The legacy, p.22
The Legacy, page 22
I moved closer. “But we’re not going inside our house to get the ice.”
Zack shook his head. “No, Debbie thinks it’s best for us to meet her at Police Headquarters. And then you and I will go straight to Lawyers Bay. It’s too cold for a swim there, but I’ll make martinis, and I’ve heard good things about that fish and chips place that opened Labour Day weekend. It’s just before the turnoff.”
“What about the dogs?”
“I’ll call Angus and ask him to bring the dogs out to us. It may be a while. The police are still working on Rainey’s car.”
“Zack, why are they working on Rainey’s car?”
“I’m not sure,” my husband said. “Let’s go downtown for our meeting with Debbie. As soon as we’re there, I’ll tell you everything I know.”
And after we were parked, that’s what he did. “There’s no way I can gloss this over, Jo, so here’s the situation. Try to keep focused on the fact that our neighbour Norma van Velzer has already told the police that you drove off in the Jaguar a few minutes before the incident occurred.”
“What incident? Zack, what’s going on?”
Zack leaned closer. “Rainey’s dead, Joanne. She shot herself, and the police believe the gun she used may be the one she used on Steven Brooks.”
“Was it also the gun she attempted to use on Rebecca Woodrow?”
“Forensics will find out the answer to that question. As you know, Rebecca Woodrow is leaving to start a new life today, and she deserves to know who wanted to end her old life.
“Jo, I hate this as much as you will, but Debbie needs to talk to you. You’re the only one who knows what happened in the time leading up to Rainey’s suicide. What you tell them may give the police the answers they need to other questions.”
“You’ll come with me when I talk to Debbie, won’t you?”
“Of course.”
“That’s good because I want them to know what happened, but I need support when I have to relive it again.”
My husband’s voice was deep and reassuring. “Remember that old saw about the longest journey beginning with just a single step?”
“I do, but there’s one more thing I need to tell you before I talk to Debbie. When Simon read Rainey’s horoscope at his birthday party, he left part of it out. I knew the passage because Kam Chau told me about it when we had coffee. He said the horoscope he and Rainey read together on their shared birthday said that some believe of Scorpios what is true of the scorpion, and the scorpion is the only animal that will poison itself rather than be captured.”
Chapter Fifteen
Debbie Haczkewicz was not just the force’s Head of Major Crimes, she was our friend, and that morning her questioning was thorough but her tone was gentle. She knew I was on the edge. When the last question had been answered, she walked us to our car. Debbie was taller than me, and she was powerfully built. When she put her hands on my shoulders, I could feel her strength, and when she said “You’ll get through this, Joanne,” I believed her.
It was early evening when Angus brought the dogs out and when I saw our son and the dogs, I felt a wash of relief and I knew I’d taken another step on the long journey. But as long journeys often go, it was a case of one step forward and two steps back.
I couldn’t shake the memory of Rainey Arcus’s parting words to me. I hadn’t intended to repeat her words to Zack, but as we got ready for bed, I still felt weighed down by them, so I told him what she’d said.
He was livid. “What the hell did she mean by that? Why should this be on you? Rainey Arcus was the one who killed Steven Brooks and attempted to kill Rebecca Woodrow. And ‘when it started’? You were just her professor. You did everything you could to include her in the seminar. What did she mean — what is it?”
“I think she’s referring to what Tom Kelsoe has probably convinced her was a witch hunt. When Kelsoe latched on to Jill Oziowy, I was her friend, and I hated watching him destroy her. When I finally put the pieces together about the role Kelsoe played in the deaths of Kellee Savage and Reid Gallagher, I told Jill. She not only used what we’d learned to publicly humiliate Kelsoe, she gave the police the evidence they needed to charge him with the two murders.”
“So for lack of a better word, Kelsoe brainwashed Rainey.”
“I’m sure he did,” I said. “I should have told Debbie this, and I’d be grateful if you passed it along to her. Rainey’s state of mind today was disturbing. She was like a cult follower, and the leader of her cult was Tom Kelsoe. Tom Kelsoe is charismatic, and he creates an alternate reality for the women who become involved with him. I saw it with Jill, and she wasn’t a twenty-one-year-old who was painfully insecure. Today, Rainey talked about the unique love she and Tom shared — a love that knows all and forgives all, but can be withdrawn if one of the partners fails the other. It was when I asked her if Tom ever failed her that she slapped my face hard — twice.” I touched my cheek gingerly and cringed. “It still hurts,” I said.
“Time for lights out,” Zack said. “You’ve had more than enough, and Scout is already in his bed.”
“And Esme is in her bed. Zack, I am so grateful.”
“So am I,” he said, and the next morning when we awoke, we were still in each other’s arms.
Epilogue
We didn’t go back to the city until after Thanksgiving. Our lives were peaceful and comforting at Lawyers Bay. Zack continued to work on Scout’s leash training, and Scout was an apt pupil, so the two of us and the two dogs went for plenty of walks.
We agreed that except for the family and close friends, we would keep the outside world outside. Patrick O’Keefe proved to be a thoughtful friend. He funneled all the information he thought I might like to have through Zack.
He sent us the videotape of the statement Rebecca made in her meeting with the publishers. Despite her Victorian cameo delicacy, Rebecca proved to be a skilled and passionate advocate for her grandmother. As she explained the parallels between Laurel Woodrow’s life and the life of the mythical Medusa, Rebecca made the agony of the women’s lives real: the rapes; the fact that the women to whom they turned for help punished them, eroding their sense of self and making it impossible for them to find love. As she described the way in which Steven Brooks manipulated and betrayed Laurel Woodrow, Rebecca pointed to a final parallel that drove her case home. Medusa was killed as she slept. Her killer, Perseus, beheaded her and then used her head to turn his enemies to stone. Steven Brooks drove Laurel Woodrow to suicide by breaking her heart. Then he used the work that was the product of her mind and her soul to gain fame for himself.
The settlement reached between the publishers and Rebecca Woodrow and her lawyer had an ending worthy of the American short story writer O. Henry.
Steven Brooks left over three million dollars to the Steven Brooks Foundation, an entity that would be devoted to publishing his future works. Since there would be no future works, the foundation could be dissolved. Three million dollars would not be enough to cover lawsuits but it would be enough to cover the settlements, including a settlement with Rebecca Woodrow.
Val Masluk came to Lawyers Bay to tell Zack and me in person that he had given Rainey Arcus the information she needed to make the attempt on Rebecca Woodrow’s life and to end Steven Brooks’s. He had been trusting her to act as a surrogate, answering any questions that events raised.
Val had never been strong, and he was miserable about the role he, albeit innocently, had played in the events that had transpired. We both liked Val, and we were quick to assure him that we valued our friendship and were looking forward to spending more time together in the future.
And then we talked about his future. Not surprisingly, the Brooks biography was flying off the shelves. Val said it was already going into a second printing, and many prominent people were courting him to consider writing their biographies.
“Any offers you can’t refuse?” I said.
Val shook his head. “No, I am not interested. I’ve come to believe that all biographies can be summed up in the ten words Joe Louis used to sum up his own life. ‘I done the best I could with what I had.’”
“He’s right,” Zack said. “And Joe Louis was one of the greatest and most influential boxers who ever lived.”
“I’ve been reading about him lately. He was really something,” Val said.
“So are you going back to broadcasting?” I asked Val.
“I’m not sure. But I do know I’m not giving up writing. I have an idea for a novel. And I owe Rainey Arcus a debt for doing something that may pave my way. She sent Two Journalists to the company that published the Brooks biography.”
Zack chuckled. “And let me guess: they welcomed you with open arms.”
“They’re interested in publishing Two Journalists. I’ll have to talk to everybody who is part of that novel, but I hope it will work out.”
“Well, you have my support,” I said. “And not just for the novel. Zack and I are in it for whatever comes next.”
* * *
Jill Oziowy called to see how I was doing, and she had news of Tom Kelsoe. “I just got off the phone with our reporter in Prince Albert. Her name is Jym with a ‘y’,” Jill said. “Anyway, Jym is not a fan of Tom Kelsoe’s. She says that Tom is playing his wife’s tragic demise for all it’s worth. According to Jym, Tom is flashing his wedding ring around the way newly engaged women do, but his eye is not on marriage, it’s on early parole.”
“That man really is a son of a sea biscuit,” I said.
“You just hit the fucking nail right on its fucking head,” Jill said. “Gotta go, I’m late for a meeting. One of these days I’ll surprise you by showing up at the airport with a jumbo pack of Cheezies and a six-pack.”
* * *
As it always does, life carried on. There were still difficult patches, but they were becoming fewer and farther between.
On the Friday before the Thanksgiving weekend, I called Margaret McCallum to wish Neil and her a happy holiday. We chatted awhile about light topics, but I noticed she seemed a little down and asked if something was wrong.
“Nothing to worry about,” she said. “Just something not turning out the way Neil and I hoped. Remember that puppy in Scout’s litter that the couple who’d wanted him couldn’t take because they were getting a divorce?”
“I remember,” I said. “And Neil and you took him.”
“We did, but the couple who wanted him have decided to stay married, and they want their puppy to be part of their new life. I guess we could have said no to them, but they’re nice people and they seemed to be counting on starting again with the puppy they’d chosen together.”
“And Neil’s taking it hard,” I said.
“So am I,” she said. “We’ll be okay. It’s just going to take a while.”
“I understand, Margaret. I have an idea. We’re at our cottage at Lawyers Bay. It’s less than an hour’s drive from your place. Could you and Neil come here sometime tomorrow for a meal and a visit? I know Zack has been staying in touch with Neil about Scout’s progress as the dog of a person in a wheelchair, but I’m sure seeing Zack and Scout together would cheer Neil up.”
“I know it would. Is ten in the morning too early for a visit?”
“Not at all. We’re early birds, and Zack will be as excited as Neil when he hears you’re coming to see Scout and him.”
At ten sharp the next day, the McCallums arrived, and Neil and Scout were waiting for them. Neil bounded out of their car, and the men and dog took off.
“Let me grab my camera and get Esme,” I said. “This is fun to watch.”
It was a bright, crisp, still day, and Zack took Neil down by the Amur maple because he wanted to show him where our bullmastiff, Pantera, was buried. The Amur was at its glorious best, and Margaret and I both took pictures of Neil and Zack chatting quietly as they looked down at the stones that marked Pantera’s grave.
We followed the men to the path where Scout and Zack took their walks.
I wanted to get a video of the occasion, so Margaret and I moved to a spot where we could get footage of the three of them approaching us.
All performed perfectly. Neil and Zack chatted as Zack pushed his chair, and Scout trotted along beside them as smartly as a show dog.
When they joined us, I squatted to congratulate Scout. “Well done,” I said.
“Congratulations all around,” Margaret said. “Now let’s look at Joanne’s video.”
After we’d watched it a few times, Zack said, “Let’s go up to the house and watch it on the big screen.”
And we started off, but on our way, Neil took me aside. “Do you remember telling me that raising dogs is an important job?”
“I do.”
“When we were looking at your old dog’s grave, Zack told me how sad he was when your dog died.”
“It was the first dog he’d ever had, and Zack really was sad.”
“But Zack says he stopped being sad when I gave him Scout. I was happy when you told me I had an important job, but now I know my job really is important. I’m happy and I’m proud.” Neil grinned. “It feels good.”
“Let’s go in and get washed up. There’s lots more to see here. And after we’ve seen everything, we’re having lunch. What’s your favourite thing to eat?”
“Spaghetti and meatballs.”
“That’s exactly what we’re having.”
“So I’m lucky,” Neil said. “Happy, proud and lucky. That’s three good feelings.”
“Three of the best,” I said. “Let’s hang on to them.”
Acknowledgements
Thank you to everyone at ECW who guided me through the paths that led me to the novel I hoped to write.
For Emily Schultz, my structural editor, who knew exactly where to point out the good, the bad and the ugly.
Rachel Ironstone, my copy editor, who maintained the standard of excellence that has always marked ECW publications.
Samantha Chin, managing editor, who unerringly chooses the right person for the task and trusts them to do their job.
Michel Vrana, designer, who created cover art for The Legacy that draws readers’ eyes and reflects the novel’s theme.
Jennifer Gallinger, who typeset the interior, and Emily Varsava, my publicist.
And to Carrie Gleason, who proofread the text.
* * *
Words cannot adequately express how grateful I am to all of you who sent cards, letters, flowers, plants, get-well helium balloons or texts telling me that I was in your thoughts and prayers.
This has not been the easiest time of my life, but thanks to you, I have never felt alone.
This lengthy hospital stay has given me time to reflect on the people who give my day-to-day life joy and comfort: Lynn Bell, whose drop-in hospital visits with whimsical gifts have been a joy; Joanne and Lionel Bonneville, for the chickens, the recipes and the memories of our half-century friendship; Cindy Mackenzie, for good talks about books to read and the changing academic life; our next-door neighbours, Ron and Cindy; our family’s pharmacist, Wayne Chau, BSP; Dean Mike Sinclair and the congregation of St. Paul’s Cathedral, and our much-loved friend of twenty-five years, Jasmina Terzic.
To my kinswoman, Cheryl Freedman, who’s saving me a spot next to her at the old lady bench in the Market.
To my husband, Ted, my children and their partners — Hildy and Brett, Max and Carrie, and Nathaniel and Willow — and my grandchildren Madeleine, Lena, Ben, Chesney, Kai, Peyton, and Lexi. I have always known that my family is the greatest gift I will ever receive. In the past challenging months, they have taken care of everything that makes my life worthwhile. I am blessed.
And last but not least, thanks to Ollie, our loving cat.
About the Author
Gail Bowen is an author, playwright, and teacher. Among her numerous writing awards are a lifetime achievement award from the Crime Writers of Canada and the Distinguished Canadian Award from the University of Regina. Reader’s Digest called her Canada’s Best Mystery Novelist. In 2018, she was awarded the Saskatchewan Order of Merit and Crime Writers of Canada’s Grand Master Award. She lives in Regina, SK, with her husband, Ted.
Copyright
Copyright © Gail Bowen, 2023
Published by ECW Press
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Cover design: Michel Vrana
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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