Eva turned to him. She smelled of sage from this morning's smudge. “Hearin' lots of jokes about me sending up smoke signals the other day. People talkin', callin' and tellin' me to use the phone like everybody else.”
“Oh.” Harper covered his mouth with his hand to hide a smile.
They followed Eva upstairs and sat at the kitchen table. Eva brought coffee and muffins. They sat on three sides of the table, with the sound of spoons clinking against the sides of coffee cups.
“This real cream?” Harper asked.
Eva nodded.
They waited for at least five minutes while Harper ate muffins, Lane tried unsuccessfully to get comfortable, and Eva watched them through the steam from her coffee.
“You okay?” Eva looked through the fog at Lane.
“Better.” Lane looked back at Eva and tried to smile.
“You?” Eva looked at Harper.
“Okay.” Harper spoke out of the side of a mouth filled with muffin.
“Got kids?” Eva looked at Harper first.
“A baby and a nephew. Jessica's four months old and Glenn is eighteen.”
“You?” Eva looked at Lane.
“Ahhh,” Lane said.
“He's got a nephew, Matt, who's sixteen and a niece, Christine. She's seventeen. They arrived on his doorstep with their clothes and little else,” Harper said.
“Throwaway kids?” Eva put her coffee down.
“What?” Lane asked.
“Kids get kicked out of home. They gotta be somewhere.” Eva waited for one of them to reply.
Lane thought,
I don't know where this is going. She'll know if I'm hiding. And I'm getting tired of hiding or maybe just tired from lack of sleep
. “Matt is my part-ner's nephew. Matt's mom died of cancer. His dad started a new family. Matt has CP and his dad wants a perfect son. Now he's got one and we've got Matt. My niece is running from Paradise. Have you heard of it?”
Eva nodded. “You're gay?”
Lane nodded. He waited for comment, half expecting recrimination, judgement, or rejection from Eva, but sensing instead a simple acceptance of the facts of his life.
“You?” Eva looked at Harper.
“My nephew, Glenn, was kicked out of his house and came to live with us.” Harper looked back at Eva with curiousity. “Jessica's our first child, or second depending on how you look at it.”
He's wondering where this conversation will end up
, Lane thought.
And so am I
.
Eva looked out the window when she spoke. “Alex was my daughter's son. She's thirty-five now. Last time I heard from her, she was in the States. Alex was with me for fourteen years.” Eva looked at Lane. “Alex was gay too.” She looked down at her coffee. “Aidan's gonna stay here after I'm gone. Maybe someday my daughter'll decide to come home. That way, there'll be a place for her. Been a long time since I saw my daughter. So much is different now.
“When I was young, we used to walk along the road into the city. We could always get a lift. Had to keep our eyes open, though. Sometimes drivers would open their doors and try to knock us over. Thought those days were over. Didn't teach Alex to keep his eyes open.
“Imagine losing a child like that.” Eva took a sip of coffee. “After Alex died, Aidan stayed. Now it feels like she's my family. Her parents moved to Australia. Aidan needed a place to stay. Likes it here. Told me she feels accepted. She still talks with Alex. Thinks I don't know, but I do. It's like she can't let go of him, or he can't let go of her. They were so close and then somebody opened his truck door. That's why these shootings are happening. Times haven't changed that much. People have no right to run down children like that. If it was your child, would you ever forget?” Eva looked at each of them in turn. “Don't know who took those boys away from Blake's place. Don't know why that one boy was in the river. Don't know who shot at Blake. Just know that it's because of what happened to Alex. And, there's a lot of people around here fed up with the whole mess. There's even talk of a barricade.”
Footsteps climbed up the stairs to the back door. It opened. “Eva? It's me.”
Lane and Harper stood.
Eva smiled at the detectives. “Don't worry.”
“You okay, Eva? They takin' you to jail?” Norm asked.
“Nope.” Eva stood and went to the stairs. “Coffee?”
“Okay.” Norm topped the stairs dressed in a green work shirt, pants, and a yellow ball cap. He looked at Harper. “Hi.”
Harper got up and shook hands with Norm. “How are you?”
“Fine.” Norm kept his eyes away from Lane. “Came to help get the teepee ready for Stampede.”
“Sit down,” Eva said.
Norm sat at the table and Eva brought him a cup of coffee. She topped up the other three cups as well.
Harper said, “This is Detective Lane.”
“Hello.” Lane held out his hand.
“Gonna put the cuffs on me?” Norm kept his hands under the table.
“No,” Eva said. “We're talkin' is all.”
Norm nodded. “See the news today?”
Lane and Harper looked at one another.
Eva said, “What happened?”
“All those city people buyin' up bottled water. They think there's bodies in the reservoir. Stores are sold out of the stuff.” Norm smiled at the idea. “City people are always worryin' about the wrong things.”
“People are scared,” Eva said.
Norm added three teaspoons of sugar and filled the cup to the brim with cream. He slid the cup nearer to the
edge of the table, leaned over and slurped. He raised his head. “Good coffee.” He looked around the table with mischief in his eyes. “Water from the reservoir?”
Eva laughed. “Nope.”
Norm looked at Lane. “You the party that was shot a couple of days ago?”
“That's right,” Lane said. “Eva had nothin' to do with it.” Norm picked up his coffee and drank with his eyes on Lane.
“I didn't think she was involved.” Lane looked at Eva, who watched Norm.
“How do you know?” Harper asked Norm. “Keep my ear close to the ground. See what's going on, you know.” Norm reached for a muffin.
“Who did the shooting?” Lane asked.
“The one at the Rogers' place?” Norm picked up a muffin and broke it in two with callused fingers.
“The one here.” Harper studied Norm's face.
“Not sayin'.” Norm stuck the muffin in his mouth.
“How come?” Lane asked.
Norm shrugged and mimed pulling a zipper across his lips.
Lane thought,
I'd better change my approach and quickly
. “At the Rogers' place?”
“Bet Blake did it his self.” Norm spit bits of muffin as he spoke.
“How?” Lane kept an even tone of voice and spoke just above a whisper.
“Doesn't know one end of a gun from the other.” Norm washed the muffin down with half a cup of coffee. He looked at Eva. “Gotta get the teepee up and checked out. Stampede's almost here.”
Eva looked at the detectives. “We live at the village during Stampede. It's like a holiday.”
“Indian village?” Harper asked.
Eva looked directly at him. “First Nations!”
“What did I do wrong? She just clammed up.” Harper drove west from Eva's.
“Not sure. Whatever it was, it made a promising conversation stop dead in its tracks.” Lane thought,
Maybe that was what she wanted
.
“Sorry.”
“Maybe she wasn't mad.”
“What do you mean?” Harper glanced at Lane.
“Maybe she didn't like the direction the conversation was going, so she pretended to be offended.”
“How do you know?” Harper slowed to turn left.
“Something she said in between rounds at the sweat lodge. âThe words aren't as important as what's in your heart when you say them.' Maybe she was trying to protect Norm.”
“Why would she need to do that?” Harper asked as they neared Blake's acreage.
“That's another question we'll need to find an answer to. But first, we have to ask Blake a few questions.”
Harper parked near the black pickup truck. Again, they took a good look around before Harper turned the engine off. Blake opened the front door when Lane knocked.
“You find out who shot up my house?” Blake held a long-necked beer bottle in his right hand.
“Perhaps.” Lane looked directly at Blake. “That's good news.” Blake took a pull on the beer
but didn't invite them in. With his free hand, he gently touched his gelled hair to ensure it was perfect.
“The evidence suggests that someone was doing target practice at the back of your house. The shattered glass near the hay bails, the stance of the shooter, and the rising pattern of the bullet holes along the house all indicate this. Someone unfamiliar with the recoil of an
AK
-47 would find that the weapon tends to run away if the shooter isn't prepared for it.” Lane paused and waited for a reaction from Blake.
Blake smiled. He hooked his free thumb behind his belt buckle.
Harper said, “Also, when houses are shot at, shooters often aim for windows, not for siding and the roof.”
Blake's smile faded. “So what are you sayin'?”
Harper and Lane waited.
“You're sayin' I shot up my own place?” Blake looked over his shoulder as if measuring the distance to something hidden inside.
“Actually, we didn't say it. You did.” Harper took a step forward.
“Assholes! Somebody shoots up my place, and you come here to say I did it!” Blake pointed at his chest with the beer bottle. Beer spilled down the front of his shirt.
“Did Rosco come home?” Lane asked.
Blake stepped back inside and slammed the door.
When they were back in the car, Harper said, “Sure touchy about that dog, isn't he?”
Aidan wore her short gold shorts, black spandex tights and blue jacket. This time she wore a blue ball cap. The
marionettes, Aidan and Alex, were suspended below her, already in conversation.
“So, the show's nearly ready to go.” Alex pretended to wipe sweat from his forehead.
Aidan looked at her toes. “We have to do the death scene soon.”
“Great. I've been looking forward to this! I've got it all planned out.” Alex stepped back a few paces. He turned to face Aidan. “I'll stand here, and after the truck hits me, I'll throw my arms wide like I'm being crucified.”
Aidan lifted her head. “You're such a drama queen! Isn't anything sacred to you?”
Alex dropped his arms. “You mean like life, family, politics, and religion?” He made the sign of the cross.
“Yes, something like that.” Aidan stood with her feet apart and her arms crossed.
“Well,
your
life is sacred but
mine
isn't. I live through you, remember?”
“It's hard to forget.”
“As far as politicians go, the Premier called me âvictim of the week'. That left a bad taste in my mouth when it comes to politics. How could anyone be that thoughtless, that stupid? You think he'd been drinking again?” Alex adopted a thoughtful pose with his hand under his chin.
“What about religion?”
Alex laughed. “I'm an abomination in the eyes of most religions. He bent at the waist and smacked his backside. I'm deaf, aboriginal, and gay. My own minority group! I'm the poster boy for the fight for equal rights, and I'm First Nations! That means I'm the first
to get screwed!” He galloped around the stage, slapping his flank.
“So where do we go from here?” Aidan looked worried.
“We do the show, of course. You put us on the stage and see what happens! Just don't blame me if it blows up in your face!”
“You really think anything bad can happen to a drag king?” Aidan fluttered her eyelashes. “Think the crowd might be offended by my wardrobe, my sense of style?”
“It won't be because of the way you dress. It'll be because you're still alive. You're still vulnerable. What can they do to me that hasn't already been done?” Alex leaned back and began to laugh.
“Where are the kids?” Lane bent over to pick up Roz's poop in the back yard.
Arthur grabbed a turd on the other side of the yard. “They took the dog for a walk.”
“That's the last of it for now.” Lane peeled the bag off his hand, dropped it into the bag of crap and tied it off.
Both dropped their loads over the fence and into the garbage can.
They looked across the street and saw Matt, dragged by a wheezing Roz and followed by Christine.
“I'm telling you she's just trying to recruit you. She's climbing the ladder to heaven. You're just another rung!” Christine said.
“Why do you have to be such a bitch?” Matt hurried ahead of her.
“I'm just telling you the truth!” Christine jogged to catch up. “You'll go to the dance, and she'll bring it up somehow. It'll go something like, âDon't you want to go to heaven?' One of those questions you're only supposed to answer one way. Just see what happens if you say you're not interested.”
“Maybe she just likes to dance.” Matt crossed the road.
Lane looked at Arthur.
Arthur said, “Matt's got a date?”
MONDAY, JULY 8
“I don't see a problem,” Lane said to Harper as he paid for the coffee. He handed his card to Kuldeep. She stamped it with a red coffee bean. “How's things?”
Kuldeep shook her head. “Still working. Still looking for a way out of the franchise.”
Lane felt a surge of guilt. “What can I do?”
Kuldeep shrugged. “I don't know. Listen when I complain?” She tried to smile. “When I was a kid in India, my grandfather used to explain how London's colonial system worked. Nowadays it's called a franchise system run out of Toronto.” She patted Lane's arm. “I'll bring your coffee over, guys.”