by Gail Bowen
And there was the troubling use of the past tense. According to Debbie, most suicide notes are written in the present tense. “I am doing this for you” connects the writer’s action directly to the loved one. Debbie confided to Zack that her gut was telling her that when Julian wrote I did it for you, he was referring not to his plan to commit suicide but to Lauren Treadgold’s murder.
Debbie had instructed her officers to look more closely at Julian’s activities on the day of Lauren’s death, but the search had barely begun before the police handwriting expert determined that the note was not in Julian’s hand. The police were now focused on finding the person who had written those five fatal words, but so far they had been unsuccessful.
Julian’s funeral was Thursday morning. Kaye Russell was making the arrangements, and although Taylor wanted to be there, Zack and I vetoed the idea. Taylor was painfully vulnerable, and Kaye Russell had become vindictive. She continued to bombard our daughter with poisonous telephone messages that I deleted at the end of each day. After Zack listened to a few, he bought Taylor a new cell and suggested that we consider harassment charges. Knowing Kaye’s history, I couldn’t bring myself to take that step.
Taylor spent the morning of Julian’s funeral in her studio. When she didn’t come back to the cottage for lunch, Zack and I went to get her. She seldom let us see any piece she was working on until it was finished, but that morning Taylor led us to her easel.
The portrait of Julian in the rain forest was far from complete, but I could already feel the piece’s nascent power. Julian stood naked, facing the viewer directly from the picture’s centre line. With his flawless alabaster body and his black curls spiralling against his slender shoulders, he was unsettlingly erotic, but there was an innocence about him that touched my heart. Except for his haunted, hostile green eyes, Julian’s face was without expression.
He was surrounded by other creatures of the rain forest: a golden lion, a tamarind monkey, a toucan, a jaguar, a poison dart frog, a Bengal tiger, a harpy eagle. All were extravagantly beautiful; all had eyes that carried the accusation I read in Julian’s eyes. We are moving inexorably towards extinction. This is what you have done to us.
Taylor watched our faces closely as we examined the painting, but she didn’t wait for us to comment. “It’s good, isn’t it?” she said tentatively.
“It’s better than good,” Zack said. “Cole Dimitroff made a very wise investment.”
Taylor bit her lip. “I wish Julian could have seen it.”
Friday, November 30, was the grand opening of April’s Place. Lunch was going to be venison stew and bannock. There would be balloons, plenty of media attention, and a giant cake. Mayor Ridgeway, who as Zack frequently noted had done dick-squat to support the building of the play centre, had volunteered to cut the first slice. The joint was already jumping by the time we arrived. Perhaps 90 per cent of the parents and kids there were First Nations, and everybody was having fun.
The building was a deconsecrated synagogue that had become a dance studio. The main room had a gleaming hardwood floor and one mirrored wall. The space had been too small for the activities Mieka and Lisa Wallace had in mind, so they’d doubled the size of the building to include a large, quiet play area and tables and chairs where parents could have a cup of coffee and watch their kids.
As soon as we arrived, Brock Poitras commandeered Taylor to give Mieka a hand in the kitchen. “Tell Mieka I’ll be right there,” I said. “But I’d like to say hi to Margot first.”
“I’m going to have a chat with the mayor,” Zack said.
“Watch it,” I said. “There are children present.”
Zack flashed his shark grin and wheeled off. Margot was across the room in deep conversation with a girl of about three. The child was wearing a pink tutu from the tickle trunk and she was close to tears. When I joined them, Margot gave me a brief wave but kept her focus on the little girl. “You look so pretty,” Margot said. “Why are you sad?”
“Because I don’t know how to … twirl,” the child said.
“I can twirl,” Margot said.
The girl eyed her suspiciously. Margot arranged her arms and legs in what I recognized from Mieka’s ballet days as fourth position; then Margot bent both her legs into a deep plié, turned her head, body, and legs together in a full circle, and finished back in fourth position as gracefully as a very pregnant woman could.
“Now, we’ll do it together,” Margot said. “Can you tell me your name?”
“Sabrina,” the child said.
“All right, Sabrina. Just do what I’m doing.”
Slowly, but accurately, Sabrina followed Margot’s example and completed a pirouette. Satisfied, she danced across the room so she could watch herself twirl in the mirror.
For a minute or two, Margot and I silently followed Sabrina’s progress. “They say that there’s a moment in every person’s life when they do something that changes another life,” I said finally.
“And the twirl was my moment?” Margot said.
I watched Sabrina moving ecstatically in front of the mirror. “You could have done worse,” I said.
“How are things with you?” Margot said.
“We’re getting by,” I said. “Being at the lake is helping. It’s peaceful, and Julian was never at Lawyers’ Bay, so there are no associations.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Actually, there is. Zack and I’ve been talking about the condo.”
Margot face grew anxious. “You’re not thinking of moving, are you?”
“No. We’re committed to the neighbourhood and we want to be nearby when the baby comes. It’s just that Taylor, understandably, doesn’t want to go back to the rooms upstairs, so Zack and I wondered how you’d feel about us installing a stairlift so he and I could use the second floor.”
“Consider it done,” Margot said. “I take it you’ll need some painting and floor refinishing.”
“Yes. I think it might be smart to change the paint colours in the rooms on the second floor – take away their history.” I cringed. “God, Margot, listen to us. A boy died and we’re decorating.”
“I know,” Margot said. “But as you have said to me on more than one occasion, ready or not, life goes on. I want you, Zack, and Taylor right across the hall from us for as long as possible. I’ll paint those rooms myself if that’s what it takes.”
I laughed. “What a woman. She twirls, she paints, and she’s dynamite in a courtroom.” I stood. “Now, I’m going to see if I can give Mieka a hand.”
“That stew smells great.”
“I’ll get you a bowl. You can be my first customer.”
Serving stew and bannock to everyone in the room was chaotic, but Mieka and Riel were managing the kitchen and it was a pleasure to watch them working together efficiently and companionably. The women in the community had done all the cooking, and the food was superb. When Ernest Beauvais said the blessing, first in English, then in Cree, I had a good feeling.
After we’d finished clearing the dishes away, Zack said, “Time to hit the road.”
I looked around the room. “I’ll get Taylor.” It was a task that was easier said than done. I looked in the playrooms. She wasn’t there. When she wasn’t in the boot and coat-room, I felt the first stirrings of panic. I went into the kitchen. Riel was loading the dishwasher. “Have you seen Taylor?” I said.
He shook his head. “Not lately. I saw her a while ago. She was outside talking to her old teacher.”
“Kaye Russell?” I said.
“The one with the buzz cut?” he said. His tone was jocular, but when he saw my concern, the fun went out of his voice. “Is there something wrong, Jo?”
“I hope not.”
“What can I do?”
“Help me look for Taylor outside, would you? Don’t say anything to Mieka. We don’t want to ruin the party.”
That autumn was the rainiest I could remember, and yet again it was raining hard. Riel scan
ned the street. “Jo, why don’t you go down the street towards Victoria and I’ll go up towards 12th. We can square the block and meet in the middle.”
As soon as I turned onto Victoria, I spotted Kaye and Taylor. Kaye was wearing her Andy Warhol raincoat, but Taylor was just in her sweater and jeans. Kaye appeared to be frog-marching Taylor down the street. I called Taylor’s name. She tried to turn, but Kaye wouldn’t let her. I ran until I caught them. “What are you doing?” I said.
Contorted by fury, Kaye’s face was transformed. “I have pictures of Julian’s funeral that Taylor needs to see. The camera’s in my car.”
Taylor’s eyes found mine. “Kaye just said she had photos of Julian she wanted me to have.”
“I do want you to have them,” Kaye growled. “And I want you to look at them every day of your life.”
Riel was coming down the block towards us. “That’s enough, Kaye,” I said. I reached over and pulled her arm off my daughter.
Kaye turned and began to run. All Riel had to do was wait for her. Kaye tried to run past him, but her bad leg slowed her and Riel caught her easily. He grabbed her arm and held on.
“You can let her go, Riel,” I said. “Kaye lost someone she cared about recently. She doesn’t know what she’s doing.”
Riel tightened his grip on Kaye’s arm. “Call the police, Jo.”
“We don’t need to involve the police,” I said. “Kaye is troubled, but she hasn’t really hurt anyone.”
Riel’s eyes were blazing. “Yes, she has. She killed Lauren Treadgold.”
My mind was racing. I remembered the note hidden beneath the art magazines in Julian’s basement. I looked at Kaye. “You killed Lauren for Julian,” I said.
“I saw her running from the Treadgolds the day of the murder.” Riel’s eyes bored into Kaye. “It was pouring, but I could see the colours of this coat even through the rain. You were limping – like you were just now. Call the police, Joanne,” Riel said.
I got out my phone and dialled 911.
“I did it for him,” Kaye said, and her face was a rictus of despair. “I did it for Julian. He was trying to get away from Lauren. He thought being with Taylor would give him a fresh start. Lauren was going to show Taylor the sex video, and Julian was afraid that would turn Taylor against him. He called me in despair. I went to plead with Lauren, but she wouldn’t listen. She kept saying that Julian was her fresh start and she would never give him up. I guess that’s when I picked up the rock. I don’t remember. I just remember the blood.” Suddenly her misery turned again to fury and she glared at Taylor. “I sacrificed Lauren Treadgold for Julian. And then you made the sacrifice meaningless. You’re just like your mother. You have no heart.”
Taylor’s entire body was trembling, but Kaye showed our daughter no mercy. Like the crone in a fairy tale, Kaye spit out a final curse. “Sally didn’t want you, you know. For the month after you were born she was unable to paint, so she found a new lover, left you with your father, went to New Mexico, and made some of the best art of her life. She wrote me that giving birth to you had been a mistake.”
CHAPTER
14
I asked Zack to stop at our condo before we drove back to the lake. He and Taylor stayed in the car while I took the elevator upstairs and picked up our copy of the Sally Love documentary and the DVDS containing the outtakes. It was time for Taylor and me to lay our ghosts to rest.
On the drive to the lake, Taylor was silent until we got to the turnoff. “Is it true that my mother didn’t want me?” she said.
It was the question I’d been dreading since Kaye’s outburst, and I hadn’t managed to come up with an answer that was both truthful and comforting. “It’s true that she went to New Mexico and left you with your father,” I said, “but particularly at the end of her life Sally was very glad she had you.”
“She just didn’t want to live with me,” Taylor said.
“That’s not true. Just before she died, Sally found a place in Vancouver for you two to live. It was on the ocean, plenty of windows, and a studio big enough for both of you.”
“Sally only wanted me when she realized I could make art.”
“We don’t know that, Taylor,” I said. “All we know is that at the end of her life Sally wanted to be with you.”
“That’s not enough,” Taylor said, and the line of her mouth indicated that, for the time being at least, the subject was closed.
Zack made tea when we got to the cottage. There were no safe topics of conversation so Taylor picked up a magazine, I opened the novel I was reading, Zack checked his messages, and we drank our Earl Grey. When she’d finished her tea, Taylor announced she was going to her studio, then she put on her jacket, picked up her two cats, and left Zack and me free to talk.
“It’s going to take her a long time to get over this,” Zack said. “I really am glad it wasn’t Julian. Taylor would have believed that Lauren’s death was her fault, too.”
“What’s going to happen to Kaye?” I asked.
“Short-term or long-term?” Zack said.
“Long-term,” I said. “How is this situation going to play out legally?”
“If I were handling Kaye’s case, I’d convince the Crown that this was an aberration,” Zack said. “Kaye has a solid reputation as a teacher and it would be no problem to round up character witnesses to say she’s always been a fine citizen. I’d get a shrink to do whatever she or he could to bring Kaye back from la-la-land, and when Kaye was ready, I’d prepare her to testify. Then I’d warn the Crown that Kaye would be great on the stand; I’d vilify the deceased and I’d try to get the Crown to agree to a joint submission on a low sentence.”
“And the Crown would agree?”
Zack raised both eyebrows. “That would depend on many things,” he said. “But it would be worth the gamble.”
When Zack’s cell rang, I picked up our cups and went into the kitchen to start on dinner.
After about ten minutes, Zack came into the kitchen looking relieved rather than triumphant. “That was Debbie. They’ve taken Kaye into custody. Asia Libke is Kaye’s lawyer. Asia’s young, but she’s good. The police are questioning Kaye now, but she’s confessed that she killed Lauren.”
“Does Vince know?”
“He’s probably already been told,” Zack said. “But I’ll give him a call just in case.”
I went outside to light the barbecue. It wasn’t long before Zack appeared at the back door. “What are we barbecuing?”
“Cook’s choice,” I said. “Pickerel. So how did Vince take the news?”
“Calmly. He thanked me for all my work and said he never doubted that sooner or later he would be found innocent, but it was a relief to have it over.”
“Maybe now he’ll remember that he has a daughter,” I said.
“Actually, Vince did say something about going someplace warm for a while with Celeste.”
“A silver lining at last,” I said. “Vince and Celeste both need to make amends. Now they have a chance.”
On Saturday morning, Taylor was up and at her studio early. Zack and I spent the morning doing what people who are deeply in love and have weathered a crisis together do. We made love. Then we took a long walk with the dogs and thanked our lucky stars.
After lunch Zack went into town for a meeting, and I decided to attack a task I’d been putting off – giving the old partners’ table and its twenty-four chairs some serious polishing with beeswax. I’d just cleared off the table when Taylor came out to the sunroom.
She scanned the expanse of the table. “The wood in this table is amazing,” she said. “I never really noticed it until now.”
I held up the can of polish and my cloth. “My plan today is to give that wood some loving care.”
“I can help,” Taylor said.
“There’s plenty of work for two,” I said. “The rag bag is in the cupboard by the back door.”
Taylor came back with a rag, dug into the wax, and went to the far end of t
he table. We worked wordlessly but amiably till we’d almost met in the middle.
Taylor broke the silence. “Why didn’t my mother want me?” she said. She leaned closer to the wood she was polishing.
“Do you want to take a break to talk about this?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “We can talk while we work.”
“I don’t really have an answer, Taylor. Sally and I had been estranged for thirty years when we finally got together again, and it was at a terrible time in her life. Her show at the Mendel was causing an uproar. She was getting pilloried in the media. People were pulling pranks that weren’t very funny – putting sugar in her gas tank, sending her gross packages through the mail, that kind of thing. She was trying to get custody of you. So she was battling your father and Nina. But despite everything, she was still Sally, fearless and funny and absolutely determined to raise you. I’m glad I had that time with her. I’d been angry at her for so many years.”
Taylor dug her cloth into the can of beeswax. “I’m still angry at her,” she said quietly.
“I know you are,” I said. “And I understand why. All you know about Sally is that she left when you were months old and she went on to make amazing art.”
“I know what I’ve read on the Internet,” Taylor said. “She didn’t have many friends.”
“People were jealous – not just her of her talent, but of her beauty and of the fact that she chose to live life her own way.”
“She hurt a lot of people,” Taylor said.
“She did, but Taylor, she’d been badly hurt herself. She was different before your grandfather died.”
“Too bad I didn’t know her then,” Taylor said, and her mouth curved into Sally’s mocking smile.
“Maybe we can remedy that,” I said. “A few weeks ago, Ben Bendure, the man who made that documentary about Sally’s life, sent two DVDS of the material he didn’t use. He wanted you to have them. Whenever you’re ready, we can look at them together.”
Taylor polished silently for a few minutes, then she said, “Let’s finish the furniture and look at them today.”