Final Act Dianne Yetman (popular ebook readers txt) 📖

She moved out shortly after graduation.  I showed her the head shot I had in the file and she said stated it was her sister, Barb.  The picture upset her, began to cry, asked me why I had it.”

“Do you think the tears were real?”

“Yes, I think so.  I asked if either one of them were aware of Jeffrey Stone’s involvement with young girls.  Brenda fell apart; I didn’t think she would ever stop crying.  Her husband helped settle her down. She said she knew about the affair and that’s the reason Barb is attending university in England.”

Shirley paused and opened her notebook.  Kate quickly checked the copy of the lotto numbers while she waited.  Nada.

“Once the tears dried, here’s what she had to say, and I quote:  ‘It was a crushing blow.  Jeffrey was my mentor and he was having an affair with my baby sister.  I spoke with Barbie first.  She said yes, that it was no big deal; she had grown tired of the young high school boys, they only thought of themselves.  And then she told me she was getting tired of Jeffrey as well.  I suggested she might like to attend school in Europe and she agreed.  I made arrangements for her move as soon as possible.’”

Kate leaned back in her chair, arms behind her head.  Did Brenda speak to Jeffrey about the affair?”

“She said she hadn’t.  It was over and there was no point in accusations, recriminations and the like.  After all, men of genius had their quirks and that was Jeffrey’s. “

“Great mom substitute wasn’t she”, Kate said.  “Shrugging it off might have been an act; both she and her husband had a motive.  Did they say anything else?”

“No, Brenda said she had a bitch of a headache and wanted to get home and take some meds before a migraine set in.  And that was the end of the interview.”

“Shit, I hope Gordon doesn’t fixate on this gun business.  One or both of the Parsons, or Eleanor, are looking likely to me.”

Shirley agreed and the two women began to build another report for their already bulging files.

Chapter 18

Compliments to the cook were heard around the dining room table as the three plates of crowned rack of lamb, drizzled with olive oil, garlic and sprigs of rosemary, were strategically placed for easy access by the table companions.

“Joan, the lamb looks splendid”, Sandra said.

“Thanks.  It’s the first time I tried the crowns and I have to say, I impressed myself.”

Kate and her brother came through the door carrying trays of double baked potatoes, haricots verts smothered in sautéed onions, bacon, and beans, and roasted baby carrots.

Kate’s father raised his glass of wine in a toast to the chef.  Clinks of glasses, the flapping of cloth napkins, swift hands passing full trays, murmured ‘please and thanks’, all culminated in the sound of silver cutlery meeting food.

Kate, enjoying the meal, dreaded being asked if she liked the new look.  She didn’t.  She missed the formal dining room.  I’m not being fair.  I miss the kids.  It was unfortunate that her brother’s wives picked this date to take them to Wonderland for the weekend.

As if her mother could read her thoughts, she asked her how she liked the room.

“It’s different”, she said.

“Yes it is. I broke all the rules, bit of a risky business converting the screened in porch to an informal dining room but I must say, I’ve had nothing but rave reviews.”

“And what’s not to like”, Kate’s father said.  After all, it’s the room with the view.”

“Could be a bit chilly in the winter, don’t you think Mom”, James asked.

David poked his brother James in the side.  “Good God, James, have you degenerated to one of those other-worldly lawyers and can’t see what’s in front of your eyes.  The porch has been wired for winter heat; check out the metal things running the length of the baseboard.”

“I’m surprised you can see anything past your patient’s tonsils.”

“Now, boys”, Kate said, “remember you’re grown up now or mother may send you from the table.”

Both made faces at her and tucked into their food.

“I love the backless benches,” Sandra said.  “Spill proof and comfortable.”

“I wasn’t sure of them at first. They’re Chinese scholar benches made from an ironwood platform from India.  I got the idea when I thought about how people really like to linger at the table.  It’s all about feeling good, relaxing, enjoying good food, wine, conversation and being comfortable.  Mind you, it took me longer to summon up the courage to mix the dinnerware patterns and place the branch in the centre of the table.  But it’s growing on me.”

Kate grew bored with all the talk about comfort, ease, and design and was sure their dinner guest must be as well.  As soon as her mother paused for breath, she broke into the conversation.

“I got a letter from Hanya today about the progress of the land rights issue.”

“How’s she making out”, her mother asked.  “Not too spooked I hope about the shooting attempt.”

Kate said she didn’t mention anything so things must be fine.  Her mother said nothing but couldn’t refrain from rolling her eyes.

“Anyway, Hanya said the tribal chiefs are in dialogue but it’s going to be a long haul.  Lots of opponents and some of them have legitimate concerns, like rights of access, loss of revenue.  These are sticky issues but when you stack them up against the results stemming from the Mi’kmaq’s first encounter with Europeans in the 16th century, they pale in comparison. “

Not wanting the conversation to centre on such a political hot potato, Joan exercised her right as hostess and interceded.

“Injustice is mind and heart crushing.  The courage and resilience of the native Mi’kmaq people in the face of suffering and deprivation is truly amazing.  And Hanya’s grandmother is