Thirty

At first, Charley thought Kayla wouldn’t answer the door. Knowing her, she’d be stewing over regrets. This had been their dream for so long, and she’d left the gallery opening before it was over.

Charley had gotten a ride back from town with Meghan and Alex. After dropping off her things, she took Cocoa out for her last walk of the day. And kept right on walking, all the way to Kayla’s door.

Though it seemed like she might be left standing on the front step.

Somewhere, a wind chime pealed like distant bells. The solar lights gleamed along the path, although it was still too bright to need the light to see. The setting sun streaked the sky with orange, turning the trees behind her to a tangle of dusky shapes and vertical lines. Mosquitoes whirred, tiny flitting shadows on the high brick wall, a brush of wings against her neck.

She tried again, one more time. “Kayla, it’s me!”

The lock tumbled and the door swung open. Kayla’s face was bare, her hair tied back in a loose ponytail. A smudge of old mascara shadowed her lower lashes. She had changed into black leggings and an oversized sweater. “Charley. I was about to go to bed.” She bent to pat Cocoa, who wriggled with excitement.

In the crease of Kayla’s thumb and on the tip of her index finger, a dark grey smudge stained the arches and whorls of her skin like ink.

“And that’s why you have charcoal all over your fingers?” she asked.

Kayla straightened and hid her right hand behind her back. “Look, I’m really tired. Worn out, actually.”

“Guess I’ll just have to eat these chips on my own then.” She held up the bag she’d brought with, just in case. She’d swiped it from Meghan’s stash, and would have to pay the price later.

“Are those sea salt kettle chips?” Interest flickered.

She held back the grin, tugging at the corners of her lips. Gotcha. “If you don’t want them, I’ll just share with Meghan.”

“Fine.” Kayla opened the door wider. “Come on in.”

She never could resist those chips.

Stepping inside, Charley unsnapped Cocoa’s leash. Like last time, the house felt cool. In the background, voices murmured. The TV? “Is the kitchen through here?”

“Yes, but —”

Undeterred, Charley headed through the living room, behind Cocoa.

A large, spiral bound sketchpad lay open on the white sofa. Conté pencils and pieces of charcoal were scattered over the coffee table. Pastel had been ground in a smudge of vivid green on the cream-coloured carpet. The closed curtains blocked the view of the sliding doors.

In the kitchen, Charley put the bag of chips down on the granite countertop, beside the coffee maker. The machine had a grinder, a milk reservoir, and a steam wand. It probably brewed a barista-worthy cappuccino at the press of a button but would be a nightmare to clean.

The rest of the kitchen was just as stylish. A magnetic knife holder. The table in the corner a sleek and modern tulip design with a pedestal base, most likely meant to convey a sense of balance to the interior design, but it felt forced.

Cocoa’s nails clicked over stone tiles as she sniffed the spotless floor for crumbs.

“Bowls?”

“In that cupboard.” Kayla washed her hands at the sink, scrubbing at the charcoal streaks. When she sat at the table and tucked one leg beneath her, her hands were clean and dry. “Did you sell another painting?”

Was that envy in her voice? Fighting a surge of guilt, she admitted, “Matt bought one too, after you left.” She poured the salted chips into a wooden bowl and set it on the table in front of Kayla.

Where would the alcohol be kept? Probably expensive bottles, put on display in a — yes, there it was. A glass-fronted cupboard, at eye level. She scanned the contents. Did a double take at the label on the gin. A few levels up from the brand she bought.

Vodka, triple sec. Hmm, that had potential.

Charley opened the fridge and the bittersweet stench of rotting fruit hit her. “When did you last go grocery shopping?” The shelves were bare.

“I can’t remember. It’s hard to keep track of details right now.” A little colour had started to come back to Kayla’s face. And she looked at the chips with interest.

Charley took out something from the crisper drawer that might have been an orange or a grapefruit at one point and threw it in the trash. Same with the long-overdue container of cream.

“The other day,” she said casually, “you left the gallery before I did. Did you notice anything odd, see anything unexpected on your way out?” Like a postcard, taped to the glass.

Kayla frowned. “No. Why?”

“No reason.” It was worth a shot. A bottle of unopened cranberry juice in the fridge door caught her eye. She held it up. “Cosmos?”

“Trying to get me drunk, so I confess to murder?” Her tone was bitter, defensive.

“I didn’t think I had to trick you into telling the truth.”

The door of the wooden cabinet above the counter swung open on a gentle click of inset steel hinges, revealing shelves filled with crystal-cut glassware. Tall stemmed wine glasses, delicate champagne flutes. But, in the back, something sparkled.

“The truth?” Kayla gnawed on her thumbnail. An old habit, a sign of nerves, she hadn’t managed to polish away with everything else. “You do think I’m hiding something.”

“You are.” She held up one of the martini glasses tucked in the back of the cupboard. Rhinestone-encrusted stem winked in the light. And was exactly something the girl she used to know would have bought. “A guilty secret?”

That got a smile from Kayla. “Andrew thought they were hideous.”

So, she’d hidden them at the back of the cupboard. “I think we could use some glitz.”

Just enough ice cubes left in the tray. Working on memory, she mixed the ingredients, measuring out equal parts vodka, cranberry juice and a shot of triple sec. When the stainless steel martini shaker felt like ice in her hands, she poured the pink cocktail into the glasses.

Kayla stood, leaned against the counter. Crossed her arms. “So, are you going to report whatever I say to Alex?”

A lie would only do more harm. “He has to collect the facts.”

She laughed. “Yeah, so he can make an arrest.”

It sounded like she expected the handcuffs to close around her wrists at any second. “If there’s anything you haven’t told us about Andrew or —”

“Gotta love the blind faith.” Kayla poured vodka into the shot glass and tossed it back. She winced. “You’re right. This was a good idea.” Picking up one of the cocktails, she sipped it on her way through to the living room.

Charley followed on a sigh. This would be harder than she thought.

Cocoa curled up on the floor, keeping the bowl of chips in her line of sight.

Kayla turned off the TV, throwing the room into silence. “What are you going to do about your Jeep?”

Shifting the conversation away from the gallery and the subject of murder. “Try to jumpstart it tomorrow.” Pink drink, white sofa. A dangerous combination. She stood on the rug and hesitated.

Kayla dropped the remote onto the coffee table. “Jeffrey tinkers with cars. You should ask him to look at it for you.”

“Is there anything the man can’t fix?”

“Not that I know of. I can call him for you.” Without waiting for a reply, Kayla reached for the phone lying on the end table.

And ask for a favour? No way. “I’m sure he’s got better things to do. If need be, I’ll call a mechanic.”

“He won’t mind. He does these things all the time.” Kayla pressed a button, put the phone to her ear. “Speed dial.”

“Seriously.” He’d feel compelled to say yes, no matter how busy he was, because Matt had introduced them. Charley put her hands on her hips. “I don’t need —”

She held up a finger, cutting her off. “Jeffrey? Hi. It’s Kayla.” With a thumbs up aimed Charley’s way, she took the phone to the kitchen.

Too late. Hopefully Jeffrey wouldn’t mind.

Charley picked up the wire-bound sketchbook lying on the sofa. She meant to move it out of the way, to clear space to sit, but the illustrations caught her eye. Dark colours and sweeping strokes, barely contained by the limits of the page. Curious, she flipped to the next page. Repeating patterns, exercises in blending. A forest of trees simplified into hard-edged shapes. A female figure dissolving into that of a wolf.

Cocoa’s tail thumped on the floor as Kayla came back into the room.

Charley put the sketchbook down. “That was quick.”

“If you can get the Jeep to the workshop tomorrow morning around nine, he’ll look at it for you. You’ll have to get it towed there, but I figured you have insurance.”

“I do, but the battery might only need a boost.”

Kayla waved a hand. “Then you call him and cancel. No problem.”

Everyone’s first reaction was to phone Jeffrey for help. If she was lucky, she wouldn’t have to bother him.

Kayla took a seat in the wooden rocking chair, by the window. Light, filtered through the lampshade, caught her cheek, smoothing her skin to marble, free of expression.

Charley glanced at the sketchbook. “Are you working on something new?”

“Practice makes perfect.” There was a dry note of irony in her voice.

“Perfect is a hard goal to reach.”

“So is resurrection.” Kayla took a sip of her drink and leaned her head back. “The time when the magic words were made,” she murmured, half to herself, her eyes sunken and weary. “Do you remember that story? A word spoken by chance suddenly becomes powerful. Repeat that word every day, and it’s all you hear. Like filling an empty glass up” — she raised hers — “with doubt. Course, you don’t know what that’s like.”

Did she really believe that? “Everyone doubts themselves.”

“Please. You know exactly what you want. And you’d never let anyone stop you. Or hold you back. And now, when I can finally look for the right words, the better words, to fill the glass, I can’t seem to find them.”

This was her chance. “Kayla, what’s going on between you and David?”

“Who?”

Had that been a second of hesitation? “David Nadeau. You were talking to him in the gallery.” With an intimacy that was easy to see, even at a distance.

“And that means I’m, what, having an affair with him?” She frowned. “I spoke to a lot of people tonight.”

“I just thought maybe —”

“Wishful thinking.” Kayla leaned forward. “Did you ever notice in grandmother’s stories, when a hunter finds a woman alone, he always takes her as his wife? Women will marry boulders and eagles and whales. No one is alone for long.” The chair rocked as she settled back. “Now I know why. It’s hard to survive on your own.”

Hard but not impossible. “Give yourself some credit. You’re stronger than you think.”

“I was at one point.” With a glitter of rhinestones, Kayla raised her glass. “But Andrew wasn’t the first murder.” Her words were starting to slur. “Oh no.”

A chill spread through her. “What do you mean?”

“I let it happen. I should have done something, but I didn’t, and he killed it.”

Her thoughts skidded on a slick of vodka and triple sec. “Who?”

“The old me.” Kayla’s smile was sad, wistful. “Let’s turn into thunder and lightning, so that people will never catch us.”

She flashed on summer nights, when they searched for rocks, to send sparks into the darkness, like in the story. The siblings in the legend feared people would kill them, so they became thunder and lightning to escape their fate.

Charley leaned forward, flipped the sketchbook open again to the wolf, wild and fierce. The contours unbroken, the broad black lines explosive and full of force. “Let’s turn into wolves and fight.”

Kayla gave her a tired smile. “It doesn’t work like that and we both know it.”

“These are good.” She looked at the charcoal sketch, at the raw emotion spilled on paper. “You just have to believe in yourself. If it’s important to you, you have to keep going, no matter what.” And she recognized the hypocrisy in that as soon as she said it.

“Easy for you to say.” Grief and envy hollowed out her features. “You sold two paintings. I used to be confident. I used to know exactly where to place the pencil. Now, with every stroke, it feels like I’m bleeding onto the page.”

Something that once brought joy had turned to pain. And they both knew who was to blame for that. But it wasn’t too late. “Kayla, the dead don’t bleed. And wounds only need time to heal.”