“What kind of muffins? They smell great,” Harper said.
“Saskatoon.” Eva sat across from them.
Lane's mouth watered.
Eva lifted her black coffee and sipped. She closed her eyes.
Lane buttered a muffin. “You were expecting us?”
“Yep.” Eva eyed him impassively as she took another sip.
Harper devoured his saskatoon muffin and reached for a second.
Lane waited.
Eva waited.
Harper ate a third muffin. “Okay if I get more coffee?”
Eva nodded.
“How long are we going to sit like this?” Lane asked.
“My house.” Eva intended the two words to carry a wide range of meanings, the most obvious of which was, “Until I'm good and ready.”
Harper ate a fourth muffin. “These are amazing.” A piece of muffin popped out of his mouth onto the table. He grabbed it and put it in his mouth, then looked to see if Eva had noticed. His lips were stained purple.
Eva smiled. She looked in Harper's direction. “He's okay. Talks too much, but he's okay.”
Lane nodded in agreement.
“You're here because someone shot at that Blake Rogers' house,” Eva said.
“How did you know?” Harper asked.
“Somebody always sees what's going on out here even when there's nobody around.” Eva got up to pour herself some more coffee. “More?”
“Please,” Lane said.
“Me too.” Harper spit bits of muffin and raised his cup. “You hear the shots?”
“Nope.” Eva warmed their cups, then refilled her own.
“How did you know, then?” Lane asked.
“Same as most people. Phone call.”
Lane laughed. “From who?”
“A friend.”
Lane said, “Rogers thinks you did it.”
“Course he does.” Eva smirked.
Lane held his hands with the palms up to indicate he was trying to understand.
“Don't own a gun. Won't have one in the house or on my land. Go and take a look if you like.” She said this as if they'd be wasting their time.
“If there's no gun, then you've got nothing to worry about,” Harper said.
“Home alone last night.” Eva waited as they chewed that piece of news over.
“Nobody came around?” Harper wiped his mouth with his hand.
“Nope. Not even Norm. He was home watching
TV
.”
“Bad blood between you and Blake Rogers?” Lane asked.
“Might say that.” Eva put her coffee cup down and wrapped her fingers around it, keeping them warm.
“Do you want to tell us why?” Lane watched Eva's eyes. They were beginning to fill with tears.
Eva took a long breath. “Do you want to tell us about the vision you had at the sweat lodge?”
Lane sat back. He thought,
That question caught me completely by surprise
. He looked closer at Eva. “How did you know?”
“You had that look when you left the sweat. Real thoughtful, like you'd seen something you'd never seen before. Seen that look a time or two. Even seen it in the mirror a time or two. It's the way people look after a vision.” Eva waited for Lane's reaction.
“You're right. Something happened. I can't explain it.” The room got warmer. Lane felt sweat gathering along his hairline. And more dripping down his ribs.
“Try.” Eva leaned closer.
“It felt like my grandfather was there next to me. But he's been dead for more than twenty-five years,” Lane said. “He taught me that looking out for kids was the most important thing an adult can do. He always watched out for me.”
“You know Alex, my grandson, was killed by a pickup truck. Some boys drove onto the side of the road and opened their door. Ran him down like a dog. Killed him. He couldn't hear them comin'. Alex was deaf.” Tears ran down Eva's cheeks. She wiped them away. “I wasn't watching close enough.”
“I read the reports,” Harper said.
“Blake Rogers was behind it all,” Eva said.
“How do you know?” Lane asked.
“Same way you know your grandfather was with you at the sweat. Sometimes my grandson, my Alex, comes to the sweat just to comfort me. I invite him, just like you invited your grandfather.” Eva wiped at her nose with a Kleenex pulled from her sleeve. “I can feel it the way I can feel a hummingbird when it passes close by. Like the wind of its wings washing against my face.”
“Did anyone else know Blake killed your grandson?” Harper asked.
“Lots of people. No one could prove it, but they knew all the same.” After that, Eva said very little.
Lane and Harper got up to leave after fifteen minutes of uncomfortable silence.
Eva came outside. Lane motioned for Eva to go first as they stepped through the gate. Harper pointed at the evergreens planted in a line. “I wanted to ask you about those trees.”
Eva stepped outside the gate. “Ask.”
The first bullet slapped into the Chev's gas tank.
Eva dodged to her right.
Harper tackled Lane.
Lane felt the blow just below his ribs. The air was forced from his lungs. His face was shoved into the gravel.
For several moments, Lane struggled to get his breath back. He spit gravel and dirt. Lane sat up and leaned his back against the front tire where they were protected by the car's engine.
Harper crouched next to him with his Glock drawn. He looked for Eva but couldn't spot her. The next bullet took out the rear tire on the far side of the car. The air filled with gasoline fumes.
“Where is he?” Harper asked.
“Thought I heard the shot. It sounded a long way off. And it sounds like a small calibre. Maybe a twenty-two.” Lane pulled his Glock out of its holster with one hand and his cellphone out with the other.
A minute later the gas tank was punctured again. Lane heard the bullet hum as it ricocheted off a rock and smacked into something nearby. The spark of the ricochet ignited the fumes from the leaking tank. Flames spilled around the back of the car and cooked the rear of the Chev's underbelly.
Harper grabbed Lane by the arm. They crouched and ran back though the gate and around the side of the house, where Eva found them.
“Have another coffee.” She handed each of them a mug. “He's gone.”
“You sure?” Harper asked.
“Yep.” Eva waited with them and watched the flames boil around the rear of the car. “You're hurt.” She looked at Lane and the blood on the ground.
He felt his ribs. By the time he got around to feeling his backside, his hand came away bloody. “Great.”
Eva went back in the house and came back with a tea towel. Lane used it to apply pressure to the wound.
Lane leaned the back of his head against the side of the house. Motion at the south side of Eva's yard attracted his attention. A blur of wings hovered near purple honeysuckle. Lane thought,
What is that?
“Over there; it's a hummingbird.”
Harper turned when Lane pointed.
The bird stuck its beak deep into the flower.
Lane watched, fascinated, realizing he'd never actually seen a hummingbird before.
The black column of smoke guided the emergency vehicles to the scene. Within thirty minutes the yard was was filled with an ambulance, two fire engines, assorted police vehicles, and Dr. Fibre's forensic unit.
“You should learn to let it go.” Alex was using his most annoying holier-than-thou voice. “I can't even remember any pain. One minute I'm looking at you, I feel a vibration; there wasn't even time to turn before the door hit me. That was it. Pretty painless, really.”
Aidan crouched atop the catwalk. She wore red for this scene. A blood-red satin blouse, red jeans, socks, and shoes. Even a red ball cap.
Aidan's marionette was dressed the same way. She said, “But I still feel guilty. If I hadn't distracted you ⦔
“See, that's what I mean! You blame yourself. This guilt eats away at you from the inside. The guys in the truck meant for it to happen, not you!” Alex raised his arms in exasperation. “The only thing you should feel guilty about is this damned outfit you put me in!” He used his hands to point at the rainbow of colours. “I never wore anything like this in my life!”
“It's symbolic!” Aidan the marionette pointed at the sky for effect.
“And she chooses the wardrobes! She wears those amazing outfits and I'm stuck with this!” Alex put his hands on his hips and looked up at Aidan the puppeteer.
She looked down and smiled. “I want the audience to really see me. You know, so they can't miss me. Then when the transformation comes, if it comes, when the audience forgets I'm here, that's what I'll be waiting for.”
“Transformation?” Alex looked out where the audience would be.
“When you become real. When the audience sees each marionette as a real person. Someone who lives and breathes. That's what needs to happen.”
Alex looked back at Aidan the marionette. “So what difference will that make? How will that change what happened, what's still happening? Everyone knew whose truck it was, even though you didn't see the rear plate. The problem was the police couldn't prove it, that's all! By the time the
RCMP
got around to checking the pickup, both doors were replaced with new ones.” Alex smiled and looked at the audience. “They had a body and a witness but no conclusive evidence.
Four guys living together in one house. All four knew what they did to me. Not one of them talked. All they were worried about was saving their skins. And I was called the âvictim of the week'!”
“I'm almost there.” Lane had his cellphone wedged between his shoulder and his left ear. One hand lifted him up to keep his right cheek off the car seat. The other leaned against the back of the seat. He winced as he used his left hand to reach around and shut the phone off.
“Hurtin'?” Harper asked.
Lane inhaled. “Yes.”
“You didn't tell him.” Harper turned off Deerfoot Trail where the uneven surface of the roadway created a choppy, tortuous ride.
“Arthur's had enough trouble this year. He doesn't need another phone call like that. He still jumps every time the phone rings. For a long time after his sister and after the fire, he couldn't sleep. Kept wandering around the house at night. He needs to see me face to face.” Lane shifted his backside. The pain came in a series of crescendos swelling to a climax with the pumping of his heart.
“Your face isn't looking all that great either. While one doctor was picking the bullet out of your butt, another one was picking gravel from your cheek. Want to stop for some painkillers?”
“I took two pills a half hour ago. They haven't started to work yet.”
Harper glanced up. He caught a glimpse of a twin-engined passenger jet lining up its approach for landing.
White vapour trails streamed from its flaps and wing-tips. “You think
you've
got some explaining to do? Wait âtil
I
get home.”
Lane smiled. “Better than the alternative, I guess.” He thought,
Finally, the pain is easing
.
Harper laughed. “There's always that.” He dropped Lane off in front of the glass and concrete structure of the Animal Shelter. Arthur's Jeep was parked out front in the parking lot.
“Good luck. And we need to talk about the case in a day or two. There's something we need to figure out,” Harper said.
“What?” Lane asked, then watched Harper drive away. He limped up to the front door of the shelter and stepped inside.
What did Harper mean by that?
He caught the scent of disinfectant first.
Almost smells like the Emergency ward
. Lane looked right at an artificial waterfall then left down a hallway with individual rooms for dogs. Concentrating on walking a straight line, he followed the hallway to a room with glass walls where he spotted Arthur, Matt, and Christine.
Arthur bent over a dog sitting between Matt and Christine. The dog was about a third of the size of a German shepherd, with similar markings.
Lane blinked. His stomach heaved with nausea, then settled when he took a deep breath. He thought,
The pills are taking the edge off of the pain
.
Matt rubbed the dog under its chin. It closed its eyes.
Christine rubbed the dog behind the ears.
Matt glared at her.
Lane thought,
The ears are a little big and the nose a little long. It's almost fox-like. There's something familiar about this dog
.
“Owner abandoned it.” A woman dressed in a blue top and pants stood next to Lane. She said, “All the dogs have a microchip now. We called the owner up when we found her dog. It was found running down Glenmore Trail. The dog caused a traffic jam when it lay down in the middle of the road. The owner said she wanted nothing more to do with it. Something about the dog being untrainable.”
Lane stared at the woman in the blue outfit. Her name tag introduced her as wanda. There was a layer of makeup between her and Lane. He found himself fascinated by her blue eye shadow. It was as if he was seeing the colour for the first time.
“She sure likes your family.” Wanda pointed.
Lane looked at the dog. It turned its head to study him. Arthur, Christine and Matt turned to see what caught the dog's eye. Their mouths fell open in unison.
Lane looked down at his clothing. He was wearing a light blue sweatshirt and evergreen sweatpants. Someone, he couldn't remember who, had loaned him the outfit.
After all
, he thought,
his pants were ruined and the jacket sent off to the cleaners. Perfectly understandable under the circumstances
. Lane tried to remember if an emergency nurse or doctor had helped him remove his tie and shirt.
They were a Christmas gift from Arthur. What happened to them?
he thought.
“What happened to you?”
Lane looked over at Arthur, who opened the door to the glass room. He was frowning.