Sometimes they crumbled, but often they didn’t. Megan opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. Dana didn’t want to stare obtrusively, didn’t want to look away. She re-set her position on the couch purely for something to do. Raw emotion was heading her way; it prompted her flight response.
‘Mrs Cassavette? Is there someone I can call for you? People usually don’t like to be alone—’
‘Usually?’ It was snapped, and there was a moment when Megan seemed on the point of attack. Then it faded. ‘Oh, of course. You must do this all the time. God, how horrible for you. Uh, no, thanks. I’ll call my mother soon. Yeah. No. Thanks.’ She swallowed hard to keep the tears back – Dana saw a shard of stubborn pride in it.
Dana nodded. ‘I understand this is the last thing you want to do, but it would really help our investigation if you could answer a few questions. Are you up to that, Mrs Cassavette?’
Megan glanced to the fireplace then drifted slowly back to Dana, as though she were spinning through the air and couldn’t tell which way was up. ‘Uh, sure. Ask away.’
‘Thank you. Have the two of you lived here long?’
Megan was looking straight at her, but Dana understood that she wasn’t really seeing anything. Megan coughed and tried to focus. ‘Mm, nearly a year. Yeah. A year next month. Moved out here when we bought the store. Country scenery, you know?’ She waved vaguely at the kitchen, which lay at the far end of the living room. Through its window was a framed view of a metal fence, a water butt and a Hills Hoist that hugged itself in the chilly gloom. ‘Fresh air, fresh start. That sort of thing.’ Her reply held a trail of bitterness. ‘Who did it? Have you caught him?’
Dana took a second. ‘It’s very early in the investigation, Mrs Cassavette. Very early. There’s a lot of ground to cover.’
Megan’s eyes narrowed slightly, as though she were calculating.
Dana tried to ease her back to the moment. ‘Moving out here from the city. Was it a success?’
Megan shook her head and a small tear escaped. ‘No, not really. Lou and I were running.’ She stopped to wipe her nose. ‘From each other, from ourselves. This was supposed to turn it all around.’ She squeezed her handkerchief tight. Her voice faded to a whisper. ‘Jesus.’
Dana didn’t know what to say. She tilted her head slightly, hoping that would imply a thousand words of sympathetic consolation. ‘You said your husband thought someone was stealing?’ she resumed.
Megan had stopped moving, looking, feeling – breathing.
‘Mrs Cassavette? Stealing from the store?’
‘Hmm? Oh, yeah. Well, after he’d pocketed the cash from the sale, the old owner said he thought someone was stealing. Little bits of stock kept going missing, but he couldn’t work out how. We thought maybe shoplifters, or more likely some of the staff.’ Megan stopped long enough to draw the back of her hand across her eyes; the make-up smeared a little. ‘The old guy was a soft touch, employed stoners and losers. Lou put a couple of cameras in and changed some of the staff. There was nothing wrong at first. He thought the last guy didn’t manage the place properly.’
Talking about something peripheral had helped Megan get some control. Her voice quivered less. ‘But then, about three months in, stuff definitely went. Stupid stuff – low grade, nothing, really. But it annoyed Lou. He hates – hated – things like that. It was the principle, not the money. So every few nights he was sleeping in there. Christ knows what he thought he’d do if he…’ She glanced up. ‘That’s what happened, isn’t it?’
Dana felt skewered by the look, and by the obvious but reasonable question. ‘We don’t know many details yet, Mrs Cassavette.’
‘For God’s sake, will you call me Megan? Mrs Cassavette is a stupid mouthful. Stop being so polite.’
But, Dana wanted to say, polite is my default. I need it.
‘I’m sorry, Megan. All we know at the moment is that your husband died in the store, possibly from a single stab wound. Do you know of anyone who’d wish him harm?’
‘Lou? Christ, no.’ Megan snorted and stood up. She smoothed down her blouse – Dana had noticed it was creased – and re-tucked a stray hair. ‘We hadn’t been here long enough to annoy anyone but each other.’ Megan examined her hands: flawless but unpainted nails. ‘He’d had a couple of arguments with suppliers, but nothing that would explain… no.’ She walked over to a sideboard and straightened a pile of magazines, talking to the wall. ‘He was getting fed up with the old “That’s how we do things out this way” mentality. Like the internet never happened, you know?’
She turned back, as though Dana were some retail consultant. ‘Like Lou couldn’t get his stock trucked in overnight from all over. He was trying to be nice. He was trying to bring some locals along with him. That Earlville mentality – they warned us, but we didn’t realise. They wouldn’t play ball.’ She looked to the window and the grey sky. ‘But that was nonsense. No one would do this… for that.’
She regathered. ‘I can’t think of anyone else here who’d hurt him. No.’
‘What about from your old life in the city? Any grudges, enemies made – things like that?’
Megan sniffed and looked away, like she’d heard a shot in a forest. ‘Coffee?’ She was already on the move, with the bustling style Dana had predicted. Sudden switchbacks weren’t unusual after this kind of news – Dana rode it. ‘Thanks. Flat white with one, please.’
Megan waved an arm in acknowledgement but didn’t turn around. She began to navigate the process in a series of accurate, snappy movements. Dana left her to it, glancing over occasionally for signs of heaving shoulders or a clutch of the countertop. Between sidelong looks, she examined the happy snaps above a collection of paperbacks. Photos of the loving couple; judging by Megan’s hair, all taken in the last few years. Only three of the photos showed them wearing rings. Dana reckoned they had been together for three or four years, married for perhaps two; the initial romance a little whirlwindy. Megan maybe settling because Lou seemed rock solid and established: a man, when she’d dated tall adolescents for too long.
‘I’m old-fashioned enough to have them printed out and framed.’ Megan’s voice was unexpectedly close. ‘Just having them on your phone, it’s like it doesn’t really count. Like you don’t want them enough.’
Dana took the coffee. Both mugs had the same company logo. ‘Thanks. I can’t even operate the camera on mine. I guess it has one.’ She nodded at the mug. ‘You work for City Mutual?’
‘Yeah, claims adjuster, in Earlville.’ She eye-rolled. ‘It’s as riveting as you imagine it would be. Spent part of yesterday checking the price of table lamps.’ She drifted for a moment. ‘We needed a solid income while the store got on its feet.’
They sat again. ‘Tough times, huh?’
Megan took a sip. Making coffee had given her time to gather herself a little. ‘Retail’s always tough. Lou had big plans for the place, but it was going to take a while. He turned one corner of it into a little café. We’re a nation that can’t do anything without sipping a latte first, he reckoned. Wanted to add an antiques place on the side. Make it a “destination”.’ She air-quoted, then spoke to the ceiling. ‘Dreams outside his reach, every time.’
Except, thought Dana, for you. Lou married up: he got that one right.
Megan shook her head, suddenly wearied. Shock like this didn’t come through consistently; it bit in nasty little spasms, asymmetric steps down to despair. ‘We used to run a little supermarket. Updated milk bar, really, in the ’burbs. You know the kind of thing – you forgot something basic, couldn’t be bothered to cook? Overpriced, but you paid it, coz it was just around the corner? That was us.’