The Further Investigations of Joanne Kilbourn

by Gail Bowen

  “From farmgirl to Justice on the Court of Queen’s Bench,” I said. “Justine put together quite a life for herself.”

  Hilda looked at me approvingly. “Thank you,” she said. “It’s amazing how often simply talking a problem through can help one solve it.” She picked up the book of Montaigne essays and read aloud. “ ‘What? Have you not lived? That is not only the fundamental but the most illustrious of your occupations.… To compose our character is our duty.… Our great and glorious masterpiece is to live appropriately.’ ” She cocked an eyebrow. “Well, is that quotation equivocal enough?”

  I smiled at her. “As equivocations go, I’d say it’s almost perfect.” I touched her hand. “Hilda, let this be the end of it. You’ve already done more than Justine would ever have asked of you.”

  Hilda shrugged. “Perhaps I have, but it’s still not enough. Joanne, you know as well as I do that fine words butter no parsnips. Montaigne’s Essays may get us through the funeral, but unless I discover the truth about Justine’s state of mind in the last year, her enduring epitaph will be written in tabloid headlines. She deserves better.”

  “So do you,” I said, and I was surprised at the emotion in my voice. “Hilda, don’t let them draw you into this. Murder spawns a kind of ugliness that most people can’t even imagine. It’s like a terrible toxic spill. Once it splashes over you, you’re changed forever. Believe me, I know. Don’t let it touch you.”

  Hilda’s expression was troubled. “It already has, my dear. Maybe that’s why I can’t just walk away. What kind of woman would I be if I just turned my back and let the darkness triumph?”

  “There’s nothing I can say that will dissuade you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then at least promise me you’ll be careful.”

  “I may be stubborn, but I’m not stupid,” she said curtly. “I’ve been given a long and healthy life, Joanne. I’m not about to jeopardize what any sensible person would realize is a great blessing.”

  When Jill Osiowy, the producer of “Canada Tonight” and my friend, called my office later that afternoon, I was deep in weekend plans. Except for the usual round of Saturday chores, the next couple of days were clear, and I aimed to keep them that way. Our summer at the lake had been straight out of the fifties: canoeing, canasta, croquet, and a calm broken only by the chirping of crickets and the reedy voices of little kids calling on Taylor. I had come back from the lake with a tan and an overwhelming sense of peace. The tan was fading, and the events since Labour Day had made some major inroads on my tranquility, but in my estimation two days by the pool would go a long way to restoring both. If I was lucky, I’d be able to convince Hilda to join me.

  “I hope you’ve got nothing more on your mind than chilled wine and serious gossip,” I said.

  Jill laughed. “We have a little task first. How would you like to look at some videos of men doing interesting things?”

  “It depends on the men,” I said. “And on the interesting things.”

  “These men are auditioning for the chance to replace Sam Spiegel on our political panel,” she said. “I’ve tried to talk him into staying, but Sam says retirement means retirement from everything.”

  “I’m going to miss him,” I said.

  “Me too,” Jill said, “but, ready or not, life goes on, and some of these new guys might work out. The network’s narrowed it down, but I’d appreciate your input. Glayne’s still in Wales but she says she trusts your judgement.” Jill’s voice rose to the wheedling singsong of the schoolyard. “I’ll buy you a drink afterwards.”

  “Okay,” I said. “And I’ll take you up on that drink. You and I haven’t had a chance to really talk all summer.”

  “Good. I’ll meet you at the front door of Nationtv at two o’clock.”

  I’d barely hung up the phone when it rang again. It was Alex, and he sounded keyed up.

  “Jo, I have another favour to ask. I just got back to the office and there was a message here from Dan Kasperski. He thinks Eli’s ready to come home.”

  “That’s good news, isn’t it?”

  “It is, except I have to go to Saskatoon. The cops there have a suspect they think I can help them nail. If I catch the seven-ten plane tonight, I can check out this creep and be back tomorrow afternoon. I hate to ask, but could Eli stay with you tonight?”

  “Of course, as long as it’s okay with Eli.”

  “It will be. Eli tells me he got pretty tight with you guys this week.”

  “We enjoyed being with him, too. Look, why don’t you two come for an early supper? I could barbecue some of that pickerel we caught at the lake. A last taste of summer.”

  “Can we bring anything?”

  “Just yourselves. And Alex, tell Eli I’m really looking forward to seeing him.”

  I hung up. I thought about my tan and my peace of mind. Both would have to wait. As Jill had said, ready or not, life goes on.

  When Alex and Eli arrived, Eli was carrying his gymbag and a box of Dilly Bars from the Dairy Queen. He handed them to me. “Uncle Alex wanted to get an ice cream cake, but I thought these would be less trouble for you.” He grinned shyly. “You know – no dishes?”

  “Good move,” I said. “And I love Dilly Bars.”

  Dinner was low-key and fun. Taylor’s friend Jess joined us. He and Taylor were doing a school project on wildlife of the prairie, and in a burst of untypical enthusiasm, they’d decided to get started immediately. Hilda, who believed in rewarding zeal, however unlikely the source, had promised to take them to the Museum of Natural History after supper. It was a co-operative meal: I made cornbread; Taylor and Jess sliced up tomatoes and cucumbers from the garden; Hilda made potato salad; Alex barbecued the pickerel; Angus and Eli cleaned up. Afterwards, we ate Dilly Bars on the deck. Life as it is lived in TV commercials.

  As soon as we’d finished dessert, Hilda took the little kids to the museum, and the big boys got out the croquet set and had a game with rules so bizarre even they couldn’t follow them. Halfway through the game, Eli came running towards us, whirling his croquet mallet above his head. “You can play if you want to, Mrs. Kilbourn, but this is a take-no-prisoners game. Play at your own risk.” Then he laughed the way a teenaged boy is supposed to laugh – wildly and uninhibitedly – and ran back to the game. I thought I had never seen him so happy.

  Alex waited until the last minute to leave for the airport, and he looked at the yard regretfully before he went into the house. I slid my arm through his. I knew how he felt. After a troubling week, it seemed a shame to put a rent in the seamless perfection of the evening.

  Before he picked up his overnight bag in the front hall, Alex pulled a notebook and pen out of his pocket and began to write. “Here’s the number of headquarters in Saskatoon, and here’s Dan Kasperski’s number in case anything comes up.”

  “Nothing’s going to come up,” I said.

  “Let’s hope,” Alex said. “Dan Kasperski says he can’t figure this one out. Eli’s doing a lot better, but he still has no memory of what he did in the time between the football game and his appointment with Kasperski.”

  “Does Dr. Kasperski think that overhearing what those drunks said caused all of these problems for Eli?”

  Alex’s jaw tightened. “He doesn’t know. His theory is that Eli had been carrying around a lot of unresolved emotions and that asshole’s remark just tipped the balance.”

  “The proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back,” I said.

  “Something like that. Kasperski says it doesn’t add up as far as he’s concerned, but he’s been a shrink long enough to know that there are a lot of times when things don’t add up.”

  Alex held me a long time before he opened the door. “I’m glad Eli’s going to be with you tonight.”

  “It’s where he should be,” I said.

  I watched until Alex’s Audi disappeared from my view. As I turned to go into the house, Sylvie O’Keefe drove up. She and I weren’t close, but I liked and re
spected her. She was a photographer whose work had brought her a measure of fame and more than a measure of controversy. Surprisingly, for an artist so provocative, she was a very traditional parent, who was raising her only child with a mix of love, discipline, and routine that appeared to be just the ticket. Jess was a thoroughly pleasant and happy little boy.

  “How did Hilda and the kids make out at the museum?” Sylvie asked, as she followed me into the house.

  “They’re not back yet, but I’m sure they triumphed. Things fall into place when Hilda’s around.”

  She sighed. “I wish Jess and I had a Hilda in our life.”

  “I’m certainly glad she came into ours.”

  Sylvie furrowed her brow. “I always assumed you’d known her forever.”

  We went into the living room and sat down. “No, not forever,” I said. “Just seven years. I met her when my friend Andy Boychuk died. She’d been his teacher. She and I became friends, and of course the kids loved her.”

  Sylvie gazed at me assessingly. “It looks to me as if Hilda’s relationship with your family has been a good fit for everyone.”

  “It has,” I said. “For a long time, I worried that it was pretty one-sided. Hilda always seemed to give us so much more of herself than we gave her.”

  “But something changed?”

  “Hilda had a gentleman friend. His name was Frank, and he was the love of her life. When he died last spring, she was heartbroken. We went up for his funeral; then Hilda came down and stayed with us for a couple of weeks. I think she was glad not to be alone, and of course kids are always such a great distraction.”

  Sylvie grinned at me. “Aren’t they just.”

  Right on cue, the front door opened, and the kids barrelled in, with Hilda behind them.

  “How did it go?” Sylvie asked.

  Jess went over to his mother. “You know those feathers owls have around their eyes?”

  Sylvie nodded.

  “They help owls hear,” Jess said.

  “How do they do that?” Sylvie asked.

  Jess tweaked his own ear. “See this?” he said. “It catches the sounds and sends it inside our ears so we can hear. The owls’ ears are right behind those feathers.”

  Taylor came over to me. “Could Jess stay over? It’s not for fun,” she said earnestly. “We need to work.”

  “Sorry, T,” I said, “the owls will have to wait. We already have an overnight guest. Eli’s staying here tonight, and he could use a little peace right now.” I put my arm around her shoulder. “It gets pretty noisy around here when you and Jess are working on a project.”

  Sylvie smiled. “I don’t mind a little excitement. If it’s all right with you, Joanne, the kids can work at our house tonight.”

  Taylor’s eyes were pleading. “Can I?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  Taylor laid her head against my arm and lowered her voice. “After I go, make sure Eli goes to the studio to see the dragon-boat picture I made for him.”

  “He’s right out back,” I said. “Why don’t you take him there now?”

  She shook her head. “If I’m there, Eli won’t be able to really look.” She frowned. “Do you know what I mean?”

  “Yes,” I said, “I know what you mean, and I think you’re right. I’ll make sure Eli sees the painting.”

  After Sylvie left with the children, I fixed myself a gin and tonic and went up to my room to read. There was a new biography of the prime minister. The blurb on the jacket promised a Jungian exploration of the dark corners of his psyche. I had just about decided the PM was that rarest of beings, a man without a Shadow, when Hilda knocked on the door. She was wearing her dazzling poppy-red Chinese robe.

  “I’m going to make an early night of it, Joanne,” she said. “It’s been a long day, and Justine’s funeral is at ten.” She leaned against the doorframe as if she were suddenly weary. “The last funeral I attended was for Frank,” she said softly.

  “Hilda, would you like me to go with you tomorrow morning?”

  “But your Saturday mornings are so busy.”

  “There’s nothing that can’t be put off till later except for Taylor’s lesson, and Angus can drive her to that.”

  “It would be good not to have to go alone,” she said. “And not just because tomorrow’s service will be painful. Joanne, you were right about the currents a murder sets loose. Sometimes this week, I’ve felt as if I were about to be swept away.”

  “Then let me be your anchor,” I said. “You’ve been mine often enough.”

  In all the time I’d known her, Hilda had never made a physical display of affection, but she came over, bent down, and kissed the top of my head. “I hope you know how much I cherish your friendship,” she said.

  When I went downstairs to say goodnight to the boys, Eli was sitting at the kitchen doing a crossword puzzle. Angus was nowhere in sight.

  I touched Eli’s shoulder. “Where’s your goofy friend?” I asked.

  Eli gave me a small smile. “He went to Blockbuster to rent a movie.”

  “You didn’t want to go with him?”

  “No. I thought I’d just stay here.”

  I pulled out the chair next to his and sat down. “Feeling a little shaky?”

  He gazed at me. His eyes were extraordinary – of a brown so dark they were almost black. “More than a little shaky.”

  “Taylor left a gift for you that might help,” I said. “It’s out in her studio.”

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “A surprise,” I said, “but in my opinion, a terrific one. Why don’t you go out and have a look while I call Mieka and Greg and see if that baby of theirs is any closer to joining the world.”

  He started towards the door, then he stopped and turned. “Are you looking forward to being a Kokom?” he said.

  “Yes,” I said. “I really am. I like kids. It’ll be fun to have a new one around.”

  “I hope everything works out okay,” he said.

  “Thanks, Eli, so do I.”

  My older daughter answered the phone in a voice that was uncharacteristically gloomy.

  “I guess I don’t need to ask you how it’s going,” I said.

  “It’s not going at all,” she said. “I followed your advice about the Chinese food, and we’ve already scarfed our way through the whole menu at the Golden Dragon; I painted the kitchen ceiling; Greg’s lost seven pounds from all the long walks we’ve been taking; and here I sit, still pregnant, barefoot, bored, and in the kitchen.”

  “Try to enjoy the moment,” I said. “When the baby comes, all that peace and quiet is going to look pretty good.”

  As soon as I replaced the receiver, the day caught up with me. I decided to follow Hilda’s lead and turn in early. I had an extra-long shower, dusted myself with last year’s birthday bathpowder, put on a fresh nightie, and headed for bed. When I came out of the bathroom, Angus was sitting on my bed.

  “Thanks for knocking.”

  “I did knock. You were in the shower, remember?”

  “Sorry. I was just talking to your sister, and I guess I’m a little on edge.”

  “Still no baby?”

  “No. It looks like your niece or nephew has decided to arrive on Mieka time.”

  My son grinned. “Late. Late for everything.” He stood up. “Actually, what I came up for was to find out if you knew where Eli went.”

  “Isn’t he downstairs?”

  “Nope. I called and he didn’t answer.”

  “He’s probably still out in the studio. Taylor wanted me to give him the dragon-boat picture. She noticed he wasn’t having a very easy time lately.”

  Angus shook his head in amazement. “Most of the time she’s such a space-case, but every so often she tunes in.”

  “When T comes home tomorrow morning, I’ll pass along your compliment.”

  I’d just crawled between the sheets and was reaching to turn out the light when I heard my son racing up the stairs. He burst into th
e room.

  “Mum, something’s the matter with Eli.”

  I sat up. “What do you mean?”

  “Just come and see him, please.” Angus’s voice was tense.

  I grabbed my robe and followed my son downstairs.

  “He’s out in Taylor’s studio,” Angus said.

  When I opened the door, the breath caught in my throat. On the easel in front of me was the painting Taylor had made as a gift for Eli. Once every centimetre of that canvas had danced with colour. Eli’s painting of the black horse had obscured the brilliance. The lines of the animal’s body were graceful, but the place where its head should have been was a jagged edge, clotted and sticky with paint bright as fresh blood. The animal’s head was in the right lower quadrant of the canvas. Tongue lolling, eyes bulging, it was obvious the animal had died in terror. Eli himself lay in the far corner of the room; he was curled into the foetal position and moaning.

  My son’s voice was a whisper. “What’s happening, Mum?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Go upstairs and get my purse. There’s a card inside with Eli’s doctor’s number on it. Call him and tell him we need to see him. Be sure he understands it’s an emergency.”

  I took Eli in my arms and began to rock him like a baby. When Angus came back after making the call, I was still holding him.

  “Dr. Kasperski’s coming right over,” Angus said. He bent closer to Eli and called his name.

  When Eli didn’t respond, I saw the panic in my son’s eyes. “Why don’t you go upstairs so you can watch for the doctor,” I said. I tried to make my voice sound reassuring, but I was as scared as Angus was.

  Less than ten minutes passed before I heard the doorbell, but it was a long ten minutes. Over the years, my own kids had had their share of broken bones, sprains, crises, and disappointments, and I had cradled them in my arms as I was cradling Eli. But after I had held them for a while, my kids had always responded. I had been able to feel them come back from the place of pain into which accident or misfortune had hurled them. Eli wasn’t coming back. He didn’t appear to be hurt physically, but his body was rigid. No matter what I did, I couldn’t reach him, and I was relieved beyond measure that someone who might be able to was on his way over.