by Vicki Delany
Paul’s eyes sparkled with laughter. “You’re blushing, Lucky. I didn’t know that was possible.”
“Even thinking about that is so embarrassing. They moved about a year later, thank goodness. Anyway, all I’m trying to say is you can speculate until the cows come home but no one on the outside truly knows what people’s marriages or family lives are like.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” Paul Keller said, his eyes on her face.
***
“I’ve never seen such a load of pure crap.”
“Don’t talk like that in this house.”
“Whatever.”
“Doesn’t surprise me in the least. You wouldn’t know crap when it comes out your ass. And if you don’t know what’s crap you don’t know what’s good either.”
“Please children, don’t fight.”
Nicky Nowak glared at her brother. He hadn’t changed a bit. Still living in the basement, still throwing paint at the wall and hoping some of it would stick. She’d gone downstairs to his rooms yesterday evening when she first arrived, thinking it would be nice to say hi. Pretend they were a loving family for a few minutes. Instead she’d burst out laughing when he told her he was going to have a major show in Vancouver next year. With that pile of juvenile trash! ’Course he hadn’t liked that one bit, and started lecturing her on art, and she’d stomped back upstairs. Visit over.
It was Friday afternoon; they were gathered in the living room awaiting the arrival of the police.
“Aren’t you going to change, Mom?” Kyle said.
“Why?”
“Because the police are coming to talk to us about the death of your husband and our father and you’re wearing your fucking pajamas, that’s why.”
“Don’t use that word in this house.”
“Now I remember why I haven’t been back in ten years,” Nicky said.
“Get dressed, Mom,” Kyle said.
Without a word their mother got up and left the room.
“What, she’s a trained dog now, does whatever you say? Does she bark on command?”
“Give it up, Nicky. She gets weirder and weirder. You’re not the only one who stays away. I just haven’t gone as far.”
The house also hadn’t changed. It looked exactly as it had the day Nicky left. Furniture a bit tattered, maybe, and she didn’t think there’d been that worn patch in the carpet back then, but she might have forgotten. She’d slept in her own room last night, and it had just about freaked her out. She didn’t remember the name of her teddy bear any more, but he was there, staring at her through glass eyes from the top of the dresser. And the posters on the walls. Ricky Martin, for god’s sake. The Backstreet Boys and Christina Aguilera. The room could have been in a museum.
The basement had changed. It used to be Dad’s den. As if he needed a den, but he needed someplace to get away from Mom and calling it the den made it sound important, like he had business to do or something. Now it was Kyle’s apartment, with a shower in the bathroom and a compact kitchen. And Kyle’s art.
Nicky no longer believed that she could be surprised, but her brother’s art was unexpected. It wasn’t bad, and she wasn’t surprised to hear he was going to have a show; she’d seen worse things in galleries, selling for thousands. The subject matter looked blandly normal but the colors were out-and-out creepy. She saw anger, and a trace of violence, in his art. She didn’t think he had it in him.
But, as if they were kids again, she told him his art was junk to try to get a rise out of him.
It had worked.
Some things never change.
They sat in silence. Nicky smoothed down a crease in her jeans. She’d gone for a manicure this morning and the red polish glistened like drops of blood. She picked a magazine off the coffee table, some homemaking thing with a picture of a chocolate cake on the cover. Her jacket fell open and she saw Kyle sneak at peek at her tits. She stretched a bit more than necessary. Give the poor smuck a thrill.
She’d decided to have fun with her mother, and had worn a tight T-shirt, cut very low, cropped just above her belly button. Her jeans were low rise, and her boots had four inch heels. A black jacket, nipped at the waist with elbow length sleeves, completed the outfit.
Hooker clothes, but her sort of hooker clothes, not something to wear cowering in front of a pizza shop in the Downtown Eastside. The jeans and boots were designer, the jacket vintage, and the T-shirt cost two hundred bucks.
Her mother had asked her to button up her jacket, and Nicky replied that she wasn’t cold.
“They aren’t positive this is Dad, you know,” she said.
“Sure enough, it sounds like. They’re reopening the investigation.”
“What’s the point? They went over it and over it at the time. They talked to everyone, people at Dad’s work, at church. Even my friend, Moonlight Smith. What happened to her anyway?”
“She’s still around.”
“Really? Of all the people we knew in school, I figured Moonlight would do something with her life, get the hell out of this town.”
“Some people like this town.”
“Small town, small people. No wonder Mom had a nervous breakdown. Everyone gossiping about her, pretending to be sympathetic but wanting to know if she’d murdered her husband and buried him under the daffodils. I’m not surprised she’s turned into a weirdo.”
“She’s not a weirdo, Nicky, just reclusive.”
“Even you don’t believe that. Come on, she was odd before Dad up and disappeared. That pushed her over the edge.”
Nicky tugged at a lose thread in her fashionably ripped jeans. Pretty stupid fashion, she thought, but in her job she had to look like she had money and taste. “I don’t much care, you know. What happened to Dad. He left us because he was a selfish prick, and if he ended up in an opium den somewhere dying of consumption, tough on him. Women like her, like Mom, who can’t look out for themselves, never mind their kids, screw them too. Rely on some man and when he runs out on them, they’re left high and dry. Do you remember when the church ladies came around with food? They brought bags of groceries because they knew we didn’t have any money. Mom just about died of the shame. But she took the groceries.”
Kyle’s eyes ran down her body. “And what exactly do you do for a living, Nicky?”
“Me? I screw men before they can screw me.” She got to her feet. “I’m going out for a smoke.”
The doorbell rang before she could move. “Let the festivities begin.”
Mom hurried out of the bedroom. She’d put on a gray A-lined skirt and black blouse with long sleeves and a homemade gray sweater with the knitting coming undone on the right sleeve. She’d put on pantyhose but no shoes. The big toe had the beginning of a run.
Kyle stood up, and he and Nicky went with their mother to the door.
A man and a woman were on the step. The man was in his forties, lean and handsome, with short-cropped hair and a salt-and-pepper mustache. The woman was young, with good skin, sharp cheekbones, gorgeous blue eyes. She was long-legged, and looked fit, although it was hard to tell under the bulletproof vest, unflattering uniform, and equipment laden belt. She took off her hat and tufts of short pale hair, as fine as cornsilk, sprang up.
The cops were here.
Exactly like it had been fifteen years ago. The police at the door, hat in hand, dripping rainwater, apologetic words followed by probing, intrusive questions.
And nothing, nothing at all, worth saying.
Nicky saw the man’s eyes on her face. Liking what he saw. Instinctively she cocked her head and gave him a smile. The woman studied her openly, and Nicky felt blue eyes on her breasts and bellybutton.
Did the cop play for the other team? That might be an avenue worth exploring; even today police were sometimes rather closed minded about gays.
Although this one was probably too young to have much money.
“Nicky,” the female cop said. “You’ve changed.”
Chapter Fourteen
Nicky Nowak had certainly changed. Smith realized she was gaping, and snapped her mouth shut. She wouldn’t have recognized Nicky if she’d passed her on the street. As a kid Nicky had been a dynamo on the baseball or soccer field, but otherwise fairly quiet. She had been pretty with thick black hair and olive skin, and young Moonlight had been envious. Smith remembered Nicky as being very short. She glanced down and saw that the woman’s unexpected height was due to stiletto heels. In the old days Nicky, like Smith, had been all knees and elbows. Now she was all breasts and skin. Her clothes were certainly not the sort she’d worn back when they were teenagers. She was obviously trying for maximum sex appeal.
And achieving it. Smith glanced at Sergeant Winters, who had paused and swallowed before croaking out a greeting.
Smith wondered if Nicky’s breasts were real. She was so thin, it was highly unlikely.
She was not just pretty. She was stunning.
“Nicky,” Smith said. “You’ve changed.”
Nicky’s expression was unreadable. “Do I know you, officer?”
Smith glanced at Winters. He gave an imperceptible nod.
“I’m Molly Smith. Moonlight Smith.”
Nicky stared at her, and then she stepped back and let out a bark of laughter. A big, deep genuine belly laugh. “Oh, my god. Of all things. You’re a cop. A goddamned cop. I never would have guessed that in a million years. Yes, I see it now. You haven’t changed much, it’s just the getup that threw me off. You look good. I’d give you a hug, but don’t want you thinking I’m going for the gun. Come on the hell in.”
“Nicky,” Mrs. Nowak said in a voice much like a squeak, “I don’t care for that sort of language in my home.”
“I’ll try to remember that,” Nicky said, with another laugh. Her teeth were straight and white and perfect.
“Mrs. Nowak,” Smith said. “It’s nice to see you. I’m Moonlight Smith, do you remember me? I used to be friends with Nicky.”
“I remember you. You were a nice girl. How are your mother and father?”
“My dad died last year, but Mom’s well.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Mrs. Nowak looked much the same, although years older, but something was off. She’d always been small, the sort of woman who kept her hands still and her arms at her sides, of limited expression and conserved movements. Now she was more like a shadow of herself. Her eyes were empty and her face unexpressive. Even when she reprimanded her daughter, her expression didn’t alter.
“Please,” she said. “Will you have a seat?”
A cloying scent of polish and disinfectant lay over everything.
The son, Kyle, stood to one side and watched. Smith saw him around town sometimes. He pretty much kept to himself. Occasionally, he’d drop into a bar for a beer, particularly if a live band was playing. He didn’t seem to have any friends, and always sat alone. He didn’t get drunk and didn’t cause trouble, and left long before closing. He made a bit of money as a web developer, had several local businesses as his clients. She’d heard he was an artist, but didn’t think she’d ever seen any of his work anywhere.
He was a moderately good looking guy, although pale and on the skinny side with a beard that could use a trim. But, like his mother, he had strangely empty eyes.
She remembered the Nowak family as being the same as all the other families she’d known, hers included. The tragedy, the simply not knowing, had destroyed them.
Nicky, however, seemed to be doing okay. Smith wondered if she was a model or something. Her hair and make-up and manicure were perfect, and she was beautiful.
They took seats on the uncomfortable furniture. Smith glanced around. It looked as if the place hadn’t been updated since she was last in this house.
When they’d arrived in town after the hike in the park, Winters asked her to stop by his office after she changed into her uniform. He told her he’d spoken to Mrs. Nowak and Kyle earlier and needed to go back to not only talk to the daughter, who’d just arrived from Vancouver, but to tell the family they were operating on the assumption, pending further tests, that the remains of Mr. Nowak had been found in Koola Provincial Park.
“It’s a somewhat unusual situation in that you, Molly, happen to be the last person, other than Nowak’s wife and children, who saw him alive.”
“Last, except perhaps for one.”
“True. I don’t think Nowak took himself to that mountain in order to either go hiking or to die. No one reported giving him a ride, or seeing him walking to the park, and it’s a long way. He didn’t own any hiking equipment, and Paul’s notes say he wasn’t known to be interested in wilderness activities. At the time Paul didn’t think to ask if he’d bought stuff recently. I told him I was going to start checking into that, although not many stores, if any, are likely to have records of individual sales going back so far. Paul said he’d speak to your mother himself. He’ll ask her what she remembers about the family.”
“Why would he do that?” she asked.
Winters shrugged and glanced away. “Don’t know. Back to the family. As you knew them, I’d like you to come with me. I haven’t met the daughter yet. This is going to be very difficult. They might feel better seeing a friendly face.”
She’d agreed.
“Dental records are not fully conclusive,” Winters told them now. “We have more tests still to do. But at this time it looks like the remains of Mr. Brian Nowak have been found in Koola Provincial Park.”
“If you’re expecting us to show shock and dismay, Sergeant, Kyle said, “this hardly comes as a surprise. You’ve been poking around here all week hinting.”
“I’m not trying to trick you. I want you to understand clearly what this means. It means that I will be reopening the investigation.”
“How’d he die?” Nicky asked. She pulled a tissue out of her jacket pocket and twisted it between manicured fingers.
“That has still to be determined.”
“He wasn’t exactly Joe Outdoorsman,” Nicky said. “Did he get a ride to the park to knock himself off somewhere nice and quiet where it wouldn’t make a mess? Mom hates a mess.”
Mrs. Nowak sucked in a breath.
“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?” Kyle said. “No one drove him to kill himself.”
“Do you think he killed himself?” Winters asked.
Kyle jumped to his feet. “I think I don’t fuckin’ care. We’ve been through all this. Over and over and over. Paul Keller tramping through this house in his big boots, prying into everything, peering into every dark corner, looking for lies and secrets.”
Kyle waved his arm toward his mother. She had begun to cry, silently. Large tears dripped down her cheeks. She made no move to wipe them away. “Look at her. She’s little more than an automaton. Doesn’t leave the house, can’t bear to face the neighbors. The woman who lost her husband. Careless of her, wasn’t it. Fifteen years have passed. Fifteen years of gossip and shame and welfare and handouts from snickering church bitches. Can you imagine how humiliating it was having her bank account frozen until they graciously decided she wasn’t responsible for her husband’s disappearance? The insurance company finally paid up so at least she got off welfare. Some of the neighbors have moved away, and the new people don’t even know who we are. You’re going to open it all up, and we’re supposed to be grateful.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Nowak,” Winters said, his voice low and steady. “I don’t expect you to be grateful, and I do understand what this means to you and your family, but I have a job to do. What do you think happened to your father?”
Kyle paced, up and down across the small living room. His mother’s face was buried in her hands. N
icky watched him. “I thought he ran away. Up and left because he was a weasel. Looks like he didn’t get far, eh?”
“Why might he have run away, as you put it? Was he having problems in his life? His work perhaps?”
“Christ, I don’t know. I was sixteen years old.”
“You must have thought about it.”
“I have never stopped thinking about it.” He let out a long breath. “I guess I always assumed he ran off to be with some woman.”
“Leaving you kids behind?”
“I doubt he cared. We didn’t matter to him much at all.”
“That’s not true,” Nicky shouted. “He loved us. He was a good dad. He was a heck of a lot better father than she was ever a mother.” Her long black hair moved around her shoulders and she threw a look, full of long-simmering anger, toward her mother. Mrs. Nowak didn’t lift her head.
Smith shifted uncomfortably. The springs on the couch were worn and her equipment belt was dragging her into the depths. This was awful. She glanced at Winters. His face was expressionless.
“Do you remember, Moonlight? Do you remember the time Dad built a swing in the yard and pushed us for hours?”
Smith nodded, although she didn’t remember any swing.
“Was there a woman in his life?” Winters asked. “Another woman?”
“There was that one lady, what was her name?” Kyle said. “The one from the church whose husband died a couple of years before. He was always going around to her place to do odd jobs for her.”
“Did you tell Sergeant Keller this at the time?”
“Yeah, I did. I thought she was way too friendly with Dad. Funny how when he went to her place he never invited me or Nicky to come along.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Mrs. Nowak snapped. “You were sixteen years old, what did you know?”
“Earth to Mom. Sixteen-year-old boys know more about sex than frumpy church ladies.”
“Unlike you and your sordid generation, your father,” Mrs. Nowak said, “was not interested in sex.”
