And We Shall Have Snow Page 15

  The doorbell rang. The door opened. Panda Stavros walked in.

  “Look who’s here! Matt! My favourite nephew!” Roxanne watched as a large, dark-haired woman breezed into the room and flung her arms around Matt. He wormed his way out of her grip and reached for his jacket. A much smaller woman followed her. Annie Chan.

  The big woman looked towards Roxanne. “The famous Corporal Calloway? Are you staying for lunch?”

  “No, we’re not,” said Matt, heading for the door. “We’re just leaving.” The last thing he wanted was to be stuck at a table with Corporal Calloway while his aunt interrogated them about the case. You never knew what Panda might say.

  “Heard you two have been out all day quizzing half the neighbourhood.” Panda turned towards Roberta. “Phyllis can’t come. She needs to stay home and take care of George. These guys paid him a visit today and he’s all freaked out about it. See!” She turned back to Roxanne and Matt. “You never know what you might find out if you stay and listen.”

  “No, thanks. We have to get back to the detachment.” Matt handed Roxanne her parka.

  “Well, come for dinner again, Matt. Soon.” Annie Chan leaned against a counter, looking mildly amused.

  “Yeah, bring that cute blonde cop chick with you this time,” added his aunt.

  “I’ll call you. I’ll be out at the car.” Matt escaped, leaving Roxanne to thank Roberta for her help. She turned to Annie Chan and reached out her hand.

  “You are Annie Chan, right? So glad to meet you. We have your drawing of Stella Magnusson on our bulletin board. Thanks for that,” she said.

  “You’re welcome,” was all Annie said, coolly dismissive. Still, Roxanne had finally met her.

  She could hardly suppress a smile when she reached the car. “That’s your aunt? She’s as big as you are! She almost lifted you out of the chair!”

  “Not quite. She’s five eleven. Sometimes I wish Panda would keep her mouth shut.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. She told us we’ve shaken up George Smedley,” said Roxanne. “That’s good to know.” A small blue Honda waited for them to pass at the end of the driveway. Sasha Rosenberg peered at them through the window as they drove by.

  Izzy had been busy while they were gone. They hardly had enough time to get their parkas off before she spoke.

  “I phoned Freddie Santana!”

  “The guy Stella married? In L.A.?” Roxanne asked, surprised.

  “Well, you said I could do U.S. calls, right? So I got his secretary and left a message. I didn’t think he’d call back but he did. Do you know that nobody had thought to tell him Stella was dead? He was kind of annoyed. Says he wants to know when the funeral is. He might come up for it.”

  “Could be long enough before that happens.” Matt sat down beside her.

  “He says Stella was always on the make. Thinks she stashed a pile of cash while she was married to him. Couldn’t prove a thing, he says. She was too smart. Said he wasn’t surprised somebody had done her in. She was bad news and she had it coming to her. His words.”

  “So he doesn’t know what she did with the money?”

  “Not really. But she did have at least one bank account in her married name, as Stella Santana. He thinks she maybe had one in Grand Cayman. They used to holiday there sometimes. I called the guys in Winnipeg. They’re going to check it out.” She sat back, a grin on her face, pleased with herself. “Want to hear more? I’ve been working while you’ve been out schmoozing. Leo Isbister says he gave Stella $3,000 as a sponsorship, right?”

  Roxanne nodded.

  “Well, that’s not what it says here.” She waved a financial page. “Two thousand. I got hold of another couple of sponsors to find out what they said they gave and matched it against how much it says here and bingo! She reported less, for all of them. She had at least twenty sponsors. The official take was about $25,000 annually so she probably skimmed seven or eight thousand every year. And then there’s the artists.”

  “You phoned them too?”

  “Not many, but I got hold of an agent in Toronto who said he told his clients not to work for Stella. She was paying them less than scale. Says she’d call them directly and given them some sob story about how it was such a little, low-budget festival and how it needed a boost from someone of their calibre and how she’d make sure they had a good time when they got here to make up for it.

  “This agent said she’d get these guys on Skype and bat her eyes at them and they’d agree to do StarFest for a lower fee. Couldn’t tell me how much, though. He threatened to cut them out of his books if they did it again, he said. So I checked, and again, that’s not what the financials say. According to the records she was paying a decent rate. I checked back with him to make sure. So there! She’s been pocketing the difference. Stella was fiddling the books.”

  “Guess we should leave you stuck in the office more often,” said Matt.

  “Not likely,” Izzy retorted. “You need me at Angus’s funeral tomorrow.” The funeral had been delayed because of the storm. “I’m the one who knows everybody that’ll be there. And I’m going anyway. Angus Smith was a good guy.”

  Roxanne rocked back in her chair. “We should all go. Did you manage to find out anything about Stella and a baby?”

  “Not today. It’s Saturday. Government offices are all closed.”

  They were done for the day, early. The highways were open again. There was no snow forecast. It took only an hour and twenty minutes to drive into Winnipeg. Roxanne would get an evening with her kid and commute back tomorrow for the funeral.

  16

  Cars were parked nose to tail around Cullen Legion Hall. Roxanne found a spot two streets away. The building was plain, rectangular and large enough to hold more than three-to-four hundred people. It was packed with Angus Smith’s friends and neighbours. Coat racks stood by the front door, filled with winter parkas and the occasional fur coat, still the best, some locals insisted, for keeping out the bitter Manitoba cold. Archie Huminski from Cullen Dump sat near the back, wearing his best suit and a tie. A plump, grey-haired woman sat at his side. Mrs. Huminski, maker of cookies? He spotted Roxanne and got to his feet, indicating that she could have his seat. She shook her head and went to join Izzy, past row upon row of occupied chairs. They found a place to stand along the wall near the front. From there, they could see most of the crowd. Judging by the nudges and whispers, their presence had also been noted.

  Matt was sitting beside his aunt Panda and Annie Chan. Bill Gilchrist had arrived, with Constable Mendes at his side, both of them in uniform. They took up a position opposite her. We are too obvious, Roxanne thought. We should have stayed at the back.

  She could see Sasha Rosenberg sitting beside Margo Wishart, the woman who had found Angus Smith’s body. George Smedley and his wife were seated a couple of rows behind them. The ever-helpful Jack Sawatsky was moving around, finding seats for elderly people with canes and a very pregnant woman. He wore the green uniform jacket of the Royal Canadian Legion and appeared to be one of the organizers. He caught her eye and nodded his head in acknowledgement.

  The legion’s colour flags stood in a rack beside a polished table. On it was a funeral urn, a lidded earthenware pot glazed in green and blue. Roxanne recognized Sasha Rosenberg’s work. There was a framed photograph of Angus, wearing the uniform of a captain in the Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry. Two large vases of flowers stood either side of a small model boat carved to look like one of those used to fish the lake in the summer months.

  John Andreychuk sat with his two sons. There was no sign of Maggie. Roxanne made a mental note to text Brian Donohue when the ceremony was over, to let him know that Jeremy was here, not in Winnipeg. Brian had planned to talk to him some more about the StarFest money while he was in town.

  The Smith family trooped in and took up their seats in the front row. Angus’s wife,
Millie, was still recovering from hip surgery and needed a walker. The daughter’s eyes were puffy. There were two male adults and another woman, three children, two of them in their teens.

  The local United Church minister, a woman with short grey hair, conducted the service. Roxanne had not been raised in any religious faith. She was startled to hear the power of the Almighty being invoked to come to her and her colleagues’ assistance, so that they might “come to a swift and just conclusion, and help restore harmony and goodwill to this beloved community.” Amen to that, she thought. It was too bad that bowed heads did not allow her to see if there were any twitching eyelids or licked lips that might indicate a flicker of concern or guilt.

  An old soldier talked of Captain Smith’s career in the Canadian military. He had served in Bosnia and in Kosovo. “He was a true Canadian peacemaker,” the old man told them. “Spent the rest of his years determined to do good in this world.” A trumpet played the last post. Uniformed legion members took up the flags and dipped them towards the ground in Angus’s honour. Roxanne swallowed. Since Jake’s death, would ceremonies like this always get to her?

  One of the family men was Angus’s brother. He said what was expected, spoke of a good father, the faithful husband, told stories of Angus the fisherman, of the things he and his carpentry group had built. He took the model boat into his hands.

  “When the spring comes,” he said, “we’ll put my brother’s ashes into this boat and set it on the lake, out on the water, and we’ll light it on fire. We’ll let you know when we do it and we’ll have a barbecue afterwards. You’re all invited.”

  The crowd smiled and nodded. No one mentioned that Angus Smith hadn’t deserved to die the way he did, at the hands of a murderer, but at the end of the service, Roxanne found her hand being shaken by people who wished her well and every success.

  “So you know it wasn’t Brad Andreychuk that did it?” Archie stood at her elbow.

  “Can’t talk about that with you, Archie,” she said. She looked over to where the Andreychuks stood, two men the same age as Brad at their sides. Were those his buddies, Mitch and Billy? Otherwise, they were isolated and ignored.

  “That business with Erik Axelsson should never have happened,” said Archie. “Bradley had no need to try to pin the murder on Erik. I don’t blame Maggie for trying to defend her man, we all know John Andreychuk’s got a pacemaker, but what Brad did was wrong. People around here remember things like that.” As Roxanne wondered how she could change the subject, Archie continued, “Hear you’ve been talking to George Smedley.”

  “Can’t talk about that either,” she said.

  “Gotcha, milady,” he replied. “You should come see me one of these days. You know where to find me. Kettle’s always on.”

  Right, she thought, so that I can feed the gossip mill.

  “Look.” Izzy returned to her side with a plateful of food in her hand. “They’ve made real funeral sandwiches.” Hatches had been opened at the other side of the hall. Tables were set up, trays of food laid out. Coffee and tea urns hissed on the counter.

  “You hardly ever get these anymore,” Izzy was gleeful. “See, they’ve even got the round, cherry ones.” The sandwiches were crustless, layered, from different breads and with fillings. Some were rolled and cut like pinwheels. The ones Izzy had mentioned were brown bread, filled with a mixture of cream cheese and chopped maraschino cherry. “They’re the best.” Izzy devoured one in two mouthfuls. “Here’s my mom.” A round-faced woman came up and was introduced. The talk was all about Izzy being in the Force, the food, the funeral service. Not a word was spoken about murder.

  “You’re not eating?” Izzy’s mom looked at Roxanne.

  “Corporal Calloway doesn’t eat this kind of stuff,” said Izzy.

  “I’m supposed to be training for the marathon,” Roxanne explained. “Although I’m getting out of shape. There’s nowhere to run inside and it’s either too cold or snowy out.”

  “Really?” said Izzy’s mother. “There’s a walking track in the community hall at Sprucewood.” The village she mentioned was a few miles west of Fiskar Bay, near the McBain farm. “They’d let you run there, if I asked them. Izzy, why didn’t you say?”

  “I never thought.” Izzy swallowed another mouthful. “I still think you should come and skate with me and my hockey team, Corporal. That’s the best way to burn off steam. Then you could eat properly.”

  “Don’t be cheeky, Isabel,” said her mother.

  John Andreychuk and his sons were making their way to the door. The crowd parted in front of them to let them through, but otherwise they were treated as though they were invisible. This is how a small town works, Roxanne thought. It has its unspoken rules. You help those who follow them, exclude those who don’t.

  Matt joined them, with his aunt at his side. She really was almost as tall as he. Annie Chan looked tiny beside her.

  “Good funeral,” said Panda. “I like it when it’s organized so everybody knows when to stand up and sit down and nobody gets to go on too long.” She was interrupted by a disturbance behind them. George Smedley was supporting his wife, who was buckling at the knees. Izzy seized a chair and the rest moved to help, but it was Annie Chan who took control of the situation.

  “Get your head down, Phyllis,” she instructed. Phyllis’s face was a sickly shade of green and she was shaking. “Breathe in now, in and out.”

  “She said she felt sick,” George blurted.

  “We need to clear some space here,” Roxanne said to Matt. Bill Gilchrist came up with a man at his side.

  “Harry here’s a paramedic,” he said. “He’ll take care of her. Another guy’s gone to get equipment.”

  “I used to be a nurse,” said Annie. She continued to reassure Phyllis, to calm her down, to get her to breathe slowly and steadily.

  “My heart, it’s racing.” Phyllis gasped for air. Annie put a hand on each of her shoulders. “It’s okay, you’re going to be fine.” As soon as they could, the medics ushered Phyllis to a side room. George went to fetch the car.

  “She’s going to be all right,” said one of the medics. “Probably just the crowd and the excitement.” Annie rejoined them.

  “You were a nurse?” Roxanne asked her.

  “I was,” said Annie. “A long time ago, but you don’t forget. I think Phyllis was having a panic attack.”

  George reappeared. He looked shaken.

  “Are you all right to drive, Mr. Smedley?” asked Roxanne.

  “Oh yes!” he said. “She was perfectly fine, you know. She hasn’t had one of these turns for a while.”

  “They’re a regular occurrence?’

  “No, no, not regular. My wife is very sensitive,” he continued. “She gets upset easily. Today has obviously been a little too stressful for her. I’ll get her home, to bed. She’ll be all right, she always is. Can you show me where they’ve taken her?”

  Matt showed him to the room where Phyllis was sequestered. Annie and Panda were talking to Izzy. They said goodbye. Izzy turned back to Roxanne, all smiles.

  “Dinner is on. Tomorrow night. Annie Chan’s going to cook Chinese.”

  Gilchrist had taken his leave of Angus’s family. He came to join Roxanne. “You got that George Smedley in your sights?” he asked her.

  “We’re checking him out, Sarge. There are financial issues with Stella’s business. And something’s a bit off about him.”

  “Guy’s a little creep, if you ask me.”

  “Do you know much about him?” she asked.

  “Nah. Nothing much. He’s one of those not-quite-retired folks who show up here now and again, all touchy-feely, smile too much. They move here, stay for a year or two, then they move on. He won’t be here by this time next year, I’ll bet. If you’re going to pin this on him you’d better get moving,” he added with a laugh. “Hear you’ve been talking
to Leo Isbister too. Word is he’s on the agenda for the next council meeting at Fiskar Bay. Did he tell you that?”

  “No,” she said. “Didn’t tell me very much.”

  “Figures,” he said. “Sharp fella. Never know what he’s really up to. Problem is our council doesn’t know either. See you back at the office.”

  She watched him move to the door, shaking hands as he went. It looked like he knew almost everyone in the hall, like Izzy, who was moving around from group to group.

  There was a lineup to say goodbye to the family. The mother’s face looked drawn, but composed. She sat, enthroned, in a large chair. Angus’s son did most of the talking.

  “Mom’s going to be moving to the city,” he said to Roxanne. “She’ll be staying with my sister’s family while we find a place for her. The house is going to go on the market soon.”

  “You need to check with us about that,” she responded crisply. The house was still a crime scene. “We may need you to hold off on that for a while.”

  “We have to get going on this,” the son insisted. “Mom’s money’s tied up in the house.”

  “We won’t delay any longer than we need to.” His mother looked helpless. It was so soon after Angus’s death. Didn’t she need more time before they made these changes? The daughter joined them.

  “Not that we’re going to get a decent price for it, after what’s happened there,” she complained.

  “What’s going on with Dad’s saws, the ones you confiscated?” demanded the son.

  “All in good time,” Roxanne said. “We may need to hold onto them as evidence.”

  “Christ,” he said. “Are you saying you’ll need to keep them until there’s a trial? You haven’t even arrested anyone yet.”

  “The investigation is proceeding as it should,” she replied, feeling no need to sound anything but professional. “You know who to contact if you need to, don’t you?”