The Brutal Heart Page 22

  “I disagree,” I said. “Sean doesn’t miss much.”

  “I don’t like that boy a bit,” Margot said. “You’ve done your good deed, Joanne. The prospect of a day with Sean did not set my girlish heart a-flutter, but you don’t have to come to Wadena.”

  “I know,” I said. “But I’m tired of sitting around, waiting for the other shoe to drop. I want this to be over, Margot. Let’s go to Wadena and find out what we can.”

  Margot looked at me approvingly. “You know, I think you and I are going to get along just fine. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at nine.”

  Our cottage was in an area called Lawyers’ Bay. The spot had been named in the 1940s with a sneer by locals nettled by the fact that Henry Hynd, a Regina lawyer, had snapped up the horseshoe of land fringing the prettiest bay on the lake. Henry and his wife, Winifred, were long-range thinkers. They planned a big family, and their dream was that their children would grow, marry, build cottages of their own on Lawyers’ Bay, where Henry and Winifred (who was called Freddy by friend and foe alike) would watch them swim and grow during the hot months of summer.

  But life has a way of scuttling plans. When the Hynds’ first child, a son, was born, Freddy almost died. Lawyers’ Bay remained undeveloped until their son, Henry Junior, also a lawyer, married Harriet and they produced a single child, Kevin. Our cottages had come about because Kevin Hynd, in his first year at law school, found a family in four students in his first-year class. After Kevin and his friends graduated and became successful law partners, they built the cottages that Henry and Freddy Hynd had dreamed of.

  By the time Zack and I married, Henry Senior and Freddy had gone to their respective rewards, and Henry Junior and Harriet were living in cozy proximity in an assisted-living home in Regina. The families occupying the lake homes that dotted Lawyers’ Bay bore little resemblance to the senior Hynds’ dream of happy families in cottages with squeaky doors, sandy floors, and guest books with wooden covers, of memories that focused on good times and good coffee.

  Kevin never married; Blake Falconer’s marriage ended in tragedy; Chris Altieri committed suicide; Delia Wainberg married a man who graduated bottom of their class at law school and never practised law but found joy in raising their daughter and in creating life-sized woodcarvings of animals and people. And there was Zack, who, when we met, had been the most successful and solitary of them all. He had built his cottage at the urging of his partners. He hired a housekeeper, bought a big, expensive boat; then, except for the three long weekends of summer, he forgot about the place. That changed when we got together.

  From the beginning I loved the cottage. The architect had understood the importance of light, and there were enough windows and skylights to please even me. Because of Zack’s wheelchair, all the rooms were large and all the doorways wide. Zack had handed the interior designer a blank cheque and told him to do whatever he thought would work. The decision had been wise.

  The designer had chosen the coolest of monochromes for the walls; sleekly unobtrusive furniture for the public rooms, and abstract art throughout the house that was pleasing but not challenging. Only the concert-sized Steinway and the collection of moths mounted in shadow boxes were of Zack’s choosing.

  When Zack and I married, he told me to make whatever changes I wanted to. I didn’t change a thing. The large uncluttered spaces were great for a family that included a man in a wheelchair, a daughter still at home who had many friends, two granddaughters, two big dogs, and two cats. I liked the spare decor and the hardwood floors. My favourite room was the sunroom that overlooked the lake. The designer had found a partners’ table at a country auction – a massive piece with twelve matching chairs. It was ornate, out of fashion, and, for that reason, dirt cheap.

  That late afternoon, Zack and I had our pickerel there, so we could watch the sun blaze its shining path on the lake and keep an eye on Pantera and Willie.

  After Pantera ripped down the hill, did a face plant into the sand, shook his square head, lumbered into the lake, and began swimming, Zack turned to me. “The dogs love it here.”

  “No leashes,” I said. “I love it too. Same reason.”

  “Any time you want to move out here, say the word.”

  “Four more years,” I said. “After Taylor finishes high school.”

  “Fair enough,” Zack said. “So what are you going to do out here?”

  “Nothing,” I said.

  “I’m going to get an office in town,” Zack said. “No partners, no clients, just my name on the door. Pantera and I aren’t like you and Willie. We need a destination.”

  After we ate, we went down to the lake. It was chilly, and I went back up to the cottage to get our jackets. When I glanced out the window, Zack was sitting on the dock with Pantera. They were at peace, and I wondered how long it would be before they were at peace again.

  I walked down to the dock and handed Zack his jacket. “Penny for your thoughts,” I said.

  “Just trying to sort out the tangle. There’s always a loose end that starts unravelling it all. I’m just trying to figure out where it is.”

  “Maybe Margot and I will find it in Wadena.”

  Zack leaned back in his chair. “I wouldn’t be surprised. One lousy choice and an entire life changes.”

  “Are you talking about what happened to you?” I said.

  “No,” Zack said. “No complaints here. No one has had a better life than me.”

  “Don’t use the past tense,” I said. “You and I are just hitting our stride.”

  We sat in silence as the path of light on the lake grew wider and finally disappeared. The sky grew dark. Usually, this was the signal for other cottagers to turn on their lights, but that night there was no one there but us. There was a tang of skunk in the air and, except for the slap of the waves on the shore, the world was quiet. Finally, Zack sighed. “Time to go to bed, Ms. Shreve. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

  “I know,” I said. “But we still have tonight.”

  CHAPTER 12

  It didn’t take long for the harmony that had enveloped us to disappear. As I drove back to the city the next morning, Zack thumbed his BlackBerry and muttered an expletive. “I guess it was just a matter of time,” he said.

  “Till what?”

  “Till the cops got hold of Cristal’s client list. And someone made the job easy for them – sent it to them electronically. The police have been quick to request the men whose names appear on the list to honour them with their presence.”

  “Including you?”

  “Including me.”

  “Any idea who supplied the police with the list?”

  “According to the e-mail address, it was Bree Steig. Comatose, under twenty-four-hour watch, but apparently still able to use her Hotmail account.”

  “Someone knew her password.”

  “Right. Debbie Haczkewicz must be pulling her hair out. Almost two weeks since Cristal was killed – no arrest and the number-one suspect just got murdered. Now, some public-spirited citizen sends Debbie the names of thirty-two of our city’s best and brightest, with the suggestion that one of them had a very good reason for killing both Cristal and Jason.”

  “It would be interesting to know who sent the e-mail.”

  “Interesting but not easy. Trying to discover the user of a Hotmail account is right up there with counting the number of angels that can dance on the head of a pin. Interviewing all the men on that list is going to take time and personnel, and that gives us our silver lining.”

  “How so?”

  “Because it’ll take some of the heat off Ginny. It’s hard to imagine circumstances under which she would have found Cristal’s client list and sent it to the police.”

  “It’s not hard at all,” I said. “If Jason had the list, Ginny could have picked it up the morning he died. I don’t believe that’s what did happen, but it could have. I wouldn’t count on the police easing up on Ginny quite yet.”

  “I didn’t need to
hear that.”

  “Well, while I’m on a roll – we haven’t talked about Blake.”

  Zack’s jaw tightened. “What about him?”

  “When I told him Jason Brodnitz was dead, Blake said ‘People like that deserve to die.’ ”

  “Well, thank God he’s out of town, eh? You say stuff like that to the cops, they start asking questions.”

  “There were many men in Cristal’s life,” I said. “Some of them might have felt that way about Jason too.”

  “Especially if he was trying to shake them down. Jo, there were names on that list that surprised even me. The one thing they share is they’re all guys who aren’t used to being fucked over.”

  We drove past fields tender with the green of new growth. “So what’s next?”

  “First thing I have to do is tell the seven dwarfs to find legal representation. I also have to tell my partner that. Ginny is my client, and looking out for Blake would be a conflict of interest.”

  “You’re ready to cut Blake loose for Ginny?”

  “I have to, but I’ve known Blake for almost thirty years. He didn’t kill anybody.”

  “You think Ginny might have?”

  Zack didn’t answer, and when he didn’t answer, I knew better than to ask. I changed the subject. “Do you think I’m spinning my wheels trying to find out about Cristal’s life?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. By this time, the cops will have done their job. I’ve had my run-ins with the force over the years, but they’re competent and they’re honest.”

  “They could have overlooked something,” I said. “Cristal had a private life. She and 3 must have gone out for dinner or taken a walk or rented a video. Surely, someone saw them together.”

  Zack was silent. “I wonder,” he said finally.

  “You wonder what?”

  “I wonder if Cristal paid my bill because Francesca saw something. They live in the same neighbourhood – in fact, Francesca’s favourite haunt is that warehouse next to Cristal’s condo. But Francesca’s terrified of cops – she’d never let one get close enough to ask questions.”

  “She’d let you get close enough,” I said. “And she trusts you.”

  “That’s because I like her,” Zack said. “I’ll see if I can carve out some time this morning and take a spin through the warehouse district.” He grinned. “I love it when the pieces start to come together.”

  Zack’s BlackBerry rang. He checked the number. “Margot,” he said. “Probably anxious to hit the road and wondering what I’ve done with you.” He picked up. “Falconer Shreve Wainberg Hynd and Wright.” He grinned. “I thought you’d like that, and, no, your name can’t be first on the list. So what’s up?” He listened for a moment. “Joanne’s at the wheel. We should be home in ten minutes, but she obeys speed limits, so make it fifteen. Why don’t you meet us at the house?”

  Zack punched in another number.

  “Now who?” I said.

  “Norine,” he said. “I might as well get caught up on what’s happening at the office. Hey, it’s handy having a driver.”

  “Then let’s hire one,” I said. “Then we can both be boors.”

  “Sorry, Ms. Shreve. Sometimes I forget your socialist roots. Hey, Norine, what’s going on there?” He listened. “It’s eight forty-five. How can the day be this fucked up already? Don’t try to answer, that was just rhetoric. Get Sean to call his investigators. I want them to find out everything they can about the men in Cristal Avilia’s life. I’m sending a list of the names. And, Norine, can you clear an hour for me sometime today? I’ve got to find Francesca Pope. Good. And no calls forwarded except from Blake.”

  Margot’s black BMW was already in our driveway. When we pulled up, she leapt out.

  “Ready to hit the road?” she said.

  “Don’t rush off,” Zack said. “Come in and I’ll make us coffee.”

  Margot raised an eyebrow. “You make coffee?”

  “It’s not exactly verifying the string theory,” Zack said. “Just grind the beans, put the filter in the cone, measure the coffee into the filter, and pour the boiling water.”

  “I’m impressed,” Margot said. “And you passed your bar exams too.”

  We took our coffee outside. When I let out Taylor’s cats, they streaked to the one patch of sun on the back deck and took possession.

  “We’re in for a warm day,” I said. “Those cats have an uncanny ability to predict weather.”

  Margot moved her chair so she could pat Pantera while we talked. “I had a phone call last night,” she said. “Mandy Avilia has something very important she wants to talk to me about. Probably a new shade of nail polish they just got in at Cut ‘n’ Curl, but she’s a sweet girl, and she is Cristal’s sister. Sisters tell each other things.”

  “If Cristal told her sister that Jason was her boyfriend, would you tell me?” Zack asked.

  “Sure. I play by the rules, but it ain’t gonna happen.” Margot touched the lovely flame-coloured scarf she was wearing. “I’ll bet you this scarf against that tie you’re wearing that Jason wasn’t 3.”

  “What would you do with my tie?”

  “Wear it.”

  “You’re on.” Zack said. “Full disclosure – we’re hiring a firm of investigators to find out everything they can about the men in Cristal Avilia’s life.”

  “Joanne and I will find out more in an afternoon than they will in a month.”

  Zack cocked his head. “The people of Wadena don’t like strangers?”

  “Wadenans are the friendliest people on the prairie,” Margot said. She went over and fingered Zack’s tie. “You just have to know the right questions to ask.”

  Wadena is two hours northeast of Regina. The drive is a pleasant one through gently rolling farmland and poetically quivering aspens, and Margot and I were both determined to enjoy our time together. Our topics of conversation were inconsequential: a new restaurant that had opened in town, some delicious gossip about a mutual acquaintance, summer plans. It wasn’t until we came to the sign welcoming us to Wadena that we talked about Cristal Avilia.

  “I still can’t believe she’s dead, you know,” Margot said.

  “Were you close?”

  “No. She was six years younger than me and that’s a lot when you’re in school. But Cristal was in my sister Laurie’s class, so she was around the house.”

  “What was she like?”

  “Pretty, smart, quiet, not the girl you would have expected to end up living the life she did. There were girls who were more likely candidates, the ones they called the town bicycles because every boy had a ride on them, but Cristal wasn’t like that. She seemed focused, and – this is going to sound so high school – she was nice.”

  “Do you have any idea why her life got off track?”

  “No. I’m sure if you walked up and down Main Street – which, incidentally in Wadena is called Main Street – you would get fifteen hundred theories, but I’ve been a lawyer too long to waste time on root causes. Something happened, and Cristal gets a shitty life and an early death. That’s really all that matters.”

  “Not to Zack. He’s convinced he needs to know what happened, at least in the time between the beginning of the shitty life and the end.”

  “If anybody will know that, it’ll be my sister. That’s why we should see her before we see Mandy. I left Wadena twenty-two years ago. When I came home, I heard things about Cristal, but I didn’t pay much attention. I was busy, going to school, building a practice, having fun.” Margot slowed and pointed to a small brick building covered in painted daisies. “That’s the Cut ‘n’ Curl, where Mandy works. Anyway, my focus was not Wadena. My sister’s was. She’ll remember.”

  Laurie and her husband and kids lived in a pale blue split-level house opposite the high school. There was a station wagon in the carport and an impressive number of sturdy plastic vehicles for kids on the asphalt driveway. Two boys about ten were throwing a football on the front lawn. When they spotted Ma
rgot’s car, they came running. She jumped out and opened her arms. When she put them both in a hammerlock, the boys didn’t protest. With the boys trapped under her arms, she introduced them. “The squinty-eyed one who looks like Roadrunner is Roger,” she said. “The one who looks like the bad guy in a Quentin Tarantino movie is Sam. Men, this is Joanne Kilbourn. You may have seen her on television.”

  The boys smiled politely; it was clear that whatever kind of television I was a part of wasn’t appointment TV for them. “Nice to meet you,” Sam said, and Roger nodded agreement.

  “Nice to meet you too.” I said.

  “Did we miss lunch?” Margot asked.

  “Nope,” the boys said. “If you let us go, we’ll tell Mum you’re here.”

  Margot released the boys, and they ran for the house. “How do you feel about Kraft Dinner?” she said.

  “It’s been a while,” I said. “But it’s a taste worth revisiting.”

  Margot raised a perfectly arched brow. “Or experiencing for the first time,” she said. “I believe KD now comes in yet another distinctive flavour.”

  There were six boxes on the counter. Sam identified them as Creamy Cheddar, Three Cheese, Spirals, White Cheddar, Tomato, and Normal. Congenitally risk-averse, I chose Normal. When the boys started the water boiling, their mother and the two other children came in from the backyard. Margot performed the introductions. “This is my sister, Laurie and” – she held out her arms – “our big guy, Jack, and the baby in the family, Cass.” Margot’s sister wasn’t as blonde or as buff as Margot, but she had the same cornflower blue eyes and the same husky alto voice. She was holding a squirming towhead wearing a Dora the Explorer shirt and a diaper. Jack, without prompting, sauntered over to his aunt and hugged her. I remembered my boys at fourteen and thought Auntie Margot must be more than an occasional visitor.

  The big kids served up the KD while Laurie spooned lunch into Cass, who turned out to be a determined and enthusiastic eater. The boys talked across us. Kraft might have developed new permutations of cheese and noodles, but the conversation that ping-ponged across the lunch table was the same talk I remembered from lunch hours at our house when my kids were young: a pungent mix of bad jokes, sibling torment, and classroom gossip. After the boys left for school, Margot and I cleaned up and made tea while Laurie put Cass down for a nap.