Monday Mourning

“I know this is terribly difficult,” I said in the most soothing voice I could muster. “And I’m so sorry to have to ask you these questions. But a great many people have been trying to find you this week. Would you mind telling Detective Ryan and me where you’ve been?”

“Louise and I signed up for a ceramics workshop in Pointe-aux-Pics. We thought it would be fun to learn how to make pottery—”

Heave. Heave.

“—stay in a B and B, do our Christmas shopping in the Charlevoix region.”

“Your sister didn’t feel up to going?”

When Fisher nodded an upper chin plunged into the fat of its lower counterpart.

“Louise insisted she’d be fine. Said if she needed anything, she’d call Claudia. That’s my daughter.” Fisher’s throat seemed to clench. “Oh God. Does Claudia know?”

“Yes, ma’am. Claudia’s been very worried about you.”

“We should have told her. I should have told her. When Louise decided to stay behind, it didn’t seem necessary. Claudia’s always fussing at me about driving during the winter.

“When did you get back from Charlevoix?” Ryan asked.

“Not long before you arrived. I thought Louise was over to the church. They do bingo on Thursday nights. I was tired from the drive, so I was about to leave her a note and turn in.”

Fisher was wadding and unwadding the saturated tissue.

“Louise’s bed is unmade. That’s not like her.”

The corpulent bosom heaved again.

“Let me get you some water.”

As I filled a glass from the kitchen tap, Ryan and Fisher talked on in the living room.

Before returning, I made a quick pass by Louise Parent’s room. The scene differed little from the SIJ photos. The bed was now stripped, exposing a stain on the mattress where Parent’s bladder had voided at death. A single pillow lay by the headboard.

I returned to the living room and handed Fisher the water.

Ryan caught my eye and gave a subtle head shake, indicating Fisher was too distraught for meaningful questioning.

“I’m going to call your daughter now,” Ryan said.

Fisher made disjointed slurping sounds as she drank.

“We’ll talk tomorrow, when you’re feeling better.”

“When can I see Louise?”

Ryan looked at me.

“A viewing can be arranged, if that’s what you’d like.”

“What a terrible Christmas.” Fisher’s lips trembled. Tears glistened on each of her cheeks.

I squeezed the woman’s hand.