Smoked Page 11

  “How are Christine and Matt doing?” Loraine asked as she sat down. Ben burped. Lane smiled, and so did Loraine.

  Loraine lifted the baby to her shoulder and patted Ben on the back. He opened his blue eyes for a minute then spit up some of his lunch. It dribbled down the tea towel Loraine had draped over her shoulder.

  “He threw up.” Lane pointed.

  Loraine pulled a tissue from her pocket and handed it to Lane. “Please?”

  Lane wiped Ben’s mouth with the tissue. The baby made a sucking motion while Lane cleaned up the mess on the tea towel.

  Loraine took the tissue and threw it in a garbage can nearly full of lobster remains and newspaper. “Thanks.” She looked over her shoulder. “I wouldn’t want to upset Robert’s sensitivities.”

  Lane laughed. That must mean I don’t have any! he thought.

  “No,” Loraine read Lane’s mind as she rubbed Ben’s back, “I didn’t mean it that way!” She laughed.

  “Don’t worry, I didn’t take it that way.” Lane looked at the lobster on his plate, wondering how Loraine could read his mind.

  “How are Christine and Matt doing?” Loraine asked.

  Lane shook his head, then gave Loraine a brief overview of the past month’s events.

  She listened without comment while patting Ben’s back and rocking him whenever he fussed.

  Arthur brought his chair over, creating an offset triangle as he listened to Lane’s version of calamities and added any details Lane missed.

  After they finished, Loraine smiled.

  “I don’t feel like smiling,” Arthur said.

  “Neither do I.” Lane took another sip of beer.

  “Christine is fighting back. Sure, you two and Matt are experiencing some collateral damage as a result. And yes, her father denies her existence. Still, she’s with you, you’re supporting her, she’s found out she has a sister, and it sounds like she and Matt are acting like siblings usually act.”

  “This is normal?” Arthur’s tone of voice revealed that normal behaviour was not one of the conclusions he’d considered. Loraine nodded. “About as normal as any other family.”

  Lane thought, Family? People keep saying I’ve got a family.

  Arthur reached for the baby. Loraine handed him over.

  “My turn next,” Lane said.

  Arthur and Loraine smiled at each other knowing that Lane would need to wait at least half an hour.

  “Yes, and it’s healthy when you think about it.” Loraine read the doubtful expressions on the faces of Arthur and Lane. “I know that neither Matt nor Christine has had an easy life up until now, but their reactions and behaviours are to be expected. And,” she paused for emphasis, “it looks like the two of you are supporting them just as you should by allowing them to have freedom and being there when they fall flat on their faces.”

  “It feels like we go from one disaster to another,” Arthur said.

  “Exactly. What else were you expecting?” Loraine reached into the cooler for a beer. She twisted off the top and took a sip while waiting for Lane or Arthur to say something.

  Ben interrupted the conversation with a healthy fart. Then there were more sounds. The air between them filled with a ripe mixture of lobster, beer, butter, and baby shit.

  Loraine smiled. “I think Ben just made an important point. There is always reality with kids. You have to expect hugs every so often, lobster not very often, and some crap every day.” Loraine reached for the baby. “He needs a change.”

  Arthur said, “Allow me to change Ben.”

  “I’ll help. We may never get another chance,” Lane said.

  Loraine smiled. “Go right ahead. Down the hall, last door on your right.” She followed them into the living room where Lisa stood up to watch the proceedings.

  Lane followed Arthur and Ben down the hall.

  “Did you tell them what the paper cups are for?” Lisa asked Loraine.

  “No.” Loraine was halfway down the hall when the voices reached her.

  “Cover him back up. It’s like one of those fountains in Italy!” Arthur sounded close to panic.

  “Sorry.” Lane was laughing.

  “I’m soaked!” Arthur began to laugh.

  ×

  “Tell them about the door!” Matt said in between bites of pizza as they sat around the table on the deck in the shade cast by the neighbour’s house.

  Christine choked on her soft drink. Pop came out her nose. She reached for a napkin.

  Lane handed her his.

  Arthur patted her back.

  Alexandra said, “You okay, baby?”

  Christine nodded and wiped her nose.

  Alex handed her another napkin.

  “This is so embarrassing!” Christine said.

  “Not as embarrassing as the door handle!” Matt laughed.

  “What’s the story about the door handle?” Arthur asked.

  “We were downtown,” Alexandra said.

  “It was one of those big glass doors,” Matt said.

  Christine laughed. “Alex said, ‘Here let me get this.’ She pulled on this huge door handle, and it came off in her hand!”

  “You should have seen the expression on the security guard’s face when I handed it to him.” Alexandra pantomimed a look of astonishment.

  After they finished laughing, Arthur asked, “Where are you staying?”

  Maybe this isn’t a good idea, Lane thought.

  “Downtown at a hotel,” Alexandra reached for her glass.

  “Why not stay with us? We’ve got room,” Arthur said.

  Christine got up, put her arms around Arthur’s neck and hugged him.

  Maybe it is, Lane thought.

  ×

  “Madeline? Andrea? Where’ve my girls been?”

  Maddy cringed at the sound of the woman’s voice.

  “Out.” Maddy kicked her shoes off.

  Andrea leaned closer to her sister and hugged Maddy’s neck.

  Maddy looked down the hall. Her mother sat up on the couch. She reached for a glass of wine, lifted it to her lips, and stuck her tongue inside of the glass. She managed to spill a drop on the front of her powder-blue tracksuit.

  Maddy walked down the hall. She heard the sound of Andrea’s sock feet on the hardwood.

  “That doesn’t tell us much,” her stepfather said.

  Maddy stepped into the front room. The windows reached two storeys. There was hardly a shadow in the room. Her stepfather stood with a full bottle of red wine in his left hand and a corkscrew in his right. She saw that he wore a white shirt and black slacks and was freshly shaved. His goatee was sharply defined.

  “Well?” her stepfather asked.

  Maddy thought, Remember, anticipate the next question before answering. “Out for lunch at the Mexican restaurant.”

  Her stepfather turned to his left. “Andrea?”

  Andrea nodded. “Quesadillas.”

  “What kind?” He placed the opener over top the wine bottle and twisted the handle.

  “Chicken.” Andrea put her left hand in her sister’s.

  He looked at his daughter. “It’s a big week for you, Andrea. You’re booked in for an appointment with me on Friday.” He smiled and pulled at the cork.

  Maddy felt her mouth watering and her stomach churning.

  Mother held out her glass. “Top me up.”

  Maddy made it to the washroom with just enough time to lift the lid before watching undigested bits of corn and beans hurl into the toilet bowl.

  MONDAY, MAY 12

  chapter 14

  Lane looked out from the second-storey terrace and down along Oxford Street. The trees on the sides of the street reached out limbs and budding leaves with a promise to obscure the view within weeks.

  “So, you said we needed to begin from the beginning?” Harper sat across from Lane at a table just out the back door of the Kensington coffee shop. They were alone in the crisp morning air. Chattering birds seemed to make conversation all
the more private.

  “Back to the dentists, I think. The body had been cleaned up and wrapped. Fibre can’t specify a cause of death. So we need to look at what leaves no trace. Fibre says it’s likely nitrous oxide that was used to kill Jennifer.” Lane sipped at his espresso mixed with chocolate and caramel.

  “Remember how slow things were at the dentists’ office? They’re pulling up in their Mercedes, someone has spent a truckload of money decorating the place, and the office is empty. It doesn’t add up.”

  “The waterfall,” Lane said.

  Harper put his cup down. “Pretty cryptic. Give me a bit more to go on.”

  “The waterfall in their office. It costs a fortune. How can they afford to have a lavish office, hire a staff, and pay for the equipment in a dentist’s office?” Lane watched a blue jay as it squawked from its perch at the top of an evergreen tree.

  Harper glanced at his laptop, pointed a finger at his notes, and read from the screen. “I’ve been checking into them. They’ve been partners for five years. Jones had his own practice for about seven years before that. Ever since he partnered with Stephen, their income has been pretty spectacular.”

  “So we’re agreed that James Sanders is in the clear?” Lane asked.

  “He couldn’t have committed the crime since he was at the bar.” Harper looked over the top of the screen.

  “Agreed. What about the graffiti artist who appears to know so much about the crime?”

  “We need to make another visit to Malcolm’s, I think. Maybe he’ll tell us more this time.” Harper made a move to close the computer. “When are we going to stake out the back alley?” He looked down over the edge of the terrace at the alley running beneath them.

  “Just a minute. Wasn’t McTavish supposed to get back to us?”

  Harper took his hand away from the laptop. “That’s right.”

  “So, where do we start, again?” Lane said.

  Lane’s phone rang. He flipped it open. “Hello.”

  “I’ve got a woman calling long distance who claims she’s your sister. She won’t take no for an answer,” the dispatcher said.

  Lane thought, My sister? “Okay.” Lane waited.

  “Lane? Lane, is that you?”

  “It’s me.” Lane felt tension grab him somewhere near his belt buckle.

  “God knows! God knows!”

  “God knows what?” Lane asked.

  “God knows who, and what you are! God knows you just want to make sure you’re in the will! God knows she set fire to that house!”

  “Who is she?”

  “Christine! I’m glad she’s gone! That child has the mark of the devil on her! She’s been too close to the fire!”

  “Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound, Allison?” Enough of this! Lane thought.

  Allison’s words were saturated with sarcasm, indignation, and rage. “You! You’re the one the family always jokes about! Laughs at what you do with that boyfriend of yours! You call me ridiculous! God knows who you are, and what you do! Don’t you talk to me like that! God knows!”

  Lane took the phone away from his ear.

  “God knows!” Allison said.

  He looked at the end button.

  “God knows!”

  He pressed it with his thumb, closed the phone, and looked around him.

  Harper’s eyes were wide. “Who was that?”

  “My sister.” Lane looked down at the dumpsters in the alley. “Do you think we should sit up here tonight?”

  ×

  “They’re not in.” Ramona sat behind the counter wearing a salmon top, salmon eyeshadow, and matching slacks.

  Lane looked around the waiting room. Magazines were stacked neatly on two rosewood coffee tables. The fabric on the chairs was free of frays and snags.

  “When are you expecting them back?” Harper asked.

  “Tomorrow morning.” Ramona glanced at the cover of the celebrity magazine. It was face down over her keyboard.

  “What time?”

  “By seven-thirty.” Ramona looked at the phone as if willing it to ring.

  ×

  “So, what did Harry say when she phoned?” Lane asked.

  Harper turned east off Centre Street and followed the road down an S curve. “Just said we should stop by. They have some information for us.”

  They parked between the open overhead doors. Once they had passed from sunlight into the shadow inside of Malcolm’s shop, they could smell new paint, oil, and metal. They spotted vehicles in various stages of rebuilds, from rusted frames to a completely restored Beaumont in British racing green. The owner smiled from the driver’s seat of the Beaumont. His grin grew wider when he turned the key.

  “Five hundred horses!” Malcolm said over the growl of the engine. He closed the driver’s door. “Take a spin. See how it feels.”

  The owner backed out into the parking lot. The tires chirped as he shifted into drive.

  Malcolm smiled as the Beaumont rumbled. He looked at Lane and Harper. “Come on up to the office.” Malcolm led the way past two nearly finished cars and one truck, then up the stairs at the back of the shop. He opened the door to the office and waited for the detectives to go in first.

  Harry was on the phone, “Should be ready by tomorrow morning. Give me a call around nine and I’ll give you an exact time. No problem.” She hung up.

  “They’re here,” Malcolm said.

  Harry turned in her chair to face the detectives. “Hello.”

  She’s cut her hair, Lane thought. “Looks good,” he said.

  Harry smiled.

  “What looks good?” Malcolm asked.

  “Harry’s hair,” Lane said.

  Malcolm turned to his wife. “You got your hair cut?”

  Harry’s smile faded. “Yesterday.”

  Malcolm went to say something, thought better of it, and closed his mouth.

  Harry said, “We’ve contacted a few people we know. No one knows who she is. The style used on the dumpsters is new.”

  “How do you know it’s a she?” Harper asked.

  “Intuition.” Harry looked directly at Harper. “The ‘W’and the ‘o’. A woman did this. It’s about some kind of sexual assault. Some kind of exploitation.”

  “You sure?” Lane closed his eyes and recalled the image painted on Jennifer’s dumpster. Harry’s probably right, he thought.

  Harry nodded, considered for a moment, and said, “Yes.”

  “What else?” Harper asked.

  Malcolm looked at Harry. She waited. He took off his cap and said, “It looks like the artist only works one area: the back alleys of Kensington. No one has spotted her stuff anywhere else. And no one knows who she is. She’s new.” “So?” Lane asked.

  “So,” Harry said, “if you want to find her, you know where to look. And now you know as much as we do.”

  “Except where to find Leo,” Lane said.

  Harry shook her head. “We’ve already told you all you need to know to find Leo.”

  “Thanks,” Harper said.

  Outside the shop, Lane and Harper looked at the cinder-block wall on the west side of the shop. It was a mosaic of multicoloured silhouetted artists in a variety of stylized poses, vintage vehicles in various stages of restoration, and tags.

  Harper said, “Well, at least they’ve confirmed that we need to check out the alley.”

  “It’s going to be a long night.” Lane got into the Chev.

  ×

  Lane walked in through the front door. Roz ran across the kitchen, barked once, saw him, wagged her tail, turned around, and skidded around the corner.

  Lane followed and stood inside the open back door.

  Alexandra and Christine talked across the table. Arthur used tongs to turn the burgers on the barbecue. Roz sat beside him, waiting for any morsels of fallen meat.

  “Hello,” Alexandra said. “Want some wine?”

  “No thanks. I have to work late tonight. Just came home for supper.” Lane s
miled as Arthur turned to face him.

  “Late shift?” Arthur asked.

  “We need to nab an artist.” Lane went back into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. His mouth tingled when he saw the salads waiting in the fridge. He went to throw a paper towel in the garbage and hesitated when he saw what was there.

  Outside, Alexandra asked, “Artist?”

  “Graffiti artist.” Lane sat down and loosened his tie.

  “I got caught tagging dumpsters in Kensington. Uncle Lane and I had to clean up, or I would have been charged. We found one dumpster with a tag on it and inside was a body. He wants to find whoever tagged the dumpster.” Christine raised her eyebrows and sipped her pop.

  Arthur turned around with his tongs pointed at the sky.

  Alexandra watched Lane for his reaction.

  “So, now you’re a detective too?” Lane shook his head.

  “Well, it isn’t that difficult to figure out!” Christine looked to Arthur for support.

  “Since we’re solving mysteries, where did the money come from?” Lane asked.

  “What money?” Alexandra adopted an innocent pose.

  “The money that bought the new clothes and shoes.” Lane watched the sisters look at one another, waiting to see who would answer first.

  “Was it, by chance, your father’s credit card?” Lane looked at Alexandra.

  “Show-off. Do you always have to prove you’re the master sleuth?” Christine crossed her arms across her chest. “You’ve been snooping through the garbage.”

  “Well, dad deserves to pay for the way he treated her,” Alexandra said.

  “How much?” Lane asked.

  “He’s got a twenty-five thousand dollar limit,” Alexandra said.

  “How much?” Lane asked.

  “About two thousand,” Christine said.

  “Dollars?” Arthur asked.

  “You bet.” Alexandra lifted her wine glass.

  “Feel any better?” Lane asked.

  “I like the clothes.” Christine smiled through her embarrassment.

  “And the shoes. You’ve got some great shoe stores in this town.” Alexandra swirled the wine around the inside of her glass.

  Lane looked at Christine. “Do you feel any better?”

  Christine shrugged. “Not really. You want me to take it all back?”