by Lesley Crewe
PRAISE for…
Hit & Mrs.
If you’re in the mood for a cute chick-lit mystery with some nice gals in Montreal, Hit & Mrs. is just the ticket.—Globe and Mail
Crewe’s writing has the breathless tenor of a kitchen-table yarn.…a cinematic pace and crackling dialogue keep readers hooked.
—Quill & Quire
Ava Comes Home
She expertly manages a page-turning blend of down-home comedy and heart-breaking romance.—Cape Breton Post
Relative Happiness
Her graceful prose…and her ability to turn a familiar story into something with such raw dramatic power, are skills that many veteran novelists have yet to develop.
—Halifax Chronicle Herald
Shoot Me
LESLEY CREWE
Shoot Me
Copyright © 2006, 2010 Lesley Crewe
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission from the publisher, or, in the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, permission from Access Copyright, 1 Yonge Street, Suite 1900, Toronto, Ontario M5E 1E5.
Vagrant Press is an imprint of
Nimbus Publishing Limited
PO Box 9166
Halifax, NS B3K 5M8
(902) 455-4286
Printed and bound in Canada
Interior Design: Margaret Issenman, MGDC
Cover design: Heather Bryan
Author photo: Sarah Crewe
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either
the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Crewe, Lesley, 1955-
Shoot me / Lesley Crewe.
ISBN 978-1-55109-782-4
EPUB ISBN 978-1-55109-837-1
I. Title.
PS8605.R48S56 2010 C813’.6 C2010-903056-7
We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP) and the Canada Council, and of the Province of Nova Scotia through the Department of Tourism, Culture and Heritage for our publishing activities.
For John, who taught me everything I know
about being in love.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Reader’s Guide
An Interview with Lesley Crewe
Prologue
Gaborone, Botswana
Hildy took a sip of her tea. It was cold. How bloody irritating. Placing the teacup back on the china saucer, she reached for the hotel phone and dialed room service.
“I’d like a cup of very hot Earl Grey tea please and if it isn’t produced right away, I will speak to the manager. Room 218.” She hung up without waiting for a reply, choosing instead to lean her head against the back of the armchair and gaze out the open window.
It was early evening and Hildy was tired. After being on safari for the last ten days, she desperately needed the welcome rest this luxury resort provided. Her fellow travellers were surprised she kept up at all, and most of them wondered why an old lady would want to bounce around in a jeep day after day. But at the age of ninety-one Hildy was used to being underestimated and she certainly didn’t give a hoot about the opinions of these strangers.
The last rays of the sun gave the room an orange glow and Hildy felt its warmth seep deep into her bones. The light made all the sharp edges of the room disappear. As she watched the branches of a tree sway easily in the soft breeze, she remembered the tree outside her bedroom window when she was a child. Was it still there, on the other side of the ocean? She knew that African plains spread out beyond the courtyard, but just then the wind-swept grass looked like undulating waves. And waves brought back thoughts of home. And memories of him. She closed her eyes and let the past wash over her.
The fog and the damp and the sound of a lighthouse, moaning. The street with its broad graceful trees in that city by the sea. A big beautiful house with leaded windows, wide verandas and ornate trim, with a gabled roof and widow’s walk. A house with nooks and crannies and wonderful places to hide. A glorious shelter from any storm.
How did a Maritime girl get so far from home? What was she doing away from the salt air and water? Away from the August gales that roared up the coast and left tree branches strewn over gardens and wet pavement. Away from the sight of billowing sails approaching the harbour. Away from the boom of the noon-day cannon.
Hildy sighed and looked down at her hands, and was startled for a moment. These weren’t the hands of the girl who lived and laughed in that house. They were the hands of a very old woman. She rubbed the parchment-thin skin that stretched over her enlarged knuckles. She was almost transparent. Well, well.
“The sun was setting in the West, the birds were singing on every tree. All nature seemed inclined for to rest, but still there was no rest for me.”
A knock at the door brought her out of her reverie. She quickly wiped her nose with a hankie.
“Come in.”
A piping-hot pot of tea was produced by a nervous-looking waiter. As he stepped away from her desk, Hildy raised her hand. “Stop.”
She rose from her chair, went over to the desk and opened one of the small drawers. Taking out some coins, she placed them in his hand. “Thank you for the tea.”
“Thank you, Missus.”
When the door closed behind him, instead of reaching for the pot, Hildy pulled out the desk chair and sat down rather heavily. Her heart hammered in her chest and she rubbed the front of her sweater before reaching for some writing paper and an ink pen. Her hand hovered over the creamy white paper. She started to write.
Chapter One
Dearest Elsie. I’m coming home to die.
Elsie shivered in the hot bath water. Was this a joke? It had to be. Aunt Hildy was always one for pulling pranks. Elsie rapidly scanned the rest of the letter, looking for the punch-line.
I will ship my belongings by freight. And would you be kind enough to arrange for a safety deposit box? My banker will be in touch with details about transferring funds. I will give you a shout when I’ve made my travel arrangements.
Yours,
Hildy
Elsie flipped the letter over. There was nothing written on the back. Dripping water over the side of the tub, she reached for the envelope to see where it had originated. She’d ripped it right over the post mark.
“NO! This can’t be happening!” she howled, waving the letter over her head as if it were on fire.
“Mom?” Lily’s muffled voice reverberated from the other side of the wall. “What’s wrong?”
“We’re expecting company,” Elsie shouted back. “But not for long.”
Elsie threw the letter on the floor and watched it soak up the spilled water like a paper towel.
The bathroom door flung open and Lily roared in. No matter how many times the girl stood before her, Elsie was always shocked to see that beautiful brown hair a flaming flamingo pink.
“Oh goody,” she said. “Who’s coming?”
“Do you mind?�
�� Elsie sunk lower in the tub. “I never get any privacy in this house.”
Her daughter sat on the throne and shrugged. “You should learn to lock doors then. Did you know an unlocked door means that psychologically you want people to barge in on you?”
“Thank you, professor.” Elsie leaned over to turn on the hot water tap so she could put her feet under the faucet.
“You’re an exhibitionist at heart,” Lily continued. “Mild mannered by day, but with a secret desire to show yourself to all and sundry. Next, you’ll be getting ready for bed with the blinds open.”
Elsie looked at her. “An exhibitionist? You should talk. A nose ring, an eyebrow ring…”
“…and pink hair. I know, I know. God, Mother, get over it.”
“Fine. Now tell me this, smarty-pants. What’s your explanation for why Aunt Hildy wants to come home to die?”
Lily’s big brown eyes widened. “Really? She actually said that? She wants to die here?”
“Apparently.”
“Hmm.” Lily looked out the bathroom window and stroked her chin.
“Stop that. You look like Sigmund Freud.”
“Why does the great prune want to come home?”
Elsie turned off the hot water. “Don’t be rude.”
“Rude! You just had a hairy fit and screamed at the thought of her coming. Isn’t that rude?”
“She’s coming to die, Lily. Normal people come to visit.”
Not that Aunt Hildy had ever been normal. She’d return to Halifax from the far corners of the earth every few years when Elsie’s mother was alive, to “check in” with her Nova Scotia relatives. After about a week, she’d decide they were all mad and leave. Elsie and her sisters dreaded the visits. Their aunt never made any bones about her opinions and never kept those opinions to herself, casting a critical eye over their clothes, their rooms, their friends, and their behaviour. Elsie never understood why her mother didn’t step in and stick up for them. “Life can be cruel, Elsie. Some people need as much kindness as you can give them,” was all she said to explain.
Now the woman wanted to die in the house she’d been in only two or three times in twenty years.
The front door banged open downstairs and Flower the bulldog barked on cue.
“MOM!? LIL? ”
“Up here!” they hollered together.
Steps pounded up the stairs. Dahlia rushed into the bathroom, followed by the dog.
Elsie never could figure out how her daughters, created in the same womb and raised in the same home, could be so different. They were born exactly a year apart, and when they were very young they were sometimes mistaken for twins, but it didn’t take long for it to become abundantly clear that they didn’t have a lot in common.
Dahlia grinned at them before plunking herself down on the creaky rocking chair next to the old dresser covered in seashells, candles and books. Flower scampered over to Elsie for a pat.
The best thing about this rambling old house was the huge bathroom. The worst thing was that the whole family fit in it.
Dahlia flashed her fabulous smile. “Guess what?”
“You’ve been chosen for America’s Next Top Model,” Lily scowled.
Dahlia pushed her long blonde hair back with her open fingers and gave her sister a look. “That was last week.” She turned back to her mother. “Guess.”
Elsie, now frozen despite the additional hot water, refused to leave the tub. Her forty-two-year-old body was not something she bragged about, or showed off too often. It was the one thing about the separation that was positive—she didn’t have to be naked in front of a man anymore. So much for Lily’s theory.
“You’ve been selected as hairdresser to the stars?” Elsie guessed.
“Nope.”
“You’ve won a part in a movie?”
“Nope.”
Lily slapped her hands together and looked incredulous.“You’re engaged, aren’t you?”
“Yep.”
Elsie jumped out of the tub and spilled water everywhere. She tripped over Flower as she grabbed a huge towel to cover herself. The girls screamed at her for dripping on them.
Once wrapped, she turned to Dahlia. “Are you insane?”
Now it was Dahlia’s turn to scowl. “No.”
“You’re twenty years old!”
“So?”
“So?”
“Yeah. So.”
Elsie turned to Lily for support. “Tell your sister she’s insane.”
“You’re insane,” she confirmed. “Certifiable.”
“Well, this is great,” Dahlia cried. “I come home with fabulous news on the happiest day of my life, and this is the reaction I get. Why am I not surprised?”
Elsie wanted to throw her hands in the air but couldn’t for fear of losing the towel. She also wanted to wring Dahlia’s neck but her towel would fall off if she did that too. So she yelled.
“Why would you marry a guy you’ve only known for four months?”
“Because I love him,” Dahlia pouted.
“Just because he looks like Brad Pitt doesn’t make him a suitable husband. He rubs bodies for a living, for heaven’s sake.”
“Yeah,” Lily said. “And he’s stupid.”
Dahlia quivered with indignation. “I’ll marry Slater if it’s the last thing I ever do. We’ll never be parted.” She looked down at her diamond. “Don’t you even want to see the ring?”
Lily grabbed her sister’s hand and pulled it toward her. In spite of herself, Elsie leaned over for a closer look too. She had to admit it was a doozy.
“Holy guacamole,” Lily whistled. “I think the boy means business.”
“What did he do, rob a bank?” Elsie asked. “How can he afford this?”
Dahlia drew her hand away and gazed at her emerald-cut diamond ring with a moony expression. “He ate Kraft Dinner for three months.”
“I told you he was stupid.” Lily sat down on top of the toilet lid and examined her nails.
Dahlia stamped her foot. “Mommy, tell her to shut up. She’s just jealous because she’s never had a real boyfriend.”
Lily stood again. “Excuse me? I’ve had a boyfriend.”
“You mean that geek lab partner of yours?” Dahlia laughed. “The guy who strapped the block of nails to your arm and pumped it up with a blood pressure cuff?”
“For your information, it’s called psychological research. It’s called making sure I don’t end up a hairdresser like you.”
“I’m sure you’ll make a fortune as a shrink, sister dear. All you need is yourself as a patient.”
Elsie joined the fray. “You’ll be a client too, young lady, because if you marry Slater you’re off your rocker.”
“Well, everybody in this house is a loony anyway, so why not join the club!” Dahlia shouted as she paced up and down, stepping over Flower with every turn. “I suppose it hasn’t occurred to you Mother, or to you Sister, that the reason you’re both yelling at me is because someone loves me but nobody loves you two!”
Lily stormed out.
Elsie followed her. “This is shaping up to be a great day. I’ve gained three pounds since yesterday. I have Aunt Hildy coming home to die on my doorstep, and now my baby girl wants to marry a great hulk at the ripe old age of twenty.”
Dahlia yelled at her retreating back. “Okay then. You’re not invited to the wedding.”
“Good.”
“Fine!” Dahlia cried. “See if I care.” She slammed the bathroom door. And then opened it again. “What do you mean Aunt Hildy’s coming home to die?”
Elsie didn’t answer. She raced to her room, flung herself onto her unmade bed and threw the duvet over her head. She wanted to lie there until the neighbourhood crows realized she was ripe for the picking and pecked her to death. It was her favourite brooding fantasy. She wondered what Lily would think of it.
Naturally, the girls made up almost instantly. Elsie could hear them nattering away in the hall about Aunt Hildy and Slater, an
d then about whether there was pizza in the freezer. Footsteps, then silence.
Elsie uncovered her head and stared at the ceiling, then slid over the side of the bed and reached for her emergency shoebox. She pulled it out, dragging an enormous dust bunny with it.
“Sorry. You’re not invited.” She poked the silent creature back into its lair and opened the box. Inside was an old pack of cigarettes, a lighter, a dozen Halloween-sized chocolate bars, wrappers, and a worn copy of Playgirl. She reached for a Coffee Crisp, tore it open and popped it in her mouth. Before she even swallowed, she took a smoke, lit it, then held it between her teeth while she shoved her arms into a tattered bathrobe. Dry as the dust critter it lived with, the cigarette flared and sputtered and disappeared rapidly.
Elsie hopped around, looking for some kind of receptacle in which to fling the tiny firework before it dropped on the floor and ignited the litter at her feet. She stubbed her toe on the bedpost in her haste.
“Ow!” Elsie danced a jig of pain before she grabbed the flaming filter and stuck it into an open jar of Nivea Cream. She collapsed on the bed once more and screamed into a pillow.
The phone rang.
It was Graham’s ring. She could always tell. Unbelievably, it sounded like a fed up, sighing kind of ring. Whenever she admitted that to others, they gave her a fed up, sighing kind of look. Kind of like the look she got when people asked her why Graham still lived in the basement. Weren’t they separated? That question irritated her to no end, mainly because she didn’t have a reason, other than the fact that since the house was so large, they could go for days without seeing each other.
The phone rang again.
She grabbed the receiver and proceeded to knock the phone off the table with a crash.
“What?” she hissed into the mouthpiece.
“Are you all right?” Graham asked.
“No, thank you very much, I’m not.” Elsie bent over to pick up the phone, which caused her bathrobe to open and reveal her soft belly bulging over the top of her thighs. “And it’s all your fault.”
