The Nesting Dolls

CHAPTER 7

Discovering Theo Brokaw on our doorstep was a surprise, but Zack was poised. “Hello, Judge, it’s good to see you again.” He wheeled closer to the door. “Is Mrs. Brokaw with you?”

Theo winked. “She was napping, and I snuck out.”

“Ah,” Zack said.

The cab driver wasn’t diverted by the deeds of others. “Somebody owes me $9.75,” he said.

Theo Brokaw ignored him. Zack pulled out his wallet and gave the cabbie $15.00. “Where did you pick up Justice Brokaw?” he said. “I’m not questioning your rate. I’m just curious.”

“He was on 11th Avenue just off Scarth Street Mall. He flagged me down. Gave me this box, pointed to the address, and said, ‘Take me there.’ ”

Zack took the box from the driver, glanced at the address. “Well, that’s where he is. Thanks.”

“So I can leave?” said the driver.

“Yes,” Zack said. “We can handle it now.”

Jacob was still in my arms, and Theo Brokaw seemed mesmerized by him. “Is this your baby?” he asked me.

“No,” I said.

He turned to Zack. “Is it your baby?”

“No,” Zack said.

Theo Brokaw waggled a gloved finger at Jacob. “Are you my baby?” he asked. Jacob laughed, and Theo waggled his finger again. “Well, if you’re nobody’s baby, whose baby are you?”

Zack turned his chair towards the living room. “You may no longer be on the bench, Judge Brokaw, but you still know the right question to ask. Why don’t you come in and make yourself comfortable while we call Mrs. Brokaw and let her know you’re here.”

“Tell her I brought the box.” Theo took off his gloves and coat and placed them carefully on the cobbler’s bench. I led him into the living room; he sat in the rocking chair by the fireplace and held out his arms. I looked over at Noah. He nodded, and I handed the baby to Theo. He held Jacob awkwardly, and I reached over and adjusted the angle of his arm. Theo didn’t acknowledge my assistance. Instead, he began crooning a song in a language I took to be Ukrainian. His voice was surprisingly strong and young. As Theo sang, Jacob’s eyes grow heavy and then closed.

“There. He’s asleep,” Theo said. When Noah took Jacob, Theo nodded sagely. “So he’s yours,” he said.

“Yes,” Noah said. “He’s mine, and it’s time that he and I went home.”

After Noah and Jacob left, I called Myra Brokaw. On the voice message for her home phone, Myra Brokaw offered her cell number to callers with “pressing business.” As the minutes passed, our business became increasingly pressing. Theo Brokaw had grown agitated. He was an athletic man, and as he paced back and forth across our living room, his steps were long and powerful. He was cursing, but the source of his rage was unclear. Zack had positioned his chair at mid-point and was murmuring reassurances. At first, Theo ignored him, but suddenly he pivoted and raised a clenched fist at Zack. “Do you want me to punch you in the face?” he said.

Zack was matey. “Come on. Judges don’t punch lawyers. You know that. We’re not worth the effort.”

Theo cocked his head. “Was I appointed to the bench?”

Zack enunciated each word slowly and distinctly. “Yes, Justice Brokaw,” he said. “You were appointed to the bench.”

After I reached her on her cell, Myra was at our front door within minutes. “Where is he?” she asked. I pointed towards the room where her husband strode desperately towards a destination only he could fathom. Myra slipped off her boots and walked towards the living room. She stopped on the threshold and took in the scene. “He doesn’t know where he is,” she murmured. Then she pasted on her social smile, glided towards her husband, and took his arm. “Thank you so much for delivering our gift to the Shreves,” she said, drawing him towards the door. “It was clever of you to think of it. Now we must be on our way, sweetheart. The Shreves have plans, and so do we.”

Myra’s presence seemed to calm Theo. In a world that was suddenly senseless and menacing, she offered safe haven. “I got here with the box,” he said.

The gift was on the sideboard. “So I see,” she said. “Good work. You saved us the expense of the courier.”

She helped him on with his coat and tied his bright holiday scarf. As he had on the two previous occasions when I’d met him, Theo Brokaw appeared natty and distinguished, but as he turned towards the door, I saw the expression in his eyes. He was desperate.

“Thank you for taking care of him,” Myra said.

“May we drive you home?” I said.

“I brought my car,” she said, knotting her own red scarf and pulling on the matching tam. “There’s a note inside the gift box,” she said. “I hope you’ll take the words to heart, Joanne.”

When we closed the door behind them, Zack and I exchanged glances. I opened the box on the sideboard. As I’d anticipated, the gift was a twin of the pomegranate wreath I’d admired on the Brokaws’ door. Myra’s handwriting was as strong and clear as her message. “The pomegranate is said to symbolize regeneration. May this wreath be a reminder that there are always new beginnings.”

I handed the card to Zack. “Nice,” he said. “Unfortunately, while people are working on new beginnings, the past has a way of jumping up and biting them in the ass.”

I removed the wreath from the box and held it over the mirror on the sideboard. “What do you think?” I said.

Zack cocked his head. “Looks good. Want me to get a hammer and one of those little finishing nails?”

“In a minute,” I said. “Zack, do you know of anything in Noah’s past that might cause problems with Jacob’s custody?”

Pantera plastered his body against the side of Zack’s wheelchair, putting himself within easy reach if Zack felt the need to rub his head.

I had hoped for quick reassurance, but Zack was silent as he scratched behind Pantera’s ears. I sat down on one of the dining room chairs. “There is something, isn’t there?” I said.

“There is,” he said. “But it was so long ago. I can’t imagine anybody remembering it but us.”

“Us, meaning…?”

“Noah, Delia, me, and our late, sainted partner Chris Altieri.”

“So what happened?”

Zack cocked his head. “Short and sweet: Noah got into a fight with a guy and the guy died.”

“Noah killed a man?”

“No. The guy, an obnoxious prick named Murray Jeffreys, died of a heart attack.”

“So Noah wasn’t responsible?”

Zack raised an eyebrow. “You could argue that point either way. Murray died because his heart stopped, not because of the injuries Noah inflicted upon him. That said, if the fight hadn’t happened, Murray would probably have lived to die another day.”

I went to the sideboard and picked up the wreath. The mica from the pomegranates flaked onto my fingers. “So when did this happen?”

“Guess.”

“The year you all articled.”

Zack turned his chair towards the window. “It seems like another lifetime. It was another lifetime.”

“But you do remember the fight.”

“You bet. It’s not every day you see a guy die. Since then I’ve had dozens of clients who’ve either caused or been present at the violent death of another human being and 90 per cent of them say the same thing: ‘It was all over so fast. I didn’t realize what had happened.’ ” Zack turned his chair to face me. “That’s exactly the way it was that night. Murray’s firm, which consisted of Murray and two associates, was having its Christmas party at some restaurant downtown. Dee had come back for Christmas, and that meant that Noah was walking around with this shit-eating grin.”

“He loved her even then?”

Pantera nudged Zack’s hand with his head and Zack rewarded him with a head scratch. “Noah’s love for Delia is the kind people write songs about… ”

“Or kill for?”

Zack winced. “Do me a favour, Jo. Don’t make that connection again. Anyway, we were at the party. By our modest standards, it was stellar: free booze, free food, and a chance to suck up to people who could be useful to us when we opened our own firm. Putting up with a prick like Murray seemed a small price to pay, but putting up with isn’t the same as putting out for, and that distinction was lost on Murray. Did I mention that Dee looked really primo that Christmas?”

“You did,” I said.

Zack gave me a quick smile. “I knew your memory would be solid on that point. Anyway, Murray started pawing at Delia. She brushed him off, but he wouldn’t stop. Then Murray made a really crude suggestion, and Noah started to hammer him. Murray was a little guy and he was twenty years older than Noah, plus he was paying for the party, so somebody intervened.”

“It doesn’t sound as if Murray’s death was Noah’s fault.”

“That’s not the end of the story. We were all pretty juiced. Delia was staying with Noah, and I didn’t live far from his place, so Noah decided it would be a good idea if we walked – fresh air being a well-known antidote to a hangover. Chris, ever the good shepherd, decided he should see us safely to our beds. We took a shortcut through the alley back of the restaurant, and Murray came after us. He grabbed Delia and said maybe if she played ball, he could slide some cases her way. Noah went nuts. As I said, he was pretty drunk.”

“I’ve never seen Noah take a drink.”

“After that night, he never did. Anyway, Noah started swinging. He’s a powerful guy, but luckily the booze had affected his ability to connect. He only landed one punch and it wasn’t much, but Murray went down and stayed down. Chris was still sober. He checked and said he couldn’t find a pulse. Then… ” Zack shrugged. “Decisions were made.”

“Passive voice,” I said.

Zack’s smile was ironic. “You hang around with cops, you learn a few tricks… Anyway, Chris went back inside the restaurant to call for an ambulance, and Noah told Dee to go to my place. She was staying with him, but he didn’t want her involved in any trouble. Dee was always the decision-maker, but that night she was reeling. When she came to bed, she couldn’t stop shaking, and she hung onto me all night. The next day she stayed in bed, eating cereal out of the box, and watching reruns of sitcoms until Noah came.”

“The police didn’t hold him?”

“The police didn’t know he was involved in Round Two. Chris sent Noah home before the cops came. A dozen people had witnessed Round One of his fight with Murray, so of course he was on the cops’ visiting list, but Noah had an ace up his sleeve. Chris Altieri, a young lawyer who went to mass every day of his life, was prepared to swear that by the time Murray dropped dead in the alley behind the hotel, Noah had left the scene.”

“And Chris’s word was enough?”

“The cops didn’t have anything else,” Zack said softly. “And none of us has ever talked about that evening since.” He shrugged. “Now, I’m going to get the hammer and nails so you can put up our new wreath.” His finger touched one of the pomegranates. As it had with me, the mica came off on his fingertip. He stared at it thoughtfully. “Did you know that the French word for grenade is pomegranate?”

“You think Myra’s gift is a weapon?”

He shrugged. “We live in dangerous times.”

We left for Port Hope on the morning of Friday, December 11 – six days after Abby Michaels had handed Jacob over to the Wainbergs and disappeared into the blizzard. Despite intensive media coverage and appeals from Inspector Debbie Haczkewicz, no one who had seen Abby that night came forward. Seemingly, the blizzard and the blackout had obliterated memories both human and electronic. People who might have seen her as she left the school and got into her car had been absorbed by their own efforts to deal with the storm and darkness. Security cameras at intersections that she might have driven through and in the area around the pawn shop parking lot where, presumably, she was attacked and killed, were not functioning. Zack’s bleak prediction that the blackout would make it possible for Jacob’s mother to disappear without a trace had been right on the money.

Debbie Haczkewicz stopped by our house the night before we left. Her son, Leo, had sent a Christmas gift from Japan for Zack. It was a laughing Buddha. Debbie was droll as she handed the Buddha to Zack. “This is supposed to bring you happiness and good luck. I told Leo I’d trade you my new peony kimono for twenty-four hours of good luck on the Michaels case.”

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.

“Just think,” Zack said, “the Great Farini walked across that river.”

“With peach baskets on his feet,” I said.

“I can’t do the peach basket thing,” Zack said. “But say the word and I’ll toss fireworks into the sky for you, Jo. I’m very glad you’re here.”

I put my arms around him. “So am I.”

We met Alwyn and Delia in the Lantern Inn’s dining room at seven that evening. With its wood-burning fireplace, period art and decor, and cherry furniture, the room couldn’t have been more welcoming, but five minutes into the evening, I knew it had been a mistake to invite both Alwyn and Delia for dinner. Zack often starts cases by asking clients the outcome for which they are hoping. Had Alwyn and Delia been asked that question, their answers would have signalled trouble ahead. Alwyn wanted to share a convivial dinner with an old friend and the old friend’s new husband; Delia wanted to unearth anything that would make her custody case invulnerable.

We ordered our food and a bottle of Ontario VQA Cabernet Sauvignon that Alwyn recommended. It was a pleasant choice to ease us into the evening, but as Zack and Alwyn and I chatted, Delia sizzled with impatience, drumming her fingers on the table, and answering every question with a monosyllabic response. Finally, Zack had enough. He glared at his law partner. “Dee, if you don’t smarten up, you’re paying for dinner.”

“I thought I was paying for dinner,” Delia said. “I apologize, Alwyn. I’m not good at small talk.”

“Abby wasn’t good at small talk either,” Alwyn said quietly.

The words were clearly intended to comfort her, but their effect on Delia was devastating. She flinched as if from a blow, and when she spoke her voice was tentative. “Tell me about her,” she said.

Alwyn’s brow creased in concentration. “It’s difficult to distil twenty-seven years of impressions into a few sentences. At the moment, what strikes me most is simply how much she was like you. Physically, the resemblance is startling. And something else… unless I’m mistaken, Abby wore the same perfume you’re wearing tonight.”

Delia bit her lip. “Chanel No. 5,” she said. “It’s the only perfume I’ve ever worn.”

“That’s remarkable, isn’t it? That without ever knowing one another, you’d choose the same scent.” Alwyn shook her head as if to regain her focus. “Let’s see. Even as a child, Abby set goals for herself, and like you, she was impatient with anything that stood in the way of realizing them. Her parents – Peggy and Hugh – adored her, and they were wise enough to smooth her path, so Abby could achieve what she believed she had to achieve.”

Delia leaned closer to Alwyn. “They spoiled her?”

Alwyn shook her head. “No. It was impossible to spoil that child. She never wanted things - she wanted to know things. Of course, that made her a perfect fit for Peggy and Hugh. She was the centre of their lives.”

Delia leaned forward. “Yet they never told her she was adopted.” Delia reached for her wineglass with trembling fingers. “Why would they do that?”

“I’m sure they thought they were protecting her, just as they’d protected her all her life. Abby was home-schooled until she was in Grade Five – that’s when students begin at Trinity. Of course, her father taught there and Abby knew all the other teachers, so she was protected there, too. The faculty was like an extended family for her.”

“And she did well?” The mother’s inevitable question.

“Brilliantly. She had extraordinarily high standards, and she drove herself hard.”

Delia placed her wine, untasted, back on the table. “Did she have friends?”

“Not many, but the friendships she had were intense. The year she started at TCS, she linked up with a group – both boys and girls – who were as bright as she was. Nadine Perrault was among them. The students in that group were inseparable till they graduated.”

It was the Winners’ Circle all over again. Zack’s eyes moved to Delia, but her attention was still on Alwyn. “Was Abby’s sexual orientation a problem?” Delia asked.

“It never appeared to be,” Alwyn said. “Everybody, including Hugh and Peggy, seemed to know, but nobody ever made a big deal about it.”

“Nadine was the only partner?” I said.

Alwyn shrugged. “She and Abby were seldom apart. The world isn’t always hospitable to same-sex couples, but perhaps because they’d always been inseparable, Abby and Nadine were lucky. One of the memories I’ve been cherishing lately is of Hugh and Peggy walking down Walton Street with their daughter and Nadine last Thanksgiving. Jacob was in Abby’s old pram. Hugh and Peggy had ordered it from Britain. They always made certain their daughter had the best.”

Delia lowered her head and stared at her lap at the reference to Abby as the Michaelses’ daughter; Alwyn noticed and hurried through the rest of her narrative. “My point,” she said, “is that they were happy – all of them. It was one of those scarlet and gold early October days, and seeing Hugh and Margaret with Abby, Nadine, and the child they all loved seemed to affirm that the world can be a fine place.” Alwyn’s voice broke. “The next day Margaret and Hugh were killed on the 401, and you know the rest.”

Delia stared at Alwyn wide-eyed. “But we don’t know ‘the rest.’ We don’t really know anything.” She stood abruptly. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can take this tonight. You’ll have to excuse me.”

“Of course,” Alwyn said. She touched Delia’s arm. “One of Abby’s friends recorded the memorial service this morning. She’ll burn it to a DVD. I’ll get a copy to you before you go back to Regina.”

“Thank you.”

“Nadine thought you might like to spend the morning quietly and come out to the country after lunch and see where Abby grew up and the home they shared.”

“She wants me to know Abby better,” Delia said bleakly.

Alwyn was clearly taken aback. “Don’t you want to?”

“I don’t know. Sitting here tonight, listening to you talk about Abby, made me realize how much I’ve missed out on.” Then, her face pinched with misery, Delia turned and walked out of the dining room.

When our trout arrived, Zack ordered another bottle of wine, and the three of us tried to salvage the evening. By the time we were weighing the options on the dessert menu, we had covered all the conversational topics that mattered: books, movies, holiday plans, Pantera’s exploits, and the exceptional intelligence of Alwyn’s three-legged tuxedo cat, Wilson. Given the circumstances, the evening had been pleasant, and I welcomed Zack’s suggestion that we walk Alwyn home.

The night was mild and starry – perfect for sky-gazing or river-watching. Zack stopped in the middle of the walkway on the bridge over the Ganaraska, and I thought he was giving himself over to the pleasures of the evening, but his mind was on his case. “What’s Nadine Perrault like?” he said.

Alwyn moved closer to the railing and looked down at the inky, swirling water. “If you’d asked me two weeks ago, I could have given you an answer, but Nadine has been broken by this. I can’t predict anything about the woman you’re going to meet tomorrow.”

“What was she like before?”

“Complex,” Alwyn said. “As most interesting people are. She was a boarder at TCS from the time she was in Grade Five, and after university she came back and taught with us. I’ve been acquainted with her for much of her life, but Nadine doesn’t encourage intimacy.”

“Her attachment to the school must have been powerful to bring her back to teach,” I said.

“It was – it is for a lot of our students. Our Web site trots out the usual stirring phrases about developing hearts and minds, offering academic challenges, and building leadership skills. That’s for the parents; a lot of our students just want to find a place where they belong, and that’s what Nadine found with us. When she first arrived, she was like a skittish colt that would bolt if you extended a hand to it. The school calmed her. Whatever had happened in the past, being part of the school taught her to trust. Then when Peggy and Hugh realized how close she and Abby were, they welcomed her into their family.”

“And they were aware that the girls’ relationship went beyond friendship?” I said.

“The girls were discreet, but they made no secret of their feelings for one another,” Alwyn said. “Hugh and Peggy accepted the situation. They loved Nadine because Abby loved her and that seemed to ease any problems the town might have had about the relationship.”

“Their deaths must have been terrible for Nadine,” I said.

“They were, but she and Abby were both practising Roman Catholics, and they seemed to find consolation in their faith.”

“So Hugh and Peggy were Catholic, then,” I said.

Alwyn hooted. “God no! Hugh was a staunch Darwinist. Every February 12th, he hosted a luncheon to commemorate Darwin’s birth and celebrate science, reason, and humanity. Peggy had her own religion.” Alwyn’s lips twitched. “I believe it had something to do with wood nymphs. The Catholicism came from Nadine. Abby was a convert.”

“If the conversion got them through the loss of Hugh and Peggy Michaels, it must have taken,” I said.

“It did,” Alwyn said. “Nadine and Abby were both devastated, but they seemed to feel they could survive, because they had their faith, one another, and Jacob.” Alwyn gazed at the water. “I wonder what Nadine’s position on God is now?” she said.

It had been a long day, and Zack and I slept well under our canopy. We awoke at eight – which for both of us was very late.

“Let’s get room service,” I said. “It’s too cold to sit on the balcony, but we can pull back the curtains and watch Port Hope spring into action.”

Zack sneezed. “Fair enough,” he said. “But this is a holiday – no steel-cut oatmeal and 600-grain toast. I want a manly breakfast: bacon, sausage, eggs, and home fries.”

“The defibrillator special.” I picked up the phone. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Zack and Delia were meeting the Michaelses’ family lawyer at nine-thirty to discuss the will; after that, they were meeting Nadine Perrault’s lawyer. Alwyn and I had both finished our Christmas shopping, but the town’s antique and specialty stores were seductive, and we were willing to be seduced.

When I found a leaf-shaped mercury-glass relish dish that I knew my friend Ed Mariani would treasure, I pulled out my credit card. “I hate shopping,” I said. “But shopping here with you is actually fun.”

“The stores are open year-round,” Alwyn said. “And you appear to have conquered your fear of flying.”

“Appearance is not reality,” I said. “I’m already starting to count down the hours till we’re in the air again.”

“Does Zack mind that you don’t fly?”

“No. Travel’s not easy for him either.”

“Because of the wheelchair?”

“That’s an indignity – there’s other stuff that’s harder to manage.”

“I like him,” Alwyn said.

“So do I,” I said.

The drive from Port Hope to the house in which Abby had grown up took fifteen minutes. The Michaels property was situated in a valley among gentle hills with ponds and ditches that filled with wildflowers in summer. The soil was rich and the water supply so abundant that legend had it a toddler with a stick could stumble and find water. For years, most of the houses in the area had been century homes – over a hundred years old, solid brick, built to last, quiet and unprepossessing, close to the road. But Toronto money had moved to the country. Now the hills were crested with new homes that boasted spectacular views, triple garages, winding driveways, and million-dollar price tags.

The Michaels’ house had been built on thirty acres of land that was now considered prime real estate. One hour’s commute from the city, the property was treed and private with a tributary of the Ganaraska running through it. The house was a solid red-brick Georgian with shuttered windows and an oak front door with a transom and sidelights. Mercifully, there was only one step, so Zack managed to manoeuvre his chair onto the porch area without help before Nadine Perrault opened the door to greet us.

She was a slender, fine-featured natural blonde with deep-set hazel eyes that were red from weeping. When she came face to face with Delia, her intake of breath was audible. “I’m sorry,” she said, “It’s just… the physical resemblance is overwhelming.” She recovered quickly, inviting us in although she had trouble taking her eyes from Delia’s face. “You probably should leave your coats on,” she said. Her voice was low and commanding – a teacher’s voice. “I don’t live here,” she said, “so I’m keeping the thermostat low. I should have thought about it this morning, but the memorial service yesterday was very difficult for me. I apologize.” She threw her hands up in a gesture of impotence.

“We’re fine,” I said.

“We won’t stay long here,” Nadine said. Her hair was centre-parted in a good mid-length cut. She wore no makeup, but she didn’t need any. She led us into the room on the left. “Don’t worry about your boots,” she said. “These rugs have endured a great deal over the years.” She shrugged. “As you can see, this house has been well lived in.”

The wood in the living room gleamed and the plants in the windows were thriving, but the fabric on the furniture was worn and faded. There were books everywhere. Over the fireplace was a family portrait. Delia was drawn to it immediately. Hugh Michaels was a bald, rumpled-looking man with grey eyes, heavy brows, and the quarter-smile of the ironist; his wife, tanned and blonde, had the sleepily content smile of a woman who revelled in the sensual. The eyes of both parents were on Abby, who stood in front of them, pale, intense, and impatient.

“I could look at that painting forever,” Nadine said softly. “It is so like them. Abby was fourteen. The artist wanted her to put on a dress, but she refused. Peggy insisted on wearing her garden hat and having a cigarette in her hand because she was never without a cigarette. And Hugh, of course, wore his invariable four-in-hand tie and three-piece suit.”

“Abby looks just like Isobel,” Zack said. “Same hair. Same eyes. Same focus.”

I turned to Nadine. “Isobel is Delia’s daughter. She’s the same age as Abby was in that painting.”

Nadine’s voice was dreamy. “Abby had a very happy life with them,” she said. “I thought you’d like to see that.”

Delia’s lips tightened. “I’ve seen enough,” she said.

Nadine raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want to look at the rest of the house? Abby’s old room is filled with things that were important to her – things that I know she wanted Jacob to cherish some day.”

Delia’s headshake was violent. “No.”

Zack turned his chair to face Nadine. His voice was gentle. “Was there anything special you wanted to show us?”

Nadine nodded. “There’s a spot by the river that Abby loved. We talked about taking Jacob there next summer and letting him paddle in the water. Abby and I spent hours there, swimming and doing homework and reading and dreaming.” She smiled at the memory. “It’s a magical place for a child.”

Delia turned away sharply. “I forgot something in the car,” she said, and she walked out. When we heard the door slam, Zack pointed his chair towards the hall. “I’ll talk to her,” he said.

I waited as Nadine put on her jacket and boots. “Delia’s not easy with emotions,” I said.

Nadine’s voice was jagged. “Is she capable of love?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

Nadine knotted her scarf. “I never knew with Abby either,” she said bleakly. “But I loved enough for both of us.” She pulled her knitted cap down over her ears and headed for the door.