12 Rose Street (30 page)

Before we pulled out of the parking lot, I looked back at the restaurant. Jill was standing by the window. Backlit by
the harsh fluorescent lights, she looked frail and alone. I had to swallow hard to keep the tears back.

Zack and I came back to a house warm with the promise of Thanksgiving. Angus greeted us at the door. I stood on the threshold for moment, overwhelmed by memories. In profile, Angus looked exactly as Ian had when I met him. I remembered how intensely I had loved Ian at the beginning, then Zack turned to me and grinned and the memory of Ian passed.

Angus pushed back his unruly forelock. “Glad you’re home. Mieka says French chefs say a turkey should rest for the same amount of time as it was cooked, so we have to get the birds in the oven. I’ve chopped the onions and the celery, but nobody knows your stuffing recipe.”

“There is no recipe,” I said. “But you can watch and learn if you want.”

“Actually, I do,” Angus said. “Leah’s moving back to Regina and one of her ‘concerns’ about me when we broke up was that I was immature.”

“And stuffing a turkey is proof of maturity?” I said.

“It’s a step,” Angus said.

Our rule for family dinners is simple: everybody who doesn’t bring a dish has to pitch in with the cooking. Most of us do both. Angus stuffed one of the turkeys and Mieka taught him a dynamite recipe for Brussels sprouts. Peter and Maisie brought a sweet potato casserole and made a fire. Zack played the piano, and the little kids played with the piano pedals. Taylor, Isobel, and Gracie set the table and exchanged whispered confidences. It was the kind of mellow day we’d shared dozens of times, but since Labour Day our lives had been short of mellow days and I treasured this one.

As the smell of turkey drifted through the house, I was content. Zack poured us both a martini. When he handed
me my drink, he said, “You look more at peace than you have in a long time.”

“I am more at peace,” I said.

“One last job,” Zack said. “Mieka says she thinks that everything’s ready, but she wants you to check to see if anything’s missing.” I followed Zack into the sunroom. The old partners’ table was set for twenty. I’d invited Milo, but he’d declined, so there were four extra chairs pulled to the side. The pies and dessert plates were on the sideboard. Angus and I had each cooked a twenty-five-pound turkey and the birds were sitting on the kitchen workspace, wrapped in parchment paper and kitchen towels, waiting to be carved. The side dishes were being kept warm in the oven and the gravy was simmering.

“Perfect,” I said, and it was.

I couldn’t have asked for a better Thanksgiving, but my eyes kept being drawn to the four empty chairs that had been pulled aside. I found myself wishing that circumstances had been different and that Jill had been in one of them.

Finally, the last sliver of pumpkin pie was eaten, and we cleaned up and went our separate ways. Everybody seven and over and under the age of forty went to the guest cottage to watch movies. The rest of us stayed behind to play with Jacob and Lexi and chat. It was a perfect post-Thanksgiving evening, but Howard was in a brown study. Finally, he pushed himself out of his chair. “This has been great,” he said. “But I think I’ll drive back to town tonight.”

“Everything okay?” Zack said.

“Yeah, I thought I’d check on Jill, if you’re okay with that, Jo.”

“I’m okay with that,” I said. “Jill’s been on my mind too.”

“Can I tell her you’re thinking of her?”

“Yes,” I said. “Howard, I’m doing my best, but this is terra incognita for me. I’ve lost friends to death, but in some
ways this situation with Jill is worse. When friends die, you mourn, but you know they’re not suffering and you have memories that make you smile. Everything’s jumbled for Jill and me. I know she’s suffering, but every memory I have of our time together is shadowed by what she and Ian did.”

Howard gave me an avuncular hug. “You’ll work it out, Jo. You always do.”

The long weekend had been idyllic, but all good things come to an end. We’d driven back to the city after supper Monday night, and Tuesday-morning reality hit. Howard and Milo, the odd couple, arrived bright and early with the polling results. I topped off Zack’s coffee and poured Howard a cup. Milo unwrapped a fresh Crispy Crunch bar. Howard plopped his ancient briefcase on the table and waded right in. “Milo tells me our numbers aren’t good,” he said. “We’re still four points ahead, but the momentum we had before Thanksgiving has gone up in smoke.”

“The fucking perp ads are killing us,” Milo said. “Those clips of Zack on the courthouse steps yucking it up with his thug-clients are cutting us off at the knees. No offence, Zack.”

“None taken,” Zack said. “Okay. So Ridgeway’s ads are working. How do we make them stop working?”

“Jo told me about the recording you heard of Graham Meighen’s conversation with Slater Doyle,” Milo said. “That’s a starting point.”

The penny dropped. “It may be enough,” I said. “Ridgeway’s perp ads are fact-free. There’s nothing there
but juxtaposition and innuendo, but they’re killing us. So lesson learned. We’ll use juxtaposition and innuendo. Jill’s determined to discover the truth about the Ridgeway campaign. If she can get us footage of Graham Meighen yucking it up with Scott Ridgeway and Slater, we can run it with a voice-over: ‘
They have secrets
–
things they don’t want you to know.
’ It’s ugly, but it should drive the snakes out from under the rocks.”

Milo jumped off his stool. “Welcome to the world of gutter politics, Jo,” he said. “And how about this lick – we can finish the ads with a set up like Crime Stoppers. ‘
If you have information about why Lancaster Development is pulling the strings at City Hall, call us. We’ll follow through and we guarantee all callers anonymity.
’ ”

Zack shot me a look of concern. “Are sure you’re okay with this, Jo?”

“I am. We know Ridgeway is in Graham Meighen’s pocket, but we don’t know why. It’s just a matter of time till we discover what Graham has on Scott Ridgeway. I don’t want to find the smoking gun the day after we’ve lost the election.”

Milo’s long fingers beat a tattoo on the table. “Time to go for the gonads.” He glanced at me. “Last chance,” he said.

“It’s my fault we didn’t go negative sooner,” I said. “Let’s do what we have to do and deal with our consciences later. Zack, try to come home for lunch. We should have something concrete blocked out by then.”

After Zack left, we divvied up the tasks. Milo called the ad agency and ran the new idea past them. The conversation was lengthy – at least lengthy for Milo. When he broke the connection, he was upbeat. “Here’s where we are. The agency loves the ‘
They’ve got secrets
’ angle, but they think we should lawyer up.”

“We already have,” I said. “Zack’s a lawyer and when we
ran this by him, he didn’t blink an eye. Why would he? The Ridgeway campaign does have secrets. If they want to take us to court, let them try.”

“That’s the spirit,” Milo said. “And the agency likes the Crime Stoppers shtick. I like it because it’s punchy, but the agency thinks it might actually cause an informant to step forth. And one last piece of good news. We’ve already bought a substantial number of thirty-second spots in the time leading up to E-Day, so we’ve got the air time.”

“And the bad news … ?” I said.

Milo started to unwrap a fresh Crispy Crunch bar and then stuck it back in his jeans pocket. He’d never mentioned it, but I had a sense he was trying to cut back. He patted his jeans pocket longingly and then soldiered on. “The bad news is that the agency says there’s no way they can get three new commercials in shape to air by the weekend.”

“They don’t have an option,” I said. “If we don’t counter the perp ads, we’ll lose, and we all agree that the
‘They have secrets’
campaign will work. We have four days. The agency people will have to pull all-nighters, but the Shreve campaign has enough money in the bank to pay overtime.”

Milo didn’t dawdle. He pulled out his Crispy Crunch, said, “Later,” and took off.

Howard and I exchanged headshakes. “Milo’s an original,” I said. “Anyway, I’ll begin drafting copy for the ads. You call Jill and ask if she can get us footage of Ridgeway and company cozying up to Meighen.”

Howard trained his crafty old eagle’s eyes on me. “I’ll take a shot at the copy, Jo. You should be the one to see Jill.”

I groaned. “Howard, no matter how many times you throw Jill and me together, nothing is going to change. Sometimes we reap what we sow,” I said. “And sometimes other people have to reap what we sow. That’s one of life’s
crueller lessons.” I picked up my bag. “But I will go and see Jill. She should know we’ll be grateful for her help.”

A large ceramic bowl filled with the fruits of the season welcomed guests at the Hotel Saskatchewan reception desk. When I passed by on my way to the elevators, one of the clerks noticed me eyeing the bowl. “Take a piece of fruit,” he said. “That’s what they’re there for.” I chose a rosy red apple and I was still holding it when I knocked on the door to Jill’s suite.

She opened the door immediately. She was wearing jeans, a white turtleneck, and a silver pendant engraved with a stylized wheat sheaf that the kids and I had given her for Christmas the year before. When she saw me, her face lit up. “Jo. I thought it was room service. I suddenly realized I hadn’t eaten today, so I ordered something.”

I handed her the apple. “Here,” I said. “This will tide you over till room service arrives.”

“Thanks,” she said. She stood aside. “Come in.”

“I’m here to ask a favour,” I said. “Ridgeway’s ads with Zack and his criminal clients are killing us. We’re going to make some new ads based on the information in that tape you made of Graham talking to Scott Ridgeway.”

“There’s not much there,” she said.

“There’s enough, or there will be after we do a little doctoring. Jill, Nation
TV
must have footage of Ridgeway and the members of city council cozying up to Graham and his associates. I know there are legal hoops to jump through before we can use the footage, but is there a way we could expedite the process?”

“When do you need it?”

“This afternoon.”

Jill’s laugh was brief. “Jo, if I follow protocol, that’s impossible.”

“What if you don’t follow protocol?”

“The file will be on your computer by three o’clock.”

“Thanks. We’re really up against it.”

Jill lowered her gaze. “If there’s anything more I can do, I’m available.”

I paused before I answered. “I could use your help getting the commercial to air,” I said. “We can’t blow this.”

“Then it’s a done deal.” There was a knock at the door. “Room service,” Jill said. “Just in the nick of time to keep you from changing your mind.”

“I’m not going to change my mind,” I said. “I’ll call you after we have a chance to check out the footage.”

When I left the hotel, the bands that had been tight around my chest since Slater Doyle broke the news about Ian’s infidelity had begun to loosen. I called Howard to tell him that Jill was staying in Regina to help the campaign. His relief was palpable. “If I believed in God, I’d be down on my knees,” he said.

“It wouldn’t hurt you to get down on your knees once in a while,” I said. “You never know.”

“You’re right about that,” he said. “You never know.”

Brock hadn’t mentioned Michael Goetz since the day we heard that Liz Meighen had committed suicide. At the lake Brock had been an ideal guest – warm and unobtrusively helpful, but since we’d come back to the city, he’d kept to himself. That Wednesday morning as we did our pre-run stretches, his mind was clearly elsewhere.

“Penny for your thoughts,” I said.

Brock tried a smile. “We don’t use pennies any more, remember?”

“I remember. Brock, is something wrong?”

“Michael isn’t answering my calls. I left a voicemail telling him that if he wanted to talk, I was available.”

“And he didn’t get back to you?”

“No, and he hasn’t responded to my texts. I don’t know what else I can do. Michael obviously doesn’t want me in his life.”

“Or someone else doesn’t want you in his life,” I said.

“That thought has occurred to me,” Brock said. “And it scares me. Jo, I can’t stop thinking about what happened to Liz Meighen. The Michael I know would never have compromised the well-being of a patient. The possibility that he played a role in Liz Meighen’s suicide is making me sick.”

“Let’s hit the pavement,” I said. “At his last checkup Pantera weighed in at one hundred and seventy-five pounds. He needs a workout.”

We ran farther and harder than usual, and when we returned to Halifax Street we were sweat-soaked and panting almost as hard as the dogs. Brock did a couple of stretches before we got on the elevator. “That helped,” he said.

I squeezed his arm. “Let’s hear it for endorphins.” As soon as I came in the door, I filled the dogs’ water dishes and Zack poured me a glass of filtered water from the jug in the fridge. “I see you turned your run up a notch,” he said.

I held the glass of cool water against my forehead before taking a sip. “Brock’s an athlete. They’re trained to play through pain, and Brock is suffering. He wants to help Michael, but Michael’s not answering his phone calls or texts.”

Zack sighed. “Tough on Brock, but legally, this might be the proverbial silver lining. If the police have cause to believe that Michael Goetz is responsible for Liz Meighen’s death, the less Brock knows, the better.”

I kissed Zack on the top of the head. “Ever the optimist,” I said. “I’m going upstairs to shower.”

“Make it a quick one,” Zack said. “Milo’s on his way over with what he says is a very rough rough cut of the first of the new ads.”

“That was speedy.”

“Wait till you see the bill for the whole team at the agency working overtime, but Milo likes the ad. He says it’ll blow Ridgeway and his crew out of the water.”

“Let’s hope,” I said. “Why don’t you call Howard and Brock and ask them to come over and watch the new ad with us?”

“What about Jill?”

“I’ll call her. I don’t think she’d feel comfortable coming here, but she should have the option.”