by Gail Bowen
I covered his hands with my own. “Isn’t there a song called ‘Too Late Now’?”
“Frank Loesser,” he said. “One of my favourites. Want me to play it for you?”
“I’d like that,” I said.
“Then let’s go inside.”
It was a little after ten when I got back to the house. Angus and Leah were in the living room watching a video. Angus tapped an imaginary watch on his wrist. “So what were you up to at this hour of the night?”
“I was with Zack Shreve,” I said.
Leah grinned, and raised her thumbs in a gesture of approbation.
Angus was less enthusiastic. “Come on, Mum. Zack Shreve? He is way too much for you to handle.”
“You may be right about that,” I said. I gave my son a friendly punch on the arm. “Then again, you may be wrong.”
CHAPTER
13
Shortly after two that morning, a violent storm began. One volley of thunder was so ear-splitting that I sat bolt upright in bed. Heart still pounding, I went down to check on Taylor. Despite flashes of lightning bright as daylight, Taylor continued to sleep the sleep of the just, and I wandered back to my room intent on catching a few more winks. I would have been more usefully employed trying to jam toothpaste back in the tube. No matter how diligently I pounded the pillows, smoothed the sheets, breathed deeply, sought my mental good place, assumed the shava-asana position, and willed my mind to free itself from thoughts of past and future, sleep eluded me. Finally, I gave up, took my blanket to the chair by the window, and sat back to watch the show and see if I could make sense of the revelations that had been coming like hammer blows, one after another.
It turned out to be a profitable night. By the time the worst of the storm was over and the bleak light of dawn seeped in my window, I hadn’t come up with any answers, but I was certain I knew what questions to ask. Eager to get started, I dug out my slicker and snapped on Willie’s leash. Like Maggie Muggins, I had places to go, people to see, and things to do.
It was a day to believe in the pathetic fallacy: a gunmetal sky, a driving, hostile rain that stung my face and legs, and a keening wind that tossed the gulls around like pieces of tissue. Oblivious to the warnings from the elements, Willie pounded through the sloppy gravel, barking happily as we rounded the road by the gazebo and he spotted the Inukshuk, a new friend. I would have turned back but there was something I needed to check. When I found what I was looking for, I felt the rush that comes when the pieces of a puzzle are beginning to fit together.
My exhilaration was short-lived. As we passed the Wainbergs’, a vehicle shot out of the driveway. Willie and I were right in its path. When I jerked him out of harm’s way, I lost my footing in the gumbo of the gravel road and fell. The car skidded to a stop and Delia jumped out. She was dressed for the city: a smart black suit with a very short skirt, black stockings, pumps with serious heels.
“God, are you all right?” she said.
I stood up and checked for damage. There didn’t seem to be any. “I’m fine,” I said.
“You and Willie look as if you’ve been mud-wrestling. Come on. Get in the car. I’ll take you home.”
“We’re an upholstery hazard,” I said. “We can walk. A little more rain’s not going to hurt us.”
Delia frowned. “I just about killed you. The least I can do is get you out of this monsoon.”
“Sold,” I said. I opened the back door of Delia’s car and turned to my dog with a command. “In, Willie.” He stood, riveted to the spot. “In,” I repeated. Willie cocked his head, perplexed but immobile. I lifted his bum and gave him a push. “In,” I said. Accepting the inevitable, he lumbered up, threw himself belly down on the upholstery, and pressed his nose against the window.
When I got into the passenger seat, Delia looked at me hard and shook her head. “All the women who’ve been after Zack, and you’re the one…”
“I’m not ‘the one,’ ” I said, “but I do clean up nicely.” We looked at one another and laughed.
“Hey,” Delia said, “a good start to what will no doubt end up being another crappy day.” She turned the key in the ignition. “Zack and Blake have decided the partners have to go through the trust ledgers together. More beating up on ourselves. It’s not as if we don’t know what we’re going to find. Zack filled us in last night.” She pulled a tissue from her bag and blew her nose. “At least we know now why Chris killed himself, but what the hell was up with Clare Mackey? Chris would have been the best father.”
“I guess Clare didn’t agree,” I said.
“Forgive me if I don’t lead the applause for Clare and her ethics,” Delia said icily. She pulled into my driveway. “Here you are,” she said. “Home sweet home.”
“Muddied but unbowed,” I said.
She gave me a faint smile. “Guess what? I’m still not smoking.”
“I’ll lead the applause for that,” I said. I had my hand on the handle of the car door, but I didn’t push it down. “Delia, did Noah build the gazebo?”
Her eyes widened. “Where did that come from? Anyway, the answer is no. He did the carving of the woman, but not the rest.” She reached over and gave my shoulder an affectionate pat. “Watch out for traffic. Now that I’m a non-smoker, maybe you and I can get up our own Ultimate team.”
Angus greeted me at the front door with a whoop of laughter. “You and Willie look like you’ve been mud-wrestling.”
“You’re the second person to tell me that,” I said. “That means you win the big prize – the opportunity to take Willie out back and hose him down. I’m going to hit the shower.”
The phone rang before I’d kicked off my runners. Angus answered it and handed it to me with a lascivious wink. “It’s the Man,” he said.
“I’m outside your house,” Zack said. “Have you got a minute to say goodbye?”
“As long as you don’t make any mud-wrestling jokes,” I said.
“I don’t get it.”
“You will.”
When he saw me, Zack raised an eyebrow. “Hop in.”
“I’ll wreck your upholstery.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
He was dressed for work: white shirt, striped tie, and a suit that probably cost as much as my entire wardrobe. He put his arm around me. “What’s the punchline to that joke about how porcupines make love?”
“Very carefully,” I said. And for a few lovely minutes, we were very careful.
When I got out of the shower, Taylor was sitting on my bed, knitting. The hyacinth scarf was finished, and she was practising the moss stitch before she moved on. “Rose would like you to call her. She has a favour to ask. The something-or-other on her car is broken, but she wants to visit Betty because Betty gets blue when it rains. Gracie’s mum is still sick, so Rose wondered if you’d mind driving us over.”
“I don’t mind,” I said. “You and the other girls are going too?”
“Rose says we’re as good as a tonic for Betty. Besides, we always have fun there.”
I called Rose and we agreed that, given the driving conditions, we should get an early start. As we set out, I was glad we were in my car. Rose’s Buick was a boat, and the road to Standing Buffalo was filled with turns that were hair-raising on a good day, and this was decidedly not a good day. In fact, the weather seemed to be growing uglier by the hour. Visibility was poor to non-existent, the roads were slick, and the ditches were filling. When we drove between the white-painted tractor tires that marked Betty’s driveway, my tires spun ominously and I wondered if I’d be able to make it out. We sent Rose inside, and the girls and I scurried between car and house, carrying Tupperware containers of food, a fresh supply of magazines, a case of pop, and pyjamas and a change of clothes for everybody “just in case.” As soon as everyone was settled, I asked for a rain check on Betty’s offer of tea, and, cleverly navigating the ruts, I drove straight to the Point Store.
Stan was watching an I Love Lucy classic when I arrived. As
he had before, Stan turned down the sound, dragged a chrome chair in from the kitchen, and directed me to the La-Z-Boy. That morning, the plush contours of the chair were as comforting as a warm bath. On TV, Lucy was starting her job at the chocolate factory.
Stan tore himself away from the screen and turned his attention to me. “More history?” he asked.
“Recent history,” I said. “When was the gazebo at Lawyers’ Bay built?”
“Last year, middle of November. Late, but we had that mild winter, remember?”
“I remember,” I said. “We had a green Christmas.” Stan nodded. “I never liked those. They don’t seem right.”
“Did a local company do the work?” I asked.
Stan made of moue of disgust. “She’d never hire local.”
“She?”
“Lily Falconer,” Stan said. “She got a company in the city, and I’ll tell you, men never worked harder for their dollar than those men did.”
“It was a difficult job?”
Stan shook his head. “It shouldn’t have been. Pretty straightforward piece of construction except for that fancy stonework. Of course, there was that statue of Gloria, but Noah Wainberg carved that. In my opinion, Lily should have got Noah to do the whole thing. He could have, but maybe it was his good luck that she didn’t ask him. Lily was in such a state about that gazebo. She was there every day, supervising. It got so’s they were afraid to move a shovelful of dirt. ‘Build it to last forever.’ That’s what she told them. The man in charge told her his company built everything to last forever, so she could relax and go home, but she wouldn’t budge.”
“The workers talked to you about the job, then?”
On TV the conveyer belt was moving more quickly and Lucy was saucer-eyed with desperation. Stan and I exchanged smiles. “The coffee pot’s always been on at the Point Store,” Stan said. “The bottomless cup’s not something your son’s girlfriend dreamed up, although to be fair she’s made it a lot nicer. But to return to my point, when the gazebo men were on the job, they came into the store to warm up, have a cup of joe, and talk. Lily was a tough taskmaster. One of the men said she carried on as if they were working on holy ground.”
Lucy and Ethel were growing more frantic, popping chocolates into their mouths until their cheeks bulged, shoving chocolates under their factory caps, dropping chocolates down the front of their uniforms, and still the conveyer belt kept on moving. Nothing could stop it.
I pulled myself out of the La-Z-Boy and thanked Stan.
He waved at me absently. He was mesmerized by the screen where, once again, Lucy was about to get her comeuppance.
The rain had stopped by the time I reached the gazebo. Even from fifteen metres away I could see that the stone-and-concrete outcropping on which the gazebo had been built was the perfect crypt. The world had suddenly become very small. I walked to the carved woman, reached out, and touched her cheek. It was cool and wet. “How much do you know?” I asked.
“How much do you know?” When I heard Lily Falconer repeat my question, the marrow in my bones froze.
I whirled around. She had made no effort to protect herself against the weather. Her bluejeans and the soft leather bag slung over her shoulder were dark with rain, her white shirt clung to her breasts, and her beautiful hair hung lank against her shoulders. The family likeness between Lily and her mother shocked me. The faces of both women were carved with the lines of those who have known too many sorrows and carried too many secrets.
Startled, I answered without thinking. “How much do I know about what?” I said.
Lily raised her arm and brought the flat of her hand against my jaw with full force. The pain brought tears to my eyes. “Don’t pretend you don’t know,” she said.
I touched my jaw to see if it had been dislocated. It hurt, but it appeared to be where it should be. I started towards my car.
Lily stepped in front of me. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Home,” I said.
She shook her head as if to clear it. “No,” she said. “You’re not.” She reached into the bag slung over her shoulder. “I have a gun.”
The weapon she pulled out was a Glock 22, the German-made semi-automatic pistol used by the Regina police. There was no way Alex would willingly have handed this gun to anyone. I could feel the first stirrings of hysteria.
“Lily, you didn’t -”
She cut me off. “I could never hurt Alex. I knew I’d need a gun, so I took his while he was sleeping.”
She held the gun expertly, aimed down at the sand. There was no doubt in my mind that she was capable of pulling the trigger. Out of nowhere a memory surfaced: Alex and Angus watching a TV cop show, and Alex telling my son that the Regina police had adopted the Glock because it was so fast and safe that it allowed the shooter to concentrate on the target. Now that I was the target, I did not find the memory cheering.
Lily raised the gun. If she pulled the trigger at that angle she’d shoot my kneecap. No more runs with Willie.
“You haven’t answered my question,” she said.
“I know where Clare Mackey is,” I said.
“And you’re going to tell the police.”
I looked at the pistol. The pain in my jaw was excruciating. I’d have to make every word count.
“Maybe not,” I said. “Make me understand.”
“You’re trying to buy time,” she said flatly.
“No,” I said. “I just want to know more.”
“I had to protect the Winners’ Circle,” Lily said.
“No matter what?”
Lily frowned, annoyed at my thick-headedness. “It gave me my life,” she said.
The night I met him, Zack told me that when he joined the Winners’ Circle, he’d been like a drunk discovering Jesus. His words had been sardonic; Lily’s were not. Her lips were slightly parted, and there was a fanatic’s glow in her grey eyes. When it came to the Winners’ Circle, she was clearly a true believer. She was also scarier than hell.
“Tell me about it,” I said. I took a step towards her. “Lily, you’re important to so many people at Lawyers’ Bay. They’re good people and they respect you. I want to know you better.”
Lily met my gaze through eyes that were as forlorn as those of a lost child. “I wish Alex had told me about you earlier.”
“So do I.”
“You know, we might have become friends.”
“Perhaps we still can,” I said. “But, Lily, you’re going to have to put down the gun.”
She looked down at the Glock. “If I throw this away, will you stay with me?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’ll stay.”
Lily raised her perfectly toned arm and pitched the gun along the shore behind me. When I heard it hit the ground, my pulse slowed.
“I kept my part of the bargain,” Lily said. “Now it’s your turn.”
“I’m still here,” I said. “Tell me about the Winners’ Circle. What did it mean to you?”
“Everything,” she said and suddenly her face was washed of care. As she talked, Lily was in the past, discovering her identity, building her life. “The first time I heard the word ‘entitlement’ I thought of the way the partners were the afternoon I met them. It was at this drunken happy hour in the old Falconer Shreve offices. The place looked as if it had been strafed, but the five of them were perfect, so sure of themselves. They knew that they were the best and that they were entitled to the best.”
“And that’s why you wanted to be part of their world.”
“That’s why I deserved to be part of it,” Lily corrected. “I didn’t just marry into the Winners’ Circle. I earned my place. As much as any of them, I made Falconer Shreve a success. I knew if we wanted to get platinum-card clients we needed prestigious offices. I found that heritage building where we are now, and I made all the decisions about the renovations. I’ve hired every administrative assistant and sat in on the interviews for all the juniors we’ve hired. I know when someone
is Falconer Shreve material. I’ve made sure the bills are paid and the clients are handled with care – we entertain the ones who matter twice a year, Christmas and Canada Day. That party you were at was my idea. It was my idea for us all to build summer houses out here. When Kevin’s parents were alive, we’d just camp on the beach, but I knew if we were going to be a top law firm, we had to have houses, big expensive houses that said Falconer Shreve was a presence in the community.
“After we built the houses at Lawyers’ Bay, the people in town who had looked down their noses at me my whole life, who had called me names and treated me like dirt, like less than dirt, started treating me with respect. And I treated them with respect. There was nothing to be gained by holding a grudge. I had to make certain everything ran smoothly.”
I met her gaze. “Rose said that from the time she taught you to knit, you never dropped a stitch.”
Lily shook her head sadly. “I couldn’t afford to. I always knew that if I dropped a stitch everything would come undone.”
“And Clare Mackey was going to take away everything you’d worked for.”
Lily looked at me gratefully. “You do understand.”
My jaw was swelling. It was difficult to get out the words. “What happened with Clare?”
“She brought it on herself,” Lily said. “That business with the trust ledgers was old news. Every account had been balanced to the penny. Everyone in the firm took a lot of crap jobs to make sure we got back on top again.”
“So the partners knew.”
“About the trust accounts? No,” she said. “Chris was the only one who knew. I told the others we were in a slump because of the market. I said that, for a while, they’d have to take whatever cases came along, and they did.”
“Without question?”
“They trusted my judgement. If Clare had trusted my judgement things would have been different. I was the one she came to when she discovered the problem with the ledgers. I tried to convince her that since there were no victims, we could all just move along. I said that if she didn’t want to stay at Falconer Shreve, I’d make inquiries about other firms.”
