by Gail Bowen
“Maisie and I have talked this through. I told her you and I were counting on some time at the lake, and Maisie and I have decided that the work that needs to be done now can be done from Lawyers Bay. She has to be in court tomorrow, but she talked to Pete, and they’re planning to bring the twins out to the lake Wednesday morning and stay until Sunday after lunch.”
“That does please me,” I said. “But won’t you need to be closer to your client?”
“Thanks to Warren Weber, that’s exactly where we will be. Debbie Haczkewicz took one look at the number of stitches on Mike Braeden’s face and started asking questions. On the advice of counsel, Mike answered Debbie’s questions honestly. At that point, of course, Debbie had questions of her own, but they’re questions for the forensic pathologist to answer.”
“You said Mike found Patti in bed, face down on her pillow.”
“He did. The bedroom is on the second floor, so I was SOL about getting a first-hand look, but the police photographers were still working when I got there, and I was able to see pictures. There was an almost empty bottle of Southern Comfort on the nightstand and an open prescription pill bottle in Patti’s hand. The pills had spilled onto the bed, and the photographer said the duvet reeked of alcohol. There was no suicide note, but considering the stew of alcohol and drugs that must have been in Patti’s bloodstream, I guess that’s not surprising.”
“How’s Mike doing?”
Zach shrugged. “He’s holding up, but it must have been a hell of a scene to walk in on.”
“And the police are looking into the possibility that Mike didn’t simply walk in on the scene?”
Zack nodded. “You know Debbie. She keeps her options open, but Mike hasn’t been charged, and when Warren laid the situation out for Debbie, she didn’t object when he proposed to take Mike out to their place on the lake. Debbie’s a good cop, but she’s also a decent human being. Earlier in the week, Mike suffered a physical trauma from which he is still recovering, and now this.
“The Webers are able to offer him care and comfort, and if Debbie decides she needs to crack the whip, they can have Mike at headquarters on Osler Street in forty-five minutes. It’s a sensible decision. What a change from the guy whom Debbie replaced as head of Major Crimes. He was a major asshole, and it would have been a real kick in the head for him to make things as miserable as possible for everyone concerned.”
“What happened to Debbie’s predecessor?”
“What always happens to people like that,” Zack said. “Shit floats. He’s now chief of police in a very large city that shall remain nameless.”
I smiled. “Well, I’m grateful we have Debbie. Zack, I know you hate it when I worry about you, but I do worry, and I know the drill. Even if your client hasn’t been charged, you have to gather all the facts, lay the groundwork and that means twelve-hour days.”
Zack took my hand. “But not for me. Not this time out. Maisie is taking the lead, and Falconer Shreve is a large firm. When it comes to legal talent, we have a deep bench. Expense is not a concern for this client, and I’ve already spoken to Bob Colby. Colby and Associates are the best private investigators in western Canada, and they’ll be following through on everything we learn from our client about what happened. They’ll also be looking into our client’s life and the victim’s life.”
“So, this can be a working holiday for you and Maisie.”
“It can, and Jo, I know that Taylor’s fine, but I also know Sisters and Strangers starts showing this Friday. Vale’s all over the media. It will be good for our daughter to have her family around. And — breaking news — Maisie says the twins are already talking about learning how to drive the big boat.”
“Time to hand over the captain’s hat?” I said. “I’ve been relieved of one of my duties too. Colin can now make his own PB&J sandwiches, and he insists I step aside while he works. You and I are becoming redundant.”
Zack squeezed my hand. “Not to each other,” he said. “And, as far as work is concerned, Maisie and I have talked about this. We won’t be spending all our time staring at our laptops. We can do everything that needs to be dealt with immediately from the lake and still have time to prepare for the eventuality that Mike Braeden may be charged.
“The police will be working on this 24/7 — interviewing possible witnesses, checking into alibis, establishing timelines, looking into the personal lives of the principals involved. We have to run our own parallel investigation. Analyze the collected facts of the case and create a theory of defence that presents our client’s version of the story and answers any questions or doubts the Crown will likely raise at trial.
“We need a team approach for that, so Maisie and I are going through the files on our associates to select the ones strongest in knowledge of case law, and the ones with a gift for coming up with effective outside-the-box strategies that will help us develop a theory of defence. That’s job one.”
“What’s job two?”
“Getting to know our client, and he’ll be staying right across the lake in Warren and Annie’s guest house.”
“That’s a lot of preliminary work, Zack. It sounds as if you and Maisie think there’s a good chance Mike is going to be charged with this.”
“Mike has been determined to keep the problems in his marriage to Patti private, but Warren told me today that Mike has spent most of the last year extricating his wife from bad dates and other situations involving risky behaviour. Those incidents are all going to come to light. Maisie and I have to be ready to deal with them. Being together at Lawyers Bay will give us the time we need to prepare.” Zack took a large sip from his drink. “So, all in all, a satisfactory outcome. Your turn now. Was the outcome of your day satisfactory?”
“That depends on whether your money is on Julie Evanson Gallagher Fairbairn or Thalia Monk.”
Zack’s eyes widened. “Is there a cage match in the offing?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. Julie was here.” I gave him the full rundown. “I suggested she and Hugh talk it out with Clay and Thalia.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
“I thought so, and, surprisingly, Julie seized on the idea of a meeting. She saw it as a blueprint to victory because although the idea of capitulating to ‘that little bitch’ made her sick, she could bide her time. Julie’s exit line was a chiller. ‘There’s more than one way to skin a cat,’ she said. ‘Just watch me.’”
Zack shuddered. “The hair on the back of my neck just stood on end.”
“Mine too,” I said. “Let’s split what’s left in the martini pitcher and do our best to mellow out.”
Chapter Sixteen
Zack was still asleep when Pantera, Esme and I left for our run. The fresh morning air was invigorating, but the days were undeniably getting shorter. The dogs and I now started out and returned in darkness. It was not a pathetic fallacy I welcomed.
My dreams the night before had been a collage of sharp-edged fragments: two-year-old Clay in his pumpkin suit spinning in front of the mirror as his mother, Lori, sang “He is the potter. We are the clay” in her sweet, musical voice. Then in the fractured logic of dreams, it was Thalia Monk standing in front of the mirror. She was holding two-year-old Clay and spinning with him, singing “I am the potter, you are the clay.” Then Clay was sitting on the floor playing with a knot of wires and cords very much like the one he had pushed into Alison Janvier’s path the day of the picnic. Julie’s image appeared in the mirror, Thalia sang “I am the potter” and Clay stood, picked up the ball of wires he had been playing with, hurled it at Julie’s reflection and the mirror shattered.
Heart pounding, I had woken up, grateful to be in the familiar safe world, but that morning as the dogs and I ran through the unending darkness the memories of the night stayed with me. When we got back to the house, Zack was at the breakfast table in his robe; coffee was perking, and the porridge was bu
bbling.
Pantera’s ardour for Zack had never cooled. Our bullmastiff jammed his 185-pound self against Zack’s side of the bed every night when we turned in and remained there until he heard me rattle his leash in the morning. That morning, he and Zack had been apart for a little over an hour, but when Zack turned his chair to face us, Pantera lunged at his master as if they’d been separated for eons.
After Pantera finally loped over to his water dish, Zack picked up his napkin, wiped the slobber off his cheek and turned to me. “How was your run?”
“It was okay, but I hate running in the dark, and there are months of that ahead.”
“We have a big yard,” Zack said. “You could put the dogs out; they could chase each other around to their hearts’ content, and you could have a swim in our soon-to-be renovated pool.”
“And you could swim with me,” I said.
Zack chortled. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”
“You did,” I said, “but I’ll let it pass. But good news on that front. I had a text from McCudden and Co., and they’re ready to start work tomorrow, and we’ll be out of the way.” I took the juice out of the refrigerator and poured us both a glass. When I took my first sip, I raised my glass to Zack. “This is fresh squeezed,” I said. “You’ve been busy.”
“I’m not the only one. Warren called. He and Annie are at the lake. They’d like to see us as soon as we have some time.”
“Both of us?” I said. “So it’s not about Mike Braeden?”
“Warren said ‘both of us,’ and that makes sense,” Zack said. “Mike Braeden says he’s ready to talk to me, and Warren and Annie’s picture of what’s been going on at MediaNation is far from complete. You can fill them in.”
“How about early afternoon?” I said. “Once we’re at Lawyers Bay, we just need time to unpack the groceries. Today’s special at Pacific Fish is arctic char, and that’s an easy dinner.”
“And one of Taylor’s favourites,” Zack said.
“I’m aware of that,” I said, “and when we unpack the groceries, you’ll see that we have enough arctic char for three, even if one of the three is Taylor, who is a trencherwoman when arctic char is on the menu.”
Zack grinned. “You do know that Taylor will catch on to your nefarious plan.”
“I do,” I said, “but I also know that when we sit down for dinner, our daughter will be in her old place at the table.”
“Well done,” Zack said. “And Warren has an idea that I think will appeal to you. He suggested we take the boat over, so we can get a lakeside view of that new addition they’ve built before the snow flies.”
“It seems our impromptu getaway is off to a good start,” I said.
“And it hasn’t even begun,” Zack said.
* * *
Not long after Zack left the house, Mieka called. She didn’t bother with preamble. “I’ve taken the plunge, but now I’m having second thoughts.”
“Is this news I should sit down for?”
My daughter’s laugh was short and rueful. “No, you can stay standing. I’m being overly dramatic. Today is the first day of autumn, and at breakfast Madeleine and Lena were talking about inviting some of their BFFs by after school to rake leaves into piles and jump in them.”
“I’m surprised,” I said. “I thought the young women might have said goodbye to all that now that Madeleine’s in grade eight and Lena’s just a year behind.”
“Pete and I were jumping into leaf piles when we were in high school, and if Jill was around, she’d jump in with us. She had more fun than we did, but she was always strict about us raking up and bagging the leaves when we were through.” Mieka paused. “I’ve been trying to come up with a way to reach out to Jill that didn’t seem too freighted with significance, so after the girls got on the bus, I picked up the phone, called Jill and reminded her that today is the first day of fall, and I thought it might be fun to get together and remember jumping in the leaves. Lame, huh?”
“Not lame at all,” I said. “I think it struck just the right note.”
“It did for Jill. Anyway, the upshot of all is that at ten o’clock, I’m meeting Jill for coffee at the MediaNation cafeteria and I’m bringing Des. Mum, I don’t know if I’m ready. Could you come with me?”
“Of course. Do you want me to pick you up?”
“No. I need to do at least part of this on my own.”
“Okay, in that case, I’ll see you, Des and Jill at MediaNation at ten.”
* * *
I arrived at the stroke of ten, but Jill and Mieka were already sitting at a table by the window, and Jill was holding our youngest grandson. When she turned to greet me, Jill’s face was soft with pleasure. “Mieka said that she hadn’t had a truly hot cup of coffee since Desmond was born, so I volunteered.”
I leaned over to peek at our grandson. “Des seems absolutely content,” I said.
“I’m content too,” Mieka said. “I’d forgotten how good coffee tastes when it hasn’t been sitting around, getting cold for twenty minutes.” She looked up at me. “Join the party, Mum. Jill and Des and I are just getting started.”
Our talk that morning was rambling, inconsequential and deeply satisfying. When I checked my watch and saw that it was almost eleven, I picked up my sweater. “I’m going to have to take off. Maisie and Zack have a case they need to work on, and Charlie and Colin have decided it’s time they learned to drive the big boat, so we’re going to spend a few days at the lake.”
Mieka raised her hand. “Videos, please.”
“The twins will be in the company of five adults with phones,” I said. “You may regret that request. Now, I’d better make tracks. I have grocery shopping to do, and I have a special list from Taylor. She has decided to start making the food for her cats.”
“That’s impressive,” Jill said.
“I agree,” I said, “but Taylor says, and I quote, ‘If I’m destined to be a spinster with three cats, I’d better learn to do everything right.’”
Jill and Mieka exchanged looks of disbelief. “Taylor’s twenty-one,” Mieka said. “I don’t believe her destiny is already written in stone.”
“Agreed,” Jill said. “Also, does anybody actually use the word ‘spinster’ these days?”
“Taylor does,” I said. I leaned over and kissed Des’s forehead. “You change every day,” I murmured. “You just keep getting better and better.”
Mieka stood and hugged me. “Call me when you get there.”
“I always do,” I said. I touched Jill’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you.”
“We’re going to do this again,” Mieka said. “But let’s include Madeleine and Lena next time.”
* * *
One of my husband’s many gifts is his ability to sleep anywhere at any time. Knowing he was facing a tough row to hoe, I was in the driver’s seat. Zack was asleep before we passed the city limits, and he didn’t awaken until we pulled through the gates at Lawyers Bay. As always, he awoke fresh as the proverbial daisy, and after we unloaded the car, we went straight to the boathouse.
The lake was choppy, but the view of the late September landscape was worth twenty minutes of rock and roll. Zack had told the Webers we’d be at their place around two o’clock, and they were waiting when Zack steered the Amicus smoothly beside the dock.
Warren was natty in light tan slacks and a pumpkin cashmere pullover, and as always, Annie had coordinated her outfit to complement her husband’s. Her long sweater was taupe but her leggings were a tapestry of autumn colours: cranberry, wheat gold and saffron.
The original Weber cottage was set back from the lake, but the addition — a single very large, very handsome room — faced the water, and the view was dynamite. The room’s decor was starkly modern, but it was humanized by a wood-burning fireplace and furniture from the old Weber farmhouse. Much of the furniture had b
een in storage for decades, but Annie had rescued the lovely old pieces and had them restored to their former glory.
Zack was impressed. “You’ve done a great job with this, Annie.”
“Warren wants us to move our bed out here, so we never have to leave this room.” Annie’s smile was mischievous. “I’m for that. And look at the view we have of the foliage around your place, Zack. I told Warren I was sure Joanne chose those trees because she knew they’d be spectacular well into October.”
“They’re Amur maples,” I said. “And you’re right about their staying power, but those trees were planted long before I was on the scene. The landscaper made certain there would be something lovely to look at all year long.”
Annie sighed with pleasure. “Like your forsythia and that copse of lilac bushes north of your dining room in spring. Warren and I are planning to do some landscaping, and we’re open to suggestions.”
“I’ll unearth the landscaper’s notes and keep them handy, so you can pick them up the next time you’re at our place. I know the priority for the foreseeable future is Mike Braeden, but I imagine the time will come when Mike will appreciate a visit across the lake too.”
“That’s what Annie and I want to talk to you and Zack about,” Warren said. “But let us bring you some refreshments first.”
The Webers left and when they returned, Annie was carrying a tray with four heavy monogrammed glasses, four ecru monogrammed napkins and a plate of goodies, and Warren was carrying a bottle of Old Pulteney in one hand and a bottle of non-alcoholic ginger beer in the other. As Warren was pouring the drinks, Annie offered the cookies. “This is Scottish cheddar shortbread,” she said. “Warren told me he always looked forward to this shortbread when he was a boy, and his parents had a party.”
“No Old Pulteney for them,” Warren said. “My parents were strict teetotallers, but the shortbread goes well with ginger beer, so Annie doesn’t miss out.”