A Colder Kind of Death

by Gail Bowen

  “No,” she said, as she hung up her coat. “But I did come away with some interesting new perspectives on Maureen.”

  “From whom?” I asked.

  “From Ray-elle herself. Joanne, Maureen did not work at Ray-elle’s at the time of her death. Ray-elle had, and I quote, ‘canned her’ the last week in October.”

  “But the paper said …”

  “Ray-elle didn’t believe there was much to be gained in giving the newspaper the complete story. She reasoned that since Maureen was dead and Shirley Gault was suffering enough, there was no need to dig up the past.”

  “I guess that makes sense,” I said.

  “There’s more,” Hilda said. “And this doesn’t make sense. At least not to me. The day after Kevin Tarpley died, Maureen Gault came by the beauty shop and offered to buy Ray-elle out.”

  “Where would Maureen get that kind of money?”

  Hilda came over and took a slice of cucumber out of the salad bowl. “I don’t know, but apparently she said she could pay cash. Joanne, the asking price for that business would be significant. Ray-elle told me she had just finished renovating.” A smile flickered at the corners of Hilda’s mouth.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  Hilda shook her head. “That place. Joanne, everything in Ray-elle’s is pink. Floor, walls, chairs, uniforms, everything.”

  “Maybe Ray-elle had Superstar Barbie’s decorator,” I said.

  Taylor, who was setting the table, heard a name that interested her. “I saw a lady on TV who had nineteen operations so she could look like Barbie,” she said.

  “Good lord,” I said, “why would she do that?”

  Angus handed me the salad. “You don’t want to know, Mum,” he said. “How long till we eat?”

  “Not long,” I said. “The pasta has to cook.”

  “Time enough to see my snow fort,” T said.

  “I had to ask,” said Angus, as he followed his sister out the back door.

  I turned to Hilda. “How about some Chianti while you tell me what you found out.”

  I poured each of us a glass. Hilda took hers and raised it. “To puzzle solving,” she said. “Although, to be frank, my visit to Ray-elle’s has yielded more questions than answers.” Hilda sipped her wine. “Joanne, let me practise what I preach and put some chronology to all this.

  “When I got to the shop, Ray-elle was at the appointments desk and Cheryl, a young woman who plays a pivotal role in this story, was sweeping up. There weren’t any customers. I introduced myself, and Ray-elle said she was just about to close anyway and she asked Cheryl to get me some coffee. When Ray-elle was finished, she told Cheryl she could leave, and Ray-elle and I went to a little room at the back, so she could smoke. Joanne, even her lighter was pink. It was in a kind of sheath made of pink leather, and the case she kept her cigarettes in was covered in pink leather, too.”

  “I used to have a cigarette case like that,” I said, “except mine was white. I haven’t seen a set like that in twenty-five years. I take it Ray-elle is, as the French say, ‘of a certain age.’ ”

  “She is,” Hilda agreed. “And of a certain type. I liked her, Joanne. She’s a school-of-hard-knocks person, physically strong and experienced. To look at her, one would think there wouldn’t be much in life that would intimidate her …”

  “But something did,” I said.

  “Not something, Joanne. Someone. The first thing Rayelle said to me after we sat down was that she wasn’t sorry Maureen Gault was dead because Maureen scared the shit out of her.” Hilda raised an eyebrow. “You do realize I’m giving you Ray-elle’s words verbatim.”

  “I do,” I said. “Now, what did Maureen do to Ray-elle to scare her so badly?”

  “It’s an ugly story,” Hilda said. “Cheryl, the girl who was sweeping up when I arrived at the shop, is a person with some serious limitations intellectually. She does odd jobs around the shop, sweeps up, cleans brushes and combs, that sort of thing. But Ray-elle has her wash hair, too. She says Cheryl has a gentle touch, and the customers like her.” Hilda smiled. “Cheryl really did seem like a pleasant young woman. At any rate, last month, Cheryl came to Ray-elle and told her Maureen was forcing her to hand over her tips. It didn’t amount to much, and when Ray-elle confronted her, Maureen said she didn’t need the money.”

  “Why did she do it then?”

  Hilda’s face was grave. “Ray-elle said that Maureen seemed to get her kicks just from making the girl do her bidding.”

  “What did Maureen do when she was fired?” I asked.

  Hilda picked up the wine bottle and filled our glasses. “She laughed in Ray-elle’s face. Said she didn’t need to work anyway, because she was about to come into some major money.” Hilda looked hard at me. “It wasn’t braggadocio, Joanne. The day after Kevin Tarpley died, Maureen paid a farewell visit to Ray-elle’s. According to Ray-elle, Maureen was dressed expensively and ostentatiously. She said something cruel to Cheryl, queened it over the other women who work in the shop, then she went over to Ray-elle and offered to buy the shop. She said she could pay cash. When Ray-elle told her to get out, Maureen turned ugly. She said, ‘Like I would ever want to buy a dump like this.’ Then she picked up an open bottle of peroxide solution and threw it in Ray-elle’s face. Ray-elle still has a nasty burn.”

  “Did she go to the police?”

  Hilda shook her head. “She was afraid to, Joanne. She said she was afraid of what Maureen Gault would do if she crossed her.”

  That night I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, Maureen Gault was there. Finally, I gave up, went downstairs, and made myself some warm milk. As I sat at the kitchen table with my mug, Rose came into the room and sat with me; in Rose’s house, people didn’t come down for warm milk in the middle of the night.

  From the kitchen window, I could see the ice on the creek. In the November moonlight, it looked dark and sinister. A child had drowned in that creek. When they had searched for the body, the police had brought up all kinds of ugliness: stolen bicycles and grocery carts; empty whiskey bottles and used condoms; a weighted gunny sack full of small skeletons that turned out to be feline.

  That afternoon, when I was certain the child’s body had been taken away, I had walked along the levee. The banks of the creek were still littered with the objects the police had dredged up. Until that morning, those objects had been part of the tenebrous life of the creekbed. In the pale spring light, they had looked both mean and alien and I had hurried from them.

  I rinsed my mug, put it in the dishwasher, and turned out the kitchen light. I had to get some sleep. In the morning it would be my turn to dredge.

  CHAPTER

  7

  I didn’t want to remember the last hours I spent with my husband on the day of his death. The morning of December 27 was cruel in every sense: the weather was viciously cold, and, the night before, Ian had come in very late and we had quarrelled. We weren’t people who fought often and, as Ian got ready to leave that morning, we were silent, stunned, I think, by the pall of bitterness that hung in the air between us. I kissed my husband as he left, but I didn’t tell him I loved him, and I didn’t say goodbye. I was angry at him for deciding to drive through a blizzard because he felt he had to honour the outcome of a stupid coin toss, and I was angry at him because I thought he had treated me badly at the caucus office party the night before.

  That party had seem jinxed from the beginning. The idea had been a good one: an afternoon of skating and tobogganing in Wascana Park for the families of members and staff who were in town for the holidays, then, in the evening, Boxing Day drinks in the east wing for the adults. But the wind had howled all afternoon, and most of us with children stayed away. After lunch, Ian had gone over to his office to get caught up on his mail, and he had called before dinner to say he wouldn’t be home, and that I should come straight to the party and he’d see me there. As I was dressing, Angus came into our bedroom and threw up. I felt his head. He was feverish, but no
t worryingly so. I cleaned up, gave him a bath and some children’s Tylenol, and called Ian at the office to tell him I wasn’t coming. There was no answer. By the time Angus got out of the tub, he seemed better. Mieka was babysitting her brothers, and the party was only a few blocks away at the Legislature, so I decided to go after all.

  It was a fine night. The wind had died down, and the air was clear and cold. The evergreens in front of the Legislature were strung, as they always were, with blue and white lights, but that year the park commission had suspended a giant illuminated snowflake over the face of the old building. It was sensational, and as I walked past the pictures of our former premiers and heard the music drifting down the marble corridors, I thought that one last Christmas party wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

  My merry mood didn’t last long. The stately old Opposition Caucus Room was full of people, but Ian wasn’t one of them. I got a drink and went over to Ian’s secretary, Lorraine Bellegarde. She was wearing a red and yellow Métis ribbon shirt and a fringed leather skirt; it was a festive outfit, but Lorraine did not look cheerful. I didn’t have to ask why. Lorraine was a perfectionist, and she’d been in charge of the festivities that day. I knew her well enough to know how acutely she’d be feeling the weight of the afternoon’s failure. She told me she hadn’t seen Ian. She also told me not to worry, but it was too late for that. I started moving around the room, asking if anyone had seen my husband. No one had, and the terrible possibilities began their assault on my consciousness: a holiday accident; a heart attack; a fatal slip on an icy step. By the time Ian walked through the door I was half sick with worry. He looked weary and preoccupied, but I didn’t pity him.

  “Where were you?” I said.

  “Leave it alone, Jo,” he said, and there was an edge to his voice that angered me.

  “It would have been nice to know where you were,” I said. “Angus is sick.”

  A flicker of alarm passed over his face, then he seemed to relax. “If it was serious, you wouldn’t be here.” Then he’d smiled, “Come on, relax. Angus is probably just suffering from too much Christmas.”

  “What if it had been serious?” I said.

  “Well, it wasn’t, so that’s a moot point, isn’t it? Look, Jo, I’m having a great time. Standing here listening to you being pissed off is exactly what I want to be doing right now. But, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get a drink. Then, I’ll come back and you can continue with whatever the hell it is you think you’re doing.”

  I watched as he went to the bar and poured himself a drink. He downed it in a single gulp, poured another one, and started towards me. I was furious. I looked around for someone to talk to. Howard Dowhanuik was alone by the window. He was wearing the red plaid vest he had worn to every holiday function since I’d known him. Howard always made a point of drawing our attention to what he called the Dowhanuik tartan, but the vest had always done a pretty good job of calling attention to itself. In that evening of strange currents and jagged edges, it had been a reassuring sight.

  I don’t remember what Howard and I talked about, but I do remember that Ian joined us, and that, at some point, Lorraine came over and reminded Howard that the Caucus Office had to send someone to speak at Charlie Heinbecker’s funeral the next day. Mellowed by good scotch, Howard had been avuncular as he gathered all our members together. I don’t remember who came up with the idea of the coin toss to decide who would drive to Swift Current. Like most ideas that people come up with when they’re drinking, it seemed inspired. Two people would toss, and the loser would meet a new opponent and toss again, until the outcome had been decided. When Ian lost, he had raised his glass to me. “At least I’m lucky in love,” he’d said, and his voice had been heavy with irony.

  I hadn’t answered him. Lorraine Bellegarde had come over and told me there was a phone call. It was Mieka. Angus had thrown up again and was asking for me. I told Mieka I’d be right home. When I’d looked for Ian to tell him I was leaving, he was gone.

  Three times during the evening I called the caucus office. Ian wasn’t there. It must have been after 2:00 when I heard the front door, and a half-hour later than that when Ian finally came upstairs. I watched as he undressed in the moonlight, his long pale body as familiar to me as my own.

  “Where were you?” I said.

  His voice was infinitely tired. “Where you left me. At the party. Now I’m here, and I want to go to bed.”

  “Not until you tell me what’s going on,” I said. “Ian, you weren’t at the party. I called. Nobody could find you.”

  “I stepped out for a while. Satisfied?”

  “No,” I said, “I’m not. Ian, we’ve never lied to each other. Where were you tonight?”

  “Jo, if you’d stop badgering me, I wouldn’t have to lie to you. This is my business, not yours. Now, for the last time, leave it alone.”

  “Go to hell,” I said, and I turned my back to him. We slept fitfully, angry and apart. The next morning he showered and left. Seven hours later he was dead, and the marriage which had been the best thing that ever happened to me was over.

  That was how the party had looked from my perspective, but there’d been other people there, and they would have other stories. I looked at my watch. It was too late to call anybody. All I could do was sit and watch the back yard fill up with snow until I was tired enough to sleep.

  The next morning, as soon as I got in from taking the dogs for their run, I called Howard at his apartment in Toronto. He was happy to hear from me, but less happy when he heard what I was calling about.

  “Jesus, Jo, I thought we agreed you’d stay out of this.”

  “No, Howard, you agreed. Look, the universe is not exactly unfolding as it should around here.”

  When I’d finished telling him about the way the arrows were pointing in the Maureen Gault case, Howard’s voice was sombre.

  “What can I do?”

  “Tell me what you remember about the party the night before Ian died.”

  “You mean the one at the caucus office? Christ, Jo, that was six years ago.”

  “It’s important, Howard. At least, I think it might be. The problem is I don’t remember much about it at all. Angus was sick, and I went home early. I don’t even know for sure who was there.”

  Howard’s voice was thoughtful. “We were all there, weren’t we? I remember Andy was. His mother was down for the holidays, and he brought her. Old Roma Boychuk, there was a political asset for you. She kept sniffing at the food. Finally she went up to Lorraine Bellegarde and said, ‘How much you pay for all those little sausages and the crackers with the raw meat?’ When Lorraine told her, Roma hit the roof. She spent the rest of the evening going around telling everybody how they’d been ripped off. ‘Next time, get me. For that money I make you a five-course meal, and the meat will be cooked!’ ” He laughed again. “Lorraine was really steamed.

  “Anyway, Roma and Andy were at the party, and Craig was there with Julie. He sure did better the second time around, didn’t he? That Julie was something else … That night was the only time I ever remember seeing Craig stand up to her.”

  “What happened?”

  “Julie came over to me with some hot piece of news, and Craig told her to put a lid on it.”

  “What was the news?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t imagine it was much. Julie always had a mean little story or a nasty rumour. Remember how she used to say, ‘There’s something I feel I have to share with you …’? It was always dirt.

  “Let’s see, if Marty and I were still together, she would have been there, but I don’t remember if we were still together.”

  “That’s probably why you’re not together now,” I said.

  “You’re probably right,” he agreed.

  “Jane O’Keefe was there with that fat lawyer from Saskatoon. You know, the one who dyes his hair.”

  “Billy Clifford?” I said. “I never knew they were an item.”

  “They weren’t. Billy wo
uld have taken a bullet for Jane, but she was just using him as a blind.”

  “For what?” I said.

  “For an affair she was having with another guy,” he said. “Jo, let’s get on to something else here. With all my nasty evasions and innuendos I’m beginning to sound like Julie Evanson.”

  “Howard, if that other man is somebody I know, it may be important. Was he?”

  There was silence. When Howard spoke, his voice was sad. “I guess it doesn’t matter any more. It’s been over for years. The other guy was Gary Stephens.”

  “Oh, Howard, no.”

  “It wasn’t just a fling. At least not on Jane’s side. She was really in love with him. In fact, she kind of fell apart that night at the party. I don’t know whether they’d had a fight or what, but Gary disappeared part way through the evening, and Jane went after him.”

  “Howard, I just can’t believe this. Was Sylvie there?”

  He laughed. “Jo, as you just discovered, I can’t even remember if my own wife was at the party, but I don’t think Sylvie was there.”

  “No,” I said. “When I really think about it, Sylvie wouldn’t have been there. She never had much interest in Gary’s political life.”

  “She never had much interest in Gary,” Howard said. “At least she hadn’t for a while.”

  “I just can’t believe that Jane would have an affair with Gary. She and Sylvie have always seemed so close.”

  “They’re still close,” Howard said. “Gary’s the one who seems to have been frozen out.”

  “Howard, do you think Sylvie knew?”

  “If she didn’t, she was the only one. We all knew.”

  “I didn’t,” I said.

  Howard sighed. “Well, now you do. Look, Jo, can I call you back? I’m supposed to be taking Marty to brunch. She divorced me once for never being there; I’m trying to get back into her good graces.”

  “Marty’s good graces are worth getting back into,” I said. “But, Howard, can I just have one more minute? Please? Did Tess Malone come that night?”

  Howard’s voice was testy. “I don’t know, Jo.” Then he added more kindly. “Tess always went to everything, didn’t she? Look, I’m sorry if I’m sounding pissed off, but I’ve told you everything I remember.”