by Gail Bowen
CHAPTER
12
Peggy once told me that the secret of not being a bore when you reach your eighties is realizing that the state of your bowels is of little or no interest to others. Wednesday morning when I came back from my run, she and Taylor were debating whether art that was created for a solely commercial purpose such as advertising or set design was still art.
Taylor’s birth mother Sally Love’s work continued to earn money through sales of posters, postcards, and the like, and Taylor herself had built a respectable savings account from her connection with Corydon. But in both cases, companies were still dealing with the rights to original pieces of art. Now Corydon had asked Taylor to create a series of paintings that featured beautiful young men searching for identity. The idea intrigued Taylor, but she was wary of becoming a commercial artist. The discussion she and Peggy were having was spirited and punctuated by laughter. I poured myself a cup of coffee and left them to it.
The press conference was scheduled for 10:00 a.m. Peggy was determined to go. I was apprehensive, but I knew once Peggy made up her mind there was no way to dissuade her. Taylor had left for school, and I was checking Milo’s latest figures on likely voters in Ward 6 when Margot brought Lexi over to show off the new baby tooth peeking through her gum. Peggy was fond of children and when she began playing ride-a-horsey with Lexi, Margot took my arm. “Let’s take advantage of the lull in the action,” she said. “We haven’t had a chance to visit for a while and Lexi will play ride-a-horsey for hours or until Peggy’s leg gives out.”
I laughed. “Which will be never,” I said. “Peggy is tireless, which is more than I can say for me.”
“You do look a little weary,” she said. “Why don’t we book one of those spa treatments I gave you for your birthday?”
I rubbed my eyes. “God, that seems like a thousand years ago.”
Margot raised an eyebrow. “It was less than a week.” She leaned close to me. “Jo, what’s the matter?”
“Too much to talk about now. Margot, are you planning to come to the press conference?”
“Do you want me to?”
“I’d appreciate it. Michael called Brock yesterday to announce that he and Slater Doyle had just been married.”
Margot’s brow furrowed. “How did Brock take it?”
“He’s upset, but more than anything, he’s baffled. He still loves Michael and he believes Michael still loves him.”
“I’m baffled too,” Margot said. “The three of us spent time together when Brock and I first began considering the intrauterine insemination. Brock wanted Michael to be part of the discussion and Michael was very supportive. All that ended when Brock told Michael we’d conceived a child through intercourse. According to Brock, Michael was beside himself with rage. I never said anything to Brock, but Michael’s reaction didn’t ring true to me. At first, I felt responsible, but now I’m not at all certain that the breakup was my fault.”
“Whatever is going on with Michael, I’d appreciate it if you were there to support Brock,” I said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Slater pulled some stunt to throw Brock off his game.”
“I’ll be watching,” Margot said. “I’ve had some experience with boyish hijinks.”
“Another favour,” I said. “Could you bring Peggy with you? There may be some unpleasantness, and I’d be relieved to know you can spirit her away if there’s trouble.”
The pavement in front of 12 Rose Street was crowded with curious onlookers, and the media was out in full force. Slater Doyle was there, and surprise of surprises, he’d brought Dr. Michael Goetz along to keep him company. It was a cheap trick and when I pointed the two men out to Margot, she didn’t miss a beat. Margot handed Lexi to me and walked over to where Brock was talking to some journalists, took his hand, and held it against her baby bump. I glanced at Michael Goetz. He looked as if he was about to spontaneously combust.
I had my own human drama with which to deal. Peggy and I had found a spot that was close to Zack and Brock but out of camera range. Peggy eyed the crowd. “Jill Oziowy’s over there at the NationTV van. Shall we go over and say hello?”
“You go ahead.”
“You two haven’t resolved your problem?”
“No,” I said.
“You and Jill will iron this out,” she said. “You’re both intelligent enough to realize that trustworthy friends should be cherished.” I just nodded.
The press conference went well. Brock set the tone by saying our campaign did not have all the answers, but we had enough evidence to suggest that Scott Ridgeway and Lancaster owed the public some explanations. Zack then laid out exactly what we knew about taxpayer money going straight to Lancaster and suggested that it was time for serious investigative journalists to serve their community and start digging.
Jill was first off the mark with a question: “Is the Shreve campaign sending a message by deciding to stage a second press conference here on Rose Street?”
“We are,” Zack said. ‘To quote Edmund Burke, ‘The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good people to do nothing.’ ”
“And 12 Rose Street connects to that how?”
Zack half turned his chair so he could point to the mustard-yellow house. “Our campaign has some knowledge about what went on in that house, but we need more information. We believe that discovering the truth about the history of 12 Rose Street will shed light on what’s been going on at City Hall.
“But we need help. Political campaigns are staffed largely by volunteers. If we’re going to unearth the facts, journalists like you and your colleagues have to become part of the investigation. We’re also asking Regina’s citizens to accept the challenge and get involved.”
Slater and Michael didn’t stay till the end of the news conference, but when they left both men appeared dazed. After the press conference ended, Zack and Brock stayed behind to talk to some of the Rose Street neighbours. I was waiting with Peggy, Margot, and Lexi when Jill approached.
Part of Jill’s charm had always been her immense vitality, but that day despite the makeup that had been skilfully applied for the television camera, she seemed spent. She touched my arm. “Can we talk for a minute?”
I stepped away. “There’s nothing more to say.”
“If you ever change your mind …”
“I’m not going to. The kids and I are finished with you, Jill.”
“Message received,” she said. “Will you tell Zack that I’m committed to this story, and I’m going to dig until I find something.”
“I’ll pass that along,” I said.
Zack had half an hour till his next meeting so I spirited him off to the Noodle House to rev up the troops while I made yet another to-do list. As always there was music in our campaign headquarters. Zack knew many things, but he never had children growing up in the 1980s and 1990s. When he was greeted by a searing guitar solo, he frowned. “Can people actually think in here with all that noise?”
“That’s not ‘noise.’ That’s ‘Today’ by The Smashing Pumpkins,” I said. “A seminal song.”
“You know all that?”
“Milo knows all that. He was the one who figured out that a constant menu of classic rock would bring people into campaign headquarters. He was also the one who was smart enough to suggest that we call our headquarters ‘the Noodle House’ because it sounds cool.”
Zack was thoughtful. “You’re very fond of Milo, aren’t you?”
“I am,” I said. “I like people who commit to what they do. That’s one of the many reasons I love you.”
Zack wheeled over, put his arm around my legs, and squeezed. “That goes both ways, Jo. You’re doing a helluva job with this campaign. Moving the press conference to Rose Street was a good call.”
“The jury’s still out on that,” I said. “Incidentally, Jill asked me to tell you she’s committed to this story and she’s not going to quit until she knows the truth.”
“That was the response I wa
s hoping for,” Zack said. “The more people who know about this, the less vulnerable we are.” His cell beeped a reminder. “Time to head out. I’ll just say a quick hello to everybody.”
When I got back to my place by the door, my cell rang. I picked up. The urgent, imploring tone of the caller’s voice was immediately recognizable. “Joanne, it’s Liz Meighen. Are you free to talk?”
“Yes,” I said. I walked outside. It was chilly, but the sun was warm and I was very eager to hear from Liz.
“I know I should have been in touch sooner. I should have called to explain why I didn’t come that morning.” Her voice faltered. “Suddenly my life is full of ‘should haves.’ ”
“As long as you’re all right.”
“I’m not really,” she said slowly. “I’m on a new medication and it’s making me confused – but I think I already told you that – the night I forgot to put the white chocolate in the pots de crème.”
“And the dessert turned out brilliantly. Liz, we’re all getting older. These things happen.”
“Not the kind of things that happen to me. One day – I’m not sure exactly which day it was – I drove to the drugstore. It was the same drugstore we’ve been going to for thirty years. It’s six blocks from my house and I couldn’t remember how to get home.”
“Have you talked to your doctor?”
“I don’t know where he is,” she said.
“Are you at home now?”
“No. I’m in a safe place. When everything started spinning out of control, I knew I had to get away.”
“Where are you?”
“It’s better for you not to know. That way Graham can’t put pressure on you. He can’t be trusted, Joanne. I don’t know who to trust any more. I thought my psychiatrist was on my side. He’s always been supportive, but lately I’ve had the feeling he was undermining me. Working against me. Does that sound crazy? This new medication jumbles my thoughts.”
“What you said doesn’t sound crazy,” I said. “Do you have any idea why your psychiatrist would decide to work against you?”
“Yes. The morning I was supposed to see you, I discovered that Dr. Goetz is one of them.”
My veins tightened. “The psychiatrist you’re seeing is Michael Goetz?”
“Do you know him?”
“We met briefly. Liz, when you said Dr. Goetz was ‘one of them,’ what did you mean?”
Suddenly, she was angry. “You don’t believe me,” she said.
“I do,” I said quickly. “I just didn’t understand what you meant.”
She said the words slowly as if she were explaining something that was self-evident. “Dr. Goetz was one of the men in Graham’s group. The morning I was supposed to see you, I overheard Graham talking to him on the phone. Graham was very angry. Of course, I couldn’t hear Dr. Goetz’s side of the conversation, but Graham wouldn’t listen to him. He just kept shouting, ‘You’ve got to do it. There’s no other way.’ Joanne, I know Graham is trying to convince Dr. Goetz to get me committed so he can get power of attorney and take over my money.”
“Liz, I’m your friend, and I know what you’ve been going through, but for your own sake you have to be careful not to jump to conclusions.”
“I’m not jumping to conclusions. Graham’s having financial difficulties. The night before I was supposed to meet you, he asked me for money and I turned him down. When I overheard him talking to Michael Goetz, I was sure I knew exactly what was happening. I confronted Graham. He said he’d been trying to convince Dr. Goetz to change my medication because the medication I was on was scrambling my mind and he was afraid I’d say something – something – something – I can’t remember the word. It’s a word I used to know, but I can’t remember it any more.” There was an edge of hysteria in her voice. “I’ve always been able to remember words. I’m losing my words, Joanne. I’m losing myself.”
“Liz, you need help. Is there someone there I can talk to?”
She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m not sure if there’s anyone I can trust here.”
“You told me you were in a safe place.”
“I thought I was, but now …” Her voice rose till it was almost a shout. “Don’t trust anybody. Do you hear what I’m saying, Joanne? Do not trust anybody.” Liz had trouble hanging up the phone. It sounded as if she’d dropped it. There was background noise – another voice – someone offering to help. Then, finally the phone was back in its cradle and there was silence.
I tried *69 to check the number of the last call I’d received, but it was blocked. I left a message at the Meighen house asking Graham to call me. Then I called Michael Goetz’s office. His nurse said he was in a therapy session. I told her I had concerns about one of Dr. Goetz’s patients, and I left my name and number. I was not optimistic that either Graham Meighen or Michael Goetz would get back to me.
It had been a disquieting morning, and the prospect of being alone with my thoughts in an empty condo was not appealing. Besides, I had information about Michael Goetz that would interest Margot. When I got off the elevator in our building, I went straight to her place.
She beamed when she opened the door and saw me. “I was just thinking about you,” she said. “The press conference went well, didn’t it?”
“Yes,” I said. “Did you notice that Slater and Michael beat a hasty retreat?”
Margot nodded. “I wondered about that,” she said. “Come on in. Lexi’s down for a nap. Stay and have lunch with me. Jasmina made cabbage soup and I have some very nice rye bread.”
“Do you happen to have some very nice rye whisky to go with it?”
Margot raised an eyebrow. “I take it that the morning took a nose-dive after the press conference. Lucky for you Leland always made sure we had a bottle of Crown Royal in the house. I’ve been pregnant or nursing forever, so it’s all yours.”
Margot put the soup on to warm; I made myself a drink, and we sat down at the kitchen table.
“About twenty minutes ago, I had a call from Liz Meighen,” I said.
“Graham’s wife? What’s up with her?”
“I wish I knew. She wouldn’t tell me where she was. To be honest, I’m not certain she knew that herself. She’s been pretty unstable for a while now.”
“I remember hearing that she and Graham lost their daughter last year.”
“And the loss was devastating, but Liz seemed to be getting better. Then, out of nowhere, she started falling apart.”
“Grief has no timetable,” Margot said. “I’ve been learning that myself.”
I reached across the table and touched Margot’s hand. “I know how difficult it’s been for you since Leland died. But I think the root of Liz’s problems may be more sinister than grief.”
Margot frowned. “That sounds ominous.”
“If what Liz Meighen told me is true, she’s being victimized. But I honestly don’t know if I can trust what she says.” I sipped my drink and felt the warmth spread through my veins. “Margot, do you know anything about Graham’s current financial status?”
“Nothing definite, but there’s been a fair amount of buzz about the subject lately. Apparently, Graham is suddenly afflicted with the reverse Midas touch. Everything he touches turns to ashes. He’s made some lousy decisions, and rumour has it that he’s gambling.”
“That would lend credence to what Liz told me on the phone. She believes Graham and her psychiatrist are conspiring to have her declared non compos mentis.”
“So Graham can get at her money?”
“Presumably,” I said. “Now take a wild guess at the identity of Liz’s psychiatrist.”
Margot’s eyes widened. “Michael Goetz. Wow. If Michael is conspiring with Graham Meighen to get Liz’s money, he’s in deep doo-doo – legally, and with the College of Physicians and Surgeons.”
“That might explain why Michael was so eager to distance himself from Brock.”
“You think he’s protecting Brock?”
“I don’t kno
w. Margot, I don’t even know if what Liz told me is true. Given what you said about Graham’s financial problems, it makes sense, but when Liz talked about Michael Goetz being ‘one of them,’ she did sound delusional. And her reaction when she thought I didn’t believe her was erratic. She was furious and then she just seemed to lapse into despair.”
“So are you going to the police with this?”
“I don’t know. We can’t ignore the fact that Michael Goetz is married to Slater Doyle and Slater works for Graham. But if we’re wrong and Liz is having some sort of psychotic episode, a false charge could derail Michael’s life. He’s not my favourite person, but Brock is a good man, and he loves Michael. I don’t think we can take a chance.”
“So we shouldn’t tell Brock.”
“We have to tread lightly. There’s been enough damage, and there’s more to come. Liz left town on Saturday and Sunday night, Zack and I saw Graham and Jill having what had all the earmarks of a romantic dinner.”
Margot raised an eyebrow. “Did somebody forget to tell Graham he’s married?”
“That doesn’t seem to be an issue,” I said. “Of course, it never was for Jill either. Zack said he told you about Jill’s affair with Ian.”
“He did,” Margot said. “I was waiting for you to bring up the subject. I’m sorry, Jo. I really am. You deserved better.”
“Ultimately, I got the best,” I said. “And Jill is getting involved with another man who will just be using her. Zack says Graham’s a sociopath.”
“That’s interesting. More than once, Leland told me Graham was a man without a conscience.” She cocked her head. “So are you going to warn Jill about the new man in her life?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m certain Graham’s sudden interest in Jill stems from the fact that he needs money.”
“I didn’t realize there was big money in journalism,” Margot said.
“There isn’t,” I said. “A few years back, Jill was married. The marriage didn’t last long, but when her husband died, Jill inherited a very healthy investment portfolio.”
