The Wandering Soul Murders by Gail Bowen Read Free Book Online

firecrackers were illegal there.
    “And they’re not illegal in Macau?” Angus asked approvingly.
    “Nothing’s illegal in Macau,” he said. “The restaurants serve endangered species in the soup.”
    Angus shuddered.
    “To build up your blood for the cold winter months,” Keith said.
    “Jo makes us take vitamin C,” Taylor said.
    “Probably a more responsible move environmentally,” Keith said.
    When Keith took his father into the house to rest before the fireworks, Angus turned to me. “Mr. Harris is a really neat guy, you know.”
    “Meaning?”
    Angus grinned. “Meaning, I think it’s about time you had a man in your life.”
    “Thanks, Angus, I’ll take that under advisement.”
    “You wouldn’t not go out with him because of politics, would you?”
    “Nope,” I said, “but it would be a problem. Keith is a good friend of the prime minister’s, you know. In fact, a lot of people think Keith was the one who got him in as leader.”
    Angus grimaced. “Well, we all make mistakes.”
    “Yeah,” I said, “but that one was a lulu.”
    Angus laughed. “I still think he’s a nice guy.”
    I looked at the house. “There he is,” I said, “bringing me coffee and brandy.”
    “Then we’re out of here,” said Angus. “Come on, T. Let’s see if we can find a radio and catch the baseball game.” He gave me the high sign. “Be nice to him, Mum.”
    I was. When I took my first sip of brandy, I leaned back in my chair. “What a perfect night,” I said.
    “ ‘Calm was the even and clear was the sky, and the new-budding flowers did spring,’ ” Keith said.
    “Dryden,” I said, “ ‘An Evening’s Love.’ ”
    Keith Harris looked at me in amazement. “There’s not another woman in Canada who would have known that.”
    “No,” I agreed, “there isn’t. You’re in luck. It’s a magic night.”
    “You wouldn’t have a spell that would keep Lorraine away, would you?” Keith said. “She’s about to swoop. We’re going to be organized for some after-dinner fun, I can tell by the glint in her eyes.”
    Then in a cloud of Chanel, Lorraine Harris was upon us. She embraced her brother-in-law, then she turned and bent to kiss the air by my cheek. Out of nowhere, a poem from childhood floated to the top of my consciousness:
I do not like you, Dr. Fell.
The reason why I cannot tell.
But this I know and I know well.
I do not like you, Dr. Fell.
    I do not like you, Lorraine Harris, I thought. But what I said was, “You look wonderful, Lorraine. That’s a beautiful suit.”
    “Sharkskin,” she said. She sat down on the arm of Keith’s chair and balanced her clipboard on her knee. She was tanned, and the setting sun warmed her skin to the colour of dark honey and made her grey eyes startling. She was a stunning woman, and her most striking feature was her hair. In defiance of all the rules about how women should wear their hair after forty, Lorraine’s grey hair was almost waist length. That night she had clasped it at the back with a silver barrette, and as she talked, she reached back and pulled the length of her hair over her shoulder. The effect was riveting.
    “How do you two feel about croquet?” she asked.
    I smiled at her. “I haven’t played croquet in thirty-five years, but I think it’s a terrific idea.”
    Keith sighed. “If Jo’s in, I’m in.”
    Lorraine’s grey eyes narrowed. “So you two are getting along, after all,” she said. “There’ll be some raised eyebrows about that.”
    “Not any eyebrows that matter,” Keith said mildly.
    Lorraine looked at him quickly, then she pulled part of a deck of cards out of her jacket pocket and held it out to me. “Choose one, Joanne.”
    I pulled out a jack of diamonds.
    “All you have to do is find the other people who have jacks,” she said, “that’ll be your team.”
    Keith reached over and took the cards from her. He sorted through it and pulled out a jack of clubs. “That’s me on your team, Jo.”