Flight of Aquavit (50 page)

“She had no idea Daniel was gay. None of us

did. They seemed like a pretty normal, happy cou-

ple. But it was me who found out.”

“How?” I asked.

“One weekend Cheryl was away, Daniel

stayed behind to work. Cheryl asked me if while

she was out of town I wouldn’t mind taking him

over a hot casserole or something. She knew he’d

be too busy to cook and if he even bothered to eat

he’d end up ordering in crappy fast food. I love to

cook and I didn’t mind doing her a favour so I did.

I made a meatball casserole and walked it over

there. I passed right by their living room win-

dow.” She stopped there to catch her breath before

continuing. I could see her chest begin to heave as

398 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

she contemplated getting to the next part of her

story. “It was dark out and there was a lamp on

inside and the drapes weren’t quite closed. I saw

the movement as I was passing by and I could just

sense there was something weird about it so I took

a closer look.” She stopped again and looked

down at her hands, a rose bloom appearing on

each cheek.

“You saw Daniel Guest having sex,” I guessed,

hoping to help her over the tough part.

“With another man!” she hissed. “At first I

thought it was another woman because…well

because that would make more sense and because

the other person had long blond hair, but I looked

closer to see if I could recognize who she was

and…well, it was
not
a woman.”

The part of me with a warped sense of humour

wanted to laugh, but I knew that wasn’t a good

idea, so instead I swallowed it and asked, “And

then what did you do?”

“I ran home and took my casserole with me.

There was no way he was going to get my food! I

didn’t know what to do then. I didn’t know if I

should call Cheryl, or contact the police, or tell my

husband or what. So I did nothing. Until about a

week later. Cheryl had come back and we were

having coffee like we do a few times every week

and I just couldn’t hold it back. She’s my best

friend after all. And she had a right to know. For a

lot of reasons.”

“How did she react?”

“You can just imagine. It’s a good thing I told

her first thing in the morning while Daniel was at

Anthony Bidulka — 399

work, because if he’d been home, I think she

would have ripped his…she would have hurt him

somehow.” She gave me a look that invited my

imagination to conjure up one of many possible

blood-and-guts scenarios. “It took her all day to

calm down. She just yelled and screamed and

threatened to do all sorts of things to him and to

herself. Eventually she calmed down and we

began to really talk. Apparently the sex between

she and Daniel had never been that great and by

then almost non-existent. It hadn’t been a mar-

riage in a long while. She admitted she’d been

thinking about divorce. She’d been trying to make

it work, trying to make it appear to the world she

and Daniel were the perfect couple…so much so

that Daniel probably believed her too. But this

was it, the end of the line for her.”

Blackmail time, I thought to myself. “So you

hatched the plan?” I coaxed her on.

“Well, yeah, I guess. She wanted a divorce. But

she wanted proof of what I’d seen first.”

“Proof?” I was getting confused.

“Yes. She hired a private investigator.”

Ta-da! Jane Cross. But why was Jane chasing

me? I hadn’t been the one having sex with Daniel.

And what about the blackmail and kidnap? “Then

what happened?” was all I said. I didn’t want to

put words in Anita’s mouth.

“I don’t know really. I didn’t hear much from

Cheryl for the next little while. She was under-

standably withdrawn. I thought it best not to push

her about it. But she must have found out some-

thing from whomever she hired because she came

400 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

to me a couple days ago and asked me to…” She

had the sense to look a little penitent here. “She

asked me to make a stink bomb for her so she

could teach somebody a lesson. I assumed it was

for whoever was fooling around with Daniel. I

thought…well, I thought it was harmless and the

least I could do to help my friend through this mis-

erable thing. A little wifely retribution is necessary

every once in a while y’know. Kind of like
The

First Wives Club
.”

I always thought there was something deeply

disturbing about that movie.

That being said, I found myself believing Anita

Soloway. She knew nothing about the blackmail or

the trip from hell into the frozen countryside. She

was simply an unwitting accomplice in Cheryl

Guest’s voyage of fury and revenge.

I looked out the window and saw Darren

Kirsch along with two SPS police cruisers pull up

curbside.

Darren and I were standing on the doorstep when

Cheryl Guest opened her front door. The other

constables remained in their vehicles for now. I

wondered if Anita Soloway and perhaps her hus-

band too were sneaking peeks from next door.

At first Cheryl said nothing, taking her time to

assess the situation, glancing behind us at the

police cars near her driveway and taking a half

step forward to look both ways down her street.

Was she worried about which of her neighbours

were witnessing what was sure to be a spectacle?

Anthony Bidulka — 401

“Mrs. Guest, I’m Constable Darren Kirsch of

the Saskatoon Police Service.”

I shot Darren an aggravated look. I thought

we’d agreed on the phone that I would lead the

confrontation with Cheryl Guest because…well,

because I’d figured out what was going on (sort

of) and he hadn’t. Jeepers.

“And this is…”

But she didn’t let him finish. “Yes, I’m familiar

with Mr. Quant. My husband’s…private detec-

tive.” The way she said the last two words made

the profession seem almost scurrilous.

Without inviting us in she turned and took a

faltering step away. Stopped. A hand on a hallway

table, the other in a fist on her hip. I saw her back

slowly rise and fall as she took a deep breath,

and then, much to our surprise, she threw back

her head and let out a deep, sorrowful roar, like a

wounded lion. For a brief—very brief—second

afterwards, with the aggrieved sound still hang-

ing in the air, I felt sorry for Cheryl Guest. Despite

all she’d done, here was a woman wronged, a vic-

tim of perfidy, outraged and filled with unfath-

omable sadness at the lamentable outcome of her

useless vengeance.

We stood there for a moment, Darren and I,

staring at her back as it shuddered. Eventually she

moved forward and we followed her into the

house. Despite its owners, a gay man and a

woman in the fashion industry, the home (or at

least what we could see of it) lacked pizzazz. They

were trying for an English Butler/The Bombay

Company—authentic fake antique—look but had

402 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

somehow missed the mark. They had the pieces,

but they just weren’t put together right. Not, I

mused to myself, unlike their marriage.

Ending up in a sitting room, we each took an

offered seat while Cheryl excused herself to get a

glass of water. When she returned, she was not

only rehydrated but looking remarkably com-

posed following such a harrowing fall-apart. She

sat down on a settee opposite us and gave me a

curious look. I wondered if she was simply sur-

prised to see me alive after having me dropped off

to freeze to death. My earlier sympathy for her

was quickly waning. She then turned to Darren

with an expectant gaze. “Well,” she began, “what

is it?”

Ah, the woman had balls.

“We know what you’ve done,” I began before

Darren could hop in. “We just want you to fill in

the details.”

“Oh?”

“Where is your husband, Mrs. Guest?” Darren

asked.

Drat, good question. I should have asked that.

“He’s at a meeting with a colleague.”

“On Christmas morning?”

She cocked her eyebrows at him and shot me a

look.

“We know you found out about Daniel’s affair

with a man and hired a private investigator, Jane

Cross, to find out who that man was,” I started

again.

“And what a useless waste of money that was,”

Cheryl said bitterly. “That woman couldn’t find

Anthony Bidulka — 403

her way out of a brown paper bag.”

Oooo, I’d really have to share that tidbit with

my new bud, Jane.

“I wanted to have proof in hand before divorc-

ing the bastard, but I got nothing from her. I was

worried if we started proceedings without it,

Daniel and all his high-priced professional friends

would find a way to hide all the money and I’d get

nothing. And I wanted to show everyone what a

horrible man he is and how he’d fooled me, how

our marriage was a sham. But that wasn’t work-

ing…at least not quick enough. So I decided to

take further steps.”

“Blackmail,” I said.

“Not just that,” she responded, a tightness

developing around her mouth and eyes.

“Humiliation.”

“You knew about his award so you devised a

way to get the blackmail note into the envelope he

received at the SBA awards ceremony.”

“Not that difficult, believe me.” She spent a

second rearranging her hair and checking the tabs

on her pierced earrings. “I wanted to see him

squirm, in front of everyone. And let me tell you,

Mr. Quant, it was worth it. And yes, it was about

the money too. I wanted to get at least the fifty

grand out of him up front, tax free—my account-

ant husband taught me the importance of that—

just in case.

“But then you came along.” She gave me a

snarling look. “I met you at the Christmas party

and I was certain you were Daniel’s lover. Young.

Handsome. Fake date.”

404 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

Hmphf. How had she seen through Sereena

and me?

She kept on going. “You didn’t have the long

blond hair Anita told me about, but gay guys get

new hairstyles all the time, don’t you?”

I wanted to shoot her a raspberry, but propriety

won out.

“So I sicced Jane on you. Surprisingly, she’d

already been on your tail since spotting you out-

side Daniel’s office. I began to realize you were

something more than a roll in the hay.”

I winced and said through gritted teeth, glanc-

ing sideways at Darren as I did so, “I was never a

roll in the hay.”

Cheryl ignored this and went on. “When Jane

found out you were working for Daniel I began to

worry you would counsel him not to pay the fifty

thousand.”

“So you came to my office under the guise of

wanting to hire me. Why? To riffle through my

files to find out what I knew?”

“And, by good fortune, I also found out you

were going to New York City.”

Crap! I had my electronic ticket and hotel con-

firmation information sitting on my desk.

“I didn’t know if you were going to New York

for a romantic weekend that Daniel’d tell me some

cock-and-bull story about at the last minute before

he got on a plane to join you, or if you were going

to meet some high-powered divorce attorneys or

blackmail specialists or whatever. All I knew is

that I had to know what you were up to. So I sent

Jane after you.”

Anthony Bidulka — 405

“When did you find out about James Kraft?” I

asked. I sensed Darren tensing at the mention of

the potential murder victim’s name.

“Who?”

The look on Cheryl’s face told the story. She

had no idea who James Kraft was. How could that

be? She was Loverboy yet James had also admit-

ted to being Loverboy. The NYPD had now

labelled his death suspicious. Up until then I

thought there had to be some connection, but what

if there wasn’t? Did James call himself Loverboy

simply because I’d put the idea in his mind? Was

it one last irreverent jest from an unbalanced actor

before he killed himself?

“Who is he?” Cheryl spat out. “Is he Daniel’s

lover? I have a right to know.”

“No, Mrs. Guest,” Darren said with quiet