12 Rose Street (25 page)

“That’s pretty much my take too,” I said. “But Ian didn’t renounce all sex with Jill – just vaginal. The affair didn’t end. For the next fifteen years they were doing something to each other. Since I came home from Peggy’s, visions of Jill and Ian in all one hundred positions of the
Kama Sutra
have been dancing in my head.”

Zack wheeled over to me. “Let’s sit down on the couch and neck.” He squeezed my leg. “You do realize that you’re smiling again.”

“You always make life better.”

“That works both ways,” Zack said. “Let’s not waste time fooling around on the couch. It’s been years since I checked out the
Kama Sutra.
There must be a couple of positions we still haven’t tried.”

After we made love, I took my ceramic Ernest Lindner off the nightstand, balanced it on my chest, and looked at Ernie’s face.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Zack said.

“I was thinking that with both you and Ernie Linder on my side, I might just be able to make it through the rest of the day.”

Zack reached over and tousled my hair. “This really has been rough on you, hasn’t it?”

“It’s been rough on all of us,” I said. “And it’s not going to get any better. Zack, I moved Brock’s press conference tomorrow morning from the R-H Centre to 12 Rose Street, but now I’m getting cold feet.”

“That doesn’t sound catastrophic, but if you’re worried, we can go back to the original plan.”

I took a deep breath. “No. We have to stay the course. Ever since I saw Slater Doyle’s reaction when you said we were going to make certain all the houses we own in North Central would meet the building code, I’ve had a gut feeling that somehow Cronus’s murder and everything that’s happened since is connected to 12 Rose Street.”

Zack frowned. “All this because of Slater’s reaction? Jo, I’ve learned to trust your instincts, but that’s quite a leap.”

“I’m hoping that changing the venue of the press conference will spook Ridgeway’s people into making a move.
Something strange is going on with that house.” As I related what I’d learned from Angus and Harold Haney, Zack was rapt, but when I told him that Nell Standingready constantly burns sweetgrass to try to rid her house of its bad medicine, he was incredulous.

“Bad medicine? Jesus, Jo, what are we talking about here?”

“I don’t know. All I know is that Nell did not want me to see the house, but I insisted. She was beside herself. Zack, at least half of the basement is sealed off – enclosed by concrete walls. Harold Haney says that Number 12 was a sex club for ‘rich perverts.’ Admission was for members only. The door was always locked and the walls were thick.”

Zack’s eyes widened. “I heard about that club, though I didn’t know exactly where it was. I was invited to go a few times, but it wasn’t my scene. Apparently customers could get whatever they wanted there, but from what I heard the people who frequented that place were into seriously kinky stuff. A few years ago, the club suddenly closed.”

“It was almost ten years ago,” I said. “And that’s when the room was sealed off. Mr. Haney couldn’t remember the exact date, but he said the workers had to rush to beat the snow.”

“So we’re moving the press conference to make the Ridgeway camp believe we know something incriminating about the history of 12 Rose Street. You’re really rolling the dice, Jo.”

“I know I am,” I said. “But Peggy’s last words to me today were ‘If we back down, they win, and nothing changes.’ She’s right. We’ll be cautious until this blows over, but we can’t back down. We have to keep the Ridgeway campaign’s feet to the fire.”

Zack moved to transfer his body to his chair. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

Zack and I showered, and then he made calls while I went downstairs to talk to Brock. The change of venue would be
a gamble, and Brock would be at the centre of it. As I explained my reasons for the move, I watched for Brock’s reaction. There was none. In fact, he was so preoccupied he didn’t seem to be following what I said. Finally, I stopped in mid-sentence. “Brock, are you okay with all this?”

“Sure. I’ll be there.”

“If you don’t like the idea, we can go back to the original plan.”

Brock rubbed his temples as if to clear his head. “I get it, and I’m in. I’m having trouble processing something I just heard. Michael called me a few minutes ago to tell me he and Slater Doyle were married yesterday.” Brock shook his head. “I still can’t believe it. When Michael and I were together I was sure we’d both found what we wanted. Looking back, I guess Slater has always had a hold on Michael.”

“But Michael left Slater for you.”

“It wasn’t that straightforward. Slater and Michael’s affair was long-term but very private. Slater had a wife.”

“I’ve met his daughter, Bridie. She’s a beautiful child. Where is her mother in all this?”

“She died,” Brock said. “It was very sudden. She seemed to be in perfect health. She was on the treadmill, and she collapsed. Apparently, it was a genetic problem with her heart. After she died, Michael assumed he and Slater could be open about their relationship, but Slater wasn’t ready. They split up, and by the time I came along, Michael was willing to try again. It was the best time of my life, but in retrospect, I realize Michael never severed his ties with Slater.”

“Were the ties personal?”

“I didn’t think so. Michael and Slater were both close to Graham Meighen so it seemed natural enough for them to stay in touch. Apparently, the relationship was more complex than I thought.” Brock’s obsidian eyes were troubled. “Jo, I’m certain Michael doesn’t love Slater Doyle. Since
Michael told me about the marriage I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out why the man I love, a man whom I’m sure still loves me, just married someone else.”

Brock joined us for dinner at Bushwakkers. A couple of hours with good food, good company, and a good band always lightens the burden. When the four of us left the restaurant, we were restored. Zack and I convinced Peggy to spend the night with us. The destruction of Peggy’s house was the lead story on the late news on all three of our city’s network outlets. Thankfully, we were beside Peggy when images of her home’s slashed upholstery, broken furniture, and shattered keepsakes filled the screen. The reporters hinted at the possibility of a connection between Peggy’s comments on
Quinlan Live
and the havoc that persons unknown had wreaked on her property, and then the cameras turned to Peggy for her reaction.

Shoulders squared, voice steady as she vowed to continue to speak the truth, she was an appealing figure. As much as I was sickened by the cruelty to which Peggy had been subjected, I knew her misfortune would bring us votes. I also knew E-Day was still twenty-three days away, and a great deal could happen in three weeks.

Peggy once told me that the secret of not being a bore when you reach your eighties is realizing that the state of your bowels is of little or no interest to others. Wednesday morning when I came back from my run, she and Taylor were debating whether art that was created for a solely commercial purpose such as advertising or set design was still art.

Taylor’s birth mother Sally Love’s work continued to earn money through sales of posters, postcards, and the like, and Taylor herself had built a respectable savings account from her connection with Corydon. But in both cases, companies were still dealing with the rights to original pieces of art. Now Corydon had asked Taylor to create a series of paintings that featured beautiful young men searching for identity. The idea intrigued Taylor, but she was wary of becoming a commercial artist. The discussion she and Peggy were having was spirited and punctuated by laughter. I poured myself a cup of coffee and left them to it.

The press conference was scheduled for 10:00 a.m. Peggy was determined to go. I was apprehensive, but I knew once
Peggy made up her mind there was no way to dissuade her. Taylor had left for school, and I was checking Milo’s latest figures on likely voters in Ward 6 when Margot brought Lexi over to show off the new baby tooth peeking through her gum. Peggy was fond of children and when she began playing ride-a-horsey with Lexi, Margot took my arm. “Let’s take advantage of the lull in the action,” she said. “We haven’t had a chance to visit for a while and Lexi will play ride-a-horsey for hours or until Peggy’s leg gives out.”

I laughed. “Which will be never,” I said. “Peggy is tireless, which is more than I can say for me.”

“You do look a little weary,” she said. “Why don’t we book one of those spa treatments I gave you for your birthday?”

I rubbed my eyes. “God, that seems like a thousand years ago.”

Margot raised an eyebrow. “It was less than a week.” She leaned close to me. “Jo, what’s the matter?”

“Too much to talk about now. Margot, are you planning to come to the press conference?”

“Do you want me to?”

“I’d appreciate it. Michael called Brock yesterday to announce that he and Slater Doyle had just been married.”

Margot’s brow furrowed. “How did Brock take it?”

“He’s upset, but more than anything, he’s baffled. He still loves Michael and he believes Michael still loves him.”

“I’m baffled too,” Margot said. “The three of us spent time together when Brock and I first began considering the intrauterine insemination. Brock wanted Michael to be part of the discussion and Michael was very supportive. All that ended when Brock told Michael we’d conceived a child through intercourse. According to Brock, Michael was beside himself with rage. I never said anything to Brock, but Michael’s reaction didn’t ring true to me. At first, I felt responsible, but now I’m not at all certain that the breakup was my fault.”

“Whatever is going on with Michael, I’d appreciate it if you were there to support Brock,” I said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Slater pulled some stunt to throw Brock off his game.”

“I’ll be watching,” Margot said. “I’ve had some experience with boyish hijinks.”

“Another favour,” I said. “Could you bring Peggy with you? There may be some unpleasantness, and I’d be relieved to know you can spirit her away if there’s trouble.”

The pavement in front of 12 Rose Street was crowded with curious onlookers, and the media was out in full force. Slater Doyle was there, and surprise of surprises, he’d brought Dr. Michael Goetz along to keep him company. It was a cheap trick and when I pointed the two men out to Margot, she didn’t miss a beat. Margot handed Lexi to me and walked over to where Brock was talking to some journalists, took his hand, and held it against her baby bump. I glanced at Michael Goetz. He looked as if he was about to spontaneously combust.

I had my own human drama with which to deal. Peggy and I had found a spot that was close to Zack and Brock but out of camera range. Peggy eyed the crowd. “Jill Oziowy’s over there at the Nation
TV
van. Shall we go over and say hello?”

“You go ahead.”

“You two haven’t resolved your problem?”

“No,” I said.

“You and Jill will iron this out,” she said. “You’re both intelligent enough to realize that trustworthy friends should be cherished.” I just nodded.

The press conference went well. Brock set the tone by saying our campaign did not have all the answers, but we had enough evidence to suggest that Scott Ridgeway and Lancaster owed the public some explanations. Zack then laid out exactly what we knew about taxpayer money going straight to Lancaster and suggested that it was time for serious investigative
journalists to serve their community and start digging.

Jill was first off the mark with a question: “Is the Shreve campaign sending a message by deciding to stage a second press conference here on Rose Street?”

“We are,” Zack said. ‘To quote Edmund Burke, ‘The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good people to do nothing.’ ”

“And 12 Rose Street connects to that how?”

Zack half turned his chair so he could point to the mustard-yellow house. “Our campaign has some knowledge about what went on in that house, but we need more information. We believe that discovering the truth about the history of 12 Rose Street will shed light on what’s been going on at City Hall.

“But we need help. Political campaigns are staffed largely by volunteers. If we’re going to unearth the facts, journalists like you and your colleagues have to become part of the investigation. We’re also asking Regina’s citizens to accept the challenge and get involved.”

Slater and Michael didn’t stay till the end of the news conference, but when they left both men appeared dazed. After the press conference ended, Zack and Brock stayed behind to talk to some of the Rose Street neighbours. I was waiting with Peggy, Margot, and Lexi when Jill approached.

Part of Jill’s charm had always been her immense vitality, but that day despite the makeup that had been skilfully applied for the television camera, she seemed spent. She touched my arm. “Can we talk for a minute?”

I stepped away. “There’s nothing more to say.”

“If you ever change your mind …”

“I’m not going to. The kids and I are finished with you, Jill.”

“Message received,” she said. “Will you tell Zack that I’m committed to this story, and I’m going to dig until I find something.”

“I’ll pass that along,” I said.