Glycerine Read online

  He took a deep breath and opened the door. Lane was greeted by silence, the scent of new leather, and estrogen-laden air. The atmosphere in here is electric.

  Both women looked at Lane but avoided eye contact with one another.

  “Gather up your stuff. At this point, we have no further questions.” He held the door, waited, and looked at Lori.

  She mouthed the words Thank you.

  “Can I call for a taxi?” Donna asked.

  “I’m going home. If you like, I can give you a lift,” Lane said and then thought, This could be a huge mistake.

  “That would be great,” Donna said.

  Stacie picked up her helmet and jacket and steamed out of the room.

  “This way.” Lane turned right and headed for the parking lot.

  Downtown traffic was heavy, and it took them fifteen minutes to leave the canyon-like streets and reach the open expanses of Crowchild Trail. The women in the back seat of the Chev sat on opposite sides and did not speak until they passed the lush university grounds and three cars of the LRT rolling on rails to their left. Lane looked up and saw a child with its finger in its nose. The child pulled its finger out, looked down at Lane, and wiped his finger on the window.

  Stacie turned to Donna. “You know, you were close to your father and to Lisa. I always felt like an outsider. I was hoping one day we might become closer. That’s why I wanted to come with you today.”

  Lane kept his eyes on the traffic and his ears open.

  “It would be nice to be closer. We’re the only ones left of our family.” Donna watched the people in the LRT and their vacant stares.

  “I know that I say stupid shit. Your father used to say my mouth was always in motion before my brain was in gear. I’m sorry.” Stacie looked out the other window where all manner of home décor retailers lined the far side of a parking lot.

  “I was going to ask for your help,” Donna said.

  Stacie turned to her daughter. “For what?”

  “I have a lot to say, so could you just listen and not interrupt me while I try to explain?” Donna asked.

  “I’ll try.”

  “I have a friend. I’ve talked with him and his wife. I think he’s going to agree to be the father of my child.”

  “You mean a turkey-baster dad?” Stacie covered her mouth with her hand.

  Lane resisted the urge to look in the rear-view mirror. He kept his eyes on the road and carried on listening.

  Donna took a long breath. “I’ve been looking at pamphlets for fertility clinics. The procedure is called artificial insemination. Since my marriage was such a disaster, I wanted to choose a father I know is a good man. This man and his wife — their names are Del and Susan — are good people. They told me they can’t just walk away from the baby, so I’ve asked them to be godparents.” She waited, expecting her mother to have something to say before she continued. “I’ve saved up money, the house is paid off, but I’ll need help with the baby. I figure I can take six months off during the winter, but then I’ll need someone to care for the baby while I keep the business going.”

  “And?”

  “I was going to ask you if you would help me out with taking care of the baby, especially when I have to go to work.” Donna continued to look out the window. The LRT slowed to stop at Dalhousie station and disappeared from view. She turned to her mother. “Well? What do you say?”

  “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do. Will you sell that damned motorcycle? It scares the hell out of me.” Stacie lifted her helmet off the seat for effect.

  “No, I was thinking of getting a sidecar for the baby.” Donna began to laugh.

  ×

  Lane sat on the deck where the late afternoon sun was magnified by siding and glass to bake him and the dogs. Scout slept in the shade under the table. Roz sat in a smaller patch of shadow next to Lane. He sipped a cup of coffee and closed his eyes.

  The gate opened. Lane looked to his right. Maria pretended to knock on her side of the fence.

  “Would you like a cup of coffee?” Lane stood up, opened his gate, and waited for Maria to make her way across the concrete pad of their driveway.

  “I would, but —” she rubbed her belly “— this one would start doing gymnastics after the caffeine.”

  “Water?” He pulled out a chair for her.

  “Please.” She sat down.

  A few minutes later, Lane returned with a tumbler of ice water and a bowl of fresh strawberries.

  “How did you know I’ve been craving these?” Maria picked up a berry, took a bite, and smiled.

  Lane tapped his nose. “I know things.”

  “Like being right there this morning when that truck blew up?” Maria watched for a reaction.

  “Yes, things like that.” Lane reached for his coffee.

  “And the two vans that started blowing bubbles. The latest story on that one is it marked the anniversary of the death of a medic in Afghanistan.” Maria popped another strawberry in her mouth.

  “The news is accurate for a change — at least about the bubbles,” Lane said.

  “And the bomb?” Maria asked.

  Lane recognized the fear in her eyes, saw her glance at her womb. “One fatality. The bomber, instead of innocents — for a change.”

  “What do you get out of all of this? Why do you keep doing your job?” Maria asked.

  Lane looked at her. “It’s the intangibles. Arthur is safe, Matt is safe, Christine is safe, Dan is safe, their baby is safe, you’re safe.” He pointed at her belly. “The little one is safe.”

  She stared at him.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve said too much. Did I frighten you?”

  She shook her head.

  He wiped at his eyes and looked dumbly at the back of his hand where the moisture gathered in the hairs closer to his wrist. The tension that had gripped him for more than a week flowed out. First I can’t stop laughing, and now this.

  “You want me to freshen up your coffee?” Maria asked.

  Lane nodded. “That would be nice.” Her heard her get up. Roz licked the salty tears on the back of his right hand.

  Following the older dog’s example, Scout licked Lane’s left hand and looked puzzled.

  A car door slammed. Both dogs jumped up and scrambled to look through the chain-link fence. The front door opened. Footsteps sounded inside the house.

  “Maria?” Christine asked.

  “Just getting a coffee for Lane,” Maria said.

  “You’re pregnant. Tell him to get his own damn coffee!”

  Lane smiled as he used both hands to wipe away his tears.

  “Hey! Your uncle helped save some lives today. So I’m getting him a cup of coffee to say thank you. Just tell me how he likes it.”

  Thirty seconds later, Christine opened the door. “You okay? Why are you crying?”

  Maria followed and with her free hand tapped Christine’s belly. “I hear congratulations are in order.” She set the coffee down across from Lane.

  “You told her?” Christine stared at Lane, hands on her hips.

  “He sounded pretty happy about it, too.” Maria sat down and took a sip of water.

  “You are?” Christine looked confused.

  Lane nodded, sipped his coffee, and tried to focus on Christine’s reaction even though his vision was distorted. His voice wavered. “Why wouldn’t I be thrilled?”

  “I’m not married.” Christine sat down.

  Lane thought, Here it comes. Just be quiet and listen.

  “The doctor put me on a different pill and . . .” Christine began, then thought better of it.

  I don’t need to know all of the details!

  “I’m worried what my mom will say and do when she finds out.” Christine looked down and saw that Maria was holding her hand. “And I’ll have to quit school.”

  Lane shook his head.

  “What?” Christine wiped tears away. Mascara stained the tips of her fingers.

  “I think your
Uncle Arthur wants to take care of the baby while you finish school. Matt is excited about being an uncle. What about Daniel? What does he think?” Lane asked.

  “He’s worried about telling his parents.” Christine hesitated as she wiped her hands on her slacks. “What are you thinking now?”

  “I’m thinking that in a few months there will be two new babies in the neighbourhood and it’s gonna be interesting.” Lane reached for his coffee. “And I can’t wait to find out whether your baby is a boy or a girl.”

  ×

  Arthur found Lane later that evening. He was sitting with the dogs on the deck in the backyard. The heat of the day was waning, the sun cast long shadows, and the siding on Maria’s house played a crackling number as it cooled. Arthur opened the door to the kitchen. “Got time for a beer?”

  Lane looked over his shoulder, smiled, nodded, and took his feet off the plastic deck chair.

  Arthur backed out the kitchen door, then down two steps to the wooden deck.

  Lane got up and closed the door.

  “The kids went to a movie. And we need to talk.” Arthur set two beer glasses down and beside each glass a bottle of Moosehead beer.

  Lane saw that both glasses were frosted from being in the freezer. He’s been planning this for at least a couple of hours. Before the kids came along this was a regular summer ritual.

  Scout cocked his head to one side as if he were trying to comprehend the conversation. He’d clearly picked up on the tension.

  Arthur sat down in the chair next to Lane. He grabbed a glass in one hand and the Moosehead in the other. He tipped the glass and poured his beer so there would be less froth.

  Lane reached for his glass and beer to do the same. He watched the bubbles erupt at the bottom of the glass. It’s all about the bubbles.

  Arthur took a satisfied sip. “Are you ready for this?”

  “Ready for what?” Lane took a taste and felt the sharp, sweet taste of the barley bubbles on his tongue.

  “The baby, the way it will change everything again. We’ve been through a lot the last few years, and I’m wondering whether we’re ready for what’s coming.” Arthur leaned forward and set his beer glass on the table.

  Lane looked at the top of the evergreen in Maria’s yard. The sun backlit the top and it turned the dark green into emerald. “What exactly are you worried about?”

  “How we’ll handle it.” Arthur took another sip.

  Lane stared at the bubbles rising in amber. Let him get it out. He’s kind of like Scout the way he always circles a spot before he decides to settle down to sleep.

  “Christine is going to have a baby.” Arthur looked at Lane. Lane raised his eyebrows and rolled his eyes.

  “Don’t look at me like that! You know I hate that! It’s just that I finally think I’m not going to die right away —”

  The circle is getting smaller now. He’s getting closer.

  “— and you know what she’s like. She rides an emotional roller coaster on the best of days. Being pregnant will make her even more emotional.” He looked at Lane.

  Just let him circle once more. He’ll get there. Lane continued to be mesmerized by the rising bubbles in the beer.

  “I’m excited about the baby. But I’m worried.” Arthur reached for his beer and took a sip.

  Almost there.

  “I wonder if you and I will make it. For a while I thought you didn’t love me anymore. The baby will put a strain on our relationship.” Arthur used his forefinger to point at Lane and then himself.

  Just say it! “Are you over being a cancer victim?”

  A V appeared in Arthur’s forehead just below what used to be his hairline.

  Watch out! You were way too blunt, as usual, Lane thought.

  “I told you! I don’t feel like I’m going to die right away. At least not today.”

  “Then things are getting back to normal?” Lane smiled.

  “About as normal as things ever get around here.” Arthur tipped his glass and drained it.

  “We’ll handle it. All of it. I know Christine will ride a roller coaster and expect us all to come along. I know there will be long nights, shitty diapers, and puke. But it will be fun.” He lifted his glass and looked at the bubbles that were backlit by the evening sun. “Except for the puke.”

  Arthur shook his head, covered his mouth, and belched. “I just hope that we’ll be okay.”

  “You want a fucking guarantee?” Where the hell did that come from?

  “As a matter of fact, I do. And I want one from you.” He pointed his finger at Lane and waited.

  “What are you saying?” Lane shook his head at an inexplicable vision of champagne bubbles.

  “Do I have to draw you a picture?” Arthur stood up, took his glass, opened the door, stepped into the kitchen, and slammed the door.

  Lane’s phone rang about ninety minutes later. The TV was on. Arthur was on the couch and snoring while a celebrity danced the rumba on the wide screen.

  Lane went upstairs, found his cell on the kitchen table, and recognized Harper’s private number. “What’s up, Cam?”

  “Got a minute?” Harper asked.

  “Go ahead.” Lane looked around the kitchen, then walked into the living room and sat in the leather easy chair.

  “Do you think there’s any reason to charge the Laughtons?” Cam asked.

  “You mean besides the traffic offence?” Lane felt the leather warming to the temperature of his back.

  “We’re getting some pressure from a few concerned citizens who are reacting quite strongly to Donna Laughton’s demonstration.”

  Now you’re talking in riddles too. Just get to the point! “So you’re telling me that Laura Poulin has been made to look the fool and she’s looking for a scapegoat.”

  “Something like that,” Harper said.

  “Let’s see. She wants the sister of a war hero to get some negative headlines. Then people will forget how Poulin tried to exacerbate a situation and Laughton diffused it.” Lane heard a car door close outside.

  “You understand that she didn’t call directly, but there’s a lineup of her political friends asking for appointments with Simpson.” Cam used a tone that revealed more about Poulin’s machinations than he probably would have admitted to anyone but his old partner.

  “The only thing Donna Laughton is guilty of is great timing. She found a peaceful way of dialing down the emotions after the honour killing. It’s not her fault a zealot attempted mass murder at the same time. It made Poulin look bad. She’s connected in people’s minds to the same tactics Jones used.” Lane felt his anger rising as his words provided the focus for a percolating frustration.

  “If you’re right, then it explains why Poulin’s crowd is sounding so shrill.”

  “So you’re not going to add to the charges against the Laughtons?” Lane asked.

  “Fuck no! Last time I checked, making bubbles is not a danger to the public.”

  “What else?” Lane asked.

  “You sure you want to keep working with Li? I know we asked you to take him, but let’s face it, you were his last stop and . . .”

  “Li is working out just fine.”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  Lane heard the disbelief in Harper’s voice. I know Nigel’s sarcastic, and I know he thinks he’s always right, but the fact is he was right. “He’s an asset, Cam.”

  “ASSet.” Cam spelled it out.

  “In each case, when he made an assessment, he was freakishly accurate. And his language skills were invaluable. You have to understand that he’s the kind of person who thinks of something outrageous to say, steels himself not to say it, then says it anyway.” You’ve said too much again!

  There was a ten-second pause from Cam’s end.

  “You still there?”

  “I’m worried he’ll get you killed. He is so sure he’s right all of the time that when he does get it wrong — and let’s face it, we all get it wrong at some point — he’ll g
et you into a situation where one or both of you will be in serious shit.”

  “Shit happens.” Lane’s eyebrows tried to meet in the middle. What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you picking a fight with Cam?

  “Somebody crap in your cornflakes?”

  The front door opened, and Christine stepped into the house, followed by Dan and Matt. Lane looked at Christine. She saw his face, frowned, and asked, “What’s the matter?”

  “You’ve got a houseful. Call me after your gang is settled.” Cam hung up.

  SATURDAY, JULY 17

  chapter 11

  Lane stopped out front of Keely’s downtown hotel. Traffic was light at seven in the morning. She heaved her bags into the back seat and climbed into the front.

  He handed her a coffee. “Black.”

  “You remembered.” She took the cup and a cautious sip.

  “Glad to be going home?”

  She looked at him as he pulled away and into the centre lane. “How did you know?”

  “The look on your face.” He headed for Memorial Drive where early-morning joggers would be collecting sweat between their glutes as they ran along both sides of the river.

  “I miss Dylan. I like my job, especially after things worked out the way they did with this case. And it’s beginning to feel like home.” She looked out the window at a man pushing a shopping cart filled with a collage of bags and one oversized suitcase. Behind him rose the latest tallest building in town. It was a steel-and-glass wing-shaped structure soaring into the blue sky. “I still don’t get that.” She pointed at the contrasting portraits of poverty and wealth.

  “Oil and money,” Lane said in a voice free of the disgust he felt.

  They drove east along the river valley, then north up the freeway to the airport.

  Keely pulled the morning newspaper from the side of her voluminous purse. She tucked it between her seat and the console. “Be sure to read the paper with your morning coffee.”

  “Thank you for your work on this one. It would have been a disaster without your help.”

  Keely nodded and smiled. “The funny thing is that I can’t wait to tell Dylan about the soap bubbles and the glycerine. Is this a crazy country or what?” She laughed.

  “For the first time in my career I was hoping the cameras would show up to get a shot of those kids playing with the bubbles. It would have been a great image for the news.” Lane smiled.