Authors: Gail Bowen
A woman came through the door, spotted us, and stepped in front of Glenda. “That’s yours over there,” she said pointing to the Men’s.
I glared at her. “Not any more.” I opened the door to the Women’s bathroom. “After you, Glenda,” I said, and like heroines in an old movie, Samuel Parker’s daughter and I swept in.
CHAPTER
14
The martini we had at the lounge in Calgary Airport wouldn’t have made anyone’s top-ten list, but it did the trick. My shoulders began to unknot and the signs of strain disappeared from Glenda’s face. Zack was sanguine by nature, but Sam’s funeral had hit him hard and the martini seemed to help. We were headed for the pre-boarding area when I spotted Brette Sinclair across the concourse at the ticket counter.
I touched Zack’s shoulder. “Somebody I want to talk to over there,” I said. “I’ll catch up with you.”
Brette was in line behind a man with a cat cage and a woman with three children under the age of three. She was tapping her foot and looking ticked off. She beamed when she saw me. “Boy, that was a trip, wasn’t it? That church scared the be-jasus out of me. Did you check out the Topics for Discussion at the Family Life Centre? Curing Homosexuality Through Prayer, A Woman’s Place, Culture-proofing your Kids. Can you believe it?”
“Well, when you’re writing your article, don’t blame Calgary. Blame Beverly – that church she’s connected to is a little weird.”
“More than a little,” Brette said. “And why would I blame Calgary? I was here once for Stampede and I had me a cowboy.”
“Was having a cowboy on your life list?”
“No, but he should have been.”
“Anyway, why would I blame Calgary? It’s a great city. You westerners are so tetchy.”
“With cause,” I said. “So are you headed back to Toronto?”
Brette frowned. “No such luck. I’m standing here to exchange my ticket to Toronto for one to Regina.”
“What’s in Regina?”
“Now who’s denigrating the west?” She frowned. “I thought you would have heard. The police arrested Howard Dowhanuik. They’re charging him with the murder of Kathryn Morrissey.”
“Oh no,” I groaned.
“Oh yes,” Brette said. The man with the cat left with his ticket in one hand, his cat cage in the other, and a smile on his face. Brette watched him bounce across the concourse. “Looks like it might be my lucky day. Now if they can handle Mother Courage that quickly, I’ll be set.”
“Tell me what you know.”
“Well, let’s see. The police found a partial print from a bloody shoe in the alley and a remnant of burned rubber in the contents of Howard Dowhanuik’s vacuum cleaner. They’ve got their man, and my old room at Hojo’s is waiting for me. I can’t believe Nation
TV
hasn’t been in touch with you.”
“I had my cell turned off during the funeral,” I said. I took the phone out of my bag and turned it on. There was a text message from Jill: “What goes on?”
“I should call in,” I said.
“Be my guest,” Brette said. “It’s not as if I’m going anywhere.”
When I passed on the news of Howard’s arrest, Jill was livid. She had begun her career as a press officer in Howard’s government and she retained a lingering affection for him. “I don’t believe this for a moment. What’s the matter with those cops? Howard has had his troubles, but he’s not a murderer. Jo, find out what’s going on. Howard was always kind to me. Said it was about time there were more smart broads in government.”
“Ever enlightened,” I said. “I’m in the Calgary airport right now, but Zack knows Howard’s lawyer. I’ll see what I can find out.”
I hung up and checked my watch. “I’ve got to go, Brette,” I said. “I hope I’ll see you on the plane.”
Brette stared morosely at the woman with the three little children. “If I make it, you know who I’ll be sitting beside.”
When I told Zack about Howard, he immediately called Margot Wright. It was a brief call, but he picked up the essentials and relayed them to me. The police had arrested Howard at 1:00 p.m. Regina time. Howard was handling himself well – not giving anything up except his name and address. Margot had implored him to tell her the whole story. He insisted he had, but she didn’t believe him.
“So where is Howard now?” I said.
“In the cells at the cop shop,” Zack said. “Margot managed to get a bail hearing tomorrow, but Howard will be there overnight.”
“Can I see him?”
“Nope. Just his lawyer. And, Jo, you don’t want to see that place. The drunk tank is just down the hall from the cells, so the smells and sounds are pretty much what you’d expect in the seventh circle of hell.”
“It might be a useful experience for Howard,” I said. “Still, there must be something I can do.”
“Actually, there is,” Zack said. “Margot wondered if you could find out Charlie’s shoe size.”
Glenda had been listening impassively, but the reference to shoes caught her attention. “Why would they be interested in that?”
“Evidence,” Zack said. “Somebody somewhere is trying to put the pieces together.”
Glenda frowned, looked down at her own fashionable pumps, and retreated into silence.
When I got back to my house, Charlie was there. He and Taylor were watching
The Simpsons
. Charlie jumped up when he saw me.
“No need to move,” I said.
“I was just sitting here wondering how you’re feeling about me these days.” His gaze was level. “How
are
you feeling about me these days, Jo?”
“Conflicted,” I said. “But I’ll work it out. Right now, your father should be the focus.”
“Can I see him?”
“No,” I said. “He’s only allowed to see his lawyer.”
“How’s he doing?”
“Do you care?”
“Yes, I care. I’m not a monster, Jo. I understand what my father is doing.”
I stepped closer. “What
is
he doing, Charlie?”
Charlie shrugged his thin shoulders. “Playing the hero. Taking the rap because he thinks I’m involved in what happened to Kathryn Morrissey.”
“Are you?”
“I didn’t kill her, Jo. My father should have more faith in me. Of course, that would involve understanding what I’m capable of, and he barely knows me.”
“So are you going to step forward and tell the truth?”
Charlie’s laugh was bitter. “Who do you suggest I talk to, Jo? The cops? How interested are they going to be in hearing that I didn’t kill Kathryn Morrissey? My father? You tell me I’m not allowed to see him. Not that it would make any difference if I did. As always, my father has made up his mind about what needs to be done and he’s doing it.”
“Why do you hate him so much?” I said.
“I don’t hate him. I came over today because I think this hero act of his is idiotic, and I was hoping somehow to communicate that to him. But since that appears to be impossible, I’ll be off …”
I glanced down at Charlie’s feet. He was wearing hiking boots that looked as if they’d just come out of the box. “Nice shoes,” I said. “Are they new?”
“As a matter of fact they are.”
“Did you get them in town?”
“On the Internet. I’ve got these freakish long, skinny feet. Anyway, I can give you the website if you want.”
“Sure.” I stepped closer to him. “Charlie, I was there when you were born. I hate the way things are with you and your father, but I haven’t stopped caring about you.”
Charlie nodded. “Right,” he said. “I’ll call my father’s lawyer and see if I can get her to deliver my little message.”
“Good.”
He leaned forward and kissed my cheek. “Take care of yourself, Jo.”
The morning newspaper was filled with news of Howard’s arrest. For his trip to police headquarters, Howard chose to wear his scarlet toque with its pattern of elves at play. Margot wore leather. In the photo splashed on the front page, they made a striking couple.
Taylor and I had breakfast, then I dropped her off at school and went down to Nation
TV
to see what I could find out. When I arrived, Rapti was across the newsroom chatting with a colleague. I went to her cubicle and, while I waited, looked around for any new photos of Zuben.
“I haven’t got our Halloween photos developed yet,” Rapti said when she returned. “Zuben went as a cat.”
“I wish you’d come to our place.”
“Next year,” Rapti said. She reached back and knotted her shining black hair into a ponytail. “So have you got something for me?”
“No. I was hoping you had something for me. Have the police found out anything more about that footprint they found in the alley?”
“Just that it was no big deal. It came from one of the shoes that poor kid – Ethan – was wearing when he found his mother’s body. Apparently he tried to revive her and he got pretty bloody. He took his clothes out to the Dumpster. I guess he was in shock. Anyway, my source says the footprint is insignificant.”
I stood up to leave. “Thanks,” I said. “Would it be a problem if I pass this along to Howard Dowhanuik’s lawyer?”
Rapti shook her head. “Be my guest. She probably already knows. And, Jo, stay in touch. Jill will want a backgrounder on Howard Dowhanuik.”
“I’m around,” I said.
Margot Wright wasn’t on my speed dial, so I called Zack. “The footprint is a non-starter,” I said. “The police say it belongs to Ethan.”
“I’ll tell Margot,” Zack said.
“And now that it no longer matters,” I said, “tell her that Charlie’s feet are long and freakishly skinny. Also, Charlie’s going to get in touch with her. He wants to send a message to his father.”
“Hmm,” Zack said. “Progress.”
“I hope so.”
“You sound kind of down.”
“Just fresh out of optimism,” I said.
“Then, let’s talk about something nice. What should I get Taylor for her birthday?”
“Well, let’s see, I think I covered the ‘A List’: a box of Kolonok Art Brushes that, Taylor tells me, are the best, a new journal, some frilly underwear, and a book about Diego Rivera. She did mention she’d like a mani-pedi at Head to Toe.”
“What’s a mani-pedi?”
“A manicure and a pedicure. The mani-pedi comes with an assortment of chocolate truffles – very decadent.”
“If that’s what Taylor wants, that’s what she shall have.”
“I hope it’s always like this for her,” I said.
“Me too,” Zack said. “She’s a great kid and I love that we’re going to be a family. Now, gotta go. Got to do something to pay for that mani-pedi.”
I spent the day working on my book. My visit to Beverly Parker’s church had given me fresh insight into the new values war, and raised provocative questions about how politically combative the conservative movement in our country might become. Zack was home at six to have dinner with Taylor and me. He was gone again by eight, and I worked on my book until bedtime. Life had a pattern, and I was grateful.
On the morning of Taylor’s birthday, I went in to give her a nuzzle before Willie and I took off on our run. She rolled over and smiled without opening her eyes. “Happy birthday,” I said. “You smell good. What is that perfume you’re wearing?”
“Gracie made it. It’s a mixture of patchouli oil, lavender, and something else I can’t remember.”
“Gracie makes perfume?”
“There a store on 13th Avenue that has all the stuff. You just give them the person’s perfume profile, and they help you pick out what you need.”
“What’s a perfume profile?”
Taylor propped her chin on her elbow and yawned. “Three words that describe the person. My words were ‘artistic,’ ‘independent,’ and ‘loving.’ Gracie and Isobel chose them.”
“Gracie and Isobel were right on the money,” I said. I started out of the room. Then obeying an impulse, I came back and put my arms around my daughter.
She yawned. “I had an idea for the mural in the new house.”
“Want to tell me?”
“It’s a secret – but I’ve made some little paintings – just trying things out.”
“Good. Willie and I are going for our run – be back in an hour.”
“Mmmm.” Taylor burrowed deeper into her covers and went back to sleep.
I took her gifts downstairs, put them on her breakfast plate, then hooked Willie’s leash to his collar. It was November 11, Remembrance Day, and the morning was cool, misty, and silent. Willie and I circled the lake. By the time we came to the legislature, the army trucks were bringing in the ancient cannons that would be fired at eleven o’clock, shots through history that froze the marrow.
Taylor’s gifts were still wrapped and on the table when I got back. She was sleeping in, and why not when it was her birthday and a holiday to boot? After I’d showered and dressed, I came downstairs, made myself a bowl of yogurt and blueberries, picked up the newspaper, and prepared myself for the rare adventure of breakfasting alone.
It was close to eight o’clock when Zack called, asking if there were last-minute guests to add to the reservation list for dinner. Taylor had decided she wanted to go out for ribs on her birthday, and Zack needed to know if we wanted a bigger table.
I called upstairs to Taylor, and when she didn’t answer, I ran up to her room. She wasn’t there. I checked her bathroom. It was empty.
I picked up the extension by Taylor’s bed. I had left the phone in the kitchen off the hook, and I could hear the chalk-screech dissonance of Hindemith’s
Mathis der Maler
in the background. “I can’t find her,” I said.
“Taylor just turned eleven,” Zack said. “She’s probably decided it’s time to see the world.”
“Not funny,” I said. “Also not like Taylor. She’s a homebody. I don’t think she’ll ever leave.”
“That’s okay with me. I like having her around,” Zack said. “Gotta go. I have a meeting downtown.”
“It’s Remembrance Day,” I said.
“The meeting is with some money guy from Vancouver. This was the only day his calendar wasn’t booked solid. Give Norine a call if we need a bigger table for dinner tonight. She’ll be at the office.”
“It’s a stat holiday in this province, remember?”
“Holiday, shmoliday,” Zack said. “There’s always work. Tell Taylor I’m looking forward to watching her blow out the candles.”
I stared at Taylor’s empty bed. It was unmade – not a surprise, but her pyjamas weren’t under her pillow, and if she’d gone out, that was unusual. Taylor was a creature of habit, and after she’d dressed, she always placed her pyjamas under her pillow. But lately, when she was working on a piece of art, she’d put on her boots, throw a jacket over her pyjamas, and work in her studio for an hour before school. It was possible our talk about the mural had ignited a spark and she was painting.