Though far from happy, Obeline had seemed content. Had told me she was at the one place she wanted to be.
“I detected nothing to suggest she was suicidal.”
“Where was it you earned that psychology degree?”
My face flamed. Hippo was right. What did I know of this woman? Until two days ago, our last interactions had been as kids.
“No one is questioning that she’s dead? I mean, there’s no body. Are they dragging the river?”
“The river’s a freight train right there.” Hippo was squinting down the hall, into sunlight oozing through one of the living room’s dirt-caked windows. “Body’s probably in the Gulf of St. Lawrence by now.”
“Where was Bastarache?” Hearing agitated voices, Ryan had left Cormier’s office.
“Quebec City.”
“He alibi out?”
“That bastard always alibis out.”
With that, Hippo stomped from the room. In seconds, the studio door opened, slammed.
“I’m sorry.” Ryan’s eyes said he meant it.
“Thanks.” Weak.
There was a moment of strained silence.
“What’s up with Hippo and you?”
“He’s pissed that I went to Tracadie.”
“I doubt it’s you. You’re just handy.”
“He asked me not to make contact.”
“Bastarache is a flesh bandit. Hippo thinks it reflects badly on all Acadians.”
I didn’t trust myself to answer.
“Don’t let him get to you. Hippo’ll never say it, but your finding Cormier’s thumb drive impressed the hell out of him. Once Lesieur cracks it, we’ll be able to reel this dirtball in.”
“If I hadn’t found it, CSU would have.”
Ryan knew that was true. Was trying to be nice.
“If you want to knock off, I understand,” he said.
I shook my head. But I’d already lost Ryan’s attention.
“I have court tomorrow. If we don’t finish today, we’ll wrap up on Monday.”
With that, Ryan disappeared down the hall. And proceeded to ignore me for the rest of the day.
Fine. I could concentrate on Cormier’s bloody files.
Only I couldn’t. All afternoon, I kept seeing Obeline. The gazebo. The breakwater. The shawl.
Leaden, I forced myself through file after file.
Pets. Brides. Kids. None of them Phoebe. None of them a cold case MP or DOA.
At six I gave up.
Inching home through rush hour traffic, I worried about telling Harry that Obeline was dead. My sister feels things intensely, emotes unabashedly. Joy. Anger. Fear. Whatever Harry’s reaction, it’s always over the top. I was dreading the conversation.
At the condo, I parked underground. A light indicated the elevator was holding on three. I trudged up the stairs.
Both the outer and inner front doors were open. Runners crisscrossed the lobby floor. Winston, our caretaker, stood on one of them.
“Someone moving?” Not really interested. Thinking about Harry.
“Three-oh-four,” Winston answered. “Transferred to Calgary.”
I rounded the banister, started toward my corridor.
“You thinking about selling?”
“No.”
“Funny.”
I turned. “What’s funny?”
“Couple guys wandered in here this morning. Asked about your place.”
I stopped. “Asked what?”
“How many rooms. If the backyard was yours.” Winston shrugged, thumbs hooking his jeans. “The usual.”
