The Nesting Dolls (13 page)

“He was quoting Samuel Johnson, but I concede the point. Facts are facts, but in this case, I don’t think we know all the facts.”

“Then I guess all anyone can do is deal with the situation as it stands. Jacob is here in Regina and he’s being well cared for. We know the family he’s with.”

“And they’re planning to keep him?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll tell Nadine.” Her breath caught. “This is going to break her heart, Jo.”

“It will be worse if she comes here. Believe me. Why don’t you give me a call tomorrow morning? We’ll know more then, but for the time being, please just keep Nadine away.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Zack had been watching me intently. When I hung up, he frowned. “To quote one of your favourites, ‘What fresh hell is this?’ ”

“It seems Abby had a partner. Her name is Nadine Perrault, and she was planning to fly here tomorrow to get Jacob.”

“But she’s not coming now?”

“You heard my end of the conversation,” I said. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Shit,” Zack said. “More complications.”

“You think Nadine Perrault has a legitimate claim on Jacob?”

“Hard to say – depends on the nature and duration of her relationship with Abby Michaels. Anyway, there’s nothing we can do tonight.”

“In that case,” I said, “let’s say good night to Taylor and hit the sack. I’ll read you
Gawain
until you fall asleep.”

Zack raised an eyebrow. “Gawain demands a man’s deep and sonorous voice.”

“You’ll be amazed at how sonorous I can be with a couple of ounces of Old Pulteney under my belt.”

The next morning, long before the first blue light of day began to seep through our bedroom windows, Zack’s cell rang. It was Delia. I rolled over and listened as Zack presented his argument about how Delia could best handle the situation facing her. Zack’s voice was low but urgent, and as he and Delia continued talking I could feel his concern. When the call was finally over, Zack turned to face me.

“So what’s next?” I said.

“I don’t know. Delia’s in terrible shape, Joanne. I didn’t know until she told me this morning that she spent half an hour alone in Abby’s car with her body.”

“My God. How did that happen?”

Zack pushed himself up to a seated position. “The men who found Abby’s body were casual workers from the Wayfarers’ Mission. They reasoned, correctly, that they were being paid to shovel snow, not deal with cops. To their credit, these guys tried to do the right thing. Having opened the car door and discovered a scene that, to say the least, must have been traumatic, they went through Abby’s wallet, found Delia’s address and phone number, and used Abby’s cell to call her.”

“What a nightmare. Poor Delia.”

Zack’s shifted his weight, an automatic gesture to protect his skin against pressure sores. “It gets worse,” he said.
“Dee assumed the cops had been called, so she showed up at the parking lot alone.”

“Where was Noah?”

“At home with the kids,” Zack said, “confident that the police had everything under control.”

“But nobody had called them.” I moved closer to Zack. “Just the thought of Delia, down there alone with her daughter’s body.”

“As you probably heard, I told Dee to take some time off. We’re having a partners’ meeting this morning. I suggested that her admin assistant could bring in her priority files, and we could divvy them up.”

“But Delia didn’t agree to that?”

“Nope. She says the only thing that’s going to get her through this is work. And to be honest, I understand that. I’m the same way. But she has agreed to let me act as her liaison with Debbie Haczkewicz, and that was a big concession. It was also a smart move. As next-of-kin, Dee has the right to be kept informed about developments in the case, and she figured she could handle it, but she’s never practised criminal law. She didn’t realize what she was letting herself in for.”

“And you do.”

“Yes, and I wouldn’t wish the kind of reports that are going to be coming out of the medical examiner’s office on my worst enemy. Right now the pathologist and his team will be waiting for Abby’s body to thaw so they can start their examination. A uniformed cop will have put paper bags on Abby’s hands to preserve any traces of
DNA
from her attacker that may be under her nails. And this is only the beginning. The M.E. always says that the answers don’t leap out of the body; his team has to dig for them. As soon as Abby’s body thaws, they’ll be fingerprinting her, swabbing her genitals, taking blood, getting samples of her pubic hair, cutting her nails – well, you get the drift.”

“I do,” I said. “God, Zack, this is terrible. If it were one of our kids … ” I closed my eyes against the image. “It’s going to be hard enough for Delia. This story will be an early Christmas present for the media. A beautiful young woman comes to a strange city, gives away her baby, and is raped and murdered. That picture you took of Abby at the carol service will be everywhere.”

Zack nodded. “And I have a feeling that picture will be with us for a long time. According to Dee, the police don’t have any leads. People were dealing with the blizzard and the blackout. And of course, the snow obliterated everything around the crime scene.”

“What about the men who found the body?”

“The police will check them out, but Dee says that after the men called her they apparently went straight back to the Wayfarers’ Mission and told the pastor everything that had happened. At that point the pastor called the police. As you know too well, I’m a betting man, but I’m an informed bettor. Abby Michaels had close to $500 in her wallet and the Wayfarer shovellers didn’t touch it. I’m betting they’re clean.”

Zack and I exchanged a glance. “I wish this problem had landed on someone else’s plate,” I said.

“Me too,” Zack said. “But it’s on our plate, Jo. So we’ll have to deal with it.”

I leaned over and kissed him. “Alwyn said she’d phone me this morning and tell me what she knew about Nadine Perrault’s plans. She won’t call this early, so I might as well take the dogs for their run.”

“This is not an ideal way to start the day,” Zack said.

“The day is young,” I said. “Keep that Kiz Harp
CD
at the ready.”

When I got back from my run, I put our tickets for
The
Nutcracker
by Zack’s plate – a not so subtle reminder that
we were taking Madeleine and Lena out for dinner and the ballet and that he should be home from work early.

Surprisingly, Taylor beat him to the breakfast table. She was dressed for school. I looked at my watch. “Six o’clock,” I said. “Did I forget about a practice or something?”

She cut a grapefruit and put half in my bowl and half in hers. “No, I thought I’d work in the studio for a while before I caught the bus.” She picked up one of the tickets and read the information on its face. After several years of waning interest, she’d decided to give
The Nutcracker
a pass. She and Mieka were going to a restaurant where the rock was loud and the burgers were loaded and then to a chick flick. As Taylor placed the ticket back on the table, her face was wistful.

“Second thoughts?” I said.

Her brow furrowed. “Not really. Going to
The Nutcracker
together was just one of our ten million traditions.”

I laughed. “Do you remember your first
Nutcracker?”

She rolled her eyes. “I was so excited I threw up as soon as they raised the curtain.”

“We had good seats too. Right near the orchestra. The ushers came and cleaned up, but you refused to go home.”

“The people around us must have hated us.”

“The musicians weren’t too wild about us, either, but it was worth it. Watching you that night was one of the great thrills of my life.”

Taylor chewed her lip. “Do you ever wish we could go back to the way it was?”

“Sometimes,” I said. “But then I realize if we went back, we wouldn’t have Zack or Maddy and Lena –”

“Or Bruce and Benny or Willie and Pantera.” Taylor picked up her grapefruit spoon. “Or Declan,” she said innocently.

“Or Declan,” I agreed. “On the whole, I’d say we’ve gained more than we’ve lost. But going back is not an option.
To paraphrase Joni Mitchell, we’re all captives on the carousel of time.”

Taylor cocked her head. “Who’s Joni Mitchell?”

Alwyn called just after Taylor left for school. Zack and I were in the office we shared at home. To me, the speaker-phone violated everything conversation was supposed to be, but Zack had questions and it was possible Alwyn could answer them. When I explained that Zack was acting as the lawyer for Delia Wainberg, Abby’s birth mother, and asked if he could take part in our call, Alwyn’s response was characteristically pragmatic. “Whatever helps,” she said.

Zack introduced himself and apologized. “This is a hell of a way to meet,” he said. “But thank you for agreeing to talk to me. I know you’re in a difficult position. It’s never easy to be caught in the middle.”

“Especially when the situation is so murky,” Alwyn said.

“Well, let’s see if we can un-muddy the waters – exchange a little information. Joanne tells me that you knew Abby from the time she was a baby. What was her life like?”

“Gilded,” Alwyn said. “She was the only child of parents who adored her, and as an adult she found a partner who adored her and whom she adored. She had a child she loved. She was bright, attractive, focused, and accomplished.”

“You say that Abby and her partner adored one another. Doesn’t it strike you as odd that Nadine Perrault wouldn’t have realized that her partner was planning to bring their child out here and leave him with another family?”

“It’s inconceivable,” Alwyn said flatly. “Nonetheless, Nadine says that’s exactly what happened. According to her, she and Abby had grown even closer after Peggy and Hugh died. But after Abby examined the contents of her parents’ safety-deposit box, everything changed. Abby withdrew from Nadine. She became secretive. Nadine
pleaded with Abby to tell her what was wrong, but Abby remained silent. The last morning they were together, Nadine went off to teach as usual, but when she returned, the house was empty. Abby had taken her parents’ old Volvo, so Nadine didn’t think she’d gone far, but as the days went by she grew frantic. Understandably, she was terrified at the thought of Abby driving alone with that baby on winter roads.”

“That’s another thing that puzzles me,” Zack said. “Why did Abby drive out here? It would have been so much simpler just to book a flight – especially when she was travelling with a baby.”

“Plane tickets can be traced,” Alwyn said. “Nadine’s theory is that Abby didn’t want anyone to interfere with her plans.”

“So from the time she left Port Hope, Abby was determined to hand Jacob over to the Wainbergs,” I said.

“Apparently so,” Alwyn said.

I could tell by his voice that Zack was both baffled and exasperated. “Alwyn, I understand that you have to respect Ms. Perrault’s confidence, but what the hell is going on here?”

My old friend’s level of exasperation matched Zack’s. “Your guess is as good as mine. It’s not a question of confidentiality, Zack. Nadine and I aren’t close. Until last night we were simply colleagues who taught English at the same school. I like and respect Nadine, but she and Abby were one of those couples who never seemed to need anyone else.”

“And now Nadine has nobody,” I said.

“It’s even worse than that,” Alwyn said. “It seems that before she left Port Hope, Abby took steps to cut Nadine out of her life.”

“What kind of steps?” Zack asked.

“Legal steps. This morning Nadine went to the lawyer she and Abby used to draw up their wills,” Alwyn said. “Nadine was hoping the fact that she and Abby named one another as
their respective sole beneficiaries would strengthen her hand when she sought custody of Jacob.”

“So Nadine knew that Abby hadn’t named her as Jacob’s guardian in her will?” Zack said.

“According to Nadine, they hadn’t gotten around to it. They were both in good health, and then there was the tragedy with Abby’s parents. Nadine said it was simply
understood
that if something happened to one of them, the other would raise Jacob.”

“ ‘Understandings’ aren’t worth the paper they’re written on,” Zack said caustically. “Although to be fair, Nadine would have had a persuasive case if Abby hadn’t left that note with Jacob.”

“Surely the will Abby had drawn up by her lawyer would have more legal force than a note she wrote when she was obviously in a very fragile state of mind,” I said.

“One would think so,” Alwyn said. “Except this morning Nadine learned that on November 22 Abby signed a new will. In it, the bulk of her estate still goes to Nadine, but in the event of Abby’s death, Delia Margolis Wainberg is designated as Jacob’s legal guardian.”

Zack tensed. “Alwyn, tell Nadine Perrault to get a lawyer. Not the guy who drew up the wills. She needs her own lawyer – somebody smart and aggressive. Then she should have her lawyer call me.” He turned his chair towards the door. “I’m leaving the room now,” he said. “You and Joanne can talk freely.”

I waited until the door had closed. “He’s gone,” I said. “Anything you want to talk about?”

Alwyn’s voice was flat. “For probably the only time in my life, I have nothing to say.”

“Neither do I,” I said. “A double first.”

Zack was putting on his jacket when I came down the hall. “The partners’ meeting?” I said.

“Yep. You want to come?”

“No thanks. I’m going for a swim – which incidentally, you should be doing – and then I’m going to find last year’s gift bags and wrap presents.”

Zack held out his arms. “I wish I was spending the morning with you and Kiz Harp,” he said.

I folded myself into him. “I wish you were too. Zack, is this going to be terrible?”

My husband rubbed my back. “Ms. Shreve, if you can show me a way out of this where no one suffers, King Solomon will have to move over.”

Alwyn Henry and I first met in a half-course in early Canadian literature. Our instructor, a young Ph.D. from Cornell, made no attempt to hide his contempt for the subject matter. As we left class with our book lists the first day, Alwyn took me aside. “This course is going to kill us if we let it,” she said. “So let’s not let it,” I said. And we didn’t. We made a list of the writers: Haliburton, Lampman, Carman, Roberts, and Scott. Each of us read half the list and made concise and useful notes on what we’d read for the other. We wrote our major papers on the nineteenth-century settler-sisters, the Stricklands. Alwyn took Susanna Moodie; I took Catharine Parr Traill. Together, we drank coffee at Hart House and beer in Lundy’s Lane, the ladies’ and escorts’ room at the Bay-Bloor Tavern, and checked out the men everywhere. We both received firsts in the course. Alywn went on to do her master’s in English, and after graduation moved back home to Strickland country to teach. I majored in political science and economics, started a doctoral program, married and moved west. Not much stuck with me from that long-ago class, but Catharine Parr Traill’s recipe for dealing with troubles had. “When disaster strikes,” she wrote, “it’s no good to wring one’s hands, better to be up and doing.”