Never Sleep With a Suspect on Gabriola Island by Sandy Frances Duncan, George Szanto

itself, a last remnant of Hudson’s Bay Company days, now painted white and blue, disappeared in her rear-view mirror. Past a First Nations art outlet and onto an overpass. She found Machleary Street on the left, and a parking space.
    Mid-Island Karate Association was in an old wooden building that had once been an elementary school. Kyra all but heard hordes of students thundering down worn stairs from the front door. Inside, a young bleach-blonde receptionist sat at a desk that held a telephone, a computer, and an empty in-out basket. “Excuse me, I’m looking for Tam Gill.”
    â€œHe should be done soon. Take a seat.” Bleach-blonde looked at her as if she were sizing up the competition. Kyra gazed back professionally, glad she’d dashed to a store first thing this morning. New tan wool slacks and loose green woven top reassured her. She’d also found a comfortable pair of black suede shoes which, as she sat, she admired.
    A man appeared. Tam. No doubt about it; the family resemblance was marked. As handsome a man as Kyra had seen in months. Six feet of taut brown skin, curly black hair still wet from the shower, a dominant nose. Black cycling shorts, brown T-shirt. Bleach-blonde lilted, “Someone for you, Tam.”
    Tam rewarded her with a smile and a wink. “Thanks, Deb honey.” The smile dropped away as he turned to Kyra and raised his eyebrows.
    Kyra stood up. “Mr. Gill? I’m Kyra Rachel. Could we go somewhere and talk?”
    â€œAbout?”
    â€œThe Dempster death.”
    He looked her over appraisingly. “I really don’t know much. I left for Europe that evening, just got back.” He nodded as if she’d passed muster. “But sure, if you insist. I’ll buy you a coffee.” He smiled at Deb-honey, who’d been glaring at Kyra, but Tam’s smile quickly set her Deb bones a-melting.
    At the bottom of the stairs Kyra asked, “Where to?”
    â€œA place down there,” he pointed, “the green sign. I’ll get my bike and meet you.”
    â€œYou can ride with me. I’ll drive you back.”
    â€œI’m going that way.” He walked to the bike rack and waved.
    Kyra drove around the block and back down Fitzwilliam. By the time she’d found a parking space Tam Gill was sitting at a table in a little courtyard. She thought, he’s damn beautiful. Then she thought, damn, I swore and damn, he’s turning me on. Get professional, Rachel.
    â€œWhat will you have?” Gill asked as she sat.
    â€œA latte, I guess. You?” She started to rise.
    He jumped up. “No no, I’ll get them.”
    â€œBusiness expense.”
    â€œMy treat. Hold the table for us.” He went inside. She sat again.
    This is a controlling dude. Through the window she watched him laugh with the server. He runs on high-test allure. Ten-twelve years younger than his sister? Late thirties somewhere.
    He returned with a steaming latte for her, what smelled like a lemon something for him. “Thank you.” He sat. She sipped, and licked her upper lip. “Now, about Roy Dempster.”
    â€œNot much to tell. You’ve talked to my sister and brother-in-law, right?” Kyra nodded. “I doubt I can add anything.”
    â€œWhat about the fight at that pub, the White Hart?”
    â€œThat was years ago.”
    â€œTwo.”
    â€œYeah, could be. Roy apologized. Actually, he apologized half a dozen times. He’d joined some men’s group. He was into apologies.”
    â€œWhat was the fight about?”
    â€œAghgh. Roy was with a bunch of guys at the next table. I was with a friend from Victoria, another artist. We’re talking about—” he raised one eyebrow, “—important things. Roy’s group’s getting piss-loud so I lean over and tell them to shut the eff up, we’re talking business and can’t hear each other. Roy leans over and squeals, ‘Why