Deadly Fall (17 page)

Paula handed her the phone receiver. “Call Felix.””

Isabelle backed up as though the phone were poison. “Could you do it? He might get mad at me for splitting.”

“Tough.”

“What if he turns psycho?”

“Better you than me.”

“I'll print my résumés first.”

“Stalling won't let you off the hook.”

Paula studied price
tags and ran her hands over fabric, pretending to browse for clothes. She was the only customer in the boutique, the fifth one she had tried. A young sales clerk had said Janice was on her coffee break. When Paula turned down her offer to help, the clerk retreated to the rear of the shop to steam iron wrinkles out of blouses. To calm herself, Paula hummed to the sound system's instrumental “Softly as I Leave You.” At 4:00
AM
, the plan she plotted in bed had felt completely plausible. It seemed ridiculous now. Or was this last-minute jitters? She tried to focus on the clothes.

Black and red, Paula's colors, seemed in vogue this fall. She examined a pair of wool slacks: $179.00. Last month she had balked at paying seventy dollars for a pair of pants that looked better than these. She paused at a strapless, floor-length teal-blue dress hanging flush against the wall. $595.99.

“Would you like to try it on?” A clone of the stylishly dressed young clerk appeared behind her. For these prices you got service.

“I'm waiting for my friend.” She had called Anne to give her the name of the store. Paula had rushed through her last meeting to get to the Village early, approving her hit-and-run victim's medical expenses even though his accident statement raised questions: why didn't he report the collision to the police? What was the point, he said, when there were no witnesses and he couldn't recognize the other car? Why was he taking a different route home in the middle of the night? Paula would have to question him without his wife present.

The outside door jangled. Anne entered, precisely on time. Her face lit up at the sight of Paula, who cursed herself for not bringing Anne into the plan. She had hoped to be finished with her fake investigation before Anne arrived. The clone clerk reached Paula's side before Anne. Paula hustled the two of them off to look at outfits before the next door jangle. A gray-haired woman strode to the back of the boutique. The clerk at the ironing board hailed her. The women spoke. Paula tensed as Janice approached.

“You were looking for me?” Janice was roughly her height. Her gray pageboy shimmered. She spoke in the moderately toned voice Paula recalled from the funeral.

She gave Janice her business card and introduced herself as an insurance adjuster. “I'm assisting the Calgary Police Service investigation into a murder that took place last Thursday.”

Janice's plucked eyebrows rose. “Callie?”

This was ridiculous, but she was here and might as well continue until Anne blew her ruse. “I understand you are acquainted with a woman named Bev.”

Worry shot through Janice's hazel eyes. “The police? What do they want with Bev?”

“Routine questioning; we understand she is acquainted with the victim's husband, Sam Moss.”

“Why are you asking me? I hadn't seen Bev in years, until the funeral.”

“A detective attending the funeral noticed you sitting with her.”

Janice coiled her fingers around her pearl necklace. “How did he know it was me?”

That was sharp of Janice. Shit. She wouldn't fall for this. “The detective entered the church directly after you and got your name from the guest book.”

Janice's frown caused no forehead creases or lines between her eyebrows. At the funeral, the women had chatted about plastic surgery. Janice claimed to be an expert on the subject. Hopefully, she wouldn't ask how the cops had traced her to Mount Royal Village.

“Why is an insurance adjuster involved in a murder case?” Janice said.

“To reduce costs the Calgary Police Service is outsourcing work that can be handled on a semi-professional basis.” If you didn't think it through, it almost made sense.

“Paula,” Anne called. She held up a taupe suit and a dress with layers of ruffles. “Which do you prefer?”

“Try on both,” Paula said.

Janice clenched the pearls. “Outsourcing is the trend these days. My nephew's worried about losing his job to India.”

Paula stared into the hazel eyes. “
CPS
is trying it as an experiment.”

“You couldn't outsource police work to India.” Janice giggled, presumably from nervousness about being questioned by a representative of the police. “I doubt Bev could tell you much about Sam. She only knew him through work.”

“We cover all bases. Can you give me her phone number and address?”

The door jangled. A young clerk clacked by them to greet the new customer. Janice wore two inch pumps, rather than the stilettos her colleagues favored. The clone clerk waited outside the changing room for Anne.

Janice's hands relaxed on the pearls. The winding turned leisurely. “Is Sam a suspect?” she said.

“In a homicide, everyone connected to the victim is investigated.”

“Some people find it strange that Sam didn't know where his wife went in the mornings. I like men who aren't possessive, who don't keep tabs on a woman.”

Paula's neck felt as tight as Janice's looked. The number, please, just the fucking number, or Bev's surname.

“I guess there's no harm in your having Bev's address,” Janice said. “Her company's probably listed in the phone book. Did you look it up?”

Paula and Isabelle had searched the Internet for “Bev–Interior Decorating–Calgary.” No luck.

Janice tugged at the necklace. If it burst, spewing pearls to the floor, Janice would be on her knees, searching for rolling pearls, with time to think about the request. Anne was out of the changing room. Never again would Paula follow through on a plan hatched while drunk. She shook her head at Anne in the ruffled dress. It made Anne look like a Christmas tree.

“Bev used to work out of her home,” Janice said. “I expect she still does, if her company's a small operation. I always found her house by sight. Now, what is the address? I can't even remember the street name.” She tapped a patch of dry skin on her cheek.

“Would you have Bev's business card?”

“I forgot about that. She gave it to me so I could call about lunch. It must be in my purse. Do you want me to get the card?”

“Please.”

Janice walked to the back of the store. She stopped to talk with the ironing clerk, who shot glances at Paula while Janice, presumably, told her about the pseudo-cop visit. Anne emerged in the suit. Paula judged it too serious.

“We'll find her something lighter but not frothy,” the clone clerk said.

Anne disappeared into the changing room. Paula fingered the evening gown. Silky, slinky, smooth, the color of a mountain lake, $595.99 and of no conceivable use. Since it was strapless, she would have to buy a new bra, necklace or choker, drop earrings, dressy shoes, matching handbag. And cut off that stupid hip bow, which would be fifty dollars of wasted material.

Janice approached holding a card worth more than a useless dress.

“I think that's her home address,” Janice said. “You can keep it. I jotted down her number, in case I decide to call her about lunch. I was thinking I wouldn't.”

“Why not?”

Janice fanned her face with the card. “Bev has this way of bringing out the worst in me. I don't like how I am when I'm with her. I'm not saying she's a criminal.”

“I think I met Bev once. Isn't she fairly tall?”

Janice laughed. “That's an understatement. She's six-foot-two.”

“Her voice is husky and deep.”

“Maybe it's her voice and height that intimidate me. And her personality.”

Paula took a breath. “Is she still married?”

“As far as I know.”

The clone clerk was carrying an armload of dresses to Anne's changing room.

“I wish I'd been closer to Callie,” Janice said. “I knew her as a neighbor and the mom of my son's friend. She was a lot nicer than Bev but we didn't click, for no particular reason.”

“Who were her close friends, at that time?”

Janice's forehead managed a faint pucker. “When I think of us all as young mothers, I see Callie hovering on the fringe. She might have had friends outside our clique. I hope she did.” Janice toyed with the necklace. “My niece is in insurance. I didn't know insurance work could be so interesting. How long have you been assisting the police?”

“Not long.” Paula held out her hand, willing Janice to hand over the card.

“I should tell my niece about you. She might want to apply for the same job. Are they hiring more people?

“Not at the moment.”

Janice stared over Paula's shoulder. “I saw you admiring that ball gown. I love the color: cosmic blue. Would you like to try it on?”

“I'm only here for the police . . . and my friend.” She nodded at the changing room.

“It's the exact shade of your eyes and would suit any formal affair, like a wedding.”

“Both of my daughters claim they aren't into marriage.”

Janice shifted the card to her left hand and took the dress down from the wall. “Let's have a look. For fun.”

Was Janice enough of a salesperson to be offering the card in exchange for Paula's trying on the dress? Paula wanted that card enough to deal. Janice led her to the second changing room. Paula slipped on the gown and fiddled with the bodice she didn't trust to stay up.

“Hey,” Janice said as she emerged. “The dress is you. The color brings out your eyes and your hair's red highlights. And doesn't the material cling to all the right places?”

“And don't you work on commission?”

Janice laughed. “This is one time I mean it. That dress is a perfect fit for you.”

Paula studied herself from all angles. She hadn't looked this svelte since before she had kids. Cosmic blue hugged her mature model's back. Was this a trick mirror? Her stomach was almost flat. How could she look slim and voluptuous at the same time? Even the stupid bow enhanced the curve of her hip.

“I bought a house last month,” she said. “I can't spend six hundred dollars on a dress.”

“It's great value. I've seen hundreds more expensive that aren't as well made. The cut is flawless.”

Paula smoothed the bodice over her breasts that would be stunning in a push-up bra. “I can't afford your Mount Royal lifestyle.”

“Neither can I on my sales clerk's salary.” Janice had a pleasant laugh. “I'd hate to see someone else take it.”

Music flowed from the sound system. Michael Bublé. “The Way You Look Tonight.” Latino rhythms. Was one of the clerks in the back room pressing the sound system buttons? Paula wouldn't sell out just to get Bev's address.

“Accessories would double the cost,” she said.

“Easily.”

She turned sideways. “It's slightly tight at the waist.”

“A body shaper would take care of that.”

“More money.”

“We should treat ourselves sometimes. Life is short.”

What next? Injecting Botox into her forehead and doing whatever women did for turkey neck? The smoothness looked pretty good on Janice, who was fanning her neck with the business card. Who was playing whom?

Anne came out in a lime two-piece. Her clerk gushed that it cried out for an orchid corsage.

“Perfect for the Governor General,” Paula said.

Anne frowned at the price tag. “It's out of my range.”

“Not any more. Your business is going strong.”

“You look fantastic in that, Paula.”

“I have nowhere to wear it.”

“You'll find the occasion.” Janice handed Paula the card:
Beverly Berwell Interior Design.
Underneath was Bev's Mount Royal address. Paula dropped the card in her purse. “Maybe the dress will bring me luck.”

Anne studied her back in the mirror. “Dimitri would be proud to show me off in this. All right. You've twisted my arm. I'll do it for Dimitri and his new career.”

Anne's grin was wider than Paula had ever seen it. She couldn't spoil Anne's mood today by revealing Dimitri's interest in Callie. Someone else could break the news.

Janice wrapped tissue around the Cosmic Blue dress. “Poor Callie. She didn't deserve what happened. I hope you get to the bottom of it.”

Anne nodded. “We're counting on the police to do their job.”

She might regret that remark when the police hauled in her son.

Morning light glanced off her rear windshield. Paula drove across Macleod Trail, which was jammed with rush-hour traffic. She crossed the Elbow River and Mission's main street alive with pedestrians and cars. As her car climbed the curving avenue to Mount Royal, she wondered if talking to Bev before the cops got to her would compromise the investigation. Paula didn't see how it could as long as she didn't give away secrets, like the tracing of the murder weapon to Sam's father. True, the police would want Bev's fresh, unguarded response. But how unguarded would Bev be, if she was Sam's mistress? Bev had to expect that the homicide unit would find her eventually and have prepared her answers days ago.

Paula drove through tranquil crescents lined with wide properties, one-hundred-year-old homes, and luxury vehicles. She stopped in front of Bev's house, which seemed too modern for Mount Royal. The large eaves, stained wood siding, and glass room perched on the roof made it look like a squished pagoda. A patterned concrete driveway forked to a double garage and front door. Paula hadn't called in advance and could drive away. Had she told Hayden her plan when they talked last night, he would have pointed out hazards of meddling in the case. Luckily, she hadn't told him.