Read Online Claire's Head by Catherine Bush - Free Book Online Page A

laughed. Her two-plus-one girls Allison sometimes called them.
    One of the cats, Georgia, a marbled brown, slipped in through a tear in the screen of the kitchen window, bounced from counter to floor and vamoosed in the direction of the living room. Allison’s hair, clipped at the back of her neck, sprayedupwards in a cockscomb. She plucked a corked bottle from the counter and raised one eyebrow. Jealously, Claire shook her head. “Kiwi?” Allison tossed one through the air and Claire caught it as Allison tucked the bottle under her arm and carried a clean but smudged glass towards the table. A movement at the top of the stairs, behind Allison, out of Allison’s sight, caught Claire’s eye – a small figure in a sleeveless purple nightgown gazed down at them. “So –” Allison began as Claire laid her hand on Allison’s wrist and without looking up, Allison nodded and said, “Let’s take Belle for a spin around the block.”
    She poured some wine, not into the glass but a child’s plastic cup, then dashed downstairs to let Lennie know where they were off to, while Claire turned, intending to wave to Star, but Star had vanished.
    The grass outside was damp against their sandalled feet, Claire’s mouth full of the kiwi’s sour-sweet flesh. The dog lol-loped across a stretch of lawn. “So,” Allison said again.
    â€œThere was no sign that she’s been back. I’d say it looks like she left on a regular trip – she took her computer, most of her medications. There’s nothing obvious to suggest she was planning on being away for a long time.”
    Allison exhaled. “It’s weird, okay, it is. And the guy?”
    â€œWell, they’ve been involved.”
    â€œThere’s a surprise.”
    â€œHe’s a massage therapist.”
    â€œOh great, she gets involved with her massage therapist.”
    â€œI think it happened afterwards. Anyway, it didn’t sound like things were going all that well. They had an argument before she left.”
    â€œIs there someone else?”
    â€œHe didn’t say.”
    â€œWell.” Allison slugged back a mouthful of wine. “I suppose it’s possible she’s fallen madly in love and run off. It’s not impossible. Except there’s Star. Why no word, why would she do that to Star?”
    â€œWhat have you said to Star?”
    â€œShe’s travelling. It’s an important trip. She can’t get to a computer or the telephone. This can only go on for so long, though. Either I think she’s sent messages and they’ve all, all one of them, whatever, got lost, or something’s happened –” Allison whistled for the dog. “I can’t –”
    â€œI know someone in the police department,” Claire said, listening to the soft clink of the dog’s tags and the shush of their sandals against the sidewalk. “We deal with the police department all the time. We make maps for them. I’ll see what he has to say.”
    â€œThat would be good.”
    â€œAnd I have the number of a doctor in Montreal, the guy, I think it’s the guy she went to interview. I’ve been trying to get hold of him.”

 

    C laire called Matt Patel, her contact in the police department. He wanted to talk about the High Park rape investigation. When she asked his advice about Rachel, he passed her along to a detective named William Bird, who took down the little information she could give him. Montreal. March 14. Hotel du Parc. She hated making Rachel’s absence official. It felt disloyal. Its admission of seriousness sent things into a different zone. Detective Bird reassured her that most missing people turned up. Or simply did not want to be found. People left tracks all over: credit card transactions, cash machine withdrawals, border crossings, car rentals, airline flights. As Claire knew. To begin with, he asked, did she or