Beautiful Lie the Dead by Barbara Fradkin

couple of headlines. Tributes pour in for dead professor. The private anguish of a public man. A new brand of teacher.
    His scalp prickled. He picked up one article, unfolded it along its brittle seam, and began to read:
    Confusion continues to surround the death of one of McGill’s most popular professors, who was found dead in his McTavish Street apartment on Monday morning. Harvey Longstreet was a member of the prominent Montreal family that founded the Anglo- Canadian Transportation Company, now known as CanTransco, in 1855. The professor’s young widow and two-month old son are in seclusion at his uncle’s Westmount home and the family is requesting privacy to deal with the tragedy. Colleagues willing to speak to the newspaper expressed shock and disbelief, stating that Longstreet had shown no signs of depression or stress—
    The doorbell rang distantly. Brandon looked up, confusion giving way to fear. Meredith! Quickly he stuffed the articles back into the filing cabinet and kicked the drawer shut as he headed out the door.
    A young woman stood on the doorstep, bundled against the cold in a blue parka, a red tuque with a red and white pompom and matching mittens. Was there a hint of excitement in those blue eyes, he wondered? His hopes stirred.
    Then she held up her badge. “Detective Peters, Ottawa Police,” she said, enunciating carefully as if the label were unfamiliar to her. “Are you Brandon Longstreet?”
    He nodded. “Any news?”
    â€œWe haven’t found her, no sir, but we’re making progress on her movements. May I come in?”
    He invited her in and suppressed his impatience as she removed her boots and coat. She took so long, he wondered whether she was stalling. Settled on the floral living room couch, Peters eyed him gravely. “Did Meredith tell you her plans to go to Montreal?”
    â€œMontreal?” He was equally incredulous and startled. When Peters said nothing, he shook his head. “Why would she go to Montreal?”
    â€œThat’s what I’m asking you.”
    He felt a flare of annoyance. “We have a wedding in two weeks, she has a million things on her to-do list. Why would she go there!”
    â€œWhat’s in Montreal? A dressmaker? A friend?”
    â€œNobody,” he said, fighting off the absurdity of the idea.
    Belatedly, reason penetrated the cotton wool in his brain. “You have evidence she went to Montreal?”
    The detective nodded. “She took a bus there Monday morning and returned here Monday evening.”
    He stared at her. That made no sense! He’d last seen Meredith on Sunday evening. They’d had dinner together and tried to finalize the table seating for the dinner. She hadn’t mentioned a thing about Montreal. Brandon closed his eyes, recalling the unpleasant memory for the hundredth time. She’d been furious with him, frustrated at all the Longstreet guests who needed places of importance, resentful that their parents would share the head table with them instead of their friends. In fact, she hadn’t wanted a head table. She’d wanted a series of round tables that made everyone feel equal and included.
    It was such a modern, Meredith idea, and he loved her for it. But his mother was paying for the dinner, and she naturally expected a clear gesture of respect in return.
    Meredith had stormed off in a huff. He hadn’t told the police about it because he wanted them to take her disappearance seriously. He’d seen their cynical, world-weary attitude towards victims too often in the emergency room waiting rooms, and he didn’t want them to think that Meredith was just another immature, spiteful girlfriend looking for payback. She was a fiery, impassioned woman, but she would never go to this extreme. Surely, no matter how angry or doubtful she became, she would never put him and her family through this anguish.
    Yet now, in the cold light of reflection, how