Free 12 Rose Street by Gail Bowen Page A

written in block letters three feet high, were still visible on the building’s faded cream brick. When Margot and her husband, Leland, moved into 325 Halifax Street, they planned to buy out the condo owners on the first floor and convert the space into offices for their development company, Peyben. Leland’s death changed everything. The last condo owner had moved out over a year ago, but Margot was still mulling over how bestto use the space on the main floor. When Taylor could no longer work in her old studio, Margot offered her the use of a large, undeveloped room on the first floor. The offer was heaven-sent. Our building was secure and Taylor’s studio would be just an elevator ride away.
    As a thank-you, Taylor was painting a portrait of Margot with Declan and Lexi for a Christmas gift. After we’d cleaned up, Taylor went downstairs to work on the portrait, and Zack and I took our coffee out to the terrace. The rain had washed the air, and we positioned ourselves so the sun was warm on our faces. For a few minutes we were quiet, breathing in the scent of nicotiana, revelling in the peace of a perfect September evening.
    Zack broke the silence. “How was the luncheon for Bev?” he asked.
    “Emotional – especially at our table. I sat between Liz and Graham Meighen.”
    “That can’t have been easy.”
    “It wasn’t, but I’m glad Liz and I were seated next to each other. We both needed shoring up.”
    “How was Graham?”
    “Charming. He told a nice story about his relationship with Beverly. The punchline was that when she was four, Bev told her father she thought he was wrong about just about everything.”
    Zack laughed. “From the conversations I had with Beverly, I don’t think her opinion changed much on that score.”
    “It didn’t,” I said. “But according to Graham, he and Bev had a loving relationship. That was news to me, but Liz didn’t react.”
    “How is Liz?”
    “She’s struggling,” I said. “Bev will have been dead a year this Friday. Liz is hoping that once the anniversary has passed,she’ll be able to move forward.” I remembered the lines sorrow had carved in Liz’s gentle face. “It won’t be easy.”
    I picked up the carafe and poured us each more coffee. “Your turn now. What’s new on the Cronus situation?”
    Zack tented his fingers and breathed deeply. “Let’s see. I spent the last hour or so tracing Cronus’s holdings in North Central. It seems you and I are big winners in the game of slum Monopoly. Among other properties, we own a good chunk of Rose Street.”
    “Did you happen to notice if we own Number 12?”
    “Nope, but I can find out easily enough.”
    “Don’t bother. It’s so nice just to sit here and relax.”
    Zack sipped his coffee. “Agreed,” he said. “So what’s special about Number 12?”
    “The day I waited for the ambulance to come for Angela, the girl whose boyfriend threw her to the pavement, an old woman who lives at Number 12 came outside and quoted the Book of Revelation – a vivid description of the lake that burns with fire and sulphur for murderers and the sexually immoral.”
    Zack was pensive. “And this was directed at Angela?”
    “No. Angela is a sex worker, but the old woman said Angela was an innocent, and the lake was reserved for the evil ones, the ones who use the bodies of innocents and steal their souls.”
    Zack grimaced. “I wonder where that puts us on the continuum. Thanks to Cronus, you and I will never have to work another day in our lives, but our comfort will be financed by rent money from sex workers, addicts, alcoholics, and everybody else that polite society considers subhuman.”
    “And we’ll be exploiting the people our campaign is promising to help.”
    “Yeah, and I guess that’s what Darryl was alluding to when he said Cronus fucked me. Jo, I don’t see how I can run for mayor when I own this real estate.”
    “I don’t either,” I said. “If we sell that property we’re going