Gail Bowen - The Last Good Day

“God, are you all right?” she said.

I stood up and checked for damage. There didn’t seem to be any. “I’m fine,” I said.

“You and Willie look as if you’ve been mud-wrestling. Come on. Get in the car. I’ll take you home.”

“We’re an upholstery hazard,” I said. “We can walk. A little more rain’s not going to hurt us.”

Delia frowned. “I just about killed you. The least I can do is get you out of this monsoon.”

“Sold,” I said. I opened the back door of Delia’s car and turned to my dog with a command. “In, Willie.” He stood, riveted to the spot. “In,” I repeated. Willie cocked his head, perplexed but immobile. I lifted his bum and gave him a push. “In,” I said. Accepting the inevitable, he lumbered up, threw himself belly down on the upholstery, and pressed his nose against the window.

When I got into the passenger seat, Delia looked at me hard and shook her head. “All the women who’ve been after Zack, and you’re the one…”

“I’m not ‘the one,’ ” I said, “but I do clean up nicely.” We looked at one another and laughed.

“Hey,” Delia said, “a good start to what will no doubt end up being another crappy day.” She turned the key in the ignition. “Zack and Blake have decided the partners have to go through the trust ledgers together. More beating up on ourselves. It’s not as if we don’t know what we’re going to find. Zack filled us in last night.” She pulled a tissue from her bag and blew her nose. “At least we know now why Chris killed himself, but what the hell was up with Clare Mackey? Chris would have been the best father.”

“I guess Clare didn’t agree,” I said.

“Forgive me if I don’t lead the applause for Clare and her ethics,” Delia said icily. She pulled into my driveway. “Here you are,” she said. “Home sweet home.”

“Muddied but unbowed,” I said.

She gave me a faint smile. “Guess what? I’m still not smoking.”

“I’ll lead the applause for that,” I said. I had my hand on the handle of the car door, but I didn’t push it down. “Delia, did Noah build the gazebo?”

Her eyes widened. “Where did that come from? Anyway, the answer is no. He did the carving of the woman, but not the rest.” She reached over and gave my shoulder an affectionate pat. “Watch out for traffic. Now that I’m a non-smoker, maybe you and I can get up our own Ultimate team.”

Angus greeted me at the front door with a whoop of laughter. “You and Willie look like you’ve been mud-wrestling.”

“You’re the second person to tell me that,” I said. “That means you win the big prize – the opportunity to take Willie out back and hose him down. I’m going to hit the shower.”

The phone rang before I’d kicked off my runners. Angus answered it and handed it to me with a lascivious wink. “It’s the Man,” he said.

“I’m outside your house,” Zack said. “Have you got a minute to say goodbye?”

“As long as you don’t make any mud-wrestling jokes,” I said.

“I don’t get it.”

“You will.”

When he saw me, Zack raised an eyebrow. “Hop in.”

“I’ll wreck your upholstery.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

He was dressed for work: white shirt, striped tie, and a suit that probably cost as much as my entire wardrobe. He put his arm around me. “What’s the punchline to that joke about how porcupines make love?”

“Very carefully,” I said. And for a few lovely minutes, we were very careful.

When I got out of the shower, Taylor was sitting on my bed, knitting. The hyacinth scarf was finished, and she was practising the moss stitch before she moved on. “Rose would like you to call her. She has a favour to ask. The something-or-other on her car is broken, but she wants to visit Betty because Betty gets blue when it rains. Gracie’s mum is still sick, so Rose wondered if you’d mind driving us over.”

“I don’t mind,” I said. “You and the other girls are going too?”

“Rose says we’re as good as a tonic for Betty. Besides, we always have fun there.”

I called Rose and we agreed that, given the driving conditions, we should get an early start. As we set out, I was glad we were in my car. Rose’s Buick was a boat, and the road to Standing Buffalo was filled with turns that were hair-raising on a good day, and this was decidedly not a good day. In fact, the weather seemed to be growing uglier by the hour. Visibility was poor to non-existent, the roads were slick, and the ditches were filling. When we drove between the white-painted tractor tires that marked Betty’s driveway, my tires spun ominously and I wondered if I’d be able to make it out. We sent Rose inside, and the girls and I scurried between car and house, carrying Tupperware containers of food, a fresh supply of magazines, a case of pop, and pyjamas and a change of clothes for everybody “just in case.” As soon as everyone was settled, I asked for a rain check on Betty’s offer of tea, and, cleverly navigating the ruts, I drove straight to the Point Store.

Stan was watching an I Love Lucy classic when I arrived. As he had before, Stan turned down the sound, dragged a chrome chair in from the kitchen, and directed me to the La-Z-Boy. That morning, the plush contours of the chair were as comforting as a warm bath. On TV, Lucy was starting her job at the chocolate factory.

Stan tore himself away from the screen and turned his attention to me. “More history?” he asked.

“Recent history,” I said. “When was the gazebo at Lawyers’ Bay built?”

“Last year, middle of November. Late, but we had that mild winter, remember?”

“I remember,” I said. “We had a green Christmas.” Stan nodded. “I never liked those. They don’t seem right.”

“Did a local company do the work?” I asked.

Stan made of moue of disgust. “She’d never hire local.”

“She?”

“Lily Falconer,” Stan said. “She got a company in the city, and I’ll tell you, men never worked harder for their dollar than those men did.”

“It was a difficult job?”

Stan shook his head. “It shouldn’t have been. Pretty straightforward piece of construction except for that fancy stonework. Of course, there was that statue of Gloria, but Noah Wainberg carved that. In my opinion, Lily should have got Noah to do the whole thing. He could have, but maybe it was his good luck that she didn’t ask him. Lily was in such a state about that gazebo. She was there every day, supervising. It got so’s they were afraid to move a shovelful of dirt. ‘Build it to last forever.’ That’s what she told them. The man in charge told her his company built everything to last forever, so she could relax and go home, but she wouldn’t budge.”

“The workers talked to you about the job, then?”

On TV the conveyer belt was moving more quickly and Lucy was saucer-eyed with desperation. Stan and I exchanged smiles. “The coffee pot’s always been on at the Point Store,” Stan said. “The bottomless cup’s not something your son’s girlfriend dreamed up, although to be fair she’s made it a lot nicer. But to return to my point, when the gazebo men were on the job, they came into the store to warm up, have a cup of joe, and talk. Lily was a tough taskmaster. One of the men said she carried on as if they were working on holy ground.”

Lucy and Ethel were growing more frantic, popping chocolates into their mouths until their cheeks bulged, shoving chocolates under their factory caps, dropping chocolates down the front of their uniforms, and still the conveyer belt kept on moving. Nothing could stop it.

I pulled myself out of the La-Z-Boy and thanked Stan.

He waved at me absently. He was mesmerized by the screen where, once again, Lucy was about to get her comeuppance.