Kaleidoscope (7 page)

“Sold,” I said. “Want me to make you a drink before we go? I’ll drive.”

“This weekend is looking better and better,” Zack said.

He followed me into the kitchen and watched as I took the gin and vermouth from the refrigerator. “Big one or little one?” I said.

“Do you really have to ask?”

I made him a generous martini, and I poured a short vermouth for me. Zack took a sip, sighed contentedly, and closed his eyes. “Better already,” he said. “So how did convocation go?”

“You didn’t hear?”

“I’ve been busy: went to court, had lunch with my client, went back to court, got squashed like a cockroach, and crawled back home to you. So what happened?”

“Well, convocation itself was fine. About a dozen students turned their chairs when Leland began to speak, but he handled it well – addressed them directly and when they didn’t respond, he carried on. The problem came afterwards. There were demonstrators outside the Conexus Centre, and when a
TV
cameraman showed up, the protestors broke through the police line. One of them got jostled, and the handle of his sign hit Leland. There was a piece of metal in the wood. Leland’s all right, but he got a scalp wound that needed stitches.”

“I take it the signholder is under arrest,” Zack said.

“It was an accident,” I said. “I was beside Leland when it happened. Riel Delorme was the person holding the sign.”

Zack’s eyes were questioning. “You were the only witness?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I guess you’d have to ask the police.”

“I should call Leland.”

“I talked to Margot, and she said all was well, but I’m sure Leland would like to hear from you. Let me know when you’re ready, and we’ll hit the road.”

Before we were out of the city, Zack closed his eyes and began to snore. The dogs were bagged out in the back of the station wagon, Taylor was listening to her iPod, her cats had settled into their cages on the floor. The drive to Lawyers’ Bay was less than an hour. Till then, I was alone with my thoughts.

When I turned off the main highway onto the road that led to the lake and smelled the sharp scent of evergreens and the faint tang of skunk, I felt the weight lift from my shoulders. On the day we bought our house in the city, Zack had given me a charm bracelet with two charms: one was of the Bessborough Hotel in Saskatoon, the place where we’d been staying the night we decided to get married. The other was a key that Zack said was to everything – the house, the car, his heart, the place at the lake, the boat, the whole shebang.

The whole shebang turned out to be substantial. Before we married, I had considered many factors. The one dynamic that never entered the equation was the fact that Zack was a very rich man.

As a single parent with four children, I had always been careful about money. My first husband’s death had been unexpected, and at thirty-seven, he hadn’t had much time to build an investment portfolio. I was not without resources. There was insurance, and I had a tenure track position at the university. I owned our home, but my kids had always had to have paper routes and babysitting jobs to pay for non-essentials. It hadn’t done them any harm.

Old habits die hard. I was still careful with money, but the station wagon I was driving was a new Volvo and our summer house was in a gated community. The only other people who
lived on our bay were Zack’s law partners and their families. For my birthday the year after we married, Zack had given me a second home on the property for my grown children to use when they visited. Our lives were privileged and I knew it.

When I drove through the gates, Zack reached over and squeezed my knee. “Better?”

“Yes. That business with Leland after the ceremony shook me. And not just because he was hurt. The men demonstrating against Leland’s honorary degree were frightening. They were obviously trying to look tough, wife-beater shirts and arms covered in tattoos, but I’ve had students who went for that look. What scared me today was the hatred. Those people hated Leland because he was rich, and they hated Margot because she was beautiful and she was with Leland.”

“And Leland’s honorary degree gave them a convenient excuse to vent their rage.”

“It did. Zack, I always liked Riel Delorme, and I hate to see him making rotten choices. In his address today, Leland talked about the importance of facing those who oppose you. He made a lot of sense. I just wish that Riel had been inside listening.”

“Instead of outside protesting.”

“No flies on you,” I said.

We had been at the lake the weekend before, but Willie and Pantera raced around sniffing with the fervour of creatures discovering a new world. Taylor’s exit was more leisurely. She picked up the cat cages from the seat beside her and sauntered towards the house. “I’m going to text Gracie and Isobel, let them know we’re here,” she said. “Then I’ll come back and help you unload. Okay?”

I smiled at her. “Great,” I said.

Restored by his nap, Zack reached for his wheelchair. “Okay,” he said. “I’m ready to boogie. I’ll fire up the barbecue and pour us a glass of wine.”

We ate outside, cleaned up, and Taylor headed for her room. I looked at Zack. “Want to stay out here and watch the sunset?”

“We’ve seen sunsets. Let’s go to our room. I have a surprise for you. You’d probably better take off your clothes,” he said. “I lack experience in this area.”

“So all those women who claim to have enjoyed your favours are just indulging in wishful thinking?”

“No. I spread my favours around, but you’re the first woman I’ve ever done this for. Follow me.” When we got to our room, Zack handed me a small bag. Inside was a bottle of nail polish. “Ms. Shreve, I’m about to paint your toenails.”

I examined the bottle. “Mochaccino Mama,” I said. “Nice shade.”

Zack ran his fingers along my arch. “Nice feet.”

Zack and I and my Mochaccino Mama toenails were in bed before the sun set.

I was sleeping soundly when Zack’s cell rang. I opened my eyes to the first light of early dawn. I wasn’t alarmed. The clients of trial lawyers keep irregular hours. But I was awake, and although Zack kept his voice low, I could hear what he said.

“Was anybody hurt? Well, that’s the main thing.”

My heart began to pound. I sat up and moved closer to Zack so I could hear everything.

“Do you need us to come back to the city this morning?” he said. “Good. Any ideas about who did it? Yeah, I know. We’ll meet you at the house at nine. And, Deb, thanks for the call. I know how busy you must be.”

We only knew one “Deb” – Inspector Debbie Haczkewicz – and she was an inspector with the Major Crimes Unit of the Regina Police Force. My stomach clenched.
Zack hung up and turned to face me. “You did hear me say that no one was hurt?”

“What happened?

He held out his arms. “Come here.”

Suddenly, I was very cold, but Zack’s arms were warm. “There’s no way to break this to you gently, Jo. About an hour ago, some kind of explosive was detonated in our garage. My car was in there, and I’d filled the tank on my way to court yesterday, so the fire department’s still trying to deal with the fire.”

“Oh my God. How bad is it?”

He shook his head. “I guess we’ll see how bad when we get back to the city.”

“I’d better call Mieka and the boys – let them know we’re here and safe.”

When I hung up after delivering the message to each of our three grown children, I turned to Zack. “How did I sound?”

“Cool. Reassuring. Matter-of-fact.” He held out his arms again. “Now, feel free to go crazy.”

I’d started to shake. “We could have been in that house,” I said. “If you hadn’t suggested coming to the lake a day early, the three of us would have been asleep, and we would have died.”

“But we weren’t in that house,” Zack said. He drew me close. “We’re at the lake, and we’re alive. So let’s take it from there.”

I burrowed in. “I just can’t understand why …” I said.

Zack roughened his voice into that of a tough guy. “Why … of all the gin joints in the world someone decided to blow up ours?”

In spite of everything I laughed. “I didn’t know you did a Bogart imitation,” I said.

“Neither did I,” Zack said. “Today just seemed as good a time as any to give it a whirl.”

CHAPTER
4

It was clear that neither of us were going to get any more sleep that morning, so I went to the bathroom, splashed my face, brushed my teeth, and put on my running clothes. Routine had saved me many times, and I was hoping the familiar pattern of a run before breakfast would calm my nerves and clear my mind. When I went into the kitchen, Zack already had the coffee on; bacon was in a pan ready to be put in the oven; and the eggs, bowl, and whisk were on the counter. Zack’s ability to compartmentalize always dazzled me. Clearly he’d decided that if we were going to have a lousy morning we should at least have a great breakfast. I kissed him and made an effort to match his sangfroid. “We have some chives growing in that sunny patch by the front door. Want me to snip some for the eggs when I come back from my run?”

“Chives will be nice,” he said. “But I am adding an ingredient that will make this dish brilliant.”

I picked up a package of boursin au poivre and checked the date. “You do realize that the ‘best before date’ on this cheese is tomorrow.”

He cocked his head. “That’s why we’re using it today. I’m being thrifty. I lost big-time at poker Wednesday night.” I didn’t ask for elaboration. The day was already off to a sketchy start.

When the dogs and I got back from our run, everything was ready. Breakfast was Zack’s specialty: the bacon was crisp, the boursin gave the eggs a savoury bite, the rye toast was buttery, and the coffee strong and good. As we sat at the ancient partners’ table that we used for all our meals at the lake, it seemed that God was in Her heaven and all would eventually be right with the world.

Our dining room had floor-to-ceiling windows on three sides. To the north we looked out on a copse of lilac bushes, to the west on the broad sunlit lawn that sloped to the lake, to the south on the blooming perennial beds that the landscaper had put in fifteen years ago when Zack bought the property. Beauty everywhere.

We didn’t talk about Debbie’s phone call until after we’d finished eating. Then Zack moved his wheelchair back from the table, balanced his plate and cutlery on his lap, and wheeled to the sink. “Time to face the music,” he said. “So do we take Taylor with us?”

“No,” I said. “We’ll tell her what happened, but there’s no need for her to see the house today.”

“Agreed,” Zack said. “The Wainbergs are here. Taylor can stay with them while we’re in the city. From what Deb said, the damage is extensive, and there’ll be police and media everywhere. Taylor doesn’t need that.”

“She’s already known enough loss,” I agreed. “It’s taken her years to feel safe in the world.”

Zack tented his fingers. “And now fresh evidence that we’re never safe.”

I winced. “Let’s not put it that way to Taylor,” I said.

Our daughter has always been a deep sleeper, and that morning we had to rap on her door vigorously before she called out to us to come in. Her bedroom was the prettiest room in the cottage. She had just turned twelve when Zack and I were married. He told us to make whatever changes we wanted to in the house at the lake. I’d changed nothing, but Taylor had transformed a tastefully generic guestroom into a place that, even in the dead of winter, spoke of summer: white walls, sheer white curtains, a wicker reading chair with pale blue linen pillows, a small glass table that held her collection of shells, a white dresser and nightstand, a brass four-poster bed with a crisp white cotton bedspread, and over the bed a piece of art Taylor’s birth mother, Sally Love, had made for the child of a friend. Zack had been vague about how much he’d paid for the lustrous acrylic of a black cat sunning itself in a bed of violets, but that morning as I looked at Taylor curled up with her own cats, her face rosy with sleep, her dark hair tousled, I realized once again that whatever Zack had paid had been money well spent.

When she saw us, Taylor yawned and frowned. “What’s up? I thought this was a sleep-in morning.”

“Change of plans,” I said. I sat on the bed and glanced back at Zack.

He moved in close. “Something’s happened,” he said. “Everyone’s fine, but there was an incident at our house last night.”

Taylor sat up, her dark eyes wide. “What kind of incident?”

“There was an explosion in our garage. Your mother and I have to go into town and talk to the police about it.”

Taylor clutched her knees to her chest. “Why do you have to talk to the police?”

“Because the explosion wasn’t an accident,” Zack said. “Inspector Haczkewicz was the officer who called us. She thinks what happened was deliberate.”

“Is the house still there?” Our daughter’s voice was small and frightened. “Are my paintings gone?”

“I don’t know,” Zack said. He took her hand. “We’ll have a better idea after we see the situation for ourselves. The Wainbergs thought you might like to spend some time with them while we’re in the city.”