about?” she asked.
He told her what Bill Hammond had asked him to do.
“You can’t save us all, Joe,” she said. “You have nothing to atone for.”
“It’s not atonement,” he said. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help feeling that if he had been a better friend he might have seen that Patrick was in trouble, of his or someone else’s making. It was a form of survivor guilt, of course, the same guilt that the family and friends of suicide victims felt because they failed to see the signs of pain or depression or unhappiness that drove them to take their own lives. Assuming that such signs existed. Patrick may have simply stumbled unwittingly into whatever circumstance it was that had got him killed. But Shoe didn’t think so. “I want to know why he was killed,” he said.
The housekeeper came into the living room from the kitchen, wearing a navy peacoat a few sizes too big for her, a large purse slung over her shoulder.
“I do chopping now, Miss Victoria?” she said.
“Yes, fine,” Victoria said.
The housekeeper returned to the kitchen.
“The police came to see me yesterday,” Victoria said. “A pair of Vancouver detectives named Matthias and Worth.”
“I’ve met them,” Shoe said.
“They think Patrick was involved in some kind of criminal activity and that his murder was a falling out among thieves. A ‘settling of accounts’ they called it.” She raised her glass as if to drink, but it was empty. “I’m going to get some more wine,” she said. “Sure I can’t get you anything?”
“I’m sure, thanks,” he said.
Victoria went into the kitchen. She returned a moment later carrying a terra cotta cooler with a bottle of white wine in it. Putting the cooler on the coffee table, she refilled her glass and sat down on the long sofa, glass in her hand.
“Do you have any idea who Patrick was meeting at the restaurant?” Shoe asked, sitting on the sofa but keeping a distance between them.
“No,” Victoria replied. “The police asked me that too. He had this silly little electronic agenda thing he kept his appointments in. I guess they can’t find it. Or he didn’t make a note of it.”
“What else did the police ask you?”
“They asked if Patrick had any enemies. It sounds so melodramatic, like a bad television show. Men like Patrick don’t make enemies, I told them. Men like Bill Hammond do, but not men like Patrick. I’m sure there were people who didn’t like him. Sometimes I didn’t like him very much myself. But, to the best of my knowledge, as they say, there was no one who disliked him enough to kill him.”
“When he left the house on Monday morning,” Shoe said, “did he seem upset or worried about anything?”
“No,” Victoria said again. Then she shook her head. “Actually, I didn’t see him that morning.” Her eyes closed and the pain of whatever she was recalling was evident on her face. She opened her eyes and sighed heavily. “We’d had an argument Sunday night,” she said, then paused, mouth a grim line. “Over his resignation. He expected me to just go along with whatever he decided, like the good little wife that I am.” She looked stricken, shocked by the bitterness in her voice. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” she said. “I’m not good with change. It scares me.”
“Everything’s okay financially? No money problems?”
“No,” she replied. “There’s five or six thousand dollars in the joint account, no outstanding bills, and the mortgage is up to date.” Shoe didn’t want to think about what the mortgage payments were on a house like this. “Patrick didn’t gamble, he didn’t even buy lottery tickets, and his investment strategy was fairly conservative. He was very good at managing his money. Almost obsessive. And he didn’t have extravagant tastes. Except for this house, of course,” she added as an afterthought.
“How about you?” Shoe asked. “You haven’t developed any bad habits, have you?”
Her smile was thin. “New ones, you mean?” He returned her smile. “No,” she said. “I don’t buy lottery tickets either, my wardrobe is hopelessly dull, and my car’s eight years old.” Patrick had given her the BMW as a wedding present. “I’m not even carrying a balance on my credit cards. Patrick may have been careful with his money, but he was generous, too. I haven’t had to touch the trust fund that my aunt Jane set up from my father’s life insurance and the settlement from the ferry company.”
“You’ve probably been through this with the police,” Shoe said, “but what did Patrick do on the weekend? Did he meet with anyone?”
“He spent Saturday morning in his home office, playing with his new computer. I think he was surfing the Internet.”
“The Internet. Patrick?” Patrick had known even less about computers and the Internet than Shoe did, which was next to nothing.
“It had to do with a business he was thinking of investing in, I think,” Victoria said. “After lunch he worked for a while longer, then went out. He got his hair cut, had his car washed, and ran some errands. After dinner he spent more time in his office and came to bed around eleven. On Sunday he played with his computer some more, then went to see Sean to tell him he wasn’t interested in working on his campaign.” She took a breath. “On Sunday night we argued about his leaving his job.”
“Was Sean upset that Patrick didn’t join his campaign?”
“No, I’m sure he wasn’t. In fact, I think he would have been surprised if Patrick had actually agreed.”
The telephone rang. Victoria excused herself and went into the kitchen to answer it. Shoe heard her say, “Hi, Kit,” then, “Can I call you back?” After a lengthy pause, she said, “Sure. That sounds fine. See you later.” She came back into the living room. “Kit,” she said as she sat down again. “She worries about me.”
Shoe hesitated, then said, “Pardon me for asking you this, but are you and Kit, well, involved?”
Victoria’s hazel eyes blazed. “Having an affair, you mean? No, we’re not having an affair. Not that it’s anyone’s goddamned business.”
“Don’t be so sure about that,” Shoe said. “The police can’t afford to have much regard for privacy, not in a murder investigation.”
“Well, then it’s none of your goddamned business.” She picked up her wineglass, then put it down again. “Did—did Patrick say anything to you?”
“Only that he thought she was gay,” Shoe said. “Why? Did he think you were having an affair with her?”
“He may have,” Victoria replied. She sighed heavily. “I’m pretty sure Kit’s in love with me, but we’re not having an affair. Even if we were, she wouldn’t have to kill Patrick to get him out of the way, if that’s what you’re driving at. If he’d found out I was having an affair with her, he’d have thrown me out the door faster than you could say Billy Jean King.” She shook her head. “No,” she amended. “He wouldn’t have thrown me out. He would have politely asked me to leave. And I’d’ve left, too. I could easily live on
