by Gail Bowen
Taylor’s face was pinched with concern “Why would they want to talk to Julian?”
There were a dozen reasons, and my mind raced through them all. Finally, I settled on the most innocuous. “Lauren and Julian were friends,” I said finally.
“Has anyone told him what happened?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“I’m going to call him,” Taylor said.
When she went up to her room I finished my tea. The weight of the day’s events pressed down on me. I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed with Zack and pull the covers over our heads, but it seemed escape was not an option.
Taylor was sombre when she came downstairs. I was still sitting at the table and she took the stool opposite mine. “Julian’s not doing very well,” she said. “I guess he really cared about Lauren Treadgold. He phoned Kaye to see if he could go over to her place, but she has a migraine. I don’t think Julian should be alone.” She paused. “I asked him to come here for supper. I hope that’s okay.”
My heart sank. I’d counted on Zack, Taylor, Madeleine, and me sharing a quiet meal and then, after Madeleine was asleep, having a serious talk with Taylor. I was not eager to break bread with Julian. But Taylor’s impulse had been a generous one, and I was afraid that saying no might push her into spending the evening with him rather than with us. “Sure,” I said, trying to mean it. “The dogs need a run, and I need some air. I won’t be long.”
“I’ll put the mac and cheese in the oven,” Taylor said. “350, right?”
“Right,” I said.
“I could make a salad.”
“A salad would be nice,” I said. “Thanks.” I put the dogs on their leashes and headed out. As I waited for the elevator my spirits sagged. The image of the blood pooling around Lauren’s head was sharp-edged. I had hoped that if I moved fast enough, I might keep that image from dominating my thoughts. But Julian’s presence at the dinner table would bring Lauren into our home. It was not an auspicious beginning to the evening.
When Zack and Madeleine arrived, Zack was clearly exhausted. Taylor took one look at her dad and scooped up Madeleine. “Why don’t you guys kick back and relax before dinner. Madeleine and I will go upstairs and watch some TV.”
I touched one of the deep creases that bracketed Zack’s mouth like parentheses. “I think I hear a martini calling,” I said.
Zack grinned. “Hey, a martini and mac and cheese. The day just started looking better.”
“Don’t break out the balloons and confetti yet,” I said. “Julian is joining us for dinner.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. Taylor said he was upset and so she invited him for dinner. Would it help if I told you I’ll make the martinis doubles?”
“It would be a start,” Zack said.
For all of us, Zack’s health was a huge concern, but it was one about which we seldom talked. Before Zack and I were married, we met with Zack’s family physician. Henry Chan held nothing back in laying out the problems that come with paraplegia, and the list was daunting: Paraplegia compromises everything, including the working of internal organs, the blood’s ability to flow without clotting, and the skin’s ability to heal. As a paraplegic, Zack was vulnerable to respiratory ailments, renal failure, pulmonary embolisms, and septicemia. As Henry Chan explained the problems, Zack’s eyes never left my face. When Henry Chan was finished, I took Zack’s hand. “We’re all going to die of something,” I said. “And I want to die married to you.”
My bravado didn’t preclude worrying. I worried about every detail of Zack’s life and I worried about letting him know how much I worried. As a trial lawyer, his hours and stress level were horrific. My hope when he volunteered for the Racette-Hunter project was that, although he would be working hard, there would be limits, and Zack would be able to follow the regimen for a healthy life. Until recently, we’d done just that.
Our building had both an outdoor and an indoor pool, and we swam regularly. Zack and I massaged each other daily, so I could check for pressure sores that might prove problematic. We exercised, ate healthily, and established a sane sleep pattern. Every day, I counted my blessings, but as I looked at Zack that night I knew that, for a while at least, all bets were off.
We took our drinks into the living room. Zack regarded his martini thoughtfully. “What do we drink to on a day like this?”
I lifted my glass. “How about drinking to no more days like this,” I said.
“Perfect,” Zack said. He sipped his martini.
“Vince and I had a chance for a quick talk before Debbie called asking if I had any idea where he was. As you know, I never lie to the cops.”
“I know you never lie to Debbie,” I said.
“Not much gets by you, does it?” Zack said. “Anyway, the cops were Johnny-on-the-spot, so Vince and I didn’t have much time alone. But we caught one break. The cops weren’t there when I told him about Lauren, and that was lucky because I wouldn’t have wanted the police to have heard Vince’s reaction.”
“How did he react?”
“At first he didn’t react at all. I thought maybe he hadn’t processed the news. So I tried again. I told him that Lauren had died from a blow to the head and that from what I’d heard, she would have died quickly, and she wouldn’t have suffered. When he heard that, Vince gave me a blank look and said, ‘She’s always been lucky.’ ”
“Holy mackerel.”
“Exactly,” Zack said. “At that point, Debbie and another cop showed up. Being confronted by the police seemed to snap Vince out of his trance. Suddenly he became very voluble.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“It wasn’t. I hadn’t had time to prep Vince, but I did manage to tell him to keep his mouth shut. He chose not to heed my wise counsel and volunteered a veritable shitload of information about the problems in his marriage.”
“It’s probably best Vince told the truth.” I said. “The police won’t have to dig very hard to discover that the Treadgolds’ relationship was a troubled one.”
“In retrospect, I have to agree, but sitting there, watching Vince open up to the cops was scary.”
“What did he say?”
“He filled them in on the meeting he and Lauren had this afternoon.”
“So he did heed Lauren’s plea to talk?”
“He did,” Zack said. “According to Vince, Lauren was very emotional, but they were civil until Vince told Lauren that given the video and other proof of her affair, he was going to consult a divorce lawyer. Vince told Lauren she could have the house, but there’d be minimal alimony. Apparently, Lauren flew into a rage. Vince didn’t want the situation to get out of hand, so he went upstairs, packed a suitcase, and took off.”
“He’s leaving something out,” I said.
Zack frowned, then the penny dropped. “All that stuff Lauren said about Vince owing her because she’d taken care of him. Shit. I must be losing it.” He took out his cell. “Better late than never,” he said. “I don’t want that hanging over my head.”
When his call went straight to voicemail, Zack rubbed his eyes. “I’ll call him after dinner. Incidentally, Vince doesn’t have an alibi. As soon as I told him about the video this morning, he booked off at the hospital and went to the Senator. He didn’t have to check in because apparently he’d never checked out. He showered and met Lauren as planned at 2:15. He said he left around 2:45. He came back to his room at the Senator, made himself coffee, and read a medical journal until 4:15, when he went back to the hospital.”
“How did Debbie react to Vince’s story?”
“You know Debbie. She doesn’t reveal much. She gave Vince the usual warning about staying in town, and after she left, I gave him the usual warning about not talking to the cops without me by his side, and here I am.”
“So you’re going to represent Vince?”
“It may not come to that, Jo.”
“But if it does, you will.”
“I’m his cl
osest friend, remember?”
“I remember.”
Lauren Treadgold’s murder was going to be a red meat case, and I could see the old fire in Zack’s eyes. He leaned towards me. “I won’t overdo it,” he said.
“I’m going to hold you to that.”
At that point the buzzer from downstairs sounded. Taylor flew down the stairs and buzzed Julian in. The evening was underway.
Julian was dressed like a nineteen-year-old having dinner with his girl’s parents: leather dress shoes, dark blue jeans, a light-blue-striped cotton dress shirt, and a fawn sport jacket. He’d brought a bottle of wine, which he handed to Zack. The perfect beau, but the perfect beau had been the lover of a married woman, and now that woman had been brutally murdered. Celeste Treadgold’s assessment of Julian flashed through my mind. “He can be whoever he needs to be to make the situation work for him.”
I didn’t trust this boyishly handsome shapeshifter, but Taylor’s expression was anxious, and her eyes were filled with hope. Like Julian, I had a vested interest in making the situation work. I went to him and in a voice soft with sympathy said, “How are you doing?”
“Not great,” he said. “But better. Thanks for the invitation to dinner. I wasn’t looking forward to spending the evening alone.”
He held out his hand to Zack. “And thank you, sir.”
Zack’s eyebrows rose, but he shook Julian’s hand manfully. “You’re welcome,” he said.
Dinner wasn’t as awkward as it might have been. Taylor lit the candles, and as always, we ate family-style with the casserole and the salad in the middle of the table and everyone helping themselves. Noticing that the adults were restrained, Madeleine had apparently decided to carry the conversational ball for all of us.
Between forkfuls of macaroni, she filled us in on highlights of life at St. Pius XII. Last week the parents of a boy in Grade Six had won a house in the Hospital Sweepstakes. On Friday, Rome and Paris, identical twins in Grade Two, had switched classrooms and neither of their teachers caught on until lunchtime. Two girls in Grade Eight had dyed each other’s hair green. “And,” she said before digging into her second helping of macaroni and cheese, “we have a new boy in our class. He’s really shy. He doesn’t say anything at all.”
“It’s not easy to change schools in November,” I said. “Kids have already found their groups.”
“Your grandmother’s right, Madeleine,” Julian said. “When I was a kid we moved a lot. I was always starting at a new school.”
“We don’t know very much about you, Julian.” Zack’s tone, low and insistent, was the tone he used in court with a slippery witness. “Taylor wanted us to get to know you, so why don’t you tell us about yourself.”
“There’s not much to tell,” Julian said. “I don’t remember my mother. She took off when I was a baby. I guess she couldn’t stand my father. I couldn’t stand him either, but when you’re a kid you don’t have many options.” There was something practised about Julian’s recital of the facts that made me uneasy. “My father and I moved around a lot. He was a plumber – good at his job, but he had lot of crazy religious ideas and he was always getting fired. That’s about it, except I did well at school, and when I was fifteen, my Grade Ten English teacher asked my father if I could move in with her. He said yes, so I finished high school in La Ronge.”
“So this teacher was like a parent to you,” Zack said.
Julian hesitated before answering. When he spoke it was obvious he was choosing his words with care. “Not exactly,” he said. “She gave me a nice place to live. She fed me. She bought me clothes. She helped me with my schoolwork.”
“And she expected nothing in return?”
“No, she had expectations,” Julian said softly, “and they were met. Everything comes with a price. You know that, Zack.”
There was an edge in Julian’s voice, and Taylor jumped in to change the direction of the conversation. “Julian, tell Dad and Joanne about how important your drawing was to you when you were growing up.”
“It pretty much saved me,” Julian said. “I never seemed to have time to make friends, but I liked to draw and that was always enough.”
Taylor touched Julian’s arm. “Making art has always been enough for me, too,” she said.
A shadow crossed Julian’s face. “The art you make is incredible,” he said. “The art I made was a joke. At the end of term last year I took my entire portfolio to the dump.”
Taylor eyes were still fixed on Julian. “You never told me that,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said. “Nothing of value was lost.”
In the flickering candlelight the intimacy between our daughter and Julian was unmistakable. Zack felt the connection, too. He leaned forward, blew out the candles, and began piling his dishes. “Great meal, Jo,” he said. “And, Taylor, your salad was dynamite.” When Zack wheeled over to the sink and began rinsing his plate and cutlery, we all followed suit.
And with that, mercifully, dinner was over.
When I went upstairs to give Madeleine her bath, Taylor and Julian went into the living room and Zack left for Margot’s. Lauren Treadgold’s murder was a tragedy, but it was also a public relations disaster for Racette-Hunter and Zack wanted to make certain Margot didn’t get blindsided.
It had been a long day. I had decided that Madeleine and I were ready for Anne of Green Gables, but as I read about Mrs. Rachel Lynde “sitting at her window, keeping a sharp eye on everything that passed from brooks and children up,” my eyes grew heavy.
I awoke to Madeleine’s gentle nudge. “Mimi, you’re sleeping and we haven’t even finished page one.”
“I’m sorry, Maddy. Why don’t you choose one of your books and read to me?” And so, listening to Hide and Sneak, I drifted off.
When I awoke, the house was silent and Madeleine was curled up beside me. I slid out of bed, tucked in my granddaughter, turned on the nightlight, and started downstairs.
When I reached the landing, I saw Julian and Taylor standing by the door. After Julian buttoned his jacket, Taylor reached up and adjusted his scarf. When he took her in his arms, I tensed. On more than one occasion, Taylor had told me that she felt sick when boys pawed at her, but she welcomed Julian’s kiss. When the kiss was over, Julian and Taylor held each other, reluctant to part. Finally, they kissed again, and Julian left.
Taylor was smiling a private smile as she walked towards the stairs. The smile vanished when saw me on the landing.
“How long have you been standing there?” she said.
“Long enough,” I said. “Taylor, we have to talk about Julian.”
She came up the stairs slowly. “Not tonight. Please. Something really great just happened to me. Let me think about it for a while.”
“We love you so much.”
“I love you, too, but this has nothing to do with you and Dad. This is about me and Julian.” Taylor’s voice was both tender and defiant. “Can we just let this wait till I’ve had a chance to figure out what’s happening?”
We were both tired and on the point of tears, but I couldn’t walk away. “I’m sorry, Taylor, but there are things you need to know about Julian. Your father and I made a terrible mistake in hiring him as a model for your life study. We trusted Kaye’s judgment, but Julian is not the boy we thought he was. He had an affair with Lauren Treadgold. And she paid him to have sex with her. Julian might even be implicated in her murder.”
“Julian and I already talked about this,” Taylor said tightly.
“When?”
“This afternoon when I called to tell him that Ms. Treadgold was dead. Julian knew everything would come out, and he wanted to make sure I understood the circumstances.”
“What were the circumstances?”
“Ms. Treadgold was lonely. Dr. Treadgold was at the hospital all the time. When she met Julian at Diego’s, she asked him to stay after his shift and have a drink. Julian felt sorry for her, and they … they had sex. It did
n’t mean anything to Julian. It was what kids call mercy sex. You have sex with a person because you feel sorry for them.”
“Julian and Lauren were together for more than a month,” I said.
“Julian stayed with her because he didn’t want to hurt her.”
“He took her money, Taylor.”
“Julian doesn’t earn that much at the restaurant. Ms. Treadgold wanted him to have nice things.”
“And Julian paid for those nice things with his body. Everything comes with a price. That’s what Julian said tonight at dinner, and he was willing to pay Lauren’s price.”
Taylor stepped past me on the stairs. “I’m not going to listen to this. Tonight Julian told me that he loves me. He said that we belong together. He had a serious fight with Ms. Treadgold because she taped them having sex and said she was going to send me the video. Julian says he’d do anything to keep me from being hurt, and I believe him.”
When Taylor ran up the stairs to her room, I followed her. Madeleine was asleep in the Taylor’s bed, so I took Taylor’s arm and drew her out into the hall. My heart was pounding. “We’ve never gone to bed angry at each other,” I said.
“I guess there’s a first time for everything,” Taylor said. She turned the door handle. “Jo, please wait until tomorrow to tell Dad about what just happened. He looked really tired tonight.”
When Zack came back from Margot’s, he came straight to our bedroom, where I’d been pretending to read a magazine.
“How did it go?” I said.
“Margot says we have to hire a public relations firm to handle this.”
“It would be a waste of money,” I said. “They’ll just tell you to get out in front of the story. First thing tomorrow call a press conference. Explain what’s happened. Be brief and be generous when you talk about Lauren’s contribution to the Racette-Hunter Centre, send R-H’s condolences to Lauren’s family, and ask the press to respect them in this time of grief. Then get out of the room – no questions. Margot should do it. The press won’t hound her. She’s pregnant and sympathetic.”