‘Because I’ve got bad karma when it comes to romance. I always end up being manipulated. Are you the kind of man who thinks he’s decent?’
Definitely best not to answer that one. Kimo was a strapping young woman and the cliff below was mighty steep.
Sébastien chose to subtly change the subject, a technique that had often come in handy. ‘When things aren’t going well, I dance. Do you know how to dance the salsa? There’s not a lot of room up here on the lookout, but we can dance a few steps.’
Kimo gave him a death stare, turned her back and bolted off up the path.
Sébastien turned to Corine. ‘Well, that’s the quickest I’ve ever scared a woman away.’
Corine burst out laughing and kept on climbing. ‘Come on, Moralès, you’re such a slowcoach.’
Sébastien followed, not daring to pass Corine or try to catch up with Kimo. They stopped at a second lookout platform. The view was impressive. He couldn’t see the mountaintop, but the horizon stretched all around and gave them a little room to breathe.
‘Is that your phone vibrating?’ Kimo scowled.
He blushed. He didn’t think there was any service here, but as they’d climbed higher the phone must have picked up a signal from a high tower.
‘If you didn’t want to answer it, you should have left it in your car.’ Kimo turned and made her way back to the path.
Corine awkwardly tried to apologise for her friend. ‘She’s had a bad experience…’ She opened her palms in a gesture of powerlessness and hurried in pursuit.
Sébastien leaned against the railing and reached into his backpack for his phone. That was the twelfth time she’d called that day. He thought about everything his life had been until just last week, and it felt like a punch in the stomach. He looked at the path ahead. Why hurry? He wanted to give himself the chance to see his life from a different angle, didn’t he? So why shy away from that? He felt attracted to this girl, Kimo, perhaps because he sensed in her a turmoil not unlike his own. He could get close to her – not to cheat on Maude, just to feel understood. By mutual consent. Without any ulterior motives, just to console one another. He realised he wasn’t being truthful with himself. He wanted to get close to her to escape his life, to end things with Maude. He buried the phone in his pack, hauled it onto his back again and kept on climbing. He’d do something about all that later. Not now.
By the time he made it to the top of the mountain, the girls had been waiting for a while. They were sitting on a wooden bench at the lookout, snacking on some fruit and nuts, when he arrived. Sébastien gazed out to the horizon. Anticosti Island to the north, Percé the other way. The ocean was all around. Sébastien took his backpack off and put it down on the bench.
Corine stood up and moved towards him. ‘Well, if you’re offering, I’m up for that salsa class.’
Sébastien Moralès bowed, took the young woman by the hand and pulled her into his arms. She laughed as he showed her a few steps before leading her into some fancy footwork and twirling her around on the cramped platform. She soon felt dizzy from the altitude and all the spinning, and had to sit down.
That was Sébastien’s cue to approach Kimo and offer his left hand. She stared at him with an air of defiance, then placed her right hand in his palm. She stood rigid and defensive, consenting in spite of herself, pushing through her reluctance to avoid looking like a poor sport. Keeping her right hand in his left, he took her other hand and placed it on his right shoulder, and moved a little closer.
Treading gently into the moist, woody aroma of her space, he led her a step to the side, and another step back. She followed his lead, albeit with a certain reticence and fragility. He was dancing in slow motion, because he could sense the tension and pain in the young woman’s body. For a brief moment concentrating on Kimo and the way he was leading her forward and back made him forget his own. He decided to try a twirl. As she turned, he caught a glimpse of the sea stretching all the way to the horizon and felt the fresh air swallow him up. Abruptly, Kimo froze, not quite facing him, held only by the hand of her suitor, which was hanging over her head like a string. She let go, and for a second Sébastien thought she was going to burst into tears. Instead, she pulled away. This dance was over.
‘We saved you a snack. I hope you enjoy it,’ Kimo said. Then she slipped her backpack on, turned her back and set off down the path.
‘Would you say Clément is the loyal type? Was he faithful to Angel?’ Moralès asked.
Annie Arsenault turned her gaze to the vegetable garden. She was playing for time; that was never a good sign.
‘Something strange happened this summer. There was this girl, Kimo. That’s a nickname. Kim Morin is her name. I think she’s from Cloridorme. I’m not sure, but there are a lot of Morins that way, up the coast. She moved to Rivière-au-Renard a few years ago. She teaches yoga classes in town.’
She paused, waiting for a nudge from Moralès that didn’t come.
‘Something happened between Clément and her.’ She looked at him as if to say you wanted to know, so I’m going to tell you everything. ‘I think I’d heard she’d been seeing Bruce, but I’m not sure. Anyway, she’d been spending a lot of time down at the big trawler wharf. Angel’s never liked women who hang around on the wharves. It’s not the most subtle way to woo a fisherman. One night we were all together. Angel made some silly jokes about yoga, but it was obvious she was having a dig at Kimo. Clément was there. He didn’t say a word, but apparently he showed Kimo around his boat the next day.’
The way she talked about the visit made it sound like an act of high treason. She poured the rest of the herbal tea into her cup.
‘Men talk, you know. My husband says it’s just gossip and that Kimo seems nice enough. He must think I’m jealous because she’s what, twenty-three? And pretty.’
Moralès smiled. Annie Arsenault was a charming woman who had nothing to envy the other – not her physique, nor her smile.
‘But he’s wrong. I’m not jealous. I admire strong women. When Kimo first came here and opened her yoga studio, I thought that was fantastic. She was always out training for her triathlons, running in the park, cycling on Highway 132, swimming in Gaspé Bay. I was impressed. But when a woman starts lingering on a commercial wharf like the one in Rivière-au-Renard and invites herself aboard a married man’s boat, I have a hard time thinking she’s not scheming.’
She sipped her tea and composed herself.
‘I don’t know many people more in love than Clément and Angel. I really don’t think Clément would have cheated on Angel.’
‘And Angel? Has she ever had a lover?’
Annie Arsenault looked at Moralès in surprise. ‘No. I’d know if she had.’
‘Did you hear any noises coming from your neighbour’s house on Saturday night?’
‘What kind of noises?’
‘Vehicles coming or going, for example.’
‘Clément and Angel both fish, so they’re often out at all hours. We got used to hearing them come and go a long time ago.’
‘Do you think she could have run away?’
‘No.’
‘Could she have … taken her own life?’
‘That wouldn’t be her style.’
‘What would be her style?’
Annie Arsenault turned towards the sea and gave a gentle, sad smile.
‘Her style, Detective Moralès, is to stay alive.’
Joaquin stopped for groceries on the way back. Maybe Corine would join him for dinner. Join them. He was going to introduce her to his son. His phone vibrated as he pulled up at the auberge. A message from his friend Doiron. He sent a quick reply. He hated thinking about relationship issues during an investigation. Afterwards, he’d see. After all this.