Read Online Butterfly Kills by Brenda Chapman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Brenda Chapman
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know?”
Jucinda shook her head. “Mark called him to come to the centre but didn’t tell him why.”
The two women exchanged looks and the expression on Jucinda’s face sent a jolt through Gail’s nether regions. Juicy was smiling, her lips lifted at the corners, with a smug look in her eyes as if someone had handed her a gift. Gail recalled her vitriolic condemnation of Leah the day before and her interest in Wolf. She squirmed at a sudden rush of guilt at her own part in the conversation. For God’s sake, Leah might have already been dead when they were discussing her loose morals, her spirit hovering in the room, listening to herself being called a slut. Surely Juicy had nothing to do with Leah’s death, but her smile was disturbing. Gail swung her eyes back toward the office.
“Who’s that with Beach Boy and Tadesco?”
“It’s a detective. Stonechild, I think she said her name was,” Nate roused himself to respond. “And she brought along a police officer.”
“Christ,” Gail said. Her stomach rolled and she swallowed hard. Sweat was making her armpits wet. She was glad she’d worn a sleeveless white top that wouldn’t show the dark stains.
Mark’s office door opened and the detective crossed the floor in their direction. Gail stared over: an Aboriginal, about their age, younger than thirty anyhow. She had long black hair tied back in a ponytail and black eyes that were drinking them in, assessing and processing. Dressed in navy slacks and a white shirt, the detective looked lean, muscular, and confident, everything Gail knew herself not to be.
“Hello, I’m Detective Stonechild,” the woman said upon reaching them. “I know the news of Leah’s death has come as a shock, but it would help our investigation if I could speak with each of you individually.” She looked down at her notepad. “I’ll start with Jucinda Rivera. Please follow me into your supervisor’s office. Gail Pankhurst and then Nathan Anders will follow. Officer Marquette will stay with you. I’d appreciate it if you do not discuss anything about Leah amongst yourselves. Thanks.”
Wow, no messing around. Gail felt that sick feeling back in her stomach. They were actually being interrogated, like on a police show, but this was no work of fiction.
The detective turned and Jucinda rose to follow, throwing a rolling eye glance in Gail’s direction. Lucky for her, Marquette had his back turned. He was leaning against Gail’s desk and pulled out his cellphone as she passed by him. Mark and the professor joined Nate on the couch.
“Well, this wasn’t what I was expecting today when I got dressed for work,” Gail said. Nobody smiled and she couldn’t really blame them. Making light when their colleague had just been murdered was in extremely bad taste, but she had to cope somehow. Every inch of her body felt like it was burning up with fever. She even smelled rancid, fear changing her body odour to something putrid and disgusting.
A curious thought came to her as she looked at the three stooges — Tadesco, Nate, and Mark — lined up as if they were facing a firing squad. Juicy had said that Leah was sleeping around with a married man. Could it be one of these three? She studied them to see if any was more broken up than the others, but had to admit they all looked devastated. Tadesco won out in the red-eyed category though. She looked at him again.
Immaculate blue suit and open-necked shirt the colour of daffodils, tall with jet-black hair gelled back, and a Mediterranean complexion. Attractive enough if you liked the Italian-prince-slash- GQ look. He was the hotline’s staunchest supporter and considered a socialist — a handicap the wealthier right-wing students overlooked because his psych classes were so interesting and he was such an easy marker. His wife, on the other hand, was an unpopular English prof. Medieval lit major, a horsey face, and expensive silk dresses labelled her elitist and stuck up. Rumour
Jucinda shook her head. “Mark called him to come to the centre but didn’t tell him why.”
The two women exchanged looks and the expression on Jucinda’s face sent a jolt through Gail’s nether regions. Juicy was smiling, her lips lifted at the corners, with a smug look in her eyes as if someone had handed her a gift. Gail recalled her vitriolic condemnation of Leah the day before and her interest in Wolf. She squirmed at a sudden rush of guilt at her own part in the conversation. For God’s sake, Leah might have already been dead when they were discussing her loose morals, her spirit hovering in the room, listening to herself being called a slut. Surely Juicy had nothing to do with Leah’s death, but her smile was disturbing. Gail swung her eyes back toward the office.
“Who’s that with Beach Boy and Tadesco?”
“It’s a detective. Stonechild, I think she said her name was,” Nate roused himself to respond. “And she brought along a police officer.”
“Christ,” Gail said. Her stomach rolled and she swallowed hard. Sweat was making her armpits wet. She was glad she’d worn a sleeveless white top that wouldn’t show the dark stains.
Mark’s office door opened and the detective crossed the floor in their direction. Gail stared over: an Aboriginal, about their age, younger than thirty anyhow. She had long black hair tied back in a ponytail and black eyes that were drinking them in, assessing and processing. Dressed in navy slacks and a white shirt, the detective looked lean, muscular, and confident, everything Gail knew herself not to be.
“Hello, I’m Detective Stonechild,” the woman said upon reaching them. “I know the news of Leah’s death has come as a shock, but it would help our investigation if I could speak with each of you individually.” She looked down at her notepad. “I’ll start with Jucinda Rivera. Please follow me into your supervisor’s office. Gail Pankhurst and then Nathan Anders will follow. Officer Marquette will stay with you. I’d appreciate it if you do not discuss anything about Leah amongst yourselves. Thanks.”
Wow, no messing around. Gail felt that sick feeling back in her stomach. They were actually being interrogated, like on a police show, but this was no work of fiction.
The detective turned and Jucinda rose to follow, throwing a rolling eye glance in Gail’s direction. Lucky for her, Marquette had his back turned. He was leaning against Gail’s desk and pulled out his cellphone as she passed by him. Mark and the professor joined Nate on the couch.
“Well, this wasn’t what I was expecting today when I got dressed for work,” Gail said. Nobody smiled and she couldn’t really blame them. Making light when their colleague had just been murdered was in extremely bad taste, but she had to cope somehow. Every inch of her body felt like it was burning up with fever. She even smelled rancid, fear changing her body odour to something putrid and disgusting.
A curious thought came to her as she looked at the three stooges — Tadesco, Nate, and Mark — lined up as if they were facing a firing squad. Juicy had said that Leah was sleeping around with a married man. Could it be one of these three? She studied them to see if any was more broken up than the others, but had to admit they all looked devastated. Tadesco won out in the red-eyed category though. She looked at him again.
Immaculate blue suit and open-necked shirt the colour of daffodils, tall with jet-black hair gelled back, and a Mediterranean complexion. Attractive enough if you liked the Italian-prince-slash- GQ look. He was the hotline’s staunchest supporter and considered a socialist — a handicap the wealthier right-wing students overlooked because his psych classes were so interesting and he was such an easy marker. His wife, on the other hand, was an unpopular English prof. Medieval lit major, a horsey face, and expensive silk dresses labelled her elitist and stuck up. Rumour
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