The Spider Bites (8 page)

“Because Cheryl was rich. And we lived like beggars. Do you know what that's like?”

“Dead, she was rich,” said Mark. “Not while she was alive.”

“That's not true. My father left her lots of money. But she never spent anything. She rented out most of the house. She worked as a waitress.” Susanna's cheeks were red with anger. “She could have sent me to private school and bought us both nice clothes. We could have had a car. Instead, she made me get a job. And pay rent on my apartment.”

“She put your father's insurance money aside for you, Susanna,” said Mark. “It was for emergencies and to get you a good start in life.”

She wasn't listening.

“It served her right, dying in the fire. But I had nothing to do with it. And you'll never be able to prove that I did.”

“Everyone makes mistakes, Susanna,” I said, “Even you. You know why they called me the Spider? I was after this rich, powerful guy with important friends. A real bastard.”

Tony nodded. “Rick wove a huge web. And the bastard made one mistake. Rick caught him. One very big fly. So we called him the Spider.”

“And this time I wove a very small web and caught a big fool and a nasty little fly,” I said.

CHAPTER TWENTY
THE MISTAKE

S
usanna stood up, slowly and deliberately. She nodded and walked out. Greg scrambled after her. Tony was already on his mobile, talking fast. What happened next came very quickly. Afterward, no one was really sure what order it all happened in. Angela said that Greg was the first to notice anything. She's probably right. She was the first of us to go outside after them.

There was hardly any traffic on West Central Avenue. Greg's truck was parked right at the curb in front of us. It was pointed east. He started walking around to the driver's side. A slow-moving westbound patrol car braked suddenly. It made a u-turn on the almost empty street. Greg stopped and walked back toward the sidewalk. Susanna started to run. Angela sprinted forward and grabbed Susanna's arm. Susanna screamed.

When I came out of the Coffee Corner, Greg was lunging at Angela. That was a mistake. She kicked him hard, where it hurt. He fell to the ground, curled up in pain. She dragged him to the sidewalk. Susanna jumped into the truck then. She sideswiped the patrol car and lurched east on West Central, accelerating fast.

That was when she must have seen something in the intersection. Tony said it was a woman pushing a stroller. But he's a sentimental kind of guy. I didn't see anything. I was too busy hanging on to Greg. I figured it was one of the cops from a second car that turned up.

Mark said it was a couple walking hand in hand. Susanna swerved to avoid whatever it was. She can't have noticed the huge
SUV
heading into the intersection, speeding west. She ploughed head-on into it.

She wasn't wearing a seatbelt.

* * *

“Thanks for your help,” I said to Mark Davies, shaking his hand.

I wasn't sure I meant it. He still seemed much too interested in Angela. And I had serious plans for change and reform in that direction.

“I appreciate your help too,” he said. “You've saved us money and a lot of embarrassment.”

“How?” I said. “You'll pardon my asking, sir, but who are you?”

Angela burst into laughter. “Really, Rick. Didn't you know? He's my boss,” she said. “Remember? I have a new job.”

“What exactly do you do?” I asked her.

“I work for an insurance company,” said Angela. “Imperial and Northern. Investigating fraud.”

“And she's very good at it,” said Mark. “I'm here because Cheryl was insured with us. But I wanted to talk to you anyway. And I appreciated being able to watch you work. Angela's told me a lot about you.”

“She has?”

“Yes. We need another investigator. It would be good to have someone on the team who speaks Spanish.”

He took a business card from his pocket. “Think about it. Call me if you're interested.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ANGELA: ONCE MORE

T
he business of giving statements had taken the better part of the afternoon.

They let me observe Greg's interview. It was interesting.

“I never wanted to have anything to do with it,” he said. “I loved her and I just wanted to marry her. I told her I was making enough money for both of us. She could have quit work if she wanted. But this guy had offered her a lot of money if she would help him out. And to do it, she needed my truck.”

“What did she want you to do?”

“Drive over to the jail on Friday morning,” he said.

“That's it? Just drive over to the jail.”

“We met this guy. Paco. He was there to pick up a friend who had no place to stay. So Susanna was going to let him have Rick's apartment. Just until he found his own place.”

“Was this person Fred Hancock?”

“They called him Freddie. No one ever told me his last name. He seemed scared to death. He climbed in the back. We went and picked up groceries and took him to Susanna's house. Cheryl was at work.”

“Tell us about Wednesday.”

“I picked her up at noon from work,” he said in a low voice. “We met this Paco again. He picked up some stuff and put it in the back of the truck. We drove to Susanna's place. Cheryl was home, and Susanna made us all some lunch. Except Paco. He went down to see Freddie. Cheryl got really sleepy, and we helped her to bed…” He started to sob. After several minutes of that, the interview was terminated.

I left feeling sick.

* * *

Now I was standing in the living room of Angela's apartment. I was not sure what to do next. Until these last three days, Angela and I hadn't seen each other since May. That night in May, we had gone out for dinner to talk things over. The lighting in the restaurant was suitably romantic. I ordered a bottle of wine. The music was soft and the food and wine were good. We went back to my apartment. We had decided to give our marriage another chance.

It didn't work. I was in a foul temper in the morning. I had a headache from too much wine. And we fought. They were the same fights about the same things. Like the ones we had before she threw me out. That was when I decided to leave for the farm. Now I was standing under a bright light in the middle of the room. Angela was looking out the window.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“About what?”

“About the job with Imperial. What did you think I meant?”

“I didn't know,” I said. “It was a real coincidence that Cheryl was insured with your boss's company, wasn't it?”

“Not really,” said Angela. “Like he said, they were friends. She was the one who told me he was looking for another investigator. Poor guy. He was really upset about her death.”

“He seems to be nice.”

“He is,” said Angela. “I like him a lot.”

I had a cold feeling in the pit of my stomach just thinking of him and Angela. He was probably neat. And never got drunk and said stupid things he didn't mean.

“Look. I'd better go. You must be tired. It's been a really long day.”

“I think there's food in the refrigerator. Let's make supper. Unless you really want to get out of here.”

There was no answer to that.

* * *

“Sit down,” she said. We had eaten and talked about everything and nothing. We had cleaned up the kitchen. Angela seemed in a good mood. “I thought we should celebrate another success,” she said. “Just a minute.”

She came back with a beer and two glasses.

“Is this a test?” I asked.

“Sort of,” she said, pouring out the beer.

She sat down on the couch. I was in a big chair across from her.

“What did you call me about?” I asked. “I don't know what happened to your message. I'm really sorry. I got other messages, so I thought the machine was working okay.”

“Susanna probably checked out your messages. She must have deleted the ones she didn't want you to get.”

“Maybe,” I said. “She always snooped around. What was it about? The case?”

“No,” she said. “I wanted to let you know…” She stared out the window and shook her head. As if she couldn't get the words out.

“What?” I had to find out. “You wanted to tell me you were involved with someone else?”

“Don't be stupid, Rick,” she said angrily. “I wanted you to know that I was pregnant. But it didn't matter. I lost the baby. That was my second message.” Her voice was bitter and unhappy. “So you don't have to worry about it.”

I left the chair. I crouched down in front of her and grabbed her hands. “My god, Angela. I swear I didn't know. That's why you fixed up the junk room.”

“Yes, that's why.”

“That bitch! I would have come right back. As soon as I got the first message. I would have.”

“Maybe someone else erased the message,” said Angela.

“It had to be Susanna,” I said. “She had a set of keys. She could get in the apartment whenever she wanted. And she didn't want me back too soon.”

“And she knew you,” said Angela. “She knew you would come back. That's what bothered me. I knew you would too. I needed you.” Tears spilled down her cheeks.

I stood up and pulled her close.

“I'm here, Angela. Kind of late, but I'm here.”

I held her tight until the tears stopped.

“Maybe I shouldn't leave you alone tonight after all,” I said. “I'll sleep on the couch. We can talk in the morning.”

“Don't be stupid,” she said. “We have a perfectly good bed. And after all, we're still married, aren't we?”

I turned off the lights and followed her into our bedroom.

Mystery writer CAROLINE MEDORA SALE ROE is the author of fourteen novels. As Medora Sale, she has written six police procedurals, including
Murder on the Run
, winner of an Arthur Ellis Award for best first novel. The author is a past president of both the international organization Sisters in Crime and the Crime Writers of Canada. She lives with her husband in Toronto.