The Brutal Heart

“I am. These young women and I have been telling one another stories, and it’s my turn now.”

“May I join you?”

“Please do.”

For the next fifteen minutes Dacia told a fantastic tale about the friendship between an English sparrow and a peacock. Her voice was mesmerizing: musical, full, and expressive. The girls were enthralled.

“You’re a great storyteller,” I said when she finished.

Dacia leaned close. “I can juggle too.”

“Really?”

“Really,” she said. “But I didn’t bring my devil-sticks to the party. Have to give you some reason to invite me back.”

There have been many Mother’s Days when I awoke to breakfast in bed. Once, when Angus was in charge, the menu was blue Kool-Aid and Sugar Pops. This Mother’s Day I woke up to a large and luminous abstract propped against the wall at the foot of our bed. I had spotted the painting, titled Firebrand, at a gallery in Saskatoon, and I knew it was the kind of painting I wanted to see first thing every morning. There was a beginning-of-the-world intensity about the way the artist, Scott Plear, used colour that made my spirits soar, but Zack had been noncommittal, and I’d assumed the work hadn’t evoked the same passion in him that it had in me. I’d been wrong.

“You have no idea how hard it’s been for me to wait till today to bring this home,” Zack said. “I wanted to see Firebrand in this room, and I wanted to watch your face when you realized we owned it.”

“I didn’t think you were paying attention when we were at the gallery.”

“When it comes to you, I always pay attention,” Zack said. “Are you in the mood for a little quid pro quo?”

“It’s a big painting,” I said.

Zack checked his watch. “By my calculations we have at least five hours till church.”

It was a morning filled with uncomplicated happiness. Taylor, who had been in on the purchase of the Scott Plear, had painted a companion abstract in blues, silvers, and greys that was the perfect complement for the Plear with its fluid reds, orange, and saffron. Abstracts were new turf for Taylor, and she was critical until she saw the pieces side by side. “They’re right for each other,” she said simply, and so they were.

While we were having breakfast the phone rang. It was Milo O’Brien. His telephone manner was less than impeccable. “You go to church, right.”

“Right,” I said.

“Which one?”

“St. Paul’s Cathedral,” I said. “It’s not in the constituency, Milo.”

“So which church is? Sunday morning is pretty much a dead loss for campaigning, so I figured Ginny and the twins might as well attend a service somewhere.”

“Lakeview United is within walking distance of their condo. If you alert your pal at the Leader- Post, you might even get a photo of Ginny and the girls in their Sunday best strolling down the avenue.”

“I’ll make that call. See ya.”

“See ya,” I said.

When we picked up Maddy and Lena for church, they were wearing their Easter hats and clutching pictures of the dogs they had drawn for our refrigerator. The dean’s sermon, on the complex relationship between mothers and children, was thoughtful, and after the service, reasoning that we are all children of mothers, he stood outside with a basket of gerberas and presented each of us with a flower. In the car going home, Taylor, Maddy, and Lena made a bouquet of our daisies and planned our afternoon together. There were a number of possibilities: the science centre had a new Lego exhibit, there was a children’s festival in Victoria Park, and there were three playgrounds within walking distance of our house. One possibility they didn’t consider was starting our afternoon with a visit from the police, but as it turned out, that was what happened.

I hadn’t met Inspector Debbie Haczkewicz until that day. She’d been at Cristal’s funeral, but she’d left before we could be introduced. She was a tall, powerfully built woman with assessing eyes and a gentle manner. She and Zack greeted each other warmly if warily, and he introduced me. When I unlocked the door, the dogs came bounding. I bent to stroke their fur and set their minds at ease. “The girls and I will put the dogs outside and start lunch,” I said. “Give me a shout if you’d like coffee or something cold to drink.”

Inspector Haczkewicz’s voice was even. “Actually, Mrs. Shreve, you’re the one I’ve come to see.”

I felt my heart lurch. “It’s not about someone in my family, is it?”

“No,” she said. “No, this isn’t a family matter.”

“Then what?”

Debbie Haczkewicz’s eyes drifted towards Taylor and my granddaughters. “Maybe we should talk privately.”

I turned to my daughter. “Taylor, could you get the girls a sandwich?”

“Sure,” she said, but she looked worried. I put my arm around her. “It’s okay,” I said. “Inspector Haczkewicz just needs information about a case she’s working on.”

When the girls left, Zack led Debbie into the living room, and I followed.

“What’s this about, Deb?” he said.

Debbie Haczkewicz didn’t answer him. She turned her eyes on me. “Mrs. Shreve, are you comfortable having your husband present at this interview?”

“Of course,” I said. “Why don’t we sit down?”

The inspector and I sat on the couch and Zack wheeled up close.

Debbie Haczkewicz plowed right in. “What’s your connection with Bree Steig, Mrs. Shreve?”

I glanced at Zack. His nod in response was barely perceptible, but I knew it indicated I should answer what I was asked.

I turned to face the inspector. “Yesterday, when my daughter and I came back from shopping around six o’clock, there was what appeared to be a Mother’s Day card in the mailbox. The envelope was peach, and it was addressed to me. There was no stamp, and I didn’t recognize the handwriting, but Zack likes surprises, so I assumed it was a gift.”

“But it wasn’t,” the inspector said.

“No,”

“I’ll get the envelope,” Zack said. His eyes met mine. “Tell Debbie what she needs to know.” I picked up his cue: I was to divulge only what I had to. When I saw the set of Inspector Haczkewicz’s jaw, I knew that she’d picked up the warning too.

She pulled a notepad from her jacket pocket. “Whenever you’re ready, Mrs. Shreve.”

“It starts with Cristal Avilia,” I said. “I’m aware of the connection between Zack and her, inspector. The relationship was over before we were married, but he did tell me about it, and he told me about the blackmail attempt.”

“When did he tell you all this?”

“Just after you called on the night Cristal Avilia was murdered.”

“Go on.”

“A few days after Cristal’s death, a DVD appeared in our mailbox. It was in a small padded mailing envelope. There was no name on it, but I assumed it was for me. I’ve been covering Ginny Monaghan’s campaign for a program I’m pitching to NationTV, and they often send along footage they think I’ll find helpful. Most often, they send it electronically, but not always. Anyway, I put the DVD in our machine. It was of Zack with Cristal. They were having sex.”

Debbie Haczkewicz’s head flew up. “I thought that disc had been destroyed.”

“Apparently not,” I said.

Zack came back in and offered the envelope to the inspector. She pulled a pair of white cotton gloves from her bag. “I assume when they dust this in the lab, they’ll find prints from both of you.”

I nodded.

“Zack, your prints are on file, but we’ll need yours, Mrs. Shreve.”

“I’ll stop by this afternoon,” I said.