by Gail Bowen
“You can’t do that,” Tracy said.
“Don’t say anything stupid,” Claudia said, and her tone was the same one she had used on Willie in the back alley.
“Evan was the one being stupid if he thought he could get away with this,” Tracy said furiously.
Claudia was conciliatory. “Why don’t we just drop this for now? Jill, if things get complicated, the offer is always open.”
“That’s right,” Tracy said. “Something could happen to make you change your mind.” She laughed her trilling Broken Wand Fairy laugh. “You never know, do you?”
We watched in silence as the two women walked into the hotel. “Felix was right,” Jill said.
“About what?”
“About Evan’s family. After we went to NationTV this morning, he came back to the house to talk. He told me not to trust anyone in Evan’s family. He said they’re the kind of people who don’t stop until they get what they want.”
“How well does he know them?” I said.
Jill shrugged. “Obviously better than I do,” she said.
We came home to more surprises. Bryn and Angus were cuddled on the couch watching A Christmas Story and Taylor, the archetypal younger sibling, was sitting on the floor blocking their view.
As soon as she spotted us, Bryn was on her feet. “Come sit down with us,” she said, and her smile was winning. “This is exactly the kind of movie we should be watching together. It’s about this boy named Ralphie. All he wants for Christmas is a Red Ryder air rifle, but everybody keeps telling him he’ll get his eye shot out. It is so sweet.”
“Thanks for asking,” Jill said, embracing her stepdaughter. “But Jo and I have some things to discuss.”
Bryn’s eyes narrowed, and the cheerleader glow left her translucent ivory skin. “You’re not changing your mind about me moving to New York?”
“Of course not,” Jill said. “I don’t want you to worry about that or about anything else. Now, get back to your movie. Jo and I are going to grab a beer and find a quiet place to talk.”
We took our bottles of Great Western into the living room where the traditional Kilbourn tree still held sway. I plugged in the lights. “Beautiful,” Jill said. “It looks exactly the same every year.”
“That’s why Taylor hates it,” I said.
“She’ll appreciate it some day. Bryn already does. She told me she thought it would be wonderful to have a tree with homemade decorations.” Jill sipped her beer. “It’s been good for her to be here, Jo. I think she’s starting to connect more with other people.”
When I didn’t jump in to agree, Jill pressed me. “You’ll have to admit it was thoughtful of her to ask us to watch the movie with them.”
“It was thoughtful,” I said.
“But you still don’t like her,” Jill said.
“I don’t know her,” I said, “and I’m not sure you do either. Claudia and I were talking about this today. She told me she thinks Bryn just isn’t hard-wired for empathy.”
Jill tensed. “And when did Claudia become an expert on genetics?”
“She may not be an expert,” I said, “but she has cared for Bryn since she came home from the hospital. That has to count for something.”
The Christmas lights played out the spectrum of colours across Jill’s face, but she looked wan and abstracted. “Nobody told me,” she said. “No wonder she wants to hang on to Bryn.”
“Jill, how long did you and Evan know each other before you got married.”
“Seven weeks.” Jill chewed her lip savagely. “What the hell was I thinking of? Why wasn’t I asking questions? Why wasn’t I paying attention?”
“Love makes us do strange things.”
“I never loved Evan.”
“You love Bryn,” I said.
Jill placed her palms together and lowered her head. “I do,” she said. “And she needed to be rescued.”
“From what?”
“From that house she lived in. It’s a museum – exquisite, but not a place where people live. Evan’s grandfather was a diplomat in the days when treasures went cheap. Everything you sit on or look at or drink from is priceless: shoji screens, lacquers, Japanese wood-block prints, the most incredible red sandstone Buddha.”
“Not an easy place for a child to grow up.”
“No, and the people in that house weren’t easy people to grow up with. Bryn’s mother was a real piece of work. And you’ve seen Tracy …”
“Annie’s been dead for almost fifteen years. Why does Tracy still live there?”
Jill raised her hands in the universal gesture of the confounded. “Who knows? My guess is that when Tracy discovered that the spotlight would always shine on her sister not her, she just followed the path of least resistance.”
“A role in a children’s show and living at home – someone else’s home at that. Not exactly a sparkling destiny,” I said.
“No one in that house has a sparkling destiny – it’s a house of half-lived lives.”
“Claudia seems to fill her days.”
“A pair of Rottweilers, a niece who can’t wait to leave, a sister-in-law who’s a basket case, and a mother who hasn’t been out of the house in forty years – not my idea of a fully realized life.”
“Caroline hasn’t been out of the house in forty years?”
Jill nodded. “Apparently after Claudia was born, her mother suffered a postpartum ‘incident.’ That’s when the agoraphobia began.”
“Claudia told me today that her mother never wanted children,” I said. “Was the incident caused by guilt?”
Jill shrugged. “Who knows? That family is full of secrets.”
“Still, someone must have tried to get treatment for Caroline.”
“Of course, they did,” Jill said. “Her husband was a professor at U of T. He tapped every colleague and acquaintance he had at the School of Medicine. They offered to psychoanalyze her, medicate her, and modify her behaviour. Caroline turned them all down flat.”
“Why?”
“According to Evan, his mother saw herself as a woman like Virginia Woolf – a person with an exceptional mind and exceptional problems. Apparently, she simply refused to allow people she considered to be her intellectual inferiors to roam around in her brain.”
“And her family accepted that?”
“They had no choice.” Jill ran a thumbnail down the label of her Great Western. “For all her problems, Caroline is a force to be reckoned with. She has a lot of money and she really is brilliant. She has one of those quicksilver minds that shimmers from one idea to the next.”
“Her illness must have put a pretty serious dent in her shimmering.”
Jill nodded. “It’s been devastating for her. She should have been setting the world of ideas on fire. Instead, she has nothing more to do than muse over her tchotchkes, supervise her garden, and read everything ever written about agoraphobia. She’s an expert there – in every way. She’s so knowledgeable, she’s written articles that have appeared in medical journals. She just can’t break out. She says it’s as if she’s in a fairy tale and some evil witch cast a spell on her, so that every time she tries to step out of the house, the demons attack.”
“Is she bitter?” I asked.
“People make accommodations …” Jill gazed at her bottle. “Empty,” she said.
“Are you up for another round?”
“Nope,” she said. “I think I’ve had enough fun today. I’m going to hit the sack.”
After Jill went up to bed, I checked on the kids. Angus and Bryn were engrossed in the movie credits, but the question of whether Ralphie would ever get his Red Ryder so he could shoot his eye out would remain unanswered for Taylor. She was sound asleep.
I tapped my son’s shoulder. “Santa’s still doing his evaluations,” I said. “Are you up for a good deed?”
“You want me to carry Taylor upstairs?”
“I do,” I said. “It’s the end of the day, and your sister is no longer a f
eatherweight.”
We climbed the stairs together and tucked Taylor in. “Dismissed with thanks,” I said.
Angus didn’t leave. “Mum, have you got a minute?”
“Of course.”
He followed me down to my room, closed the door, and stared at his shoes.
“Let me help,” I said. “Is this about the fact that Bryn is back on the A list.”
Angus coloured. “We had a long talk. She told me that sometimes she doesn’t know how to behave. Like with her dad dying – she says she must have been in a state of shock or something.”
“She seemed pretty focused to me,” I said. “She wants to move to New York and she isn’t about to let anything interfere with her plans.”
“I know that’s how it looks,” Angus said. “But she’s trying. You saw how nice she was tonight.”
“Yes,” I said, “I did.”
Angus looked at me hard. “You don’t think she’s sincere.”
“Just take it slow,” I said.
“Because?”
“Because the fact that a young woman believes taupe is an underrated colour isn’t enough to build a relationship on.”
As if on cue, the taupe-lover herself burst through the door. This time there was no mistaking Bryn’s sincerity. She was so agitated her words tumbled over one another. “There’s something going on in the back alley. A lot of lights, and I think police cars. Should I get Jill?”
“No,” I said. “Let her sleep till we find out what’s happening.”
As we followed her, Bryn filled us in. “The dog was making this weird noise, so I let him out. The minute he got in the backyard, he started to bark. I went out to the deck to see what was going on. That’s when I saw …,” she shrugged, “whatever I saw.”
We all put on coats and boots; I called Willie, snapped on his leash, then the four of us went to investigate. As soon as I unlatched the gate that opened onto the alley, Willie made a sound I’d never heard him make before: a low, guttural warning growl. I knew how he felt. The quiet alley along which we’d walked an hour before was floodlit, and khaki tarpaulins had been thrown over the snow. Half a dozen police officers were tipping garbage bags from the bins onto the tarps, then searching through their findings. It was not a pretty sight.
“What’s going on?” I said.
“Police business,” a cop who didn’t look much older than Angus said.
“That’s my garbage you’re going through,” I said. “So it’s my business too. What are you looking for?”
The young cop took a step towards me, and Willie strained at the leash, growling at him with bared teeth.
“Hold that dog back,” the young officer said.
“He doesn’t do anything without a command,” I said.
“I’ll get the inspector.”
Alex Kequahtooway came back with the young cop and, in an instant, Willie morphed from killer to buddy. Tail wagging, he leapt up and began licking Alex’s face. The corners of the young cop’s mouth turned up as he looked at me. “Looks like your dog needs a command,” he said.
“Heel, Willie,” I said in my new Claudia-inspired voice, and amazingly, Willie came and sat at my feet.
I glanced at the tarpaulin – and recognized some treasures from our garbage: takeout containers from Heliotrope, some wizened tangerines that had been hiding in the back of the crisper, an empty bacon package. A young cop was going through the detritus with the fervour of a man panning for gold. “So, Alex,” I said, “what exactly is it that you’re looking for?”
Alex’s left eye twitched, a sure sign of tension. “I can’t answer that,” he said. “This is a police investigation. I think you should leave.”
“It’s a pleasant night,” I said. “And this is public space.”
“Suit yourself,” Alex said.
After five minutes, my bravado had dissipated and my feet were cold, but at least I wasn’t alone. Angus had stayed with me, so – surprisingly – had Bryn. Both were uncomplaining, but I was just thirty seconds from calling it quits when the young officer closest to us held up an empty prescription pill bottle. “Bingo,” he said.
Alex gave the discovery the briefest of glances and said, “Good work. Bag it for forensics.”
I stepped towards the tarpaulin. “All that effort for a pill bottle,” I said.
Alex hesitated before responding; when he did, it was clear he had decided to push my buttons. “It’s evidence,” he said. “A conscientious citizen told us we might find something helpful to our case here, and sure enough we did.” He looked hard at me. “What’s the matter, Jo? You seem a little shaken.”
“Just concerned about my neighbourhood. I hope your people are planning to clean up this alley – kids play out here.”
“Unlike civilians, we don’t leave messes we’re not prepared to clean up,” Alex said. Then he turned to Angus, and his voice grew gentle. “Could I have a minute with you?” he asked.
“Sure,” Angus said.
“Bryn and I will go back to the house,” I said. “You can catch up with us.”
We were barely out of earshot when Bryn pulled me close. “Was that my aunt’s pill bottle they found?”
“We can talk about it inside,” I said.
Bryn was relentless. As soon as we stepped through the kitchen door, she turned to me. “So was it hers?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m guessing it was.”
“Then she killed Mr. Leventhal?”
“Bryn, what do you know about the way Mr. Leventhal died?”
“Enough,” she said. “There’s not a lot that happens I don’t know.” Her eyes were glittering and her cheeks were pink. She seemed almost feverish with anticipation. “So do you think the police will arrest her?”
“If it’s Tracy’s prescription bottle, they’ll certainly want to talk to her.”
Bryn seemed oddly gratified. “Then they’ll stop thinking it was Jill,” she said and added, as if to herself, “It was a lucky thing the police were out there.”
“Lucky for who?” I said.
She looked incredulous. “For Jill and me.” She stifled a yawn. “I’m really tired. Angus and I are going shopping tomorrow morning, so I’d better get some sleep.” Suddenly, she remembered her manners. “Thank you very much for the nice evening,” she said.
I was still reeling when Angus came in.
“Everything okay here?” he asked.
“Couldn’t be better,” I said. “Bryn had a nice evening and she’s gone to bed.”
“She wants to go shopping tomorrow,” he said.
“She mentioned that,” I said. “What did Alex want?”
Angus unzipped his jacket and turned away. “He just wanted to say Merry Christmas. He’s still a great guy, Mum. He taught me how to drive. He taught me a lot of stuff. I always kind of thought you two would end up together.”
“For a while, we kind of thought the same thing,” I said. “But it’s not going to happen, Angus. It’s over.”
My son gave me a bear hug. “Well, it was fun while it lasted,” he said.
“You’re right,” I said. “It was fun.”
Suddenly alone, I moved to the glass doors that overlooked the alley where Alex was supervising the search for evidence. Despite everything that had gone wrong between us, I still felt connected to him, and I longed to tell him it was time he came in from the cold. If, as Nadine Gordimer says, human contact is as random and fleeting as the flash of fireflies in the darkness, Alex and I had made the most of our moments. Hands joined as we sat at the symphony listening to Mozart; heads bent towards one another as we played killer Scrabble in front of the fireplace; bodies touching as we lay on the sand at the lake, our books forgotten, listening to the pounding of the waves and thinking ahead to the possibilities of the old couch on the screened porch, we had always been smart enough to know we were happy. But at some level beyond the reach of reason, we had both known that our firefly moments were numbered.
> My encounter with Alex might have provided conclusive proof that our relationship was over, but it had also raised some unsettling questions that had nothing to do with our personal relationship. I would have bet the farm that the prescription bottle in the dumpster had belonged to Tracy Lowell, but how it had made its way from her room at the Hotel Saskatchewan to my back alley was a mystery. The identity of the helpful citizen who had called the police tip-line was less enigmatic. Bryn was both fastidious and self-involved; yet she had stood in the cold with me watching a police officer paw through garbage until he came up with exhibit A.
A cynic might conclude that she had known all along that he would find what he was looking for.
CHAPTER
8
On a normal day, few things gave me as much pleasure as dialling my daughter’s number and waiting to hear her voice. On the morning of December 24, I dreaded making the call. Since Thanksgiving, we had been making plans to spend the holiday together in Saskatoon. After the birth of my granddaughter, Madeleine, we had made the trip to Saskatoon at least one weekend a month, and Mieka and Greg had put more than a few kilometres on their Volvo wagon coming to see us. We were a family that enjoyed one another’s company, and we had all been counting the days till Christmas. I’d been ready for two weeks: presents wrapped, stocking stuffers bagged, casseroles frozen, but once again Robbie Burns was right on the money, and the best laid plans of mice and men had “gang agley.” Given the fact that the police had told Jill, Tracy, Claudia, and Bryn to stay in Regina until further notice, there was no way I could leave Jill alone at Christmas.
When I broke the news, Mieka erupted in tears, but, as she pointed out between sobs, she was eight and a half months’ pregnant with her second child, hormonally driven, and not her best self. She was, however, cheerful and pragmatic by nature and that morning we rejigged and rescheduled most of our plans within five minutes. By the time Jill walked into the kitchen, Mieka and I were reassuring one another that, whenever we got around to celebrating it, this would be the best Christmas ever.