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suit.
    I thought that Sally and Sandy might leave because they had been in longer than we had, but they stayed put. Martha introduced me to Elizabeth Goodal and Tracey Dunne, from the writing group. I was beginning to feel hemmed in, and where, I wondered, were all the men? This was a shared sauna after all, but it would be a hell of a lot nicer without bathing suits. Tracey had taken up a position beside me, making me feel like a giant.
    Elizabeth broke the awkward silence by saying to no one in particular, “I just came from the dining room and Terry was lacing into some poor guy, telling him he was incompetent and the cause of the Zodiac fiasco.” She looked at me with a deprecating smile and said, “Nice work by the way.”
    I opened and closed my return smile in a fraction of a second. “Is Terry always like this?”
    There was a long silence and then Martha asked, “Like what?” As if she didn’t know.
    I took a deep breath and said, “Arrogant, rude, demanding.”
    â€œPretty much, yes,” said Elizabeth.
    â€œWhy do you all put up with her?”
    I watched as the group looked at each other and liter – ally closed ranks, even Martha, who said, “She’s a really good teacher and she knows all the right people in the writing world.”
    â€œYou mean she can get your book placed in the hands of the right agent?” I looked at them and they all nodded in unison like a bunch of synchronized swimmers. Is that really how it worked?
    â€œI’ve never heard of her,” I said, wondering how someone so abrasive could know all the right people.
    â€œShe was in all the newspapers.” It was the first time that Tracey had spoken, even in greeting, and I was struck by the depth of negativity in her voice, like Eeyore in a bathing suit.
    â€œYou mean her trial?”
    â€œYes.” Tracey glanced at Elizabeth and Sally as if seeking corroboration.
    â€œShe spent time in jail for a murder she didn’t com – mit. Right?”
    Tracey slowly nodded.
    â€œWhat happened to her? How did she get involved?”
    I looked around at the lot of them, but no one seemed to want to answer so I focused my gaze on Martha.
    â€œJust read the book she wrote about it, Cordi. It’s all in there.”
    â€œYeah, but can’t you give me some more detail?”
    Duncan’s version had been sparse to say the least.
    Martha made a big show of letting out her breath.
    â€œOkay, here goes, but it’s really long and convoluted, and you should read the book to do it justice.”
    â€œIn case you haven’t noticed, we’re on a boat, Mar – tha. Where am I going to find her book?”
    â€œShip, Cordi. As in umiajuaq .” I stared at her and she laughed. “The Inuit distinguish between them too.
    Umiaq is a boat, umiajuaq is a giant boat.” When I didn’t say anything she shrugged. “It’s a ship if it can carry a boat and it does have a library.”
    Yeah, right. As if it’ll be in the ship’s library, I thought.
    â€œOne of the guys in Terry’s adult ed writing class, Michael,” said Martha, as she settled into her storytell – ing role, “was an archaeologist doing research on the Queen Charlottes….”
    The sauna seemed suddenly very quiet, except for a sudden muffled cough somewhere — probably Sally.
    Martha continued, “Terry thought it would be a good idea to tag along and write a book and Michael agreed.”
    â€œReluctantly,” said Elizabeth.
    â€œThey were in the western part of the Queen Char – lotte Islands on the west coast, with a group, camping out at the site. It was almost morn …”
    The door to the sauna suddenly flew open and in walked Terry, as naked as the day she was born with a white towel coolly slung over her shoulder.
    I don’t know who met her eyes but the atmosphere must have blazoned out, “We are talking