Gail Bowen - The Brutal Heart

That afternoon, Taylor and I took the girls for a canoe ride, then returned to the sand project. The next day, after a run with the dogs, an intense reading session, and lunch, we were back on the hill. When Ginny and her daughters came by to check our progress, the sun was hitting the sandy slope, and the air was warm and inviting. Emma and Chloe looked at the hill with narrowed eyes. “Looks like you could use some help,” Emma said.

Lena wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Do you know how to dig?”

“Sure,” Emma said.

Taylor handed each of the twins a trowel and they all walked down to the excavation site. I turned to Ginny. “Do you want to dig, or do you want to sit under that aspen and watch the kids slave away?”

Ginny’s face brightened. “They’re young. Let’s watch. As you may have noticed, the girls and I have decided that the way to get through this is to keep moving.”

“Whatever you’re doing seems to be working. You look great.”

“Great is probably stretching it, but I do feel better. It’s been so good being with Em and Chloe. They’re remarkable.” Her smile was rueful. “They’re also twenty-five years younger than I am, and I wouldn’t mind an hour under a tree doing nothing.”

When Zack joined us, Ginny and I were talking about daughters. “You two look content,” he said. “How’s it going, Ginny?”

“Better, thanks.”

“And the twins?”

“We’re all doing fine, but I have a feeling you’re about to burst my bubble.”

Zack’s voice was gentle. “Nope. Just going to pass along some information you need to have. We’ve had a team of investigators going through Jason’s business dealings, and Sean, Margot Wright, and my partner Blake are spending the weekend examining their findings. Sean just called with a kind of preliminary report. Ginny, there’s no doubt that Jason was brokering real estate deals for sex-trade workers.”

Ginny swallowed hard. “But he wasn’t a pimp.”

“He was living off money he received from prostitutes. Some people might find it hard to make the distinction.”

“Does Sean think he was killed because of his association with those women?”

“He thinks it’s a possibility, but there’s something else. In the weeks before Cristal Avilia’s death, she and Jason were in constant touch. Cristal had sizable real estate holdings. She went to my partner Blake and asked him to put them on the market. Blake refused. He said real estate prices in the warehouse area were going to skyrocket, and that Cristal should wait.”

“So she went to Jason instead,” Ginny said.

“Apparently. Luckily for Cristal’s heir, these things take time. But Jason did manage to sell two of the condominiums that Cristal owned in another building. The deposits were both paid in cash. The police found $50,000 in cash in Jason’s house. The problem is that the rest of the money is missing. It’s a large amount. Sean thinks it’s possible that Jason murdered Cristal for the cash.”

“And then someone associated with one of those women killed him.”

“Yes.” Zack took a breath. “Ginny, I know this is ugly, but there is a silver lining. The police will have the same information we have. I don’t think you’re a serious suspect any more.”

Ginny rubbed her temples. “Tell everybody how grateful I am, especially Sean. He never gives up. He’s a terrific lawyer, Zack. Your firm is lucky to have him.”

“I take it you and Sean have talked about his future.”

“Yes. I’d offered him a job with me before everything blew up, but he’s very loyal to you. He says Falconer Shreve is where he wants to be.”

“And that’s where he’s going to be. After we talked this afternoon, I offered him a junior partnership and he accepted.”

“I’m happy for him,” Ginny said, and her voice was fervent. “He deserves the best.”

Keith Harris arrived just as the girls finished digging the last metre of their waterway. He had time to throw off his jacket and lift a ceremonial shovel of sand before the Brodnitz twins and Taylor scooped buckets of water out of the lake, carried them up the slope, and Maddy and Lena tipped the first bucket. As the water made its way down the system of culverts and dams, we held our collective breath; when, finally, it emptied into the lake, our cry of joy was spontaneous. Beside me, Chloe and Em gave each other a high-five. They were the mirror image of each other, and when Chloe’s face crumpled, Em’s did too.

“For a moment I almost forgot,” Em said. “But it’s all still there, isn’t it?”

Chloe draped her arm around her sister’s shoulder, and they turned and walked towards the cottage: two handsome young women caught in the web of private grief.

As we watched my granddaughters tip bucket after bucket into the waterway, then run down the hill to watch the water arrive in the lake, Ginny decided a communal accomplishment demanded a communal celebration. As her thank you for the weekend, she offered to take us all out to dinner. Given our range of age and moods, there was only one choice: Magoo’s, a diner across the lake where for $10, a hearty eater could plow through homemade cheeseburgers, greasy onion rings, homemade slaw with a vinegar kick, and milkshakes so thick they had to be eaten with a spoon. After dinner, patrons could drop quarters in a jukebox and burn off the calories on an old wooden dance floor. Chief among its many draws was that Magoo’s could be reached by boat, and so by five-thirty, we were all down at the dock, donning life jackets and taking our places. Keith, who wanted to get to know his grandnieces, went with Zack, Maddy, Lena, and me; Taylor, who wanted to get to know the Brodnitz twins, went with them and their mother, who was driving Blake Falconer’s Chris-Craft.

Musically, Magoo’s was heavy on nostalgia, and as the motors were cut and we glided towards the dock, the plangent notes of Rick Nelson’s “Garden Party” filled the air. It was an evening for an anthem to the truth that you can’t please everyone, so you might as well please yourself, and as Ginny steered her boat expertly into the slip beside ours, she was humming along.

That night exists for me in sharp-edged memories: Keith’s gruff delight as Maddy and Lena took his hands and pulled him onto the dance floor where they all rocked to Buddy Holly until our food orders arrived; my husband putting a quarter in the jukebox, pushing the button beside the Beach Boys’ “God Only Knows,” and never taking his eyes off my face until the song ended; Ginny and her daughters, all three ponytailed and in jeans and sweatshirts, bending over their plates and eating with the stoic determination of athletes who know that, no matter what, bodies must be fuelled; Taylor flushing with pleasure when a boy she remembered from the summer before came over and asked her to dance.

The emotional shoals were everywhere. Jason’s brutal death and uncertainty about what was next were fresh in the minds of every adult at the table, but Maddy and Lena’s delight in every detail of the evening was infectious and the sweet optimism of the music was tonic. The sun was setting as we drove back across the lake, but none of us wanted the evening to end. Taylor and the Brodnitz girls went over to their cottage, and after Zack and I tucked the granddaughters in, we brought out the brandy and snifters and sat on the deck with Keith and Ginny until the sun fell beneath the horizon and the first firefly appeared.

The next morning was not as chaotic as our leave-takings from the lake often were when the girls had school. It was the May long weekend, so we dawdled over breakfast, took the dogs for a long walk, then paid a last visit to the miraculous waterway. The long-term weather forecast was for continuous rain, an ominous prospect for a structure made of sand, but neither Zack nor I mentioned that to Maddy and Lena. Ginny and her daughters came over to help us load the cars, and walked to the gate to wave us off. Despite everything, we’d enjoyed one another’s company, and when I told Ginny they could go back to the guest cabin after E-Day and stay as long as they wanted to, I meant it.