The Nesting Dolls (18 page)

Zack handed the laughing Buddha back to Debbie. “Why don’t you hold onto our friend here while I get you a drink? Maybe some of that luck will rub off on you.”

“Here’s hoping,” Debbie said.

“Still drinking Crown Royal on the rocks?” Zack asked.

“It’s been my drink since I hit legal age,” Debbie said. “Legal age is but a memory, but in my opinion, there’s no reason to question a smart decision.”

“Agreed,” Zack said. “I’ll pour, and you and Joanne can relax and enjoy the season.”

In a fruitless effort to help me before the flight, Zack had built a fire and put on
The Messiah
. Debbie gazed at the tree and the fire and sighed. “I had a choice: the police college or law school.”

“It’s never too late,” I said.

Debbie’s smile was rueful. “It is if you have a pension you can’t afford to walk away from.”

Zack came in with the drinks on a tray balanced on his lap. He handed Debbie her rye. She raised her glass. “Happy holidays.”

We toasted the season, then Zack got down to business. “Anything new?”

Debbie shot him a withering glance. “No. I’m still squandering time, personnel, and taxpayer dollars on dead ends.” She took a sip of rye and her irritation melted. “Let’s see. We ran a preliminary match of the semen. The vi-class data on the match came up negative, so that eliminates every man in Canada who’s ever been convicted of a violent sexual assault. Abby Michaels was raped and murdered by an amateur or at least a rapist cunning enough not to get caught. The field is wide open, Zack, and you know what that means.”

“You’re hooped,” my husband said.

Debbie nodded. “It gets worse. Considering that Ms. Michaels didn’t know anyone in Regina, it seemed possible that a woman who’d just given away her child might have been sufficiently despondent to hit the clubs and pick up Mr. Wrong. We had officers checking the downtown bars to see if a bartender or server had spotted a woman meeting Abby Michaels’s description the night of the blizzard, but no luck.” Debbie looked at Zack. “Of course, when you told us that she was a lesbian, we checked the gay bars, but they were a wash too. Not surprising, I guess, considering that pesky presence of semen on the body.”

“I’m assuming Abby had no visitors at the Chelton,” Zack said.

Debbie shook her head. “No visitors and, as you know, an invariable routine. Incidentally, Joanne, thanks for suggesting we talk to your daughter. Mieka’s the only person we’ve found who actually had a conversation with the victim. The people who worked at the hotel said she was polite but withdrawn. When they tried to engage with the baby, she did not encourage them. We’ve checked the calls she made on her cell. There were remarkably few. She called ahead to a couple of motels when she was driving out here – apparently to let
them know she’d be late arriving – but apart from that, the only calls were made the early evening of the blizzard. The first two calls were made at 6:01 and 6:02 p.m.”

“That would have been just after Abby left Luther,” I said.

“The calls were to Nadine Perrault’s cell, but Ms. Perrault’s cell was turned off. The third was to Our Lady of Mercy Church in Port Hope. That call was made at 6:03. Father Rafael Quines answered, and he and the victim spoke for seven minutes and thirteen seconds.”

“I take it you contacted Father Quines,” Zack said.

“I did.” The twist of Debbie’s lip was sardonic. “My conversation with Father Quines was not lengthy.”

“The Seal of the Confessional?” Zack said.

“He didn’t say. He just said he couldn’t discuss the conversation and that he was praying for Abby’s soul.”

“Maybe that’s why she called a priest,” I said. “Abby made a lot of serious decisions the day she died. Maybe she needed to clear the slate.”

“Let’s hope she did.” Debbie’s voice was sombre. She stood, then bent to embrace my husband. “Merry Christmas,” she said.

Zack patted her back. “We’ll figure this one out, Deb.”

“I know,” she said. “But if you want to speed the process along, before you go to Port Hope, give your laughing Buddha a pat.”

Zack chuckled. “You’ve got it. Merry Christmas, Deb.”

I awoke the next morning with Zack’s arms around me. All week, he had done his best to reassure and distract me, but he knew me well. “So how bad is it?” he said.

“Can’t you hear my heart pounding?”

“I have a suggestion. Why don’t we fool around for a while? You always say that making love relaxes you.”

“I’ll try anything,” I said.

“I’m prepared to take one for the team.”

My husband did the team proud. When we were finished, I kissed his shoulder. “What did you say your name was again?”

“Planning to recommend me to your friends?

“No. I was thinking of using your services during take-off.”

“I’m available, but you’d better bring a blanket.”

Our flight left Regina at noon. Zack was due in court at ten to hear the judge’s sentencing of his client in the road-racing case. The timing was going to be tight, but our bags were packed and we lived seven minutes from the airport. After we said goodbye to Taylor, Zack went to the office and I took the things Taylor needed for the weekend over to the Wainbergs’. Delia had already left for court, so Noah and Jacob met me at the door.

Jacob was curled in the crook of Noah’s arm. It was difficult to reconcile the mental image of the gentle man in front of me, his face creased in a smile of welcome, with the scene of animal violence Zack’s account had painted. My eyes stayed on Noah’s face a beat too long, and he noticed.

“Is something the matter?” he said.

“Zack told me about Murray Jeffreys,” I said.

“What did he tell you?”

“That the two of you were fighting and Murray Jeffreys died of a heart attack.”

“I’ve spent a lot of years trying to make up for that night,” Noah said simply. “Now come inside. You arrived just in time for a landmark in Jacob’s life. Today we begin vegetables. First up – strained pureed peas.”

Noah’s voice, warm and ordinary, was deeply reassuring. “I don’t think I could handle peas at eight-thirty in the morning,” I said.

“You don’t have to. You just have to watch.”

Jacob was an eager eater. He gobbled the peas as if they were truffles. “Good man,” Noah said. “So the plan is that you pick up Zack and Delia and leave your car at the airport?”

“That’s the plan. Zack got a call last night that the sentence for that road-racing case is coming down this morning. He’s a little tense about it.”

“He shouldn’t be. You know how compelling Zack is in the courtroom, and he has the Criminal Code on his side. It says an appropriate sentence is based half on the offence and half on the offender. What Jeremy Sawchuk did was horrific, but from what I hear, he’s a decent kid who was guilty of a terrible lapse of judgment.”

“A lapse that proved fatal for his best friend,” I said.

“And Jeremy will live with that for the rest of his life. He’ll also have a criminal record, but in my opinion, society will not be served by throwing him in the penitentiary for twenty years.”

“Still … ”

Noah wiped a smear of peas from Jacob’s chin. “I don’t have the answers, Jo. As a lawyer, I was pretty much of a bust. But at the risk of sounding self-serving, I don’t see the justice in having fifteen minutes of stupidity wreck an otherwise fairly blameless life.” He untied Jacob’s bib. “The café is closing, bud. Time to turn off the deep fryer and clean you up.” His eyes shifted to me. “Jo, there’s a washcloth over there on the counter, would you mind?”

I walked over to the sink, dampened the cloth with warm water, and handed it to Noah.

“Have you ever wished you’d made a career of the law?” I said.

“No,” he said. “Look at the Winners’ Circle. They were the best, and their lives have not exactly been the stuff of dreams. Chris committed suicide; Kevin wandered around Tibet for a couple of years and came back to the firm with
ideas that drive everybody nuts. Blake is one of the top-ten real-estate lawyers in Western Canada, but except for Gracie, his personal life has been a disaster. Zack and Dee are the only ones who remained true believers and didn’t crack under the strain. But in my opinion, Zack came close to crashing before he met you.”

“We’re happy,” I said. “That changes a lot.”

“With Zack, there was a lot that needed changing,” Noah said. “When we met in law school, there was something sweet in him, but success made him rapacious – no matter how much he had, it was never enough.”

“He seems content now.”

“He
is
content,” Noah said. “I guess there’s always hope.” He wiped the washcloth around the whorl of Jacob’s ear. “Look at that ear,” he said. “Perfection.”

“You’re going to have to carve another bear for the front lawn,” I said.

He nuzzled Jacob. “I already have the wood.”

The news was on as I was loading the car. Noah had been right. The judge had taken Jeremy Sawchuk’s exemplary record into account and been lenient. He had sentenced the teenager to two years less a day in the provincial jail.

I was relieved. One less burden for Zack.

I texted Zack telling him I was on my way, and when I pulled up in front of the courthouse, he and Delia came out immediately. Zack slid into the passenger seat, folded his wheelchair, and put it next to Delia in the back.

They were both in high spirits. “Zack won,” Delia said. “A good day for the firm.”

“Congratulations,” I said.

Zack snapped his seat belt and turned to me. “How was your morning?”

“Eventful,” I said. “I was there when Jacob was introduced to strained peas.”

Delia leaned forward. “So how did he do?”

“He cleaned his plate,” I said.

“Well, I’m going to be there when he graduates to squash,” Delia said. “I sent a memo to the other partners this morning saying I’m cutting back on my caseload.”

“Dee’s given notice that she’s only going to work twelve hours a day instead of sixteen,” Zack said.

“Ignore him,” Delia said. “I’ve missed out on too much.”

The stab of fear I felt had nothing to do with the fact that within an hour I’d be 35,000 feet in the air. The Wainbergs were operating on the assumption that Jacob was now a permanent member of their family. I had a nagging sense that the matter of his custody was far from settled.

It was a little after six when Delia, Zack, and I arrived at the Lantern Inn & Suites. We’d arranged for a car and driver to meet us at Toronto Pearson International Airport and take us to Port Hope. Spending an hour inside a limo jammed between speeding semis on Highway 401 would normally have made me anxious, but I was preoccupied with my relief at being back on solid ground. That said, when we turned onto the exit that led into town, I think I exhaled for the first time since we left Regina.

It had been many years since I’d spent a Christmas in Port Hope but the town was much as I’d remembered. Now as then, the historic brick buildings that housed the shops on Walton Street were trimmed with evergreen boughs, fairy lights, and fresh holly, but there was something noteworthy about this particular December. I nudged my husband. “Look,” I said. “No snow. We’re meeting Alwyn in the hotel dining room at seven. After we eat, we’ll be able to walk her home.”

“She lives that close?”

“Everything’s that close in Port Hope,” I said.

As the hotel’s Web site had promised, our room on the third floor was spacious and high-ceilinged, with a fireplace, large windows, a terrace overlooking the Ganaraska River, and, best of all, a queen-sized bed with a canopy.

While Zack checked out the new digs, I called the Wainbergs’. Noah reported that Taylor and Isobel had bundled up Jacob, tucked him into his ergonomically correct sled, and taken him to the park to watch the big kids toboggan. He promised to have Taylor call us when she got back. The news from our house was mixed. According to Pete, Willie was fine. However, Pantera was already pining for Zack, and in his grief he had eaten a dozen bran muffins Pete had left on the counter to cool.

“You
are
keeping Pantera outside?” I said.

Pete sounded exasperated, “You know, Mum, you’d be amazed the stuff they teach at the School of Vet Med.”

“Sorry,” I said. “Do you want Zack to talk to his dog?”

“Not much point,” Pete said. “Pantera would just eat the phone.”

“Are you finding this too much?” I said.

“Nope. You forget I live in a hovel. The big
TV
here is nice. So is the indoor pool. Hey, Pantera did laps with me this afternoon.”

“There must be some sort of health regulation about that,” I said.

“I’m sure there is,” Pete said. “Say hi to Zack. See you Sunday night.”

When I hung up, Zack was looking at me quizzically. “There must be some sort of health regulation about what?” he said.

“Pantera doing laps in the pool with Peter.”

Zack made a gesture of dismissal. “When you’re not around, Pantera does laps in the pool with me all the time. He and I believe in the buddy system.”

As I hung up our clothes, Zack picked up the leather-bound folder explaining the Lantern Inn’s services and history. He was gloomy as he read aloud from the insert describing the town’s Olde Tyme Christmas. “We’ve already missed the Festival of Trees, the Jack and the Beanstalk Pantomime, the Candlelight Walk and Carol Singing, the Christmas Tree Lighting, the Santa Claus Parade, and the Kinette Christmas General Store.” He dropped the insert in the wastepaper basket, then glanced at the folder and brightened. “But listen to this. ‘The Great Farini, famous high-wire walker, world circus impresario, and native of Port Hope, made an exciting walk across the Ganaraska River from the roof of the Lantern Inn on May 16, 1861. He wore peach baskets on his feet in the day, and in the evening, he tossed fireworks high in the sky while crossing the river.’ We’re part of history, Ms. Shreve. Let’s go out on our balcony and look at the river.”

It was chilly outside, but it was also very lovely. Alwyn was right. Port Hope would have a green Christmas. The Ganaraska hadn’t frozen, and listening to the rush of the water and looking at the lights across the river was a quiet thrill.