Kaleidoscope

by Gail Bowen

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “This is the same car I have. We chose it because the leather can be wiped off. Hop in.”

  Riel’s body was tense as he entered the car, and when he spoke, he stared ahead, not looking at me. “There were two places I thought we might look at, a deconsecrated church that’s become a drop-in centre and a deconsecrated synagogue that’s become a dance studio.”

  “Signs of the times,” I said.

  The church was depressing, but even from the curb, the old synagogue was appealing. I opened the door, but Riel made no move to get out.

  “Aren’t you coming?” I asked.

  “The building’s open. I called ahead. There’s a class going on. I’ll stay with the car. You don’t want to come back and find it keyed.”

  “The last time our car got keyed, it was parked in front of our house,” I said. “Riel, I’d like us to look at the building together.”

  The main floor of the old stone synagogue was open and spacious, with shining wooden floors and a mirrored wall for the dancers. There was indeed a class going on – a dozen little boys in the four-year-old range were jumping, rolling, leaping, waddling, and having what appeared to be a grand time. Their teacher, a whip-thin brunette, waved us in and moved back to her charges.

  Riel and I stood for a moment at the edge of the dance space, watching the action, and then we moved along the edge of the space towards the kitchen, bathrooms, and office at back. Everything was bright and solid, but the old synagogue was about half the size of the building that we had sold to make way for the Village Project.

  “I like this one,” I said. “What do you and Mieka think about the size?”

  “No question – we’d have to expand it. You think it’s worth looking into?”

  “Sure. Who owns the building?”

  “A nice young hippie couple with a baby. They had a dream, but it betrayed them by making them rich.”

  “What was their dream?”

  “To introduce SYLVANI to Saskatchewan.” Riel smiled “And don’t ask me what SYLVANI is. All I know is that it’s some kind of dance and that Prairie and Rhyse can’t keep up with the demand for classes, and they need a bigger space.”

  I walked across the room to check out the kitchen and bathrooms in the back. “This place definitely has possibilities,” I said, “but expansion costs money. How much do the nice young hippies want for this building?”

  I whistled at the sum Riel named. “I guess the big bad world of capitalism taught Prairie and Rhyse a thing or two about real estate. Anything else we should look at?”

  Riel shook his head. “These were the only two sites that I thought might work. I know the idea behind UpSlideDown2 is outreach, but unless we’re prepared to have a crack house or a shooting gallery next door, our location options are limited.”

  “What’s a shooting gallery?”

  Riel raised his left arm and mimed the action of injecting himself. “You don’t want kids playing next door to a shooting gallery,” he said. “There are needles all over the ground.”

  “And this neighbourhood is safe?”

  Riel’s mouth twitched. “Everything’s relative, but yes. I talked to Prairie and Rhyse. They have classes all day and well into the evening and they say they’ve never had a serious problem.”

  When we walked back, I stopped for a moment to watch the little boys. They were dancing a freestyle hip-hop on the shining floor and admiring their moves in the mirrored wall. “This place has a really good feel,” I said.

  “It does,” Riel agreed. “So the synagogue is top of the list?”

  I smiled at him. “It’s a short list, but yes. This building feels right to me.”

  Nobody had keyed the Volvo. I ran my finger along the doors on the passenger side. “Look at that,” I said. “Not a mark.”

  “That’s a relief,” Riel said. “So do you want me to arrange a meeting with Prairie and Rhyse?”

  “Let’s sleep on it,” I said. “The building has potential, but we should find out if the buildings on either side are for sale, and if they are, whether they’re in our price range.”

  Riel’s laugh was short and bitter. “I still don’t think things through, do I?” he said. “That’s what you wrote on one of my papers: ‘Dig more deeply here. Think things through.’ I wish I’d listened.”

  “Riel, I’ve written those words on dozens of student papers. They weren’t a comment on your life.”

  “It would have been a valid comment.”

  I met his eyes. “Were you involved in what happened to our house?”

  He pounded his fist into his palm. “Jesus, if I were involved in the explosion at your house, do you think I would have come along on this little shopping expedition of yours? Do you think I would have gone to the cops the morning after your house blew up? Give me a little credit, Professor Kilbourn, and while you’re at it, you dig a little more deeply. You think things through. Ask yourself who was responsible for creating an atmosphere where destroying someone else’s home was seen as an acceptable option.”

  “You believe we brought the explosion on ourselves because of our association with Leland Hunter?” I said.

  Riel’s eyes were cold. “I think it might be time for you to take a look in the mirror.”

  I was close to telling Riel to find another way back to work, then I remembered Zack’s message when Mieka sent the pictures of the girls with their orchids. “Do what it takes,” he’d texted. So I tried again.

  “I think we’re all aware that mistakes have been made,” I said, “but that doesn’t mean they can’t be rectified. Did Mieka tell you about Leland’s plan to make a shared multipurpose complex part of the Village Project?”

  Riel’s jaw was set. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  “Would you at least talk to Leland?” I said. “Find out what he has to say.”

  “Leland Hunter wouldn’t talk to me.”

  “He’s already agreed to,” I said.

  Riel’s eyes flashed with anger. “So if I refuse to meet with him, I’m the guy who would rather lead his people over the cliff than take the enemy’s hand.”

  “If your ego trumps the interests of the people you represent, I guess so,” I said.

  He gave me a sharp look. “That’s how you see it?”

  “That’s the truth, isn’t it?”

  Riel spit out an expletive. When he started walking towards the bus stop, I didn’t protest. I just sat and watched.

  I was only a few blocks from Peter’s clinic on Winnipeg Street so I called him and invited myself for coffee. I once described my sons by saying that Angus was the one who gave me an aerobic workout, but Peter was my yoga. From the beginning, there was a natural peace about Peter that seemed to move into me by osmosis when I was with him. That morning I was in serious need of an infusion of serenity.

  In deciding to open a walk-in vet clinic in the Core, Peter had pretty well abandoned any hope of ever retiring. Except for a loyal group who had been Peter’s friends since they were in pre-school together, most of Pete’s clients paid him little or nothing. When income didn’t match outlay, Zack and I helped out and we were happy to do it. We were a family of animal lovers and we understood the bond that exists between a pet and its owner.

  In its previous life, Pete’s clinic had been a pawnshop and because there were drugs on the premises, Pete had been forced to leave the bars on the windows. That detail aside, the walk-in clinic was a cheerful place. The walls were bright with posters giving advice about pet care and crayoned thank-you notes from satisfied clients. Even on school days, there were always kids with pets in Pete’s waiting room. School attendance was regarded as optional in this neighbourhood, but whatever else was going on in their lives, the boys and girls of the area always found time to bring in pets with problems.

  When Pete’s new assistant, Ruth, ushered me into his examining room, Pete was explaining spaying to a young girl with a litter of new kittens. Ruth, a lith
e and serious young woman from Botswana, took over the explanation without skipping a beat, and Peter and I went back to the staff room, where he poured us each a mug of coffee.

  I took a sip. “Hey, this is a definite improvement,” I said.

  “You mean from the floor sweepings we usually have,” Pete said. “Well, thank Ruth. She doesn’t even drink coffee, but she said no one should be forced to drink swill.”

  “So Ruth’s working out,” I said.

  “She’s great,” Pete said. “It’s only been two weeks, but it’s as if she’s been at the clinic forever. She seems to know instinctively what needs to be done and she does it.”

  “Good. And how’s Dacia?”

  “After Ed and Barry’s wedding, we had a long talk and decided to go our separate ways.”

  “Peter, I’m sorry. We really liked Dacia.”

  “I liked her, too, but it never seemed to get beyond that.”

  “Is there somebody else?”

  He smiled. “Not yet. I’m not Angus, Mum. I usually wait till the ex is out the door before I bring in the replacement.”

  I laughed. “Angus is bringing Leah’s replacement to the lake for Canada Day. The new woman is a lawyer and a lacrosse player, and her name is Maisie.”

  “And she’s a knockout,” Pete said.

  “You’ve seen her.”

  “Nope. I’m just going by past history.”

  I took another sip of coffee. “Have you met your sister’s new man?”

  “Riel Delorme? Sure, we live in the same neighbourhood.”

  “And …?”

  Pete shrugged. “I’ll say what you always say, ‘as long as he makes her happy …’ ”

  “But you don’t like him.”

  “I like him. I just can’t see him with Mieka. I never thought of her as political and Riel’s a real firebrand.”

  “He is that,” I said. I went to the sink and rinsed my mug. “You’re really okay about the breakup with Dacia.”

  “More than okay. It wasn’t going anywhere. We’re both relieved it’s over.”

  I hugged him. “Be sure and thank Ruth for the new and improved brand of coffee.”

  Pete chuckled. “You are so not subtle,” he said.

  “Comes with the territory,” I said.

  After I left Peter’s I drove to 13th Avenue to buy the ingredients for paella – a dish that Zack and I liked but Taylor adored. As I stood in Pacific Fish watching Cassie, the owner, wrap the prawns, mussels, and clams, I felt as if once again I was on familiar turf. I picked up baguette at the bakery and crossed to the supermarket. As I strode up and down the aisles filling my cart, my confidence flowed back, as bracing as good health after an illness. This was my world – large, safe, and predictable.

  When I got back to Halifax Street, I put away the groceries and went to our room to change into my jeans. I’d just put on a fresh T-shirt when I heard a crash upstairs. Under normal circumstances, I would have simply gone up to investigate. But circumstances were no longer normal. My heart was racing; my mind leaped to the conclusion that whoever had blown up our house had found us here, and I panicked. I looked frantically around the room for my phone, then remembered it was in my purse in the kitchen. I ran in sock feet across the condo, skirting the open living room, terrified that whoever was upstairs would see me. I held my breath and, hands shaking, fumbled through my bag for my BlackBerry. I was just about to hit 911 when I heard a cry from upstairs. The voice was female and my first thought was that it was a trick to get me to the second floor where I’d be more vulnerable. The woman called again. “Help. Leland? It’s Louise. I need help!”

  I dropped my BlackBerry back in my purse and ran upstairs. “Louise, where are you?” I said.

  There was no response.

  I called her name again. This time she answered. “Go to hell, Margot. Just leave me alone.”

  Louise’s voice was coming from the master suite. She was in the bathroom. A highball glass had shattered on the porcelain floor. Louise was standing in the middle of the room, swaying slightly, staring at the melting ice and broken crystal.

  “What’s the matter?” I said. There was a triple mirror in the bathroom, and my reflection was a shock. I looked terrified.

  “I dropped my glass,” she said.

  Suddenly I was furious. “So you cried for help.” I turned away. “Clean up your mess, Louise. Clean up your mess and get out.”

  She stepped back and steadied herself against the bathroom counter. “What are you doing here, Joanne?”

  “I could ask you the same question,” I said.

  Her laugh was forced. “Well, this is Leland’s condominium, and he is my husband.”

  “Louise …”

  She raised her hand to cut me off before I said more. “I know. Leland is my ex-husband, but that doesn’t mean we’ve stopped loving each other. He’s making a terrible mistake. He and I have been together since we were in high school. We swore we’d stay together forever …” She touched the platinum cuff bracelet that she was never without. “Leland gave this to me when Peyben opened its first international office. He said the world was ours.”

  “Louise, people change.”

  Her eyes, as blue as the eyes of a china doll, glittered unseeing. Though she was swaying, Louise was still sober, but her fantasy left no room for reality. “I called Leland’s office. They said he was working at home. He and I need to talk.” She took a step towards me. “He’s not committed to Margot Wright. I knew that, but now I have evidence. He still has groceries here. I checked the cupboards and the refrigerator downstairs. Leland’s particular about food. Everything has to be fresh, and everything here is fresh. He’s not living with her.”

  She walked over and touched my hand. “Don’t you understand, Joanne? He still has doubts.”

  I remembered how perfectly attuned Margot and Leland had been the night before, lovers swimming in unison, their powerful bodies illuminated by the lights embedded in the pool’s aquamarine walls. They had found everything they wanted in each other.

  “Let’s go downstairs, Louise,” I said. “We’ll be more comfortable there.”

  I poured us glasses of cool water from the refrigerator. Louise drained hers, then opened one of the lower cabinet doors. She quickly found what she was looking for. When she splashed the Grey Goose vodka into her glass, her fingers were trembling. “I’ll just have a small one – Dutch courage. Isn’t that what they call it? Of course, this vodka is made in France.” Her brilliantly blue eyes sought out mine. “I don’t suppose you’d care to join me.”

  “I’m fine, but thanks.”

  Louise took her drink into the living room and perched on the end of one of the reading chairs. I followed her with my water. Neither of us spoke. When there was a knock at the door, Louise and I both started. I’d had no idea that Louise had the security code to our condo. Suddenly it seemed that somebody else did.

  I opened the door cautiously. When I saw that the person in the hall was Sage Mackenzie, I relaxed.

  She looked past me into the entrance hall. “I’ve come for Louise,” she said.

  “Follow me,” I said. When we reached the living room, Sage and I stood side by side for a beat, waiting for Louise to make the next move.

  It was sadly predictable. She drained her drink. As she placed her empty glass on the table beside her, Louise’s frail shoulders slumped with defeat. Her shining plan for a surprise visit with Leland was in shreds and time was running out. My heart went out to her, and then I remembered the phone call Leland received the night we were at Magoo’s. Louise was a sad figure, but apparently she was also a dangerous one. Sage Mackenzie was not my favourite person, but she stood between Louise and her worst impulses and for that I was grateful.

  Sage also seemed to be making an effort. The file of clippings was still open on the coffee table. Sage glanced at it and raised an eyebrow. “Retired but still working on politicians,” she said. Her eyes travelled around the room. “I
’m assuming Leland Hunter is letting you use his condo until your own house is repaired.”

  “No,” I said. “We’re living at the lake. I just come here for a break if I have to stay in town to pick up Zack or our daughter.” The lie had formed itself easily, and both Sage and Louise seemed to accept it.

  Sage moved towards the window. “Well, you certainly have a great view while you’re killing time,” she said.

  Up close, Sage was older than I’d thought on convocation day. Her eyes, pale-lashed and amber, were riveting, but there were already faint lines at their corners and at the corners of her small and determined mouth. Her fiery hair was smoothed back into a chignon and she was wearing the uniform of many successful female lawyers: a well-cut black business suit, hem slightly above the knee, expensive white blouse, minimal but good jewellery.

  She placed her hand on Louise’s arm. “Louise, let’s get you home. I’ll drive. I can take a cab back and pick up my car.”

  “I only had one drink,” Louise said.

  Sage’s voice softened. “Let’s not take any chances.”

  The misery drained from Louise’s face. “You’re a good friend,” she said.

  Sage smiled at her. “I do my best.”

  When the door closed after the two women, I made a note to ask Leland about the security in the building. The next person who managed to make it to our door might be someone more menacing than Louise’s “good friend.” I walked back into the living room, picked up the file, took it to the linen closet, and tucked it under a stack of pillowcases. I didn’t need reminders of the past; the present was troubling enough.

  CHAPTER

  9

  Ten minutes after Ed Mariani and I began our inspection of what was left of our house on the creek, I knew that bringing him with me was a mistake. From the moment we arrived, Ed tried to keep my spirits up. When the police gave us hard hats to wear, Ed plunked his on, gave me a cherubic smile, and said, “Is this where I break into a chorus of ‘YMCA’ ”? He was courtly as he presented me with a small paper notebook and a pen to record items that would need replacing, and he insisted on walking ahead of me in case there was danger.