Dead Politician Society

Chapter 37: Laura

Laura slid her fingers behind the sofa cushion, but found nothing.

She had to leave soon for the airport. To pick up the children who hadn’t spoken to her beyond polite Christmas phone calls since she’d shacked up with Susannah. They hadn’t blamed her for the divorce—not out loud. But when she’d sat them down to tell them about Susie, words had flown. Most stinging were the ones from her daughter: No wonder Dad needed to find refuge in a bimbo, if you were out carpet munching all day and never loved him like you had the world so convinced that you did.

But maybe she deserved it. Maybe she had been acting. The twenty-year-old she’d been when she married Hayden had been impressed by social status, thought that partnering with a man en route to politics would satisfy the checklist of things a young woman should aspire to.

She’d bought new sheets for the guest room—a silky smooth bamboo set that required its own wash cycle. And she’d bought a bottle of her daughter’s favorite white wine that she hoped they would crack late that night, once her son had left for his midnight flight, and talk honestly like they used to when her daughter had been a teenager.

She lifted the cushion all the way off the couch. Still, she found nothing. She raised each of the other two large cushions in turn. She felt along the rim at the back of the sofa, peered at the floor underneath. After finding nothing still, she could only reach one conclusion: the business card was gone.

“Looking for something?”

Jesus. This was the second time in as many days that Susannah had crept up on her unnoticed. Today, she was leaning against the banister, arms crossed.

“I, um, I think I dropped my earring.” Laura heard her voice sound as false as the words were.

“Oh.” Susannah nodded. “Well, good luck.”

Laura hoped her heart’s audible thumping wasn’t loud enough for Susannah to hear it across the room. “It may have fallen out somewhere else.”

“Which pair is it from?”

“Um. They’re gold…with…”

“You’re a terrible liar. Is this what you’re looking for?” Susannah produced the SPU card from the back pocket of her jeans.

Laura stared. She opened her mouth but no words came out.

“Where did you find it and what do you think it means?” Susannah’s voice was calm. She looked half-amused, but then she sometimes looked that way when she was extremely angry.

“Um, I…”

“Good words you have.”

“In your blue jacket. With the mustard stain. I was taking a load to the cleaners.”

“Oh, right. So you weren’t actually snooping.” Susannah put the card back in her pocket and folded her arms again. “Why did you thrust it under the couch cushion yesterday as soon as I walked in the door?”

God, Laura would give anything to know the right answer—the words that would smooth things over, take Susannah’s rage away. “I alibied you for last night,” she said. “The police phoned when you were in the shower. They wanted to know what both of us were doing when Manuel Ruiz died. I told them we were at the movies. I didn’t say I’d fallen asleep.”

“No, eh?” Susannah uncrossed her arms and moved them to her hips. “But what you really think happened is you fell asleep, I snuck out of the theater to kill Manuel, and crept back in time to wake you for the credits.”

“I…” This was too confusing. For the first time ever, Laura wished she was back in role as a North Toronto housewife. So many rules, everything fit in its place. Not like now.

“I suppose I drugged you, to make sure you didn’t wake up and notice I was gone. Nothing to do with the Scotch you were pounding back all afternoon.”

“I’m sorry,” Laura said. “But when I found this card…”

“When you found this card what? I don’t see the significance.”

“I found another one.” Laura knew she shouldn’t say this, but her relationship with Susie mattered more than her relationship with the police. “It was identical. Only it was in one of Hayden’s suit pockets and the words Your death will be your greatest public service were typed onto the back. Oh, Susie!” Laura clapped a hand to her chest. “You don’t think the killer gave you a card, too? Your life could be in danger.”

Susannah rolled her sharp brown eyes. “I’m not the next victim. Even if I were famous or important enough, there’s a simple explanation: I’m in a club. This is our calling card.”

“Oh! What a relief.”

“So we’re straight, are you saying that when you found this card in my pocket you thought it meant I’d killed your husband?”

“No! Of course I didn’t think that.” Not for sure. 

“You just thought maybe.” Susannah brushed past Laura and grabbed her keys from the hall counter. “I’ll be out all day. I’ll leave you and your kids alone for the funeral. If anyone dies while I’m not under your supervision, tell them I’m cackling over the body as I gently lay my calling card beside it.”