The Glass Coffin (20 page)

I took a breath. “How tight are people’s alibis for the night of the rehearsal dinner.”

“Not tight at all,” Alex said. “And I have no problem giving you this information because if you can add anything to the equation, we might finally get a break on the Leventhal case.”

“There’s no doubt in your mind that Gabe was murdered,” I said.

“None,” Alex said. “Pathology is still waiting for some tests results, but they have enough to state that Mr. Leventhal did not die of natural causes.”

“The night I identified the body, you said there was blood under Gabe’s fingernails. Was it Evan MacLeish’s?”

“I can’t tell you that,” Alex said. He leaned across the table and looked into my eyes. “Maybe this would go more smoothly if I suggested a line of questioning that would help us both. Jo, everyone is covering up for everyone else in this case. Claudia says she was with Tracy, except of course when she went out for a few minutes with Bryn, but luckily Felix happened along at just that moment, so he and Tracy were together. Then Felix went back to his room and Claudia spent an hour with him there. We have some corroborative evidence for that particular encounter. Felix and Claudia were making so much noise that the guest in the next room had to knock on their door and ask them to keep it down.”

“They were quarrelling.”

“Actually, the guest thought they were indulging in a little overly athletic lovemaking. When Felix answered the door, the guest was surprised to see that he was fully dressed.” Alex rubbed his eyes. “Bryn, of course, was never alone – not for a second. After Claudia left, Tracy and Bryn spent some quality time together. It’s seamless. The weird thing is, I don’t think these people even understand why they’ve dropped into this mutual protection mode. But they’ve obviously had a lot of practice cooperating with one another, because we can’t break their stories.”

“So if I could supply an inconsistency, you’d have a wedge.”

Alex wiped a small ring of coffee from the table. “Yes, and a wedge is exactly what we need if we’re ever going to crack this open. There’s another area where we could use a break. After he left the wedding, Jill’s partner, Felix Schiff, apparently disappeared off the face of the earth for a period of at least sixteen hours.”

“I saw Felix the morning after the wedding,” I said. “He looked like hell. He told me he’d been doing the club scene.”

“That’s what he told us too,” Alex said. “The problem is nobody remembers seeing him. Of course, nobody remembers
not
seeing him, but we’re dealing with a population whose powers of observation grow dim when a cop walks into the room. Even Mr. Schiff claims to have zero recollection of what happened.”

“Do you believe him?” I said.

“Not much you can do when a man says he had a blackout.”

“It’s so out of character,” I said. “I worked with Felix on ‘Canada Tonight’ for four years. He was the executive producer in Toronto and I was just a political panellist out here, but we talked every week about stories. We weren’t close, but I thought I knew him. He always called himself
ein prakiter Mensch –
a practical man.”

“Not the kind of man to go out and get blind drunk after his business partner’s wedding.”

“No,” I said. “Especially when that business partner is a friend.”

Alex’s cellphone rang. He half-turned from me, mumbled a few words, then looked at me apologetically. “I have to get back to work,” he said.

I stood up. “I invited you. I’ll pay.”

“I’ll get it next time,” he said. He touched my arm. “Jo, I would like there to be a next time. For what it’s worth, I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know,” I said. “That didn’t make the hurt any less.”

When I went to pay, Marv himself was at the cash register. He scratched his belly and gave me his best smile. “Come again,” he said. “And sit in a window booth like you did tonight. I’m working on strategies to bring in a more genteel clientele.” He scratched his belly again, then rasped confidentially, “You know, people like yourself and me.”

Angus’s car was parked halfway down the block from our house. The windows were fogged. I slowed, waited, and finally hit the horn. After a few too many beats, Angus rolled down the window. On the seat beside him, Leah was adjusting her clothing and smoothing her newly blonde choppy bob. When she recognized me, she waved. “Sorry, Mrs. Kilbourn. It’s been a while since we were together. We’re hungry puppies.”

I smiled at her. “Enjoy the moment,” I said.

“I am,” she said.

Angus leaned out of the window. “So you’re okay with this?”

“I’m great with this,” I said. “But keep the action away from the house for a while. Bryn is going through some tough times.”

“Do you think I’m a lowlife for bailing on her?” Angus asked.

“You’re not bailing on her. Be her friend, and save the rest for Leah.”

When she heard the door, Jill came downstairs. She moved slowly, as if even the act of putting one foot in front of the other demanded an act of will. Being bludgeoned by crises was taking its toll on us all.

We gravitated towards the kitchen and sat at the table. Outside, a squirrel cleaned out the bird feeder. “How did Bryn handle the news about Tracy?” I asked.

Jill hugged herself as if she were cold. “Pragmatically,” she said. “She wanted to know if Tracy could stop us from moving to New York. I called Kevin. He says it’s a dicey situation, but the best thing to do would be to sit down and talk it out, just the three of us – no lawyers, no outsiders to put steel in Tracy’s spine. He also told me that since Tracy’s lost her job on that kids’ show, she’d probably be open to discussion of financial compensation. So I guess Bryn’s for sale.”

“Pay what you have to,” I said. “And be generous about visitation rights. Give Tracy something to hang on to. Bryn doesn’t need to go through life believing she destroyed another human being.”

Jill looked away. “Do you ever have thoughts that are so ugly, they make you wonder what kind of human being you are?”

“Let me guess,” I said. “You wish Tracy had finished the job before they found her today,” I said.

“God forgive me, I do.” Jill’s voice caught. “Jo, I don’t know how much more of this any of us can take.”

“Then stop beating yourself up, and let’s get it over with,” I said. “I saw Alex tonight. The police are getting nowhere with this investigation. Alex feels that all their prime suspects are lying for one another.”

“Because their own stories are shaky?”

“Exactly. The private detective in Toronto has opened some useful veins of information, but he needs to keep digging. Possibilities aren’t enough. We need facts. Kevin’s hiring someone local to find out what everybody here’s been up to. Given his efficiency, I imagine Shania Moon is already on the job.”

Jill rolled her eyes. “My fate is in the eyes of a woman named Shania Moon?”

“It is,” I said. “And she’s going to need all the help we can give her. Time for you do your homework. Alex tells me that the night Gabe died, Felix and Claudia spent an hour together in Felix’s hotel room. Is it possible you were wrong about them – that there really is something going on there?”

“I guess anything’s possible,” Jill said. “They’ve known each other forever. Felix came here from Germany when he was twenty-five, and he linked up with the MacLeish family right away. Claudia would have been in her early twenties then. Something could have sparked.” She frowned. “Logical, except I still don’t believe it. From what I’ve seen, Claudia and Felix’s relationship is more like one of those brother-sister rivalries where there’s always a subterranean war going on.”

“They know how to push each other’s buttons,” I said.

Jill looked thoughtful. “All four of them do – or did. Evan and Claudia might have been the only blood siblings in the group, but Tracy and Felix had the rivalry thing down pat too.”

“Whose love was the prize?” I asked.

“What do you mean?” Jill said.

“It’s been a while since I took Psych 100, but isn’t sibling rivalry driven by the need for the parent’s love?”

“If that’s what they were after, they had a tough row to hoe with Carolyn. She doesn’t give her love easily. She and Evan were alike in that.”

“The night of your wedding rehearsal Evan told me his mother called him ‘the snowman’ because he was detached from humanity, unable to love.”

Jill winced. “Poor Evan. Poor all of them. Imagine what it would be like to want your mother’s love so much that even as an adult you couldn’t leave her house.”

“Do you think that’s what kept them all there?” I said.

“I don’t know,” Jill said. “But it makes sense, doesn’t it? Caroline has a crippling illness, yet by the simple device of withholding love she manages to keep everyone around her in her thrall.”

“Thrall
is a dramatic word.”

“She’s a dramatic woman,” Jill shook herself. “What am I talking about? I’m making Caroline sound like a monster, and she’s not. She’s never been anything other than cordial to me. I’ll have to admit, she isn’t exactly warm. She didn’t haul out Evan’s baby pictures or ask me to call her Mum, but Evan and I were hardly starry-eyed youngsters.”

“What
were
you?” I asked.

Jill arched an eyebrow. “We were adults making a deal,” she said. “Not an answer to inspire a love song, but the truth. I was a good career move for Evan. His films are brilliant, but they’re indies – no matter how provocative and smart they were, the number of people who would see them would be numbered in the thousands. The deal Felix and I were putting together with the network would have given Evan access to an audience of millions. That was what he wanted. He didn’t need money. He didn’t need love. He needed people to see his movies.”

“And what did you need?” I asked.

Jill didn’t hesitate. “Bryn,” she said. “From the moment I met her, I knew I could make a difference in her life. At the beginning, I guess I saw our relationship pretty much in Movie of the Week terms: the lonely woman of a certain age rescues the damaged girl, and they both learn to trust and love.” Jill smiled ruefully. “I am now well aware that Bryn’s problems aren’t going to be solved in ninety minutes, but as far as I’m concerned that’s just all the more reason to stick around.”

“I’m glad you’re realistic about her,” I said.

Jill’s eyes were searching. “Is there something else I should know?”

I took a deep breath. “I found Evan’s binder.”

“Where was it?”

“In Bryn’s Birkin Bag.”

Jill tensed. “Why were you going through her things?”

“Angus’s old girlfriend gave Bryn a gift to pass along to Angus. He never got it. Bryn hid it in her bag and stuffed the bag under some camping equipment in the back of the closet.”

Jill was clearly shaken. “Why would she do that?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “But for the moment, let’s just deal with the fact that I found the binder. I only had a chance to give it a quick glance, but almost all the notes refer to a project called
The Glass Coffin.”

Jill looked genuinely baffled. “I’ve never heard of it, but Felix must have suggested the title. He grew up in a town called Marburg – same place that spawned the Brothers Grimm. They were as obsessed by the beautiful Saint Elisabeth in her glass coffin as Felix was.”

“And who is the beautiful Saint Elisabeth?” I asked.

Jill rolled her eyes. “The Church may have seared my soul, but at least it gave me a good education. St. Elisabeth of Thuringia was the princess who married her prince at fourteen, died at twenty-four, and spent her short happy life giving alms to the wretched.”

“Will there be a quiz on this?”

“Maybe on Judgement Day. Think how grateful you’ll be to me then.”

“I’m already grateful,” I said. “You and I may have had our problems, but at least we didn’t have to find our prince by the time we were fourteen.”

“True,” Jill said. “But we also missed out on the age of miracles. I doubt if either of us will ever have the bread we’re carrying to the poor transformed into roses.”

I felt a rush. “Now that’s
interesting,”
I said. “There was a note in Bryn’s bag. It said, ‘For Felix, who turned my bread into roses.’ ”

“Who was it from?”

“Someone who signed herself C.”

“Claudia?” Jill said.

“Perhaps,” I said. “But there is another possibility.”

“Caroline,” Jill said. “The woman who’s spent the past forty years in her own glass coffin. Evan never mentioned that he’d been filming his mother. But if his shot book was filled with notes about
The Glass Coffin
, that has to be the piece he submitted to the network.”

“And he submitted it without telling you and Felix. More secrets.”

Jill frowned. “I wonder why Evan couldn’t let us see it?”

“Maybe because there’s something in it you and Felix wouldn’t like,” I said. “Only one way to find out for sure,” I said. I checked my watch. “Why don’t I give Dan a call? If he’s still up, we could have a private showing of
The Glass Coffin.”

“Best offer I’ve had all day,” Jill said. “Let’s go.”

CHAPTER

12

As it always did, Bryn’s entrance changed the energy in the room. Whatever plans Jill and I had for checking out
The Glass Coffin
receded into the background as Jill helped her stepdaughter off with her coat.

“You look a little pale for someone who just had a walk,” Jill said, touching Bryn’s cheek.

“I changed my mind about the walk,” Bryn said. She stepped in front of the hall mirror, removed her red cashmere beret, and smoothed her hair.

Jill tried a laugh. “At the risk of sounding like a mother hen, where were you?”

“Taking care of business,” Bryn said. She frowned at her reflection, leaned forwards, and removed a speck of mascara from the corner of her eye. “We don’t have to worry about Tracy any more,” she said. “She’s out of the picture.”

Jill hung up Bryn’s coat. “Care to explain?” she asked.

“There’s nothing to explain,” Bryn said. “Dan says I should start taking responsibility for my own life. Tracy was a problem, and I took care of her. I’m supposed to keep a journal too, and I found the perfect one in the gift shop at the hospital.” She opened her purse and removed a notebook splattered with Van Gogh sunflowers. Bryn grazed Jill’s cheek with her lips. “Okay if I get into bed and start writing?”

“Absolutely,” Jill said, but after Bryn left, she looked bemused. “I seem to have become redundant,” she said.

“No more redundant than the parent of any other seventeen-year-old,” I said. I peered more closely at her. “Bryn isn’t the only one who looks a little pale,” I said. “Why don’t we make an early night of it too? The movie will still be there tomorrow, and you can have first dibs on the stack of books I got for Christmas.”

“All right,” Jill said, “but I get the one with the biggest print and the prettiest pictures.”

I was soldiering through the pivotal chapter of a novel about coming of age in London, Ontario, when the doorbell rang. I kept reading, hoping that someone else would get the door. No one did. Guessing the identity of the person pressing the button wasn’t a stretch. As I pulled on my slippers, I cursed young love and a son so addled by passion that he’d forgotten his keys. But when I opened the door I wasn’t faced with a post-tumescent Angus. My caller was Claudia, and she was steaming mad.

She didn’t wait to be invited in. “Where’s Jill?”

“In bed,” I said.

“Get her down here,” Claudia said, and her tone made me understand why she could make Willie quake.

“She’s sleeping,” I said.

“That’s more than any of the rest of us will do tonight. Wake her up.” Claudia pulled off her boots, threw her coat on top of them, and strode into the living room. Willie, recognizing his mentor, lumbered in and sidled up. When I went to get Jill, she was already at the top of the stairs.

“You’ve been summoned,” I said.

Jill drew her robe around her and tied it. “What’s going on?”

“You’ll have to ask Claudia,” I said.

Claudia didn’t wait to be asked. The moment she spied Jill, she attacked. “We kept the facts about Bryn’s birth secret for all these years,” she sputtered. “What in God’s name made you think you could just spring it on her today?”

“I thought she was old enough to handle the truth,” Jill said gently.

“Do you know what she did with ‘the truth’?” Claudia asked. “She came down to the hospital tonight and told Tracy and me she was starting a new life and there was no place for us in it. You can imagine what that attack did to Tracy. She was so distraught she had to be sedated.”

Jill was coldly furious. “Poor Tracy – having to be sedated. What about all the days and nights when Bryn was distraught? Where was your compassion then, Claudia? More to the point, where were you and your sister-in-law?”

“You don’t know anything about us,” Claudia said. “You breeze in with my brother, have tea with my mother, smile at the rest of us, remove the lynchpin from our lives, waltz out the door, and leave us to cope. You’re the one who’s going to have to cope now, Jill. That daughter of whom you are
so very proud
has some secrets of her own. Nasty secrets.”

“Bryn doesn’t have any secrets from me.”

“Really,” Claudia said. “So you know that just minutes before Evan died, his daughter told him she wished someone would kill him.”

Jill’s face was bloodless. “No,” she breathed.

“There’s more,” Claudia said. “After Bryn expressed her heart’s desire, she picked up that hunting knife of yours and said how good it felt in her hand, how
powerful
it made her feel.”

“You’re lying,” Jill said.

“Other people heard her. Tracy and Felix were there – so was Evan. That’s what made him walk out into the snowstorm. He was trying to protect your future as a family. He knew Bryn was hysterical. It wasn’t the first time she’d been like that, but he wanted her to have a chance – we all wanted that.” Claudia rubbed her temples with her fingertips as if to erase the memory. “It was probably the single unselfish thing my brother ever did and look what it got him.”

I could see Jill was badly shaken, but she was fighting for control. “Let’s stick to the facts,” she said. “There was a scene between Bryn and Evan. Adolescent girls fight with their fathers – that’s a fact. And Bryn had more reason than most to be angry with her father. That’s another fact. Everything beyond that is speculation. And Claudia, I’ve learned not to deal in speculation.”

“Really,” Claudia said. “Then why did you go racing out towards the maze the second I told you Bryn had taken off? Why was there blood all over that cloak of my mother’s? And why was the handle of the knife that killed Evan wiped clean? You were doing a little speculating yourself, weren’t you, Jill? And you came to exactly the same conclusion I did. You thought Bryn killed Evan, and you were covering her tracks exactly the way the rest of us were.”

For an agonizing moment, the two women eyed each other.

When, finally, Jill broke the silence, her voice was a whisper. “What are you going to do?”

The simple question seemed to extinguish Claudia’s fire. Her response was as tentative as Jill’s. “I was planning to go to the police, but now …”

“But now you realize that would be totally destructive.” Jill clasped the other woman’s hands in her own, pressing her advantage. “Claudia, your duty is the same as it’s always been – to put Bryn first. Evan’s dead – nothing will change that. But the police don’t have anything. If we all stick to our stories, they never will. I’m begging you. Let’s salvage what we can. Help me save Bryn.”

In all the years I had known her, I’d never seen Jill abase herself. The sight was wrenching, and I turned away, hoping that the worst was over. It wasn’t.

“I can talk to her,” Jill said, “convince her that the best thing for all of us is to continue to be part of your family. She has her heart set on New York, but there are weekends and holidays. We could get a place near you in Toronto. You and Tracy and Caroline could be there for Bryn – always.”

“Will you get me my own two-wheeler too?”

“I don’t understand,” Jill said.

Claudia looked at her with pity. “That was a joke,” she said. “My way of saying I’ll do what you want.”

Jill’s relief was palpable. “You won’t regret it.”

As Claudia put on her coat and boots, I was frozen, stunned by the enormity of the devil’s bargain I had witnessed. But when she put her hand on the doorknob, I moved. “Do you have a cell number?”

“Doesn’t everybody?” Claudia asked.

I handed her a pen and paper and she wrote out her name and number. I checked her signature, satisfied myself that it didn’t match the handwriting on the note, and bid her good night.

When the door closed behind Claudia, Jill sank onto the cobbler’s bench in the hall. “Don’t start on me, Jo,” she said.

“I wouldn’t know where to begin,” I said. “And there’s nothing I can tell you that you don’t already know. Jill, if Bryn really is involved in Evan’s death, you can’t cover it up. Kevin’s a good lawyer. He’ll be able to talk to the Crown about what Evan did to his daughter …”

Jill put her hands over her ears, like a child shutting out the world. “I don’t know what happened between Bryn and Evan. I don’t want to know. I just want her to have a life. I want
us
to have a life. Is that too much to ask?” When Jill raised her face to me, the misery in her eyes killed the answer in my throat.

“We can talk in the morning,” I said.

She nodded. “I’ll phone Kevin and tell him to call off his investigators.”

“Why not let them keep working?” I said. “They might find evidence that implicates someone else.”

“And they might not,” Jill said. “You know the old axiom: a smart lawyer never asks a witness a question to which she doesn’t already have the answer. I don’t have any answers, so I can’t afford to have people running around asking questions.”

“What happened to ‘And the truth shall set you free’?”

Jill met my gaze. “Will you ever be able to respect me again?”

I put my arms around her – in part because I wanted to reassure her, but also because I didn’t know what to say.

The next morning when I came back from taking Willie for his run, there was a note on my plate telling me that Bryn had insisted on keeping her appointment with Dan, and Jill and she had gone to his office in a cab. Clearly, Jill was no more eager than I was for a face-to-face, and I was grateful she had spared us both an encounter that would have been beyond awkward.

I had no idea when Kevin Hynd started his business day, but I was in no mood to wait. I was also in no mood to roll over and play dead while a friend made decisions that could land her in jail. When he answered his phone, Kevin sounded foggy, but my précis of the night’s events galvanized him. “We need to talk, Joanne,” he said. “I’ll put on the coffee pot.”

My pulse quickened as I spied Further’s multi-coloured, Day-Glo, spray-painted exterior. Like Ken Kesey, the owner of the iconic, iridescent bus from which Kevin’s business took its name, I was going into uncharted territory, but Kesey had a garden of pharmaceutical delights to ease his passage, and I was going in straight.

Kevin opened the door immediately. “I saw your car pull up,” he said. “Welcome.” Mellow in blue jeans and a mohair sweater the colour of a frozen grape, he helped me off with my coat and ushered me into his kitchen.

He handed me a mug of coffee and a plate filled with still-warm biscotti. “Comfort for the body
and
the soul,” I said. “I’m a lucky woman.”

“We at Further aim to please.” He pulled up a chair opposite me. “Your timing couldn’t have been better, Joanne. Shania called just after you did. She’s on her way over.”

“News?”

“Apparently,” he said. “But it can wait. Let’s enjoy the moment.”

The coffee had a chicory bite that conjured up New Orleans and the biscotti were dotted with pistachio nuts and cranberries that made them simultaneously savoury and sweet. Giving myself over to sensual pleasures was easy, but as I reached for a second biscotti, I knew it was time to fill Kevin in. I omitted telling him about Jill’s decision to call a halt to the investigations, but even without that information, Kevin was uneasy.

“Her mind is clouded by fear and love,” he said. “She’s making bad choices.”

“My thinking exactly,” I said. “So what do we do?”

Kevin shrugged. “Stay the course,” he said. “See what Shania comes up with, and keep hoping that neither of us has to remind Jill that mother love is not a justification for condoning murder.”

The Shania of my imagining was a woman with big hair, a midriff she was proud to bare, and three navel piercings. The Shania who walked into Kevin’s shop had a small, plug-shaped body, a round, flat face, almond eyes, coppery-red hair that was smartly buzzed, and skin the colour of strong tea. She was dressed in layers that she proceeded to strip away: first a pea jacket with wooden toggles, next a heavy satin jacket with a mandarin collar and frog fastenings, then a turquoise silk shirt covered in birds of paradise. When she came to a simple cotton T-shirt with a picture of Jim Morrison, she stopped.

Kevin introduced us, offered her refreshments, and smiled. “Whenever you’re ready, Shania.”

“I’m always ready.” She turned to me and said, “A word about my methods. I have a good brain, and I use it. Kevin has given me photos of the principals and accounts that are as detailed as he can make them. If he was aware of the actual words used by one of the principals, he attempted to relay them accurately. The value of a true verbatim account is beyond rubies, but even close is good. After Kevin and I talked, I went home to contemplate.” Her face was split by a slow moon-like smile. “I must thank you, Kevin, for that exquisite box of Thai sticks.”

Kevin touched his forehead in a small salute. “I knew you’d appreciate them.”

“Oh I did,” she said. “And they speeded an epiphany. As I sat in my room, smoking and mulling, one sentence nagged. You reported that Inspector Kequahtooway told Joanne that Felix Schiff seemed to ‘disappear off the face of the earth for sixteen hours.’ That action didn’t jibe with Joanne’s description of Mr. Schiff as a ‘go-to-guy.’ What, I asked myself, would make a man known as the one to be counted on in a pinch vanish when his friend’s need for him was so great?”

“Because his friend asked him to,” I said.

Shania nodded. “Of course, that raised another question. What had Mr. Schiff been asked to do during those hours? Here two figures of speech fused in my mind: Inspector Kequahtooway’s image of Mr. Schiff ‘disappearing off the face of the earth’ and the image you used, Kevin, when you paraphrased the inspector’s remarks. You told me that Felix Schiff had ‘vanished into thin air’?” Shania gazed first at Kevin, then at me. “Are you following my train of thought?” she asked.

The penny dropped. “Felix flew somewhere that night,” I said.

Shania nodded approval. “Precisely. I took Mr. Schiff’s photo out to the airport and showed it to someone who’s been known to share information with Kevin and me. After a little detective work of his own, our contact discovered Felix Schiff had flown to Toronto on the early-evening flight and returned the next morning.”