The first rock to hit the water was Cristal’s will. When Margot called to fill him in, Zack picked up a pen and paper and scribbled a heading. Thirty seconds later, he laid down his pen and just listened. He heard what he needed to hear, rang off, and turned to me. “So, do you want to know about Cristal’s will?”
“Is it ethical to tell me?”
“Sure. One of the two beneficiaries already knows, and the other one’s decided to make herself scarce. Anyway, it’s just a matter of timing. After the will is probated it’s registered on the Queen’s Bench file and anybody can see it.”
“Any surprises?”
“Enough. The will is dated two days before Cristal died. Blake did all the legal work. Cristal left $25,000 to Francesca Pope.”
“That doesn’t sound as if she was paying Francesca off to stay silent.”
“I agree,” Zack said. “It sounds as if Cristal was genuinely concerned about Francesca’s welfare. Apart from that bequest, everything was left to Mandy. Someone named Rhondelle Bakker is the executor. Does that name mean anything to you?”
“Rhondelle owns the hair salon where Mandy works.”
“Let’s hope Rhondelle has a good grasp of property prices in Regina. Cristal left some significant real estate. Blake appended the pertinent information. Mandy Avilia now owns Cristal’s condo and another two in the same building that Cristal sublet.”
“Those places cost three-quarters of a million dollars.”
“They do indeed.”
“According to Margot, when it came to real estate, Cristal didn’t make many missteps.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “And that raises a very large question.”
“Why was Cristal involved with a man who terrified her when she had all that money?”
“According to Cristal’s journal, 3 said it was a way of proving her love for him.”
“You think this creep got off on terrifying Cristal?”
I bit my lip. “That’s exactly what I think.”
“So this prince among men is a power junkie.”
“Among other things. And Cristal spent the last fourteen years of her life trying to please him, but there was always another hoop for her to jump through.”
“Except at the end, she decided to stop playing. If Blake drafted her will two days before her death, he might know what was going on in her mind. Deciding who gets what in your will is a big step – clients have a way of justifying it to their lawyers.”
“Do you want me to call Blake?”
“Would you? It’s time my partner came home, and it’s best if I can truthfully say I haven’t known Blake’s whereabouts for the last few days.”
I found the number of Blake’s hotel in my address book and tapped it in. He answered on the first ring.
“It’s Joanne,” I said.
“Has something happened?”
“A lot. Zack thinks it’s time you came back to Regina. Are you up for that?”
Blake was silent for a beat, but when he answered, he sounded like the old Blake – open and hopeful. “I think I’m on top of it, but it’s weird, Jo. There are whole stretches of time I don’t remember.”
“For example?”
He laughed softly. “For example, I don’t remember getting to this hotel, and I couldn’t tell you how long I’ve been here. Remember when you were a kid just getting over the flu? That’s what I feel like. It’s hard to figure out what really happened and what was just the fever.”
“But the fever has burned itself out.”
He laughed softly. “Yes,” he said. “I think it finally has. Tell Zack I’ll be on the next plane home. I’ll come to your place straight from the airport.”
“It’ll be good to have you back, Blake.”
“It’ll be good to be back.”
I rang off and turned to my husband. “He’ll be here tonight,” I said.
Zack nodded. “Thanks, Ms. Shreve. I’m sorry to put you in the middle of this. You can have my onions at dinner.”
“You’d never give up your onions.”
“Wrong. I’m indebted to you, and I honour my debts.” He picked up his BlackBerry. “Just let me make one quick call. I want to see what Sean’s investigators have turned up about Jason’s business dealings.”
“What are you looking for?”
“I don’t know. What I’m hoping for is an innocuous explanation for that $50,000 the cops found at Brodnitz’s house.”
“You want Margot to win your tie?”
“Small price to pay for giving back Ginny’s daughters a father they don’t have to be ashamed of.”
Zack wheeled over and took my hand. “We’ve had enough for one day. Let’s get Taylor and eat some liver.”
The Chimney was a family restaurant in the strip mall next to Ginny’s condo, so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to see Ginny standing at the cash register where customers wait for their takeout. She was wearing running shorts and a T-shirt, and her hair was slicked back. She looked pale and weary, but when she saw us, her smile was genuine.
“Friendly faces,” she said. “A welcome sight. I never realized waiting for a pizza could be so gruelling. Everybody who comes in gives me the eye.”
“The Chimney does deliver,” I said.
Ginny sighed. “You know, that possibility never crossed my mind. Our condo’s so close – we always just run in. I guess I’m not thinking very clearly.” She slumped. “The phone never stops ringing. And the media people seem to be taking turns leaning on the buzzer downstairs.”
I squeezed Taylor’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go ahead and see if you can score Zack’s favourite table?”
Taylor turned to Ginny. “He likes to sit near the fireplace even if it’s thirty-eight degrees outside.” Her face grew serious. “I’m sorry about all your trouble,” she said.
“Thanks,” Ginny said. “I appreciate that.”
We watched Taylor move through the dining room. When she claimed the table by the fireplace, she pumped the air in triumph.
“She’s a nice girl,” Ginny said.
“She is,” I said. “How are your girls holding up?”
“Not well,” Ginny said. “Chloe’s started cutting again. When I saw the blood on her stomach this afternoon, I wanted to scream. The whammies just keep on coming. I’ve got all these basketball clichés wired into my brain – usually, they do the trick, but ‘don’t give an inch until the final buzzer sounds’ seems to have lost its power. I’m used to the hits, but the girls aren’t. Two weeks ago they were the Incredible Brodnitz Twins. Now they’re just freaks. They’ve heard the same locker room talks I’ve heard: ‘How you respond to the challenges of the second half will determine what you become after the game – whether you’re a winner or a loser.’ But Em and Chloe aren’t getting a chance to regroup. Everything reminds them of what’s happened.”
Her voice was ragged. Zack wheeled closer. “Debbie Haczkewicz hasn’t got back to me yet about letting you go to the lake. Let me try her again.” He pulled out his BlackBerry and hit speed-dial.
It was clear at the outset that Debbie was turning down Zack’s request, but then he pulled out all the stops. When he mentioned that Chloe was reacting to the pressure by cutting herself, Debbie relented. She was, after all, a parent as well as a cop. Zack ended the call and gave Ginny the thumbs-up sign. “You can take off for the lake whenever you want.”
Ginny exhaled. “That is such a relief. The girls and I need to get some sleep so we can figure out where we go from here.” She turned to me. “I really can’t thank you enough.”
“We’re glad we’re able to help.” I took out a business card, wrote out the combination to the gate on the back, and gave Ginny my key to the guest cottage. “See you tomorrow night,” I said.
As we went into the dining room, I touched Zack’s shoulder. “You didn’t tell Ginny about the money the police found in Jason’s house.”
“That’s right,” he said. “I didn’t.” With that, we joined Taylor, ordered our liver and a bottle of Shiraz, and sat back as our daughter filled us in on her plans for the Farewell, the challenges of working on unstretched canvas, and a boy she’d met at the 13th Avenue Coffee House who had the most amazing hair.
Ready or not, life was moving on.
Blake’s taxi pulled up just as I came back from giving the dogs a run. I waited until he’d paid the driver. When Blake came up and took Pantera’s leash, I waited for the big mastiff to freeze. He was a rescue dog with a troubled history, and his reactions to strangers were unpredictable. But he just collapsed in a heap at Blake’s feet and gazed up, waiting for the next instruction.
“I’m impressed,” I said. “Pantera’s loyalties are pretty well reserved for Zack.”
Blake rubbed Pantera’s ear. “He and I know each other from the office.” He jerked Pantera’s leash. “Okay, big guy, time to talk to your master.”
Zack was in his office. When he saw Blake, he held out his arms. “Welcome home,” he said.
As they talked, I was struck again by the closeness between the two men. After a lifetime of friendship, they had a kind of shorthand that allowed them to get to the point economically and effectively.
Zack began. “So how come you didn’t tell Margot that you drew up Cristal Avilia’s will? She found out Falconer Shreve had the will when one of our summer students responded to her notice on the Law Society website.”
Blake had taken the chair facing Zack. He looked down at his hands. “I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
Zack sighed. “Fair enough. Had there been a will before this one?”
“Yes. I never saw it. Cristal said she had a will, but she wanted to make some major changes, so she thought it was best just to start over.”
“Did she elaborate?”
Blake nodded. “She said she and her boyfriend had split up and she didn’t want him listed as a beneficiary. I was relieved to hear she’d left him.”
“So she’d talked to you about him?”
“Only once. It was last month. She called me.” Blake smiled sadly. “The one and only time the woman I loved called me for a date. She was distraught. They’d had a fight and it turned ugly.”
“Was he abusive?” I asked.
Blake shook his head. “Not physically, but I had a feeling that was only because he’d found more effective means of keeping Cristal in line. And, of course, he didn’t want to leave marks that would get clients asking questions. In the last few days, I’ve been able to see things more clearly. You know, I really think the only kindness that animal ever showed her was to kill her.”
Zack’s voice was steely. “Don’t share that insight with the cops, eh?”
“I won’t.” He stood. “I’d better get home – spend a little time with Gracie.”
“Where did you tell her you’d been?” I said.
“Business trip,” Blake said. “Gracie’s used to that, and as long as Rose is there, helping her with her homework and making bannock, Gracie’s fine.” He smiled. “And so am I. From the day we brought Gracie home from the hospital, Rose has been there – the one consistent presence in our lives.”
“Joanne and I are going to the lake this weekend,” Zack said. “But you and I can talk more tomorrow before we leave. One thing you should know: I’m representing Ginny Monaghan.”
“So if I’ve left any bloody footprints, I shouldn’t count on you to explain them.”
Zack met his gaze. “That’s right.”
It had been a full day, and we decided to make an early night of it. Zack was already in bed reading when the doorbell rang.
There was no one there, but when I stepped out to investigate, I saw that Francesca Pope’s backpack with its cargo of Care Bears had been dropped inside the big planter on our porch. As soon as I picked up the backpack, Francesca came out of the shadows, her face streaked with tears. The night was warm, but Francesca, as always, was bundled in layers of clothing, protecting her against the demons outside and the demons within. When I called to her, she began to run. Her bicycle was lying on the front lawn. She righted it, jumped on, and rode off. I watched until she disappeared from sight, then I took the backpack inside. The bears smelled of mould and mildew, and the backpack itself was wet and muddy. I’d soaked the soil in the planter that afternoon to ready it for the Martha Washingtons. Inside the door, we kept a wicker laundry hamper with towels for the dogs. I dropped the backpack inside and carried the basket to Zack.
He removed his glasses when he saw me. “What’s going on?”
I came to the side of the bed and showed him the laundry basket. “Francesca left this on our doorstep,” I said. “Actually, she dropped the backpack in the planter; the laundry basket is ours.”
“Moses in the bulrushes.”
“In the mud,” I said. “I was planning to transplant the Martha Washingtons there tomorrow.”
Zack took the basket, looked down at the bears, and shook his head. “Leaving those here must have been agony for Francesca.”
“It was,” I said. “She was crying. I tried to talk to her, but she got on her bike and rode off.”
“So, we don’t know why she left the bears with us.” Zack frowned, reached into the outer flap of the backpack, removed a paper, and read the two words that were printed on it. “ ‘At risk,’ ” he said. He peered over his glasses at me. “That’s the phrase they use in family court to identify children who aren’t safe in their home situation.”
“Francesca feels threatened,” I said.
“If she’s abandoned her bears, she must be at the breaking point. If it were anybody else, I’d call the cops and get them to check into it, but Francesca’s terrified of the police.”
“So we do nothing,” I said.
“Well, there’s nothing we can do tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll swing by some of Francesca’s haunts and see if I can find out what’s going on.”
I picked up the laundry hamper and carried the bears into the mudroom. The smell of mildew was heavy, and I opened the window to let in some fresh air. It was a moonless night, and as I flicked off the light, the room was plunged into darkness. I started up the hall, then, driven by an impulse that I’d given into many times in my years as a parent, I retraced my steps and opened the door a crack to let the light in.
I had planned to spend the next morning shopping and packing for the lake, but life intervened. Jill Oziowy called from Toronto to see how I was coming with the Ginny Monaghan project. When she said there were rumours that Ginny and her daughters had gone underground, I didn’t enlighten her, but I was more forthcoming when Keith Harris called. He was brisk, but his concern was palpable. “Jo, I’ve been trying Ginny’s cell all morning – no answer. Do you have any idea where she is?”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Somebody should have let you know. Ginny and the twins are at our cottage. She and the girls were running on empty, so Zack suggested they take off for the weekend.”
“Smart move. Normally, Ginny has amazing equanimity. She says it’s just a question of reading the situation and responding, but this has her reeling.”
“With cause,” I said. “She’s taken a lot of hits lately.”
“And the knockout punch is on its way,” Keith said.
“Have you heard something?”
Keith didn’t answer. Finally he said, “Look, is there any possibility you could get away for lunch? I could use an hour staring at a human being who isn’t about to burst into flames.”
I laughed. “Why don’t you come over here? I have a bottle of Glenfiddich. It’s a proven flame-retardant, and by the time you arrive, the sun will be over the yard arm somewhere.”
“Consider me an emergency case,” Keith said. “Your address please.”
Twenty minutes later, Keith was at the front door. He was freshly shaved, but he had an unhealthy pallor, and as he removed his jacket, he sighed as if even that small effort tired him.
“Why don’t you come into the kitchen with me while I get the Glenfiddich,” I said.
“I’ll gladly sit in your kitchen,” he said, “but I’ll just have a glass of soda. Single malt is on my forbidden list.”
“An old friend of Zack’s used to say that at the end we all lose everything. It’s up to us to decide the order in which we lose things.”
The spark came back into Keith’s eyes. “In that case, I’ll have three fingers of Glenfiddich – might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.”
“I didn’t mean to be the bad angel,” I said.
“You weren’t,” Keith said. “I just realized that one of the last things I want to lose is the chance to have a drink with you.”
Keith sat on the loveseat that looked out on the bird feeder as I poured the drinks. “I’ve always been partial to kitchens,” he said. “Mine’s all chrome – it’s about as welcoming as a surgical unit – doesn’t matter since I don’t spend any time there. The couch is a nice touch.”
“It was Maddy and Lena’s idea. When I’m cooking, they like to curl up there and give me a blow-by-blow account of what’s happening in the world of birds and bugs.”
I handed Keith his glass and sat down beside him. A soggy robin flew towards the crabapple tree where it was building its nest. “So how’s the campaign going?”
“Federally, we’ll probably squeak through with a minority. But Ginny’s going to lose Palliser.”
“Are you sure?”
Keith swirled the Scotch in his glass. “Not a doubt. You can overcome a lot in a campaign, but not the suspicion that your candidate is a murderer. The people campaigning for Ginny are getting doors slammed in their faces – and they’re the lucky ones. The unlucky ones get to listen to a litany of Ginny’s sins.”
“I’m sorry, Keith. I know you thought Ginny was the one who could bring your party back to its roots.”
“She was. She still is. She’s smart, she’s progressive, and she’s pragmatic. She’s got that roaming ambition politicians have to have, and she’s cool. She has a way of suggesting to voters that they need her more than she needs them – just the right mix for an electorate that’s long on irony and short on information.” Keith sipped his Scotch. “The perfect candidate, but it’s not going to happen.” He sighed. “God, it’s good to talk. Everyone around Ginny’s campaign is so despondent, I find myself in the role of cheerleader.”
I smiled. “Not a good fit for a man with your disposition. Where’s Crispy Crunch boy in all this?”
“Trying to put the genie back in the bottle. Milo is a true believer, and as you know in politics, true believers always get their hearts broken. Looking on the bright side, Milo’s lucky it happened sooner in his career than later.”
“Do you regret what you’ve done with your life?”
Keith sipped his drink. “Too late now for regrets, and I’ve had a lot of fun, especially in the last couple of weeks.”
“Fun for me too,” I said.
“Think you might get back into politics?”
I took his glass to the sink. “No, I like my life the way it is. I’ve had enough glimpses of the dark side of politics to remind me of why I left.” I filled two bowls with gazpacho, pulled a baguette out of the oven, and fetched a plate of cheeses from the counter.
Keith’s eyes widened. “I just called twenty minutes ago. How did you manage to conjure this up?”
“I rerouted some of the gazpacho that’s headed for the lake. River Heights bakery is two minutes away by car, and Peter’s new girlfriend, Dacia, works in a cheese shop.”
Keith smeared some Gorgonzola on a heel of baguette and bit in. “You know, I’d forgotten eating can be a pleasure.”
“Life’s full of pleasures,” I said. “Every so often you just have to turn a blind eye to the rest of reality.”
“Not so easy these days. Jo, I hate to louse up a great lunch, but what’s Zack doing to get Ginny out from under all this?”
“He’s ruled out trying to prove that Ginny couldn’t have killed Jason. She had motive and opportunity, and she was the one who called 911. So he’s focusing on exploring other possibilities.”
“Any star candidates?”
“Sean Barton’s looking into Jason Brodnitz’s business dealings. It looks like Jason was involved with Cristal Avilia.”
There was a pause. “Then I owe Sean an apology,” Keith said. “I tore a strip off him for fuelling that particular rumour during the campaign. But if it wasn’t a rumour…”
“It’s not that simple,” I said. “The rumour was that Jason was involved with the business of prostitution. So far, it looks as if he was just acting as a kind of broker for Cristal’s real estate dealings.”
Keith’s laugh was short and humourless. “Of course, our boy Sean was smart enough not to lie. All he ever said was that Jason Brodnitz had financial dealings with prostitutes. He didn’t correct the media when they inferred that Jason was a pimp.”
“You don’t like Sean, do you?”
“You don’t think I’m being fair?”
“Putting a potentially damaging statement out there and leaving it open for interpretation is an old political trick,” I said. “You’ve done it in the heat of a campaign. So have I.”
Keith sighed. “I’ll give Sean a call. Incidentally, what’s his status with Falconer Shreve these days? Things were a little iffy there for a while, weren’t they?”
“More than iffy. Sean was disappointed when he wasn’t named partner. Zack thought he’d leave, especially when the firm brought in another trial lawyer. But apparently Sean’s decided to stick around, and so far it’s smooth sailing.”
“Just to satisfy my curiosity, why wasn’t Sean named a partner?”
“Zack thought he cared more for the game than for the people in the game.”
“That was exactly my take on the way Sean approaches politics.”
“Maybe he just has to grow up.”
“Still the same old Jo. Everybody’s perfectible.”
“Still the same old Keith,” I said. “There are three decent people in the world: thee, me, and some other guy whose name I can’t remember.”
Keith laughed. “I’m just jealous because Sean is young and smart and studly and I’m none of the above.”
“You’re two of the above,” I said. “Now stop feeling sorry for yourself and eat your gazpacho.”
For the next hour we reminisced about the old days. It was pleasant talk and Keith seemed reluctant to leave. “I’d better be getting back to what we still refer to as headquarters, although with no candidate and no campaign, I’m not exactly certain what we’re all doing there.” He took out a cigarette, looked at it longingly, and placed it beside his plate. “Jo, when do you think I should tell Ginny that it’s over.”
“I imagine she already knows,” I said. “Give her the weekend. We’re all going to the lake. Why don’t you come up on Sunday? You can visit with Maddy and Lena, and then when the moment’s right, you can talk to Ginny.”
He shrugged. “Who knows? There may be good news by then.”
I laughed. “Political people are the last adults on earth who believe in miracles. Let me get you one of our maps.” When I came back from Zack’s office with the sheet of directions to our cottage, Keith had moved from the kitchen table and was standing at the back door looking out at the garden. His cigarette, still unlit, was between his fingers.
“How long has it been since you had one of those?” I said.
He looked at his watch. “An hour and a half.”
“Do you want it?”
He sighed. “There are a lot of things I want,” he said. “This is just the only one that I have any chance of getting.”
“In that case, why don’t we go outside and have a cigarette together.”
Keith grinned. “You too?”
“It’s been more than twenty years, and I’ll probably throw up, but it’s the least I can do for a friend.”