Murder Is Uncooperative (14 page)

“Sure, my man,” Dave said, “just let me get rid of my coat.” He gave me a questioning look.

“I think the closet is pretty full,” I said. “Could you just put it on my bed.” Dave did and then followed Ben into his room.

I was left in the hallway with Cara, who looked a little annoyed at being abandoned by her date.

“We brought some wine,” she said, handing me a bottle of red. “Dave knows it's my favorite.” I suspected the wine was more expensive than the one Jeremy and I had chosen. I ushered Cara into the living area where the other guests were gathered.

She was wearing knee-high boots with spiky heels. I winced a little as her heels tapped on the wooden floors in our apartment. The floors were fir, commonly used in older buildings in Vancouver but soft and easily damaged. I wondered why she had chosen to wear boots when she wasn't even leaving the building. Probably because
they went with the black dress she was wearing. The dress was short, with a deep cowl neck, so the boots provided some balance to the look.

I shrugged. I needed to check on the turkey and to get Mariana over here with the rest of the guests. I excused myself and went next door.

The warm smell of roasting turkey greeted me as Mariana opened her door. She had changed into a knit dress in a dark wine color.

“Hi, Rebecca. I think it's looking pretty good, and it's certainly smelling wonderful,” she said.

“Everyone's arriving next door,” I said. “Can you come over and join us? This should be about done.”

“I checked the meat thermometer a few minutes ago and it's almost at the right temperature. I think it needs a few more minutes, but we can probably leave it alone for that time.” She smiled. “I think we could hear the smoke detector from your place if it went off. Just let me get that salad.”

Mariana pulled a large glass bowl filled with greens from her refrigerator and we went back to my place. As we entered the door, I could see my father talking to Dave in the hallway.

“I know Rebecca said it was all right,” my dad was saying, “but I think you have a hell of a nerve bringing that woman into my daughter's home.”

Both men had red faces.

“Dad, it's okay,” I interrupted. “Dave and I are divorced, and we're both going to be seeing other people. But he's Ben's father, so we're going to see him at family functions some times. It's no big deal.”

I could see Mariana looking curiously at the two men.

“Mariana, I think you met my ex-husband, Dave. Ben invited him to dinner. And he's seeing Cara now, so she's here too. Come on in. Everyone's in the living room.”

Dad muttered something, but the two men followed us into the living room. I hoped things would go smoothly during dinner. I know my father was concerned about me. The divorce had only been finalized recently, but Dave and I had been separated for over a year. And the marriage had been in trouble for some time before that, probably from the time I got pregnant with Ben.

I had thought that Dave and I were a good pair, his strengths complimenting my weaknesses and vice versa. He was fun to be with and that exuberance was what made me fall in love with him. But he hadn't seemed to understand that a woman who was eight months pregnant might not want to stay at a party until 3:00 am. That the parents of a newborn couldn't just drop everything and head out for dinner on Saturday night on the spur of the moment. That buying a big-screen television maybe should have waited until after we'd bought everything we needed for the nursery.

At this point, far from being upset that Dave no longer loved me, I was starting to be amazed we had gotten together in the first place.

But I didn't have time to think about that. I had a dinner to get on the table.

The next few minutes were a flurry of activity. But everyone pitched together to help. Anna placed the rolls she'd baked at one end of the table and made sure the butter dish was near them. Mariana's salad was next to it. Jeremy reheated his casserole in the microwave. Even though his hands were troubling him, Dad opened the wine Jeremy had brought. Even Dave got into the act and mashed the potatoes I'd cooked.

Mariana went next door and returned to say she thought the turkey was done. “But I realize it's rather heavy,” she said. “When we decided to cook it at my place, I hadn't thought about how we were going to carry a blazing hot pan of turkey over. Do you think we should carve it over there?”

“I'll get it,” Jeremy said, grabbing the pair of oven mitts he had used to bring over his casserole. “I lifted that sucker yesterday when it was raw, so I'm sure I can handle it now.” He followed Mariana next door.

Dave looked over at me. “Bec, are you seeing that guy?”

“Jeremy?” I said, glancing up from the broccoli I was spooning into a serving dish. “Oh, well, we've just met through the co-op. But he's nice. And he has been very helpful with the turkey.”

Jeremy and Mariana came back then, with him bearing a perfectly roasted bird.

“Oh, Mariana, it looks beautiful,” I exclaimed. “Thanks so much for cooking it.”

“It didn't take much to baste it from time to time and keep an eye on the meat thermometer. You did all the hard work.”

“Well, it would have been raw if it wasn't for you. We wouldn't have had much of a dinner.”

Mariana shrugged off my thanks. But she looked pleased.

Dad opened the case of the knife he always used to carve the turkey at our family dinners. Then he looked at his swollen knuckles. “You know, I hate to say it, but I don't think my hands are up to this job anymore.” I saw Dave make a slight move toward him. “What do you say, Jeremy?” Dad continued. “You seem to have a history of helping out with this turkey. Do you think you're up to carving it?”

I smiled slightly as Dave turned back to mashing the potatoes. Things were over between us. But I couldn't help feeling just a little bit of pleasure at seeing how red his face was. And not just from the effort of mashing potatoes over a hot stove. Maybe he was finally starting to realize that while he was moving on from our relationship, maybe I was too.

Gwen helped me make the gravy, and then we were ready to move everything to the table. It had been a bit of a challenge to get everything ready at the same time, and to keep things warm without a working oven. But the table looked great, laden with the platter of golden turkey and vegetables in an array of colors.

Ben and Aiden had glasses of milk in the cranberry-red glasses Mom had used on special occasions. Dad moved around the table, offering the adults either a mix of cranberry juice and sparkling water or the white wine Jeremy had brought.

“I'd really prefer red wine,” Cara said when he reached her seat. “Could I have some of the wine Dave brought? It's my favorite.” She smiled at him in a way I was sure usually got her what she wanted.

“Certainly,” Dad said. “Dave, why don't you get your friend a glass of the wine she wants?”

“Sure,” Dave said. “I'll have some red too.” He filled both their glasses and placed the expensive bottle on the table in front of him.

“Would anyone else prefer red?” Dad asked pointedly, his voice sweet but with a mischievous look on his face. Gwen tried to stifle a giggle but failed. Both Dave and Cara flushed almost as red as the wine.

“Um, sure,” Dave said. “Red wine, anyone?”

“I'm good,” Jeremy said. The rest of us declined as well.

I could see Dad's point. Both Dave and Cara had been a little rude. But I needed to pull this dinner party back together before my father's sniping at Dave ruined the party for everyone.

“Dad, why don't you sit down and have some of this turkey?” I passed him the platter and soon we were all handing dishes around and filling our plates.

“This is so nice,” Mariana said. “I was hoping my son and grandson could be here this year. But flights are so expensive, aren't they? My son called earlier today. Maybe they'll come at Christmas. I always think it's important for family to be together at the holidays.” Her face was wistful.

Cara didn't say anything, but there was an odd look on her face. Perhaps she was missing family too.

Anna and John chimed in about how their families usually spent Thanksgiving. “You're right about being with family for the holidays,” Anna said. “I really miss them. But I'm so glad we get to have dinner with all of you. When Jordan is older, we can tell him how he spent his first Thanksgiving in the co-op. Oh, that reminds me, I wanted to take some pictures. I want to put them in Jordan's baby album.” She pulled a small camera out of her bag and moved around the table, capturing shots of the guests and the food.

Dave and Cara had been quiet after Dad's rebuke, but they obligingly posed for Anna. Her bubbly enthusiasm gradually relaxed any tensions left in the room.

Jeremy's son, Aiden, lifted a drumstick and held it up like a scepter. “Take a picture of me eating this
huge
drumstick!”

Ben grabbed the end of the other drumstick. “Take a picture of me eating this one!”

“Take a picture of me eating Aiden's drumstick,” Jeremy said, pretending to nibble on the other side. “I think it's big enough for two.” Aiden shrieked and tried to move away from his father. Gwen and Mariana started laughing.

I blessed them all for helping to defuse the tension. I was starting to think that maybe Les's vision of the co-op as one big, happy family might not be so far-fetched.

So I turned to Cara, hoping to establish some sort of relationship with her. If Dave was serious about her, we would no doubt be spending more time together, and there was no need to be uncivil. "So, Cara,” I asked. “What do you do at the
Sun?"

“Why do you keep talking to me about the
Sun?”
she snapped. “I don't even read the stupid thing. It's got nothing but bad news. It's all so boring.” I could see Dave starting to frown. “I mean, except for Dave's articles.” She smiled at him. “They're always interesting. And I get to go to some games with him. He's promised he can introduce me to some of the Canucks. I love hockey.”

I wondered if Dave would come to regret introducing his girlfriend to a rich, handsome hockey player. But that was none of my business.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I don't know where I got the idea you worked at the paper.” I could see Dave flushing at the memory of his story about needing to spend time with a “colleague” at work, instead of with his son. "So, where do you work?”

She named a restaurant known for hiring only young, attractive staff. Cara wasn't as tall as most of the staff they hired but she had the other attributes. “That's where I met Dave.”

Dave jumped in so quickly I wondered what he thought she was going to say. Maybe
when
they had met. Like maybe while he was still married to me?

"So, Bec, that project you were working on for the co-op . . . Did you find out any more about . . . ?”

Baby Jordan screamed.

Gwen was right. That kid could be loud.

I hadn't noticed, but Maui had crept down the hall during our dinner, no doubt attracted by the smell of turkey. Then he must have been curious about the strange small person asleep on the couch in the living room. Because, when we all turned to look, Maui had been up on the couch sniffing at Jordan.

The movement, or the tickling kitten whiskers, must have awakened the baby. His shriek wasn't really one of fear, more of surprise. But Maui was likely already a little alarmed by all the noise in his home and the shriek from this strange new creature terrified him.

He leapt back, knocking the small side table. The potted cyclamen I'd placed on the table wobbled and fell to the wooden floor. The lovely green ceramic pot shattered into dozens of pieces. Jordan shrieked even louder. Maui raced back down the hall to the safety of Ben's room. Ben jumped up, knocking his chair over in the process, and ran down the hall after his kitten. Anna hurried over to comfort her baby. And I got up to clean up the mess of the broken pot and to see if I could salvage the cyclamen.

Anna was cuddling her screaming baby with all the attention of a brand-new mother. John was hovering nearby, patting the baby's back. Jordan's cries were piercing.

“Is there somewhere I can go to feed him?” Anna asked. “And see if he needs changing? Or I could just take him home.”

“You haven't even had dessert yet,” I said. “I'm sure you can get him settled in time to have some pie.” I almost suggested
she could just feed him there. Surely everyone had either nursed a baby or seen a woman breastfeeding. But she seemed shy, so I showed her into my room, where I had a comfortable armchair. John followed us, looking worried. I was sure the baby would benefit from a quiet place. Besides, if he needed changing, it would be good to do it far away from the dining area. Ben hadn't been in diapers for a while, but I still remembered how bad it could be.

I left Anna and John in my bedroom and went to Ben's room. He was lying on the floor, trying to persuade Maui to come out from under the bed.

“Come on, Ben. He'll come out when everyone's gone and it's quiet. Come finish your dinner.”

“But he's scared,” Ben said. “I don't want to leave him.”

I crouched down beside Ben and peered under the bed. The kitten was huddled against the wall, shivering a little. I wiggled my fingers and crooned at him, but he didn't budge. Ben started to crawl under the bed, reaching out for his kitten but Maui skittered into the far corner. Ben started to cry. “He's afraid of me. Maui doesn't like me any more.”

“I've got an idea.” I gave Ben a hug.

I went to the kitchen and grabbed two of the dishes I used for Maui's food. I added a few pieces of turkey to one of them, tearing the meat into small pieces. Then I grabbed the bag of dry kitten food and headed back to Ben's room.

Maui usually came running when he heard me putting food in his dish. I put both the saucers on the floor and crouched down beside Ben again. I could see the kitten's nose twitching at the smell of the turkey, but he wasn't moving.