Act of Evil by Ron Chudley Page A

mountain.

ten
    Stephanie was doing a final clear away when the phone rang. At this hour, with the café closed, the chef gone, and Fran in back cashing out, there was only herself to answer. Since it was unlikely to be a customer—nobody in Duncan would dream of dining after nine—this would probably be a personal call, and on her way to pick up, Stephanie thought of Trent’s brother. Had he come up with some ideas already? Her heartbeat quickened as she picked up the phone. “Fran’s Restaurant: good evening.”
    â€œAnd good evening to you , sweetface,” her fiancé’s voice said.
    With just these words, Stephanie could tell that Trent was feeling better. Earlier, when she’d confronted him with the folly of the stunt at the house, he’d seemed genuinely ashamed. Now, his tone made her worry that he’d convinced himself he didn’t care. She was sure that deep down he did. But the swiftness with which he’d slipped back into denial made her see that convincing him to sort out the mess was going to be harder than she’d thought. Her heart sank, but she didn’t let this show in her voice. “Darling, hey! I’ll be leaving in five. Did you want me to pick up something on my way home?”
    â€œNo,” his cheerful voice said, “That’s why I’m calling: Don’t go home.”
    â€œOh—why not?”
    â€œBecause, kiddo. I’m at my place. I want you to come here.”
    Though they’d been going together a year, and were definitely—albeit without the formality of a ring—engaged, this did not yet include a permanent living arrangement. Stephanie had a little house on the outskirts of Duncan, where she’d lived, with her son Gary, for the ten years since her divorce. Trent often stayed over—almost always on weekends—but they’d not taken the final step. Ostensibly, Trent needed to maintain a presence at Shawnigan Lake for his caretaking duties. In fact, had they really wanted, something could have been worked out. “Why the change of plans, hon?” she said.
    â€œI realized you were mad at me. You know, for playing that little game with Hal . . .”
    â€œDarling, my only concern is why you think you have to impress him. Anyway, it doesn’t matter right now. Why do you want me to come there?”
    He gave a conspiratorial chuckle. “Terry doesn’t get back till Monday. We could sleep up at the big house.”
    â€œYou know I don’t like to do that.”
    â€œWhatever. Anyway—what I do have is a surprise for you. I’ve been working on it all night. So you have to come here to see it. Okay?”
    â€œSure. So—is there anything you need?”
    â€œNo. Just bring your sweet self.”
    â€œOkay—see you in a bit.”
    She hung up and quickly finished her cleanup, changed out of her uniform, and popped her head into the office to say goodnight to Fran, the owner. Her old VW was parked out back. This late, she was hardly enamoured of the prospect of a half-hour drive to Shawnigan Lake, but resignedly started out. Trust Trent to come up with a mysterious “surprise,” a diversion, no doubt, from his embarrassment of the earlier charade.
    She loved Trent, no doubt of it. Though ten years her senior, he was the most exciting, passionate man Stephanie had ever known. He was also brilliant, with a wonderful imagination, fantastic memory and math skills that made her feel humble. Though he’d taken to business rather than the arts, the richness of imagination that had served his brother so well was evident in him too. Finally, he adored her—he was capable of making her feel happier and more desirable than anyone ever had—the snag being that he was also a bit of a flake.
    Apparently, the fortune he’d recently lost wasn’t the first. According to his friend Terry Bathgate—who’d told her this in