Gail Bowen - The Nesting Dolls

“Of course not,” Zack said. “But from what Mieka says, Abby was suffering from something that sounds very much like clinical depression. I was trying to imagine her state of mind the night she gave away her son.”

“Do the police have any ideas about how Abby ended up in that parking lot?”

“Uh-uh. The A-l Jewellery and Pawn Shop is in the industrial area, so the cops can’t count on information from residents, but they’re checking out cab companies to see if any driver picked up a fare on Toronto Street the night of the blizzard. And now that the police have traced the licence plate, the answers about Abby Michaels’s personal history will start coming.”

“Delia said the car’s owner was Hugh Michaels. Was he Abby’s husband?”

“Could be. Could also be a brother, a father, an uncle, or a cousin. All they know for certain is that Hugh Michaels is from Port Hope.”

“That’s where Alwyn Henry lives.”

“Your university friend who sent us our first Christmas card this year – the card with the picture of the cardinal at her bird feeder.”

“Not much gets by you, does it?” I said.

“Nope. I’m ever vigilant. Port Hope is a small town. Maybe you should give Alwyn a call. See what you can find out.”

“Maybe I should.” I curled my feet under me. “But not now. I’m warm; I’m next to you, and I’m drinking some very good Scotch. Let’s finish our drinks and go to bed and catch up with Gawain. We could use an escape from reality, and we’re at a good part: the lord of the castle has just led everyone off on the hunt. Gawain stayed back at the castle, and the lady of the house has just tiptoed into his room.”

The phone on the end table shrilled. “Let it ring,” Zack said.

“Can’t,” I said. “We have kids and grandkids – we’ve given hostages to fortune.”

I reached over, picked up the phone, and heard a voice I’d heard for the first time when I was a nineteen-year-old student at the University of Toronto. Alwyn Henry was a talker, and for thirty-seven years, I had revelled in my role as her listener. As a rule, her words tumbled over one another as if life was too short to say all she had to say about her many passions – teaching, bird watching, poetry, theatre, cooking, fine wines, travel, photography – but that night, the bounce was gone from her voice. “Joanne, I don’t know where to start with this… ”

“Is it about Abby Michaels?” I said.

“So you know that she’s dead,” Alwyn said. “Calling you was just a shot in the dark, but I thought with your media contacts you might have some information.”

“I do,” I said. “Can you hold for a minute?” I put my hand over the receiver. “It’s Alwyn Henry. How much should I tell her?”

“Play it by ear,” Zack said. “See what you can get in return. If Jacob’s father is in the picture, we should know. You can certainly say that Jacob is with Abby’s birth mother.”

I took my hand off the receiver. “Sorry, Alwyn. There was something here I had to take care of. So, do you want to go first or shall I?”

Her laugh was ragged. “You know me. I rush in where angels fear to tread, but I should tell you this isn’t just a matter of small-town curiosity. I’m calling on behalf of Abby’s partner. Her name is Nadine Perrault. Two hours ago, she learned Abby had been murdered. The police apparently traced the licence on Abby’s car, and they called Abby’s house. Nadine answered. The authorities won’t tell her anything. Nadine is, understandably, beside herself. Her biggest concern of course is Jacob. She’s planning to fly to Regina tomorrow to get him. She and I teach English together at Trinity College School. She came to my house tonight because she needs someone to cover her classes. I agreed of course.”

Something inside me twisted and tightened. “Is she there now?”

“She went out to get some air. She’ll be back.”

“Alwyn, you’ll have to talk her out of coming to Regina. I don’t know what Nadine Perrault’s understanding of the situation is, but Abby Michaels made it clear that she wants Jacob to be with her birth mother. She handed Jacob over to the family before she was attacked.”

“Birth mother? This doesn’t make any sense,” Alwyn said. “Abby’s mother was Peggy Michaels. I’ve known her for forty years. There must be some mistake.”

“There’s no mistake,” I said. “We know the biological mother, and we know the circumstances of Abby’s birth. The mother was at a point in her life where she didn’t feel she could raise a child, so she arranged for her baby to be adopted.”

“That’s not possible,” Alwyn said. “Hugh and I taught together for years at TCS, and I remember him and Peggy bringing Abby out to the school to show her off after she was born. She was a lovely little thing – all that curly black hair. Hugh made a joke about Peggy’s ancestors obviously not spending all their time in the Highlands.”

“Abby’s birth date is September 29, 1983,” I said. “Does that date fit with what you know?”

“It does.” Alwyn’s voice was heavy. “The new school year was just nicely underway when Abby was born. We were all thrilled for them. Peggy and Hugh had been trying for years to have a child.”

“So they faked a pregnancy? How could they carry that off in a town the size of Port Hope?”

Alwyn paused before answering. “They weren’t here,” she said. “We were told that there were difficulties. Peggy was hospitalized for months at a hospital in Toronto that specialized in high-risk pregnancies. Hugh spent the summer there with her.”

“And when they came back in September, they had Abby.”

“They were ecstatic. Do you know what the name Abigail means? ‘Father’s joy.’ From the day they brought that child home, she was a joy to them both.”

“Alwyn, do you have any idea why Hugh and Peggy Michaels would go to such lengths to hide the truth? They must have realized that at some point Abby would find out that they weren’t her biological parents.”

“You don’t think they told her?”

“Abby didn’t contact her biological mother until two weeks ago.”

“Hugh and Peggy were killed in a car accident Thanksgiving weekend,” Alwyn said. “Abby must have discovered the truth about her birth when she went through her parents’ papers.”

“Coming so soon after losing both her parents, the news must have been a terrible blow.”

“Especially for someone who’d been as protected as Abby was,” said Alwyn. “At the funeral, I sat with Hugh’s other colleagues. When Abby walked back down the aisle after the service, I couldn’t bear to look at her face. The woman I was sitting next to said, ‘This is the first time that child has ever seen that life can be cruel.’ ”

“You knew Abby,” I said. “Would the shock of discovering she’d been adopted be enough to make her give up her child?”

Alwyn’s tone was curt. “Of course not. Abby was an extraordinarily confident and capable woman. She would have been wounded, but she wouldn’t have been irrational.”

“Alwyn, she drove halfway across the country over winter roads. She was alone with her baby. Anything could have happened. When she arrived here, she was deeply depressed. She was also determined to give Jacob to her birth mother.”

“Those are not the actions of the woman I knew,” Alwyn said flatly. “Something else must have happened.”

“Do you remember what Dr. Buitenhuis used to say? ‘When speculation has done its worse, two and two still make four.’ ”

“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.”