“Did you dig deeper into Sheila’s background?”
“After what you said, I did, with interesting results. Did you know she was a nurse in a large Vancouver hospital?”
“I didn’t. Her mother lives there, though.”
“She was implicated in a series of suspicious deaths a few years back, the so-called ‘euthanasia killings’ of very sick patients. Penny was the head nurse on the ward at the time. Vancouver Police investigated, but charges were never laid. Two out of the three were frail and elderly, and the other was quite ill. Two overdosed on their prescribed medication, while the other seems to have lethally ingested non-prescribed pills. Nothing could be proven.”
“I wonder if that’s her secret and the hold Charles had over her?”
“It could have been, but charges were never laid, which is not quite the same as exoneration, I suppose.” Freta frowned and took another sip of her Sauvignon Blanc.
“And Charles hasn’t said anything?” Myron asked.
“As I said, he’s not talking right now. Probably too occupied with his own troubles.”
“Poor Sheila. Oliver’s firing and Charles’s selection as acting president pushed her over the edge and—”
“Poor Sheila?” Freta cut him off. “Poor Leaper, I’d say. He barely survived by the hairs of his chinny chin chin!”
“I can’t help but sympathize — just a little.”
Freta shook her head. “All I can say is that even if she confessed the consequences probably wouldn’t be that onerous, given our justice system. A good lawyer would argue extenuating circumstance and temporary insanity. She’d receive a substantially reduced sentence — he didn’t die, after all. Leaper may be a shit head but Penny’s no princess either.”
“I guess not,” Myron admitted.
***
Two days later, there indeed was a special board meeting, after which Myron showed up at Freta’s apartment door. He had with him a large bouquet of carnations and a box of chocolates. He sported a huge smile when she opened the door.
“What’s the occasion?” she asked suspiciously.
“Anything you like!” he replied. “Early Valentine’s — late birthday — but mostly my good news. Three pieces of good news, actually.” He handed her the flowers and chocolates and proceeded to seat himself comfortably in her living room. After cutting the stems and sticking the carnations in a glass vase, Freta joined him.
“Want some of your chocolates?” she asked
“Why? Don’t you like chocolates? In sufficient quantity, they’re supposed to act as an aphrodisiac.”
“Eat too many and you’ll get the runs,” she retorted. “Now what’s your good news?”
“The college has a new acting president: our dean of Student Affairs. He’s agreed to stay on until the spring when the new administrative team takes over. He’ll act in a most unimaginative and orthodox manner.”
“Is that good?” Freta asked, not quite certain.
“Actually, yes, given the alternative.” Myron was still irritated that the board spent some time debating Sage’s candidacy. Thank God Mercur was prevailed upon to continue as the acting president. “Hopefully, there’ll be no surprises for a while.”
“So what’s your second piece of good news?”
“Your nemesis, Wishert — remember the short, bald man who threatened to sue you?”
“How can I forget? He was…weird.”
“He’s taken an extended leave of absence, and I don’t think he’ll come back. The RCMP hasn’t heard from his lawyers, has it?”
“Nope, not so far. It’s all quiet on that front.”
“Good! And finally, last but not least, a nice young man came to my door yesterday just as I was ready to leave for work and served me with divorce papers.”
“Nadia’s dumping you? And that’s good news?” Freta had a perplexed expression on her face.
“Not when you put it that way,” he retorted with a hint of annoyance. “But there’s another way of looking at it.”
“How’s that?”
“It’s over. She’s made up her mind and I guess sorted out whatever problems she had. Until those divorce papers were served, she was still using me as her backup — kind of a safety net if things really went wrong. And I would have let her. Of course, I’m not thrilled that she hired Mr. Slime Bag himself, Anthony Chorny, as her lawyer, but now at least I can move on to something else.” He gave her his Groucho Marx eyebrow shuffle.
“What’d you have in mind?” Freta asked, a note of unease creeping into her voice. “You aren’t going to complicate my life, are you? Those flowers and chocolates aren’t you’re way of suggesting some sort of lengthy commitment?”
“Who said anything about a long-term relationship? I’ve come here tonight to share some good news with you, and a quickie.”
“Thank God. For a minute there I thought we were getting serious.”
Acknowledgements
First and foremost I am grateful to my wife, Diane, who encouraged and cheerfully put up with my writing hibernations and to my wonderful daughters, Alisha and Halyna, who initially vetted the manuscript and gave insightful critiques.
I also thank Allister Thompson and Heather Bury for their careful copy edits/comments. A huge kudo to Melissa Novak for a great front cover illustration. Finally, my appreciation to Meghan Behse and Greg Ioannou at Iguana Books for their support.
Any errors of commission and/or omission are entirely mine.
About the Author
Jaroslav (Jerry) Petryshyn holds a PhD from the University of Western Ontario. An award-winning author, he taught history for over 30 years before becoming a Dean at Grande Prairie Regional College. He served as the Alberta representative on the Historic Sites and Monuments Board of Canada. He has published numerous non-fiction titles, a historical thriller and a poetry collection. A member of the Crime Writers of Canada, he also writes a bimonthly column “Armchair Guide To Exotic Saloons” for Old Autos.
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