May: Façades

By Jan Fancy Hull

In his fifth month of 'delving' during his year-long sabbatical in 1999, newspaper publisher Tim Brown realizes something odd is going on that may impact him and his business. And it may relate to the much bigger, and possibly darker, 'Project Sweetland' that he and his team at the newspaper are looking into. Can he move forward in directions he

• Language: English
• Publisher: Moose House Publications
• Release date: Sep 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9781990187896

Jan Fancy Hull

Jan Fancy Hull lives in a log chalet beside a quiet lake in Lunenburg County, Nova Scotia, where she has written non-fiction, award-winning poetry, short stories, and novels. In former lives, she worked as a radio broadcaster, arts administrator, sailing tours skipper, and employee benefits broker. During the winter, Jan watches snowflakes fall as she writes. In warm months, she carves Nova Scotia sandstone into sculptures. She enjoys the occasional round of golf, and drifting on the lake in her little boat, which she claims is a great place to edit.In 2022, Jan received the Rita Joe Poetry Prize for her poem, "Moss Meditations."

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May: Façades

© 2023 Jan Fancy Hull

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Cover design: Rebekah Wetmore

Editor: Andrew Wetmore

ISBN: 978-1-990187-89-6

First edition September, 2023

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Annapolis County, NS

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We live and work in Mi’kma’ki, the ancestral and unceded territory of the Mi’kmaw people. This territory is covered by the Treaties of Peace and Friendship which Mi’kmaw and Wolastoqiyik (Maliseet) people first signed with the British Crown in 1725. The treaties did not deal with surrender of lands and resources but in fact recognized Mi’kmaq and Wolastoqiyik (Maliseet) title and established the rules for what was to be an ongoing relationship between nations. We are all Treaty people.

Also by Jan Fancy Hull

Non-fiction

Where’s Home?

Short stories

The Church of Little Bo Peep and other stories

Inquire Within

The Tim Brown Mystery Series

January: Code

February: Curious

March: Enigma

April: Sweetland

June: Trespasses (coming in 2024)

Façade (n): the front of a building; a false appearance that makes someone or something seem more pleasant or better than they really are; a display of emotion or behaviour that is insincere or intended to deceive; a deceptively attractive external appearance;

~

People’s personalities, like buildings, have various façades, some pleasant to view, some not.

- Francois de La Rochefoucauld, 1613-1680

To those who live up to their façades.

This is a work of fiction. The author has created the characters, conversations, interactions, and events; and any resemblance of any character to any real person is coincidental.

May: Façades

May 1, 1999: Balance

May 2: Growing things

May 3: Six questions

May 4: Trust

May 5: Old-fashioned

May 6: Reactions

May 7: Trustees

May 8: Barging

May 9: Mother’s Day

May 10: Ain’t got time

May 11: Raincoats

May 12: Imagination

May 13: Allies and others

May 14: Grub

May 15: Raising the flag

May 16: Yellow boots

May 17: Angels

May 18: Trust

May 19: Not war

May 20: Official board

May 21: Lemon pie

May 22: Rolling

May 23: Faces

May 24: Victoria Day

May 25: Away

May 26: The Big Reveal

May 27: Sponsors

May 28: The shoe

May 29: Sunset

May 30: Disaster

May 31: June Eve

Tim Brown’s wine list

Acknowledgements

About the author

Sneak peek into June: Trespasses

May 1, 1999: Balance

Saturday

Tim Brown chuckled as he lifted the page on the kitchen wall calendar. He was amused, not because this was the first time in this year of his sabbatical that a month began on a Saturday, but that it delighted him so.

It felt like a free pass. It’s a Saturday, no need to start anything today, he thought. No recriminations if I don’t do anything at all.

No recriminations anyway, right, Gloria? Who’s going to criticize?

Tim often spoke aloud to himself when no one was around, but it was rare for him to address Gloria conversationally. She was the Queen of Steam, the dominatrix of European plumbing. She determined whether his first daily dose of caffeine would be an invigorating shot or a weak disappointment.

Come to think of it, we’ve been working well together since those initial fumbles in January. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

His amorphous aim for this year off was to delve, though he had struggled mightily to understand what he meant by that, and how to go about delving. He was still somewhat uncertain where he hoped to be at year-end, when he was due to return to work, but he had come a long way in developing his methodology in the last few weeks.

Methodology, is it? I suppose it was. I even gave a short workshop to the staff on how I want them to approach their investigations, based on my still-fresh discoveries as a ‘Private Researcher’. That’s bold.

He sipped his espresso. ‘The staff’ were Elaine Fong, the Interim Editor, and James Olsen, the photojournalist at The Times, South River’s weekly newspaper from which Tim was taking this break.

Bold? Yes, I suppose so, he responded, as though Gloria had spoken. But not entirely untried. I accomplished a lot for my client by adhering to my Delving Principles, didn’t I? Yes, I did.

Tim’s mood this morning was based in large measure on those recent accomplishments, and as long as he didn’t think about what unintended consequences might ensue from them, he anticipated a light weekend.

All the elements of lightness were present: Evelyn Whynot, the waitress at the Daisy Café and his longtime friend, was coming to spend the afternoon. Robert would arrive from Halifax late afternoon, to stay until early Monday morning. Their Saturday suppers were always Italian, mostly pizza, and it was Tim’s turn to make it today.

He checked the list of groceries and errands, and went upstairs to shower and dress. As he was about to shave, he put down the razor and leaned in.

Why bother? he asked the face in the mirror. His hair was short, brown, with a slight greying at the temples. He had never seen his beard.

Today’s the day, Timothy. Change your looks. Have a little fun.

There was just a slight five o’clock shadow on his chin. If he survived the eagle eyes of Evelyn and Robert today and his fellow choristers at church tomorrow, he’d let it grow.

~

Tim debated whether to take his cellular phone along while he shopped. He knew Elaine would be downtown in The Times’ office, working on the big story he himself had uncovered. She had said there were developments she wanted to discuss with him.

He didn’t want to hear about them on this morning of lightness. In another gesture of startling—to him—independence, he placed his phone on the kitchen counter next to the home phone, and left the house before more dutiful thoughts changed his mind.

He drove out of town along the twisty, turny road bordering the South River, to the famous bakery and café near the ocean. Their breads and scones were heavy and nourishing, and their coffee was almost as good as anything Gloria could issue at home. He had brought along his copy of The Daily, the Halifax-based ‘provincial’ newspaper, and treated himself to a cinnamon roll and coffee while he surveyed the paper, beginning with the comics section.

The cable ferry landing was next door to the bakery. He caught the ferry to cross the river just for fun, and drove the twisty, turny road back up the other side. Once in town again, he kept his eyes on the traffic in front of him, trying not to look toward the newspaper office. If he saw Elaine’s car parked outside he’d be tempted to go in.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help Elaine. It was in his best interests to support her, as she was working for him. In lieu of him.

But Elaine had said to him in hushed tones, Your honourable relative may have more involvement in this breaking-news project than she’s told you. That unsettled him.

That ‘honourable relative’ was his only living blood relation, his Aunt Stella Johnson, the MLA for South River and the Harbours. He fervently hoped that Stella was on the right side of the developing controversy, but there was always a chance she wasn’t.

Tim shopped mindfully, taking time to read labels and consider choices. As usual, he encountered several acquaintances in the two supermarkets he visited, making several opportunities to stop and exchange small greetings.

It was lunchtime when he returned home. No messages on either of his phones.

After putting his purchases away and making a sandwich for lunch, he went for a walk. It was a damp, overcast day, but pleasant for walking. He took the cell phone along; he hoped that having it in his pocket would allow him to forget matters of work of any kind for the duration—unless and until it rang. If he’d left it home, he’d be worrying all the time that it was ringing.

Home again, he tuned in the long-running "Saturday Afternoon at the Opera'' radio broadcast from The Met. Today’s production was Carmen. He turned it up and sang along while setting the table and preparing ingredients for appetizers and dinner.

Evelyn came in the back door, which he had unlocked for her. He glanced at the clock, and at his phone.

Something wrong? Evelyn said. Somewhere you gotta be? What’s that, um, singing?

Oh, sorry, let me turn that off. I was just—I didn’t know what time it was, that’s all. I was hoping a phone call wouldn’t come, and it hasn’t, and you have, so everything’s good.

Evelyn reached up to hug him. I’m early, I know. I couldn’t wait another minute to talk to you. I know you said Robby would be a big help making my decisions, but I wanted to try saying what’s on my mind with just you first. Is that okay? I brought cookies.

Of course it’s okay, and cookies are always welcome. It’s just three o’clock, a bit early for wine. Want tea with a cookie first?

Good plan.

They took mugs of tea and a cookie each into the small den. Tim turned on the electric fireplace, but switched off the heater element. I just like the look of the fake fire when it’s overcast. Let me know if you want the heat on. Now, what’s up?

Evelyn took a deep breath. Well, it’s simple, I guess. Kenny’s talking about selling the Daisy. And I think I want to buy it. Whaddya think?

~

Two of Tim’s Delving Principles were to begin at the end and work toward the beginning, and to consider everything in the hope of discovering something. He was pleased to see they were useful for Evelyn’s business opportunity, raising a lot more questions, which he jotted on sheets of foolscap from his study.

By the time Robert arrived an hour later, Tim had led Evelyn through a range of questions in pursuit of the right answer to her proposition. She was excited because he had brought up so many things she hadn’t known to consider. He was excited because he had resisted giving her an answer, but tried to raise questions instead.

What’s all this? Robert gestured toward the papers taped to the fake fireplace mantel.

Ev is considering something which may be an opportunity or a disaster, Tim said.

I think it might be over my head, Evelyn said, looking at the papers. There’s a lot involved.

But we may not need everything on these pages in the end. I just like to consider everything, and then rule out what doesn’t apply.

If you don’t scare me to death first.

Can somebody tell me what it is that Evelyn wants to do, please?

Oh, poor Robby. I’ll start at the beginning, ’cause that’s the last time I thought I knew what I was thinking—no offence, Timmy.

None taken.

I want to buy the diner I work at. I mean, the owner, Kenny, is talking about selling it. He cooks and I serve. I’m very good at my part. As far as I’m concerned, the customers are mine. If somebody else buys the place, I’ll have a new boss and I mightn’t like him. Or her. If I buy it, I might go straight to the poorhouse. Whaddya think?

Robert, who was perched on the arm of the recliner Evelyn was sitting in, wrapped his arms around her and squeezed. Congratulations, Evvie! Independence will look great on you!

But we—

It sounds exciting, sure, Tim interjected, but we haven’t determined yet if it’s a good thing or a bad thing.

Understood, Robert said. I can’t comment on your detailed analysis, but I know about interest, and passion, and fear, and joy. If you want to explore those aspects, I’m your oracle.

I am so lucky to have two wise guides. If I do buy in, it’ll be right. If I pass, that’ll be right. Right? But Kenny’s gonna sell no matter what, so I need to decide soon.

When?

Oops, I completely neglected to ask that elemental question, Tim said. I’m slipping. Who, what, where, when… Tim quickly added When to the sheets of notes.

I’m not sure, Evelyn replied to Robert. Kenny’s not sure. He told me he’s thinking of selling and asked me to keep my ears to the ground for somebody to take it over. Maybe he’d like to get out while it’s still summer, I dunno.

Tim opened the oven to check on the aromatic contents. Thirty minutes, he called. Come out to the kitchen so we can talk. Rob, would you do the honours with this wine and those nibbles? And Evelyn, the salad ingredients are there. Can you tear romaine?

Better’n anyone, she said. What kind of pizza are you making tonight?

It’s lasagne.

Why? Robert said. We can’t eat lasagne with our hands in the den with our feet up.

Correct. I knew we’d be considering Ev’s business, so I thought we’d be more comfortable sitting at the dining table. Feet on the floor, sorry. Seating in the den is inadequate for three.

Oh, I wouldn’t say, Evelyn said. It’s kinda cosy.

Never mind that. Let’s hear your questions, Rob.

All right. Ev, do you like your job as it is right now?

Yeah, I do. I get tired. Five and a half days on my feet doesn’t get any easier as the years go by, and it’s hard to get days off. But I like the customers, mostly. Tips are good. I could do it blindfolded. I’m not qualified to do anything else. I don’t want to go back to school so I can sit behind a desk and answer the phone. They wouldn’t have me in the bank, I’m sure of that.

How would your job change if you became the owner?

That’s what I need to find out. It’s just toast and eggs and bacon, how hard is that? But I can’t cook and serve, too. I’d have to hire a cook, and steady ones are hard to find. I already supervise the part-timers, but what would I do if the cook didn’t show up?

What about the price he’s asking? Is it reasonable? Can you afford it?

We touched on that a bit— Tim began, but Robert raised a hand to hold him off.

I don’t know what Kenny wants for it yet. I don’t think he does, either. I don’t think he takes home a lot. I know pretty much what our take is, daily and weekly. That has to cover the rent, heat and lights, and payroll, right? And the cost of eggs and such. Gazinda the price we sell the meals for, carry the one, and there’s your answer!

Evelyn laughed heartily. Robert and Tim didn’t join in.

Oh, come on, fellas, unlax! Listen, I’ve been stressing about this for over a week now, but you don’t have to. Just give me your best watches and warnings, and I’ll figure it out somehow.

You didn’t say if you can afford it, Tim said. I know it’s an intrusive question, but sooner or later, all the dreaming and wishing will come down to money. Have you checked with the bank about a loan? Supper’s ready.

They moved to the dining table. Evelyn carried the salad bowl, Robert took the opened wine, and Tim carried the bubbling lasagne in gloved hands.

When they were seated, served, and toasted, Evelyn responded.

I haven’t asked the bank about this specifically, yet, but I talk to them all the time anyway, looking for the best deal. Believe me, every dollar matters to me, in and out. A long time ago, I learned that saving money was almost as good as earning it. I save every penny. My car’s an old beater, but where would I go, anyway? I wear a uniform at work, and shop at Frenchy’s for dress-up. Why pay hundreds for something that hangs in the closet? Breakfast and lunch are free, and the less I eat at home, the better those cheap clothes fit me. I go out to play darts once in a while, but—

Oh, we didn’t play darts! Robert interrupted. Can we have a go after supper?

Nope, Evelyn ruled. By the time we finish off this wine, we won’t be in any condition to throw sharp pointy things. You don’t have a concert tomorrow that you need to calm your nerves for, do you?

Robert made an exaggerated pout. No, I don’t, and you’re right. I don’t drink before I play, either.

Good boy. Sorry to take up our fun time with my problems. I’ll make it up to you somehow.

Your presence here is all the make-up we need, right, Tim?

Tim hadn’t spoken since they left the kitchen. Right. For sure.

What’s wrong, Timmy?

Not a thing. I’ve just been listening and thinking. Usually when I’m facing an important decision, I spend a lot of time by myself, mulling things over and over. I’m not accustomed to discussing things right off the bat, especially in front of my client. It’s distracting. But I do like what you say about your approach to money, Ev. I’m sure the bank approves, too. Have you borrowed a large sum from them before?

Aside from my mortgage, you mean?

Tim put down his fork and crossed his arms. You have a mortgage? You own your home?

Yes, why? Is that bad?

Tim laughed. Gosh no. I just always assumed you were renting. It’s a nice house, at least from the outside. I haven’t been inside. When did you buy it?

Oh, about twelve years ago, I guess. Took me years to save the down payment, but once I did, I never looked back. I wanted a house in good condition because I knew I couldn’t afford big repairs.

You’re in good shape, Ev, probably in better shape than I am, borrowing-wise. I’ve never had a mortgage, never borrowed a big amount like a mortgage in my own name. I’m not sure I could get a personal loan without a lot of palaver.

Don’t worry, Timmy, I’ll lend you some, Evelyn said, and laughed again, and both men joined her.

They finished the meal with Evelyn’s cookies. No conclusions were reached. They were mellow.

Did you have more questions for me to think about, Robby? You asked if I liked my job, and what would change, and I’ll think about that. Then money came up and we never got back to the touchy-feely bits. Do they matter as much as financial stuff?

I think they do, Robert said. If you love what you do, you’ll work night and day to succeed. If you can’t support yourself, though, the thrill fades pretty quickly. Right, Tim?

Right. And speaking from experience, earning good money doesn’t guarantee that you’ll love your work. You can feel trapped by money. Perhaps we’re all pointing to the same essential thing. I’d call it ‘balance.’

Balance, Evelyn said. I’ll think about that.

And joy, Robert added. It’s at the top of all my lists. If I’m working on a new piece of music, but I don’t find joy in it, I put it aside. I can play the notes, and may find the keys to unlock it later, but life’s too short to pound away at something that makes no sense to you, because it will sound just like that when you play it. In my teaching, too, I shake my head about some of the students, and wonder why on earth they want to pursue something for which they seem so obviously ill-suited. Most of the time, I can lead them to some kind of discovery that touches them, and that touches me. The thing is, if you perform with joy, people will buy tickets to hear you. Or eat breakfast in the atmosphere you create at the diner.

Oh, I sure do create atmosphere, don’t I, Tim? Can I have your notes from the den?

Would you leave them with me for a bit, Ev? I’m sort of between jobs at the moment, and I’d enjoy putting my not-quite-famous research skills to work on your project for a few days. I’ll bring them to you Thursday morning, if that’s all right?

Sure. Plain brown envelope, please. No, how about a grocery store bag? Kenny’d never notice that.

~

After lights out, Tim said, We should have dinner guests more often.

Really? We barely have time together as it is.

I know, but it’s interesting: when we’re both talking with a third person I hear you say things in a way that hasn’t come up before with just us. I don’t think it’s because we’ve said all there is to say to each other, is it?

I hope not. I see new sides of you, too. That doesn’t happen so much when Stella comes to dinner, maybe because you’re being careful, trying not to set her off.

We’re getting better with each other. Tim thought of the news story at the newspaper, which Elaine still hadn’t phoned to update him about. I hope nothing happens to roll that back.

Well, don’t feel you need to bring in a new guest every weekend just to see what new gem I’ll reveal. And, much as I’m happy to give Evelyn a helping hand, I hope we can play darts next time she visits. Let’s not open the wine until after we play.

May 2: Growing things

Sunday

Neither of Tim’s companions yesterday mentioned that he hadn’t shaved, though by the end of the evening his beard had darkened from the original five o’clock in the morning shadow. Now, twenty-four hours later, he definitely looked unshaven.

Robert had showered first and was making their coffees when Tim appeared at the kitchen island. They sat on stools on opposite sides of the island.

Good morning, Tim said.

Robert looked closely at him.

What?

Did you forget something?

Why do you ask? Tim couldn’t hide a grin.

What’s your plan, there? Robert pointed his latté toward Tim’s stubble.

Not sure. Full Smith Brothers beard? Mutton-chops? Handlebar ’stache? Fu Manchu? The possibilities are endless, but I won’t know ’til I grow. Suggestions are welcome, but be kind.

You won’t wear any of those styles if you want to be close to me, but a tidy beard might look good. My request is that you keep your neck shaved up to the jawline. Neck beards are uncouth. Right now you look like you spent the night lost in the woods.

Tim did as advised, and was pleased with how well his scruff appeared with just that little trim.

In the men’s choir room, several choristers acknowledged his beard, as shaped by Robert’s cosmetic advice.

It was pure coincidence that today’s Old Testament reading was the story of Samson and Delilah, and the sermon was entitled Strength and Temptation. The minister seemed to lose the point of the story. Believing a full head of hair to be a sign of God’s strength seemed irrelevant today, on the eve of a new millennium, three thousand years after the story had been written. Blaming a woman for the man’s downfall after she cut his hair was definitely not a modern conclusion, even in moderately-conservative South River. Perhaps the minister had come to that realization in mid-sermon, as he tried unsuccessfully to amend his conclusion on the wing.

Nice beard, Tim, said Jasmine, a soprano, after church. Don’t let Delilah cut it off ya!

~

If Elaine was working next door at The Times this morning, Tim would have seen her car in the parking lot. It was nowhere in sight.

~

What’s our agenda this afternoon, Timo?

They had changed out of their pressed shirts and ties, made a light lunch, and were getting the dishwasher ready to magically clean all evidence of dried and baked-on lasagne from pans and plates.

Which would you prefer: something, or nothing? Wait, don’t answer yet. I suggest we go for a drive, but with a purpose. Aunt Stella asked me to ‘do something’ about the row of shrubs lining her driveway, which she claims were destroyed by the snow-plow, but I think the landscaper planted them too close to the drive. We could go down and have a look, take some measurements, and then tour some nurseries to see what’s available. There are a couple good ones hereabouts. Interested?

Sure, that sounds pleasant. I like greenhouses. Will Stella be home?

I don’t know. We don’t need her to do this, but I’ll phone before we go to prevent an ambush.

Good idea. You’re not planning to plant a long row of shrubs yourself, are you?

Good heavens, no. One bush, maybe, but certainly not a dozen. I’ll ask at the nurseries for recommendations, and get them to send a quote to Stella. I’m not sure what she expected me to do, but that's what I took ‘doing something’ to mean.

Good. And dinner?

We have chicken breasts in the freezer. I thought we’d make Chicken Kiev. I’ll put them to thaw now.

Tim phoned Stella, who didn’t answer, and left the message that they would be in her driveway inspecting the shrubs and not needing her.

As he disconnected, he wondered if today was a good day to do that, Stella-wise. He hadn’t heard from Elaine, and was just a little frustrated that he hadn’t, since Stella might be on the wrong side of the big story she was working on. He didn’t want to encounter an angry or defensive Stella at the best of times; but if that was going to be her posture, he wanted to know what lurked behind it.

Never mind. Do your landscaping bit as she asked and say nothing. She should be pleased to see that getting underway.

Tim took along a large tape measure and a folded sheet of his ever-useful foolscap to sketch a plan of Stella’s property. He put a spade in the trunk, though he assured Robert there would be no digging, just poking.

The weather was a perfect twelve degrees and the sun felt positively hot. It was a delight to be outdoors, especially on the shore of the South River, gently flowing here where it widened and mixed with the salt waters of the nearby Atlantic Ocean.Too bad Stella’s not home today, Robert said as they arrived.

Why?

She’d surely invite us in for a glass of wine. I’d like to have a look around inside, too. I was only in the kitchen that time when she thought she was dying from love.

Be nice. She’s over that guy. She’s moved on. And on, I guess. But her house is gorgeous. There’s a games room downstairs.

Oh, I bet we could play darts on her board. We know two fine ladies who play killer darts. Please get us invited to play with one or both of them, will you?

Sure will. Now, hold this.

They measured distances.  Neither man knew about shrubbery, but they agreed that these ones looked very unhealthy, whatever they were. They didn’t appear physically damaged, just dying.

I’m going to dig a little, Tim said, opening the trunk for the spade. "I’d like