by Gail Bowen
“That bothers you,” Leland said.
“I hate seeing dogs chained,” I said. “And I don’t understand why dogs are being used to guard a construction site. Nobody’s going to steal those machines.”
“No, but somebody could screw around with them,” Leland said. “Every development project teaches you something. Sometimes the lesson costs money, sometimes it causes pain, sometimes both.”
“So what have you learned from the Village Project?”
Leland shrugged. “Too much to go into now, but the dogs are necessary, Joanne. These cretins need snarling dogs to remind them that their actions have consequences.”
“They must know that,” I said.
“Look at this,” Leland said, pointing to a hoarding covered with graffiti. Gang members had painted over one another’s marks indicating ownership. “Riel Delorme thought he could unite this bunch for a greater good. These guys can’t even let one another’s graffiti alone – and what are they claiming ownership of? A piece of scrap lumber. Property that belongs to a multinational corporation. So instead of getting a job and a paycheque, they waste their lives hating me and spraying meaningless symbols on cheap wood.”
“Are you ever afraid?”
“Being afraid doesn’t change your fate,” Leland said. “When it happens, it happens.” With that, we picked up speed and ran wordlessly home.
Usually my morning run centred me, made me optimistic about my ability to handle the day ahead, but my run with Leland had unsettled me. The world of tethered dogs and unseen threats was new to me, but it was my world now, and I wasn’t at all certain I could find my way. When I opened the door to our condo, my nerves were raw, but everything seemed reassuringly normal.
Zack was at the kitchen table, thumbing his BlackBerry, dressed for the day in the suit he’d worn to Ed’s wedding. He grinned when he saw me. “I won’t ask if you found Iron Man training up to your standards. You look as if you just stepped out of a sauna.”
“How would you like a long, sweaty kiss?”
Zack held open his arms. “Bring it on,” he said. “Nothing like a whiff of pheromones to get the day off to a great start.”
“You do remember that the suit you’re wearing might well be the only suit you now own?”
“True enough,” he said. We shared a careful kiss, and I poured myself a glass of water.
“What do you want me to do about clothes for you?” I said.
“Nothing. Norine will take care of it. She’s been ordering clothes for me for years. She just calls Harry Rosen in Calgary. They know my sizes and what I need. It’s summer. I’ve got a sports jacket and slacks at the lake. When I’m in court, I wear my barrister’s robe, so nobody knows what I’m wearing. If I’ve got a heavy-duty meeting, I can wear what I’ve got on. You worry too much.”
I felt my gorge rise. “What do you mean ‘I worry too much?’ I’m not like you, Zack. I can’t just shrug all this off and go merrily on my way. Our lives have been turned upside down. All I do is worry.”
Zack touched my arm. “Is it helping?”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“I wasn’t patronizing you. Crazy as it sounds, I was trying to get you to smile.” Zack’s voice was soft and reasonable – it was the voice he used in court when he was dealing with someone who was rocketing out of control. “We need to talk about this,” he said.
“Not now,” I said. “You have to be in court. Taylor has to get moving. And frankly, I’m pretty close to the edge already. Good luck with your case.”
“Jo, please.” Zack held out his arms to me, but I turned away. Then I did the unforgivable. I ran upstairs where he couldn’t follow me.
After I’d rapped on Taylor’s door, I splashed my face with cold water and took some deep breaths. Then I waited in the upstairs hall until I heard the front door close and I knew Zack had left.
As I went downstairs, I felt sick to my stomach. I had never loved a man as completely as I loved Zack. Our marriage was everything I could have hoped for, and I was jeopardizing it because my life was disintegrating, and I didn’t know how to stop the erosion. I picked up my BlackBerry to text him, but the red light indicating an incoming message was already flashing.
Zack’s message was to the point: “We love each other too much to let this happen, Ms. Shreve.”
I texted back. My message was an overly emotional, school-girlish declaration of love, but the moment I hit Send I felt relief wash over me.
By the time Taylor came down for breakfast, my pulse had slowed and my voice was steady. I poured us both juice. “We’re going to have to go shopping for you after school,” I said. “I’m going to need some things, too.”
“And Dad.”
“Norine buys your dad’s clothes. She has for years – I wouldn’t dream of trying to live up to her standards.”
As she always did, Taylor was cutting her toast into the bite-sized triangles before she ate it. “How old is Norine?”
“I don’t know. She must be close to fifty.”
“When we talked about matriarchies at school, I thought about Norine,” Taylor said, nibbling a triangle. “She’s like a tribal queen.”
“A tribal queen who wears nothing but Max Mara,” I said.
“She does have great taste,” Taylor said. “And she’s so regal. I wonder why she never got married.”
“Some people have everything they want without marriage,” I said. “Norine loves her work and she knows who she is.”
“And that’s enough,” Taylor said thoughtfully.
“It can be,” I said.
Taylor picked up another triangle of toast. “That’s something to think about,” she said.
When Declan texted Taylor to say he was out front, I went down in the elevator with Taylor and walked her to the curb where Declan was waiting in his car. I leaned close to have a better look at his face. It was a relief map of contusions, swelling, and stitches.
“You sure you’re okay for school?” I said.
He tried a smile but finished with a grimace. “It’s going to hurt just as much at home as it will there.”
“You sound like your dad,” I said.
This time, he did manage a smile. “Thanks,” he said. “I do my best.”
My cell was ringing when I came back into the condo. My friend, Jill Oziowy, head of news at NationTV, was calling from Toronto.
“What the hell is going on?” she said. “I was in New York for the weekend, and I come back, start checking my 682 messages, and discover one from Ed Mariani telling me that somebody blew up your house. What happened?”
“The police are still trying to figure that out,” I said.
“You sound remarkably cool,” Jill said. “Especially since, according to Ed, the explosion at your house was probably the work of the same people who killed Danny Racette.”
“I’m glad I seem cool, Jill, because I don’t feel that way. But we’re all trying to keep some perspective.”
Jill snorted. “No sane person has perspective about having their house blown up. Industrial espionage is big stuff, Jo, and not just for Regina. Leland Hunter has projects all over the world. If there’s some sort of international terrorist agenda …”
“There’s no international terrorist agenda,” I said. “This is purely local.” I gave Jill a précis of what I knew about the hostility towards the Village Project and then, because we’d been friends for more than thirty years, I told her about Mieka’s involvement with Riel Delorme.
When she heard about Mieka and Riel, Jill groaned. “That certainly complicates the situation,” she said.
“It does. A few years ago, Riel Delorme was a graduate student at the university. He was interested in doing a master’s thesis on movements that battled systemic racism and poverty. I liked him, he was smart and idealistic, and I was disappointed when he dropped out. Until last week, I hadn’t seen or heard of Riel in years. He’s changed, Jill. I could feel the anger coming from him, even t
hough it wasn’t directed at me. I could also feel the strength. I can understand Mieka responding to him. In that much overused word, Riel Delorme is charismatic.”
“The Che syndrome,” Jill said dryly. “Those guys are so sexy. It probably has something to do with the rifles. I’ll bet if you asked Mieka, she could tell you what has happened in Delorme’s life since he dropped out of university.”
“I’m sure she could, but I’m not about to ask her,” I said. “At the moment, my relationship with my daughter is a powder keg.”
“Bad image,” Jill said.
“Bad but accurate,” I said. “Just about anything can set us off. Jill, I really would appreciate hearing anything you can find out about Riel’s activities in the past five years.”
“I’ll do what I can. Whoops. Time to go,” she said. “Somebody who thinks he’s important just waltzed into my office. Don’t take any chances, Jo.”
My next caller was Debbie Haczkewicz, although at first I didn’t recognize her voice. It was hoarse and strained. “Nothing real to report,” she said. “But I promised to give you updates. We have officers going door to door in North Central asking questions. Nobody knows anything – no surprise there.” A coughing fit interrupted her.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“Summer cold,” she said. “No big deal.”
“Sounds nasty,” I said.
Debbie hacked again. “I’ve had worse. Anyway, since we’re not getting much help from the community, we’re trying to trace the supplies used in the bombing. Talk about a needle in the haystack. Any halfwit with access to the Internet could have done the job.”
“So you’re nowhere?”
“We’ll get there,” Debbie said, and despite her hoarseness, her voice was steely. “Whoever did this is not going to walk away.”
I had to ask the question that I had been trying to put out of my mind for days now.
“Debbie, was Riel Delorme involved?”
“We don’t know,” Debbie said. She hesitated. “Joanne, we do know that Riel is in a relationship with your daughter Mieka.”
“How long have you known?”
“Since January.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
Debbie made no attempt to soften the asperity in her voice. “Because Mieka is a grown woman. She hasn’t done anything illegal. She is spending time with a man who is of interest to the department but who has not been charged with anything.”
“I understand. Debbie, I’m sorry if I pushed. I appreciate the call. I know how busy you are.”
“There’s something else,” she said. “I don’t know whether it could be classified as ‘good news,’ but it is news. You can go through the house today. You’ll be supervised – just for safety’s sake – but I know you’re anxious to know the extent of the damage.”
“Should we arrange a time?”
Her voice had almost disappeared. “No need,” she said huskily. “We have people there 24/7.”
“Okay, thanks again. Take care of that cold.”
“It will take more than a summer cold to finish me, but I appreciate the thought. And, Joanne, if you really want to know how involved Riel Delorme is with all this, you might be wise to talk to your daughter.”
After I hung up, I stared at the phone. Mieka and I had never had trouble communicating. Now, in the course of a half-hour, two people had advised me to talk to her. But the stakes were high. Neither of us could afford a misstep. We were both proud, and I knew that neither Mieka nor I would walk away or give in.
I was still staring at my cell when it rang. I hoped it was Mieka offering me an opening, but it was Ed.
“I thought I’d check in and see how my best man was doing the day after.”
“I’m okay,” I said.
“Just okay?”
“Reality is starting to set in,” I said. “Jill called.”
“I was sure she would. Jo, I hope you’re not angry that I told her about what happened to your house. I thought she should know.”
“And you were right. You saved me from having to go through the story one more time.”
“Do you want me to come out to the lake? You sound a little down.”
I looked around Leland’s condo. More sins of omission. More coals heaped upon my head. “Ed, can I take you up on your offer to go through the house with me? I was just talking to the police, and they say it’s safe.”
“Choose a time, and I’ll meet you there.”
“Taylor gets out of school at three-thirty. Could I meet you at the house at two?”
“I’ll be there.”
Ready or not, life was moving along. I picked up my cell and pressed Mieka’s number.
“How’s everything in your kingdom this morning?” I said.
“Tranquil,” she said. “I just walked the girls to school. Lena insisted on wearing the orchid from the wedding in her fake ponytail, and Madeleine took her orchid to Madame Turmel because we have a bouquet of orchids and Madame has none.”
“The showgirl and the socialist,” I said.
“Genes will tell,” Mieka said.
“I don’t remember any showgirl genes,” I said. “But who knows? Mieka, you mentioned the other day that Riel had found a couple of possible sites for UpSlideDown2. I have some free time today. Do you think I could call him and get the addresses?”
“More than one way to skin a cat, huh?” Mieka said and there was an edge in her voice. “Did you talk to Zack about Riel and me?”
“I did. You know Zack. He wants this problem between you and me fixed. And he wants it fixed fast. Calling Riel seemed like a good first step, but if I’m wrong …”
“You’re not wrong,” she said. “This is just so hard. I’ve been staring at the phone trying to decide whether the story about the ladies with their orchids was a good enough excuse to call you.”
“Since when did we need an excuse to call each other?”
“Since you found out about Riel, I guess. I don’t want to do the wrong thing either.”
“We’re all determined to make it through this. Just remember that we’re on your side.”
“And Riel’s.”
“And Riel’s,” I said, and I hoped I was convincing. “Mieka, Leland and Zack have been talking about adding a multipurpose complex to the Village Project – recreation centre, art gallery, and so on. It would be a shared facility with North Central. Leland wants to talk to Riel about it.”
“Does Leland really want to talk to Riel or is he just doing it as a favour to you?”
“Does it matter? This isn’t high school, Mieka. A man died. We’ve lost our home – at least for the foreseeable future. Someone has to do something.”
“I’ll call Riel,” she said. “He’ll be at work, but he can phone you. Are you at the lake?”
“Doing errands,” I said quickly. “Just have him call my cell number. And, Mieka, I know Zack would appreciate a photo of the girls with the orchids.”
“Check your BlackBerry. I already sent you both one.”
I hung up and found the picture of the girls. They were both wearing crayon-bright T-shirts and shorts. Lena had half turned to give the camera the best possible shot of her ponytail; Madeleine was holding her orchid in both hands and gazing straight at the camera. I sent Zack a text telling him to check his BlackBerry and that I was going to try to connect with Riel. I knew Zack was in court, but it wasn’t long before his answer arrived. It was to the point. “Do whatever it takes.”
When I went into the living room to shut the terrace doors before I headed out to do errands, I noticed the file Angus had brought where I’d left it on the bookshelf. I took it down, carried it to the coffee table, and started to go through the clippings. I didn’t get far. The picture of me holding my children’s hands at Ian’s funeral took me to a place I wasn’t anxious to revisit.
In the months after Ian’s death, friends and acquaintances praised the way I was handling the tragedy and gettin
g on with our family’s life. Their perception couldn’t have been farther off the mark. I went through the necessary motions, but I had shut down. The only memory I have of that time is one I’d like to forget.
Every morning for what must have been weeks, I awoke to find Mieka at my bedside, her eyes anxious, asking me to get up and help her give the boys breakfast so they could all go to school. When the children left, I started my day. I did laundry, grocery shopped, answered phone calls, cleaned the house, stared at my unfinished dissertation, made supper, and counted the hours until I could tuck the kids in, take a sleeping pill, and be oblivious until morning. I survived, but those weeks left me with the knowledge that I lived on the edge of a crumbling cliff, and that I had to be very careful not to lose my foothold.
I flipped through the clippings till I came to a page recording an election victory. I stared at the pictures of that triumphant night and tried to remember what it was like to be young and unafraid.
I took a cab to the Volvo dealership where I filled out the forms for leasing a station wagon that was the twin of my car, which Zack would have to drive until a new car could be fitted with hand controls.
Zack had always driven a Jaguar, so my next stop was the Jaguar dealership for some brochures. I was sitting in a deep, swank leather chair, thumbing through photos of cars that cost more than many families earned in a year when Riel called. The irony was not lost on me.
Riel and I greeted each other with careful politeness.
“If you’re serious about looking at a couple of possibilities for UpSlidedown2, we’re in luck.” Riel said. “I work for Northern Tree, and our chipper just broke. It’s going to take a couple of hours to fix, so if you’d like company, I’m available.”
“Then we’re on,” I said. “Where shall we meet?”
“I caught a ride to work with a buddy. We could save time if you picked me up. We’re out trimming poplars at the old cemetery. Corner of 4th and Broad.”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
Riel was wearing work clothes, and they were soiled. He didn’t get into the car right away. “Have you a got a towel or something I can sit on?” he asked.