Kaleidoscope

by Gail Bowen

  “My feelings about Sage are mixed,” I said. “She’s Louise’s lawyer, and as you saw, Louise is a troubled soul. Sage seems to know just how to help her.”

  “So why are your feelings about her mixed?”

  “Sage used to be at Falconer Shreve. One night when she and Zack were working late, Sage came on to him. Zack said that even after he made it clear he wasn’t interested, Sage kept up her efforts. She unzipped his pants and put her hand in. At that point some delivery guy came into the office. Zack zipped up and that was that.”

  “That’s a disturbing story,” Ed said.

  “It is,” I agreed. “When Zack told me about the delivery man the first time, I thought it was funny, but since then I’ve wondered whether there was something more sinister going on.”

  “Such as?”

  “Zack said Sage was pretty determined to get his penis out. I’m wondering if that delivery man was supposed to shoot some pictures.”

  “You think Sage was trying to solidify her position at Falconer Shreve with a little blackmail?”

  “I don’t know. The next week Sage was fired for assaulting Zack’s executive assistant.”

  Ed’s moon face was troubled. “I guess you never know about people,” he said.

  “No,” I said. “I guess you never do.”

  Not long after Ed left, Riel called. His apology was terse, but it seemed genuine. Most importantly, he agreed to talk to Leland. When I put forward Leland’s proposal about giving NationTV’s audience an inside look at the mediation process, Riel said he would consider it. Our conversation was stilted, but we were at least talking and I was grateful for that.

  Jill Oziowy could barely contain her excitement when I called to tell her that if Riel could be persuaded to agree, Leland Hunter was prepared to let NationTV’s cameras record their meetings.

  “Leland Hunter never – and I mean never – talks to the media,” she said. “And to let cameras be there as the mediator brokers an agreement between Leland and the man who wanted to destroy his project – this is going to be amazing!”

  Her exhilaration was infectious. “I agree,” I said. “There’ll be footage of the protest last week when Leland received his honorary doctorate from the university. All the chants and the signs: Bring Them Down. What about our Heritage? Reclaim Our Neighbourhoods. And I know the NationTV cameraman was there when Riel was jostled and his sign caught Leland Hunter’s skull. It was an ugly cut – a lot of blood. Seeing two former enemies sit down and hammer out an agreement to share a multipurpose development will be a hallmark moment, and it’ll be all yours.”

  “So,” Jill said, “where’s the worm in this shiny apple?”

  “There isn’t one,” I said. “Everybody wins. Leland believes, and I agree, that the publicity focus will force both sides to reconcile their differences, and he’s also hopeful that all the attention will drive the violent protestors – who may have bombed our house – into the shadows.”

  “Into the shadows but not out of business.”

  “No, but the reason buildings have security lighting is to keep the bad guys away. Leland’s hoping the media glare will work the same way.”

  “And Riel – what does he get out of this?” Jill asked.

  “If he co-operates, Riel will be front and centre again. Apparently he was hot stuff when he was the neighbourhood Che, but his pacifism has made him seem ineffectual. If Riel plays his cards right, the NationTV program will put him back in the spotlight, and when he brings North Central a multimillion-dollar facility, he’ll be a force to be reckoned with.”

  Jill was thoughtful. “So everybody wins but the thugs,” she said. “Why do I have a feeling they’re not going to take this lying down?”

  Zack and Taylor were going to Bushwakker’s for dinner, but we had time for a cup of tea together before we headed our separate ways. When I relayed the news of the day to Zack, his ears pricked up at Jill’s final comment. “She’s right, you know. This program Leland is proposing is a real ‘in your face’ gesture, and haters don’t react well to taunting.”

  “You think the television program is a mistake?”

  “I don’t know. I guess we’ll find out.”

  I glanced at my watch. “I’m supposed to be at Linda’s by six. People have to work tomorrow, so it’ll be an early evening.”

  Zack gave me a lazy grin. “Good. I’ll have the bed warm when you get home.”

  “What are you going to order at Bushwakker’s?”

  “Let’s see. Maybe the wild boar burger with roasted hot peppers and a side order of those double-fried fries.”

  “Bushwakker’s makes a very nice Greek salad.”

  Zack scoffed. “No man ever satisfied his woman by eating Greek salad.”

  “You’d satisfy me,” I said. “I want you to live forever.”

  Linda Fritz lived in a small and carefully restored home on a double lot in the Crescents, not far from our house on the creek. As she greeted me at the door, I thought she looked remarkably fresh for someone who’d spent the day in combat with Zack.

  Linda is an attractive woman: a tall, slim, self-possessed redhead with lightly lined pale skin, intelligent grey eyes, and a low but commanding voice. Zack had tried for years to lure Linda from the Crown Prosecutor’s Office to Falconer Shreve. He admired her attention to detail, and her ability to read a situation and react effectively. He’d offered her money, a corner office, and a partnership, but she said that one of her great joys as a lawyer was going head to head with him in court so she was going to stay put.

  “We’re going to have dinner out back,” she said. “But before we join the others I wanted to say how sorry I am about your house – especially your garden. I remember that when we were there for Zack’s birthday last month, you said you finally had the garden you wanted and you were both looking forward to kicking back and enjoying it.”

  “Lucky we don’t know what’s ahead,” I said.

  Linda shuddered. “Isn’t that the truth?” As she looked at me, her eyes were assessing. “You seem to be handling it.”

  “No choice,” I said. “But tonight’s for celebrating, not mourning. Let’s go to the party.”

  As we walked through the kitchen, Linda handed me a platter. “Would you mind carrying this?”

  “Do you trust me not to eat it before we join the others? It looks great.”

  “Thanks, it should be nice. Paté from the Hutterite colony at Kyle and high cranberry compote that I made from berries I picked myself near La Ronge.”

  “So you’re serious about the locovore commitment,” I said.

  Linda sighed. “For tonight I am. Some nights I’m so tired when I get home, I could chow down on an endangered species.”

  She held the door open for me and picked up her own tray. “As you can see, the yard is low maintenance,” Linda said.

  The lot was deep and all grass except for a huge old cottonwood tree in the centre. “I imagine that cottonwood isn’t low maintenance in the fall,” I said.

  “You’re right, but it’s so beautiful in the other three seasons, I accept those mounds of leaves as the price I must pay.”

  Linda had set a plank table under the tree and her other guests were already seated around it drinking wine. The light poured through the leaves of the cottonwood, making lacy patterns on the women below. “It’s a gorgeous setting for a summer dinner,” I said.

  “We all have such busy lives,” Linda said. “I thought we’d enjoy the peace.”

  There were only ten of us. I recognized most of the women there, but Margot and Linda were the only ones I knew well. All, except me, were lawyers. The invitation had stated casual, but I had learned that for Margot’s crowd, “casual” was upscale, and I’d worn a pale grey silk shirt with matching pants, strappy sandals that Taylor had talked me into buying, and a filmy fuchsia scarf that added a splash of colour.

  Margot took the platter of appetizers from me and placed it on the table. “You know everyo
ne, don’t you, Joanne?”

  “Not as well as I’d like to,” I said. “But I’m counting on tonight to remedy that.”

  A small, deeply tanned woman with shoulder-length greying hair poured a glass of Sauterne and handed it to me. “You’ll find this a very welcoming wine,” she said. “I’m Sandra Mikalonis. We’ve met, but it was at a law dinner, and you looked as if you were longing to find the exit.”

  “Zack always says I’d never make a poker player, but it’s good to see you again.”

  “In a more congenial setting,” Sandra said. She turned to the other women. “Why don’t we all introduce ourselves?”

  After the introductions, everyone expressed concern about what had happened to our house, then we got round to the real business of the evening: eating, drinking, and talking.

  Given the fact that we were celebrating a wedding, it seemed inevitable that someone would ask Margot about how she and Leland met.

  “It’s not a long story,” Margot said. “Somebody brought Leland to my housewarming party when I moved into the condo on Halifax Street. One thing led to another. Leland bought the building where I lived and moved in next door. Not long after he gave me this.” She held up her left hand. Her spectacular diamond was fiery in the dappled light. “And neither of us has ever been happier.”

  “Sounds as if you were both ready,” Sandra said. “Whenever I ran into him after his divorce, he was with a different woman.”

  “Palate cleansers,” Linda said tartly. “Pleasant, forgettable little nothings to cleanse the palate before the really substantial dish arrived.”

  Margot roared. “Leland will love that.” She took a bite of her chanterelle appetizer. “This mushroom thing is fantastic,” she said. “And so is the pate. What’s next?”

  “Pickerel and wild rice from La Ronge; more mushrooms from my secret patch; and sugar snap peas from the market.”

  It was a splendid meal. By the time we’d polished off the last of the goat cheese soufflé with fresh strawberries, the sun was dipping towards the horizon, the air was cooling, and the conversation was heating up.

  Diane, an athletic blonde with a husky laugh and a wicked sense of humour, had just told a story about a law school classmate named Ana who was drop-dead gorgeous but had a very tiny mind.

  Margot leaned forward. “I remember her. She didn’t really understand anything, but she had an incredible ability to focus.”

  “And she managed to pass her bar exams?” I said.

  Diane chuckled. “Well, she had special tutoring. The male professors were falling over one another offering their services.”

  “What’s Ana doing now?” I asked.

  “She’s house counsel for a cosmetics company,” Diane said, stroking one of Linda’s cats. “The lawyer who does the real work is a mouse of a guy – he hands Ana the material. She focuses her tiny brain hard and then sashays into the boardroom with her gorgeous hair and her pouty mouth and her four-inch eyelashes and delivers the goods.”

  “What if somebody asks her a question?” Sandra said.

  “She promises to get back to them, and then she goes to Mr. Mouse,” Diane said and rolled her eyes. “Ana’s annual salary, not counting stock options, is probably four times more than mine.”

  “You’re happy in your work,” Margot said sweetly. “And, really, isn’t that all that matters?”

  Diane shot her an incredulous look. “You are kidding, right?”

  “Right,” Margot said, and we all laughed.

  “Margot, what’s the story on Sage Mackenzie?” Sandra asked. “I was really shocked when I heard she left Falconer Shreve. That’s a plum job. What happened?”

  Margot and I exchanged a glance, then she shrugged. “Bad fit. Sage spent five years as a cop in North Central and she went to law school committed to the idea that the community should have a lawyer who knew their world.”

  “And now the community’s legal needs are being underwritten by a retainer from your intended,” Diane said. “Or is my information wrong?”

  “No, you’re right,” Margot said. “Sage has struck pay dirt, although she certainly earns it dealing with Louise.”

  “Sage was a good cop,” Linda said. Her ginger cat, Trout, came up and rubbed against her leg. She picked him up and stoked him absently. “Determined, fearless, observant, fair. Perfect except …”

  I picked up on her hesitation. “Except what?” I asked.

  Linda continued to stroke Trout. “Sage has what we euphemistically refer to as an anger management problem. You know those YouTube clips of out-of-control cops beating up perpetrators? Sage had two of those to her credit. She is one of the most disciplined people I’ve ever known, but twice she just snapped. The consensus was that she’d seen too much when she was growing up.”

  I remembered Alex Kequahtooway, an Aboriginal man who had been dear to me, saying that he couldn’t remember a day when he didn’t wake up angry. “So was Sage discharged from the force?” I said.

  “No. She’d always planned to be a lawyer, and after her second anger management ‘failure,’ Sage decided the time was right. She jumped through all the hoops. She finished law school, articled, passed the bar exams, became a lawyer, and then three months later she went back to the police force.”

  “That’s strange, isn’t it?” I said.

  “Very strange,” Linda said. “And there was a lot of chatter about it at that time. Apparently, Sage said she just missed police work – the excitement and the camaraderie, the bull sessions over coffee, and going out to the shooting range with the guys, that kind of thing. But then Delia Wainberg tapped her to go to Falconer Shreve. Apparently, Delia heard that Sage had the goods, so she convinced her to give the law a real try.”

  “Sage didn’t try very long,” Margot said. “She left after a couple of months. It’s an odd pattern.”

  “Anyway, she seems to have landed on her feet,” Linda said. “She’s a success professionally, and when she’s not tied up with Louise, she works closely with some of the kids in the gangs – trying to convince them to get out while the getting’s good, I guess.”

  “The very model of a lawyer committed to ‘giving back,’ ” Margot said, and she gave me a sidelong glance and winked.

  Linda stood up and rubbed her bare arms. “The weather seems to be changing on us. It’s getting cold, and those clouds look threatening. Shall we go inside?”

  Diane stretched. “Thanks, but it’s time for me to call a cab to ferry me back to the real world. This really was a great evening, Linda.”

  Diane’s farewell acted as a signal to the rest of us to carry in our dishes, say our thanks, and arrange for cabs.

  I was back at Halifax Street by ten. Zack was in bed reading. I kissed him and then started to undress. “Everything okay here?” I asked.

  “Yep. Taylor and I had a nice dinner, then we came home and we both tackled our homework.”

  “Very virtuous,” I said.

  “How were the male strippers?”

  “Every last one was a Greek god, and mine was a five-star lap dancer.”

  “I didn’t know those guys lap-danced.”

  “They do if you stuff enough twenty-dollar bills down their Speedos.”

  Zack peered at me over his horn rims. “So what did you really do?”

  “Had a great meal, drank wine, played with Linda’s cats, and gossiped.”

  “Did you learn anything you didn’t know?”

  “I heard about Ana of the luscious lips, the small brain, and the prodigious ability to focus.”

  Zack shook his head. “So Diane Quennell was there. She and Ana were in the same class. Ana’s success really sticks in Diane’s craw – not because she’s earning big bucks, but because Ana just uses the law as a means to an end.”

  I buttoned my pyjama top. “Don’t all of us use our profession as a means to an end?”

  “Probably, but Diane has respect for the law, and Ana doesn’t. That’s the real source of the
antipathy.”

  “Speaking of antipathy, I learned something interesting about Sage tonight,” I said. “According to Linda, Sage’s anger management problem is long standing.”

  “That surprises me,” Zack said. “Sage wasn’t at Falconer Shreve long, but she was always very controlled. She only seemed to crack in the week before she was fired.”

  “I’ve been thinking about what happened that night,” I said.

  Zack closed his book. “Now that doesn’t surprise me.”

  I slid into bed next to him. “Had there been any friction between you and Sage – I mean, before that night.”

  “No. We were both absorbed by the Retzlaff case, and we had a good working relationship. I had no cause for complaint, and I don’t think Sage did.” Zack looked at me questioningly. “I’m not connecting the dots here, Jo. If a woman is pissed off at a guy, does she usually ask him for a quickie?”

  “No, and if a women makes a pass at a guy and he says, ‘No, thanks,’ she doesn’t usually unzip him and pull out his penis. When you told us about what happened that night at Magoo’s, Margot and I thought it was pretty funny, but I was talking to Ed about it today and something about the whole scenario just doesn’t add up.”

  Zack frowned. “You don’t think I encouraged Sage, do you?”

  I shook my head. “Of course not, but a delivery man wandering into a locked office in a secure building after hours doesn’t make sense. Have you ever wondered if Sage was thinking of blackmail?”

  “So she arranged with the delivery man to catch the two of us in flagrante delicto and snap a couple of compromising pictures so she could get something she wanted.”

  “You don’t look convinced,” I said.

  “I’m not convinced,” Zack said. “I didn’t have anything she wanted. She wasn’t into money, and obviously she didn’t care about advancing her career at Falconer Shreve or she wouldn’t have taken on Norine. Something must have gone wrong for Sage – wrong enough that she fell apart.”

  “A love affair?”

  “I have no idea,” Zack said. “I don’t know anything about Sage that wasn’t on her resumé.”

  “Jill told me something today that wouldn’t have been on Sage’s resumé. She’s Riel’s half-sister.”