by Gail Bowen
Taylor sighed heavily. “As you can see, he’s not,” she said. “His arm is broken, and his face is really a mess.”
“I don’t suppose he told you what happened.”
“No, and I didn’t want to ask. Jo, it physically hurts Nick to talk.”
I winced. “And we can make an educated guess about how he sustained those injuries.”
“Gabe Vickers,” Taylor said quietly. Her brow puckered. “Jo, you don’t think Nick had anything to do with Gabe dying, do you?”
“Nick is a gentle guy,” I said. “Remember how he ran to help Shawn O’Day when Gabe gave him a nosebleed the night of Zephyr’s celebration? Nick didn’t know Shawn, but he made sure he was all right.” I shook my head. “Anyway, I’ll see what Nick says. You get on with your drawing, and please, stay in touch.”
After I moved into Nick’s line of vision, it didn’t take him long to spot me and come over. He moved laboriously, obviously in pain. I held out my arms to him. “Consider yourself virtually hugged,” I said. “How are you doing?”
He tried a smile. “Never better.”
“Gabe Vickers?”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
“Nick, was it Vale Frazier who told you?”
“Vale? No.” He was clearly surprised. “How would she even know? Some guy with no caller ID phoned me last night.” He shrugged. “Or I think it was a guy. The voice was muffled. Whoever it was said, ‘Gabe Vickers attacked your daughter, and he shouldn’t be walking around.’ I knew that going to Vickers’s place would be a dumb move, and I tried to work through all the thoughts that were driving me crazy by taking my anger out on the punching bag, but…” He shrugged. “Anyway, I did go to Vickers’s condo. When I confronted him, he didn’t deny that he did it, so we started throwing punches at each other. We didn’t stop until we were both seriously banged up, but, Jo, I swear when I left, he was alive.”
“I believe you,” I said. I touched his cheek gently. “Take care of yourself, Nick.”
As Nick returned to his work, I spotted Ainsley, still in khakis, a T-shirt, ball cap, and sneakers. Her face was strained, but she was wholly focused on the scene they were shooting with Rosamond Burke. After a few minutes, she noticed me waiting and stepped back. “Let’s take a break and start again in fifteen.” She and Rosemond exchanged a few words, and then Ainsley joined me.
“I don’t need to ask how it’s going,” I said.
“I’m hanging in,” she said.
“This won’t take long,” I said. “Did Vale tell you about Gabe and Chloe Kovacs?”
Ainsley narrowed her eyes, sizing up me and my question. Finally, she answered. “Yes. After telling me all about how Gabe had been using her sexually since shortly before he cast her in the film, she told me that she also believed he attacked Chloe Kovacs because, just as he had with her, my husband had ejaculated all over Chloe’s chest and legs.” Her tone was dry as she continued. “I’ve heard rumours about Gabe and young girls before, though as far as I know he’d never been stupid enough to attack one the way he did Chloe. Anyway, I have always put the rumours out of my mind, but when I heard from Vale last night, I knew this wasn’t going to go away. I was angry, and I was frightened, because the bad publicity could ruin our movie. I was also sick with disgust.”
Ainsley’s voice was steely. “Gabe had caused so much pain, and I knew there was worse to come. When I saw him, all I could think of was hurting him the way he’d hurt everyone else. I tried to hit him. He stopped me.” She held out her hands. “Hence, the bruises.
“When I cooled off, I told him how we’d handle the problem. He was to return to New York ASAP and would no longer be publicly associated with The Happiest Girl. A press release would be issued saying that Gabe had withdrawn for medical reasons. Tobi Lampard, the production manager, would be made executive producer. Gabe didn’t argue because he knew as well as I did that a sex scandal involving a child with a brain injury would kill the film. His last words to me were when I told him I was going to stay at Roy’s. He said, ‘Have him check his option contract for Flying Blue Horses.’ Gabe was very calm.” Ainsley closed her eyes and rubbed the back of her neck. “Joanne, he did not seem like a man about to commit suicide.”
“What does Roy make of the reference to the option?” I said.
“I haven’t told him yet. There’s just been so much.” Ainsley looked over at the set. “I’d better get back.”
With that, the director returned to the task at hand.
My mind was swimming. All I wanted was to get into my car, press my forehead against the cool window next to the driver’s seat, and try to make sense of everything that had happened since Taylor came into our room in the morning and said something terrible had happened. Just as I reached the door from Sound Stage 1 to the hall, the elegant and surprisingly strong fingers of Rosamond Burke, CBE, closed around my upper arm. “May I have a word with you, Joanne?”
“Of course, but let’s go into the hall.”
Rosamond was in costume and makeup for her role as Ursula’s grandmother, a woman who dedicated her life to her conviction that, at our peril, humans neglect the lessons that bears can teach us. Rosamond, too, was a woman driven by her passions, and the inner light that emanated from her was igniting her performance. She had been an inspired choice for the role, and I knew Gabe Vickers had been brilliant to pursue her.
Rosamond’s voice was low and urgent. “What’s going on?” she said. “First one of the APs phones to tell me the call has been changed from eight to ten; Nick Kovacs comes in looking as if he’s been run over by a lorry; Ainsley, who is always so effective, can’t seem to put a foot right this morning; the crew are wandering about like lost sheep; and there are there are rumours going around that Gabe Vickers has left town or is dying or dead. I’ve been on troubled sets before, and I know that unless someone calls us together and explains the problem, we’re going to lose a day of shooting. If Gabe Vickers is still in the city and alive, he’s the one who should take charge.”
“Rosamond, I’m afraid that one of those rumours is true. Gabe committed suicide this morning.”
She took a deep breath. “Good God. Whatever made Gabe take his own life? He didn’t seem the type.”
I told Rosamond that I understood Gabe had been implicated in some sexual assaults.
Rosamond’s bright blue eyes grew troubled. “I’d heard rumours about Vickers,” she said. “But there are always rumours, and nothing I’d heard caught hold of me as something real.”
Rosamond squared her shoulders. “But onward, ever onward. Gabe Vickers may be disgraced, but I certainly would not have wished him dead. And to give the devil his due, Vickers raised the money and chose the people who will bring what he termed his ‘passion project’ to an international audience.” She turned to face me. “His death must be a blow for you too, Joanne. Gabe was putting together the financing for your endeavour, wasn’t he?”
“I didn’t realize my endeavour was public knowledge,” I said.
“It’s not, but Gabe has a reputation for getting the best people on board, and he’d already established his core: Roy and Ainsley, and I was told Gabe has already spoken with Vale Frazier’s agent to sign her for the role of the young Sally Love.”
“All that on the basis of some hastily scratched notes and a ton of ideas,” I said. “Gabe Vickers was sick and twisted, but he really was a genius.”
“Indeed,” Rosamond said. “But to the matter at hand. Tobi Lampard, the production manager, has been part of every decision regarding this film. She has some very good people around her, and unless I’m mistaken she’ll be Ainsley’s choice to see the film through to completion.”
“You’re not mistaken,” I said. “Ainsley just told me exactly that.”
“Then Tobi’s the logical person to make the announcement,” Rosamond said. “She’ll be in the Living Skies offices. I’ll fetch her.”
“You’re a wonder,” I said.
“No, just
a worker like you—one who takes on whatever tasks come her way.” Rosamond’s tone was matey. “You’re ancillary, Joanne, but Fate thrust you into centre stage, and you’re performing well.”
* * *
—
I checked my phone from the parking lot of the sound stage. Zack had called three times: twice to check on Nick, once to say he’d made dinner reservations for four at the Sahara Club. And a man from I Will Help had called to say they would take everything I had posted online, and their truck would be in our neighbourhood that afternoon. All I had to do was arrange a pickup time.
After I’d called I Will Help, I phoned Zack. Court was adjourned for lunch so I was in luck again.
“How’s it going?” I said.
“Better than I deserve,” he said. “How are you?”
“Ancillary but performing well.”
“You’re going to have to explain that.”
“I’ll save the explanation for our first martini,” I said. “And, Zack, you may want to make yours a double. Sometime after midnight, Nick went over to Gabe Vickers’s penthouse. They fought. To quote Rosamond Burke, Nick looks ‘like he’s been run over by a lorry.’ He has a broken arm and his face is a mess, but he says Gabe was alive when he left. And there is one potentially good development. Although Nick’s caller muffled his voice, Nick is relatively certain it was a man. Ainsley was on set when I was there, so I spoke with her too, and there’s a new puzzle piece to deal with. Vale did tell Ainsley about what Gabe had done to Chloe. Ainsley had devised a plan for Gabe to leave town and completely dissociate himself from The Happiest Girl.”
“Those are pretty mild consequences for committing a particularly ugly crime.”
“They are,” I said. “Zack, doesn’t everything about this seem out of whack to you? Nobody I’ve talked to could believe Gabe was a man who would take his own life.”
“Everyone has a tipping point,” Zack said. “Maybe this morning, when he realized eventually someone would turn him in for what he did to Chloe, Gabe discovered his.”
Maybe,” I said. “Zack, thank you for agreeing to include Vale in our dinner tonight. She’s so young, and for good or ill, Gabe was a large part of her life. Tonight will be hard for her. Having Taylor and us there might make it easier.”
“Do you really believe the four of us can have dinner together and nothing that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours will come up?”
“No,” I said. “But we live in hope.”
* * *
—
The pickup truck from I Will Help arrived right on time and removed everything from the room that was to be our office except a desk that Zack liked and the old cherry wood roll top desk and chair that belonged to my first husband when he was the province’s attorney general. Ian’s roll top from the legislature evoked memories of another desk I owned. In her will, Nina Love had left me her graceful Chinese Chippendale desk. It was lacquered black with gilt trim, and she kept a lacquered water jar on it. Painted fish swam on that jar—perfectly serene in their ordered, watery world. When my mother was at her worst, I would go to Nina and she would tell me to sit down and try to close out everything but the smooth passage of the bright fish as they swam around and around the jar. It always worked. That desk had been my refuge, and Nina had been my rock.
For fourteen years Nina’s desk and chair had been in storage with everything else she had left me. Someday I would be strong enough to call the storage company and accept her legacy, but I knew today wasn’t that day. Instead, I brought my laptop into the newly cleared space, pulled up the chair from the legislature, and wasted the better part of an hour looking at designer ideas for dream offices, most of which seemed to have views of either an ocean or Greenwich Village. I ordered the basics from an office supply store and decided our remaining decorating needs could be met through repurposing what we already had.
I was eyeing Sally’s old worktable and deciding where to place it in the new space when Margot phoned.
“I’m not going to ask how your day’s going,” she said.
“A sensible decision,” I said. “Hey, are you wearing your lawyer clothes?”
Margot’s chuckle was low and salacious. “Are you fantasizing about me again?”
“Actually, I was hoping you could help me move some furniture.”
“No biggie,” she said. “I can move furniture in my underwear.”
“Now I am fantasizing,” I said.
“Put it on the back burner,” she said. “This isn’t one of our usual goof and gossip sessions. This is professional. Can I come over now?”
“Sure.”
I was playing with the idea of using Sally’s worktable as a partial divider between Zack’s office area and my own when Margot arrived. She kicked off her boots and when I took her coat I saw that she was indeed wearing lawyer clothes: a smartly tailored grey pinstripe Merino wool suit, a white V-neck silk blouse, and a string of pale pink pearls.
“Can I get you something?” I said.
“Nope, I’m good. Let’s talk. Have you got your Christmas tree up?”
“It’s in the family room. I’ll plug it in and we can talk there.”
When Margot saw our tree, she sighed. “Your tree is so lovely. All the decorations on ours are cheap, cheerful, and unbreakable, and none is further than four feet from the ground. The rest of the tree is, in Lexi’s words, ‘bare nekkid.’ But I’m not here to talk trees,” she said. “Gabe Vickers’s decision to make his permanent exit from the planet seems to have put a burr under Zephyr Winslow’s saddle. Since receiving the news about Gabe, she’s phoned me at least a half-dozen times. To be fair, she’s sunk a tonne of dough into The Happiest Girl, so she’s worried about her investment, and with cause. The film will take a serious financial hit if Gabe Vickers’s attack on Chloe Kovacs becomes public knowledge, as it inevitably will.”
“So Zack has given you the full update,” I said. “Look, this probably shouldn’t go beyond us, but I talked to Ainsley this morning, and she seems to have come up with a strategy to tamp down the likelihood of a scandal.”
“Already? She must be a cool one. Her husband jumps from the balcony of a twenty-seven-storey building and she’s moved straight into damage control.”
“The attempt at damage control started last night, before Gabe died. Ainsley found out about Gabe’s assault on Chloe. Gabe and Ainsley fought and then she made some decisions. She told Gabe he would resign as executive producer of The Happiest Girl citing ‘health concerns.’ He would go back to New York and stay there.”
Margot raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Did Ainsley really believe the Regina police would let Gabe Vickers hop a plane and fly out of their jurisdiction.”
“As far as she knows, the police didn’t have any information to connect Gabe to Chloe’s attack,” I said. “Last night, it certainly seemed he could go wherever he wanted.”
“Something’s fishy here,” Margot said. “Gabe could have walked away scot-free. He owned Living Skies, which meant he’d get a whack of the movie’s profits, and his reputation was intact, so he could have gone back to New York and kept slithering around as a wheeler and dealer without missing a beat. He didn’t stand to lose a thing, except perhaps his marriage, which I understand was one of convenience anyway, so to celebrate, he commits suicide. Does any of that make sense to you, Jo?”
“No. There has to be something more, but I have no idea what it is.”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” Margot said. “And I should hit the road. Where’s that furniture you want moved?”
“Are you going to start stripping?”
“Nope, I’m going to put on my coat, so my fancy suit is protected while we toil.”
Margot and I had just moved Sally’s worktable into the new office when the doorbell rang. It was Gale’s Florist and from the heft of the delivery I was handed, I had a suspicion that we’d been sent a very big plant. Margot followed me into the kitchen and watched as I unw
rapped a poinsettia that was the twin of the one we already had.
“That is spectacular,” Margot said.
“It is,” I agreed. “We have one exactly like it in the living room. Actually, Gabe Vickers sent us the first one.”
Margot made a face. “That’s a bit creepy.”
I glanced at the card slipped between two bracts. “Creepier still, this one is from Gabe’s widow, thanking Zack and me for our help this morning.”
“Whatever the source, it’s still beautiful,” Margot said. “Let’s take it into the living room and see how it looks.” After we placed the second poinsettia on a table in front of an east window that caught the morning sun, Margot nodded approvingly. “Very nice, but you need one more.”
“Why?”
“Because in decorating, you always follow the rule of three: one is meh, two is anal, three is a statement. A client taught me that.”
“Was your client a decorator?”
Margot shook her head. “Decorating was his avocation. He was a thief but a discerning one. He stole only the very best from the very best stores. You know those three woven leather pillows I used to have on the couch?”
“Whatever happened to them? They were beautiful.”
“They still are, but they’re in storage till Lexi loses her fascination with lipstick. Anyway, they were a gift from my client for getting him off. He told me that every time I looked at those pillows, I should remember the rule of three.”
* * *
—
After Margot left, I went back to my drawing board. Newly obsessed with the rule of three, I worked for furniture arrangements that made statements. The time flew by, and I was startled when the grandmother clock chimed the hour and I realized it was time to leave for dinner.
Zack had work to catch up on at the office, so I picked up the young women at the sound stage and we drove downtown to the glass tower that housed the Falconer Shreve offices. Zack was waiting and after he transferred his body from his chair to the passenger seat, he collapsed his wheelchair and Taylor hopped out, picked up the chair, stowed it in the back of our station wagon, and we headed for the Warehouse District.