nothing new,” Bob said quickly, and their faces sagged. He lowered his voice. “Just a few questions. Is there somewhere we can speak privately?”
The Kennedys led them through the crowd to the tiny kitchen in the back, which was probably outfitted before Sue was born. Only the massive gas stove looked modern. Sue remembered from the file that Norah Kennedy was a housewife and Reginald was a chef by trade, although he was now a bartender at a pub on Merivale Road. It obviously didn’t pay well enough for them to replace the painted white cabinets and arborite counter.
Two women were hunched over the small counter, making sandwiches. Reg Kennedy asked the women to leave then invited the officers to sit in the homemade bench built under the window overlooking the backyard. The father squeezed in opposite them, but the wife seemed too jumpy. She fussed around, wiping sandwich crumbs from the counter. Reg tilted his head towards the crowd in the living room.
“We got a search on, everyone wants to help. We’ve lived here almost thirty years, and they all watched Meredith grow up. We’ve checked all her friends and the places she usually goes. Right now we’re checking along the route she would have walked from the bus to home. She could have slipped on the ice, and with the snow the last couple of days...” He broke off as if he couldn’t say it aloud.
Taking out her notebook, Sue waited dutifully while Bob took up the interview. He looked efficient and in control. No hint of the stutter that sandbagged him when he was nervous. “Any leads from her friends on the places she went? We need to track her latest movements. We know she called her friend Monday evening. Anyone see her yesterday?”
The father shook his head. “She didn’t go to work, didn’t call in sick. She never answered the emails and texts people sent her asking where she was. Jessica, her maid of honour, left her three messages on her cell and two texts saying ‘call me.’ No answer.” “Was the maid of honour concerned about something?”
“Not at first. Meredith had called her, upset, and they were supposed to meet. It wasn’t like Meredith not to show up.”
“Why was she upset? Did Jessica know?”
“It was probably about the bridesmaid who quit.”
“What happened?”
Reg grimaced. “My nephew’s wife. She’s always taking offence, and I think Meredith said something to upset her.”
“They don’t get along?”
“Caryn doesn’t really get along with anyone—”
Mrs. Kennedy looked up from her cleaning irritably. “Well, she’s going through a hard time, losing the baby, Reggie.”
Sue eyed the exchange, noting the spark in the wife’s eye and the guilt in Reg’s. Crises always brought out the cracks in even the best marriage. Bob ploughed ahead. “So Meredith was c-concerned this might interfere with the wedding?”
Reg glanced at his wife. “She did seem annoyed—”
Norah sighed. “She was fine. Caryn would have come around.
She just needed a few days to calm down.”
“Did she have any disagreements with anyone else?”
Both parents shook their heads simultaneously.
“Any former boyfriends who might cause trouble?”
At this, Reg and Norah exchanged uncertain glances before Norah answered. “She was engaged a few years ago, but they never saw eye to eye on things. Fought all the time. Meredith does have a temper. I think they were both glad to be out of it.”
Bob paused like he was looking for another thread to pick up.
“Any trouble with the current fiancé?” Sue blurted out impatiently. Beside her, Bob tensed, but he was too smart to say anything. “Were they fighting too?”
“Nothing the two of them couldn’t handle,” Reg said. “They really adored each other. You could see it in their eyes whenever they were together.” A look almost like longing crossed his face.
“Like they were made for each other. If ever two souls fit together perfectly...”
Norah grunted. “Perfect, right. Except for that holy terror of a mother.”
Sue raised an eyebrow. “Trouble with the in-laws?”
Reg flinched but said nothing. Doesn’t want to put his foot wrong again, Sue thought. Norah replied for him. “Mother-in-law. Meredith’s got her work cut out for her there, but if anyone’s a match for that woman, it’s Merry.”
Bob finally found his tongue. “The mother-in-law doesn’t approve?”
“Of Meredith?” Norah flushed. “That woman wouldn’t approve of anyone, but certainly not us.”
Nose up her ass? Sue wanted to say, but she’d already stuck her neck out far enough. The preliminary notes from MisPers said that Mrs. Longstreet was a well-connected lawyer. Bartenders who looked like they’d gone nine rounds with Joe Frazier wouldn’t fit around her formal dining table.
Bob was more diplomatic. “Different backgrounds?”
Reg bobbed his head knowingly. “It’s good the kids are going halfway around the world. Gives them a chance to find their own way.”
“What about the father-in-law?”
“Dead,” Reg said. “Years ago.”
“Violently,” Norah added. Sue thought she heard triumph in her voice. “That’s a deep, dark secret she never mentions.”
Sue perked up. There had been no mention of criminal links from the past. She jumped back in. “What happened?”
“No one knows, it was all hushed up.” Norah’s triumph was obvious now. Something to hold over the too-good-for-us Elena Longstreet. “It was back in Montreal. Harvey Longstreet was a law professor at McGill. Her law professor in fact before they got married. That’s all we know.”
“Probably murdered by a client who didn’t like the verdict,” Reg interjected.
“Or his legal bill. Brandon was only a baby at the time and grew up listening to what a great lawyer his father had been. But Meredith says his mother never told him a thing about how he died.”
* * *
Meredith’s room had the dishevelled, disorganized look of a temporary lodging. She had moved back there only a month earlier when her apartment lease had expired, and suitcases and boxes cluttered the floor. Decorated in frilly blues and yellows, the room had retained its little girl feel, but the stuffed animals on the shelf over the bed looked like they hadn’t been moved in years. The flowery duvet was flung back in a heap, and the sheets were rumpled as if the woman had leaped out of bed at seven a.m. and never given them a second thought. Jeans, a sweater and a bra were slung over the back of the desk chair, and socks and underwear spilled out of a suitcase on the floor. The desk was piled high with papers, and an unopened laptop perched precariously on top.
Six books teetered
