Kaleidoscope (17 page)

In deciding to open a walk-in vet clinic in the Core, Peter had pretty well abandoned any hope of ever retiring. Except for a loyal group who had been Peter’s friends since they were in pre-school together, most of Pete’s clients paid him little or nothing. When income didn’t match outlay, Zack and I helped out and we were happy to do it. We were a family of animal lovers and we understood the bond that exists between a pet and its owner.

In its previous life, Pete’s clinic had been a pawnshop and because there were drugs on the premises, Pete had been forced to leave the bars on the windows. That detail aside, the walk-in clinic was a cheerful place. The walls were bright with posters giving advice about pet care and crayoned thank-you notes from satisfied clients. Even on school days, there were always kids with pets in Pete’s waiting room. School attendance was regarded as optional in this
neighbourhood, but whatever else was going on in their lives, the boys and girls of the area always found time to bring in pets with problems.

When Pete’s new assistant, Ruth, ushered me into his examining room, Pete was explaining spaying to a young girl with a litter of new kittens. Ruth, a lithe and serious young woman from Botswana, took over the explanation without skipping a beat, and Peter and I went back to the staff room, where he poured us each a mug of coffee.

I took a sip. “Hey, this is a definite improvement,” I said.

“You mean from the floor sweepings we usually have,” Pete said. “Well, thank Ruth. She doesn’t even drink coffee, but she said no one should be forced to drink swill.”

“So Ruth’s working out,” I said.

“She’s great,” Pete said. “It’s only been two weeks, but it’s as if she’s been at the clinic forever. She seems to know instinctively what needs to be done and she does it.”

“Good. And how’s Dacia?”

“After Ed and Barry’s wedding, we had a long talk and decided to go our separate ways.”

“Peter, I’m sorry. We really liked Dacia.”

“I liked her, too, but it never seemed to get beyond that.”

“Is there somebody else?”

He smiled. “Not yet. I’m not Angus, Mum. I usually wait till the ex is out the door before I bring in the replacement.”

I laughed. “Angus is bringing Leah’s replacement to the lake for Canada Day. The new woman is a lawyer and a lacrosse player, and her name is Maisie.”

“And she’s a knockout,” Pete said.

“You’ve seen her.”

“Nope. I’m just going by past history.”

I took another sip of coffee. “Have you met your sister’s new man?”

“Riel Delorme? Sure, we live in the same neighbourhood.”

“And …?”

Pete shrugged. “I’ll say what you always say, ‘as long as he makes her happy …’ ”

“But you don’t like him.”

“I like him. I just can’t see him with Mieka. I never thought of her as political and Riel’s a real firebrand.”

“He is that,” I said. I went to the sink and rinsed my mug. “You’re really okay about the breakup with Dacia.”

“More than okay. It wasn’t going anywhere. We’re both relieved it’s over.”

I hugged him. “Be sure and thank Ruth for the new and improved brand of coffee.”

Pete chuckled. “You are so not subtle,” he said.

“Comes with the territory,” I said.

After I left Peter’s I drove to 13
^th
Avenue to buy the ingredients for paella – a dish that Zack and I liked but Taylor adored. As I stood in Pacific Fish watching Cassie, the owner, wrap the prawns, mussels, and clams, I felt as if once again I was on familiar turf. I picked up baguette at the bakery and crossed to the supermarket. As I strode up and down the aisles filling my cart, my confidence flowed back, as bracing as good health after an illness. This was my world – large, safe, and predictable.

When I got back to Halifax Street, I put away the groceries and went to our room to change into my jeans. I’d just put on a fresh T-shirt when I heard a crash upstairs. Under normal circumstances, I would have simply gone up to investigate. But circumstances were no longer normal. My heart was racing; my mind leaped to the conclusion that whoever had blown up our house had found us here, and I panicked. I looked frantically around the room for my phone, then remembered it was in my purse in the kitchen. I ran in sock feet across the condo, skirting the open living
room, terrified that whoever was upstairs would see me. I held my breath and, hands shaking, fumbled through my bag for my BlackBerry. I was just about to hit 911 when I heard a cry from upstairs. The voice was female and my first thought was that it was a trick to get me to the second floor where I’d be more vulnerable. The woman called again. “Help. Leland? It’s Louise. I need help!”

I dropped my BlackBerry back in my purse and ran upstairs. “Louise, where are you?” I said.

There was no response.

I called her name again. This time she answered. “Go to hell, Margot. Just leave me alone.”

Louise’s voice was coming from the master suite. She was in the bathroom. A highball glass had shattered on the porcelain floor. Louise was standing in the middle of the room, swaying slightly, staring at the melting ice and broken crystal.

“What’s the matter?” I said. There was a triple mirror in the bathroom, and my reflection was a shock. I looked terrified.

“I dropped my glass,” she said.

Suddenly I was furious. “So you cried for help.” I turned away. “Clean up your mess, Louise. Clean up your mess and get out.”

She stepped back and steadied herself against the bathroom counter. “What are you doing here, Joanne?”

“I could ask you the same question,” I said.

Her laugh was forced. “Well, this is Leland’s condominium, and he
is
my husband.”

“Louise …”

She raised her hand to cut me off before I said more. “I know. Leland is my ex-husband, but that doesn’t mean we’ve stopped loving each other. He’s making a terrible mistake. He and I have been together since we were in high school. We swore we’d stay together forever …” She touched the platinum cuff bracelet that she was never
without. “Leland gave this to me when Peyben opened its first international office. He said the world was ours.”

“Louise, people change.”

Her eyes, as blue as the eyes of a china doll, glittered unseeing. Though she was swaying, Louise was still sober, but her fantasy left no room for reality. “I called Leland’s office. They said he was working at home. He and I need to talk.” She took a step towards me. “He’s not committed to Margot Wright. I knew that, but now I have evidence. He still has groceries here. I checked the cupboards and the refrigerator downstairs. Leland’s particular about food. Everything has to be fresh, and everything here is fresh. He’s not living with her.”

She walked over and touched my hand. “Don’t you understand, Joanne? He still has doubts.”

I remembered how perfectly attuned Margot and Leland had been the night before, lovers swimming in unison, their powerful bodies illuminated by the lights embedded in the pool’s aquamarine walls. They had found everything they wanted in each other.

“Let’s go downstairs, Louise,” I said. “We’ll be more comfortable there.”

I poured us glasses of cool water from the refrigerator. Louise drained hers, then opened one of the lower cabinet doors. She quickly found what she was looking for. When she splashed the Grey Goose vodka into her glass, her fingers were trembling. “I’ll just have a small one – Dutch courage. Isn’t that what they call it? Of course, this vodka is made in France.” Her brilliantly blue eyes sought out mine. “I don’t suppose you’d care to join me.”

“I’m fine, but thanks.”

Louise took her drink into the living room and perched on the end of one of the reading chairs. I followed her with my water. Neither of us spoke. When there was a knock at the
door, Louise and I both started. I’d had no idea that Louise had the security code to our condo. Suddenly it seemed that somebody else did.

I opened the door cautiously. When I saw that the person in the hall was Sage Mackenzie, I relaxed.

She looked past me into the entrance hall. “I’ve come for Louise,” she said.

“Follow me,” I said. When we reached the living room, Sage and I stood side by side for a beat, waiting for Louise to make the next move.

It was sadly predictable. She drained her drink. As she placed her empty glass on the table beside her, Louise’s frail shoulders slumped with defeat. Her shining plan for a surprise visit with Leland was in shreds and time was running out. My heart went out to her, and then I remembered the phone call Leland received the night we were at Magoo’s. Louise was a sad figure, but apparently she was also a dangerous one. Sage Mackenzie was not my favourite person, but she stood between Louise and her worst impulses and for that I was grateful.

Sage also seemed to be making an effort. The file of clippings was still open on the coffee table. Sage glanced at it and raised an eyebrow. “Retired but still working on politicians,” she said. Her eyes travelled around the room. “I’m assuming Leland Hunter is letting you use his condo until your own house is repaired.”

“No,” I said. “We’re living at the lake. I just come here for a break if I have to stay in town to pick up Zack or our daughter.” The lie had formed itself easily, and both Sage and Louise seemed to accept it.

Sage moved towards the window. “Well, you certainly have a great view while you’re killing time,” she said.

Up close, Sage was older than I’d thought on convocation day. Her eyes, pale-lashed and amber, were riveting, but
there were already faint lines at their corners and at the corners of her small and determined mouth. Her fiery hair was smoothed back into a chignon and she was wearing the uniform of many successful female lawyers: a well-cut black business suit, hem slightly above the knee, expensive white blouse, minimal but good jewellery.

She placed her hand on Louise’s arm. “Louise, let’s get you home. I’ll drive. I can take a cab back and pick up my car.”

“I only had one drink,” Louise said.

Sage’s voice softened. “Let’s not take any chances.”

The misery drained from Louise’s face. “You’re a good friend,” she said.

Sage smiled at her. “I do my best.”

When the door closed after the two women, I made a note to ask Leland about the security in the building. The next person who managed to make it to our door might be someone more menacing than Louise’s “good friend.” I walked back into the living room, picked up the file, took it to the linen closet, and tucked it under a stack of pillowcases. I didn’t need reminders of the past; the present was troubling enough.

CHAPTER
9

Ten minutes after Ed Mariani and I began our inspection of what was left of our house on the creek, I knew that bringing him with me was a mistake. From the moment we arrived, Ed tried to keep my spirits up. When the police gave us hard hats to wear, Ed plunked his on, gave me a cherubic smile, and said, “Is this where I break into a chorus of ‘YMCA’ ”? He was courtly as he presented me with a small paper notebook and a pen to record items that would need replacing, and he insisted on walking ahead of me in case there was danger.

I had seen the house the day after the explosion, so I had an idea of the extent of the devastation. Ed wasn’t prepared, and as we looked at what remained of our double garage and the indoor pool that was essential for Zack’s physical well-being, Ed was visibly shaken. I tried to keep it light. In my notebook, I printed a heading:
NEED TO REPLACE
. Beneath the heading I wrote:
one garage and contents – car included
. When I showed my list to Ed, his smile was strained.

I had known Ed for more than two decades. He was a man who savoured life’s pleasures: a garden that bloomed from April through October, large airy rooms with furnishings
that welcomed, convivial meals, chilled wine, the touch of a friend’s hand. To him, the chaotic rubble that had been the kitchen and family room where we had been happy together was a rebuke. He shuddered as he took in the damage, but he couldn’t seem to tear himself away. Finally, I touched his arm. “Time to move along,” I said. He led the way, but his step, usually so light for a big man, was heavy and his face sagged. It was as if the destruction around us had penetrated his body as it had penetrated mine.

The farther we walked from the explosion site, the less acute the damage. The windows were blown out of our living room and the office Zack and I shared, but the bedrooms appeared to be intact. The two paintings that hung on the wall that faced our bed were unscathed. One of them was Taylor’s first abstract; the other by colourist Scott Plear was a favourite of Ed’s, but when I pointed out that both pieces were fine, Ed didn’t comment.

When he moved towards the doors that opened from Zack’s and my bedroom into the garden, Ed was pale. Our garden was Ed’s pride. He had helped us plan it so that there would always be something in bloom, and many of the plants had come from his own greenhouse. I put my arm through his. “Come on,” I said. “We’ve seen enough. We’ll look at the garden another day.”

For the first time in our relationship, Ed shook me off. “No,” he said. Ed had a pleasantly musical speaking voice, but that day his voice was harsh and broken. “We have to know exactly what we’re dealing with. We can’t let those animals win.”

Our backyard looked like a staging for a bizarre before-and-after photo shoot. The east side of the yard, the part that included Taylor’s studio, still had the sweet greenness of June. The west side was a warzone. The explosion had strafed the copse of Japanese lilacs by the garage. A jagged black hole
was all that remained of our once thriving tomato patch. Fire had scorched the lawn and dried the leaves of the forsythia bushes, making them as brown and fragile as cured tobacco.

“Why would anyone do this?” Ed asked, and his voice was both troubled and baffled.

“I don’t know,” I said. “When we were walking through the house, I kept thinking of this client of Zack’s. He was a young offender, so of course I never knew his name. But he had a record of serious vandalism. He’d break into homes like ours and just wreck them. He didn’t seem to care if he got caught.”