Final Act

by Dianne Yetman

  “I’m sorry to have to do this Eleanor but I’m going to show you a picture.”

  Eleanor turned her head. “No you’re not. I refuse to look at the picture. I know which one it is, her sixteenth birthday; Jeffrey has his arm around her. So what? It doesn’t mean anything. I still find it extremely painful to see her picture. If you insist on showing it to me, then I’m leaving.”

  “I’m not going to force you to look, Eleanor, we can talk.”

  Eleanor stood, her body vibrating.

  “No we won’t.” Eleanor slammed the door shut on her way out.

  ***

  Minutes later a tiny knock. Kate lifted her head off the desk.

  “Eleanor just went charging by me. That bad was it”, Shirley asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What happened?”

  She recited word for word what had happened.

  “You know I’ve heard about denial but this is the first time I’ve seen it face to face. I think Eleanor has blinded herself to the truth. She had means, motive and opportunity. She could easily have gotten her hands on the poison with no one at the plant suspecting a thing. And she certainly had a motive for killing Jeffrey but Catherine’s the stumbling block. Eleanor was close to her and had no reason to want her dead. Anyway, how did it go with you?”

  “To my surprise, both husband and wife showed up, they were cooperative and in the beginning, friendly, like I was one of their close relatives or something. Brenda is a very folksy, down-to-earth person who is afraid of giving offence to anyone so goes out of her way to be nice. Her husband however is different, cooler, more detached. He answered my questions about how Prussic acid was manufactured, stored and secured but he wasn’t comfortable doing it.”

  Kate rose at the sound of the knock on the door and took the ticket stubs for the lotto draw from Kelly. Once the door closed, Shirley resumed speaking.

  “Then I asked Brenda if she had ever had the opportunity to visit the room. She was delighted to talk about it and sang the praises of the security system her husband was responsible for implementing. They both said they had been in the room in the last six months. Something was off but I couldn’t figure what. No more open gazes and smiles, in fact, they didn’t even look at one another. I switched the focus and asked Brenda about how she got her start in the theatre.”

  Kate laughed. “You could have been let in for a long listen at that question, Shirley.”

  Shirley smiled. “I lucked in. She went straight to her sister, said Barbara was responsible for her becoming involved in the theatre troupe because she had asked Brenda for help in finishing a screenplay the students were going to put on in the park. I didn’t want her getting caught up in the story of how it led to her becoming one of Jeffrey’s protégé so I steered the conversation back to her sister.”

  “Does Barb still live with her”, Kate asked.

  “No. She moved out shortly after graduation. I showed her the head shot I had in the file and she said stated it was her sister, Barb. The picture upset her, began to cry, asked me why I had it.”

  “Do you think the tears were real?”

  “Yes, I think so. I asked if either one of them were aware of Jeffrey Stone’s involvement with young girls. Brenda fell apart; I didn’t think she would ever stop crying. Her husband helped settle her down. She said she knew about the affair and that’s the reason Barb is attending university in England.”

  Shirley paused and opened her notebook. Kate quickly checked the copy of the lotto numbers while she waited. Nada.

  “Once the tears dried, here’s what she had to say, and I quote: ‘It was a crushing blow. Jeffrey was my mentor and he was having an affair with my baby sister. I spoke with Barbie first. She said yes, that it was no big deal; she had grown tired of the young high school boys, they only thought of themselves. And then she told me she was getting tired of Jeffrey as well. I suggested she might like to attend school in Europe and she agreed. I made arrangements for her move as soon as possible.’”

  Kate leaned back in her chair, arms behind her head. Did Brenda speak to Jeffrey about the affair?”

  “She said she hadn’t. It was over and there was no point in accusations, recriminations and the like. After all, men of genius had their quirks and that was Jeffrey’s. “

  “Great mom substitute wasn’t she”, Kate said. “Shrugging it off might have been an act; both she and her husband had a motive. Did they say anything else?”

  “No, Brenda said she had a bitch of a headache and wanted to get home and take some meds before a migraine set in. And that was the end of the interview.”

  “Shit, I hope Gordon doesn’t fixate on this gun business. One or both of the Parsons, or Eleanor, are looking likely to me.”

  Shirley agreed and the two women began to build another report for their already bulging files.

  Chapter 18

  Compliments to the cook were heard around the dining room table as the three plates of crowned rack of lamb, drizzled with olive oil, garlic and sprigs of rosemary, were strategically placed for easy access by the table companions.

  “Joan, the lamb looks splendid”, Sandra said.

  “Thanks. It’s the first time I tried the crowns and I have to say, I impressed myself.”

  Kate and her brother came through the door carrying trays of double baked potatoes, haricots verts smothered in sautéed onions, bacon, and beans, and roasted baby carrots.

  Kate’s father raised his glass of wine in a toast to the chef. Clinks of glasses, the flapping of cloth napkins, swift hands passing full trays, murmured ‘please and thanks’, all culminated in the sound of silver cutlery meeting food.

  Kate, enjoying the meal, dreaded being asked if she liked the new look. She didn’t. She missed the formal dining room. I’m not being fair. I miss the kids. It was unfortunate that her brother’s wives picked this date to take them to Wonderland for the weekend.

  As if her mother could read her thoughts, she asked her how she liked the room.

  “It’s different”, she said.

  “Yes it is. I broke all the rules, bit of a risky business converting the screened in porch to an informal dining room but I must say, I’ve had nothing but rave reviews.”

  “And what’s not to like”, Kate’s father said. After all, it’s the room with the view.”

  “Could be a bit chilly in the winter, don’t you think Mom”, James asked.

  David poked his brother James in the side. “Good God, James, have you degenerated to one of those other-worldly lawyers and can’t see what’s in front of your eyes. The porch has been wired for winter heat; check out the metal things running the length of the baseboard.”

  “I’m surprised you can see anything past your patient’s tonsils.”

  “Now, boys”, Kate said, “remember you’re grown up now or mother may send you from the table.”

  Both made faces at her and tucked into their food.

  “I love the backless benches,” Sandra said. “Spill proof and comfortable.”

  “I wasn’t sure of them at first. They’re Chinese scholar benches made from an ironwood platform from India. I got the idea when I thought about how people really like to linger at the table. It’s all about feeling good, relaxing, enjoying good food, wine, conversation and being comfortable. Mind you, it took me longer to summon up the courage to mix the dinnerware patterns and place the branch in the centre of the table. But it’s growing on me.”

  Kate grew bored with all the talk about comfort, ease, and design and was sure their dinner guest must be as well. As soon as her mother paused for breath, she broke into the conversation.

  “I got a letter from Hanya today about the progress of the land rights issue.”

  “How’s she making out”, her mother asked. “Not too spooked I hope about the shooting attempt.”

 
Kate said she didn’t mention anything so things must be fine. Her mother said nothing but couldn’t refrain from rolling her eyes.

  “Anyway, Hanya said the tribal chiefs are in dialogue but it’s going to be a long haul. Lots of opponents and some of them have legitimate concerns, like rights of access, loss of revenue. These are sticky issues but when you stack them up against the results stemming from the Mi’kmaq’s first encounter with Europeans in the 16th century, they pale in comparison. “

  Not wanting the conversation to centre on such a political hot potato, Joan exercised her right as hostess and interceded.

  “Injustice is mind and heart crushing. The courage and resilience of the native Mi’kmaq people in the face of suffering and deprivation is truly amazing. And Hanya’s grandmother is no less amazing. How is she doing?”

  “Fine”, Kate said. “She’s 91 now; lives alone in her trailer and still brags about how she paid her mortgage off in less than 15 years. That was over forty years ago of course.”

  “How’s her health?”

  God, mother, why can’t you just shut up? Kate dug her knife into the meat’s joint with such force the veggies slid off the side of her plate.

  “She’s had a mild heart attack and was hospitalized. The doctor suggested she might want to consider going into a senior’s home when she is released from the hospital.”

  “Having had dealings with Hanya’s grandmother through the joint committee on land allocation, I feel sorry for the doctor,” James said.

  Joan questioned Sandra on a new psychological theory she came across in a recent magazine and the conversation flowed easily through dessert, coffee and brandy.

  After the meal finished and the family members had dispersed, Kate and Sandra moved to the library and sat in the matching wing chairs angled towards the blue flickering light of the propane fireplace. Outside the upstairs corner bedroom and the large windows that afforded a wonderful view of the back yard, the library was Kate’s favourite room. She was hoping it would exert its usual calming effect.

  “I love your family, Kate; they’re refreshing, entertaining and intelligent. You’ve had a privileged childhood, no doubt.”

  “Things aren’t always as they seem Sandra. Anyway, I have something to ask you and I’m not sure where to start. This is not going to be easy for me, feel free to interject any time. I’ll tell you my sad tale.”

  Surprisingly, once she began to talk about Gordon’s ultimatum, her load began to lighten, something deep inside opened and she began to talk. Forty minutes later, she laid her head back on the chair, emotionally exhausted.

  “That’s quite a story, Bunkie. Glad to see you’re ready to talk.”

  “Not to my credit, I don’t want to lose my job.”

  “Whatever. Society views anger as an immature and uncivilised response to frustration, threat, violation, or loss. Keeping calm under provocation is considered admirable. This conditioning is toxic and can lead to violent outbursts, misdirected anger, or repression of all feelings of anger. I believe you’ve managed to bottle yourself up. For what reason, I don’t know and I suspect you don’t either. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “Okay, that’s a start. How about a referral to the expert I told you about. I’m not going to recommend you however unless you are dead ass serious about getting help.”

  “I am.”

  “Okay. I’ll set things up and get back to you. Any questions?”

  “None. And thanks.”

  The two women stood, embraced. Kate walked her to her car then returned to the house, said her goodbye’s, got into her car and headed for the apartment hoping for a good night’s sleep.

  ***

  Roger had followed his doctor’s orders to the tee except for getting a good night’s sleep in his bed. Stretched out on the couch, one arm dangling towards the floor, one leg stretched out over the arm of the couch, the sound of the phone woke him. Answering machine kicking in, he recognized the voice.

  “Hello, Hazel, it’s me Roger.” He jumped up so fast he saw stars. “Hazel, are you there? If you are, say something, it’s not like I can call you back.”

  He heard a chuckle.

  “Woke you didn’t I.”

  “Yes, doesn’t matter. What’s up?”

  “The masked bandit’s back in the neighbourhood.”

  Roger’s heart skipped a beat. “You sure Hazel?”

  “Of course I’m sure, wouldn’t be calling you if I wasn’t.”

  “Where are you calling from?”

  “I’m in the hostel.”

  Roger glanced at the clock – 9:45pm.

  “I can meet you there in 15 minutes. Okay?”

  “Okay. Don’t dawdle, the hostel has a curfew.”

  Ten minutes later, they were seated at the corner coffee shop. The expresso gave Roger the needed jolt. Hazel was eating a cheese croissant but milk had been her choice of beverage. He looked at the deeply lined, rough face, hands with who knows what under those finger nails, and smiled. Roughness of body never bothered him when he knew it hosted a good heart.

  “I’m not going to waste any time Annie Oakley, I need to get you back before midnight. Tell me what you know.”

  “It was around 8 or so, just starting to get dark. I knew it was going to be a cold night, could feel the frost in the air, so I decided to bunk at the hostel. I was heading downtown when I spotted the bandit talking with Old Crow. He got that handle due to his ability to scavenge. It’s said he could find a 1929 penny in a hoarder’s stash faster than it takes a drunken man to piss against a wall.”

  Patience, Roger, patience, she’ll get there.

  “Any how, like I said, the bandit was flapping away to him and the Crow was shaking his head. I wanted to get in for a closer look but this gang of youngsters, drugged up, in love with themselves and the world, was walking by. Blocked my view and when I could see again, the bandit was gone.” She gave a snort of disgust. “As far as I could tell, looked the same as always. Tall, skinny, that big black coat down to the ankles, damn; I’d give anything to have those huge pockets. I mean, I couldn’t fill them in two days of rummaging. Big black shoes on the feet, had the thickest soles I ever saw, they were thicker than Big Mike’s homemade steak sandwiches.”

  “You’d make an excellent detective; those eyes of yours don’t miss a thing.”

  “Neither do my ears but I couldn’t hear. Had to stay back so I wouldn’t be spotted. I went into the park, stood behind the care keeper’s hut. I could see them but they couldn’t see me.”

  “Clever.”

  “They talked for another few minutes and the bandit headed for the bus stop. I waited until the bus pulled away before hightailing it to Old Crow.”

  Roger asked her if she remembered the number of the bus.

  “Of course I do. It was the number 12.”

  He jotted a note to himself to have one of the techies track down the route.

  “Did speak with Old Crow?”

  “Of course I did! You can forget bringing him in for a chat. He wouldn’t ever talk to the cops, there’s the code. You’re lucky I’m talking with you.”

  “Don’t I know it? Go on.”

  “Well, he was a bit shaken up when I went over to him, muttering to himself in that way of his, rocking back and forth. So, I asked him outright, I said: ‘Old Crow, what did that Bandit say to get you in such a state?”

  “So he says to me, ‘Hazel, I don’t know much but one thing I do know, evil, that one is evil. Wants someone dead, asks me if I know anyone who’d do the job. Now I’ve done lots of things in my life that weren’t good, and the Good Lord knows how I did, but I never laid a hand on anyone. Truth is, did most of the hurtin’ to myself. I couldn’t look in those eyes; they were something else, cold, cold as a marble toilet seat. The evil one I wasn’t going to say anything, pr
actically hissed at me before walking away’. Poor guy was shaking. I passed on a bit of the change you gave me and told him to go get something to eat; he perked up a bit then.”

  “You positive he wouldn’t talk to us?”

  “Positive.”

  He pulled out his wallet and passed her the largest bill he had. “How about you, are you afraid?”

  “No, why would I be? Most people don’t see us you know and if they do, they pretend they don’t. And by the way, you don’t need to be paying me. I would’ve told you without it.”

  “I know you would but we have a budget for this sort of thing.”