Chapter Fourteen

“What a surprise. I wasn’t expecting to see you today.” Christine’s mouth, puffy from all the filler injections, turned down at the corners before she gave me the tiniest smile. She had that high-class trailer-trash look down to a T, in tight, tight black suede pants and a matching low-necked black lace top. She’d had so much work done that her expression was invisible. Seven years older than Boyd, she worked hard to appear the same age. Worked as if she was striving for a plastic doll look with an unmovable face. She was very pretty in an exotic way, though, her deep mahogany-colored hair styled into a mass of long wavy curls. Her ample money bought her a lifestyle I didn’t envy—which might have surprised her, if truth were told—one of constant doubt.

“Well, I was in the neighborhood and thought I might talk with you about a matter of some importance. Mind if I come in?”

She shrugged but left the door ajar.

I walked inside, trying not to breathe too deeply. Her strong perfume was making my eyes water.

She perched on the expensive-looking white-leather living room sofa, making a limp-wrist gesture at me to have a seat. I sat across from her, though I wanted to sit right beside her. But she might have found that too odd and clammed up on me.

“What is it you want?”

She’d always been a woman of few words, until she got mad. Then look out. The old adage you can’t stop a woman when she’s out of control goes double for Christine. “I imagine you know about the murders?”

She checked her perfect nails, carefully inspecting for a flaw in the burgundy-colored tips, and didn’t bother to answer. Was she not upset that her husband’s best friend was dead?

“I was wondering if you could tell me about the last conversation you had with Mrs. Hurst?”

“Why? What’s it to you?”

“My jam has been spurned due to this whole debacle, and I need to get to the bottom of it.” I tamped down my anger.

“That’s right.” She finally looked me in the eye, a gleam suggesting she approved. Good way to rule yourself out, Christine. I should have sat next to her. It would have made it easier to choke her.

“And I need to find out all the facts.”

“Don’t you think Constable Ace Collins can handle it just fine?” It wasn’t a question, but was accompanied by a smirk. “He seems very capable. And he’s got a real nice hat. I don’t imagine many women in this town wouldn’t like that trophy on their mantel, and those extra-large-sized boots.”

“I have a personal stake here. Please, for my family’s sake, I need to get to the bottom of this.” Begging pained me more than she knew.

“Okay.” She sighed loudly. “Mrs. Hurst and I had one of our regular arguments. Like I told Ace…”

First name basis already. My heart skipped a full beat.

“…we’ve never seen eye to eye. She was such a difficult person to deal with.” Her mouth finally moved a bit more, twisting into a grimace.

“What was the nature of the argument?”

“Same old. She loved to slander Sean, make all kind of accusations, stab me in the heart whenever she could. Evil witch.”

“Would you have any objections to my doing a reading on you?”

“What? You know I don’t believe in such silly things.” The frown didn’t quite make it through the fillers, but the eye scorn managed a direct hit.

I got up and sat beside her, surprising her. She squirmed back in her seat. “Then you won’t care if I try, because you know I’ll not discover anything, right?”

“Then why bother?”

“Please. For Granny Toogood.”

I had her there. Her eyes softened for a moment. Everyone in Snowy Lake loved our granny. She’d taken in so many strays over the years, for a day or month or two if the case warranted it, making sure of everyone’s welfare. No one did without in our town. Granny would have been up in arms. She even led the Christmas Hamper Drive every fall to make darn sure each family had a turkey and a country ham with all the fixings for the big day.

“Okay.” She gave a louder sigh. “What do I do?”

“Just give me your hands and think of Mrs. Hurst. The last time you saw her.”

She dutifully closed her eyes, offering up her paws with their fancy claws.

Holding her hands in mine, I closed my eyes, praying I would find something of import. The image that coalesced in her mind was of Mrs. Hurst loaded for bear and pointing a finger, her face an alarming shade of magenta. The usual confrontational stance, à la Hatfield versus McCoy.

“Think harder. The very last time you saw her, please.”

“I am.”

But behind the first image, another one pieced itself together. I struggled to see it as it wobbled in and out of focus. Mrs. Hurst lying on the floor. Dead. My heart thudded hard. Had Christine really done it? Murdered the poor woman?

“Okay, I confess. I saw Mrs. Hurst that final day.” Christine’s hands trembled in mine. “But I didn’t kill her. She was already dead when I got there.”

I held on to her hands, tighter. “Think about my apricot jam. When did you last see a jar of it?”

“What? You think I poisoned your jam? That’s crazy!” She tried pulling her hands away, but I kept an iron grasp.

“Just think about the jam. Last thing I’ll ask of you, Christine. It could clear you. We both want that, right?” I kept my eyes closed as I tried to push her into cooperating.

“Okay.” The word came out on a gust of expelled air.

The jar she envisioned was tipped over on Mrs. Hurst’s kitchen table, dripping down onto the floor.

“Did you touch it?”

“No.” She shook her head so emphatically I felt the breeze.

“How come no one saw you there?” Ace needed to know this. ASAP.

“I came in the back after Suzanna left. Went out the same way.”

“Why were you there? You hated the woman, remember.”

“I had to give her something. Something she demanded from me.” She hedged, trying not to give the game away.

“Was it money?”

“How did you know?”

“Was she blackmailing you?”

She wrestled her hands from mine. I let her, opening my eyes to catch her horrified expression. I actually felt sorry for her at that moment, more so when tears filled her hazel-colored eyes.

“She was a hateful woman. But I didn’t kill her, Charm, you have to believe me. I’d never do that. I’d rather pay forever.” It was as though the walls of Jericho came tumbling down,. I’d never seen a person’s façade crack faster.

“What was she blackmailing you about?”

“Phhht. What wasn’t she trying to take advantage of? Sean’s affairs, my health problems.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had health concerns.”

“No, I’m fine now, but the damage was done. It was before I married Sean. She threatened to tell him about it.”

“I don’t think Sean would be so callous as to throw that in your face.” Confused, I gave her a look of disbelief. A philanderer, oh yeah, but that callous? No way I could see it of a human being walking upright.

“He would if he knew that I can never have his son. The one he’s always going on about.”

“Oh. Infertility. And she threatened to tell Sean.” Now that made sense. It was no secret that the man wanted children, probably the only reason he stayed married to Christine. Well, that and all that lovely family money.

“I don’t know what I’d do if Sean left me. I love him, Charm, plain and simple. But I’d never kill anyone over it. You have to believe me.”

“You could adopt. Or try in vitro. There must be some way.”

She shook her head. “He wants his own kids. And my time’s running out. He’s starting to ask questions. Why is it taking so long? If I bring up in vitro, he’s going to get suspicious. And my doctor doubts it would work. Everything’s so scarred from an infection.”

“But I don’t understand how Mrs. Hurst knew about all this? Medical records are confidential.”

“That witch. She knew everything that went on in this town. She bought and sold information like a commodity. Kept her filthy rich. I doubt anyone misses her.”

“Her niece Emma does.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Yes, of course.”

Her tune had taken a one-eighty, but I believed most of her story. It had the ring of truth.

“Can you clear me, Charm? What did you see? Did you see the murderer?”

“I can only see the murderer if I’m holding their hands.” It looked like us psychic trackers had a new convert. I wasn’t quite sure how to take it, but it was refreshing.

“Then you don’t think I did it?”

“I’m not one hundred percent certain. But I didn’t see you put anything into the jam.”

Her hazel eyes lit up. “What if I think about Boyd and you come up with nothing? Would that help?”

“We could try.” The breakthrough with Christine boggled my mind, almost like she was seeing me as a friend. I suddenly expected the Earth to quit spinning or gravity to be a no-show.

She grasped at my hands, dutifully closing her eyes. O—kay.

“The last time I saw Boyd…” she murmured, reinforcing my usual directive.

I took up her sweaty hands, feeling her agitation. I bent to the task of refocusing. It took a bit more time, as she was too agitated at first, but slowly an image emerged. Boyd in their living room, sitting about where I was sitting now, drinking a beer, laughing at something being said. Nothing conclusive.

“You sure that was the last time?” She could be trying to pull the wool over my eyes, as Granny liked to say.

“Yes. He came over for a barbecue a couple of days ago. He seemed fine.”

“How’s Sean taking his death?”

I felt her body lift in a shrug, even with my eyes closed. “Okay, I guess. You know Sean. Likes to hide his feelings. Real macho stuff.”

“Machoism’s alive and well in Snowy Lake, I’ll give you that.”

She chucked. A sound I’d never thought to hear in my lifetime. “Yeah, you got that right.”

“You know you’ll have to share all this with the police, right?”

She pulled away, and I let her hands go, opening my eyes. She stared at me in horror. “But they’ll think I did it!” Her voice had gone screechy enough that I worried the overhead chandelier might be in jeopardy.

“Maybe not. No more than they think I did it, anyway. They need your facts to get to the culprit. Look into the blackmail angle. See who else was in the same position. We can’t have a murderer running loose in our town, Christine.”

She swallowed, her eyes round and staring. “Oh lord, could you go with me, Charm, help me explain?”

“I-I don’t know,” I stuttered. I hadn’t seen this coming.

“Please. I need your help—as a friend.”

Now I’m in the friend category. My life was filling up faster than a hot stripper’s G-string at the Boots & Lace dancehall.

Against every bit of better judgment I possessed, I found myself nodding. “Sure. Do you want to take care of it now?”

She swallowed hard again, her eyes showing the tug of war within. She sat up straighter. “Yes, darn it, let’s get it over with.”

“Good choice.” I smiled my agreement and got up. “Do you want to head over in my jeep?”

“Sure. Why not? Always fancied a ride in a Cherokee.”

Who was this woman? Had I inadvertently placed some kind of spell on her? So many strange things had happened in the last forty-eight hours that there was no point in dwelling on this one. Especially since I applauded the change.

We two-stepped out of the front door and she closed it behind us, taking a moment to lock it. She caught me watching her, looking up from slipping the house keys into her pocket. “Don’t normally do this, but with what’s going on—”

“Couldn’t agree more.”

She hustled to my jeep and swung her long legs inside. Holding one hand to the doorframe, she leaned forward, more animation on her gorgeous face than I’d seen…ever.

“Like that gangster hunk said in the movie GoodFellas, ‘Now take me to jail.’”

“Okay.” I gave her a positive smile and hustled us over to the RCMP detachment, paying attention to all the road rules. I didn’t want to be on the hook for a second dinner. Or do I?