by Gail Bowen
“Forty-five minutes,” Madeleine said.
Zack nodded. “By the time I got to the city, I decided that I didn’t want to change my life, and I wasn’t going to see your Mimi any more.”
Madeleine’s eyes were anxious. “You were going to dump her?”
“I was going to send flowers and a note first. I called the florist, and when I started telling her what to write on the card, I thought of your grandmother… ”
“Waiting for her toothbrush… ” Lena said, and her voice was tragic.
“Waiting for her toothbrush,” Zack agreed. “So I tore up the note, cancelled the flowers, bought the best toothbrush I could find, and drove back to the lake -”
Zack’s cell rang. His eyes met mine. “Sorry,” he said.
“I’ll take the girls to the buffet,” I said.
Zack was still on the phone when we got back with our food. When he rang off, he did not look happy. “I’ll tell you later,” he said.
“Better get something to eat,” I said.
When we had finished our meal, the girls and I went into the ladies’ room to freshen up. It was an elegant space with two chaise longues and many mirrors. Tearing Lena away from a space that offered endless reflections of herself was not easy, but the ballet beckoned. Zack was waiting for us at the gingerbread village. When the girls gravitated towards a chalet overlooking a surprisingly realistic waterfall, Zack motioned me to join him.
“What’s up?” I said.
“I was going to save this particular sugarplum till later, but Debbie called this afternoon. The medical examiner’s team have done a preliminary examination of Abby Michaels’s body – just observing and gathering samples – no autopsy yet. In their opinion, Abby died of traumatic asphyxia caused by neck compression.”
“She was strangled,” I said.
Zack nodded. “There was seminal fluid in the vagina and on the perineum and inner thighs. There were no contusions in the genital area, so apparently the penetration was not forced.”
“The sex was consensual?” I said.
Zack took a deep breath and exhaled. “No. The theory is that Abby was already dead when penetration took place.”
For a moment I felt light-headed. I gripped the edge of the table that held the idyllic gingerbread village.
“You okay?” Zack said.
“Yes,” I said. “Just overwhelmed.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No. You know what they say: a burden shared is a burden halved.”
“That works for me,” Zack said, “because this particular burden isn’t getting any lighter.”
A hotel employee approached the girls, spoke to them for a moment, and Lena came running. “That man says we can work the controls for the train if it’s okay with you. He says we can even make the train go backwards.”
“Can’t pass up an opportunity like that,” Zack said.
“We’ll watch from here,” I said.
Lena ran back to the other side of the display. Zack nodded assent to the man from the hotel, and the man handed the controls to the girls and began explaining how to work them.
I turned to Zack. “You were saying…?”
“That I’m glad you’re around.” He took my hand. “But that’s old news. Today’s news is not cheering. The M.E. thinks Abby was probably attacked somewhere else and then dragged to her car and driven to the parking lot. Apparently the contusion on the back of her head and body were consistent with some pretty rough treatment.”
“When did she die?”
“The old dogs, which is what old cops call themselves, would say that Abby died at some point between the time we saw her walking out of the gym at Luther and the time the shovellers from the mission found her body in the parking lot.”
“Old dog humour?” I said.
“Yeah, but right on the money. Despite what TV would have us believe, it’s pretty difficult to pinpoint the time of a death. That’s why the police spend a lot of time trying to find the second-last person who saw the victim alive.”
Madeleine, who paid attention to instructions, had just navigated the train safely through the mountains with their icing snow peaks, past the village houses with their jelly fruit shingles, and back safely to the chalet. Zack and I both gave her the thumbs-up. Now it was Lena’s turn, but for once, Zack and I weren’t focused on our younger granddaughter’s performance. Neither of us doubted that Lena would snarl the train somewhere on the tracks, but we both knew that her charm and her poufy grape Kool-Aid dress would win the day.
“Debbie’s big push right now is finding someone who saw Abby after she left Luther,” Zack said. “But so far, nada. The cameras downtown weren’t working because of the power failure and people were too busy dealing with the blizzard to notice what their fellow citizens were up to.”
“How much of this did you tell Delia?”
Zack’s laugh was short and humourless. “As little as possible, but Dee isn’t stupid. She knows what’s happening, and it’s driving her crazy. Which brings us to the second sugarplum. That was Dee on the phone just now. Nadine Perrault called to invite her to a memorial service Friday morning in the chapel at Trinity College School. Abby was a graduate and her father taught there all his life.”
“But the police won’t have released the body by then, will they?” I asked.
“It’ll be weeks before that happens,” Zack said. “When a woman is the victim of a seemingly random rape and murder, people get scared. The police don’t want this to be a catch-and-release case; neither does the Crown. Everybody wants a conviction, and that means hanging onto the body until they’re sure the forensic work, especially all the lab tests, are properly done.”
“Why doesn’t Nadine wait and have the service after the body’s been cremated?”
“That would be logical, wouldn’t it?” Zack said. “But grief isn’t logical. And a violent death like Abby’s brings its own horrors. It’s not easy to live with the knowledge that the body of someone you loved is lying on a slab somewhere while pathologists run their tests. Apparently, Nadine is convinced the memorial service will help Abby’s friends and colleagues get through the holidays.”
“That makes sense,” I said. “So did Delia accept Nadine’s invitation?”
“Not to the memorial service,” Zack said. “Delia’s in court that morning. I could, of course, have asked for an adjournment of the hearing, but Delia doesn’t want that. The time she spent with Abby’s body in the parking lot has hit her hard. She says she’s not ready to sit in a roomful of strangers and hear them talk about the daughter she never knew.”
“But she is going to go to Port Hope?”
“Yes, she’s taking the noon flight on Friday. She wants to meet Nadine and see where Abby grew up.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” I said. “Delia needs to know what Abby was like – not just for herself, but for Jacob. He’ll have questions about his mother, and Delia will have to be able to answer them.”
Zack nodded. “And one good thing. I was able to convince Delia not to take Jacob – no use overloading the emotional circuits.”
“I agree,” I said. “So, is Noah staying here with the baby?”
“Yep, and that’s where I come in. Dee may not be at the top of her game, but she still knows she should have her lawyer with her when she meets Nadine Perrault.”
I felt a flicker of worry. Zack was a healthy man, but keeping a paraplegic’s body in shape demanded attention and routine; both would be in short supply on a trip like this one.
“Isn’t there anybody else who can go?” I said.
“No, Jo. I’m it.” His voice was uncharacteristically weary.
We both watched as Lena slowed the little train for the curve and speeded it up again for its round of figure eights. Incredibly, the train stayed on the tracks.
“I’ll come with you,” I said.
Zack looked up at me. “Joanne, the flight from here to Toronto is over three h
ours. You go through hell if we have to fly to Saskatoon, and that’s fifty minutes.”
“I’ll figure something out,” I said. “Besides, you’ll be there, and I’m always better when you’re around.”
“That works both ways, Jo. I appreciate this.”
I bent down to kiss him. “Whither thou goest.”
The Nutcracker was The Nutcracker. Madeleine was rapt; Lena was semi-rapt.
When the Mouse King appeared, Lena leapt out of her seat, clambered up onto Zack’s lap, and buried her head in his chest. “Tell me when this part’s over,” she said.
I knew the feeling.
The next morning while Zack was dressing, I poured Taylor a glass of juice and went to her room. The door was closed. I knocked and waited until she invited me in. She was standing in front of her full-length mirror in her bra and panties, examining an aubergine turtleneck. She took the juice, thanked me, and drained the glass. Then she held the sweater against her body and gazed critically at her reflection. “What do you think?” she said.
“I think we’ll send you to a convent,” I said.
She gave me the Sally smile. “I’d sneak out.”
“We’d hunt you down.” I sat on the corner of her bed. “Taylor, something’s come up. Zack and I have to go away this weekend. Pete and his girlfriend are coming over to take care of the dogs. Are you okay spending the weekend with them?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“Nothing fun. Delia wants to meet Abby’s partner and see the house where Abby grew up. Noah’s staying here with Jacob, so Zack and I are going with Delia.”
Taylor’s face clouded. “Every time I think of Izzy’s sister I get this sick feeling in my stomach.”
“We all do,” I said. “That’s why I’m going. It’s going to be hard for Delia and that means it’s going to be hard for Zack. I’m hoping I can make it easier.”
Taylor turned to the mirror. “So where did Abby grow up?”
“In Port Hope. It’s sixty miles east of Toronto.”
My daughter whirled around to face me. “You’ll have to fly there.”
“That’s the plan.”
“But you hate everything about planes.”
“Just boarding them and being in them,” I said. “I’m fine with the idea of getting off.”
Taylor’s face was serious. “I’ll make a deal with you. If you do this, I won’t cry the next time I get a needle.”
“Six hours of agony versus a split second of pain? That’s not much of a deal, Taylor.”
“It’s the best one I can think of.” She held out her hand. “Deal?”
I took her hand. “Deal,” I said.
Taylor walked over to her sock drawer and began rummaging and pitching rejects onto her bed. “Why don’t I stay with the Wainbergs while you’re away? It’ll be fun to help take care of Jacob, and Izzy could probably use some company.”
“How’s she doing?”
“Not great. You know Izzy. She’s a control freak. She needs to know exactly how everything is going to be, and she needs to know it’s going to be perfect.”
“And none of this has been either predictable or perfect.”
The pile of socks on the bed was growing. “Well, just think about it,” Taylor said. “Izzy discovers that she has a sister, and before she even has a chance to get to know her, the sister is killed. Then, all of a sudden, there’s a baby in the house. Isobel’s crazy about Jacob but… ”
“It is a lot to adjust to.”
The sock drawer was empty. Taylor turned to me. “Do you know where those fuzzy purple socks are?”
“In my sock drawer,” I said. “Do you want to borrow them?”
“Do you mind?”
“No,” I said. “Do you mind if I extricate some of my socks from this pile on your bed?”
Taylor’s face grew thoughtful. “Don’t socks just kind of belong to everybody?”
“You mean like air?” I said.
“Good one,” she said. Then she raced out of the room, returned with the fuzzy purple socks in hand, pulled them on, padded over to her cupboard, and emerged with a pair of grey slacks. She slipped them on, and then gave herself an assessing glance in the mirror. “I think the hardest part for Izzy is knowing that her mother’s not perfect. It means she has to rethink everything.”
“How so?” I asked.
Taylor smoothed her sweater and turned to face me. “Izzy’s always thought she has to be as amazing as her mother, and now… ”
“And now she’s discovered that her mother is human,” I said. “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”
Taylor raised an eyebrow. “Because now she can stop obsessing about measuring up?”
“That’s a thought,” I said.
“And this message is aimed at who?”
“At whomever finds it helpful,” I said.
“You are so not subtle,” my daughter said. She picked up her backpack. “Do we have any crumpets? I’m dying for a crumpet slathered in butter with a ton of brown sugar on top.”
I looked at her body – not an ounce where it shouldn’t be. Taylor had not only inherited her mother’s talent, she’d inherited her metabolism. “Fridge door,” I said. “Go for it.”
Zack joined us in the kitchen, and while we ate, we chatted about the kinds of things families chat about two weeks before Christmas. Angus had called the night before. He was always a happy guy, but when I’d talked to him he’d been over the moon. He was pretty certain he’d aced his law school exams. His ex-girlfriend, Leah, had broken up with her boyfriend and she’d invited Angus to take the ex’s place on a post-exam ski trip. Angus had accepted. That would leave Zack with an extra ticket for the Junior A game the following week. Zack said that the Regina Pats were looking good, so if Taylor wanted to take in a hockey game, she was in luck. Taylor said that she was washing her hair that night – whatever night it was – but that Declan was crazy about hockey, and that speaking of Declan, if we hadn’t bought her a Christmas gift yet, we might consider giving her shopping money for a cool new dress for New Year’s Eve. Zack suggested that Taylor ask Lena where she’d bought her grape Kool-Aid dress because it was beyond cool.
The exchange of information was as lazily pleasant as it was unremarkable, but Zack had noticed a persistent strand in the conversation. After Taylor left, he popped a crumpet in the toaster for himself. “Was it my imagination, or did Declan’s name come up with some frequency?”
“It wasn’t your imagination,” I said.
“So what do we do?”
“Taylor’s fourteen years old. She wants to be with Declan; we don’t want her to be alone with Declan; so, I guess you and I prepare ourselves for plenty of double dates over the holidays.”
Zack groaned.
“So what are you up to today?” I said.
“Getting the adoption underway, and there’s some background stuff I’d like to check out.”
“What kind of ‘stuff’?”
Zack shrugged. “Just stuff.” He wheeled off – his invariable move when he wanted to cut short the discussion.
After Zack left for work, I made myself a pot of tea and attacked my tower of first-year essays again. My plan was to mark till ten-thirty and reward myself with a mid-morning phone call to Alwyn Henry, but she beat me to it.
“There are five blue jays at my bird feeder,” she said. “I put peanuts out on the feeding shelf after breakfast and the jays just swooped in. They make a racket and they make a mess, but they’re fun.”
“I’ll bet they look spectacular against the snow,” I said.
“When there’s snow, they do, but no snow for us this year. The weatherman predicts a green Christmas.”
I gazed out my window at the thigh-high drifts. “This weekend, I’ll be able to see for myself. Zack and I are coming to Port Hope.”
Alwyn whooped with joy. “This is the best news. How long has it been since you and I last saw one another?”
“Too long,”
I said.
“And I finally get to meet the new husband.”
“And he finally gets to meet you,” I said.
There was a pause. When Alwyn spoke again, her tone was tentative. “Jo, how are you getting here?”
“The way normal people do – we’re flying, but Al, I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t even want to think about it.”
“Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof?”
“Something like that,” I said.
“All right,” she said, briskly. “Let’s discuss a problem we can solve. Accommodation. My house is out because the bedrooms and bathroom are on the second floor, but tell me what you need, and I promise that by Friday night I will either find it or build it.”
“No heroic measures necessary,” I said. “All we need is something accessible with a double bed and enough space for Zack’s chair to move around.”
“The Lantern Inn would be perfect. It’s on Mill Street, overlooking the river. They have a good dining room, an elevator, and very romantic suites – fireplaces and canopies over the beds.”
“I can’t imagine Zack sleeping under a canopy,” I said.
“He’s a manly man?” Alwyn said.
“In his law office, he has a picture of Mohammed Ali knocking out Sonny Liston, and you should see our house. It’s sleek and functional.”
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
“It’s like me now. I like the simplicity. Zack is complication enough.”
“I’ll call and reserve a suite at the Lantern Inn for you.”
“Thanks, and Alwyn, we’ll need one for Delia Wainberg, too.”
Alwyn’s voice sagged. “That’s right, this isn’t just a Christmas visit, is it?”
“No,” I said. “It isn’t. Delia doesn’t feel she can get through the memorial service on Friday morning, but she thinks seeing where Abby grew up and meeting the woman Abby loved might help both Nadine and her.”
“Very praiseworthy,” Alwyn said tightly, “except that Ms. Wainberg isn’t playing by the rules. Nadine Perrault just called. Someone is going around town asking questions about her relationship with Abby.”
I remembered Zack’s overly casual dismissal of the ‘background stuff’ he needed to check out. “You think the man’s a private investigator?” I said.
