The Glass Coffin

by Gail Bowen

  “So we have ourselves a puzzle,” Kevin said. “If Evan killed Gabe, who killed Evan?” he said.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “Then it’s a time for caution,” he said. “At this point, we don’t know much about anything or anyone.” Kevin shaped a solid little leg with his thumbs. “I had a battle with myself this morning,” he said. “Jill is my client, and in calling you I’m going behind her back and probably against her wishes. But you don’t have to be Eddie Greenspan to know that Jill’s the star suspect in this case, and she refuses to help herself.”

  “She didn’t open up to you?”

  “Not a crack. You could drive a tour bus through the holes in that story of hers about what happened last night. You know it. I know it, and, most significantly, the cops know it. I tried to make her aware of the importance of full disclosure to her lawyer, but no dice.” He transformed a ball of marzipan into a jaunty little bowler hat, placed it on his pig’s head, and filled the tiny eye indentations with white royal icing. “Jill’s protecting somebody,” he said.

  “Not just somebody,” I said. “Her stepdaughter, Bryn. At least that’s my guess. I think when she went outside the night Evan was killed, she was looking for Bryn, and I think when she ran back inside, she was still looking for her.”

  “Maybe I should talk to Bryn,” he said. “If she’s as crazy about Jill as Jill is about her, she won’t want to leave her new stepmother out to dry.”

  “You’d be wasting your time,” I said. “From what I’ve seen the only person Bryn is crazy about is Bryn.”

  “My grandmother always said every cookie has two sides,” he said. “Maybe Jill sees a side of her you haven’t.”

  “As a rule, I’m with your grandmother, but so far what I’ve seen of Bryn is not appealing. I’m certain that when you called today she was listening in on another phone. And last night when Angus and I were out shovelling snow, we looked up and she was at the window. She taunted us about how she’d been watching us all the time, and we didn’t know it.”

  “She’s a voyeur?”

  “If she is, the pathology is understandable. Kevin, Bryn has not had an easy life. Gabe Leventhal told me that her father has been filming her from the day she was born – the movie of Bryn’s life was going to cap his career.”

  “My God, no wonder she hated him.” For a beat Kevin was silent, then he peered at me thoughtfully through his wire-rimmed glasses. “And Jill’s hedging about what really happened the night Evan died because she’s afraid Bryn hated her father enough to kill him.”

  I nodded. “So where do we go from here?”

  “For starters, let’s get our hands on that footage before the police do. That’ll at least buy us some time to come up with a strategy for defending Bryn if we need one. Were Jill and Evan living together before they were married?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “It would if Evan kept projects he was working on at home. If he and Jill were cohabiting, as they say, she could just send a friend in to scoop up what we need.”

  “But even if they didn’t live together before, Jill and Evan were married when he died,” I said. “She must have some rights.”

  “Sure, but the scope of those rights could be limited if there was a pre-nup.” Kevin gazed sadly at the half-formed lumps of marzipan in front of me. “You’re not exactly wailing there, are you?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Your vision is clouded by anxiety,” he said kindly. He dotted his pig’s eyes with chocolate, dipped the bowler and base into chocolate, and handed the dapper little porker to me. “Take this one home to contemplate,” he said.

  “Thanks,” I said. “So when do you want to talk to Jill?”

  “This time out, it’s better if you do the talking. Friends can suggest things lawyers can’t.”

  “For example, a friend could – hypothetically – recommend that if there was anything damaging in the footage of Bryn, Jill might want to get it out of harm’s way,” I said.

  “No flies on you,” Kevin said approvingly.

  “Thanks,” I said, “for the compliment and for the marzipan lesson. I’ll do better next time.” I wrapped my pig carefully and dropped it in my purse. “Who wants all these pigs anyway?”

  Kevin checked the order on the bulletin board over his counter. “Dumped Dames,” he read. “Seemingly, an organization of ladies who do not go gently.”

  Jill was standing on the front steps smoking when I got home. “How was your morning?” I asked.

  “Shitty,” she said. “And yours?”

  “Instructive,” I said. “I learned that Felix has the hots for you; that Tracy Lowell shares a home with the MacLeish family; that beta blockers can kill; and that I have no talent for making marzipan pigs.”

  Jill doused her cigarette in a snowbank. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “Okay,” I said. “How about this? Your next move is to pick up the phone and arrange to get everything about the projects Evan was working on at the time of his death out here.”

  “You think Evan’s work might point to who killed him?”

  “His movies cut close to the bone, Jill. Evan might have captured something on film that someone didn’t want revealed.”

  Jill pulled her cigarette pack out of her jacket pocket. On the front was a vivid photo of a diseased lung. She glanced at it briefly and removed a cigarette. “Do you think there’ll be footage of Bryn?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Probably.”

  Jill lit her cigarette. “Can you believe that I didn’t even know Evan was shooting that movie until the night of the rehearsal dinner?”

  “How could you not know?” I asked.

  “As it turns out, there’s a lot I didn’t know,” she said. “What’s that old saw? ‘Marry in haste; repent at leisure.’ My opportunities for penance seem to be coming at warp speed. I might as well tell you this because you’ll find out soon enough. Evan and I had a pretty heated argument after the rehearsal. When we got back to the hotel, I suggested we have a drink and hash out the question of the morality of what he was doing to Bryn. I thought the footage should be destroyed; Evan had other ideas. We went into the hotel bar, and I guess we forgot to keep the decibels down. The one shining nugget Felix and I uncovered at NationTV today was the fact that at least half a dozen people remember overhearing Evan and me fighting.”

  “So it shouldn’t come as a surprise that the police are expressing a more than casual interest in you.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” Jill drew on her cigarette and blew two perfect rings, the second inside the first. “Remember when doing this was an accomplishment?” she said.

  “I remember,” I said.

  “Life gets harder,” she said. “All the more reason to keep one step ahead of the other guy.” She stood up. “Evan has a binder he carries with him everywhere. He calls it ‘his Bible’ – it’s an update on the status of his works-in-progress. I’ll dig that up. And I’ll call our office manager, Larissa, in Toronto and get her to courier everything connected to Evan’s work out here. Now the question is where should she send it?”

  “I have an idea,” I said.

  As soon as the arrangements were made, I called Kevin Hynd. “We’re rolling,” I said.

  “Is the stuff coming to your place?” Kevin asked.

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “Nope. As long as I can go through everything as soon as it gets there.”

  “Not the most festive way to spend December 24.”

  “Helping somebody else? Hey, it’s Christmas, Joanne. As the man says, loving well is one way of participating in the mystery.”

  CHAPTER

  7

  When you live close to the 50th parallel, darkness comes early in deep winter. Sometimes as people gather on these long evenings, the awareness that we are separated from the cold and dark by a glass-thin membrane can create a sense of community that is almost mystical. On the e
vening of December 23, there was no transcendence at my dinner table, but there was civility, and that was miracle enough for me. Late that afternoon, Claudia and Tracy had stopped by with a new robe and pyjamas for Bryn. While the golden child was checking out her gifts, Claudia had leaned towards me. “I hate shopping,” she whispered, “but even a trip to the mall beats sitting around a hotel room watching reruns of ‘Magictown’ with Tracy.”

  The women in Jill’s new family had brought me no joy. More than once I had made some rough calculations about when they might cease to be part of my life. But it was Christmas, and Kevin Hynd was right. Loving well was one way of participating in the mystery.

  I turned to Claudia. “Why don’t you two come for dinner,” I said.

  And the die was cast. An hour and a half later, Claudia and I had put a meal together, Jill and Bryn were wrapping Christmas gifts in their room, and Tracy, Taylor, and Taylor’s cats were in the front hall marvelling at the new tree and listening to “The Way We Were.”

  Claudia and I had agreed to do our bodies a favour and order takeout from my family’s favourite vegan restaurant, Heliotrope. But when we stopped by the liquor store, Claudia threw a bottle of Jack Daniel’s into the basket. “Perfect antidote to virtuous eating,” she said. And it was.

  Standing side by side, sipping bourbon and ladling out Moroccan stew, Claudia and I achieved harmony. “Great menu,” I said, handing her a piece of desem pita.

  “Great company,” Claudia said. “Being in an enclosed space with Tracy is like ancient water torture – drip, drip, drip till the victim goes insane.”

  “How have you managed to share living space all these years?”

  Claudia shrugged. “It’s a big house,” she said. “Lots of room to hide. And that’s what we do – lead separate lives.”

  “But your lives must intersect,” I said. “And you must have spent a lot of time with Bryn.”

  Claudia’s face grew soft. “As much as she’d let me.”

  “Are you worried about her?” I asked.

  Suddenly, Claudia was wary. “Worried in general or worried because of what happened to Evan?”

  “Both, I guess. I know there were tensions between Bryn and her father, but he was her father. Even Angus, who’s not exactly Mr. Touchy-Feely, thinks that Bryn may not be dealing with Evan’s death in the healthiest way.”

  Claudia’s mouth tightened. “Who decides what’s healthy? People do what they do. Look at me. I loved my brother, but I’m not going to let you or anyone else see me wailing and rending my clothing. When I woke up this morning, I made a mental list of what I needed to do. Take care of Tracy. Take care of Bryn. Endure. Three items, and I’m handling them all. I don’t need anyone second-guessing me.”

  “I didn’t mean to sound judgmental,” I said.

  Claudia’s shoulders slumped. “I know, and I know Angus is right to be concerned about Bryn. I am too. But Joanne, Bryn isn’t like Angus – she’s not like anyone I’ve ever known. I’ve tried to make her more … aware of other people. But the truth is she’s just not hard-wired for empathy, no more than Evan was.” Claudia began placing the filled bowls on a tray. “There’s only so much you can do. You know that. You have kids.”

  “Nature versus nurture?”

  “And nature wins every time,” Claudia said. “All we can do is look at our kids honestly, and do the best with what we have.”

  I touched her hand. “You’re right,” I said. “That is all we can do.”

  We both had tears in our eyes. “Oh for God’s sake,” Claudia said. “Enough already. Soup’s on. Let’s declare this house a grief-free zone and spend the evening getting to know each other.”

  And so we did. During dinner, the seven of us took part in a no-holds-barred, rapid-fire, round-robin exchange of personal trivia. We identified our favourite colours, Christmas movies, actors, brands of toothpaste, poets, kids’ books, and breakfast foods. By the time we were onto the peach cobbler, we were relaxed and easy, and Bryn had confided that she never really got the point of Charlotte’s Web and that, in her opinion, taupe was seriously underrated.

  Buoyed by our new camaraderie, we sailed through the after-dinner cleanup and when Bryn stood in the shining kitchen and slid her hand into my son’s, he did not look uncomfortable. “This has been the best evening,” she said. “Why don’t we all take Willie for his walk? Like a real family.”

  It was a poignant statement of longing by a young woman who didn’t often reveal herself, and the people who loved her were quick to respond.

  “We are a real family,” Jill said.

  “All of us,” Tracy said. “Nothing can ever change that.”

  “I wonder how Evan would have felt if he’d seen us like this,” Jill said.

  “Who knows,” Claudia said. “I never knew how my brother felt about anything. Maybe if I had understood him more, I could have helped.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that too,” Jill said, and it seemed she was speaking more to herself than to us. “I never really got to know Evan. That sounds crazy, doesn’t it? But it’s the truth. I never knew my husband. I wonder now if anyone did.”

  Jill’s voice was wistful. It was the first time I’d heard her speak of Evan with emotion, and I wondered if the moment for grief had come. “The night I met Evan we talked about that illumination I gave you,” I said.

  Jill smiled. “Not many people can claim that Philo of Alexandria brought them together, but that’s what happened with Evan and me. Felix introduced us, but it wasn’t until Evan saw that illumination hanging in my living room that our relationship moved from the professional to the personal.” Jill’s voice was filled with pain. “Evan never talked about his feelings, but those words seemed to resonate for him. I guess he wanted me to ask about the great battles he was fighting, but I never did.”

  Had we been alone, Jill’s remembrance of things past might have opened the door for an intimate discussion. But we weren’t alone.

  Tracy had listened to Jill’s words without interest, drumming her fingers on the kitchen counter to indicate her impatience. Finally, she offered an opinion that was as astringent as a bucket of cold water in the face. “It’s too late to talk about what Evan wanted,” she said. “He’s dead. But we’re not, so we might as well go for that walk Bryn’s so keen on.”

  We stepped out into a star-bright night. The cold air was wisped with smoke from wood-burning fireplaces, and across the creek, kids screamed with delight as their toboggans ripped down the bank onto ice made thick by six straight weeks of temperatures stuck at twenty below. It was good to be alive on such a night, and from a distance we really could have passed for an extended family that had special cause for gratitude. The house we had come from, like all the houses that backed onto Wascana Creek, was substantial and handsome. We were well fed and expensively clothed. We moved easily, laughed often, and seemed content in one another’s company. Enviable people leading enviable lives, but there were fault lines in the image we presented, and we knew it. And so, as we walked along the levee, we kept it light: reminiscing about other winters; vying with one another to see who could arc a snowball over the shining ice to the bank across the creek; running with Willie as he swam through the snow.

  Carefree times, but as we started for home, Willie ceased to be a diversion and became a problem. When he failed puppy socialization class, I had been too humiliated to re-enrol him, and he was making me pay for my cowardice. Inside the house, Willie was the best of dogs: sweet, compliant, and loyal; outside he was a brute and a brat who demanded his own way. That night as he recognized the landmarks that meant his walk was winding down, he balked: dragging me towards every garbage bin in the alley to check out what Taylor called the dog mail; barking when I called him to heel. Finally, when he grabbed at the leash and began a game of tug-of-war with me, Claudia intervened.

  “Why don’t you let me take him?” she said.

  It was an offer I couldn’t refuse. I handed her the leash.
“He’s all yours,” I said.

  She grabbed Willie’s collar. “Time to learn some manners,” she said. With two quick manoeuvres, she flipped him into the snow and pinned him on his back, then she began talking to him. At first he flailed, but as he calmed, her words became endearments. Finally, she put her mouth beside his ear and cooed, “Ready to try again, big boy?” When Claudia brushed herself off and started down the alley, Willie trotted beside her like a show dog.

  I opened the back gate for them. “That was nothing short of amazing,” I said.

  “It was just a first step. There’s no quick fix. You’re going to have to do this every day, and you’re going to have to enrol him in obedience school. Willie is never going to earn a Ph.D., but he might surprise you.” Suddenly, Claudia laughed her wonderful wry, throaty laugh. “What a life I have – Bouviers and Broken Wand Fairies.”

  I was basking in the self-generated glow of the doer of good deeds when Jill and I drove Claudia and Tracy back to their hotel. The evening was nearing an end and, given the players and the circumstances, it had been a triumph. The first time we stopped for a light, Jill gave me a surreptitious thumbs-up. The second time we stopped for a light, Tracy unsnapped her seat belt, leaned into the front seat, and, without preamble, dropped her bombshell. “Claudia and I have decided Bryn should come back to Toronto with us.”

  “Nice build up there, kiddo,” Claudia said furiously. “At least you could have waited until the car stopped.”

  “I’m not taking the flak for this one,” Tracy snapped. “It was your idea.”

  Jill turned in her seat so she could see Claudia’s face. “Why didn’t you bring this up back at Joanne’s?”

  “Because I knew you wouldn’t exactly leap at our suggestions, and I didn’t want Bryn to hear us fighting,” Claudia said. “She has enough to deal with as it is.”

  Jill’s hands were clenched, but she kept her temper in check. “Bryn does have enough to deal with,” she said levelly. “That’s why she doesn’t need the three of us tearing at her as if she were a doll. There’s nothing to discuss here. The moment I took those marriage vows, Bryn became my daughter. I want her with me. She wants to be with me. Before we left Toronto, Evan and I talked to a lawyer about arranging for an adoption. We wanted to make certain my relationship with Bryn was protected.”