OutWORD + Plus +

epilogue

2010-04-30T21:26:00.000-07:00

Five months later, underneath a small grove of maple trees blushing with fall colours on Mr. Rausch’s farm, Jim Whitehall pronounced us Mrs. and Mrs. Cameron Blair. A country barbeque for an intimate group of family and friends followed the simple ceremony and boasted locally raised beef, corn on the cob fresh from Mr. Lieber’s fields, and apple crumble pie directly from Mrs. Lieber’s kitchen.

The next day, Cam and I drove off on the black motorcycle to spend a week touring the mountains. Well, that was the plan, but we found a remote cabin with a breathtaking view and a huge stone fireplace the second night on the road and never moved from it for five days.

We ended up selling the Hickory land (I never could refer to it as truly mine, though Cam insisted that it was my idea to help Wild Bill and he only supplied the means), and that turned out to be another story in itself. Over the course of many lunch hours spent poring over records at city hall, I managed to trace the history of the property back to a fledgling group of monks who had purchased several acres of wooded land outside of what were then the city limits in order to start a new religious house devoted to prayer. These dedicated men soon encountered intense opposition from a developer in the city who was intent on turning the area into an exclusive suburb with large estates. They were eventually forced to sell the forested site in order to avoid the escalating financial burden of keeping the developer at bay. They pulled up roots and moved east to establish a small brotherhood close to Boston's city centre.

Cameron used his detective contacts to help me track down the struggling community of monks that still survived in Boston. I visited them in a neglected part of the city and found them generous, welcoming, and uncomplaining, despite living in very, how should I put it, "simple" circumstances. I was surprised and somewhat angered to hear that they had just been given notice that their entire block was being demolished to make room for high-rise condos. Well, two could play the rezoning game.

I convinced Roman to use his influential position and natural charisma to get the Hickory land zoned back to its original use, and the monks gratefully accepted my serendipitous offer to sell the charred land back to them for a fraction of what they would receive from their Boston buy-out. They began construction on the Wild Bill House of Prayer (my nickname for it) two days after Cam and I were married.

Shirley Besti, the unlikely agent who made my dreams come true, continued to live with the Whitehalls and found a job as a caregiver in a retirement home. It was a vocation that she seemed to have been created for. She filled the stale and depressing rooms with a profusion of compassion and laughter that surprised even her. I have never seen a clearer example of the saying that a person who has been forgiven much, loves much. I am still hoping that she’ll meet a nice widower at church who has two children and a big family home with a back yard. And maybe a dog. Well, one can dream, can’t they?

chapter one hundred and seven

2010-04-29T21:12:00.000-07:00

Back at the police station, I briefly spoke to an emotionally fragile but relieved Viola. I embraced her and reassured her that everything was going to be okay. She put up a brave face, but a few tears rolled down her cheeks as a policeman took her arm and led her out. She was joining her husband at a safe house, and what lay ahead for them was likely to be a bit of a rough road.

Blair and I were directed to a small meeting room where we found Roman and a man in a carefully pressed brown suit, papers measured out in neat piles between them. Roman jumped up and greeted me with a generous hug. “Thank God you’re alive, Billy! I hope someone is paying your angels overtime.” Then he held me at arms’ length and studied my bruised face carefully. Blair noisily moved a chair behind us, and my boss snapped back into business mode, energetically introducing me to Jonathan Stackhaus.

The man in the brown suit was a lawyer the city had hired to sue Allstar Corporation for damages. This was in addition to all the criminal charges Tait and Applewood would have slapped on them. With the testimony of Richard Sanders, the information gleaned from Michelle Whitehall, and the confessions of the two kidnappers who were on the payroll of Allstar, the prosecution was rapidly developing a devastating case. Roman was confident that all the rats whom Allstar paid off to do their dirty work would scurry out from their hiding places as soon as they saw the corrupt corporation begin to unravel.

While the three men grappled with the details of the complex case, I excused myself to write a statement about the day’s events at the Sanders’ house. The finished document read more like a juvenile sleuth book than a crime report. Where else would take-out coffee, a diminutive female statue, and red fingernails make appearances as a crime-fighters’ weapons of choice? I conveniently neglected to discuss the merits of said weapons and left that up to the reader to determine. My creative writing assignment complete, I wandered back to the meeting room to see how things were progressing.

Mr. Stackhaus was stuffing files into a thick briefcase whose colour perfectly matched his pants. Roman and Blair were shaking hands like business partners, but all three stopped what they were doing when they saw me in the doorway, their mouths slightly open. I fingered my hair to see if it was on fire. Nope.

“Dear God, Billy, you look – “ Roman paused while he searched for the polite, but not totally accurate word. “- exhausted!” Considering what my face had been through in the last few days, I was sure it was coming close to imitating a rainbow by now. By Roman’s reaction, I concluded that the last hour had only intensified the effect. “I insist that you take the rest of the week off, Ms. Ellis.” There was kindness in his voice, but also a discreet distancing. I supposed that if one were trying to put a new face on city hall, it certainly wouldn't be mine. Having an assistant that looked like a battered wife was definitely not an asset. Considering the amount of publicity that was likely to be coming his way in the next few weeks, he didn't need anyone or anything to detract from the important issues he would be tackling. I understood that and graciously accepted his directive to lay low for awhile, though I knew it was not solely for my own benefit. Well, so much for having my image plastered on the front page as the savior of the city.

“I’ll take you home,“ Blair offered. “I’m pretty beat myself. We can get your car some other time, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all, Detective,” I replied, surprisingly at peace with the annihilation of yet another fantasy of mine.

Cameron was pensive and quiet on the drive to my apartment. No doubt he was fatigued and had a lot on his mind with the latest developments in the Allstar case, but a word or two would have been nice. Perhaps a “How are you holding up?” or “Did they give you enough painkillers at the hospital?” Even a simple, “Wow, what a day!” would have been nice.

“Billy – “ Cam’s voice startled me out of my daydream. We were parked in front of my building, and he had turned off the car. “I have a favour to ask you.” I nodded vigorously, suddenly aware that I would do anything for this man. “Listen, I know I didn’t do it right the first time. I should have talked to you first, so I’m going to try again and hopefully, I’ll do better.”

I squinted at him, not sure where the request for a favour was to be found in any of those words.
He continued. “I would like to take you out to a very nice restaurant on Saturday. Would that be okay?” I smiled broadly and nodded. That favour would be a pleasure to grant. “I would like you to have my father’s Bible with you when I pick you up. Can you do that?” I nodded again, more slowly this time. “After dinner, I will ask you to come to my house for tea.”

“I drink coffee now,” I reminded him.

“Right, coffee.” He paused and waited. After a moment of silence, I realised that he was waiting for me to respond, so I gave the obligatory nod. “After coffee, I will ask you to marry me.”

“Again?” My voice was high and my heart was starting to pound.

“Yes, again. I’m giving you five days to think about it. I hope that’s enough for you to give me an answer. Do you think you can do that?” He leaned forward slightly, never taking his eyes off me.

“Yes, the answer is yes, I mean, not that answer, but to the other thing, of course, yes. I will, I can, yes, do that.” I stumbled over the words that came gushing out of my mouth.

“Thank you. I look forward to seeing you on Saturday, Billy.” I sat in the passenger seat and breathed in and out and in and out and couldn’t move. “Is everything okay?” Blair asked.

“Yes, everything is very okay.” I replied as a few tears squeezed out from my black and blue eyes. “It’s just that my face... I’m sorry, Cameron. I wanted to be beautiful when this moment happened. You deserve that.”

He gently took my right hand in his and smiled like he had a secret. “You are beautiful, Billy, every part of you. And none of us deserve it. That’s why it’s called love.”

chapter one hundred and six

2010-04-29T15:42:00.000-07:00

I was jolted awake when Cameron’s car hit a rather large pothole as he raced through the city streets. A few trees whizzed by and created a green blur as he navigated around some parked cars.

“Where are we going?” I asked from my reclining position in the back seat. “Are we chasing someone?” I straightened up and put my hand to my head to make sure everything was still in place.

“How are you feeling, Billy? You were white as a ghost when you passed out. Viola said one of the guys hit you in the face.”

“Hmmm. Yeah. A few times, maybe.” I struggled to replay the details of the closet fight scene. “Viola?” I questioned.

“She’s a little shaken up, but she’ll be fine. They took her to the station to make a statement and identify the kidnappers.” The car slowed slightly for an intersection, then sped through the red light. I didn’t know why the man was in such a hurry.

“Where are we going?” I repeated. “I think I need to go home.” My face was beginning to throb, so I leaned to the right until my head came to rest on the worn seat again.

“I thought it might be a good idea to stop in at the hospital to make sure you’re okay.” He took a corner rather quickly and I put out a hand to steady myself.

”Yeah.” I said slowly as I closed my eyes and saw flashes of what had happened at the house strobing in my mind. We hit a bump and I felt a sudden surge of nausea again. “Ow.” I tried to remain as still as possible in order to lessen the sick feeling that was growing in the centre of my torso.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Cameron’s voice came from the front seat, hollow and loud at the same time. I didn’t want to answer questions. I just wanted to sleep, but he wouldn’t leave me alone. “Or how about what day and month it is?”

The man was so annoying with his questions. Surely he knew what day it was. He was being ridiculous. “It doesn’t matter,” I mumbled in response, trying to fight off nausea and welcome sleep at the same time.

“Billy!” His sharp tone startled me, and I opened my eyes to stare at the back of the faded passenger seat. He continued, “Answer my question. It’s important, okay? What day is it?”

“It’s Monday, yeah, Monday.” My eyelids closed again.

“The month, Billy. What month is it?” He was practically yelling at me.

“My head really hurts,” I moaned.

“I know, honey, but I really need you to answer this, so concentrate on the question for me. What is the date today?” I really wanted to help him with his memory problem. He couldn’t seem to remember what day it was. Did I? I forced the fatigue and pain aside, pushed myself up into a sitting position once again, and focused on the question. It was Monday; I had been at work that morning.

“I think it’s April 29. Maybe you need to buy a calendar.” The detective glanced at me in his rear view mirror and gave me an approving nod, his eyes big and round.

“Good,” he seemed pleased that I had answered his question, but the car did not slow down. I sighed and turned my head this way and that, trying to find a position which took the bite out of the constant pounding in my face. There was none. Perhaps Cam was right. It wouldn’t hurt to make sure my brain was intact and my nose was still pointing in the right direction. It was then that I realised his questions had been meant to ascertain if I had suffered any memory loss due to head trauma and to keep me from sinking back into unconsciousness. It was true that my head was a bit fuzzy.

“Did you find the bad guys?” I asked, trying to take my mind off the pain and keep my brain from drifting to never-never land.

“Yep. We caught up with them not far from the house.” The detective pulled into the hospital parking lot and stopped the car. "Here we are."

Blair escorted me to the emergency room where an X-ray confirmed that while nothing was out of place, I had suffered a mild concussion. The doctor recommended a few days of rest, and after questioning Blair about his bandaged hand, strongly suggested that perhaps the detective do the same. By the time the doctor was done with his probing questions and stern lecture, it was after 2 o’clock; breakfast and the adrenaline rush from impending danger were long gone. One look at the detective showed that he was as exhausted as I was. I suggested that we grab a quick sandwich and some coffee at the hospital cafeteria, hoping that the calories and caffeine would give us the necessary boost of energy to finish the day.

The egg salad sandwich did not hold my interest for long, so I abandoned it half-way through and focused instead on the bitter, dark liquid. I followed each tiny, loud slurp with an unavoidable grimace. Blair finished his ham on whole wheat and began to stare at me with that familiar detective stare.

“Since when do you drink coffee?” he asked with a tired smile.

“Since I took up detective work,” I remarked, “You’re a bad influence on me, I think.” I returned his friendly grin.

Then his face became more serious. “You could have been killed, Billy,” he said. “You should know better than to walk into a dangerous situation like that. You put not only yourself, but Viola in danger, too.”

I hung my head, knowing that what he said was true. I had been reckless. Nevertheless, putting myself in harm’s way in order to rescue Viola had not been entirely stupid, as ill-thought out as my actions might have been. He would have done the same, I was sure, though certainly with more skill.

“I appreciate your concern, Cam,” I replied, “but there are times when God leads you to a certain place at a certain time, and when you find yourself face to face with a chance to help someone you care about, you don’t hesitate, even if you know it might end badly.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “I think you know what I’m talking about,” I said quietly and touched his bandaged arm.

chapter one hundred and five

2010-04-21T14:36:00.000-07:00

My head was starting to throb from the tussle with thug number one; he had elbowed me in my nose brace a few times and that was a few times too often. Dear God, how do we get out of this predicament? With Viola an emotional mess a few feet away, I decided to join in her whimpering and see if we couldn’t get some sympathy coming our way.

“Owwwwww, I think you might have re-broken my nose!” I howled with added emphasis while I held my face in my hands. “I don’t feel well. You should probably take me to a hospital right away.”

Bumpy-headed thug responded by kicking my feet forcefully. “Shut up!” I groaned and sneaked a peek at his face through my fingers; he glanced over at Viola’s crumpled frame and then sent a questioning look at coffee-stained thug. It appeared that they were undecided about what to do next, so perhaps I could prod them in the right direction. I had called Cam and shots had been fired, so I knew that help was on the way. My plan was to distract them until the police arrived.

I leaned over slightly to the right. “Viola, are you okay? Are you bleeding? Did he hurt your baby?” I extended a hand towards her in a caring gesture and received a kick to my shin for my efforts.

“I said shut up! And stop talking nonsense. We never took no baby!” I grimaced while I grabbed my leg and thanked God for hired thugs who had not been filled in on all the details of their crime. Perhaps I could use that to stir things up a bit.

My voice became loud and incredulous. “Tait didn’t tell you that you kidnapped a pregnant woman? How stupid can he be? Anything happens to her baby and the deal is off! Why wouldn’t he tell you something as important as that?” The eyes of both men darted back and forth from Viola to me and then to each other.

“Damn it!” the one watching me cursed and punched a wall with his elbow. “We have to get outta here. Now!” He grabbed my arm and motioned for scratchy face to help Viola up.

“For all you know Tait set you up! Sent you back to the house so that you could get caught red-handed! He must have known someone would be watching it. You know how ruthless Tait can be. That man always covers his tracks so that nothing comes back to him. He obviously doesn’t care if anything happens to Viola, the baby, or you for that matter. He’s just trying to send a message that nobody messes with Tait!”

My words found their mark a little too well. The lumpy thug struck me across the broken nose with his gun and I fell onto the carpet, nearly losing consciousness as waves of pain and nausea coursed through my body. I heard sirens in the distance. They sounded like a beautiful symphony. The floor vibrated as heavy feet ran out of the closet. A door slammed. Car tires squealed. The sirens got louder, then quieter. Maybe everyone had gone home. That would be nice, I needed some rest. I heard my name being called, so I lifted my heavy eyelids.

Cameron stood over me, agitated and upset. “I thought I told you not to go in here alone.”

“I wasn’t alone,” I murmured and let myself sink into the fluffy cloud of numbness.

chapter one hundred and four

2010-04-19T15:31:00.000-07:00

The black sedan had not moved from the driveway. I retrieved my cappuccino and hunched behind my car for a minute, observing the house. It became obvious that though the engine was running, there was no one in the car, at least not in the driver’s seat. Perhaps Viola was alone and unattended in the rear of the car! If that were the case, it would be a simple feat to rescue her with minimal risk to all involved.

I crept across the street as stealthily as I could, hid behind a thin tree, and then ambled nonchalantly along the sidewalk with my coffee, as if passing a pleasant walk in the neighbourhood. I managed to steal right up to the black car without being sighted by anyone that looked like they had a criminal record. I mustered up my courage and yanked the back door open, but the car was vacant. I was feeling rather exposed on the driveway, in view of all the front windows, so I trotted over to the front door and put my ear against it. I heard nothing, so I grabbed the handle and slowly opened it. The spacious foyer was empty, but there were muffled voices coming from somewhere on the left, deep inside the house. I tiptoed a few paces and scurried into the white sitting room. I could hear the voices more clearly now. I poked my head around the corner and saw a hallway leading to what I presumed were several bedrooms. There were no doors in my line of sight, so it seemed safe to venture down the hallway, at least for a bit.

I pressed myself against the wall and sidled slowly down the carpeted corridor, becoming more and more certain as I moved that there were at least two people in the room at the end of the hall. One was a yappy, bossy male. A second man interjected agreement or emphasis on occasion. As I paused near the end of the hall, I clearly heard a female voice protesting that she was trying hard but needed more time. My head prickled at the sound of Viola’s fearful words. I stopped in my tracks and pondered my next move. Perhaps I should retreat and wait for Cameron and his team. Maybe I should stay hidden and gather what information I could. Or was it possible that I was the person that God had sent to find and rescue Viola? The inequality of one woman armed only with a lukewarm, half-empty cappuccino going up against two thugs never crossed my mind.

Wanting to use the element of surprise, I hurried my last few steps and inserted myself confidently into the room where the voices were coming from. At first glance, the room appeared empty, and I exhaled with relief. Then I heard a commotion which came through an open door behind the large canopy bed. A walk-in closet, I deducted. I heard a man barking an impatient order and then a loud slap followed by a woman’s whimpering. I grabbed a small stone sculpture from a side table and marched over to the closet.

“That’s enough!” I yelled as I crossed the closet threshold, the immobilised Inuit woman carved in grey held high above my right shoulder. Two men whirled around to face me, both of them with handguns hanging at their sides. I decided my time would be better spent trying to disarm them than to think about all the flaws in my impulsive plan of action. I brought Mrs. Inuit down with all my might on the man nearest me, while tossing what was left of my caffeine fix into the face of the second criminal a few feet to his left.

Viola, who had been stuffing clothes into a suitcase, leaped into action and began to scratch with those marvelous red nails at the coffee-stained man’s face and hands. He waved his gun crazily as he tried to get away from her sharp claws and fired a shot into the ceiling. Meanwhile, the man whom I had introduced to Mrs. Inuit staggered briefly against the back wall, then raised his gun in my direction as he gave his head a few slow shakes. Hoping that his reflexes were sufficiently compromised, I delivered my best roundhouse kick to his forearm and watched his hand move to the left and down before his finger pulled the trigger. A sudden puff of torn carpet near his foot showed how close I had come to being successful at incapacitating him with a leg wound.

I lunged toward the smoking gun and tried to wrestle it out of his grasp. Viola and her thug were grunting and screaming in their own corner. Combat in such small quarters is never recommended and can be extremely dangerous, but I thought we had the upper hand. I was wrong. Within minutes, both of us had been flung to the floor and firearms shoved into our faces. A small red lump on the side of thug number one’s head and a few nasty scratches stained with coffee on thug number two’s face had not been enough to secure Viola’s release. In fact, now they had two females to bargain with.

“Don’t try anything stupid,” the man glaring down at me murmured.

Thanks, buddy, but I could have used that advice about ten minutes earlier. I shot a glance over at Viola and saw that her brief bravery had disappeared. She had drawn up her legs and was hugging herself, sobbing quietly. I felt sick to my stomach. What had I just done?

chapter one hundred and three

2010-03-22T20:44:00.000-07:00

It was humiliating to be hung up on by the very man that was supposed to be hanging on my every word, at least in my perfect world. I was also sick and tired of being cooped up in a conference room moving papers from one pile to the next while criminals roamed around freely, threatening my friends and colleagues. My head hurt, my stomach was empty, and I was pissed off. It was slightly unrighteousness indignation, and for better or for worse, it spurred me into action.

I marched out of city hall, jabbed the keys into my scratched navy sedan’s ignition, slammed the car into gear, and drove off in a cloud of hazy exhaust fumes. Secretly, I was hoping that the car would magically navigate itself to the criminals’ lair where they were keeping Viola. My wrath and I drove through the city streets for an hour before I finally ran out of gas, emotionally and literally. Depleted and defeated, I pulled into a corner gas station which also promised the best coffee in town. I was filling the car with super, just in case a high speed chase ensued, when a red sporty car screeched to a halt behind me. A woman with a blonde wig started to lean on her horn, eager to nab my place at the pump. I glared my most icy glare back at her high and mighty impertinent blondeness, then proceeded to screw the gas cap on like an eighty-year-old with severe arthritis. I made sure to inch my way into a parking spot off to the side before sauntering inside to pay for the fuel. As I passed the red car, now chugging petrol, blondie showed me one of her fingers. I gritted my teeth, kept on walking, and concluded that perhaps today was a good day to become a coffee drinker. A few minutes later, I had befriended a large vanilla cappuccino and an apple fritter.

I set the coffee on the hood of my car and leaned against the front fender, chewing the sugary apple treat while I forgave the rude female and tried to focus on more important matters like rescuing Viola. Driving in complex geometric configurations all over the city wasn’t proving to be a big success, but neither was sitting in city hall with my nose buried in papers. Oh God, could I please just accomplish something worthwhile for a change? I gazed over the busy intersection right in front of me, knowing that Viola was somewhere out there in the city. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack or a mouse in a giant maze.

I polished off the fried treat and took my first sip of the coffee. It was surprisingly tasty, and I wondered why I had held a grudge against coffee for so long. I stood there, sipping slowly and letting the scene in front of me blur as I went over the events of the last few days in my mind. Either the caffeine suddenly found its mark, or an angel poked me in the head with a very sharp finger, for my neck snapped abruptly to the left as my eyes lighted on a black sedan cruising through the intersection in front of me. What looked very much like Viola’s face was pressed against the back window. God almighty, could it really be? I frantically scrambled into the car, squeezed the blessed cappuccino into the broken cup holder, turned the key, and punched the accelerator. The chase was on.

The drive-home traffic had just begun, so over the next few blocks I found myself speeding and braking and changing lanes frequently while I tried to keep the sedan in view. After a mile or two of this and one too many unfortunate light changes, I lost sight of my prey. By this time, the terrain was starting to looking familiar; I was nearing the subdivision where the Holy Spirit had visited Richard Sanders. I thought that surely the location was too obvious to be the destination, but perhaps that was what the kidnappers were hoping everyone would assume.

I pulled onto Sanders’ street cautiously. Yes, a black sedan was parked in the driveway of the bungalow, the engine still running. My guess was it was not going to be a long visit. I parked my blue pursuit vehicle across the street a few houses down and wondered what to do next. I knew I should call Cameron, but I had no phone. Well, there were a dozen phones on the street; I just had to access one. I ran up a random walkway and banged on the door. No one was home, so I traversed a patch of lawn and assaulted the next house. A teenager opened the door and stared at me with apathetic, bored eyes.

“Phone. I need to use your phone!” I urged. He disappeared for a moment and returned with the requested item. After he wordlessly deposited it into my open palm, he sauntered back to the couch in the front room and resumed his video game.

At the news that I had tracked the bad guys back to Viola’s house, Cameron’s voice became tight. He assured me that he would be right over and emphatically insisted that under no circumstances was I to approach the house alone. Before I had a chance to respond to his directive, he was gone. Well, I most certainly wasn’t going to hang out with the teenage video champion while Viola was less than one hundred feet away. I tossed the phone onto the couch and left the kid to his virtual battle; I had a real one that I needed to fight.

chapter one hundred and two

2010-03-15T19:31:00.000-07:00

After witnessing the rather hurried flight of Ms. Whitehall, I called Cameron again, this time from the safety of the conference room.

“Michelle just left in a hurry. I’m sure she was listening to our conversation.”

“Good work, Billy. Pretty gutsy move.“

“You said it was time to blow this thing out of the water,” I reminded him.

“Not my exact words, ” he corrected, ”but you captured the sentiment.”

“You think she knows where Viola is?”

“Undoubtedly, but I don’t think she’s stupid enough to drive right over there.”

“Oh?” I had hoped that she would do exactly that. “So what now?”

“I’ve got a car on her tail. We’ll track her movements and see what comes of it.” Cameron said.

“But if she isn’t going to where Viola is being held, what’s the point?” I sighed a bit too loudly.

“Listen, Billy. These things take time. We have to wait and see where she leads us. You did well to unsettle her, but now we’ll probably have to wait until she feels clear to contact the kidnappers. We can’t force her next move or we’ll lose any advantage we have. You understand.”

I tried not to let the impatience show in my voice. ”Yes, detective.” Viola had been missing for nearly twenty-four hours. Who knew what they could have done to her by now? "But I can’t just sit here!” The last few words were high and pitchy with frustration.

Blair’s voice became decidedly more even and calm. “Then sit there and pray. I know you can do that. I’ll let you know if we come up with anything, okay?”

His suggestion was not entirely to my satisfaction, but I couldn’t discredit it’s merit, so I left him to his work while I paced the length of conference room windows, taking my complaint to the most powerful person that I knew.

“Well, God, I don’t know what’s happening with Viola. Maybe I should never have let her leave the shelter, but she just wanted to come to church. How could I have known this is how things would turn out? It looks like it’s my fault again, so I’m sorry. I’m not very good at helping people, but I know you are. Could you please let someone know where Viola is and rescue her before it’s too late?” I stopped pacing and leaned my forehead against the cool glass, at a loss for any more words. A moment later, to my surprise, I saw Michelle Whitehall walking through the park towards city hall. What was she doing back here?

I took two giant steps over to the phone and called Cameron to see what he knew about it. After I spent a few minutes on hold, he filled me in on the latest details. Apparently she had driven the car to a nearby garage, left it there, and hoofed it back to city hall at a rather brisk pace. When the service manager was questioned by a detective, he had replied that the car was in for a regular maintenance. The officer’s request to see the car was refused. The police were in the process of getting a search warrant, but Cam was sure the car was being wiped clean of all evidence as we spoke. I had to hand it to Michelle Whitehall. She was one smart woman.

“Oh, shit, We’re still always a step behind,” I muttered and then quickly added the obligatory, ”Sorry, Mrs. Wheeler.”

“Mrs. Wheeler?” Cam questioned.

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it sometime when we’re not busy trying to save someone’s life,” I explained.

“Right.” The detective let it drop and got right back to the matter at hand. I loved that about him! ”We’re also keeping tabs on Tait and Applewood, so if any one of them goes near Viola, we’ll find her.”

“Not likely they’ll do that anytime soon, if I know them.” I let the air out of my mouth to match my sense of deflation.

“Oh, by the way, Sanders told me he knew nothing about Michelle Whitehall’s involvement,” Cameron informed me.

“Really?” It took a moment for that to sink in. “So the three were keeping secrets from each other?” I asked.

“There's not usually a whole lot of trust between criminals. It always proves to be their downfall.” Cameron added.

“Hmmm,” was my only reply.

“If we don’t get any leads in the next few hours, I’ll bring Michelle Whitehall in and see if we can get anything out of her.”

“I hope she’s talkative,” It was more sarcasm than hope speaking.

“Me too,” he agreed, both in word and tone.

”Oh-uh, and Cameron,” I hesitantly added. ”There’s one more thing.”

”Go ahead,” he responded quickly.

I grimaced to myself. I knew he was busy on a case, and it was a totally inappropriate moment to bring my personal stuff up, but I needed to get at least one thing off my chest so that I could stop obsessing about it.

”Billy? You still there?” The detective's voice reminded me that while I was busy with my inner dialogue, he was waiting for me to get to the point.

”Uh, sorry, yeah, just trying to gather my words.” I grimaced again and bit my nails. Just jump in, Billy, I coaxed my timid soul.

”Sure you don’t want to call me back when you’ve got it figured out? I’m kind of busy here –“

”No! I got it! Here it is. Um, listen, when I said no the other day, in the bathroom, I didn’t mean no. I meant no, but yes. No, I don’t want to be your personal assistant like someone you hire. I just meant that I don’t want to take money to help you, that’s all. I will, I would be happy to, if you still want me, that is – “

“Got to take a call, Billy. Sorry.” The detective abandoned me mid-sentence, and I was left holding the phone and a fair bit of embarrassment. I smacked myself on the forehead with my right palm, deriding myself for yet another bungled attempt at getting the man to respect me as a person and see me as more than a bewildering and unreliable friend. It was becoming evident that any high hopes for this relationship were mostly in my head. And speaking of my head, I should have known better than to smack myself in annoyance, because sharp pains were now shooting down my broken nose.

chapter one hundred and one

2010-02-12T16:59:00.000-08:00

Blair was in no mood for small talk as we drove the brown bomb to the Whitehall house so that I could retrieve my car. His motorcycle was still parked on the opposite side of the street, so after a brief conversation with Lynn, he used his one good hand and I used my two to push it up the driveway and into the back of the garage. That taken care of, Cameron headed off to the station to vanquish evil and I drove home, feeling badly at the way things had been left between us, again.

After a quick shower and a change into clothes without blood stains, I showed up at city hall mid-morning. I went to Viola’s office to begin my work and as I eased myself behind her desk, a heaviness flooded into my chest. I just had to pray for her. Oh God, please keep Viola safe and help her not to be afraid. Don't let those mean guys get away with anything else, okay? And, oh yeah, could you help Blair out today? I think he might need some assistance. That done, I opened a file folder and began to type.

Viola’s phone rang just before noon. It was Roman. He informed me that he was at the police station talking to Cameron and Richard Sanders. Blair had brought him up to speed on the Allstar case and my condition. My boss expressed his sympathy for my injured face and told me that if I wasn’t feeling up to a full day of work, I needn't stay. I assured him that I felt fine as long as I didn’t sneeze, cough, bend over, or attempt to pull on a turtleneck. He apparently didn't hear my incredibly witty words and simply let me know that he would be in the office after lunch.

The work completed at Viola’s desk, I moved to Roman’s office to do some filing. Michelle Whitehall walked past the open door and stopped, evidently surprised at what she saw.

“I didn’t expect to see you in today, Ms. Ellis” she said. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay.” I wasn't sure why, but her interest made me uncomfortable.

“Everything alright with Roman?”

“Yes,” I replied, not sure exactly what she was inquiring about.

“It’s too bad about Viola, isn't it?”

“Hmmm,” I replied noncommittally. The woman sure had a lot of questions today.

“Have you heard from her lately?” she continued the chit chat, as if small talk between us was normal.

“I saw her yesterday.” I decided to offer her a few bits of information to see where it would lead. “But that was before...you know.”

Michelle Whitehall didn’t blink. She didn’t ask what I was talking about. She just looked at me rather placidly, and I knew that she was aware of the kidnapping.

“Well, I hope everything turns out for the best,” she said in her best sweet voice which wasn't quite good enough.

“For everyone involved,” I added.

“I’ll let you get back to your work.” She smiled her cold, professional smile and made to leave.

I stopped her just as she turned away. “Say, I’ve been meaning to ask you. Are you related to Jim Whitehall?”

The briefest flicker of unease passed across her face, but she covered it well with a small laugh. “I suppose we may be distantly related somehow, but no, not in any meaningful way.”

“That's too bad,” I said, my eyes never leaving hers. “I have a lot of respect for Jim.”

“Many people do.” The comment sounded more sarcastic than I think she meant it to. The phone rang in Roman’s office and Michelle straightened her jacket with a practiced gesture.
“Well, I have a busy day. I hope you feel better.” Her heels clicked down the hallway at a quick pace. I let the phone ring until it went to voicemail. The exchange with the Whitehall woman had raised more than a few suspicions in my mind. If Cameron wanted to shake up the Allstar cage a bit, I believed I might be able to help him out. To my knowledge, the listening devices had not yet been removed from Roman’s office and phone, so I sat down at his desk and dialed the police station.

“Blair here.”

“Hello, Detective Blair. It’s Billy Ellis. I am here doing some work in Roman’s office and guess who just walked in? Michelle Whitehall.”

“Okay.” He said cautiously, quite aware that our conversation was being monitored.

“She started asking questions about Viola, too many questions, in my opinion. I’m sure she knows something about the kidnapping. How do you think that’s possible? Is the information public knowledge?”

“No, it's not," Blair confirmed.

“Well, she’s getting her information from somewhere.”

“Are you sure about this?” I could tell that Blair was asking me if I knew what I was doing.

“I don't know, but it wouldn't hurt to check her out. I would hate for Viola's kidnappers to get away without a trace. You understand."

“Got it." I heard a computer keyboard clicking at his end. “Thanks, Billy.”

“You’re welcome.” I hung up the phone and exited Roman's office, walking down the hallway until I was at the top of the stairs overlooking the main entrance. Within a minute, Michelle Whitehall hurried across the foyer and out the door. I believed we had just found our eavesdropper and the possible owner of the getaway car. I only hoped that she would lead us to Viola - an unharmed Viola.

chapter one hundred

2010-02-12T15:15:00.000-08:00

When I opened my puffy eyes, the sun was poking long fingers along the far wall. My face felt thick and distorted like someone had kicked it. I raised myself up slowly and groaned at the effort. Why couldn't I just unscrew my head for a few days until everything felt better? But I supposed going headless would have involved a whole other set of complications. I staggered to the bathroom and did what people do first thing in the morning. After that was done, a quick glance in the mirror confirmed my suspicions that things were definitely going to look worse before they started to look better. As I was swishing some water in my mouth trying to get rid of the taste of teeth left un-brushed the night before, a man with a huge white hand appeared in the open doorway.

"Cabberon!" I blubbered as water dribbled down my chin. "Whab are you doing ub here?"

"Mind if I use my bathroom?" He spoke slowly, as if running on seventy percent battery power. I swallowed the water, not having the courage to spit in front of the detective, and moved towards the doorway. For some reason, Cameron wouldn't step aside to let me out. The painkillers were probably making him a bit slow and stupid, so I took him gently by the shoulders and pushed. Nothing moved, so I pushed harder. A mischievous smirk took up residence on his mouth and I backed away, raising my hands in the air in surrender.

"Okay. What do you want?"

"While I have you here, I thought we might discuss the terms of our arrangement," he began cryptically.

"Um, what arrangement would that be?" Was he talking about the land deal? Was he telling me he didn't appreciate my taking over his bedroom and bathroom without asking?

"I will obviously be needing a little help in the next few weeks," he lifted up his left hand, in case I didn't catch his point, "and I would like to hire you as my personal assistant." He held up his one good hand to stop me from interrupting. "Let me warn you that it might include some, how shall I say, delicate operations." He smiled at my look of concern and added, "Basically, I won't be able to button a shirt very well."

"No!" I surprised both of us with my emphatic response.

The smile quickly disappeared off his face. "I understand. It would be uncomfortable for you." He shrugged. "That's fine, I'll get a home care service. I just thought that..." He left the sentence unfinished.

"I'm sorry..." I began.

The phone in the bedroom jangled and Cameron left me standing apologetically in the bathroom. It was Richard Sanders with news about Viola. Tait had contacted him this morning with an ultimatum: unless Sanders dropped all intention of exposing the corporation, Tait could not guarantee the safety of Richard's wife and unborn child.

I stood speechless in the middle of the bedroom as Cameron relayed this new development to me. He shook his head and muttered, "So now they’re adding kidnapping to their long list of crimes.” He stared out the window for a moment and then I saw the hard edge of determination settle on his face. “I think it’s high time to pull the plug on these bastards. You coming?”

Blair strode out of the room and I had no choice but to follow him.

chapter ninety-nine

2010-01-24T22:05:00.000-08:00

I was still standing on the front porch, staring down the street in disbelief when an ambulance and two wailing squad cars pulled up in front of the house. I led the uniformed troupe inside and pointed one emergency medical technician to the bathroom while the other attended to Jim. Cameron insisted he was fine for the moment and didn’t require immediate attention. After a sternum rub, thick legs came to and seemed none the worse for wear except for a lump on his head - the wonders of inebriation. Two policemen stuffed the now passive man into the back of a squad car and headed to the police station. Jim was placed on a stretcher and taken out to the ambulance to join Shirley. I heard the squeal of tires and the short blast of a siren as it sped off.

The two remaining officers started questioning Cameron about the incident, notepads out. I thought the hero of the day was starting to look a little grey; perhaps he wasn't quite as fine as he had insisted fifteen minutes ago. I was feeling a little woozy myself and sank into a nearby chair, one of the few that had not been tossed down the staircase by thick legs. My adrenalin level finally dipped low enough for me to acknowledge the constant throbbing in my head. I closed my eyes for a moment to brace myself against the pain and opened them to find a police officer peering down at me.

"You okay, ma'am? Are you hurt?"

“My face," I replied. "He kicked me in the face.”

“And the blood?" He indicated the red splashes of colour on my hands and shirt.

"It's not mine." Surely it was Cameron's and maybe Shirley's, but I didn't know. The events of the morning were becoming a bit of a blur at this point.

“We’re taking both of you to the hospital,” the man in uniform said as he took my elbow. The other officer guided Blair to a seat beside me in the back of the squad car and we raced downtown. It should have been an exciting moment, my first ride in a police car with the lights flashing, but the pale man clutching his bloody, towelled hand beside me was a reminder that this was not a joy ride. Real lives were at stake.

"I can't believe I lost Viola,” I sighed to the window, watching the cars part for us.

“What did you say?” Cameron turned his weary face towards me.

“Viola. She's gone. She came to the house with me and must have run outside at some point. I saw some guys throw her into a car and take off." I knew he wanted to yell at me for bringing Viola to a crime in progress, but fortunately, he had no energy for it. "I got a partial license plate. That's something, right?" I added hopefully.

He leaned his head back against the seat. “I’ll let Sanders know. I'm sure the kidnappers will be in contact with him soon enough.”

The two policemen dropped us off at the emergency room. Cameron insisted on making a phone call before he received medical attention and dutifully informed Richard Sanders about his wife's abduction. Then my favourite detective was on his way to surgery to have a knife removed from his hand. I waited for an hour before a doctor appeared to tend to me. I endured a painful straightening of my broken nose at the hands of a young resident who winced every time I let out a yelp and matched me grimace for grimace during the uncomfortable process. He fitted me with a small plastic splint which I was sure made me look like someone who had just undergone a Beverley Hills nose job. Well, one could hope that the result would be of the same calibre, couldn't they?

I inquired about Shirley and was directed to a nearby examining room where a doctor was just finishing up a fine array of stitches. Apparently, she had put up both arms to ward off her brother-in-law’s attack with a knife, and he had slashed away until Jim and Cameron intervened. The doctor told me she had lost a fair amount of blood and would be admitted for a day or two until she regained her strength.

Jim was nowhere to be found, so I retired to the waiting room to read some fascinating magazine articles while Cameron was in surgery. A few minutes after I had come to the conclusion that there was nothing worth reading in the magazine pile, I saw Lynn walk through the emergency doors. She was appalled at my face apparatus and bloody clothes, but I assured her it was nothing serious. We found a nurse, inquired about Jim, and soon a man in a white coat came to talk to us. Jim had suffered a dislocated hip and a fractured pelvis. The doctor informed us that they had put Jim under anaesthetic and popped the hip back into place. Fortunately, the pelvis was stable and would heal without surgery. Jim would have to stay off his feet for a few weeks, but all in all, the news was better than we had expected. I felt Lynn squeeze my hand as she mouthed a silent prayer of relief and gratitude. Amen, sister, amen.

Lynn invited me to accompany her to the recovery room to see Jim, but I declined. Somehow, I couldn't bear the sight of him lying unconscious on a bed, even though he would be waking up from the anaesthetic soon. I needed my first sight of the man to remind me of my strong and encouraging friend Jim, awake and coherent and full of life, not to reinforce the image of the helpless figure crumpled on his kitchen floor.

It was the middle of the afternoon, and I was beginning to feel the effects of having consumed no food up to that point. The hospital cafeteria offered little that looked appetising, but a tuna sandwich on whole wheat and a glass of apple juice fulfilled my requirements nicely: no longer sporting an empty stomach, I swallowed one of the pain pills that the empathetic resident had given me and hoped that my face would stop pounding soon.

I passed another gleeful hour in the emergency waiting room watching children cough and cry on their mothers before a nurse directed me to the surgical floor where I could sit in relative comfort and quiet. It wasn't long before the surgeon appeared and asked if I was a member of Blair's family. I identified myself as the fiancée, just to avoid an awkward situation, and hoped that God would forgive me for my little white lie. He informed me that Cameron had come through the surgery well, and though the operation had proved a bit intricate in places, everything in his hand would be fine. There was the possibility of some permanent nerve damage, but only time would tell. I shook the doctor's hand and thanked him, only then remembering to slip my left hand behind my back, hoping he hadn't noticed my naked fourth finger.

Another half hour passed before Cameron opened two heavy eyelids and saw me sitting at his bedside. A trembling, silly smile jumped onto my face at the sight, and I spontaneously bent down to kiss his cheek. He grinned weakly and croaked out a demand for some water. I giggled ridiculously at the sound of that familiar voice, and finding a cup with a straw on the side table, lifted it to his mouth. Nurses flitted in and out, checking the progress of several post-surgery patients as Cameron and I took turns staring at each other. I was revelling in the gift of life, suddenly aware of how devastated I would have been if anything had happened to him, and he was probably staring at the unsightly splint on my face. Other than assuring him that everyone else was going to be fine, no words were spoken. I found myself holding onto his right hand and never wanting to let go.

A few hours later, I wheeled Cameron and his heavily swathed left hand down to the front door of the hospital in the mandatory wheelchair. Since both our cars were still at the Whitehalls, I hailed a cab and we landed at his doorstep just after sunset. I settled him on the couch with a blanket, two pillows, and some water. Since he had not eaten much that day, I heated a can of spaghetti sauce that I found in the bedroom-sized pantry, cooked some noodles, and set the simple meal before him on the coffee table. He sat up, swallowed a few bites, picked at it a bit more, then laid down the fork and eased himself back onto the couch. I told myself it was the strain of the day and not my sad attempt at home cooking that had stolen his appetite. He soon dozed off, cradling his giant left hand in the crook of his right elbow.

I tidied up the kitchen, refilled his water glass, and placed his pain pills within easy reach. Not feeling too perky myself and the couch being already occupied, I climbed the stairs and headed for Cameron's bedroom. The bed was unmade and yesterday's clothes strewn on the floor. I was too tired to care about how intrusive I was being and crawled under the covers, being careful to remain face up. My head was beginning to ache again, and my thoughts had become a jumble of important details mixed with useless wonderings. What would happen if I sneezed during the next few days? Had someone called Roman and told him about Viola’s kidnapping? I had to make sure to avoid pepper and bright sunlight. We needed to get to her before anything bad happened.

“Remember, I must remember,” I mumbled to myself as I succumbed to the weight of sleep.

chapter ninety-eight

2010-01-17T23:21:00.000-08:00

To my surprise, my first instinct was to run down the hallway toward the noise, which had come from behind us, in the direction of the kitchen. A few quick steps and I was back where I had started, staring at the bloody tile floor. There was a door to the right of the oak cabinets that I guessed led to the basement, so I yanked it open. A bulky man in navy work clothes, wielding a bloody knife, was bounding up the stairs straight towards me. Viola screamed in my ear and I slammed the door shut as fast as I could. We stumbled backwards, tripping over each other as we tried to put some distance between ourselves and the blue intruder only a thin sheet of wood away. The sight of the basement doorknob turning was like a starting pistol, and we both dove under the kitchen table simultaneously.

From my hiding place, I saw thick navy legs and dirty boots appear at the top of the stairs. Then I heard a second set of footsteps tramping up staircase. So did thick legs. He stepped towards the table, grabbed a kitchen chair with one hand, and threw it down the stairs. A thud, a crash, and a groan followed, but the footsteps continued their upward trek. I silently cheered them on. The intruder grunted with displeasure and tossed another chair into the hole. Another thud, a splintering, and then silence. The footsteps had paused. The attacker placed his hand on the back of a third chair, just in case, and waited, leaning his weight against the table, breathing heavily. His thick legs and a dangling knife were right in front of my face. It was an opportunity I could not pass up, so I leaned forward and sunk my teeth into the grimy hand.

He dropped the knife and let out a beastly roar while I flung the sharp instrument away from him into the far corner of the kitchen. Unfortunately, this tactical move left me somewhat exposed. With a reflex quicker than I would have thought possible from a man of his size and inebriation level, thick legs kicked in the direction of his biter and caught me square on the nose with one of his filthy boots. An explosion of pain shot through the center of my face, and I crumpled onto the floor, struggling for breath. Viola panicked and started to scream in tiny, short bursts. The noise hurt my ears, and I didn’t need anything else to hurt right then! Thick legs dropped down on one knee and a sticky, hairy hand began grabbing at me. I kicked my legs furiously and pushed myself backwards, further under the table, but I was too slow and the man's arm was too long. He caught my ankle and started to pull. Oh God, help me! With my free leg, I kicked in futility at the solid rock forearm that had me in its grasp. Then I heard the blessed sound of footsteps on the stairs again, hallelujah, and soon the most beautiful pair of legs appeared behind the monstrous navy mass.

Cameron threw himself on top of the crouching man who was attached to me and they both crashed to the floor. As I tried to wriggle free of the mess, I heard another set of footsteps, slow and faltering, ascending from the basement. Jim’s legs limped into view, and he joined the writhing pile-up on the floor. Thick legs was not easily subdued and with a giant heave, threw Jim and Cameron off with his powerful, drunken thrashing. At least this made him let go of my leg. The two policemen were soon on the madman again, and the scrum shifted from one side of the kitchen to the next, and then to the corner, where the two good guys finally pinned the bad guy to the floor. To my horror, the violent man landed with his outstretched arm not six inches away from the discarded knife. In a flash, it was back in his hands and the tables turned in his favour once again. This time, he was way out of biting range.

Cameron was up quickly and backed away, giving the angry man and his blade some space. Jim also pushed himself off of the perpetrator's back, but he didn't land squarely on his feet; one of his legs began to wobble strangely, like a gymnastic routine gone horribly wrong. He collapsed on the floor and slumped against the cabinets, a wince frozen on his face. Blair called out to him, but Jim's eyes were half closed, and there was no response. As thick legs stood up and regained his balance, he saw the opportunity laid out on the floor before him. He held the knife straight in front of him and took a few wide and purposeful steps towards the injured policeman. God, no! Stop him somehow! I heard the inhalation of a deep breath as Cameron launched himself from beside the refrigerator and flew across the room towards the moving knife. Thick legs, the bloody knife, Jim, and Cameron - they were all going to collide right in front of me. The knife came up into the air and began its descending arc towards Jim’s unmoving head. Cameron's body began a descending arc towards the sharp weapon. I stared at the horrific scene unfolding in front of me and whispered ‘Jesus’ over and over and over again.

The blade was inches away from Jim’s pale face when Cameron’s hand intercepted its trajectory. I saw the knife tip pierce the flesh, and the force of his forward motion push the weapon backwards. Blair's head thumped soundly into the middle of a navy work shirt, and the force of the blow toppled the assailant backwards. As the burly man fell, I heard his head crack against the edge of the kitchen counter top, and he landed heavily on the tiled floor. Cameron lay sprawled on top of him, a knife blade protruding from the back of the detective's hand.

I crawled out from under the table and moved towards the three prostrate men. Cameron carefully raised himself up and knelt on the attacker's chest.

“Dial 911, Billy,” he panted.

I scrambled onto my feet and grabbed the kitchen phone. When the calm, reassuring voice answered, I shakily informed the woman that we had one attacker subdued and two people injured.

“Make that three,” Cameron interjected. “Shirley’s in the bathroom.”

I confirmed the address and hung up, then grabbed a kitchen towel for Cameron and helped him wrap it tightly around his hand. Then I moved over to Jim, who was now awake, but not totally coherent. He kept muttering about some tools.

“We had this guy cornered in the basement,” Cameron explained. “He pushed over a locker full of tools and it landed on Jim.” Blair and Jim grimaced in unison.

“Handcuffs, bedroom,” Jim said weakly. My legs carried me to the master bedroom and after pulling open a few drawers, I found what I was looking for. Together, Cameron and I managed to turn thick legs over and secure his hands behind his back. That done, we all felt a little safer, at least I know I did.

“You'd better check on Shirley,” Cameron suggested. I felt a sudden flush of guilt for forgetting about her until now. The bathroom door was locked, so I called her name and reassured her that the danger was past. The door opened cautiously, and a frightened pair of eyes appeared. I gently pushed the door open all the way and saw that she had a towel wrapped around each arm; there were blots of blood seeping through in a few places. A scream outside the window sent a shiver through my body. The sound was all too familiar. I stepped over to the window and pulled the curtain aside. Two men were forcing Viola into a green car – they were the chatty coffee-drinking men from the street corner outside the shelter!

"Noooooooo!" I yelled in protest as I raced down the hallway and out the front door, just in time to see the thieving car speed away down the street. I made out the letters J1H on the license plate before it blurred in the distance.

chapter ninety-seven

2010-01-08T21:29:00.000-08:00

I woke up groggy, stiff, and with the residue of a dream that I couldn’t remember clinging to the back of my mind. After a long shower and two cups of strong tea, things started to clear up in my head a bit, and I remembered what day it was. I glanced at my watch; it was already after ten, and I was going to miss church if I didn't hurry up. On a whim, I called Viola as I tossed my dishes in the sink and went to change my shirt. She answered on the first ring.

“Hi, Viola, it’s Billy,” I responded.

“Oh, I’m so glad you called. I was thinking about going to church today, but had no idea where to go. Do you know of any place?”

“Sure. I’ll come by and pick you up. Be ready in ten minutes, okay?” We were going to be late, but that just couldn't be helped. Viola was waiting for me on the sidewalk in front of the yellow house. I wasn’t sure that was such a good idea on her part, considering she was supposed to be in a protected environment, but considering that the danger from her husband was no longer an issue as far as I was concerned, I dismissed my concern. Well, almost. I took a quick glance around just to be safe, but aside from a two men standing on a street corner having a lazy morning chat over coffee, there was nothing of interest to be seen. We sped off to the Solomon house, arriving fifteen minutes after the usual starting time which meant we had probably missed the refreshments but would still catch a good part of the worship music. As we walked up to the large house, I was surprised not to hear any singing. We let ourselves in the front door and came upon an unusual sight.

People were scattered all over the living room in various poses. Some were prostrate on the floor, others knelt, a few more were pacing back and forth. A group of women were clutching each other, gently swaying and moaning. The hair on my arms raised slightly, and I shivered involuntarily. Something was definitely wrong. I caught a glimpse of Lynn sitting in a chair behind the swaying women, so I made my way to her, weaving through the bodies, trying not to disturb their intense supplications.

“What’s going on?” I whispered when I reached her.

“It’s Shirley,” Lynn said, her eyes red. “Her sister's husband didn't take too kindly to her efforts to re-establish contact with the family. He threatened her over the phone, but we thought that was the end of it. This morning, he broke into the house, drunk and talking crazy. Shirley tried to calm him down, but he pulled a knife on her, vowing to make her pay for what she had put them through. Thank God, Blair showed up for some unknown reason. Jim told me to get out, so I drove here as fast as I could and asked people to pray.”

As she was speaking, the dream I had had last night began to emerge from the edges of my memory. In it, I walked into a room and found myself surrounded by a group of hostile men. One of them pulled a knife out and started to wave it at me. Having no fear, I began to walk towards him. He hurled the knife at me, and it lodged in the left side of my head. Feeling no pain, I reached up and pulled it out, then pointed it back at him. The man and his friends backed away, afraid, and that was all I could remember. That was enough to convince me that I had to go.

I raced out the front door, leaving the hum of prayer behind me. Viola followed me out like a puppy dog, and even though I thought it unwise to take her with me, it wasn’t fair to leave her in a room full of strangers doing strange things. I didn't have the time to convince her to stay; neither did I have the time to take her back to the shelter, so foolish as it might have been, I drove off with her in the passenger seat.

A few minutes later, I spotted Cameron’s motorcycle parked on the street. The Whitehall house was quiet with no sign that anything was amiss. I wondered if anyone had bothered to call the police. Since two of them were already on the scene, perhaps it wasn’t necessary.

I carefully peered through the small window in the front door but could see nothing. I tried the door and found it locked. Then I snuck around back as quietly and quickly as I could and climbed the stairs to the deck. One of the patio doors off the kitchen was open, so I tiptoed up to the opening, listening for any sign of life or trouble. I heard nothing. As I stepped across the threshold, I saw the splashes of blood on the kitchen floor and my heart froze. This was not a good sign. My legs feeling slightly wobbly, I followed the trail of blood down the hall. It stopped outside Shirley’s room, the door of which was closed. I felt a tickle on my neck and jumped. Viola huddled behind me, her eyes wide with terror.

I breathed a sigh of relief, motioned for Viola to move back, and turned once more to the closed door. “Lord, have mercy,” I prayed and turned the door handle slowly. Please, let no one be dead. I slowly maneuvered my head through the small gap I had created in the doorway until I had a clear view of the inside. There were several streaks of blood on the carpet beside the bed, but Shirley's bedroom was empty. I was working up the courage to enter and check the closet when a loud crash from the basement shook the house.

chapter ninety-six

2010-01-08T20:01:00.000-08:00

There were no lights visible from the front of the house, but we walked up the driveway and rang the doorbell anyway. Nothing happened, so I rang it again and waited. After a few minutes, the door opened a crack. The bald man looked like a frightened mouse with one eye.

“Hi, Mr. Sanders. It’s Billy Ellis. I talked to you this morning, and this is Cameron Blair.” I didn’t know if I should introduce him as my friend or as a detective, so I did neither.

“What do you want now?” Mr. Sanders and his eye weren't opening the door any further than they had to.

Cameron leaned forward and jumped into the conversation. “I heard you called in the fire on Mr. Hickory’s property today. You might not have been aware that I purchased that land this morning, so the secondary fire was on my property.” Technically, my name was on the deed, but I let it go. “Would you mind if I asked you a few questions about what you saw?”

That was a sticky point. If Sanders was trying to maintain distance from the destruction of the documents, he would refuse to talk about it, but if his conscience was starting to plague him
as Cameron suspected, he just might welcome a chance to get it off his chest.

“I know it’s late, so we won’t stay long,” I added. That seemed to settle the debate in the man's mind, because he opened the door and let us in. He showed us into a formal sitting room where two white sofas stood at an angle to each other. I sat down on the edge of one of them, not wanting to disturb the perfect symmetry in the room. The firm seat didn't give an inch. It was one of those couches that screamed, "Please don't stay!" I was feeling more awkward by the moment and felt relieved when Cameron took up the conversation where he had left off at the front door.

“So how did you come upon the fire this morning?”

“I was driving by,” Sanders said, standing between the two sofas and eyeing me.

“About what time?”

“9:30.”

“Where were you going?” Surely he could tell Cameron was a detective by now.

The man was staring at me and did not seem to hear the question.

Cameron tried another approach. “Did you call in the first fire as well?”

Mr. Sanders took a step towards me. “What were you trying to do to me this morning?” he asked, his voice tight.

I could only be honest with him. “Well, you said I should ask the big guy about you, so I did, and I thought he told me to touch your eyes.” I was sure he wouldn't believe me.

“That explains some things,” he mumbled to himself as he rubbed his eyes. “I thought you hit me with a taser or something - I got such a shock that it knocked me over.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I apologized.

“No, it didn't hurt, I'm fine, but when I opened my eyes, I did see some very strange things." He seemed reluctant to go on, so I nodded encouragingly. "Well, there were two black faces floating in the air, one above Applewood, one above Tait." He shook his head, seemingly unable to believe what he was recounting. "They were the most evil things I have ever seen and it scared me half to death. I panicked and yelled at them to leave. They did, taking Charlie and Henry with them. Those guys probably thought I was going crazy, and they might be right." He paused and looked at me for a moment, his lips quivering. "When I went into the bathroom, I saw another twisted face in the mirror, above my own head." His breath was coming rapidly now. "I was hoping someone could tell me what to do.” He rubbed both hands over his face, clearly distressed, and sagged onto an immovable sofa.

“I'll try. What do you want?” I asked.

The words came out in a rush. “I want to get rid of this evil thing. I don’t want anything to do with Applewood and Tait anymore, and I want my wife back.” He was desperate and yet less afraid once the words hit the air.

“I guess you could start by confessing what you've done that might have brought this evil thing into your life,” I said.

“Before you say anything, I should let you know that I’m with the police,” Cameron interrupted.

Sanders glanced at Blair, hesitated for a moment, and then began to spill everything. He had never wanted anyone to get hurt. His ideas were all about clever paperwork: careful placement and manipulation of names, figures, and contracts that would benefit Allstar but never be traced back to them. He had gone along with issuing threats because he believed they would never be carried out. Then Tait had taken it a step further, insisting that a few well-placed incidents would insure the secrecy of key people. Despite Sander's misgivings, the other two men had gone ahead with their preventative measures. Sanders did what he could to make sure that the damage was minimal while protecting his involvement with Allstar, but he was growing tired of an arrangement that was becoming increasingly uncomfortable for him. As an act of defiance to his two partners, he had impetuously called in the second fire on the Hickory house and identified himself, hoping it would lead to an investigation. However, the fire chief was deep in the corporation’s pockets and everything was conveniently swept under the carpet.

Mr. Sanders sighed. “I don’t want to stay in this partnership anymore, but I can’t get out. I know they wouldn’t think twice about hurting me, or more importantly, Viola." He turned his pleading eyes to Cameron and then back to me again. "I do love her, despite how I’ve treated her. Sometimes when you find yourself in a bad situation, it's just easier to take it out on the person closest to you than to face it. It's not an excuse, I know.” He sighed again and looked at his feet.

“Do your partners know about your desire to get out?” Cameron probed.

“I don’t think so. Though after I chased them out this morning, who knows what they are thinking.” Sanders shrugged and fell silent.

After a moment of consideration, Cameron offered, “If you are willing to testify against them, I can put you in protective custody.”

Mr. Sanders shook his head uncertainly. “That’s pretty drastic.”

“You can’t go halfway on this.” Cameron was firm. “You try and bow out quietly and I guarantee the destruction will find its way to your family.”

“It already has,” Richard Sanders said with resignation and slumped forward. I looked helplessly at Cameron, who met my gaze and held it, as if asking me to trust him. We waited.

Suddenly, the bald man was on his feet. “Let’s go. There’s nothing left for me here.”

We drove Mr. Sanders down to the police station where Cameron made the necessary arrangements for his stay and did some other detective business that couldn't seem to wait till Monday morning. It was after one in the morning by the time he dropped me off at my apartment, and I was so relieved that the exhausting roller-coaster of a day was finally over that I went to bed without ever realising that the case against Allstar had just been cracked wide open.

chapter ninety-five

2009-12-23T20:58:00.000-08:00

“Get in the car,” Blair commanded. I knew he was frustrated at me and he had every right to be. I was swirling around inside a black cyclone of unresolved rage, and I wasn’t too interested in leaving its swath just yet, but he was my ride, so I did as I was told. He drove to his house without so much as a word. I instructed him to take me home several times during the journey, but his jaw and resolve were firm, and he ignored my request. He parked the car in front of his garage and then disappeared inside the house without any explanation. I remained in the car for a few minutes, wondering what he was doing inside before I finally realized that he wasn't coming back out.

I found him pacing in the living room, on the phone, ordering pizza. After he completed the transaction, he walked into the kitchen, never so much as glancing at me. I stood just inside the door, not sure what he expected me to do. He wouldn't take me home; he wouldn't talk to me; I might as well be invisible. Well, two could play the silent game. I noisily stomped from the hallway into the living room, then flopped on the couch and waited for something to happen.

Twenty-five minutes later the pizza arrived and Cameron carried the delicious-smelling box past the living room. Pride didn't stand a chance against a hot pizza. My eyes and nose followed the mouth-watering aroma into the kitchen, and my stomach made some fierce noises to remind me that I hadn’t eaten a thing since breakfast. The table was set with a Caesar salad and two plates. The mute man, still with his back to me as he set the pizza down on the counter, pointed to a chair and I sat. I gritted my teeth at his irritating ability to predict my behaviour.

We ate our meal in more silence, well, almost silence. I was famished and chewed my salad loudly, then slurped the stringy cheese off the pizza. In-between bites, I chugged down a soft drink and an unladylike belch or two escaped my mouth before I could prevent it. Who knew being a jerk made you so hungry? When my plate was finally empty, I mumbled a quiet thank you in Cam's general direction. He nodded every so slightly and exited the room, leaving me with the remains. The dishwasher was still not installed and just as well - I needed a good cleansing ritual. Perhaps it would be the beginning of my penance. I heard the television click on in the front room and I smiled wryly to myself. Were it not for the anger, unforgiveness, misunderstanding, and stubbornness between us, this would have made a typically benign and happy domestic scene.

After washing, tidying, and wiping every surface in sight, I tiptoed down the hallway and peeked through the living room doorway. Blair was sitting at the far end of the couch, feet on the coffee table, head leaning back against the dark leather, his eyes half closed as the television flickered in front on him. I quietly inched my way to the edge of the low table and cleared my throat. He glanced up expectantly. I asked again if he could take me home, this time inserting a pleading tone fit for a maid asking for a raise.

"Not yet," he replied, then turned back to the television and changed the channels until he seemed to find what he was looking for: an old movie. He gestured toward the rest of the couch, indicating that I was expected to sit through whatever he was watching. I sighed heavily and sank onto the couch, a captive of my benefactor. I hoped the movie would be something light and entertaining; I really had had enough disappointment and misery for one day. A title came up on the small screen: ‘Les Miserables.’ Somebody had to think this was funny. I snuck a glance over at Cameron, but there was no sign of humor on his face. Oh, well, perhaps it was just an ironic coincidence, even though I did not believe in them anymore. I had never seen the movie, so perhaps it would serve as a welcome distraction.

And that it did indeed. Within minutes the story had pulled me in. I was appalled at the injustice that was being played out in front of me. How could one person bear so many wrongs piled on top of each other? No doubt the main character was just waiting for the perfect payback opportunity. But just when I thought I would see some good old-fashioned revenge, the wretched man turned it around and extended mercy instead. It was admittedly admirable, but not at all gratifying. Where was the justice in refusing to make people pay? Oh, how it tore at my heart every time he turned away from retribution. I did not understand where he found the strength, and I found myself wanting to be able to do the same. I longed to suck all the sting and poison out of a cruel circumstance and render it powerless. It was what I wanted to be able to do for people like Shirley, Mr. Hickory, Viola, and even Blair. And yet I knew that it had to happen in me first or I would never be able to help anyone else.

Cameron touched my arm. "What's going on?" My face was wet and my breathing was rapid and shallow.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m sorry I said mean things to you, I’m sorry you bought the land, I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my mouth shut, I’m sorry the house burned down, I’m sorry all the papers are gone, I’m sorry I made such a mess of everything and I’m sorry because I have no idea how to get out of it.” None of these confessions made me feel any better, but I was learning that facing the truth never guarantees that outcome. I had at least hoped that my repentance would bring out the kind, tender, and forgiving side of Cam, but no comforting reassurance was forthcoming from the other end of the couch.

Instead, the man of action spoke. “Okay. So what do you want to do now?”

"I-I guess I want to fix it, if that's possible," I replied, looking at my lap.

“And how would you do that?”

“I don’t know,” I whined, frustrated at the lack of answers I had.

“Yes, you do. Just think about it.” I gave him a helpless grimace, but his eyes were unwavering and demanded a reply.

“I could quit my job before I do any more damage,” I concluded, deflated and without hope.

“And whom would that help?” The detective wanted to know.

“I might feel better,” I admitted.

“But it’s not about you, is it?”

That stung, but it bring into sharp relief the fact that the temper tantrum/pity party that I had thrown that afternoon had been totally self-focused. If anything was going to change, it had to start with me. I closed my eyes and took a moment to ask God to help me stop being such a drama queen and to let me once again find the genuine desire to help Viola, Wild Bill, and the city I lived in. I could feel myself tumbling from the self-constructed pedestal, collecting a few bruises on the way down. Humble is a hard, but solid landing. The hardest part was facing the fact that my misdirected crusade might have proved most costly to those around me.

Please, God, can you make something out of this mess? You're in the reclamation business, after all.

Slowly, the heavy boot of guilt started to lift from my chest and underneath it, I found a small glimmer - a hope that not all was lost and that I could still do some good.

"Detective, I need to borrow your phone," I said, squaring my shoulders for the task ahead.

A broad smile came across Cameron's face. "That's my girl!"

I called Roman and informed him about the untimely end Mr. Hickory's documents had suffered, apologizing for my mistake in suggesting that we leave the listening devices in place and also leaking the information that led to the unfortunate incident. Roman paused for a moment at the bad news, then calmly reassured me that retrieving the papers had always been a gamble, and he was as guilty as I was of revealing sensitive information on a tapped phone line. We both shouldered our share of the responsibility and decided to move on.

I purposely did not mention my visits to Viola or Richard Sanders to my boss, mainly because I didn’t want to worry him unnecessarily. Perhaps I was wrong in withholding the information, but I wanted a chance to resolve the situation before I brought it to his attention. I informed Blair that I needed to pay another visit to Mr. Sanders and that I needed to do it immediately. The detective insisted on accompanying me, which was a good thing, because his was the only car I had access to at the moment.

chapter ninety-four

2009-11-07T17:32:00.000-08:00

“Now? I thought we couldn't go digging around on Wild Bill's land until Monday." I was a fledgling land owner and unsure of the exact procedure for transferring possession.

"I have the deed of ownership in my car. We agreed to make it effective immediately. No reason to delay anything, but if you'd rather wait till Monday --" The detective made as if to turn and leave. I lunged forward and latched onto his arm.

"No, no. Today is fine. Absolutely fine." I didn't have the perfect outfit on nor a prepared speech ready, but considering the precarious position my earlier stunt had probably put us in, sooner was definitely better.

Cameron gave an affirmative nod. "Alright then. Shall we take my car?" I swear that the man winked at me before he led the way to the brown bomb. Perhaps I hadn't ruined everything after all. This very well might turn out to be the day of salvation for this town.

As we turned up Waverly, my stomach was starting to roll with butterfly activity. I held my breath as we approached the place where I had first met the unforgettable Mr. Hickory. I was surprised to see a fire truck parked in front of the lot. As we pulled up, I saw a mist of thin smoke hovering over the ground where the house had stood.

Cameron immediately jumped from the car and strode over to the nearest firefighter who was loading some gear into the truck.

“What’s going on?” he demanded. I got out of the car and stood a few feet away from them, taking in the dismaying scene.

“Must have been a flare-up," the man in the fire suit answered. "It’s under control now. Guess there were some hot spots we didn’t get the first time.”

Cameron was more than suspicious. “That was over seventy-two hours ago! Isn’t it a little late for that kind of thing?” The fire fighter just shrugged his shoulders and walked away to help a colleague roll up a hose. No one was paying any attention to me, so I carefully picked my way closer to the hazy site and soon had my worst fears realized. What had been a pile of valuable rubble only days before was now a pile of ashes in a gutted basement. There was no way the documents could have survived the second fire. The timing couldn’t have been worse. The butterflies in my mid-section were all starting to sink in cold, hardening cement.

Cameron came up beside me and surveyed the disheartening and irrevocable damage. “No one has this much bad luck. Someone found out about the documents.”

“How? We tried to be so careful.” I couldn't believe we had just lost all of our evidence.

“Obviously not careful enough. Who did you and Roman talk to yesterday?”

“Just Mr. Hickory and you,” I replied a bit defensively.

“Where?” The detective was determined to find the leak, though it was too late to stop it up now.

“In the hospital, on the phone.”

“Never in Roman’s office, right?” Wrong. Oh, so wrong. I turned my head away from Blair as a ton of heavy stones landed on top of the concrete in my stomach.

“It’s all my fault.” I could barely speak. “I was the one that suggested leaving the bugs in the office. And in all the excitement, I forgot about them yesterday when Mr. Hickory called." I was mortified by my own stupidity brought on by lack of experience, overconfidence, and a gaping void in the area of sound judgment. What had promised to be my shot at the starring role of saviour had turned into a casting reversal of grand proportion. I was now stuck playing the executioner, killing any chance of justice or redemption wherever I went. The case against Allstar was all going up in smoke, literally, and there was no one to blame except me. All I wanted to do was crawl into a hole and disappear.

Cameron put an arm around my shoulders. “No use in blaming yourself, Billy. There was probably not that much we would have been able to salvage here anyway.” It was a standard line designed to make me feel better, and I hated the false ring it carried. His arm lay on my neck like a sack of condemnation, so I shrugged my way out from under it.

“I’ll ask Mr. Hickory to cancel the deal. You’ll get your money back,” I said flatly.

“I don’t want my money back. What would be the point of that? You’re being irrational, Billy.”

“Don’t give me that rational crap,” I snapped back at him. “The logic of Einstein couldn’t fix even one of the disasters that I've managed to pull off lately.” I stomped off toward the car, ready to make a strong and angry exit, but he was my ride and he was in no hurry. I had to settle for leaning against the brown vehicle and kicking at the dirt, hoping it would make my point emphatically enough.

Cameron slowly walked over to where I was standing, his eyes taking in the activity on the property as he made his way. I had never cursed much in my life, but I thought the situation merited it, so I tried out a few choice phrases that I had heard used to great effect in the movies.

“That’s pitiful,” Blair commented, unimpressed by my novice attempt at blasphemy.

“You can take my name off this land. It’s a worthless piece of shit. Just one and a half acres of stupidity.” I spat the words out and slammed my fist into the side of his car. It resulted in a gratifying surge of pain.

“If you dent it, you’ll pay for it.” Blair informed me without humour.

“I hate this,” I said through gritted teeth. “How could I be so stupid?" Cameron stood in silence, impassive. "I'm done! It's over!" I yelled at him, throwing up my hands inches from his face.

“Okay. I’m going to talk to the firemen one more time before they leave. Don't go anywhere, ” he replied calmly, as if I had just told him nothing more upsetting than what I had for lunch. I envied him his well-executed departure. I was also dimly aware that my angry reaction was inappropriate and self-centred, but it was the only avenue I could find for my frustration at the injustice of it all. I needed to pay for my unforgivable mistakes, of that I was convinced. A punishment worthy of this fiasco had to be found.

The fire truck pulled away and Cameron sauntered back to the car with a report. “Seems they had an observer this morning. Richard Sanders was here watching nearly the whole time.”

“Just making sure nothing was left for us to find,” I said bitterly.

“Perhaps. He was also the one who called it in. Identified himself and everything.” Blair fingered his chin as he relayed the information.

“That’s stupid.” It was my new favourite word. “Set a fire, then call it in? What kind of bizarre cry for attention is that?”

“Sounds like someone trying to manage their guilt.” Cameron gave me a sharp look before he continued. “You remember what a fireman mentioned to me when the house first burned down? Sanders happened to stop by as well and wanted to make sure no one was hurt. It seemed a bit unusual to me at the time, but I had nothing to reference it to. Well, now it appears that Sanders is developing a conscience. Your visit to him may not have been such a bad idea after all.” Blair was becoming annoyingly positive about this new development.

“Pfft. I find that hard to believe,” I retorted with every bit of disdain I could muster.

“Oh, you of little faith.” He gave me a slight smile. How dared he smile at me!

“Look who’s talking, Mister.” It was the cheapest shot I could take, bringing up his past.

Cameron paused to study me. “How long are you going to keep this up?”

“Till I figure out what to do to redeem myself.” I crossed my arms to let him know how serious I was about my stance.

“What if that’s not possible?” The words came with no guile whatsoever.

“Then I guess I’ll settle with becoming a bitter old woman. I really wanted to save the world, but I just found out that I suck at it!” I kicked at a worn tire for emphasis and received a satisfying frown from the man.

chapter ninety-three

2009-11-07T15:23:00.000-08:00

I sat in my dreary Dodge beside my apartment building, my palms leaving greasy sweat marks on the steering wheel, trying to think through what had just happened at the Sanders' home, though it was probably a little too late for that. My first mistake had been not thinking through anything at all before driving over there, that much was sure. I had thought I was doing Viola a favour, but who had I been kidding? Because of my big head and my big ideas, I had walked into the lions' lair, so to speak, and just stirred up a hornet's nest. Not only was I horrible at keeping a low profile, I couldn't even string together two consistent metaphors. If those men were half the resourceful scumbags I knew them to be, they were already rigging a bomb in my apartment, if nothing else than to keep me from showing up at the most awkward moments and interfering in their personal lives.

I don’t know how long I sat there, stewing about the atrocious state of things and how I had compromised my personal safety, before I heard a tap at my window. My heart leapt in my chest as I looked up. It was Cameron Blair, thank God, and not a mobster sent to kill me.

“What’s going on?” he asked through the closed window. "Everything okay?"

I unlocked the door and slowly extricated myself and my damp palms from the car. “I think I did a bad thing," I confessed. The detective put his hands in his pockets and nodded, waiting for an explanation. I closed the driver door and leaned against its dusty dents. "I went to see Viola," I began, "and everything went downhill from there, I'm afraid." I searched the man's face for a moment, hoping for some sign of the compassionate, caring Cameron who couldn't care less if I had screwed things up, as long I was unharmed. No such luck.

"Go on," the officer prompted. "What did you do this time?"

The inference was not lost on me. Yes, I had put everything in jeopardy once again with one of my notoriously well-meaning, but counter-productive impulsive acts. My chin began to quiver as I poured out the sad tale of another failure. "Well, Viola was pretty confused because she had talked to her husband again and he was stringing her along with all these empty promises so I got mad and went over there and guess who was sitting in the kitchen having coffee, those two horrible men and well, after I had yelled at him for being such a jerk, one thing led to another and the next thing I know he's unconscious on the floor and I ran out." I took a few shaky breaths. "I don’t know what I was thinking, but I'm pretty sure I'm not on the Allstar Christmas list anymore.” I tried to laugh at my own small joke, but was feeling too miserable to pull off anything more than a hiccoughy semi-sob.

Blair was silent for a bit while he pensively stroked the side of his face. "Did you say you went to Sanders’ house?” he finally asked.

Hadn't I made that clear? I guess not. My story was a bit muddled and spotty, it was true. Perhaps even bordering on hysterical gibberish at times. “Yes,” I confirmed.

“I’m not sure that was such a good idea, Billy.” Blair was looking down at me with concern, or some disappointment, I wasn't sure which.

“I know, I know." I sighed. "I just hope Mr. Sanders is okay, because I'm in big trouble if he's not.”

“What exactly happened? I'm a bit unclear on the details.” I thought I detected some sarcasm in the man's voice, but perhaps it was just my imagination.

I wiped my nose, which had begun to seep a bit, and cleared my throat, gaining what small composure I could, because what I was about to tell him was not going to sound convincing or believable at all.

“Um, I thought maybe God told me to touch his eyes, so I did. Then the guy jerked like a shot of electricity hit him and fell down and didn't move. It scared the heck out of me, so I ran. I don't know what happened, but I think I might have hurt him somehow.”

Cameron hmmm-ed knowingly and said, "Let me see your hands.” I obediently held them out and he took both of them in his and turned them over. “I see. Just as I thought." He pointed at a faint glistening on my palms.

"Yeah, I know, my hands have been sweating ever since I showed up at Sanders' house. I should have known better than to go in there if I was so scared and nervous."

"No, Billy," Blair said softly. "That's not sweat. It's oil. Look at it."

I rubbed a forefinger back and forth on my palm, and it did indeed have the same velvety consistency as an expensive perfume oil I had tried once at an aromatherapy store trial counter. I raised my finger to my lips and touched my tongue to the moist spot. Instead of being salty, it was subtly woody and mildly sweet and spicy, reminding me of cinnamon.

"Where did that come from?" I wondered. "I didn't put on any lotion today. Mr. Sanders had some fancy stuff in his kitchen, but I didn't touch anything in there. Wait a minute! Viola had just come out of the shower so maybe she had used some sort of bath oil. But I didn't touch her either and she smelled like flowers, not spices. I don't get it."

"I do," Blair said. "I've seen it before. In my dad's church. The same thing happened to his hands sometimes when he prayed for people."

"What does it mean?" I shook my head, not comprehending the significance of what he was saying.

"It means that you just gave Richard Sanders a dose of the Holy Spirit!” He raised his eyebrows and gave me an amused smile. Well, it did sound rather absurdly comical when he put it like that. Perhaps I hadn't killed him after all and that was certainly a relief.

“I wouldn’t worry about Sanders too much,” Cameron reassured me with a small chuckle.

“What about the other two?” I wondered. "They didn't look all too happy with me or with what happened."

“Oh, they probably got a little well-deserved scare. We can only hope that it makes them think twice about what they’re doing. Put it out of your mind, Billy, because we've got more important things to do today. How about paying a visit your very own piece of real estate and seeing what we can find?"

chapter ninety-two

2009-10-29T13:32:00.000-07:00

The Sanders lived in a multi-level modern house in a new suburb. Richard had done well for himself, and we all knew at whose expense that was. There was a dark car in the driveway, so I parked across the street, marched right up to the double oak doors, and rang the bell. “God help me, I have no idea what I’m going to say to him,” I whispered just as the door opened.

“Richard Sanders?” I asked of the balding man in a sweat suit.

“Who are you?” he responded in a guarded voice.

“I’m Billy Ellis, a friend of Viola’s from work. I was wondering if I could have a word with you.”

“This is not a good time,” he replied and started to close the door. Taking a lesson from Cameron’s book of entering without an invitation, I leaned into the door, pushed my body through the opening, and got past the startled Sanders.

“I’m sorry, but it will have to do,” I insisted. Taking advantage of the temporary element of surprise, I installed myself deeper into the house, quickly walking though the spacious foyer and into a large eat-in kitchen. There were two men sitting at a glass table near the French doors, drinking out of coffee cups. Shock registered on both their faces when I entered the room, and I immediately knew who they were: one from a previous awkward encounter, and the other by association.

“Mr. Tait, Mr. Applewood,” I acknowledged them.

“What’s going on here, Rick? Who is this?” Mr. Applewood's voice carried a concerned tone. Mr. Tait's face began to purple up, just like the last time I had seen him, but he held his tongue.

Behind me I heard Mr. Sanders reply. “Just a friend of Viola’s. She can’t stay.” He took me by the elbow to escort me out, but I wiggled out of his grasp.

“I’ll stay long enough to find out what I need to know.” I put my hands on my hips and faced him. “I just came from seeing Viola, Mr. Sanders, and she’s a mess. It's bad enough that you threatened her and pushed her around, but now that she’s pregnant and in a vulnerable state, you’re playing the compassionate card, for what selfish purpose this time, I don’t know, but she’s not strong enough to deal with your emotional manipulation." I took a step towards him and thrust a finger in his face. "What she really needs right now is someone who can support her, care for her, and love her, and as far as I’m concerned, you’re not a good candidate for any of the above.” I spat out the last few words with vehement and righteous indignation.

“And how would you know that? Maybe I've changed,” he stared at me, his eyes unblinking.

“God would tell me if that was the case,” I replied without hesitation. Applewood and Tait started to snicker behind us. “Quiet!” I thrust out my hand in their direction without taking my eyes off Sanders; the snickering abruptly stopped.

Sanders leaned towards me, his breath smelling of coffee and lies. “Okay, then, ask the big guy.” The consonants snapped in my face and everything became still. My skin prickled at the challenge, and I instantly regretted forcing my way into this place. What did I really know about Sanders? God had not told me anything about the man, and my statement was coming across as a badly thought-out bluff. How could I have neglected to take into account that there were three men in this room not afraid of using violence and only one pacifist me? There was a black flash across my eyes as a surge of fear threatened to overwhelm me. No, no, Billy, keep your head clear. Focus on the task at hand. I tried, but desperation had me by the throat.

“What do I do now?” I cried out. Sanders opened his mouth to reply, but my plea for direction was aimed much higher than his bald, little head. I don't know if any words came out of Sander's mouth for all I heard, loud and clear, thundering in my ears, was, "Touch his eyes."

Before fear could render me immobile, I flung out my hands and placed one over each of Sanders’ eyes. At my touch, the man jerked backwards, let out a startled yelp, and crumpled to the floor. What had I done? Applewood and Tait sat frozen at the table. Sanders was sprawled out on the tile, unmoving. I sprinted for the door.

As I sped home, hyperventilating, I chided myself on being stupid enough to go over there alone. What had I just set in motion? Something had happened to Sanders when my hands came into contact with him, of that I was sure. Maybe I had killed him. Maybe I had accidentally knocked him out. To a group of men who knew how to exact revenge in very personal ways, either one was bad news.

chapter ninety-one

2009-10-29T12:05:00.000-07:00

My eyes opened just after 6 am on Saturday morning. The night had been a short one. I had extricated myself from Blair and his house as politely and quickly as I could, citing his early meeting with Wild Bill and the attorney as reason to cut the evening short. Frankly, the man's behaviour was scaring me. I had to admit that I found his odd advances flattering and could scarcely believe that any man would want to kiss me twice in the same night. However, I had grown rather fond of the detached and deliberate Blair and found his steely composure and cool head very comforting. This man who laughed and hooted at the slighted provocation, who carried me around and planted kisses on my face like one would a beloved dog...well, it was very strange, indeed, and quite unnerving. A woman needs security in her life, not some passion-crazed uncommunicative pseudo-philanthropist.

The two Blairs had tormented me until the early hours of the morning, carrying on a lengthy conversation in my head, each arguing that they were the "real" Cameron. I yelled at them to stop it and let me get some sleep, but this accomplished nothing. They simply included me in the debate and began to address all their pleas to me. Detective Blair calmly presented his history of sound judgment and dependability. Cam insisted that he had always been a warm and caring person, but his family background had caused him to repress his innermost feelings. Blair admitted that he counted me as a close friend, but would not comment on the status of our relationship. Cam pressed his hand to his heart and vowed that I was his true love. I found them both annoying and wished I could exorcise them, but they seemed to be quite comfortable where they were and showed no signs of leaving anytime soon.

So I changed the topic on them and began to go over every minute detail of the impending land sale which would give me an opportunity to finally do something that would make my family proud of me: I was about to save an entire city from ruin. Cameron's kind gesture of putting my name on the deal, which was really just Blair's way of inserting a legal loophole to protect all the parties involved, would guarantee that my name would be the one in the paper on Monday morning when the incriminating documents were unearthed. This was my chance to make something of myself, and I did not want to waste the opportunity. It would probably never come my way again. Plan for success, that's what I needed to do. The two Blairs, finally silenced by my grandiose vision, let me doze for a few blessed hours.

Success does not sleep in and all too soon, the sun was up and with it, an impatient insistence that I secure my future heralded accomplishment. I dragged my body out of bed, sat down at the tiny table in my kitchen with a strong up of tea and made a check-list. The first order was to select an appropriate outfit for Monday's press conference. First impressions were crucial, especially when my picture was sure to be plastered on the front page of the newspaper. I couldn't be seen as a mousy file clerk. I had to come across as a confident businesswoman and model citizen. Next up was to write a short speech for the press that provided several poignant sound bytes. I had to come across as sincere, yet not naive. A reluctant and likeable hero, trustworthy and admirable. I grimaced at that last point and quickly added a few easier tasks to the list: breakfast, tidying my apartment, and ironing the lump of clothing on the chair beside the bed. Heroes were always well-fed and tidy.

Numbers 3 to 5 were easily accomplished by ten o'clock. Numbers 1 and 2 were best left for another day, I determined. It seemed like a good time for the model citizen to follow-up on Viola and see how she was doing so without calling ahead, I hopped in my car and drove over to the faded yellow house that served as a woman's shelter. That wasn’t such a brilliant idea, I soon found out. The dour desk lady informed me that Viola was not available. The confident businesswoman in me insisted that this meeting was imperative for the poor woman's benefit, and the receptionist reluctantly revealed that yes, Viola was in the building and that if I cared to wait, she might appear. That left me to pace the tiny waiting room for half an hour. I refused to sit on the single cracked orange plastic chair. Heroes have certain standards, you know.

Viola finally appeared at the end of the hallway, blue bathrobe clutched around her shoulders, hair damp and dishevelled. We retreated to the cramped, stuffy living room. It was obvious she had just come out of the shower, so I forgave the inconvenience. Aside from being clean, she didn’t look too great, but you can’t tell someone that, so I just smiled and asked how things were.
She began to cry softly and I gave her a moment to compose herself before I probed further. She had been in contact with her husband, Richard, that much was obvious. I knew first-hand that the inconsistencies of men brought confusion and conflicting emotions into play.

Her confession was brief. Yes, she had spoken to Richard again. He had reiterated his concern for her and his desire to have her come home. I could see that she had been noticeably moved by his temporary tenderness and seemed to be conveniently forgetting about his past violence, so I reminded her. It was a tactless thing to do and resulted in an outburst of tears that a simple apology could not stop. Between sobs, she insisted that he did love her and that she believed that he was truly sorry for what he had done and was ready to make a fresh start. Yes, well, I knew that women tend to believe what they want to hear. I couldn't blame her.

I sat beside her on the lumpy couch, my heart surprisingly void of any sympathy and compassion. After Monday, her testimony would be of negligible value anyway - why not just let her go home to that nasty man. But something inside me shivered. People who save the city don't think like that. The bad guys think like that! “What is wrong with me?” I reprimanded myself under my breath.

Viola stopped her sobbing to glance in my direction. I looked into her pleading eyes and knew that she was asking for something to pin her hopes on, something concrete, something that would help her make the right decision. The last time I had seen her, I had told myself that I would check out Richard Sanders. It was time to do just that.

“I’ll go see your husband, Viola. I’ll find out what I can,” I offered.

Viola was so clearly relieved at having some support that she quickly dried her tears and gave me a quivering smile. She clutched my hand and confided that she believed her husband had had a change of heart because his long list of promises included giving up his association with Allstar. It sounded too good to be true. Let Richard try to pass the Billy test. I took down the address of the Sanders' home and left the safe house.

chapter ninety

2009-10-22T15:04:00.000-07:00

The headline in my mind's newspaper had now changed to: Police Detective Finally Snaps Under Pressure of Top-Level Investigation and Outrageous Antics of Overly Emotional Girlfriend. There were two problems with the headline. Number one: it was too long. Number two: though any trash reporter would have quantified me as Blair's girlfriend, especially if a photographer had happened to catch that unexpected kiss, I was still confused as to what the state of our relationship was. Was the man just relieved that I wasn't hurt? Had he changed his mind since that unsettling Sunday night when he basically told God and Jim and me to go to hell? Or perhaps I had gained the status of trusted platonic friend by virtue of all that we had been through. The man was definitely going to have to do a lot of explaining over dinner.

Butter chicken, yellow curry, and mounds of fragrant rice landed in my stomach, producing such a sense of well-being and fullness that it threatened to crowd out the gnawing uncertainties in my mind. I had tried to introduce my questions at the beginning of the meal, but Blair had clucked like a hen at each word, reminding me that only after we had eaten our so-called celebratory meal would any details be discussed. He kept the talk distinctly playful and jovial while we dined, and soon I was drawn into his effervescent mood. When he accidentally dripped the sweet, orange, buttery sauce on the front of his clean shirt near the end of the meal, I giggled like a drunk teenager and rather obnoxiously pointed out that even a klutz like me had managed to avoid sullying the over-sized striped T-shirt he had lent me for the occasion. He simply smiled, the comment and the stain not affecting him in the least.

We were back at Blair's house, seated on the living room couch with glasses of our liquid of choice in hand when he finally brought the conversation back to the earlier business.

"Okay, Billy, what would you like to know? Ask me anything you want and I will answer it to the best of my ability."

I hesitated. The circus of questions was not nearly so animated nor cacophonous as it had been a few hours ago. What exactly had I been so confused about? Oh, yes, the land.

"Am I really the owner of Mr. Hickory's property?"

"No."

I sighed with relief. I knew I must have misunderstood. He had just been playing a silly joke on me.

"Not until we sign the papers tomorrow morning," Blair continued.

"What? Why would you do that? You're the one looking for good investments, if I'm not mistaken."

"You are not mistaken," he replied slowly, taking a slow sip of amber liquid.

I shook my head. "Okay, so then why didn't you buy it under your own name? No, wait, did Mr. Hickory have something to do with this? Is this a way to keep the bad guys off his trail? And yours, too? Yes, that's it! Because it would look awfully suspicious if a policeman bought up the property, wouldn't it?" I grinned with satisfaction at my incredible skills of deduction and took a big swig of lemonade.

He raised his eyebrows slightly. "So you have no problem accepting the land gift?"

"Oh, I know it's not a gift. Just a trick with names. I'm happy to do whatever it takes to lock up these guys and to keep Mr. Hickory safe, even if it is just lending my name to something."

Cameron's expression changed slightly, and I thought perhaps he was having second thoughts about what he had done. "Don't worry, I won't interfere with any plans you have for that land. You can just pretend my name isn't on that deed. It's your money and you own it, as far as I am concerned. Congratulations on your new purchase, Mr. Blair." I raised my glass to toast him, but there was no reciprocating gesture from his side of the couch.

He drained his beer and set the glass down. "All right, then. No other questions?"

The memory of his spontaneous kiss flitted though my mind and I felt a sudden flush of warmth on my neck. I couldn't bring myself to ask him about that, could I?

"Something on your mind, Billy?" He leaned forward and waited.

The heat continued to flood my neck and rose to my face; the events of the evening started to whirl around in my mind. The kiss, the grand declaration of my name on the deed, his concern for my well-being, the mention of a gift, his manic excitement of the evening, a shift in his countenance when I figured out why he had switched my name for his. Something was going on here that I was missing, but I couldn't pull the facts together to make sense of it all.

"I don't - I think - uh - did I miss something?" I sputtered.

Blair looked at me for a long moment, then nodded several times. "Yes, you did, but you're a quick learner. You'll figure it out soon enough." He took the half-empty glass from my hand and set it down on the coffee table. "I do have a request, though."

"Sure," I breathed, my heart pounding madly for some reason.

"If you don't mind, I'd like my father's Bible back." My heart stopped as I remembered effacing my name from the family page. Dear God, what had I done? I couldn't give it back to him like that. I got up and glanced towards the door.

"Um, I'll have to find it. It might take awhile. My place is a mess, you know," I laughed nervously and stumbled backwards. "Well, I should go. It's getting late. Thanks for dinner and the - uh - real estate." Strange, strained twitters came from my mouth. My discomfort was embarrassingly obvious, and I felt badly for Blair who was watching me unravel right in front of his eyes. Surely he could tell that something has happened to his one and only heirloom.

"What's wrong? Billy, tell me what's going on." He stood up and took my arm gently, pulling me away from the doorway. I hung my head low on my chest, shamefully. "It's okay, you can tell me. I won't be upset," he said reassuringly.

I had seen a bit of the tumultuous relationship between him and that Bible, and I hated to add one more incident to the mix. But he was a detective and he would find out, no matter how hard I tried to hide it from him. Let it be when he was calm.

"I kind of - um - the family page, well - " I struggled to find words for my offence. He waited in silence for me to finish the sentence. "I erased the last name," I confessed. "I didn't want it to trouble you anymore."

I waited for the reaction. It was wholly unexpected and took my breath away. He stepped towards me and drew me into his chest. "Thank you, Billy. Thank you," he mumbled into my hair. Then he pulled away, took both my hands in his, and held me in his gaze for a moment. I think he started what happened next, but I honestly don't remember.

He threw back his head and let out a huge sigh. At the same time, the relief was so great in me that short, breathy spurts of laughter started to bubble up from my throat. When he inhaled, there was a musical chuckling on his breath. As the mutual laughter grew louder and the mirth in the room increased, he lunged forward and scooped me up in his arms again. It ended much like the first occurrence earlier that evening: he hooted and twirled until we were both slightly dizzy. I shrieked and giggled and tried to avoid striking anything in the room with my head or my arms. And lastly, swaying slightly, he stood in the middle of the living room and planted a soft kiss on my lips.

"Are you starting to figure it out yet, Billy?" he asked with a wink.

chapter eighty-nine

2009-09-30T22:59:00.000-07:00

I was hunkered down in my car, clutching two red packages of ketchup and desperately hoping that for once Blair would not see what was right in front of him and walk right by my blue Dodge. What had I hoped to accomplish by driving over to his house? If I simply wanted to affirm his decision to buy Wild Bill's property as a fine and noble deed, this was the least professional way I could have chosen to do so. If I wanted to try to patch up our friendship, this was the most intrusive and awkward gesture anyone could have dreamed up. I silently wished for a tornado to appear overhead, extract my vehicle and me, and toss us safely a mile or two from the scene. Alas, it was not storm season.

I heard footsteps crunching on the gravel and anxiously dug my nails into the packets I had pressed to my chest as I held my breath. The noise stopped right outside my car door, and I stifled a groan as I realised that I could not escape discovery. The exhausted and misshapen foil packages chose that moment to succumb to the pressure and released their contents. I heard the passenger door squeak open and saw the interior light above me blink on, blinding me.

"Billy, what happened?" Blair wasted no time in lifting me out of the car and rushing me into the house.

I struggled and wriggled against his strong arms, saying "No, stop, no," over and over again, but he ignored my clear instructions and tightened his hold on me, restricting my movement. The red sticky mess spread from my chest onto his and I stopped fighting him. Through the front door and into the kitchen he strode, saving my life, or so he thought. He flicked on the light with his elbow and glanced down to see if my heart was still beating. I meekly opened my hands and let the deflated red packages speak for themselves.

There was no immediate reaction from my rescuer. He just stood there in the kitchen, holding me and staring at the palms of my hands. Then the detective lost his mind. He let out a loud hoot and began to twirl in circles. He was laughing and spinning, louder and faster, and since I was still in his arms, I was beginning to fear for my safety. He staggered once or twice, dizzy from revolving like a top, and I let out a small shriek. He clutched me to himself all the tighter, but thankfully, stopped turning in circles. I could feel his elevated heartbeat as he stood wide-legged in the kitchen, his breath coming quickly, holding me like some trophy.

"You can put me down now," I said, a bit disquieted by his strange behaviour.

He smiled broadly at me and said, "I have never been so happy to see ketchup in all my life." Then he planted a noisy, swift peck right on my lips, and plopped me onto my feet. I stood there in shock, shivery fingers going all up and down the back of my neck. Was the man on drugs?

"Let's go out and celebrate, what do you say?" He peered expectantly into my face.

"Uh, what are we celebrating, may I ask?" I bit my lip, looked down, and dabbed at the stain on my white shirt, certain that the article of clothing was a write off. My sudden concern for my wardrobe was really a sad attempt to avoid his intense gaze so that he would not see the effect of the lingering tingling sensation on my lips.

"Why, Ms. Billy Ellis, tomorrow you become the proud owner of 52 Waverly Crescent," he informed me with a grand air.

I forgot about the ruined shirt and stared wide-eyed at him."What are you talking about?" The man needed a sedative or something.

"You asked me if I wanted to do something important with my money. The answer is yes," he replied.

I shook my head, not understanding anything the detective had done or said since he had hung up on me that afternoon. "I'm sorry, Cameron, but you're acting very strange. Did you bump your head? Do you have a fever? Maybe someone slipped you an illegal substance, I don't know. You're too happy and jolly and nothing you say makes any sense. It's just weird."

"You want to know what happened? I'll tell you what happened, Bertha Ellis." He suddenly became very serious and grabbing both my shoulders, brought his face within inches of mine. "Right after dinner," he finished, touching my nose lightly with a forefinger. Then he laughed and sidled out of the room. The next thing I heard was heavy feet running up the stairs and a male voice singing slightly off-key.

For a change, I felt like the most stable and mature human in the place.

chapter eighty-eight

2009-09-15T20:25:00.000-07:00

Well, that hadn't gone quite as well as I had envisioned. In fact, I had envisioned quite a lot, if I cared to admit it. I had already written the twilight scene where the soft glow of a flashlight played around my face, highlighting my expression of relief and excitement when I found the precious documents intact under the wrinkly potatoes. The headline the next day would read: Clerk’s Assistant Uncovers City-Wide Scandal. My radiant face on the front page matched the brilliant sense of accomplishment and purpose that would have surrounded me, except for the fact that one very stubborn detective refused to get with the plan!

Perhaps my brutal honesty was too blunt of an instrument to inject a sense of moral responsibility into a human being, even one as usually upright and astute as Blair. I had offended him, I was sure, and in all probability also set our tenuous friendship bridge on fire with my verbal incompetence. I sighed a pitiful sigh and looked at the papers on my table, now finding them insignificant and trivial in comparison to what could have been in my hands.

I was so unenthused and discouraged and embarrassed by my giant misjudgement of the amiability between us that I left the conference room and walked aimlessly for blocks, finally coming back hours later with a bottle of mineral water and a chocolate bar as an excuse for my cowardly desertion. I began rearranging the papers on the conference table like an idiot trying to solve a Rubik's cube, gathering up my courage to break the news of my failure to Roman. I heard the phone ring in the next office and glanced at my watch. It was precisely six o’clock.

If Wild Bill said, "Yes," we were up a creek without a paddle. I strained to hear through the wall, but for the first time since I had made his acquaintance, Roman Kowalski was speaking in a subdued and restrained tone.

I didn't even pretend to be shuffling papers, but sat there alternating between giant bites of the chocolate bar and nibbling on my nails. Finally, I heard a clear, "Goodbye," and a moment later I was in Roman's office.

“Well?” I wanted to know, wondering if we had to produce a real estate mogul out of thin air or if the plan had been shot down. To be honest, we were stalled whether Mr. Hickory said 'yes' or 'no' but I wasn't too interested in any more brutal honesty at that point.

“Ah, there you are, Billy. Blair and I wondered where you had gone to." Roman touched the side of his mouth lightly, indicating that perhaps I should consider doing the same. I wiped my face and came away with a giant chocolate smear on my left hand.

"Blair?" was all the reply I could manage.

"Yes, he came right over after you called him. We worked out the details of his offer and I just got the good news. Wild Bill has agreed to sell. They sign the papers tomorrow and we can start searching for the documents Monday morning.” He smirked liked a pig who had just swallowed an apple.

"Blair?" I repeated like a stuck record.

"Yes, Blair. It was your idea to bring him in as the buyer, remember?" Roman gave me a funny look. "Am I missing something?"

I shook my head, speechless, not sure how everything had changed so quickly from a destroyed friendship to Blair riding in on a white horse and saving the day. I managed a fairly sincere 'that's great' for Roman's sake and left the office in a daze.

My car had a mind of its own, it seemed. The dented Dodge drove right past the turn-off for my street and carried on to the finer part of town. I pulled into Blair's driveway only to find the house dark and the driveway deserted. I sat in my car, unable to think of what to do next. The sun was sliding behind the trees and the shadows grew long, creeping across my lap. I finally decided that a note to the detective would be in order, apologising for any brashness I might have exhibited on the phone and congratulating him on the real estate deal. It would cover all the bases without appearing desperate or clueless, though both of those words were pretty accurate descriptions of the state of things on my end.

I dug through the glove compartment, searching for a scrap of paper. I was holding two pinched ketchup packets in my hand, wondering how long those had been in my car when headlights appeared on the garage door in front of me. Instinctively, I flattened myself against the seat, evidently the response of someone with an overactive guilty conscience.

chapter eighty-seven

2009-09-11T21:00:00.000-07:00

I dialed the number for the police. Detective Blair answered on the first ring, and I reminded myself that this was strictly a business call. I had hoped to avoid him for a few days so that he could think long and hard about all the ways in which he had been insensitive to my feelings, but duty called. And I was a professional.

"Good afternoon, Detective Blair. This is Billy Ellis from city hall," I said in a pleasant, but detached tone. "I am calling to see if you would be interested in taking advantage of a unique situation that Mr. Kowalski and I came across today. A piece of residential property in one of the most desirable sections of the city might be coming available in the next day or two --”

“What the hell? Is this a joke to get me back for this morning?" He wasn't laughing and neither was he taking me seriously. Bad news on both counts.

"No, forget about this morning. I'm being serious! We might have convinced Wild Bill to sell his land, as is, if you know what I mean." Had I just thoughtlessly dismissed his need to make amends for his careless behaviour earlier that day? The cost of civic duty was getting pretty steep.

He let out a low whistle. "Okay, I'm listening."

I replayed the hospital scene for him, word for word, excluding the part about the nosy assistant, of course, then asked his opinion of the plan. "So do you think that would leave Wild Bill off the hook?"

“Legally, yes.” Cameron replied slowly. “Unfortunately, the people who threatened him are not too concerned with legalities, but I have to admit, that's a damn fine idea, Billy, and it might just get us what we need. Nicely done!"

I blushed at the level of enthusiasm Blair was showing for my little scheme. "So we'd have to move quickly if he decides to sell. He's leaving town in a few days," I added.

"And what makes you think I'm in the market for real estate?" He wanted to know.

His question caught me by surprise. I had just assumed that getting the evidence was reason enough. "I don't know. Isn't everyone?"

"Are you?" Blair was in detective mode again, answering questions with more questions. Couldn't the man just give a straight answer for once?

"No, well, yes, I would be, but I'm not in any position to buy...things....right now." That sounded lame, very lame.

"Really. And what makes you think that I am?" I banged my fist in frustration on the conference room table. Here I was trying to clean up the city and the detective was wasting time and energy on stupid mind games. I jumped right to the punchline.

"You are the only rich guy I know, okay? At least I think you're rich. I don't know. Maybe you have nothing to your name except that incredible house of yours, but something tells me you're sitting on a lot more than that. How a farm boy ended up in your position, I have no idea, but right now, I don't care. All I want to know is do you want to do something important with it or do you want to sit here and play twenty questions?"

There was silence on the other end of the line, and then I heard a faint click. Cameron Blair had just hung up on me.

chapter eighty-six

2009-09-11T19:44:00.000-07:00

Back at city hall, I spent all morning burping up bacon and trying to summarize what meagre information we had on Applewood, Tait, and Sanders. There were still large gaps in the timeline, but I did my best to corral the information into a rudimentary structure.

Roman came in just before noon, still looking a little pale around the edges, and plopped a collage of items on the conference table beside me: the promised key to Viola's office, a few items to type, and a list of files he needed me to locate. I gladly gave my brain a rest from the enigma that was called Allstar and moved on to something with a lot more instant gratification. Ten minutes later, my typing was interrupted by a reborn Roman, his steps so springy and light that I never heard him come up beside me.

“Hey!" Roman smiled as that word caused my hands to jump off the keyboard. "What do you know? Mr. Hickory just asked me to come by to see him this afternoon.”

“Oh. Do you think that means he's willing to cooperate?" I remembered my appeal for divine intervention the day before.

“I'm hoping it does. And he made me promise to bring you. He seems to have a soft spot for brunettes with fudge." The familiar Roman wink made a welcome appearance. "We’ll leave in an hour. Now get back to work.” He tapped the desk with feigned severity.

“Okay, boss.” Sadly, there was nothing feigned about my servility.

When Roman and I entered Bill Hickory’s hospital room that afternoon the man was sitting up in bed, looking a fair sight better than the state we seen him in two days ago. His color was pinkish, his breathing much less raspy, and the old fire was back in his eyes.

The greeting was refreshingly feisty and bordering on rude. “Well if it isn't the clever city clerk and his nosy assistant spending the afternoon visiting the elderly and infirm in the hospital. Glad to see my tax dollars hard at work.” He glared at both of us, but I caught sight of a faint upward twitch playing at the corner of his mouth.

“We are only here are your request," I reminded him. He grunted, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “I am relieved to see you looking so much better today, Mr. Hickory.” I gave the man a genuine smile. “You had me concerned there for a bit.”

"Ach, it’ll take more than a little fire to do this old man in.” He coughed lightly.

“I have no doubt of that,” Roman agreed, content to let the man broach the reason for our visit in his own good time.

I was not quite as patient as Roman. “So, did you talk to your son? Have you made a decision?” I pried. Mr. Hickory's request to have me tag along with Roman seemed to be the golden opportunity I had been waiting for.

Mr. Hickory squinted at me. “Don’t get ahead of me, young lady. It's not polite.”

I apologized demurely and received an almost imperceptible wink in return. Yes, the man was definitely toying with us and he loved every minute of it.

“First things first. Seems that old house had increased in value quite a bit these last few years. I’ll be getting a nice cheque from the insurance company. Good to know those idiots don't just sit on their asses all the time, but actually pay out when they need to. Still hate losing the place, but no use crying about it. Have to move on, so I'll be going to live with my son and his family, at least for now. Leaving town in a few days if they ever let me out of this blasted bed." He raised his voice just enough to have this last phrase catch the ears of a passing nurse, but the only reaction he got was the smallest shake of a head as she hurried out of sight. He grunted again and took a small sip from the water glass on the bedside table before he continued.

“Now, what I need to tell you is this. I wish you all the best in your investigation, but I can by no means be seen to be providing any assistance. If you go digging around my property, someone would get suspicious and I can’t have it point back to me. There is the matter of my family's safety, and I think we all know these men mean business. Therefore, Mr. Kowalski, any papers that are buried under the rubble are staying buried. End of story.”

“But what if it’s not your property?” I asked.

“Of course it’s my property!” Wild Bill insisted.

Roman cast me a quick, sideways glance; he knew exactly where I was going with this and picked up the thought. “What she means is if you sold the property, you could not be held responsible for what’s found on it.” Roman and I nodded in unison.

Bill inhaled deeply and was silent for a few minutes, fingering the sheets thoughtfully. “That’s an interesting angle, but even if I were to sell the land and leave town, would that guarantee that my family would be out of danger?”

“I can’t answer that for you,” Roman replied honestly.

“I’m assuming you have a buyer in mind,” Mr. Hickory said, turning his unblinking eyes onto me, “who would give you full access.”

“First things first. Do you want to sell or not?” I returned the direct stare and the ball into his court.

“You are being evasive, Ms. Ellis," he said sternly, but let it go at that. "Give me a few hours to think this through, will you? Mr. Kowalski, I’ll call your office at six with an answer.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Roman said. A nurse entered the room with a tray of food, and we left the man to his afternoon snack of jell-o and juice. “I have to hand it to you, Billy, that was quick thinking,” Roman patted me on the back as we entered the elevator.

“I actually came up with the idea yesterday, but wasn’t sure he would go for it,” I admitted.

“We’ll have our answer soon enough." He punched the button to take us down to the first floor. "Now all we need is a buyer. I’m in no position to acquire prime real estate right now. I don’t suppose you are either, even with your raise.”

“Hardly. The raise is already spent."

He raised his eyebrows and then studied me for a long moment, longer than was comfortable. "If I know anything about you, Ms. Ellis, I would venture to say that you've already got something in the works, am I right?"

"I have to make a phone call," was all the information I would give him.

chapter eighty-five

2009-09-08T15:17:00.000-07:00

Friday morning I awoke to the sound of cheerful birds and the sight of the late spring sun blazing in through large windows. I could smell coffee and toast and yes, even bacon. That seemed a bit out of place because I didn't drink coffee, and I considered bacon a treat strictly reserved for the weekend. I glanced down and saw the dark green duvet under which I was lying and suddenly and shamefully remembered the events of the night before.

Blair had refused to let me go home, so after spending several hours on the living room couch getting over the effects of a double whiskey on an empty stomach, he had forced me to eat a bowl of soup and ordered me upstairs into bed. His bed. The memory of it was so embarrassing that I quickly extracted myself from the sheets and pulled on my black pants. Perhaps I could get out of the house without a protracted conversation with the man downstairs.

I descended the Scarlet O'Hara staircase on tip toes, as one always does when they find themselves in someone else's house under less than ideal circumstances, and timidly poked my head into the kitchen.

"Good morning!" Blair sounded cheerful and chirpy, just like the birds outside. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine, I guess." The pleasantries over, I was wondering how I could now politely extricate myself.

"I've got bacon and eggs and toast and some tea brewing if you like. I figured you would be pretty hungry this morning. You weren't too interested in solid food last night." I was definitely hungry and the aromas were making my mouth water. I only wished that his reference to the previous evening would have been worded a bit more delicately. On second thought, in the grand scheme of things, what did it really matter? What was done, was done. It most certainly wouldn't hurt to stay for just a bit; breakfast was the most important meal of the day, after all.

My stomach gurgled as I sat down at the oak table, and I noticed that the dishwasher had been shoved into a corner. Blair soon placed two plates of steaming breakfast goodness on the table and took a seat across from me. I grabbed a piece of golden toast, dished some fluffy eggs onto the corner, and bit down eagerly. The man sure made a mean breakfast, I had to give him credit for that.

"Thanks. It's really good." I murmured sincerely, making eye contact only with the crumbly, crispy bread.

Blair folded his arms on the table in front of his plate of untouched food. "Billy, I need to apologize for last night." I swallowed a mouthful of eggs and wondered what on earth he could be apologizing for. "Buying me a dishwasher was completely unnecessary and much too extravagant. Nevertheless, I could have been more gracious about it. I would like to reimburse you for at least some of the expense, if you don't mind, but I am happy to accept your gift."

I chewed on a piece of bacon while I thought about that. The words 'reimburse' and 'gift' seemed to cancel each other out in his little speech, but it was an valiant attempt on his part to readjust his ridiculously arrogant and self-reliant man-attitude. I decided to heap generosity on top of generosity and offer him an honourable compromise as well as an appliance.

"We could go fifty-fifty if you want," I replied, reaching for more bacon.

Cameron grinned with relief and immediately stretched out a large hand to me. "Deal!" I let my greasy fingers be vigorously pumped for a few seconds. He chuckled to himself and added, "You do know that you say the strangest things when you've had a couple of shots of whiskey." I inhaled sharply with a sudden dread and tried to withdraw my hand, but he held onto it tightly as he leaned a few inches closer and enunciated with exaggeration, "Darling." He tossed my hand away and let out a hearty laugh.

I was crushed by his tactless comment and properly mortified when I remembered some of the private and subconscious thoughts I had let slip out of my mouth in an unguarded moment the night before. I kept my head down and my voice calm as I said, "I have to go now. I'll be late for work."

"Why? What's wrong? Billy, it was just a joke!" Blair realised too late that his attempt at light humour had instead delivered a painful blow.

"Thanks for breakfast," I murmured as I hurried to the door.

"I'm sorry, I guess I shouldn't have said anything --" he followed me down the hallway, helplessness in his voice.

"Obviously, neither should I." Our eyes met for a moment as I pulled the door shut behind me. He saw the hurt and anger in mine, and I beheld bewilderment and confusion in his. I drove off cursing that infuriating, insensitive man-attitude, and I was sure he was doing the same on the other side of the door, only about those preposterous hypersensitive female emotions.

chapter eighty-four

2009-09-04T12:49:00.000-07:00

“What is all the noise about?" Blair rubbed his forehead as he stood in the doorway, eyeing my upraised fists with suspicion.

I slowly spread my fingers and lowered my hands to let him know I was not a danger to society. "Hello, Detective Blair, I'm sorry I disturbed you. I just wanted to make sure you were at home."

“You can see that I am.” He stared at me, waiting for some explanation.

“Um, yes, okay. Well, that's good news. So I guess I'll be on my way then." I smiled broadly and insincerely and raised one hand in a feeble wave.

"Not so fast, young lady." Blair caught my elbow and gently but firmly pulled me across the threshold and shut the door behind us. He pointed me to the living room, and I meekly took a seat on the edge of the couch. "I need a drink. You want one?" he asked, his eyes still a bit squinty with sleep.

I nodded and he disappeared into the kitchen. For the life of me I couldn't recall a single word of the brilliant speech I had rehearsed in the car, and I was having second and third and fourth thoughts about the wisdom of my impulsive purchase. The fact that Blair was grumpy and tired was definitely making this less than the perfect scenario for springing a big surprise on him.

What to do now? Should I venture into an apologetic explanation, hoping that would change his mood? Should I stall for time and just let the gift arrive at the door as a complete surprise? Should I run out while I had the chance? Yes to option three, definitely yes. I stood up and took three surreptitious steps towards the door before I was intercepted by Blair and two glasses.

"Whiskey okay?" Blair held out the short glasses half filled with amber liquid. I hated whiskey but did not want to irritate my host further, so I nodded and took one of them from his hand. We stood in silence while he took a few gulps of the strong liquor. I braved a tiny sip, trying not to grimace at the burning bitterness. "Too strong for you?" Blair asked, no doubt aware of my discomfort. He tilted his glass back and drained the last of its contents, then fixed his eyes on me. His look held a challenge that I could not let go unanswered. I scrunched my eyes closed and poured the rest of the horrible liquid down my throat, then tightly sealed my lips to stifle the coughing, choking, gagging sensation that followed. I was not totally successful. Blair offered no comment, but took both glasses and set them down on the coffee table, indicating that I should retake my seat on the couch.

"You were going to tell me why you needed to make sure I was here," Cameron eased himself into the large armchair and put his feet up on the table. His exaggerated relaxed attitude just made me all the more ill at ease, which was probably exactly what he meant to do. I didn't know which I hated more: his pushy aloofness or my inability to control my adverse reaction to it.

"Lucky for you, I have nowhere else to be tonight," Blair added, indicating that he was not going anywhere until he had received a satisfactory response.

“Well," I started, my voice scratchy from the whiskey. "I just wanted to let you know--" I broke off into a cough, my throat raw and irritated.

"You okay?" Cam asked, not moving one inch from his repose.

I nodded and cleared my throat several times, hoping that would help. "I wanted to say thanks for, um, washing my dishes last night." My head was feeling a bit queer and I stopped to give it a little shake.

"That's it? That's why you were pounding on my door like a crazy woman?" He shrugged in disbelief.

"Those last four words are not right," I said slowly, gripping the couch which was becoming a bit unstable at this point. "I'm not a crazy woman." My head tilted to one side to adjust for the motion I was starting to feel in the room.

"Then tell me what you are, Billy Ellis. I want to know." Blair leaned forward and that made his face a little easier to focus on.

"I am not feeling very good right now, but I think that is an important question which should not be ignored, Cameron Blair." I leaned sideways and laid my head on the couch, trying to make the room stop spinning. Then I heard a bell ringing, many beautiful bells, and Cameron left the room.

A man’s voice was announcing a delivery for a Mr. Blair and then another man denying that he had ordered anything and telling the first man he must have the wrong house. I struggled off the couch and stumbled to the door, clutching Cameron's arm for support against the awful dizziness.

"Yes, yes, it's alright. I ordered it. Surprise, darling!” Cameron gave me a puzzled look, and then it turned to one of concern. Dear gosh, maybe the man disliked surprises. I hoped he hadn't had a traumatic childhood experience with a surprise birthday party or something awful like that. Oh well, too late to ask about it now. The man wheeled the large box through the front door and I pointed a finger to the kitchen. Cameron and I watched the man in navy work pants set the dishwasher in the middle of the large room at the end of the short hallway and then turn to hand me a delivery slip. He wished us a good night and disappeared into the darkness.

“It’s a dishwasher,” I explained since the silent detective seemed to be slow in catching on, “because you hate washing dishes. You said so.” I held out the delivery slip to him and waited while he rubbed a finger across a very worried mouth.

Finally, he snatched the paper from my hand and spoke. “You can't afford this. I'll pay you back.”

I giggled. “Ha! I'll have you know I just came into some money, so there. Any other objections?" I reached out one hand to steady myself against the wall.

He shook his head with disapproval. "This is unacceptable. I was going to get a dishwasher soon anyway, I just hadn't got around to it. Tell me how much it is and I'll write you a cheque." He went into the office and returned in a moment with a black book and a pen.

His stupid reaction made me angry. “What do you mean, it's unacceptable? You are refusing my gift? That's not very nice!" I scowled at him for added effect.

His tone softened a bit. "Billy, I'm not trying to mean. Really, I appreciate the gesture, but it's too much. You don't have to do this."

I was not about to be placated. "I know I don't have to, that's the point of a gift, isn't it? Maybe you're just too much of a stubborn asshole to say, 'Thanks, that's a really nice thing to do, Billy.' Fine! I'll leave you and your stinky attitude alone." I tottered towards the door, hoping to make a clean exit, but Blair blocked my way.

"You are in no condition to drive, young lady."

"Well, whose fault is that, Mr. Needs a Drink?" I returned sharply.

"You could have said 'no,' Billy. It's a skill you might want to develop," he instructed, in that maddening condescending way.

"Okay, then. I'll start right now. No thank you, Mr. Blair. I thought it would be the most wonderful thing in the world to be your girlfriend and maybe even marry you, but if you can't find it in your heart to accept a simple gift, then how in the name of heaven or heck or whatever do you expect to be able to accept a wife?"

Blair looked like he had just been slapped by ten monkeys.

"I need to go lie down," I mumbled, holding my head. The couch welcomed me into its arms.

chapter eighty-three

2009-09-01T15:31:00.000-07:00

Dishwashers were more expensive than I had thought. I was walking the aisles of an appliance store after work on Thursday, fingering price tags. While driving home, I had hit on the perfect gift for Detective Blair. Granted, it was a bit much as a thank you for a few meals and the occasional ride, but the idea had seemed so right at the moment of inspiration that all other considerations were disregarded, especially when I remembered seeing that gaping hole in his row of kitchen cupboards and realising that it was made for exactly such an apparatus.

My excitement was starting to wane, however, as every price I glanced at was more out of reach than the last one. Didn't they have a half-price section? Last year's models or something? A salesman noted my crinkled forehead of disappointment and came over to find out what he could do to fix my problem. In response to his query, I told the man in the blue striped blazer that I needed a "wow, that's cool" dishwasher at a "wow, that's cheap" price. I expected nothing more than a dismissive shake of the head from the middle-aged man, but he surprised me with an arched eyebrow and a beckoning finger.

I followed him through a brown swinging door into a stockroom and at the end of a row of refrigerators and upright freezers, he stopped and with a Vanna White flourish, presented me with what he believed to be the solution to my problem. I had to admit it was like nothing I had seen before: sleek and understated in its European styling with a simple touchpad that promised a diverse array of programming features. The front door was not the standard black, white, or even stainless steel. Rich cherry streaks of wood grain ran down the length of the custom panel. The same cherry that graced Blair's kitchen cupboards.

As I ran my fingers over the smooth reddish surface, hardly believing how perfect it was, the blue jacketed man told me that this was a special order that had just been returned and since he had no demand for it, he was willing to sell it to me at a very reasonable price. Before he could come up with a magic number that would no doubt still be unreasonable, I told him what I could afford. He left me to discuss the details with his manager and came back in five minutes with a deal. I could pay it off over two months, interest-free, with a small deposit. The weekly payments were slightly less than the raise I had just received.

I signed the papers, handed over my credit card for the deposit, and gave Cameron's address to Mr. Blue Jacket. He said his delivery truck was just going out for the last run, so they could deliver it tonight if Mr. Blair was at home. I assured them that he would be there and silently hoped that the detective's reputation as a relative recluse was still intact. Just to be put my mind at ease, I hopped in my car after I finished at the appliance store and headed for the nicer part of town.

As I was driving, I rehearsed a warm and wordy speech expounding the altruistic motivation behind my very generous gesture of gratitude. It was sure to extract a hearty and affectionate response. A major appliance accompanied by feminine charm was undoubtedly irresistible. I could hardly wait to see his face when the ultimate gift arrived at his front door.

When I saw Cameron's car in the driveway, I let out a loud, "Yes, God, I love it when a plan comes together!" and pulled in behind it. I rushed up to the door, my excitement mounting, and pushed on the doorbell. Nothing stirred. I rang again, twice, and added some pounding on the heavy wooden door for good measure. It appeared to do no good. I started yelling at the silent house, "Cameron, you have to be home! Please, just answer the door! I need you to answer the door!! Cameron Blair, don't do this to me!" I raised both my fists and began to pound on the door. "This is no good, no no! Pleeaaassseee, you have to be here! This is not going to work if you're not here!"

The door suddenly opened to reveal a slightly disheveled, obviously just awakened, and somewhat annoyed detective.

chapter eighty-two

2009-08-31T13:31:00.000-07:00

Roman and Cameron walked past the conference room door shortly after the last of the souvlaki had found its final resting place in my stomach. I dropped the papers I was holding and bounced into Roman's office, hoping to participate in any intelligence-type activities that were on the agenda. After a welcome assurance that my help was indeed needed, Roman began an intense conversation with me about how many file red folders we would need to order. Meanwhile, the detective searched the office and found that the telephone was indeed tapped and there was another tiny microphone attached to the light fixture. While we switched the topic to the merits of plastic-coated paper clips on archival materials, Blair left the room and did a brief sweep of the conference room and Viola’s office and found both were clean.

‘A pretty amateur job,’ Cameron wrote on a slip of paper that he slid across Roman's desk, indicating that he was sure he would have found something if it had been hidden in the other two rooms. I gave Cam an exaggerated thumbs up, for some reason confusing the need for discretion with being a mime. At least there would be no more covert bathroom meetings. Roman offered the detective a modest handshake, and we all understood that the bugs would be left in place in order to buy us some time and perhaps mislead the bad guys.

Cameron left Roman's office and I suddenly remembered my manners. I ran after him to offer a quick thanks for supper the night before and an apology for not being able to stay awake for it. He deflected the gratitude with typical male bravado, insisting that he was only doing his duty.

"Well, thanks for doing the dishes, then," I added. "That was above and beyond the call of duty, I think." I was trying to be funny and natural, but the words came out too pushy and a bit wobbly with emotion. Damn my inability to hide any of my feelings!

"It sure was. If you only knew how much I hate doing dishes." The tall detective winked at me - a tiny gesture which emptied all rational thought from my brain in maddening fashion - and walked out of the building.

Roman had to call my name twice before I turned to acknowledge him. He was standing in the hallway, beckoning me into the conference room for a meeting. I hoped he had not overheard the interchange between Blair and myself and I felt my face flush at the thought, but Roman was all business as we sat down at the large table. He assured me that Viola was definitely back on board and had signed a statement reiterating all the information she had offered earlier. She was content to prolong her stay at the shelter for a short while, but her ultimate desire was still to reunite with her husband. Roman had tried to convince her that any contact with Richard Sanders would be dangerous, but she had offered no promises. She was convinced that Richard would change his ways now that a baby was on the way. He had promised her as much. Well, how could one argue against that? For her and the child's sakes, I hoped it would turn out well, but I knew that mean, selfish men didn't morph into kind and caring fathers overnight.

Roman interrupted my psychoanalysis of the male species with a change of topic. “In the meantime, I still need an assistant. Billy, I want you to step into Viola's position for a few weeks. It’s not too heavy a workload – I'm sure someone as capable as you could still find a few hours here and there to work on Wild Bill’s files. What do you say?”

The flattery had not gone unnoticed and appreciated, but it would take more than that to get me to accept an increased workload and added responsibility. “And how much would I be getting paid for that, Mr. Kowalski?” I inquired coolly.

"Well, you’re quite the shrewd little negotiator,” Roman pursed his lips as he drummed his fingers gently on the table. “Okay, I’ll up your rate by three dollars an hour.”

“That sounds reasonable,” I agreed calmly, hoping my eyes did not reveal my shock at receiving the biggest raise in the entire employment history of Billy Ellis.

“Done. You can start right away. There’s quite a bit of correspondence and paperwork to catch up on. If you wouldn’t mind tackling that this afternoon, you can get back to these tomorrow,” he said, indicating the papers spread out on the conference table. “They’ll wait.”

I spent the rest of the day at Viola’s desk and much to my surprise, quite enjoyed the change of pace. Temp work had made me efficient and proficient at many administrative tasks, and I mowed through the back-log of work without a break until the desk was clear. It was just after 6:00 pm when I sat back and felt the endorphin rush of a task well done. I popped my head into Roman's office to let him know I was done and leaving for the day.

He looked up at me and blinked a few times, as if not sure of what I had said. "You're done?" he repeated. I nodded at him and his eyebrows raised in restrained surprise. "I'm impressed.”

“Just making sure you don’t regret that raise,” I quipped.

“I won't if you keep this up." He smiled and sighed softly. In that rare and unguarded moment, I once again saw the grey tiredness and stress settle on his face. His pale blue eyes remained fixed on me for a moment and then he added, "You're a godsend, Billy.”

The word sent a shiver through my body. I know. I just hope I get it right.

chapter eighty-one

2009-08-19T13:18:00.000-07:00

I woke up feeling dull-headed and foul-mouthed. I wished the fairy who had put me to bed would have taken the trouble to make sure I had brushed and flossed as well. I had had the dream again about urgently needing to move documents from one place to the next before they were detonated. The key to disarm the explosives was clutched tightly in my hand just before I opened my eyes. While I chewed on a spoonful of Cheerios at my tiny kitchen table, I tried to decipher the meaning of the dream, but it left me with no clear direction, only questions. What was I supposed to do? And what was the key?

As the morning cloudiness cleared, I began to notice that there was no evidence of last night’s sleepy supper. The kitchen was uncharacteristically clean and tidy. There were no plates with leftover food, no take-out bags; even the dishes from breakfast the day before were not crowding the sink as usual. I opened the refrigerator and found my mostly uneaten meal safely tucked away in a plastic container for today's lunch. I yanked open the cupboard doors and saw nothing but clean dishes stacked one on top of the other, each in their proper place, breakfast bowls and all. I bit my lip as a bubble of gratitude, affection, and perhaps just the slightest bit of amazement rose in my chest. I would have to make it up to Detective Blair somehow. He was making an attempt to be my friend again and that was something I definitely wanted to reciprocate.

When I got to city hall, Roman was in the conference room laying out all the documents I had pulled over the past few days and the three files salvaged from box seven. He set out my next assignment, which was to go through everything I had gleaned on Allstar and its members and analyse the information to see how much was relevant to the case. Then I would compile a summary outlining the highlights of said documents so that we could see exactly what we had to work with, or so my boss instructed.

I felt under-equipped for such a task, especially given my limited legal and business knowledge, but didn't think it right to dash Roman's hopes before I even gave it a try, so I simply smiled bleakly and nodded, as any overwhelmed temporary employee knows to do. He assured me that I had a good head and above average instincts and would manage the assignment just fine. I suppose the bleak smile had communicated a bit more bleakness than I had hoped, and I was encouraged by his confidence in me. I decided perhaps I could have a bit more in myself as well. Before leaving for his meeting with Viola, Roman informed me that Blair would be coming by after lunch to investigate the bug problem.

That left me with a table full of documents to wrangle. As I read and tried to make sense of the jumble of information left to me, I multi-tasked by also trying to solve the puzzle of the dream. Working and pondering proved to be a good combination, because after a few hours, I came up with an interpretation that even Freud would have been proud of, although perhaps a bit disappointed that it did not mention my controlling mother. This was the gist of it: the files that needed to be moved were Wild Bill’s hidden documents. If we did not get them out of his house before the three big bad wolves found out they still existed, the whole investigation, not to mention the well-being of several people, could blow up and all would be lost. We would be back at square one, or almost. We still had Viola, but I didn’t know if her testimony could stand alone, considering she had participated in some illegal actions herself, and was not at arm’s length from the corporation.

The question now was if the dream was speaking about the past or the future? Had I somehow already missed the opportunity to use the key and this was just a subconscious reminder of the sad state of things? Had the fire been the explosion I had feared and everything was already destroyed? I didn't believe so. I assumed that the dream was there to impress upon me the urgent need to rescue Wild Bill's papers, and a confirmation that they had indeed survived
the fire.

Over some lukewarm souvlaki at the conference table, an idea began to formulate in my mind about how this might be possible. It hinged heavily on Mr. Hickory’s participation, but there might be a way to get our hands on the evidence while minimizing the risk to him and his family. However, the longer I thought about the details, the more I began to suspect that if the plan was not executed perfectly, someone might get hurt and that was the last thing I wanted. Fear and doubt lobbied back and forth in my mind for awhile until I called a time out. One thing was certain. I was not willing to put anyone's life on the line over a few papers, so I determined not to initiate anything. If Mr. Hickory made the first move, then I would know it was alright. Divine intervention had started this thing and divine intervention would now have to save it.

chapter eighty

2009-08-10T19:49:00.000-07:00

My trusty Dodge followed Roman's BMW to the hospital, and we took the elevator up to the sixth floor together. Mr. Hickory was in the intensive care unit with access limited to family members only. Roman struck up a conversation with the duty nurse and soon she was nodding and chatting and ushering us down the hall and through a door. The sight of the old man was startling at first. He was hooked up to a plethora of tubes and blipping monitors, and his breathing was raspy and labored. His eyelids were papery and gray and his hands lay still - too still - on the bed. I glanced over at Roman and noticed that the stark lighting in the hospital room was making even the usually robust Roman look somewhat ashen and sickly - at least I hoped it was just the lighting.

Roman offered a restrained "hello" to the man. Mr. Hickory's head stirred slightly on his pillow, but he did not open his eyes. I stepped closer to the hospital bed and gently squeezed one bony, veined arm with my hand. His head turned in my direction and the old man's eyelids fluttered a few times before the intense blue eyes came into view.

“Ah, the girl with the fudge,” Mr. Hickory whispered. A faint upward turn played on one corner of his mouth, and I returned the smile.

Roman came to the foot of the bed. “Hello, Mr. Hickory. It’s Roman Kowalski.”

“What do you want from me?” Mr. Hickory’s voice was still soft, but there was now a steely glint in his eyes. He coughed briefly, and I could hear the shallowness in his lungs.

Wanting to keep things pleasant and stress-free for Mr. Hickory’s sake, I hurried to answer the question before Roman could respond. “He wants to make sure you're alright. We both do. I feel really bad about what happened, and I’m sorry about your house.” His eyes turned back to me and I could see them glistening. “How did it happen?” I asked.

He inhaled slowly before he spoke. “The neighbors’ dog was barking and woke me. The whole house was filled with smoke, so I crawled down the stairs and out onto the lawn. Damn dog saved my life, I suppose. Faulty wiring, they say.”

Roman interjected. “I don’t believe it was an accident.”

“What?” the old man croaked, his hands starting to move agitatedly.

“Those papers Billy found?" Roman continued. "They seem to have awakened a sleeping giant. Mr. Tait threatened to cut my career short yesterday just in case I was thinking of tampering with any contracts.”

“But I won’t talk, they know that,” Mr. Hickory insisted, his breaths coming closer together now.

“You already did,” Roman said, pointing his thumb at me. "I'm sorry, but they seem to have caught wind of that. We suspect that they tapped my office as well."

“Dirty rotten bastards –“ He broke off into a spell of deep coughing, then lay still as he recovered from the effort. Finally, he whispered, “I have to call my son.”

Roman moved closer and leaned over the bed. “I respect your desire to remain uninvolved, Mr. Hickory, but we believe some of the documents you had hidden might have survived the fire. All I’m asking is that you give us permission to search for them.”

Mr. Hickory shook his head slowly, indicating that he was not interested in what Roman was proposing. His brief spurt of energy was gone and so was the anger that had fuelled it. The paper-thin eyelids came down once again, and he repeated his request. “Tell the nurse I want to call my son.”

Mr. Hickory had closed the subject, so Roman and I tip-toed out of the small room. Unfortunately, that had not gone exactly as we had hoped. Roman indicated that he was going to pass on the man's request to the nurse, so I walked to the elevator and leaned against the wall while I waited, suddenly feeling how long this day had been.

“Looks like you could use a chair.” Cameron had stepped out of the elevator while I had closed my eyes for a second. He looked impressively alert and fresh for having been up most of the night.

"Yes," I sighed. “A chair, a good meal, and some good news for a change would be welcome right now.”

Roman joined our little elevator-side meeting and filled Blair in on our brief and unproductive visit with Mr. Hickory. The upbeat and optimistic Cameron did not seem overly concerned by Mr. Hickory’s lack of cooperation. “The man’s had a rough day. Let him talk to his family and get some rest. We can approach him again in a few days.”

“Do we have that kind of time?” Roman worried.

“We have no choice but to take the time," Blair deflected the urgency Roman felt and then spoke to him with a rare show of honest concern. "Go home and get some rest, man. You look like hell.”
To my surprise, Roman's shoulders slumped in fatigue and agreement. "You're right. I'll see you tomorrow." Apparently there was some mutual respect being built between the two of them.

When the elevator arrived, Blair held my arm lightly to prevent me from stepping into it with Roman. After the doors closed, he responded to my questioning look. “Let me check in on Mr. Hickory for a minute, and then I'll make sure you get that good meal, okay?” I nodded my assent, thankful for the generous offer. It took all the concentration I could muster to drive myself home and drag myself up the stairs to my apartment.

Fifteen minutes later, Cameron Blair knocked on my door with an armful of Greek food. I dished the souvlaki onto two plates and made it through six bites before exhaustion hit me like a wall. I vaguely remembered him saying something about talking to a fire fighter when my head became so heavy that I could no longer hold it upright. I tried resting it in my hands and closing my eyes, just for a moment, while I tapped into some hidden second wind. The next thing I knew I was in my own bed, and I felt the welcome sensation of covers being pulled up to my chin.

chapter seventy-nine

2009-08-07T18:01:00.000-07:00

The large conference room with the wall of windows and the million-dollar view was beginning to lose its lustre for me. More than forty boxes of unsorted files will that do that. There were only eight boxes left to go through to complete my primary foray into Wild Bill's work world. After that would come the even more tiresome and laborious business of making sure every paper found a proper and traceable home, but I didn't want to think about that endless task on a Wednesday morning. At one o’clock I paused and took out an unappetizing yellowish sandwich that I had prepared the night before. Egg salad did not overnight well, I noted. My phone rang, and I hoped it was some handsome man with good news. Instead, it was an emotional Viola.

I cut off her rapid words and asked if I could call her right back. Caution and discretion were my two new middle names. I locked the conference room and Roman's office and ran outside to a pay phone on the corner. Paranoid might have been a third middle name as well, but I was doing my best not to put anyone in danger this week. Viola had caught wind about Mr. Hickory’s house fire and was noticeably upset about her former employer's plight. I told her what I knew, trying to put a hopeful spin on things, and she was silent for a moment.

Then I heard her clear her throat and in a strong voice, say, “They can’t do this to him and get away with it. I need to testify.”

My heart skipped a beat at the boost this would give our sagging case, but since she had waffled on us before, I wasn't jumping for joy yet. “Are you sure?" I asked. "What about your plans for the baby and - " I left the rest unsaid.

“My baby needs to be safe. If what I know can help to put a stop to this craziness, I want to do my part.”

I let out a big sigh of relief. She sounded like she meant it this time. “Thanks, Viola. That’s very brave of you. I’ll let Roman know you called."

After I hung up, I took a casual walk around the block - partly to get some fresh air and partly to make my jaunt outside to the phone booth a plausible lunch hour excursion, just in case someone was watching. Perhaps my next career would be as a secret agent. Roman was just walking briskly from the parking lot as I finished my circle, so I waited for him to catch up.

“I had the most interesting chat with Detective Blair,” he informed me.

“And I had a fascinating talk with Viola,” I volleyed back.

“Shall we finish this conversation in the bathroom?” he asked with a tilt of his head. I nodded and a minute later we had locked ourselves in the women’s bathroom. We really had to find a better place to talk, but Roman seemed to enjoy the clandestine absurdity of it. He insisted that I go first, so I told him about Viola’s re-decision to testify. He responded with a satisfying mixture of pleasant surprise and appreciation, and then it was his turn. Blair had confirmed that the report filed by the fire chief had come through uncharacteristically quickly. It stated that the Hickory house fire was caused by faulty wiring, an open and shut case. Blair was sure there had been no thorough investigation of the site; it had hardly had time to cool down.

This could work in our favour, because it meant that the remains of the structure had been relatively untouched, and we might be able to salvage any surviving documents if we could search the property. The catch was that since there was technically no foul play, we would need permission from Mr. Hickory to retrieve any documents. Roman had volunteered for the job of gaining the old man's consent. Regarding my theory that Roman’s office might be bugged, Blair had suggested that he come in and check it out. In conclusion, Roman told me that they had both agreed that outside of the three of us, the existence of the buried documents was not to be mentioned. I swore to uphold their agreement, raising my hand as a mark of my solemnity, which caused Roman to swallow a chuckle. I really was not trying to be funny.

I felt the need to assure my boss that I would be able to finish the preliminary inspection of the last of the boxes that afternoon. He gave me a perfunctory wave of the hand, his mind no doubt on other important matters, and sauntered out of the ladies' bathroom without a hint of embarrassment. Would that I had even an ounce of his assurance.

I placed the lid on the last box at seven-thirty and let out a huge sigh of relief. On a hunch, I had pulled all the contracts I had heard Tait mention at our liquid lunch, as well as any election results I came across. Perhaps Roman’s practiced eyes could find some inconsistencies in there somewhere where my uninitiated eyes could not. Roman was staring at a host of spreadsheets when I entered his office with my gleanings from the day. I handed him my small stack of files with a note explaining why I had pulled them. He hmmm-ed in acknowledgement and set them to one side, promising to look at them tomorrow. I noticed that his eyes were dilated and slightly glassy from fatigue. I supposed I didn't look that much better. Suddenly, he snapped close the file he was working on and asked if I was up for a quick trip to the hospital.

“Let's see if Wild Bill is up to a conversation, shall we?" he queried.

chapter seventy-eight

2009-08-05T18:04:00.000-07:00

Roman was in his office on the phone when I arrived at city hall. I took my usual position in the conference room and tried to concentrate on sorting, but my heart wasn't in it. Every paper reminded me of Mr. Hickory and a deep sadness settled over me. I hoped he was going to be alright. He was a good man and didn't deserve all this trouble. It wasn't long before Roman came into my office, as I liked to think of it, and took a seat beside me.

“Blair called me this morning with the awful news. How are you doing with it?” He patted my hand which was resting on a file.

“Okay, I guess." His hand was warm and comforting on mine.

He shook his head slowly. “I drove by Wild Bill’s place on the way here - it’s just a smouldering mess. I can't believe it.” He removed the solace hand and rubbed his forehead with it.

I sighed in sympathy with the motion. “I hope Mr. Hickory is going to be okay. Any news on him?”

“Yes. I just spoke to his doctor. He got out of the house alright, but he’s having some trouble breathing. Time will tell, I guess.”

I remembered the detective's last words to me this morning. “Cameron says there’s a chance some of the documents might have survived,” I said, trying to shed a ray of hope on the situation.

“What are you talking about?” Roman asked, his forehead crinkling in neat lines.

“The rest of the evidence. Mr. Hickory had it hidden in his basement.”

“What? That crazy old man!” Roman rolled his eyes. “Who knew about this?”

I had forgotten that I had not told anyone the details of my visit with the retired city clerk until today. “I don’t know. I did. I guess the bad guys did.”

Roman drummed his fingers on the table as he turned it over in his mind. “Seems to me they would have done something about it way before now if they had known about those incriminating papers. Something else triggered this.” The phone rang in his office and he abruptly left the room before I heard what he thought it might be.

Roman’s theory ran around in my mind. If the bad guys didn’t know about the evidence, why burn down Wild Bill’s house last night? The last time they had felt threatened by him, it had been followed by immediate radical action. Now here was a radical action, but what had been the threat that had triggered it? Had Wild Bill called them up and said he was ready to prosecute? Very unlikely. Roman was going to pay the old man a visit today to try to convince him to cooperate, but who knew where that might have led? Suddenly it hit me, and the pit of my stomach dropped. I leaped out of my chair, causing it to tilt sideways and crash to the floor, and rushed into Roman’s office.

His voice had an edge of agitation in it and he was punctuating the air in front of him with his free hand. “What do you mean it’s being ruled an accident? You and I know this was arson, Blair. There has to be some evidence!” He listened and set his jaw, too engrossed to notice my presence in front of his desk. “Obviously these guys have their dirty hands around the fire chief’s throat and who knows where else. I hope you’re right about those documents being –“

Screams suddenly came from my throat and I jumped up and down, wildly waving my arms. Roman’s eyes bulged and he stopped mid-sentence. “What the hell?“

“Come quick! Hurry! It's an emergency!” I started to run out of his office, looking behind me to see if he was responding. Thankfully, he hung up the phone and with a quick step, followed me as I hurried into the women’s bathroom.

“What’s wrong? What's going on?” We stood facing each other in the decidedly feminine space. He looked around at the tiled walls, finding nothing that was a cause for concern.

“I’m sorry. I had to stop you. I think someone might have bugged your office or your phone or something. That would explain what happened last night. They would have known that you called Blair into the case. They would have known about your plan to see Mr. Hickory today and ask him to divulge his evidence, and that would have set them off enough to pull some crazy stunt to prevent that from happening. But I don't think they know about the documents. They were just trying to scare Wild Bill. We might still have a chance to retrieve them if we're careful.”

Roman peered at me and rubbed his chin. "Well, look who suddenly turned detective. That’s a very interesting possibility,” he mused, "And it certainly has some merit, I have to admit."

Another thought struck me. "The boxes! Cleaning the conference room and moving the boxes was the diversion they used to keep us from noticing that anything else was touched."

Roman frowned. "That's a rather insipid diversion, if you ask me. Couldn't they come up with something slightly more believable?"

"Well, they had to improvise. To leap at the chance when they got it. How were they supposed to know at what exact moment I would lose my mind and run out the building, leaving every thing unattended for several hours?" Yes, that was exactly what had happened, and if Roman had ever wanted to fire me, my admission would have been more than enough reason to do so.

"I see your point," he agreed. "The exact moment your insanity might manifest itself would indeed be difficult to pin down." He gave me a small wink and I realised my job was safe, at least for now. "I’ll call Blair back and get him to sweep the place.”

Another inspiration hit me. “No! Maybe we should leave it in place. It would make them awfully suspicious if everything suddenly went silent." A twinkle appeared in Roman's eye, and I said the words I knew he was thinking. 'I'm sure you can come up with a way to turn it to your advantage somehow.”

“Undoubtedly, but how do we know they didn't bug any other rooms?”

I shrugged. “We don’t. Assume nothing is safe for now, I guess.”

“Except the ladies’ bathroom?” Roman laughed and it echoed off the peach walls. “By the way, you’re an excellent actress, Ms. Ellis, though I thought your character could have used a little more development in her primary motivation.”

“I only had a second to come up with something, give me a break,” I defended myself in a plaintive tone.

He took my elbow with one hand and guided me towards the door. “Nicely done, young lady. You might manage to salvage yesterday's debacle after all." He held the door open for me, and I was relieved that no one saw us leaving the bathroom together. The self-consciousness I had kept at bay for the past half hour finally caught up with me and caused my face to colour.

Roman didn't seem to notice, for once. "I'm going over to see Blair and finish that conversation you interrupted. Think you can hold down the fort?” He said it in a genial way, but I understood that he wanted to be reassured that what had happened the day before would never happen again.

"Yes, sir. You can count on me."

"I do, Billy. You know I do." Roman took a few steps down the hall, then glanced over his shoulder. "And don't worry, I won't tell Blair about our little rendez-vous in the bathroom." He chuckled to himself and I gritted my teeth, wondering why a silly joke made me want to kick the man in the shin.

chapter seventy-seven

2009-08-05T15:12:00.000-07:00

A persistent, tapping noise kept threatening to pull me from my deep slumber. I got up and wandered around my apartment, trying to find out what was making that awful racket, but it just wouldn’t stop. It sounded like someone was knocking at my door. I opened my eyes and realized it was not a dream. My room was dark and someone was really knocking at my door, determined to get a response. I got out of bed and tip-toed through my living room. What kind of crazy person was trying to wake up the whole building?

“Who is it?” I whispered loudly to the brown wooden door, more annoyed than afraid.

“Billy, it’s Cameron. Open up.” The urgency in his voice caused me to hurriedly unlock the bolt and fling the door wide. When I saw his face, my heart started to thump heavily in my chest, and I knew something was terribly wrong. “I’m sorry to wake you. Bill Hickory’s house just burned down.”

“No! No, no! What? No." I was having a hard time swallowing the news. "Is he okay?”

“I don’t know. They took him to the hospital.” Blair gave me a moment to absorb the information.

“Do you know what happened?” I asked.

“We suspect arson. I need you to tell me everything about your visit with him.”

“Right now?”

“If you don’t mind. Get dressed and I’ll take you down to the station.”

I stepped aside to let Blair into the apartment and walked in a daze back to my bedroom. It was five am and as I removed my Garfield night shirt and pulled on a pair of day-old jeans and a clean T-shirt, I realised that our sources of incriminating evidence against Allstar were being eliminated one by one. Someone was serious about stopping our little investigation.

It started to rain as we drove to the police station. The faint drizzle and dim street lights created an eerie murder mystery mood, and as we pulled up in front of the almost deserted police station, I got the feeling that I was caught in the middle of some sinister plot which was rapidly careening towards an unhappy ending.

Cameron ushered me into the usual small windowless room and shut the door. “Can you tell me what happened when you went to see Mr. Hickory?” That had been six days ago. I sat down heavily in the chair across from him, shut my eyes, and tried to picture myself back at his house. “Do you want some tea or something?” the detective inquired.

The seemingly insignificant offer brought a lump to my throat, and I realised how much I missed the gentle kindness I had grown accustomed to from Cameron Blair. But there was no time to dwell in the past. I was here to help Bill Hickory if I could, and I needed to be awake and focussed.

“Actually, I’ll take a coffee with lots of cream and sugar, if you don't mind," I said. "I’m going to need it.”

“Coming right up.” Blair returned in a minute with a big mug of steaming, muddy, brown liquid. “My own special blend. I trust it is to your satisfaction.” I squinted up at the detective, unsure if he was teasing me, and took a tentative sip out of the faded blue cup. It tasted horrible, but it was exactly what I had asked for.

“It’s perfect,” I said, unable to totally hide my grimace. Cameron nodded and sat down, waiting for me to begin. I cradled the hot liquid in both hands and let my mind wander back in time.

“I called Mr. Hickory Thursday morning and asked to see him, said I had some questions about his files. I had come across a box of papers in his collection that were unusual.”

“In what way?” he asked.

“They didn’t fit into any of the categories I had seen up to that point, and they were physically different - like they had been stored in a different place, a damp place. So I showed them to Roman. Actually, I showed them to Viola first, but she said she had never seen them before. Then I showed Roman the files and he told me to go see Mr. Hickory.”

“Go on.”

I wondered if the detective should be taking notes, but didn't want to tell him how to do his job, so I minded my own business and continued. “Mr. Hickory told me to come that afternoon at three. He wasn’t very friendly on the phone, so I brought him some fudge to hopefully break the ice a little. Viola said he liked fudge.” I paused as I remembered the pleasant trip to the candy
shop with Blair. I glanced at him to see if he was thinking the same thing, but his eyes were not filled with dancing sugar plum fairies.

He plowed onward. “So only Viola and Roman knew you went to see him?”

“As far as I know, yes. Well, the fudge helped, but Mr. Hickory wasn’t a fool and soon figured out I suspected those files were leading somewhere, and that they might land someone in trouble. I guess he felt he could trust me, so he told me the story behind them.”

“Which was?” I was relieved to see Blair reach for a pad and pen at this juncture.

I tried to give a succinct version of Wild Bill's monologue. “He was approached by a member of city council to start a development corporation. He declined but later changed his mind. When he inquired about it again, no one wanted to talk about it, so he got suspicious and did some research. In time, he came up with a load of documents tying this three-man corporation to fraud, tax evasion, and a bunch of other stuff. He was about to expose them when he received his first threat. He didn’t believe they would follow through on it, but someone smashed into his wife’s car that evening and injured her. That did the trick. He shut up and buried the documents.”

Blair scribbled a few words and tapped the pen on the table briefly. “Did he in any way indicate his desire to help you catch these men?”

“No, not at all. He didn’t want anything to do with it,” I insisted and took another gulp of
the hot, bitter liquid.

“They why would someone try to kill him?” Blair asked.

“What?” I was sure he was jumping to conclusions. “No one is trying to kill Mr. Hickory! They can't be! They just want to destroy the evidence. He had all those papers stored in his basement. That's why they burned down the house. It's where box seven came from.”

Blair shook his head, not following me. “Box seven?"

“Yes. Somehow a box of those files from Wild Bill's basement ended up in Roman's office. It was the seventh box I looked through.”

“Where exactly did he keep these documents?” He had not taken any notes since the original few words he had penned on the top line, and I wondered why he wasn't getting all this down if it was so important.

“In the vegetable pantry, under some potatoes. He showed me.”

“A damp place, then.”

“Precisely.”

“Let’s hope some of those papers were damp enough and deep enough to have survived the fire. Write down everything you told me.” He ripped the top sheet off and then pushed the pad of paper and a pen in front of me. Apparently taking notes was no longer in a detective's job description. I sighed my displeasure at having to do his secretarial work, but he was already halfway out the door and the gesture was lost on him.

By the time I finished getting all the information down in a coherent and detailed form, which took quite awhile even with a refill on the coffee, it was almost nine. Cameron was nowhere to be found, so I splurged on a cab home, grabbed a quick shower, changed into the standard black and white temp employee uniform, and arrived at city hall just before ten. For the first time in my memory, I was totally unconcerned about my tardiness.

chapter seventy-six

2009-07-30T22:01:00.000-07:00

Roman Kowalski was about to terminate me, I was sure of it, so before he could formulate any unpleasant sentences to that effect, I spilled everything that I knew about Viola's maternal situation and her tenuous position as our star witness. Then I held my breath and waited, hoping that it was enough to save my job. He said nothing, but picked up his phone and punched some numbers. The person on the other end wasn't answering and I was running out of breath, so while he left a concise and rather forceful message for the unknown party, I let the carbon dioxide out of my lungs as quietly as I could and let some oxygen back into my blood stream.

We sat and looked at each other for a moment. I was waiting for reassurance that city hall still needed an occasionally irresponsible file clerk, and I guessed that Roman was waiting for an immediate answer. He got it. The shrill warble elicited a startled squeak from my mouth and Roman snapped up the phone before it finished its first ring. A few short questions later he replaced the receiver.

"It seems that the maintenance crew was suddenly called in to clean the conference room this afternoon, the timing of which happened to coincide with your excursion." He pressed his lips together. "What do you make of that?"

"I don't know. Sounds harmless enough." I was praying that there had been no harm done, especially regarding me and my upcoming pay cheques.

"Why would someone change the maintenance schedule in such an obvious way? And why would they go to all the trouble of moving the boxes instead of cleaning around them like they had been doing for the past few weeks? It's too obvious to be devious and too stupid to be accidental. What does that tell you?"

Was he asking a rhetorical question? Did he think I knew anything about the unpredictable maintenance crew? Or was he accusing me of something? If I had been a defense lawyer, I would have made an objection to his vague but leading questions. Nevertheless, I tried to come up with a proper response.

"It means that someone is trying to mess with us?" I hoped he heard the inclusive nature of my answer, implying that I was still on the team.

"Bingo!" One of Roman's fingers pointed at me for effect. "Now what exactly they're messing with is the question."

I pondered that for a moment, but was unable to come up with anything. Fortunately, I was saved from having to fudge an answer by a knock at the door. I looked over my shoulder and saw Detective Cameron Blair standing in the doorway with an envelope in his hands.

“I think you were waiting for these fingerprint results?” Cam waved the brown pouch.

“I appreciate the quick service and the personal delivery, Blair. Do you have a moment?” Roman waved him into the office and I hurriedly vacated my seat as the detective entered, not wanting to make eye contact, but unable to help myself from staring at some part of him. I decided his broad chest was a safe place to rest my eyes as I passed him. My boss halted my attempted exit. "No need to leave, Billy. This concerns you as well." I slinked back to the desk and perched on the edge of a chair.

"How much do you know about this business with Allstar, Blair?"

Cameron glanced over at me, and I quickly assured Roman that I had not told the detective a thing. I hoped he knew that I could be trusted, at least for the most part, which was that part when I was thinking things through instead of running ahead of myself.

Blair let Roman know that his department had been aware of questionable practices within city politics for some time, but they had never been able to pinpoint anything. There was just no viable evidence to be had. Blair stopped there and hesitated.

Roman finished the thought. "Perhaps because your department might also be compromised."

"Perhaps." Cam admitted.

Roman rubbed his forehead with one hand. "This goes really deep, Blair, much deeper than I had thought. We've stumbled upon a few papers that suggest foul play, but nothing that would stand up in court. Our one and only witness has just backed out, Billy tells me. I can only imagine why." He did not hide the sarcasm. "Bill Hickory seems to be our only hope of getting to the bottom of this. He's sitting on all the real evidence, but he won't play. So, it looks like we're at a dead end." Roman shook his head, whether in denial of that conclusion or in discouragement, I could not tell. He pointed his chin at Blair. "You got any brilliant suggestions?"

Cameron slowly placed the brown envelope on Roman's desk. "The fingerprint tests won't help you any. They only show who has already handled the papers, not who wants to get their hands on them." Roman nodded and Blair continued. "I think we need to get access to the evidence that already exists. We have to convince Mr. Hickory that it's the only way."

“I can't say I disagree with your reasoning. Perhaps I should pay my predecessor a visit,” Roman suggested.

I felt a little protective of the man and jumped in with my opinion. “I don't think you should force Mr. Hickory to get involved if he doesn't want to. He has legitimate reasons, remember?”

"I’m just going to talk to him, Billy. There's no harm in having a conversation," Roman assured me with a somewhat fatherly tone. "Thanks for your input. I think Blair and I can take it from here."

I caught the hint and left the room, leaving the men to discuss their heartless plans. I considered calling Wild Bill and warning him about something, but I couldn't figure out what I would be warning him against, so I loitered in the conference room for a few minutes, fingered some boxes, then turned out the lights, locked the door, and left.

On the way out I passed Michelle Whitehall who appeared to be standing guard at the bottom of the stairs. She flashed me a dry and lifeless smile which I returned. Why did that woman make me feel like I was trespassing? I hurried to my car and deliberately turned my thoughts away from the disquieting day to something more comforting: a giant bowl of cheese tortellini from the Italian restaurant down the street.

chapter seventy-five

2009-07-17T13:45:00.000-07:00

I rushed back to city hall as fast as the late afternoon traffic and my maturing Dodge would allow. I parked rather badly on a side street, at least three feet from the curb and much too close to the car behind me, and ran up the familiar front steps, praying that Roman was not in. I need not have worried. Roman's office was empty and so was the boardroom. Too empty. The files I had left strewn about the conference table were gone. The boxes which had been stacked like a crooked little house in the corner were nowhere to be seen. All the blood rushed to my pounding heart and I thought I might faint. I sagged into the nearest chair and held my face between shaking hands. What had I been thinking, running off and leaving everything unattended like that? I was such an idiot! Mr. Tait had been right!

I thought I might throw up, so I placed my head between my knees, hoping to stop the growing nausea. What I saw when I lowered my head stopped the squeamish sensation in its tracks. All the precious boxes were present and accounted for, neatly stacked in two rows beneath the table. I got down on my hands and knees and counted the boxes, just to be sure. Then I lifted the lids off of several of the cartons closest to me and presently found the lose files I had been working on, straightened out and placed at the top of box eighteen. I sighed the biggest sigh of relief in the history of my twenty-nine years and let myself recline onto the carpeted floor, allowing the stress of the last few minutes seep out of my body. And this was how Roman found me, lying under the table, surrounded by box lids.

"You do have an unusual working style, Ms. Ellis. Is everything alright down there?" I saw his imported leather shoes come into the room, then his puzzled face appeared beneath the table.

"Yes, I'm okay." I sat up quickly and cracked my head on a table crossbeam. "I'm still okay," I assured him as I grimaced in pain. He grabbed my arm and half-dragged me out from under the furniture. I got to my feet, hiking up my pants which had ridden embarrassingly low in the floor exercise, and rubbed my head gingerly.

"May I ask why the boxes are under the table?" Roman inquired, tapping his chin.

"I don't know." I replied.

"They weren't there when we returned from lunch, correct?" He had morphed into the experienced prosecutor now, and I knew I was going to be in trouble.

"No, they weren't."

"Do you have any idea as to how this happened?"

Where was a public defender when you needed one? "No, sir. I went out for a bit and when I returned, they had been moved."

"Went out? Of the room or out of the building?" Damn his ability to catch me on every word.

"The building," I admitted, avoiding his eyes.

"I see. Seems it would take someone more than 'a bit' to move close to 40 boxes."

Please just get on with the sentencing and put me out of my misery. "It seems."

"I assume you locked all the doors when you left on your little excursion."

My avoidance of the topic served as my answer. "Everything is in order and accounted for, I assure you."

"I am glad to hear that. Step into my office for a bit, Billy." Roman turned on his heel and walked out. I picked up my bag and followed, sure that this was my last hour at city hall, just as that beastly Mr. Tait had predicted.

chapter seventy-four

2009-07-16T13:08:00.000-07:00

I drove up and down the street a few times before I found the address Viola had given me for the women's shelter where she was staying. The pale yellow house was unmarked and hidden behind a neatly trimmed hedge. I parked a block away, just to be safe, and walked leisurely back towards the hedge, trying to be casual and confident, adopting the air of one just going to visit an aunt for tea. There was a slow but steady stream of traffic past the large house, more than I expected for a quiet suburban area. I eyed a few of the passing autos to see if any of the drivers appeared to be dangerous and unsavoury men, but no one so much as gave me or the house a second glance. Satisfied, I stepped through the hedge and rang the doorbell.

It proved difficult to get past the front door. For Viola's sake, I was glad the security was tight, but the mini interrogation was frustrating and unnecessary because I was clearly not an abusive husband and definitely a professional woman who was there to offer help to someone. The determined, stout woman at the front desk made me angry, and I sneaked a pencil from her desk when she wasn't looking and slipped it into my bag, just out of spite. Viola finally appeared and affirmed my right to be there; we were left alone in the cramped and curtained living room where visitors were received.

After a brief silence during which she looking at her chipped red nails and I readjusted my position several times on the lumpy plaid couch, Viola asked if she could confide in me. All smiles, I assured her that this was exactly why I had come. She spilled out an odd mix of bleak despondency and a fragile, naive hope . She feared her marriage was over, but believed that Richard might make a wonderful father. She was sure she was going to lose her job, but went on patriotically about how everything was going to change for the best at city hall now that Roman was on board. She put her hands on her belly and sighed in a motherly fashion, then admitted that she had made enquiries about an abortion clinic. I sat and listened, trying to ignore the sharp spring poking into my seat while making sense of the conflicting information I was hearing. This was a very confused woman and she needed someone to bring some clarity into her situation.

"I understand things are a bit unsettled in your life right now, Viola, and it must be difficult to know exactly what to do, but deciding not to testify is the wrong choice, trust me. I know Roman will be very disappointed if he finds out." I hoped she caught the hint that her temporary change of heart need never get to his genteel ears.

"Yes, I know, but Richard said I shouldn't let Roman's agenda influence me. There are other things I need to consider right now." She looked down and adjusted her skirt.

The statement hit me like a slap in the face. "What? When did he tell you this?"

"I called him this morning," she said with wide-eyed calmness. "I needed to tell him he was going to be a father. He reassured me that he would take care of everything."

I was sure that he would, and several people were going to get hurt in the process. "Viola, what were you thinking? You are in a shelter because of that man! You can't just call him up and ask him for advice! He does not have your best interest at heart! He is a mean, violent, and dishonest man and you can't believe a word he says!"

Viola's lips formed an uncertain line. "But he said things would be different. He told me he never meant to hurt me. He just wants me to come home so that we can start a family together."

"He wants you to come home so that he can control you again, that's what he wants. For God's sake, Viola, can't you see that he's telling you just what you want to hear?" I felt like grabbing her and shaking some sense into her.

"Just because I want to hear it doesn't mean that it isn't the truth." She was getting defensive and I feared I was losing her back to the dark side. "He told me he loved me. He hasn't said that in a long time." This was just going in so many wrong directions all at once. Her testimony was going down the drain along with her safety and emotional stability.

"Viola, please...." I tried one last time, but when she turned her big green eyes on me, I knew it was in vain.

"I don't want to be alone, Billy. I can't be alone right now. I'm going to go home. I was hoping you would be happy for me."

I turned away from those sad and needy eyes and wondered why I had bothered to come at all. Her mind was made up. She was going back to her husband, and we were short one very important witness. Our only witness. Well, if I couldn't get through to Viola, then perhaps I should go to the source.

"Viola, I want everything to work out for you, believe me, but promise you won't leave the shelter for a few more days. A little time to think things through would be good for everyone, wouldn't you agree? Plus, I think you and the baby could use the rest."

She glanced at her stomach, blinked a few times and then nodded slowly. "Okay. A few more days would be alright."

I stood up, glad to have relief from the jabbing couch. "I'll stop by later in the week and see how you are doing, okay? Get some rest and don't worry about anything else for now. You've had a crazy couple of days."

She smiled weakly in agreement, and I patted her shoulder on my way out. While Viola was safe and sound, I was going to pay a visit to Richard Sanders. But first, I had to get back to the office before Roman came back and found me inexplicably missing.

chapter seventy-three

2009-07-15T13:11:00.000-07:00

The euphoria of seeing Henry Tait publicly implicate and humiliate himself lasted most of the afternoon. Roman had gone into another meeting and I had returned to my boxes, but after an hour or two, I questioned why I still had my nose to the paper trail. We had a credible witness and some damning words from one of the big three. Everything was starting to crumble for Allstar, that much was obvious. My eyes moved slower and slower and finally I tossed the papers I had been scanning to the other end of the table. I was sure there was a better use for my sleuthing skills than this. Perhaps I should arrange a meeting with Mr. Applewood and Mr. Sanders as well. No need for Roman to attend; I could handle these puerile men by myself. A few well-placed questions and liquids and they would be scrambling to confess all their sins. One had to wonder how they managed to get away with it for all these years when all it took was one little encounter with Ms. Billy Ellis to send them scurrying for cover.

A distant phone began to ring and halted my self-indulgent fantasy. It was an insistent caller. I counted eight rings before my exasperation meter went into red and impelled me to run out of the conference room and put an end to the grating sound.

“Roman Kowalski’s office.” I was breathless and annoyed as I answered.

“Uh – is Roman in?” It was a timid woman at the other end, unlike me.

I spoke with the authority of an assistant who knows they have the confidence of their boss. “He’s in a meeting. Perhaps I can help you?”

“Oh. Is this Billy?” The voice asked.

“Yes, this is Ms. Ellis. What are you calling--”

“It's Viola.” Her voice was trembling. “Tell Roman I’m sorry, but I can’t go through with it.”

“Through with what?” There was a spider of unease creeping up my spine.

“I can’t testify against anyone. Not anymore.”

“Why not? What’s going on, Viola?” Would that she were in the room with me and I had a glass of something to douse on her and make her come to her senses.

I heard a quick breath. “I just-- I just can't. It's too much.”

“You have to tell me why, Viola. You can't just change your mind like this without a good reason!" There was silence on the other end of the line, and the rectitude I had been so sure of earlier started to slip through my fingers. God, what was happening? A thought dropped into my head. "Does this have anything to do with your visit to the doctor the other day?” I asked. There was a pinched sighing noise that confirmed I was on the right track. "What’s wrong? Are you dying?” I supposed I should have used more tact, but my gauche manner brought a hasty response.

“No, oh God, no! I'm pregnant!” Her voice grew stronger. "It's complicated, Billy. I can't just shut Richard out of my life. I want to work out something between us, for the baby's sake, and testifying against him would make that virtually impossible."

“But..." I stopped, because the only things I could think of to say had nothing to do with caring for a small innocent life. "Congratulations, Viola. I wish you all the best," I said with equal parts of deflation and sincerity.

"Thanks." I heard a nervous cough and then she added quietly, "Maybe you could come and see me sometime." Her voice lifted hopefully, and I wondered how many friends she had now that she had stepped outside of her husband's circle of influence.

“Okay. How about right now?" I offered. Getting a witness back on board was definitely more important than ruining my eyesight looking through boxes of boring records.

Viola only hesitated for a second before she uttered a restrained, "That would be fine." She gave me the address of the shelter, and I congratulated myself on my impulsive stroke of genius. After a few pleasantries, I would convince Viola to testify again and Roman would never even know what a major crisis I had managed to avert. Of course, the man who never missed a thing would catch wind of it somehow and probably offer me a promotion for my efforts.

Re-energised, I grabbed my bag and ran out the door. I was skipping down the front steps of city hall when I remembered that I had left the conference room and Roman's office wide open. I quickly asked the document angel to protect anything of value and dismissed a fleeting twinge of guilt concerning my irresponsibility. I would return before Roman did, I was sure, and even if he found his office in an exposed and abandoned state, he would understand that I was tending to more important things. And so I continued to lie to myself and drove across town and off the figurative cliff.

chapter seventy-two

2009-07-14T13:32:00.000-07:00

There was a moment of silent shock at the table, then a deep sucking of air came from the flabby man. I stood holding the offensive pitcher of water, my arm suspended in a permanent pouring position. Mr. Henry Tait huffed and puffed and then reared up from his chair in a swift but unsteady, wide-legged motion. His wet thighs caught the edge of the table and it began to topple in Roman's direction. My boss nimbly hopped out of the way of the falling furniture and the two of us stood side by side, watching the dishes clatter to the floor and the white cloth flutter neatly to cover the whole mess, as any discreet tablecloth in a nice restaurant should do. I glanced over at Mr. Tait's purple face and deducted that a volatile eruption was imminent. I was not disappointed.

"You f-----g idiot! What is your f-----g problem? You're fired! And I'll make damn sure you never work for the city again! You're all a bunch of f-----g imbeciles at city hall! Nobody knows anything in that f-----g place! I should have the whole damn lot of you fired! And don't think that I can't have your skinny ass too, Mr. Kowalski. You don't want to f--k with me, you really don't, not if you know what's good for you. I shut down Wild Bill and I can sure as hell take care of you. Nobody f---s with Henry Tait! Your f-----g job title means nothing to me. I run this f-----g city, not you assholes at city hall. Don't you f-----g forget it!"

The restaurant lunch crowd was a very attentive audience. The antagonist with the limited vocabulary turned on them. "What the hell are you staring at?" He began to totter out, stopping to shake a wet leg like a dog trying to displace a burr. He muttered loudly to himself as he made his less than graceful exit. "This damn city annoys the hell out of me. Bunch of f-----g idiots."

The door closed behind the vulgar man and the sounds of lunch slowly resumed around us. Roman glanced at me, his face placid. "I'd say that went quite well, wouldn't you?" He nodded in satisfaction, took the pitcher from me, and handed it to our wide-eyed waitress along with a few large bills to cover the lunch episode. As he took my arm and led me from the scene, he added, "I think you deserve a raise, Ms. Ellis."

chapter seventy-one

2009-07-10T16:28:00.000-07:00

Tuesday morning flew by as I shuffled through four boxes and found absolutely nothing with a whiff of dastardliness about it. I didn't want to admit it, but the knot that grew in my stomach as the noon hour drew closer might have made me less focused and thorough than I would have liked to be. Nevertheless, I believed that relative discomposure could not override years of practiced attention to detail and an impeccable filing prowess, so I reassured myself that I had not missed anything important.

Roman was absent as was his habit most mornings, and appeared in the door of the conference room door at 12:15 sharp. Even though I was expecting him, my heart jumped into my throat and I felt a jolt of dread. The hour was at hand, and I dutifully followed my guardian to the appointed rendezvous at a restaurant just down the street. We were seated at a window table, and I hid both hands under the drape of the pressed white tablecloth so that I could wring them without anyone noticing my nervousness. How I would be able to eat anything on such a jittery stomach was beyond me. It was a good thing that I had plenty of experience at moving food around my plate in a convincing manner so as not to arouse suspicion from an anxious mother and overly concerned aunts.

Mr. Henry Tait waddled into the dining room at 12:39, smug and fat, a pompous ass at first sight if I had ever seen one. Mrs. Wheeler's voice began reciting a Bible verse in my head, "Judge not that you be not judged," and I immediately repented for my assumption regarding the man's character. Unfortunately, nothing about that lunch meeting would prove my first instinct wrong. He greeted Roman with a limp handshake and the sight of the plump, damp sausage fingers made my skin crawl. Roman introduced me as Ms. Ellis from city hall, a person fluent in contract file details, and I was relieved to receive only a perfunctory nod from the smarmy man. After this brief acknowledgement, I apparently disappeared from his radar and he ignored my presence totally. So much for my ability to unsettle the man.

Our food arrived quickly, as per the express lunch promise on the menu, and I wondered why I had ordered a club sandwich. It was virtually impossible to fake eating a sandwich, so I nibbled on a corner, drained my glass of water and listened to the conversation, being duty bound to witness everything. The contract talk was boring and packed with numbers and details that were unfamiliar and uninteresting. Mr Tait spoke like a man who was used to things going his way, and he seemed not to hear any concerns Roman raised. The fleshy man laughed and interrupted and disagreed and condescended until I lost what little appetite I had and found myself having to conceal a snort of disgust as a sneeze. Roman's usually irresistible charm and natural charisma were lost on the crook, and I think we were both beginning to consider the lunch a lost cause.

My water glass had been empty for most of the meal due to our frenzied waitress serving too many impatient and demanding lunch patrons. Seizing the opportunity, I excused myself from the unpleasantness at the table and walked a few steps to the nearby side board which held several pitchers full of ice water. I grasped the handle of one of the containers and muttered a few choice and unsavoury words to the chilly water, knowing that I could never say them to the man's face, but needing the satisfaction of not being silent anymore. My anger abated enough to put a reasonably agreeable look on my face and return to the table with the vessel of cool liquid.

Mr. Tait was still on some self-indulgent monologue, and without so much as a glance in my direction, pushed his glass towards the edge of the table to indicate that he wanted it filled. He had clearly mistaken me for the waitress, but what did it matter? I could type. I could file. I could pour water. And so I did.

I raised the full pitcher and tilted it forward. At first nothing seemed to happen. The pitcher was at a crazy angle and nothing was coming out. One could see that the ice pieces were jamming the spout, so I jiggled the container slightly and everything shifted. Water gushed forth, ice spilled over the curved top of the pitcher and before I knew it, half the contents of the jug had ejected themselves across the table and into the lap of Mr. Tait.

chapter seventy

2009-07-10T11:37:00.000-07:00

I had to admit that Mr. Roman Kowalski was one of the classiest men I had ever met. He did not flinch, his eyes never darkened with anger, and not one colorful word came from his mouth when the loud red stain appeared on his shirt by my hand. He set his empty glass down, patted me on the knee as if to reassure me that it was just a minor mistake, and mentioning something about club soda, made for the kitchen.

I was mortified and embarrassed and just wanted to delete the last ten minutes of my life. I wanted to go back one hour in time and say, "No, thank you," to Roman's dinner proposal. I wanted to be at home on my sad little couch with my droopy Chinese take-out and cheap blended wine and not have to worry about what I said or did to anyone. I picked up my bag from the floor and shuffled into the kitchen where Roman was blotting the pinkness from his chest.

"I'm really sorry about your shirt. I don't know what came over me. I'll let myself out." The words fell clumsily from my lips and I looked down at my feet, wondering why they weren't moving.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Roman insisted. "I've got a hundred other shirts and a very good dry cleaner." He dropped the damp towel he had been holding and gently took my hand in his. He led me back to the couch and the coffee table with the forgotten food and we sat down together, our knees lightly touching. Roman squeezed my hand and looked at me with a frank and open gaze which was so uncharacteristic that it unnerved me. "I'm afraid that sometimes I forget how sensitive the fairer sex can be. I tend to laugh off my troubles, but perhaps that's not for everyone. Forgive me for making light of something that clearly remains a tender spot for you. I meant no harm. Are we good?"

I hardly heard the perfectly considered words, his nearness and his cool touch causing a constant low-pitched rushing in my ears. I managed an almost imperceptible nod, my body hopelessly frozen by his closeness.

He smiled and winked with a boyish mischievousness. "You throw a mean glass of wine, Billy Ellis. I can only imagine you at a business dinner with some of my more boorish associates." He began to laugh, then caught his breath. "That's brilliant! You will accompany me tomorrow on my lunch with Tait."

He let go of my hand and I finally found my tongue. "No! I can't do that."

"And pray why not, Ms. Ellis?" Roman draped his arm over the back of the couch, once again the supremely confident litigator who knows his case is air-tight.

I bravely defended my weak position. "I have a lot of work waiting in that conference room, remember? Lots of boxes need my attention. Plus, going out to lunch with you and Mr. Tait will blow my cover and I won't be able to nose around without suspicion like you asked me to. Under the radar, that's what you said, didn't you?"

"Indeed I did. However, your attendance will serve two purposes. Number one, your presence will keep the interaction civil and also provide a witness to our conversation. Number two, it will hopefully unsettle Mr. Tait and lead him to take action which we can then trace. Your objection is overruled."

My shoulders slumped in defeat. A luncheon with two of the most powerful men in the city was the last place I wanted to be tomorrow, but I had no choice. My boss was giving me a directive. Well, at least I still had a job and that was something. "Fine. Can I go home now?"

"Certainly, my dear. After you finish the rest of this food and drink." I looked at Roman to see if he was serious, and despite the playful gleam in his eyes, I knew he was. We were back to the boss and minion relationship, which was much easier to navigate for me, but a small sliver of my heart was disappointed at the adjustment.

chapter sixty-nine

2009-07-07T15:20:00.000-07:00

I stuck out my tongue at Roman's cheeky demand, an admittedly childish response that probably had a fair bit to do with two glasses of wine. "None of your business. And what makes you think he's a confirmed bachelor?"

Roman chuckled under his breath. "Oh, Billy, you are in a class all by yourself. I bet he never knew what hit him until it was too late." In typical lawyer fashion, he deflected my question and goaded me into revealing more than I meant to.

"What are you implying? I never even thought about him in that kind of way, at least not until Saturday. He was just this interesting detective, you know." I took another sip of wine and leaned closer to him, whispering. "He can be kind of an asshole sometimes, to tell you the truth. He got right up in my face and yelled when he interrogated me. I think he wanted to see if I would break down." I shivered. "Kinda unpleasant. But after that, he was pretty nice to me. You know what's strange, though? He was always showing up at the oddest times. At first I thought he was mad because the case was getting so screwed up, then I figured maybe he was stalking me, but that would be a weird thing for a detective to do, don't you think? Maybe he just wanted to make sure I didn't get hurt or do something stupid again." I sighed and realised I was wearing a silly smile. I quickly raised a fork and stuffed some beans into my mouth to get rid of the grin.

"So what changed on Saturday?" Roman put his feet up on a corner of the coffee table and threw the question out casually, as if he didn't care whether or not I answered. I swallowed the bait without hesitation.

"We took a drive out to his old family farm. It's a really pretty place and I met some nice people, though they were a bit strange, like rural folks are. He's got a pretty sad history there, I guess you know. Anyway, out of the blue he asked me to marry him. I promise you," I crossed my heart with my left hand, "I never used any feminine wiles or womanly charm or anything like that, he just popped the question on a dirt road. Crazy, huh? I'm afraid I wasn't all that receptive at first." I sighed again and chewed on some salad, then took another gulp of wine. "By the time I realised that this might be a pretty good deal, he had changed his mind." I twirled the stem of the wine glass in my right hand and suddenly felt very melancholic. "The story of my life, I guess. One mangled opportunity after another." I blinked rapidly to keep the tears at bay.

Without a word, Roman took the glass from my hand and set it down. Then he pulled me into his chest, and I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the burning salty liquid spill down my face and onto his crisp white shirt. "I'm sorry," I mumbled into a button. The slicing pain of loss was gone, but a gnawing regret still churned somewhere deep inside.

"It's okay," Roman patted my arm and seemed a bit disappointed when I composed myself rather quickly. He offered a tissue. "Do you feel better?"

"Yeah. Thanks for listening," I answered and blew my nose rather noisily. It was half true. "I should probably go home," I suggested as I dabbed at my eyes, sure that he was tired of my pitiful company and only being gracious and kind because he had impeccable manners.

"I never would have believed it if I had not heard it first hand." He was shaking his head in wonder and ignoring my hint. "Someone finally got through to Mr. Untouchable." He laughed lightly and drank the last of his wine in one gulp.

I frowned at Roman's comment. "Is that why you invited me for dinner? Just to hear the sordid details of a failed romance and prove to yourself that Blair is human after all? I don't think that's very chivalrous, Mr. Kowalski. In fact, you're not as nice as I think you might have been." The verb tenses were getting a bit muddled in my head as my excited indignation mounted.

I continued. "Everybody is touchable, even you, Mr. Perfect!" To make my point, I grabbed my glass of wine and dashed the last of the red liquid onto his snow white shirt. The bad Billy cheered inside my head, "You go, girl, give that man a dose of reality," and the good Billy shrieked, "You are so fired! What were you thinking?"

chapter sixty-eight

2009-06-26T19:48:00.000-07:00

My perfect exit was frustrated by having to return to the conference room to gather my belongings. By the time I was moving towards the door with bag in hand, Roman had positioned himself in the way of escape like a well-tailored goalie. “Well, I suppose congratulations and commiseration are in order.”

“Thanks." I avoided eye contact and took a step closer to the threshold, hoping he would take the hint and move aside. No such luck.

"Any details you want to fill in?" His right hand had a firm grip on the door jamb.

"Um - no. I don't really want to talk--"

"It's Blair, isn't it?" My face could not hide its tell-tale flush and he nodded to himself, no doubt proud of his well-honed instincts. "I knew it!"

"Well, good for you! Now I would like to go home and wallow in my despair, if you don't mind." I was hoping the words would come off as a light, self-deprecating brush-off, but they spit themselves out with a hefty dose of bitterness and a dash of meanness. It was too late to take them back, so I hoped that the regretful burst would produce more than guilt in the pit of my stomach, and make for a quick release from my captor as well. The guilt arrived just as expected, but the extrication was going to be much more difficult.

"I deserved that. Now, let me make a suggestion," Roman offered. "Wallowing won't solve anything, but I believe that good food and someone to talk to will do wonders for your perspective. Come on, let me buy you some dinner, Billy." He put a hand on each of my shoulders and looked at me intently. "I think you could use a friend right now."

“Okay," I assented, not sure that going out to dinner with my boss was a great idea, but he was right - I did need someone to talk to. Getting depressed at home over a bottle of wine was a pitiful evening that I needed to be rescued from.

The dining room of The Oak Barrel was swarming with lawyers and other professionals in Italian suits. I felt very under-dressed, extremely under-educated, and most definitely out-classed. Maybe I should have opted for the bottle of wine, take-out Chinese, and my comfy couch instead. Too late. Roman ordered a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, and we toasted to better days ahead. I dipped a slice of fresh bread into swirls of oil and vinegar while he scoured the menu and asked if I was allergic to anything. One look at my face when I had picked up the leather booklet told him that I was way out of my league, and he had graciously offered to order for both of us.

Before we had a chance to finish our first glasses of wine, a man about Roman's age in a grey pin-striped suit approached our table and engaged us - well, mostly Roman - in a brief, professional conversation. The man's behaviour seemed to signal the rest of the room to follow suit, so as I sipped and chewed, Roman laughed and talked legal gossip with his buddies as a stream of them made their way to our table to say hello and congratulate him on his new position. I was introduced to five more stuffed suits before Roman finally leaned over and whispered, "I'm sorry. This was a bad idea. Let's get out of here."

He pulled a waiter aside as we exited and asked for a White Bean Cassoulet and a large Nicoise Salad to be delivered to a certain address. I was hustled to Roman's BMW and five minutes later we pulled into an underground parking lot. We emerged from the elevator on the fifth floor and he unlocked a red door to reveal a large open space, very modern in its black and white and steel theme, but a little un-homey in my opinion. I was contemplating sitting on the angular white couch, but Roman steered me through the glass and granite kitchen to a small eating area which was joined to a casual living space. There were magazines and remote controls strewn on a coffee table, and an orange throw huddled at the end of the brown love seat which faced a large screen television hung over the fireplace. He obviously used this space a lot more than the black and white room.

"Make yourself comfortable. I'll be right back." Roman disappeared down a hallway and I stood beside the love seat, not sure getting comfortable with a lawyer was wise. A buzzer sounded from somewhere and startled me. Roman reappeared in jeans and a stylish white shirt and hustled to the door. Soon we were seated at the low coffee table, plates of meaty bean stew and assorted vegetables before us. The Cabernet had somehow made it back to Roman's place as well, so after he had poured each of us a glass, he gestured for me to go ahead, then sat back and watched as I took my first nibbles of the dishes with unpronounceable names.

"So tell me what you did to convince a confirmed bachelor like Cameron Blair to consider female companionship, if only for an hour."

chapter sixty-seven

2009-06-23T15:57:00.000-07:00

The lack of dinner the previous night growled at me around two, so I stepped out for a quick soup and sandwich, taking just long enough to enjoy the break and the fresh air, but not long enough to ponder my personal life. Being busy at work had its advantages. I briskly walked back to the conference room, deciding that if I meant to get through all those boxes before the end of the week, it would have to be lunch in the conference room from now on. I made a mental note to stop by a grocery store on the way home and pick up food that would increase job productivity.

By 6:30 I had finished seven more boxes and my eyes were no longer focusing properly, so I called it a day. I picked up three thin sheets of paper, the fruit of nine hours of labor, and brought the dismal offering to Roman’s office. His desk was covered in stacks of files, four of which were spread open before him in a messy heap. With a bit of pride, I noticed that Roman and I seemed to be sharing a job description at present.

“I’m afraid I didn’t find much today,” I apologised as I held out the three sheets.

“Every little bit helps. Thanks, Billy." He set them down absently and started to shake his head while he continued to scan the files open on his desk. "These contracts look fine, but I know there’s something fishy about them." He looked up to see the question mark on my face and added, "I'm preparing for my lunch with Tait tomorrow. He's going to want to twist my arm into rubber-stamping all the renewal paperwork on these contracts. Fat chance!" He laughed, a bit too malevolently for my liking. "Hey, did the results on those fingerprints come back yet?”

“No. I’ll check with Blair first thing tomorrow,” I replied, an unexpected pain slicing through the centre of my being when I mentioned his name. Roman didn't seem to notice.

“Good. Sit down for a minute.” I lowered myself into a cushioned leather chair and his fingers started to tap on his desk. “I’ve been tossing around the idea of rattling Tait’s cage tomorrow by letting him know I’m onto the whole thing - see if I can make him nervous. The only problem is that unless I can come up with some earthshaking evidence by then, that might only serve to put him on the defensive, and aside from the obvious drawback of making our investigation more difficult, that could also prove to be dangerous.”

“I believe you’re right there,” I assented wearily.

He pulled himself forward and spoke in a conspiratorial tone. “There is another angle I’ve been considering. If you’re always having to cover your tracks like these guys did, my guess is that you eventually slip up somewhere. I’m looking for that fatal error, a back door they forgot to close, a ‘t’ they forgot to cross. I have a hunch it’s out there just waiting to be discovered.”

“What about Viola? Could she help us find it?”

He sat back in his high-backed black chair and sighed. “That’s part of the unknown factor here. I don’t know how much her husband knows or has managed to find out about our little investigation. I don't know whether or not he knows you went to see Wild Bill, or if he suspects someone is on the trail. I guess we just have to wait and see. If any of the big three feel threatened, I have the feeling we’ll find out soon enough.”

I hung my head, feeling partially responsible. “I’m the one who told Viola about visiting Mr. Hickory and showed her box seven. That wasn’t very smart on my part,” I admitted with a twinge of guilt at once again exhibiting the unique ability to take the best of intentions, combine them with a well-meaning action, and somehow manage to turn a bad situation into something infinitely worse.

Roman brought out his scolding finger. “Now, hold on, Billy Ellis. I don't want to hear any of that kind of talk. You’re just a temporary file clerk, brand new on the job. Your actions were totally within reason. You needed some help, and you went to a logical source for information. There was no way you could have known her involvement."

“I guess so.” I wondered if he knew he was lifting me up with one hand and slapping me down with the other. The perpetual temporary status was a huge sore spot for me.

My crestfallen ego was ignored. Roman leaned over his desk and I could see the excitement frolicking in his eyes. “Billy Ellis, temporary employee, I believe you are my secret weapon. You can access files and research corporations and ask questions and no one will see anything more than an insignificant file clerk doing an insignificant task - no cause for alarm. I need you to continue doing exactly what you have been doing.”

“Just be insignificant?” I tried not to wince.

“Exactly." The broader Roman painted the picture, the smaller I felt. "You come across as honest, straightforward, even a bit shy. You don’t draw attention to yourself. When Roman Kowalski enters a room, everybody knows it, but you - you fly under the radar.” Why was this not making me feel any better?

“You make me sound uninteresting.” I frowned.

“Don’t take it personally,” he said, but it was much too late for that. “Blending in is a gift. Some secret agents spend years perfecting it. You just have it, and who knows, perhaps that’s why you’re here, for just this purpose.” Ugh. That last phrase was an exact line from the Bible story about Esther; the line that Mrs. Wheeler had made us repeat over and over again until we actually believed that each of us might have some grand purpose in this life, a rescue mission that was ours and ours alone. Damn you and your stories, Mrs. Wheeler. They were all too demanding and whenever I got involved, all too disappointing as well.

“Roman, do you believe in divine intervention?” Perhaps a reasonable man like him would be able to shed light on my ongoing tumultuous relationship with the transcendent.

"Very interesting question." He pressed two fingers to his mouth and looked off to the side. "The thought has been crossing my mind lately." He glanced over at me and his manner softened. "But listen, I’ve kept you late enough. Go home and get some rest.” Me and my temporariness stood up to leave. “Oh, I almost forgot,” he added. “What happened this weekend that brought a blush to your pretty little face earlier?”

The warm feeling I should have received from Roman's flattery was rendered null and void by the content of his question. There was no use in beating around the bush. In a deflated voice, I replied, "I had a boyfriend for a hour," and then I hurried out of the room before Roman's open mouth could form any more questions.

chapter sixty-six

2009-06-19T11:44:00.000-07:00

Even before I walked into the conference room Monday morning, I knew something was different. The second floor was unusually quiet and Roman and Viola were nowhere to be seen. Something had changed. I could feel a sort of apprehension or perhaps anticipation in the air. Or maybe I was still feeling the after-effects of the charged atmosphere at Blair's house last night.

The files were waiting, so I got out of mystical mode and into work mode, wasting no time in pulling papers out onto the table. If I managed to do a quick ‘scan-and-sort’ of eight boxes today, I reasoned, I would be halfway through the collection of Wild Bill’s papers. A lofty and most likely unattainable goal, but it was the motivating cattle prod I needed on a Monday morning. I worked uninterrupted in the apparent calm until Roman blew in like a strong wind around eleven. He breezed right into the conference room without a good morning and grabbed a chair across from me. The papers on the table ruffled slightly as he sat.

“Viola’s onside.” His eyes were somewhat bloodshot and if I had been guessing, I would have ventured that the man hadn’t had a full night’s sleep.

“As opposed to offside?" I questioned. The metaphors of men sometimes leave something to be desired in the clarity department. Roman gave me a big nod which confirmed that I was thinking along the right lines. "So she didn’t shred box seven?”

“Yes, she did, but it was under duress." Roman leaned across the table and with a great deal of relish, served up the pieces of the puzzle he had uncovered. "Turns out that the silent third partner in Allstar Developments is Richard Sanders, Viola’s husband." He paused dramatically and I waited for the rest of it. "Or should I say, soon to be ex-husband. She’s filing the divorce papers today.”

I had to give Roman credit: not only was he the best-dressed man I had ever met, but he was tenacious and knew how to deliver the goods. There was obviously more to the story and he was eager to have it pulled out of him, so I obliged. “That's very interesting, but how does this make her onside?”

His eyes lit up at the question and the details gushed out. “Viola called me last night. Her husband got angry and was a little rough with her – seems it wasn’t the first time - and she wanted to talk to a lawyer to know what her options were. We met this morning, and with a bit of prodding and a lot of reassurance that it would be in her best interest, she spilled out everything she knew."

Roman spread his hands on the table and I leaned in expectantly, ready to hear what "everything she knew" entailed.

"As far as Viola could tell, when Applewood and Tait approached Wild Bill about a development corporation, it was all on the up and up. It was after Wild Bill turned them down that her husband caught wind of the idea and approached the two men with his own slant: to fund city developments, but on their own terms. They could use their positions on council as leverage for better contracts. They could influence the zoning of prime land for high profile projects, and channel work to those who deserved it most – their friends. And so Allstar was born with a mandate to make the most of the city's resources by circumventing the cumbersome processes that stalled real progress: that is, justice and democracy. Unfortunately, power turned out to be a mighty seductress and the corporation soon became all about the big three making their mark and their fortunes at the expense of everyone else."

Roman rubbed his face with both hands, the long night apparently catching up with him. “Anyway, Tait got Viola hired as Hickory’s assistant. She wasn't aware of any questionable dealings with her husband's corporation at first, but soon figured that something was going on because he kept pumping her for information, and then began demanding that she use her access at city hall to perform some unauthorised tasks. She told him she was uncomfortable with what he was asking, but Sanders knew how to put the pressure on, so she relented. She proved to be an invaluable informant for Allstar when she came across Wild Bill’s collection of incriminating documents. A few threats from the right people shut the man down and it was clear sailing for eight years. Then Miss Billy Ellis came on the scene and discovered box seven."

He gave me a wink. "How those papers ever got into this office is a mystery to me, but once you showed them to Viola, they were as good as gone. She dutifully reported the find the Sanders who demanded that she get rid of them. By this time she was tired of being pulled into his crooked dealings, and Viola told him eliminating box seven was the last thing she would ever do of that sort. Her husband responded with the usual threats and backed it up with a little muscle, but Viola called his bluff and walked out."

My boss leaned back in his chair and delivered the closing statement with confidence. "And all of this information will be admissable in court, because Viola said that she is willing to testify against him.”

“Wow.” I sat there with my mouth open, in shock at how the mystery had just been cracked wide open. “Is that enough to put the big three away?”

“Maybe. We’ll definitely need some evidence to back it up. Perhaps her coming forward will bring a lot of other things to the surface.”

“We can only hope." I grimaced when I thought about Viola being roughed up by her husband. "Is she in any danger?”

“She’s staying at a women's shelter, so I think she’s fine." He eyed the corner full of boxes. "How are things going in here?”

“Good. I should be able to get through everything by the end of the week, maybe sooner. Then we’ll know if we have any solid evidence to work with.”

“I hate to say it, but there's probably not a whole lot in there. However, we need to make sure.” He stood up and gave me a few collegial pats on my upper arm. “I hope you were able to forget about those files this weekend, because I'm afraid they’ll be your world for awhile, my dear.”

“Um, yes...no. The weekend...uh...I didn't think about work at all, really." I bit my lip and managed a small smile of gratitude at his concern for my personal life. I could feel a flash of heat rising in my face as I remembered the trip to Sinoma.

Of course, the master investigator noticed. “Sounds interesting. I'll have to hear more about it later. Right now I've got back to back appointments, but make sure you talk to me before you leave.”

There was a bounce in his step as he exited the board room. There goes a man on a mission, I thought. Yes, Sheriff Kowalski is going to clean up this town. A little country guitar-picking music floated through my mind as I pictured the well-groomed Roman in cowboy boots and matching hat, a giant silver star pinned to his perfectly pressed black shirt. I was happy to let this image amuse me throughout one and a half boxes.

chapter sixty-five

2009-06-18T12:28:00.000-07:00

For once in my life, my concern for another human being overshadowed the dull self-pity that constantly scratched at my soul. Unfortunately, this newfound benevolent frame of mind brought no power with it; I could no more change Cameron's Blair's attitude than I could make myself two inches taller.

"I feel so helpless," I confessed to Jim on the way home. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Not much, I'm afraid," Jim answered. He looked at the brown book in my lap, now with a few torn pages peeking out from the covers. "I guess you can keep that for Blair until he wants it back."

"If he ever wants it back," I corrected, erasing the hope in his statement. "I had no idea he was so angry. It scared me." I looked over at Jim who seemed relaxed and unfazed by the incident. "Did it scare you?"

It took him a minute or two to respond. Perhaps he wasn't as unaffected as he appeared. "That's the worst I've ever seen from him, I won't lie to you. It wasn't easy for me to watch, but it scares me a whole lot less than when he won't talk about anything. That's much more dangerous territory."

"I guess that's good, then." Nothing felt good about what had happened that evening, but Jim had never been wrong yet, at least that I was aware of, so I was hoping this was not the exception.

My apartment felt small and pantry-like when I entered it. I set the brown book down on my coffee table and went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. The same question kept circling in my mind: "What can I do? God, is there anything I can do?" I thought about Blair and his paralysing family history, I thought about Shirley and her shaky new beginning, and I thought about Mr. Hickory and his stalemate with justice. An overwhelming sense of powerlessness washed over me as I stood at my kitchen sink. What could one small, insignificant twenty-nine year-old with mediocre experience and a personality to match do in the face of these unresolvable quandaries?

Face reality, that's what I could do. I grabbed a pencil, marched over to the living room, picked up the brown Bible, flipped it open to the only page that mattered at the moment, and erased my name from the Blair family record. It felt reasonable and right, but horribly wrong at the same time.

Mr. William Blair, sir, please forgive me for vandalising your Bible, and I don't mean to call God a liar, either. It just seems better for everyone this way. I hope you are not offended.

chapter sixty-four

2009-06-16T13:44:00.000-07:00

"Good!" Jim's face brightened. "Now we're getting somewhere."

Blair's face was twisted and cloudy with anger, but he said nothing.

"Go ahead. Tell me what makes you mad about that Bible. I want to hear it all." Jim was half therapist and half cheerleader.

"You want to hear it? Okay, I'll tell you exactly what pisses me off." Blair pointed an index finger into Jim's face. "I hate being set up."

Jim nodded and waited for more. I stood frozen like a winter statue, remaining mute and immovable, terrified by the confrontation that was taking place a mere foot away and was sure to end badly.

"You know," Blair continued, his black eyes locked on Jim, "I read all those so-called promises in there about things working out in a good way. I heard my dad preach about it over and over again and I believed him! And then I watched my world go to hell!" Blair's voice punched out the last word and his foot kicked at a stray book to emphasize the point. I couldn't help flinching, and took a few steps backwards. "What pisses me off is having every good thing in my life ripped out from under me and everyone still insisting that God's the good guy."

"Life's not fair, Blair, I know." Jim interjected.

Blair got right up into the older man's face. "What the hell do you know about that, Jim? You've got the perfect family and the perfect wife and the perfect church and everybody is your friend. Hell, you're pretty damn near a saint! Of course God is the good guy in your books! But try having every single member of your family die in a horrible way when you're just a kid! Tell me you wouldn't curse God! Tell me you wouldn't swear never to set foot in a church again! Tell me you wouldn't shut yourself up in your house because you'd rather be alone than go through that hell again. Tell me that you wouldn't be just like me!" The words were spit out in vehemence, charged with bitterness and anguish, and my chest hurt to hear them. I staggered back a few more steps, my hand on my heart, and sat down on the bed.

"I can't say that I wouldn't be, Blair. I'm sorry if I ever gave you the impression otherwise." Jim's voice was soft and his eyes never left Blair's.

Blair covered his face with his hands, retreated a few steps, and let out a groaning sigh. "Ahhhh, what's the point? Nothing ever changes. I tried, God knows I tried! I went to church a couple of times, I made a few friends, hell, I even had a girlfriend for one day," he gestured weakly at me, "but then this damn Bible shows up and I'm back at square one. Nothing I do matters. God's already decided how things are going to end up. If that isn't giving me the finger, I don't know what is." There was a heavy silence. I started to breathe easier because the worst of it seemed to have passed. But it hadn't. Without warning, Blair grabbed one of the chairs and hurled it on its side.

"To hell with it!" I covered my ears because I couldn't bear to listen anymore, but that did not stop the jagged words from piercing my soul. "I am not playing the game anymore, you hear?" Blair seemed to be yelling at the air in front of him.

Jim moved over to Cameron's side and put a hand lightly on his shoulder. Blair returned the gesture with a cold stare. "I've been burned twice and I swear that's the last time. I know when to walk away. It was naive to think that things could be any different."

My heart was bruised by Cameron's words, and what had started as a dull ache in my chest had turning into a sharp jabbing pain. My breaths were now coming in shallow gasps, making me light-headed. I knew I was having a heart attack, but it had nothing to do with my physical well-being. So this is what a broken heart feels like, I thought, and let a few soundless sobs escape my lips. I buried my head in the dark green duvet, and let my lungs convulse with the ragged sighs of one in mourning.

I faintly heard Jim's voice whisper, "If you want to walk away, Blair, that's up to you. But are you sure that the cost of giving up is less than the cost of trying again?" Soft footsteps came towards the bed, and I felt a reassuring grip on my shaking shoulder. "Let's go home, Billy."

I breathed deeply for a few moments, then lowered my feet to the floor and got out of the bed. Jim was gazing down at me with kind, sad eyes. Behind him, I could see Blair's back, dark and solid against the window. Jim bent his head towards the door and started to walk away. I followed him for a few steps, but something in my heart was stuck in that room, so I stopped.

"Cameron," I addressed the motionless figure. He turned to face me, his eyes squinting with suspicion. What could I say? The doors were closed on his heart and the drawbridge was being raised. What could I possible say to change that? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. He had made his decision.

Wordlessly, I closed the gap between us and then slowly reached out my hand to his face. He did not pull back nor cringe. I let the fingers of my right hand trail lightly down his cheek and then rested my palm on his chest. As I did so, I drew up my left hand and held it over my own heart. His eyes suddenly dilated. He grabbed my right wrist in a firm grip and pulled me across the room. After a few hasty steps, he stopped abruptly, knelt down on one knee, and picked up a book from the floor. He purposefully pressed his father's Bible into my hands and I stared down at him intently, wondering what he meant by the action.

"Everything okay, Billy?" Jim's voice carried up the stairs and startled me. Blair instantly released my wrist, got on his feet, and backed away. I turned and slowly walked out of the room with the book, not sure if I had been given a gift or had one returned to me with a giant, "No, thank you," attached to it.

chapter sixty-three

2009-06-15T14:02:00.000-07:00

The situation had just escalated from benignly interesting to bewilderingly awkward. "What?"

"I said, please come out of the pantry!" Why did I feel like a bit like a stubborn five-year-old who refused to eat her peas?

"No, I mean, what - uh - why is this where you live? I thought Jim said we were going to visit some old hermit or something." Perhaps I should have thought about the insult behind those words before I threw them out there.

Cameron snorted. "Well, Jim thinks he's funny sometimes." He placed his hand on the light switch just inside the doorway. "I am not having a conversation in the pantry, so let's go! Jim's upstairs and he has some explaining to do."

He flicked the light off before I could reach the door, and I was left trying to keep up with his large strides as he climbed the Scarlet O'Hara staircase two steps at a time. I lagged behind just enough to scope out the two spacious bedrooms at the top of the stairs facing the front yard, both devoid of furniture, and a bathroom at the end of the hall totally done in black and white tile. We ended up in a very large L-shaped master bedroom with heavy dark furniture, a glassed-in sun porch overlooking the back yard, a half wall of built-in armoires and what appeared to be a door to another bathroom beside them. The short leg of the room contained a seating area with two over-stuffed faded armchairs, a round coffee table that looked like it might have been made from an abandoned wagon wheel, and several stacks of untidy books.

Jim was reclining in one of the chairs, relaxed and looking like he was not going anywhere soon. He greeted me with a wink.

Cameron glared at Jim. "I found the little surprise visitor you brought with you."

The chill in Blair's voice was giving me goosebumps, but Jim easily defrosted it with his characteristic laid-back warmth. "I keep saying that you need to entertain more, Blair. I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who ever comes over to see you, so I thought it was time to widen this social circle just a bit. Since you and Miss Ellis are already acquainted, I was sure you would have no objections to a friendly visit."

The lawyer in Blair wanted to raise several objections, I was sure, but he just sighed exasperatedly, flopped down in the chair facing Jim, and stared out the windows at the private forest. This was feeling more like a trip to the dentist than a casual visit, and Blair was keeping his mouth firmly closed.

Jim bulldozed ahead with breaking in his new social club. "So, Billy, why don't you start the conversation off? I bet you've got lots of questions about this house."

All the seats were taken, and I couldn't very well stand in the doorway for an hour or however long Jim wanted this excruciating visit to last. I glanced toward the bed, but if there was one thing I knew about social graces, it was that one did not sit on another person's bed without being invited. I stiffly made my way to the stacks of books and scouted out a space on the woven carpet between some legal thrillers and classic Tolstoy. It would have to do. As I lowered myself to the floor, my elbow caught the edge of one of the precarious piles, and it began to topple. I quickly reached out my arms to catch the books before they went flying, but to no avail. In a few seconds, I found myself sprawled on the floor, books jabbing me in the ribs and poking at my armpits. Two strong hands took hold of my arms and hoisted me back on my feet.

I turned imploring eyes to the face on my right. "I'm sorry, Cameron. I'm such a klutz. I hope all your books are okay." But Blair was not looking at me. I followed his gaze and turned to see Jim picking up a worn brown leather volume which had fallen open in the tussle. A long, low whistle came from Officer Whitehall's lips, and I saw that he was holding William Blair's Bible which was creased open at the Family Record page.

"What do you have to say about this, Blair?" Jim questioned, offering the open Bible to him.

"I'd say that you and God can mind your own damn business and stop trying to run my life," he said through clenched teeth. Then he grabbed the Bible out of Jim's hands and threw it across the room.

chapter sixty-two

2009-06-12T11:51:00.000-07:00

Instead of knocking, Jim turned the handle, pushed open the carved wood door, and yelled, "Anybody home?" I hid behind him, hoping that this type of behaviour would not get us tossed out of the house or arrested for breaking and entering.

A muffled voice from somewhere deep within the cavernous house called back, "I'm upstairs!" I followed Jim inside, tiptoeing just to be safe, and felt like I had just walked onto a movie set. My eyes swept over the rich, ornate woodwork, stained glass windows, vaulted ceiling complete with chandelier, and a splendid "Gone With The Wind" staircase in the spacious entrance. “Wow! This is gorgeous!” I whispered as I turned in circles trying to take it all in.

“Not many people get to see the inside of this place,” Jim informed me. "The guy that lives here is a bit of a recluse. I don't think he'll mind if you take a quick peek around.” Jim nodded and pushed me forward.

To the right of the staircase I caught a glimpse of a panelled library with a large desk and wall to wall bookcases, half of them empty. To the left, a stately living room was sparsely furnished with a well-used leather couch and chair, a state of the art entertainment center, and a rustic coffee table. French doors opened from it onto an unfurnished dining room with a stone fireplace and a single piece of modern artwork, and beyond that, a spacious kitchen larger than my whole apartment, tiled in slate. The warm cherry cupboards that stretched from wall to wall dwarfed a small oak table, worn smooth at the corners, pushed into a corner with two mismatched
wood chairs. Oddly, there was a gaping hole a few feet wide along one stretch of cupboards. Perhaps some work was in progress. There was an expansive enclosed veranda just off the kitchen that overlooked a grove of trees.

I pulled my eyes from what to me seemed to be someone's private forest, and spotted several closed doors. Feeling brave, I walked over, turned a brass handle and found myself peeking into a two-piece bathroom with antique fixtures and a blown glass sink. I wasn't sure I could ever wash my hands in something like that without fearing I would break something. I ventured on to door number two and found myself gazing into a pantry the size of my bedroom. I turned on the light and walked in, just to make sure. Yep, my bed and the few mismatched dressers and tables I owned could easily fit in the space. Plus my couch as well. If there had been any windows, I might have considered renting the room and moving up in the world. Aside from three or four shelves filled with cans and dried goods, the storage room was bare, and I was beginning to wonder what kind of eccentric hermit lived in an impressive home like this and never bothered to properly furnish it or stock it. Perhaps I was catching him at the end of a renovation project and he was just getting settled in. Yep, that must be it.

I heard footsteps in the kitchen and suddenly felt like I was trespassing. I had lost track of where Jim was, and I most certainly didn't want to encounter the paranoid hermit on my own. He probably had several medieval swords hanging above some fireplace in another room I had not yet ventured into, and would not be afraid to wave them in the face of an intruder. I squeezed into a corner and wished myself invisible, but the bright light and the open door of the pantry were a magnet to the feet. I clenched my teeth and braced myself. A male silhouette appeared in the doorway. I squinted, trying to make out the face beyond the glare of the pantry light, but the fading light in the kitchen made it difficult.

"H-hello," I weakly offered.

"What are you doing in there, Billy?" Alas, the voice was not Jim's, as I had hoped. But I would have known that voice anywhere.

"Cameron? What are you doing here? And where's Jim?" I was utterly confused.

"I live here. Now could you please come out of my pantry?"

chapter sixty-one

2009-06-11T13:02:00.000-07:00

Jim didn't waste a minute in tying on his red apron, lighting up the barbeque, and tossing on some steaks. The cloudless spring day was a perfect excuse for some flame-broiling, but I got the feeling that he would have been out on the deck fussing over the grill even in the pouring rain. Shirley lingered in the kitchen long enough to ask if she could have a sandwich to eat in her room and then disappeared down the hallway.

I took the occasion to ask after the rescued soul who seemed a bit lost in transition. "How has Shirley taken to her new lifestyle?"

“She seems to need a lot of time to herself,” Lynn offered. “I guess that's to be expected.” She sliced a tuna sandwich in half and placed it on a plate.

“I know she finds a large group of people kind of challenging.” I said. I was thinking back to Shirley's earlier porch speech and wondering how to bring it up. Bluntness rose to the top, by default. “Do you think you’re pushing her too hard?”

Lynn gave me a sharp look, but her eyes softened almost immediately.

"I'm sorry, that was out of line," I stammered. "It's just that I heard Shirley say some things this morning that made me think she might be a little on the edge, you know, psychologically."

Lynn stared down at the tuna for a moment before answering. “I have been quite zealous about her case. There are just so many areas she needs help in.”

“Shirley's not a case that needs fixing, Lynn," I answered softly. "She's my friend. And I think right now she doesn't need a social worker as much as a safe place to try to find herself. A family place."

Lynn nodded slowly and leaned against the counter wearily. "You may be right. I think I might have gotten ahead of myself, chasing that ultimate success story. Thanks for your honesty, Billy." She picked up the sandwich plate, touched me lightly on the shoulder, and headed down the hallway. I let out a big breath and hoped I hadn't offended her. After all, what the heck did I know about social work? I was a lowly temp clerk, filing my life away. I brushed the bread crumbs off the counter and tossed them in the garbage, finding some satisfaction in being able to do a simple task that didn't require confrontation for a change.

Lynn returned with a thoughtful expression on her face. “What exactly did Shirley say to you?"

"Oh, it was something about people hating her,” I responded. “Do you know what that’s about?”

“Not exactly. One of the re-entry exercises we did this week was to contact her family. She spoke briefly with her sister and brother-in-law yesterday. Maybe that's what she was referring to. I didn't get any specifics out of her, but apparently no one in the family was happy to hear from her.”

“Ouch. That's can't be doing much for her self-esteem.”

“Oh, Billy. I think I might be in over my head. Having a client live with you is very different than seeing them once a week in the office.” She corrected herself. "I know, she's not a client."

I squeezed Lynn’s arm. “Shirley’s rough around the edges, but you see the person inside and that’s what matters. She can tell you care. That'll do more for her than any program you stick her in.”

“I hope so. Thanks, Billy.” She reached out to give me an appreciative hug, and I felt a surge of confidence at how I had handled a sensitive situation. Blair would be proud of me. If I ever got a chance to tell him about it. A deep sadness accompanied the thought of him, and it settled on my soul like a heavy blanket. I did not try to shake it off, because in some way, it made me feel closer to him.

No one else showed up for the Whitehall Sunday lunch, so the three of us passed a quiet afternoon together. Lynn and I were both somewhat pensive and hardly contributed to the conversation, so Jim took the opportunity to inform us of his thoughts on everything from the proper technique for marinating steaks to the latest football standings. He managed to wrangle a few smiles from both of our faces a few times, and the hours slipped by quite pleasantly.

The day was easing into late afternoon and clouds were starting to form in the sky when Jim finally pushed back from the table and suggested that we go for a drive. Lynn declined the offer, insisting that she really wanted to tidy up and didn't want to leave Shirley at home alone. Jim winked at me and said it was the perfect opportunity to escape doing the dishes. Lynn laughed and shooed us out of the house, glad for some relative solitude, I think.

Jim and I drove for some moments in silence, meandering through the winding streets of a new suburban development near their house. We came upon a few kids playing street hockey and Jim stopped to cheer on the players and give them a few safety pointers. Then he turned the car onto a main road and headed in the direction of my apartment. I assumed he was taking me home, but when I asked, he said that he wanted to show me some place that I had probably never seen before, but would find very interesting.

After a few miles, the car exited onto a tree-lined street into an older section of the city where stately homes boasted large verandas with stone pillars and immaculately trimmed yards. Jim was right. I had never been in this part of town before, and it was one of the most beautiful places I could ever imagine living. I was admiring the fine architecture and trying to picture what sort of people lived in these mansions, at least by my standards, when Jim pulled into the driveway of an understated, charming one-and-a-half storey stone cottage that was set back from the road behind several large oaks. He parked in front of the two-car garage which was set off to the side of the house, and opened his door.

"I hope you don't mind if we see if an old friend is at home."

I didn't mind at all. This might be one of my only chances to find out exactly what type of person lived in this exclusive and magnificent neighbourhood.

chapter sixty

2009-06-09T10:54:00.000-07:00

As my silent torrent of tears began to abate, I saw a beige sandal plant itself firmly beside me. I looked up to see Shirley in the green sweater standing there, addressing the front yard and the world beyond, wagging a convicting finger at the invisible multitudes. "You have to forgive! Nothing moves forward unless you forgive!" I stared at her, wondering if she was having another one of her fits of altered reality. After a moment of silence, her posture changed. The forcefulness left her hand and the pointed finger limply dropped to her side. Her shoulders sagged and she hung her head. With a grimace she muttered, "I don't know about that, Mrs. Lynn Whitehall. What if people hate you? You can’t make them forgive.” Then she turned around, and the beige sandals shuffled back into the house.

The words burned hot in my ears. The outburst was obviously part of a conversation with Lynn that she was wrestling with, but my heart was smitten by the challenge. The words themselves were bristly and hard to swallow, and like Shirley had intimated, the execution of them seemed virtually impossible at times. The hopelessness in her voice kept echoing in my mind, and I could not sit there and do nothing about it, so I wiped my teary face with my hands and went to find Lynn.

She was chatting to someone in the hallway and spotting me over the woman’s shoulder, called to me, “Oh, Billy, you’ll come for lunch, won’t you?” I accepted the invitation with a nod and left Lynn to finish her conversation. I sauntered into the living room and sat down in one of the oversized chairs, trying not to think too much about motorcycles driving off and never coming back, but it was no use. I turned to face the window so that no one would see the tears that were forming. The reassuring weight of the fatherly hand appeared on my head again, so I whispered something that I hoped qualified as a prayer, "I don't understand, I just don't understand."

"What don't you understand?" The deep voice caused me to turn with a jerk. Jim Whitehall was standing over me, smiling with concern, lightly stroking my hair.

"Uh, well, a lot of things, I guess." I sat up straight, trying to smiling nonchalantly.

He continued to stroke my head and smile down at me. "You're a beautiful young woman, Billy. Inside and out. Don't let anyone or anything steal that away from you."

"Okay," I sniffled. "Thanks, Jim."

"Now let's go home and get some lunch. I don't know about you, but church meetings always make me hungry."

chapter fifty-nine

2009-06-08T10:16:00.000-07:00

Sunday morning at 10:25 am found me clean, dressed, and a little stiff from seven hours of riding the day before. I sat outside on the steps in the morning sun and waited for the Whitehall car, trying not to think about how puffy my eyes must look after crying myself to sleep the previous night. Thankfully, Jim and Lynn didn't seem to notice any of my facial oddities during the ride to the Solomon's large two-storey home, and Shirley spent the entire time fiddling with her skirt, not making use of her usual keen powers of observation. Our foursome trundled up the walkway and Mr. Banker Man Mike welcomed us to the church gathering, standing in the open doorway with a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Nice to see you again, Billy.” He smiled widely and I offered him a quick, limp handshake. The smile never changed, and he smoothly moved on to grace Jim and Lynn with warm embraces. Eating breakfast had skipped my mind that morning, so I headed straight for the muffins and juice. The comfort of having a mouth full of fluffy carbohydrates relieved my social anxiety a bit. I spied Shirley drinking coffee in a corner, so I meandered over and joined her.

“So, how are things at the Whitehall's?” I asked.

“Okay. Takes some getting used to. They’re very nice to me, ” she smiled, but her voice was flat.

“What have you been doing?” I pried, trying to ascertain what was the matter.

“Well, Lynn took me shopping,” she pointed to her new green sweater, “and we talk about things. She put me in a job training class.” A big sigh punctuated this last sentence.

“Mmmmm." My muffin was almost gone. "Job training?" I remembered that Blair had mentioned this detail to me.

Shirley nodded and let out another weary sigh. “It’s hard work trying to be normal.”

This statement struck me as funny, and while trying rather unsuccessfully to stifle my laughter, I spit out a few bits of white muffin flecks. Shirley looked slightly offended. “Don’t worry,” I said, wiping my mouth, “I’m not very good at it either,” and she managed a small smile.

Someone bumped her elbow as they walked past, and she backed further against the wall. “So many strange people here.”

“Well, I'm pretty much a stranger here, too, so why don't we stick together." I took her by the arm and we started through the maze of chatting people. A guitar started to play just as we reached the living room.

“I think you’ll like the music,” I whispered in Shirley’s ear, and she clutched my hand like a frightened first grader. I was being brave for her, not wanting to let on how out of place I also felt. I led her to a seat in a comfortable arm chair near the window and leaned down beside her. “Just close your eyes and pretend there’s no one else around. That usually works for me.” She nodded, squeezed her eyes shut, and looked very much like she was determined to eliminate everyone else from the room. I remained standing, on guard, at her side, in view of the front door should an urgent need to exit arise. The music got louder as everyone joined in an opening song. Once again, I could feel the upward pull on my spirit.

The warm tug of worship was so much better than the cold emptiness I had been feeling that I sagged down onto the floor with a sigh of relief and sat there, crumpled against the window, for a long time, lost in wonder at a God who would take notice of me and my problems. I guess at some point someone spoke and a few people asked questions, but all I remembered was the cool window on my cheek and the beautiful weight of a fatherly hand of blessing and love on my head. I was sure it was Jim's hand, but when I finally opened my eyes, the room was pretty much empty. There were a few people talking softly in a corner, and everyone else seemed to have moved to the kitchen and dining area for refreshments.

In a bit of a daze, I got to my feet, which by this time were filled with pins and needles from my lengthy awkward sitting position, and I stumbled towards the front door to get some fresh air. After dragging my half-asleep limbs across the room, through the small foyer, and onto the porch, I sat down rather heavily on the front steps, waiting for the prickling sensation to abate. It was a bad choice of location.

I was enjoying the sun on my arms and wiggling my toes in delightful waking agony when a black motorcycle pulled onto the driveway not ten feet away from me. My heart quickened and the world stopped for a minute. I saw Cameron Blair straddle the bike, turn off the ignition, and then turn to look in my direction. We stared at each other for a full thirty seconds, neither one of us moving or speaking. His eyes were dark and unreadable. I slowly raised one hand and flicked my fingers in a shy wave. Then I saw him turn the key again, punch the starter, and back away. My eyes followed the black rider till he was no longer visible down the street.

I whispered, "I love you, Cameron Blair," lowered my head onto my lap and wept, a deep pain stabbing in my chest. The second exit of Detective Blair had been even harder to take than the first one.

chapter fifty-eight

2009-04-29T21:59:00.000-07:00

We rode back to Sinoma and turned north. I’m sure the scenery was beautiful on the trip home, but all I saw was Cam's back in front of me which appeared to have taken on the solidity and silence of a boulder since he had laid eyes on his father's Bible. He was no doubt shocked by the sudden appearance of the family keepsake and rendered speechless with wonder at its startling revelation. The sight of my name on the fourth line of the Blair family record had certainly left me stunned. As the highway whizzed by underneath our feet, I found myself replaying every strange and surreal scenario of the past few hours, and I had to admit that I was starting to warm up to the idea of possibly becoming Mrs. Cameron Blair at some point in the future. The sun was setting and its dusky glow created a halo around Blair's helmet. I could faintly hear an endearing piano melody floating just above a string pad, guiding the day to a hopeful end, and I let the sweet sound fill my head.

After two hours, we stopped to fill up with gas, grab a bite to eat, and then got right back on the road with hardly a word spoken between us. I was dreamily content with my thoughts of living happily ever after, and Cam seemed focused on getting us home before dark. As we neared the city, a definite chill was creeping into the air and my hands were getting cold. I felt myself shudder. As if reading my mind, Cameron pulled off onto a side road and stopped the bike in the grassy parking lot of a small country church. The sun was dipping near the horizon and there were orange and blue streaks flung far across the sky.

“Look at those colors!” I exclaimed. I had been too busy writing the perfect scenario in my mind to pay any attention to the western sky.

“Ah. Hmmm. Yes.” Cameron was busy pulling some gloves out from beneath the seat and briefly glanced up to take in the splendid panorama. It was a blazing, glorious masterpiece in motion and all too soon the sun was gone. I shivered in the night air, perhaps more giddy than cold, and with a certain trepidation, faced Blair in the fading light. It was time for me to let him know that I was receptive to his earlier proposal.

"Cam, I just wanted to say..." My words trailed off, and all the sentences I had practised failed me. Dang, this was harder than I had thought it would be. Where was the string section to support me when I needed it? I lifted both hands and then dropped them again, squeaking out a slight sigh as I did so. Stupidly uneloquent at the most inopportune times, that's what I was.

Cam's eyes widened in recognition. "Yes, I know your hands are cold, but I only have one pair of gloves. You can put your hands in my pockets to keep warm, okay? Don't worry, we're almost there."

I nodded silently and deflatedly. Hands. Pockets. Warm. Was that really all he was thinking about? He got back on the bike and started it up. I hadn't moved from my spot, and he gave me a long glance. “It’s been a long day, Billy, let’s go home.”

We pulled into the parking lot of my apartment just after 9:30, and I invited Blair in for a cup of tea. He accepted with a curt nod and as we climbed the stairs, I gathered up my courage to broach the subject of his proposal again.

As soon as we crossed the threshold, I blurted out, “So I've been thinking that marrying you wouldn't be so bad after all."

Cameron stood perfectly still for a moment, facing the door he had just closed. Then he slowly turned to face me, a fearfully distant look in his eyes. "I can't do this right now, Billy, I'm sorry. Everything's changed."

"What?" I was floundering again, tossed about in the sea of unpredictable love. My eyes filled with tears at the unexpected words that came from that horribly changed face. "I don't understand."

"I don't either, Billy, I don't either." Blair turned towards the door, put his hand on the doorknob and stopped for a long moment, breathing quietly. Suddenly, he took a quick step towards me, planted a kiss on my cheek, and softly whispered, "Goodbye." Then the man of my dreams walked out the door, dragging the orchestra behind him.

chapter fifty-seven

2009-01-17T20:48:00.000-08:00

My mouth went dry and I clutched my chest, letting the fork holding my next bite of juicy apple pie clatter noisily onto the edge of the table and spread its tasty load on my lap. Cameron was a motionless statue beside me, and Mrs. Lieber picked up the conversation as if guests strewing food all over themselves and prophetic writing were a common occurrence in her world.

The older woman sighed at the sight of the page. “What a man of faith, your father. He and your mother always wanted another child. William if it was a boy, Bertha if it was a girl. They waited so long, but then came your mother’s sickness. You know your father wrote that last name in there right after you were born, Cameron. Showed it to Mr. Lieber and me at your dedication. Said God had promised them this second child, he was so sure of it. I prayed for that child to come for many years." The sigh came again, this time accompanied by a droop of the shoulders. "Sometimes we don’t know God’s ways.” She dabbed at her eyes and smiled faintly at no one in particular.

I poked Cameron's arm with my elbow, hoping it belayed my belief that someone should say something to this women, and I didn't think it was me. He stirred back to life and opened his mouth. “Thank you, Mrs. Lieber. It was most thoughtful of you to keep this." He closed the book on the page quickly, packed the bible back in its box, and shoved it across the table towards the teary woman. "Miss Ellis and I have to be going now. The pie was delicious as always. Tell Mr. Lieber I say hello."

Cameron got up and started for the front door. It was not exactly the scenario I had envisioned: the one where he started with a reconciling unburdening of his soul regarding his father followed by the startling revelation that he hoped to marry someone named "Billy" Bertha if she could find her way to accepting his humble ass. No, the perfect preamble to the love story was not to be, and the soundtrack stayed silent as the script stalled once again.

I scrambled to my feet and started to follow my un-boyfriend, but Mrs. Lieber's sorrowful eyes, following Cameron, would not let me walk away. She let out a soft breath, glanced down at the table and placed one work-worn hand on the bible box, fingering its edge. Well, if Cameron couldn't find it in him to finish this scene properly, I certainly would.

"Thanks for everything, Mrs. Lieber. I think Cameron left in such a hurry he forgot something important. Let me take it for him." I held out my hand. A smile crept across her mouth and into her eyes as she wordlessly lifted the brown box and placed it into my waiting grasp. I heard the motorcycle start up outside, and I walked out with my step confident, happy to hear the rising strains of the cello section cheering on my bold rescue of the male lead from a costly mistake.

chapter fifty-six

2009-01-08T13:39:00.000-08:00

We drove about a mile, then turned onto a long gravel driveway lined on both sides with trees that led to a sprawling, bright yellow farmhouse. There was a woman working in the garden beside the house, her flowing white hair coming out from the scarf on her head as she stooped down. She stood as we drove up and raised her hand to shield her eyes from the afternoon sun. Cameron took off his helmet and the woman exclaimed.

“Cameron Blair! You have been much on my mind lately, and in my prayers,” she said with a touch of a Germanic accent. She ran up and kissed him on the cheek.

“Nice to see you again, Mrs. Lieber.” Cameron embraced the small woman.

“And this is your girlfriend, no?” That innocent-looking Mr. Rausch had called ahead to spread the damn rumour! She looked at me with expectancy and I felt myself blushing: embarrassed or chagrined or angry or flattered, I wasn't sure which.

“I’m Billy Ellis,” I said, removing my helmet and holding out my hand. She twittered like a bird, then reached over and gave me a kiss, too. These farm folk were cute, but completely daft, I was sure.

Mrs. Lieber made some large motions with her arms. “Come in. Come in. Mr. Lieber is
on the field, but you must come in and have some apple pie. I baked it this morning. I used up the last of the fall apples from the tree behind the barn. You remember that one, Cameron? I used to see you sitting back there under that tree, late at night, right after your father...” She left the sentence unfinished and ushered us into a spacious country kitchen. We sat silently at the table while she hummed and sliced and clinked utensils and finally set two large slices of apple pie in front of us. This was an apple pie to put all other apple pies to shame. The fruit was sliced finely and layered an inch and a half deep on a flaky hand-rolled pastry, flecks of spice dotting the flesh, and topped with something crumbly and sugary and buttery. My fork was instantly busy.

Mrs. Lieber sat down at the table with us and touched Cameron’s arm as she turned to me. “Cameron lived with us for two years after his dad passed. He was a very brave young man.”

“Umm-hmmm,” I mumbled, my mouth and my mind a little preoccupied. I noticed that Cameron squirmed a bit, perhaps uncomfortable with the topic of conversation.

“So tell me, what is going on in the big city? You a big shot lawyer now?” Mrs. Lieber let out another twittery mother-bird sound.

“No. Law school wasn’t for me.” Mrs. Lieber frowned at his answer and tapped the table a few times. I think she was contemplating taking his pie away from him. Cameron swallowed another bite and added. “I joined the police force.”

She gasped. “Is that not dangerous?”

Cameron shook his head. “Not really. I work mostly on gathering evidence, not out on the streets. I find it interesting.”

“Well, that is good for you then. Your father would be happy, your sweet mother, too.” She beamed, and her eyes twinkled with affection. “I have something for you. Perhaps it is the right time now.” She disappeared into a back room and came back carrying a small brown box which she set on the kitchen table. “You know what it is, no?” She pushed it towards Cameron.

“It’s my father’s Bible.” Cameron took a deep breath and put his fork down.

The older woman turned to me to explain. “I packed up the things in the house after the accident. It was too much to ask a sixteen-year-old to do that. Cameron said he wanted to keep nothing, but I could not bear to give this away. I thought maybe he would appreciate it later on in his life.”

Cameron removed the lid of the box and touched the soft brown leather cover of the book pensively. Then he carefully lifted it out of the box and opened the cover. I could see the name William Blair written with a cursive flair on the inside page and got a little light-headed as I remembered my dream about William Blair’s Bible. Cam turned a few pages slowly and then stopped. I leaned closer to see what had caught his attention: the page was entitled, "Family Record." On the faint blue lines below the heading were written the following names in bold black ink: William Blair, Emily Blair, and Cameron Blair. On the fourth line, in pencil, another name had been added by the same cursive hand. It read: Billy Bertha Blair.

chapter fifty-five

2009-01-08T12:50:00.000-08:00

We both slowed to a walk and an old man leaned his weathered face out of the truck's window and greeted us. “Hey, there. Nice day for a picnic, but this here is private property.”

Cameron stepped towards the truck. “Hello, Mr. Rausch. I’m Cameron Blair. I don't know if you remember me, but my dad used to own this land.”

The man's face disappeared back into the darkened cab and a moment later the green door creaked opened. The man Cam had addressed as Mr. Rausch slowly stepped out of the truck and extended his right hand. “Well, Cameron, it’s been a lot of years. You still in the city?”

“Yes, sir, I’m on the police force there.” Cameron accepted the bony hand offered to him and held it firmly.

“You don’t say. Your dad would be proud. I’m sure you’re doing a fine job.”

“Sorry about the trespassing. I should have asked first.”

“No. It’s alright." The older man let go of Cameron's hand and waved his arm in the air dismissively. "The land never quite leaves you, does it?" He peered over Cameron's shoulder and squinted at me. "And who is this young lady?”

Without glancing back at me, Cameron confidently answered, “This is Billy Ellis, my girlfriend.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Mr. Rausch as he held out his hand and smiled, waiting for me to step forward and reciprocate the friendly gesture.

I didn't remember agreeing to be Cam's girlfriend, and I sure didn't like the assumptive way in which he had introduced me, but I stuck out my hand anyway and tried to be polite with Mr. Rausch while letting Cam know I was annoyed with him. Not an easy trick, if you've ever tried it. It basically meant that I focused all my attention on the farmer and totally ignored Mr. So-Called Boyfriend.

I pulled Mr. Rausch toward me so that Cam would be excluded from our conversation and smiled pleasantly at the farmer. “And it is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Rausch. Beautiful land you have here,” I sighed like any heroine would who knows the camera is back on her. “I miss the open spaces.”

“Oh, are you from the farm?” he asked with eyebrows raised, obviously impressed.

“Yes, sir. I grew up on the prairies on a section of the finest black dirt.” I could hear Cam muffling a snicker.

Mr. Rausch just beamed at me in a kind way and then turned around to pat Cameron on the back. "It's been mighty good to see you again, Cameron. I had best get back to these fields. They don't plant themselves, you know."

Cameron laughed lightly and grasped Mr. Rausch's hand in a farewell shake. “Thank you. We’ll be on our way as soon as we pack up.”

“No need to rush off. Enjoy the day." He climbed back into the green truck and leaned his elbow out the open window. "Did you stop in and say hello to the Liebers?”

“No, sir.”

“If you have time, you might consider doing that. I know Mrs. Lieber would sure appreciate it. Nice to meet you, Miss Ellis.” He started the green truck, nodded in our direction and drove off down the dirt track.

Cameron walked over to the abandoned picnic and began packing up the food. I stood where I was and let him do all the work, hoping he would notice that I was not entirely pleased with him, but he silently went about the task without comment and without even so much as a glance in my direction. Sheesh, how could he be so oblivious and annoying at the same time?

Well, if he didn't know what he did wrong, then I would have to tell him. "Why did you introduce me as your girlfriend? I never said yes to anything so you shouldn't have presumed! That was really rude and disrespectful of you and I don't appreciate it." I could hear the ragged horn melody percussively punctuating the rising conflict.

He stopped and turned to face me, holding a scrap of bread in one hand. "Sorry, I thought it was the simplest way to introduce someone as complicated as you. Would you rather I had told him how I met you at the police station?" No, oh God, no! All that weeping and hysterics and the disfigured face and the awkward moments. I shuddered at the thought. He smiled knowingly at the look on my face. "I guess not. So, do you mind if we pay a little visit to the Liebers?” He walked towards me, dropped the leftover bread and cheese in my hands, and then mounted the motorcycle and fired up the engine, revving it loud and long and making any further conversation impossible. I climbed onto the back with my bag of food and the horn section faded into silence, as did my attempt at making him see that something was not right about the way this whole relationship thing was unfolding.

chapter fifty-four

2008-12-22T18:55:00.000-08:00

The pseudo proposal, or whatever one would call it, had rendered me mute. I honestly had no idea what to say; the idea of having a man in my life was very appealing in a 95-minute romantic comedy kind of way, but was this THE man? And was this THE time? And would I ever know the answer unless I said "yes" to his strange, jump-out-from-behind-a-bush-without-warning question? One thing was certain, saying nothing for a very long time was far from polite and could in fact be taken as a "no" by some sensitive soul.

Cameron finally broke the silence. “I’m sorry. I'm moving too fast. It's obvious that you have never considered me in that way.” He looked down, nudged some dust into place with his boot, and I saw his heart begin to retreat.

“No. I mean, yes. I mean, it’s okay.” I wanted to reach out and touch him in some reassuring gesture, but by now the awkwardness was as big as a tree between us and my arms remained tied to my sides. The cellos in my head started a low wail and I knew we were headed for tragedy. Poor man. What he had dared to do was so brave, putting his heart out there for me to see. I couldn’t just leave him hanging, but an awful fear had my tongue and my body in its grip and I could not give an answer, which apparently meant that I already had.

Oh, God, not again! Why do you keep throwing me into these situations which I am totally unprepared for? You of all people know how bad I am at this relationship stuff. I have a hard enough time figuring out my own mess; how can I be with someone and try to help them when I can't even help myself? Okay, I know, I kind of helped Shirley, but she was a special case because she's a bit of a bigger mess than me. But still, I don't know how much of a plan you've got here if I'm the only one you have to offer to these people. I don't want to hurt Cameron; he's such a good guy and I really like him, but I don't want to be responsible for how his life turns out! Crap, that thought really scares me. He's had enough trouble in his life, I sure don't want to add to it. I should just turn around and run out of here right now and save him any further agony. And I would if I knew where the heck we were. Shit. Shit. Shit. What a stinkin' mess! I'm sorry Mrs. Wheeler, I'm really sorry. I don't mean to swear, but I'm such a freakin' messed up person that if the nicest guy in the world asks me to marry him, I can't freakin' stop freakin' out because it scares me to death!

The word "death" echoed in the air, and it took me a second to realise that at some point my inside thoughts had in fact become out loud words. For one to say that the moment had become even more awkward was definitely an understatement. I couldn't bear to look at Cameron, so I hung my head and hoped that he would leave me and my shame to settle things between us. No doubt his offer had been retracted at the triple "Shit" and he was probably thanking his lucky stars and every other constellation in heaven that this crazy woman had not taken him up on his proposal. Well, a small mercy was that I had given him ample reason to back out, graceless as it might have been.

I heard Cameron clear his throat and say slowly and evenly, "Interesting." Well, at least he hadn't hopped on the bike and left me in the middle of nowhere. That was something.

My eyes still on my toes, I tried to explain, "I'm really sorry...I had no idea I was...you weren't supposed to hear...I thought it was only in my head." That said, I figured I had better pluck up my courage and face the only man in the world who for one brief moment had entertained the thought of spending the rest of his life with me. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw. He was leaning back slightly, resting all his weight on one foot; his arms were crossed, one side of his mouth was raised in a smirk, and he was shaking his head as if I had just told the silliest joke.

"Billy, my girl. Life with you is certainly never going to be boring." With two long steps, he placed himself directly in front of me and just stood there, waiting, looking at me with those blue eyes that held no fear. And that was my undoing. Those darn eyes that never gave an inch. My hands were still glued to my fearful sides, so I just leaned forward and rested my forehead on his chest and sighed. And then I sighed again. And then I grabbed onto him tightly and wouldn't let go because I couldn't remember being in a place where there was no fear in a very long time. A very, very long time. I closed my eyes and saw these words marching through my mind. He is honoring his father. A contentment settled in my soul as I breathed deeply and held onto this place of safety.

Feeling much lighter, I pulled away from Cam and ran a wide circle around him, then grabbed his hand and began to run along the road, back to the picnic spot. He let himself be dragged along, the bemused smile never leaving his face. As we neared the grove of trees where the leftovers of our lunch still sat, a green pick-up truck drove up and stopped beside the motorcycle.

chapter fifty-three

2008-12-04T20:45:00.000-08:00

Cameron pulled into a gas station after two hours of riding and we stretched our legs and downed some drinks. I was feeling very much like a road veteran when we climbed back on and took to the highway again. The countryside started to flatten out slightly and the temperature of the air climbed a few degrees as we kept heading south and the sun rose in the sky. After another hour and a half, I needed a bathroom, so I tapped Cameron’s arm. He nodded and pointed straight ahead. We were coming to a small town and as we approached, I read a sign that said, “Welcome to Sinoma.” It took me a minute to remember why that name was familiar. Of course, it was the town where he had grown up.

We parked in front of Pete's hardware store on the main street and locked our helmets to the bike, though in a Happy Days town like this, that was probably not necessary. After we found the much-needed bathrooms, I realized I was starving. That French toast was a long time gone. Cameron shared my sentiment and suggested we pick up a few things at the local grocery store, Mae's Foods, so we bought fresh bread (no doubt baked by Mae that morning), a small country smoked ham (perhaps smoked by her husband in the backyard), farm-fresh cheese (her brother-in-law's cows supplied the milk, I was sure), grapes (imported from some relatives in California), and a small jug of apple cider (fresh from the cellar). Mae's was reminiscent of the small town store from Little House on the Prairie, only slightly bigger and definitely more modern. Blair toted the bags to the curb, packed them in the small storage compartment behind the seat, and said he knew just the place to enjoy our lunch.

About a mile outside of Sinoma, he turned up a gravel road, then after another mile or so, veered onto a field, following two dusty tracks, and finally pulled the motorcycle up next to a small bunch of poplar trees that stood tall and straight beside a gurgling stream. It was pure country and moving picture perfect, so we laid out our jackets, sat down, and spread out the food from Mae's. Cameron sliced the ham and cheese with his jackknife, and I ripped uneven chunks of bread with my hands. We had not thought to invest in any plastic cups, so took turns drinking from the cider jug, swigging and wiping our mouths with our sleeves just like they did in the movies. I expected the director to come out at any minute and ask us to re-shoot a scene.

“This was part of my dad’s land,” Cameron said between bites.

“Really?" Come on, Billy. That line did nothing to further the plot. You can do better! "It’s a great spot. When was the last time you were here?” Yes, definitely better.

“The summer after I graduated from high school.”

I leaned my head to one side, musing and chewing on some bread, holding the pose for the close-up. “That’s a long time.”

“I never had a desire to come back until this past week. For some reason, I’ve really missed the place lately.” He was gazing across the distant field, his eyes far away, and I felt the camera pull its focus from me onto on his firm chin.

We ate in silence, the fresh country air filled with the sound of birds and the musty smell of fresh-turned earth. My imaginary movie was saturated with the vibrant colours of the sky and the budding trees and needed no dialogue. I lay back on the grass, closing my eyes and feeling the sun warm on my face. The late night, early morning, and hearty lunch were making me drowsy.

“Billy, can I ask you a question?” Cameron's voice poked through the haze of warm slumber that was stalking me.

“Mmmm,” I replied sleepily.

“What do you think of me?” The query seemed to appear out of nowhere. He was totally digressing from the script, that was for certain.

“You ask a lot of questions.” I yawned, hoping he would get the hint to leave me and my nap to finish our scene together. Apparently not. I felt a shadow on my face and opened my eyes to see him bending over me. “You’re in my sunshine,” I complained.

“And you’re not answering my question. C’mon. Let’s go for a walk.” He reached out a hand and waited. I sighed as sleep was snatched away from me for the second time that day and let him pull me up. We started down the dirt tracks and walked for a bit before he spoke. “So?” he prodded.

“I still maintain that you ask a lot of questions.”

“Noted.” He was looking at me with that detective non-blinking stare again which meant that he wanted a straight answer, which for some reason, I was finding difficult to give.

“Okay, well, you’re a nice guy. A little too serious sometimes, but you’re getting better.”

“Am I likeable?” The question was stated with such intensity that I could not help but laugh.

“Of course, you’re likeable! Everyone respects you at the station, Jim and Lynn love you like a son, even Roman has nothing but good things to say about you.”

“What about you?” He stopped abruptly and fixed his eyes on me, and I saw something there I had not seen before.

“I like you, too, otherwise I wouldn’t have come today,” I said quietly, meeting his gaze so he would know I meant it and suddenly not feeling like laughing at all.

“Billy, I want to tell you something.” He took a step towards me. “You are one of the most fascinating people I have ever met. One minute I see you as this person with incredible compassion who can't stop crying and the next, you act like a silly, spontaneous five-year-old. You feel things very deeply, Billy, and I have to admit that has scared me a bit, because – well – because it’s hit a little too close to home in a lot of ways. It has brought up some things I had tried to shut the door on.” He closed his eyes for a moment and I could hear the string section starting to play a sweet and slow melody on the soundtrack. “What I’m trying to say is, whether I like it or not, you have brought something back into my life that I thought was gone forever.”

My heart was starting to pound in my chest and the strings swelled into a crescendo. “Billy,” he continued, his voice low and steady, “I want to marry you.”

The strings scraped and screeched to a halt, and my heart stopped as I sucked in a quick breath. He continued in that same even tone, unaware that every last page of the script had just been ripped out of my hand and I was utterly lost. “Don’t give me an answer right now. Maybe in six months or a year. I'm just letting you know that I want to pursue a relationship with you, and I think it’s only fair that I tell you where I want it to end up. I’m not doing this just to have a good time and then move on.” He stopped then and looked at me with those intense blue eyes. "So I guess I'm asking, would you be interested in something like that?”

I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t think straight, so I just blinked and stood there, waiting for the soundtrack to start up again so I could tell if this was the love interest, the comedic relief, or the tragic parting of ways.

chapter fifty-two

2008-08-08T13:16:00.000-07:00

The shrill ring of the phone woke me out of a deep sleep. I pulled the covers over my head to drown out the noise, but for some reason, my answering machine didn’t pick up the call. After the seventh ring, I pulled the receiver onto the pillow next to my ear and mumbled a drowsy hello.

“What are you doing?” It was the man without a greeting, Blair.

“Sleeping.” My head was very heavy.

“Well, get up. I have something to show you. I’ll be there in half an hour.” I looked at the clock. It was 9:10. So much for a leisurely morning.

The shower washed some of the grogginess from my head, but everything was in slow motion. I pulled on a pair of jeans and a clean T-shirt and went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea before I dried my hair. There was a knock at the door and I opened it to find Blair standing there in jeans and a leather jacket.

“Good morning, sunshine!” He was awfully awake and annoyingly happy.

“Yeah, whatever.” I walked back to the kitchen and sat down to finish my tea. He followed me in and stood next to the table, his eyes darting back and forth.

“You almost ready?” he asked eagerly.

“Do I look ready?” I snapped, grabbing a handful of wet hair. His shiny mood faded a bit and I regretted my sharp words. “I’m sorry. I worked late last night, then had trouble sleeping, and
you called way too early. Can we try this again? I'll put some effort into it this time.” I grabbed him by the shoulders, turned him around and pushed him out the front door. I closed it behind him, and waited.

“You’re supposed to knock again,” I yelled through the door. A tentative tap sounded on the other side. I flung open the door and with as much cheeriness as I could muster and with way too much volume, said, “Good morning. It’s so nice of you to drop by.” I grandly waved him inside and pulled out a chair. “Please have a seat while I finish my tea and dry my hair.” He politely lowered himself into the chair and stared at me, his mouth a small "O." I crossed my arms and waited, but he said nothing. “Was that an improvement?” I prompted.

“I think I liked Billy number one better,” he said. “More genuine.” I saw a small smirk sneak into the left corner of his mouth. Almost insulted, I snatched a dishcloth from the kitchen counter and threw it at him; he caught it easily. “Forget the tea, let’s go out for breakfast,” he suggested.

“Fine! Just give me a minute.” I went into the bathroom and quickly dried my hair, then pulled on a light jacket and appeared in the kitchen.

“That won’t do. You have a leather jacket?” he asked.

“Yeah. It’s kind of warm for that, though.”

“Trust me, wear the leather,” he said with a glint in his eyes.

I re-appeared a moment later wearing the appropriate jacket and received the nod of
approval. We walked out to the parking lot and I was puzzled not to find the brown bomb in the visitor parking area. There was, however, a pretty hot black and chrome motorcycle that I couldn't take my eyes off of. Blair walked right up to it and donned the black helmet that was strapped to the seat. I stopped in my tracks and felt my jaw drop. He picked up another, smaller helmet and held it out to me.

"What have you done with Detective Blair?” I finally managed to say.

“The name’s Cameron and I am following the advice of a good friend who said I needed to be less serious and enjoy the ride.”

“Is this yours?” I slowly walked up to it and touched the metallic gas tank.

“A guy at the station is selling it, so he’s letting me try it out for the weekend.”

“Do you know how to drive?”

“Get on and you’ll find out.” As I pulled on my helmet, he started up the motorcycle, and I had to admit, the sound made my heart race just a bit, but I wasn't about to let him see my fear. I
climbed on behind him, wrapped my arms tightly around his chest just to make sure that I wouldn't be left lying on the road somewhere, and he released the clutch and we jolted forward. The last time I had been on the back of a motorcycle was when I was fourteen and my brother owned one.

Blair, or rather, Cameron, did indeed know how to drive - every start and stop and turn and gearshift was executed with precision and confidence. I felt as safe as one can feel with the road whizzing by at an incredible speed just a few feet underneath me. We pulled into a pancake house on the outskirts of the city, and I found the ride and the accompanying adrenaline rush had done wonders for my mood and my appetite. Over French toast and blueberries the new, improved, easy-going Cameron asked me if I had plans for the rest of the day. When I responded with ‘laundry’, he wondered if I might be convinced to take a drive out to the country instead. It was a beautiful, warm spring day and I didn't need to give the decision much thought at all.

And so we headed south, meandering down country roads, past farmers plowing their fields and cows standing in bunches chewing on new greenery. The smells of the countryside wafted through my helmet: newly mown grass, a swampy creek, freshly baked bread, hanging
laundry, and the acrid odor of a pig farm. I glanced back over my shoulder to see the greening trees and rolling hills slowly creeping away, and decided that spring was my second favorite season.

chapter fifty-one

2008-07-26T12:59:00.000-07:00

I was back on sorting and filing duty, but now it was called research, or as I liked to think of it, criminal investigation. I had to get through those thirty-two boxes as quickly as possible, pulling out anything that mentioned Applewood, Tait, their corporation, Allstar Developments, or anything else that looked questionable. Neither of us had high hopes that we would find something substantial, but we couldn’t afford to overlook anything. The files had surprised us before.

Roman interrupted me for a quick trip to the police station to get fingerprinted. It was a strange ritual and I had to keep reminding myself it was to establish my innocence. After we returned, I broke the archival cardinal rule prohibiting food from the vicinity of any valuable papers and ate my lunch in the conference room, so that I could continue looking through the stacks of papers.

Roman walked in just after seven o’clock and told me to call it a day. I had managed to recheck all six boxes that I had preliminarily sorted, and go through two more after that. This effort had produced a meagre dozen sheets of paper for consideration. I made copies of these and handed the originals to Roman to lock in his safe. My eyes were tired and my legs stiff from not moving from my seat most of the afternoon.

“It’s like trying to find a needle in a haystack,” I sighed, “and I’m not even sure there is a needle.”

“If nothing shows up in these papers, there are other places we can look,” Roman replied, hinting at already having a Plan B in the works. “Now go home, forget about this for two days if you can, and we’ll tackle it again first thing Monday morning.” I picked up my things and headed toward the door. “Good work, Billy.” Roman briefly rested his hand on my shoulder as I passed him. "I’m glad you’re with me.”

“Thanks.” I smiled and quickly looked down, a bit uncomfortable with the compliment.

Putting the events of the past two days out of my mind was not going to be easy, but I gave it a good try. I rented a movie and picked up some Chinese food on the way home and found both the film and the chow mien rather bland, but somewhat distracting - which was the point, after all.

Despite going to bed early, I found myself still awake at one in the morning, staring up at the ceiling, searching for a clue as to how we could see justice done without breaking the law or putting anyone in danger. It was hopeless. Only one avenue seemed to offer any resolution - once again we needed some divine intervention.

chapter fifty

2008-07-26T12:42:00.000-07:00

I grabbed a handful of the paper strips and walked back inside, repenting of my evil thoughts last night about eliminating the files in exactly this way. Roman was on the phone, but hung up when he saw me enter his office.

“I found them,” I said, dropping the limp paper spaghetti on his desk.

“How can you tell?”

“Smell them.” He did and agreed with my conclusion.

“Well, only one thing to do. Let’s dig it out,” he said. We found some garbage bags and gloves in the janitor’s closet and made our way to the recycle bins. Roman tossed the newspapers out and then began to hand me clumps of paper strips. He tipped the bin over to make sure we got every last shred, and I filled three garbage bags. We took our tattered treasure back to the conference room.

“I don’t think I can piece these together,” I was already admitting defeat.

“That’s not what I had in mind. Call Detective Blair. I want fingerprints. Then you are going to tell me what happened yesterday with Wild Bill. But first, I’m going to talk to Viola again.”

He walked out and I picked up the phone and dialled the police station.

“Blair, it’s Billy.”

“Hey, how’s it going?”

“Not too good, actually. This morning we found some important documents shredded and Roman wants fingerprints. Can you do that?”

“Sure. What exactly do you have?”

“Three large bags of paper strips.”

“That might take some time.”

“Just do what you can,” I said. We were grasping at straws at this point.

“Any prints you want me to compare to?”

“I’ll have to ask Roman.”

“Just send it over to my attention. I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks, Blair.”

There was a brief silence. “You’re not in trouble, are you?” He made no effort to conceal the worry in his voice.

“I don’t think so, but I’m kind of caught in the middle of something and I’m not sure how it’s going to turn out.” I bit my lip, wanting to spill the whole story to him but knowing that I
couldn't.

“Just do what you think is right, Billy. You’ve been in difficult situations before and turned them around.” He paused. “I'll say a prayer for you.”

I was speechless for a moment, wondering if I had heard right. “Thanks, Cameron.”

“Call me if you need anything else,” he offered.

“I will.” I hung up and went to find Roman. He was just returning from Viola’s office. “Blair said to send the papers right over. Any prints you want him to compare to?”

He handed me a jar of pens and pencils. “We’ll start with these from Viola’s desk. I sent her home. She broke down when I confronted her.”

I placed the writing tools in a plastic bag and marked everything for Blair’s attention, then took the materials downstairs and sent them over in a cab, taking care to give the driver specific instructions that they were to be hand-delivered to Detective Blair and no one else.

Roman was waiting for me back in his office. “We’ll have to get fingerprinted ourselves so they can eliminate our prints on the papers,” he pointed out, “unless yours are already on file.” He raised his eyebrows and I could tell he was teasing me. He was enjoying the chase a little too much for my taste.

“I can go on my lunch hour,” I offered.

“We’ll go together. Now, tell me what you found out at Wild Bill’s house.”

I took a deep breath. Where did I start? “Well, in a nutshell, Mr. Hickory uncovered some crooked dealings on the council. He received some threats to prevent him from going public with the information, so he buried the documents. This box surfaced quite by accident.”

“I had my suspicions,” he nodded. “Is he willing to prosecute now?”

“Not really,” I said, shaking my head. “He feels the threats are still valid, so he doesn’t want his name to come up.”

“Hmmm. It sounds like we’re on our own, then.” Roman leaned back in his chair and tapped the desk with his fingers.

“It does,” I acknowledged with a sinking feeling.

“So what do we have to go on?”

“Just the three files,” I said.

“Which contain some interesting information that brings up a lot of questions, but nothing conclusive.”

I could hear my heart pounding in my ears, and I knew I had to say something. I blurted out, “They hurt Mr. Hickory's family!”

Roman’s eyes became slits. “I didn’t suspect it had gone that far, but we have to be able to prove all of this.”

“Wild Bill dug up the evidence while working in this office. Couldn't we do the same?” Hardly a feasible plan of action since the parties in question had certainly covered their tracks after their encounter with Mr. Hickory, but I had no other options to offer.

The phone rang and Roman answered it. He had a short conversation with someone, then hung up the receiver. “That was Henry Tait. He wanted my assurance that I would not be tampering with long-standing service contracts negotiated under Mr. Hickory. We set up a meeting for Tuesday.” The fingers tapped rapidly then suddenly stopped. “I hate it when someone tells me not to tamper with something.” I saw a flash of anger in his eyes and I knew the battle had begun.

chapter forty-nine

2008-07-26T11:32:00.000-07:00

I awoke early on Friday morning and lay in bed for a long time, thinking. I was contemplating how much of William Hickory's story I should recount to Roman and how I should present it. I had no desire to hide anything from my boss, but I knew that if I said too much, it could be harmful instead of helpful.

I arrived in the boardroom at 8:55 with my box and sat down to think. I really wished and prayed that the next step would just make itself abundantly clear. Roman poked his head in and I felt totally unprepared to face him.

“What did you do with the files?” he asked.

I tapped the cover of the box. “I took them home and studied them last night after my visit with Wild Bill.”

“Not those. The box in my office.”

“Nothing. I never went into your office.”

“It’s gone.”

“Are you sure?” I said, my heart starting to quicken.

“It wasn’t there when I came in this morning.”

“Was your office locked?”

“Yes. Viola does that when she leaves.” Roman glanced sideways and I could tell that he did
not like where this was leading.

“Maybe we should take a quick look around before we panic,” I suggested.

Roman scoured his office and I carefully looked around every box in the conference room. He appeared in the doorway a short time later and shook his head. My response was the same.

“Let me talk to Viola,” I said. “I showed her the box yesterday. She should remember it.”

“First, let me lock up those three files we still have.” Good thinking, Roman. I handed the papers in question over to him and walked over to Viola’s desk where she was concentrating on typing a document.

“Good morning,” I said, trying to sound casual.

“Morning.” Her voice was flat and she never turned from her computer screen.

“Mr. Hickory loved the fudge. Thanks for the tip.”

“Sure.”

“Hey, Viola, do you remember the box I showed you yesterday, the one that smelled funny?”

“I didn’t touch it. I told you I didn’t remember packing it.” She was typing very quickly.

“I’m sure you didn’t, but we can’t find it this morning. Do you remember where you last saw it?”

“You left it in the conference room,” she responded, almost with accusation.

“Well, it’s not there now,” I said calmly and waited for a reply.

Realising that I wasn't going anywhere, she finally turned to face me. “Have you tried Roman’s office?” she suggested impatiently, very eager to return to her work for a change.

Right on cue, Roman appeared behind me. “Viola, I had a box in my office yesterday afternoon. Any idea what happened to it?”

“I didn’t touch it!” She repeated, more emphatically.

“Let me know if it turns up, okay?” Roman said and we both turned and walked away, not sure what to make of her answers.

“I’m going to check around the other offices,” I said and walked on. I looked under desks, in garbage cans, and even in the kitchen cupboards. Nothing. God, where were those files? I paused for a minute and decided to check the archival room downstairs. I met a janitor coming up the stairs and on a hunch, asked him when the garbage was emptied.

“Every night,” he responded.

“And where do you put it?” I inquired.

“I bring it to the big bin out back.” I thanked him and ran outside and around the building. There stood two giant steel gray bins. I opened one and found it empty. No! The garbage had already been picked up. Sure enough, the other one was equally bare. Where else could those papers be? I walked around the other side of the building and saw the green recycle containers. I lifted the lid of the one marked ‘paper.’ Its open mouth revealed mostly newspapers and flyers, but as I pulled out an armful of them, I spotted several stray small crinkly strips of paper. Digging deeper, I pulled out a handful of the stuff. There was no way I could identify what had been on it before it had been shredded. I held a strip up to my nose and smelled it. There was no doubt about it. Someone had shredded most of box seven.

chapter forty-eight

2008-07-18T12:40:00.000-07:00

It was after five when I exited William Hickory's home, muttering curses under my breath at the frustrating turn of events, and headed home. I was tempted to toss the files out the window of my car and pretend I had never heard of Charles Applewood and Henry Tait. Wait a minute, Wild Bill had said there were three members of the corporation. The least I could do was look for the third name. It was a start, a small start.

I carried the box of forbidden files into my apartment, feeling a bit like a thief, and not the angelic variety, either, and set it down on my coffee table. The entire time I was eating my dinner, I stared at the files, sorry I had ever opened box seven. Perhaps a fire would break out in my building and consume the papers. Then the only problem would be how to get rid of the rest of the box in Roman’s office. Accidentally being shredded was always a hazard. No need to worry about Wild Bill’s papers - he would never divulge them as long as his family was alive.

Yes, I was once again impersonating Jonah - trying to find a way out of this mess. Mrs. Wheeler would have tossed her hefty Bible at me had she heard my unspoken destructive thoughts. And then I realised the error of my thinking. This was not about me getting out of an undesirable assignment. It was not even about Wild Bill or the safety of his family. It was about three people thinking they could get away with betraying those they had promised to serve - an entire city - and terrorizing anyone who threatened their ill-gotten positions.

My prayer in front of Wild Bill’s house played through my mind. “If there’s something not right here, show me what I can do.” Well, I had asked for it, and if I didn’t try to make it right, I was no better than those three men. Compromise was a slippery slope that I knew I did not want to start down.

I sat down on the couch and pulled the files out of the box, determined to do my part. I read every piece of paper twice, but nothing new, not even a name, jumped out at me. I had to admit I was not an expert at financial or government documents, but nothing I saw looked very incriminating. Finally, eyes bleary and red, I turned out the lights and went to bed, hoping I would be awakened by the document angel who could explain everything to me.

Instead, I dreamt that I was in an office building with a box of files to be moved from one place to another. There was a device attached to the box that would explode if it did not reach its destination within the designated time. I, however, had the key to disarm the bomb.

chapter forty-seven

2008-07-18T12:17:00.000-07:00

“Follow me.” Wild Bill got up and led me through the kitchen to a white door which opened up to reveal a set of stairs. The basement was low with a cracked cement floor and large wooden beams. He led me over to a corner, opened a small slatted door, and reached up to pull a string hanging from a naked light bulb - the light revealed a large pantry with shelves on three sides. Rows and rows of canned goods stood dusty on one side, heaps of wrinkled potatoes and onions lay in baskets on the floor, and an assortment of glass jars and baskets were scattered along the other two walls.

“Help me with these.” Wild Bill started to empty a basket of potatoes. I grabbed a wooden fruit basket off one of the shelves and scooped the shrivelled vegetables into it. At the bottom of the basket, underneath the potatoes, was a large package. Mr. Hickory tipped the basket on its side and pulled the package out. He unwrapped a large piece of plastic, then several layers of newspaper, and at last pulled something out from the package and handed it to me. I put it up to my nose and sniffed. It had the same unmistakable musty odour.

“The files I brought came from your basement,” I whispered, as if it were a secret.

“And the rest of them are in these baskets,” he acknowledged.

After carefully repacking the papers, he led me back upstairs. We sat at the kitchen table, me with my untouched glass of iced tea, and he with a glass of whisky.

“I knew this day would come,” he said, and then Wild Bill told me the whole story, or at least as much as he knew.

About nine years ago he had been approached by one of the city council members about forming a private corporation to develop business interests in the community. The details were vague, but since Bill was investing in his son’s new business at that point, he declined without much discussion.

About a month later, he received a substantial loan payment from his son, who was doing very well, so he approached the man about his initial offer. Well, it appeared things had changed and there was no longer a need for another business partner, and all lips were tightly sealed on any other details.

This all sounded rather fishy to Wild Bill, so he decided to keep his eye on the corporation and its three members, and over the course of a year or so, gathered the most interesting assortment of documents. While some of these were public records, many he was able to procure because of his position at city hall. The picture they painted was not a pretty one : fraud, tax evasion, accepting bribes, tampering with city contracts, and rigged elections.

Bill was about to go public with the documents, but somehow the big three caught wind of it and paid him a visit at home one night while his wife was out shopping. It was like a scene out of ‘The Godfather.’ They told him that if he exposed them, they would see to it that he was implicated as well. Bill wasn't easily scared off and told them they couldn't change his mind. Then they mentioned that it would be a terrible thing if his wife were to be involved in an accident. Bill thought they were bluffing and ordered them to leave. An hour later he received a call from a shaken Hannah who had been broad-sided by another car. Her broken arm healed, and Bill buried the documents in the vegetables, never to speak of them again. Thankfully, life seemed to go on as before.

Bill sat in his chair, his head resting in his hands, worry written on his face.

“I hate to bring this up, Mr. Hickory,” I said, “but after your wife died, wasn’t the threat gone?”

“I still have a son,” he sighed heavily, “and I’m too old and tired. It’s not my battle anymore.”

“Then why did you keep the documents?”

“Justice. I wouldn’t have been able to sleep at night if I had destroyed them. It would have been like erasing their guilt. I knew justice would come someday, if not here, then on the other side.”

“So how did some of these papers end up in Roman’s office?” I wanted to know.

“I have no idea.”

“You didn’t plant them?” I suggested.

He scowled at me. “Do you think I’m lying?”

“I’m sorry. It’s the easiest explanation.”

“Easy is not always true.” I had to agree with him there.

“Were they ever taken out of the baskets for any reason?”

“Not till today.”

“Perhaps your wife or a housekeeper found them and assumed they belonged in your office-“

He waved his arm in the air as he interrupted me. “You can speculate all you want. You may never know the answer and it's not important. By some coincidence those papers ended up in your hands. The question is, what are you going to do about it?” He grabbed the arm rests of his chair and stared at me, waiting for a response.

Once again, I felt something being thrust upon me without wanting it. Oh God, not again. Hadn't he figured out that I pretty much failed at every turn the first time? With resignation instead of conviction, I said, “Mr. Hickory, I don’t believe in coincidences anymore. I believe in divine intervention.”

“Fine. Then an angel stole the papers out of my basement! The question is still the same.”

His concept of an angel involved in burglary seemed to be a bit of a paradox to me, but I let it go. This wasn't the time for a theological debate and I most certainly wasn't an expert on the subject. “Are you willing to hand over the rest of the files?”

“I cannot assist you in any way,” he said, shaking his head, but not breaking his stare.

“So why tell me this whole story if you’re going to withhold the evidence that proves it?” I was getting frustrated with him and his cryptic ways.

“I see you are beginning to grasp the complexity of the situation,” he said, pouring himself another whisky. Then he leaned towards me and lowered his voice slightly. “The papers in my basement are powerful evidence that, unfortunately, I am powerless to use. I told you this story
because I believe you can do something to make these men pay for what they’ve done. Think about the facts. What do you have to go on?”

It wasn't much. “Your story.”

“Which I will neither corroborate or deny. Not admissible as evidence.”

“The files I found in Roman’s office.”

“Legitimately acquired through angelic transportation – admissible,” he took a swig of his drink.

“That’s it," I shrugged. "That’s all I have!” There was a plaintive quality to my voice which came from the feeling that I was being pushed off some cliff.

“Incorrect!” He slammed his fist on the table. “You have your sense of justice, your research skills, and from what I hear, a very bright young man named Roman Kowalski.”

“But what can I tell him? You said your story is inadmissible.”

“Tell him the truth. But be careful how much you say, and who else hears it.”

The phrase made me start. “He said much the same thing to me just before I came here,” I marvelled.

“I’m liking him better all the time,” Wild Bill set his empty glass down and smacked his lips.

“You didn’t answer my question,” I reminded him.

“Are you studying to be a lawyer?” he peered at me.

“No.”

“Hmmm. Too bad. Well, I can’t answer the question for you, but I will give you some advice. When you see a fire in Roman’s eye, you’ve said enough. If something happens to my family, you’ve said too much.”

Thanks, Wild Bill. I could have lived without the pressure. I didn’t think it was fair of him to lay the responsibility for the safety of his family on me and told him so in no uncertain words.

“No, it isn’t fair!” he retorted. “But that’s how this thing is playing out. You’re the one who believes in divine intervention, young lady.”

Nice of him to throw that back in my face. I left my iced tea untouched, picked up my files, and left the exasperating man with his untouchable evidence.

chapter forty-six

2008-07-12T12:29:00.000-07:00

As I drove to William Hickory’s house with the mouldy files in the back seat and the fresh fudge beside me, a knot started to grow in the pit of my stomach. What was I getting involved in? The uneasy feeling would not go away, so just to be on the safe side, I directed a quick sentence upwards. “If there’s something not right here, show me what to do.”

I pulled up in front of 52 Waverly Crescent, an old two storey red brick house with a sweeping veranda and a large, shaded yard. I took the files out of the box and carried them under one arm. The wooden porch stairs creaked under my feet and the front door opened before I had a chance to knock. In front of me stood a man who I assumed was William Hickory. His white hair was standing out at odd angles from his head, he wore a neat dark shirt and matching pants, and he was looking me up and down.

I halted on the top step. “Hello. I’m Billy Ellis. We spoke on the phone this morning.”

He didn't move from his spot in the doorway. “I know who you are. I thought you’d be wearing a skirt.” My black trousers seemed inappropriate for some reason, and I hoped this would not set the tone for the meeting.

“I brought you some maple fudge.” I held out the bag as a peace offering. His eyes never left mine.

“I like a girl who does her homework. Come in.” He stepped towards me and took the gift from my hand, then turned and walked inside. I took this as an invitation to follow, so hurried after him into a dark, formal living room where the curtains were drawn. He halted mid-step, opened the bag and breathed deeply. “Smells like Hannah,” he murmured to himself, then quickly turned to me and grabbed my elbow. “Not in here! This room is depressing. This way.” We walked through a hallway into a bright kitchen with a small sunroom off the back.

“Have a seat in there,” he motioned to the sunroom, and I stepped down into a bright space that overlooked the back yard - a tangle of flowers and greenery, seemingly out of control - but I could tell the plants were too carefully placed to be random.

“Here’s some iced tea,” Wild Bill handed me a glass and I thanked him. He pointed out at the jungle in the back yard. “What do you think?”

“Much more interesting than symmetry,” I said, “and more difficult to achieve, too.”

“Few people see that,” he said, and turned to sit in a padded wicker chair. I followed suit. “What do you want?” he asked. He was certainly blunt and to the point.

“Well, like I mentioned on the phone, I’m organizing your files and I had a few questions.” He just glared at me so I continued. “One box contained papers that appear to have been affected by prolonged exposure to moisture and none of the other files have this problem. I was wondering if there was a reason why they were stored separately from the other files, and where that might have been?”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” he barked.

“No, sir.”

“Then skip the fancy introduction and tell me what the deal is with these papers.”

I noticed that he had nicely managed to avoid answering any questions thus far. How was I supposed to respond to his demand? I didn’t really know what the deal was with the papers. In fact, I was hoping he would tell me, but he seemed to think I was there to give him answers instead. Well, there were a few things I thought I had figured out, so I decided to try a few of my theories on him. “The papers in this box were not stored with the others because they were not to be seen by everyone,” I ventured.

“Why not?”

“They contain information of a sensitive nature.” I tried to keep the questioning tone out of my voice.

“Which is?” he probed.

“I don’t know. The information seems inconclusive.”

“Let me see those files.” I thrust them into his open hands and as I did so, my heart did a panic flip as the thought crossed my mind that he intended to destroy them. I had not had the foresight to make copies. “Is this all of them?” he asked as he leafed through them quickly, his fingers shaking slightly.

“No. Just a few samples from the box.” I leaned forward, hoping he would get the silent message that I was expecting them to be returned to me and rather quickly.

“How many files in total?"

“I’d say twenty-five, perhaps thirty.”

He looked up at me and I thought I saw a hint of concern on his face. “Even if the information is incomplete, you must have some idea of where it’s leading.” I wasn’t sure I should go on. It was all speculation at this point. “You are wise to hesitate,” he said. “You don’t know on which side of this I fall. Am I the good guy or the bad guy?”

He had a good point. “So what should I do?” I asked him, tossing the ball back in his court.

“Trust your gut instinct.”

Despite his crusty exterior, my instinct told me that the man was trustworthy and one of the good guys. “It is possible that these papers might compromise some people in high positions,” I finally said.

“Have you showed these to anyone else?”

“Roman Kowalski, your successor.”

“Is he an honest man?” he demanded, his wrinkled face coming close as he held my eyes with his keen gaze.

“I haven’t known him to be otherwise,” I said truthfully.

“Does he back away from a challenge?”

I smiled slightly. “Quite the opposite. He seems to thrive on it.”

“I’m trusting your judgement, young lady.” He poked a bony finger under my nose. “This whole thing could blow up in his face if you are wrong.” I wasn’t sure I wanted the responsibility of
Roman’s career resting on my shoulders. “Do we proceed?” He held my gaze.

“Proceed.” I prayed I was doing the right thing.

chapter forty-five

2008-06-27T13:36:00.000-07:00

Blair was waiting in front of city hall when I exited the building. He suggested a nearby restaurant, so we started down the sidewalk.

“How’s Roman treating you?” he asked.

“Good. I like working for him. He keeps things interesting.”

He frowned. “In what way?”

“He gives me other projects to break up the unending filing, plus he rescued me from that awful basement. I have a room with windows now, right beside his office.”

Blair nodded but said nothing.

We found a corner table and as we sat down, I winced. Blair winked knowingly. “I was a little sore myself this morning.”

“No regrets, right?” I reminded him.

“Absolutely not.”

We ordered and I waited for him to bring up the reason for the invitation to lunch.

“I talked to Lynn this morning,” he started. “She was pretty excited about her plans for Shirley - talked about putting her in some kind of job training program.”

“She could sure use some of that,” I affirmed.

“I guess so.” He was clearly not convinced.

“What do you think about it?” I asked.

“I think it’s a little fast! The woman hasn’t had a stable environment for years and suddenly she’s going to hold down a job?”

“Did you say that to Lynn?”

“No, I didn’t want to discourage her. I’m probably just being overcautious.”

“You have reason to be.”

“What would you do?” I was surprised that he was asking my advice. Our food arrived and Blair started to eat.

“Well, I guess I would talk to Shirley first and find out how she’s doing, make sure she doesn’t feel pressured. If she thinks this job-training thing is more than she can handle right now, then I’d bring it up with Lynn.”

He put his fork down. “Would you mind doing that for me? I think it would be better coming from you.”

I thought about his statement for a bit. ”You’re probably right. Nothing against you personally, Detective Blair, but sometimes a woman is better at handling sensitive situations than a man. Men can be too direct sometimes and end up offending well-meaning people.”

Blair shook his head but I could see a smile at the corner of his mouth. “You sure know how to put a guy in his place.”

“It’s true.” I shrugged my shoulders.

“Eat your lunch before you say something else profound.” He pushed my untouched food towards me and we ate in silence for a few moments.

“Do you know where I can get maple fudge?” I asked.

“You like fudge?”

“It’s a gift for someone,” I clarified.

“I think there’s a chocolate shop about two blocks away.”

Knowing my lunch hour was slipping away, I hurriedly shoved a few more forkfuls into my mouth, quickly chewed, and swallowed. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“Very unladylike. You have something on your chin.” Blair reached across and wiped it off with his napkin.

I blushed, slightly embarrassed. “Thanks.”

He ignored my discomfort and after he insisted on paying for lunch again, we headed off in search of fudge. Blair’s keen powers of observation served him well - we found a quaint Belgian chocolate shop on a street corner just one block east of city hall. A little bell tinkled when we opened the door and I inhaled the warm, sweet air. A charming older lady in a white apron stood behind the counter and offered us several small squares of sugary goodness. We couldn’t resist the samples, and ‘mmm’d’ and licked our lips to the delight of our hostess. I bought a slab of maple fudge for Mr. Hickory and a chunk of almond bark for myself. Blair patted his full stomach and shook his head, resisting all the shop lady’s persuasive powers. He did, however, manage to consume half of my almond bark as we walked back to city hall.

“So much for your self-control,” I laughed, tossing the empty wrapper into a garbage can.

“Thanks for sharing,” he grinned as we walked up the sidewalk in front of city hall.

Someone called out, “Cameron Blair!” and I turned to see Roman coming down the steps.

“Hello, Roman.” Blair responded in a monotone voice and stuck out his hand. Roman gave it a hearty shake.

“How are things in the police department?” Roman asked.

“It’s a good place to be.”

“I still think you would have made one heck of a lawyer, Blair, but I’m glad that’s working out for you.”

“Thanks. I hear you’re doing well in your new position.”

“It’s a bear, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Listen, I have to run. It was nice to see you.” They shook hands again. “Make sure she stays out of trouble,” Roman winked at me and hurried off.

“Smooth as ever.” Blair watched Roman walk across the parking lot.

“You are so cynical. He was genuinely happy to see you,” I chided.

“Maybe.”

I had other things on my mind so I chose to ignore his ridiculous superstitious male competitiveness. “Thanks for lunch, Cameron.”

“My pleasure.” He tapped my arm and walked off, tossing a,“See you later,” over his shoulder.

I headed back to my files and tried to sort more of box six but found it hard to concentrate with my meeting with Wild Bill looming ahead of me. At 2:30 I packed everything away for the day - just in case I didn’t come back - then went to the bathroom, checked myself in the mirror, and popped a mint in my mouth. I was as ready as I was going to be.

chapter forty-four

2008-06-21T18:56:00.000-07:00

Back in the conference room, I picked up the phone and dialed Wild Bill’s number. He answered on the third ring.

“William Hickory.” The voice was gruff and assertive.

“Good morning, Mr. Hickory. This is Billy Ellis from city hall and I’m currently working on putting your files in order for the archives.”

“What did you say your name was?”

“Billy Ellis.”

“Never heard of you. What kind of name is Billy?”

“It’s short for Bertha, sir, and I’m new in this position.”

“So what do you do?” I could tell he was used to being the one asking the questions.

“I’m sorting and cataloguing all your files.”

“Are you any good at it?”

“I believe I am, yes, sir, and I had a question about some of the documents I’ve come across.”

“How old are you?”

I decided to be as direct as he was. “Twenty-nine.”

“Are you married?”

“No, sir.”

“I can see you this afternoon. Come to the house at three.” I heard a click and the conversation was over.

I knew I was going to need more than my charm as a single woman to get any information from this man, so I approached Viola. “I’m visiting Mr. Hickory this afternoon regarding his files. I thought it might be nice to take him something. Any ideas?”

Her mouth relaxed and she almost smiled. “That’s very thoughtful of you. His wife used to bring in maple fudge on special occasions and he’d pass it around.”

“He’s married?” I asked.

She shook her head. “His wife died a number of years ago. Really sweet woman.”

“Thanks, Viola. I’ll keep that in mind.”

I stopped in at Roman’s office to let him know I was seeing Wild Bill at three. He wished me luck and told me to see him first thing tomorrow morning with a report. The controversial box seven stood on the floor beside his desk, and I asked if I could take a few samples to show Mr. Hickory. Roman said he would select a few papers for me and reached down to open the box.

Viola appeared in the doorway. “Billy, you have a phone call - a Detective Blair.”

My heart jumped. I hoped nothing was wrong.

“You in trouble with the police?” Roman smirked.

“No. He’s working on a case I’m involved in, or was involved in, but we’re still following up on it, kind of.” I was slightly flustered, so I excused myself and picked up the phone in the conference room. “Billy here.”

“You free for lunch?”

“Sure. Everything alright?”

“Yes. Just need to run something by you and thought it would be better in person.”

“Okay. What time is it now?”

“11:20.”

“I can take an early lunch.”

“Great. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” I hung up the phone and went back to Roman’s office.
He handed me three files. “This is what I want you to show Mr. Hickory.”

“Okay. I’m going to take my lunch now if you don’t mind.”

“Fine. I’m in meetings this afternoon so I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Don’t disappoint me, Billy.”

“I’ll try not to.” I put the three files Roman had given me in an empty box and set it in the corner of the conference room, then hurried downstairs to wait for Blair.

chapter forty-three

2008-06-21T18:31:00.000-07:00

The next morning, I was moving a bit slower than usual, but after a cup of tea and some breakfast, which did wonders for everything except the sore posterior and some strained biceps, I was ready to face the day. And I had to admit Blair was probably right – I was a little crazy. I entered city hall at 9:04 but no one seemed to notice my tardiness. I made a mental note to stay a few minutes later at the end of the day and sat down at the conference table to decide what to tackle first.

Viola poked her head in the door. “Roman said he got you to update some council minutes yesterday.”

“I hope you didn’t mind my using your office,” I said.

“Oh, no. Thanks for covering for me. The doctor took longer than I expected.” She looked away and something struck me as odd, but I had other things on my mind.

“Say, Viola, you were the one who packed all of Mr. Hickory’s files into these boxes, right?”

“Yes, that's right.”

"Did he keep files anywhere else, or was everything kept in his office?"

"It was all in his office, as far as I know. Quite a mess, too."

“Did he ever take files home?”

“All the time.”

“Did anyone else have access to the files or his office?”

“Is something missing?” she wondered.

“Uh, no. Well, I don’t think so. It’s just that one box is – here, I’ll show you.” I opened box seven and pointed out the limp papers and musty odor. “Do you have any idea where these papers came from?”

She took a step backwards and her shoulders stiffened. “I don’t remember packing that box. I think I would have noticed something like that.” She was taking it personally.

I closed the box. “I’m sure you would have. It’s no big deal. I was just curious about it. Probably got wet in the basement or someone left a window open during a humid spell.” I laughed lightly, suddenly not wanting to draw too much attention to box seven. Her eyes seemed glued to the accusing box, so I moved it out of sight and changed the subject. “I don’t mean to pry or anything, but did everything go okay at the doctor’s?”

She looked down and rubbed her top lip. “I’m fine.”

”I’m glad to hear that.” Viola remained motionless for what seemed like a long time so I finally asked, “Was there something else?”

She studied me for a moment, but her expression was inscrutable. “No, it’s alright.” She walked back down the hall and I was no wiser about box seven, but I was positive that there was something strange going on with Viola Sanders.

I was deep into box six when Roman walked in. “Hello, Billy.”

“Good morning.”

He peered at me for a moment. “You feeling okay?”

“Yes.”

“You look a little tired.”

I felt my cheeks grow warm. “I’m afraid I stayed up too late. Is it that obvious?”

“No, you look fine. I just notice these things – drives people crazy. I think law school does that to you.” I wasn’t sure I enjoyed being around all these obsessively observant people.

“Roman, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Would it be okay to contact Mr. Hickory and ask him some questions about his files?”

He pursed his lips. “I think you’d better come into my office.” Thinking I might have crossed some forbidden line, I followed Roman into the windowed room and nervously perched on the edge of a soft leather chair across from him. He leaned forward. “Why don’t you tell me what you’ve found?”

I cleared my throat. “I’m not sure if I’ve found anything, really. Just some things I can’t explain.”

“Such as…”

“One of the boxes contains papers that are physically different from all the other boxes. They appear to have been stored in a damp environment for quite a lengthy period of time, which means they probably were not kept in this office or the archives in the basement.”

“Go on.”

“The papers in that particular box all date back about eight years and include corporation documents, financial statements and tax records as far as I can tell. The only relation these papers seem to have to each other is some recurring names.”

“What are the names?”

“Charles Applewood and Henry Tait.”

He didn’t blink. “Let me see the box.”

I went back to the conference room and picked up box seven. It must have weighed at least 20 pounds. My sore biceps were complaining, but I reminded them they needed the workout. I walked into Roman’s office, straining, and he immediately jumped up. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Let me get that.” He took the box from me, placed it on his desk and opened it.

“If you don’t need me for anything else...” I tried to excuse myself.

“Sit down. It’ll just take a minute.” I did as I was told. He pulled out a selection of papers, studied them, rifled through a few more files in the box, then leaned back in his chair and looked at me intently. “Here’s what I want you to do. I want you to pay Wild Bill a visit and tell him pretty much what you just told me. Tell him you’re trying to find out how these papers got water damaged, solve a little mystery, thought it might be nice to meet the man behind the files, whatever you can come up with. See how he responds.”

“You think there’s something behind these papers?”

“Perhaps. The less I tell you, the better you’ll be able to pull this off. You’re an observant
person. I want you to report back on everything you see – in his house, about him, his reactions to your questions, everything.”

“What if he gets suspicious? I don’t want to lie.”

“You don’t have to. Always tell the truth. Just be careful who you tell it to.”

“Okay. But could this get me in trouble?” I wanted to know.

“Something can always get you in trouble, Billy. Trust me, you’re not committing a crime and you’re not doing anything wrong. You’re asking someone for information, and what they don’t give to you, you can’t take. Understood?”

“I think I can live with that.”

He jotted something down on a piece of paper. “Here’s his phone number and address. Let me know what you come up with.”

I nodded and got up, leaving the precious box seven on Roman’s desk.

chapter forty-two

2008-06-13T21:55:00.000-07:00

Blair turned out to have an inner child after all, and a very competitive one at that. I won the first race and the rotten egg was not to be beaten after that. The slide was the tall, steel, old-fashioned kind, and while I was content to race up the ladder and let myself whiz down the steep incline with my hands in the air, he insisted on climbing up the slide from the bottom up before he raced down in record time. Then it was off to the monkey bars.

He easily beat me across the ten foot span, bullying me out of the way while swinging his bulk from rung to rung. My arms were burning when I finally reached the end, and I made a mental note that I needed to start some serious weight training. He beckoned me towards the seesaw, but I steered clear because he had an obvious weight advantage. Also, in his present state of mind which was that of annihilating me at every activity, I didn't trust that he wouldn't leave me stuck up in the air all night. I suggested the merry-go-round instead. Silly me!

With a small nudge to get it started, I stepped on the whirling circle and grabbed a handle bar. Blair stood at the side and pushed against the passing bars till I was spinning at a good rate. I yelled at him to get on, but he laughed like the wicked witch and just continued to spin it faster and faster. I was finding it hard to hold on, and I thought I might soon lose my grip and go flying into outer space when he stopped the momentum quite abruptly, grabbed my arms, pulled me off, and said, “Last one to the light pole is a sore loser .”

Everything was still spinning. I tried to run towards some light pole that Blair said existed, but the ground kept heaving and my legs threatened to fold underneath me. Unable to do anything but stagger drunkenly, I gave up the chase, sank to the ground, and waited for the sky to stand still. I could hear Blair laughing hard and long, and after a few moments, his face appeared over me.

“Are you forfeiting the race?” he wanted to know, holding back a chuckle.

“You are a sick man,” I said, not moving, “and you’re blocking my view of the stars.” He flopped down on the ground beside me, looked up at the sky, and pointed out the Big Dipper, the Small Dipper and Orion. Darn. He had just named every constellation I could remember from Grade 5 science, but I couldn't let Blair win this round too, so I raised my finger and traced the lesser known formations, The Giant Pickle, Spilled Cheerios, and Two Frogs Fighting. It was just a silly attempt not to be outdone, but for some reason we both found it rather amusing and once
we got started, we couldn’t stop laughing. My cheeks and stomach were aching when we finally sobered and just lay there for awhile, breathing in the night air and enjoying the view.

I finally sat up. “I think it’s way past your bedtime, detective.”

“Don’t remind me,” he groaned. We got up, brushed ourselves off, and slowly meandered out of the park.

“I was wrong about you, ” I admitted. “You do know how to have fun.”

“And I was right about you,” he said. “You’re absolutely crazy.”

“Thank you,” I said with a bow.

The Whitehall house was dark, and I was suddenly very tired. We came alongside Blair's brown car and as I raised my arm to wave a casual goodbye, he put one arm around me and gave my shoulders a good squeeze. "This is the nicest thing anyone has done for me in a long time, Billy. Thank you. I can see it now.” He planted a light kiss on the top of my head, got in his car and drove away. I stood there for a moment, swaying with fatigue and wonder, wondering what he was seeing and if being called crazy was really a compliment.

chapter forty-one

2008-06-13T19:49:00.000-07:00

After dinner, Blair asked to speak to Jim privately, which conveniently left the women to clear the table. Shirley mostly just stood around like a lost kitten, so finally Lynn took her by the hand and guided the homeless woman to her room - her first real room in a real home in a very long time. I was feeling slightly abandoned and entertaining a touch of bitterness at having to deal with the dishes by myself when the two men entered the kitchen.

"Need a hand?” Jim asked. How did he always show up at the right time and know just what to say?

“Sure,” I replied, letting the grudge drop and offering a drying towel. Before he could reach for it, the phone rang.

“I guess ’ll leave it to you, Blair.” Jim patted him on the back and exited the room to take the call.

I was still holding the towel, and Blair made no move to accept it. I finally thrust it into his hands, jokingly asking, “You never see one of these before?”

“I used to dry dishes for my mom all the time," he said quietly. Fine, then. I was just trying to be pleasant, but obviously someone was in an introverted and touchy mood. My attempt at light conversation having fallen flat without so much as a teeny bounce, I turned my full attention to scrubbing the heck out of the dishes.

After plenty of scrubbing and splashing and silence, Blair decided to open his mouth. “I talked to Jim about it - my premonition. He hardly reacted at all, just said he knew he could trust me to watch his back.” A heavy sigh followed. “I'm not sure what good that did.”

I continued washing, wondering if anything I could say would change his pessimistic outlook. I finally settled on a sentence I thought might be encouraging without delving into the mire of the messy past. “I really admire you for doing that, for taking the chance that it might change something." He dried a cup over and over, shaking his head slightly, deflecting my every word. I decided to be a little more forthright. "At some point you have to get past your fatalism if you're going to be of any help here, Cameron." He frowned and sighed himself one more rung down the ladder of his already depressed internal state. I had seen just about enough of that pitiful look and wrinkled brow. Somebody needed to snap him out of this funk. “You should stop taking yourself so seriously, detective.” I chided. “It's not doing you a bit of good and frankly, you're a bit tiresome to be around right now.” He made no comment, but I saw his shoulders stiffen at the criticism. I said no more as we completed the clean-up.

Jim sauntered into the kitchen just as Blair placed the last clean plate into the cupboard. "Looks like my timing is perfect,” he chuckled, then came up behind us and laid a paternal hand on each of our shoulders. “Thanks for coming tonight. The two of you have given someone a second chance and that’s a rare thing in this world. It will not go unnoticed.” I looked into his kind eyes and knew that Shirley was in the right place, no matter what Blair’s foreboding meant.

Lynn was nowhere to be seen, so I asked Jim to thank her for the meal and headed for the door. Blair was right behind me, nodding a curt good-bye to Jim before we exited. As we walked down the sidewalk to our cars, I said softly and wholeheartedly, “You did good, Cameron Blair."

He stopped where he was, stuffed his hands in his pockets and studied the ground. “I wrestled with this thing all night, whether or not to tell Jim about my gut feeling that this arrangement could go terribly wrong. Telling him about it was that the only decision that left me with any peace of mind. You’ll be happy to know I even prayed - must be the second time in thirteen years.” He turned away and let out a short, bittersweet laugh.

The sound of it wrenched at my heart, and I had a sudden, strong desire to provide him with a reprieve from the whole thing. “Come with me,” I said as I motioned my head towards the right. He didn’t move, so I grabbed his arm and pulled him down the street to a small playground that was set back behind some trees. It had been packed with noisy children on Sunday afternoon when I had first noticed it, but on a Wednesday night at ten it stood empty. The streetlights cast tall tree shadows on the playground equipment. I stopped at the edge of the park and turned to see his perplexed expression. I explained, “Sometimes a change of pace helps to take your mind off things. You know, it's a proven fact that doing something fun occasionally is necessary for good mental health, especially for overly serious people like police detectives.”

I could see a smile twitching at the edges of his grim mouth, but he shook his head and took a step back. “Listen, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I didn’t get much sleep last night and I’m beat.”

“Even better!” I responded. “Your defenses are already low.”

He just stared at me for a moment. “You’re absolutely crazy.”

“And when was the last time you did something absolutely crazy, detective?” I challenged.

He rubbed his hand over his face. “I know I’m going to regret this in the morning.”

I smiled at him. “I guarantee you won’t. Last one to the slide is a rotten egg.”