“How thoughtful of you,” Victoria said.
“Who the hell are these people?” Kit Parsons asked, voice rough and edgy.
“Patrick’s business associates,” Victoria replied. “Former business associates.” She looked at Shoe. A weak smile flickered briefly. “Hello, Joe.”
“Victoria,” Shoe said. “I’m so very sorry.”
Victoria nodded. “Now that that’s out of the way,” she said, “you can all go.” She turned to Hammond, expression hardening. “There’s no need to concern yourself.”
“This is a terrible time for you,” Hammond said. “Whatever I can do, you just have to ask.”
“All I want is for you to leave me alone.”
“My dear,” Hammond said. “It’s at a time like this that you need the support of those people closest to you.”
“And in your mind that includes you, does it?”
“I only want to help,” Hammond said.
“What is wrong with you?” Victoria said, voice cracking with tension. “Am I speaking a language you don’t understand? Or are you just so used to getting your own way you simply can’t imagine anyone refusing to do what you want? God, you’re an arrogant bastard. Will you please get the hell out of my house? I don’t want you here.” She looked at Shoe and Del Tilley. “Any of you.”
Shoe nodded. Del Tilley’s ears flamed and he looked at the floor.
“What gives you the right to speak to me like this?” Hammond demanded, cheeks mottled and voice quivering with rage. “After all I’ve done for you?”
“After all you’ve done for me?” Victoria repeated incredulously. “You’ve never done anything for anyone but yourself in your entire life.”
“I took you off the street,” Hammond shot back, anger barely in check. “I gave you a roof, a job. It’s thanks to me you have a two-million-dollar home, a fifty-thousand-dollar car, and a closet full of designer clothes. And what do I ask in return? Nothing—”
“You got what you wanted,” she snapped, cutting him off. “For god’s sake,” she pleaded. “Will you all just leave. Please.”
“You heard her,” Kit Parsons said in her ravaged voice. She reached out and snatched the cellphone from Tilley’s hand. Caught off guard, Tilley looked surprised, then took a step toward her. She backed out of range. “One more step, buster, and I’ll take those piss yellow eyes right out of your head.”
Shoe had to admire her spunk, if not her judgement.
“Kit, please,” Victoria said. She looked at Shoe, hazel eyes pleading.
Shoe had known Victoria O’Neill for a dozen years. She had changed in that time, evolving from an awkward, scraggly girl to a graceful, elegant woman. He was not sure how deep those changes went, though. She seemed to be coping well enough, showing a lot more strength than he would have expected from her under the circumstances. But he was afraid that beneath the veneer of strength she was still the same fragile and vulnerable girl he’d first seen panhandling for spare change on the lawn of the Vancouver Art Gallery, twenty-two but looking eighteen with her long pale hair and Black Sabbath T-shirt.
Shoe took Hammond by the arm. The old man felt as frail as a bird in his hand. “This isn’t doing anyone any good,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Hammond bristled. “Take your goddamned hand off my arm,” he said. He struggled weakly in Shoe’s massive grasp. “Let go of me.”
“Schumacher,” Tilley said, tension emanating from him like the electrical field around a high-tension line. “Let him go.”
Shoe ignored him.
Hammond’s face reddened. “Goddamnit,” he growled. “Don’t make me fire you. I’ll do it, believe me.”
“You’ll leave?” Shoe said.
Hammond tried to wrest his arm from Shoe’s grip, but to no avail. “I’ll leave,” he said. “But as of now, you son of a bitch, you no longer work for me.”
“As long as you agree to leave,” Shoe said. “Otherwise,” he added, “since I no longer work for you, I’ll have to drag you out of here.”
Hammond went limp in Shoe’s grasp. “Let me go,” he said quietly.
Shoe released him.
Hammond rubbed his arm and turned to Victoria. “My sincerest condolences,” he said stiffly, bowing slightly. “If there’s anything I can do, call me. Naturally, the company will cover all funeral costs.” He turned and stalked toward the front door.
“Sorry for your loss,” Tilley mumbled and followed him.
“Call me if you need anything,” Shoe said. “Thank you,” Victoria said.
He nodded to Kit Parsons, who nodded back, and left the house.
Victoria and Kit sat facing each other across the round table in the breakfast alcove. The curtains of the bow window were drawn against the night. Kit was speaking, but Victoria couldn’t seem to make out what she was saying. It was as if she were speaking gibberish, or in tongues, like someone in the throes of religious hysteria.
“I’m sorry,” Victoria said. “What did you say?”
“I said, did the police say anything about a suspect or a motive?”
Only by focusing her concentration on each word as it emerged from Kit’s mouth was Victoria able to comprehend her reply.
Victoria shook her head. “No. All they said was that it appeared to be a contract killing. From the description witnesses gave, the killer was dressed like a street person, but the police are certain it was a disguise. They asked me if I could think of a business associate who would benefit from Patrick’s death or if he was involved with drugs. I told them it must be a mistake.” Victoria took a deep breath and let it out slowly, unevenly. Kit took her hands. Tears welled in her cool blue-green eyes. She held Victoria’s hands for a moment, then let go. Victoria said, “The police told me that because Patrick was murdered, it might be a few days before they can release the body.”
“An autopsy is mandatory in murder cases,” Kit said. She smiled weakly. “I dated a cop for a while.”
“The detectives said they would contact the Montreal police to inform Patrick’s mother,” Victoria said. “But I should call her. What time is it in Montreal?” she asked.
Kit looked at her watch. “About eleven-twenty,” she said.
“Is it too late?”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “Under the circumstances.”
“God, what will I say?”
Kit didn’t answer. Victoria made no move toward
