“That’s right,” he said. “I didn’t.” With that, we joined Taylor, ordered our liver and a bottle of Shiraz, and sat back as our daughter filled us in on her plans for the Farewell, the challenges of working on unstretched canvas, and a boy she’d met at the 13th Avenue Coffee House who had the most amazing hair.
Ready or not, life was moving on.
Blake’s taxi pulled up just as I came back from giving the dogs a run. I waited until he’d paid the driver. When Blake came up and took Pantera’s leash, I waited for the big mastiff to freeze. He was a rescue dog with a troubled history, and his reactions to strangers were unpredictable. But he just collapsed in a heap at Blake’s feet and gazed up, waiting for the next instruction.
“I’m impressed,” I said. “Pantera’s loyalties are pretty well reserved for Zack.”
Blake rubbed Pantera’s ear. “He and I know each other from the office.” He jerked Pantera’s leash. “Okay, big guy, time to talk to your master.”
Zack was in his office. When he saw Blake, he held out his arms. “Welcome home,” he said.
As they talked, I was struck again by the closeness between the two men. After a lifetime of friendship, they had a kind of shorthand that allowed them to get to the point economically and effectively.
Zack began. “So how come you didn’t tell Margot that you drew up Cristal Avilia’s will? She found out Falconer Shreve had the will when one of our summer students responded to her notice on the Law Society website.”
Blake had taken the chair facing Zack. He looked down at his hands. “I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
Zack sighed. “Fair enough. Had there been a will before this one?”
“Yes. I never saw it. Cristal said she had a will, but she wanted to make some major changes, so she thought it was best just to start over.”
“Did she elaborate?”
Blake nodded. “She said she and her boyfriend had split up and she didn’t want him listed as a beneficiary. I was relieved to hear she’d left him.”
“So she’d talked to you about him?”
“Only once. It was last month. She called me.” Blake smiled sadly. “The one and only time the woman I loved called me for a date. She was distraught. They’d had a fight and it turned ugly.”
“Was he abusive?” I asked.
Blake shook his head. “Not physically, but I had a feeling that was only because he’d found more effective means of keeping Cristal in line. And, of course, he didn’t want to leave marks that would get clients asking questions. In the last few days, I’ve been able to see things more clearly. You know, I really think the only kindness that animal ever showed her was to kill her.”
Zack’s voice was steely. “Don’t share that insight with the cops, eh?”
“I won’t.” He stood. “I’d better get home – spend a little time with Gracie.”
“Where did you tell her you’d been?” I said.
“Business trip,” Blake said. “Gracie’s used to that, and as long as Rose is there, helping her with her homework and making bannock, Gracie’s fine.” He smiled. “And so am I. From the day we brought Gracie home from the hospital, Rose has been there – the one consistent presence in our lives.”
“Joanne and I are going to the lake this weekend,” Zack said. “But you and I can talk more tomorrow before we leave. One thing you should know: I’m representing Ginny Monaghan.”
“So if I’ve left any bloody footprints, I shouldn’t count on you to explain them.”
Zack met his gaze. “That’s right.”
It had been a full day, and we decided to make an early night of it. Zack was already in bed reading when the doorbell rang.
There was no one there, but when I stepped out to investigate, I saw that Francesca Pope’s backpack with its cargo of Care Bears had been dropped inside the big planter on our porch. As soon as I picked up the backpack, Francesca came out of the shadows, her face streaked with tears. The night was warm, but Francesca, as always, was bundled in layers of clothing, protecting her against the demons outside and the demons within. When I called to her, she began to run. Her bicycle was lying on the front lawn. She righted it, jumped on, and rode off. I watched until she disappeared from sight, then I took the backpack inside. The bears smelled of mould and mildew, and the backpack itself was wet and muddy. I’d soaked the soil in the planter that afternoon to ready it for the Martha Washingtons. Inside the door, we kept a wicker laundry hamper with towels for the dogs. I dropped the backpack inside and carried the basket to Zack.
He removed his glasses when he saw me. “What’s going on?”
I came to the side of the bed and showed him the laundry basket. “Francesca left this on our doorstep,” I said. “Actually, she dropped the backpack in the planter; the laundry basket is ours.”
“Moses in the bulrushes.”
“In the mud,” I said. “I was planning to transplant the Martha Washingtons there tomorrow.”
Zack took the basket, looked down at the bears, and shook his head. “Leaving those here must have been agony for Francesca.”
“It was,” I said. “She was crying. I tried to talk to her, but she got on her bike and rode off.”
“So, we don’t know why she left the bears with us.” Zack frowned, reached into the outer flap of the backpack, removed a paper, and read the two words that were printed on it. “ ‘At risk,’ ” he said. He peered over his glasses at me. “That’s the phrase they use in family court to identify children who aren’t safe in their home situation.”
“Francesca feels threatened,” I said.
“If she’s abandoned her bears, she must be at the breaking point. If it were anybody else, I’d call the cops and get them to check into it, but Francesca’s terrified of the police.”
“So we do nothing,” I said.
“Well, there’s nothing we can do tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll swing by some of Francesca’s haunts and see if I can find out what’s going on.”
I picked up the laundry hamper and carried the bears into the mudroom. The smell of mildew was heavy, and I opened the window to let in some fresh air. It was a moonless night, and as I flicked off the light, the room was plunged into darkness. I started up the hall, then, driven by an impulse that I’d given into many times in my years as a parent, I retraced my steps and opened the door a crack to let the light in.
I had planned to spend the next morning shopping and packing for the lake, but life intervened. Jill Oziowy called from Toronto to see how I was coming with the Ginny Monaghan project. When she said there were rumours that Ginny and her daughters had gone underground, I didn’t enlighten her, but I was more forthcoming when Keith Harris called. He was brisk, but his concern was palpable. “Jo, I’ve been trying Ginny’s cell all morning – no answer. Do you have any idea where she is?”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Somebody should have let you know. Ginny and the twins are at our cottage. She and the girls were running on empty, so Zack suggested they take off for the weekend.”
“Smart move. Normally, Ginny has amazing equanimity. She says it’s just a question of reading the situation and responding, but this has her reeling.”
“With cause,” I said. “She’s taken a lot of hits lately.”
“And the knockout punch is on its way,” Keith said.
“Have you heard something?”
Keith didn’t answer. Finally he said, “Look, is there any possibility you could get away for lunch? I could use an hour staring at a human being who isn’t about to burst into flames.”
I laughed. “Why don’t you come over here? I have a bottle of Glenfiddich. It’s a proven flame-retardant, and by the time you arrive, the sun will be over the yard arm somewhere.”
“Consider me an emergency case,” Keith said. “Your address please.”
Twenty minutes later, Keith was at the front door. He was freshly shaved, but he had an unhealthy pallor, and as he removed his jacket, he sighed as if even that small effort tired him.
“Why don’t you come into the kitchen with me while I get the Glenfiddich,” I said.
“I’ll gladly sit in your kitchen,” he said, “but I’ll just have a glass of soda. Single malt is on my forbidden list.”
“An old friend of Zack’s used to say that at the end we all lose everything. It’s up to us to decide the order in which we lose things.”
The spark came back into Keith’s eyes. “In that case, I’ll have three fingers of Glenfiddich – might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.”
