By the end of the next day, Zack had settled Peyben’s case with Evangeline, the clairvoyant, and Bree had taken a turn for the better.
Zack phoned me from the office after his lunch with Evangeline. He was riding high; he was also a little drunk. “Hey, Ms. Shreve, I just got offered a job – house counsel for Peyben – salary in the high six figures, bonuses, stock options, use of the company jet. You can quit working and become the lovely piece of fluff on my arm.”
“Gee, that just sounds like so much fun,” I said. “I take it you settled Peyben’s case out of court.”
“I did. Evangeline and I went to Peyben’s private dining room. I ordered a bottle of Pouilly-Fuissé and asked her to tell me her great dream of life. She revealed that her dream was to spend a summer on the beach, watching boats bob on the Adriatic, drinking fine wine, and perfecting her tan. We had another glass of wine, and I confided that, although I wasn’t a clairvoyant, I could foresee two distinct futures for her. In one, she accepted Peyben’s generous offer and was in Belgrade soaking up the rays before Canada Day; in the other she grew old, hanging around gloomy courtrooms watching the kind of lawyers she could afford being eviscerated by lawyers like me. We ate our meal, finished our wine, ordered another bottle, and Evangeline accepted Peyben’s cheque before our mousse au chocolat arrived.
“Two bottles of wine. Want me to come and get you?”
“Nah, I have to hang around here for a while. Francesca called. She needs to see me, so Norine has managed to squeeze her in later this afternoon.”
“Tonight’s Ginny’s debate, so we’re eating early. Okay with you?”
“Everything’s okay with me,” he said grandly. “One more piece of information: Jason Brodnitz has wisely secured the services of my new partner.”
“To deal with the fact that his phone number was in Bree Steig’s purse?”
“Among other things,” Zack said. “Incidentally, I called Debbie this morning to check on Bree. They’re keeping her in an induced coma, so her brain can heal.”
“That’s good news,” I said.
“Yep. Incidentally, how old do you think Bree is?”
“Hard to tell,” I said. “Late twenties, early thirties?”
“Seventeen,” Zack said. “Gotta go, kiddo.”
“The corporate jet awaits?”
“Actually, I have to take a leak.”
“I’ll pick you up at four-thirty.”
“I don’t need to be picked up.”
“I think you do,” I said. “We pieces of fluff have to protect our investment.”
The debate among Ginny Monaghan and her opponents was being held in the gym of St. Pius School. When I arrived, citizens were not yet storming the doors to witness democracy in action, but Francesca Pope was there, sitting in the front row of empty chairs, her backpack of bears on the chair beside her, her hands folded primly in her lap. She evinced no surprise when she saw me; she simply stood up, slid her arms through her backpack straps, and walked over.
“Tell Zack I’m sorry I didn’t come to his office today,” she said. “I tried, but the lights inside were too bright.” She raised her hand to her eyes, shading them from the memory. “I waited outdoors until I saw someone I recognized. His name is Blake Falconer. Zack introduced us. He’s Zack’s partner, so I thought it would be all right if I gave it to him.”
“Gave what to him?” I asked.
“The journal I had for Zack.”
“Is it yours?”
“No,” she said. “It was Cristal Avilia’s.”
Apparently that ended our conversation. Francesca walked over to a table where someone had set out coffee, juice, and plates of cookies. She pocketed some cookies, poured herself coffee, then went back to her place and left me to my thoughts.
I wasn’t alone for long. The NDP candidate, a former student of mine named Evan Shattuck, came over to say hello. He was twenty-six years old, and he’d been the sacrificial lamb nominated when Ginny was riding high. When her fortunes fell, his rose, and for a brief and shining moment, there had been talk that he would take the seat. Now the wheel of fortune had taken another spin, and Evan was on the bottom again. As he held out his hand to me, he didn’t seem particularly disheartened.
“Having fun?” I said.
His smile was rueful. “I was having more fun a couple of weeks ago,” he said. “But what the hey. This is my first time out.”
“The game’s not over,” I said.
Evan made a face. “Sure it is, but I’m still going to give it my best shot.”
“That’s the spirit,” I said.
When Keith Harris came over, I introduced them. Evan was clearly overwhelmed. “I know this sounds stupid,” he said. “But even though, in my opinion, you’re on the wrong side politically, you’ve been a hero of mine since I was a kid.”
Keith shook his hand. “That means a lot,” he said. “It’s good for the process when people like you agree to run. So are you glad you’re doing it?”
Evan’s eyes were shining. “Are you kidding? Every day I learn something new and every day I meet a lot of great people. It’s a blast. Look, it really was an honour meeting you, but I’d better go shake some hands.”
After Evan was out of earshot, I turned to Keith. “Makes it harder when you like the other guy, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” Keith agreed. “But never lose sight of the fact that he is the other guy.”
Evan was head and shoulders above Ginny’s other two opponents. He was smart and he’d done his homework. In truth, he’d overdone his homework. His answers would have earned him top marks in a seminar, but they were too long and too detailed for a debate, and the moderator was repeatedly forced to cut him off. As well, either out of nervousness or the belief that a debate was a discussion among four people running for the same office, Evan focused on the other candidates, and the audience repaid him by growing restive during his answers. He was a much better candidate than he appeared to be that night, and I found myself longing for the chance to sit down with him the next morning, go over the debate tapes, and talk about ways he could improve his performance.
Ginny didn’t need my help. She was thoroughly professional, and she was having the time of her life. Her answers were crisp, clever, and often funny. The audience loved her, and she loved them back.
“She’s having a good night,” I said to Keith.
Keith sighed. “It scares me when a campaign is going this well. I know it’s only a matter of time till the dragon crawls out of his lair and tears us apart.”
When I got home, Zack was already in bed with his laptop on his lap and his trial bag on the nightstand beside him.
“How did it go?” he said.
“Ginny was brilliant. I think Keith’s right. If she can win big in Palliser, there’ll be no stopping her.”
“You look excited.”
“Contact high from the crowd,” I said. “Politics can be a lot of fun.”
“There’s something we need to talk about,” Zack said.
“That sounds ominous.”
“It’s not good.”
I sat on the bed and kicked off my shoes. “It would be nice to have one evening that didn’t end on a shitty note.”
“Your call – we can talk in the morning.”
“No. Let’s get it over with. Better to know now than be awake all night wondering.”
Zack reached into his trial bag, pulled out a journal, and handed it to me. On the cover there was a tranquil picture of a dark-haired young girl in a silk dress sitting under a tree with her dog. There was a cat on her lap, and one on the branch above her. The girl was reading.
“That belonged to Cristal,” Zack said.
“So Blake got it to you,” I said.
Zack’s forehead creased in surprise. “How did you know about that?”
“Francesca Pope was at St. Pius tonight. She told me she couldn’t keep her appointment with you today because the light in your building was too bright. She waited outside until she saw someone she recognized.” I started to undress. “Poor Blake. Of all the people Francesca could have given it to.”
Zack’s face was grim. “No doubt about it. Blake has all the luck. And of course, he read the journal before he handed it over to me. He’s devastated, but to be fair, Cristal’s account of her life is pretty devastating.”
“Let me finish getting ready for bed, and I’ll take a look,” I said. When I had my pyjamas on, I sat beside Zack on the bed and opened the journal. The handwriting was precise, but so tiny I couldn’t read it without my glasses. I hooked Zack’s off his nose. “Can I borrow these?” I said.
“Be my guest,” Zack said. “But stay close. This is ugly reading.”
Writing in fragments, connecting her thoughts with dashes, Cristal had recorded a life of sadistic abuse with breathtaking immediacy. Nothing distanced the reader from her narrative. Every sentence was raw with pain. As I read, I could hear Cristal’s small, breathy voice, and I could feel her panic.
The journal opened with the phrase bad day. It was a fitting epigraph for what was to follow.
Bad day – told 3 I can’t deal with it any more. I’ll do the rest – even the ones who want me to pretend I’m their little girls, but no more hoods and no more gags – in the night my heart pounds – I’m dying because I can’t get out – choking to death – it happens – girls die. 3 says I have to trust him – our love is about absolute trust. He knows what’s best – letting a date gag me and tie a hood over my head shows 3 that I love him – knowing I’ll do whatever he wants is the way I prove my love. 3 says he never hurts my body – sometimes I think that would be easier – the worst is when he won’t speak to me or touch me – even when I’m on my hands and knees in front of him, begging him like a dog – and he ignores me until I agree to submit.
April 7 – This is hell – 3 says I have to tell N I can’t see him any more – that he disgusts me. N doesn’t disgust me – he makes me feel valuable. He gave me a book – Portrait of a Lady – he says I’m like Isabel. To become a lady, she had to learn to live with sadness and disappointment, and N says that’s what I have to do too. He says I’ve earned the right to be happy.
This afternoon I forgot to turn off the camera when N and I were talking. When 3 was reviewing the tapes he heard N tell me I have to get out. It’s never been this bad – he spit on me and then he walked out – anything’s better than this.
I looked up. My voice was shaking “Zack, I can’t read any more of this.”
“Just read April 13,” Zack said. “That explains why Ned was the client singled out for blackmail.”
I turned the pages of tiny handwriting. There were references to encounters with other men, but always the number three was there dominating, manipulating, wounding. Finally, I came to the notation.
April 13 – 3 made me write to N – tell him I’ll put the pictures of us on the Internet unless he pays me off. 3 says N has to learn that a whore is a whore is a whore is a whore.
April 14 – N is dead – shot himself – my fault, my fault, 3 says. He’s right. Could my 3 be 666? Evil – Evil.
I handed Zack the journal. “That day you took her the cheque, Cristal asked if you believed in evil. She was starting to see the truth, wasn’t she? She was beginning to realize 3 was a monster. Ned died because 3 had to show Cristal that she was nothing – just a whore who needed to be taught a lesson.”
Zack tented his fingers. “I guess the next question is who is 3? The current wisdom seems to be that it’s Jason Brodnitz.”
“I can’t believe that,” I said. “Ginny Monaghan was married to Jason. He was a husband and a father.”
“Sociopaths don’t have horns, Jo. I’ve defended some. They blend in. That’s how they get away with the things they do.”
“But if Jason is such a ruthless manipulator, why would Ginny shield him?”
Zack shrugged. “Maybe she didn’t want her daughters to know their father was a monster. Maybe she was safeguarding her reputation. Living with a sadist isn’t exactly evidence of sound judgment.”
“Zack, none of this makes sense. Cristal wasn’t a stupid woman. Why would she let herself be abused like that?”
“According to Blake, Cristal thought that’s what she deserved.”
“No wonder Blake was devastated.”
“Devastated and furious. I’ve never known Blake to lose control. He’s always been able to keep it together – even when Lily was putting him through all that shit. But tonight if Jason Brodnitz – or whoever 3 is – had walked through that door, Blake would have ripped him apart.”
“More misery,” I said. I took my husband’s hand. “I want us out of this,” I said. “It’s like that old story of the tar baby – every time we touch this Cristal Avilia mess, we get in deeper. Let’s walk away. Tomorrow morning call Debbie Haczkewicz and tell her you’ll bring the journal down to headquarters. Then get a hold of Blake and suggest he go out to the lake for a few days – get some rest – figure things out.”
Zack didn’t hesitate. “Okay. I’ve had enough too.” He reached over and turned off the light. “Tomorrow will be better,” he said.
“It had better be,” I said, and even I was surprised at the anger in my voice.
The next morning when the dogs and I stepped outside for our run, the air was mild and sweet, and the sun was shining. Its beams were weak and watery, but they were persistent. The grass, after so much rain, was dazzlingly green, and the flower bed closest to the deck was shining with daffodils. The prospect of having breakfast outside was seductive.
When I got back, Zack was on the front porch taking the morning papers out of the mailbox. Pantera leapt towards his master and tore the leash from my hand. Even for a mastiff, Pantera was big and there’d been more than one occasion when he’d knocked Zack’s chair over. Zack never minded. “I’m just grateful he’s on my side,” he’d say. This morning we were lucky. Pantera was enthusiastic but restrained.
“The daffodils are putting on a show,” I said. “Do you want to have breakfast on the deck?”
“Sure. Everything’s ready to go. The porridge and coffee are made, but you might want to stay inside. That hyper kid who’s running Ginny’s campaign called.”
“Milo.”
“Right – the one who mainlines candy bars. Ginny’s going to be on Canada This Morning.”
“Good for her,” I said. “But I opt for daffodils and no newspapers. Let’s just eat our porridge and let the universe unfold without us for a while.”
It wasn’t that simple. While Zack was making calls on his cell, I got a call of my own. It was Keith saying that the interviewer on Canada This Morning had sandbagged Ginny with a question about whether her campaign had fuelled the rumours circulating about Jason’s unsavoury business alliances. There’d been some troubling follow-up questions, and Keith wanted me to watch when the show was broadcast in our time zone. He thought Ginny had handled the situation, but he wanted my opinion about whether she needed to make a statement.
When Zack got off the phone, his expression was grim. “According to Debbie Haczkewicz, Cristal kept a journal from the time she left home. There are dozens of her diaries in a personal storage unit on the north side. The journal I have was the last one, and Debbie’s chomping at the bit to discover how it happened to fall into my hands. She’s sending someone over.”
“No breakfast on the deck?” I said.
“Not today, my love. And there’s another shovel of shit on the pile. I can’t find Blake. His housekeeper, Rose, says he didn’t come home last night, and he’s not answering his cell.”
I poured more milk into the porridge, turned up the heat under it, and began stirring. “So we’ve got Ginny, Blake, and Bree Steig to worry about.”
“I don’t think there’s much you or anybody can do to turn Bree’s life around.”
“I wasn’t thinking about rehabilitation; I was thinking about police protection outside her room at the hospital. Zack, I don’t believe for a minute that the attack on Bree was random.”
“You think I should call Debbie?”
“I do.”
Zack hit the speed-dial. When he rang off, he looked satisfied. “There’ll be a uniformed officer outside Bree’s room in twenty minutes.”
“Good start,” I said. “Now let’s see how Ginny makes out. After breakfast you can start trying Blake again.”
When the porridge was ready, I called Taylor for breakfast and Zack and I headed to the family room. She had just joined us with her bowl and her juice when the interview with Ginny started. “How come we’re eating in here?” she said.
“I want to hear what Ginny has to say.”
Taylor spooned on brown sugar, reached for the pitcher, and flooded her porridge with cream. “Is she going to win?”
“I think so, but there’s many a slip between the cup and the lip.”
“I don’t get it,” Taylor said.
“It means life is full of surprises.”
As the interview segment opened, there was no reason to suspect things would go badly. The establishing shots of Ginny and her daughters attending church on Mother’s Day were a portrait of family devotion, and as the host turned towards Ginny, his mouth curled in a practised smile. He didn’t look dangerous.
“Our guest this morning is the Honourable Ginny Monaghan, minister of Canadian heritage and the status of women. Welcome, Ms. Monaghan.”
“Thank you, Troy, I’m pleased to be here.” In a lemon suit that revealed her powerful athlete’s legs, Ginny looked like a woman who could run the country, but she had looked like a winner before. That promise had evaporated in a miasma of whispers and scabrous jokes and as Troy Selwyn framed his question, Ginny was alert.
“This has to be a good day for you,” he said. “As far as your party’s concerned, the big picture’s still in doubt, but there’s no doubt about your future. The polls show you’re headed for victory in Palliser, and you’re already being talked about as your party’s next leader.”
Ginny’s voice was cool. “Troy, I’m sure you’re aware that kind of talk is premature. Until the ballots are counted, nothing is certain. As for the leadership, we have a leader, and I support him.”
It was a careful response that left the door open. Ginny knew that sound bites have the power to draw blood as well as attention, but this one was toothless. It was also ambiguous. Those steadfast in their allegiance to the prime minister would remember Ginny had reiterated her support for him; those hungering for new leadership would remember that Ginny’s statement of support had not been effusive.
“Still, even you must be surprised at the turn of events in Palliser,” Troy Selwyn said pleasantly. “Two weeks ago, most political observers had written you off. You were sitting in a courtroom fighting for custody of your daughters, and the accusations about your personal life were, to say the least, damaging.”
“My daughters are now safely under my roof,” Ginny said, but her eyes were wary.
“So they are,” Troy said. “But your twins are with you because your ex-husband suddenly withdrew his suit for custody. You’re a powerful political figure, Ms. Monaghan. Were pressures brought to bear upon Mr. Brodnitz? Was he intimidated?”
“He came to his senses. We both did.” The camera, hoping for a flash of fear or anger, zoomed in, but Ginny didn’t crack. Eyes on the camera, voice strong, she explained. “We were finally able to get over our anger and focus on our children. We reached the kind of agreement Canadians reach every day. We decided jointly that the interests of our girls would be best served if Jason withdrew his demand for custody and the twins lived with me.”
“You must be aware of the rumours that have circulated about your husband.”
“Rumours circulate about all political spouses and ex-spouses.”
“Are you aware of the rumour that the stories about your husband’s activities originated in your campaign?”
Ginny looked genuinely surprised. “No. I hadn’t heard that one. The stories about Mr. Brodnitz were out there from the beginning. I didn’t dignify them with a response then and I won’t now.” If she’d stopped there, Ginny would have been home free, but in politics, it’s the human moment that makes the difference – the flash of temper, the eyes welling with tears. Ginny’s discipline held, but her voice was ice. “Whatever else he is, Jason Brodnitz is my children’s father. I owe it to them to protect his reputation.”
“Are you aware that Jason Brodnitz has called a news conference for this afternoon to discuss these rumours?”
“No I wasn’t aware of that.”
“What do you think of it?”
Ginny smiled through tightened lips. “I think it’s ill advised.” The camera lingered on Ginny’s face, but she had nothing more to say, and so Troy Selwyn thanked her and wrapped up the interview.
Zack clicked the remote and the screen went blank. Taylor frowned. “What was that all about?”
Zack turned his chair to face her. “Do kids still play Truth or Dare?”
“Little kids do,” Taylor said.
“Well, I think we just saw the beginning of a pretty high-stakes game of Truth or Dare.” He wheeled towards the door. “Now I’d better get a shower. I’m going to be late for work.”
I called Keith. “What did you think?” he asked.
“Zack says Jason’s started a game of Truth or Dare.”
“That’s what I think too. I’m just not sure why. I know Jason’s reputation has taken a beating, but that wasn’t Ginny’s doing. All this crap about the rumours originating in our campaign.”
“Did they?” I asked.
There was a pause. “Good question,” he said finally. “I’ll find out. Yelling foul before I knew for sure there’d been a foul would be a pretty elementary mistake.”
“You’ve got a few things on your mind,” I said.
“Thanks, but there’s never an excuse for stupidity.”
“How’s Ginny doing?”
“She’s furious. She’s got a bunch of interviews lined up for this morning. They were supposed to be the first steps down the yellow brick road to the leadership, but now she has to deal with Jason’s press conference.”
“Has she talked to him?”
“He’s not taking calls,” Keith said. “As soon as Ginny’s through with her interviews, she’s going to go to Jason’s and see if she can work something out – maybe some kind of joint statement about the heat of the moment and cooperating. Anyway, I’ve changed my plane ticket. I’ll hang around Regina until this is worked out. It shouldn’t take long.”
I’d just got out of the shower and into my jeans and shirt when the police cruiser pulled up outside. Zack greeted the officers at the door with the journal and a smile. “Here you are, and I’ll need a receipt.”
One of the officers was female, and both were very young. The male officer scribbled a receipt and handed it to Zack. “We have a few questions.”
“Shoot.”
“You are Zachary Shreve?”
“I am.”
“And this journal belonged to the deceased Cristal Avilia?”
“It did.”
“How did it come into your possession?”
Zack gave them his shark smile. “Can’t answer that. Lawyer-client privilege.”
“Who’s your client?”
Zack’s smile grew wider. “Come on – you know better than that.”
“Did you read this journal?”
“Yes.”
“Did anyone else?”
Zack smiled and remained silent.
The officers may have been rookies, but they knew enough not to waste time on an immovable object. They gave Zack his receipt, thanked him for his cooperation, nodded in my direction, and left.
A minute later Blake Falconer pulled into our driveway. I opened the door for him. Blake’s shirt was fresh, his tie smartly knotted, and his slacks had a knife-edge press, but he looked haggard and spent.
“What were the police doing here?” he said.
“Taking possession of Cristal’s journal,” Zack said.
Blake winced. “Well, that was the right thing.”
“Where the hell have you been?” Zack said.
“Here and there.”
“You’re going to have to do better than that,” Zack’s tone was scathing.
“Can I at least sit down?” Blake said. Without waiting for an answer, he walked into the living room and sank into the armchair by the fireplace.
“I’ll leave you two to talk,” I said.
“Don’t,” Blake tried a smile. “Zack’s always easier to deal with when you’re around.”
I sat in the other armchair. Zack wheeled close to Blake. “Okay. Where exactly is ‘here and there’?”
“After I read Cristal’s journal, I drove around for a couple of hours.” Blake’s eyes met mine. “Did you read it?”
I nodded.
“Then you know that Cristal lived in hell for the last month of her life.”
I nodded.
“Jason Brodnitz is a fiend,” Blake said. “What he did to her was sick… inhuman.”
Zack’s voice was soft. “No one knows for certain that Jason Brodnitz was Cristal’s boyfriend.”
“I know,” Blake said.
Zack’s head shot up. “Cristal told you Jason Brodnitz was her pimp?”
“Not in so many words, but I knew Brodnitz was managing her finances. A few months ago, Cristal asked me to review her real estate portfolio. I’d handled the original purchases and she wanted to liquidate her assets. I refused. Her holdings were all in the warehouse district and prices were skyrocketing. I advised her to hold on. A few days later she called me back. She thanked me, and said she’d found someone who she trusted to protect her interests.”
“And she told you the person she found was Jason Brodnitz?” I said.
“Yes,” Blake said. “But I didn’t tell her what I should have told her: that Jason was a terrible choice, had a lousy track record, and was living off his wife. I didn’t say anything. I was afraid that if I did, I’d lose her.” Blake turned to Zack. “I know, I know – exactly the same mistake I made with Lily.” His voice broke. “Same result too. I lost them both.”
“Blake, you look exhausted,” I said. “Why don’t you get some rest? You and Zack can talk about all this later.”
“No,” he said. “Because I may have screwed up, and Zack should know. When I read Cristal’s journal and saw how that sick bastard Brodnitz had manipulated her, I went to his house. He wasn’t there. I pounded on the doors and on the windows, but he never came. Then I got in my car and waited for him. Apparently, I fell asleep. When I woke up, there was a car parked in front of his house – I guess it was his. I stood on the lawn and screamed his name for about twenty minutes. Then, suddenly, it was as if I could see myself – this raging beast. I thought about Gracie, growing up without either parent. I went back to my car, drove to the office, showered, changed, and came over here.”
“Did anybody see you?” Zack asked.
“You mean last night?”
Zack nodded.
“I’m sure they did. I was hardly rational. I’m surprised no one called the cops.”
“You were lucky.”
“I know.” He held his hand out to Zack. “Lucky in a lot of ways. Thanks. I’d better check in at home now. Let them know I’m all right.”
Zack looked at him curiously. “Are you sure you are?”
Blake stood. “I’m sure. The worst is over.”
Zack and I went to the door together to watch Blake drive off. “Well, that was a hell of a way to start the day,” Zack said.
“But you heard the man. The worst is over, and you know what I’m going to do?”
“What?”
“I’m going shopping.”
“Retail therapy? That’s not like you.”
“I’m going to food shop. How do you feel about going up to the lake tonight, just the two of us?”
“What about Taylor?”
“She can stay with Mieka. Taylor loves being with Maddy and Lena, and I thought I’d sweeten the pot with Mieka by offering to take the granddaughters up to the lake with us this weekend.”
“Give Mieka a chance to invite Sean over for a candlelight dinner?”
“No. I think that fizzled. I haven’t heard anything about Sean in a while. Mieka seems to have decided that she and the girls are doing fine on their own.”
“Well, that solves a problem for me.”
“What to do about Sean?”
Zack nodded. “Actually, Sean may have solved the problem himself. I’m pretty certain he’s going to work for Ginny. If Mieka’s heart won’t be broken, it’ll be a win-win situation all around. Good for Sean, good for Ginny, and good for Falconer Shreve. Disgruntled associates have a way of poisoning the well. Now, I’d better get going. I’m in court this afternoon, and if I don’t want to step on my joint I should go through the files again. There’s other stuff, but I guess I can take that to the lake with me.”
“No,” I said. “You can’t.”
Zack grinned. “Right you are, ma’am.”
That afternoon, all my needs were met on three blocks of 13th Avenue. My first stop was UpSlideDown. There was a birthday party in progress, and it was time for cake. Eight red chairs had been drawn up to two yellow tables and eight mothers were trying to herd eight little boys into place. There was a Bob the Builder cake, Bob the Builder party hats, and Bob the Builder balloons and noisemakers, which were wholly redundant because the noise level was already ear-shattering.
I smiled at my daughter. “Testosterone central,” I said.
Mieka looked wistful. “You know how much I love my ladies, but I always thought it would be fun to have a boy too.”
“You have time.”
“True, but you need either a man or a turkey baster to get things started, and I’m still using my turkey baster for basting turkeys.”
“Funny girl. What happened with Sean?”
“Nothing. Apparently a lot of women get a crush on their divorce lawyers. You’re feeling vulnerable and all of a sudden you’ve got somebody who’s on your side and taking care of all your problems.”
“And that’s all it was? Just a crush?”
“I wanted more. I guess Sean didn’t. Mum, I really am fine with this.”
“So if Sean were to take a job with Ginny and move to Ottawa, you wouldn’t be heartbroken.”
My daughter picked up a noisemaker and blew. The sound it produced was somewhere between a wheeze and a death rattle. Mieka grimaced. “Unlike this noisemaker, I will survive,” she said. “Now, pushy mama, I’ve got a Bob the Builder cake to dole out. Do you want to give me a hand with the drinks?”
“Sure,” I got the juice boxes from the fridge and put one at each place. Mieka brought the cake with the candles blazing and the mothers sang, “Happy Birthday.”
I put my arm around her. “Have I told you how proud I am of you?”
“About a thousand times,” she said. “But, hey, shut up some more.”
“Listen, I have a favour to ask. Could Taylor stay overnight at your place tonight?”
“That’s no favour. Taylor plays hide and seek with the girls for hours, and she helps with baths.”
“I thought in return, Zack and I could take the girls to the lake for the weekend.”
Mieka’s eyes widened. “Now that’s a favour.” She smiled impishly. “Gives me a chance to try out a new turkey baster.”
After I left Mieka’s I went to Pacific Fish, a shop that, despite its name, had the best pickerel and northern pike south of Lac La Ronge; then to Bernard Callebaut for our favourite dark chocolates; and finally to the Cheese Shop where, Dacia had assured me, I could get the Boursin au Poivre Zack loved. The Cheese Shop had only been open since the beginning of May and this was my first visit.
Dacia was with a customer, so I had a chance to look around. On the counter by the cash register was a simple glass vase of gerbera daisies: white, yellow, and flaming orange. The mingled smells of a world of cheeses were heavenly. Dacia was wearing white overalls and an orange shirt, and her pretty hair was tied back with an orange and white striped kerchief. Her skin was olive and already tanned – she looked very Mediterranean and, as Angus said, very lovely in a round way. When her customer left, she came over. “My spies tell me you’re on the lookout for some Boursin au Poivre,” she said in her lyrical storyteller’s voice.
“Your spies are right,” I said. “It’s Zack’s favourite.”
“And your favourite is Gorgonzola,” she said. “Here, have a taste.”
“Keep paying those spies,” I said. “That is superb.”
“There’s more where that came from,” she said. “We have an Oka that is the best I’ve sampled.”
“Bring it on,” I said. As we tasted and talked, Dacia told me what to look for in various cheeses.
“How did you get so knowledgeable?” I said.
“My grandmother had a cheese shop in Saskatoon. I grew up working there. She decided it was time to expand, so she bought this shop for me when I graduated from university.”
“What’s your degree in?”
“Comparative religion. My grandmother thought I’d need a way to support myself while I found truth.”
“Very sensible.”
“My grandmother’s a very sensible woman. Speaking of family, Peter and I had dinner with my parents last night.”
“How did that go?”
“Peter was a hit. He’s a great listener, which is lucky because both my parents are great talkers. And you’ll be relieved to hear that his name is numerologically sound. My last boyfriend’s name was Walter Johnson, and my parents were always trying to get him to change his name to Volter Ivanovski – more positive vowels. My parents take it very seriously. For me it’s just a party trick – something fun to do when you meet somebody new.”
“So the name Jason Brodnitz would be…”
Dacia did some quick figuring. “He would be a six.”
“So much for that theory,” I said.
“What theory?” Dacia asked.
“Zack’s working on a case in which someone is identified by a number. I had a hunch about the numerology thing, but it didn’t work out.”
I paid for my purchases, invited Dacia to join us at the lake for the July long weekend, and went out to my car. Once again, I’d left my cell on the dash. It was ringing – Zack’s ring tone. I picked up. “God, I’m glad to get you,” he said. “Where’ve you been?”
“Buying you Boursin au Poivre. Zack, is something wrong? You sound a little… tense.”
Zack’s laugh was short. “I’m more than a little tense, Jo. Jason Brodnitz is dead. Ginny called me. She’s at Jason’s house. She went there to talk to him and found him with a knife in his chest.”