Verdict in Blood - By Gail Bowen Page 0,6

show on which I appeared every weekend as a political panellist, had drawn a position in one of the first heats, and Alex and Eli and my kids and I had gone down to the lake to offer moral support. We found a clearing on the shore where we could see the finish line, and after the “Canada Tonight” team came in dead last, we cheered for whoever struck our fancy until we got hungry and decided to cruise the concession stands. After we’d sampled everything worth sampling, we came back to my house, dug out the old croquet set, and played until it was time to eat again, and Alex had barbecued burgers while I served up potato salad and slaw. When the sun started to fall in the sky, the five of us walked back to the lake and watched the final heats of the race.

The evening had been flawless. As the sun set, the lake glittered gold, transforming the dragon boats into sampans, those magical vessels that sailed through the China of fairy tales, a land of sandalwood, silk, and nightingales whose silence could break the heart of an emperor.

For the first time I could remember, the five of us seemed to be in a state of perfect harmony. On the way home, the boys talked about getting a team together to enter the race next year. My daughter, Taylor, who was two months shy of her seventh birthday, was adamant about being included.

Her brother winced, but Eli was gentle. “Sure we’ll need you, Taylor. Somebody has to sit at the front of the boat and beat the drum. You’ll have the whole winter to practise.” When Taylor crowed, Eli looked at me anxiously. “That’ll be okay, won’t it?”

“Absolutely,” I said. Then, tentatively, I’d let my hand rest on his shoulder. In all the time I’d known him, Eli had never permitted physical intimacy. When he smiled at me, I thought that, at long last, we might be home-free. Yet not even a day later, he’d run away again. It didn’t make sense.

A cluster of dog-walkers had gathered along the shore. They were looking out at the lake. I joined them. A few metres out, police frogmen were diving.

“What’s happening?” I asked.

A man with a black standard poodle half-turned towards me. “You heard about that murder last night?”

“Yes,” I said. “I heard.”

“Apparently, they’re looking for the weapon.”

I gazed out at the lake. It shimmered sun-dappled and inscrutable: a place for secrets.

“The woman was killed up there at the Boy Scout memorial,” the man with the poodle continued, pointing towards the path that ran from the clearing where we were standing up towards the road. Between us and the road was the Boy Scout memorial. A handful of curious joggers were checking out the yellow crime-scene tape which roped off the area.

“You can take a look if you like,” the man with the poodle said. “But there’s not much to see.”

“I think I’ll give it a pass,” I said. At the best of times, the monument gave me the creeps, and this was not the best of times. Both my sons had been Boy Scouts, so I knew that the memorial, a central stone circled by nine smaller stones, was a representation of the sign Scouts leave at a campsite to indicate to others that they’ve gone home. But these stones were as large as tombstones, and they were engraved. The chunk of marble in the middle was inscribed with the Boy Scout emblem and motto; each of the more modest stones encircling it was etched with one key word from the laws that stated what a Boy Scout should be: Obedient, Cheerful, Thrifty, Clean, Trustworthy, Helpful, Brotherly, Courteous, and Kind.

Tired of waiting, or perhaps responding to some atavistic urge the presence of death stirred in her, Rose began to whine.

I tightened the leash around my hand. “I’m way ahead of you, Rose,” I said, and we headed for home.

When I came in, Alex and Taylor were sitting at the kitchen table reading the comics in the newspaper. It was a homey scene, but Alex’s shoulders were slumped and his exhaustion was apparent. I said hello, and he looked up at me through eyes so deeply shadowed that I went over and put my arms around him.

Taylor looked at us happily. “This is nice,” she said.

“I agree,” I said. And for a while it was nice. We had breakfast, then Taylor took Alex and me out to the