My husband’s birthday is May 1, the day when Mother Nature officially declares the garden of earthly delights open for the season. It’s a good fit for a man with a lusty heart and the greatest passion for life of anyone I’ve ever known. When we began to plan the barbecue we were hosting to celebrate Zack’s fiftieth, I reminded him that the rule for the number of guests at children’s parties was the child’s age plus two. Undeterred, Zack kept adding names, and we mailed out seventy-five invitations. It promised to be a lively crowd: our family, Zack’s law partners and associates, friends of mine from the university and politics, people we simply wanted to get to know better. On the afternoon of the party, Zack came home early and together we made a last pass through the house, making sure everything was where it should be. As we checked out the rented crystal in the kitchen, Zack was impatient. “Come on,” he said. “If there aren’t enough glasses, people can drink out of the bottles. There’s something I want to show you outside.”
“I’m all yours,” I said.
He grinned. “And I’m all yours. Now come with me.” He steered his wheelchair across the deck onto the ramp that led to the side of the house. Before we turned the corner, he reached up and took my hand. “Prepare to be dazzled,” he said. And I was dazzled. Sometime during the day, our forsythia had burst into full golden bloom. It was the first splash of colour from the summer palette, and for a moment we stood, hand in hand, simply letting the brilliance wash over us.
“My God, that’s a beautiful sight,” Zack said. “I love that bush. I love this house. I love our life, and I love you – not in that order, of course.”
“Of course not.” I leaned down and kissed him. “It’s good to have you back,” I said. “Since Ned died, you’ve been pretty unreachable.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. There was something I had to take care of, and I was trying to keep you out of it.”
“Zack, I don’t want to be kept out.”
He met my eyes, and I could see the pain of the last two weeks etched on his face. “Who was it who said that it’s the loose ends of our lives that hang us?”
“Do you want to talk about what’s been going on?”
“Nope, because the problem’s gone. I’ve taken care of it – at least I hope I have.” He took out his pocket knife, cut a twig of blossoms from the bush, and handed it to me. “For you,” he said. “The dark days are over. Let’s get back to having the time of our lives.”
I stuck the forsythia in the buttonhole of his jacket. “I’ll drink to that,” I said. “In fact, why don’t you mix up a couple of Ned’s Bombay Sapphire specials and we’ll christen those snazzy new martini glasses I gave you.”
Zack made the drinks, and we took them to the deck and waited for our guests to arrive. It was a five-star afternoon – filled with birdsong and blooming. Signs of new life were everywhere. The trees along the creek banks fuzzed green, the Japanese lilacs against our fence were in tight bud, and the first bright shoots were pushing through the perennial beds. As I sipped my martini and turned my face to the sun, I could feel myself unknot. When our guests began arriving, it seemed that they, too, were shrugging off the heaviness of winter. Free at last of the burden of boots and jackets, our granddaughters raced around the fishpond, thrilled by the possibility that a careless step could send them into the shining waters where they could splash with the koi until responsible hands plucked them out. The adults were equally light-hearted. Shoes were kicked off and sweaters abandoned. The bar was well stocked, the appetizers were piquant, and the arrival of a surprise political guest set the freshets of rumour and innuendo rolling.
Our country was in the midst of a federal election that was too close to call, and one of the tightest, dirtiest battles was being waged in our riding. The incumbent, Ginny Monaghan, had stopped by to wish Zack many happy returns, and no matter their political stripe, our guests were riveted by her presence.
Six months earlier, I had interviewed Ginny for a television project I was working on about women in politics. We met at her Regina constituency office at the end of what must have been an exhausting day for her. She’d flown from Ottawa that morning and been in meetings all day, but as she swept the remains of someone else’s fast-food chicken dinner into a wastebasket, put her feet up on the newly cleared desk, and discussed her future, Ginny exhibited the same energy and unshakeable confidence she’d shown twenty years earlier when she’d been the ponytailed captain of the Canadian women’s basketball team. The night of the interview, it seemed that nothing could alter the smooth trajectory of her plan to become Canada’s next prime minister.
From the moment Ginny’s team medalled at the Olympics, she hadn’t taken a false step. She had hired a sports agent, who negotiated the endorsement deals that turned her bronze medal into gold. Then, without breaking a sweat, she finished her degree in marketing; signed on as the public face of an investment conglomerate; married Jason Brodnitz, the handsome and ambitious vice-president of a rival conglomerate; produced engaging twin daughters; and ran successfully for the Conservatives, the party currently in power. Grudgingly accepting the fact that he had a rising star in his caucus, the prime minister appointed Ginny minister of Canadian heritage and the status of women, and she was on her way. It had been a flawless performance, but then Ginny and Jason’s marriage had imploded, and the personal became political.
For months, Ginny’s supporters had been gleeful at the prospect of an election that would allow her to display her intelligence, showcase her appealing family, and position herself for the leadership race ahead. But when the writ was dropped, Ginny was not shaking hands and burnishing her profile, she was closeted with her lawyer preparing for a court battle for custody of her fourteen-year-old twins. Any confirmation in court of her rumoured sexual rapacity and her seeming indifference to her children might cost her not just custody of her daughters but her political future. Sean Barton, a young associate at Zack’s law firm, was representing Ginny. He was good, but his case was not. Ginny had been careless. Like many people on whom the sun has steadily shone, she believed she was invincible. Jason Brodnitz had been smarter. He was a player, but he was a player who appeared to know how to cover his tracks. He also knew how to hire a private investigator. Ginny was in big trouble.
As she picked up a drink and began to circulate, there were whispers; there was also the subtle shifting away that pack animals exhibit when a member is wounded. I was relieved when Sean Barton joined Ginny and the two found privacy in the shelter of the lilacs.
My daughter Mieka and I were bringing out appetizers, and she nudged me as Sean and Ginny leaned towards each other and began what appeared to be an earnest conversation.
“I’d give a shiny new penny to know what those two are talking about,” Mieka said.
“I’ll take your penny,” I said. “Ginny’s preparing to do a meet and greet, and Sean’s filling her in on who’s worth approaching.”
As Ginny strode across the lawn towards Zack and my younger son, Mieka chortled. “Bad start. Zack’s worth the attention, but unless the Honourable Ms. Monaghan wants to hear how law school has opened new neural pathways for Angus, she’s going to be bored spitless. Plus, Angus doesn’t even vote in this riding.”
“But he is part of this family,” I said. “Ginny’s presence here is strategic. Falconer Shreve Wainberg and Hynd is showing our little corner of the world that the firm is behind Ginny Monaghan all the way.”
After the obligatory few minutes with Zack and Angus, Ginny moved towards my elder son, Peter, who’d taken charge of the barbecue. Peter would rather have been pecked to death by a duck than make small talk with strangers, but he beamed as Ginny chatted and peered with interest at the boneless prime rib roast turning on the spit. Clearly, she hadn’t lost her touch.
She hadn’t lost her sense of timing either. Peter was only the stepson of a senior partner in the law firm representing her, so she didn’t tarry. She did, however, take her leave with the charming reluctance I’d seen in other skilled politicians who knew how to make voters feel they would have stayed forever had pressing commitments not called them elsewhere. As it turned out, Mieka and I were Ginny’s pressing commitment, and as she made her way across the lawn towards us, Mieka braced herself theatrically. “Batten down the hatches,” she whispered. “It’s our turn to be seduced by power.”
Ginny was not a beauty, but at a shade over six feet with a body blessed by good genes and constant training, her powerful physicality had made her equally appealing to both genders. When I held out my hand to her, she took it with the firm, dry grasp of a politician at the top of her game.
“It’s good to see you again.” I said. “I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Joanne Kilbourn. I interviewed you for a TV project I was working on.”
“Of course,” she said. “Political Women and the Media. We talked about whether the landscape had shifted and the media had begun treating female politicians the same way they treat men.”
“And the answer is…?” I asked.
There was an edge to her laugh. “Only in our dreams,” she said. “But given my widely rumoured political demise, it might be time to revisit your topic.”
“You’re prepared to do another interview?”
“Why not?” she said. “I may be finished, but my old coach always told us you can learn as much from a loss as you can from a win. Now, let’s talk about something that matters.” She turned to Mieka. “Sean tells me that basil dip you’re holding is amazing.”
Mieka held out the tray. “Decide for yourself.”
Ginny spooned the appetizer onto a cracker and took a bite. “God, that is good,” she said. She popped the rest of the cracker into her mouth and fixed herself another. “Do me a favour, Mieka. Keep the dip close.”
“I have a few dozen other things I should be attending to,” Mieka said, offering the tray. “What happens to the dip from now on is between you and it.”
“In that case,” Ginny said, “I’m going to pour myself another drink and sneak into the bushes with this. I’m tired of introducing myself to people who’ve just finished telling a joke where I’m the punchline.”
I slipped my arm through hers. “Stick with me,” I said. “I’ve never been able to remember the punchline to a single joke.”
That afternoon, people I’d known for years surprised me with their reaction to Ginny. A month earlier, they would have been falling over themselves for the chance to chat up the woman who might become the next prime minister; now they were coolly courteous, making only the briefest eye contact and moving on after a perfunctory greeting. Ginny was stoic, but I empathized. My late husband had been a politician, and I knew how it felt to realize you were going to lose an election.
When Ed Mariani came across the lawn towards us, my spirits rose. Ed was the head of the school of journalism, but despite a lifetime of teaching students how to deal with people determined to reveal the best and conceal the worst, he was optimistic about his fellow beings. There was something else. By a coincidence that proved, once again, that the gods are puckish, Ed and Ginny were wearing silk garments in the same shade of buttercup. Ginny’s dress was designed to reveal an athlete’s toned limbs, and Ed’s shirt had been custom-made to hide his considerable girth. As I introduced them, Ed beamed.
“Clearly, we’re cut from the same bolt of cloth, Ms. Monaghan. I’m Ed Mariani, and I’ve wanted to talk to you for ages. Is your dance card filled?”
Ginny’s voice was husky and mocking. “It’s your lucky night, Mr. Mariani. Not a soul at this party wants to dance with me.”
“In that case, let’s find ourselves a table for two and get acquainted,” Ed said, and when he offered his arm, she took it. Ginny Monaghan had never been a woman who needed rescuing, but as I watched her being led to safety by her portly knight, I was relieved that chivalry was not dead.
When we sat down to dinner, I invited Ginny and Ed to sit with Sean and our family and one of Zack’s partners, Kevin Hynd. Like all the partners in Falconer Shreve, Kevin and Zack had been friends since their first year of law school, but five years earlier, obeying an instinct that told him the law was not enough, Kevin had walked away. His trek had taken him through Bhutan, India, Nepal, Tibet, Mongolia, China, Vietnam, and Thailand. I hadn’t known Kevin before his journeys, but Zack said he had returned a changed man: purged of ambition, focused on using the law to attain a greater good. Angus, who at twenty-two believed the law was the greater good, thought Kevin was a flake. So, I’m certain, did Sean, who made no secret of his ambition. Mieka, however, who was twelve years older than her brother, knew about quests. Hers had led her to leave her marriage to search for answers at the very point when Zack and I, after years alone, decided the answers we sought could best be found together. Add Ginny Monaghan, who had been so confident of her ability to climb to the top that she hadn’t checked her footing, and Ed Mariani, who had found true contentment with his partner, Barry, for a quarter-century, and the conversational possibilities were wide-ranging. Given that we were celebrating a birthday, it wasn’t surprising that we soon settled on the topic that mattered to us all: happiness.
It was good talk: spirited and inclusive, but by the time the last scrap of prime rib was eaten, a topic even more pressing than happiness presented itself. The temperature had begun to drop; the stillness that comes before a storm settled over us, and the family dogs skulked towards the basement – a sure sign that falling weather was on its way. Mieka had handled more than a few outdoor parties, and as we headed in to get the dessert, she eyed the low dark clouds rolling in. “Time to move inside?” she asked.
I glanced back at our table. Another of Zack’s partners, Blake Falconer, had joined the group. Angus was telling a story. When he steered clear of the legal information sluicing down the new neural pathways from his brain, my younger son was a funny guy, and everyone, including Blake, who had seemed preoccupied all evening, was enjoying him. After Angus finished his story, Zack clapped him on the shoulder and gave one of his deep, full-body laughs.
“Let’s take a chance and stay outside,” I said. “Zack’s having a great time.”
“I thought he always had a great time,” Mieka said.
“The last couple of weeks have been difficult.”
“Because Sean’s case hasn’t been going well,” Mieka said, and her face was troubled.
“It has nothing to do with Sean,” I said. “Zack’s been a lawyer for twenty-five years. He knows that no one wins every case.”
“Then what is it?”
“Zack’s having a hard time dealing with Ned Osler’s death.”
“That’s the old lawyer who shot himself,” Mieka said. “Sean told me about it.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Second mention of Sean in ten seconds,” I said.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Mieka said. “He came over to the house with some papers for me to sign about the divorce, and we talked a little. Actually, we talked about Zack. Sean was worried about him too. I guess suicides are always hard.”
“Ned Osler’s death was particularly sad,” I said. “His wife died last year. Apparently theirs was a great romance, and Ned didn’t want to face his last years without her.”
“So he chose his own time,” Mieka said thoughtfully. “Sean said he didn’t have a family.”
I gave my daughter an appraising glance. “Third mention of Sean – not that I’m counting.” In the distance, thunder rumbled. “Time to get the cake,” I said.
Mieka frowned. “Are you sure about this?”
“No, but everybody’s having fun. I don’t want to spoil the mood. Let’s take a chance.”
“Hey, you take a chance the day you’re born. Why stop now?” Sean Barton’s voice was decisive. “I have now officially contributed my two cents’ worth. I’m here on a champagne run – a mission of mercy for the dry and needy.”
As soon as she heard his voice, the colour spread from Mieka’s neck to her cheeks. I understood. Sean was an extraordinarily good-looking man – tall, blond, fine-featured. Only his crooked grin saved him from male model perfection.
“Plenty of champagne in the fridge,” I said. “Birthdays come but once a year.”
Sean nodded. “Right,” he said. “Joanne, I haven’t had a chance to thank you for making Ginny welcome. There’s been so much hostility towards her lately, I thought she could use some friendly vibes.”
“My pleasure,” I said. “Ginny’s good company. I just wish some of our other guests had been more open to her. She has a tough battle ahead.”
“Then she’s lucky she chose a good lawyer,” Mieka said.
Sean lowered his gaze. “Maybe I should get you to write a letter of reference.”
“Anytime,” Mieka said. She picked up the tray with the dessert plates, cutlery, and napkins. “Grab the cake, Mum. The window of opportunity is about to slam shut.”
As we started down the lawn, I gave the sky one last anxious glance. It was lowering. No doubt about it, we were in for a gully-washer, but as I placed the cake in front of Zack and our guests gathered to sing “Happy Birthday,” I was glad we’d taken the chance. The warmth towards Zack was palpable and there was no rain. Our luck was holding. I leaned over and lit the candles.
When they blazed, a smile of pure delight spread across Zack’s face. He took my hand. “Want to know what I wished for?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “Because if you tell before you blow out the candles, your wish won’t come true.”
“Then I’d better get to work,” Zack said. He bent towards the blazing cake and blew. The candles guttered a little in the wind but remained stubbornly alight. Our twelve-year-old daughter, Taylor, and her two best friends, Isobel and Gracie, had crowded in beside Zack for the big moment. Bright as tulips in their spring dresses, the girls pressed their hands to their mouths, stifling laughter as Zack tried again to blow out his candles. Successful trial lawyers have a sixth sense about hidden motives, and as Gracie Falconer, her face as innocent as a pan of milk, urged Zack to give the candles another try, he smelled a rat. He leaned back in his chair and eyed the girls. “I’m exhausted,” he said. “Why don’t you young women take over?”
The girls exchanged furtive glances. “They’re trick candles,” Taylor said finally. “The only way to put them out is to drop them in water.”
“I grew up with brothers,” Mieka said. “I’ve dealt with these candles before.” She reached for the cake and began plucking out candles and extinguishing them. “Zack, if you’re interested in revenge, give me a call,” she said. “I know some really cool tricks with whipped cream.”
“Make a list,” Zack said. “If I remember correctly, Isobel has a birthday coming up.”
“My pleasure,” Mieka said. “But let’s deal with this cake first. You slice the first piece, and I’ll do the rest.” She glanced at the guests who, champagne glasses in hand, had gathered round for the celebratory moment. “Would it be okay if I propose the toast?”
Zack was clearly surprised. “Is it going to be like the trick candles?”
Mieka had made no secret of her opposition to our marriage the year before, but Zack had obeyed his first rule of dealing with opposition: stay in your opponent’s face. You’ll either win them over or they’ll walk away. Mieka hadn’t walked away.
“No trick candles,” Mieka said. “Also no whoopee cushions or dribble glasses, but don’t expect eloquence. Public speaking is number one on my personal fear factor list.” She tapped her glass and called for attention. As all eyes focused on her, she fiddled with the neck of her sweater, but when she raised her glass, her voice was clear. “To Zack – everyone here is glad that you’re part of their life.”
There was a murmur: “To Zack.” At that moment, a thunderclap split the evening quiet, and the skies opened. Laughing, gulping champagne as they ran, our guests sprinted towards the house. Mieka picked up the cake, and Zack began wheeling his chair up the ramp that led to the deck and the safety of the kitchen.
I ran over to him. “Are you doing okay?” I asked.
“Couldn’t be better,” he said, navigating the turn on the ramp. “I’m interpreting that thunderclap as a cosmic sign of approval,” he said.
I shook my head. “You are one confident guy.”
The party continued. The kids cajoled our bouvier and our mastiff into slinking back upstairs, and when Zack pushed the piano bench out of the way and moved his wheelchair into place, Willie and Pantera lumbered over and collapsed on the floor beside him. In the year and a half Zack and I had been married, the dogs had developed an insatiable appetite for show tunes. Zack has never had a piano lesson, but he has a good ear, and as he played, Taylor and her friends danced with the little kids and then, thrillingly, with some boys their own age who, according to the girls, had just happened by. In the hall, Angus and his girlfriend, Leah, alternated between slow dancing and smooching. Ginny and Ed were more public. It turned out that they were both passionate tango dancers, and as they glided by in their matching buttercup silk, Ed dipped towards me. “How do we look?”
“Like the finalists in a ballroom dance contest,” I said. Clearly the celebration was moving in a good direction.
Mieka and I had just started taking the coffee around when Sean stepped in and took my tray. “Mieka and I can handle this, Joanne,” he said. “Why don’t you kick back and spend some time with the birthday boy?”
“Good plan,” I said. “Thanks.” I went over to the table where the bar had been set out, poured two small cognacs, went over to Zack, placed his snifter on the piano, and whispered, “I’m plying you with liquor.”
He gave me a sidelong glance. “I don’t need to be plied. When it comes to you, I’m ever ready.” He let his fingers drop from the piano keys to caress my leg.
“Better hold off on that,” I said under my breath. “We have a houseful of guests.”
“Send them home,” Zack said. “Tell them your husband can’t keep his hands off you.”
I brushed an imaginary crumb from his shirt and let my fingers linger. “That works both ways, you know.”
“Whoa. Everybody out of the pool.” Zack thumped a chord that brought the loin-throbbing rhythms of Jalousie to a halt, picked up his brandy snifter, and swivelled his chair to face me. “I’m at your service.”
At that moment, his cellphone rang. “I thought you turned that off,” I said.
Zack shrugged. “I forgot. Want me to let it ring?”
“No,” I said. “Probably just somebody wanting to wish you a happy birthday.”
Zack flipped open his cell and answered. One look at his face and I knew the call was serious. He listened without comment. Finally he said. “I’ll be there in ten minutes. And, Debbie, thanks for the heads-up.”
“Problems?” I said.
“There’s a situation,” Zack said evenly. “And it’s something you and I should talk about.”
“Can it wait?”
“No,” Zack said. “It can’t. Let’s go to our room.”
I’d left the sliding doors to the deck outside our bedroom open to catch the fresh breeze, but now the storm was lashing and the hardwood in front of the doors was wet. I picked up a towel from my bathroom and skated it across the hardwood until the floor was dry. Zack watched as I pitched the towel in the hamper. “You are admirably unflappable.”
“Comes in handy since I met you.” I sat on the bed. “So what’s up?”
“That was the cop shop. Inspector Debbie Haczkewicz says they need me to come down.”
I groaned. “Come on, Zack, a client – tonight?”
“There’s no client,” Zack said. “I’m the one they want to talk to.”
“About what?”
“It’s complicated,” Zack said. “But it starts with the reason Ned Osler committed suicide.”
“He didn’t want to live after his wife died,” I said. “I thought that was common knowledge.”
“He was also being blackmailed by a prostitute,” Zack said. “She’d filmed their sexual encounters and she was going to put them on the Internet unless Ned paid her off. That isn’t common knowledge and I hope to God it doesn’t get to be.”
A finger of lightning arced from sky to earth, throwing the trees along the creek into sharp relief. “I can’t believe this,” I said. “Ned was such a gentleman. When the three of us had dinner at his apartment, it was like stepping back in time. He was so gracious, helping me off with my coat, holding my chair before I sat down at the table. And the next day, there was always a hand-delivered note thanking me for the pleasure of my company and mentioning some detail of the evening that had brought him delight.”
Zack nodded. “Ned was a gentleman of the old school. That was the problem. Most of the guys I know would have told a lady threatening blackmail to go for it, put the tapes on the Internet, show the world Super-Stud in action, but Ned was a principled man. When this woman said she was going to make his private life public, he found the prospect insupportable.”
“Did he pay her off?”
“No. He refused to capitulate to behaviour that, in his view, was as unacceptable as his own.”
“Did he consider going to the police?”
“Believe it or not,” Zack said, “I suggested that. But Ned said the acts he’d indulged in were unspeakable, an insult to the life he and his wife, Evvie, had together. He said he’d rather die than stain his wife’s memory. I asked him to give me the name of the woman who’d threatened him, and I’d take care of it, but he said he’d made up his mind: he was going to exit honourably. That was it. Ned poured us each a serious slug of single-malt Scotch, and when we’d finished our drinks, he thanked me for my friendship and said goodbye. Three hours later, he shot himself.”
I took his hand. “I wish you’d told me.”
“I couldn’t. I’d given Ned my word, Jo. The only reason I’m telling you now is because of that phone call from Debbie.”
“Something’s happened.”
Zack sighed. “Boy, has it ever. I’ll give you the broad strokes. At Ned’s funeral, I watched his partners march up the aisle and I knew that before the sod on Ned’s grave had taken root, the woman who’d tried to blackmail Ned would be knocking on the doors of Osler Meinhart and Loftus. Anyway, I hired a private detective to track her down to see if I could head her off.”
“Did you find her?”
“Actually, she found me. Her name is Cristal Avilia. She called this morning and said she needed to talk to me about Ned.”
“So you saw her.”
“Yeah, I did.” He stroked my hand. “Christ, I’d give anything not to be having this conversation with you. Yes, I saw her, and as it turned out, it wasn’t the first time we’d met. I’d used her services myself, Jo.”
My heart squeezed. “Since we were together?”
Zack leaned towards me. “Oh God, no. Jo, you’re all I’ve ever wanted and then some. But as you know, the mechanics of sex don’t always work for me. With us, it doesn’t matter, we just fool around till we’re both happy, but it was different for me before. I could be dynamite in the courtroom all day, but if I couldn’t get it up at night, it drove me nuts.
“So you went to a prostitute,” I said.
“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Zack said dryly. “Most of the women I could have had sex with were other lawyers. It’s an adversarial relationship, and you don’t want your adversaries to know you’re a dud in the sack. So I kept searching for the magic bullet. Cristal was just the last of many. I’m not proud of it, but there it is.”
“So was Cristal the magic bullet?” I asked.
His nod was almost imperceptible. “She was very skilful. Then I met you, and you know the rest of the story. I never saw Cristal again until today.”
There was a tap at the door, and Mieka opened it and peeked in. “The girls and I are taking off. They wanted to say goodnight, but if we’re interrupting…”
Zack’s face softened. “Couldn’t ask for a more welcome interruption.”
Sleepy but still coasting on a sugar high, Madeleine and Lena raced in and crawled up on Zack’s lap.
“Did you like our present?” Madeleine asked.
“A man can never have too many flashlights,” Zack said.
“It’s for flashlight tag,” Madeleine said. “We can play it next time we come over.”
“Somebody’s going to have to teach me the rules,” Zack said.
“I will,” Madeleine said. “Lena doesn’t care about rules. But she’s a really good runner.”
“I’m not much of a runner,” Zack said. “So what can I do?”
Lena rubbed at a grass stain on her knee of her jeans. “You can be It,” she said thoughtfully.
Her sister frowned. “Nobody can always be It.”
“Zack can,” Lena said. Then she aimed a kiss at Zack’s cheek, slid off his knee, and both girls ran to their mother. Zack wheeled his chair after them. “Mieka, I didn’t have a chance to thank you for the toast.”
Mieka met his gaze. “I didn’t exactly have them rolling in the aisles, but I meant what I said. I’m really glad you’re around, Zack.”
I closed the door after them and Zack turned to me. “Do you think she’ll still be glad to have me around when she finds about Cristal Avilia?”
“Is there a reason why she needs to know?”
There was a crack of thunder and Willie, who’d followed Mieka and the girls to the bedroom, whined. I rubbed his head. “It’s just thunder,” I said. “You’re okay. I’m okay. We’re all okay.” I turned to Zack. “We are okay, aren’t we?”
“No,” he said. “We’re not.” He splayed his hands on his knees and stared down at them. “Cristal’s dead, Jo.”
“Oh God. What happened to her?”
“She was murdered. At some point between the time I left her around two this afternoon and six tonight, when the lawn service went out to fix the underground sprinklers, Cristal fell, jumped, or was pushed over the railing of her balcony. The police are leaning towards the third possibility.”
“How do they know it wasn’t an accident or suicide?”
“They don’t know,” Zack said. “Cristal’s condo was on the fourth floor. She could have fallen or jumped, but her body had been pulled towards the side of the building so the other tenants wouldn’t discover it when they came home from work.”
I felt my nerves twang. “Zack, the police don’t think that you – ”
His laugh was short and humourless. “There aren’t a lot of advantages to being a paraplegic, but I think even the cops would see that a guy in a wheelchair would have trouble pushing a healthy thirty-four-year-old woman over a balcony railing, then zipping down to the place where she fell so he could pull her body out of sight.”
I walked over and pressed my forehead against the cool glass of the patio doors. The rain was falling hard now, and the trees at the bottom of our yard were thrashing in the wind. “Thirty-four,” I said. “Mieka’s age.”
“Too young to die,” Zack said. “Also too young to have lived the life she lived.” He moved his chair to the place beside me, and for a moment, we were silent, looking out together at the night.
Finally, I said. “How did they connect you with this?”
“Through one of my more egregious fuck-ups. I thought I was handling the blackmail threat exactly right. I played hardball. I told Cristal I knew she’d been taping her clients, and I wasn’t going to deal until the camera was turned off. It was in a smoke detector on her bedroom ceiling, angled to pick up the bed and a special chair she reserved for what she called boutique requests. Of course, while she was boutiquing, her camera was able to get a nice clear shot of her client.”
“Including you?” I said.
Zack shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know. Logic would suggest that I’d be worth taping – I have money and people know my name – but she never approached me.”
“But the police called you. They must have found something.”
“They did indeed. They found the camera that I so shrewdly insisted she turn off. She must have forgotten to turn it back on.”
“So as far as the police know, you were the last one to see her alive.”
“Right,” Zack said, “but looking on the bright side, they didn’t hear me offer her $10,000 for the Osler DVDS.”
“So they don’t know about Ned’s involvement with Cristal.”
“No, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Had she agreed to take the money?”
“I thought she had. She brought out the DVDS. I put one in the machine to make certain I wasn’t paying $10,000 for Bambi. I watched long enough to see what I was buying, then I took out the envelope with the cash. That’s when it got weird.”
“Weird how?”
“Cristal wouldn’t take the money. She said she never dreamed that Ned would commit suicide. In her words, his death was just ‘tragic collateral damage.’ ”
“That sounds as if she had a larger agenda.”
Zack sighed. “No flies on you, my love. I should have picked up on that myself, but at that point, Cristal started to cry. She said she knew she’d made a mistake. She’d deleted the files from the camera, but she wanted me to know she was trying to rectify what she’d done. Giving me the DVDS was the first step.”
“Why did she care about what you thought?”
“She’d been at Ned’s funeral. I didn’t notice her, but there were hundreds of people there. I probably wouldn’t have recognized her anyway. She’s changed her hair – it’s lighter or something. I don’t know – she just looked different. Anyway, she told me she couldn’t stop thinking about that poem I used in the eulogy. Remember? It was the one Ned e-mailed to me after 9/11.”
“ ‘September 1, 1939,’ ” I said. “Auden really made the rounds after the World Trade Center was attacked.”
“I don’t exactly travel in literary circles, but I must have received six copies of that poem,” Zack said. “Anyway, Cristal latched on to what I said about how Ned never let the darkness engulf him and how he believed it was our duty as human beings to show ‘an affirming flame.’ Then she announced she was going to change.” Zack pounded his palm with his fist. “It really pissed me off.”
“Why would that piss you off?”
“Christ, Jo. If you knew how many times I’ve had to listen to people bleat on about how sorry they are for what they’ve done, and how they’re going to reform. Usually, I just watch the clock and let them pile on the billable hours, but Cristal had driven a decent man to suicide. It was a little late for tears.”
“Did you tell her that?”
“Nope. I didn’t say anything. I tried to leave, but Cristal stepped in front of me and blocked the way. She asked me if I believed in evil. I said I wasn’t a theologian; I was a lawyer. She said that the people who thought she was evil were wrong – that all she did was let people live out their fantasies.”
“Had she ever said anything like that before?”
“Not to me. Of course, she and I didn’t talk much. And today, I just wanted to get the hell out of there, so I told her I didn’t think she was evil. I thought she was like me, someone who provided a necessary service.”
“And that satisfied her?”
“I guess so. She let me leave, and I had the DVDS in my possession. Thank God for that. I wouldn’t want the boys and girls at the cop shop to be sitting around watching those right now.”
“Were they that bad?”
“Objectively, no. As sexual acts go, what Cristal did to Ned was pretty tame. In the romantic language of the courtroom, she fellated him.”
“Why would Ned kill himself over that?”
“Because all the time Cristal was fellating him, Ned called her ‘Evvie.’ ”
“His dead wife’s name.”
“Right, and when he was finished, he closed his eyes, stroked Cristal’s hair, and thanked her for taking him into her mouth and letting him be part of her private world.”
Except for the sound of rain splashing through the eaves-troughs and hitting the ground, the room was silent. “That breaks my heart,” I said.
Zack stroked my arm. “You’re a gentle soul. Ned was a realist. He knew that most people would just see the tape as sordid – an old man getting a blow job and fantasizing.”
“So you made sure his private life was kept private.”
“It was the least I could do,” Zack said. “Ned has always been on my side. The legal community here is tight. Everybody knows how everybody else operates, and everybody knows that the Law Society has rapped my knuckles on more than one occasion. A lot of people would be delighted if I really stepped on my joint and got disbarred, but Ned was a friend. If he heard that I was getting too close to the line, he’d invite me for a drink and, in the most gentlemanly of ways, remind me that discretion is the better part of valour.”
I touched his cheek. “I’m glad you got the DVDS.”
“I am too,” Zack said. “When I was trying to talk Ned out of committing suicide, I told him he had many, many reasons to live.”
“But he didn’t see it that way.”
Zack shook his head. “No. He said that in the end everybody loses everything – the only choice we have is deciding the order in which we lose the things that matter to us.”
“And Ned decided he’d rather lose his life than his reputation.”
“It wasn’t his reputation Ned was concerned about; it was Evvie’s. He didn’t want people to know the man whom Evvie had loved for all those years was incapable of remaining faithful to her memory. He said that satisfying himself with a prostitute cheapened everything he and his wife had been to each other.”
“So he shot himself?”
“As you said, Ned was a gentleman of the old school.”
I straightened the sprig of forsythia in Zack’s buttonhole. “I love you very much.”
Zack sighed. “Hold that thought, Ms. Shreve, because I have a feeling that we’re in for a rocky ride.” He tousled my hair. “But what the hell, as long as we’re together, there’s nothing we can’t handle, is there?”
A bone-rattling clap of thunder shook the heavens, and I shuddered. Zack was sanguine. “Listen to that,” he said. “The gods are definitely on our side.”