The Further Investigations of Joanne Kilbourn (17 page)

She didn’t need to be told twice. Five minutes later, the table was covered with wrapping paper, and Taylor was beaming.

I sat down beside her. “What’s your best present?” I asked.

She picked up a box of art pencils Hilda had given her. “These cost eighty-five dollars. Fil, my teacher, has some just like them, and he told me.”

I knew Hilda’s funds were limited. “You really shouldn’t have,” I said.

“An artist can always use a patron,” she said tartly.

Taylor smiled at Hilda. “Thanks,” she said. “Thanks a lot. And thanks for all the cat stuff, Angus. Too bad I don’t have a cat.”

Angus winked at me broadly, but Taylor didn’t notice. She’d found something else that interested her and had run to the window. “Look, the sun came out!” she said.

I went over and stood beside her. The sun was high, the sky was blue, and the trees in the back yard sparkled theatrically with hoarfrost. I put my arm around her shoulder. “Hey, a real party day,” I said.

She looked up at me. “Lucky, eh?”

“Very lucky,” I said.

When I turned from the window, Hilda was watching me carefully. “You seem wound a little tightly this morning,” she said.

“I’m just excited,” I said. “I didn’t want to take the edge off Taylor’s gift opening, but I had some good news this morning.” As I told Hilda about my conversation with Alex Kequahtooway, I could see the relief in her face.

“This means your life can go back to normal,” she said.

“So can yours,” I said. “Hilda, I can’t thank you enough for being here with us when we needed you. We couldn’t have made it without you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That has a distinctly valedictory tone. Am I being given my walking papers?”

I went to her. “Never. I just thought you’d be missing your life in Saskatoon.”

“Well,” she said, “Advent does begin in less than three weeks. The Cathedral choir will have all that splendid Christmas music to get ready.”

“And you’re their only true alto,” I said.

She frowned. “You’re sure you’re all right?”

“Never better.”

“If you say so,” she said. “Now, if you’re going to preserve that sense of well-being, you’d better eat something. Have something substantial, Joanne. We have an arduous day ahead.”

After breakfast, I made some calls: to Peter, to Howard, to Keith, and finally to Jill. As the relief and congratulations swirled around me, I tried to sound like a woman whose world had just been restored to her. It wasn’t easy.

Taylor’s party was a success. No one got hurt; no one cried; no one got left out. The worm cakes were a hit, and the party hat I’d put on the jack o’lantern covered the dent in his skull and made him look almost festive. Taylor was as happy as I’d ever seen her, but I couldn’t wait for the afternoon to end. I wanted to be alone to look at the picture and make plans.

At 3:00, the parents began to come for the kids. Sylvie and Jane came together to get Jess. The O’Keefe sisters were wearing camel-hair coats, and as they stood in the doorway with their faces flushed from the cold, laughing about
something Jess had said that morning, I thought blood really must be thicker than water.

When they came inside, Jane took her boots and coat off. “I have something for the birthday girl,” she said. She pulled a small, prettily wrapped package out of her bag.

“Why don’t you and Sylvie stay and watch Taylor blow out her candles?” I said. “The kids had Sylvie’s worm cake, but there’s something a little more orthodox for the adults.”

Surprisingly, Sylvie didn’t hesitate. “Sounds good,” she said, and she began to take off her things.

When Gary came five minutes later, it seemed churlish not to ask him to stay, too. So I did. For a woman who wanted to be alone, I was moving in the wrong direction.

At 3:30 on the dot, Jill arrived. We were still standing in the doorway when Craig and Manda Evanson pulled up in the driveway. Craig’s arm was tight around Manda’s shoulders as they came up the walk. Manda was holding a red wicker basket. She held it out to me. Inside was a checked blanket embroidered with the words:
SHHHHH. KITTEN SLEEPING
.

Craig looked at the pink balloons on the door. “We don’t want to interrupt anything,” he said.

“I told Craig I had to see Taylor’s face when she met her cat,” Manda said. She patted her belly. “At this stage, he has to indulge me, but don’t worry, Jo, we’ll be gone before you know it.”

“Don’t be silly,” I said. “Come in and have some cake.”

Manda grinned. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“In that case,” she said, “make mine a double. I’m in a state of severe cake deficit.”

The first minutes after the kitten entered our house were about as bad as I’d always imagined they would be. Sadie bared her teeth, and Angus banished her to the back yard.
Rose took one look at the interloper and ran down to hide in the basement. Angus went after her to soothe her nerves.

Taylor, of course, was transported. Manda and Jill clucked over her, showing her how to hold the cat and what to feed it. At the end of five minutes, Taylor was an experienced handler; the kitten was purring, and she handed it to me. I stroked the cat’s head. The purring stopped, and the cat curled around and swiped viciously at my face. Jill glared at me disapprovingly. “Jo, when you pat a kitten on its head, you awaken its sexual feelings. Cats have very violent sex. You were lucky you didn’t get your face clawed off.”

I gave the kitten back to Taylor. Owning a cat was going to be even worse than I thought.

Hilda waited till there was relative peace, then she went into the kitchen and came back with two bottles of Asti Spumante.

“I thought this would be a nice accompaniment for the cake,” she said.

Gary opened the Asti, Craig poured, and I turned out the lights and lit the candles on the cake. As Craig proposed the toast, Taylor held the glass with her thimbleful of wine gravely.

“To Taylor’s sixth birthday,” Craig said. “May there be many happy returns.”

We drank and then he turned to me. “And to Jo. May there be brighter days ahead.”

I looked at the faces in the circle. The candlelight made them look younger, but also less familiar and, somehow, more menacing. Now was as good a time as any to make my announcement. “Good news,” I said. “The brighter days are already here. If Taylor ever blows out her candles, I’ll tell you what’s happened. Come on, T, make a wish.”

Taylor didn’t move. She was staring at the cake, paralyzed.

I dropped down beside her. “T, what is it?” I asked.

She leaned towards my ear. “I don’t know what to wish for,” she whispered. “I’ve always wished for a cat.”

“Wish that your cat will learn to get along with the dogs,” I said.

She nodded, closed her eyes, wished, and blew.

As soon as we had our cake and wine, I told them about Alex Kequahtooway’s phone call. Gary was standing beside me and he kissed my cheek. “Great news, babe,” he said.

When he moved away, I saw Jill, shaking her head and trying to suppress a smile. Gary Stephens was not one of her favourites. Craig was ebullient. “I knew it was just a matter of time,” he said, and he squeezed Manda’s shoulders so hard, she cried out. The O’Keefe sisters stood together, smiling but silent.

Craig picked up a bottle of Asti and refilled our glasses, and the conversation moved happily towards the inconsequential. Not surprisingly, we talked about names: a good name for Taylor’s kitten; wise choices for Craig and Manda’s baby.

My mind drifted. Ian and I had spent hours deciding on names for our children. Our most intense talks always seemed to come when I was in the bathtub. Ian would wander in, say something salacious about pregnant women, flip down the toilet lid, and read from a book of names he’d bought. Then we would laugh at the horrors and try out possibilities till the bath water got cold.

We had been very happy. I closed my eyes, shutting out the memories. When I opened them, Manda was leaning towards me.

“Who is Walter Winchell?” she asked.

“What?” I said, startled. “I’m sorry, Manda, I was a million miles away. What did you say?”

“I asked you who Walter Winchell was. We were talking about whether it’s good to name a baby after her parents, and
Hilda said Walter Winchell named both his children after him: his son was Walter and his daughter was Walda. Everybody laughed, but I don’t know who Walter Winchell is.”

“You don’t have to,” I said. “Just don’t name your baby after him.”

Manda yawned and stretched lazily. “Gotcha,” she said. She put her head back against her husband’s chest. “I’ve had enough fun, Craig. Time to go.”

Manda and Craig moved towards the front hall. It wasn’t long before the others followed. I was almost home-free, and I felt a rush. In minutes, I would be on the phone talking to Tess Malone. Confronted with Henry’s name, Tess would tell the truth, and I would be one step closer to the young woman in the picture.

As I was down on the hall floor, helping Jess find his boots, it hit me. Tess’s number was unlisted. A phrase Howard Dowhanuik had used the morning after Maureen Gault’s murder flashed through my mind. I’d been surprised that Sylvie and Jane had gone to Tess’s for a drink after the dinner, and Howard had said, “Tess and Sylvie are tight as ticks.”

I looked up at Sylvie. “Have you got Tess Malone’s home number?” I asked.

“What do you want it for?” she said.

Jane smoothed over the rudeness with a smile. “More questions about Tess’s old Ukrainian?”

“His name is Henry,” I said.

Jane knotted her scarf with her capable surgeon’s hands. “I thought you’d be out of the cops-and-robbers business now that you’re in the clear.”

“I am,” I said. “I just wanted to ask Tess if she was free for lunch one day next week.”

Without a word, Sylvie picked up a pad by the phone and wrote down the number.

“Time to leave,” Jane said. “Come on, Sylvie, let’s go.”

Already dressed for the outdoors, Jess stood with his father. Gary Stephens’s hand was resting on his son’s shoulder.

“Say goodbye, Jess,” Jane said, and she pushed Gary’s hand from his son’s shoulder and propelled the little boy towards the door.

“Bye,” Jess said. And he vanished into the night, closing the door behind him.

As he stood staring at the space where his son had been, Gary Stephens’s face was bleak. “Goodbye,” he whispered, and his voice was so soft I could barely hear it.

After everyone had driven off, Hilda went to the kitchen to clean up, and the kids took the kitten down to the basement to start the reconciliation process with Rose. Jill and I were left alone in the front hall.

“I take it the inspector’s news means I’m off duty.”

“It does,” I said. “You can go back to painting your nails and sticking pins in pictures of Nationtv vice-presidents.”

“Speaking of Nationtv,” Jill said, “Keith Harris called from Washington this morning. He sends you his love.”

“Swell,” I said.

“He’d like to talk about human-rights violations among some of our trading partners on Saturday’s show. It’s okay with Sam Spiegel if it’s okay with you.”

“It’s okay with me,” I said. “That’s right up my alley.”

“I’ll bet that’s why Keith suggested it,” Jill said, then she touched my hand. “I’m glad everything worked out, Jo. I was really scared.”

Her gaze was so open and her affection so palpable that I almost told her the truth. Then I remembered how Jill had revered Ian, and I steeled myself. “I’m glad everything worked out, too,” I said.

It was after 9:00 when I finally managed to get into my bedroom, close the door, and dial Tess’s number. Late in the afternoon, Alex Kequahtooway had told the press about
the evidence clearing me. I guess he’d decided it was time for the old squirrel dog to shake things up a bit. The telephone had started ringing during dinner, and it hadn’t stopped. I’d never been very good at faking, and all evening I had cringed at the falseness of my voice as I tried to sound euphoric.

There were two phone calls that didn’t require acting. The first was from Peter. He had been a rock, but now the worst was over. As he relaxed into the concerns of a third-year university student – the inequities of exam timetables, gossip about friends, hints about what he wanted for Christmas – he sounded relieved to be back to normal.

Mieka and her husband, Greg, called from Galveston to wish Taylor happy birthday, and their joy in being young and in love and discovering the world together was so tonic, I almost didn’t tell them about the deaths of Kevin Tarpley and Maureen Gault. But we’d always told the kids that families couldn’t function without trust, so after I’d listened to Mieka’s descriptions of the beauty of the old houses along the Gulf of Mexico and Greg’s account of how great a bucket of crayfish tastes when you wash it down with a schooner of Lone Star, I gave them the essentials. They were shocked, but as I answered their questions, I could feel them relax. The crisis was, after all, in the past, and as we rung off, I could hear the happiness returning to their voices.

Finally, the phone grew silent, the kids were in their rooms, and I was alone. I was so tense that my hands were shaking as I dialled Tess’s number. There was no answer. I couldn’t believe it. I had been so certain the answers were within reach. Ten minutes later, I tried again. After that, I tried every ten minutes until, finally, exhausted, I fell into bed.

For the next two days I tried to find Tess. She wasn’t at home, and she wasn’t at Beating Heart. No one knew where she was. The man who answered the phone at Beating Heart
told me not to worry. Tess would show up. She wasn’t the kind of woman to leave town without telling anybody. I told him that’s why I was worried. Have a little faith, he said, and I promised him I would try.

Friday, I took Hilda to the Faculty Club for lunch before she drove back to Saskatoon. We ate liver and onions and made plans for Christmas. I loved her, but as I watched her manoeuvre her old Chrysler Imperial out of the university parking lot, I was relieved. Hilda was a hard person to deceive, and I was certain she knew I was concealing something critical from her.

I had three students to see that afternoon. When the last one left, I pulled the picture of the young woman and her baby out of my bag and propped it against my coffee cup. I tried Tess’s home number. There was no answer. I looked at the picture and I knew I was tired of waiting. It was time for action.