by Garry Ryan
“There is another possibility, you know,” Keely said.
Lane put on his seat belt. “What’s that?”
“She called Moreau on cheating again after he cut her tires. She must have known he would retaliate.”
Lane studied his partner. “That’s true.”
“Maybe she doesn’t like people who mess with her. And maybe Moreau is a bit of unfinished business as far as Roberta is concerned.”
Lane nodded. “You may have a point. People often have more than one motive. Let’s get back and check out some of the names and faces in the yearbooks. Then we can ask her about any unfinished business.”
“I thought you had the day off,” Mary said to Russell as she sat next to Joshua in their kitchen. Their son was wearing most of his rice cereal. She used the spoon to take some of the white from his lips, chin and nose. He reached for the bowl. She pulled it out of his reach.
“Pike called and said we’re short staffed.” Russell pulled on his jacket, then put his hand on Mary’s shoulder.
“Pike doesn’t make a move without checking with Kev first.” Mary shook her head.
“Kev bought this house for us.” Russell caressed Joshua’s head and turned to leave.
“And you worked for it. It was supposed to be a reward for your hard work and talent.”
“So?” Russell pulled his hand away from his son.
“How come we have no mortgage but you keep having to pay Kev back?”
“He’s my boss.”
“It’s more than that and you know it.” Mary went back to feeding her son. “Kev may own you, but he doesn’t own me.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“He owns you. He uses you. He thinks you’re bought and paid for.” Mary looked in Russell’s direction, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“You’re being ridiculous.” Russell’s back was stiff with rage as he walked toward the garage door.
Mary shook her head. “You’re forgetting what you say in your dreams.”
Russell stopped but didn’t turn, opened the door to the garage and said, “I haven’t forgotten.”
The door closed behind him.
“Kev Moreau won’t own my son,” Mary said. Joshua waved his arms, stuck his lips together and blew. A gob of pabulum landed on the right breast of her T-shirt.
She thought about the day Kev had picked them up and drove them to this house. Moreau was all smiles, saying things like, “It’s about time you had a place of your own. The restaurants are doing well because Russell is such a talented chef. I’ve designed this house with the two of you in mind.”
Then there were the eyes of the contractor when Kev pulled out a thick envelope of cash and told everyone within earshot how he was rewarding the loyalty of a long-time employee and talented chef.
Mary remembered how she felt obliged to smile even though she realized — at that moment — she was being bought along with the house.
Calgary Builder Wins Two Awards
Moreau Homes won two awards at the annual Calgary Home Builders’ Association gala yesterday evening. Kev Moreau, CEO of Moreau Homes and local restaurant owner, was there to bask in the spotlight that shone on him instead of more established builders.
What’s a successful restaurateur doing designing and building houses? That’s the question any buyer might ask when looking for a home built by Moreau.
The answer will be found at the three Morningside show homes in the city’s southwest. “We’re relatively new to the game. We design homes that are meant to stand out. Homes that people want to own. In particular, we are targeting home owners who want something a bit out of the ordinary without paying a premium price,” Moreau explained after accepting the awards for Best New Design and for Initial Quality.
Kev Moreau stands out in his tailor-made Italian suit and piercing green eyes. And his homes are as unique as he is. Moreau is integrally involved in every aspect of construction and design. He explains, “I was very involved. I was part of the process from conception to the completion of the finished product. Had I been afforded better educational opportunities, I might have been an architect or designer.”
When asked about his future plans for development he says, “We’re working on a few designs in the area of town where I grew up. It’s part of a community revitalization project I’ve been involved in for the past few years. I’ve done quite well for myself and it’s time for me to give back.”
“See anyone you recognize?” Keely sat at her desk leafing through one of the yearbooks.
“Robert Rowe, brother of Zander Rowe.” Lane held up the yearbook so that she could see a photo. “Here’s Lionel Birch, Kev Moreau, Stan Pike.”
“I’m going to start running names and see who’s still alive.” Keely reached for her mouse.
“There has to be some kind of connection here. Someone who knows what happened ten years ago.” Lane stuck a sticky note next to Lionel Birch’s face.
“But will anyone talk?” Keely stared at her screen and typed in the first name.
“There has to be someone willing to tell us what happened. Finding that person is the problem.”
“Are you going to have any money left in a week?” Christine asked. She sat across from Matt and next to Daniel at the food court in the mall. She used a plastic fork to spear the last tomato in her Greek salad.
A toddler pushed his stroller past them. He was followed by the ordure of dirty diaper and his mother calling, “Come back here!”
Daniel — seemingly unaffected by the stink — demolished his second burger.
Matt pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. It was white and the latest model.
“Thin as a cracker,” Daniel said between bites.
“What did you call Matt?” Christine’s face turned red.
“The phone is nicknamed a ‘cracker.’ He’s not calling me one.” Matt gripped the phone between thumb and forefinger. “It’s thin and fits almost anywhere.”
“How much?” Christine asked.
“None of your business.” Matt focused on his fries.
“You just bought that fancy goalie mask and now the new phone. Do you have anything left of your paycheque?” Christine asked.
“Since when did you become my accountant? I thought Uncle Arthur was the only one in the family.” Matt glared at her.
“I just want to see you save some money.” Christine looked to Daniel for support.
Daniel tried to talk, but his mouth was full.
“Since we’re talking about putting money away, how much of each paycheque do you save?” Matt demanded.
Daniel choked.
“That’s not the point.” Christine patted her boyfriend on the back.
“God, you’re annoying when you get like this,” Matt said.
“Like what?” Christine looked at Daniel, who was red in the face and pointing at her. “What?”
Daniel wheezed. “You just told me you were broke, and you got paid last week.”
“Shut up!” Christine smiled as she punched him in the arm.
Matt shook his head. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m not the one who thinks a new mask makes him an NHL goalie.” Christine pretended to be looking for someone in the crowd.
Daniel shook his head, took a long breath and rolled his eyes.
Matt’s face turned red. “You always have to get the last word in, don’t you?”
Christine said, “You bet!”
Daniel stood up. “Will you two shut the fuck up?”
Christine’s mouth dropped open.
Matt leaned back in his seat.
Daniel rolled the burger wrappers up in a ball, stood up and pointed at Matt. “You did spend a lot of money on the phone and mask.” Then he pointed at Christine. “And you blew your paycheque. Get over it!”
Robert Rowe was south of Didsbury and estimated he was about forty kilometres north of Calgary when he found the garden.
It was half an acre of potatoes, peas
, cucumbers, carrots and raspberries. The garden was next to seven round galvanized steel granaries and a long-necked grain auger.
He gathered a few potatoes, carrots and peas, and then sat on shady side of a granary. After rubbing the vegetables clean on the thighs of his jeans, he bit into a carrot and felt his dry mouth fill with juice. Then he took his time shelling the peas and popping them into his mouth.
“Don’t worry, Zander, I haven’t forgotten about you. I’m just taking a bit of a rest. I’ll be on my way after I dig into those fresh raspberries. You loved raspberries. Remember?” Robert looked south.
Lane rubbed his eyes. Then he used the cool base of his beer glass to cool his eyelids. He sat on the deck, sipping suds and watching Roz as she chewed on a rawhide bone.
We have at least two hundred people from Moreau’s high school to check out. How can we narrow down the list?
Roz lifted her head. Her ears pointed toward the neighbour’s house.
Christine, Matt and Daniel are out for the afternoon. Arthur is having a nap. Enjoy the quiet. He closed his eyes.
“Excuse me,” a woman’s voice interrupted.
Lane opened his eyes. A petite woman stood on the other side of the chain-link fence running between their houses. She was wearing black high heels, black stockings, red panties, a red bra and strawberry-blonde hair.
Lane closed his eyes. You picked the wrong guy to get dressed up for, sister.
“Hi. I’m your new neighbour, and I’ve locked myself out of the house.”
Lane looked at Roz. Instead of barking, the dog cocked her head sideways and looked at Lane.
The woman continued. “I just slipped out the back door to put the garbage out. I’m cooking a special dinner. It’s our anniversary. We just moved into the house. The back door swung closed. We haven’t had time to introduce ourselves, and I . . .”
Lane shook his head and remembered his manners. “I’ll get you a housecoat.”
“And a phone, please. I need to call my husband. He has a house key.” She crossed her arms to cover her breasts.
Lane opened the back door, went inside to get a phone and returned, handing the phone through the fence to the woman.
She took the phone. “Thanks.” She dialed, fluttered black eyelashes and glanced at Lane. “My name is Maria.”
“Mine’s Lane.” Then he went inside and upstairs to rifle through the closet, where he looked for, and found, a white housecoat.
“Lane? Is there someone here?” Arthur rolled off of the bed and stood up.
“It’s our new neighbour. She just needed to use the phone. It’s okay.” Lane went downstairs with the housecoat. He opened the back door.
“Yes, right now! I’ve got supper on the stove!” The woman used her thumb to end the conversation and then held the phone out to Lane.
Lane opened the gate, walked across to Maria’s gate, handed her the housecoat and took the phone.
He turned and walked back to his deck. When he looked back at her, she had the housecoat on and was looking up at her kitchen window. She looked at him. “Do you hear that?”
Lane heard the sound of an oven timer. “Yes.”
“My husband won’t be here for half an hour.” She stared at the window as if expecting smoke to start billowing out of her kitchen. “This is a disaster.”
Lane thought, Don’t get involved!
She turned to him. “I’m sorry. I think I’ve embarrassed you. Thank you for the phone.”
“Not necessarily.” Oh shit, here we go, getting involved in a neighbour’s life. It always gets messy. Remember what happened last time? You ended up with your house burning down.
“Pardon?”
“Not necessarily a disaster.”
The woman lifted her eyebrows and stared back at him with a question on her lips.
“I’m a detective with the city police service. I know how to break into your house.”
The woman pursed her lips, considering her options.
Lane waited.
She looked up at her window. She looked back at Lane. “How long?”
“Sorry?”
“How long will it take?”
Arthur stepped out the back door, approached the fence and said, “Hello, I’m Arthur.” He held out his hand as if meeting a new neighbour in her housecoat happened every day.
“Maria.” She moved to the open gate to shake Arthur’s hand.
“Not long. I’ll get a bar.” Lane stepped inside, went down to the basement and returned a few minutes later with a metal crowbar. By then, Arthur and the woman sat across from one another at the deck table, sipping coffees. Arthur winked at Lane. “You should always offer a guest a drink.”
Lane looked at the crowbar. “The back door will probably open easier because you didn’t set the deadbolt.”
The woman stood and offered her hand. The sleeve of the housecoat was rolled up to her elbow. “Thank you, Lane.”
He shook her hand and noted that her fingernails were painted red. “You’re welcome.”
By the time that Lane was able to work Maria’s back door open, the smoke detector was screaming. “It’s open!”
He waited for Maria who said, “Come on in.”
Lane and Arthur followed her through the family room and up the stairs to the kitchen.
She removed a smoking pot of burnt chocolate from the stove.
Lane and Arthur opened the windows.
“Shit! It’s ruined. He loves chocolate-dipped strawberries.”
Lane looked at her through the clearing smoke.
Arthur handed her a tissue. “What’s in the oven?”
“Lasagna.”
Lane opened another window.
“Is it okay?” Arthur asked.
Maria dabbed mascara from her cheeks and then opened the oven. “It looks fine.”
“Lane, go to our house.” Arthur dictated a list that included cream and chocolate.
Twenty-five minutes later, the candles were lit, the table was set, Maria had reapplied her makeup and the smoke had cleared. Fresh bread, chocolate-dipped strawberries and a bottle of red wine were strategically positioned at the table. Lane and Arthur were back in their kitchen.
Arthur asked, “What was she wearing under the housecoat?”
Lane told him.
Arthur began to laugh. In a neglected cubbyhole in Lane’s mind, an idea germinated.
TUESDAY, AUGUST 9
chapter 9
“Let’s start with his women. That includes the women prior to his fiancée.” Lane looked over to where Keely sat at her desk.
“You think a girlfriend will tell us anything?” Keely applied a fresh layer of lipstick.
“I’m thinking more about ex-girlfriends.”
“It may be the best shot we’ve got right now. That and what we can learn from Roberta King.” She turned her head and appraised her look in a handheld mirror.
“That’s true. Have you got a hot date tonight?”
Keely did not make eye contact. Instead, she asked, “So, do we call Roberta King?”
“Maybe she’ll meet us for coffee.”
Lori knocked on their open door. “Have either of you been told that Robert Rowe has escaped from Bowden Institution?”
“Have you been here before?” Keely looked at the bike path and across the river. Cyclists, joggers and oversized strollers vied for position. Keely shifted in the green plastic lawn chair under the umbrella.
“No.” Lane looked along the pathway to see whether Roberta was approaching.
“That’s a first.”
“What’s that?”
She held up her coffee. “The coffee’s good and you’ve never been here before.”
Lane smiled.
“Hello there,” Roberta said.
Lane and Keely turned as Roberta — in her red ball cap, blue T-shirt and sweatpants — appeared around the side of the building. Her dog walked next to her. She sat down across from them at the table. Roberta handed
the leash to Lane. “Can you hold him while I get a coffee and some water for the beast?”
“Sure.” Lane took the leash.
The dog cocked his head to one side to inspect the detective. “Roberta looks even thinner than the other day,” Keely said.
Lane nodded.
“What’s his name again?” Keely pointed at the dog.
“Wally,” Roberta said as she returned with a coffee and a bowl of water. She took the leash and set the bowl down in front of the dog. “I got Piked after you left the other day.” Roberta’s voice was almost cheerful.
“Piked?” Keely looked at Lane.
“Stan Pike’s mother lives up the street from me. You must know that Pike is Moreau’s right-hand man.” Roberta took a sip of coffee, lit a cigarette and looked out across the river.
“What about Pike?” Lane asked.
Keely pulled out her smartphone.
“Pike and Moreau were thick as thieves.” Roberta frowned and turned up her nose. “An accurate cliché, unfortunately. Moreau got his first shiny new car in grade twelve. Pike got one a week later. When they were in their early twenties, they bought new houses for their mothers around the same time. A few years after that, Moreau bought an apartment building and kept the rents reasonable so single moms and working families could have a warm, safe place to live. Six months later, Pike did the same thing. They stopped selling drugs in this corner of the city and stopped anyone else from doing the same. Around here, there are plenty of people who depend on Moreau. They think he’s some kind of saviour. And in a way, Moreau’s supporters do have a point. Many of the more affluent people in this city are content to look down their noses at this part of town. So Moreau’s people keep their eyes and ears open. Most of them report to Pike whenever something interesting happens. This whole neighbourhood from here to the end of Bowness Park is Moreau’s little empire. So when you to came to my house, someone told Pike’s mother and she paid me a visit. Brought me some flowers because she’d heard I have cancer. But we both knew the visit was about my talking with you two. She said, ‘I know you and Kev had your differences, but he’s done a lot of good around here. There are plenty of people in the neighbourhood who depend on him. He looks out for them. They look out for him.’ It was a warning for me not to talk with the pair of you.”