Flight of Aquavit (20 page)

ous—and less expensive.”

“I don’t care about the money, I just want…”

I cut him off. “I know, Daniel, I know you just

want this over with. But let’s be smart about this.

Cross all our t’s and dot our i’s. If we go after

James Kraft in New York, let’s make sure that’s the

right step to take. I know you’re sure James Kraft

is our man. But he doesn’t even live here anymore.

Chances are that SunLover does. And if so, he’s a

better suspect than you think. I just met with an

156 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

ex-lover of James’. He has a pretty high opinion of

his character; he certainly didn’t make him sound

like someone who would do what Loverboy is

doing to you. Maybe SunLover is. We should at

least take a stab at finding out.”

Daniel stared at his plate. He was cooling off as

quickly as the meatballs were.

“And besides, if we find SunLover tonight, you

won’t have to go into a gay bar.”

It took a few more seconds but he finally man-

aged an “Okay.”

“Good,” I said warily, knowing there was a

“but” somewhere in my near future.

He looked up at me, almost pleadingly. “But if

things don’t work out, Russell, I…I…I just don’t

think I can go into a gay bar. I…I…I’m afraid.”

He didn’t need to admit that to me, but I

thought more of him for doing so. He didn’t say

he didn’t want to be with those kinds of people,

he didn’t say he had too much to lose, he was sim-

ply…afraid. Afraid of what might happen. Afraid

of how he might feel. Afraid he might like it? As I

considered this dilemma my eyes idly wandered

about the restaurant until a bizarre thought began

to form in my mind. Was my client ready for this?

“What if I could find a way for you to be there,” I

began, a smile forming on my lips, “but without

you being there?”

Daniel looked confused. His eyes followed mine

and understanding slowly dawned on him.

“Saturday night?” I suggested.

At first his face flushed and then he too began

to smile. “That could work.”

Chapter 9

AFTER LUNCH AT COLOURFUL MARY’S with Daniel

Guest, I made an appointment for later that after-

noon, called Sereena’s cellphone and reached her

doing who knows what, who knows where, with

who knows who and convinced her to be my

beard that evening at Daniel Guest’s office

Christmas party. Then I headed to the gym for a

much needed workout. Although I would never

say I don’t have a vain bone in my body, my pri-

orities when going to the gym are, number one, to

build muscles that on occasion I need in my line of

work and, number two, to keep from becoming

overweight which my body type seems predis-

posed to.

After my cardio-heavy workout, I arrived at

Aden Bowman Collegiate on Clarence Avenue a lit-

tle early for my appointment. Unwilling to listen to

Boney M’s “Mary’s Boy Child” on the radio one

more time, I played the I-Spy game with myself

and did not too badly. At 3:30 I left my car, entered

the school and found a stray kid to direct me to the

right classroom. I knocked lightly on the already

open door and poked my head into the room. A

woman behind a desk looked up and smiled.

“Mr. Woodward?”

“Yes,” I said, approaching with an outstretched

hand. I probably didn’t need a fake name, but for

me, that’s part of the fun of the whole detecting

gig. “But call me Bernie.”

158 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

She stood to greet me, taking my hand.

“Bernie, I’m Anita, Anita Soloway.”

Anita Soloway looked even younger than she

had in the photograph I’d seen in Daniel’s office.

Looking at her face the first thing that struck me

was the seemingly countless freckles and not all

squished together either, but separate, distinct

freckles. So many it made me wonder how they

all fit on one face, even if it was a bit chubby. Her

curly, dark hair bounced as she sat back down

and indicated for me to do the same in a chair

she’d obviously placed next to her desk in antici-

pation of my visit.

“Thank you for seeing me on such short

notice,” I said, opening a leather folder and pois-

ing a pen above the pad within as if prepping to

write stuff down.

“Oh, I’m happy to do it,” she said. “If I under-

stood you correctly, you’re a journalist doing a

piece on Daniel and Cheryl Guest?”

“Yes, that’s right. I’m with
Today’s Entrepreneur
.

It’s a quarterly newsmagazine published out of

Vancouver, focusing on young, Canadian entre-

preneurs who make a difference in their commu-

nities. We heard about Daniel Guest winning the

Saskatoon Business Association’s Businessperson

of the Year Award and decided to do an article on

his family and him.”

“That’s terrific,” she said, “But I’m not sure

how I can help, or what I can contribute. I’m sure

you’ve already interviewed Daniel and Cheryl?”

“Daniel referred me to you.” Itty bitty lie. “You

see
Today’s Entrepreneur
isn’t your run-of-the-mill

Anthony Bidulka — 159

business magazine. We like our articles to have

more breadth and depth; we interview family and

friends and neighbours—such as yourself—to get

the more personal touch.”

“I see.”

“You’re obviously a teacher,” I said, jotting

down the information, “Chemistry teacher is it?”

“Among many other subjects,” she laughed as

if the plight of overworked teachers was common

knowledge. “But yes, chemistry is my specialty.”

“And you’re a neighbour of the Guests?”

“Oh, more than that,” she said. “Cheryl and I

go way back, back to the farm. We grew up

around Wakaw? You ever hear of it?”

I had, but I was supposed to be from

Vancouver. “Now where is that?”

“Oh, about an hour and some north, northeast

of Saskatoon. We’re both farm girls; Cheryl more

than me,” she said with another easy laugh. “She

was a real tomboy, helping out her dad and broth-

ers with the harvest and the cattle. She did it all.

Anyway, we went to school together in Wakaw

and then to university here. We were both in our

first year, still in the College of Arts and Science

when we met Daniel. That got her more interested

in makeup and clothes in a hurry let me tell you!”

“I see.”

“I of course went on to the College of

Education.”

“And Cheryl? She’s not a teacher too, is she?” I

asked, knowing full well that she wasn’t.

“Ah no, she isn’t.”

“What college did she go to?”

160 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

Anita Soloway looked distinctly uncomfort-

able, as if she’d found herself in the men’s room

when she was certain she’d taken all the right

turns to get to the women’s. “Well, she stayed in

Arts for a while.”

“And then…?”

“Well, Cheryl didn’t finish school. She and

Daniel got married and well, you know.”

A quickie marriage. Wonder why. “Do they

have children?” Again a question I knew the

answer to, but one I hoped would reveal a more

telling response from Anita.

“They…well, y’know, they tried…ah…Cheryl

was pregnant, but they lost it soon after the mar-

riage…”

Bingo. All of a sudden I had a clearer view of

my client. Daniel Guest was a nice guy who might

have come out when he was nineteen or so, but in

his efforts to disprove his sexuality, his girlfriend

became pregnant. Being a dutiful fellow, he mar-

ried her and ended up a closet case. Not an

uncommon story. The girlfriend, now wife, loses

the baby, they never have any other kids, but they

stay married because of a lot of reasons I may or

may not agree with. Now, move ahead a decade or

so and one of his indiscretions—big surprise—

threatens to bite him on the ass. Also not an

uncommon story?

Well, enough about that. “I was wondering if

you could give me a snapshot of the Guests’ life as

a couple. Who their friends are, the people in their

life. Are they a typical couple or…not?” If Anita

Soloway was a gossip, here was her chance to shine.

Anthony Bidulka — 161

“Ah…I don’t know if I understand the ques-

tion.” She was looking sorrier and sorrier to have

agreed to this interview.

“Well, you know, are they a happy couple?

What do they do for fun, who do they hang out

with?”

“Oh well, I…” she stopped there as if confused,

distraught, torn. “I really couldn’t say. I’m sorry, I

don’t know if you have the right person here. I’m

not being very much help, am I?”

Daniel had told me the Soloways were their

good friends and neighbours. Yet Anita seemed to

have little to say. Was she simply being protective

or did she know something she didn’t want to talk

about? “Don’t worry about it,” I said, rising from

my chair. I had hoped to get some leads on other

people surrounding the Guests who might be eli-

gible blackmailers; I hadn’t gotten that, but I was

leaving understanding my client a whole lot better.

Back in my office I retrieved my phone messages.

There was only one.

“Russell, it’s Daniel. I’ve just returned to my

office after our lunch and I’m almost certain the

same blue car I told you about from the other

night was following me.” Damn and I missed it!

“And when I got back here Colleen told

me…Colleen is our receptionist…she told me a

woman had been at the office asking questions

about me.” Woman? “I think it was the same per-

son…I caught a better look at the driver this time

because it was daylight and it could have been a

162 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

woman. I wasn’t close enough to see any details

but Colleen said the gal here was…I jotted down

what she said…’she was short, a bit thick-waisted,

dark hair, cute’…cute something…I can’t quite

make…oh, ‘cute face’ it says, ‘steely eyes and no-

nonsense attitude.’” Steely eyes? “And that’s

about it. Do you know who this woman is?” Did

he think I knew every criminal-type person in the

city just because I was a detective? “And why is

she following me? Call me if you get this message

before tonight.”

I immediately tried Daniel’s office number but

was told he’d already left for the day. Oh well, that

discussion would have to wait. As I hung up the

phone I realized something important had

changed in this case. Daniel, under duress, had

come directly to me. Not to me through Beverly, as

had been his habit. He called me.

My client was beginning to trust me.

It was already dark by the time I headed home; by

the car’s dashboard clock it was after six. I didn’t

have much time to get home, get dressed, check

on the dogs and my mother, pick up Sereena and

make it to the DGR&R party in time for pre-dinner

cocktails. I sped up and despite the end-of-week

traffic, made it home and was in my bedroom

primping in eleven minutes.

Out of my closet I pulled my wonderpants.

They are black, never wrinkle, I’ve owned them

forever yet they’re always in style and, most

important, I’ve been told that they make my ass

Anthony Bidulka — 163

look great. I matched them that night with a

cream-coloured silk shirt flocked with a vaguely

Romanesque pattern, and a black jacket. I stood in

front of the mirror to assess the completed prod-

uct. Not too shabby. I finger-combed my sandy

hair and called it a done deal. I rushed into the

kitchen, called Sereena to tell her I’d be right over

to collect her, petted my mother’s head, kissed the

dogs and ran out to meet the night.

Dufour, Guest, Rowan & Rowan held their annu-

al Christmas party, as they do every year, in an

elaborately decorated ballroom in the Saskatoon

Inn, a hotel on the northwest edge of the city near

the airport. Some people consider any party out-

side of downtown to be lacking a certain pizzazz,

but the partners at DGR&R are vigilant about sup-

porting the north Saskatoon business community

they (and the majority of their clients) work in,

with as much vigour at Christmas time as any

other time of year. And, as far as airport hotels go,

the Saskatoon Inn is not bad.

Sereena wore a deep purple sheath she’d prob-

ably yanked off the back of some royal princess