Part 9 (1/2)

”I guess that makes sense,” I said.

”There's more,” Hilda said. ”And this doesn't make sense. At least not to me. The day after Kevin Tarpley died, Maureen Gault came by the beauty shop and offered to buy Ray-elle out.”

”Where would Maureen get that kind of money?”

Hilda came over and took a slice of cuc.u.mber out of the salad bowl. ”I don't know, but apparently she said she could pay cash. Joanne, the asking price for that business would be significant. Ray-elle told me she had just finished renovating.” A smile flickered at the corners of Hilda's mouth.

”What's so funny?” I asked.

Hilda shook her head. ”That place. Joanne, everything in Ray-elle's is pink. Floor, walls, chairs, uniforms, everything.”

”Maybe Ray-elle had Superstar Barbie's decorator,” I said.

Taylor, who was setting the table, heard a name that interested her. ”I saw a lady on TV who had nineteen operations so she could look like Barbie,” she said.

”Good lord,” I said, ”why would she do that?”

Angus handed me the salad. ”You don't want to know, Mum,” he said. ”How long till we eat?”

”Not long,” I said. ”The pasta has to cook.”

”Time enough to see my snow fort,” T said.

”I had to ask,” said Angus, as he followed his sister out the back door.

I turned to Hilda. ”How about some Chianti while you tell me what you found out.”

I poured each of us a gla.s.s. Hilda took hers and raised it. ”To puzzle solving,” she said. ”Although, to be frank, my visit to Ray-elle's has yielded more questions than answers.” Hilda sipped her wine. ”Joanne, let me practise what I preach and put some chronology to all this.

”When I got to the shop, Ray-elle was at the appointments desk and Cheryl, a young woman who plays a pivotal role in this story, was sweeping up. There weren't any customers. I introduced myself, and Ray-elle said she was just about to close anyway and she asked Cheryl to get me some coffee. When Ray-elle was finished, she told Cheryl she could leave, and Ray-elle and I went to a little room at the back, so she could smoke. Joanne, even her lighter was pink. It was in a kind of sheath made of pink leather, and the case she kept her cigarettes in was covered in pink leather, too.”

”I used to have a cigarette case like that,” I said, ”except mine was white. I haven't seen a set like that in twenty-five years. I take it Ray-elle is, as the French say, 'of a certain age.' ”

”She is,” Hilda agreed. ”And of a certain type. I liked her, Joanne. She's a school-of-hard-knocks person, physically strong and experienced. To look at her, one would think there wouldn't be much in life that would intimidate her ...”

”But something did,” I said.

”Not something, Joanne. Someone. The first thing Rayelle said to me after we sat down was that she wasn't sorry Maureen Gault was dead because Maureen scared the s.h.i.+t out of her.” Hilda raised an eyebrow. ”You do realize I'm giving you Ray-elle's words verbatim.”

”I do,” I said. ”Now, what did Maureen do to Ray-elle to scare her so badly?”

”It's an ugly story,” Hilda said. ”Cheryl, the girl who was sweeping up when I arrived at the shop, is a person with some serious limitations intellectually. She does odd jobs around the shop, sweeps up, cleans brushes and combs, that sort of thing. But Ray-elle has her wash hair, too. She says Cheryl has a gentle touch, and the customers like her.” Hilda smiled. ”Cheryl really did seem like a pleasant young woman. At any rate, last month, Cheryl came to Ray-elle and told her Maureen was forcing her to hand over her tips. It didn't amount to much, and when Ray-elle confronted her, Maureen said she didn't need the money.”

”Why did she do it then?”

Hilda's face was grave. ”Ray-elle said that Maureen seemed to get her kicks just from making the girl do her bidding.”

”What did Maureen do when she was fired?” I asked.

Hilda picked up the wine bottle and filled our gla.s.ses. ”She laughed in Ray-elle's face. Said she didn't need to work anyway, because she was about to come into some major money.” Hilda looked hard at me. ”It wasn't braggadocio, Joanne. The day after Kevin Tarpley died, Maureen paid a farewell visit to Ray-elle's. According to Ray-elle, Maureen was dressed expensively and ostentatiously. She said something cruel to Cheryl, queened it over the other women who work in the shop, then she went over to Ray-elle and offered to buy the shop. She said she could pay cash. When Ray-elle told her to get out, Maureen turned ugly. She said, 'Like I would ever want to buy a dump like this.' Then she picked up an open bottle of peroxide solution and threw it in Ray-elle's face. Ray-elle still has a nasty burn.”

”Did she go to the police?”

Hilda shook her head. ”She was afraid to, Joanne. She said she was afraid of what Maureen Gault would do if she crossed her.”

That night I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, Maureen Gault was there. Finally, I gave up, went downstairs, and made myself some warm milk. As I sat at the kitchen table with my mug, Rose came into the room and sat with me; in Rose's house, people didn't come down for warm milk in the middle of the night.

From the kitchen window, I could see the ice on the creek. In the November moonlight, it looked dark and sinister. A child had drowned in that creek. When they had searched for the body, the police had brought up all kinds of ugliness: stolen bicycles and grocery carts; empty whiskey bottles and used condoms; a weighted gunny sack full of small skeletons that turned out to be feline.

That afternoon, when I was certain the child's body had been taken away, I had walked along the levee. The banks of the creek were still littered with the objects the police had dredged up. Until that morning, those objects had been part of the tenebrous life of the creekbed. In the pale spring light, they had looked both mean and alien and I had hurried from them.

I rinsed my mug, put it in the dishwasher, and turned out the kitchen light. I had to get some sleep. In the morning it would be my turn to dredge.

CHAPTER.

7.

I didn't want to remember the last hours I spent with my husband on the day of his death. The morning of December 27 was cruel in every sense: the weather was viciously cold, and, the night before, Ian had come in very late and we had quarrelled. We weren't people who fought often and, as Ian got ready to leave that morning, we were silent, stunned, I think, by the pall of bitterness that hung in the air between us. I kissed my husband as he left, but I didn't tell him I loved him, and I didn't say goodbye. I was angry at him for deciding to drive through a blizzard because he felt he had to honour the outcome of a stupid coin toss, and I was angry at him because I thought he had treated me badly at the caucus office party the night before.

That party had seem jinxed from the beginning. The idea had been a good one: an afternoon of skating and tobogganing in Wascana Park for the families of members and staff who were in town for the holidays, then, in the evening, Boxing Day drinks in the east wing for the adults. But the wind had howled all afternoon, and most of us with children stayed away. After lunch, Ian had gone over to his office to get caught up on his mail, and he had called before dinner to say he wouldn't be home, and that I should come straight to the party and he'd see me there. As I was dressing, Angus came into our bedroom and threw up. I felt his head. He was feverish, but not worryingly so. I cleaned up, gave him a bath and some children's Tylenol, and called Ian at the office to tell him I wasn't coming. There was no answer. By the time Angus got out of the tub, he seemed better. Mieka was babysitting her brothers, and the party was only a few blocks away at the Legislature, so I decided to go after all.

It was a fine night. The wind had died down, and the air was clear and cold. The evergreens in front of the Legislature were strung, as they always were, with blue and white lights, but that year the park commission had suspended a giant illuminated snowflake over the face of the old building. It was sensational, and as I walked past the pictures of our former premiers and heard the music drifting down the marble corridors, I thought that one last Christmas party wasn't such a bad idea after all.

My merry mood didn't last long. The stately old Opposition Caucus Room was full of people, but Ian wasn't one of them. I got a drink and went over to Ian's secretary, Lorraine Bellegarde. She was wearing a red and yellow Metis ribbon s.h.i.+rt and a fringed leather skirt; it was a festive outfit, but Lorraine did not look cheerful. I didn't have to ask why. Lorraine was a perfectionist, and she'd been in charge of the festivities that day. I knew her well enough to know how acutely she'd be feeling the weight of the afternoon's failure. She told me she hadn't seen Ian. She also told me not to worry, but it was too late for that. I started moving around the room, asking if anyone had seen my husband. No one had, and the terrible possibilities began their a.s.sault on my consciousness: a holiday accident; a heart attack; a fatal slip on an icy step. By the time Ian walked through the door I was half sick with worry. He looked weary and preoccupied, but I didn't pity him.

”Where were you?” I said.

”Leave it alone, Jo,” he said, and there was an edge to his voice that angered me.

”It would have been nice to know where you were,” I said. ”Angus is sick.”

A flicker of alarm pa.s.sed over his face, then he seemed to relax. ”If it was serious, you wouldn't be here.” Then he'd smiled, ”Come on, relax. Angus is probably just suffering from too much Christmas.”

”What if it had been serious?” I said.

”Well, it wasn't, so that's a moot point, isn't it? Look, Jo, I'm having a great time. Standing here listening to you being p.i.s.sed off is exactly what I want to be doing right now. But, if you don't mind, I'd like to get a drink. Then, I'll come back and you can continue with whatever the h.e.l.l it is you think you're doing.”

I watched as he went to the bar and poured himself a drink. He downed it in a single gulp, poured another one, and started towards me. I was furious. I looked around for someone to talk to. Howard Dowhanuik was alone by the window. He was wearing the red plaid vest he had worn to every holiday function since I'd known him. Howard always made a point of drawing our attention to what he called the Dowhanuik tartan, but the vest had always done a pretty good job of calling attention to itself. In that evening of strange currents and jagged edges, it had been a rea.s.suring sight.

I don't remember what Howard and I talked about, but I do remember that Ian joined us, and that, at some point, Lorraine came over and reminded Howard that the Caucus Office had to send someone to speak at Charlie Heinbecker's funeral the next day. Mellowed by good scotch, Howard had been avuncular as he gathered all our members together. I don't remember who came up with the idea of the coin toss to decide who would drive to Swift Current. Like most ideas that people come up with when they're drinking, it seemed inspired. Two people would toss, and the loser would meet a new opponent and toss again, until the outcome had been decided. When Ian lost, he had raised his gla.s.s to me. ”At least I'm lucky in love,” he'd said, and his voice had been heavy with irony.

I hadn't answered him. Lorraine Bellegarde had come over and told me there was a phone call. It was Mieka. Angus had thrown up again and was asking for me. I told Mieka I'd be right home. When I'd looked for Ian to tell him I was leaving, he was gone.

Three times during the evening I called the caucus office. Ian wasn't there. It must have been after 2:00 when I heard the front door, and a half-hour later than that when Ian finally came upstairs. I watched as he undressed in the moonlight, his long pale body as familiar to me as my own.

”Where were you?” I said.