“It’s a thought,” said Ryan through gritted teeth.
“Yeah, right.” I said. “And where would that get you? I used to daydream about all sorts of ways to vent my frustration but it only made me angrier when the day-dream was over and I realized nothing had changed. The same jerk was still trying to turn left in a ‘no turn’ lane.”
Ryan glared at me as if it were my fault and revved the car in exasperation. He hated going into Ottawa and usually begged a ride with me when he had business in town, so that he would have some company. I would drop him off where he wanted to go — the film lab today — and he would meet me at my office after work.
“Hey, look at this! I rated another piece in the paper. The same guy that interviewed me last week and wrote that piece about my accidentally collecting the larvae. The reporter thought it was gross and would sell papers.” I thought it made me look like a fool, but I didn’t know how to tell him it was off the record without looking worse. I mean, anyone who hadn’t seen the body bits would wonder how I could mistake a human being for a wild animal. Ryan was preoccupied with the driving so I read the article to myself. This time he’d added all kinds of gossipy stuff including some of the items found in the tent — sleeping bag, camera, film canister, chocolate bar. Why would he do that?
Ryan honked the horn at some guy ahead of us who hadn’t moved ahead fast enough. My voice trailed off as my thoughts took over and we drove the rest of the way in silence.
By the time Ryan had driven himself to the film lab, rush hour was over and I had no trouble zipping down the Queensway to work. I stopped by the computer store where I’d dropped off my computer the day after the theft to check on it, but the news was bad. They hadn’t been able to salvage anything.
“What did you do to it? It stinks,” asked the totally unsympathetic store clerk, making me feel like a jerk. I paid the bill and took the computer back with me, feeling absolutely rotten-to-the-core stupid. Why could these guys make me feel like that? Secretly I hoped the jerk was wrong and the computer would one day spew out all my data. Fat chance. By the time I pulled in to work the staff parking lot was full — some dingbat had parked in my spot under the oak and I had to cruise the streets looking for a place to park. I spiralled out further and further, feeling like a vulture caught in an updraft, when down was where it wanted to go. In the end I had to hoof it for ten minutes.
The zoology building was a utilitarian six-storey affair that paid no homage to any school of architecture, except box-like boredom. Even the brickwork was an anemic yellow. Maybe it had been cheaper than the rust red variety. At least it wasn’t like the architectural monstrosity of the library across the road. That looked like something out of a sci-fi plot.
I crossed the small quadrangle of grass and weeds, with its token tree cordoned off from harm by a three-foot-high fence, and took the five flights of steps two at a time to my office. Half an hour late and so much to do. Damn. I rushed in through the tiny outer foyer of my office to find Martha drinking coffee with a blond bombshell. The comparison between the two was ludicrous, like an elephant and a gazelle. The bombshell rose swiftly to her feet and I turned to Martha for some explanation. As far as I knew I had no appointments this morning. And I didn’t want any either. I didn’t feel like talking to anyone.
“Lord love you, lady. Where have you been, Dr. O’Callaghan? I told her half an hour ago you’d be here in two minutes. This poor woman is swamped with my gut-rot coffee and is too polite to say no every time I fill up her cup.”
The bombshell made ineffective noises through her perfect teeth, as if she was embarrassed, but not really. She was taller than I am and very, very thin. She wore burnt orange pants that fitted her like a glove and a silk blouse with a navy blazer. Very elegant. She made me feel positively inelegant in my faded navy cords and T-shirt with frogs hopping all over it. She wore her frizzled hair shoulder length and her watery pale blue eyes looked unfocused as she turned to me. Her round, full lips were shaped like the period beneath the exclamation mark of her straight nose. Her anorexic eyebrows were dyed jet black. She was very heavily made up, sporting every colour of the rainbow on her face, except the natural ones. Around her neck was a stunning silver pendant and embedded in it was a small curved tooth. I looked pointedly at Martha for an explanation or introduction or something.
“Oh yeah. Right. Sorry. This is Lianna Cole, Dr. O’Callaghan.” We shook hands and I was surprised at the strength of the handshake; I actually had to keep from grimacing as I matched her pressure and felt my ring jam into my hand. She hadn’t looked the type. I had pegged her as the dishrag variety. Martha said nothing more — she either didn’t know why the woman was here or was quite content to let the two of us work it out, hoping for an extra tad of gossip.
“What can I do for you?” I asked.
Lianna glanced over at Martha, who stood there looking at the two of us with a big expectant smile on her face. She looked positively predatory. Martha could sense gossip and scandal the way an ant can sense sugar.
“Come on into my office,” I said, and led the way past Martha, who gave me the hairy eyeball.
Lianna followed, picking her way through the pile of papers on the floor in the doorway. I cursed under my breath and pulled off a stack of file folders from the only guest chair in the room. My grimy lab coat lay sprawled on the floor, and I was suddenly aware of how messy it must look, but I was determined not to apologize for the mess. I sat on my desk, wondering if my hair looked as wind-blown as it felt.
“Sorry about the mess.” I bit my lip. Damn. “What can I do for you?”
Lianna Cole rummaged in her purse and took out a cigarette, her surprisingly short, chubby fingers gripping it like a vise.
“Do you mind?” she said as she raised it to her round red lips. I was reminded of all the cigarette butts I saw in the parking lot, so many with red lipstick. I could see the grey choking smoke swirling through the trachea and bronchi to the tiny alveoli and capillaries. Positively revolting.
“Yeah, sorry, but I do mind, unless of course you want to take over my laundry bill and buy me an air ionizer to clean up after you’ve left.”
Whoa Cordi — you’re way out of line here, I thought, surprised at myself, as I watched the confusion spreading over her face. She wasn’t used to hearing no to that particular question, and I wasn’t used to saying it. I felt rotten, but even so, I didn’t say anything to make it easier for her, and wondered why. I guess I was just in a foul mood.
Lianna tossed the cigarette into her purse, closed it, and, tight-lipped, said, “Maybe I’ve come to the wrong place. I’m not so sure you can help me.”
I bit my lip and refrained from saying, “Just because I don’t like smoking?” and said instead, “Well, I won’t know unless you tell me.” Why was this woman getting under my skin?
She stared at me for what seemed like an eternity, and then made up her mind.
“Jake Diamond was my husband.”
Oh boy. What an insensitive jerk. Too late, I now saw that the finely sculpted face looked puffy; the carefully applied makeup didn’t quite hide the shadows under her eyes, and the blush, expertly applied, didn’t hide the extreme pallor of the rest of her face. She was struggling for emotional control. Or was she?
I wildly searched for the right words, but couldn’t find them, and said nothing instead, surprised again by my own belligerence. I’m not normally rude, and certainly not to strangers. Like everyone, I usually like to make a good first impression.
Lianna took a deep breath and said, “I kept my family name when we married. He used to kid me that I was the only woman he knew that didn’t want to exchange Cole for a Diamond.” She laughed, a lonely, haunting sound that made me squirm. Cole for a Diamond. Jeeesus.
“I