Divorce Is Murder

by Elka Ray

  The moon was almost full. I crept off the balcony, feet crunching on gravel. My hand shook as I reread the note. Oh my God. It was true. I don’t want Tonya. I want you. He’d changed his mind, after all.

  I didn’t have a watch but knew it was sometime past eleven. I’d heard the cuckoo clock in the camp office on my way back to the cabin, maybe fifteen minutes ago. All around, the trees were tall black plumes. I skirted the edge of the trail, ready to press myself into the bush if anyone came. My steps were as quick as my heartbeat. Was he already there, waiting for me? It was downhill all the way to the Nature Hut.

  Quinn whispers in my ear, causing me to jump. “Did you know Tonya danced?”

  I blink, shake my head. I push my hair behind my ears, push the memories of that night away. “I didn’t,” I tell Quinn.

  Josh is describing the dance shows in which Tonya starred, the competitions she won: jazz, modern dance, even ballet. An injury had ended her hopes of a career as a professional dancer, after which she’d focused on acting. “She was so lovely when she danced,” said Josh. “So free.”

  He looks so sad I feel true sorrow that Tonya is dead. It’s so strange to reconcile the mean, trashy girl I knew with the joyful dancer Josh is describing. Maybe she grew up and changed, after all. Did she ever feel remorse for what she did to me?

  “Again, thanks for being here,” says Josh. He descends the stage and stops beside Tonya’s coffin. His face crumbles. I look away. The moment is too private.

  A line has formed leading to the coffin, its silver top heaped with pink lilies. With a shudder I recall the crime scene photos: what a week underwater had done to her. There’s no way I’m going up there. It’s not my place, anyway. I can forgive her now, but we were never friends.

  “Where are Josh’s parents?” whispers Quinn.

  Jackie shifts in her wheelchair and smoothes down her skirt. Her chair is parked so as not to block the aisle. I’m sitting next to her and Quinn is on my other side. “Josh’s parents divorced in his late teens,” says Jackie, leaning in so we can both hear. “He’s estranged from his mom, who lives with her new husband in Bermuda. And his dad died of a heart attack about a decade ago.”

  “That’s awful,” I say, wondering how Jackie knows all this.

  “Who’s that guy in the purple shirt?” asks Jackie, nodding toward a terrifically fit-looking man with a goatee.

  “No idea.” I study the guy in purple. “Why? You think he could be Package?”

  “Trust me, he’s not,” says Quinn flatly. “That’s Xavier Donaldson. He’s a tennis coach up at the Oak Bay bubble. See the goodlooking guy right beside him? That’s his boyfriend, Patrick.”

  As if on cue, the guy on Xavier’s left turns to reveal perfect cheekbones and a discreet earring. I recall Josh’s claim that Tonya had a lot of handsome gay friends. I scan the crowd for other men who might be Tonya’s mystery lover. A high percentage of the mourners look like they work out a lot. There are plenty of potential Packages.

  After the service, I’m standing near the refreshment table when someone calls my name. I turn to see Mike with a shot of whisky in one hand and a sausage roll in the other. While he seemed cold down at the marina the day Josh’s boat was being searched, after a few drinks, he’s the life of the funeral party. “Hey! Hello again!” he says, his face flushed above his tight collar. “Toby, right? We don’t see each other for what, twenty years, and then meet twice in two weeks. How’s it going, eh?” He looks from me to Quinn, who’s standing beside me holding a glass of orange juice. “Whoa, another Camp Whacky alum.” He smiles at Quinn’s belly. “They’re everywhere,” he says in mock horror. “And multiplying . . .”

  Still clutching her yellow hankie and a small black purse, Louise materializes beside Mike, who nods at her and mock-grimaces. “Aghhh . . . Another one,” he says, still pretending to be scared. Louise looks taken aback. “We’re talking about Camp Wikwakee,” explains Mike. “Do you all remember that dump? And the food? Those mystery meatloaves.” He pretends to gag. “There’s no friggin way it’d pass Health and Safety today.” He downs the rest of his whisky.

  Louise looks from Mike to me, her eyes narrowing. “I knew it was you, from camp. You are the same Toby.”

  I give a reluctant nod. “Er, right.” I point to her handbag, eager to change the subject. It’s quilted black, with a gold chain and interlocking gold Cs. “Ah, nice purse.”

  Louise smiles tightly and shifts it to her other arm, like she’s scared I might steal it. She turns back to Mike. “I enjoyed camp,” she says haughtily, which totally figures. She brightens. “D’you all remember the camp song?” She starts to sing tunelessly, one be-ringed hand fluttering. “At Camp Wikwakee we respect our friends. At Camp Wikwakee the fun never ends . . .” I’m so stunned by this nineteen-year-old display of camp spirit that I just stand there, openmouthed. How can Louise remember that place as fun? It’s like she was brainwashed.

  Quinn meets my eyes. She looks ready to burst out laughing. Thankfully, Louise’s singing peters out when Chantelle Orker joins us. Stopping beside Mike, she peers down at me like I’m a speck of lint she’d like to brush off. “Oh. It’s. You,” she says, this statement including Quinn in its disdain. “What are you guys doing here?”

  “They’re with me,” says Josh, materializing on my right.

  Chantelle’s frown deepens. “That figures.” Between those bright red lips, she bares horsey teeth at Josh and lowers her big head as if preparing to charge. He glares right back at her. They’re like mountain goats, ready to push each other into a ravine.

  Quinn gives me a look. Yikes! What do Chantelle and Josh have against each other?

  I gesture toward Mike and Chantelle. “So, how long have you been together?” I ask. “Is that your son over there?”

  Chantelle manages a tight smile. “Yes, that’s our Cayden.” Her smile widens as she looks at Mike. “We’ve been married twelve years now.”

  “Wow,” I say, genuinely amazed. “It’s incredible, how you met all those years ago at camp. And Josh and Tonya too.”

  At this mention, Chantelle’s smile flips upside down. She scowls at Josh again.

  Oblivious to his wife’s ire, Mike turns my way and squints. “Heeeeey, weren’t you kicked out of camp?” he asks, like he’s struggling to remember why I left. Looking at me, more of the story must come back because his confused look morphs into a leer. “So was it true that you—”

  “What time is it?” interrupts Quinn, her voice sharp. I know she’s wearing a watch.

  “Just past four,” says Louise.

  Before Mike can turn the conversation back to my expulsion from camp, Quinn asks Louise about her work. They talk about Louise’s design studio for a while, then switch to Quinn’s job, leading to a long discussion between Josh, Mike, and Quinn about whales and pollution. Mike contradicts everything Josh says, and Josh grows increasingly irritated. I wonder if Mike resents that his brother’s his boss. Finally, Mike heads back to the bar, allowing Chantelle to take over as Josh’s nemesis. After listening to them snipe at each other for a few more minutes, I retreat to the restroom. Quinn’s right behind me. “Jeez,” she says, when we’re out of earshot. “Were they that bad as teenagers?”

  “They were worse!” It’s amazing how little everyone has changed in the past two decades. Chantelle is still a bitch. Louise is still weird. Mike remains socially inept. And Josh is still too cool, handsome, and accomplished to be true. I study Quinn in the bathroom mirror. She’s the same too—pretty, curious, kind, and funny. So what about me? In Toronto, I was able to forget Camp Wikwakee, but being around these people brings it all back. I feel like a loser, all over again.

  We’ve just exited the restroom when I hear Josh’s voice coming from the men’s room. He sounds aggravated. “With those kinds of possible returns you knew the risks,” he says. “It wasn’t a safe bet and you knew it!” Both Quinn and I pause outside the men’s room door. I assume he’s talking on the phone, u
ntil another man answers.

  “That’s such bullshit!” he says. While Josh sounded annoyed, this guy sounds furious. “You sold it as a sure thing, then wiped me out! Why didn’t you lose your shirt when it all went to shit?”

  “I lost a lot,” says Josh. “But I spread my investments around. I never told you to put everything you had on it!”

  Now the man’s voice becomes pleading. “So how about a loan?” he asks. “To help me get back on my feet again.”

  “You never paid back my last loan,” says Josh. “And I still haven’t seen a viable business plan. Come up with a great idea and really sell it to me. Right now, you’re just asking for another handout.”

  “No! Wait!”

  “No.”

  “Don’t you—”

  The door opens with a bang. Quinn and I both take quick steps back as Josh strides out. Without glancing in our direction he storms off down the hall. Quinn gives me a questioning look.

  A moment later, the bathroom door bursts open again to disgorge Tonya’s brother, Ryan. While Josh’s face was pale, his is an angry red. Seeing us, he blinks, then turns away, his hands balled into tight fists. We watch as he stomps toward the reception hall.

  Quinn raises an eyebrow. “Interesting.” She fingers the cuff of her black dress. “I wonder if other investors feel like Josh ripped them off.”

  I nod, having had the same thought. I need to look into Ryan’s accusations. Did Josh get rich by cheating people? “You think someone could have killed Tonya to get back at him for a bad business deal?” I suggest.

  Quinn shrugs. “Doubtful, given that they were getting divorced.” She shakes her head. “Unless they did it to frame him.” I picture Detective Fitzgerald’s sly grin upon finding the flashlight on the Great Escape.

  “Oh there you are!” We both turn to see Jackie wheeling herself down the hall, one-handed. I feel a pang of guilt, and walk over to help push her. She waves me off. “No, no. Pushing myself is no problem if it’s flat.” She studies our faces. “What are you guys doing out here?”

  “We heard Josh and Tonya’s brother arguing about money,” I say, then fill Jackie in on Quinn’s latest theory.

  “Seems like a long shot, but we’ll look into it,” says Jackie. “Anything else interesting happen?”

  “Well, Josh and Mike seem pretty tense,” I say. “And Mike’s wife Chantelle kept giving Josh the evil eye. Plus Tonya’s mom looked like she was ready to call out a hit on him.”

  Jackie rolls her eyes. “Families.” She checks her watch. “Are you two ready to get going soon?”

  We both nod. Hell yes.

  After saying our goodbyes, the three of us exit the Horizon Chapel. The parking lot is set on a slope, and my high heels aren’t helping, but because of Quinn’s belly, I have to push Jackie to her car.

  While the past few days were warm, a cold wind has blown in. Stopping to catch my breath, I gaze back at the funeral chapel, dark curtains drawn in every window, a place of never-ending mourning. Behind a dumpster, I can see the back of a hearse sticking out. “You know how in movies the murderer always goes to the funeral to gloat?” I ask, shivering. “Do you think he was there today?”

  “Or she,” says Jackie, twisting in her wheelchair to look back at me. “It could be a woman, after all.”

  “Or she,” I concede. “But I don’t get it. Who besides Josh really benefited from Tonya’s death?” A curtain twitches in one of the funeral home’s ground-floor windows, as if someone is watching us. I rub my hands to warm them.

  “That,” says Quinn, pulling up her hood, “Is the million dollar question.”

  “Or multimillion, in this case,” says Jackie. She raises a hand and squints up at the sky. I feel a raindrop hit my cheek, cold and wet, and roll into my collar. “Oh no! We’re going to get soaked,” says Jackie. “You push, I’ll wheel!”

  Sure enough, we’re only halfway to our cars when the heavy rain sets in.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN:

  PERSON OF INTEREST

  I’m just outside the office when my first client of the week calls to cancel. She has pink eye. Resisting the urge to rub my own eyes, I take advantage of my unexpected free time by heading up the street to Starbucks.

  After securing a double latte, I remove my jacket, take a seat near the window, and unpack my laptop. When I check my emails I find one from Josh. He’s forwarded the correspondence between Cage and Tonya. I enlarge the font before reading.

  In his first message, Lewis, aka Cage, comments on the breakdown of Tonya’s marriage and claims to miss her. This email ends with a promise—or a threat—that he’ll see her soon. His spelling and grammar are atrocious. Tonya’s response, titled “Leeve me alone,” makes it clear she’s not keen—and has equally lousy spelling. She tells Cage to stop calling her and claims to have moved on and be getting engaged. Interesting. Cage’s final message is just one line: “As if. You cant live without me.” I have to stop myself from correcting that missing apostrophe.

  Looking up from the screen, I rub my temples. Although it’s close to nine, I still don’t feel fully awake. Last night, after Tonya’s funeral, I found it hard to sleep, and had repeated nightmares. While I can’t remember the dreams’ details, a panicky feeling has stayed with me. I test my forehead for clamminess, worried I’m coming down with something. My eyes feel gritty too. Oh no. What if it’s pink eye?

  I fight the urge to Google my imagined symptoms and reach for my latte. Following a fortifying swig, I refocus on Tonya and Cage’s exchange. What have I learned from them?

  I should make a list of what I do and don’t know.

  1) Does Cage sound threatening? It could be read either way. Has he stalked/assaulted other women? Where is he now?

  2) He called Tonya more than once, or at least she thought he had. Can we get her phone records?

  3) She claimed to be getting engaged. Was she just trying to dissuade Cage or was this true? If true, to Package or to someone else? Someone must have seen her & her lover/s together.

  4) Why did she send these emails to Josh? Did she expect him to be her knight in shining armor? Was she trying to make him jealous about the new boyfriend/fiancé?

  I’m wondering what else to add when someone says my name. I look up to see Detective Destin. “Hey Toby,” he says, looking pleased to see me. “Mind if I join you?”

  Maybe it’s his day off because he’s dressed in tan cotton slacks and a blue polo shirt. He’s holding a raisin scone and a regular coffee, and has a brown leather laptop bag slung across his shoulder. His expression is so friendly that to say no would be churlish. Plus he’s already halfway into the seat across from mine. I nod and close the cover of my laptop. Colin deposits his bag onto the spare chair between us, and sets his cup and plate on the table.

  At this time of day the café is full of retirees. Surrounded by gray hair, Colin looks incredibly fit and healthy. Again, I’m surprised by how good-looking he is. With his short, dark hair, green eyes, and pale skin, he reminds me of an old-fashioned matinee idol. Then he smiles and his smoldering, movie star-looks morph into those of a mischievous schoolboy. “How are you finding island life?” he asks. “A bit slower-paced than Toronto?”

  “I love it,” I say, then wonder if this is true. I miss the energy of a big city, the sense that everyone is busy. Most people in Victoria seem to be on holiday, retired, or both. But was my life in Toronto that great? I often left the office at 10:00 p.m. And I probably wouldn’t be sitting in Starbucks with a cute guy on a Monday morning chatting about things that are totally non-work-related.

  “Are you from here?” I ask, and Colin shakes his head.

  “No, I grew up in Saskatoon,” he says. “But I went to UVic and stayed. It’d be hard to go back to those prairie winters.”

  I wonder why he stopped by to chat. Is he looking to impart or obtain information about Josh Barton? Is he truly, like Quinn has hinted, interested in me? Or is he just being friendly?

  “Quinn men
tioned that your mom is recovering from breast cancer,” says Colin.

  I nod. Just hearing the word “cancer” brings a lump to my throat.

  “My mother’s a cancer survivor too,” says Colin. “She’s been in remission for four years now and it’s a huge relief.” After he says this, he looks embarrassed, like he’s worried he’s being too personal. “What I wanted to say is that, well, I know how tough it is. So if you ever want to talk to someone who’s been through it, well . . . just let me know.” He gives me a crooked smile, then gestures toward his raisin scone. “Would you like some?”

  I start to say no, then reconsider. I’ve had too much caffeine. Some food might make me less jittery. I nod and he cuts the scone in two. He looks genuinely happy that I’ve accepted half his scone. I thank him and break off a chunk.

  Since we’re both busy chewing, neither of us has to talk. I wonder what to say. I want to ask about progress on Tonya’s case, but I know that’s a bad idea. But then Colin raises the subject. “I heard you were old friends with Josh and Tonya,” he says.

  I almost choke. I guess he had a reason for stopping by, after all. I feel mildly disappointed this wasn’t purely a social visit. “You heard wrong,” I say. “We went to summer camp together when we were fourteen. It was up island, just past Sooke. Quinn was there too. And so was Mike and his wife, Chantelle. And Tonya’s brother, Ryan. Plus Louise, the interior designer. But I didn’t stay in touch with any of them, besides Quinn, of course.”

  “Oh,” says Colin. He extracts a raisin from his scone. “So you and Josh never dated?”

  I’m so surprised by this question that I slosh some latte onto the table. Colin hands me a napkin. “No,” I say. “Where did you get that idea?”