by Gail Bowen
“Not since grade nine,” I said. “It was a long time ago.”
Rose laughed. “Longer ago for me, but I never forgot it. Penelope’s husband went away and all these men wanted to marry her. She was weaving something, I don’t remember what, but she told the men she couldn’t get married until she’d finished her weaving. So the men waited and waited. They didn’t know that every night Penelope went to her room and ripped out her weaving and every morning she started over.”
“You think that’s what Lily’s doing with her life?”
“I know it. My sister always tries to get me interested in romance novels. I’ve read a few, but all those happily-ever-afters just don’t ring true to me. Those Greek stories rang true – that’s probably why I still remember them after sixty years.” Rose squared her shoulders. “Would you mind herding up the girls? There are some graves I’d like to check on.”
“You have family here?”
“Everyone around here does. My parents. The aunt I’m named after. Two of my brothers. More cousins than you can shake a stick at, and, of course, Gloria.”
“I didn’t realize you and Gloria were related.”
“We’re not – at least not by blood. But on this reserve you don’t have to share a family tree to be considered family.”
As soon as we got back, the girls marched off to work on their Inukshuk. Unencumbered by the obligation to leave signposts for future generations, I went back to the cottage. When I opened the front door, the heat hit me like a wave. The Hynds had not believed in air conditioning. The memory of Betty, cool and fragrant, propelled me. I turned on the ceiling fan, found a roomy cotton nightie in my drawer for the nap I needed, and made my way to the shower to wash away a morning of dust and melancholy. The phone was ringing when I stepped out. I grabbed a towel and ran to answer.
Zack’s voice was teasing. “So were you out back milking the chickens?”
“Nope. I was just getting out of the shower…”
“That mental image may just get me through the rest of the day.”
“Troubles in your kingdom?” I said.
“Well, let’s see. The courthouse air conditioning fried itself this morning, so the building is hotter than hell. And the Crown is cleaning my clock. Apart from that, everything’s swell.”
“Come back to Lawyers’ Bay. I’ll let you sit next to the fan and score all the points.”
“Best offer I’ve had all day,” Zack said wearily. “I’ll go back in there and throw myself on the mercy of the court.”
I wasn’t up to Virginia Woolf, and Harriet Hynd’s library was short of trashy novels, so I chose a worthy book on birds of the Qu’Appelle Valley and was asleep before I turned the first page. I woke with a post-nap sense of well-being. It was three o’clock. I walked out to the road and looked towards the gazebo to check on the girls. They were toiling away in the mid-afternoon heat. Feeling guilty that I had been cool and lazy all afternoon while they worked, I sliced a loaf of banana bread, filled a Thermos with lemonade, dropped plastic cups and napkins into my beach bag, and went to assess their progress.
The girls were ready for a break. The Inukshuk was complete, but the wheelbarrow was full of rocks and more were strewn about the sand. Discovering the precise combination of stones that would fit the terrain and stack on top of one another without falling had proven difficult. Flushed with heat and effort, the girls made for the shade of the gazebo. It was the first time I’d been in the gazebo since the night Chris Altieri died, and the memories of Chris’s sadness and of Zack’s subtle menace that evening were sharp-edged and unsettling. Oblivious to anything beyond the moment, the girls poured lemonade, wolfed banana loaf, and discussed the engineering problem with which they’d been wrestling.
“When we were at the cemetery, we noticed that this arm of Lawyers’ Bay was right across the lake,” Gracie said. “We thought it would be neat to build this Inukshuk with a sight hole that pointed towards that huge cottonwood tree at the edge of the cemetery.”
“My father says that, judging from its size, that tree must have been there forever,” Isobel said.
Gracie rolled her eyes. “I thought we were going to be here forever trying to get the angle right,” she said. “This is the third time we’ve had to take down what we’ve built and start again, but I think we’ve got it. Maybe you’d like to have a look, Mrs. Kilbourn.”
“I’d be honoured,” I said.
The girls came with me as I walked out to the Inukshuk and peered through the sight hole.
“Third time’s the charm,” I said. “You’ve got it.”
They barely had time to exchange high-fives before we heard the squeal of brakes and the slam of a car door behind us. All day I had been carrying an image of Lily Falconer as frightened and vulnerable, a broken child who grew into a damaged adult. The wrathful woman who exploded out of the front seat of her Jeep and ran towards us was a shock.
Lily’s face was contorted with rage and her voice was acid. “Put those rocks back,” she said. “You don’t know what you’re destroying.” She didn’t give the girls a chance to obey or explain. Instead, she went to the Inukshuk and ripped out a flat stone from the base. Within seconds, the meticulously planned and executed structure collapsed.
Clutching her prize, Lily dropped to the beach and began exploring the support under the gazebo. She was desperate, as if she had to slide the rock into place before everything fell apart. She narrowed her focus on her daughter.
“Where did you take this from, Gracie?”
The colour had drained from Gracie’s face. Her freckles looked painted on, like a doll’s. I was afraid she was sliding into shock. I stepped between Lily and her daughter. My hands were shaking, but my voice was steady. “No one destroyed anything, Lily. We bought the rocks in Fort Qu’Appelle. I drove the girls in myself to get them.”
Lily looked at me with loathing. “It’s so easy for you to be the good one,” she said. Her comment stunned me. So did the fact that she was still holding the rock she had ripped from the Inukshuk. For a moment it seemed entirely possible that she would hurl the rock at me. Instead, she dropped it on the beach, walked back to her Jeep, threw it into reverse, and sped off.
Gracie watched her mother’s car disappear from sight. “Welcome home, Mum,” she said. Then she picked up the stone her mother had dropped, placed it back where it belonged, and began patiently to restore the Inukshuk.
I stayed with the girls while they rebuilt what had been destroyed. Without discussion, they realized the importance of their task, and they worked silently and deliberately. Finally, it was done.
One by one the girls checked the sight hole, then Gracie nodded to me. “Your turn,” she said.
I stared across the lake at the graveyard. When I spotted the cottonwood tree, I said, “Better than ever. Why don’t we call it a day and go home?”
Gracie’s smile was battle-weary. “Good plan,” she said. “But can I go to your home, not mine?”
CHAPTER
12
Not long after the girls had settled down with a video, Rose appeared at our door.
“I’ve come for Gracie,” she said.
“She’s in the living room with Taylor and Isobel watching a movie,” I said. “Before you get her, we should probably talk for a minute. There was… an incident.”
Rose stepped inside, closing the door behind her. “Lily told me,” she said. “How bad was it?”
“Pretty bad,” I said.
Rose’s small body sagged with defeat. “More unravelling.” She took a deep breath. “I’d better get my girl, see what we can salvage.” She frowned, seeming to turn something over in her mind. “Do you think it would be easier for Gracie if Taylor and Isobel came back with her? I could give them all dinner.”
“Makes sense to me,” I said. “When in doubt, proceed as if life is going on as usual.”
Not long after Rose and the girls left, Zack drove in. I walked out to the driveway to meet h
im. He was pale and clearly exhausted.
“Bad day?” I asked.
He grimaced. “You don’t want to know.”
“Would a large gin and tonic help?”
“I’m not certain,” Zack said. “But I’m willing to give it a try.”
We took our drinks out to the porch, where there was at least the chance of a breeze. The scent of nicotiana, heady and seductive, drifted through the screened windows.
Zack sipped his drink and sighed contentedly. “On the drive back I was thinking about how nice it is to have someone to come home to.”
“Whoa, there,” I said. “What’s my favourite colour?”
He laughed. “You don’t think I know enough about you to move in?”
“I don’t think we know enough about each other to pass a couples’ quiz in Cosmopolitan magazine.”
“We can remedy that,” Zack said. “After the Friends of Clare Mackey leave tonight, come sit on my deck. We’ll watch the sunset – no sex, just the sharing of information. What do you say?”
“I’ve never been a big fan of either-or.”
“Neither have I. So let’s do both. Now, how was your day?”
“About as grim as yours,” I said. My account of the scene with Lily was brief, but I didn’t gloss over the punch-in-the-stomach gratuitous ugliness of Lily’s attack.
Zack was visibly shaken. “How did Gracie take it?”
“She was stunned, of course. She was trembling and so pale that I thought she might be on the verge of shock. Lily either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Her only concern was where the rocks for the Inukshuk came from.”
“Why would it matter?” Zack said. “The kids showed me what they’ve done. It looks like good work to me.”
“I agree,” I said. “And if there’s a happy ending to this story, it’s that Gracie didn’t let her mother destroy what she and the other girls made. As soon as Lily left, Gracie started building again.”
Zack’s smile was faint. “Way to go, Gracie,” he said.
“Kids have amazing resources,” I said.
“But no one’s resources are inexhaustible,” Zack said. “Lately, Blake has been running on empty.”
“There aren’t many things more draining than a bad marriage,” I said. “Lily’s clearly miserable. Why doesn’t Blake just accept the truth?”
Zack shrugged. “He’s in love with her, and once in a while she loves him back.”
“And that’s enough for him.”
“I guess it is. I know he’s absolutely faithful to her.”
“I underestimated him,” I said. “When I met Blake, I didn’t like him. I had him pegged as a ladies’ man.”
“How did you have me pegged?”
“As the prince of darkness,” I said.
“So you were wrong on both counts.”
“Was I?”
Zack laughed. “Probably not entirely. But I have the rest of the summer to convince you that you were wrong about me.” He finished his drink and placed the glass on the wicker table.
“Can I get you a refill?”
“Thanks, but no. I spent most of the lunch hour talking to my client, then I had an errand to run. I forgot to eat.”
“You should have said something. I’ll make us some sandwiches. Is ham okay?”
“Ham is perfect. I’m starving, and the prospect of going out to a restaurant does not appeal to me.”
“Can’t you cook?”
“Can’t even boil an egg.”
“Is that the truth or a ploy?”
“A ploy,” he said. “I’d do anything to get you to make me that sandwich.”
I brought back a tray with our sandwiches and a pitcher of milk. When we’d finished eating, Zack sighed with contentment. “You know, I might just live.”
“That’s good news.”
“You don’t look very happy about it.”
“This isn’t about you. It’s about me. I wish Clare’s friends weren’t coming out here tonight. I feel as if I’ve betrayed them.”
“Because you alerted me to the fact that they were asking questions? Joanne, if they want answers, you’ve helped them. You’ve expedited the process. Clare’s friends don’t have to jump out of the bushes and scare me. I’ll stay here and answer any questions they have.”
“I think your presence might just exacerbate matters.”
“My presence has been known to do that,” Zack said. “But I’m not sure why it would in this case.”
“Because if you’re waiting for them, it will appear that Falconer Shreve is trying to control events. Clare’s friends are trying to create a situation in which people can come to them.”
“Fair enough,” Zack said. “But at least let me tell you what I know – just to clear the air.”
“And I can pass this information along?”
“Every word. For the record, I believe Clare Mackey is working for a law firm in Vancouver.”
“But you’re not certain.”
“You were at the Canada Day party, Joanne. You saw the number of juniors Falconer Shreve has. Unless I’m working with one of them, I don’t keep track.”
“So you didn’t know that Anne Millar came to Falconer Shreve to find out why Clare had left so precipitously.”
“No. I knew that,” Zack said. “It came up at a partners’ meeting. We decided that, out of respect for the privacy of those involved, we wouldn’t disclose the circumstances under which Clare left. To be honest, two adults having a love affair that went wrong didn’t seem to be anybody’s business but theirs.”
“Are you saying the woman in Chris’s life was Clare Mackey?”
“You sound surprised,” Zack said.
“I thought that Clare might be the one,” I said. “But until this moment I wasn’t certain.”
“I guess each of us just knew half of the story,” Zack said. “I didn’t learn about the pregnancy and abortion until you told me that night at Magoo’s. Then of course I put two and two together.”
“But you didn’t say anything to me?”
“You and I were just getting to know one another; Chris had been my friend for over twenty years. He’d kept Clare’s pregnancy secret when he was alive. I didn’t see any point in bringing it up after he was dead and Clare had started a new life.” Zack moved his chair closer. “Does that make sense to you?”
“It makes sense,” I said.
“Then we can watch the sunset together?”
I reached over and touched his cheek. “You look so tired. Go home and get some sleep. Willie and I will stop by on our walk in the morning. Sunrises are just as nice as sunsets.”
He grinned. “And this time of year they come early. Lots of time to fool around before I have to go back to the city. Hey, I got you an electric toothbrush today at lunch. It’s in the car. I’ll plug it in as soon as I get home. Like me, the toothbrush will be ready when you are.”
The members of Clare Mackey’s Moot Team arrived on the dot of seven o’clock. Anne Millar had come with them, and it was clear from the outset that she had meshed easily with the other women. They were an appealing group. All were blond, all were fit, all were dressed smartly and informally – young professionals on casual Friday. Despite their smiles of greeting, they were sombre. When the introductions were over, I started to show them into the living room, but Linda Thauberger, who appeared to have been designated group leader, asked if we could use a room with a table. I led them into the kitchen. As generations of women had done before us, we took our places and began to talk, but our topic was not men, children, or the vagaries of our own flesh, it was Clare Mackey, and her story was murky and troubling.
“As far as we can tell,” Linda Thauberger said, opening her smart red briefcase and taking out a file, “this is where it all begins.” She placed the file at the centre of the table.
The name on the label made me blink. “Patsy Choi,” I said. “That case was three years ago. What does it have to do with Clare?”
“We all have,” Maggie Niewinski said. She still had the mop of blond curls she had in her law-school grad photo, but the shadows under her eyes were like bruises. It was clear she’d had her share of insomnia.
“And we know this is just the beginning,” Sandra Mikalonis, a graceful woman with a ponytail, added.
“You’re going to have to fill me in,” I said.
“Since I’m the one who dropped the ball on this, I’ll do it,” Linda said.
Maggie shook her curls vehemently. “No hair shirts,” she said. “We’ve agreed we all would have done exactly as you did.”
“Which was nothing,” Linda said quietly.
“Because no one asked you to do anything,” Maggie said.
“You’re still a terrier with a bone when you get an idea, aren’t you?” Linda said. “Maybe we should let the facts speak for themselves. Last year, just after the August long weekend, Clare called me. She’d stayed in Regina for the holiday. At that point, she’d been at Falconer Shreve about four months, and she thought the long weekend might be a good opportunity to stay at the office and do some homework.”
“Getting caught up on her files?” I asked.
Linda shook her head. “No. More just getting to understand the dynamics of the firm she was working for. Juniors are famously overworked. When you’re slaving away twelve hours a day, it’s hard to see where the snakes and ladders are, but if you’re going to get ahead you have to be able to tell an opportunity from a dead end. Anyway, most ambitious young lawyers, and Clare was… is… ambitious, would have used the time to read through the files of their principals’ more brilliant cases so they could drop a few fawning references to them later. But Clare’s background is in accounting, so she went straight to the trust ledgers. They, of course, have their own tale to tell.”
“Remind me about the trust ledgers,” I said.
“That’s where law firms keep records of their clients’ trust funds,” Anne Millar explained. “Monies paid in, monies taken out. Typically, monies taken out would be paid into general accounts to cover services from the firm. Any other withdrawal would require a written permission. In either case, there would be some sort of record in the file that the money had been transferred. At the end of every day, there’s a trust reconciliation – that’s just like balancing your chequebook. Everything has to be accounted for and justified.”
