The Further Investigations of Joanne Kilbourn by Gail Bowen Page B

another. If I kept rewinding, I could change the outcome. I could defeat death. But as I watched the mourners at Charlie’s funeral walking backwards up the steps of the church, I knew I couldn’t rewind the tape forever. I flicked on the lights in the editing suite. It was time to push the button marked “forward.” I blew my nose, threw the Heinbecker tape into my handbag, and collected the others to take back to the library.
    When Taylor and I pulled up in front of our house, Jess Stephens was standing at the front door. He handed me the worm-cake recipe.
    “That’s from my mum,” he said.
    There was no note with the recipe, but at least Sylvie had let him come over. That was a start.
    “Can he stay for lunch?” Taylor asked.
    “It’s okay with me,” I said, “but he’d better check at home.”
    Taylor stepped closer to Jess. She was looking at his face appraisingly. “Great planes,” she said.
    Jess looked baffled.
    “Taylor’s learning how to draw faces in her art class,” I said.
    “You’d be good to draw, Jess,” Taylor said.
    “No, thanks,” he said.
    I looked at him. Taylor was right. Jess would be good to draw. His cheekbones were high and well defined, and his eyes had the slightly upward tilt you sometimes see in Slovenes. Somewhere along the line, an ancestor of the O’Keefes or the Stephenses must have spent some quality time in Eastern Europe.
    Taylor grabbed Jess’s hand. “Go call your mum. Then we can look at Jack.”
    I followed them down the hall and watched through the kitchen window as they went out on the deck. Taylor immediately pressed her face against the pumpkin, peering into his right eye hole. Then she moved back to let Jess look. As I turned from the window, I thought that November had been kinder to Jack than it had to me. His rate of disintegration had slowed in the chill.
    When Hilda came in, she gave me a sharp look. “I’d say ‘Penny for your thoughts,’ but from the look on your face, I don’t think I’d be pleased with my purchase.”
    “I’m thinking about death and decay,” I said.
    Hilda picked up a knife and began buttering bread. “Not elegiacally, I take it.”
    “I had a lousy morning,” I said. I went to the fridge and took out a block of cheddar. Everybody liked grilled cheese. As I sliced the cheddar, I told Hilda about the funeral tape. When I finished, her face was grim.
    “What are you going to do?” she said.
    “Take the tape to the police,” I said.
    “Wouldn’t they have seen it already?”
    “I don’t think so, Hilda. It was a private taping of a family event. Old Mrs. Heinbecker had it until last year when she gave it to Jill, and Jill put it straight in the archives.”
    Hilda looked thoughtful: “The police have to see it, of course. That’s the only ethical option you have, but, Joanne, that tape isn’t going to help your case.”
    I shuddered. The resonance of the phrase “your case” was not pleasant.
    “I don’t seem to know how to help my case,” I said.
    “Follow the strands back to the place where they meet,” Hilda said. “Find out everything you can about Kevin Tarpley and Maureen Gault.” Her voice dropped. “And, Joanne, I think you’re going to have to scrutinize your husband’s life as well.”
    I could feel the rush of anger. “You’re not suggesting there was a relationship between Ian and Maureen Gault, are you?”
    Hilda’s voice was patient, but firm. “There was a relationship. You saw it yourself on that tape. In all likelihood, the relationship was that of stalker and victim, but, if that was the case, you still need to know what it was about Ian that made Maureen hunt him down. And you need to know how long she pursued him and whether he knew about the pursuit. There are a dozen questions. Joanne.”
    As I plugged the parking meter outside police headquarters, I was heavy with discouragement. A dozen questions . I looked at the tape in my handbag. When Inspector Alex Kequahtooway saw