Framed for Murder Read online

  Chapter 4

  Friday night suppers with Ben were an institution. Even though he was enrolled in Chinook University’s computer science program, our schedules were very different and we didn’t get to see a lot of each other on campus. Eating dinner together once a week was our way of staying in touch. Since I was at home today, I put a pork loin in the oven. By the time Ben arrived at 5:30, I was nervously mashing the potatoes.

  He came through the door with a sack of dirty laundry and kissed me on the cheek before starting a load in the washing machine. When he was ready, we sat down to eat at the kitchen table with Wendy lying at our feet. I studied my son’s expression as he helped himself to a large serving of pork and some cheesy broccoli.

  Ben was nineteen, and I could see traces of the man he would become in his face. He already had a man’s stature, with his father’s wide shoulders and slim hips, but it would take a few years for his weight to catch up with his height. He had my brown hair and brown eyes, and wore his hair shaggy with the wisp of a goatee on his chin. He had never had a problem attracting girls, but wasn’t serious about anyone right now, as far as I knew.

  I decided to put off telling him about Jack until after dinner, so we chatted about how his week had gone at the summer job he had with a Calgary building supply store. Ben had worked there part-time during the school year, and had been lucky enough to get full-time hours when classes were over. He put on the kettle to make a cup of tea when we finished eating, and piled our dirty dishes beside the sink. After he had fixed his tea and sat down again, I broke the news to him about his dad. Ben stared at me until I had run out of words, and then cleared his throat.

  “So, he’s dead, Mom?”

  “Yes, honey, he’s gone.” There was a long pause while he absorbed these words. I could see the shock in Ben’s face.

  “And you found him while you were out walking Wendy? He was just lying on the ground in some bush beside Wistler Road?”

  “That’s right.”

  Ben frowned and thought some more. “You said he’d been shooting a film in Longview, but you hadn’t heard from him?”

  “No. Your father didn’t call me or stop by the house. I would have told you about it if he had. I had no idea that he was even in this part of the country.”

  “And the police haven’t told you how he died yet?”

  “No, it takes some time to get the test results. But it looked as if he was shot in the chest. I’m pretty sure that it was murder.” I watched Ben, waiting for his reaction to that ugly and frightening word. He scowled and got up from the table.

  “I’ve got to put my load in the dryer.”

  “Ben?” I called after him as he rushed from the room. The washer and dryer were in the basement, and I heard his feet pounding down the stairs. I decided to give him a few minutes to himself, and loaded the dishes into the dishwasher. I was cleaning the sink when I heard his step behind me.

  “Mom?”

  I turned, and he wound his arms around me and lowered his head to my shoulder. “Are you okay, honey?” I asked, and he started to cry, quiet tears at first that grew into wrenching sobs.

  “He never, he never . . . .”

  “What, honey?” I asked, stroking his back.

  It all came out in a gush. “I wrote him a letter last Christmas. Sent it to his agent. It was a really angry letter about him not showing up for my graduation. The agent said he gave it to him. And Dad never wrote back. He didn’t call. He just didn’t give a damn about me!”

  “Oh, Ben, I’m so sorry,” I said, tightening my arms around him, tears spilling down my own cheeks. He clung to me. “He loved you. I know he did. He would have made a better friend for you than a father, now that you’re older. He was a funny guy, passionate, a real charmer, but he was such a lousy father.”

  “I hated him,” Ben said in a wild voice muffled by my shoulder.

  “What?” I asked, pulling away so that I could see his face.

  Ben straightened and wiped his face with his sleeve. Then he looked me in the eye. For a moment, I saw an expression so full of anger and hatred that it frightened me. I gasped. He stared back at me, his expression changing into one of concern.

  “Mom, are you okay?” he asked, taking my hand. “I’m sorry, I haven’t been thinking about you in all of this. You found his body – that must have been a big shock. How’re you feeling?” As he put an arm around my shoulders and led me back to my chair, I wondered if I had imagined that horrible look. Maybe I was still in shock from Jack’s death.

  “Would you like me to stay tonight?” he asked, crouching down beside me at the table.

  “Thanks, but don’t you have to work tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, but that’s no big deal. I can get up in time to drive in.”

  “I don’t want to impose,” I said, not sure that I wanted him to stay. To tell the truth, he frightened me a little. I needed some time alone to think.

  Ben stood up, patted my shoulder, and stepped back toward the sink. “No problem. I’ll finish cleaning up, and then we’ll take Wendy for a walk.” Wendy’s tail thumped on the floor and we both turned to look at her. “Damn,” he said, turning back to the sink, “this is so totally bizarre. Are the police saying it’s murder?”

  I watched his back from my chair. “No, they’re waiting for the coroner’s report before they say anything.”

  Ben was silent as he wiped down the counter. “Could it have been suicide?” he asked with a shrug.

  “I don’t see how. Not unless he walked there – there was no car around. And why would he choose to kill himself in the middle of nowhere?”

  Ben let out the dish water and dried his hands. “I guess not, then,” he said, putting down the towel and turning to me. His face was calm. “Ready for our walk?”

  “Sure. Thanks for finishing up.”

  Later that night, I had a nightmare. In my dream, I was back in the bush crouched over Jack’s body. I looked up and saw Ben emerging from the trees with a gun in his hand, his face contorted with rage. There was blood dripping from his hands, and he wiped a long streak of it across Jack’s face. Jack’s body started to spasm and blood gurgled from his mouth. I ran away into the trees, and woke with my heart racing. As I lay in bed gasping, I could hear Ben’s soft snores drifting down the hallway.

  Ben’s confession that he had hated his father, coupled with that dreadful expression on his face, must have really disturbed me. I knew that Ben had resented his father growing up, and I didn’t blame him in the least for that. But hatred? That was a powerful emotion. I had never hated Jack and, heaven knows, he had broken my heart often enough to give me cause. But I had made my peace with our marriage and with the trouble his cheating had caused me, and now I mostly felt indifferent when I thought about Jack.

  I sat up to rearrange my pillows into a more comfortable position and lay down again, but it was no use – I was too restless to get back to sleep. Unwanted thoughts careened around my head like the ball in a pinball machine. I turned on my bedside lamp and picked up a framed picture of Ben and me from my side table. It had been taken at the beach when he was eight years old. In the picture, I was sitting on a towel smiling up at the camera as Ben crept up behind me with a plastic pail full of water and a big, mischievous grin lighting up his face. He was missing a front tooth, and his goofy expression always made me smile. I mentally compared that face with the angry young man I had seen today, and shook my head. If it hadn’t been for that stupid dream, the thought of Ben shooting Jack would never have crossed my mind. There, I had admitted it. I was afraid that Ben had shot Jack.

  The idea was ludicrous. Where would Ben get a gun from, anyway? He was just nineteen – still a kid. He was my son. He couldn’t have done such a terrible thing. And there was absolutely no proof that he had done anything, nothing but an ugly suspicion brought on by a bad dream. No, I was just going to have to bury that thought deep within my subconscious and never let it torture me again.

 
; In the end, I had to get up and go look at Ben asleep in his bed, his face so young and vulnerable, before I could go back to sleep.