was married to her.’
Catherine looked over at the other table. There were only two men, and one she recognized as the personnel officer, Wayne somebody. The beefy one with the moustache must be Steve. ‘What does Mr Tomachuk do?’ she asked.
‘Not Tomachuk. That was his wife’s name before she married and she didn’t change it. Steve’s surname is Bliss. He’s the radiation technician. He’s good, but he’s got a temper and knows how to hold a grudge.’ Martha ran a hand over her unruly mop of grey hair. ‘You’ve got to stay on Steve’s good side if you’re going to do any radioactive work.’
Unable to pull her eyes away from Steve Bliss, Catherine studied him. He was good-looking in a florid, macho way. His nose, slightly off centre, might have been broken at one time. ‘I suppose he was questioned about his wife’s death …’
‘Ex-wife. The cops were all over him for a couple of days … the break-up hadn’t been exactly cordial.’
From his face, Catherine’s gaze strayed downwards. Inevitably, his top buttons were undone and she glimpsed the shine of a thick gold chain nestled in his dark hair. As if aware of her regard, he smoothed his collar, showing off a chunky gold ring adorning his little finger. It clattered against the table when he lowered his hand.
‘Was he ever arrested?’
Martha shook her head. ‘The cops charged someone else but he was acquitted.’ She too regarded the radiography technician. ‘We’ve been wondering if they’d investigate Steve again, but no one’s been around asking questions.’ She smiled mischievously. ‘Too bad. A murder investigation really livens up this old place.’
With a scraping of chairs, the people at the other table got up and drifted out of the coffee room. Catherine watched Steve Bliss leave, joking with one of the women – the prettiest one. ‘He looks like a ladies’ man.’
‘He is, oh, he is! I don’t know why he ever got married.’ Martha shook her head, and leaned back in her chair. ‘Or how Tracy put up with him as long as she did. Even I know of three affairs he had while they were together. But when she finally had enough and went for a divorce he didn’t take it well.’
‘What do you mean by that? Was he violent?’
Martha shrugged. ‘He certainly was unbearable around here, and he delayed the custody hearing as long as he could.’
Catherine remembered the snatch of conversation she’d overheard in the restaurant. ‘There’s a kid … ?’
‘He’s ten or eleven. He lived with his mother till she was killed … lives with his dad now, but I’ve heard rumours that Steve doesn’t control the boy’s inheritance.’ Martha noticed the expression on her colleague’s face and smiled. ‘In a rural community like this, it’s hard to keep secrets.’
Catherine drained her coffee and spiralled her cup on the table top. ‘Did you know her? Tracy Tomachuk?’
Dragging her timer from her pocket, Martha squinted at it. ‘Five minutes and I have to be back in the lab to extract my samples.’ She pushed back her chair. ‘Know Tracy? Not very well. I met her at Christmas parties and stuff like that.’
Catherine rose too, and the women headed back to their offices. Catherine tried to concentrate on her papers but she couldn’t keep her mind from wandering to the dead woman. What had she looked like? Thought about? What had she been doing in her last hours? Did she have any premonition about what was going to happen? Again Catherine’s hand went to her throat and she trembled. Had Tracy felt the same indescribable terror she’d felt herself when hands had tried to squeeze her life away? As Tracy struggled for breath, had she been staring into eyes she knew? Catherine groaned and put her head in her hands. Why couldn’t she escape her past?
Two figures met, almost casually, on the bench in front of the ornate legion building. ‘If only the house hadn’t been rented out,’ the younger one whined. ‘It complicates things … and the Edison woman’s smart. She might find out.’
‘You worry too much,’ the older one said. ‘Everything’s fine, and with the house occupied, there’ll be fewer people snooping around.’
‘Even so … Maybe we should encourage her to move.’ A slim hand slipped a flick knife briefly from a pocket.
‘Put that away, you idiot! Keep an eye on her if you like, but you’re worried about nothing. Everything’s still going according to plan.’
‘I don’t like it …’
‘You’re not paid to like it.’ The voice took on a threatening note and steel fingers grasped the other’s sleeve. ‘You can’t back out now.’
‘I’m not gonna!’
‘We can still get into the house whenever we want.’ The speaker lounged back, arm along the back of the bench, the picture of contented ease. ‘Here comes Reverend Stillman. Smile.’
When Morgan told her mother Jason Edison went home for lunch, she’d carefully omitted mentioning that his route paralleled hers. In fact, he lived just a block away. Usually they were careful not to leave school simultaneously and they walked on opposite sides of the street. After lunch they again maintained a comfortable distance.
But it was already the Wednesday before the Sadie Hawkins dance and Morgan hurried along the cracked sidewalk, very aware of Jason’s presence, a hundred feet or so behind her. She tracked his progress until he turned off the side street before hers and then she sped up.
She threw together a cheese sandwich and sat down at the sunny kitchen table. She ate without tasting her food, while her mind circled endlessly. The night before, she’d realized with a shock that she wanted to go to the dance. A lot of girls would go without dates, Morgan knew that, but they’d share the emotional protection of being in a group. She could have gone by herself, but the prospect of standing alone along the wall all evening was unbearable. Jason Royce was her only hope. She could picture herself at the dance with him, smiling shyly, dancing, talking, but how could she ask him?
She took another bite, chewing automatically and swilling it down with a gulp of milk. ‘Jason,’ she said in her mind, ‘I’d like to ask you something.’ She pictured the confusion on his face. Vague questions might make him apprehensive … that wouldn’t do. ‘Jason, have you heard about the dance on Friday?’ she tried. ‘Stupid,’ she said aloud. ‘Of course he’s heard of it. He’s not deaf and blind.’ She finished her lunch and wandered up to the bathroom. ‘Do you enjoy dancing, Jason?’ she asked the mirror and then shook her head in disgust. None of the guys would admit they liked to dance.
Discouraged, Morgan cleaned up her dishes and headed out the door. Even if she did manage to ask him without stuttering and fainting, what would he say? She sensed he felt as lonely as she did but it didn’t necessarily follow he’d be thrilled to go to the dance with her. What if he said no? She’d be mortified. But what if he said yes? And if he said yes, would she have to tell him about Kingsport? She felt the muscles of her neck draw tight. No. She couldn’t possibly do that.
Walking back to school, lost in her fog of conjecture, Morgan wasn’t paying attention to her surroundings. Instead of checking out Jason’s whereabouts and altering her speed accordingly, she barrelled right up to the corner and ran smack into him. ‘Oh! Um … Hi, Jason,’ she stammered.
‘Hello.
