Dark August

by Katie Tallo

  “What the fuck, dog?”

  She perfumes Lashey with lemon fumes. He motions to the dog.

  “Sorry about that.”

  He’s taller than she remembers. His tight T-shirt stretches across his biceps. Kind of built for a nerd. She brushes a tangled clump of hair from her sweaty cheek.

  “Constable Lashey, I presume? Reporting for duty?”

  She salutes, bonking herself in the forehead. He tries to cover up a laugh by running his fingers through his wavy blond hair and turning away.

  “You want me to go after your dog?”

  “Leave him. Mangy mutt’s probably gone and left me like everyone else.”

  “I came to say I was sorry. About yesterday.”

  “I shot at you. Why are you apologizing to me?”

  “For surprising you like I did.”

  “Nothing surprises me. I am unsurprisable.”

  “You okay?”

  She snorts. He continues.

  “So I just wanted to say that if you see me around, it’s nothing personal. It’s the job.”

  “Wouldn’t you be doing your job if I didn’t see you?”

  “I suppose.”

  Gus leans on the door and almost falls over. He grabs her arm to steady her. She pulls away.

  “Did you know my mother drove into a lake? Did you know that?”

  “I didn’t know that, I’m sorry.”

  “Why do you keep saying you’re sorry, Constable Dumdum?”

  Levi runs up behind Lashey with a tiger lily dangling from his mouth. He races back inside the house. Lashey looks at his watch. Gus folds her arms in triumph.

  “Told you he’d come back.”

  “I should probably go and let you sleep it off.”

  “Great talk.”

  He’s about to leave, then reconsiders.

  “Listen, Miss Monet, if you ever need an ear to bend, I’m here.”

  He writes his number on a slip of paper, holds it out to her, and smiles.

  “I’ve got big ears. So feel free to call me.”

  Gus takes the paper and shoves it in her back pocket.

  “You have got seriously big ears. And pecs.”

  She leans toward him and presses her hands against his chest.

  Gus stumbles off the threshold and pitches forward. He tries to block her fall and the collision sends them both tumbling onto the front walkway. He’s on his feet in seconds, leaning over her and cradling her head.

  “Don’t move. You might have broken something.”

  He feels the back of her neck for injuries.

  “Does it hurt anywhere?”

  She tries to sit up too fast and they bash foreheads. He shakes it off and sits back on his heels.

  “Let’s get you to your feet.”

  He helps her up. She teeters against him, one hand on his chest, the other grabbing hold of his bicep and squeezing like she’s testing the ripeness of a peach.

  “Hello, Mr. Bicep. Work out much?”

  He gently guides her hands off his body and leads her back up the steps. Once she’s firmly planted inside, he lets go.

  “See you later, Red.”

  “And you can tell your bossy-boss Stanton that she can call off the dogs. I mean she can call you off. Call off the baby cop. ’Cause I’m done with all this bullshit. Over and out.”

  She closes the front door and sinks to the floor.

  Standing isn’t working anymore.

  She slumps sideways and closes her eyes.

  27

  Todd

  LEVI IS LICKING HER NOSE. AUGUSTA PUSHES THE DOG’S FACE away from hers and gazes down the long hallway that leads toward the kitchen. The dog circles then stretches out in the entryway to the living room on the cool hardwood floor. He stares at her. Her view of rock bottom is made more poignant by the sound of Rose’s clock. Each tick accentuating her old lady existence. Each tock echoing into the emptiness of the big old house. A boozy sadness washes over her. A tidal wave thick with futility. With wasted days spent driving the countryside in a rusty Buick with a geriatric dog as her sole companion.

  Gus eases herself up off the floor and crawls to the kitchen. Head throbbing as the blood begins to flow to her extremities. Three cups of coffee and a bowl of dry Honeycomb later, the fog slowly lifts.

  Faint recollections flit across her lemon brain.

  Lashey. He came to the house.

  Oh shit. Did she kiss him? She couldn’t have.

  Nah. Touched him inappropriately?

  Maybe she dreamed it. Yeah, just a dream.

  Augusta cups her forehead in her hands and takes a deep breath.

  She drags herself upstairs. Takes off her clothes, leaving them in a pile on the bathroom floor, and stands under a cool shower. Letting the past wash into her pores.

  * * *

  Shannon is standing her ground. The line at the cash is ten deep. She won’t budge. To make matters worse, it’s the express cash. Everyone wants to get out of there fast. Impatience pushes them forward. They check watches and sigh loudly. It’s so embarrassing. Gus is red-faced. She buries herself in a People magazine from the rack. Maybe they won’t think she’s with the obnoxious woman arguing with the cashier. Gus moves closer to the man next to her. Trying to insert herself into his life and out of her own. Trying to escape the drama that is Shannon.

  Right here in black and white. It says I get twenty-five bonus air miles if I spend over thirty bucks.

  Shannon holds up the coupon for everyone to see. The cashier is stone-faced. Red splotches on her neck, the only sign she’s rattled. Her voice is dronelike.

  And like I said, ma’am, that total is before taxes and your before-tax total is $29.59, not thirty dollars.

  Gus cringes. Shannon hates being called ma’am.

  I’m done here. Get me the store manager.

  The man behind them grabs his Wonder Bread and 2 percent milk off the conveyor belt and huffs over to another checkout, muttering to the rest of the line, Crazy person on the loose.

  Shannon glares at the man. I heard that.

  The cashier presses a button on the intercom phone and her voice blasts across the store’s PA system. Manager to cash one. Manager to the express cash.

  Then the cashier slides Shannon’s groceries to the end of the counter and asks her to stand off to one side so she can help the other customers waiting in line. She says it like she’s a brain surgeon and Shannon is preventing her from performing lifesaving surgery.

  Shannon and Gus wait. The other customers move through the checkout line, each being extra polite to the cashier to prove themselves superior to Shannon. Each ignoring the pair as they wait. Each leaving the store and setting off into the world. Free. Gus wants to wait outside, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t move or speak. After about ten minutes, the assistant manager, who looks about seventeen, arrives. He overrides the system using his passcode so that Shannon can have her twenty-five bonus points. The cashier hands her a plastic bag and turns to serve someone else. Shannon can pack them herself.

  On the way home, one of the bags splits open and a carton of eggs falls out. Raw yolk splatters the sidewalk. Shannon bursts into tears.

  Gus is scared. Her mother never cries. At least not in the middle of the street. Gus tries to gather up the broken eggshells.

  Don’t cry, Mummy. You won. You got the air mile points.

  Shannon stares at the shells in Augusta’s gooey hands.

  Everything’s broken.

  She’s not sure if her mom’s talking about the eggs or something else.

  They walk home in silence.

  * * *

  Augusta remembers how the leaves on the maples were turning gold and red and orange all around them. How she used some of them to wipe the egg from her palms. How she put one particularly bright red heart-shaped leaf in her back pocket.

  She can see that lovely red leaf even now as she walks through the maples of Beechwood Cemetery. She’d hung it in her bedroom windo
w on a small piece of string. Long gone now. These trees, lining the rows of headstones, are tinged orange and brown and red. But not autumn-tinged like the ones in her memory. These trees are thirsty. It’s been a dry summer.

  Gus weaves her way through the cemetery toward the headstone. She knows where it is even though she’s only been here twice. She hates cemeteries. The first time was a few years before her mother’s funeral when Shannon had Charlie’s ashes interred in a plot she bought for the two of them. Tall white granite double headstone. Soft curving rose garland design. Engraved on the front.

  CHARLIE RAYMOND MONET

  MARCH 15, 1977–APRIL 23, 1998

  BELOVED HUSBAND AND FATHER

  The second time Gus was here was when her mother joined her father. Her name engraved beside Charlie’s.

  SHANNON MARIE MONET

  OCTOBER 16, 1977–AUGUST 4, 2006

  BELOVED WIFE. MOTHER OF AUGUSTA MAGGIE MONET.

  A bouquet of tiny white roses withers in a glass vase propped at the base of the headstone. Augusta kneels, sitting back on her heels. She touches the flowers. They disintegrate.

  She closes her eyes. She can hear the soft rustling of a chipmunk or a bird scuttling across a stone path. The light breeze in the trees above. A distant woodpecker tapping the trunk of a tree. A small plane whirring overhead.

  Everything but what she wants to hear.

  Her mother’s voice.

  Then a man clears his throat behind her. Letting her know he’s there. Gus twitches, but doesn’t turn to see who it is. She knows. Slowly, she stands. Keeping her back to Rory. He puts a hand lightly on her shoulder. She recoils.

  “Sorry I was so blunt yesterday.”

  Augusta turns to look at him. He’s holding a fresh bouquet of white roses. He leans down and carefully replaces the old with the new. She softens.

  “You loved them, didn’t you?”

  He flushes.

  “You don’t have to watch over me. I’m all grown-up.”

  “I know.”

  “I don’t need the RCMP following me around.”

  “I wasn’t following you. I come here all the time. Cross my heart.”

  “I’m talking about the rookie Stanton has tailing me.”

  Rory has perfected his poker face, but she’s not buying it.

  “Tell Stanton I’m done playing detective. You were right about my mom. She wasn’t always in her right mind. I’m glad you took down her wall. I’m glad it’s gone. It was just pieces of paper anyway. Meaningless. I’m done with her just like she was done with me.”

  Before he can respond, Gus makes a beeline across the cemetery. She’s sick of Rory and Stanton and Lashey. Sick of being checked up on. Like she’s a child. Coming to her house whenever they like. How dare they? She’s committed no crime. Youth Services, my ass. Stalkers, the lot of them. Hopefully Rory believes her and gets word to Stanton.

  In the words of her immortal mother, Fuck them all.

  Back home, her hangover fading, Gus sits at the kitchen table. She chews on a Salisbury Steak frozen dinner while leafing through Renata’s scrapbook. If Rory bought her act, Stanton will move Lashey on to something more important. Like rescuing a cat from a tree. Gus doesn’t care as long as they stay out of her way.

  Why? Because Gus is not moving on. She has the photos of her mother’s wall on her phone. All her notes and Renata’s articles. She doesn’t believe for one second that her mother is a murderer. Why Rory believes that is a question for another day. Right now, Gus needs fresh leads that can help prove her mother’s innocence, if only to herself.

  Gus leafs through the articles one by one, scanning for details she might have overlooked. She verifies dates, cross-referencing them with photos, and adds new notes next to some of the names in her notebook.

  Henry Neil. Seen by someone at Halladay House two days before he was reported missing. On the report, Kep claimed no one had seen him for two weeks.

  Kep Halladay. Presumed murdered. Body never found.

  Lois Greenaway. Took in Gracie after Kep’s death.

  And Gracie. She stares at the torn image of the ballerina on her phone.

  They are more alike than she first thought. Augusta can empathize with the girl in the Polaroid. Wonders what other traumas she endured besides her mother’s death. No mother. No father. An orphan like Augusta. Then she remembers. Gracie isn’t an orphan. She did have a father. Renata said he was run out of town. She checks her notes for the name of June’s boyfriend.

  Todd Hammond.

  Augusta leaves the dog behind, much to his dismay, and drives over to the library on Rosemount. Snags a computer in one of the carrels and does a name search. There are twenty-five Todd Hammonds listed on Facebook. One lives in Ontario. Amazingly, he lives in Ottawa and he’s clearly not figured out how to use his privacy settings. Not that Gus has any clue how to do it herself, but she’s not on Facebook. All his personal information is there for the taking. Status: married. Age: thirty-nine. About the right age. Two kids. Works at Home Hardware on Bank Street. Likes MMA fighting and bird watching. Hometown: Elgin, Ontario. Jackpot.

  Before leaving the library, Gus does one more quick search on the computer. Renata spoke of her days as a young woman dreaming of becoming an investigative journalist like Nellie Bly. Gus had written the name in her notebook. She looks her up. Turns out, Nellie was an American pioneer in the field of investigative journalism. Bored with writing about fashion and gardening for the women’s pages, at twenty-one she went undercover in an insane asylum to expose the deplorable conditions. Her writing was a sensation and she became famous for her gritty exposés. Gus remembers how Renata described her.

  Traveling the world. Exposing injustices. Such courageous writing.

  Gus likes the sound of her. Spurred on by the spirit of Nellie, Gus summons her own youthful grittiness and heads off to find Todd Hammond. Renata would approve.

  GUS DRIVES THROUGH CHINATOWN VIA SOMERSET AND HITS Bank Street. She parks at a meter then walks down Bank until she’s across the street from the Home Hardware. She buys a sausage on a bun from a street cart vendor and settles on the bench in a bus shelter. Her sleuthing has given her an appetite. Time for a little stakeout. She chomps on the sausage, contemplating what to say to Todd, if he’s even working today. She stops chewing, realizing she should have called ahead to make sure he is. Okay, so she’s no Nellie Bly but she’s working on it. She tosses her mustard-covered napkin in a trash bin and crosses the street. A bell on the door jingles as she enters the hardware store.

  Wandering the paint aisle, Augusta spots Todd across the store. Looks just like he does in all his Facebook photo albums. Incredible how much of themselves people willingly share with total strangers. It baffles her. He’s helping a customer find the right toilet plunger. Prematurely graying. Kind blue eyes. Chubby. Disarming. The customer moves on and she approaches him.

  “Todd?”

  “That’s what they tell me.”

  He taps his name tag and smiles.

  “What can I do you for?”

  “My name’s Augusta Monet. I want to ask you about June Halladay.”

  His salesman smile stays plastered on his face, but spasms at the edges like he’s being gently electrocuted. She’s definitely found the right Todd.

  “Junie?”

  “My mother was the police officer at the scene of her accident.”

  He flinches. “Accident. Yeah, right.”

  He says it like he doesn’t believe it. Emboldened, Gus keeps going.

  “Some people think my mother killed Kep Halladay.”

  “Jesus Murphy.”

  He knocks over a container of broom poles. They clatter to the floor. A stock boy darts over to help corral the brooms. Todd shoos him away. He’s flustered. Todd rights the brooms, straightens his starched shirt, and nods toward the front door.

  Outside, Augusta follows Todd around the corner of the building. She leans against the brick wall while he lights a cigarette
. He offers her one. She shakes her head. They stand side by side below a sales banner that says Clean Sweep Broom Sale.

  “I hope he was killed. The SOB would’ve deserved it.”

  “Sure doesn’t sound like a good guy.”

  “You think your mum did it?”

  “She was investigating Halladay. But she was a cop. Justice in her mind would have been seeing him locked up, not dead.”

  “She go to prison for it?”

  “No. She died. Same night as Kep disappeared.”

  “Whoa. That’s terrible. I’m so sorry. What did you wanna ask me about Junie?”

  “I was curious why you didn’t go back once Kep was out of the picture?”

  “No reason to. Junie was long gone and I’m not one for visiting graveyards.”

  “But what about your daughter?”

  He takes a long drag from his cigarette, then drops it and stamps it under his heel. Todd’s eyes continue to look down as he talks.

  “My mum was born and raised in Elgin. It broke her heart the day she had to leave the house she grew up in. And for what? Junie and me. Kids being kids. Junie was the first girl I ever kissed for Christ’s sake. And for that, the almighty Kep Halladay made it so me and my folks couldn’t live in our own house anymore. Our home.”

  He’s shaking with anger. Gus waits for him to continue. But instead, he begins to move away toward the front entrance of the store. He tilts his head in the direction of the entrance.

  “Listen, I should really get back.”

  Gus knows she’s losing him. Knows there’s more to Todd’s story.

  “I get it. Sometimes it’s easier to make a clean break with the past. You didn’t want to be a father. You were young.”

  He flinches. Stops walking but doesn’t look at her.

  “The baby wasn’t mine. Junie and I never.”

  “You’re not Gracie’s father?”

  Painful memories dance behind his eyes. Gus decides to keep poking at those memories, ever so gently.

  “I’m sorry. So June was with someone else then? Another boy?”

  Todd looks over his shoulder to make sure no one has come around the corner. He doesn’t want to talk. He’s holding back. Staring at his hands, he mumbles something inaudible.