Debbie Haczkewicz and tell her you’ll bring the journal down to headquarters. Then get a hold of Blake and suggest he go out to the lake for a few days – get some rest – figure things out.”
Zack didn’t hesitate. “Okay. I’ve had enough too.” He reached over and turned off the light. “Tomorrow will be better,” he said.
“It had better be,” I said, and even I was surprised at the anger in my voice.
The next morning when the dogs and I stepped outside for our run, the air was mild and sweet, and the sun was shining. Its beams were weak and watery, but they were persistent. The grass, after so much rain, was dazzlingly green, and the flower bed closest to the deck was shining with daffodils. The prospect of having breakfast outside was seductive.
When I got back, Zack was on the front porch taking the morning papers out of the mailbox. Pantera leapt towards his master and tore the leash from my hand. Even for a mastiff, Pantera was big and there’d been more than one occasion when he’d knocked Zack’s chair over. Zack never minded. “I’m just grateful he’s on my side,” he’d say. This morning we were lucky. Pantera was enthusiastic but restrained.
“The daffodils are putting on a show,” I said. “Do you want to have breakfast on the deck?”
“Sure. Everything’s ready to go. The porridge and coffee are made, but you might want to stay inside. That hyper kid who’s running Ginny’s campaign called.”
“Milo.”
“Right – the one who mainlines candy bars. Ginny’s going to be on
“Good for her,” I said. “But I opt for daffodils and no newspapers. Let’s just eat our porridge and let the universe unfold without us for a while.”
It wasn’t that simple. While Zack was making calls on his cell, I got a call of my own. It was Keith saying that the interviewer on
When Zack got off the phone, his expression was grim. “According to Debbie Haczkewicz, Cristal kept a journal from the time she left home. There are dozens of her diaries in a personal storage unit on the north side. The journal I have was the last one, and Debbie’s chomping at the bit to discover how it happened to fall into my hands. She’s sending someone over.”
“No breakfast on the deck?” I said.
“Not today, my love. And there’s another shovel of shit on the pile. I can’t find Blake. His housekeeper, Rose, says he didn’t come home last night, and he’s not answering his cell.”
I poured more milk into the porridge, turned up the heat under it, and began stirring. “So we’ve got Ginny, Blake, and Bree Steig to worry about.”
“I don’t think there’s much you or anybody can do to turn Bree’s life around.”
“I wasn’t thinking about rehabilitation; I was thinking about police protection outside her room at the hospital. Zack, I don’t believe for a minute that the attack on Bree was random.”
“You think I should call Debbie?”
“I do.”
Zack hit the speed-dial. When he rang off, he looked satisfied. “There’ll be a uniformed officer outside Bree’s room in twenty minutes.”
“Good start,” I said. “Now let’s see how Ginny makes out. After breakfast you can start trying Blake again.”
When the porridge was ready, I called Taylor for breakfast and Zack and I headed to the family room. She had just joined us with her bowl and her juice when the interview with Ginny started. “How come we’re eating in here?” she said.
“I want to hear what Ginny has to say.”
Taylor spooned on brown sugar, reached for the pitcher, and flooded her porridge with cream. “Is she going to win?”
“I think so, but there’s many a slip between the cup and the lip.”
“I don’t get it,” Taylor said.
“It means life is full of surprises.”
As the interview segment opened, there was no reason to suspect things would go badly. The establishing shots of Ginny and her daughters attending church on Mother’s Day were a portrait of family devotion, and as the host turned towards Ginny, his mouth curled in a practised smile. He didn’t look dangerous.
“Our guest this morning is the Honourable Ginny Monaghan, minister of Canadian heritage and the status of women. Welcome, Ms. Monaghan.”
“Thank you, Troy, I’m pleased to be here.” In a lemon suit that revealed her powerful athlete’s legs, Ginny looked like a woman who could run the country, but she had looked like a winner before. That promise had evaporated in a miasma of whispers and scabrous jokes and as Troy Selwyn framed his question, Ginny was alert.
“This has to be a good day for you,” he said. “As far as your party’s concerned, the big picture’s still in doubt, but there’s no doubt about your future. The polls show you’re headed for victory in Palliser, and you’re already being talked about as your party’s next leader.”
Ginny’s voice was cool. “Troy, I’m sure you’re aware that kind of talk is premature. Until the ballots are counted, nothing is certain. As for the leadership, we have a leader, and I support him.”
It was a careful response that left the door open. Ginny knew that sound bites have the power to draw blood as well as attention, but this one was toothless. It was also ambiguous. Those steadfast in their allegiance to the prime minister would remember Ginny had reiterated her support for him; those hungering for new leadership would remember that Ginny’s statement of support had not been effusive.
“Still, even you must be surprised at the turn of events in Palliser,” Troy Selwyn said pleasantly. “Two weeks ago, most political observers had written you off. You were sitting in a courtroom fighting for custody of your daughters, and the accusations about your personal life were, to say the least, damaging.”
“My daughters are now safely under my roof,” Ginny said, but her eyes were wary.
“So they are,” Troy said. “But your twins are with you because your ex-husband suddenly withdrew his suit for custody. You’re a powerful political figure, Ms. Monaghan. Were pressures brought to bear upon Mr. Brodnitz? Was he intimidated?”
“He came to his senses. We both did.” The camera, hoping for a flash of fear or anger, zoomed in, but Ginny didn’t crack. Eyes on the camera, voice strong, she explained. “We were finally able to get over our anger and focus on our children. We reached the kind of agreement Canadians reach every day. We decided jointly that the interests of our girls would be best served if Jason withdrew his demand for custody and the twins lived with me.”
“You must be aware of the rumours that have circulated about your husband.”
“Rumours circulate about all political spouses and ex-spouses.”
“Are you aware of the rumour that the stories about your husband’s activities originated in your campaign?”
Ginny looked genuinely surprised. “No. I hadn’t heard that one. The stories about Mr. Brodnitz were out there from the beginning. I didn’t dignify them with a response then and I won’t now.” If she’d stopped there, Ginny would have been home free, but in politics, it’s the human moment that makes the difference – the flash of temper, the eyes welling with tears. Ginny’s discipline held, but her voice was ice. “Whatever else he is, Jason Brodnitz is my children’s father. I owe it to them to protect his reputation.”
“Are you aware that Jason Brodnitz has called a news conference for this afternoon to discuss these rumours?”
“No I wasn’t aware of that.”
“What do you think of it?”
Ginny smiled through tightened lips. “I think it’s ill advised.” The camera lingered on Ginny’s face, but she had nothing more to say, and so Troy Selwyn thanked her and wrapped up the interview.
Zack clicked the remote and the screen went blank. Taylor frowned. “What was that all about?”
