Serpents Rising (27 page)

A girl about Zoe's age was sitting at the desk opposite Celia, filling out the same series of forms Jay had the night before. The girl looked like she'd be pretty if she smiled but that wasn't going to happen any time soon. Green appeared to be her colour of choice. Green jacket with a lighter green collar, green sweat pants, green sneakers, and green streaks in her hair. Maybe a Saskatchewan Roughriders fan.

Jay was behind Jill sorting food bank donations as I had done my first time in the place. He was wearing a Montreal Canadiens sweatshirt, clean jeans, and a ball cap that said only
Q
. He looked cleaner and maybe even marginally better than the night before, but his movements were robotic — jerky. This was a guy who was feeling the ill effects of being off the juice.

He was sideways to us, stacking canned goods, and didn't see us at first. Zoe moved closer and was standing opposite him, a table between them, when he turned and saw her. He looked at her, started to smile, thought better of it, looked at his shoes for a few seconds, then back at her.

“Hi.” She didn't try to get closer to him, stayed on her side of the table.

“Hi.”

“You doing okay?” Zoe sounded nervous, a bit of a tremor in her voice.

“Sure … yeah, okay. How
'
bout you?”

The family of four was moving toward the front door, their arms full of provisions. The older of the two teenagers, a boy maybe fifteen, wearing jeans that looked like they'd lost a fight with a cougar, and a jacket with a crest that said, “I'm nucking futs,” shook his head as he went by me, letting me know he wasn't happy.

“Yeah, that free food is a bitch, ain't it, kid?” I said.

He scowled and kept on going, shuffling his feet every step. I wasn't envying his parents or his sister the ride home.

The woman with the nine-year-old was getting ready to leave and I stepped forward. “I can give you a hand with those if you like.”

She glanced at me, then looked at Jill.

Jill said, “It's fine, Monica. He's a friend of mine.”

Monica smiled at me and nodded. I stepped forward and picked up the biggest of the cardboard boxes. Tim took the smaller box and Monica scooped up a large shopping bag in one arm and a king size box of detergent in the other. Cobb held the door for us, earning him a bigger smile than the one I got, which I thought was unfair.

“Have a great week, Monica. Bye, Tim.” Jill called.

Monica turned and said, “Thanks again,” and Tim yelled “See ya” loud enough to be heard several blocks away.

I followed them out onto the street where the warmest day we'd had in a month was melting some of the snow that was piled up in parking lots, playgrounds, schoolyards, and driveways. Monica led us to a van that looked a lot like the one I had in high school. And my van had been ten years old then.

Rust flecked the fenders and quarter panels like blotchy skin. The van had two side doors that opened out — I remembered that from mine — and Monica looked for a place to put the detergent while she opened the doors.

I bent so she could set it on top of the box I was carrying.

“It's heavy,” she said.

“It's okay,” I told her and she set the soap atop the box. I winked at Tim and said “Us guys are Supermen” in my best superhero voice.

Jill got the doors open and we set everything inside. Tim high-fived me and said, “See ya, Superman.”

“See ya,
Super
Superman,” I said.

Monica and I exchanged waves and I stomped off my boots on my way back inside. Celia and the girl in green had completed the paperwork and were headed upstairs. Jill and Cobb were talking in hushed voices and Zoe and Jay hadn't moved. Jay was pushing two cans of SpaghettiOs back and forth on the table and working hard at not looking at Zoe, who gave every indication she was prepared to wait him out.

“It's been crazy here all morning,” Jill said. “I need a coffee.”

She had decided that whatever was going to happen was going to happen without us. I nodded and Cobb looked as eager as we were to get out of there and give Jay and Zoe some space.

Jill grabbed her coat off one of the nails of the makeshift coat rack and started toward the front door. Cobb got the door again. Jill turned back. “You two want anything?”

Zoe shook her head and Jay mumbled something that I took for a no.

“We'll be back in twenty minutes,” Jill said and we headed out onto the street.

We pretty much had the Starbucks to ourselves and it became even less crowded when Cobb told us he needed to get something across the street and could we get him a “tall coffee something or other with room for milk.”

He was out the door before we could point out how pathetic his attempts to give us time alone actually were. I shook my head and Jill laughed softly.

“It's a good thing he's a detective because as a poker player he'd go broke in a week.”

I ordered the coffee including a “tall something or other with room for milk.” That seemed to baffle the barista so I modified the order to a tall Caffé Verona after reading the description as “Rich, soulful, and sweet, this coffee wafts romance.”

“I'm not sure about rich, soulful, or sweet,” I told Jill, “but I guarantee you Cobb wafts romance.”

“Yes, he does.” She laughed the laugh I liked.

As the barista worked on our coffees, I turned to look at Jill. “How's your week shaping up for a free evening?”

“The week not so good, but the week
end
, much better. But I have a thought — you know, just in case you can't wait six days to see me.” She laughed at what she'd said.

“Actually that's a pretty darn solid supposition.”

“I'm glad. Anyway, Kyla has a part in a school play. It runs Wednesday and Thursday and it's called
Bridging the Generation Gap.
It's all hush-hush so I know almost nothing except that Kyla has a fairly significant part.”

“The generation gap. Will seeing it make me feel old?”

“I can almost guarantee it.”

“When you put it like that how do I say no?”

Cobb returned and I handed him his drink.

We sat for five minutes and drank our coffee, all of us working hard, it seemed to me, to avoid the topic of Jay and Zoe.

“Think twenty minutes is enough?” I asked as we made our way back to the Let the Sunshine Inn at the same brisk pace we had employed earlier.

“Twenty years might not be enough time to get Jay's life back,” Jill said. “But twenty minutes might be enough to make a start.”

Inside, Jay and Zoe were sitting at the table. Zoe was leaning forward and both seemed to be talking intently.

I looked at Cobb, who answered my look with a shrug. I approached the table; Jill moved alongside me. Jay and Zoe looked up at us.

I spoke to Zoe. “You want us to hang around … wait for you?”

She looked at Jay. I couldn't see any response but there must have been one. She looked up at Jill.

“We were hoping maybe I could stay here for a couple of days,” she said.

Jill didn't answer right away.

“We have only one room for couples and it's taken right now,” she said.

“We could stay in the room I was in last night,” Jay said. “It's big enough.”

I glanced at Cobb. He wasn't showing anything but I felt good that Jay seemed to be thinking of Zoe, however short term and however superficially.

Jill frowned for a moment, then said. “Two nights. I'll bend the rules for
two
nights. Then, unless Lon and Jenna are gone from the couple's room, I'm afraid you'll have to make other arrangements. There are three or four places that have couple's rooms. I'll even make some calls for you. But two nights is it. And that's based on total abstinence from drugs. Use once and you're gone.”

She was looking at Jay as she spoke and I watched him take it in. Looked like he received the message, but with addicts — even ones who have been clean for a week or two — it's foolish to take them at their word.

Still, the atmosphere in the place felt positive and I figured I'd let that be my guide. For now.

Cobb said, “We'll stay in touch.”

I wasn't sure if the remark was directed at Zoe and Jay or at Jill and it didn't really matter.

I smiled at Jill and mouthed the word
thanks
at her.

Then Cobb and I left.

I
chose the Wednesday performance in case I wanted to book tickets to see the show again the next night. It was interesting watching Jill being totally relaxed right up until the moment Kyla first appeared on stage.

At that point Jill grabbed my hand, not out of some romantic sentiment the darkened auditorium engendered, but so she would have something to squeeze, twist, bend, and occasionally pound on as she watched her daughter perform. Fortunately for my hand, Kyla was flawless on stage. Had the kid blown a line, missed an entrance, or tripped over one of the set pieces I would likely have required major reconstructive surgery.

After the show, parents, relatives, and friends gathered backstage to congratulate the performers and exchange relieved smiles with other parents, relatives, and friends.

Eventually I was relatively alone with Jill and Kyla. We were sipping drinks in paper cups. The drinks came from a large drink dispenser and tasted like last year's Kool-Aid. Orange, maybe.

I said, “It would be my honour to take you two out for a post-performance dinner.”

“Awesome.” Kyla grinned.

“You don't have to do that.” Jill looked at me.

“Not a case of
have
to. I'd
love
to take you ladies out on the town. That's what theatre people do,” I said.

Kyla nodded sagely. Jill nodded doubtfully.

I looked at Kyla. “So where are we going? I think the evening's brightest star should pick the place.”

Jill whispered, “Big mistake.”

Kyla beamed at me. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Alright, Chuck E. Cheese's, here we come!”

“Big mistake,” I heard again.

“Hey.” I smiled at Jill. “Might not have been Audrey Hepburn's first choice, but I'm all about … what did you say the name was?”

“Chuck E. Cheese's.”

I snapped my fingers. “That's what I'm talking about.”

Kyla moved off to tell her cast mates about her good fortune.

Jill shook her head but she was smiling. “I tried to warn you.”

“I wonder what the E stands for.”

“Eech,” she said.

The motto at Chuck E. Cheese's is “Where a Kid Can Be a Kid.” Apparently being a kid entails beating the crap out of adults at every game Chuck E. could think of. Kyla had a “mega-blast” and once Jill realized that I was having a pretty good time myself, she relaxed and laughed as hard as Kyla at my pathetic attempts to bowl, toss, shoot, hit, and drive.

The highlight of my night came when I managed to beat Jill at a game that was, as near as I could tell, a cross between a Frisbee toss and slow motion dodge ball. My second-place finish earned me a fist bump from Kyla and a kiss on the cheek from Jill.

On the way out, with Kyla twenty yards ahead of us, Jill hugged me. “You were amazing in there. That was really fun.”

“Yeah, it was.”

“And if you ever bring me here again I'll break both your legs.”

“You're just mad that I beat you at Splat the Brat.”

“There is no game in there called Splat the Brat.”

“I'm paraphrasing. The point is you're a sore loser, as indicated by your rather nasty threat.”

“Okay, a) I'm not a sore loser, b) I beat you at everything but what you're calling Splat the Brat, and c) if you ever take me there again, I'll break both your legs.”

I nodded and put my arm around her shoulders. “Do you think Kyla had fun? I mean really?”

“Trust me, she had fun and you have a new fan. Well, actually she was already a fan.”

“Cool.”

“What eight-year-old girl could possibly resist a man who is a writer
and
a Chuck E. Cheese's guy?”

“Wow, a guy with a fan. What's better than that?”

“How about a guy with two fans?” Jill squeezed my arm and smiled up at me.

“That
is
better.”

On the way home Kyla asked me who Audrey Hepner was. I explained that Audrey Hep
burn
was a wonderful Hollywood star and the third most beautiful woman to ever grace the planet, right behind the two women currently in my car. I then launched into what I thought was a thorough and fascinating summary of Ms. Hepburn's life and career but about halfway through my oratory I glanced in the rearview mirror and noted that Kyla was sleeping soundly.

Which meant that when I pulled into the driveway at Jill's house we were able to enjoy a long, slow, warm kiss. Actually two. When I moved in for a third, Jill put a finger to my lips and promised “more where that came from” on Saturday night.

I
was sitting on what passes for the balcony of my apartment, my feet on the railing, as I watched a guy on the balcony of his in-fill across the street. He was cleaning his barbecue.

It was December 14. Maybe he'd misread the calendar.

I was on my second cup of coffee, dressed in navy blue sweat pants, an Oklahoma State hoodie, and sneakers, no socks, no jacket.

Optimist.

Library Voices'
Denim on Denim
was filtering out of my apartment onto the balcony. They were a solid Regina band I'd seen perform a couple of years before. Their sound was helping my mood to improve. That and the smell. Chinook smell. Warm, dry, clean air that southern Albertans get to enjoy from time to time during winter. And might explain the guy working on his barbecue.

I'd made a decision. Cobb had called that morning and we'd set a time for the next day to get together and review everything we knew about Donna's murder. At 9:30 a.m., my apartment — I provide the bagels, he brings the coffee.

It would be good to get going on it again. But in the meantime I was antsy. I wanted to be doing something and I didn't want to be idle for even one more day.

There was only one thing I could think of to do. I wanted to try to find out what had happened to the other girl who had died. Elaine Yu. Appleton had said she'd died in Prince Albert. I'd Googled it and come up with next to nothing other than that Elaine Yu had died in a vehicle mishap of some kind. That seemed awfully general. I wondered if I could find out a little more and take that information to the meeting with Cobb.

And there was only one place my minimal detecting skills could come up with to try to learn more about Elaine and how she had died.

I sipped more coffee. The guy across the road was finished with his barbecue grill and had gone back inside. Probably planning to fire up the lawn mower.

I picked up the newspaper but couldn't really concentrate. Did the headlines and the sports page; the Flames had lost 5–3 to New Jersey.

I followed the lead of the guy across the way and went back inside. I changed into jeans, a bulky knit sweater, added socks to my ensemble, pulled on my down fill, and headed out to pursue the one idea I had.

The students at Northern Horizon Academy were apparently enjoying the spring-like interlude as much as I was. Several were hanging around outside the main entrance, perched on benches or leaning on walls contemplating the weather, sex, and each other. My guess was that few were contemplating chemistry or social studies.

I walked up the walk, ready this time in the event a group of girls tried to mow me down while exiting the main front doors. None did.

I entered the school and turned left, heading for the office. I stopped, this time intent on finding Donna's photo in the display of her grad year's pictures. I did. It was a picture I hadn't seen before and I had to clear my throat and swallow a couple of times before I completed my walk to the main office.

I stepped into a space I hadn't really paid much attention to the first time I'd been here.

There were three desks in the office but only two of them were occupied. The walls behind the desks displayed pictures, smaller than the collections of student photos in the school's hallways. These were pictures of adults, I guessed the teachers and staff that had served at NHA over the years. Some were black and white.

A hallway led away from the office to a room or rooms I couldn't see. And there were two doors, one on each side of the office. The one on the right, I knew, was the domain of Delores Bain, principal. The other I guessed was the vice-principal's office. Both office doors were closed.

The woman at the desk nearest me looked up from a notebook she was writing in. “Can I help you?”

She was in her forties and attractive. She was wearing a blue jacket over a soft yellow blouse that was open just enough at the neck to activate high school boys' hormones. She smiled as she spoke to me and I smiled back.

“I was hoping I might see Ms. Bain if she's available.”

“Is she expecting you?”

“No.”

“I'm sorry. She has several appointments this morning and she'll be out of the school at a meeting all afternoon. Can anyone else help you?”

“No. I wonder if you'd give her my name.”

“As I was saying —”

“I heard what you said and I'd appreciate it if you'd give Ms. Bain my name and see if she can spare a few minutes.”

That had come out much more harshly than I intended and I knew the secretary was only doing her job.

I was thinking about how to soften what I'd said when she stood up and stepped away from her desk. The rest of her looked as good as the part that could be seen over the desk. The smile disappeared.

“What name should I give her?”

“Cullen.”

She nodded and crossed to the principal's door.

I scrapped my planned apology — too late anyway. The woman at the second desk had stopped typing and was glaring at me over the top of her computer screen. Her body language made it clear we would never be friends.

The attractive secretary tapped on the principal's door and stepped inside. She closed the door behind her. Maybe thirty seconds passed before the door to Delores Bain's office opened and the secretary came out and headed in the direction of her desk. She didn't look at me. Delores Bain stepped out of her office and offered me a half smile.

“Please come in, Mr. Cullen.”

I raised the hinged door that allowed me into the office and crossed between the two secretaries. Principal Bain stepped to one side to let me enter her office, then followed me inside and closed the door.

She stepped around to her side of the desk and sat.

“I'm sorry to stop in without an appointment,” I said. “I know how busy you are and I appreciate your taking the time to see me.”

She gave me the half smile again but there was no offer of coffee this time. She nodded at the chair opposite her desk and I sat.

“Faith said you were quite insistent about seeing me,” she said.

I nodded. “I guess I was. I wanted to ask you a couple of things.”

She sat back in her chair. “By all means.”

“I was wondering, first of all, why you weren't more forthcoming with me when I was here the first time.”

She stiffened. “I'm afraid I don't understand.”

“When I asked you if there was anyone in the school who might have had a reason to want harm to come to Donna, you said you couldn't think of anyone.”

“I did, yes.”

“Do you not think that a teacher who sexually abused Donna and several other girls in this school and then went to jail for what he did might qualify as a person I should know about?”

She paused. “I see your investigation continues.”

“I wonder why you didn't at the very least tell me about what had happened to Donna in her grade eleven year.”

“I thought you must already be aware of what happened — that Donna must have told you about it.”

“That frankly, Ms. Bain, is lame. Had I known about the abuse surely I would have mentioned it as part of trying to determine if there was something in Donna's school life that might be connected to her death.”

Delores Bain thought for a few seconds, sat forward, and placed her arms on the desk.

“Mr. Cullen, I did not see the relevance of that incident to what you were asking me about. You had indicated the fire that killed Donna was deliberately set. There is absolutely no chance that Richard Appleton set fire to your home.”

“That's what everybody, including Appleton himself, says. I'm curious what makes you so sure that a man who could prey on teenage girls would draw the line at arson — or murder.”

“It is my business to know people, Mr. Cullen. I know that Richard Appleton did not set fire to your house.”

“Did you hire him?”

“Pardon?”

“Did you hire Richard Appleton to teach at this school?”

“I was part of the hiring process, yes, along with my superintendent and someone from HR.”

“Apparently your
knowing people
didn't preclude hiring a sexual predator.”

She took a breath, let it out slowly. “I didn't go into this the first time you were here because it has no bearing on what happened to your wife, and frankly I didn't want to add more pain to what you had already suffered. If I erred in keeping that information from you, I assure you that it was done for the right reasons. Nevertheless, I apologize.”

I wanted to tell her I considered her apology a crock but decided there was little to be gained from a full-blown confrontation.

“There's something you can do that might be of help,” I told her.

“Of course … if I'm able.”

“Another of Appleton's victims, Elaine Yu, died a few years ago in Prince Albert, Saskatchewan. I'm sure you are aware of the incident.”

She nodded and looked down at her desk, then up at me. “I did hear that Elaine died. It was a few years ago — a traffic accident of some kind, I believe. I found out some weeks after it happened so was unfortunately unable to attend the funeral. And frankly, that's all I know about it.”

“Do you know what kind of traffic accident?”

She shook her head. “I never heard any of the details. I suppose I didn't really want to. When I learned that Elaine had been killed I sent a note to her family expressing my sadness. I didn't hear back from the family and hadn't expected to. It had to have been terrible for them with her so young.”

I nodded.

“Are you asking this because you think there's a connection between the two girls' deaths?”

I shrugged. “I don't honestly know. I just thought I should check it out.”

“Of course.”

I wasn't sure what else I could ask her.

Her features softened and her voice, when she spoke, was gentler. “It would seem that you have been quite diligent in your investigation.”

“I've talked to some people,” I said. “But I'm not sure I'm any farther ahead than when I started.”

“Adam … I don't want this to end badly. I really am sorry I wasn't more forthcoming in our first meeting. And I hope you will accept that my reasons for not telling you about Richard Appleton were genuine, if flawed. I do wish you well in your pursuit of the person who set fire to your home.”

“And killed my wife,” I said softly.

“And killed your wife,” she repeated.

I stood up.

“Thanks again for your time. I'll let you get on with your day.”

She stood, smiled, and offered her hand. I shook it, then turned and walked out of her office. In the outer office I thought about saying something by way of apology to the two secretaries, but changed my mind.

As I left the school it seemed to me that the temperature outside was sinking again. Like my mood.