Authors: Anthony Bidulka
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