the car she’d been assigned for the day. She jiggled the key in the ignition and turned the heater up high. She looked across the street to the Underwood front entrance. Still no sign of Underwood’s wife and the little girl. For a woman who’d been so desperate to find her husband, their disappearance was odd. Worrisome, even.
She looked down the empty street toward the river. This would be a perfect morning to bundle up in her parka and Kodiaks and head for a tromp in the bush with Taiku. Last Christmas Eve they’d gone to the beach and walked its length while the sun rose above the churning waters of Lake Superior. Chunks of ice had been scattered like sculpture along the shoreline. She’d brought along her camera and taken pictures. One she’d even framed and put up in the office of her cabin. She closed her eyes and for a few seconds imagined herself there. The wind off the lake, miles of evergreens, and wild, haunting stillness. The smell of biting, cold air untouched by city traffic and the softness of Taiku’s fur against her cheek as she squatted next to him to watch the sun’s orange and pink fingers across the horizon.
Her lips parted in the beginnings of a smile. Three deep breaths and the tension left her shoulders and neck. When she opened her eyes again, the loneliness had lessened, tucked back into the well she carried deep inside. Her eyes surveyed the over-sized houses one last time as she set the car into drive and slowly pulled away from the curb.
13
Saturday, December 24, 3:30 p.m.
The man who led Kala inside the two-storey detached house on Eisenhower Crescent in Chapman Mills was not the husband Kala would have picked for Susan Halliday. He was younger, for one thing, and definitely military. Susan had struck her as artsy and bohemian. A quick inventory of his physical appearance included hair so sharp a person would cut their hand if they grazed a palm across the bristles, square shoulders, and a wide stance. He was Mr. Poster Boy for the armed forces. She’d felt like saluting when he opened the door.
She paused inside the doorway to the living room and looked around. French doors led into a room dominated by windows on the north wall and a ceiling-high stone fireplace on the wall facing her. A white leather couch and three mismatched chairs encircled a glass coffee table. A faded Oriental area rug lay in front of the couch with brass floor lamps flanking either side. It was a functional room, empty of clutter. It was a precisely ordered room.
Susan and Clinton lived in the same new subdivision as Pauline Underwood but several streets over in a slightly older home closer to a river. The houses on this street were spaced farther apart than those on Haileybury and had altogether a nicer feel.
“Susan will be down momentarily,” Clinton said, directing her to the farthest chair near the windows. “Can I get you coffee, tea, or something stronger?”
“No, I’m fine thanks, but perhaps I could ask you a few questions while we wait for your wife.”
“Certainly madam.” He took a seat on the couch opposite her, his back rigid, arms folded across his chest.
Kala looked at him more closely. He couldn’t be more than fifty with what she could see of his hair in the brown buzz cut. She guessed late-forties. Susan had to be the other side of fifty-five. His blue eyes held no softness. Muscular arms bulged out of the sleeves of his T-shirt that stretched tightly over his flat stomach. The guy was a weapon dressed up in a man’s body. She shifted uncomfortably in what was surely the hardest chair in the room as his hard eyes flicked across her with just a trace of contempt. He’d picked this seat for her on purpose.
She took out her notepad and flipped to a clean page. “How well did you know Tom Underwood and his family?” She raised her eyes to meet his stare square on.
“I knew Tom through functions at his ex-wife’s home. Susan and Pauline have been friends since high school. They both grew up in the west end of Ottawa. Bayshore, to be exact.”
He’d managed to convey his distaste for her upbringing in the one word. Kala would ask around about Bayshore when she got back to the station.
“Do you know where Tom Underwood grew up?”
“He grew up in that neighbourhood. He and Pauline dated and married young.”
“So they were childhood sweethearts.”
“From what I understand.”
“Did Tom visit Pauline often after they divorced?”
“I wouldn’t know. I only met him at social functions, which usually involved their daughter Geraldine. Birthdays and the like. Susan would know more since she and Pauline are close as sisters.” He looked toward the doorway. “I’m sorry my wife is taking so long. She hasn’t been well this week. Some sort of flu that I’ve so far escaped.”
“And where did you grow up?”
“Does that have any bearing?”
“Maybe not. I’m just gathering background information.”
“Rockcliffe. My family was part owner of two pulp mills in the Gatineau. I went into the air force and have achieved the rank of major.”
Kala jotted the details onto her notepad. She might not have heard of Bayshore but she had heard of Rockcliffe. It was the rich end of town where the prime minister and Governor General lived.
They both turned as Susan walked into the room. Kala blinked. It was hard to believe this was the same rosy cheeked woman she’d seen only a few days before. Now, her skin was the colour of oatmeal and her eyes pools of exhaustion. She moved stiffly as if every bone in her body ached. When she stepped across the threshold, her eyes sought her husband’s, before she looked toward Kala.
“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. It took me a while to get dressed. Clinton?” She crossed the carpet toward her husband. “Did you offer our guest some coffee?”
“Of course. Sit here, Susan,” he commanded as he stood to give her his seat. He remained standing at attention next to her.
Kala would have preferred to speak to Susan in private, but she could see he had no intention of leaving them alone, and she didn’t have a good reason to ask him to leave. “I’m sorry you’ve been unwell. This shouldn’t take long. I need to know where you both were last Thursday evening and Friday. This is just a routine question,” she hastily added after Susan’s face paled even more.
The major answered for both of them. “Susan was home and I was overnight in Trenton. Air force business. I got back mid-morning on the Friday.”
“Did you meet anyone during that time, Susan?” Kala asked.
“No, I spent the night at home alone and did some Christmas baking in the morning before Clinton came home. I wanted to finish the shortbreads for a cookie exchange in the afternoon.”
“What can you tell me about Pauline’s relationship with her ex-husband?”
“With Tom?” Susan looked up at Clinton. “I’d say they were friendly but not true friends since their divorce. They knew each other a very long time. In fact, the three of us went to high school together. Pauline and I roomed together in university.”
“Did Pauline forgive Tom for leaving the marriage?”
“I suppose. Pauline knew Tom wasn’t happy with Laurel.
