The body was in the hall next to a bouquet of faded Monkshood, the delicately hooded flowers wilting as they thawed in the warmth. Lucille Killingworth lay across the carpet, her compact form neatly blending into its patterns and colours. She seemed to be camouflaged, as though the carpet were shielding her while she slept. As though she’d planned her death in advance to be as comfortable and well-coordinated as possible. A designer end. Suitable as any artist’s rendition of what death should look like. The effect was both comforting and eerie.
Ted was crouched on his haunches, watching. Saylor stood over him, regarding Dan with an air of regret. Thom had been detained upstairs in the bathroom, either not man enough to finish the job or so mentally destitute he didn’t realize he hadn’t accomplished it all yet.
Twenty-Eight
Cures
They’d been too late. Aconite has no known antidote, and chances were non-existent that anyone could have survived such a massive dose. Thom’s arrest for the murder of his mother was almost secondary to the shock that a twelve-year-old boy had poisoned his father and then got away with it for twenty years. He might find sympathy with a jury on the plea that his mother had encouraged him to kill his father, turning his young mind against him, but he would have a hard time getting out of the charge of murdering Lucille Killingworth two decades later. The fate of Daniella Ballancourt remained undecided, though Thom stuck to the story that he was innocent of any wrongdoing in connection with her death, and Dr. Bill McFarland, more than a good friend, stood firmly by his man in vouching for him. Dan was quietly surprised by Bill’s steadfastness.
He wondered briefly about Lucille Killingworth’s request for his help back in the fall. Had it merely been a ploy to find out about Daniella’s pregnancy, so she could truthfully say that he, Dan, had told them, if asked? A woman knows these things. She’d probably just wanted to be sure, in case the investigation turned up anything. Thom probably hadn’t known till Dan came by that afternoon. In a way, Dan felt sorry for him. What chance had he had with a mother like that? Then again, he’d had a good father. A very good father, who had loved him beyond all knowing. On some level, even the boy Thom must have known that. Shaken by what he’d done, the twelve-year-old had tried to destroy all remnants of his father’s memory, beginning with his horses, before retreating into a life of showy but mostly superficial physical accomplishments.
The pre-trial publicity kept the presses raging for a few weeks before other matters began to turn the tide of interest. All in all, the length of his sentence wouldn’t matter much to Dan one way or another.
Dan was backing out of his driveway when he heard the tear of metal against metal. He jammed on the brakes, got out of his car and looked back to see a ten-inch gouge running across his rear door. His neighbour’s car, unapologetically parked with a foot of overhang on his drive, hidden by the drifts, stood in the thin wintry sunlight.
Glenda came out of her house wearing an annoyed look. “That’s gonna cost you!” She ran over and saw that her own vehicle had sustained no damage. She turned meekly to Dan who stood glaring. She seemed to wilt.
“Sorry — I guess I was careless.…”
“How many times have I asked you to park your car so it doesn’t block my driveway?”
“Don’t worry, these things happen.” Suddenly, she was all charm. “I’m having a party tonight. You wanna drop by?”
“You’re trying to buy me off with a party invitation?” Dan demanded, more amused than insulted by her colossal lack of respect and consideration.
“There are going to be a couple of gay guys from my work. I’m sure they’d love to meet you.”
I’m not falling for this girly-girl routine, Dan thought. It may have worked on Steve and probably every other straight man you’ve ever flirted with, but it doesn’t work on me. That’s at least one advantage gay men still hold over straight men.
“It’s a theme party,” Glenda went on, ignoring his glare. “It’s a come-as-someone-you-hate party. It’ll be fun.”
“Sounds like a riot,” Dan snapped, stepping back in his car. “Can I come as you?”
He left his damaged vehicle on the street and buzzed himself up to Donny’s condo. Donny stood just inside the door, grinning from ear to ear. He looked, Dan thought, suspiciously like a proud parent.
“Guess what Lester said when I asked what he wanted to be when he grew up.”
“No idea. I hope he didn’t say a machine or a porn star.”
“Neither of the above. Cut the kid some slack.” Donny gave Dan a withering look he saved for those few times when he wanted to annihilate with a glance.
“So, are you going to tell me or what?”
“He said — and I quote — ‘When I grow up I want to be Miles Fucking Davis.’” Donny was grinning. “Is that unbelievable or what?”
“That he wants to be Miles Davis?”
Donny nodded.
“Well, I guess a jazz superstar crackhead is better than just a crackhead.”
“Oh, fuck you, Snow White.”
Dan grinned. “So, is he good?”
“What — on the horn? I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? Did you let him play a few licks?”
“Of course. I let him lean on my horn — after I dusted it off a bit.”
“And?”
Donny was evasive. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? You know what good horn playing is. Either he was good or he wasn’t.”
“Well … I guess he wasn’t too good. But! Even Miles must have wondered what he was going to make of that piece of metal the first time he pressed it to his lips. I mean, can you imagine what Miles Davis was thinking as he raised a horn to his lips for the very first time?”
“An historic moment.” Dan waited a beat. “So, dare we hope that Angela Davis will inspire you to become a surrogate father to a needy boy with musical talent just waiting to be developed?”
Donny toed the edge of a counter. “That’s the question, isn’t it? I mean, we can’t just send him back to his parents. That would be … like a life sentence. Wouldn’t it?”
Dan nodded, waiting.
“And I guess I’ve kind of gotten used to having him around.”
“So…?”
Donny shrugged. “So, I guess … whatever.”
“Whatever? Just like that?” Dan said.
“Do you want me to say I’ll think about it?”
“Definitely not.”
Ked had been home a week. He was still on edge over Ephraim’s death, though the last few days had seen him returning to his old self. But he was changed, Dan knew. Older, sadder. Death had whispered in his ear then driven the knife blade in a little, under the skin. The experience would leave him marked, but not, Dan hoped, permanently damaged. Maybe it was too soon to be doing this. He went upstairs and knocked on his son’s door.
“Come in, Dad!”
Dan pushed the door open with his foot, avoiding the maze of clothes and school reports sliding over the carpet. Ked removed his earphones, his head still swaying to whatever unheard pulse he’d just been connected to.
“I need to speak with you about something,” Dan said, hoping his timing wasn’t completely off. “I’m thinking about going away for a while.”
Ked just