bag of the doggie treats. I also figured if I nibbled my way through one of those remarkable slices of chocolate Kahlua pound cake, code name Sex and Serotonin, I might be a better driver—in fact, a better human being. It was worth breaking my last twenty.
Slapping that on the counter reminded me that I wouldn’t have been down to that last twenty if my ex-husband hadn’t been hanging me out to dry on our property split. My friends had been telling me for years that I was a pushover for Philip. I’d been promising myself to stand up to him. I was getting better. He was getting worse.
Once I left Suki’s, I pulled out my cell phone to give him yet another call to suggest he quit stalling and just get it over with. Of course, he’s a lawyer, and a successful one at that, so there wasn’t much hope that I could scare him. But you can’t rule out the annoyance factor in negotiations.
Damn. I reached Philip’s long-time secretary, Irene Killam, an Olympic-class stonewaller. If she stood between you and Philip, you weren’t getting anything but a headache.
“He has an important appointment,” she said. It was clear from her tone that talking to me could not possibly be important. Never mind, I’ve had years to get used to that.
I was still working on an effective approach with Irene. “I need to speak with him.”
“He’s incommunicado.”
“He’ll have his Blackberry. I’m pretty sure he even takes it in the shower.”
“He isn’t in the shower. And I can’t reach him.”
“You could send him a text message.”
“I could, but he won’t get it. He’ll have the Blackberry turned off. I wish you would listen to me. You will just have to wait.”
We sparred like that for a bit, but she’s much better at it than I am. After she hung up, I turned to the slice of chocolate Kahlua cake. My standing up for myself shtick might have needed work, but the chocolate made up for it.
Minutes later, I was back on Highway 5, feeling a bit more relaxed. The slice of cake was just a fond memory and a few random crumbs on my T-shirt. I still had a half-hour drive north through the rugged Gatineau hills. On a normal day, I would have enjoyed the view and the rock formations along the road. This time I wasn’t paying much attention, until I crested the last hill near the end of Highway 5 and had to stand on my brakes. The Skylark squealed and smoked. Police cars blocked the road, roof lights flashing. An officer in the green uniform of the Sûreté du Québec stood in the middle of the road, waving traffic off to the side. A dozen cars were pulled over ahead of mine.
I shuddered to a stop, my heart thumping. What a weird place for a speed trap. Ridiculous. The Skylark could barely make the speed limit. What if I’d been going too slow, and there was some kind of fine for that?
But not everything was about me. I stepped out of the Skylark to see what was going on. A long skid mark on the highway showed the path of a vehicle. The bent guardrail on the side of the road hadn’t been enough to stop it. That vehicle now lay on its roof near the bottom, like a large dead June bug. Several small trees had been plowed over in its path. Firefighters were unfurling hoses from a pair of fire trucks angled on the side of the road. I stared down at the crumpled vehicle. Even with the covering of dust, I was pretty sure it had been big and black.
Could anyone have made it out alive?
An ambulance screamed along the highway and inched past the row of stopped cars. The wail of the siren sent shivers down my spine. I hoped the paramedics had made it in time. Sometimes these things look worse than they are, I told myself. Maybe the people in the car had survived. Even from that distance, I could tell it wasn’t likely.
A pair of firefighters in bulky brown gear and what looked like respirators on their backs made their way down the steep hillside. One had a hose snaked over his shoulder. Two others followed with ropes. As the first pair began to spray foam on the smoking wreck, the QPP officer approached my car and barked at me to get back in. A second officer had just finished setting up cones to close off the two lanes. He had begun to direct traffic back the way we’d come.
“This accident,” I said, “what happened?”
“Sorry, madame. We can’t really talk about it. You need to get back in your vehicle.”
“Please. Was it a black Cadillac Escalade?”
That got his attention. “Why do you ask?”
Of course, I hadn’t really wanted to get his attention. “No reason. I just saw one earlier.”
“And?”
“He was way over the speed limit. He passed me on the right, when I got on the highway near Hull, driving really aggressively. Then he came right up on my bumper and...so I wondered if it was the same one.”
“Can I see your licence and registration, madame?”
“My licence and registration? Why?”
“I’d like your name. In case we need to follow up.”
I could tell by his guarded expression as I handed over my licence that the crumpled vehicle was indeed the Escalade. And I knew as I watched the firefighters losing battle below that the driver would never give anyone the finger again. A blue truck from Remorquage Tom et Jerry edged closer to the scene, but I doubted there’d be much left to tow.
“Thank you, Madame Silk. We will contact you if we need to take a statement.” He pointed in the opposite direction. “You can turn around and go back the way you came. Take the old highway back to St. Aubaine.”
“I don’t think I can drive just yet,” I said.
He nodded.
“Do you ever get used to this?” I asked.
“No, madame,” he said.
He rejoined his colleague redirecting traffic. I sat there feeling sick as a body was unloaded from the smoking wreck.
The Chez Fred’s Special
Poutine
Okay, no one I know actually makes poutine at home. That’s why we have restaurants. But its hedonistic qualities make it Quebec’s favourite junk food.
2 cups beef gravy (you can make it if that’s important to you) Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
2 pounds Quebec potatoes, peeled and hand-cut into French fries
½ pound fresh cheese curd, crumbled
Vegetable oil for deep-frying
Fry the potatoes in hot vegetable oil until golden brown. Remove and drain on paper towels. Season with salt and pepper. To serve, mound the fries into bowls and cover with cheese curd. Spoon the gravy over the fries and cheese curd. Eat immediately! Serves four.
Two
