Seeyouatnoon.”I entered the kitchen and caught a whiff of the rich Colombian brew

completing its pre-programmed drip. Nothing smelled better tome than freshbrewed coffee, except a pastry shop that sold fresh baked goods and freshbrewedcoffee.Isuddenlycravedacup.

Butfirstthingsfirst.Ipeekedoutthedoortomakesurethecorridorwasempty.Itwas.Iopened

thedoorwideenough to stickmyarmoutand retrievedmy rolled-upcopyofTheGazette. Itwasamysteryhowthedeliverypersongot into thebuilding tobeginwith, but Iwas thankful for any small favor that happened intomy lifethesedays.

Ipouredcoffeeintoahugemugandpoppedtwoslicesofwholegrainbreadinto the toaster, then satdownat thekitchen table. I removed the elasticbandaround the newspaper and opened it up. The headline on the front page read:“MysteriousCyanideMurdersatPineviewResort.”

Myheartthumpedwildly.WasMoreauresponsibleforreleasingthestorytothemedia?Ifso,whyhadn’thewarnedMichaelandmeaheadoftime?

Maybehehadanewleadorsolidevidenceonhand—somethingthatwoulddrivetheinvestigationintherightdirection.

I read the first of two articles. It portrayedme as a “grief-stricken, youngwidow.”GiventhatIhadn’tspokenwithanyreporterssofar,Imarveledattheiringenuityincomingupwiththatdescription.Itwasmygoodfortunethat theyoffered a sympathetic approach regardingmy emotional state. A photo ofmetakenataBradfordPublishingeventlastyearaccompaniedthepiece.Someonehadgiven it to thepresswithoutmyknowledgeorpermission.Again, I hatedmyselfforsuspectingEmily,butwhoelsecoulditbe?WithRayworkinginthelab,itwouldbeeasytogetanyphotoshewanted.

The second article described Tom as “an ambitious, up-and-comingmarketing executive with a national corporation” and Pam as “a vivaciouspublicitymanagerwith a bright future in the publishing industry.” Pictures of

Pam with clients were splattered across the page in media hype style. ThephotographofacottageatPineviewwasalsoincluded,thoughnottheoneTomhadstayed in.Like theotherarticle, thisonestated thepolicehadnoconcreteleadsandcontinuedtoaskthepublic’ssupportinsolvingthemurders.

Moreau had zilch. Thewrite-ups contained information, but any seasonedinvestigative reporter couldobtain that sort of basic data fromaphone call orpersonal interview.The single significant detail—that Tom and Pamhad beenmurderedwithcyanide—haddefinitelycomefromthepoliceandnooneelse.IcutoutthearticlestoshowMichael.

WhileImunchedonatoasttoppedwithbutter,Iflippedthroughtherestofthe paper. A short article about a drug arrest in Sainte-Adèle caught my eye.Therewasnobylinetoindicatewhohadwrittenthepiece.

I scanned other articles and picked up three spelling errors and mentallyrevisedtwosentences.Theabilitytopickouttyposandrevisemuddledtexthaditsadvantages.Ittookmyattentionoffthemurders.Italsoextendedtoanotheraspect—onethatengagedmymuscles:Itmademecravetidinessandcleanlinessaroundme.

Iwas facedwith a cluttered counter, a sink full of dishes, and a floor thathadn’tbeenwashedinweeks.Itwastimeforacrackdown.AfterIwasdoneinthe kitchen, I moved on to the bathroom and scrubbed it until it sparkled.Satisfiedthattheseactivitieshadappeasedmyyenforrestoringorder,IstrolledtothebedroomclosettopickoutsomethingtoweartoSantino’s.

ThephonerangasIpassedtheoffice,soIanswered.“Haveyouseentoday’snews?”mymotheraskedattheotherendoftheline.

Shesubscribedtoahandfuloflocalpapersandconsideredherselfanexpertinpublic affairs, or more precisely, the affairs of people in the public eye. Herinterests spanned from fundraising events to government policy for seniors—anythingthatkeptaconversationgoingwithfriendsandrelatives.

“I read the articles in The Gazette,” I said in response to her question,prayingshewasn’treferringtotheTVcoverage.“I’msorryIcouldn’t tellyousooneraboutthecyanide.”

Shesighed.“Itfeltlikedéjàvu.”

“Whatdoyoumean?”“For twenty years your father worked for that horrible plastics company.

Everydayhewasexposedtoamixofchemicals.Cyanidewasoneofthem.”“YouthinkitcontributedtoDad’sdeathfromcancer?Idon’trememberthe

doctorsmentioningit.”“Theydidn’t.Yourfather toldme.Rememberhowthehospitaldidn’twant

togetinvolvedinmylawsuitagainsttheplasticscompany?”“Yes.”“Well, thatwas the reason.Anyway, itwasall for thebetter. I didn’tneed

moregrief.”Sheletoutanothersigh.“Megan,IpromisedIwouldrespectyourprivacy, but I have to ask you. One tabloid said Tom was a member of adoomsdaycultthatcommitssuicidewithcyanide.”

“Mom,youcan’taccepteverythingyoureadasfact,”Isaid.“Tomlovedlifetoomuchtokillhimself.Webothknowthat.”

“Sowhocouldhavedonesuchahatefulthing?”“Idon’tknow.”Silencehungontheline.Iputmyselfinherplaceandtriedtoimaginewhat

shewasthinking.She’doftenheardmecomplainaboutTom’sfrequenttrips,butbecausehe’dshonesobrightlyinhereyes,she’dchosentoignoremywhiningforthemostpart.

Hisdeathmighthavechangedherperspective.Didshewonderwhetherornot I’d foundout abouthis affair and sought revengeagainsthim?Would sheentertainsuchdreadfulthoughtsaboutherowndaughter?Wouldanymother?

Hervoiceshatteredmyreverie.“Icantakecareofthearrangementsforthewake,ifyouwant.Wecanhaveitatmyplace.”

“Onlyifyou’reuptoit,”Isaid.“I’mfine.Atmyage,Ihavetomakeeveryminutecount.”I’dheardthatlinebefore.Peopleinmymother’sagegroupoftenspokeasif

theywere going to die at anymoment. She lingered a bit longer on the line,chatting,maybe sensing I hadn’t told her everything, hoping I’d use her as asoundingboardthewayI’doftendone.

InsteadIheldback.

Ididn’twanttocauseherunnecessarygrief,soIdidn’ttellherthemanI’dmarried—the same man she’d thought would make such a fine husband andgreat father—had cheated onmewithmore than onewoman andmight haveinfectedmewithalife-threateningdisease.

NordidItellherthatthepolicemightconductasearchofmyhomeanydaynowbecausetheyconsideredMichael—amanwhomI’dmetweeksago—asmylover.Consequently,wewerepotentialsuspectsinthedoublemurders.

I especiallydidn’twant to tell her thatMichael and I hadhired a criminallawyertorepresentusandthatwewerehavingahardtimeprovingouralibisthenightTomdied.

No,somethingsyoujustdon’ttellyourmother.Wesaidourgoodbyesandpromisedtokeepintouch.Iwasabouttostepintotheshowerwhenthephonerangagain.Irushedover

toanswerit,buttherewassilenceattheotherendoftheline.Icheckedthedisplay.Itwasalong-distancenumberthatwasn’tfamiliarto

me. Probably a representative from one of those annoying telemarketingcompanies.They used a computer-generated listing that dialedmultiple phonenumbersatonceandleftyouhangingifsomeoneelseansweredbeforeyoudid.SoIdidn’tanswer.

At ten-thirty, Imademygetaway through therearexitof thecondo—rightintoahornet’snestofreporters.

A

12

dozenreporterswerelurkingintheparkinglotbehindmycondo.I heededMichael’swordsof advice and strolled along, notmaking

eye contactwith anyone.Hewas right.Noone recognized the “grief-stricken,youngwidow”cladinabaseballcap,jeanshorts,awhiteT-shirt,andsunglasses.Theponytailhadbeenalast-minutedecision—myattemptatshavingoffyearstofoilthereporters’plans.Ithadworked.

Thewidebranchesofthemapletreesliningthestreetofferednorespitefromtheheatandmugginessthathadreturnedtothecityandwouldlingerforanotherspell. Good thing it was only a fifteen-minute walk to the medical clinic onSherbrookeStreet.

Icheckedin,thensatdowninthesmallwaitingroom.When it was my turn, the gynecologist examined me and took the usual

samplesrequiredforSTItesting.HestatedI’dhavetheresultsinseveralweeks.He took a blood sample for HIV testing and said I’d have those results inminutes.

I prayed while I waited. The results came back negative, andmy anxietylevel dropped until he said I’d have to return in three months for more HIVtestingasaprecautionarymeasure.

The outdoor air hung heavy with humidity. Before I’d walked the threeblocks to the underground subway station, my T-shirt had absorbed thedampnessandwasbeginningtoclingtomyskin.IwelcomedthecoolnessofLe

Metro, but itwas too short a train ride downtown to theMcGill station for acompletecoolingdownperiod.

AgustofhotairgreetedmeasIresurfacedatthestreetlevel.Thesunsearedthepavementandsentuptidesofheat thatblurredmyvisionofobjects in thedistance and made breathing a chore. The two commercial blocks east ofSantino’sstretchedoutbeforemeliketwomiles.Thepedestriansinfrontofmehadsloweddowntoacrawl.Cars,trucks,andbusesinchedalongtoo,bumpertobumper,likeonegiganticfuneralprocession.

Ifoughttotakeineachbreathfromsurroundingssothickanddirtywithgasemissions that I couldalmost taste thegreasy stench.Myeyesburnedandmythroatachedwithdryness.Morethanever,IwishedI’dbroughtalongabottleofwater.

Iacceleratedmypace,butthreestudentswho’dstoppedtochatinthemiddleof thesidewalk,ayoungmanwalkingadog,and twowomen totingshoppingbagshamperedmyefforts.

I picked up speed and whizzed past those who wandered along in noapparent hurry. Only when I stumbled into a vendor’s rack of clothes did IrealizeI’dbeenrunningallthewhile.

Parchedontheinsideandclammyontheoutside,IarrivedatSantino’sandpushedopentheglassdoorwiththelastbitofenergyIcouldmuster.IremovedmysunglassesandspottedMichaelsittingatourusualtableatthefarendoftherestaurant.Hewavedatme.

I tore past thewater fountain in the entrance, its three porcelain angels invariousstatesofundress.

IdashedpastLuigi,themanager,withoutsayinghelloandhopedhewouldforgivemyrudeness.

Isqueezedbyawaitresscarryingatrayladenwithservingdishesandalmostcausedhertotoppleit.

Anicycarafesatonourtable.Ireachedforthefluidthatwouldsavemylifeandfilledaglass.Igulpeditdown,tastingthelastdrops.Itwasn’twater.Itwaswhitewine.

“Alittlehotoutthere,eh?”Michaelgrinned.

“Tellme…aboutit.”Iploppedintoachair,triedtocatchmybreath.“Didreporterschaseyouallthewayhere?”“No, I waltzed right by them through the parking lot. They’ll have to go

chaseamoreworthwhilestory.”“Noway,”Michaelsaid,atwinkleinhiseye.“Agoodreporterstickswitha

storyuntilalltheirquestionsareanswered.”“Iftheycancatchme.”Luigiapproachedour table,hisdemeanor lackingtheusualhighenergy. In

brokenEnglish,hesaid tome,“I seepicture in thepaper.Sorry foryour loss,Madam.”Hehandedusthemenusandtolduslunchwasonthehouse.

IwaiteduntilLuigihadleftwithourorders,thenwhisperedtoMichael,“Herecognizedme.”

“Why not?”Michael shrugged. “We’ve had dinner here lots of times. Theguyknowsourfacesaswellashisown.”

“Imeantfrommypictureinthenewspaper.Didn’tyoureadTheGazettethismorning?”Whenheansweredno,IpulledoutthearticlesI’dtuckedinmypurseearlierandhandedthemtohim.“Lookattheheadlines.IthinkMoreaureleasedtheinformationtothepress.”

Michaelglancedatthearticles.“Whatifhedid?”“Hecouldhavewarnedusaheadoftime.”“Hedoesn’thave to letus inonanything.”Hehanded thearticlesback to

me.“Whynot?”“That’sjustthewayitis,”Michaelsaid.“He’stheprosecution.”Ituckedtheclippingsaway.“I’msurprisedDanhasn’tcontactedus.”“I’dbetheandJanearebusyinterviewingwitnesses.”“WhydoIfeelasifwe’regoingincircleswiththisinterviewingprocess?”“Iknowwhatyoumean,”hesaid.“LastnightIkeptthinkingabouttheold

guyatthegasstationinSainte-Adèle.”“Whatabouthim?”“I’msureIcouldjoghismemoryifIwentseehiminperson.”“Whybother?Janeshowedhimaphotoofyouandnothingclicked.”

“Yeah.Apictureofmeposing ina fancydress jacket.”Michael shookhishead.“It’sdifferentwhenyouseesomeoneinperson.”

“I know where this is going, but I’ll ask anyway. What do you have inmind?”

“WanttodriveuptoSainte-Adèlewithme?It’lldousgoodtogetawayforawhile.”

Hewasright. Ihadnoworkscheduled.Achangeofscenerywouldn’thurteither,but...“Doyouthinkit’swise?Dansaidwe—”

Michaelwavedahand.“Hewon’tmissus.Ifheneedstoreachus,hehasmycellnumber.”

“WhatifJanecallsyou?”“Jane?”“Aren’tyoutwo…close?”“No.Itoldyouthere’snothingbetweenus.”“Notinhermind.I’veseenthewayshelooksatyou.”“It’sherproblem,notmine.Besides,I’dconsideritaconflictofinterestnow

thatshe’sworkingforDan.”“Didyoutellher?”“Yes,” Michael said. “After we left your place last night, she hinted at

cominguptomysuite.Imadeitverycleartoherthen.”“Howdidshereact?”“Shetoldmeitwouldbeourlittlesecret.Wedidn’thavetotellDanaboutit.

LikethetimeDanandIwereworkingonthatdrugpossessioncaseinMontrealamonthago.”

I staredathim.“Youweredatingherwhenshewason theopposing legalteam?”

“Yes,andIpromisedmyselfI’dneverlietoDanagain.”Sothat’swhyJanedidn’tsayanythinginfrontofDaneither.Michaelwenton.“AfterIfinishedmyrunthismorning,Icamebacktothe

hotel.Minutes later, Janeknockedatmydoor. I sawher through thepeepholebutdidn’tanswer.”

“Youthinkthat’sgoingtodiscourageher?”

“Hey,whosesideareyouonanyway?”Hegrinned.“I’mstatingtheobvious.She’sdetermined.Afterthiscaseisover,she—”“Noway. Twomonthswith Janewas enough time to find out itwouldn’t

work.”“Twomonths?Youmusthavehadsomethingincommon.”“Wedid,”Michaelsaid.“Wewerefascinatedwithlawyerswhomanagedto

trumpthesystemandkeeptheirguiltyclientsoutofjail.We’dstayupallnightrehashing drug possession cases, arguing how we could have changed theverdicts, which cases I should include in the book I was writing… What Icouldn’thandlewereherwildmoodswings.”

“Soshe’smoody,”Isaid.“Whoisn’t?”“It’sdifferentwithJane.Shedoesn’tdiscusspersonalthings.Shekeepsher

emotionsbottledup.Whenthingsdon’tgoherway,shegets…controlling.”“Controlling?”“Thedayyoumetheratthehotel,shewasreturningagoldchainI’dleftin

hersuitethenightwebrokeup.ButIdidn’tforgetitthere.Shehiditanduseditas a pretense to see me.” He paused. “Thanks to Dan, she’s back in my lifeagain.”

“Notinthesameway,though,”Isaid.“True.”Heleanedforward.“SohowdoyoufeelaboutdrivinguptoSainte-

Adèlewithmethisafternoon?”I had to wash my hair. I couldn’t tell him that without sounding girly.

“Tomorrowmorningwouldbebetter.”“Noproblem.”Hiseyesdartedtosomethingorsomeonebehindme,buthe

didn’thavetimetowarnme.

T

13

herichcedarandsweetcitrusblendofPam’sperfumegavemeajolt.Myheartstartedtobeatagainstmychest,eventhoughlogictoldmeitwasn’t

possible—shewas dead. I sensedmovement besideme as the scent of Pradaintensified,invadingmyspace.

Emily removed her sunglasses and peered down atme. “Hi,Megan.”Hereyesweresunkenandbloodshotfromeithertoomuchcryingorheavydrinking.Probablyboth,judgingfromthesmellofalcoholemanatingfromher.

“Hi,”Isaid.Hadshefollowedushere?She smiled atMichael. “I thought youwere going back toToronto on the

weekend.”“Somethingcameup.”Histonewasflat.“Oh. Is that why you haven’t returned my calls since the photo shoot?

Seriously,Michael.”Shekeptsmilingbutherglaresentoutadifferentmessage.“Itoldyou,”hesaid.“Iwasbusy.”Emilysmirked.“Yeah,toobusytotalktomebutnottoobusytohavelunch

withMegan.”ShespokeasifIweren’tthere.“Meganjustlostherhusband,”Michaelsaid.“Well,Isufferedalosstoo.”Emilytearedup.“Pamwaslikeabigsisterto

me.Wehadalotofstuffincommon.Thingsthatweshareddeepinsideus.Notvisibletoanyoneelse.”Shethrewmeasmugside-glance.

“I know exactlywhat youmean,” I said to her. “It’s hard to see the truth

whenyou’vebeenblindedbydeceptionforsolong.”“Deception?”Shewrinkledhernose.“Don’t you have to get back to work, Emily? Spread more lies about

anonymousphonecallsand—?”“Theyweren’tlies,”shesaid,raisinghervoice.Ourwaitressstoppedby.“Onemoreatyourtable?”“No,”IsaidlouderthanI’dintended.Thewaitressnoddedandscurriedaway.“IheardBradfordgaveyoutheaxe.”Emilysneeredatme.“It’stemporary,”IsaidinresponsetoMichael’sbewilderedlook.“Don’t be so sure,” she said. “There are lots of changes in the works at

Bradford.”She was no doubt referring to her potential takeover of Pam’s job. I

pretendedIdidn’tknowanythingaboutit.“I’llleaveyoutwoalone.I’msureyouhavelotstotalkabout.”Sheturnedto

leave,thenstopped.“Oh…Michael,ifyouevercometoyoursensesagain,callme.Youhavemycellnumber.I’mallaboutgivingpeopleasecondchance.”

Iwatchedhermove to the take-outcounter,pay forherorder,and leave. IsaidtoMichael,“Howonearthdidsheknowwewerehere?”

Heshrugged.“Justacoincidence.Shecertainlycan’ttakenoforananswer,canshe?”Hereachedforhisglassofwineandtookafewgulps.

Ididthesame.“She’sjealousofourfriendship.Don’taskwhywe’reinsomuchtroublewithMoreau.”

Heleanedforward.“Ioweyouanexplanation.”“Me?Forwhat?”“ForthewayEmilyactedjustnow.”“That’seasy.She’sobsessedwithyouandshehatesmyguts.”“Shedidleavememessages.Ididn’tcallherback.Itwasrudenotto,butI

hadmoreimportantthingstodo.”“Of courseyoudid,” I said. “Your secondnovel, the story leadsyouwere

following—”“That’snotwhatImeant.”Hisvoicewassoft.Hiseyesrestedonmineand

broughtbackthebutterflies.Ididn’tknowhowtorespond.Thewaitressarrivedandsetourplatesonthetable.“Wepreparedthisdish

accordingtoLuigi’sspecialinstructions.Thepastaismadefreshdailyrightherein our own kitchen—not from a package.” She sounded as if she’d beenrehearsingforaTVcommercial.“Enjoyyourmeal.”

Herintrusionwaswelltimed.Ittookthepressureoffaconversationthatwasunsettling.Idugintomychickenpastasaladandchangedthetopic.

Whileweate,Ihadthesensationofbeingwatched.HadEmilyreturnedforanother round of mudslinging? A glance around the restaurant told me shehadn’t.

Drawingonlogic,Ireasonedthatitwasanillusionbroughtonbythestressof recent events. I was alsoworried about not having a regular paycheck, letalone not having access to Tom’s insurance money until the legalities weresortedout.

Icouldtrytogetnewclients,butthepublicityaboutthemurdersmightmakethem think twice about dealing with me. Add Moreau’s suspicions aboutMichaelandme,thefactwecouldn’tproveouralibis,and…

Well,thesituationwoulddriveanyonenuts.As hard as I tried, I still couldn’t shake off the feeling minutes later.

“Michael,thisisgoingtosoundweird,butIfeelasifsomeoneiswatchingme.”“You’reright,”hesaid.“Ithinkthepeopleatthetablebehindyouaretalking

aboutyou.”I turned around. Five senior patrons seated at a nearby table proved my

facultieswereintact,thoughnotaccurate,whenawomaninthegroupwavedatme.Irecognizedherasoneofmymother’sfriendsandwavedback.

Shestoodupandwalkedover.Blueeyes sparkledbeneathapuffofwhitebangs as she smiled at me. “You’re Megan, aren’t you, dear? Connie’sdaughter?”

“Yes,Iam,”Isaid.“I’mAlice.Yourmother’s friend.Wego tobingoeveryWednesdayat the

SeniorsClub.Doyourememberme,dear?”“Yes.Imetyouatmymother’sapartmentonce.”

Hersmilefadedasherexpressiongrewsomber.“Iwasshockedtoreadaboutyourhusbandinthepaperthismorning.Icalledyourmothertoconfirmitwasherson-in-law.I’msosorryforyourloss.”

“Thankyou.”“WhenIsawyouhere,Itoldmyfriendsaboutyou.Anyway,dear,theysend

alongtheircondolencestoo.”Shetiltedherheadintheirdirection.Behindme,twowomenandtwomenwavedatme.Iwavedback.“Wewanted to tell you that you’re in our daily prayers,”Alice said. “We

hopethepolicecatchwhoeverdidthis.”“I’mcountingonit,”Isaid.“Takecare,dear.”ShestoleaglanceatMichaelbeforejoiningherfriends.“Thefactshecalledmymothertocheckoutthestorygivesmethecreeps,”I

whisperedtoMichael.“Why?Shecameovertotalktoyou.It’sagoodsign.”“How?”“Itmeansyouhavepublicsympathyonyourside.”“Andthatcouldhelpourdefense?”Ikeptmyvoicelow.“Itcan’thurt.”Heleanedforward.“Whyarewewhispering?”“I don’twant anyone to hearwhatwe’re talking about, so can you please

keepyourvoicedown?”“Sure.”Hiseyesdartedpastmeagain.“Don’tlooknow,butyourfanclubis

leaving.”I turned around anyway.Alicewas leading her friends out the front door.

Withtheirdeparture,Irelaxedsomewhat.Butaftercoffeewasserved, thefeelingofbeingwatchedlingeredon.This

time I acknowledged it as amaterializationofmyguilty feelings aboutTom’sdeath.

Imade amental note to contactDr.Madison,my shrink, after themurderinvestigationblewover.I’dvisitedherinthespringtofindoutifstresshadbeenafactorinmyinabilitytoconceive.ShehaddeterminedIwasobsessingaboutittoomuch—thesameconclusionmyfamilydoctorhaddrawn.

Smallwonder.

Afterlunch,MichaelandIsaidourgoodbyes,andIstrolledtowardthesubway.Theideaoffendingoffreportersdiscouragedmefromgoingbackhome.

Whatwastherushanyway?Ihadnodeadlinestomeetorbossestoanswerto.IwasfreetodoasIpleased.I’dgoshopping—albeit,window-shopping.

The sidewalks along Saint Catherine Street stirred with camera-totingtourists as diverse in multicultural backgrounds as the city’s cosmopolitanmakeup.TheFrenchaspectofMontreal,alongwith thevastchoicesofstores,restaurants, nightlife, international sports and art events,were the reasons thiswelcomingCityofFestivalsdrewmillionsoftouristseveryyear.

Icontinuedmytrek.Thetoweringskyline,theupbeatpulseofthecitycore—Itookitallinasafirst-timesightseerwould.I’dhaveremainedaboveground,butthehumiditywasbeginningtowearmedownagain.

The Christ Church Cathedral loomed ahead. Its imposing neo-Gothicarchitecture was a contrast to the glass veneer of surrounding office towers.Under this historic site—Les Promenades Cathédrale—a modern shoppingcomplexand the idealplace toescape fromthemuggyheat.The fact themallwaslocatedunderasacredstructuresuddenlyappealedtome.Ifeltsafe.

Inside the mall, I gravitated to the end-of-season sales, hoping to find abargain among the racks of stylish clothes. Despite the fact I was on a tightbudget,Itriedonshoes,skirts,tops,andpants,butnothingfitright.

MyluckchangedwhenIvisitedtheLinenChest.IfoundasetofEgyptiancotton sheets on sale. Though the cost was beyond what I’d usually paid forsheets, thesethadan800-threadcount. It tookmeallof twosecondsbefore Ipulledoutmycreditcard.IfIhadtosleepalonefromnowon,itmightaswellbeinluxury.

SinceI’dtastedthethrillofasuccessfulpurchase,IwastemptedtoextendmyshoppingspreetootherstoresintheUndergroundPedestrianNetworkwheremegaopportunitiesforbargainsawaited.

I’djustboughtatinypacketofchocolate-coveredalmondswhenIthoughtofMichael.Whatifhehadnewsandwastryingtoreachme?

How could anyone reach me? My cell phone was dead, but I refused tochargeitinpublicplacesforsecurityreasons.

Overwhelmingdread suddenlywashedoverme. Ineeded togetoutof theundergroundmall.Ineededtoheadbackhome.Therewouldbeotherdaysandotherwaystospendmoney.

OrTom’smoney?Whowas I kidding? It could beweeks, evenmonths, before the legalities

were sortedout and I’dhave access toTom’sbank accounts and theproceedsfromhisinsurancepolicy.

WhenIsurfacedat thestreet level, thehumidityhitmeharderthanbefore.Somuchforspendingtimeinacoolundergroundmall.

But something else had returned—the same eerie feeling I’d had earlier:Someonewaswatchingme.

Iwentintoacoldsweat.Idugintomypurseformysunglassesandputthemon.Thedarkambershadesofferedasenseofsecurity,butIcouldn’tshakeoffthesensationIwasbeingwatched.

I stood in front of a store window and pretended to look at the clothesdisplaywhileIstudiedthereflectionofpeoplepassingbehindme.Amaninasuit.Ayoungwomanholdingachildbythehand.ThatMcGillUniversitywaslocated close by explained the stream of students wearing the institution’strademarkT-shirtsorsportingaknapsackwiththeMcGill insigniaonit.Moresuitswentby.Moreknapsacks.Nothingoutoftheordinary.

There was only one reason formy frame ofmind: I was on the verge ofparanoia.Iheadedforthenearestsubwaystation.

WhileIwaswaitingforapedestriantrafficlighttochangetogreen,ayoungmaninaredT-shirt,baggyshorts,andabackpackwalkeduptomyright.Thevolumeonhis iPodwasso loud that Icouldhear themusicblasting fromit. Iglancedupathimandwonderedwhatpercentageofhishearinghe’dlostuptonow.

He smiled atme, and I turned away. It was clear he’dmistakenme for amuchyoungerwoman.

More people gathered behind me, bringing new smells to offset the ones

emanatingfromthestreettraffic.Aman’sspicyafter-shave.Afloweryperfume.Strongcoffee.

Apowerfulpushpropelledmeoffmyfeet!Iplungedforwardandhitthepavement.Brakesscreeched.Dusthitmyfaceandfilledmylungs.Afirmgriponmyarmyankedmeup.Iregainedmybalance,thenlookedupintotheterrifiedeyesoftheiPodguy.“Areyouokay?”heasked,releasinghisholdonme.“I…Ithinkso.”Igotmybearings.Crowdsofpeoplewerecrossingtheintersectionfrombothsidesofthestreet.

Aside frommy rescuer, anywitnesses ofmynear-fatal experience hadmovedon.

“Thanksforpullingmeoutofthere.Yousavedmylife.”Igesturedtowardthe street andwincedas a sharppain ranalongmy left shoulder.Therewasabloodygashonmyupperarm.

“Ah, it was nothing.”He blushed and tugged on his T-shirt.White lettersspelledoutMcGillUniversity.

“Didyouseewhopushedme?”Iasked.“Huh? I thoughtyou slippedor something.”Heglanceddownat the curb.

“Hey!”He bent over to retrievemy sunglasses and handed them tome. “Aretheseyours?”

“Yes.Thanks.” Idropped them into the shoppingbag Iwas still clutching,thenadjustedmypurseovermyrightshoulder.“I’dliketorewardyou.Canyougivemeyourphonenumber?”

Hesteppedback,wavedhishands.“It’snobigdeal,lady.Gottago.Lateforclass.”Hehurriedacrossthestreet.

I’dscaredhimoff.Whywouldhegiveastranger—anolderwomanatthat—hisphonenumber?

Iattributedittoa“Mrs.Robinson”momentofsortsandputmysunglassesbackon.

Ienteredmyapartment,debatingwhetherornot Iwas losingmymind.Had Islipped off the sidewalk because ofmyown carelessness as the iPod guy hadbelieved,orhadsomeonepushedmeintothetrafficonpurpose?

I’dheardofsimilar“accidents”occurringinLeMetro.Whetherapedestrianhad been pushed or had jumped in front of a speeding train of their own freewill, the resultwas always the same: It had happened so fast that no one hadseenanything.Subwayauthoritieswouldevacuatethestationandshutdownthesystemalongthatsegmentofthelinewhilethepoliceinvestigatedtheincidentandmaintenancecrewscleanedupthemess.Commuterswhoknewbetterstoodalongthebackoftheplatformtoavoidbeingpushedinfrontofatrainasitspedintothestation.

Theoutcomeofmyexperiencepaledincomparison,thankstotheiPodguy’sswiftreaction.Iweighedthepossibilityhemighthaveshovedmeintothestreetbutdismissedit.Itwouldhaveprovedtootrickytomaneuverapushfromwherehewasstandingbesideme.Iwasconvincedthethrusthadcomefrombehind.

Isteppedintotheshowerandletthewaterfromthejetstreammassagemyachingshoulderandbruisedarm—confirmationofmyflyingleapoffthecurb.Iswitchedtheshowersettingtoapulsatingsprayandslowlyturnedaround.Thestream hit themiddle ofmy back, and I sensed a soreness there that I hadn’tnoticedbefore.

I needed no additional proof. Someone had shovedme from behind. Andhardatthat.

I reached for the cranberry soap on the ledge. Its aroma reminded me ofChristmas when I was a kid. My parents would spend hours preparing vealcutlets, stuffed squid, breaded smelts, and lasagna for a dozen guests. Fordessert, we had homemade Tiramisu, biscotti, cappuccino, IrishWhiskey Pie,andIrishcoffee.Thelasttwoitemswereservedtopleasemyfather’ssideofthefamily,mymotherwouldsay.YetitwasnosecrethowmuchmyIrishrelativesanticipated a taste of Little Italy every Christmas dinner. The celebrationextended into the late night hours as music played and Uncle Joe recountedhumoroustaleswenevergrewtiredofhearing.

That samewarm, fuzzy sense of belonging and security surged back now,

providingarespitefromthecrazinessthathadpursuedmesincetheweekend.Ismiledatthememoryofthosefamilyoccasionsthathadformedanintrinsicpartofmyupbringing.Familyvalues,asmymotherwouldsay.

The feel-goodmood lingered as I stepped out of the shower and put on athickterryrobeandslippers.Mmm…whatcouldpossiblyrelaxmemore?

Chocolatealmonds,ofcourse.IwasabouttodigintomypurseforthetinysupplyI’dboughtdowntownwhenIrememberedthelargerpackageofalmondsMichaelhadpurchasedearlier.I’dleftitonthelivingroomtable.

Idashedover there, toreopen thepackage,andchewedacoupleofplumpalmonds.Then I prepared a cupofwarmmilk—theperfect soother for frayednerves.

Nowrelaxed,IcalledMichaelandtoldhimabouttheincidentintown.Itwasabigmistake.The panic in his voice canceledmy efforts at staying calm. “What?Why

didn’tyoucallmesooner?”Iwipedmy sweatypalms alongmy terry robe and tried tokeepmyvoice

steady.“I’mfine.Justseveralscratches.”“KillingTomwasn’tenough,”hesaid.“Nowthekillerwantsyououtofthe

waytoo.”Ioptedforanothertheory.“Maybeitwasarandomthing—likesomepsycho

shovingapersoninfrontofamovingvehicle.Itdoeshappen,youknow.”“Myguttellsmeotherwise.”Iwasafraidofthat.Heletoutadeepbreath.“It’stoodangerousforyoutostepoutdoorsalone.”“Forheaven’ssake,Michael!Doyouexpectmetoliveinacagetherestof

mylife?”“No,but—”“I’mabiggirl.Icantakecareofmyself,youknow.”“Really?Isthatwhypeoplekeepdroppingdeadallaroundyou?Isthatwhy

someoneshovedyouintothetraffic?”Therewasalong,uncomfortablepause.“I’msorry,”hesaid.“Iwasoutofline.It’sjustthatI—”

“Don’tsayit.”“Saywhat?”“Thatyou’reworriedaboutme.”Moresilence.“Didyoucallthepolice?”Michaelaskedme.“Thepolice?”Iechoed.“Whatfor?”“Toaskforprotection.”“Whybother?”“It’syourright.”“Fatchance!MoreauwouldsayIwasturningmyselfintoavictimtoavoid

beinglabeledamurdersuspect.”“YourattackercouldhavefollowedyoufromSantino’s.Damnit!Ishouldn’t

haveaskedyoutomeetmethere.”“Listentome,Michael.Imadethatdecision.NowIhavetolivewithit.”“Ishouldhavedrivenyoubackhome,madesureyouwere—”“Ialreadytoldyou.Idon’tneedababysitter.”“Youneed to understand something.Until the cops find this guy, you’re a

sittingtarget.”Hewasright.Workingasaghostwriterhadgivenmeanonymityandasense

of security I’d taken for granted. Now the double murders and the ensuingpublicity they’dgeneratedhad exposedme, if notmy attempts at clearingmyname.

“Asbadasitmightseem,”Isaid,“there’sapositivesidetowhathappened.”“Yeah?Likewhat?”“IflushedoutTom’smurderer.”“Andyoualmostgotkilledintheprocess.”“Don’tyousee,Michael?Itdoesn’tmatterwhereIgo.”“Whatareyousaying?”“Nothing’sgoingtochangethefactthatsomeonewantsmeoutoftheway,

andIdon’tknowwhoorwhy.”

I

14

openedmydoortoMichaelateighto’clockWednesdaymorning.AwhiteT-shirt showedoff thedeep tanhe’d soakedup from joggingoutdoorsevery

day.Sunglassesandcargoshortscompletedhiscasuallook.I’d slipped into a cotton T-shirt and a pair of shorts after listening to the

weatherforecast.Itpredictedascorcherofaday.“Areyoureadytogo?”Michaelasked.“Comeinforasec.”Iwavedhiminandclosedthedoorbehindhim.“What

ifDanorMoreautrytoreachus?Idon’twantthemtothinkwedidsomethingirresponsiblelikeskiptown.”

He removed his sunglasses. “No problem. I calledDan last night and toldhimwewere going to Sainte-Adèle thismorning. I explained itmight be theonlychanceIhadtoprovemyalibi.”

“Ouralibi.”“Right.”He stalled, fingeredhis sunglasses. “I toldhimaboutyour stalker

too.”“Youdidn’t.”“He’syourlawyer.Heshouldknowthesethings.”“That’s notwhat Imeant. I’d have called himmyself, but Iwasn’t in the

mood to discuss it last night. It gaveme the creeps just thinking about whathappenedyesterday.”

I was too embarrassed to tellMichael that I’d slept with the lights on all

night, that I’d cradled a kitchen chair under the front door handle as an extrasafeguard,and that I’dsleptwithacarvingknifeundermypillow—all for thesakeofkeepingmysanityintact.

“I asked Dan why he thought Moreau released the story to the mediayesterday,”Michaelsaid.

“Whatdidhesay?”“It’spossiblethatMoreauconsultedashrinkforaprofessionalopinion.The

shrink might have suggested that Tom and Pam hadn’t taken the cyanidevoluntarily,thatthey’dtriedtosavethemselves.SoMoreaulabeledtheirdeathsasmurdersandfedthestorytothemedia.”

Igroanedinfrustration.“Whyaskashrink?Anyonecouldhavereachedthesame conclusion by analyzing the scene in the cottage. Tom and Pam werecrawlingtowardthedoor,forheaven’ssake!”

“Foracop,there’snobetterbackingthananexpert’sstatement,whetherit’srightorwrong.”Michaelpaused.“Ihaven’ttoldyoutherealreasonIwantedtogotoSainte-Adèle.”

Mycuriosityrose.“Sotellme.”“Ononecondition.”“What?”“TheinformationIsharewithyouwillfallunderourongoingconfidentiality

agreement—ifyoupromisetohelpmewithmynextbook.”“But my connection to Bradford is severed,” I said. “I don’t know when

they’llgivemeworkagain.”“WhosaidanythingaboutBradford?”“Oh…Inthatcase,okay.Ipromise.”“I have a lead,” Michael confided. “It’s about an illegal drug ring in the

Laurentians.That’stheotherreasonIwantedtocatchupwiththeoldguyatthegasstation.”

“Whatdoyoumean?”“He’smyinformant.HisnameisWillie.”“Oh.Andwhyareyouaskingmetogoalongagain?”“MyFrenchisbadbuthisEnglishisworse.Ineedaninterpreter.SomeoneI

cantrust.”“Okay.”“There’smore,”Michael said. “Willie’s harmless.The scumbagswho stop

there for gas aren’t.WhatWillie overhears could have fatal consequences forhimifhissourcesfindouthe’saninformant.Idoubtthegangmembershavetheplace under surveillance, but if we showed up there as a couple, it wouldn’tinviteasmuchsuspicion.Areyouokaytodothis?”

I gave it some thought. I’d ghostwritten articles for former governmentofficialswho’dblownthewhistleonhigh-levelscandalsandfraud.I’dworkedonmemoirsaboutchildabuse.Butno interviewshadcomeclose toMichael’schillingencounterswithstreet-wiseinformantswhorarelyshowedtheirfacesinthelightofday.

“Ifthere’sachanceyoucanproveyouralibi,I’llgowithyou.”Igrabbedmypurse.“AboutWillie,what ifhe toldJanehedidn’t rememberyoubecausehedidn’twanttoblowhiscover?”

“ExactlywhyIwanttoseehiminperson.”I retrieved the house keys frommy purse. “What if he took the videotape

from thestoreandhid it toprotectyou, then lied to Janeaboutaglitch in thesystem?”IledMichaeloutthedoorandlockeditbehindus.

“Rightagain,”hesaid.“Let’sgofindout.”Wetooktheelevatordownandwalkedouttherearexitofthebuildinginto

the parking lot. Sated byMoreau’s recent handout, themedia had abandonedtheirsurveillanceofthepremisesandwerenowhereinsight.

Regardless,Ididn’tletmyguarddownbecauseamorechallengingpresencecould surfaceat anymoment: thekiller. I scanned the lot.Except for anoldercouplegettingintotheircar,nooneelsewasaround.

Michael’scellphonerang.Hetookthecall.“Oh…Hi,Jane…Tonight?No,Ican’t. I’mbusy. I don’t know.Okay.Bye.”Hehungup andmumbled, “Somepeopleneverknowwhentoquit.”

“Problem?”Iasked.“NothingIcan’thandle.”The sunhad alreadyheatedupMichael’sMustangCoupe.Even after he’d

opened thedoors toairout thecar, theblack leather seats remainedhot to thetouch.

Hereachedforasportsmagazineinthebackseatandhandedittome.Igotthemessageandplaceditundermybarethighs.

The northwestward itinerary from Montreal to the Laurentians followedHighways15and117forthemostpart,makingthedrivelesscomplicated.Thescenerywaseasyon theeyes too,whatwithmilesof tall treesandwideopenspacesdottedwithfarmsandvillagesthattimeseemedtohaveforgotten.Iwasdoing Michael a favor, but I actually looked forward to the drive to Sainte-Adèle.AnythingtotakemymindoffMoreauandmymoneyproblems.

Michael turned on the radio. An old Bruce Springsteen tune came on. “IfoundthiscoolstationinMontreal.Itplaysmusicfromthe60sand70s.Thankstomyfather,IgrewuplisteningtorockbandslikeLedZeppelinandPinkFloyd.Igothookedonthestuff.”Hechuckled.“IlistentoitwheneverI’mwriting.Itinspiresme.”

“Myparentswerelow-key,”Isaid.“TheBeatles,BeeGees,StevieWonder—”

“Icouldchangethestationifyou—”“No,it’sokay.Itcoversthespectrum.”Michaelnodded,kepthiseyesontheroadahead.“WhenIlivedinMontreal,

I’dcomeup toSainte-Adèle in thewinterwithabunchofguys.Wedidsomeskiing,checkedouttherestaurantsandbars…thegirls.”Hesmiled.

“TomandIwenttheretwicethefirstyearweweremarried.”“Really?” He glanced at me as if he were surprised I’d divulged a detail

aboutmymarriedlife.OrmaybehewassurprisedI’dever left theconfinesofMontreal—citygirlthatIwas.

“ItwasinSeptember,”Isaid.“Wewantedtoseetheleaveschangetotheirfall colors.All those reds, yellows, and oranges spread over themountains. Ittakesyourbreathaway.”

“Yes,butithidestheuglinessunderneath.”“Whatdoyoumean?”“Wordhasitthatasecretlabmanufacturesillegaldrugsinthearea.It’sover

andaboveotheractivitieslinkedtocriminalgroupsworkingthere.”“It’s hard to imagine that kind of thing going on here. It’s so scenic and

touristy.”“Allthebetter,”Michaelsaid.“Whowouldexpectit,right?”Itookaguess.“Willie?”“You bet. The drug dealers brag about their exploits in front of him. The

guy’spracticallyinvisibletothem.”“How’sthat?”“They think he’s too scared to talk. In fact,Willie said he had something

importanttotellmeaboutadrugdealerinthisarea.That’swhyit’scriticalIseehimtoday.”

“Ireadanewspaperarticleaboutarecentdrugarresthere.Ithadnobyline.Didyouwritethatpiece?”

“Yes,andyoucanbetthere’salotmoreinformationwherethatcamefrom.”

We approached the outskirts of Sainte-Adèle, then took the next exit off thehighwayanddrovefivemilesfurthertoSaint-Gustave.

TypicalofsmalltownslocatedintheQuébeccountryside,ithadcentury-oldhomeswithcone-shapedroofs,achurchwithasilverspire,abank,aschool,andaMaandPastorewithhand-writtensignsdisplayedinthewindow.Manyofthehouses hadnarrowporchespaintedwhite.Thevinyl sidingwasblue, pink, orred.Thestructureswerebuiltclosetooneanother,asiftodenoteacommunityspiritbasedonsharingandsupport.

ThemainstreetofSaint-Gustavespannedthreemilesandcametoanabruptendatapatchofgrassattheedgeofthetownlimits.IfIhadn’tturnedmyheadto the right, I’d have missed the gas station and adjoining dépanneur, orconveniencestore.

Michaelveeredintotheparkingareaandturnedofftheengine.Hedugouthis camera from the glove compartment. After he’d taken two photos of thepremises,wewentinside.

Ayoungmaninastripedshirtstoodbehindthecounter,flippingthroughanewspaper.Helookedupatusasweapproached.“Puis-jevousaider?”

“Oui,bonjour,”Michaelsaid,thennudgedmewithaside-glance.“Bonjour,”Isaid,thenaskedtheclerkabouttheoldgentlemanwhoworked

herelastweek.“Ils’appelleWillie.”Theclerkhesitated.“Willienetravailleplusici.”“HesaidWilliedoesn’tworkhereanymore,”Isaid,translatingforMichael.“Askhimwherehelives,”Michaelsaid.“Icannottellthis,”theclerksaid,makingitclearheunderstoodEnglish.“Please,”Michael said. “We need to talk to him. It’s important. Life and

death.”Theclerkhesitated,asifheweredebatingwhetherheshouldtrustusornot.

“Firelastnight.Williehouseburn.”“IsWillieokay?”Michaelasked.Theclerkshrugged.“Idonotknow.”“Where’sWillie’shouse?”Anothershrug.Michaeltookoutatwenty-dollarbill,slappeditonthecounter.The clerk snatched it. “Twomiles that way.” He gestured in the opposite

directionfromtown.Aswegotbackinthecar,Michaelsaidtome,“Idon’thaveagoodfeeling

aboutthis.”

Michael turnedonto theasphaltdrivewayofahouse thathadbeenravagedbyfire.Hecouldn’tdriveallthewayupbecausedebrisblockedthepath.Wesatinsilence,gapingatthecharredremains.

Alargesectionoftheshingledroofonthetwo-storymid-centuryhomehadcaved in.The restwas coveredwith soot. Flameshad engulfed the house andmadeshortworkoftheexteriorframeandinsulation.Therewasnothinglefttosalvage but memories. The fire had extended to a cluster of trees behind the

house, thoughitwasapparent that firefightershadextinguished itbefore itdidmoredamage.

Ishiftedmyview to the right.Anadjacentbungalowmore thanahundredfeetawayhadn’tsufferedanydamageexceptforspotsofsoot.Judgingfromthevinylsiding,thetrimaroundthewindows,andtheinterlockingstonedriveway,thesplit-levelhomehadbeenbuiltinthelastdecade.

Twowomenstoodchattinginfrontofthehouseandgawkedinourdirection.“I’llgoandaskthemifthehouseisWillie’s,”IsaidtoMichael.I stepped out. The scent of burntwood hitme, aswell as another odor—

burntplastic.AsIwalkedacrossthelawntowardthewomen,Itriedtoavoidthecharred fragments and soot on the ground but couldn’t. I realized too late I’dhavetotrashmyrunningshoes.

Thewomeninterruptedtheirtalkandgawkedatme.“Bonjour,”Igreetedthem.“Bonjour.”Thewomanwearingapairofoversizedsunglassessmiledatme.“Savez-vousquidemeuraitici?”Iaskediftheyknewwholivedhere.“WilliamPerron,” theotherwomansaid,herstrawhat shadinga face that

had already had too many years of exposure to the sun. “La cigarette, c’esttoujoursunproblème.”Shemotionedwithherfingers,pretendingtotakeapuffonacigarette.“PauvreWillie.”

IaskedthemifWilliewasdead.Bothwomensaidtheydidn’tknow.Thefirehadoccurredlatelastnightand

ithadbeendifficult toseewhatwashappening.However, theydidnotice thatforensicsofficerstransportedsomethingonagurneyfromthehousetoatruck.

IaskedthemifWilliehadlivedalone.Theysaidyes,buthissonvisitedoften.IaskedifWilliehadownedadogorotherpet.Theysaidno.Ithankedthemandgotbackinthecar.“Somuchformywitness,”MichaelsaidafterI’dbriefedhim.“Wedon’t know for sure that itwasWillie’s body,” I said. “It could have

beensomeoneelse.”

“Could be, but ifWillie’s not dead, he’s in hiding.Hewon’t surface untilthingscooldown.Eitherway, I’mback tosquareone.Noalibi.Novideotape.Noleadformystory.”Hecheckedtoseeif theroadbehinduswasclear, thenbackedupanddroveaway.

“Williewasasmoker,”Isaid.“Maybethefirewasanaccident.”“Notachance.It’stoomuchofacoincidence.”“YouthinksomeonefoundoutWilliewasyourinformantandkilledhim—or

triedto?”“It’spossible.”“Whatiftheycomeafteryounext?”Theideamademystomachchurn.“Giveittime.Ihaven’tpublishedanythingthatterribleaboutthemyet.”He

grinned.“Howreassuring,”Isaid,tongue-in-cheek.“Asifyoudon’thaveenoughto

worryabout.”“Lookwho’stalking?I’mnottheonebeingstalked.”“Touché.”Michael surveyed the road ahead. “We’re going to hit the highway back

homesoon.Weshouldstoptogetsomethingtoeatfirst.Areyouhungry?”Spendingtoomuchtimeridingaroundinacarmademequeasy,butIdidn’t

wanttocomplain.I’dagreedtocomealong,sothiswasmykarma.“Notreally,butwecanstopifyouwantto.”

“Howaboutthatdinerupahead?”“Okay.”We entered a 1940s diner painted silver with orange trim around the

windows.Foodwouldhaveaddedtomyqueasiness,soIoptedforagingeraleinstead.Michaelpaidcashforourorders,slippedthereceiptinhispocket,andcarriedthetraytoaboothbythewindow.

With amusement outweighing repulsion, I watched as he folded down thepaperaroundhisthickhamburgerandtookabite.Itdidn’tmatterhowdirethecircumstances,onethingabouthimremainedpredictable:hisappetite.

IwasgladwhenMichaelacceptedmyinvitationtocomeupstairsonourreturnfromSainte-Adèle.Icouldn’tbearwaitingalonefornewsfromDan.

Half an hour later, a knock sounded at my door. I peered through thepeepholeandwasastonishedtoseeMoreaulookingbackatme.Duchainewasathisside.

Iopenedthedoor.“Well,thisisasurprise.”“Bonjour, Madame Scott,” Moreau said. “Another tenant let us into the

building,” he added, as if he needed to explain why he hadn’t buzzed me inadvance.“Maywecomein?”

I didn’t knowwhat to say.He’dbroughtDuchaine along—not a favorablesign.

IfIdidn’tlethimin,he’dsuspectIhadsomethingtohide.IheardmyselfsayyesbeforeIrealizedwhatwashappening.

T

15

hedetectivedidnothingtohidehiscuriositywhenhesawMichaelsittingon my sofa. “Monsieur Elliott, how convenient that you are here once

again.”He turned tome. “MadameScott,wewould likepermission to searchyourhome.Maywe?”

“Isupposeso,”Isaid.Michaelhadalreadyreachedforhiscellphone.Myguesswas thathewas

callingDan.Duchainesnappedonthinlatexgloves.AwordfromMoreausenthimdown

thehalltobeginhissearch.Whatwasheexpectingtofind?Ilaterlearnedthathe’dinspectedthebathroomcabinets,kitchencupboards,

bookshelves, laundry basket, and ice cube containers. He’d even emptied thepaperclipdispenseronmydesk.

Inthemeantime,MoreaustoodinthehallwayandinplainviewofthelivingroomwhereMichael and I sat next to each other on the sofa. The detective’scommandpostbythedoordrewmyinterest.Washeworriedthatwemightbolt?

“Dan’scomingover,”Michaelwhisperedtome.“Youdidn’thavetocallhim,”Iwhisperedback.“Theywon’tfindanything

incriminatinghere.”“It’sforyourprotection.”“Youseemtobedoingalotofthatlately.”“What?”

“Lookingoutforme.”“Somebodyhasto.”Ireadmorethanfriendshipinhiseyesandbrokeourgaze.Moreaulefthispostandsatdownontheothersofa.Maybehewasreassured

wewouldn’tmakearunforit.Withoutsomuchasaglanceinourdirection,heopenedhisnotebookandslowlyflippedthroughthepages.

For lackofanythingbetter todo—andperhapsbecausemy respect for theman was dwindling with each successive encounter—I assessed him with acriticaleye.

His tweed jacket—the sameonehewore the first timewemet—wouldbeoutlawed in any corporate boardroom, today or even ten years back.Ditto forthoseflashyties,nodoubtinheritedfromaretiredcircusclown.Hisbowedheadrevealedtwenty-sixstrandsofmousy-brownhairflippedoverfromrighttoleft,edgingtheirwaydownhisforehead.Onceinawhile,he’dsetthesestrandsbackinplacewithapassofthehand,thenpatthemdownontoanegg-shapeddomethatnaturehaddesertedyearsago.

The old green couch inmy grandmother’s living room came tomind. Askids,my cousin and Iwould pull out loose fibers from the back of the couchwhennoonewaswatching.Wemadeagameoutofit.Bythetimeourmothersappearedfromthekitchentosaythevisitwasover,whoeverhadthebiggerballof“yarn”wasthewinner.Sadly,Grandmagotridofthecouchbeforewecouldfinishitoff.

Thedoorbellrang.I made a move to get up, but the detective was already on his feet. He

pressedthebuzzer,thenopenedthedoorandremainedathisformerpost.IgottheimpressionIwasaprisonerinmyownhome.

Danbreezed through theopendoor. “Detective.”HegaveMoreauapolitenodandhurrieduptoMichaelandme.“IleftassoonasIcould.Whydidyouletthemin?Theydidn’thaveasearchwarrant.”Heyankedoutahankiefromhissuitandmoppedhisbrow,thensatdownacrossfromus.

“I let them in because I have nothing to hide,” I said, loud enough forMoreautohear.“Iftheywanttowastetheirtime—”

“Lieutenant.” Duchaine appeared with an evidence bag in hand. HeconferredwithMoreau inmuted tones,but itwasobviousfromthedetective’sraisedeyebrowsthatDuchainehadlocatedanitemofsignificance.

Holdingatransparentbagcontainingaslipofwhitepaper,Moreauhastenedtowardus.“MadameScott,canyouexplainhowyoucametohavethisiteminyourpossession?”HeflippedthebagaroundsoIcouldseeitscontents.

It was the photo of Pam and Tom sitting outdoors at Pueblo’s and theenvelopeithadarrivedinwiththefakeSunnyWateringHolereturnaddress.I’dtuckeditinthetopdrawerofmydresserbeneathmyunderwearandplannedtoshowittoTomwhenhereturnedfromhistrip.Butasoftenhappenswhenlifegetshectic,I’dforgottenallaboutit.

Moreauwaswaitingformetoanswer.“OneofTom’sfriendssentmethephotoasajoke,”Isaid.“Ajoke?”thedetectiverepeated.Myexplanationsoundedoutofplaceintheaftermathofthemurders.Itried

toclarifyit.“Tomandhisfriendsusedtoplaytricksononeanother.Iassumedone of them sent me this photo to get back at Tom for a birthday joke he’dplayedonhim.ImeanttoshowittoTom,butIforgotaboutit.”

“Whatisthenameofthepersonwhosentit?”“Idon’tknow,buttheenvelopehasafakereturnaddress.Thatwaspartof

thejoketoo.”Danstoodup.“MayIseeit?”The detective handed him the plastic bag, then said tome, “It appears as

thoughsomeonetookthisphotothroughthewindowofacar.Correct,MadameScott?”

Iwasn’t going to fall for his trap.He expectedme to admit I’d taken thepicture.“Iwouldn’tknow.”

“Detective,anyonecouldhavetakenthispicture,”Dansaid.Moreausquinted,asifheweretryingtocomeupwithanotherquestion,one

Imight trip over inmy haste to answer. “Madame Scott, can you tellme thenamesofthepeopleyourhusbandsocializedwith.”

I mentioned Peter, Greg, and other BOTCOR marketing staff I’d met at

companyevents.“Hesocializedwithclientstoo,butIdon’tknowtheirnames.”Moreaunodded.“Trèsbien.Verywell.”The topic died on his lips, but his expression revealed a lot more. Like

contempt.Orwasitpity?Washespeculating—asIwasnow—whetherTomhadusedhismeetingswithclientsasanexcusetoseePam?

Danpursuedhis argument about the photo. “Nopurpose in exploiting thisphoto,” he said, handing it back to the detective. “It can be construed ascircumstantialevidence.”

“Itistheenvelopethatinterestsmemore,MonsieurCummings.”Duchaine reappeared in the hallway. “Lieutenant, I found this.”He held a

whitegarbagebaginaglovedhand.Istaredathim,questioningwhathe’dfoundsocaptivatingaboutthegarbage

bagIkeptunderthesink.Moreau went up to him and peered inside the bag. “Remove the item,

please.”Duchainepulledoutawhiteshirt.Ithadaredstainonthecollar.“Canyouexplainthis,MadameScott?”Moreaupointedtotheshirt.FromwhereIwassitting,itlookedliketomatosauceorblood.Iwalkedover

toexamineitcloser.Itwaslipstick…afamiliarshadeofredlipstick…Pam’s.“It’sTom’sshirt,”Isaid,notofferinganyadditionaldetails.MoreauturnedtoDuchaine.“Wheredidyoufindit?”“Behindthedryerinthelaundryroom,”hesaid.Moreauraisedaneyebrow.“Idon’tknowhowitgotthere,”Isaidtohim.“Perhapsyouhiditthere,”hesaid.“Ididnosuchthing.”“Isityourlipstickontheshirt,MadameScott?”DancutinbeforeIcouldanswer.“Detective,youhavenorighttointerrogate

my client. Moreover, the shirt is hardly incriminating evidence regarding themurders.”

“Idisagree.”MoreauorderedDuchaine,“ProcessitforDNA.”Police inspection of my apartment soon came to an end. Nothing else

surfacedthathadthepotentialtoincriminateme.Smallwonder.ButMoreauwasn’tdonewithus.“We would like to search your hotel suite next, Monsieur Elliott,” the

detectiveannounced.Dansteppedin.“Michael,Imustcounselyou—”“It’sokay,Dan,let’sgetitoverwith.”Michaelstoodup.“Bemyguest,”he

saidtoMoreau.“Youwon’tfindanything.”ThedetectiveswaitedbythefrontdoorwithDanandMichaelwhileIpoked

aroundinmypurseforthehousekeys.Ididn’tbelieveintrendswhenitcametopurse size. I bought purses that could hold everything I needed them to hold.BecauseIputtheirsizetogooduse,theywerehardontheshoulderbutsomuchmorepracticalthanthoseminiaturepursesthatheldnothingmorethanalipstickandmirror.Thedisadvantagetoalargepursewastryingtofindsomethingatthebottomofit.

Moreau extended his hand. “Madame Scott, may I have your handbag,please?”

HadImisunderstoodhim?“Excuseme?”Hepointedtomypurse.“Yourhandbag.MayIhaveit,please?”“Giveittohim,Megan,”Dansaid.“Merci.”Thedetectivestrode into the living room,holdingmypursewith

both hands as if it contained loose eggs.He placed it on the coffee table andpulledonapairoflatexgloves.

I joinedhim,mycuriositychanging toannoyanceasheremoved the itemsfrommypurse,onebyone,as ifhewerementallyrecordingthecontents.Outcamemysunglasses,ahairbrush,anagenda,awallet,twopens,anotepad,atinybagofchocolatealmonds,asetofkeys,alipstick,twotampons,facialtissues,and a box of adhesive bandages—all lined up on the table like productsdisplayedinadepartmentstorecounter.Iwasmortifiedanddidn’tdareglanceovermyshoulderattheotherthreemen.

WhenMoreauopenedtheboxofbandages,Ifoundanoutletformygripe.“You won’t find any incriminating evidence in there, Detective. Paper cutshappenalotinmylineofworkbutnotmurder.”

Michaelchuckled.Thedetectiveignoredmysarcasm.Hehungontomyagenda,puteverything

elseback intomypurse,onebyone, andhanded it tome. “Thankyou. Iwillkeepyouragendafornow,ifyoudonotmind.”

DidIhaveachoice?“Suityourself,”Isaid.Ifhewantedto labor throughminutiaelikemeeting

times,projectdeadlines,doctorappointments,andothermundanenotationsI’dinscribed,whyshouldIcare?Itwashislossoftime,notmine.

Then I rememberedanotherentry inmyagenda: thePineviewaddressandnotes I’d scribbled frommemory after Louise’s initial call. I hadn’t scratchedthemout, nor had I enterednewdetails to indicateTomwasgoing toGraniteRidgeinstead.Itseemeduselessatthetime.

Acoldsweatrolledoverme.ThedetectivemightgetafalseimpressionfrommynotesaboutPineview.Agutfeelingtoldmehewouldn’thesitatetopounceonthem.He’dtrytousethemasevidenceagainstme.

Iprayedmyslip-upwouldgounnoticed.

Our entourage rode in an unmarked car to the Elegance Hotel and to what IexpectedwouldbeapointlesssearchofMichael’ssuite.Iwaseagertoseethelook of frustration on Moreau’s face when his efforts turned up empty. Hisludicrouscharadeagainstuswouldcometoanend—onceandforall.

People stared aswe crossed the lobbyof theElegance. Iwasn’t surprised,whatwithfourmenaccompanyingme—twoofthemwithpolicebadgesaroundtheirnecks.OneofthedeskclerksgreetedMichaelbynameandnoddedatmeaswewhiskedby.Ifiguredhe’drecognizedmefrompreviousvisits.

Upstairs inMichael’s suite, Dan sat in one of themagenta armchairs andstudiedhisnotes.MichaelandIsharedtheroyalbluesofaneartheentranceandwithinMoreau’slineofsight.Breakingfromhisearlierdecisiontostandguardbythedoor,thedetectivesettledonthematchingpurplesofaalongtheoppositewallwhileDuchainesearchedthepremises.

Moreau leafed through the pages of my agenda at a slow pace. He’doccasionallystopandfrowninanattempttodecipherscribblesorabbreviationsIusedinmylineofwork.Soonerorlaterhe’drelentandaskmetocomeoverandexplainanotation.

At one point, he asked me to elaborate on CMYK, an abbreviation I’denteredontheJuly12.I’dbeguntowriteouttheabbreviationinfullduringoneofmyanal-retentivemomentsbutstoppedafterthefirstword:cyan.

“Cyanisatermusedintheprintingbusiness,”Itoldhim.“Iwrotethenoteincaseaco-workeraskedmeaboutaspecificcolorcorrectionlater.”

“Itsoundstomelikeanabbreviationforcyanide.”Hepeeredatme.Danwasatmysideintwostrides.Heglancedattheabbreviation.“Anunfair

assumption,Detective.TheabbreviationCMYK iswidelyused in theprintingbusiness.”

“Iammerelypointingouttheobvious,MonsieurCummings.”Duchainehadbeenrummagingthroughthefrontclosetandnowcalledout,

“Lieutenant,Ifoundsomething.”Moreausetasidemyagendaandscurriedover.Dantookoffrightbehindhim.Michaelboundedupfromthesofaandjoinedthem.Irushedover,fearrisinginsideme.Duchaine was clutchingMichael’s leather jacket in a gloved hand. In the

other gloved hand, he held out a small plastic container. It had a white labelaffixedtoit.

AtfirstIthoughtitwasabottleofpills,butasIapproached,theboldblacklettersonthelabeltoldadifferentandmoreominousstory:CYANIDE.

IwatchedinhorrorasshockandconfusionflashedacrossMichael’sface.“Is thisyour jacket,MonsieurElliott?”Moreauasked,pullingonapairof

latexgloves.‘Yes.”Michaelstaredatmeinastonishment.Inthenextinstant,hissurprise

changedtosomethingelse—suspicion.DidhethinkI’dplantedthecyanideinhisjacket?Unabletomoveorspeak,IremainedrootedwhereIwasstanding.Abarrage

ofquestionspoundedmybrainasItriedtomakesenseofthisrecentdiscovery.Dan’s forehead puckered. “Michael, don’t say another word. You neither,

Megan.”Moreau addressed Duchaine. “Hand me the jacket, please. Place the

containerinabagforanalysis—gently.”Duchainepulledoutanevidencebag,placedthecontainer in it,andsealed

theedgeshut.“Bag the jacket as evidence too,” the detective said, handing it back to

Duchaine.HeturnedtoMichaelandmeandreadusourrights.“Youwillcometo the police station for questioning.Monsieur Cummings, you are invited tocomealong.”

“DoIcontinuethesearch,Lieutenant?”Duchaineaskedhim.“Yes.Who knows what else we may find. But first, call two cruisers for

transport.”

I

16

didn’thaveamomenttothink.EverythingmovedsofastafterDuchainediscovered thecyanide.Word

ofthepolicepresenceattheEleganceHotelmusthaveleakedouttothemediabecausereportersandphotographerswerewaitingoutside.

Withapopulationofalmostfourmillion,GreaterMontrealhaditsfairshareof crime, but the chance to interview suspects in a double murder—and onelinkedtocyanide—wasarareoccurrenceanywhere.Theeventwasguaranteedtogarnermediainterest,ifnotabonuspayout,foranyleadstothestory.

Iconsideredwhetheroneofthedeskclerkshadcalledthepress—probablythesameonewho’dsaidhellotoMichaelearlier.Hemighthaverecognizedmeandmade the link tomy photo in the newspaper article about themurders. Itwouldexplainhow the reportershappened tobe in the rightplace at the righttime.

Aspoliceofficersledusoutofthehotel,IwishedI’dputonmysunglassesbeforehand.Itwasmediafrenzyoutthere.Afringeofbystandershadjoinedintoseewhatthecommotionwasallabout,addingtothebuzz.

The surgeofmicrophones and cameras gravitating towardus preventedusfrom advancing more than a few steps at a time toward two police cruisersparkedinfront.MichaelandIfollowedDan’sadviceanddidn’tsayawordinresponse to reporters’ questions. Dan uttered a final “no comment” before heedgedhiswayoutandhailedataxi.

Allofasudden,Duchainestoodlikeawallinfrontofus,hisheadabovethecrowd. Reminiscent of Moses parting the waters, he cleared a path for usthroughthecrowd.Astockyofficerwithamicrohaircutguidedmeintothebackseatofacruiser.Michael,Moreau,andasecondofficerdroveoffaheadofusintheotherone.

Thecruisermade itswaydownParthenaisStreetand into theundergroundparking of the QPP headquarters—the same building that housed the morguewhereI’dlastseenTom.HowironicthatI’dreturnheredayslaterasasuspectinhismurder.

Theofficerescortedmeoutofthecarandintotheelevator.Ontherideup,Irecalled the confused look on Michael’s face when Duchaine had dug thecyanideoutofhis leather jacket.Whathorrific thoughtshadgone throughhismind at that moment? Probably the same mixed messages that had flashedthroughmine.

The thick soles coating the officer’s shoes squeaked aswemoved along acorridorandpastanopenareawheretheinvestigators’deskswerestationed.Thescentofspilledcoffeeonaburnerandaconcoctionoftake-outfoodhungintheair.

Awaveofnauseahitme.Adefinitecaseofthejitters.Iswallowedhard.My gaze wandered around the open area. There was no sign ofMichael,

Dan,orMoreau.Onmyright,threedoorswereclosed.Ifiguredthemenweresittinginoneofthoserooms.

The officer opened the door to Interrogation Room 1 and ushered me in.“Haveaseat.DetectiveMoreauwillbeinsoon.”Heshutthedoorbehindme.

Amusty smell permeated the air. The room held awooden tablewith toomanyscratchestocountandfourequallybruisedchairs.Ipulledoutachairandsatdown.Acrossfromme,cutintoawallthatbeggedforapaintjob,wasatwo-waymirror.Was someonepeeringback atme, observingme, anticipating thatsomehowI’dbetraymyguilt?TosaythatI’deverfeltasisolatedandexposedwouldbeanunderstatement.

Ishookoffthefeelingandswungmyattentiontotheonlyotherobjectintheroom—an oversized clock hanging on thewall tomy right. Its thin red hand

ticked away the seconds. One. By. One. Each passingmoment reinforced thelikelihoodthatImightbespendingmythirty-firstbirthday—anddecadesmore—injail.

Iclosedmyeyesandtriedtoblockoutmysurroundings,butIcouldn’tstoptheawfulscenesfromplayingoverandoverinmymind:

ThepolicefindingthecyanideinMichael’shotelsuite.ThestunnedexpressiononMichael’sface.The humiliation of walking out of the hotel under police escort, cameras

zoominginonme,microphonesshovedinmyface.More humiliation as I got into the back seat of the police cruiser,

photographersaimingtheirlensesatmethroughthewindows.Ishuddered.Nothingmadesenseanymore.Mynon-threateninglifestylehad

transformeditselfintoaroller-coasterridewitheachpinnacleofchaosoutdoingthe last. How I’dmanaged to get into this predicamentwas beyondmymostterrifyingnightmare.Gonewasmylivelihood.Goneweremydreamsofowningahomeandhavingababy.Gonewasmyfreedom.

Confusionandangerswelledinsideme.Iwantedtoscream.Iwantedtocry.ButIheldmyown.Tenminuteshadgoneby—althoughI’dhaveswornitwasanhour—whena

femaleofficerpopped in.Shecouldn’thavebeenolder than twenty-one,butathickgunbelt anddarkbrownhair pulledback in a stubbyponytail added anausteritytoheruniformandfiveyearstoherage.SheaskedifI’dlikeacupofcoffee.

Isaidyes.Shenoddedandleft.IwasrelievedthatsomeonehadrememberedIwasintheroom,thoughthenotionthatanotherofficermightbewatchingmefromtheothersideofthemirrorcouldrefutethatfact.

Myhandswerecold.Ituckedthemundermythighstowarmthemup.Iwasstillwearingshorts.Damn!Ishouldhavechangedintopantsbeforeleavingthecondo.

But howcould I have predicted the absurdity that awaited us atMichael’s

hotelsuiteandthatwe’dbehauledtoapolicestationafterward?Thefemaleofficerreturnedandplacedaplasticcupofcoffeeonthetablein

frontofme,alongwithtwocreamers,twopacketsofsugar,andaswizzlestick.Shegavemeaquicknod,thenduckedout.

I took a sip. Full-bodied flavor.Not bad for a police station.On the otherhand, if one had to judge coffee, who better than the frequent patrons ofdoughnutshopstopickapremiumblend?

Myfocusswungback to thegrimcircumstancessurroundingmydilemma.Onawhim,Ientertaineddenialofwhathadhappened.IenvisionedDanrushingintosaythepolicehadmadeaterriblemistake,andIwasfreetogohome.

But I was no fool. Storybook endings don’t happen in the real world.Common sense dictated that Dan and Michael were battling it out with thedetectiveinanotherroom,whichwouldexplainwhyDanhadn’tcomeintoseemesofar.

I sipped more coffee. I wrapped my hands around the cup and felt thewarmthpenetratemycoldfingers.Itriedtorelax.Iwasinnocent.Ihadnothingtofear.ThediscoveryofcyanideinMichael’shotelroomwaspreposterous.Hewasacrimereporter,achampionofjusticeandtruth.Hecouldn’tpossiblyhavehadanythingtodowiththemurders—

Thedoor flewopenandDanrushed in.His facewas flushedandbeadsofsweatdrippeddownhisforehead.IfIdidn’tknowotherwise,I’dhaveassumedhe’drunallthewaytothestationbehindourpolicecruisers.

“Howareyoudoing,Megan?”Hesethisleatherbriefcasedown.Heyankedout a hankie from his suit and patted his forehead, but no amount of wipingcouldhaveerased theanxietyetched intohis face.Samecaseofnervesasmebutdifferentclimatezones.

“TellmethisisanightmareandI’llbewakingupsoon,”Isaid.Dantuckedhishankieaway.“IwishIcould,but thepoliceare insinuating

suspicionofmurderhere.”Heunbuttonedhisjacketandmaneuveredachairsothathesatfacingme.

HiscommentshatteredwhateverhopeIhadofgettingthroughthisminefieldwithmymentalfacultiesintact.“Areyousayingyoucan’tdefendme?”

Hefrowned.“Ineversaidthat.”Imovedon.“How’sMichael?”“Shakenup.Thedetectiveisabouttointerrogatehiminthenextroom.”“What’stakingsolong?”“Duchainehasn’tcompletedhissearchattheElegance.Moreauiswaiting,in

casehefindsmoreevidence.”“Moreevidence?Doesn’theseethatMichaelisbeingframed?”Iwavedmy

hands in the air. “He’s innocent. I’m innocent.Moreau is on a bloodywitch-hunt!”

Dan’sresponsewasguarded.“Dependsonhowtheyinterpretthediscoveryofthecyanide.”

His response disturbed me. I had doubts about the way things wereprogressing—or weren’t—but I didn’t need to hear it from my lawyer. “Sowhat’sthenextstep?”Iasked,placingtheonusbackonhim.

“Janeisinterviewingwitnesses.We’renotdone.”“HowlongwillMichaelandIhavetostayhere?”“Idon’tknow.”I debated which was worse: spending time in jail with the most horrible

offendersorevadinganelusiveassassin.Elusive?Whowas I kidding? “Michael toldyouhow someonepushedme

intothetrafficyesterday,right?”“Yes,”Dansaid.“Givemeyourversion.”Ibriefedhimontheincident.“I’ll tell the detective about your close call,” Dan said. “Might make a

difference.”“Withnowitnesses?Fatchance.”Itookitastepfurther.“Thekillerknows

MichaelisstayingattheElegance.HeknowswhereIlive.Hecantrackusdownno matter where we are. Sooner or later, he’s going to succeed in having usconvicted for the murders he committed—if he doesn’t kill us first.” Feartightenedmythroat.

Danmusthavecaughttheangstinmyvoicebecauseheleanedforwardandsaid,“Megan,I’lldowhateverittakestoproveyouandMichaelareinnocent.”

His words had a determined edge to them, yet the worry lines across hisforeheadprevailed.

Andthattroubledmeevenmore.The door opened and the same female officer appeared. “Mr. Cummings,

DetectiveMoreauiswaitingforyouinInterrogationRoom2.”“Thank you.” Dan rose to his feet and picked up his briefcase. “Hang in

there,Megan.”Herushedoutoftheroom.IreflectedonDan’swords,howtheoutcomeofthepolicesearchdepended

on their interpretationof thecyanide inMichael’s suite. I tried tobeobjectiveaboutit.

Tobeginwith,howmanydeathsbycyanidepoisoninghadbeenreportedinthecountrythisweekend?Notmany,Iestimated.

SowhatwerethechancesthecyanidefoundinMichael’ssuitehadnothingtodowiththecyanidethathadkilledTomandPam?Oneinahundredmillion,I’dsay.

Onethingwascertain:Ifthecyanidewasadeliberatedrop,themurdererhadto have access toMichael’s suite. It meant he either worked at the EleganceHotelorknewsomeonewhodid.

Itookmyrationaleastepfurther:MaybethemurdererhadamotivetokillTomandPambutwantedtoputtheblameonMichaelandmeforsomeobscurereason.Adoubleretribution,sotospeak.Apartfromthat,nothingmadesense.

Danreturnedanhourlater.Gloomhungabouthimlikeanalbatrossperchedonthebowofasinkingship.

Ibracedfortheworst.

“R

17

ound one is over,” Dan said. “The detective will interrogate yousoon.”Heunloadedhisbriefcaseonthefloorandtookaseatonmy

left.“Where’sMichaelnow?”Iasked.“Intheinterrogationroom.”Outcamethehankie.Hepattedhisbrow,then

tuckeditaway.“Howdiditgo?”“Hehasnothingonhimsofar.”“Sofar?”Iechoed.“That’sinsane.”“Megan, I have to caution you. Be careful how you respond toMoreau’s

questions.Youmightinadvertentlygivehimwhathe’slookingfor.”“Ihavenothingtohide.I’lljusttellhimthetruth.”The door opened andMoreau darted in, amanila folder tucked under his

arm.Ashetookaseatoppositeus,thescentofcigarettesmokeinfusedtheair.He’d takena fewpuffsbefore coming in.Without asmuchas aglance inmydirection,heopenedthefolderandscannedthefirstpage.

Iwasstillbristlingfromthedetective’sintrusivesearchofmypurse.Forthisreasonalone,Iexaminedthemanwithacriticaleyeonceagain.

Hisshouldersarchedasheleanedhiselbowsonthetable,causinghisneckto all but disappearwithinhis shirt collar. If I had thenerve, I’dhavepeekedunder the table to see if his feet were touching the floor. I’d have bet they

weren’t.Hepassedahandoverhismustache. I’dcometounderstand that thishabit coincided with a theory or a new plan of attack he was contemplating.Eitherway,itmeantbadnewsforme.Iftherewasanythingpleasantabouthim,Icouldn’tseeit.MaybebecauseIchosenotto.

Moreau switchedon theaudiovideo recorderand inched forward to speakintothemicrophone.Herecordedthedate,thenamesofthosepresent,andothermundanedetailsregardingthe interrogation.HisFrench-Canadianaccentmadehiswords sound forced, almost hostile.Whenhewas finished, he said tome,“MadameScott,wedidasearchofyourapartmentandfoundaphotoofyourhusbandandPamStroberamongyourpossessions.Yousaidyoudonotknowwhotookthisphoto.Isthatcorrect?”

“Yes,”Isaid.“For the record,” the detective said to Dan, “we have found the return

addresson theenvelope tobe fictitious.Wewillverify the fingerprintson theenvelope,butwerequirethoseofyourclientsforeliminationpurposes,aswellasabuccalswabforDNAtesting.”

“Agreed,”Dansaid.Moreauleafedthroughthefile.“MadameScott,Iunderstandyoumetwitha

therapistlastspring.Dr.KatherineMadison.”Thenatureofthequestionstunnedme,butIansweredit.“Yes,butonlyfora

fewsessions.”“Naturellement, what is discussed between a psychologist and her patient

duringthesesessionsisconfidential.However, it leadsmetobelieveyouwerefeeling stress in your life—perhaps due to problems in yourmarriage. Is thatcorrect,MadameScott?”

Dan intervened. “My client’s sessionswith a therapist have no bearing onyourinvestigation.”

“Idonotagree,” thedetectivesaid.“Thepsychologicaldispositionofyourclientisofcriticalimportance.”

Danpaused.“Allright,Megan.Goahead.”“Wediscussedstressasareasonformyinabilitytoconceive,”Isaid.AglintappearedinMoreau’seyes.“Andyoublamedyourhusband’saffair

withanotherwomanforthis?”“Ofcoursenot.Ididn’tknowhe’dhadanaffairuntilyoutoldme.”Moreau shifted in his chair. “Well…would you say you had a happy

marriage?”Danintervenedagain.“Detective,Idon’tseetheconnection.”“Asyouknow,MonsieurCummings,deepemotionsoftenbreedamotivefor

murder.Hellhathnofuryasawomanscorned,astheysay.”Oddly enough, I understood his logic. The fact that women killed their

spouseshadbecomesocommonastobestereotypical.BettyBroderickwasonepublicizedexampleofawomanwhofeltdisgracedwhenherhusbandleftherforanewwife.Sheshotandkilledthembothwhiletheyweresleeping.ClaraHarrisgotintoherMercedesandranoverhercheatinghusband,killinghim.NotthatIdrew any comparisons to these women, but I could see whyMoreau would.Because he’dmade no attempt to hide his suspicions, it toldme he’d alreadydecidedIwasguilty.

“Detective, are you charging my client with murder?” Dan’s face wasflushed.“ThelasttimeIlooked,thiswasn’tacourtroom.”

“Iwillmoveonfornow.”Moreauswitchedhisgazetome.“Wereyouawareof abookingat thePineview resort theweekendof—”Heglancedat the file.“August10?”

“Yes,but—”“Howdidyouacquirethisinformation?”“LouiseKirk fromPineview calledTom at home,” I said. “Hewas out of

town,soItookthemessage.”“DidLouiseKirkgiveyouanydetailsaboutthebooking?”“Yes.”“Pleasebespecific.”AlthoughIsensedtroublebehindMoreau’squestion,Ihadnochoicebutto

answerit.“ShesaiditwasregisteredunderthenameScott.Shegavemethedateandtheaddress,andsaidtherentalwasacottagewithaJacuzzi.”

“Anythingelse?”“Idon’tremember.”

“Didyoutellyourhusbandaboutthecall?”“Yes.”“Whatdidhesay?”“Hesaidhisofficestaffhadmadeamistake.Hewasn’tbookedatPineview.”“Didyoubelieveyourhusband?”Dan cleared his throat. I waited for words of advice to come out of his

mouth,butheremainedsilent.Hisattentionwasfixedonthedetective,asifhewerewaitingforhimtoslipuponafactorstateanunfoundedaccusation.

“Goon,MadameScott.”“Tom toldme hewas going toGraniteRidgewith PeterEwans and other

BOTCORemployeesthatweekend,”Isaid.“Doyouhaveproof?”Moreau’seyesshoneinanticipation.I was prepared for this one. “After Tom’s death, I confronted Peter. He’d

knownaboutTom’saffairwithPambutnevertoldme.HesaidhewouldhaveliedaboutTomgoingtoPineviewifhehadto.IfPeterhadn’tcoveredforhim,Tomwouldhavefiredhim.”

Thedetectiveraisedaneyebrow.“If you don’t believe me, ask Peter,” I said. “He’ll corroborate our

conversation.Tomcan’tthreatentofirehimanymore.”Moreaupassedahandoverhismustache,thenturnedtoanotherreportinthe

file. “We have evidence that you shared the information you received fromLouiseKirk.WefoundanoteinthehotelsuiteofMonsieurMichaelElliott.Itcontains details about Pineview cottage numéro huit.” His apparent fervorcaused a French translation to slip through. “Number eight,” he correctedhimself.“MonsieurElliotthasconfirmeditisyourhandwritingonthisnote.”Heheldupablack-and-whitephotocopytoshowme.“Isthatcorrect?”

“Yes,”Isaid.“Madame Scott, I am a curious man by nature. Can you tell me how

MonsieurElliottcametopossessthisinformation?”It didn’t take a genius to figure out he’d already askedMichael the same

question.HowhadMichaelhandledit?HadhetoldMoreauthetruth,orhadhetriedtocoveritupandsaidheknewnothingaboutittoprotecthimself?

I assumed the truth had won out. I resolved to do the same, despite theconsequences. “I left it in Michael’s suite by accident when I delivered amanuscripttohim.Hefoundthenoteandshowedittomelater.”

“Didyouexplaintohimwhatitwas?”“No.Icrumpleditupandleftitwithotherpaperstobediscarded.”“Why?”“Itwasuselessinformation.”“Whyuseless?”“Ialreadytoldyou.”Iletoutanimpatientsigh.“Tomsaidhewasgoingto

GraniteRidge.NotPineview.”As if he hadn’t heard me, Moreau lifted another report from the file.

“MadameScott,youinsertedthewordcyaninyouragenda.Weunderstanditisa termrelevant toyourwork,butwebelieve itcanalsobeanabbreviationforcyanide.”

Isaidnothing.Icouldpretendtobedeaftoo.Besides,itwasn’taquestion.Thedetectivewenton.“Wealsofoundamemoinyouragendaregardingthe

weekendofAugust10.ItincludedthePineviewaddressandotherdetails.Sinceyouclaimyourhusbanddidnotgothere,Iquestionwhyyoudidnotwritetheparticulars of Granite Ridge in your agenda instead. Can you explain this,MadameScott?”

A glitch from my past had returned to haunt me. “I don’t know. It allhappenedsofast.”IhopedDanwouldcometomydefense,buthesaidnothing.

Thedetective leanedback.“Youworkasaghostwriter.Doyounot reviewcontentforaccuracy?”

“Yes.”“Itisunusualforsomeoneinyourlineofworktomisssuchafactualerror,is

itnot?”“It’sanagenda,Detective,”Dansaid.“Notalegaldocument.”Moreauturnedtoanotherpageinthefile.“MadameScott,didyouknowthat

PamStroberwashavinganaffairwithyourhusband?”“No,”Isaid.“Youconfirmedtheshirtwiththelipstickstainwefoundinyourapartment

belongedtoyourhusband.Doyou—ordidyou—ownalipstickofthatshade?”“No.”“Howdidthestaingetontheshirt?”AsifI’dmakehisjobeasier.“Idon’tknow.”“I believeyoudoknowandyou actedon it.”Thedetective’s eyes riveted

intome.“Speculation,”Dansaid.Moreau fingered another report. “There is the matter of the rental car. I

questionwhyMonsieurElliottrentedacarjustdaysbeforethemurders.”“Michaelalreadyattestedherentedthecarforotherpurposes,”Dansaid.“It has yet to be confirmed, Monsieur Cummings.” Moreau gave me a

measured look. “Madame Scott, do you realize this opportunity hints atpremeditatedmurder?”

“Don’tanswerthat,”Danwarnedme.Nosweat.I’dalreadydecidedIwouldn’t.“Madame Scott, would you say that you and Monsieur Elliott are close

friends?”“Imustcounselmyclient—”Danbegan.“It is but a simple question, is it not?” the detective asked, annoyance

buildinginhisvoice.Dancompliedwithareluctantshrug.ItookDan’scueandexerciseddiscretion.“Michaelwasmyclient.Wehada

goodworkingrelationship.”“Agoodworkingrelationship,” thedetectiverepeated,nodding.“I imagine

thattwopeopleworkingsocloselywould—howshallIputit—discussmattersofamorepersonalnature.”

“Irrelevant,”Dansaid.“I do not agree,”Moreau said. “Madame Scott had dinner withMonsieur

Elliottnumeroustimesduringthethreeweeksbeforethedeathofherhusband.Thisfactisquiterelevanttoourinvestigation.”Thecuriosityinhiseyesspread,creating a strained expression as he focused onme. “Tellme,Madame Scott,whydidyouhavedinnerwithMonsieurElliott?Didyoufindhiminteresting?

Perhapsmoreinterestingthanyourhusband?”“You’reundulyprovokingmyclient,”Dansaid.Moreauremainedsilent,watchingme,waitingformetoanswer.I was no fool. A candid reply would incriminateme. I wouldn’t admit to

anyonehowmuchIenjoyedbeingwithMichael,thattherewasaneasyrapportbetweenus,andthatthechancetoconversewithsomeoneoverdinnerhadfilledagapinmylife—agapthathadgrownwiderwitheveryadditionaltripTomhadtaken.

DeterminednottostumbleintoMoreau’strap,Icalmlysaid,“Michaelwasmyclient.Wewereonatightdeadline,sowediscussedhisworkoverdinner.”

Withasingle-mindedness thatknewno limits, thedetectivemaintainedhislineofquestioning.“MadameScott,yourrelationshipwithMonsieurElliottwasperhapsmoreintimatethanyouadmit.Wasitnot?”

“Doyouhaveanyproof?”Danaskedhim.“WehavetestimonyfromEloiseSpeck,aneighborwhoresidesinthesame

condominiumasMadameScott,”Moreausaidtohim.Tome,hesaid,“ShesawyouandMonsieurElliottinawarmembraceFridaynight,August10.”

Ohno,notanotherminefield!IglimpsedatDan.Hisnervousnessmanifesteditselfasbeadsofperspiration

buildinguponhisbrow.Giventhescopeofhislegalexperience,thiswasnotagoodsign.

“IwassayinggoodbyetoMichael,”Isaid,keepingmytoneeven.“HewasgoingbacktoTorontoontheweekend.”

“Buthedidnotgoback.”Moreau’seyesremainedrivetedonme.“Didyouleaveyourapartmentagainlaterthatnight?”

“No.”“Perhapstotakeawalkintheparkinglot?”“Ofcoursenot.”“Torepeat,MonsieurElliottdidnotreturntoTorontoontheweekend.Isthat

correct?”“Yes,”Isaid.“Canyoutellmewhy?”

IwaitedforguidancefromDanbutheremainedquiet.Iassumedhehadn’ttoldMoreau aboutMichael’s trip to Sainte-Adèle to meet with his informantlaterthatnightandneitherhadMichael.

Frown lines gathered on the detective’s brow in a sign of impatience.“Well?”

“Whydon’tyouaskMichael?”Isaid.Moreau smoothed out his mustache again, this time in two rapid strokes.

“Perhapshedidnotwanttoabandonyouinyourmomentofcrisis.Perhapshedecided to stay inMontreal because your relationship had developed into anamorousone.”

“That’snottrue!”Igrippedtheedgeofmychair.“You’re upsetting my client with unfounded accusations, Detective,” Dan

said,puttingahandonmyarm.“Timewillprovethemotherwise,MonsieurCummings.”WhileMoreauleafedthroughthefile,Istruggledtokeepcalm.Wordssaid

in the heat of the moment—especially to a detective who was so intent onprovingmyguilt—couldcausemeregret.Ihadtohangon.

Thedetectivescannedanotherreport.“WeareinvestigatingastatementfromEmily Saunders, an employee at Bradford Publishing. It is regarding ananonymouscalltoyourofficephone—”

“Hearsay,”Dancuthimoff.“Myclient isawareof thecall. Ithasn’tbeenproventobetrueorrelevant.”

“We are working on it, Monsieur Cummings.” Moreau fingered the nextreport. “Madame Scott, did you know your husband named you as solebeneficiaryonhislifeinsurancepolicy?”

“Yes,”Isaid.“Did you know your husband had requested an increase on his insurance

policyseveralmonthsago?”“Iwasn’taware,”Isaid.Danasked,“Whatfiguresarewetalkingabout,Detective?”“The policy was increased from one hundred thousand to five hundred

thousand dollars,” Moreau said. “Did you know about this change, Madame

Scott?”“No,”Isaid,stunned.“Whydidyourhusbandpurchasesuchalargepolicy?”Moreauasked.“HowthehellwouldIknow?”Isnappedathim.Icouldn’thelpmyself.He

was getting on my nerves. Dan stirred in his chair, prompting me to giveMoreau’squestionamorecourteousresponse.“Weweretryingtostartafamily.Maybe Tom wanted to make sure we would be taken care of if anythinghappenedtohim.”

“Likewhat?”Washekidding?“Likeaplanecrashoracarcrash.Tomtraveledalot.He

wasawareoftherisksinvolved.”Thedetectiveslowlyclosedthefolder.Theinterrogationhadcometoanend.I was eager to see Michael and set things straight. Moreau hadn’t said

anything about the cyanide. Maybe the vial contained something other thanpoison,likebabypowderorsugar.Afterall,DandidsaythepolicehadnothingonMichaelsofar.

ButjustwhenIthoughttheworstwasover,Moreausurprisedme.“MadameScott, this iswhat I believewere the circumstances leading to your husband’sdeath.Youdiscoveredtheshirtwiththelipstickstainandhiditinagarbagebag.Perhapsyouintendedtothrowitoutbutyouforgottodoso.”

“No,that’snottrue,”Isaid.“You and Michael Elliott left the city in a rental car Friday evening of

August10.”“No,wedidnot.”“YousuppliedMichaelElliottwiththePineviewaddressandinformation—”“No,Ididnot.”“YouaskedMichaelElliotttohelpyoutakerevengeagainstahusbandwho

hadbeenunfaithfultoyou—toeventhescore,astheysay.”Hisinsinuationhitmelikeaslapacrosstheface.“That’salie!”“InFrench,wecallituncrimepassionnel.Acrimeofpassion.”I jumped to my feet. “You’re wrong. I loved Tom.” I remained standing,

shakingwithrage.

“Megan,please.”Dan’shandonmyarmguidedmebackintothechair.“How much longer do we have to endure this ridiculous excuse for an

interrogation?”IaskedDan,buthedidn’tanswer.Moreaustaredatme,asifhewerecontemplatingwhetherornotI’dlungeup

again. “Perhaps you had second thoughts about your murderous deed. Youneededasafeguard.PerhapsyoupaidsomeonetoplantthecyanideinMonsieurElliott’ssuitetocreatedoubtsabouthisintegrity.Oryouputitthereyourself.”

“I…did…not,”Isaidthroughclenchedteeth.Therewas a knock at the door and a uniformedpolice officer entered.He

handedMoreau a beige envelope with a police insignia in the top right-handcorner.Thewaymyinterrogationwasgoing,Ifearedthattheinformationintheenvelopemightworsenthesituation.

Thedetectiveexchangedhushedwords inFrenchwith theofficer,but theyspokesolowthatIcouldn’tcatchthegistofit.Theofficersteppedout,leavingthedoorajar.

Moreausaid,“IhaveaskedMonsieurElliotttojoinus.”Michaelwalkedinandshutthedoorbehindhim.Itriedtocatchhiseye,but

hedidn’tlookmywayandtookaseatontheothersideofDan.Thedetectiveopenedtheenvelopeandslidouttworeports.Astrokeofhis

mustachetoldmehewasabouttospringaconclusivebitofinformationonusofa sortwe’dhopedwouldn’t surface.“There isoneparticularmatterof interestleft to discuss.We have verified themileage on the car thatMonsieur Elliottrented.Itwasaboutonehundredandthirtymiles.”

Dan reached into his briefcase and pulled out a folder. He began to flipthroughitscontentsinaflurryofactivity.

Whatonearthwashelookingfor?Moreaufingeredthesecondreport.“Wehavealsoconfirmedthismileageis

aboutthesamedistanceasatriptoandfromthePineviewresort.Interesting,isitnot?”Hiseyebrowswentup,asifsomehiddenrevelationhadcometolight.

Andithad.Dan held up a sheet. “Detective, my clients might have known about the

existenceofPineview,buttheybothaffirmtheydidn’tgothere.Asamatterof

record, dozens of other resorts are located within the same distance fromMontreal.Here’salistofthem.”Hehandedittohim.

Moreau took it and gave it a quick once-over. “Yes...well, perhaps yourclientswillclaimtheydrovearoundthecityincirclesallnighttoo.Therealityisthattheyhavefailedtoprovideuswithsolidalibis.”

Dan’s forehead glistened with perspiration. “Unless you have a legitimatereasontolaymurderchargesagainsteitherofmyclients,don’tmakeconjecturesabouttheirwhereabouts.”

Hisargumentreassuredme,buthisphysicaluneasewasplayinghavocwithmyhealth.Mynerveswereslowlyrippingapart,much like thefine threadsofGrandma’soldcouch.

IstoleaglimpseatMichael,anticipating thathe’d jump inanddefendourposition theway he often did onmatters that screamed for justice. Instead hegapedatthedetectiveindisbelief.

My heart sank. Michael’s silence spoke louder than words ever could. Itconveyedthecertaintythatourworstfearshadbeguntotakeshapeandthathewaslosinghope.

Therewasanotherknockatthedoorandthesamepoliceofficerpoppedhisheadin.InFrench,heapologizedfortheintrusionandsaidheneededtospeakwiththedetectiverightaway.Couldheleavetheroomforamoment?

Moreau switchedoff the recorder. “Pleaseexcuseme.”Hewalkedout andleftthedoorajar.

I had the disturbing impression that he was about to call in the troops. Ileaned forward andwhispered, “Michael, didyou tell thedetectivewhereyouwereFridaynight?”

“No.”Hekepthiseyesdowncast.“Whynot?”“He would have asked for names,”Michael said. “I can’t do it. It would

break informant confidentiality.Besides, Iwas trying to provemy alibi.” Thewayheavoidedlookingatmetroubledmemorethanhisreply.

“Keepyouranswersshort,”Dansaid,hisvoicelow.“It’s inbothyourbestinterests.Theyhavenothingoneitherofyoutomakethechargesstick.”

“Thenwhyarewehere?”Iaskedhim.“Whycan’twejustleave?”“Wehavetocooperate.It’sasignofgoodfaith.”AsfarasIwasconcerned,I’dsufferedenoughinthenameofgoodfaith.My

legswerenumbandmyrearendhurtfromsittingonawoodenchairforsolong.I wanted to leave and go for a long walk. Better yet, I wished the detectivewould scrap this interrogation, let us go home, and concentrate his efforts onfindingtherealkiller.

Ipeekedthroughtheopendoorway.Moreauwashurryingbacktotheroom,anotherfoldertuckedunderhisarm.Ashewhizzedbyus,Ireadthetabonthefolder.“Scott,Thomas”wasprintedinlargeblackletters.

Morebadnews.Myhearthammeredinmychest.The detective sat down and turned on the recorder. “Our police laboratory

found no fingerprints on the container discovered in your suite.”He observedMichaelwiththeusualcautionreservedforasuspectedmurdererbutkeptmeinhisvisualrangeaswell.Myguesswasthathewantedtojudgeourreactionsorhoped one of us would renounce the other. “Did you wear gloves when youhandledthecyanide,MonsieurElliott?”

“Forthelasttime,”Michaelsaid,soundingweary,“Ihavenoideahowthedamn stuff got inmy jacket. Someone is framingme.Why don’t you believeme?”

“Yourinnocenceisnotaquestionofbelief,MonsieurElliott.Thefactsspeakfor—”

“Detective,”Dan cut in,more forceful this time. “We’reprepared to assistyou as best we can. However, the evidence you have on my clients iscircumstantialatbest,andyouknowit.”

Thedetective’slefteyebrowarchedindisapproval.“Idonotagree.Asyoualreadyknow, theevidence inacriminal investigationmustbeweighed in thelightoftwokeyfactors—motiveandopportunity.”

Dansatback.“Youhaveneither.You’regraspingatstraws.You’remoldinginsignificant items that your investigators tripped over to fabricatemotive andopportunity.Youhavenoconcreteprooftoimplicatemyclientsinthemurders.”

“It is a matter of time before we discover more evidence to prove your

clientsareguilty.”Dan persisted. “You’re losing sight of the big picture, Detective. You’ve

become obsessed with your own imaginary scenario. In the interim, thisinterviewisover.”Hegatheredhisfilesandplacedtheminhisbriefcase.

Moreau seemed to be pondering the situation. “Trèsbien. Your clients arefreetogofornow.Pleasenotethatwereservetherighttoquestiontheminthefuture.Isuggesttheydonotleavetown.”Heturnedofftherecorder.

Dan stood up, his face flushed, his huge framebent over the table like anengulfingtidalwave.“Detective,ItoldyouearlierhowMeganhadanear-brushwithdeaththeotherdaywhensomeonepushedheroffthecurb.Itimpliesshe’satarget.AndsoisMichael.Whysomeonewantsthemoutofthewayiswhatthepoliceshouldbeinvestigating.Istronglysuggestyouspendyourtimetryingtofindtherealmurderer.”Hestraightenedup.

“It ispreciselymy intention.”Thedetective rose andcollectedhis folders.Whether or not he perceived Dan’s deportment as a threat, I couldn’t tell.“MadameScott,MonsieurElliott,pleasewaithere.Iwillmakethearrangementsforyourswabandfingerprints.”Helefttheroom.

Michaelstoodup.Fatigueanddejectionweremoreapparentnow.“Thanks,Dan,”hesaid.“Youboughtussometime.”

“Everysecondcounts,”Dansaid.“What’sournextmove?”IaskedDan.“Can’tsay.WaitingforinfofromJane.”“Iknowyou’regoing togetusoutof this,Dan.”ThoughMichael’swords

werehopeful,hisvoicehadadesperateedgetoit.“Wehaven’tbeendealtthelasthandyet,”Dansaid.“Ihaveacoupleofaces

upmyownsleeve.”Heclutchedhisbriefcase.“YoustillhaveyoursuiteattheElegance?”

“Ihopeso,”Michaelsaid.“Mostofmystuffisthere.Ididn’tcheckout.”“Allright.Afteryou’redonehere,flagataxiandgobacktothehotel—both

ofyou.Stayputuntilyouhearfromme.”

T

18

helobbyoftheEleganceHotelbuzzedwithhordesofconvention-goers—anidealsmokescreenforMichaelandme.

We zigzagged around visitors standing beside luggage tagged with teamnamesthatsoundedasifthey’dbeengeneratedduringahigh-techbrainstormingsession: Marketing Maniacs, Disk Dorks, and Web Watchers. Each groupmember wore a white tag that read: “Hello. My name is...” Loud greetingsechoedacrossthelobbyasnewarrivalsstumbledupontherestoftheirteamlikelostsheepthathadfoundtheirflock.

Michael and I took the elevator up to the seventh floor in silence, notspeaking—justaswe’ddoneonthetaxirideover.OurstressfulexperiencewithMoreau at the police station hadme pondering the potential repercussions, soconversationdidn’tmatteratthispoint.

ThehoursI’dspentunderinterrogationnowmademefeeldirty.AllIwantedtodowastakeashower.IprayedMichaelstillhadaccesstohissuite.

Luckwasonourside.Hiselectronickeyworked.Weenteredhissuitetodiscoveranaddedbonus:Roomservicehadcleaned

upandleftasupplyoffreshlinensinthebathroom.They’dalsoleftatrashbinforhisdiscardedpapers.MichaelletmetakeashowerfirstandlentmeacleanT-shirt.

On my return to the living room, I found him standing there, a stunnedexpressiononhisface.

“Youhavenoideawhatcrazymessagessomeoneleftonmyphone,”hesaid.“Yourcellphone?”“No,thehotelphone.”Heliftedthehandset.“Youhavetohearthis.”Hehit

abuttonandheldthehandsetinchesawayfrommyear.“Careful.It’sloud.”“Traitor!”athickvoicebellowed.Aclicksoundedandthelinewentdead.“That’shorrible!Canyouplayitagain?”Michaelhitthereplaybutton.Ilistened.“Ican’ttellifthevoiceismaleorfemale.”“Thecallerusedadevicetodisguisehisvoice.Helefttwoothermessages—

thesameasthisone—aboutahalfhourapart.”Mybloodwentcold.“Itcouldbethekiller.”“Iwon’terasethemessages.We’lltellDanaboutitlater.”Michaelreturned

the handset to its cradle. “We haven’t had much time to talk about whathappenedtoday.”

“I’mreadywheneveryouare.”“I’llgo takeashower.We’llhash thingsoutafter.”Hedisappearedaround

thecorner.Restless,Iwanderedovertothewindow.Heatwavesandsmogblurred theMontrealskyline, rendering the towering

buildingswavyandhazy.Strange.TheweatherwasasrelentlessasMoreau.Hisinsinuationspreventedmefromfocusingonanythingelsebutwanting toclearmy name. Even though Dan had succeeded in fending off the detective’sincessantbadgeringtoday,itwasatemporaryreprieveatbest.

Part ofmewanted to runaway from the crumblingworld aroundme.Theotherpartcravedthetruthandtoldmetheonlywayoutofthisimpassewastodig up amoreworthy suspect—one thatwould draw closer scrutiny from thepolice.

I’doncereadthatalmondshelpedtoclearthethoughtprocess.Trueornot,Ioftenkept a supplyonhand— the chocolate-coveredones. I tookout the tinybag of chocolate almonds I’d stashed inmy purse. To think thatMoreau hadalmost impounded it earlier. I plucked one out and chewed it slowly, then satdowntobeginmyanalysisofpotentialsuspects.

ThemostobviouscontenderwasPeterEwans.TheloosetireontheFord,hisformerjobasachemicalengineer,hiseasyaccesstoTom’scottage...ThatTomhadclimbedaheadofhimonthecorporateladderatBOTCORcouldhavebeenthefinalblowtoPeter’sego.Addthelossofrespectfromhispeers,andyouhadarecipeforrevengewaitingtohappen.

I popped another almond into mymouth, letting the chocolate melt awaywhileIputtogetherasecondtheory.WhatifPamwasthetarget?Ifso,thekillerwould have had a differentmotive. I envisioned a jealous lover or a sensitivemale that Pam had dumped in her “use them and lose them” fashion.Maybeshe’dpushedonetoomanymenovertheedge.

Andwhyleaveamurderessoutoftheequation?Sincemarriedmenhadnotbeenoff limits toPam,whydiscount awife seeking revenge?TriciaBradfordhadaccusedPamofsleepingwithherhusbandBill.ShecouldhavehiredahitmantogetridofPamasMichaelsuggested.Hell,shehadenoughmoneytoputawholeteamintoaction.

But why stop there? From the collection of trophy gifts in Pam’s office,further inquiriesmightrevealanarmyofvindictivewomenwhowereeager tosettle a score against her for having slept with their husbands or boyfriends.ConsideringPam’slistofconquests,thepossibilitieswereendless.

A surge of optimism swept overme, but I had to remain objective.Dan’sinvestigative process was far from over. Jane was interviewing witnesses andverifyingthenamesinTom’sappointmentbook.Someofthewomenhe’dsleptwithmighthavebeenfurioustodiscoverhewasmarried.Itonlytookone,andshemighthavegonetogreatlengthstosettleascore.

Another possibility lurked in a corner of my mind—one that I’d ignoredbecauseofdenialonmypart:Michaelmighthaveplayedanactiverole in themurders.

IfhehadanythingtodowithTom’sdeath,itwasmyfault.I’dbelievedourplatonicrelationshipwaswithin thebordersofmutualfriendship,butmaybe itwasn’t.

HowcouldIforgethispassionatekiss?I suddenly felt guilty for having developed an interest in another man.

Intellectual adultery,onewouldcall it.WhileMichael’s friendshipmighthavestemmedfromadecentplaceinhisheart,hisdesireformemighthavespurredhimtotakeadrasticstep—onehebelievedwouldsetmefreetobewithhim.

Whatifthedecisiontodelayhistriphomewasanexcusetohangaroundandmakesurehisfatalplanhadsucceeded?

The absence of food and gas receipts fromhis trip to Sainte-AdèleFridaynight bothered me. Did he conveniently forget to keep them, aware thatambiguouscircumstancesmightworkinhisfavorlateron?

Michaelhad thePineviewinformationonhand—thecrumplednoteI’d leftinhissuite.HistriptoSainte-Adèlehadgivenhimtheperfectalibi.HadheliedaboutitanddriventoPineviewthatnightinstead?

Asfor thecyanide,oneofMichael’sshadycontactscouldhaveobtained itforhim.With thecarelessattitudeofBOTCORemployeesatPineview,not tomentionthenon-existentsecuritythere,MichaelcouldhaveslippedintoTom’scottageandplantedithimself.

Therewasmy near-fatal plunge into the street to consider.No onewouldconvince me it had been an accident. The notion that Michael might havefollowedmefromSantino’sandshovedmeintothetrafficmademyheartpoundwithfear.

HadIwillinglyacceptedakillerintomylife?WithMoreau closing in on us, planting the cyanide in his hotel suite had

servedMichael’spurpose.Heknewthepolicewouldfinditduringtheirsearch.ThemistrustinhiseyeshadgivenMoreauareasontosuspectI’dputitthere.

HadIbeensogullibleastobelieveMichaelwasinterestedinme?I’dbeenafool to thinkhe’dkissedmebecausehecaredaboutme.No, thatkisswashiswayofdivertingmyattention.Iwasvulnerableandinsecure,andheknewhowtogainmytrust.TomhaddoneitwithhisliesandI’dbelievedhim.

Realityhitmeinthenextinstant.Ihatedmyselfforconcoctingthesehorridtheories aboutMichael. Like he’d once said, whatever happened to “innocentuntilprovenguilty”?

I battled with uncertainty. After all, my suppositions about Michael werebased on stretches of the imagination. Not all the pieces fit either. I had no

choicebuttogivehimthebenefitofthedoubt.Thepoliceinvestigationhadyettorunitscourse.

Michaelemergedandpeeredatmethroughdamp,disheveledhair.Ashort-sleevedT-shirtshowedoffmuscularbicepsandatrimtorso.Asheapproached,thescentofthefreshoutdoorsafterarainfallpermeatedtheairaroundus.

Iexperiencedarushofwarmth,feltmycheeksflush.“Anycalls?”heasked.Igatheredmythoughts.“No,nobodycalled.”“Hungry? I am.” He smiled. “How about ordering something from

downstairs?”“Okay.”Iquestionedhiscarefreeattitude.WherewasthedesperateMichael

I’dwitnessedatthepolicestationearlier?Thecheerfulversionstandingbeforemearousedmycuriosity,ifnotmyapprehension.

AfterMichael called room service and ordered up a couple of roast beefsandwiches and twelve small bottles ofwater, he slid into his usual armchair.“Let’stalk.Wehavesomethingstoclearup.”Hisdemeanorwasasrelaxedasifweweresittingdowntodiscusshismanuscript.

I stopped thecharade in its tracks. “Damn it,Michael,” I said,wavingmyhands,“howcanyoubesocool?Moreaualmostdestroyedourchancesofseeingdaylightagain,yethereyouare,actingasifyoudon’thaveacareintheworld.”

“I’vehadtimetothinkthingsthrough.”Heglancedatapointinthedistance.“Thedetective releasedusbecauseheknewDanwas right.Theevidence theyhaveonusiscircumstantial.”

“Soyou’resayingwehavenothingtoworryabout?”“Notquite.Moreaustillsuspectsus.Problemis,hecan’tlaychargesagainst

uswithoutsubstantiveproof.Likehowweobtainedthecyanide,howweenteredthePineviewcottagewithoutanyone—”

“He’llsaywepaidsomeoneelsetodoit,”Isaid.Michael shook his head. “Dan can refute it.He’ll claim it’s an excuse the

copsuseforanysuspect.”AchillranthroughmybodyandIshivered.“What’swrong?”

“Those phone messages. I can’t shake the feeling the killer has beenshadowingusallalong…thathemightbesocloseevennow.”

“Noproblem.We’ll get a traceon themand—”Michael’s cell phone rangandheanswered.“Okay.Seeyouthen.”Hehungup.“DanandJanearecomingovertonight.”

Itookachanceandtestedoneofmytheories.“Youknowwhatbothersmethemostaboutthepolicesearch?”

“What?”“Howthecyanideendedupinyoursuite.”“That’seasy.MoreauthinksIputitthere.”“Youwouldn’thavesocarelessasto—Imean—”Michael’seyeshadastrangeintensitytothem.Hadhecaughtmyallusion?

Ifso,hadIputmyownsafetyatrisk?Iwingedit.“Oh,nothingmakessenseanymore.”“Whydon’tyougiveitarest,Megan?”“No,Iwantclosure,”Isaid.“Sincewecan’tproveourinnocence,ourlives

dependonfindingtherealkiller.Don’tyouagree?”Henodded,saidnothing.“Michael,don’tyoucareaboutanythinganymore?Where’sthatpersonyou

usedtobe—thegutsyinvestigativereporter,determinedtoservejusticeandgettothetruth?”

He leaned forwardand joinedhishands,kepthis focuson thecarpet.“It’snotwhatyouthink,Megan.Idocare—alot.Afterthepolicefoundthecyanidein my jacket and tookme in for questioning, I began to have doubts…aboutyou.”Helookedatme.“IimaginedtheworstandI’msorry.”

Guiltracedthroughme.“ButI—”“Wait.There’smore. I losthope—something Ipromisedmyself Iwouldn’t

do,nomatterhowtoughlifegot.WhenMoreauletusgo,Itookitasapositivesign.Nownothingisgoingtostopmefromgettingthroughthisordeal.Wehavetobelievethatdestinyisgoingtostepinandputourlivesbackontrack.”

“Destiny?You’renotgettingmushyonme,areyou?It’sgoingtotakemorethanhighhopesorwishfulthinkingtoconvinceMoreauwe’renotmurderers.”

“We’renotaloneinfightingthisbattle,”hesaid.“We’vegotDan.He’sgoingtodowhateverittakestoexonerateus.AndI’mgoingtodoeverythingIcantohelphim.”

He sounded so sincere, which made me feel worse about having doubtedhim.

Michael opened up his laptop. “I need to clear my thoughts before Danarrives…checkmynotesonacrimestoryI’mcovering.”

Iapplaudedhisabilitytochangegears—somethingIcouldn’tdointhemidstofturmoil.InsteadIturnedontheTVandchannel-surfed,hopingitwoulddivertmyattentionfromthemurderinvestigation.

I clickedpast a seriesof shows, thenhit a localnewschannel.A filmclipspannedarowofturn-of-the-centuryhomesonastreetinaQuébectown,oneofthemdestroyedbyfire.

I recognizedWillie’shouse.“Look,Michael.They’re talkingabout thefireinSainte-Adèle.”

Thereporterannouncedhowafirehaddestroyedahomeintheresorttown.A badly burnt body had been found inside, but police had not confirmed theidentityof thevictim.Residentsbelieved itwas sixty-year-oldWilliamPerronwhohadlivedaloneforthelastthirtyyears.

“Ihopeit’snotWillie,”Michaelsaid.“Damn!”“Ifitis,”Isaid,“howareyougoingtoproveyouralibi?”“I’llhavetofindaway.IhopeDanhasgoodnewsinthatarea.”WhileMichael reviewed his notes on the laptop, I turned off the TV and

strolledover to thewindow.The sunwas settingon the city core.Ablue skystreakedwith blurs of red and orange rays provided a superb backdrop to theskyscraperscarvedagainstit.Althoughitwasabreath-takingview,itsignifiedanotherdayofunrelentingheatahead.ForecastershadpredictedthestiflingElNiño influence would continue for another week, forcing people to seek air-conditionedplaces.

MoreauandElNiño—twopeasinapod.Thedetective’stenacityintryingtoprovemyguiltleftmegaspingforairandwakingupinacoldsweatatnightatthethoughtofgoingtojail.Myworstnightmarewasthathispersistencewould

faroutlastthatofElNiño.

W

19

ednesdayeveningatnine,Dansethisbriefcasebythecoffeetable inMichael’ssuite.“Sorryfordroppingbythislate.Detailscameinatthe

lastminute.”Heunbuttonedhis jacketandsat in thearmchairMichaelusuallyoccupied.

“That’sright.”Janesettledintheotherarmchairandplacedherbriefcaseatherfeet.

Danpulledoutapileoffoldersandplacedthemonthetable.Heselectedadocument from a file and handed it tome. “This is a table of the names andschedulesfromtheEleganceHotel.”

Michaelpeeredovermyshoulderwhileweexaminedthereport.Janeelaborated.“Isucceededingettingthenamesofthecleaningpersonnel

atthehotelandtheirworkschedulesforthepastweek.”“Howdidyoumanagethat?”Michaelaskedher.“Onlycopshaveaccessto

thatkindofinfo.”“It’sinhotelmanagement’sbestintereststoprovethateverymemberoftheir

staffistrustworthy,”Janesaid,lookingpleasedwithherselfforhavingacquiredtheinformation.

“IthelpedthatIknewoneoftheowners.”Danchuckled.“Workseverytime,”Michaelsaid.“The highlighted entries on the seventh floor are noteworthy,” Jane said,

steeringourfocusbacktothedocument.

“CleanitMaidService,”Michaelread theheadingon thereport.“Sixstaff,allfemale.Yoususpectoneofthemaidsunloadedthecyanideinmysuite?”

“It’sapremisewe’reconsidering,”Dansaid.“Haveyouinterviewedthem?”Michaelasked.“Janedid.”Danproducedanotherreportfromthefile.“Allcheckedoutfine

exceptone.AnitaCastillo.Apart-timeemployeeinthisbatchoftempworkers.”Hehandedmethepaper.

Ireadtheheadingoutloud.“ReplacementStaff—CleanitMaidService.DothepoliceknowaboutAnita?”

“Yes,”Dansaid.Michael’sfacelitup.“Didtheybringherinforquestioning?”“No.”“Whynot?”“Shevanished.Didn’tshowuptocollectherpaychecktoday.”“Who would work and not want to get paid for it?” I asked no one in

particular.“Someonewho’sgettingbiggerbuckstostashavialofcyanideinmysuite,”

Michaelsaid.Danshrugged.“Whateverittakestoputfoodonthetable.”“DoyouhaveaphotoofAnita?”Iaskedhim.DanopenedhismouthtospeakbutJaneanswered.“Nophotos.Cleanitstaff

toldmeshehasdarkcurlyhair,browneyes,andamediumcomplexion.”“Willthepolicekeepsearchingforher?”Michaelasked.“Yes,buttheymightnotfindher,”Janesaid.“Theinformationsheprovided

wasfalse.Otherstaffmembersdidn’tknowmuchabouthereither,except thatshewaitressedinclubsonhernightsoff.”

“Whichclubs?”“Theydon’tknow.”Shecrossedherlegs,hershortskirtridinghigherupher

thighs.Michael didn’t miss a beat. “You’re going to follow up on it? Check out

somehotspots?”“It’sarather…sensitivesituation.”JaneglancedatDan.

“Thepolicearehandlingitnow,”Dansaid.“It’safraudcase.”Michael’seyeswidened.“Youcan’tbeserious.We’regivinguponourbest

witness?”“Not quite,” Jane said. “Wehave another lead.Anita gave her employer a

timesheetinanenvelopelastweek.ThepolicewilldoananalysisoffingerprintsandDNA.”

“It’salongshot,”Michaelsaid.“Shemightnothaveacriminalrecord.Andthere were no fingerprints on the cyanide container. How are they going toprovideamatch?”

“We haven’t reached that point yet,” Jane said, raising her chin. “WeanticipatethatAnita’sexistencealonewillveerpoliceinterestinherdirection.Isuggestwewaitandseehowtheyproceedwiththisnewpieceofevidence.”Sheremovedherjacketandplaceditonthearmrest,revealingasleevelessbluetopwithahighneckline.

Wearing a turtleneck top in today’s hot temperatures would be stifling, Ithought.

“However, there’sapotentialdownside toAnita,”Danwassaying,makingme question if we’d ever see an upside. “It’s possible she’s an illegal alien.Unlessthepolicefindher,theymightnotbeabletotrackdownthekiller.”

“Shemighthavecrossedtheborderbynow,”Janesaid,makingthesituationmoredismal.

“Itdoesn’tmatter,”Michaelsaid.“Thecopscan’tignorethisnewlead.”Hewasright.Anita’sappearancewasastrokeofgoodluck.Morethanthat,

itdissipatedanyremainingdoubtsI’dhadaboutMichael’sintegrity.IexaminedtheschedulefromtheEleganceHotelandthehighlightednames

listedunderthecolumnmarkedFloor7.“Whyisn’tAnita’snamelistedontheseventhfloor?”

“It’s simple, really,” Jane said, her half-smile implying that I’d asked anasininequestion.“Eachmaidgetsasetofkeysfortheroomsshe’sassignedto.Anitawasoneofthemaidsworkingonthefifthfloor.”

Sure enough, Anita’s name was listed under Floor 5. “She switched withanotherworkerontheseventhfloor.”

“That’s right,” Jane said. “It breaks the monotony of cleaning the samerooms.”

“Mostoftheroomsinthehotelhavethesamelayoutandfurnishings.Whatwouldbethepurposeofswitching?”

“IfIhadajobthatboring,I’dplaymusicalroomstoo.”DespiteJane’ssmile,hereyesshowednoemotion.

“MovingontoPeterEwans…”Danflippedthroughanotherfile.“Where’sthatreport?”

“Allow me,” Jane said, getting a nod from Dan. “I confirmed that Peterworkedinthechemicalsindustryfortwelveyearsbeforehejoinedthemarketingteam at BOTCOR. None of the current employees at his previous workplacehaveheardfromhimsinceheleft.I’mcontactingformerstaffthere.Theymightprovetobeavalidsourceforcyanide.”

“Maybe Peter has a source we don’t know about,” Michael said. “Whatthen?”

Janestraightenedhershoulders.“Ifitevercomestothat,we’lldealwithit.”“Itmightbetoolate,”Michaelsaid.“Notbymycalculations,”Janesaid.“Istillhavealotofgroundtocover.”Michael said nothing but clenched his jaw, an indication that her answer

didn’tsatisfyhim.Ashisghostwriter,Iwasfamiliarwiththedepthandaccuracyofhis research.Heproducedclearandhonest facts.Whywouldheacceptherambiguity?

Michaelwenton.“DidPetereverownuptotheloosewheelontheFord?”“Hesaidheknewnothingaboutit,”Janesaid.“Forobviousreasons,”Michaelsaidwithawrysmile.“Inanycase,”Dansaid,tappingapenagainsthisnotebook,“Ifiledareport

withthepolicebasedonyourtestimony,Megan.ItcouldhurtPeter’sdefenseifMoreauoptstodivertsuspicionhisway.”

Michael raised his hands in frustration. “What the hell isMoreauwaitingfor?Can’theseePeterisamorefeasiblesuspectthanMeganorme?Hehadthemotive, the opportunity, and the means to get rid of Tom.” He raised threefingersintheair,onebyone,toemphasizehiswords.“Ifthatdoesn’tcountfor

anything,whatdoes?”Danscannedareport.“SomethingPetersaidaboutMegan—”“I’llsaveyouthetrouble,Dan,”Janesaid,cuttinghimoff.“Megan,Iasked

Peter about the conversation you had with him. He denied having discussedanythingaboutGraniteRidgewithyou. In fact,hesaidhehadn’theardof theplaceuntilImentionedit.”

“I knew it.” Michael snapped his fingers. “He’s feeling the heat, so he’spassingontheblame.”

“Petersubstantiatedhisstatement,”Janesaid.“Sinceheorganizedtheevent,he gave Megan’s home phone number to Louise Kirk so she could call toconfirmTom’sweekendstayatPineview.”

“He’s twisting the facts to cover up his lies.Damn him!” I picked upmypursefromthecredenza,stormedovertothebluesofa,andsatdown.ItookoutapenandtwofoldedsheetsofcanaryyellowpaperI’dmadeahabitofcarryingaroundlately.Doodlingwouldsoothemyfrayednerves.

Michaeljoinedmeonthesofa.“I’dbetMoreauthinksyoumadeupthatchatwithPetertosupportyouralibi.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” I said. “He tried to read a lot more into myanswersduringhis interrogationat the station too.” I askedDan,“WhywouldthepolicechoosetobelievePeterratherthanme?”

“YourdiscussionwithPetercanbeconstruedashearsayincourt,”Dansaid.“Doesn’tmatterwhosaidwhat.”Heclosedthefile.

“Ihaven’tfinished,”Janesaid.“There’smore.”“Oh?”Danopenedupthefileagain.“Ididn’tseeanythingelseinhere.”“It’soff therecord,”Janesaid.“It’smeantforMegan.”Hereyesshiftedto

me. “Peter said he couldn’t believe you didn’t know aboutTom’s affairswithotherwomen.Thereweresomany.”

“Tomgavemenoreasontodoubthim,”Isaid.“Itwasn’tuntilIdiscoveredhisappointmentbookthatIrealizedtowhatextenthe’dbetrayedme.”

“Peterconfidedhedidn’tblameyouforhatingTom,”shesaid.“Peter’sa jerk!” Iplaced thecanarypaperonmypurseandbegan todraw

tinycircles,thenhardsquaresaroundmycircles.

Michael stood up. “Anyone want water?” At our affirmative replies, hehandedoutfourbottlesofwaterthatroomservicehadleft.“Thecopsshouldbeusingmuscle power tomake Peter confess.”He twisted the cap off his bottlewithasnap.

DespitethelogicbehindMichael’sargument,theimageofavindictivePeterhadn’t solidified inmymind. “Petermight have lied and hemight have beenjealousofTom,butI’mnotconvincedhewasresponsibleforthemurders.Let’sfaceit.Peterisawimp.”

“Pretending to pass out at the murder site doesn’t make him a wimp. Itmakeshimsmart.”Michaelgrippedhisbottlesohardthatwaterspurtedintotheairand landedon thecarpet.“Noproblem. Igot it.”Hegrabbedpaper tissuesfromaboxonthecredenza.

“IhaveanexplanationforPeter’sstateofhealth,”Janesaid.“Hiswifetoldmehe’s on antidepressants.BOTCORco-workers saidhe’dhad a lot to drinkFridaynightattheparty.Mixingmedswithalcoholcouldaccountforhisfeelingill.”

“Itdoesn’tmeanhe’snotamurderer.”Michaelpattedthespill,thenheadedtothebathroomtodisposeofthewettissues.

“Any more witness statements for Peter that I should know about?”AnnoyancepinchedDan’sface.Hetossedthefolderaside.

Janeshiftedinherchair.“NeighborshadnothingnegativetosayaboutPeteror his family. HR personnel at BOTCOR gave him an excellent job rating,thoughtheydidmentiononeissue.”

CreaselinesformedacrossDan’sforehead.“Whatwasit?”“Peterdevelopedangermanagementproblemstwoyearsago.Accordingto

HR, he attended the recommended courses and seemed to have the situationundercontrol.Thatis,untilthedayhefoundoutTomgotpromoted.”

“Whathappened?”Iasked.“It’ssimple,”Janesaid.“Peterlostit.”Shewasbeginningtowearmedown.Dancametotherescue.“Canyoubemorespecific?”Jane nodded. “Peter rushed into head office and argued with one of the

bosses.Hethreatenedtosuethecompany.Theyalmostfiredhim.”Michaelwalkedbackintotheroom.“Luckyhedidn’thaveagun.”“Averbalargumentisabigleapawayfrommurder,”Isaid.“Peter’satthetopofmylist,”hesaid.“Nothing’sgoingtochangethat.”Dan ignored our banter. “All right.Moving on.”As he reached for Tom’s

appointmentbookburiedunder several folders,apaper slidoutand fell to thefloor.

Michaelpickeditup.“Whoarethesepeople?”HegaveittoDan.“PineviewstaffthatJaneinterviewed.Right?”Danheldthepaperupsoshe

couldseeit.“Yes,”Janesaid,thenaskedMichael,“Why?”Heshrugged.“Noreason.”Hesatdownnexttome.Dan put the paper back into the file. “Jane, any news on the fingerprint

eliminationsatPineview?”“The police completed their investigation,” she said. “They found nothing

unusual.”“AnyleadsfromthenamesinTom’sappointmentbook?”Hetappeditwith

hispen.“Noviableleads,”shesaid.“ThewomenIcontactedhadsolidalibis.”“I’llpassalongTom’sbooktoMoreau,”Dansaid.“Itwasoffsitewhenhe

searchedyourhome,Megan,sohe’llappreciateourgestureofcooperation.”“WhataboutPam?”Iasked.“Anyleadsonthemenshedated?”“Emilycameforward,”Dansaid.“Gavemeashortlistofherbestbets.Each

hadalegitimatealibiandnohardfeelings.”“Whatabouttheirwivesorgirlfriends?”Iwasscratchingthebottomnow.Danpursedhis lips. “Had to tread lightly.Didn’twant tobreakup serious

relationshipsorintimidatepotentialwitnesses.Nothingsofar.”“Holdon,”Michaelsaid.“Let’sgetbacktoAnita.Ifsomeonehiredhertodo

their dirty work—no pun intended—why would the killer want to pin thesemurders onme? I never dated Pam, and I had no connection toTom. I neverevenmettheguy.”

“BasedontheattemptonMegan’slife,”Dansaid,“itprobablyhasmoreto

dowithyourconnectiontoher.”Michaelgrew silent, thinking. “Okay.Thekiller couldn’t get intoMegan’s

condo.Sohefoundamoreaccessibleplacetodropoff thecyanide—myhotelsuite.”His expression tightened. “Somethingdoesn’t addup. I’ve been in andout of my hotel room the last few days.Why did Anita wait so long beforeplantingthecyanidehere?”

Istaredathim.“Whatdoyoumean?”“IworemyleatherjacketFridayevening,”Michaelsaid.“Ileftitinthecar

all weekend. After wemet with Dan onMonday, I hung it in the hall closethere.”

“That’sright!”Ijumpedtomyfeet,almostspillingmybottleofwater.“Thecyanidecouldn’thavebeenplantedbeforethen.”

Danjottedanote.“Narrowsthetimeline.”IpickeduptheCleanitstaffschedule.“Themaidservicetidiesupthehotel

roomsbeforeoneo’clockeveryday.Michael, itwas later than thatwhenyouhungyourjacketinthecloset.Anitacouldn’thaveplantedthecyanideuntilthenextday.Tuesday.”

“Or today before the police search,” Jane said. “Itmight explainwhy shedidn’tpickupherpaycheckearlier.”

“Talkaboutrisky,”Michaelsaid.“WhywouldAnitaplantthecyanidehoursbeforethecopsvisitedmysuite?”

“Youhaveapoint,”Dansaid.“Doit,thenleavetownASAP.”“Sowhydidshewaitsolong?”Michaelasked,echoinghistrainofthought.Abriefsilencehungoverus.“Iwas supposed to have checked out of here Saturdaymorning,”Michael

said.“Can you imaginewhat Anita would have done had she found your suite

empty?”Iletoutanervousgiggle.Michaelgrinned.“Noproblem.She’dhavefoundanothersuckertopinthe

murderson.”“Andwewouldn’tbesittinghere,”Dansaid,snappingusbacktoreality.Michaelasked,“Whendidthenewsofthemurdersfirstbreak?”

“Yesterday morning—Tuesday.” I sat down and went back to doodlingtriangles.

“Okay,thatexplainsit,”hesaid.“Afterthemurdershit thenews,thekillergaveAnita the go-ahead to plant the cyanide inmy suite.We all knowwhathappenedafter.”

“Yes,”Isaid.“Anuglypaparazziscene.”Danlookedupfromhisnotebook.“Happensoften.Someoneseespolicecars

parkedoutfront.Theycallthepress.Getafewbucks.”“That’ssosick,” I said.“Whatkindofperson takespleasure in tippingoff

themediaandembarrassingpeoplelikethat?”“Thekiller,”Janesaid,asifitwerecommonknowledge.“Whywouldyousaythat?”Iaskedher.“It’ssimple.Heseeksattentionandcravesthespotlight.Infact,hethriveson

it.Whenitdoesn’thappen,hecreatesit.”“Plausible,” Dan said. “Though more likely to fit the profile of a serial

killer.”“I’vegotanotherone,”Michaelsaid.“HowdidthekillerknowIwasstillin

town?”“Acallatthefrontdeskwouldconfirmit,”Dansaid.Hisreplysparkedamemory.“Themysterycaller!”Iblurted.“Whatmysterycaller?”Dan’spenfrozeinmid-air.“The one who left messages on my hotel phone,” Michael said, heading

toward it. “The voice was camouflaged, but the messages were clear. Comelisten.”

Dan and Jane took turns listening to the recording, then returned to theirseats.

“I’ll requestavoiceanalysis,”Dansaid, jottinganote.“Themurderer—orsomeoneconnectedtohim—mightknowyouafterall,Michael.”

“I’d bet Emily concocted those calls,”Michael said. “It strikes a familiarpattern.”

“You’rejustlookingforanexcusetodragherintothismess,”Isaid.“She’sangryandsadaboutPam’sdeath.Itdoesn’tmakeherakiller.”

“Oh, what the hell,” he said. “We can always chuck Peter back in if youlike.”

“All right,” Dan said. “With the discovery of Anita Castillo, the policeinvestigationmighttakeadifferentdirection.Swingattentionawayfrombothofyou.”

Convenient,butIwasn’tconvincedwewerehomefree.Ihadn’tconnectedallthedots.“Anita,thecyanide,thephonemessages...We’remissingevidencethat can tie this information together. Dan, do you think Moreau knowssomethingwedon’t?”

“It’sdoubtful,”hesaid.“His theory isbasic.ThekillerhadagripeagainstTomorPam.HehadaconnectiontoBOTCORorBradford.ThecyanidefoundinMichael’ssuiteisthecommonlink.”Heletoutadeepbreath.“Moreau’sbestguessonmotiveisaromancebetweenMichaelandyou.”

“Iagree,”Janesaid.“It’sthesimplestdeduction.”Icouldn’ttellwhethershewasexplainingMoreau’srationaleorpromotingit

asherown.Itwasawasteof timetryingtoreadher. I latchedontoDan’s lastcommentinstead.“Thecyanidedropherecan’tbetracedtoanyoneatBradford.TheythoughtMichaelwasgoingbackhomeonSaturday.Nooneknewhewasintownexceptme.”

“Sameexplanationasbefore.”Dansoundedweary,asifsomeonehadaskedhimfordirectionstothewashroomforthetenthtime.“Alltheyhadtodowas—”

“Weknow,Dan,weknow,”Michaelsaid,smiling.“CallthefrontdesktoseeifI’dcheckedoutornot.”

“Thosewordswillhauntmeforever.”Danchuckled.Michael turned to me. “I guess that puts you-know-who back in the

running.”“IfshereallywantedPamoutoftheway,”Isaid,“shewouldn’thavegone

throughhellandbacktodoit.”“Whatareyougettingat?”“ShewouldhavelacedPam’scupofcoffeewithcyanideattheoffice.”Michael shook his head. “Too obvious. No onewould kill Pam in such a

restrictedsetting.”“Excuseme,”JanesaidtoMichael,awell-poisedforefingerintheair.“What

makesyouthinkthecottageatPineviewisn’tarestrictedsetting?”“An unlimited number of people pass through Pineview at all hours,”

Michael said. “Staff, guests, strangers…you name it. The offices at Bradfordaren’tasaccessible.TherewouldbefewersuspectsatBradford.”

Dire implications zipped throughmymind.As far as fewer suspectswent,MichaelwasrightaboutBradford,andonenameroseabovetherest.Emily.Shemerited our consideration, but jealousy couldn’t have been the only motivebehindherschemetodoawaywithPam.Therehadtobemoretoit.

None of our theories explained the killer’s link to Michael and his hotelsuite,except theone that involvedEmily.Shewas theonlyperson,asidefromPamandme,whoknewMichael’s suitenumber. I’d considered the likelihoodshe might have bragged about it to her girlfriends, but I rejected the notion.Emilywouldn’thavesharedanythingaboutMichaelwiththecompetition.

AsIdoodled,ItriedtograspthelogicbehindtheanonymousphonecallatBradford.WhetherEmilyhadliedaboutitornot,theresultwasthesame:She’ddivertedMoreau’ssuspicionstoMichaelandmeandourso-calledaffair.

Butwhy?Sure,sheblamedmeforinterferingwithherplanstoconquerMichael.YetI

couldn’t imagine she’d acted on a cold shoulder from him to frame us formurder.

In spite of themissing pieces, I raisedmy suspicions. “Michael, let’s sayyou-know-whohad inside information, cameupwith theperfectplan, andgotawaywithmurder.”

Hestaredatme.“Areyouserious?Iwasjokingbackthere.”“Thinkaboutit.Shewasjealousofourfriendship.Shecameontoyouand

yousnubbedher.She liedaboutour relationshipandpointed thepolice inourdirection—”

“Okay,okay,shewaspissedoff.Butmurder?”“Youhavenoideawhatawomanscornediscapableof,”Isaid.“Youactuallythinkshehadahandinthis?”SurprisemountedinMichael’s

voice.“Yes,andsheusedbothofthemtopushmeintothetraffic!”“Allright,”Dansaid.“Whoarewetalkingabouthere?”“EmilySaunders,myallegedstalker,”Isaid.“Didshehaveanalibi?”“Let’s see.”Dan reached for a file in his briefcase and leafed through the

pages.“Ihaveanotefromanotherofmyteammembers.ItsaysEmilywenttoTorontoontheweekend.Alibinotconfirmed.”

“Maybeshefibbed,”Isaid,recallinghowoftenshe’dliedaboutotherthings.“I’llfollowuponit.”Danscribbledanote.“I rememberedsomething,”Michaelsaid.“Iwent toBradford lastweek to

signacontract inEmily’soffice.ShetookaphonecallfromaguyinToronto.Shementionedhisname,butIcan’trememberit.”

“HowdidyouknowhewascallingfromToronto?”Danasked.“Shechattedwithhimabout ticketshe’dboughtforabaseballgameat the

RogersCenter,”Michaelsaid.“ItsoundedasifhewantedhertoflytoTorontoandspendtheweekendwithhim.”

“Didsheaccept?”Iasked.“Yes,”Michaelsaid.“Sheusedyouasawitnessforheralibi,”Isaid.“Shecouldhavecalledhim

backtocancel,thendriventoPineviewinstead.”“Thepolicecanvalidatethephonerecords,”Dansaid,scribblingmorenotes.“Dan,youhavea lotonyourplate,”Janesaid.“Doyouwantmetoverify

Emily’salibiforyou?”“I don’t care what her alibi is,” I said. “All the pieces fit. Emily knew

Michael’ssuitenumber.Shecouldhavecomeoverwhenhewasout,persuadedAnitatoletherintohissuite,andplantedthecyanideherself.”

“Whichwouldprovethevialhadn’tpoppedupinmyhotelsuitebyfluke,”Michaelsaid.

“Motive?”Danasked.Itwasaweakpoint,butIoffereditanyway.“EmilywasjealousofPamand

wantedrevengeagainstMichael.”“Notenough.”Danfrowned.

“Iagree,”Janesaid.“Mynextquestionis:HowdidEmilyobtainthepoison?It’snotsoldofftheshelf.”

She was right. How would Emily get her hands on a lethal poison likepotassiumcyanide?

Michaelsnappedhis fingers.“I’vegot it.Before thedigitalage,potassiumcyanidewasusedinfilmprocessing.MaybeherboyfriendRayFeltongotholdofasupplyforher.”

A half-smile crept up on Jane’s lips. She was either preparing to ask abombshellofaquestionorthrowthislatesttheoryoutoforbit.

“It’san intriguingpremise,”shesaid,“buthowwouldyouexplainEmily’sassociationwithAnita?”

“Whatdoyoumean?”Iasked.“Howdidthewomencometoknoweachother?WhatwouldpersuadeAnita

toacceptabribe?”“Emily spends many nights hopping from club to club,” I said. “Dan

mentioned Anita worked in nightclubs. Emily might have met her in one ofthem.OrlikeIsaidbefore,sheapproachedAnitaatthehotelandofferedherabribe.”

Michael picked up the conversation. “Megan could be right. Extra buckscome in handy when you’re living hand to mouth like Anita. Emily made itworthherwhile.”

“Itsoundsiffytome,”Janesaid.“Whatdoyouthink?”MichaelaskedDan.“It’spossible.”Dan turned toJane.“What timedoes thecleaningstaffend

theirshiftatPineview?”“Fouro’clockintheafternoon,”shesaid.“The Bradford folder.” Dan retrieved it from his briefcase and thumbed

throughituntilhefoundthereporthewaslookingfor.“NorecordofwhattimeEmilylefttheofficeFriday.Hertimeframemightbetight.”

“ItcouldworkifshearrivedbeforeTomandPam,orlaterwhentheywereout,”Michaelsaid,callingupatheorywe’ddiscussedbefore.

“Andwalked right in if the cottage door was unlocked,” I said, repeating

anotherhypothesisI’dflaggedearlier.Danfrowned,didn’tseemconvinced.Ipressedon.“Emilycouldwellbethemostlikelysuspect.”“Mybet’sonEmilytoo,”Michaelsaid.“IthoughtyourbetwasonPeter,”Dansaid.“ForgetPeter,”Michaelsaid.“The fact remains the police investigation is ongoing,” Dan said. “They

haven’tdiscountedPeter.”“Dan, here’s an eye-opener,” I said. “Peter never metMichael. He didn’t

knowMichael’ssuitenumber,sohecouldn’thaveusedAnitaforthedrophere.”“Waytogo,Megan!”Michaelsaid.Theworry linesacrossDan’s forehead toldme Ihadn’twonhimoveryet.

“MaybeTomtoldPeterthatyouhadaclientinthishotel.”“Inever toldTomIwasworkingwithMichael, letalonementionthehotel

name,”Isaid.Dangavemeacuriousglance,asifhedidn’tbelievemeorwassurprisedI

didn’tshareclientstorieswithTom.“TomandIhardlydiscussedourwork,”Isaid.“Whenhecamehomefrom

histrips,thereweremoreimportantthingstotalkabout.”“Ofcourse,”Dansaid.“It has to be Emily,” I said. “She’s a liar and a sneak. She learned her

schemingwaysfromthebestofthem:Pam.”Danconsideredmyhypothesis.“Intheory,hermotiveisweak.Ifthepolice

gothisroute,they’llneedtoprovepremeditation.ShowhowEmilyworkedwithRay to obtain the cyanide. Show how she knew about Pam’s plans to go toPineviewaheadoftimesoshecouldmakehermove.”

“Honestly,Dan,”Janesaid,laughing,asifitwereapreposterousassumptiononhispart.“Idon’tknowhowthepolicewouldestablishthatpremisewithoutreadingEmily’smind.”

“Inanycase,”Dan said, “it’sup to theprosecution toproveEmily’sguilt.Her unconfirmed alibi does help our situation, though. It has the potential tocreatedoubt inherasawitness if she liedabout it.”Hegatheredhis filesand

placedtheminhisbriefcase.“Allright,Jane.We’redonehere.”Jane stoodup and slipped into her jacket. “Canwegive you a ride home,

Megan?”Ididn’twanttodivulgethatMichaelandIhadotherplansfortonight.“Well,

I—”“It’sokay,”Michaelcutin.“I’lldriveMeganhomelater.”“Oh…okay.”Janepickedupherbriefcase.“I’llcalltomorrowwithanupdate,”Dansaid,leadingthewayout.AfterMichael had shut the door behind them, he said tome, “You realize

we’reonourown.WehavetofindconcreteevidencetoproveEmilyisthekillerorwe’redone.”

“I have an idea,” I said. “Want to go to Bradford Publishing with metomorrownight?”

“Todowhat?”“Comeandyou’llsee.”“Woulditinvolveasearchforcyanide,byanychance?”“Andmore,“Isaid.“WanttoworkonourplansforEmilynow?”“Yes,butI’llcallroomservicefirst.”Michaelorderedapotofcoffeeandmuffins,thenwesatdowntoputpento

paper.We gradually built a framework of the strategic steps, resources, and

timelines thatEmilymight have adopted inher efforts to pull off themurdersandgetawaywiththeperfectcrime.Atlastwehadafeasibletheory.Bestofall,wehadhope—lotsofit—astheprospectofclosureloomedahead.

On the drive back tomy condo,Michael announced, “I’m going to Pineviewtomorrow.”

“Why?Janealreadyinterviewedeveryonethere,”Isaid.“RememberthepaperthatdroppedoutofDan’sfile?”“Yes.Itwasalistofthestaffwhoworkedthere.So?”

“Irecognizedaname.RobertGingras.”“That’saverycommonname.Howcanyoubesureit’s thesamemanyou

know?”“Idon’t,”Michaelsaid.“That’swhyIloadedaphotoofhimonmycellto

showthePineviewowner.”Hereachedforhisphoneandretrievedthephoto.Ipeeredataroundandunshavenface.Eyesthatrevealedamixofangerand

desolation.Unkempthairthathadn’tbeenwashedindays.Thephotoresembledamugshot.

“HowdoyouknowGingras?”Iasked.“RememberthecourtcaseIattendedinMontrealwhenIfirstmetJane?”“Yes.”“It involved Robert Gingras. He was arrested for petty theft and drug

possession.WilliehadgivenmealeadonGingrasandhisdrugdealing.Iwantedtoseehowitplayedout,soIattendedeverycourtsession.Butthechargesdidn’tstick.Gingraswasacquitted.”

“IfJaneknewaboutGingras,whydidn’tshementionhimtoyou?”“Idoubtshe’drememberthecase,”Michaelsaid.“Shepoppedinonthelast

dayof the trial.She sat next tome and introducedherself, said shehad sometimetokill.Wechattedforafewminutes.Itoldheraboutmywork,shetalkedabouther job—casual stuff.Whenher cellphonevibrated, she left to take thecall.Ididn’tseeheragainuntiltwomonthsago.”

“ThepolicemusthaveafileonGingras,”Isaid.“Hemighthaverequestedthathiscriminalrecordbeerased.That’swhyJane

didn’t findanything inhisbackgroundcheck. I’dbetacleanslategothim thejobatPineviewtoo.”

“AndwhydoyouwanttogotoPineviewagain?”“Agutfeeling.Gingrasmightknowsomethingaboutthedoublemurdersat

Pineview.Maybehedidn’tcomeforwardbecauseofhishistorywiththecops.Iwanttotalktohim.SeeifIgetanybadvibes.”

“I’mgoingwithyou,”Isaid.“It’snotagoodidea,”Michaelsaid.“Why?BecauseTomdiedthere,andyou’reafraidImightgetupset?”

Heshrugged,saidnothing.“I’mbeyondthatpoint,Michael.IjustwanttoproveI’minnocentsoIcan

getonwithmylife.”“Makestwoofus.”

B

20

ynineo’clockThursdaymorning,MichaelandIweredrivingsouthalongHighway243towardKnowltonintheEasternTownships.Ourdestination

wasthePineviewresort.ThesizzlingheatandhighhumidityhadextendedintothislateAugustday.

Luckily, the air conditioning in theMustangCoupemadebreathingeasier andaddedtothecomfortofourshortsandT-shirts.

SituatedonBromeLake,KnowltonwassometimescalledtheKnamptons(acombination of Knowlton and the Hamptons) because many residents ownedmulti-million-dollarcountryhomes.Thecharmingvillagehadboutiques,antiquestores,cafés,restaurants,andB&Bs.AlthoughmanybuildingsdisplayedNewEnglandstylearchitecture,theFrenchinfluencewasapparentinthestorenames.

Michael suggested we stop at Chocolaterie Raphaël to pick up somechocolatestosnackonlater.WhowasItoargue?

“My parents used to live around here before they moved to a three-storyhomeinWestmount,”hesaidaswedrovethroughtown.“TheyownsixtyacresofwaterfrontlandonBromeLake.”

“Didtheybegintheirretirementhere?”Iasked.“No,myDadworkedforahigh-techcompanyinthearea.”“Oddlocationforhigh-tech.Whatkindofworkdidhedo?”“Somethingwithsemiconductortechnology.”“Andyourmother?”

“Sheneverworked.Didn’thaveto.”I was glad he was finally opening up about his family. “How are they

doing?”“Idon’t know.”Michaelhesitated. “We’renot that close.Wehad a falling

outyearsback.Ihaven’tspokentotheminawhile.”Icouldn’timaginenotcallingmymotherwheneverIwantedto.“That’stoo

bad.”“There’snotmuchtoit,”hesaid.“DadgotangrywhenItoldhimIwanted

to study investigative journalism.He thought itwas awaste of time.So I lefthome.”

“Whatdidyourmothersay?”“Shedoesn’tlikearguments.Shestayedoutofit.”“SoyouranofftoToronto.”“I didn’t run off,” he said, annoyance filtering through. “I went there to

pursuemystudies.MygrandmothersuggestedIgolivewithherandIaccepted.Atleastshesupportedmycareerchoice.”Hestaredaheadandsaidnothingmore—asignofclosuretothetopic.

I’dpushedittoofar.

Minutes out ofKnowlton,we turnedoff themain road anddrove up a gravelpaththatledtothePineviewresort.ThecharmandtranquilityoftheVictorian-style cottages snuggled in a thick forest negated the fact that two people hadbeenmurderedhere. Itwas the lastplaceonearthanyonewould imagineasacrimescene.

Michaelsloweddownasweapproachedacottage.FromthephotoinDan’sfile,Irecognizedthedoorwiththefourglasspanelsandwhitetrim,theeyeletcurtains inasidewindow,andthewoodsteps leadingupto thefrontporch.ItwasthecottageTomhadstayedin.Asiftoeraseanydoubts,apieceofyellowcrimescene tapewascaught inabush—evidence thata forensicsanalysishadrecentlybeenperformedonthepremises.

Ifeltatugonmyheartstrings,followedbydeepregretthatmymarriagetoTomhadn’thadthetimetoblossom.Hedestroyedwhatwehadwhenhebrokeoursacredvows.

Hecheatedonmewithmybestfriend!Mystomachknotted.Michaelcuttheengineandturnedtome.“Areyouokaytodothis?”Itookadeepbreath.“Yes.”We mounted the front steps. The wood beams creaked under our weight,

addinganaturalcharmtothecountrysideambiancewhilemaskingthefataldeedthatoccurredheredaysearlier.Birdschirpedinafitoffrenzyintreebranches,asifwe’dinvadedtheirspace.

Had they chirped that loudly the day the killer had crept indoorswith thecyanide?

Michaelpeeredthroughtheglassinthefrontdoor.“Theyhaven’tcleaneditup.”

Fragments of chinaware littered the floor. Chalk marks outlined the areawhere Tom and Pam were found—inches from the door. A white powderysubstance—probably fingerprint powder residue—covered cabinets andfurniture.

Goosebumpsrosealongmyarms.Ishiveredinvoluntarily.Michaelputahandonmyshoulder.“Okay.We’veseenenough.Let’sgo.”Ididn’targue.We drove further up the road and around a bend to the main reception

building.Michaelparkedthecarinfront.“My turn to take pictures.” I stepped out of the car. After I’d taken three

photos, I tucked the camera back into the glove compartment and followedMichaelinside.

Awomanat the frontcountergreeteduswitha smile. “Hello. I’mLouise.HowcanIhelpyou?”

IdetectedaslightFrench-Canadianaccent.Herblondehairwascutinwispylayers toher shoulders—like theFarahFawcetthairdoof the1980s.The stylemighthavebeenoutdated,butitsoftenedthewrinklesonherface.Acrispwhite

cotton shirt and matching shorts showed off a tan and gave her a sporty yetbusiness-likeappearance.

IintroducedMichaelfirst.Louise’ssmilevanishedatthementionofmyname.“Oh,mygoodness.I’m

sosorryforyourloss,Mrs.Scott.WhatcanIdoforyou?”A young man and woman were leafing through the pamphlets in a stand

nearby.“Canwetalkprivatelysomewhere?”IaskedLouise.“Certainly. I’llbe rightback.”She left througha sidedoorand reappeared

moments laterwithamaninabluepoloshirtandshorts.Hewasas tannedasLouise.“Thisismyhusband,Stewart.Hecanhelpyou.”

Stewartshookhandswithus.Hewasslim,thoughthemusclesonhisarmstoldmeheliftedweightsorplayedsports.Hishairwascutclosetothescalp.

“Sorryaboutyourhusband,”hesaid tome.“Is thereanythingIcandoforyou?”

“We’d like to ask you some questions,” I said. “Can we talk somewheremoreprivate?”

Stewart’sdarkeyesshiftedtoMichael.“Areyouwiththemedia?CauseI’vegotnothingmoretosaytothem.”

“Iwon’t lie to you,”Michael said. “I’m a reporter, but I promise to keepwhateveryousayinthestrictestconfidence.I’mhereasMegan’sfriend.”

Stewart thoughtaboutit.“Okay.Followme.”Heledusintoaneatingareathatheldaboutadozentables.Atthistimeofthemorning,itwasemptyexceptforanoldercouplesittingby thewindow.He invitedus tositdownata tablecloseathand.

Aserverarrivedwitha trayholding threeglassesofcoldwater.Heset theglassesdownandleft.

Ireachedforaglassandtookafewsips.“Wecameheretodaylookingforanswersthatmightexplainhowmyhusbanddied.”

“I’vetoldthepoliceallIknow,”Stewartsaid.“I’dbehappytohelpyouifIcould.”

“Weneedinformationaboutamanwhoworkshere.”Michaelshowedhim

thephotoofGingrasonhiscellphone.“Robert Gingras?” Stewart arched an eyebrow. “He doesn’t work here

anymore.”“Whendidhequit?”“Hedidn’tquit.Hetookofftwodaysagowithoutaword.Leftallhisthings

here.”“Whendidhestartworkinghere?”“Abouttwoweeksago.”“WhatkindofworkdidGingrasdo?”Michaelasked.“Basic stuff,” Stewart said. “It’s peak season for us. I needed help with

cleaningthecottageswhileItackledrepairsandupgrades.”“Didhehaveanyreferences?”“Nope.He’dbeenworkinginamanufacturingplantandwasoutofwork.”“Nooffense,”IsaidtoStewart,“butdidn’tyoufinditoddthathe’dleavea

manufacturingjobtocomeandworkasajanitorhere?”“Sorry,Iwasn’tclearaboutthat,”Stewartsaid.“Gingrastoldmethey’dlaid

himoff.”“Didhesaywhy?”Iasked.Stewartnodded.“Becauseofdownsizing.Hebeggedmeforajob.Saidhe’d

workonlyforroomandboardifhehadto.Theguyhadabadleg.Ifeltsorryforhim.Igavehimthejob,andwhatdidIgetinreturn?Hestolemygun.A9mmBeretta.”

“Didyoureportittothepolice?”Michaelasked.“Suredid,”hesaid.“Anyleadsonit?”“Nope.”Stewartpausedwhiletheoldercouplepassedbyourtableontheir

wayout. “Whyareyou looking forGingras.You thinkhe’s involvedwith themurdershere?”

“No,”Isaid,notvolunteeringmoreinformation.“Hemightbeintrouble,though,”Michaelsaid.“Wouldn’tsurpriseme,”Stewartsaid.“Whynot?”

“Myemployeesknowtheycantrustmewithanythingtheytellme,”Stewartsaid.“ButGingras,henevertalkedaboutanythingtonoone.Keptprettymuchto himself.Maybe it’sme, but I thought the guy had something to hide.Likehe’ddonetimeontheinside.”

OurreturnfromKnowltonledtoarealitycheckofthecontentsinmyfridge.Aboxofbakingsoda.Asmallbottleofwater.Abottleofketchup.Halfastickofunsaltedbutter.Acartonofmilkthatexpiredyesterday.Twoeggs.

Irefusedtodrinktapwater.Ittastedoddandmademequestionwhetherthechlorinetheydumpedintoitwasahealthierchoiceornot.Ididn’tevenwanttoconsider the presence of other unknown substances the water contained afterfiltration—substances that disintegrated into particles so microscopic that youcouldn’tseethemwiththenakedeye.

Ireachedinandgrabbedthebottleofwater.“Sourcewater,”thelabelread.Regardless of the chemicals the plastic itselfmight contain, at least thewatersoundedas if itcamefromacleanstartingplace. I twisted itopenandpouredhalfintoaglass,thenhandedMichaelthebottle.

“Whatareyourplansfortherestoftheday?”Heleanedagainstthekitchencounterandbroughtthebottletohislips.

“Tostartwith,Ishouldpickupsomegroceries,”Isaid.“CanItagalong?WaitinginmyhotelroomforDan’scallwoulddriveme

batty.”I suspectedMichael’s request was his way of providing an extra layer of

protectionaroundme.Regardless, Iwelcomed theofferof a rideandanextrapairofarms.“Okay,butI’mwarningyou.Ihaveastringoferrandstorun.”

“Noproblem,”hesaid.IdugintomypurseandretrievedthebagthatcontainedthelasttwoBelgian

chocolatesfromMichael’spurchaseinKnowlton.Itookoneandhandedhimtheotheroneinthebag.“Bettereatup,”Isaid.“Thisislunch.”

WhowasIkidding?Withanappetitelikehis,runningonemptywasunheard

of.Halfanhourlater,IwasmunchingonatunasaladatBurgers&Benedicts.I

watchedasMichaelingestedamangoburgerandfrieswithinminutes.Anyoneelsewouldhaveassumedhehadn’teaten indays.Whenheoffered topay thetab,Ididn’trefuse.Mybankaccountbalancewasdwindling,andIwasweeksaway from receiving a payment from Bradford. Everything I’d recentlypurchasedhadgoneonmycreditcard.

We spent the rest of the afternoon dropping off laundry at the cleaners,pickingupgroceries,andbuyingbasicsat thedrugstore—errandsI’doftenrunonmyown.Itwasmucheasierdoingthemwithsomeoneelseforachange.

Michaeldidn’tseemtomindeither.Anyonewholivedoutofasuitcasehadtohavesomekindofroutinegoingiftheywantedtosurvive—especiallyiftheydidn’thaveeasyaccesstoafridge,stove,andwashingmachine.

Iwatchedashescrutinizedthelabelsonwinebottlesattheliquorstore.Hehelpedmetoselectthree:aChardonnayfromFrance,aroséfromAustralia,andaRieslingfromGermany.Thenhepaidforthem,hintingthatanyofthemwouldgowellwithhomemadepasta.

Ilaughed.Hispresencecomfortedmeandhelpedmeforgetourpredicament,albeit for a shortwhile.Nomanwith anounceof common sensewouldhavestuck around to help a woman suspected of murdering her husband and hismistress.

Thenagain,Michaelwasn’tjustanyman.AllthemorereasonIvaluedourfriendship somuch.A sinking feelinghitmewhenever I rememberedTorontowashishome—notMontreal.

Minutesafterwe’dreturnedtomyapartment,Dancalled.“MycontactattheElegancecalledmewithdisturbingnews,”hesaidoverthespeakerphoneinmyoffice.“TheyfoundAnita’sbody.”

Mybloodwentcold.“Oh,myGod.Where?”“Inoneofthehotelrooms,”Dansaid.“Howdidshedie?”“Possiblegunshotwound.”“When?”Michaelasked.

“Don’tknow,”Dansaid.“We’llfindoutmoreafterforensicscompletestheiranalysis.Okayifweallmeetatyourplacetomorrowmorning,Megan?”

Michaelnoddedyes.“Sure.Seeyoutomorrow,Dan.”IhungupandsaidtoMichael,“Anitawas

ourlasthope.Nowwhat?”He passed a hand through his hair. “Emily is closing in…getting rid of

anyonewhomighttalk.She’scoveringhertrackslikeanymurdererwould.”AlthoughwesuspectedaconnectionbetweenEmilyandtheincreasingtally

ofdeadbodiesinourlives,adoubtnaggedatme.“Ican’tseeEmilypullingthetrigger.Doyousupposeshe—”

“Hired a hit man? Probably a sleazy reference through her nightclubcontacts.He’slonggonebynow.”

“Atleastwehaveafewmorehourstogatherevidenceagainsther,”Isaid.“Forwhatit’sworth.”Michaelgrimaced.“Whatdoyoumean?”“IfEmily isn’t onMoreau’s short list of suspects,we’ve got one hell of a

battleonourhands.”

A

21

teightintheevening,humidityhungheavyintheairwithnorelieffromeven the slightest breeze. So much for the cooling trend the

meteorologistshadpredicted.Itwasamiracletheyevergotitright.WhichwaswhatMichaelandIneededrightnow.

We’ddrivenaroundforhalfanhourlookingforaparkingspacedowntown.Oddlyenough,thebikelanesweremorecongestedthanthecarlanes.WefinallyfoundaparkingspaceonMansfieldStreetafterour fifth tryaround theblock.Michael filled themeter to avoid getting a ticket from theGreenOnions, theparking police nicknamed after the color of their uniforms. These checkerssought out emptymeterswith an enthusiasm that knew no leniency, and theyissuedastackofparkingticketstocorroborateiteveryyear.

We were heading up Sherbrooke Street to Bradford Publishing whenMichael’scellphonerang.Heansweredit.Fromthegistoftheconversation,thecallerwantedtomeetwithhimtonight.

“Flukyorwhat?”hesaidtome,slippingthephonebackintothepocketofhis cargo shorts. “Some guy wants to meet me downtown later. He hasinformationaboutadrugcaseI’mfollowing.HespokeFrench,threwinacoupleof words in English. I’m not sure I understood everything. I don’t want tomisinterpretanythinghesays.Doyouwanttocomealongtotranslate?”

Itmightproveinteresting.“Okay,”Isaid.We’dreachedthefrontdoorstothebuildingthathousedBradford’soffices.I

tappedontheglassdoorandheldupmyemployeeIDcardforthesecurityguardtosee.

Carlodivertedhisattentionfromalaptoponthereceptiondesk.Hesmiledwhenherecognizedmeandhurriedacrossthelobby,thepantcuffsofhisbrownuniformgatheredoverhisshoeslikethefoldsofaChineseShar-Pei.

“Mrs. Scott, so happy to see you,” he said, opening the door. He gaveMichaelawarylook.

“It’sokay,Carlo,”Isaid.“He’saclient.”Carlonoddedandletusin.Helockedthedoor,hiskeyringclatteringagainst

the metal doorframe. “Please accept my sympathy,Mrs. Scott. Such a youngman,yourhusband.Sounfortunate.”Englishwasn’ttheFilipino’sfirstlanguage,butcaringeyesunderdroopingeyelidsconveyedasadnessthatwordscouldn’texpress.

“Thankyou,Carlo.”“Catchinguponwork tonight,Mrs.Scott?”Hewalkedback tohis former

locationandofferedmeapen.“No, I came by to collect personal things from my office.” I signed the

visitor’ssheet.“Iwon’tbelong.”“Takeallthetimeyouneed,Mrs.Scott,”hesaid,smilingandnoddingasif

thebuildingbelongedtohim.Inaway, itdid.He’dworkedhere for twentyyearsandmade itapoint to

rememberthenameofeveryemployeeandthecompanytheyworkedforinthebuilding.Nostrangergotpasthisdeskwithoutasecuritycheck.

MichaelandIrodetheelevatoruptothetenthfloor.IfishedinmypurseforasetofkeysandunlockedtheoakdoortoBradfordPublishing.

“Youhaveyourownkeytothecompany,”Michaelsaid.“I’mimpressed.”“SinceIoftenmetwithclientshere in theevening,Pamgavemeakey,”I

said.“Kayladidn’taskforitbackafterBradfordcutmeoffasasupplier,sohereweare.”

Iflippedthewallswitchinsidethereceptionarea.Atablelampinacornerlitup.Ishutandlockedthedoorbehindusbutdidn’tbothertoturnonanyotherlights.Ididn’thaveto.Thebuildinghadasystemthatprogrammedeveryfifth

neon light in the ceiling to stay on after hours on low power—part of a newadministrative“green”plantoconserveenergy.

“What’snext?”Michaelasked.“We need to get Pam’s agenda from her desk. It might contain clues that

couldincriminateEmily.”“Where’sPam’soffice?”Heedgedtowardthecorridor,readytospringinto

action.“Thisiswherethingsgetcomplicated,”Isaid.“Pamalwayslockedherdesk

whenshewasawayfromtheoffice.”“You mean we have to break into it?” His eyes twinkled with humor or

mischief.Icouldn’ttellwhichone.“Not exactly. Kayla told me she caught Emily going through Pam’s desk

more thanoncewhenPamwasaway.She suspectsEmilyhadaduplicatekeymade.Weneedtofindit.”

“Didn’tKaylaquestionEmilyaboutit?”“Yes,andEmilysaiditwasokay,thatPamhadgivenherasparekeysoshe

couldcheckheragendatoseeifanyclientmeetingshadtobere-scheduled.PamwouldsometimesforgettotellEmilywhenshehadtogooutoftown.”

“DidshetellPamshecaughtEmilysnoopinginherdesk?”“No,”Isaid.“Tellingherwouldn’thavechangedanything.Pamwouldhave

madeupanexcusetoprotectEmilylikeshealwaysdid.”“Oh,thewebsweweave,”Michaelsaid.“Tellmeaboutit,”Isaid.“Okay,ourfirststopisEmily’soffice.Followme.”Ourfootstepspaddedalongthecarpetedcorridor.Thelightshummedabove

andcastshadowsonthewalls,addinganeerieambianceto thestillness in theoffice.

AswenearedPam’soffice,Ialmostexpectedtoseehersittingatherdesk.ThatimageoverwhelmedmeandIhurriedby.

“Thisplacegivesmethecreeps,”Isaid.“I’vespentmanyeveningsworkingalonehere,butInevernoticedhowspookyitcouldbe.”

Michaelhadmorerealisticconcerns.“What if thedoor toEmily’soffice islocked?”

“There are no locks on the doors. Company policy. The staff locks theirdesksinstead.”

“ArewegoingtobreakintoEmily’sdesktofindPam’skey?”Hegavemeanimpishsmileagain.

“We don’t have to. Emily hides a key under a papier-mâché rabbit on thethirdshelfofherbookcase.I’mcrossingmyfingersit’stheonetoPam’sdesk.”

“Aha!Soyou’vedonesomesnoopingaroundyourself.”“Notreally,”Isaid.“Ihappenedtoseeherhideitthereonce.”“Howdoyouknowit’snotthekeytoherowndesk?”“Becausethekeytoherowndeskisonakeychainwithherhousekeys.”ThedoortoEmily’sofficewasajar.Ipusheditopen,thenreachedalongthe

wallforthelightswitchandflippediton.Ifroze.The top drawer ofEmily’s deskwas hanging on its edge, ready to topple.

The two side drawers had been yanked out and thrown to the floor. Pens,documents,anddozensofflashdriveswerescatteredeverywhere.Booksfromafive-tieredbookcase lay in anotherpile on the floor, as if someonehad leafedthrougheachoneandtosseditaside.

“Damn.Someonebeatustoit.”Michaelsurveyedthescene.“Someoneinabig hurry.” He pointed to the bookcase. “The books on the top shelf weren’ttouched.Eitherhissearchwascutshortorhefoundwhathewaslookingfor.”

“Aslongashedidn’tfindwhatwe’relookingfor.”Amidthestackofbooks,Ispottedthepapier-mâchérabbit.IpickeditupandplaceditonEmily’sdesk.“Can you give me a hand,Michael? The keymust be somewhere under thismess.”

We removed the books, one by one, and placed them aside. Our effortsprovedfutile.Therewasnokeyinsight.

“What about those?” Michael gestured to the remaining books in thebookcase. “Might as well finish the job.” He flipped through each book,returningthemtotheshelf.Bythetimehe’dfinished,wewerenofurtherahead.

“Maybe she changed her hiding place.” I walked over to Emily’s desk. Ipulledoutthetopdrawerandcheckeditonallsides,hopingtofindakeytaped

toit.Nothing.Iexaminedtheotherdrawers.Nothingthereeither.Igotdownonmykneesandpeekedunderthedesk.Nothing.Istoodupandletmyeyesstrayaroundtheroom.Asidefromthebookcase,

Emily’sofficecontainedtwochairs,adesk,andacomputer.Nofilingcabinets.Shehadnouseforthem,she’dclaimed.Allherworkwasdoneoncomputerandforwardedbyemailtotheclientorsentoutbymessengerinhardcopyformat.

I tookacloser lookat thebookcase.Therewasanarrowspacebetween itandthewall.Ipeeredintothegap.“Iseesomething.It’sonthefloor,butIcan’treachit.”

Michaelhelpedmemovethebookcaseoverafewinches.Ibentdownandpicked up what turned out to be photographs held together with a largepaperclip.BillBradfordandPamwereinthefirstphoto.Hisarmwaswrappedaroundherwaist.ScratchesacrossthephotohadremovedpartofPam’sface,butIrecognizedherfromtheblondehairandthelow-cutreddressshe’dwornthatevening. I removed the paperclip and held the photo out for Michael to see.“ThispicturewastakenatthelastcompanyChristmasparty.”

Hepeeredatit.“What’swiththescratches?”“Couldbe causedby thepaperclip.” I leafed through theother photos and

noticedsimilarmarksontherestofthembutonlyacrossPam’sface.“Holdon.They’renotscratches.SomeonedeliberatelyrubbedoutPam’sface.”

“Guesswho?”Michaelgrinned.“Emily.Howmuchmoreproofdoweneed?”“Theywouldn’tbeadmissible incourt.Youcan’tprove shedefaced them.

Andevenifshedid,it’snotacriminaloffense.”“Toobad.”I tossedthembackbehindthebookcase.“AcopyofPam’skey

hastobeinhere.We’renotleavinguntilwefindit.”IstoodbackandzoomedinonthehugeBostonfernsittinginaceramicpot

inacorner.Itwastheonlythingintheofficethathadremaineduntouched.AsIpartedthedelicateleavesatthebottom,Ispottedthekey.“It’shere!”I

pluckeditfromthesoil.“Maybeitslidofftheshelfwhentheintruderransackedtheplace,”Michael

said.“Indulgeme.LetmetryitinEmily’sdeskfirst.”Ihandedittohim.He picked up the top drawer I’d removed earlier but stopped short of

inserting the key. “The intruder jimmied the lock. It’s damaged.”He gavemebackthekey.

“Thatsettlesit.Let’sgogetPam’sagenda.”Bold and dynamic when she’d redecorated it months ago, the black-and-

white60sdécorofPam’sofficenowseemeddatedandoutofplace.Itwasasifherpassinghaddrainedtheenergyoutoftheroom.

Judging fromMrs. Bradford’s outburst here the other day, I suspected herhusbandhadauthorizedPam’sofficeredoformorepersonalreasons.Afterall,ithadsincecometo light thatmarriedmenwerenotexcludedfromPam’sgameplan.TherenovationbillscouldhavearousedMrs.Bradford’ssuspicionsaboutgoings-onbetweenherhusbandandPam.

Whatdiditmatteratthispointanyway?Asfarasmurdersuspectswent,I’dalreadyreplacedMrs.Bradford’snamewithEmily’s.

I crossed the checkered floor to Pam’s desk and surveyed her trophyknickknacks.Would thingshaveworkedout differentlyhadTomadded tohercollectioninsteadofinvitinghertoPineviewforaweekendfling?

Ihadtostopwonderingaboutthewhatifs.Destinyhadworked itsspell inthe unique way that only destiny can. It had brought together two peopleaddicted to deception and had sucked the last breath of life out of them.Ruthlessly.Sadistically.Withoutbias.

“Youokay?”IturnedtoseeMichaelstaringatme.“Uh?Me?Sure.”IcircledPam’sdeskandtriedthekeyinthetopdrawer.“It

worked!”Iremovedacoupleofcontracts,notepads,andloosememos.Allthatremainedweretwopensandaboxofpaperclips.“Heragendaisn’there.”

“Moreaumusthaveseizeditasevidence,”Michaelsaid.“I’mcountingononeotherpossibility,”Isaid.“What’sthat?”“Moreaudoesn’thaveit.”Iclosedthedrawerandlockedit.“Thenwhodoes?”

“Kayla.”“Kayla?Why?”“I’mguessingshe’dhadenoughofEmily’ssnooping.Maybeshedecidedto

putPam’s agenda in a safeplace—likeher owndesk—afterPam left that lastFriday.”

“Wouldn’tKayla’sdeskbelocked?”“Let’sgosee,”Isaid.“Herofficeisrightacrossthehall.”Ahigh-backchair inablendoforganicandnaturalmaterialshintedat the

down-to-earthstyleofKayla’soffice.Sodidthetall,leafyplantbythewindow.Dictionaries, classical novels, and some of her favorite hardbacks filled amahogany bookcase in a corner. A white board on the wall behind her deskindicated a timeline of Bradford’s projects for the next calendar year. Out ofprivacyconcerns,Kaylausedacodenumberforeveryclientinsteadofaname.

What stood out from the rest of the furnishings was Kayla’s desk. Itresembled Pam’s black lacquered one except it was smaller. Both desks hadarrived at the same time, so it was anyone’s guess how Pam had persuadedKaylatodivertfromnaturaltoplastic,orevenifshe’dpersuadedBillBradfordtocoverthisextraexpense.

Holding the duplicate key to Pam’s desk in my hand, I walked over toKayla’sdeskandinserteditintothelock.Itworked!

I opened the drawer. The first thing I sawwas the faux leopard cover ofPam’sagenda.“It’shere!”Igrabbedit.ThesecondthingIsawwasasetofkeys,whichIslippedintomypocket.

“Talkaboutluck,”Michaelsaid.“Howthehelldidthecopsmissthatagendaintheirsearch?”

“TheyhadnoreasontosearchKayla’sdesk,”Isaid.“Eveniftheyhad,theycould have assumed it belonged toKayla. I guess she found away to controlEmily’ssnoopingproblemafterall.”

“Don’tkeepmeinsuspense,”hesaid.“Checkitout.”IflippedthroughthepagesinJuly,scanningforentriesthatalludedtoPam’s

trip to Pineview. “Here’s a note she wrote two weeks before the trip. ThePineviewaddressishere,thetimeTomwasgoingtopickherup…”Iturnedto

thedirectoryattheback.Nameswerelisted,includingTom’s,butlikesomeoftheothers,ithadalinethroughit.“Okay,wehaveeverythingweneedtosupportourcase.”

“That’sgreat,exceptforonething.”“What?”“HowcanweproveEmilysawthisnotationandactedonit?”“We’llfindaway.”Ishutthedrawerandlockedit.“I’mhangingontoPam’s

agendafornowandtheduplicatekeyfromEmily’soffice.Emilycanfretoveritsdisappearanceforawhile.”

“My,my,my,”Michaelsaid,grinning.“You’refinallyshowingyourruthlessside.”

“It’seitherourheadsonthechoppingblockorsomeoneelse’s.Right?”“I’vegotnoproblemwith that.”Hesurveyed the floor.“Emily isgoing to

haveafitwhensheseesthismess.”“I’llreportittothesecurityguarddownstairsincasehethinkswedidit.”Michaelshrugged.“Seemstobethepatternthesedays.”IpickedupthephoneonKayla’sdeskanddialedCarlo’sextension.Myduty

done,Ihungup.“He’llreportittoadministration,”IsaidtoMichael.“Areyoureadyforsteptwoofourplan?”

“Leadtheway,”hesaid,withawidesweepofhishand.After I shut the lights and locked up,we took the stairs down to the next

floor. Taking the elevator would have alerted Carlo that we were travelingbetweenfloorsandwouldhaveraisedhissuspicions.

“What?Nomoremagickeys?”MichaelaskedaswestoppedatthedoortoBradford’sgraphicartsdepartment.

I reached intomypocket. “Youmean these?” Idangled them in theair. “Itook—no,borrowed—themfromKayla’sdesk.Oh,don’t looksoshocked. I’llputthembacklater.”

“That’sthesecondtimeyou’veimpressedmetonight,”hesaid.“Ifyoukeepthisup,I’mgoingtostartfeelinginadequatearoundyou.”

Ilaughed.“We’renotintheclear.Ifwegetcaughtbreakingintothisplacewithasetofkeysthatdon’tbelongtous,youmighthavetoeatthosewords—

andthekeystoo.”Iunlockedthedoor.Moonlightfilteredinthroughhorizontalblindsandfellonahodgepodgeof

photographicgear,Maccomputers,andarttablesthatBradford’sphotographers,illustrators, and layout artists had abandoned earlier today. Chrome andmetalparts glistened in the dim light, giving the illusion theywere living apparatuswaiting to be assembled and put into action. In a corner, a human persona ofsortsseemedtoemanatefromanumbrella,astudiostand,andareflector.Eventhecameraonatripodappearedlifelike,itslensglintingaswetiptoedby.

IshookoffafeelingofbeingwatchedandattributedittoguiltfromTom’spassing—andPam’stoo—somethingI’dhavetodealwithsoonerorlaterbutnotnow.“It’sdarkinhere,butIcan’triskswitchingonthelights.”

“That’sokay,”Michaelsaid,gazingaround.“Allthismetal.Imposing,isn’tit?LikeasceneoutofStarWars.”

Andthebattlehasjustbegun.Wecametotheendofthefloorandturnedthecornerontheright.Loudrap

musicreachedourears.“Someone’shere,”Michaelsaid,hiseyesdartingtotheendofthecorridor.

Theredlightoverthedarkroomdoorwason.Iglancedaround.“Quick.Let’shideinhere.”Iledthewayintoawashroom

andshutthedoor.Bigmistake,Irealizedtoolateastotaldarknesscloakedus.WhenIwasachild,mymother’soldcedarchestinthebasementhadbeen

myfavoritehidingspot—untilthedaythelockgotstuckandIcouldn’tgetout.I’d almost passed out by the time someone foundme.Since then, small, darkspacesaffectedmehorribly,andIavoidedthem.

Mypulseaccelerated.Sodidmybreathing.Iopenedthebathroomdooracrackandbreathedindeeply.Muchbetter.Ikeptaneyeontheredlightoverthedarkroom.Michaelstoodbehindme,gazingovermyhead.“Thisisthedigitalage,”he

whispered.“Bradfordstillusesdarkrooms?”“The facilitieswere herewhenBill Bradford bought the business decades

ago,” Iwhispered back. “He’s a photography hobbyist and uses the darkroomonceinawhile.Shouldweknockatthedoor?”

“No.Idoubthe’dbeintherelisteningtoloudrapmusic.Let’swaititout.”Theminutesdraggedintohalfanhour.Michael’sbitsofconversationcalmed

me,butastimepassedandsilencetookover,panicwelledupinsidemeagain.MychestfelttightandIbegantosweat.

Itooktwodeepbreathsandfocusedontheredlightoverthedarkroomdoor.ItwasallIcoulddotokeepfromrushingoutintothecorridor,screaming.

Michaelsensedmyanxiety.“Areyouokay,Megan?”Iexplainedmydilemma.“Ifhedoesn’tcomeoutintenseconds,”hesaid,“I’llgoknockatthedoor.”Ididn’thavethechancetoanswer.Theredlightwentoff.Thedoortothedarkroomopened.Rapmusicblared

frominside.Ray Felton emerged, holding a canister. I expected him to walk past our

hidingplace,buthestoppedasifhe’dforgottensomething,thenreturnedtothedarkroom.

IwhisperedtoMichael,“Didyouseeanythingonthecanister?”“No,it’stoodark.”ThemusicstoppedandRayreappeared.As he neared our hiding place,Michael grabbedme by the shoulders and

shovedmeaside.Hedidn’tmeantothrowmeoffbalance,butIlostmyfootingandfell.

Hechargedoutofthewashroom.“Hey!”heshoutedafterRay.IgottomyfeetandrushedoutintimetoseeMichaellandhardagainstthe

wall.IglimpsedRay’sbacksideasheroundedthecorner.Michaelwasdoubledupinpain,onearmwrappedaroundhischest.“Karate

kick…Ithink…hebrokemyribs.”Theouterdoorclickedopen,thenslammedshut.“I’ll call the securityguard.” I ran to thenearest phone anddialedCarlo’s

extensiononceagain.Mycallwasforwardedtohisvoicemail.Michaelshuffleduptome.“So?”“Carlo didn’t answer,” I said. “I left amessage, but hemight not get it in

timetostopRay.”

“Doesn’tmatter…couldbecyanideinsidethecanister.Onemorepiecetothepuzzle.”Hegrimacedashetriedtostraightenup.

“Wemightneverfindout.”“Doyouthink…RayransackedEmily’soffice?”Hisbreathingwasstrained.“Ifhewaslookingforevidencethatmightincriminatehim.”“Ray’sconnectiontoEmily…willsupportourplans.”Iwincedwith everybreathMichael fought to take. “Trynot to talk.We’ll

dealwithRay later.Right now, I’m going to return the keys toKayla’s desk.ThenI’mtakingyoutotheRoyalVictoriaHospital.”

“No…Ican’tgothere,”Michaelsaid.Iwavedmyarms. “What are you talking about?Youneed to see a doctor

rightaway.”“Noway.Ihavetomeet…withmyinformant.”Hecheckedhiswatch.“Inan

hour.”“Areyououtofyourmind?”

M

22

eetingwithhisinformanttonightwascrucialtoMichael’sinvestigativework. Such events didn’t occur with frequency, he explained, and a

crime reporter had to grab an opportunity when it presented itself. The mainchallengewasinsettinguparendezvouspointthatwassafeandneutralforbothparties.

“Iwon’tgetanotherchance…likethis,”Michaelsaid,everybreathaspainfulasthelast.“Ineedyou…todrivemethere.”

Ipushed theground levelbutton in theelevator. “Youcanbarelywalk, letalonetalk.”

“I’ll…manage.”I battled with my decision for a long moment. “Okay, but we’re going

straighttothehospitalafterward.Noifsorbuts.”Carlo was sitting at the front desk when we stepped out of the elevator.

WhenhesawMichaelclutchinghisribcage,linesdeepenedacrosshisforehead.“Ray gone,” he said. “I checkmessage but too late. So sorry,Mrs. Scott. Sosorry.”Hecontinuedtoapologizeasheunlockedthefrontdoorandletusout.

MichaelwaitedoutsidethebuildingwhileIwenttogetthecar.Idrovebacktopickhimupbuthadtodouble-parkintheno-stoppingzone.Hespentafullminutegettingintothepassengerseat.Allthatgroaningandswearingunderhisbreathprovidedaviableoutlet forhispain, and I couldn’thelpbut empathizewith him. Itwas pointless to try to change hismind again about going to the

hospital,soIletitgoatthat.Acarhornblastedbehindus.Anotherdriverhonkedloudlyasheshotpast

us in the left lane.Montrealersweren’t themost patient peoplewhen dealingwithtrafficsnags,especiallyiftheyoccurredonahotandhumidevening.

“Whereareyoumeetingyourinformant?”IaskedMichael.He grimaced as he buckled up. “Corner of…Saint Catherine Street…and

Saint-LaurentBoulevard.”“Areyousure?”Isteppedonthegas,ranthroughayellowlight.“That’swhat…theguysaid.”“Okay.”“Youcanwaitinthecar…ifyoulike.”“Don’tyouneedmetotranslateforyou?”“Oh…right.”“Doesyourinformanthaveaname?”“Goldie.”“Howareyougoingtorecognizehim?”“Shortblondhair…yellowtanktop.”“That’sit?”“Yes.”SaintCatherineandSaint-Laurent.Thefactthatthestreetsatthisrenowned

intersectionwerenamedaftertwosaintswasdeceptive,ifnotparadoxical,giventhattheycrossedinthecenterofthecity’sredlightdistrict.

Prostitution rankedasold a tradition inMontreal as eating a smokedmeatsandwichatSchwartz’s,poutineatLaFleur,orasteamyhotdogattheMontrealPoolRoom.Thestreettradeinthecityhaddwindledoverthedecadeswiththeinflux of escort services and massage parlors, yet one-third of prostitutescontinuedtomarkettheirwaresoutdoors.

IdrovealongSaint-Laurent,alsoknownasTheMain to locals.Hometoacosmopolitanmixofrestaurants,cafés,clothingstores,theater,summerfestivals,andculturalevents, its trendynightclubsandeateriesmade itahotspotfor theyoung and hip. True to form, crowds nowmeandered along the sidewalks insearchofafunnight.

Icircledtheblocktodiscoverthatalltheparkinglotswerefull.Iextendedmysearchtoatwo-blockradius,thenathree-blockradius.

WewerenowinLowerMain—anareathatimpliedpimps,punks,hookers,drugs,andthieves.PeoplecrammedthesidewalksalongSaint-Laurent,takinginthebarsandexplicitstripclubs,sexshops,arcades,andpeepshows.Amidthelineupwasasprinklingofconcertvenues.

Icheckedthetime.WithonlyminutestogettoMichael’srendezvousplace,Iasked him, “How about I drop you off at yourmeeting point? After I find aparkingspace,I’llgomeetyouthere.”

“There’snowayinhell…I’mgoingtoletyouwalkalone…onthesestreetsatnight,”hesaid,frowning.

I circled the blockonemore time.Despite the bumper-to-bumper traffic, Igotluckyanddroveintoavacatedspot,gratefulthatIdidn’thavetogoaroundtheblockagain.

Michaelexpendedasmuchgruntingandswearinggettingoutofthecarashehadgettingintoit.Butourjourneywasn’tover.WehadtowalktwoblockswestalongSaintCatherinetotherendezvouspoint.

“Stayclose,”Michaelsaid,puttinghisarmthroughmine.Perfumeandpotmingledintheairandaddedweighttothehumidity.Neonlightsflashedfromthefaçadesofclubsandbars.Burstsoflaughterandanimatedchatterfrompedestrianscutintomusicthat

boomedfromtheskyorheaven-knew-where.Commotionallaround.Michael trudged along beside me. His breathing had worsened, but it did

nothingtolessenhisdetermination.Wepassedaclubthathadasigninlargeblacklettersonthedoor:“Nobaggy

pantsor flip-flops.”Thedoorman lookedas ifhehad liftedweightsalldayortooksteroids.Hescrutinized thecustomerswaiting in lineoutsideandmadeaquickselectionwhensomeoneslippedafewbillsintohishand.

Stepsahead,aParisHiltonlookalikeinatubetop,tightskirt,andfour-inchheelsstoodinfrontofareddoorleadingtowhatappearedtobeaprivateclub.ShesmiledatMichaelandpromisedhim“agoodtime,honey.”

As we neared our destination, rock music thumped from FoufounesÉlectriques—orElectricButts.A gigantic black spider hung from the front ofthe bar-clubover alternativemusic loverswaiting in line to get in. Further upwas Metropolis, a concert hall where live bands and artists were featured.Anotherlonglineup.

Whenwereached the rendezvouspointat thecornerof thestreet,MichaelleanedagainstthepillarinfrontofaWesternUnionoutlet.Istoodnexttohim.

Upthestreetwasadépanneur,ahotel,andaneroticaboutique. Isuddenlyfelt conspicuous standing at an intersection knownmore for its notoriety thananythingelse.IprayedIwouldn’tbumpintoanyoneIknew.

Agroupoftouristsstrolledby.Funnyhowyoucantellthevisitorsfromthelocals.Iwatchedastheytookturnstakingpicturesagainst thebackdropofthenightlifebeforetheymovedon.

NextupwasaslenderyoungcoupleholdinghandsanddressedinidenticalGoth wear—black leather, buckles, lip rings. They had the same haircut andwereaboutthesameheight.

Threeyounggirlsbaringmidriffsundercamisolesgiggledastheypaddedbyintheirflip-flops,theirfacespainteduptomakethemlookolder.Theycouldn’thavebeenmorethanthirteen.

The sun had set but who would have noticed. The neon lights and carheadlightslituptheintersectionlikeasunnyday.

I suddenly became aware that my shorts were attracting stares frompassersby.AlthoughMichaelwouldbeoutofmy lineofsight, Imoved to theoppositesideofthepillarandwithintheshadows.

Ataxistoppedat thecurbandtwowomensteppedout.Theblondeworeashortpinkdressthatclungtoherbodylikepaintandrevealedenoughcleavageto contain a small lake.Her eyelinerwas dark and thick.The redheadwore amicroskirt.Herarmshadmorespiraltattoosthanasnakehadstripes.Bothworefour-inchstilettos.Iplacedthemintheirlatethirties,earlyforties.Theystrolledtoward the building and dropped their purses on the ground as if they’d justarrivedhome.

Theblondenoticedmeandsmiled,thennudgedherfriend.

Theredheadgawkedatme.“Pauvremignonne,” she said, thenblewmeakiss.

Poorlittledarling?In aT-shirt, shorts, and running shoes, Imust have passed for a first-year

collegestudentworkingthecornertopayfortuition.Afriendofminehadpaidher university fees thiswaybut quit turning trickswhen shegraduated.She’dhad no regrets since it had been an easy way to pay the bills—even make asignificant down payment on a house. She’d gone on to become aphysiotherapist.

WhenIdidn’treacttothewomen’santics,theredheadtoldtheblondeitwasobviousIwasuneanglaiseandIdidn’tunderstandFrench.Withthatconstraintout of theway, they began to speak in their native tongue and revealed theirpredicament.

The blonde seemed baffled as she explained to the redhead how she’dsolicitedunpolicierwhohadposedasunclientwillingtopayforagoodtime.Howcouldshehaveknownhewasanundercovercop?Herlipsformedapout.She’dseenhimdriveuptoGigionothernightsandpayupfrontforservicesincash—fifty-dollarbills.Gigihadtoldherhewasungentleman. Itwasstrange,though,thatshehadn’tseenGigisincethen.

InwhatwasdefinitelynotSunday-bestFrench,theredheadcursedatherandblamedherforthegaffestupide thathadledtothepolicehaulingthembothtojail.GoodthingTonyhadbailedthemoutsotheydidn’thavetospendanothernightbehindbars.

Still arguing, the women picked up their handbags and walked down theblock.Everysooften,theystoodbythecurbtowavedownmotorists.

Iglancedatmywatch.Goldiewasrunninglate.Wouldheshowup?IpeekedaroundthepillartocheckonMichaeljustassomeonewalkeduptohim.

“Michael?”thestrangeraskedhim.“Yes.”“IamGoldie.”Michaelwassupposedtobemeetingaman,butIhadtostarehardtomake

certainGoldie fit thebill.A tight-fittingyellowT-shirt revealed small shapely

breastsandaslimbuild.Hishairwaswhiteblond,cuthighontop,andsolidifiedwithadollopofgel.Hisskinhadthatbronzeglowyoucanonlygetoutofatubeandmatchedhisglitteringgoldeyeshadow.Agoldhoopearringdangled fromoneear.Ipeggedhimatabouttwenty,buthecouldhavebeenthirty.

GoldiegaveMichaelaquickonce-over,thenpulledoutaslimenvelopefromhisgoldshoulderbagandhandedittohim.“Willie.”

“Willie?He’salive?Doyouknowwhereheis?”Goldiesquinted,didn’tseemtounderstand.“Uneamie,”Michaelsaid,wavingmetowardhim.“Bonjour.”ItoldGoldieinFrenchthatIwasMichael’stranslator.Irepeated

Michael’squestionstohim.Goldie said he knew nothing about Willie. He was told he had to meet

MichaelandsaytheenvelopewasfromWillie.“Okay?”Hissmilewaswideandrevealedasetofteeththathadbenefitedfromawhiteningtreatment.

“Okay,”Michaelsaid.“Thankyou.”Another wide smile from Goldie, followed by a slower assessment of

Michaelfromheadtofoot.Heaskedifwe’dliketogotoLeVillagewithhimforadrink.

HewasreferringtoTheVillagelocatedblockseastoftheredlightdistrict.Gay-friendlyestablishmentsweresprinkledthroughoutthecity,butTheVillagethrived as the hub of gay entertainment and had grown into a popular touristattraction.

“Ican’tgo,”Michaelsaid.“I’mbusytonight.”ItranslatedforGoldie.“Okay.Aurevoir.”Goldiegavehimalittlewaveandleft.

ThesteepslopeofPineAvenuealongMountRoyalofferedascenicviewofthedowntown skyline, but I was more focused on getting Michael to the RoyalVictoriaHospital further up the road.As amajor teaching facility, the “RoyalVic”was a century-old landmark that boasted some of the best doctors in the

country.Michaelwouldbeingoodhands.WejoinedaboutadozenpeopleinthehospitalER.Twoteensaccompanied

by their parents had bruises and scrapes to their faces and arms. An elderlycouplesatstaringatthefloormostofthetime.Ayoungwomanheldababythatcriednowandthen.Otherpatientswereinvariousstatesofdiscomfort,sportingbandagesorslings.

An old Indiana Jones movie was playing on a wall-mounted TV. SceneswhereHarrisonFordsuffersaseriesofblowsfromhisattackersdrewMichael’sattentionawayfromhisownpainwhilewewaitedforadoctortoexaminehim.

Andwaitwedid.WehadwatchedmostofthemoviebeforeMichael’sturncameup.It tookanotherhourbeforetheywrappedabandagearoundhischestandallowedhimtoleave.

Onourwayout,Iaskedhimaboutthedoctor’sdiagnosis.“Two broken ribs,” Michael said. “No strenuous exercises…or physical

activityforaweek.PainkillerssoIcansleep.Hell,Icanbarelymove…letalonebreathe.”

Ifeltresponsibleforhispredicament.BeforeIrealizedwhatIwassaying,Isuggestedhespendthenightatmyplace.“Youcanusethefutoninmyoffice,ifyouwant.”

His reactionwas predictable, if not amusing.At first hewent through themotions of refusing my invitation, claiming he didn’t want to be more of aburdentomethanhealreadywas,insistingIdidn’tneedtheextraworkaroundthehouse…

IremindedhimI’dstockedthefridgeearliertodaywithmilk,eggs,cheese,apples,honeydewmelon, and strawberries. Ipromised I’dmakehimpancakeswithmaplesyrupandapplecompoteforbreakfastthenextmorning.

Heacceptedmyinvitation.Bythetimewearrivedatthecondo,Iwasexhaustedandwouldhavefallen

asleep in awink, butMichaelwanted to view theCDs thatGoldie had givenhim.IwasabouttoexcusemyselfandgotobedwhenIsawhimtryingtoinserta disc in the CD player. He couldn’t. The bindingswrapped around his torsopreventedhimfrombendingforward.

Ipoppedthediscin,thensettledonthesofanexttohim.He’dneedmyhelptopopintheseconddisclateranyway.

The first CD showed a clip that placedMichael atWillie’s gas station inSainte-Adèle.Thefilmqualitywasn’tsharpandtherewasnoaudio,butitwasapparent that it wasMichael. He was speaking with a bearded man standingbehindthecounter.

“IsthatWillie?”Iasked.“Yes,”hesaid.“ThatwasthelasttimeIsawhim.”A date and timestamp at the bottom of the screen confirmed Michael’s

stopoverthenightofAugust10—thenightbeforeTom’sbodywasdiscovered.“Thanks to Willie, you now have an official alibi you can hand over to

Moreau.”Michaelshookhishead.“Ican’tusethisstuffwithoutblowinghiscover.He

riskedhislifeforme.Iowehimthatmuch.”“Willieisdead.Whatdoesitmatter?”“We don’t know that for sure. If he’s alive, I don’t want to put him in

danger.”“It’syourfreedomwe’retalkingabout,Michael.”Heranahandthroughhishair.“Whywouldsomeonesendmethisvideoout

oftheblue?Itdoesn’tmakesense.Let’ssitonitfornow.Okay?”“Fornow,”Isaid.ThefootageonthesecondCDcameasacompletesurprisetous.Itshoweda

maninashortjacketenteringthesamegasstation.Hewasinhisthirties,stocky,and short.He keptmoving, looking around in a nervous sort ofway.He saidsomething to Willie, and Willie shook his head. The man reached over thecounter andgrabbedWillie by the shirt but let himgowhen amale customerenteredthestore.

“Iknowthatguy,”Michaelsaid.“Theonewhojustwalkedin?”“No,no,theguywhotookholdofWillie.He’sRobertGingras.”“TheemployeefromPineview?”“Thesameone.”

“Thefilmqualityispoor,”Isaid.“Areyousureit’shim?”“Yes,”Michaelsaid.“Samelargechest.Aslightlimpinhisrightleg.Playit

again.You’llsee.”I clicked the replay button. I noticed the limp this time asGingrasmoved

about.“He’spacking,”Michaelsaid.“Canyourunthevideoagain?”Idid.“Rightthere.Pauseit.”AsGingras stretched over the counter, his jacket inched upward to reveal

partofahandguntuckedinhiswaistband.“ItcouldbeStewart’sBeretta,”Isaid.“I agree,” he said. “It’s starting to make sense now. I’d bet Gingras is

involved with illegal drugs in Sainte-Adèle. That’s why Willie sent me thisvideo.It’saterrificlead.”

IpressedplayandwatchedagainasGingrastookholdofWillie.Icheckedthe date and timestamp. “Their meeting took place Tuesday night—the nightWillie’shouseburntdown.DoyouthinkhefoundoutWilliewasaninformant?”

“Couldbe.”“MaybeGingrastorchedWillie’shouselaterthatnight.”“Iwouldn’tbesurprised.Problemis,wherearetheseguys?”

D

23

andidn’tmincewordsafterMichaelandItoldhimaboutourexcursionto Bradford Publishing. “Have you both gone mad? You could have

jeopardized theentirecase.Orbeenkilled.Youmightstillendup in jail foranumber of infractions.” He let his right arm drop against my kitchen table,rattlingthecoffeecupsI’dlaidoutbeforeheandJanearrivedFridaymorning.

“Chillout,buddy,”Michaelsaid.“Wedidn’tdoanythingillegal.We’rethebearersofgoodnews.”Hetriedtogetcomfortable,butthebandagesaroundhisribshamperedhiseffortsandhegrimaced.

“Here’sPam’sagendaandtheproofweneeded.”IopenedituponthepagewiththePineviewnotationandhandedittoDan.

“Howdidyougetthis?”Heaccepteditfromme.“WiththeduplicatekeytoPam’sdeskthatEmilyhidinheroffice.”Igave

himthekey.“CanyouprovesheusedittogetintoPam’sdesk?”heasked.“Icandobetterthanthat,”Isaid.“Icangetyouawitness.”“Who?”“Kayla,Pam’sprojectcoordinator.ShesaidPamlockedherdeskwhenever

she left theoffice.ShesawEmily inPam’soffice flipping throughheragendawheneverPamwas away.” Iwalkedover to the counter, pickedup the pot offreshcoffee,andbegantofillthecups.

“Howcanyouprove thatEmily actually saw thePineviewnotation in the

agenda?”Janeaskedme.“Shecouldhavebeenlookingforsomethingelse.”Shealmostmademe feel as if Iwereon trial andhad todefendmyself. I

milked it for what it was worth. “No one saw who murdered Tom and Pameither,yetthepolicesuspectMichaelandme.”

Herhandflewtothebowofhertieneckblouse.HadIunnervedher?Janecomposedherself.“WeshouldquestionEmilyabouthereavesdropping

habit,” she said toDanacross the table.Shewaited, expectinga response,buteitherhewas toobusystudyingPam’sagendaorhedidn’t feel likeansweringher.

“Forget it,”Michael said. “She’ddeny it.”He leaned forward to reach thesugarbowlbutfellshortandgroaned.

“Here, letmehelp.”Janewassittingnext tohim.“Twocubes, right?”Shemoved in closer toMichael and stretched over to pick up the cubeswith herfingers.

She was wearing a short skirt. He was wearing cargo shorts. I’d havepredictedherbarekneewouldmakecontactwithhisthighanditdid.

“There you go.” Jane dropped the cubes in his coffee but did nothing tobreakthephysicalcontactbetweenthem.

“Thanks.”MichaelwatchedasJanepickedupaspoonandstirredhiscoffeeinslowcircles.Hereachedforthecup,leavingJaneholdingthespooninmid-air.“I’vebeentakingtoomanypainkillers,”hesaid.“WhatwasIsaying?”

Jane’s flirtingwithMichaelupsetme, and I set the coffeepotbackon theburnerwithanunintendedclatter.InresponsetoMichael’squestion,Isaid,“Yousuggested that Emily would deny she peeked in Pam’s agenda. It means shecouldn’thaveseenthePineviewnotationthatPamwrote.”

“Yeah,itwouldbeherwordagainstKayla’s,”Michaelsaid,gettingbackontopic. “At least Ray’s connection to cyanide turned out to be more than anillusion.”

“If it can be proven the canister contained cyanide,” Dan said as hecontinuedtoleafthroughPam’sagenda.

“I’d bet it did,”Michael said. “Ray’s attackmeans he’s hiding something.

Moreaushouldinvestigate.”“I’llseethathedoes.”Danpeeredatapageintheagenda.“Megan,whatdo

youmake of this?”He showedme a note Pam hadwrittenweeks before herdeath.Itread:CallfromMrs.B.B.linkedtoE.S.FixASAP.

“B.B. must be Bill Bradford,” I said. “E.S. is Emily Saunders.” I put ittogether.“WealreadyknowMrs.BradfordaccusedPamofhavinganaffairwithher husband.MaybePam found out thatEmily had leakedword of it toMrs.Bradford.”

“Easy.”MichaelgrinnedatmeasItookaseatnexttoDan.“Allshehadtodowasplaceoneofheranonymousphonecalls.”

“It can be traced,” Dan said. He jotted something in his notebook beforeturninghisattentionbacktoPam’sagenda.“Lotsofnamesinthedirectoryattheback.NorecordofBillBradford,though.AreyousurePamwasseeinghim?”

“No, but Mrs. Bradford thought so,” I said. “It would explain why sheshowedupatPam’sofficethatdayandchewedherout.”

“Didn’tyoutellmePamhaddeniedtheaffair?”Danasked.“Yes,”Isaid.Janestaredatme.“Pamlied.It’swhatanywomanwhowashavinganaffair

woulddounderthecircumstances,don’tyouthink?”WasthisaboutPamorme?Michael was gazing into his cup of coffee. Dan’s attention was glued to

Pam’sagenda.NeitherofthemhadcaughtthecontemptI’dseeninJane’seyes.“Ifyou’reaskingifI’dlieabouthavinganaffair,”Isaid,meetingherglare,

“Idon’tknow.Itdependsonhowmuchthetruthwouldhurtothers.”Jane smiled like a Cheshire cat and picked up her cup of coffee. If her

intentionhadbeentoirritatemebyimplyingI’dhadanaffairwithMichael,thenshe’dsucceeded.

IsippedmycoffeeandturnedmythoughtstotheallegedaffairbetweenPamandBillBradford.My instincts toldmePamwas telling the truth—shehadn’tbeenseeingherbossonthesly.“Dan,canIseePam’snoteagain,please?”

Danflippedbacktothepageandhandedmetheagenda.I examined the spacing between the letters. Itwas off. “Mmm… I think I

read thiswrong.MaybePamwrote:Call fromMrs. B. Insert a space here. B.linkedtoE.S.”

Michaelgapedatme.“BillBradfordandEmily?”“Some women prefer dating more sophisticated men,” I said, tongue-in-

cheek.“Thisisgettingjuicierbytheminute.”Michaelgrinned.“Dan?Anythoughts

onthis?”Danjoinedin.“Let’sassumeEmilysawthisnote.AssumedPamwasgoing

tofixthingsbytellingMrs.Bradfordabouther.ItmusthaveterrifiedEmily.”“No kidding,” Michael said. “Everyone knows how the rich handle the

slightest threat of a scandal. When a load of money is in the balance, nestdisturberscandisappearwithoutatrace.Justlikethat.”Hesnappedhisfingers.

“Iagree,”Janesaid.“Moneytalks.It’sassimpleasthat.”“Pamhadonegoodquality,”Isaid.“Shewasorganized.”Iflippedthrough

subsequent pages and found another notation. “Listen to this.On theMondayafterthetriptoPineview,shewroteafollow-upmemo:CallMrs.B.FireE.S.”

“Theicingonthecake,”Michaelsaid.“IfEmilysawthismemo,shecouldhaveactedonit.”Ikepttheagendaopen

onthepageandhandedittoDan.“Fearofbeingtrappedcanmakesomepeopledesperate,”hesaid.“Andthefearofalienationcanincreaseit,”Janesaid,hertonesomber.I voiced my own theory. “This means Emily could have been desperate

enoughtocommitmurder.”“It’sasolidfoundationformotive,isn’tit?”MichaelaskedDan.Dan didn’t answer. He was peering at another page in Pam’s agenda. He

flippedbackthroughthepagesandforwardagain.“Anothermemo.DaysafterthefirstBradfordmemo,Pamwrote:CheckoutPineview.Emily’srecommendednumberonehotspot.”

“SoEmilyhadalreadyvisitedPineviewherself,”Isaid.“Or she casuallymentioned she knew someonewho had stayed there and

enjoyedit,”Janesaid,squelchingmytheory.“ThenPamtoldTomaboutitandhemadethearrangements.”

Mybreathcaughtinmythroat.“What?”Dan jerkedupright. “Jane, Idon’t encourageunsubstantiated remarks from

myteam.”“None intended,” she said to him. “My comments were simply

hypothetical.”“Movingon,”Dansaid,“Pam’sagendaoffersvaluable leverage ifMoreau

presseschargesandwehave togo tocourt.”Heput it aside. “Hewouldhavediscovered it had the police searched the offices at Bradford, but they wouldhaveneededawarranttodothat—whichMoreaudidn’trequest.”

“Becausehe’salreadyconvincedMeganandIareguilty,”Michaelsaid.“I’llpass italong toMoreauafterwe’redonewith it,”Dansaid.“Itmight

help your defence by pointing him to another suspect and save you someexplaining.”Heraisedaneyebrowinourdirection.

“Wedidn’tstealit,”Michaelsaid.“Wejustborrowedit.LikeKayladid.”“I agree,” I said. “If the police had found Pam’s agenda in Kayla’s desk,

Kaylawouldhavehadsomeexplainingtodo.”“All right.”Dan opened another folder. “Jane, did you follow up on Peter

Ewans?”“Yes,” she said. “I told him we did a background check on him and his

former places of employment, in particular, the chemicals plant. I asked if hewasawareofthesymptomsofcyanidepoisoning.Headmittedhewas.Infact,hesaidhesuspectedasmuchwhenhesawTomandPamonthefloor.Itwasthereasonhehadn’ttriedtobreakintothecottage.”

“Itwouldhavebeentoolateanyway,”Isaid.“There’smore,”Janesaid.“Megan,rememberthepictureofTomandPam

thatyoureceivedinthemail?”“Yes.Whataboutit?”“Petersentit.Heownedupwhenthepoliceaskedhimforhisfingerprints.

Hethoughtyoushouldknowandaskedmetopassalonghisapologiestoyou.”“Hewastryingtowarnme…aboutTom.”Myvoicecracked.Anawkwardsilencehungintheair.Michaeltinkeredwithhiscoffeecup.

Danclearedhisthroat.“Anythingelse,Jane?”“PeteradmittedhetamperedwiththewheelonTom’sFord,”shesaid.Michael’seyeswentwide.“What?Dothepoliceknowthis?”“It’s not what you think,” Jane said. “He loosened the tire on the Ford

becausehewanted tokillhimselfonabackroadbyracing thecar intoa tree.Tom spoiledhis planswhenhe askedhim to drive it over to the condo.Peterclaims he was depressed at the time. He forgot about the loose tire when hedrovethecarovertoyourplace,Megan.”

“Sowecaneliminatehimasasuspectonceandforall,”Michaelsaid,givingmeaknowinglook.

Onethingwasforcertain:Peter’seliminationasasuspectpavedthewaytoputoursecretplansintomotionandproveEmily’sguilt.

Dan pulled out another folder. “I personally obtained testimony from thestaffattheEleganceregardingAnita’sdeath.”

Janeblinked.“Whendidyougothere,Dan?”“Lastnight,”hesaid.“You should have called me or paged me. I would have been happy to

interview—”“Youwerebusy.”“No,Iwasn’t.”“Allright,Jane.”Histonewasfirmerthanusual.Shedidn’tsayanotherword.Icouldalmosthearthewheelsinsideherhead

cometoascreechinghalt.Dan continued. “I spoke with the supervisor of the cleaning staff at the

Elegance.ShewasmakingtheroundsWednesdaywhenshediscoveredAnita’sbody.Herstatementmeanders.I’llparaphraseit.”Heglanceddownatthereport.“Anitawas spread out on the bed.Her uniformwas torn. Shewas covered inblood—especially in the stomach area. I couldn’t believe she was dead.” Heglancedup.“Theunofficialcauseofdeathisagunshotwound.”

“Didanyonehearanyshots?”Michaelasked.“No,”Dansaid.“Hecouldhaveusedasilencerormuffledtheshotwithapillow.”

“Possibly.”“Ifheruniformwastorn,shemusthavestruggledwiththekiller,”Isaid.“ForensicsisrunningDNAtestsonherbody,”Dansaid.“Whataboutthehotelvideotapes?”Michaelaskedhim.“Underpoliceanalysis,Iassume.Whichremindsme.Thevoicemessageson

yourhotelphonecouldn’tbeanalyzed.Toofewwords.Sorryaboutthat.”Michaelheldhishandsup.“Hey,youwinsomeandyoulosesome.Mygut

feelingtellsmeEmilymadethosecalls.”“Dan,anynewsonheralibi?”Iasked.“No.”Hiscellphonerang.Hefisheditoutofhispocketandanswered.“All

right.Tell himwe’ll be there.”He flipped the phone shut. “DetectiveMoreauwantstomeetwithusatthestationrightaway.Noideawhy.”

Myguesswas thatAnita’smurderhad thrown thedetective’s investigationout of whack. He’d have a tough time putting the blame for her demise onMichaelandme.ThankstoMoreau,we’dlearnedourlessonsthehardway.

We’dkeptreceiptsfromeveryplacewe’dgonetoandeverypurchasewe’dmadesince thedayhestarted topoint thefingeratus. Ifwecouldn’tobtainapapertrail,wetookphotosorvideosofourselvesinoursurroundingstohaveadigital record of the date and time they were taken. As a result, we couldsubstantiateouralibisincaseanymoredeadbodiesfellacrossourpath.

AndAnita’swasallittook.My spirits soared. We were prepared for any new ramifications Moreau

mighthurlourway.Exceptforone.

I

24

twasourgoodfortunethatweweren’tescortedtoanotherdrabinterrogationroomtomeetwithDetectiveMoreau.Butaswesteppedintoastorageroom

attheQPPheadquartersthatfunctionedashistemporaryoffice,itwasapparentaninterrogationroomwouldhavebeenastepup.

A wood desk, a table lamp, four different vinyl chairs, and a two-drawerfiling cabinet looked as if they’d been collected from other offices in thebuilding and thrown together to providemakeshift facilities for the detective.Cardboard boxes holding archives dating back to the 60s were stacked threerowshighandsixwidealongthebackwall.

Onmyleft,Danwasbusyreviewinghisnotes.Hehadn’taskedJanetocomealong. On my right, Michael’s breathing was difficult despite the supportbandageshugginghischest.He’dtoldmeitwaslesspainfulifhemovedslowlyornotatall—whichexplainedwhyhesatstaringstraightaheadandmotionless,likeanembalmedmummy.

AswewaitedforMoreautoarrive,Imusthavecheckedmywatchadozentimes,swearinginsilenceastheminutesstretchedtoanhour.Whydidhestresstheurgencyofthemeeting,onlytokeepuswaitinginlimbothislong?

Red, white, and blue pushpins secured photos of the ten most wantedcriminals to a bulletin board on thewall behind the desk. I’d glanced at theirfacessooftenthatIwasconfidentIcouldpickeachoneofthemoutofapolicelineupwithnotrouble.

The door finally opened andMoreau stepped into the room. As usual, hedidn’tsayawordormakeeyecontactwithusuntilhe’dtakenaseatandturnedontheaudiorecorder.

“I would like to discuss a matter that has come to my attention.” Thedetective’s tonewaspolite forachange. I took itasasignofweariness inhiseffortstofindTom’skiller—andnowAnita’s.“BradfordPublishinghasfiledapolicereportconcerningdamagestotheofficeofEmilySaunders.Yourclientswereimplicated,MonsieurCummings.”

“Myclientsdiscovered the intrusionand reported it to the securityguard.”DandescribedMichael’sphysicalconfrontationwithRayFeltonandhisensuingvisit to thehospital.“Onbehalfofmyclient, I’mlodginganassaultcomplaintagainstRayFelton.”

“Iregretyourmisfortune,MonsieurElliott.”Moreaupassedahandoverhismustache.“However,Iquestioniftheintrusionwasintendedtobeadiversion.”

Danleanedforward.“Whatareyouimplying,Detective?”“Someoneismisleadingthepoliceonpurpose.Allisnotwhatitappearsto

be,astheysay.PerhapsyourclientscausedthedisorderatBradford.”What?Ibitmytongue.“Experience has taught me to keep an open mind,” Dan said. “Emily

Saunders might have staged the break-in to appear victimized. Or someonemight have ransacked her office in search of incriminating evidence. Merelyassumptions,ofcourse.”Hesatback.

Moreauasked,“Whatincriminatingevidence?”“Torepeat,mytheoriesarehypothetical.”“MonsieurCummings,areyoutellingmehowtodomyjob?”Danstiffened.“Onethingwebothwanttoavoidistunnelvision.Anotheris

thepossibilityofmiscarriageofjustice.Nottomentioncostlycourtcases.”Moreauseemedtocontemplatehiswords.“Ifyourclientsareasinnocentas

youclaim, I canonly conclude that they seem to invite troublewherever theygo.”

Danhadcautionedusagainstspeakingoutofturn—ifatall.SoIheldbackfromaskingMoreauifhethoughtI’dthrownmyselfintooncomingtraffictoo.

“Myclientsaretargets,”Dansaid.“Untiltherealkillerisfound,theirlivesareatrisk.”

Thedetectiveturnedofftherecorder.“Newevidencehascometolightthatwillallowustocloseinontheperpetratorssoon.”

“Areyou sayingyouknowwho’s responsible forTom’smurder?” I asked,breakingmysilence.

“I cannot reveal information without compromising the investigation,”Moreausaid.

“Tomwasmyhusband,”Isaid.“Ihavetherighttoknow.”“Iregret,MadameScott,butIcannotdiscussthismatterwithyou.”“DoesAnitaCastillo’sallegedmurderhaveanythingtodowiththis?”Dan

askedhim.“I regret, but I cannot disclose any more information.”Moreau stood up.

“Ourmeetingisover.Thankyouforcoming.”ThatMoreauhadn’tinterrogatedMichaelandmeaboutAnitawasbaffling.

Heobviouslyhadnoreasontolinkustohermurder,thoughIhadtoadmitwewereanticipatingthechallengeandweremorethanequippedforitthanhecouldpossibly know.We’d brought along receipts and photos to validate our alibisoverthepastweek.

Moreau’smentionofperpetratorsthrewmeoff,though.Didhesuspectmorethanonekillerwasinvolved?

AfterourmeetingwithMoreau,Danreturnedtohishotelroomtocatchuponpaperwork.MichaelandItookataxitotheElegance.

Michael’scellphonerangminutesafterwe’darrivedathissuite.Heanswered.“Hi,Jane…Fordinner?Hangon.I’llaskMegan.”Heputher

onhold.“Janewantstoknowifwe’dliketojoinherandDanfordinneratseventonight.”

Isuppressedanurgetolaughoutloud.IpicturedJanerollinghereyeswhenMichaelaskedhertowaitonthelinewhilehecheckedwithme.

My next impulse was to refuse her invitation. Why would I want to sitthroughdinnerwithJane?

Igaveherinvitationmoreconsideration.Attheleast,itofferedachancetoget to know her better. I might even discover she possessed a warmer, moresocial sidebehind thatglacialexterior.AndDanwouldbe joiningus.Michaelwould love to spend more time with his best friend and catch up on mutualtopics.

“Okay,ifyouwantto,”IsaidbeforeIwastemptedtochangemymind.AfterMichaelendedthecall,hewenttothebedroomtochangehisclothes.

Sincehe’dsleptatmyplacethenightbefore,I’dlenthimoneofTom’stopstowear at ourmeeting withMoreau earlier. He no doubt felt more comfortablewearinghisownclothes.

IturnedontheTV.Themid-daynewsbroadcastwason.Areporterwastalkingaboutamanwhomtheprovincialpoliceconsidereda

personofinterestinanallegedmurder.Thepictureofabeardedmanappeared.Helookedfamiliar.ThenIrecognizedthenameinthebannerat thebottomofthescreen:WilliamPerron.

“Michael,comeseethis,”Ishouted.“Willieisonthenews.Hurry!”He rushed from thebedroom tohear the report inprogress:“…burntbody

discoveredintheaftermathofablazethatdestroyedWilliamPerron’shomeinSainte-Adèle this week.” A film clip ofWillie’s burnt house played over thereporter’s commentary. “Thevictimhasbeen identified asRobertGingras.”Aheadshot of Gingras appeared next. “The police are investigating and urgeanyonewithinformationtocontact…”

IturnedofftheTV.“NowweknowwhathappenedtoGingras.”“Itexplainsalot,”Michaelsaid.“I’llbetGingraswenttheretokillhim.If

Willie’sstillalive,he’soneluckyguy.”HeslippedanavyblueT-shirtoverhisheadwithonehandbutgroanedinpainashetriedtogethisarmsthroughthesleeves.HegrumbledinexasperationastheT-shirtremainedwrappedaroundhisneck.“Itwassomucheasiertakingitoff.”

IwalkedoverandpulledonhisT-shirtsohecouldgethisarmsthroughthesleeves.“Ihopetheydon’tchargeWilliewithmurder.”

“Thanks.”HetuggedonhisT-shirt,lettingitfalloverhisbeigecargoshorts.“I’dbetitwasself-defense.”Hegrewsilent,thinking.“GingrascouldhavehadtheBerettaonhim.Didthenewsreportsayanythingaboutfindingagun?”

“No,”Isaid.“MaybethepolicefounditandreturnedittoStewartKirk.”“There’sonewaytofindout.”Michaeldugouthiscellphonefromapocket.

“I’ll call Pineview.”Hewaitedwhile the receptionist transferred his call. “Hi,Stewart.It’sMichaelElliott…Yes,IsawthecoverageonTVtoo.Tellme,havethe police found yourBeretta?…No, nothing new at this end… Iwill.Okay.Thanks.”Hehungup.“Nonewsonthegun.He’llletmeknowifitshowsup.”

“Ifthepolicedidn’tfindhisguninthefire,maybeWilliehasit,”Isaid.Michaelshrugged.“Couldbe.”“ThepolicewillbelookingforWillie.Itdoesn’tseemfair.”“I know,” he said. “Right now, we need to deal with that other urgent

matter.”In the midst of trying to prove our alibis for that critical Friday evening,

MichaelandIhadn’tlostsightofourimpendingdilemma.WewerestillsuspectsinthePineviewmurdersuntilMoreautookusoffhislist.

Theonlywayoutofourquandarywastoluretherealkillerintoatrap.WeagreedtokeepDanandJanecompletelyoutofit.Theywouldn’tconsenttosuchariskyventureanyway.Aboveall,wedidn’twanttothrowawaythelastchancewe had of getting evidence that would clear our names. Emily’s confessionwouldprovecrucialtoourfreedomandtohersubsequentarrest.

“Okay, let’s recap our reasons for suspecting Emily before we launch ourplan,”Michaelsaidaswesat inourusualplacesaround thecoffee table.“Weneedtomakesurewedidn’tmissanything.”

IreadthenotesI’djottedonmycanaryyellownotepadoutloud.“Emilyhada duplicate key to Pam’s desk.Kayla caught her going throughPam’s agendaseveral times.Theywerepotential occasions forEmily to seePam’splans forspending theweekend atPineview.Pam’s reminder note to tellMrs.BradfordthetruthaboutEmily’saffairwithherhusbandwasthecatalystthattriggeredthemurders.Emily’sfearledtodesperationandherdecisiontogetridofPam.ThatFridaynight,shedrovetoPineview—aplaceshe’dvisitedbefore—andslipped

intothecottagetoplantthecyanide.”Michael added to the list. “The anonymous phone calls, here and at your

office.AllthoseliesEmilytoldthepoliceaboutus.SinceMoreaubelievedwewerehavinganaffair,webecamehisprimesuspects.”

Ourkisswasstill fresh inmymind.Iblinked itaway.“Ihavemorenotes.EmilywasoneofthefewpeoplewhoknewyourroomnumberattheElegance.Shewasjealousofourrelationshipandangrywithyoubecauseyouignoredher,soshesoughtrevenge.ShebribedAnitatoopenupyourhotelroomsoshecouldplantthecyanidethere.”

“CyanidethatEmilygotwithRay’shelp,”Michaelsaid.“Shewascleverandcoveredhertracks.ShehadAnitakilled.”

“IwasanobstructioninEmily’spathtoyou,”Isaid.“Shetriedtokillmebyshovingmeintothetraffic.”Iputmypendown.“Nowtellmehowyou’regoingtoapproachEmily.”

“I’llgethertoadmitsheknewaboutPam’striptoPineviewbeforehand.IfI’mlucky,she’llrevealotherdetailsonlythekillerwouldknow.Likehowshegotthecyanideandwheresheplanteditinthecottage.”

“Whatabouttherecordingequipment?”“Afriendofmine—areal techienerd—hida tinywirelessspycameraand

receiverintheplant.”Hegesturedtothepottedplantonthecredenza.“It’ssetup to record andviewonmy laptop in the bedroom.We’re good to go at thepushofabutton.”

IfIhadanymisgivingsaboutsettingatrapforEmily,itwasaboutpersonalsafety.Notmine,butMichael’s.“Yourealizeyou’reputtingyourselfoutthere,don’tyou?”Isaid.“Ifyouhaveanydoubts, tellmenow.Wedon’thavetogothroughwiththis.”

“Wehavenochoice,”hesaid.“We’rerunningoutoftime.I’mcallingEmilyrightnow.”Hereachedforhisphone.Whenshedidn’tanswer,heleftamessageandhungup.“Let’shopeshe takes thebaitandacceptsmyinvitationfor latertonight.”

“She’safoolifshedoesn’t.Imean—”Itwastoolatetotakebackthewords.Michael smiled atme. “I have something for you.”Hewalkedover to the

credenza and removed a tiny blue jewelry box frombehind the plant. “Iwantyoutohavethis.Itbelongedtomygrandmother.”Hehandedittome.

Iopenedthebox.Insidewasadiamondpendant.IrecognizeditasthepieceofjewelryJanehadremovedfromherpursethefirsttimeIsawherinhissuite.“Michael,Ican’t—”

“Mygrandmotherbelievedithadthepowertokeepthepersonwhoworeitsafe.Shegave it tomeafter Igotmyfirst jobasa reporter. I took itwithmewhenIwenttoinvestigateleads.Iwasn’tmuchofabelieverinthiskindofstuff,butsomethingkeptmeoutofdangereverytime.”

“WhataboutthedayRaykickedyouintheribs?”“I didn’t have it withme.” He gaveme a sheepish grin. “Please,Megan,

wearitforme.”“Okay.”Iheldmyhairupwhilehetiedtheclaspintheback.Hishandswere

gentleonmyshouldersasheslowlyturnedmearoundtofacehim.Thewayhestaredatmeunnervedme.Afamiliarfeelingflutteredinsideme,andmykneeswentweak.Icouldn’tmoveifItried.

“Maybe this isn’t the right moment,” he said, “but I’m going to say itanyway.Thoseweekswespentworking together, thedinnersweshared...”Heletoutadeepbreath.“Itwassohardtoconcentrateonmywritingandkeepmyhandsoffyou.ButyouweremarriedandIrespectedthat.”

Soitwasn’tjustabouthavingadinnercompanionafterall.Michael slid his arms aroundmy waist and held me closer. “I’m tired of

pretendingyoudon’tmeananythingtome.”Hewhisperedmynameandkissedme,obliteratingallrealandimaginarythreats.

Myheartwagedwarwithmyconscience.HowcouldIdenyabondthatfeltsoright?

Iputmyhandsaroundhisneckandkissedhimback, feeling the thrill thatonlyatrueconnectionbetweentwopeoplecanbring.

Michael’scellphonerangbutheignoredit.“ItcouldbeDan,”Isaid,puttingspacebetweenus.Heretrievedhisphoneandcheckedthedisplay.“Privatenumber.Mightbe

important.”Heanswered.Therewas talkingat theotherendof the line.“Yes,

sure…Noproblem…Okay.”Hehungupandasmilestretchedacrosshisface.“You’llneverguesswhothatwas.”

“Who?”“Willie. He wants to meet with me at Berri metro station.Want to come

alongasmytranslator?”

I

25

t was a short ride along the green line ofLeMetro to Berri-UQAM—thelargeststationandhubofthesubwayservice.Thecentralconcoursewasavastopenspace.Inthemiddleoftheopenspace

wasacircularblackgranitebenchknownaslarondelle,orthehockeypuck.Itwas a popular meeting place for the students from Université du Québec àMontréal, or UQAM, through two underground corridors that linked theuniversitytothissection.

WilliewantedtomeetwithMichaelatthehockeypuck.Whilewewaited,groupsofstudentsgatheredabout,butWilliewasnowhere

insight.“Whatifhechangedhismind?”IsaidtoMichael.“He’llshowup,”hesaid.Witheachtrainarrival,crowdsofpeoplecrisscrossedthecentralconcourse.

They rushed through the turnstiles on four sides that led from different lineswithinthetransitsystem—acontinuoushodgepodgeofcommuters.

Ispottedamanintatteredpants,adarkT-shirtwiththeQuébecfleur-de-lisonit,andaredbaseballcap.Hewasheadinginourdirectionataslowerpacethanothercommuters.Hehadnobeard,soIdisregardedhim.

“That’shim,”Michaelsaid.Willie’sshoulderswerebroadbuthunched,makinghischestappearconcave.

Muscular arms indicated he was used to physical labor, as did the rough

appearanceofhishands.Underabaseballcap,alazyeyemighthavegiventheimpressionhewasn’tasastuteasthenextperson,thoughIsuspectedotherwise.

“Bonjour.” Willie shook Michael’s hand and smiled, revealing a missingtoothontherightsideofhismouth.

WhenMichaelintroducedme,Willie’sexpressionchanged.Helookedasifheweregoingtorunoff.

“Uneamie,”Michaelsaidtohim.“She’saclosefriend.”“JevaistraduirepourMichaeletpourvous,”IsaidtoWillie,hopingtoput

himateasebyexplainingI’dtranslateforMichaelandhim.Williehesitatedforamoment,thennoddedokay.Wemovedofftoamoresecludedspotalongawall.Michael began. “I saw the news on TV,” he said toWillie. “I know that

Gingras’ body was found in the fire that destroyed your home. Did you killhim?”

Williesaidnosir,asGodwashiswitness.Heproceededtorelatewhathadhappened.

He’dfallenasleepinthelivingroomlatethatnightwhilewatchingthenews.Thebackdoorcreakedandwokehimup.He’dlivedinthesamehouseforthirtyyearsandneverlockedhisdoors.Everyoneintownknewhehadnothingworthstealing. Since his friends don’t drop by in the middle of the night, he wascertainthatwhoeverhadenteredthehousewantedtodohimharm.

Thehousewaspitchblack,Williesaid,exceptforanoillampthathekeptonlowflame in thekitchen.Hegrabbed theflashlighthekeptby thearmchair incasethelightswentout—happenedalotduringbadstorms.Heheardwaterorsome liquid splashing on the wood floor in the hallway. When he smelledgasoline,byGod,heknewhewasinbigtrouble.

HeturnedontheflashlightandsawGingras.Thefooldroppedthecontainerof gasoline and pulled out a gun. That’s when he jumped on Gingras. Theywrestledandthegunwentoff.Williewasn’thurt,andhedidn’tknowifabullethadhitGingras,buthemanagedtowrestlethegunawayfromhim.

Gingrasslippedawayandrantowardthebackofthehouse.Inhishurry,heknockedovertheoillamponthekitchentable,andflamesexplodedallaround

him.Williesaidhehadtosavehimself,soheranlikethedeviloutthefrontdoor.

Neverranasfastinhislife.Heranallthewaytothegasstationandhidthereuntiltheplaceopenedupinthemorning.Hecalledafriendwhopickedhimupanddrovehim toMontreal.He foundoutGingraswasdeadwhenhe saw thenewsreporttoday.

“Where’sthegun?”Michaelaskedhim.Willie said he had the gun. He was going to the police right after our

meeting.Hehadtodowhatwasright.“It was self-defense,” Michael said to him. “You have nothing to worry

about.”Williesaidhehopedthepolicethoughtsotoo.“Iwatchedthevideoyousentme—theonewithGingrasinit.Howdidhe

findoutyouweremyinformant?”Williesaidnosir,Gingrasdidn’tknowhewasaninformant.“Hedidn’t?Whydidhethreatenyouatthegasstation?”Willie said Gingras wanted the video from the gas station and promised

somethingverybadwouldhappen ifhedidn’thand itover.Willie figured thevideomustbe important if abum likeGingraswanted it sobadly.Earlier thatsamenight,beforeheleftworktogohome,heaskedafriendtoensurethatthevideogotdeliveredtoMichael.

Michaelfrowned.“I’mconfused.Gingraswantedthevideothatshowedhimassaultingyou.Right?”

Nosir,Williesaid.Gingraswantedtheothervideo—theonewithMichaelinit.

T

26

hepopularSpaghettiFactorywaslocatedonSaint-PaulStreetinLeVieux-Montréal. The restaurant shared the area with numerous eateries and

boutiquesalong thenarrowcobblestonestreetsofOldMontrealwhere thecitywasborninthemid-1600s.

Michael and I stepped inside. Thewood and stone interiorwas rustic andinvitingandreflectiveof traditionalfamilyvalues,asmymotherwouldsay.Adelicious aroma of meat sauce and freshly baked bread instantly aroused myappetite,andIcouldn’twaittoorderdinner.Ihopedtheservicewasquick.Theplacewasair-conditioned,andIwasgladI’dwornashawlwrapovermycottonsundress.

Janewavedatus froma tableoff to the side.She’ddoneherhair in largecurls and pinned it up, letting a few strands fall to her shoulders. She lookedattractiveinthelittleblackdressandchunkythree-strandpearlchoker.Abittoofancyfordinnerhere,though.

WasshetryingtoimpressMichael?“Dan won’t be joining us,” she said as we sat down opposite her. “He’s

caughtupwithalegalcaseinToronto.Heaskedmetoconveyhisapologies.”“Toobad,”Michaelsaid.“NotthatIdon’tenjoythepresentcompany.”He

smiledatJaneandme.Janereachedforheremptyglass.“Howaboutadrink?Icoulduseanother

one.Anyobjectionstowhitewine?”

Wehadnotimetoreply.“Waiter!”Shecalledoutasonehurriedby.Aftershe’dplacedanorderfora

bottleofSauvignonBlanc,shelostnotimeingettingtotherealreasonbehindher invitation. “So tell me, Michael, what are your plans once the murderinvestigation blows over?” She smiled as she ran her fingers along her pearlchoker,caressingit,openlyflirtingwithhim.

“Noplans,”hesaid.“Ican’tthinkthatfarahead.Thingsarestillinflux.”“Oh, come on,” Jane said. “The investigation is almost over. It’s a done

deal.”ThetoneofhervoiceinspiredtrustashereyesrestedonMichael.“Howisitadonedeal?”Iasked.“Thelastweheard,Moreaustillsuspects

us.”“It’ssimple,”Janesaid,switchinghergazetome.“Youhavetoseeitfroma

legal standpoint. Let me explain it to you.” She leaned forward as if I werehearing-impairedaswellasdim-witted.“Itallcomesdowntomotive.Whoeverhasthestrongestmotiveformurdergetsthedetective’svote.”

“Youmakeitsoundlikeacontest,”Isaid.“Trustme.I’veseenalotoftrialsgoinunexpecteddirectionsallbecauseof

motive.”Sheleanedback.“Motive,”Michaelechoed.“Sowheredowestandonthatbasis?”“Italldepends,”Janesaid.“Onwhat?”“Onwhichsuspecttheybelievehadthemosttogain.”Shecouldn’tpossiblybereferringtoachoicebetweenMichaelandme.Ijoinedhersenselessgameandplayeddumb.“Ithoughtwe’dagreedEmily

hadwonthatround.”“Itdoesn’tmeanthepolicehavecometothesameconclusion,nowdoesit?”

Janegavemeahalf-smile,whichbynowItookasasignshewastoyingwithme.

“I doubt Moreau has another suspect in mind,” Michael said. “We’veeliminated anyone else who might have had a motive. He must have gonethroughthesameeliminationprocess.”

“Arealkillerfliesundertheradar,”Janesaid.

“Whatareyousaying?Thatwe’vemadeamistake?”“It’spossible,”Janesaid.“Dandidn’t seem tohaveaproblemwithour reasoning,” I said.“Besides,

Emily’salibiisunconfirmed.”“Trustme,” Jane said. “Dan is only going through themotions to appease

yourlittlefantasyabouther.”“Fantasy?”Irepeated.“Howcanyousaythat?Wehaveproofthatshe—”“Stop.” Jane raised a hand. “We’ve talked shop long enough. This is

supposedtobeafunnight,right?”Hermouthtwitchedupwardinaforcedsmile.Iwasspeechless.As if another person had just sat down in her place, Jane digressed to a

differenttopic.“Michael,rememberthelasttimewecameherefordinner?”Notwaiting for an answer, she said to me, “It was about three weeks ago. Afterdinner,wewenttoLaRondeandwatched themostspectacular fireworks.TheInternationalFireworksCompetition.Right,Michael?”

“Yes,”hesaid,histoneeven.“WewatchedtheentriesfromtheUnitedStatesandothercountries.”

“They really knowhow to put on a show,” Jane said. “Wehad a fantastictime, didn’t we? We’ll have to come back next summer. We can catch aperformancebyCirqueduSoleil.”Hereyesgotalldreamyasshewaitedforhimtoreply.

Michaelgaveheravaguenodandlookedawayasifsomethingorsomeonehaddrawnhisattention.Thetinymuscleonhisleftjawpulsatedbutwasvisibleonlytome.Hewasreachingabreakingpoint.

Thewaiterarrived.HeuncorkedthewineandpouredsomeintoJane’sglass.Shetookasip.“It’sfine.”Thewaiterproceededtofillourglasses.“Areyoureadytoorder?”heasked.Good.Iwasfamished.But Janehadother plans. “Comeback in tenminutes.”Shemotionedhim

away. “Cheers!” She lifted her glass, promptingMichael andme to clink ourglasseswithhers.

Itookasipandseizedtheopportunitytochangethesubjectwhilesheburied

herfaceinherglass.Ifeignedignoranceandsaid,“Jane,Danspokeveryhighlyofyouwhenhetookonourcase.Hementionedyouwereworkingforanotherlegalfirmbeforeyoujoinedhisteam.”

“Yes,forabigTorontolawfirm,”shesaid.“The job market is really tough these days. I’ve heard of lawyers who

graduatedlastyearwhocan’tfinda job.Howdidyoumanagetogofromonelegalfirmtoanothersoquickly?”

“IofferedDanacoupleofcorporateaccountsandthebigbuckstogowiththem.Whichremindsme,Michael.Haveyoudecidedwhatyou’regoingtodoaboutyourgrandmother’ssettlement?”

Heloweredhiseyes.“Idon’twanttogetintoitrightnow.”“Whynot?We’reamongfriends.”Shegavemeacursoryglance.“Ofcourse,

IhaveaconsiderableadvantageoverMeganinthatarea,butIcanbeflexible.Ifyou don’twant to talk about it,we can chat about other things, like a specialplacewecouldgovisitwhenwegetbacktoToronto…”

Itunedherout.Hermindgamesweregettingonmynerves.Whatwasshetrying to tell me anyway? That she andMichael were close friends? Lovers?AndwhatwasherfixationwithMichael’sfinances?

Mystomachwasgrowling.Awaiterhadjustunloadedatrayofpastadishesat the table next to ours and the aroma was making my mouth water. Otherpatrons who had been seated at tables at the same time as us were alreadyenjoying their soupor salad entrées.Ahandfulofpeoplewere linedup at thefrontdoor,waitingtogetin.

HungerovertookannoyanceasIscannedthepremisesforourwaiter.IwasdeterminedtogethisattentionthemomentIspottedhim.TohellwithJane.Shecoulddrinkherself intooblivionforall Icared. Ineeded toeatsomethingandsoon.

Asifhungerpainsweren’tcausingmeenoughanguish,itwasgettingwarmin the place, even with the air conditioning on. I removed the wrap I waswearingandhungitonthebackofmychair.

“…lotstoseeanddoalongtheharborfrontinAugustand—”JanestoppedandzoomedinonthediamondpendantIwaswearing.Shesquinted.“Michael,

isthatyourgrandmother’spendantaroundMegan’sneck?”“Yes,”hesaid.Hereyesnarrowed.“Didn’tyoutellmeyourgrandmotherwasspecial…that

oneday,you’dgiveherpendanttosomeonejustasspecial?”“Idid,”hesaid.“IgaveittoMegan.”Jane’s lips quivered ever so slightly. “I thought you and I had a special

relationship.”“YouandIdidn’thavearelationship.”“WedatedinToronto,didn’twe?”“Forawhile.”“AndthenwedatedhereinMontreal,didn’twe?”Helookeddown,didn’tanswer.Janeraisedhervoice.“Youstayedthenightinmyhotelroom,didn’tyou?”Michaelshifted inhischair.Peoplewerebeginning tostare.“Canwedrop

thesubject?”hewhispered.“Oh,Igetit.YouthinkI’mnotgoodenoughforyou.That’swhyyoudidn’t

givemethediamondpendant,isn’tit?”Thetemperatureintheplacedroppedbytendegrees.Michaelremainedcalm.“Jane,you’reblowingthiswayoutofproportion.”“No, I’m not.”Her body tensed up. “It’s obvious thatmarriedwomen are

whatyou’reintothesedays.”Imetherglareofcontemptstraighton.“What’syourproblem,Jane?”“Youneverceasetoamazeme.”Angerflashedinhereyes.Her reaction rattled me more than words ever could, but I held my own.

“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”“Howyoumanagetocomeacrossassoinnocent.”“Please—”Michaelbegan.“Excuseme. I have to go powdermy nose.” Jane clutched her purse and

stoodup.Shemovedfromthetablesofastthatshedidn’tseehimcomingandcollided

withayoungwaitercarryingatrayofemptyglasses.Ittoppledandcrashedtothefloorinaclatter.

Applauseandcheersexplodedfrompatronsinagestureofunderstanding.Janewasn’tassupportive.Someliquidhadlandedonherlegsandshebent

overtowipeitoff.“Youclumsyidiot,”sheyelledatthewaiter.“Can’tyouseewherethehellyou’regoing?”

Thewaiterblushed.“I’msorry,Ma’am.”“Sorryisn’tgoodenough.Youshouldbefired.”Janerushedawayinahuff.Thewaiterbentdowntopickupthepiecesofglassonthefloor.Heplaced

themonthetrayandscurriedaway,headbentinembarrassment.I waited until Jane had vanished around the corner. “Now that’s a mood

swing.”“Nokidding,”Michaelsaid.“I’veneverseenherlikethis.”“Well,whatevershe’supto,Idon’twantanypartofit.”Istoodup.“Makes two of us.” He dug out a couple of twenty-dollar bills and flung

themonthetable.“Let’sgetoutofhere.”

O

27

nthetaxiridebacktotheEleganceHotel,Icouldn’tstopthinkingaboutJane’sstrangebehaviorat therestaurant. Itwasas ifabizarreaspectof

herpersonalityhadsurfacedoutoftheblueandtakencontrolofhermind.Maybethemurderinvestigationhadputtoomuchstrainonher.Thatoneof

Moreau’sprimesuspectswasMichael—someoneshecaredabout—hadputherallthemoreonedge.Ormaybesheblamedmeforhavingdraggedhimintothismess.

Irememberedthehatredinhereyesandtheinsults thathadspewedoutofher mouth after she’d noticed the diamond pendant around my neck. Herconducthadstemmedfromnothingmorethanjealousy.Shecouldn’tacceptthatMichael was no longer interested in her. Worse, that he showed a genuineinterestinme.

Humiliated, Janehadstruckout in retaliation.Shehadn’t sparedanyone inherimmediatevicinity—noteventheyoungwaitershe’drammedinto.

As the taxi weaved its way to Sherbrooke Street, Michael stared out thewindow and said nothing. He was either embarrassed about Jane’s disclosureregarding the intimate details of their relationship or smoldering over hercommentaboutthediamondpendant.Orboth.

AlthoughI’dhavewantednothingbetterthantoventmyangeroverJane’sconductattherestaurant,Itookmycuefromhimanddidn’tsayaword.

Michaelaskedthetaxitostopinfrontofadeliafewdoorsfromthehotel.In

spite of our wacky confrontation with Jane, his appetite was functioningnormally—aswasmine.

Iglancedatmywatch.Eighto’clock.Thatexplainedit.Michaelordered twosandwichesfor takeout: turkey,Swisscheese, tomato,

andlettuceonbaguettes.Hepaidforbothandaskedforareceipt.Wewalked back to the hotel in silence.The lobbywas filledwith a fresh

batch of convention-goers, their name tags plastered everywhere but on theirforeheads.Wepickedupabagoficeonthemainfloor,thenrodetheelevatoruptoMichael’ssuiteinsilence.

The passage of time had done nothing to quash my anger over Jane’sbehavior. It had festered inside me like overheated meat sauce in a pressurecookereversincewe’dlefttherestaurant.

Michael’s calm expression hinted that he didn’t share my resentment. Ormaybehewastooupsettoshowhisfeelings.

Nomatter.Icouldn’tcontainitanylonger.IwasgoingtoexplodeifIdidn’tventsoon.

We moved along the corridor leading up to Michael’s suite and passed ahousekeepingcart.Amaidwastidyinguponeoftherooms.

Onceoutofearshot,Iletitallout.“Damnit,Michael.I’mgoingtocallDananddemandthatJaneberemovedfromourcaserightnow.”

“Itwon’tmakeanydifferenceatthispoint,”hesaid.“Whynot?”“Herpartintheinvestigationisover.Dan’swrappingthingsup…waitingfor

Moreautomakethenextmove.”“Idon’tcare.Herbehaviorwasrude.Unacceptable.Danneedstoknow.”“I agree, but it’s a personal matter.” He slid his key card in the slot and

openedthedoortohissuite.“JanethinksIsnubbedher.IswearInevergaveherareasontobelievewehadaseriousthinggoingonbetweenus.”Heclosedthedoorbehindus.

“Sheobviouslythoughtyoudid,”Isaid.“I already told you about Jane’s changing moods,” Michael said. “She’s

JekyllandHydeintheflesh.”

“Don’tmakeexcusesforher.”“I’mnot.Hermoodswingsmakeherunpredictable.”“Tellmeaboutit.”“Thewinedoesn’thelp,either.Alcoholbringsouttheworstinher.”“You’remakingmoreexcuses.”“I’mjuststatingthefacts.”Michaelpaused.“Sheoncetoldmehowanold

boyfriendhadcheatedonher.Shegotdrunkonenightandslashed the leatherseatsofhisexpensivesportscar.Heneverfoundoutitwasher.”

I rememberedhowI’d thrownout thebedsheetsafter I’d foundoutaboutTomandPam.Itwasn’tasviolentasJane’shatchetjob,butitwasneverthelessan act of revenge. “I can understand how she might have felt abandoned,insecure—”

“Insecure,”hesaid.“Problemisshetakesittoofar.”“How?”“She’sclingy…alwayswantstobewithme.Ineveryway.”Iassumedhemeantsex.“Oh.”“Janementionedmygrandmother’sinheritance,”hesaid.“Ineedtoexplain

why.RememberhowItoldyoumygrandmotherwaskilledbyadrunkteenwhohadbeendrivinghisfather’scar?”

“Yes.”“The kid’s parents offered my family a million-dollar settlement. By

inheritance,Iwouldgetaquarterofthatamount,butIrefusedit.Ihavemyownreasons.Janeistryingtochangemymindaboutacceptingthemoney.”

Hedidn’thavetospellitoutforme.Janewasagold-digger.SinceIdidn’twanttogetinvolvedwithhisfamily’slegalbattles,Isteeredthediscussionbacktoourcurrentdilemma.

“DanthinkshighlyofJane,”Isaid,“butIworrythatshewon’trepresentourlegal interests fairly.After the insults she’dhurledatus at earlier,whoknowshowherattitudewouldinfluenceherwork?”

Michaelrubbedhisbrow.“Iagree,but let’sget throughtonightfirst.We’lldealwithJanelater.”Heplacedtheiceanddelibagsonthecoffeetable.

“It’sstrangethatEmilyhasn’tcalledyet,”Isaid.

“I’ll check again.”He pulled out his cell phone and looked at the display.“Nomessages.”Heslippedthephonebackinto thepocketofhiscargoshorts.“I’llcheckthehotelphone.”

Inthemeantime,IemptiedtheiceintoabucketandplacedabottleofwhiteChardonnayinit.Itwouldbetheperfecttemperaturebythetimewe’dputourplaninmotion.IsetthebucketonthecredenzanexttotwowineglassesandadozenbottlesofwaterthatMichaelhadorderedfromroomserviceearlier,alongwiththeChardonnay.

Michaelhungup.“No.Emilydidn’tleaveamessageonthisphoneeither.”“Let’sgivehermoretime.She’llcalloutofcuriosity.Orshemightjustpop

up.”Heglancedathiswatch.“You’reright.It’sonlynine.Wehaveanhourtill

shegetshere.Let’seat.”He handed me a bottle of water and took one for himself.We sat in the

armchairsanddevouredoursandwichesinminutes,neitherofussayingaword.Maybehewas rightabout Jane.Ouraltercationwithherwaspersonaland

had nothing to do with the quality of her legal work, which Dan consideredabovereproachandcommendable.Tattlingtohimaboutherwouldbepointless.

Besides, what would I gain by seeking revenge against someone whosuffered from severe mood swings? She had enough problems without medumping another load on her.After the policewrapped up their investigation,JanewouldgetonwithherlifeandsowouldI.

AsMichaelstoodup,hetoppledhisbottleofwater.Itspilledoverhiscargoshorts.“I’llgochange.Berightback.”

Igatheredthewrappingsfromoursandwichesandouremptywaterbottlesanddiscardedtheminthetrashcaninthebathroom.

Moments later,Michael returnedwearing another pair of cargo shorts.Hecheckedthelivingroomtomakesureeverythingwasinorder.“Youshouldgetgoing,”hesaidtome.

“Right,”Isaid.“What’sthematter?”We’d agreed from the start that he had a better chance of extracting

informationfromEmilythanIdid.Myfriendshipwithherhadfizzled,buthisoffered a flicker of hope.What incriminating details would slip through thatgirl’slipsafterafewglassesofwineinthecompanyofa“hot”date?

Andyet…“Ishouldn’thavesuggestedsettingupameetingwithEmily,”Isaid. “It’s too dangerous.What if something goes wrong?What if she dropspoisonintoyourglasswhenyou’renotlooking?Whatifshe—”

“Don’tworry,”Michaelsaid,hisvoicecalm.Hemovedovertothewirelesscamerawe’dconcealedintheleafyplantandturnediton.Itwouldcaptureeverysoundandmovementinthelivingroomfromthispointon.

“It’s not too late,” I said. “We haven’t put our plan into action. You canchangeyourmind.”

Hestaredatme.“Areyoukidding?Andwasteaperfectchance tocatchakiller?”

“Whatifwe’rewrongabouther?”“We’renot.I’llbetshe’sfeelingthepressure.You’llsee.She’sgoingtodo

herselfin.”Ifhewasfeelingtheleastbitonedge,hehiditwell,yethisbravefrontdid

nothingtoquellmyanxietyaboutthesituation.Hewaspreparedtoriskhislifefor our freedom and asked nothing in return. I should have been the onecomfortinghim,tellinghimeverythingwouldworkout,butIcouldn’t.

Thehotelphonerang.Michaelpickeditup.“Hello.Hello.”Hefrowned.“Theyhungup.”“MaybeEmilyisgettingcoldfeet,”Isaid.“Orshe’scheckingtoseeifI’mhereornot.”“Youthinkshesuspectssomething?”“Shehasnoreasonto.”“Whatifshedoesn’tshowup?Whatifourschemeturnsouttobeonehuge,

ridiculousmistake?”“Letmeworryaboutthat.”Hegavemeareassuringsmile.Iadmiredhisconfidence,butifEmilydidn’ttakethebait,wewouldn’tget

another chance toget to the truth.Moreauwas closing inonus. It couldbe amatterofdays—evenhours.

The phone rang again.Michael picked it up. “Hello.Oh…Emily.Good tohearfromyou.”

Hesoundedstiffandunnatural,asifhe’drehearsedthosewordsallnightandforgotten what they meant. My heart was beating so loudly, I was certainMichaelcouldhearittoo.

“Yeah,it’sscary,”hesaidtoher,“butI’mintheclear.It’sadifferentstorywithMegan,though...Okay,ifyoupromisetokeepitbetweenus.Thecopsareonehundredpercent sure shedid it…Areyoukidding? Iwon’tbe seeingheranymore.Icutmytiestoherandthiswholecrazynightmare.”

SilencewhileEmilywentonaboutsomething.“You’reright,Ididn’tgiveyouafairchance,”hesaid.“That’swhyIcalled.

I’m hoping I can make it up to you tonight.We’ll enjoy a bit of wine, easyconversation…Yeah,inmysuite.It’smoreprivate,ifyouknowwhatImean…”Helaughedatsomethingshesaid.

Good.Hewasbeginningtosoundmorerelaxed.“Yeah,achangeofsceneryisexactlywhatIneed…Soundswild.Wecould

go there later. See you soon.” He hung up. “Megan, you’d better go. Don’tforget.Takethestairsdowntothenextfloor.Youcan’triskbumpingintoEmilyonherwayoutoftheelevatoronthisfloor.Andleavethehotelthrough—”

“Iknow.Therearexitandnotthelobby.Thentakeataxibacktothecondoandwait foryourphonecall.” I slippedmypurseovermyshoulderbutdidn’twanttoleaveMichaelstandingtherewithoutanappropriatesendoff.Imovedincloser.“Please,Michael.Promisemeyou’llbecareful.”

“Ipromise.”Inspiteofthepainfrombrokenribsonthemend,heheldmetightandkissedme.

Irememberedthecamerawasoperationalandpulledoutofhisembrace.“Ishouldgo.”

Someoneknockedatthedoor.Ifroze.“Oh,no!Emilycan’tbeherealready.”“Shemusthavecalledfromthelobby,”Michaelwhispered.“Quick.Gohide

inthebedroom.”Asecond,louderknockresonatedthroughoutthesuiteasIrushedaroundthe

cornerandintohisbedroom.IleftthedoorslightlyajarsoIcouldoverheartheirconversation.

Michael’sopenlaptopwasonthedresserfacingthefootofthebed.Iturnedoff the volume. I didn’t want Emily to follow the echo of her voice to thebedroomandfindmehere.

Isatontheedgeofthebed—myfrontrowseattotheliveperformanceabouttotakeplacefeetawayfromme.Iexpectedit tobenothingless thananerve-rackingexperience.

TheliveactionplayedoutasMichaelsteppedfromthelivingroomintothefoyeranddisappearedfromthescreen.Iheardhimunboltthedoor.

Therewasamomentofhesitation.“Whatthe—”Michaelbegan.“Weneedtotalk.”Jane’svoiceprecededheron-screendebut.

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ichaelmusthavebeensosurprisedandconfusedwhenheopened thedoor and saw Jane standing there instead of Emily. To describe her

entranceasdramaticwouldbeanunderstatement.She’dtakenthepinsoutofherhairandletthecurlscascadetohershoulders.

Gonewasthelittleblackdress.Insteadabluetanktopaccentuatedamplebreastsandaslimwaist.

Janecrossedthelivingroomonstrappysandals,herwedgeheelsenhancingthelengthofherlegs.Awraparoundskirtshowedofftrimthighsandthreatenedtoexposeevenmore.AsheerprintscarfwrappedaroundherneckflowedintheairbehindheruntilshecametoastopbythewindowswheresheturnedtofaceMichael.

He’dshutthedoorandenteredthelivingroombutkeptmorethanacordialdistance—including an armchair—between them.He glanced at hiswatch, nodoubtanticipatingthatEmilywouldarriveatanymoment.“What’sup?Doyouhavenewinformationaboutthemurderinvestigation?”

“No,” Jane said. “I camehere to say I’msorry forbehaving like a jealousadolescentattherestaurantearlier.”

She had a hard time pronouncing herwords.A few of themwere slurred.Maybe she’d finished off our glasses ofwine afterMichael and I had left therestaurant.Ormaybeshekeptabottleinherhotelroomandhaddownedafewswigsbeforecomingover.

“You’re sorry?” The skepticism onMichael’s face was authentic. “You’rekiddingme,right?”

“No.”Hereyesrestedonhim.“Ishouldhaveknownbetterthantoinsultyoulikethat.”

Shedidn’tmentionme.Onpurpose.“It’stoolate,”hesaid.“Thedamageisdone.”Jane ignored his retort. “I also want to apologize for mentioning your

grandmother’ssettlementinfrontofMegan.Itwasuntimelyandinappropriate.”Hertoneofvoicewasoneyoumightusewhenaskedwhattimeofdayitwas.

Michael waved his arms in the air. “Inappropriate? I’ll tell you what wasinappropriate.YourinsinuationsaboutMeganandme.”

“Youhaveno right to judgeme,”shesnapped.“You’renobetter.YouandMegandisappearedfromtherestaurantwithoutaword,likeIhadtheplagueorsomething.Ididn’tknowwhattothink.”

“Canyoublameus?”“Look,I’vealreadyapologized.Wecanstopplayingtheblamegamenow.”“Okay.Youapologized.Nowpleaseleave.”Hegesturedtowardthedoor.“Notyet,”Janesaid.“Ihaveapropositionforyou.”Michaelglancedathiswatchagain.“Ihavenothingtodiscusswithyou.I’m

busy.”Hergazedriftedaroundtheroomandrestedonthecoffeetable.“Youdon’t

seembusytome.Nolaptop,nopens,nopapers—”“Idon’toweyouanexplanation.”“Whatyouowemeisthetruth.ThisisaboutMegan,isn’tit?Areyouhiding

her inyourbedroom?”Shepointed toward thecorridorat theotherendof thefloor.“Isthatwhyyou’retryingtogetridofme?”

Ipanicked.Had I leftbehinda telltale sign, likemybottleofwaterwithalipsticksmudgeonit?

No,I’ddisposedofourwaterbottlesalongwithoursandwichbags.Mypurse?No,Ihaditwithme.Itwasonthebed.SowhywasJaneinsinuatingIwashere?

Shehadtobefishing.Yes,that’sallitwas.Fishing.“She’s not here,” Michael said. “If you don’t believe me, go see for

yourself.”Hefoldedhisarms.I caught my breath as Jane took a few steps forward. She stopped. “Oh,

forgetit.Idon’thavetimeforsillygames.”“Makestwoofus.Nowpleaseleave.”Hemotionedtowardthedooragain.Good.Hewasgettingridofher.Emilyhadtobeintheelevatoronherway

upbynow.Thelastthingweneededwasaface-to-faceencounterbetweenherandJane.

But Jane didn’tmove. She put her hands on her hips and said, “You’re inway over your head,Michael Elliott. You can’t deny you could usemy legaladvice.”

“ThelasttimeIchecked,Ihadalawyerandyouwereworkingforhim,”hesaid.

“The kind of advice I’m prepared to offer you goes far beyond Dan’scapabilities.”

Michaelsaidnothing.Jane’s voice was soft. “Why do you think I came over here tonight? It’s

because I care so much about you. I want you to have the best legalrepresentationyoucanget.”

“Ialreadydo,”hesaid.“IhaveDan.”“Icouldn’tforgivemyselfifthepolicechargedyouwithmurder.”“Whyshouldthey?”“BecauseofDan’sineptdefensestrategy.”“Inept?Whatthehellareyoutalkingabout?”“Trust me, I know what you’re going through, Michael. The police

investigationisputtingaterriblestrainonyou.Theprospectofgoingtojailfortherestofyourlifemustbetearingyouapart.”

“It’snotoverbyalongshot.”“Oh,I’mafraiditis.Hasn’tDantoldyou?”“Toldmewhat?”Jane feignedcompassion.“I sohate tobe thebearerofbadnews,butDan

haswrittenoffeverywitnessasapotentialsuspectexceptMeganandyou.”“That’simpossible,”Michaelsaid.“Heknowswe’reinnocent.”Janetookashakystepforwardandsteadiedherselfbyplacingahandonthe

back of the armchair. “I know howmuch you’re hurting inside. Let me helpyou.”Shewentuptohim,touchedhisface,andranherfingersthroughhishair.“Icanmakethepaingoaway.”

Icringedatthesoundofhervoice.Atthewayshetouchedhim.Howherbodybrushedupagainsthis.Michaeldidn’tbudge.“ThecopsthinkI’maprimesuspect.Howthehellcan

youmakethatgoaway?”“It’s simple. I know you couldn’t possibly have committed such an

outrageousact,andIcanproveit.”Sheheldherchinuphigh.“Givingmeacharacterreferencewon’tcutit.”“Letmeexplainmyalternativedefense strategy. Itwon’t take long. Ifyou

followmyadvice,you’llhavenothingtoworryabout.”He moved out of her reach and slid into his usual armchair. He leaned

forwardandjoinedhishands.“Okay,I’llhearyouout.Youalreadyhaveallthefactsinthecase,sowhathaveIgottolose?”

Whatwashedoing?No,Michael,no!You’rewastingprecioustime!Isprangtomyfeetandwasabouttorushoutoftheroomtoputanendto

their conversation, but something held me back. Instinct—not to mentioncuriosity.

Isatbackdownonthebed.Jane settled in the other armchair, her left profile to the camera. “You’re

absolutelyright.Youhavenothingtoloseandsomuchmoretogainifyoutrustme.”Asshecrossedherlegs,herwraparoundskirtopenedupalongonesidetoexposeherthigh,butshemadenoefforttocoveritup.Instead,shesatthere,anenticingsmileonherface.

“Howaboutsomemusic?”Michaelwalkedovertothecredenzaandturnedontheradio.ABBA’s“TakeaChanceonMe”wasplaying.He’dleft itonthe70sstationcateringtohisinterests.

Iponderedthischangeinourplans.Maybehe’dturnedontheradiotohideany noise Imightmake in the bedroom. Itwas hisway of tellingme to staywhereIwas.

Michaelstoodrootedtohisspotbythecredenzaforalongmoment,asifhewerecontemplatinghisnextmove.Thenhereachedforthebottleofwineintheicebucketwithonehandandtookholdoftwoglasseswiththeother.

What?Hadhelosthismind?Thisrapidshiftinstrategytuggedatthelooseendswe’drolledintoatight

plan.Wine,music,aprivatesetting—they’dformedpartofourschemetodupeEmilyintorevealinginformationthatwouldincriminateher.

Onlynow,MichaelhadplacedJaneincenterstageinstead.

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searchedforthelogicbehindMichael’sactions.WhateverJanewasupto,itwasn’t based on good intentions.Michael thought so too andwas playing

alongforreasonsthat,underthecircumstances,hewasunabletotellme.Ihadnochoicebuttotrusthim.

“It’schilled just thewayyou like it.”Michael twisted thecapoff thewinebottle.

Janeeyedhimwithsuspicion.“YouwereplanningonbringingMeganbackhereafterdinner,weren’tyou?Whathappenedtospoilyourplans?”

“You’rewrong.It’snotlikethatbetweenus.”“Yougaveheryourgrandmother’spendant,didn’tyou?”“Asatokenoffriendship.”Hepouredwineintotheglassesandheldoneout

toher.Shestoodupandaccepteditfromhim.“Cheers.”Sheclinkedherglasswith

hisandtookasip.“Mmm…verynice.Iseeyouhaven’tlostyourtasteinwine,thoughyoushouldbemoreselectiveinchoosingthewomenyousleepwith.Tobespecific,acertainauburn-hairedwidow.”

“Itoldyou,”Michaelsaidcalmly.“I’mnotsleepingwithher.”Janegazedathim.“Youdon’tknowhowmuchIwanttobelieveyou.”“HaveIeverliedtoyou?”“No.”Shedranksomewine.“FromthefirstdayImetyou,Iknewyouwere

anhonestman.Ialsoknewweweremeanttobetogether.”

“Jane,we’renot—”“Letmefinish.Iwanttotellyouwhywebelongtogether.”Shetookanother

sipandswayedbutmanagedtosteadyherself.“Youmakemefeelsecure.Youalways did.Youmakeme value thingsmost people take for granted, like theromanticnightswespent—”

“Wedatedafewtimes,”Michaelsaid.“That’sallitwas.”Janewavedahandintheair.“Thereyougoagain,denyingwehadastrong,

intimatebondfromthestart.Westillhavethatbond.Iknowitandyouknowittoo.Whydoyoukeeprunningawayfromarelationshipthat’sperfect?”

“For starters, you should be looking for someonewith a fatterwallet. It’lladdmuchmorespicetoyourrelationship.”

Herlipscurledupward.“Thatsoundspeculiarcomingfromsomeoneabouttoacquireaquarterofamilliondollars.”

“YouknowwhereIstandonthat.Nothing’schanged.”“Howcanyourefusethesettlement?It’syourright.”Whenhedidn’tanswer,

shewent on. “You’re refusing it simply because of some preposterous notionthatit’sbloodmoney.”

“It’sreasonenough.”“Iwouldn’tletthatstopmefromenjoyingthebestthingsmoneycanbuy.”

Janefinishedupherglassasifitwerewaterandhelditouttohim.Herefilleditandplaceditonthecoffeetable.“You’remissingthepoint.I

don’tneedlotsofmoneytomakemehappy.Therearemoreimportantthingsinlife,likeloyaltyand—”

“Loyalty!Ofcourse.EvenifIhadallthemoneyintheworld,I’dinsistonloyalty.Youof all people shouldknowhow loyal I’vebeen toyou,Michael.”Shedrewcloser,herlipsalmosttouchinghis.

“Damnit,Jane.”Hesteppedawayandsatdowninhischair.“Mylifeisinthebalance,andallyouthinkaboutisyourself.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t fool me one bit. You’re still the bleedingheart to that pathetic little widow, aren’t you? I’m amazed you fell for hermanipulativeways. I thought youwere smarter thanmostmen.” She ploppeddowninherchairandreachedforherglass.

“HowmanytimesdoIhavetotellyou?There’snothingbetweenus.”“Oh,comeon.Trythisheadlineforaneye-opener:Thefranticyoungwidow

whosehusbandwasmurderedandtheimpressionablereporterwhocametoherrescue.Whatafarce!”Sheglaredathim.“Iseethewayyouogleher.Whatisitaboutherthatturnsyouonanyway?”

Michaelsippedhiswine,remainedsilentwhilehekepthiseyesdowncast.Jane’s insinuations intriguedme.That shepersisted indragging themback

intotheirconversationintriguedmeevenmore.Irememberedhowshe’dreactedtorumorsofanaffairbetweenMichaeland

meduringourmeetingswithDan.Thatshe’ddisplayedherattractiontoMichaelmade me assume she was trying to beat out what she perceived to be hercompetition—me.

NowIunderstoodwhatchurnedbelowthaticyfaçade.Itwassomethingvileandugly—ajealousythatborderedonobsessive.

I stared at the screen, unable tomove amuscle as the live sceneunfoldedstepsawayfromme.

Jane’s tone mellowed. “Remember our moonlight walks along the beach?The longnightswe spent together?Wehad someprettywild sex,didn’twe?”Shelaughed.

Michaelsaidnothing,keptlookingdown.Shekepthereyesonhim.“Sotellmehersecret.”“Hersecret?”“WasMeganhotinbed?Hotterthanme?Rememberwhen...”Shewenton

to describe intimate details of their sexual jaunts, how he satisfied her everywhim—nomatterwhereandwhen—andleftherwantingmore.

The blood rushed to my face, and I was glad I was alone. I could onlyimaginehowuneasyMichaelwasfeeling.

But he remained composed, impervious to her lurid accounts of theirintimatesexlife.

As Jane buried her face in her glass, he said, “After what you and I hadtogether,doyouhonestlythinkI’djumpintobedwithawomanwho’dknockedoffherhusband?”

She laughed. “Then it’s off with her head! It’s one way of getting thediamondpendant,isn’tit?”Sheraisedherglass,spilledsomewineonthecarpet,andlaughedagain.

Mybody temperatureplunged.Her response shockedme, such that I half-listenedwhile she reminisced about the time she’dmetMichael in a Torontocourthousemonthsearlier,howthey’dgoneoutfordinnerthatsamenight,howthey’dtumbledintobedtogetherlater,howfantasticthesexwas...

Whataschemer!She’dsayanddoanythingtoholdontohim.Goosebumpsrosealongmyskin.Aneeriepatternemerged,onethatIhadto

consider,nomatterhowabsurd it seemed.Taking intoaccount theirobsessionwithMichaelandtheirmanipulativeways,JanewasagoodsubstituteforEmily.

Iturnedmyattentionbacktothescreen.MichaelandJanecontinuedtoplaytheirroleslikeacoupleofprofessional

actors.Totheregularviewer,theirperformancecouldhavepassedforadaytimesoapoperaormade-for-TVmovie.

Jane managed to keep her hands off him, but it was just another trick toprove she was serious about getting him a get-out-of-jail-free card. She’dcapitalizeonsomethingmorerewardingonceshehookedherclawsintohimforgood.

“Soyouhaveapropositionforme,”Michaelsaid,puttingtheirconversationbackontrack.

“Yes,”Janesaid.“Ithingeson takingonadifferent legalapproach toyourdefense.”

“Let’shearit.”“Theweakest point inDan’s defense is that you andMegan haven’t been

abletoprovidealibissofar.”“So?”“Here’s my angle. It’s simple, really. All you have to do is confess that

MeganmadeupthewholesobstoryaboutherhusbandgoingtoGraniteRidgesoshecouldsteereverybodyoffcourse.You’lladmityouwenttoPineviewwithher,butyou’llplaytheinnocentvictimbyputtingtheentireblameonher.”

Ishuddered.Thegoosebumpswereoutinfullforcenow.

HowcouldJaneproposesuchanoutrageousidea?Shewasaparalegal.Shewantedtobealawyer.Sherepresentedjusticeandtruthandhadtherespectofthelegalcommunity.

Iwantedtorushoutandriphertoshreds!WhowasIkidding?Iwastooterrifiedtomoveandtoocurioustofindout

whereherproposalwasheading.Istayedput.Michaelgrinned.“You’rekiddingme,right?”“DoIlookasifI’mkidding?”Jane’sfaceshowednoemotion.“Yourpremisewon’twork.ThepolicesuspectIhadanaffairwithMegan…

thatI’mimplicatedinthemurders.”“Theyhavenoproofeitherway,nowdothey?”Shegulpedmorewine.“Whatdoyoumean?”“It’ssimple.It’sMegan’swordagainstyours.”“Megan isn’t ignorant. If I try todump themurdersonher, she’ll fightme

witheverythingshe’sgot.Besides,Danwon’tgoforit.”“LeaveDanoutofthis,”Janesaid.“Icangetyouamuchbetterlawyer.”“Likewho?”“Trust me. I have top-notch contacts. They would come running at the

opportunitytoworkwithme.”Michaelhesitated, seemed tobepondering thematter. “You’re forgettinga

keyelement.Thepolicefoundcyanideinmysuite.Whatiftheyconvictme?Idon’t want to go to jail for a crime I didn’t commit. I’m innocent. I expectfreedom.Nothingless.IneedalawyeronmysidethatIcantrustwithmylife.”Tensionracedthroughhisvoice.

“Ididn’tsayitwasgoingtobeeasy,”Janesaid,herwordsmoreslurredthanbefore.“Youmightgetafewyearsofjailtime.Beforeyouknowit,you’llbeoutongoodbehavior.”

“Forgetit.”“Youhavetotrustme.Iknowhowthesethingswork.”Allthewhile,Michaelhadkeptpouringwineintotheirglasses—addingalot

more tohers than tohis. I lostcount. Ihoped that Janehad too,and I silentlyurgedheronwitheverygulpshewolfeddown.

Icheckedthetime.Emilywasrunninglate.As ifhe’dreadmymind,Michaelasked,“WhataboutEmily?Hasanyone

verifiedheralibi?”“It’sbeenconfirmed,”Janesaid.“And?”“ShewasplayinghousewithBillBradfordontheweekendofthemurders.”Itwasablatantlie!She’dtakenthatinformationrightoutofPam’sagenda

andcreatedherownversionofit.Michaelpersisted.“WhataboutRayandthecanisterhetookfromthelab?”“Raywasn’tinvolvedinthemurders.Trustmeonthatone.”Janereachedfor

thebottleofwineandfilledherglass,ignoringthedropsthatspatteredontothetable. She poured the rest of the wine intoMichael’s glass and set the bottledown,almosttippingitover.

Hedidn’ttouchhisglass.“Youmakeitsoundasifthere’snowayoutformebutjail.”

“Withtheselastpersonsofinterestnolongerundersuspicion,thepolicewilltarget you and Megan. You have no choice but to follow my advice. Youunderstandthat,don’tyou?”

Michael said nothing. He’d succeeded in digging deeper and deeper,disclosingJane’struecolorswitheverylayerofdeceithe’dpeeledaway.Buthissteady focus on the carpet gave the impression that hewas stillweighing herproposal.

Janesighed.“What’stheretothinkabout,Michael?It’sano-brainer,reallyitis.”

“Anita’sdead,”hesaid.“HowarewegoingtoproveMeganusedhertoplantthecyanideinmysuite?”

“Questions,questions.What’swithallthesequestions?Don’tyoutrustmetodowhat’sbest foryou?Why thehelldid Ibother tocomehere?”Shemadeamovetogetup.

ButMichaelwasfaster.Hedroppedtohiskneesandplacedhishandsonherthighs,preventingherfromgettingup.Hesaidtoher,“Please,youhavetohelpme,Jane.”

“That’sbetter.”Shesmiled.“Thinkopportunity,Michael.Didn’tMeganvisityouhere,workwithyouonyourbookorwhateveritwasthetwoofyouweredoing?”

“Yes.”“Sowhenyouweren’tlooking,sheplantedthecyanideinyourjacket.”She

placedahandunderhischinandkissedhimonthelips.“Yousee?It’ssimple.Shehadthemotive,means,andopportunitytobeavery,verybadgirl.”

Igaspedinhorror.Oh, Jane was slick. She had all the right answers. Given the chance, she

would rewrite Michael’s testimony and blame me for the murders. Thankgoodness,itwasallontape.Herargumentsmighthaveconvincedeventhebestjury in theworld to putmebehindbars. Iwinced, anticipatingDan’s reactionwhenhe’dfindoutabouthis“brilliant”protégé.

“Sowhatdoyousay?Isitadeal?”JanetriedtokissMichaelagain,butheslippedoutofherreachandretreatedtohisseat.

Heclaspedhishandsbeforehim.“I’mnotsure.”“Nowwhat’sthematter?”“Thepolicewon’tbuyit.”Myheartbeatoutofcontrolas theirconversation tookanotherunexpected

turn.“Ofcoursetheywill.Poisoningherhusbandwasherideainthefirstplace.”

Janeslurpedthelastdropsofwineinherglass.Michael remained quiet. He kept his head down and wrung his hands,

leavinghisreactionopentointerpretation.Hisapproachworked.Janetriedharder.“Michael,Icangetyouoffthehook,

but Ihave toput theentireblameonMegan. If I showshewas the instigator,policesuspicionwillbeonherandnotonyou.”

Heranahandthroughhishairandappearedmoreskepticalthanbefore.“Idon’tknow.It’salongshot.”

Janebrieflylookedaway.“Okay.Let’sexploreadifferentangle.YoucansayMegan used her feminineways to coax you into driving her to Pineview thatFridaynight.You’llpleadignoranceandsayyoustayedinthecarwhilethelittle

wiferanintothecottagetosprinklethesugarbowlwithcyanide.”I drew in a quick breath. The police hadn’t disclosed the location of the

cyanide.Shehadtobeguessing.“ButIdidn’t—”Michaelbegan.Janeslappedherhandsagainstthearmrests.“ForGod’ssake,Michael,you

don’texpectthepolicetobelieveyouweren’tsleepingwithher,doyou?DoyouthinkMoreauhasn’tseenthroughherphonyveneer?Idid.Thatbitchluredyouintobedandintothisbloodymess.She’stoblameforthesituationyou’rein.”

Herwordswerelouderandmoregarbledthenbefore.“It’sallsoconfusing,”hesaid.“Idon’tknowwhatthehellI’msupposedto

thinkanymore.”“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Her eyes bore into him. “If you

admityouwenttoPineviewasaninnocentbystander, it’llkeepyououtof jailfor themostpart.WhatdoIhave tosay toconvinceyou that this isyourbestdefense?IalreadytoldyouIhaveafirst-ratelawyerstandingbytodefendyouonthosegrounds.”

Icheckedmywatch.Itwasquarterpastten.IwroteEmilyoffasano-show.IfiguredMichaelhadtoo.Itexplainedwhyhewasplayinghisrolewithmuchmorepassionthanbefore.

Therewasalowvibratingsoundbehindme,andIturnedaround.ThecargoshortsMichaelhadwornearlierwereonthebed.He’dlefthisphoneinapocketanditwasringing.

Iretrievedit.Irecognizedthenameonthedisplayandanswered.“Hello,”Iwhispered.Itiptoedtotheotherendoftheroom,asfarfromthebedroomdoorasIcould.

“Megan,”Dansaid.“IsMichaelwithyou?”“Yes,buthe’salittlebusy.”Ikeptmyvoicelow.“Wemissedyouatdinner.”“Whatdinner?”“AtTheSpaghettiFactory.”“NoonetoldmeIwasinvited.”Smallwonder.Dan went on. “I have information about Robert Gingras. Michael

remembered the law firm inMontreal that representedGingras in a drug caselastyear.Icalledanassociatethere.Gingraswasarrestedbutnotconvicted.Hehadhisnon-criminalrecordexpunged.There’snothingonfileforhim.”

Oldnews.Michaelalreadysuspectedthatmuch.“Okay.Thanks.”“Holdon.There’smore.Janewasworkingasaparalegalforthatsamelaw

firm at the time. Shewas assigned toGingras’ case. I’m surprised she didn’tmentionit.Itprobablyslippedhermind.”

Likehellitdid.“Onelastthing,”Dansaid.“BillBradfordconfirmedEmily’salibi.Shewas

withhimonaplanetoTorontothatFridayafterwork.”Danheavedasigh.“It’suptoMoreautomakethenextmove.I’llkeepyouposted.”Hehungup.

Emilywasinnocent.MichaelandIhadmadeaterriblemistake.Ourplanstosnareherevaporatedinthenextinstant.

Ihadtomakethingsright,butnowwasn’tthetimetodoit.ItwasobviousthatMichael didn’t want to includeme inwhatevermind games he and Janewereplayingintheotherroom.I’dhavetowaituntilsheleft.

SomethingDan said inour recent talknaggedatme.He implied that JanehadforgottenabouthavingworkedonGingras’courtcase.Ipreferredtobelievesheomittedtomentionitonpurpose.Butwhy?

Ireviewedthefacts,tryingtolinkthemasbestIcould:JaneandGingraskneweachother.Gingrasstoleagun.Anitawasshot.ByGingras?GingrasdiedinafireinWillie’shome.Willie,whohadnothingtodowiththePineviewmurders,hadGingras’gun

andvowedtohanditovertothepolice.Icouldn’tconnectthedots.Itwasliketryingtofitastraypieceintotherest

ofthejigsawpuzzleonlybecauseitlookedasifitwouldfit,butitdidn’tfitnomatterwhichwayItriedit.

Frustrationtookholdofme,suchthatIwasconsideringonceagainifEmilycouldhavecarriedoutherplottokillPamregardlessofacleanalibi.

Acrucialpieceofinformationwasmissing.Theonepieceofevidencethat

connectedthemurderstoMichaelandme.Cyanide!I picked upMichael’s cell phone and called Dan back. “Do you know if

Gingraswasworkingatthetimeofhisdrugarrestlastyear?”Iwhispered.“Yes.”ThesoundofpaperflippingasDanleafedthroughreports.“Hereitis.

HeworkedatacompanyinMontrealthatmanufacturesplasticproducts.Why?”“Callyoubacklater.”Ihungup.Yes!Myfatherhadworkedforaplasticscompanywherecyanidehadbeen

usedinthemanufacturingprocess.I’dhavetothankmymotherlaterforthattip.IusedMichael’sphone tocall information. Iasked theoperator toconnect

metotheEleganceHotel.ThenIaskedthehotelreceptionisttoringMichael’sroom.ShehadahardtimehearingmebecauseIspokesolow,butshefinallyputmethrough.

ItwaswithaweirdsenseofamusementthatIheardthephoneringinginthesuite.

MichaelexcusedhimselftoJane,thenwalkedovertoanswerit.“It’sme,”Iwhispered.“Dancalledonyourcellphone.”Igavehimthegist

ofourchatandmyassumptionsaboutGingras,thenhungupandwentbacktoviewthesceneonhislaptop.

“Okay. Tomorrow is fine. Thank you.” Michael hung up and sat down.“Sorryaboutthat,”hesaidtoJane.“Laundryservice.They’dmisplacedsomeofmystuffandfoundit.”

“Listentome,”shesaid.“Thisishowwe’regoingtoplayit.Thelittlewifegotdesperateaftershefoundoutherhusbandwassleepingaroundwithherbestfriend. She begged you to help her. So you rented a car and drove her toPineview.Youknowtherest.”

Janeadjustedthedelicatescarfaroundherneck.Maybeitwastheintonationof her voice or her persistence in trying to influenceMichael. Regardless, animage of the first time I’d seen her in his suite came tomind…her lingeringstance by the coffee table…the way she’d hinted that Michael had anotherwomaninhislife…

WhatwasImissing?

Asmymotheroftensaid,“Sometimestheanswerisrightinfrontofoureyesandwedon’tseeit—ordon’twanttoseeit.”

Allatonce,ithitme.IunderstoodwhyMichaelwasplayingalongwithJaneandwhathe’dbeenholdingoutforallthistime.Hewaswaitingforhertorevealthetiniestscrapofevidencethatwouldsetusfree:She’dseenmynotewiththePineviewinformationinMichael’ssuiteweeksbeforethemurdersandactedonit!

Thetheoryaloneunnervedme,butwhywouldsomeoneinherreputablelineofworkcommitsuchacrime?Itdidn’tmakesense.

WhatdidJaneexpecttogainfrommurderingTomandPam,twopeopleshedidn’tknow?

Unlessshethoughtsheknewthem.

M

30

y stomach did a somersault. I would have loved to be in Michael’sshoes to tell Jane that I saw throughher liesandschemingways,and

thateverywordshe’dutteredwasrecorded.ButthatwaswhyhewassittingacrossfromherandIwasn’t.Hewascool—

socool.Hehadtheinnatesensetoholdback,knowingthatifhedidn’t,itwoulddestroythelastchancewehadofclearingournames.

“What you’re suggesting,”Michael was saying to Jane in the next room,“wouldhavetakenalotoftimeandefforttoplan.”

“Notatall,”shesaid.“Fromdayone,thelittlewifehadeverydetailplannedout.”

“Likewhat?”“Comeon,Michael.Do Ihave to spell itout foryou?The fakealibis, the

rental car, the cyanide, everything—right down to the Pineview details shescrawledforyouonthatcanaryyellowpapershedoodlesonallthetime.”

Mybloodwentcold.Asidefromthepolice,nooneexceptMichaelandmehadseentheoriginalnote,letaloneknewI’dwrittenitoncanaryyellowpaper.The police had shown the legal teams a black-and-white copy of it in anevidencebag.

Allofasudden,thepiecesofthepuzzlefellintoplace.If Michael had grasped the implication of Jane’s comment, he wasn’t

showingit.Heshrugged.“Iguessitcouldwork.Premeditation.Right?”

“Yes,”shesaid.“Dowehaveadeal?”“Nowayinhell.”Hestoodup.“I’llshowyouwhy.”Heturnedofftheradio,

thenpushedabuttonontheCDplayer.“ThetruthisIalreadyhaveanalibi.Alegitimateone.”Hegrabbedtheremoteandclickedit.ThevideoofMichaelatWillie’sgasstationplayedout.

“Wheredidyougetthat?”Janeedgedforward.“Fromthegasstation.Whereelse?”“Theytoldmeitwasn’tavailable.”Sherosetoherfeetbutwasunsteady.Michaelturnedandpushedhersohardthatshefellbackintothechair.“Sit

downandstopembarrassingyourself.”Janepushedstrandsofhairoffherface.“Oh,welikeitroughnow,dowe?”Hewavedafistather.“Iswear,ifyoutrytogetupagain,I’llbeltyouone.”Sheremainedseated,smiling.“Iknowthetruth,”Michaelsaid.“YouhiredRobertGingrastogetthattape

but he failed. In fact,Gingras diedwhile hewas on the job for you, but youalreadyknowthat,don’tyou?”

Janewaggedafingerathim.“Poor,poorMichael.You’relettingthepressuregettoyou.You’reinventingpeopleI’veneverheardof.”

“Nice try, Jane.What I couldn’t figureoutwaswhyyouwantedme to lieaboutmyalibi.ButIgetitnow.YouwantedMeganandmetotakethefallforthemurdersatPineview—murdersthatyouplannedandexecutedyourself.”

She brought a hand to her neck in a protective gesture. “How dare youaccusemeofsuchavileact.”

“Don’tplaythevictim.Itdoesn’tsuityou.”“Comeon,Michael,belogical.WhywouldIkilltwopeopleIdon’tknow?”

Shecaughtherself.“Forthatmatter,whywouldIkillanyone?”“Becauseyouwere jealous.Yousaw thePineview information inmysuite

andassumedIwasgoingawaywithanotherwomanthatweekend.”“That’sridiculous.Ididn’tknowMeganthen.”“Ididn’tsayMegan.”Shehesitated.“Ijustassumed—”“Youassumedwrong—again.ThesamedayyoumetMegan,youmentioned

you’d seenanewspaperphotoofher takenatoneofmybook-signingevents.Youwerejealous.YouevenaskedmeifIhadanotherwomaninmylife.”

Janelaughed.“Sowhat?Itdoesn’tmakemeamurderer.”Michaelwenton.“YouusedyourconnectiontoGingrasandhadhimbegfor

ajobatPineview.YoutoldhimtoconfirmthatthecottagewasbookedunderthenameScott.Anyfoolcouldhavecheckeditout,butGingraswassloppyorlazyor both.He didn’t dig far enough to find outmore about the occupants—liketheirfirstnames.”

“PoorMichael,”shesaid.“You’redaydreamingagain.”“YoubelievedGingrasowedyouoneforgettinghimoffondrugchargeslast

year.Youforcedhimtoleavehisjobattheplasticscompanybutnotbeforehetook a supply of cyanide with him. Nothing beats calling in a favor. Right,Jane?”

Janeglaredathim.“You’redelirious.”“It must have been one hell of a shock to discover you’d had the wrong

peoplebumpedoffatPineview.Youcoveredyourtracksbyplantingthecyanidehereinmysuitetoswingsuspicionmyway.”

“Michael,howcouldyoueversuspect—”“Iknewyouhadpersonalproblems,butwho’dhavefiguredyouforacold-

bloodedmurderer?”HeturnedawayfromherandclickedontheremotetoopenuptheCDtray.

Faster than I’d have expected from one as drunk, Jane grabbed the emptywinebottleandstruckMichaelonthehead.

Hestaggeredandfelltohisknees,bendingforward.“Yourbiggestmistakewastoturnyourbackonme,”shesaid,“inmoreways

thanone.”Shegrabbedhishairandpulledhisheadback.“Noone isgoing totakeyouawayfromme—ever.”

“Youdon’tknowwhatyou’redoing,”hesaid.“IknowexactlywhatI’mdoing,youtraitor!”Myheartskippedabeat.A loud knock at the door reverberated throughout the suite and everyone

froze.

Oh,myGod!NotEmily!Thedoorburstopen.SergeantClaudeDuchainerushedintothelivingroom.“JaneBarlow,you’re

underarrestonsuspicionofmurderingThomasScottandPamStrober.”“What the hell—” Jane let go ofMichael.Waving the broken bottle, she

edgedtowardthefoyer.“Getoutofmyway!”ShelashedoutatDuchainewhoblockedherpath.

Duchainetriedtograbherarmbutmissed.Janeswungthebottleandslashedhishand.“Drop that bottle,” Duchaine ordered, his hand spurting blood as he

advancedtowardheragain.“Gotohell,youbastard!”Shekickedhimbetweenthelegs.Duchainedoubledoverandleanedagainstthearmchairforsupport.I had to do it. I prayed Iwouldn’t be too late. I swallowedmy panic and

gearedupforafranticfinale.MyheartbeatwildlyasIracedoutofthebedroomandroundedthecorner

intothelivingroom.Janehadherbacktome.Michaelhadplacedahandonthecredenzaandwastryingtopullhimselfup.

Heblinked,asifheweredizzyandtryingtofocus.Ifhesawme,hedidn’tshowit.

Janegrabbedhimbythehair.“NowI’mgoingtofinishwhatIstarted.”Iraceduptoherandgraspedbothendsofthescarfhangingfromherback.I

yankedhard,butitdidn’thavetheeffectI’dhopedfor.Jane tooka fewstepsbackwardbutdidn’t tipover.Asshe spunaround to

faceme,herscarfloosenedtorevealdeepscratchesonherneck.Igasped.“Anitascratchedyou!”Her eyes took on a crazed expression. “You bitch! I won’t miss you this

time.”Shelungedatme,thebrokenbottleaimedatmyfacelikethejawsofapiranha.

Ileapedback,slammedintothewall,thenduckedsidewaysasJaneplungedthebottleinchesfrommyhead,shatteringitagainstthewall.

Glassflewinalldirections.BlooddrippedfromJane’shand,butshedidn’tseemtonotice.Istartedtorunoff,butshegrabbedmebythehairandbangedmyheadinto

thewall.The roomspun foramomentbefore Ihastily seizedherarmsandstopped

herfrompoundingmyheadagain.Icouldn’tholdheroffmuchlonger.Shewasstrongerthanme.Shehitmyheadagainstthewallagain.Theroombegantospin,goblack.WasthisasfarasIcouldgo?No,Irefusedtogiveup.Ihadtofindthestrengthtofightback.Itwasnowornever.Iletgoofherarmsanddugmythumbsintohereyes.Janescreamedinpainandstumbledbackward,puttingherhandstohereyes.Michael tackledher, forcingher to the floor.Shepunchedhim in the ribs,

breakinghisholdonher.As she rose to her feet, Duchaine jumped in and clutched her in a tight

squeeze,justmissinghereffortstolandanotherkick.Hepinnedhertothewall,facefirst,andcuffedherhandsbehindherback.

TwouniformedpoliceofficersrushedinandtookJaneintocustody.Astheyhauled her out, she cursed at them and vowed to sue them for violating herrights.Overhershoulder,sheshoutedatMichael,“Youstinkingbastard!It’snotover.I’llgetyouforthis.”

Michaelwasbentover,grimacinginpain.Ihurrieduptohim.“Oh,myGod!Youalmostgotyourselfkilled,youknow

that?”“Lookwho’stalking,”hesaid,slowlystraighteningup.“Ishouldgetyoutothehospital.”“Justgotthewind…knockedoutofme.I’llbefine.”Blooddrippedfromhis forehead.“You’rebleeding.” I ran to thebathroom

andgrabbedacleanfaceclothandwetitunderthetap.Iranbacktothelivingroom,droppedacoupleoficecubesintothefacecloth,andhandedittoMichael.“Weshouldgetadoctortolookatthatcutincaseyouneedstitches.”

Heheldtheicepacktohishead.“ThisandsomeTLCshoulddothetrick.”Hemanagedaweaksmile.

Duchaineclearedhis throat.“DetectiveMoreauwould like toseeyoubothimmediately.Pleasecomewithme.”Ablood-stainedhandkerchiefwaswrappedaroundhishand.

Michael and I followed the sergeant out into the corridor where anotherpolice officer stood guard. I assumed we were going to the station to file areport.IwasstunnedwhenDuchaineledusintoanadjacentsuiteinstead.

ThearomaofbrewedcoffeereachedmeaswesteppedintoRoom786.Thesuite was identical to Michael’s but reversed in layout and had similarfurnishings.

The main difference was a nest of computer screens and other electronicequipmentsetupalongthewallatthefarendofthefloor.Alargemonitorwithasplit screen was positioned in front of a technician who sat tapping on akeyboard.

Moreausauntereduptous.“What’sgoingonhere,Detective?”Michaelaskedhim.“We installed surveillance equipment in your suite, Monsieur Elliott. We

establishedfacilitiesheresoapoliceteamcouldoverseethesituationandmoveinrapidlyifnecessary.”

Iwasinawe.ThatMoreauhadorganizedacovertoperationwithoutanyofus knowing about it was daunting. That hemight have seenMichael andmeembracingearlierthroughthecameralenswasevenmoreintimidating.

“Whydidn’tyoutellusaboutthis?”Michaelaskedhim.“Wehadtofollowprocedure,”Moreausaid.“Wecouldnotriskjeopardizing

theoperation.”“Whatoperation?”Bushy eyebrows gathered in a frown. “We have had your suite under

surveillancelately.Itwasforyourownprotection,ofcourse.”I couldn’t let his remark slip by. “Detective, you made it quite clear that

Michael and I were your key suspects. How can you now claim you wereprotectingus?”

“What is important is that you surprised us by setting a trap for EmilySaunders,”Moreausaid,evadingmyquestion.

“Wehadourreasons,”Isaid.“Luckyforher,shedidn’tshowup.”“Oh,EmilySaunderswashere,”thedetectivesaid.“Iwillshowyou.Please

followme.”Heledustothebackofthefloorandgesturedtowardthemonitor.“Theright

partof thescreencaptures the livingroominMonsieurElliott’ssuite.The leftpart captures the exterior corridor.” He said a few words in French to thetechnicianwhonoddedandtappedafewbuttons.

Avideobegantoplay.SoonEmilycameintoview.ShewaswalkingalongthecorridorandhadalmostreachedMichael’ssuitewhenDuchaineblockedherpath,startlingher.Whenheslidahandintohisjacket,sheturnedandfleddownthe corridor. Duchaine chased after her, but I couldn’t see what happenedbecausethatpartofthecorridorextendedbeyondthecamerarange.

I checked the date and timestamp on the screen. The video was recordedtwentyminutesafterJanehadarrived.

“Iwishtoextendmysinceregratitudetobothofyou,”Moreausaid.“Haditnotbeenforyourplans,wewouldnothavecapturedtheallegedsuspect—JaneBarlow.”

“ItwasMegan’sideatousemyhotelsuiteforourstingoperation,”Michaelsaid.

“Itwasabizarretwistoffate,”Isaid.“Ican’ttakecreditforanyofit.”Moreaugrinned.“Whynot,MadameScott?Policeoftenfalluponsuspected

felonsbycoincidence,orfluke,astheysay.”Twistsoffate.Lifewasfullofthem.Anditwasn’toveryet.

F

31

acts ultimately revealed how a string of seemingly unrelated events hadinfluencedDetectiveMoreau’sactions.

ItbeganwhenStewart reportedhisBerettahadbeen stolen fromPineviewandclaimedGingraswas theallegedgun thief.Because thecottage resort fellwithinMoreau’sjurisdiction,thereportlandedonhisdesk.

After Anita’s bodywas discovered,Moreau reviewed the videotapes fromthe Elegance Hotel. The videos showed Michael leaving the hotel Tuesdaymorning for a jog and returning an hour later. Jane arrived afterward—withinminutesofRobertGingras—butMoreauhadnoreasontosuspectalinkbetweenherandGingrasatthetime.

MoreauassumedI’dhiredGingrastokillAnita.HistheorywasthatI’dpaidher to plant the cyanide in Michael’s suite and wanted to eliminate her as awitness. However, the gun used to kill Anita was nowhere to be found, andGingrashadvanished,soMoreaucouldn’tprovehistheory.

Onpurespeculation,thedetectivearrivedatmycondoandaskedtosearchthepremises,thenfollowedupwithavisittoMichael’ssuite.Takingpossessionofevidence thatDanhadupheldascircumstantial atbest, a relentlessMoreausubsequentlyputMichaelandmeunderpolicesurveillance.

Moreau’sassumptionsaboutmeevaporatedwhenGingras’burntbodywasidentifiedandWillieturnedhimselfin,alongwiththeBeretta,acopyofthegasstation videotape with Gingras in it, and a signed statement corroborating

Gingras’threatonhislifeandthedestructionofhishome.Atthatpoint,Moreauhadn’tyetmadetheconnectionbetweenGingrasand

Jane. He continued to surveyMichael’s suite and listen in on our scheme toensnare Emily. As luck would have it, Jane walked into our trap instead andsuppliedMoreauwithfirst-handevidence thatestablishedherguiltandprovedourinnocence.

Ballistic tests later showed a match between the bullets found in Anita’sbodyandthoseintheBeretta.DNAtestsperformedonskincellsunderAnita’sfingernailsconfirmedshe’dscratchedJaneontheneckbeforemeetingherfate.Itexplained thehigh-neckline tops, thicknecklace,andscarfJanehadworn inthedaysfollowingtheiraltercation.

I kept picturing how Janemight have stalkedMichael andme, how she’dseen him leave his hotel to meet me for dinner somany times. It must havedrivenhercrazywithjealousy.

How fortunate that Michael hadn’t opened the door to her that Tuesdaybefore he left to meet me at Santino’s. Her state of mind must have beenespeciallyunstableminutesafterAnita’smurder. I trembledatwhat shemighthavedone toMichael, especiallywithGingras ather sideholding theBeretta.That she’d pushed me into the traffic was horrific enough to grasp, but ourphysicalconfrontationatthehotelwouldhauntmelongerthanI’dcaretoadmittoanyone.Anyoneexceptmyshrink,Dr.Madison,whohelpedmetodealwiththetraumaofitall.

IreadTom’sobituaryintheweekendnewspaperwithapeculiardetachment,asif it had beenwritten about someone I didn’t know.My indifference lingeredrightthroughthefuneralserviceonMondaymorningatSt.Paul’sChurch.Mymother sat beside me, crying for both of us. For reasons that didn’t need anexplanation,Icouldn’tshedatear.

Michael didn’t attend the funeral. We’d agreed it would be in our bestinterestsifhestayedawayuntilthepresscoveragedieddown.

Myco-workers fromBradfordPublishing showedup.Thenotable absencewasEmily.Shewasonextendedsickleavedueto“deeppersonalgrief.”

Peter Ewans was there, looking pale and dazed. Ann greetedme warmly,offeredhersincerecondolences,thentookPeterbythearmandledhimoff.

IplacedawhiteroseatTom’sgravesite.Iforgavehimfordeceivingmeandtaking advantage of my tolerant spirit. I finally had closure, so why hold agrudge?He’dhavetoanswertosomeonewithalotmoreinfluencethanIeverhadoverhim.

A final autopsy report revealed thatTomhadan inoperablebrain tumor. Itwas difficult to determine howmuch longer hewould have lived. Itwas onlywhenmyclinicaltestsforSTIsandHIVcamebacknegativethatIwasabletoturnthepageonthispartofmylife.

IpoppedintoBradfordPublishingweekslatertomeetKaylaforlunch.IowedherabigoneforhavingsafeguardedPam’sagenda.Asuselessasithadbeenforourinitialpurposes,itwasthecatalystforthestingthatnabbedtherealkiller.

Ididn’twanttocomplicatematters,soIdidn’tmentionPam’sagenda.Kaylaprobably assumed that Emily had taken it from her desk when she wasn’tlooking,butshecouldn’tproveit.

Kaylahadgoodnews,badnews,andso-sonews.Thegoodnews:KaylahadbeenpromotedtoPam’sjob.SheaskedifIwould

continuetoworkoncontractforthecompany.Isaidyes.Thebadnews:RayFeltonhadbeenarrestedandfired—allonthesameday.

Thepolicehadraidedhisapartmentandfoundhundredsofdigitalfilesofnudewomen,includingEmily.Rayhadsoldthephotoswithoutthewomen’sconsent.Headmittedhe’dransackedEmily’sofficesearchingforphotosthatshe’dstolenfromtheofficelab.She’dplannedonturningtheevidenceovertothepolice,butthey’dbeatenhertoitwhenthey’draidedRay’sapartment.

Theso-sonews:Emilyquitherjob.Thefact thatMrs.BradfordhadfoundoutaboutheraffairwithBillhaddrivenEmilyover theedge. Ithadn’thelped

thatshe’dliedtoMrs.BradfordaboutPamandBillinthefirstplace,thenbribedherforaconsiderablesumofmoneytokeepit“betweenthem.”

Emily believed Mrs. Bradford had sent a goon after her when DuchainestoppedheroutsideMichael’s suite.She thoughthewas a thug reaching for aguninsteadofacopforhisbadge.

The day Emily left, she confessed to Kayla that she’d snooped in Pam’sagendatokeeptabsonhersocialcontacts.EmilysworesheonlydatedthemenwhosenamesPamhadcrossedoutat thebackofheragenda to indicate she’dlostinterestinthem.

WhenI’dexaminedthedirectoryinPam’sagenda,I’dnoticedshe’ddrawnaline throughTom’s name. Shemust have had second thoughts and decided tohaveonelastflingwithhimatPineview.Emilydidn’tknowhowluckyshewas.

Ayearlater,MichaelandImadeourappearanceatthecourthouse.Eventhesunfiltering through the clouds on that September morning couldn’t defuse mytrepidation about seeing Jane face to face again. Although Dan had run usthroughtheprocess,IwascertainI’dpassoutfromthesheerstressbeforeIevenopenedmymouthonthewitnessstand.

ThetimeIspentincourtwasablur.Icouldn’trememberawordI’dsaidifmylifedependedonit.Itwasnature’swayofprotectingmefromthementalandemotionalanguishofamurdertrial.

Jane had been diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder, but apsychologist and lead witness for the prosecution testified her BPD was at ahigh-functioninglevelanddidn’t impairherwork.HealsostatedthatJanefeltno guilt in breaking the law to attain her goals. He explained howMichael’srejectionof Janeandhis interest inmehadamplifiedher lackof controloverhimandstirreduparecipeforpsychopathicbehavior.

Afterajuryofsixwomenandsixmendeliberatedfortwodays,Jane’sguiltyverdict came in. Jane gazed atMichael and gave him aweird smile—the sortthatgivesyouchillsandkeepsyouupatnight.Thenshepuckeredherlipsand

blewhimakissbeforeshewasescortedout.Asidefromhavingahardtimedealingwiththerepercussionsfromthelegal

community, Dan had deep regrets about not having picked up on Jane’sunderhanded ways. He profusely apologized to Michael and me for havingexposedustosuchaperiloussituation.Hesaidgoodbyetousandpromisedtokeepintouchafterhisreturnfromatwo-monthvacationinNassau.

ThearmsofjusticeextendedasfarasSainte-Adèle.ThefactsthatMichaelhadpooledfromhisinformantWilliehelpedthepolicetoarrestadrugproducerwhooperatedanecstasy lab there.The labhadevolved intoadrug-traffickingoperation linked to other criminal conspiracies and to Montreal-area streetgangs. Two local newspapers praised Michael for his articles covering theincident.

ThatI’dimplicatedMichaelinmyproblemsledtooccasionalpangsofguilt,though trustinghimsavedmylife.Asheoftenpointedout,destinysteps in todeal with matters we can’t resolve or refuse to resolve. It was life’s way ofputtingusbackontherighttrack.

Destiny played another role in Michael’s life. He had initially refused toaccept themonetary offer from the parents of the teenagerwhohadkilled hisgrandmother.Hereversedhisdecisionafterhefoundouttheteen’sparentsweredoctorsandthattheironlysonwouldliveouthislifeinawheelchair.

Asaconditionofhisacceptance,Michaeldonated theproceeds tomedicalresearch—twohundredandfiftythousanddollars.

Destiny stepped in again to balance things out. From his grandmother’sestate,Michaelreceivedhiscut—aquarterofamilliondollars.Heinvestedthefundsandtoldmeitwouldinnowaychangehiscommitmenttohisdayjob.

Ibelievedhim.

“Whatshouldwedrinkto?”IofferedMichaelaglassofredwineandsatdownnexttohimonthecushysofainournewcondo.

“Tothefuture.”Hesmiled.

Ismiledback.“Tothefuture.”Michaelgrewsilent,asifheweresearchingfortherightwords.I hoped it had nothing to do with marriage, though I couldn’t negate the

chemistrythathadexistedbetweenusfromthestart.Ourloveforeachotherhadpassedthetestoftimeandsurvivedthedilemmasthathadcomewithit.MichaelwaseverythingIwantedinamanandIvaluedourrelationship—aslongastherewerenostringsattached.

Intruth,Iappreciatedmynewfoundindependencenowmorethanever.“Haveyouthoughtaboutwhatyouwantedtodointhenextwhile?”Michael

asked.Uh-oh.Hereitcomes.I fingered the diamond pendant aroundmy neck. “Long-range plans don’t

workoutwellforme.”“Noproblem.Thenhowaboutgoingonashorttrip?”Totallyunexpected.“Where?”“Portland,Maine,”hesaid.“Areporterfriendatanewspaperthereaskedme

tofillinforhimwhilehe’soutoftown.”Ididthemath.TheproceedsfromTom’sinsurancepolicygavemethestart

of a decent nest egg for retirement. I shared the expenses on the condo I co-ownedwithMichael.IworkedmyownhoursasaghostwriterforKayla…

“Traveling is therapeutic,” Michael said. “It gives the soul a freedom ofsorts.”

Freedom.Nowthere’saworthydestination.

THEEND

*ThankyoufortakingthetimetoreadFALSEIMPRESSIONS.Ifyouenjoyedit,pleaseconsiderpostingashortreviewtorecommendthisbooktoothermysteryreaders.JustafewwordswillhelpreaderstodiscoverSandra’sbooks.Followthislinktoyourretailertopostareview.*

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Iwanttothankeveryonewhoprovidedinvaluablefeedbackandencouragementthroughoutmywritingprocess.

Warmestthankstofamilyandfriendswhoinspiredmetofollowmydream.Iam extremely grateful tomy husband for his patiencewhile I disappeared forlongstretchesoftimeintothepagesofmynovel.

ABOUTTHEAUTHOR

SandraNikolaiistheauthoroftheMeganScott/MichaelElliottMysteryseries.Inadditiontohernovels,Sandrahaspublishedastringofshortstories,garneringawardsalongtheway.

AgraduateofMcGillUniversityinMontreal,Sandraheldjobsinsales,finance,andhightechbeforeleavingthecorporateworldtopursueacareerinwriting.Shelikestothinkthatplottingawhodunitrevealsthelighter—yetmoremysterious—sideofherpersona.

VisitSandra’swebsiteatsandranikolai.comtosignupforherexclusivequarterlynewsletterandreceivefreechaptersfromherbooks.Youremailaddresswillneverbesharedandyoucanunsubscribeatanytime.BecomeafanonGoodreadsorFacebook,orfollowSandraonTwitter@SandraNikolai