remember because of Hannibal Lecter in
“How was it spelled?” Noah asked.
“L-e-c-t-o-r,” my daughter said.
“Lector is Latin for ‘reader’ or ‘lecturer,’ ” Noah said. “That might be significant.”
Zack nodded. “If somebody’s willing to pay money to have a word put on their plate, that word has significance for them.” He took out his BlackBerry and called police headquarters. “Debbie… we may have a break.”
As Mieka gave her information to the Inspector, the Wainbergs zipped Jacob into his snowsuit and snapped him into his car seat. They both looked worried. No one offered words of comfort.
After we closed the door on the Wainbergs, Zack went to change for supper, and I made a last pass through the dining room to see if we’d forgotten anything. Taylor was there, adding a place setting. The slacks and shirt she’d been wearing under her choir robes had been replaced by a deep red jersey dress with a wide black patent- leather belt and a gently flowing skirt.
“Did I miscount?” I said.
Taylor folded a napkin and placed it on the bread and butter plate. “No. I invited somebody. Is that okay?”
“Sure. Anyone I know?”
“You met him last night at the concert. Zack knows him.” She straightened a fork without looking up. “It’s Declan Hunter.”
“Hmm,” I said.
Taylor’s gaze was level. “Is that all you’re going to say?”
“Your friends are always welcome. You know that.”
“Has Zack said anything about Declan?”
“Zack never talks about his clients.”
“But Declan’s not Zack’s client. His dad is. Declan’s just… ” Taylor shrugged and smiled her old open smile. “He’s just Declan.”
“Well, I’m glad ‘just Declan’ is coming for supper,” I said. “Is he into tree decorating?”
The tension drained from Taylor’s face. “He’s really stoked about this whole evening,” she said.
“You look pretty stoked yourself.”
Her expression was impish. “You’re the one who said I have to feed my art.”
I went to our room to clean up for dinner and found Zack struggling with the price tag on a turtleneck the shade of a eucalyptus leaf. I handed him my manicure scissors so he could snip off the tag, and fingered the material. “Cashmere,” I said. “Very nice.”
“I ordered one for you, too,” he said, pulling on his sweater. “It’s in that box on your dresser.”
I picked up my gift and touched it to my cheek. The material was sinfully soft. “Thank you,” I said. “It’s gorgeous.”
He raised an eyebrow. “But you’re not going to put it on.”
“Mieka says that the day you and I start wearing matching outfits is the day she puts us into Golden Memories.”
“I’ve got pull at Golden Memories. I kept the owner out of the hoosegow. I could get us adjoining rooms.”
I unbuttoned my blouse. “So what did the owner do?”
“He was alleged to have encouraged some of his female guests to give him power of attorney.”
“Did he?”
“All my clients are innocent, Ms. Shreve. Now come on, let’s see the sweater.”
I pulled it over my head and held out my arms.
“Looks better on you than it does on me,” Zack said.
“Thanks,” I said. “For the sweater and for the compliment. Hey, guess who’s coming to dinner?”
“The Green Knight.”
“Close. Declan Hunter.”
Zack’s smile vanished. “How come?”
“Taylor invited him.” I sat down on the bed, so Zack and I could face one another. “She isn’t aware that Declan’s your client,” I said.
“He’s under no legal obligation to tell her.”
“But there are legal issues in his life,” I said.
Zack wheeled closer. “Jo, you know I can’t give you any specifics, but if I thought for a moment that Taylor was in danger, Declan wouldn’t get past the front door.”
“His transgressions are minor?” I asked.
“So far, but they’re the kinds of dumb-ass things that can put a kid on the glide path to disaster, so I worry.”
“You like him, don’t you?”
“I do. We had a great time that night we went to the Broken Rack, so in the spirit of camaraderie I asked Declan why he’s so determined to make trouble for himself. He said that it’s easy to get lost when you live in your father’s shadow.”
Our family had endured tree-decorating nights when our tempers were as snarled as the strings of lights. The mood the year before had been close to perfect until we hung the last ornament, flicked on the lights, and Pantera, responding to some dark atavistic impulse buried deep in his mastiff psyche, took a run at the tree, knocked it to the ground, attacked it, then streaked to the basement and refused to come upstairs for three days. This Christmas the tree-trimming was without incident, and there were some Hallmark moments: Declan, his dreads tied back with hemp twine, carefully examining each of the ornaments that held a picture of Taylor before he handed it to her so she could place it on the tree; Lena and Maddy suspending all the sparkliest ornaments from branches at their level, so that the lower third of the tree glittered as bright as a showgirl’s fan and the upper two-thirds were bare; Zack, his chair at a safe distance from the tree, his fingers looped through Pantera’s collar, murmuring reassurances to his dog.
The one moment of real tension was short-lived. When Madeleine and Lena reached a noisy standoff about whose toilet-paper-roll angel would have pride of place as the tree-topper, Peter jammed the angels together on the top branch, where they perched, listing slightly, their silver doily wings mashed and their twin maniacal smiles reminding us all that Christmas is a time of sisterhood and lunacy.
Zack led Pantera to our bedroom and shut him in, safe from human folly, before we lit the tree. After we turned on the lights, Zack took photos of the tree on his BlackBerry and sent them to Angus who was studying for exams in Saskatoon. Angus texted back a one-word sentence: “Coooooooooool.” After handing around Angus’s text of praise for our handiwork, Zack pushed his chair to the piano and played “Round Midnight” – not because the Thelonius Monk standard was seasonal, but because I loved it. After that, it was request time. Lena asked for “Puff, the Magic Dragon,” and when Puff had slipped into his cave for the last time, Mieka and her daughters sang along as Zack played “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.” Peter’s girlfriend, Dacia, the self-described daughter of old hippies, did what the daughter of old hippies do. She pulled out her guitar and sang “Scarborough Fair” in a voice that was as powerful as it was sweet.
“Hard act to follow, but I’m convinced there’s yet more talent in the audience,” Zack said. “If there are no volunteers, I’m doing my Barry Manilow medley.”
Taylor touched Declan’s arm. The touch was enough. Declan went to Dacia, whispered a word in her ear, and she handed him her guitar. Without prelude, he began to play Green Day’s “Time of Your Life,” first with poignant resignation, then with a fierce snarling anger. It was a riveting performance, but it also revealed Declan’s pain, and as he handed the guitar back to Dacia, there was an awkward silence in the room.
Pete’s girlfriend smoothed the raw edges. “You do realize how good you are?” she said.
Declan’s smile was heartbreaking. “I realize exactly how good I am,” he said. “And I know I’m not good enough.” He held out his hand to Taylor. “Time for me to take off,” he said.
Taylor’s hand was in Declan’s as he thanked us and said good night. Except for Peter, we were a family of talkers, but after Taylor walked Declan to the front door, it seemed that none of us had anything to say.
Lena saved the moment. Out of nowhere she snagged some lines from her favourite story and began reciting in her fluty little-girl voice. “ ‘Today is gone. Today was fun. Tomorrow is another one.’ ” She turned to her sister.
