A Three Day Event (43 page)

“Are you okay, Ruthie?” Polo looked so unusual–she couldn’t remember ever seeing him without his glasses on before–with his lower lip split and puffed up, his face smeared with blood from nose to chin–and both he and Roch so anxious and remorseful, Ruthie’s anger melted into mere indignation.

“Better now. I can breathe. Just the wind knocked out.”

Polo helped her to stand up. “So what the hell was that all about?” Ruthie demanded of the two men, brushing gravel dust off her hands and hair and then methodically attacking her linen pants and striped tee.

Polo shrugged, but said nothing as he tucked in his shirt, retrieved his glasses and flicked an over–to–you glance at Roch. Roch was penitential and embarrassed. He muttered, “I’m sorry, Rut’ie, it’s not important, but it’s between me and Polo.”

Ruthie reverted to a teacher’s exasperated censure. “I can’t believe two grown men–two friends–can’t find a more civilized way to deal with a problem.” Roch reddened and looked appropriately sheepish. Immediately, with the same responsive concern she would have felt for an apologetic student, she added more kindly, “Well, you’d better get some ice on your face, Roch. That’s a pretty ugly injury.” She looked curiously at Polo. It really was nasty, and she was amazed that even a solid punch could do such damage.

Polo grinned at her assumption. Or started to, but stopped and cursed, delicately exploring his bloody lip with his tongue. “Ruthie, that wasn’t me. Or at least mostly not me. Roch, tell her about your settling of accounts with Benoit”–

“I’m sure it’s a hell of a story. Tell me too,” said Hy, who had just rounded the corner.

“Should I put the pizzas in?” asked Caroline.

Hy and Ruthie looked at each other. “Um, maybe let’s wait a few more minutes,” said Ruthie. “I’m sure they won’t be much longer.”

“Okay. Just let me know when you’re ready.” Caroline poured wine for each of them and left the bottle on the table.

“What’s keeping them?” Ruthie asked. “How much time does it take to wash up?”

“Nosebleeds take time. Also, I’d say they’re taking the opportunity to clear the air on whatever the problem is,” said Hy. “I hope so, anyway. Who needs the tension otherwise?”

“What do you think it is? Weren’t they like really good friends?”

“Yeah, and I’m sure they still are. I just can’t imagine what could be serious enough to warrant a fist fight.”

“Hy, did you ever have a fist fight with a friend?”

“Are you kidding? Of course not. It would’ve been a
schande
for the neighbours when I was young. And at this age? No way.”

“It’s such a different culture…”

“Are you saying ‘different’ because you think Jews are physical wimps? Or no, wait, I’m betting it’s because you’re afraid the multiculturalists will get you for what you’re really thinking–that our values are better.”

“Maybe. At least in some respects. Would I be wrong? It doesn’t mean I don’t–care about individuals from that background. It doesn’t mean I don’t–you know–care about Polo as a person, or think I’m better than he is…”

“I know what you mean,
ziess
. It doesn’t matter what you think. It’s how you act that’s important. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Are you happy here, Hy? Not with Manon, I know how well that’s turned out. No, I mean, as happy here, in this actual place, as you’d imagined you’d be?”

“You mean, do I feel defensive about being Jewish here in a way I don’t in Montreal?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Not until the calls started, and then getting involved in the show, and of course this latest crap. Up until then it was fine. But we’re beginning to think about dividing our time more evenly with the city. I thought I could keep my personal life separate from politics, but you know, even if we settle this murder business, I can see the political thing is heating up again, and even if Mont Armand isn’t
pur et dur
territory, it’s going to get tense everywhere in Quebec. And yeah, if they work themselves up to a referendum or something, there’s no question I’ll feel better in the bunkers with the rest of the tribe.”

“Definitely getting worse. For twenty marks: ‘Separatism–is it good or bad for the Jews? Discuss.’”

“It’s bad. Bad for the Jews, bad for all ethnics, bad for the economy, bad for them, if they could get past the emotions and see things rationally. End of discussion.”

“A+.”

Hy sipped at his wine. “
Pisse Dru
. Wow. That takes me back about thirty years. I remember when I first started dating I used to think it was so cool to order
Pisse Dru
.” He paused and reflected a moment. “You know, I’m trying to think what could have started the fight. The only thing I can imagine Roch getting that worked up about is Michel. But what could Polo have done to Michel? Or would have?”

“I know,” agreed Ruthie. “When we were talking this morning about who the killer could be and it seemed like Michel might have a motive, did you see Polo’s face? He really likes Michel. So it can’t be that.”

Hy shrugged. “Well, they’ll either tell us or they won’t. Not our problem, I guess.”

“So how are you doing otherwise, brother mine? It’s been such a day, eh?”

“Don’t ask.”

“Did you get off the telephone even for a second?”

“Every time I put it down it rang again. Of course a lot of the calls were from Montreal about Bon–Gro, that pyramid scheme thing. Oy, what a mess that is.”

“I bet you know half the people in it.”

“At least. You know, I can’t get over it, ziess. Now that it’s been exposed publicly, it turns out the two American guys running it had a track record as long as your arm–fraud, jail time, bankruptcies in every state of the union practically. Unbelievable. On the public record. And these so–called smart businessmen. Did they check? No, they took the word of whoever got them into it. I can’t get over it.”

“When people want something badly, when they get greedy, it seems like they’ll believe anything.”

“It’s always about short term gratification, always about forgetting the bigger picture.”

“I think I read somewhere that that’s supposed to be the definition of maturity–the ability to defer gratification.”

“Sounds right. I guess I’m mature.”

“So what am I? Chopped liver?”

Hy smiled. “No, you’re mature too. We’re the ‘mature family’.
L’Chaim
.” They clinked glasses and laughed.

Ruthie shook her head and sipped. “So when we talk about it with them, I hope you’re going to agree with me that Fran and Eva are off the hook for the murder.”

“Yeah, of course I do. Wasn’t that a fascinating story? No matter how much I learn about the war, it blows me away every time I hear about this kind of courage. And she seems like such a timid, ordinary woman. Who’d have thunk it?”

“I know.” They sat in contemplative silence for a few minutes.

Hy said, “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you the big news. We won’t be having the show here after all.”

“What!”

“Yeah, I got a call from this guy March in Calgary, the president of the Federation, just before the Briquemonts came over. It’s all very mysterious. Marion Smy has suddenly resigned. He seemed to imply that there was something not too kosher going on with her. He mentioned Sue Parker in a kind of oblique way. And something about Bridget missing deadlines. Anyway, bottom line, he’s not happy, the sponsors aren’t happy, the FEI isn’t happy, so the meeting tomorrow is cancelled, and everything’s up in the air. It looks like it might happen in Alberta. He’d already spoken to Roch.”

Hy suddenly snapped his fingers and pointed to the place where Roch and Polo had fought. “Hey, you know what? Maybe that has something to do with the fight between him and Polo, or at least pissed him off enough to make a bigger deal out of some other reason. Losing the show would have to be pretty upsetting for him. The Desrochers will be all over him, they’ll say it’s a plot by the rest of Canada to screw Quebec or whatever.”

“You don’t sound upset about it,” said Ruthie in mild surprise.

“I’m not,” said Hy decisively. “I’m relieved. I thought it would be kind of a fun thing, a way of getting involved in the horse community and sharing a project with Manon, but to be honest, it’s been nothing but a pain in the ass. I like Thea, she’s really pulling her weight and more, but I can’t stand some of the other Ottawa and Toronto people on the committee. They’re total amateurs without a clue how to get things done, but so full of themselves. I feel like a complete schmuck sitting in at these meetings, which are totally useless, because they talk about all the stuff they’re doing, but in the end they keep dumping the real work on my staff. That wasn’t supposed to be part of the deal.

“More to the point, one or two of them are anti–Semitic–not the kind you can do anything about, you know what I mean–just that genteel undercurrent that’s always there every time you have anything to do with them. I would have bailed out of any active involvement months ago if it weren’t for Roch.

“Anyway, after everything that’s happened in the last few days, who needs a horse show for excitement? All I’m looking forward to in the foreseeable future is some pizza and quiet.”

“Amen to that. Where are they?”

“Polo, it’s actually causing me pain watching you eat that pizza,” Ruthie said. “I think you should go to the hospital for stitches–or you’ll have a scar. And Roch, you have to keep the ice on your face longer. Twenty minutes on, twenty off.” Roch obediently pressed the ice pack to his cheek.

“S’okay,” muttered Polo as he shifted carefully in his seat before leaning forward for another small bite. Ruthie in bossy teacher mode was the last thing he needed at the moment. The leaning part hurt his ribs, but if he sat up straight, he was sure to dribble sauce from a mouth that wasn’t functioning very efficiently. Roch’s careful upper body movements and laborious progress on his pizza told the same story.

Caroline had lit the candle in the hurricane lantern. It was dusk turning to night. Many of the tables around them were filling up. The tinkle of cutlery on plates, the scraping of chairs, the winking glow of cigarettes, the wine bottles rustling in their icy nests, and the frequent bursts of soft laughter around them soothed and stroked away the day’s tensions, nudging their meeting into the mood of a minor dinner party.

“So where is Gilles now?” Hy asked. He shook his head in wonder at the story Polo had relayed. “Who’d have thought the little pisher had it in him?”

“Sleeping. My condo.” Polo shot a wary glance at Roch. No reaction. Good. It was over, then, like a sudden thunderstorm. It was too bad about the fight, but for Roch it had accomplished in two minutes what might never have been worked through in words. Polo asked himself if he was pissed off at being dragged into it, and the answer came back negative. He might not have felt that way two days ago, but today he understood. Polo knew Roch’s strengths and limitations. He saw himself, after the day’s revelations, as newly equipped to understand the full emotional force of a parent’s possessiveness. And on balance, he concluded, he would himself prefer a physical fight–with no one fighting dirty–over the continuing uncertainty and discomfort of unresolved issues.

Gilles choosing him as a confidant was hugely embarrassing for Roch, Polo had already grasped that before he saw Roch. Then the shock of losing the show to another site had to have been a total bummer. And his getting hold of Michel’s alibi instead of Roch had been the final straw. Polo hadn’t told Roch the important news, about Claude and the pregnancy, only that Michel had spoken to him. But it was one confidence too many. Now Polo could see that all that pent–up steam had been expended in the scuffle. Roch was himself again. And, Polo admitted to himself, the scuffle had even been a welcome personal release for this long day’s accumulated stress.

“So Polo, what do you think of my theory about the stallion?” Ruthie demanded.

“Not crazy. Interesting. Definite possibilities.” He chewed tentatively. “Sorry. Har’ to tal’ and ea’ at same time.”

Hy said, “Okay, don’t talk. Just eat. I’ll sum up. Okay, here goes, in no particular order. Liam is killed on the grounds and buried in the sand, either late afternoon or early evening. Almost everyone has a motive because he was listening to people’s phone conversations and snooping in their personal stuff. Almost everyone has the opportunity. But we can eliminate some people. First of all Michel because you say he left the stable mid–afternoon to go to Montreal to see a girl, Polo. How do you know that for sure, though?”

“Got phone number. Solid alibi. Trust me.” Again Polo glanced over at Roch. But it was okay. Roch was happy. He was on his third glass of wine. The minute Polo had announced to Ruthie and Hy that Michel had been with a girl overnight in Montreal–he didn’t elaborate–Roch’s face had registered both happiness and relief. So Roch had wondered too, Polo had thought. All that bluster about Michel’s hundreds of girlfriends, but he had really wondered…and now he was at peace. That was all he had cared about. He could have handled Michel killing Liam, but not the other.

Hy continued, “Okay, so Michel’s clear on the murder. And we don’t know yet who sent the fax, but we know where it came from, and we know Benoit did the office. And–ah–has paid a price for it, eh Roch?” Roch grinned, winced, and nodded emphatically. “And we still don’t know about the stallion. As for all these crimes, Ruthie and Manon and I have decided to throw our vote of confidence behind Fran. We have no proof, but we believe he’s innocent.”

Polo and Roch looked inquiringly at each other, and nodded acquiescence.

“Now we come to the really interesting question of Bridget,” Hy went on. And by the way,
chapeau
, hats off to you, Polo, for thinking of looking in that belt buckle. It certainly would never have occurred to me. I’m sure Congress can help us with those contact numbers, but that will have to wait til Monday. As for the other side of the paper”–

Ruthie jumped in. “Oh Bridget is definitely the one, in my opinion. All these lies you’ve told us about, Polo, and what’s so interesting is that Fran’s story backs it up. I mean, the accent changing while she’s arguing with Liam, the father turning out to be a gamekeeper instead of upper class, the shady business stuff. My money’s definitely on Bridget. I’m sure there’s a fascinating story about the father. How are we going to get it, though?”