What's Past Is Prologue, page 1
What’s Past Is Prologue
A Joanne Kilbourn Mystery
Gail Bowen
Contents
Dedication
Character Guide
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Copyright
Dedication
For Jack David, and for my family: Ted, Hildy, Brett, Max, Carrie, Nathaniel, Madeleine, Lena, Ben, Peyton, Lexi and Ollie.
Together, you make everything possible.
Character Guide
Joanne’s Family
Zack Shreve
Fifty-six, Joanne’s second husband of nine years. Once a hard-driving, hard-drinking paraplegic trial lawyer who lived like an eighteen-year-old with a death wish, he fell in love with Joanne and decided to clean up his act. He previously articled for Fred C. Harney.
Taylor Love-Shreve
Twenty-two, a gifted visual artist. Joanne adopted four-year-old Taylor when her mother, Sally Love, Joanne’s half-sister, died. Lives with her childhood best friend, Gracie.
Mieka Kilbourn-Dowhanuik
Thirty-six, Joanne’s eldest daughter. Married to Charlie Dowhanuik (second husband). Mother to Madeleine (fourteen) and Lena (thirteen) from her first marriage and Desmond Zackary Dowhanuik (one and a half).
Peter Kilbourn
Thirty-four, Joanne’s son, married to Maisie. Peter and Maisie have twin boys, Colin and Charlie (five).
Angus Kilbourn
Thirty, Joanne’s youngest son, a lawyer in the Calgary branch of Zack’s law firm and a great admirer of his stepfather.
Leah Drache
Angus’s first love and fiancée.
Charlie Dowhanuik (Charlie D):
Thirty-six, Mieka’s husband. Host of the hugely successful radio show, Charlie D in the Morning. It’s a mix of in-depth interviews, fun interviews, music and Charlie D’s riffs on life.
Maisie Crawford
Thirty-four, Joanne’s daughter-in-law, married to Peter. One of Zack’s law partners and a killer in the courtroom.
Esme And Pantera:
Joanne and Zack’s dogs.
Associates
Jared Delio
Late thirties, former host of the morning show at MediaNation. Fired after three women charged him with sexual harassment. He previously had a relationship with Eden Sass.
Kam Chau:
Mid- thirties, associate producer for Charlie D at MediaNation.
Libby (Elizabeth Margaret) Hogarth
Fifty-four, lawyer who defended Jared Delio. She works with Sawyer at Hogarth & Associates and is asked to deliver the prestigious Mellohawk Lecture. She used to work at Ireland Leontovich.
Eden Sass
Thirty, third victim in the Delio case but perjured herself at his trial. Daughter of Gideon Sass, sister to Gareth and Gavin, and niece to Devi Sass. Pitched a podcast series to MediaNation and completed her master’s thesis, which Joanne read.
Margot Wright Hunter
Forty-seven, Zack’s law partner and Seth Wright’s estranged sister. Mother to Lexi and Kai. Her late husband, Leland Hunter, was CEO of Peyben. They gave Joanne and Zack shelter in their condo building during the explosion (earlier novel), and she is still their close friend. She used to work at Ireland Leontovich.
Brock Poitras
Forty-three, close friend of Margot’s, the co-parent for her first child, Lexi, and the sperm donor and co-parent for her second child, Kai. Manager at Falconer Shreve following the disaster that killed the other partners.
Kokum Bea
Seventy, Brock’s aunt Beatrice.
Sawyer MacLeish
Twenty-nine, long-time friend of Joanne’s son Angus, and like family to Joanne. He works with Libby at Hogarth & Associates.
Fred C. Harney
Lawyer, now deceased. Mentor to both Zack and Libby in their youth.
Kevin Coyle
Late fifties, Eden’s former thesis advisor and Joanne’s colleague. He lives in the same building as Eden’s grandmother, Devi Sass.
Ed Mariani
Sixty, the head of the School of Journalism. Work associate of Joanne’s and close friend. She was his best man at his wedding to his partner, Barry.
Seth Wright
Forty-five, Margot’s estranged brother. Featured in one of Eden’s podcasts and has romantic interest in Eden. He designed/renovated Kam Chau’s apartment.
Devi Sass
Early seventies, Eden’s aunt who became her guardian at age twelve.
Gideon Sass
Sixty-two, Eden’s father and Devi’s brother. A lawyer at the disreputable Gideon Sass & Associates firm.
Bob Colby
Late forties, owner of the private investigation company, Colby & Associates, that Zack’s firm uses.
David Lewis Shevchenko
Twenty-nine, lawyer at Ireland Leontovich. Adopted by Aliza and Daniel (both deceased) and raised in Saskatoon.
Rylee and Cambria
Mid-twenties, servers at the Mercury Cafe and Grill. Art lovers.
Jay-Louise Yates
Fiftyish, neurosurgeon dating Vince Treadgold.
Vince Treadgold
Fiftyish, orthopedic surgeon dating Jay-Louise Yates. Old poker friend of Zack’s and friend of both Zack and Joanne.
Gaynelle Hawkins
Late sixties, inspector with Regina police.
Chapter One
On New Year’s Day when I opened the door to take our mastiff, Pantera, and our bouvier, Esme, for their morning run, an icy gust slammed it back in my face. I peered through the window overlooking the creek behind our house: our run would be nasty, brutish and short. For weeks our yard had been buried in snow, and now the wind was spinning the snow into whirlwinds and flattening the indigenous bushes along the creek bank.
I unclipped the leashes from Pantera’s and Esme’s collars. “Take care of business, but be quick about it. Too ugly out there for us,” I said. As I hung the leashes back on their hooks, Esme’s gaze was doleful. Anticipating the worst, Pantera collapsed in a heap on the floor — 130 pounds of misery. “Look on the bright side,” I said. “You’re warm; you’re dry; and I’m going to top off the food in your bowls with the leftover moo goo gai pan.”
When I put their filled dishes on the rubber mat, neither dog moved. “That’s the best I can do,” I said. “Take it, or leave it.”
They took it, and I headed for Zack’s and my bedroom. The spot next to my husband was still warm, and I burrowed in. It was our ninth wedding anniversary, and I was ready to celebrate.
* * *
Two hours later, still warmed by the pleasure of lovemaking, Zack and I were drinking hot chocolate by the fireplace in the family room, listening to Oscar Peterson and wrapping tree decorations in recycled newspaper for storage until next year.
Our progress was slow. For Zack, old newspapers were a treasure trove of information that had somehow escaped his attention and offered nuggets of knowledge that he was happy to share by reading aloud.
“Did you know that Janus is the god of beginnings, transitions and passages?” he said, returning the Thomas the Tank Engine ornament he was holding to the pile of unwrapped decorations. “Janus is usually depicted as having two faces, since he looks to the future and to the past. That has led to the fallacy that the month of January is named for Janus when, according to ancient Roman farmers’ almanacs, Juno was the tutelary deity of the month.”
“Is all this smutty talk just a ploy to get me back into bed?” I asked.
Zack removed his reading glasses. “Is it working?”
I picked up one of the five dozen shiny red balls that had hung on our tree. “Wrap your tank engine,” I said.
Zack had come late to family life, and he saw every holiday as an opportunity to make up for lost time. This year as always, we had chosen a stunning tree — a ten-foot Nova Scotia fir that was gorgeous, if impractical for a man who’s a paraplegic and a woman who, at sixty-three, has become increasingly ladder-averse. When the storage container was almost filled, Zack sighed. “This part is always bittersweet, but it was a great Christmas — kids, grandkids, friends, dogs, Leah and Angus getting engaged and best of all, you and I had plenty of time to fool around.”
“We did,” I said, “and we still do. We don’t have to be at Margot and Brock’s until six, so after our son and his fiancée pick up their friend at the airport, and then take our tree to the Tree Cycle depot, we have the rest of the morning and the entire afternoon to sit back and, as the medieval knights were wont to say, ‘take the adventure God sends us.’”
* * *
In the weeks and months ahead, I would think often of that lighthearted moment and of my naïveté in believing that Zack and I were a match for whatever came next. I would remember leaving a funeral and overhearing a stranger say, “Maybe life’s greatest gift is that we don’t know what’s ahead,” and I would wonder how I could have forgotten the wisdom of his words.
Our family had suffered the usual snakes and ladders that everyone endures in the game of life, but as the new year began, it seemed we had all found our path, so when Zack said, “Ornament wrapping takes its toll. I’m hungry,” my biggest concern was that I’d given the dogs the leftover moo goo gai pan.
“We’ll have to forage for leftovers in the fridge,” I said, “but first let’s drink a final cup of kindness to auld lang syne.”
Zack said, “Sold!” and picked up our tree topper. When he said, “You may have noticed that I saved this decoration for last,” I felt the easy pleasure of my husband and me moving seamlessly from one comfortingly familiar scene into another. This was everyday life.
One of Zack’s late law partners had been a fan of the Grateful Dead. Along with two of the firm’s other partners, the Deadhead was murdered not long before Christmas three years earlier. The ornament Zack was holding was bright with images of the Rainbow Dancers, the top-hatted skeletons who were the emblem of one of the band’s greatest tours.
As he gazed at the tree topper, Zack’s look was pensive. “This is the first year since Blake, Delia and Kev died that we’ve had the Rainbow Dancers on the tree. I’m glad our daughter decided that it was time for the Grateful Dead to join the party again.”
“Taylor thought you were ready.”
“And I was.” Zack placed the ornament carefully on a square of newspaper and smiled. “This was on the tree we put up in our first year in law school.”
I leaned back in my chair. “I never heard that story.”
“I guess I wasn’t ready to tell it until now,” Zack said. He drew a deep breath. “The five of us had rented a rat-trap of a house on Avenue B. There was a chicken hatchery next door, and in hot weather, the stench from the hatchery was lung-searing, but the rent was low, and the place was furnished. Chris Altieri was a nurturer, and he said the house on Avenue B might be a dump, but it was our home, and a home needed a tree at Christmas, so he set out to find one.
“The tree he picked was stuck in a corner with the other rejects, behind a chunk of trunk that promised ‘A Reasonable Tree for a Reasonable Price.’ Our tree cost Chris ten bucks.”
“That was a hefty price in those days,” I said.
Zack laughed. “It was certainly a hefty price for the sad sapling Chris brought home. No matter how we positioned it, there were massive gaps between the branches. But Chris drove a tough bargain, and he had insisted that the ten bucks he paid for the tree include the chunk of trunk with the message.
“Anyway, the chunk filled one of the more gaping holes, so that problem was solved, but the tree pretty well blew our decorating budget. Chris was determined, so he and Delia found a discount store, and they bought all the twinkling lights in the quick sale bin.
“In January, when it was time for the tree to go, we strung the lights up in our living room and put the trunk chunk with the message on the mantle. The lights and the chunk were still there when we graduated, so we took them with us.
“When we moved into our first law office, Chris replaced the original message on the chunk with a discrete advertisement for our firm: ‘Falconer Shreve Altieri Wainberg and Hynd: A Reasonable Doubt for a Reasonable Price.’ Over the years our offices became a lot spiffier, but we always found a place for the chunk.”
“Where is it now?”
Zack’s smile faded. “I don’t know. As soon as the police finished collecting evidence after the murders and gave Norine the okay to use the office again, she hired a company that specialized in deep cleaning. A lot of stuff got packed away. I imagine that chunk of trunk is in storage somewhere.”
“Would you like to get it out of storage?”
“You know, I think I would. This year a lot of the broken pieces are sliding back into place.” Zack folded the square of newspaper over the tree topper and placed it carefully in the box of wrapped ornaments. “Time to say goodbye to the rainbow dancers until next year. That cup of kindness is beckoning.”
* * *
Our son Angus and Leah Drache had dated on and off for fourteen years. After Leah completed her residency in family medicine and accepted a position at a clinic in downtown Regina, she and Angus were able to pick up where they’d left off, and it wasn’t long before they realized the truth of the old saw, “The first love is the last love, and the last love is the first love.”
When Taylor first learned Leah and Angus were committed to a future together, she had suggested they check out the condo over a steakhouse in the warehouse district that Taylor and Vale, the young woman with whom she had hoped to share a life, had lived in until they parted ways. The condo would have been their first home together, and Taylor had painstakingly renovated it. Private, and in its new incarnation breathtakingly decorated, the condo was a beauty, but it held too many memories for our daughter, and she was now happily settled in Saskatoon, making art in her studio on the riverbank and sharing a house across the bridge with an old friend.
Angus and Leah were young and in love, but they were also two people seeking to establish themselves in demanding careers. A low-maintenance home a floor away from a fine restaurant and within walking distance of their respective workplaces was a perfect fit, so they pooled their resources to make the down payment and moved in.
Our son and his beloved were fans of the outdoors, and that stormy day as they came into our house, faces rosy from the cold, stomping snow off their boots on the hall mat, they were buoyant.
Both wore Sorels, serious boots for life in a province with serious winters. In tandem, they unlaced their boots, placed them on the boot rack, and removed their layers of winter clothing. Finally, off came the toques. Leah gave her dark blond blunt cut a vigorous shake, and Angus, who had inherited his late father’s pale complexion and thick wavy black hair, ran his fingers through his fade.
“You’re staying for a visit,” I said. “This is a nice surprise. Given the weather, I thought you’d head back to your place as soon as you got the tree out of here.” I looked around. “Did your friend miss his plane?”
“Nope,” Angus said, “Our friend is here, but he wants to surprise you, so eyes closed, please.”
I followed orders, and within seconds, I was enveloped in a bear hug. When I opened my eyes and saw the always shaggy chestnut hair and warm grey eyes of Sawyer MacLeish, my heart leapt.
Sawyer and Angus had been best friends since they were in the second grade at Lakeview School, and they had remained best friends through high school and the College of Law. They had been called to the Bar in Saskatchewan at the same time, but Sawyer later completed the Bar admissions course in Ontario, and he’d been working for a firm in Toronto. Sawyer had been a part of our family’s lives for many years. “Happy anniversary,” he said and when I heard his voice, I suddenly realized how much I’d missed him.
After Sawyer shed his outdoor gear, and everybody declined refreshments, we settled in the family room. “This is the best surprise,” I said. “Zack, I think the only time you saw Sawyer was at the RUFDC tournament in Fort Qu’Appelle the summer we met.”
“Not a great night for our ultimate flying disc team,” Angus said.
Leah’s brow crinkled in annoyance. “We only lost by one point,” she said. “And we did win the tournament and the chance to drive the Bohmobile for the rest of the summer.”
Sawyer cocked his head. “Leah, you’re romanticizing that old shit-beater. Any car named after the brand of beer a bunch of students drank after their ultimate games is bound to be a lemon. We were just lucky Bohemian Beer didn’t sue us for copyright infringement.” When he was seven years old, Sawyer had a low and gravelly voice that I found endearing. At twenty-nine, his voice was deeper but it still had the appealing gravel undertone. “That was a sizzling summer,” he said. “We spent as much time pushing the Bohmobile into the garage in town as we did driving it.”
