An Image in the Lake: A Joanne Kilbourn Mystery

by Gail Bowen

  “Sounds like it’s a fait accompli,” I said.

  “Why do you think Thalia made certain she had commitments from the other two campaigns before she came to me?”

  “Easy-peasy,” I said. “Harper’s the one Thalia’s after, and she wanted to put you in a position where you had to say yes.”

  “And that’s where I am.”

  “You’ve been painted into a corner,” I said. “I just wish I understood what was going on.”

  “Only one way to find out,” Ali said. She opened her crossbody bag, removed her phone, tapped in a message and then turned to me. “I just told Thalia I need twenty-four hours to think through the proposal before I give her an answer.”

  “But you have already decided,” I said.

  “Of course. My only option is to say yes, but now Thalia has twenty-four hours to second-guess herself.” Ali’s lips curled in private amusement. “And I have twenty-four hours to watch the paint dry.”

  * * *

  When Zack returned from the barbershop, his mood was mellow. “Second best thing to do on a Friday morning.”

  “It was worth the effort. You’re gorgeous.”

  My husband’s smile was almost bashful. “Guido gives his customers first-class treatment: quality haircut and a hot lather, straight-razor shave.”

  I rubbed my cheek against Zack’s. “So smooth, and you smell like somebody I’d like to get closer to.”

  “Clubman talc on my neck and Bay Rum aftershave.”

  “I haven’t made our bed yet,” I said.

  “Do you want a hand?”

  “A hand would be a very good start,” I said. “I’ll go down and fluff the pillows.”

  * * *

  I waited until we were at the turnoff to Lawyers Bay before I mentioned Alison Janvier’s visit that morning. Traffic was light, and warmed by the afterglow of good sex, it was a treat simply to listen to Oscar Peterson and savour the vibrant golds and blues that saturate the Saskatchewan landscape in mid-September.

  When I described Thalia’s proposal for the millennial podcast, Zack was unconcerned. “Let’s not overthink this,” he said. “The most obvious interpretation of Thalia’s plotting is that she’s attracted to Harper, and she wants to create a situation that keeps them in close proximity.” He gave me a sidelong glance. “That said, Alison’s strategy of delaying the announcement of her decision for twenty-four hours was a smooth move. Thalia should know that Alison is aware that she’s being played.”

  When we left the house, I’d texted Taylor to let her know we were on our way, but I gave her the option of catching up with us later in the day if she was working. She’d texted back, “Good call,” so I was surprised when she met us at the gate to our property, hopped in the back seat with the dogs and said, “Floor it, Dad.” She helped us carry in and put away the groceries, praised the teeter-totter for the twins that I’d scored at a garage sale and then made us tea.

  The day was overcast, but it was still pleasant enough to have our tea on the deck, so we sat outside, enjoying the quiet and the sight of the dogs reveling in their no-leash freedom. An idyllic scene, but there was tension in the air as we waited for Taylor to mention Vale. Finally, Zack took the proverbial bull by the horns. “How was your week, Taylor?”

  Surprisingly, Taylor answered with a smile. Her smile was like Sally’s — broad and generous but always tempered by a flicker of mockery that played across her lips. “To quote you, Dad, ‘The week was shitty, but I’m still here.’”

  “And your mum and I are grateful for that,” Zack said. “Are you ready to talk about it?”

  “I think I am,” she said. “So much has happened since I left Vancouver, but I’ve finally made some tentative plans about what comes next for me, and I’d like your opinion.”

  “Whenever you’re ready,” Zack said.

  Taylor took a deep breath. “On Tuesday, my old pal ‘Concerned Friend’ sent me a copy of Vale and Etienne Simard’s travel schedule for Sisters and Strangers. Concerned Friend included a list of the hotels where they’d be staying ‘in case I wanted to pay them a surprise visit.’”

  Zack’s eyes were blazing and he moved his chair closer to our daughter as if to protect her. “How the hell would someone get hold of that information?”

  “That’s a question worth asking,” I said. “I’ll have to check with Jill about this, but I suspect the hotel information would be kept pretty much in-house.”

  “Jo’s right, Dad. The people who arrange the tours try to limit the number of people who know where the actors are staying. When I travelled with Vale for The Happiest Girl tour, we were told we shouldn’t give anyone the names of our hotels. And every time Vale left the hotel, there would be a publicist with her to make sure that she arrived for her interviews safely and on time. Our relationship may be over, but I do care about Vale. She’ll be protected. And now that Vale and I are no longer together, my private life will be private again. No one will care about where I am or what I do. The only story the tabloids can print about Vale and me now is that we are no longer a couple.”

  I felt the first fingers of a headache. “And Vale has accepted this?”

  “Yes, because she had to. Concerned Friend’s last communication was the push I needed to tell Vale what I needed to tell her. She’d called and texted dozens of times after I left Vancouver, but I never responded because I was afraid that when I heard her voice, I’d cave.”

  “But you did call Vale,” Zack said.

  Taylor hesitated before she answered. When the colour rose from her neck to her cheeks, it was clear she was embarrassed about what she was about to say. “No, Dad, nothing as simple and sensible as a phone call for me. I took the high drama route. I hopped in the car and drove straight to our condo on Dewdney. Gracie wanted to come with me, but I knew I had to be alone to do what needed to be done. Most of my luggage was still in Vancouver, so I packed my stuff in some big green garbage bags and hauled them to the front door. Then I piled all Vale’s things on the bed in the guest room, called the cleaning service we used and told them to send someone over ASAP. I asked them to put everything on the guest room bed in mailing boxes, and I’d call them later with an address. Then I lugged the garbage bags out to the hall and locked the door to Vale’s and my first and last home together.”

  For a few seconds, the pain of the memory stopped Taylor, but she carried on. “By the time I got to my car, the heaviness that had been pressing down on me since Vale told me about her relationship with Etienne had lifted. I was ready to pick up the phone and call Vale, and I did.”

  “And you’re all right,” Zack said.

  Taylor’s dark eyes darted from Zack to me and then back to her dad. “Yes, I’m all right. As it turns out, Concerned Friend did me a favour. I’m free at last.” She paused. “Now if it’s okay with you, I’m going to my studio to make some art.”

  “It’s more than okay,” I said. “But before you get back to work, give your old parents a hug.”

  We said our goodbyes, then Zack and I watched until our daughter disappeared inside the studio we’d built for her when we married. “Is it too early for a sigh of relief about her plans for the foreseeable future?” he said.

  “No, Taylor’s decision to make a clean break with Vale seems to have been the right move for her. But Zack, there’s so much that’s not right here. Taylor says Concerned Friend did her a favour by sending her Vale and Etienne Simard’s itinerary, but she knows as well as we do that was not the intent. Twice someone has sent Taylor information about Vale that they knew would hurt her. It has to be someone she knows. I’ll check with Jill about those travel schedules.”

  “So, another link to MediaNation,” Zack said. “Ellen Exton, Rosemary Morrissey, Patti Morgan, Clay Fairbairn, Ronan Farquhar, Thalia Monk — and now Concerned Friend.” He shrugged. “But it’s just a list of names unless we can conne
ct the dots.”

  “And the dots don’t appear to have a pattern — at least not one I can see,” I said. “Ellen and Rosemary have disappeared; Patti Morgan seems to have withdrawn into her own private hell; Maisie put the fear of God into Ronan Farquhar; and I’m sure that by now the band of warriors knows we’re watching them. Clay Fairbairn has, at least in theory, severed himself from the cohort and is working with Thalia Monk on a podcast project about millennials that will draw new listeners to MediaNation and give Thalia and him an impressive credit on their résumés.”

  Zack raised an eyebrow. “So, we’re going to operate on the ‘Move along. There’s nothing to see here’ strategy?”

  “No,” I said. “I’m sure there’s plenty to see. We just can’t see it yet.”

  “So, we sit back and wait for the Rosetta stone that will answer all our questions?” Zack’s headshake was vehement. “Jo, we both know that time is not on our side. We have to do something.”

  “Agreed,” I said. “Any ideas about what we do?”

  Zack leaned forward. “Just one. Let’s go for broke: poke the hive and hope that all hell will break loose.”

  As it turned out, it was Jill Oziowy who poked the hive. When I called to ask her about the distribution of the list of tour hotels, I got her voicemail. She returned my call almost immediately. “I was just about to call you,” she said, and her voice was tight. “Something’s come up that Kam Chau and I would like to talk to you and Zack about.”

  “We’re at the lake, but we’ll be back on Monday,” I said. “Can it wait?”

  “No, Jo, if you don’t mind, Kam and I will come out there. Kam’s in a production meeting with Charlie D, but it should be over soon. We can be at Lawyers Bay in an hour.”

  “Come ahead,” I said. “We’ll have a late lunch.”

  “Don’t worry about feeding us,” Jill said. “We’ll grab something from the cafeteria and eat in the car.”

  All morning, the weather had been hazy, but just as Jill and Kam pulled up at the gate to Lawyers Bay, the clouds lifted and the air cleared. When it came to omens, I had schooled myself to ignore the bad and seize the good. For me, the fact that the lake was suddenly sun-splashed, and the world around us once again appeared in sharp focus were signs that we were on the right track.

  Like Zack and me, Jill and Kam wore hiking boots, blue jeans and pullovers in the warm, turning-leaf shades of autumn. This was Zack and Kam’s first meeting, and Kam won my husband over with his first words. After giving the landscape an assessing one-eighty, he said, “This is my dream.”

  Zack’s expression was pensive. “You know, Kam, I owned this place for over twenty years without giving it a second thought. It was just a place to come if my partners and I needed to get away from the office. Then I married Joanne, and it was as if I suddenly saw this place for the first time.”

  Zack and I exchanged a quick, affectionate glance and then Zack wheeled over to Kam. “But this isn’t about my shock of recognition. This is about making you welcome. Are you up for an abbreviated grand tour?”

  “Lead the way,” Kam said.

  Jill touched Zack’s arm. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take a rain check. Jo and I have some catching up to do.”

  “Understood,” Zack said.

  Jill and I watched in silence as the two men disappeared into the russet and amber foliage of the Amur maples. “People are full of surprises,” she said. “Kam never struck me as a country living kind of guy. But he and I both needed to get away. We’re hoping distance will bring clarity.” Jill shivered and hugged herself.

  “It’s getting chilly,” I said. “Let’s go inside, find some comfy chairs and make a pot of tea — my grandmother’s panacea for all life’s problems.”

  The house was invitingly warm, and as we had so often over the years, Jill and I headed for the kitchen. I filled the kettle, and Jill wandered over to the refrigerator to check out the latest photos of the grandkids on the fridge door. She took a long moment looking at them, and when she sat down at the table, there was sadness in her eyes.

  “I remember when Madeleine was born,” Jill said. “And now she’s in grade eight, the crème de la crème of Pius X.”

  I smiled. “I was thinking something along those lines myself this morning. In grade three Madeleine developed a passion for limousines. She drew endless pictures of them, and when Zack let it slip that he’d actually ridden in a few limos, she pleaded with him for details. Kids usually blow through phases, but Madeleine has always been resolute. Zack was impressed. A few days before Madeleine’s birthday, he asked Mieka what she thought of us hiring a limo for an hour to pick up Madeleine, Lena and some of their school friends, drive them past the legislature, through Wascana Park and then home.

  “Mieka thought it was a great idea, so we hired the limo. Zack says it’s the best eighty bucks we ever spent, and he’s right. When that long white Lincoln pulled into the parking area at Pius, the kids swarmed it. Mieka, Zack and I were there for the big moment. The driver approached Madeleine, doffed his cap and said, ‘Happy Birthday, Miss.’ She turned to us, and her eyes were like saucers. ‘When I saw this limousine, I never thought it would be for me. I was sure it would be for one of the grade eights.’”

  Jill’s smile was rueful. “And now Madeleine’s a member of the elite.”

  “She is indeed.” I paused. “Jill, how are things with you?”

  “As far as work is concerned, all is well. The new programming is rolling out smoothly, and the response to it has been even better than we’d hoped for. My colleagues are no longer so tense that their shoulders are permanently hunched at ear level, and morale is definitely on the uptick.”

  “And personally?”

  Jill shrugged. “Personally, I’m finally facing the fact that I inflicted some wounds on your family that will never heal. I’ve decided to go back to Toronto at Thanksgiving. I’m having dinner with Hugh Fairbairn tonight, and I’ll tell him then.” The room was warm, but Jill shivered. A shawl was hanging on a hook by the back door. I went over, took down the shawl and draped it over Jill’s shoulders. She pulled it tight. “Did Mieka tell you she and I ran into each other at MediaNation yesterday?”

  The kettle whistled. Grateful for the chance to delay answering Jill’s question, I took the kettle off the burner, warmed the teapot, measured the tea and poured in the boiling water. Then I arranged the tea things on a tray and carried the tray back to the table. When I sat down opposite her, Jill’s gaze was questioning.

  “Mieka didn’t mention running into you,” I said. “But with the new baby and getting the girls back into the school routine, her plate has been full. We haven’t had time for a real talk. Was there a problem?”

  Jill shook her head wearily. “No blows were exchanged,” she said. “In retrospect, that might have been easier. The encounter didn’t last much more than a minute, but it was long enough to convince me that Mieka will never let me into her life again.”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing really,” Jill said. “I had an outside appointment and when I came upstairs and walked into the galleria, Mieka was at the reception desk with our officer of visitor relations, Mark Evanson. Mark was holding your new grandson, and he and Mieka were laughing. I had a flashback to seeing the two of them together at political events when they were kids. It was a nice moment, and I was just about to sneak out the front door when Mieka spotted me.

  “Jo, she froze. I was her godmother; I taught her how to tie her shoelaces. I played endless games of Crazy Eights with her when she had the flu. When she and her first serious boyfriend broke up, we split a tub of Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia and listened to ‘A Rainy Night in Soho’ by the Pogues at least fifty times. Mieka had been one of the best parts of my life, and now even seeing me turns her to stone.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “I brought it on my
self,” Jill said. That’s what the nuns always told us. Jill’s expression was part wry, part defiant. “And it gets worse. Mark Evanson is a truly nice guy, but he’s not quick. He misread the situation. When Mieka froze, Mark assumed the problem was that she didn’t remember me. He was so relieved that he’d actually solved the problem that he was grinning from ear to ear. He said, ‘Mieka, this is Jill Oziowy. She was your dad’s chief of staff when he was attorney general.’ When Mieka mumbled something about remembering me, Mark turned to me. ‘Jill, I bet you’d like to hold Ian Kilbourn’s grandson,’ and then he tried to hand Desmond to me.”

  My heart sank. There were no words, and I didn’t even try. Jill soldiered on. “Mieka was not about to let me anywhere near her new son. She took the baby from Mark and said, ‘We all think of my stepfather, Zack Shreve, as Desmond’s grandfather. This little guy’s full name is Desmond Zackary Dowhanuik. Charlie D and I named our son after three people our son can be proud of.”

  There was no masking the pain in Jill’s voice. Nothing I could say would allay it, so I did what generations of women faced with a heartbreaking situation had done. I picked up the teapot and poured.

  When she lifted her cup, Jill’s expression was dubious. “Do you really think this will help?” she said.

  “It should,” I said. “It’s your old favourite, Constant Comment.”

  Jill took a sip and her eyes widened. “I’d forgotten how good this is.” She swallowed hard. “I’m glad you remembered.”

  We finished our tea in silence, and then I refilled our cups. “Jill, I’m guessing your encounter with Mieka tipped the scales and that’s why you’ve decided to leave Regina at Thanksgiving. But that’s too soon. Thanksgiving is just a few weeks away.”

  Jill’s sigh came from the depth of her body. “No use prolonging the agony,” she said.

  “I think you should give the situation more time,” I said. “At least until Christmas. Howard’s in Toronto teaching until then, so the condo’s all yours. You’re enjoying your work. You have nothing to lose by staying, and if you walk away at Thanksgiving, you’ll always wonder if things might have been different. Jill, I know my daughter. You said she was one of the best parts of your life. You were one of the best parts of Mieka’s life too. She needs you as much as you need her. Stick around.”