Page 99 of Not a Word

Catherine sounded frazzled. Let’s turn that screw down a little tighter.

Alicia said, “Think you’re in the clear? Not a chance. We missed you yesterday but—”

“I’ll pay!”

Alicia said, “What?”

“I have money. Name your price. I’ll pay you to leave me alone.”

“You think this is about money?”

“It’s always about money,” Catherine said. “If it’s enough.”

Alicia reflected on where she was, sitting in the break room of a discount Yorkton Hill FreshCo, wearing her “Hi! I’m Alicia!” button, waiting for that pimply-faced dweeb to come back in here and play games on his dumb phone, and wondered whether a change in strategy was in order.

After all, she couldn’t do anything to change what happened to Aunt Evelyn now. But she’d be a fool to throw away a chance to make things better for herself.

“Throw out a number,” Catherine said.

Alicia threw out a number.

Thirty-Four

Janice McCabe felt a talk with the other Chartwell son, Holden, was long overdue. She’d spoken to Reece at length, and he’d been present when she’d interviewed his mother again at the house. Maybe Holden would know more about his father’s affair with Leah Kennard, and possibly the death of Evelyn Corby, although that was more of a long shot, given that it had happened so long ago.

On the way to his house, a call came through on her cell, which was mounted on a bracket attached to the dash. On the screen: MOIRA.

“Hey, honey,” she said.

“I’m ready,” her daughter said.

“Ready?”

“To hit the mall.”

“I’ve got one more stop to make.”

“So now I’m in, like, solitary confinement? You’ve been gone all day. I’m going to call Greenpeace or something.”

“They save whales. You’re thinking of Amnesty International.”

“Whatever.”

Moira ended the call.

There was a car in the driveway of Holden Chartwell’s house. She pulled over to the curb, got out, went up to the front door and knocked.

Ten seconds later, the door swung open, and McCabe did a double take.

Holy shit, she thought. I know this face.

“Yeah?” said Holden. A little wide-eyed, on edge, she thought as she identified herself, showing her badge.

“I’ve spoken to your mother and your brother, but before I wrap up my investigation of what happened yesterday—and condolences on your loss—I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“I don’t know anything,” he said, not opening the door any wider.

She smiled. “Sometimes people know more than they realize. Just a few questions.”