Unreasonable Doubt (3 page)

Chapter Five

Ellie Carmine lugged the bucket of cleaning supplies down the stairs. Her back ached. She was getting too old for this nonsense.

The B&B was almost full with women from one of the dragon boat teams, and she'd decided to give herself a small break and not rent the last room. Then, scarcely knowing what she was doing, she'd gone and done just that. Accepted another reservation for five nights. Still, she needed the money and empty rooms didn't pay the bills.

She put the bucket in the closet and shut the door. The new arrival was due at five p.m. She might have time for a quick cup of tea before he got here. Despite her sore legs and aching feet, she smiled to herself. She hoped the single man would enjoy staying in a house full of fun-loving, highly athletic women, all of them taking a break from husbands, children, and jobs.

She plugged in the kettle.

The doorbell rang.

Oh, well. Get him settled in and then she could have her tea. She tidied her hair and went to answer the door.

Something was vaguely familiar about the man standing there, but she couldn't say what. He smiled at her, but the smile didn't touch his eyes and his look was wary. He'd booked online, using a credit card. Ellie never read the papers or watched the news on TV. She worked too hard, she told anyone who would listen. Although she always tried to find time in her day for her favorite soaps. And she did enjoy watching
Ellen
and
The View
.

“I'm Walt,” the man said. “I have a reservation?”

“Certainly, come on in.”

Ellie's place, the Glacier Chalet B&B, was one of the largest, nicest old houses in Trafalgar. A Victorian gem, bought by Ellie and her late husband many years ago. They'd been able to afford it only because it was falling apart. Most of the other houses of that era had been torn down, replaced with characterless modern boxes.

They'd worked hard to restore the house to its original glory, right down to the elaborate gingerbread trim. The front porch, graced with dove gray pillars, wide enough for lounge chairs and tables where guests could enjoy a drink on a summer evening, ran across the front and down each side wall. Inside, the guest rooms were large and comfortable, decorated to match the period of the house. A ground-floor common room was fitted with couches and chairs, an old computer, a small TV, a full bookshelf, and board games and puzzles were stacked in wicker baskets. The house was large enough that Ellie and her daughter, Kathy, had their own apartment. Kathy, much to Ellie's displeasure, used her valuable business diploma not to help run (with the intention of eventually taking over) the B&B, but to get a job in town at a dental office.

Soon it would be, Ellie thought, not for the first time—not even for the first time that day—time to sell. The place was worth a small fortune and would see her into a very comfortable retirement. The problem would be in finding a buyer. Not much call for six-bedroom houses with seven bathrooms, plus a separate apartment, two kitchens, and a half-acre of garden. Maintaining the garden alone was a full-time job. She'd had to finally give in and hire a landscape company when Kathy began ignoring her pleas to get the lawn cut.

“You can park your car around back,” she said to the new guest.

“I don't have a car. I came in on the bus.” He stepped inside and politely removed his hat, a wide-brimmed beige Tilley.

“Oh. All right then.” That was odd. The Glacier Chalet was the most expensive B&B in Trafalgar. She didn't get a lot of customers who arrived on the Greyhound. She studied the man. He was tall, lean, seemed to be in good physical shape although he was exceedingly pale. His clothes looked new: khaki summer-weight pants, a golf shirt, black loafers. He carried only one piece of luggage—a bulging backpack, also looking quite new.

A table in the front hall served as the registration desk. Ellie handed Walt a sign-in sheet and a pen. He wrote his name. Then he stopped and thought. “I'm sorry,” he said at last, “but I've just come back after an extended time away, so I don't have an address at the moment.”

“That's okay,” she said, “I have your credit card number on file.” Better remind him of that. “The house is full. I hope it doesn't get too noisy for you.” Also a good idea to remind a single man that she wasn't alone in the house. Although, at the moment, she was. “Breakfast is served in the dining room, from six-thirty to nine on weekdays. Seven to ten on weekends. Coffee's on all day, and I put some light snacks out in the early evening, around five-thirty or six. You're welcome to make use of the TV or the computer in the common room at any time. If you want suggestions as to places to eat or things to do, I'd be happy to help.” She smiled at him.

“I've… I've been here before. But it's been a long time. Thank you, Ma'am.”

Ellie liked politeness in a man.

Now, if only she could remember where she'd seen him before.

***

Walt Desmond lowered himself gingerly onto the bed. For a moment he felt as though he were going to fall right through, all the way to the floor. The mattress was soft, yielding and yet firm at the same time. The duvet was thick, the cover almost blindingly white. He hadn't slept in a bed like this since…No, he was here now. He had to enjoy every moment without remembering all he had lost. The only room left in the B&B, so the Internet had told him, was a single. He was glad of it. He didn't want to sleep in a big bed, where memories of Arlene curled up next to him would haunt his dreams.

The room was beautiful, although startlingly feminine to his prison-accustomed eyes. Arlene would have loved it. The duvet cover on the bed was as white as fresh snow in the prison yard before the men started trampling down the drifts. The pillowcases were a deep blue. The walls were painted pale blue and the prints hanging there featured scenes of the lake in winter. A child's stuffed polar bear, with a blue ribbon around its snow-white neck, sat on the dresser beside tea things. A coffee pot, a small kettle, two blue-and-white china teacups, a silver tray containing packets of hot chocolate mix, sugar, packaged whitener, and several packages of cookies. The blue-and-white striped curtains were open, giving him a view of rows of houses and winding roads marching up the side of the mountain.

Louise's assistant had checked him into a motel when he'd been released. The room had been plain and functional, yet he'd thought it magnificent. He couldn't really afford this place, should have stayed at a cheap motel, tried to save some of what little money he had. But, he'd learned the hard way, there was no sense planning for tomorrow. Tomorrow might well turn out to be just another nightmare. Blue, he'd read somewhere, was a calming color. Not that he needed anything to calm him down. He thought that he could lie here, on this bed, forever, looking up at the white, unmarked celling. Breakfast, Ellie Carmine had said, was from six-thirty to nine. Tomorrow morning he'd have two and a half hours in which he could decide if he wanted to get out of bed or not. Imagine, no ringing bells, no lines of sullen, shuffling men. Probably a heck of a lot better breakfast than the slop they'd served at the prison too.

He lay back on the bed. Ellie Carmine. He remembered her. She and her husband had bought this old house and fixed it up. They opened the B&B the summer before….Her husband's name was Daniel. Danny, she called him. Walt wondered if Danny was still around. He'd been about to introduce himself, tell Ellie they were acquainted. But he'd closed his mouth, the greeting, the reminder unsaid. Time enough to find out if people here remembered him.

He heard the front door open and a burst of female laughter. Footsteps on the stairs. Several pairs by the sound of it. More laughter.

Of all the things he'd missed, perhaps what he'd missed the most had been the sound of women laughing.

He almost leapt out of his skin at a rap on the door. “Yes?”

“Hi, I'm Darlene, your neighbor.”

He lifted himself, reluctantly, off the bed and opened the door. The woman was in her early sixties, extremely well-preserved sixties, with gray-blond hair pulled back into a high bouncy ponytail. She wore a pair of tight black shorts and a red shirt made of a stretchy material with Kelowna Pepper printed across the front, and her feet were wrapped in sturdy sandals that looked like they'd been fashioned from old tires. Her skin was bronzed from the sun and her teeth almost shone. She held a bottle of wine in her hand. “Welcome. We've had a great day and are in the mood to celebrate. We're going to have a drink or two in the common room before heading out for dinner.”

“I…” he found himself at a total loss for words. He'd thought Louise beautiful, with her expensive suits, her perfume, her high heels, and sleek black briefcase. But this…this tall creature, with the tanned face, swinging hair, muscular arms and legs—long bare legs—firm breasts under the tight shirt, that smile, was beyond beautiful. “I'm Walt.”

“Pleased to meet you, Walt. We tend to get a mite loud sometimes, so you're welcome to join us if you'd like. No pressure.” She waved the bottle in the air. “And the drinks are on us.”

Further down the hall a door opened. Another beautiful woman, much the same age, dressed in identical black shorts and red shirt as Darlene, stuck her head out. “Oh, goodie. Just what we've been missing. A man.” She barked out a laugh. “I'll be down soon as I've hit the shower.”

“That degenerate is Nancy,” Darlene said. “You need to watch out for her, Walt.”

Nancy slammed her door with another peal of laughter.

“Come on down when you're ready,” Darlene said. “If you want to.”

She took the stairs at a gallop.

Walt stood in the doorway to his room, stunned.

***

Carolanne sank onto her bed with a grateful sigh. She ached. Her whole body ached. Easier to catalogue what didn't ache rather than what did. She was definitely getting too old for this. All she wanted to do right now was to sleep. Take a nice long nap, then order in a pizza—an extra large would be nice—and stay in bed with the pizza, a bag of chips, and a stack of mindless gossip magazines.

But, as was becoming usual these days, what got her to her feet, running the bath and laying out clothes to wear to dinner, was the thought that the other women were older than her. Stronger, fitter, better-looking. But still
older
.

She climbed into the bath with a grateful sigh. The water was piping hot, the towels big and fluffy, the soap and bath products lightly scented. She was pleased she'd thought to get a smaller, single room. She didn't mind paying a bit extra, as long as she could have
some
desperately needed moments of peace and privacy. These women were tireless. A morning jog, a day on the water, drinks and snacks in the common room, and then out to dinner. At least they didn't want to go clubbing after. Carolanne sank further into the water.

What had she gotten herself into?

Carla had dragged her to the dragon boat club, telling Carolanne what she knew well enough but couldn't convince herself to do anything about: she needed an interest in life. She needed a reason to get up in the morning and get out of the house, to go somewhere other than just her excruciatingly boring job as a bank teller. She needed to meet new and fascinating people. She needed, Carla said, to meet men. Carolanne had put her foot down at that. She was not, she insisted to her sister, interested in dating or in doing anything that would make anyone think she, a recent widow, was looking for a new husband.

Carla had smiled and said, “Have I got the perfect thing for you.”

Carolanne had never been one for exercise. She'd gone to the gym when she was younger, more because everyone she knew was a member of a gym than because she enjoyed it. Frank played hockey in the winter and fished in the summer. Carolanne had absolutely no interest in participating in those things with him. He didn't mind. He did his thing, she did hers, and when they got together at the end of the day all was right with their world.

She felt tears behind her eyes and blinked them away. No regrets. Her marriage wouldn't have been any stronger, Frank's all-too-short life any longer, if she'd learned to skate or pretended interest in sitting in a leaky rowboat or over a hole in the ice waiting for some hapless fish to swim past.

She'd joined the women's dragon boat team expecting a few pleasant summer hours out on the lake. Instead she'd fallen into a group of
determined
women. These women lived and breathed their boat. They had jobs and families, but otherwise they seemed to exist only for their time on the water. The water, and the team. It was the camaraderie, the teamship, which drew Carolanne in. Even when she discovered that the women worked out to get in shape for boating, rather than paddling to get in shape. In the winter, when they couldn't put the boat in, they just worked out.

To her considerable surprise, she turned out to be good at it. She had long legs and long arms, perfect, the team's coach had told her, for paddling. Carla soon dropped out. She said she didn't have the time, with the job and her kids, but Carolanne knew her sister wasn't getting the pure joy out of it that she was. Perhaps that was another thing that drove Carolanne on. Carla was the older sister, always more accomplished, more successful with her lawyer-husband, two perfect kids, and her position as an executive in an insurance company.

The team went to California for a week in February. Not to swim and relax in the sun, but to practice on the water. And, of course, to work out. It had been the best week Carolanne had in a long time.

Although, when they got home she had to take two extra vacation days, just to recover.

She started at a knock on her door. “Drinkies downstairs in five minutes,” Darlene shouted. “If you're late we won't save any for you.”

Carolanne blinked. She must have fallen asleep. The bath water was cool, the bubbles nothing but soapy scum. She climbed out of the tub and reached for a towel.