C.J. Carmichael - A Little Secret between Friends

Red wine was going to be spilled all over her beautiful, spanking-new kitchen…

But Neil’s hand didn’t stop at the bottle. It kept moving and just a split second before she went flying, she realized the hand was headed for her.

He pushed her violently, letting loose a barrage of cursing at the same time.

“No!” Feeling herself lose her balance, Sally threw out her arms. One hand glanced off the wok, the smoking, hot wok.

She hollered in pain, and then he shoved her again, harder this time. She felt her legs fly out from under her. On the way down her head glanced off the edge of the granite counter with a thud.

For a second all was numb. Then sensation returned in an explosion of pain.

Oh, God!

She landed on the floor, on the cold, hard tile and couldn’t stop herself from moaning. Her head vibrated with waves of pain. She couldn’t believe she was still conscious. She put a hand to the spot and felt the warm stickiness of blood.

“Neil…” she moaned. Phone the ambulance, she wanted to say, but she couldn’t get out the words. Oh, my head, my head. Help me, Neil. Surely you didn’t mean to do this.

“You always were clumsy in the kitchen, Sal.”

She couldn’t see him, but she felt his breath in her ear as he spoke the words. He must be crouching on the floor beside her. Sally tried to open her eyes, but all she saw was darkness. White dots of light.

“You’re never going to be a judge, you bitch. When I’m finished with you, you’ll be lucky if you aren’t disbarred.”

She heard his pants rustle as he stood and she had a sudden fear of being kicked. She was so vulnerable here on the floor, writhing at his feet. She forced herself to be still, to stop the moaning. No matter that she could hardly breathe for the throbbing in her head. She couldn’t let him see her broken.

Seconds ticked by. She waited for his next move. A kick? A punch? Would he throw something at her?

And then she heard his hard-soled shoes clapping on the Mediterranean tile floor. The sound receded, then stopped. The back door opened, slammed shut.

He was gone. Thank goodness he was gone.

She curled her legs up toward her chest and tried to lift her head. No. Impossible.

Armani’s paws clacked against the tile as he came to check her out. She felt his soft, warm tongue on her hand.

“Good boy,” she tried to whisper.

Blackness. Pain. The smell of blood.

Have to get up. But she couldn’t. Armani continued to whine, to nudge her hand with his nose.

Ow. Her burned hand hurt. Everything hurt. Need help.

Beth.

With her uninjured hand, she pulled out the cell phone clipped to her waist. Her thumb passed over the buttons, pressing a familiar speed-dial number by rote.

Her fingers were slick with blood, her movements uncoordinated. The phone slipped to the floor near her head. The house was so quiet, she could hear the rings. One. Two. Three.

Someone answered. It was a man’s voice. That was wrong. She didn’t want a man.

Beth. She tried to speak, but didn’t know if any sound came out. Help me, Beth.

Then all went dark.

CROWN PROSECUTOR Colin Foster was home watching the hockey game when the phone rang. He’d boiled himself some bacon-and-onion perogies for dinner, and a plate smeared with sour cream sat on his footstool next to a half-empty beer.

The Flames had made the playoffs and were into overtime with the Canucks to tie the series. He didn’t want to answer the damn call, but when he leaned over and saw the name on display, his priorities took a sudden shift.

Sally Stowe. Why was she phoning? He couldn’t think of a single reason. But there were plenty why she wouldn’t.

He hit mute on the remote control. His study went bizarrely silent as the action continued on the bigscreen TV. Leaning forward in his leather chair, he pressed the talk button.

“Hello?”

Nothing. Then some muffled, indistinguishable noises.

“Sally, is that you?” Was that a sob? “Are you all right?”

More muffled noises, barely discernible as words. And then one word, very faintly. “Beth.”

“Sally?” Why was she asking for his wife? What was going on?

But there was only silence from the line.

Colin waited for several seconds, maybe even a whole minute. When nothing else happened, he finally hung up and tried to think of explanations. Sally had been his wife’s best friend. In the past she would phone here all the time.

But not at all for the past six months.

Had she dialed the number by mistake? He could see that happening, easily enough. But Sally would have apologized as soon as she’d realized her error.

And what about those background noises? And that soft cry of “Beth…”

Something must be wrong. Sally’s place wasn’t far. He’d better drive over and make sure she and Lara were all right.

Colin turned off the TV, then grabbed Beth’s key chain from the hall. He was pretty sure his wife had kept a spare for Sally’s house. They used to water plants and bring in mail when either one went on a trip without the other.

Best friends. Yes, they’d been best friends all right. For as long as he’d known them, they’d been closer than sisters. They celebrated birthdays together, went on annual girl-holidays and dyed each other’s hair. They’d even decided to move into the same neighborhood so they would be close to each other.

Colin hadn’t minded. He was happy with the Elbow Valley home he and Beth had selected. And the community, with its network of biking trails, connected green spaces, and a frozen pond for skating in the winter, would have been a perfect place to raise kids.

If he and Beth had only managed to have them.

Colin went through the laundry room to the three-car garage, hitting the power button for the door opener on his way to the SUV.

As he passed the Miata convertible Beth had loved so much, he felt a twinge of guilt. There was so much he’d let slide this last while. He knew the registration on the Miata was expired, and so was the insurance, probably. Beth’s clothes were still in her closet, her mail unopened. Hell, he was pretty sure there was a container of her yogurt in the back of the fridge. Probably more mold than yogurt by now.

He had to start dealing with all this. Pull together the pieces that were left of his life. As he backed his vehicle out of the garage, Colin made a promise to himself. He was going to make a list and get busy.

Soon. Very soon.

Not tonight, but tomorrow for sure. First he had to find out why Sally Stowe was calling a woman who had been dead for six months.

SALLY WASN’T SURE how long she’d lain on the floor—fifteen minutes? Maybe twenty?—when she heard knocking at the front door.

Not Neil, was her first coherent thought. He would have just barged in.

So then, who? She wasn’t expecting anyone. Maybe a canvasser or something.

She tried to sit up, then moaned. Her head hurt so much, she must have a concussion. But her injuries couldn’t be too serious. She was conscious and her mind was working all right. Wasn’t it? Let’s see, she was Sally Stowe and today was April the twenty-third and the capital of Alberta was… Edmonton.

Yes, she was fine, she was absolutely fine. If only she could pick herself up from the floor.

There was another knock, this one at the kitchen door. For a second she panicked. Maybe it was Neil, checking if she was alive.

Or making sure she wasn’t…

Armani whined, and she put a reassuring hand on his back. She wished someone could do the same for her. Neil had never been physically violent before. She didn’t know what to make of it.

The door opened. A voice called out, “Sally? Are you home?”