“So, what are your plans? You still thinking of leaving?”
“I talked it over with Janice, and she says I’m going to be miserable if I quit. Can’t say I disagree. I’m going to let it ride and see how it goes.”
“That’s good, I’m happy.”
“I’m happy you’re happy.”
Shelter glanced at him again and couldn’t help but smile.
“You’ve seen Nicki since the other night?” Traverse asked.
“I’m going to the bar when we’re done here.”
Traverse finally looked him in the eyes, but Shelter couldn’t read what he was thinking.
At that moment, MacIsaac entered the office and snapped on the lights. When he was seated, he looked from Shelter to Traverse. “The Mounties are setting up a special unit to go through Taylor and Wright’s years up north to see if we can match them to any other sexual assaults or homicides.” He turned over a piece of paper on his desk and examined it before continuing. “The commercial crimes division is looking at Bill Craig, Charlie Osborne and the urban reserve project. So we’ll see where that goes.”
“Any word on a new chief?” Shelter asked.
“They’ve put the search on ice for six months until all this blows over.” He looked at Traverse. “Mike’s taking a couple of weeks off. You should take the rest of the week off too.”
“What happens when we get back?” Traverse asked.
“What do you mean what happens? You get back to work.” He paused and looked from Traverse to Shelter. “I’ve put you both in for commendations. That was a hell of a job you did. Now get out of here.”
Nicki slid into the booth across from Shelter in the coffee shop at the City Hotel.
“How you doing?” she asked.
“Well, I got this,” he said, pointing to a row of stitches on the underside of his chin. “How about you?”
“I’m still sore but okay.”
He shifted on his chair and smiled. “You’re quite a TV star. I saw your interview on The National.”
Nicki rolled her eyes and gave Shelter a shy smile. “I’m getting a lot of action about it in there,” she said with a nod toward the bar.
Shelter smiled, and then turning serious, he said, “I wanted to thank you again.”
“Forget it.”
“I won’t forget it, ever.”
Shelter was surprised to see her react with what seemed to be embarrassment. She dropped her head, and he thought he detected a blush on her cheeks. He lowered his eyes too and focused on the silver bangles on her wrist and rings on her hand wrapped around her coffee cup. “I’ll always be grateful for what you did for Crystal,” she said finally.
“You did quite a bit yourself. You’re going to leave the policing to us from now on, right?”
Looking up, she said, “Um. I thought I told you...
“No one tells you what to do. Yeah, I got that.” They both laughed.
In that moment he sensed his feelings for her deepen. But he’d already given in to an idea that had been building inside him — their worlds were too far apart ever to be bridged in a relationship. Still, he wanted to leave the door open to seeing her again. An offer of a coffee in a few weeks time, perhaps. But as he tried to formulate the sentence in his mind, he knew it would be crossing a line. It would make it real and force her to make a decision.
He looked into her eyes, noticing once again how large they were and for the first time how long her lashes were. He became aware of her perfume, exotic and intoxicating. Patchouli? Is that what it was called? “Give yourself some time, okay? You’ve been through a lot.”
She nodded and bowed her head, keeping eye contact with him through her bangs with a bashful grin. From her expression, he sensed she’d long since intuited his feelings for her. That didn’t surprise him. Women were so much better at reading feelings than men. What he still couldn’t tell and wouldn’t ask was whether she felt the same for him. “You take care too,” she said.
He got up, picked up his jacket, reached for her hand, and held it tight. “You know where to find me.”
Shelter and Kelsey walked on the wide crescent of beach in shorts and bare feet, their flip-flops in their hands. The grey lake extended to the horizon, the morning sun glinting off the waves. The view was broken by a single sailboat tacking to the north in a warm, light breeze. That morning, Shelter had awoken groggy in his in-laws’ house in Gimli after ten hours of sleep. His mind had cleared after a coffee, and when Kelsey got up, Shelter had invited her for a walk.
He’d driven her up to Gimli the afternoon before and had planned to discuss where she was going to go to school in the fall. He’d read somewhere a car ride was a good time to have a serious talk with a teenager. You had a captive audience and sitting side-by-side was less threatening for the kid than a face-to-face discussion. But he’d been dead tired and sensed she was concerned about seeing her grandparents for the first time since she’d run away with James. She’d jiggled a leg and was unusually quiet. “You don’t have to worry about Grandma and Grandpa,” he said. “They’re just happy you’re safe.”
“I know that.” She’d said it without rancour. She seemed calmer, more reflective. Had the events of the last week matured her, or was she just getting older?
Now, alone on the beach, he was ready to talk to her about the fall.
“Kel, I want you with me in Winnipeg.”
“I am in Winnipeg.”
“Yeah, but you were talking about staying up here.”
She gave him a quick glance and smirked, as if to say how can adults be so dense. “That’s when I wanted to be with James.”
“Okay. Right. So you want to go to school in Winnipeg?” Still smiling, she nodded.
He felt a flash of relief. He’d hated the thought of only seeing her on weekends during the long winter, and even after that when the fishing season kicked in again. “I know it won’t be easy, but together we can work it out.”
“We’ll be fine.” It was that new, more mature voice again. They’d already talked about what had happened at Taylor’s house that night. He’d told her how strong she’d been and how proud of her he was. They climbed onto the long concrete pier that protected the harbour and walked past a couple of old-timers tending fishing rods. They stopped to examine murals painted on the seawall, depicting scenes from the town’s history. Screaming gulls circled overhead. When they reached the far end of the pier, they stopped and leaned against the seawall, looking over the lake, where you could just make out the eastern shore.
“I know I wasn’t there for you when Mom was sick, and since then,” Shelter said. “I’m sorry. I’ll do better.”
“Don’t say you’re sorry, Daddy.” She hadn’t called him that in years. “I haven’t been easy on you.”
He was overcome with tenderness for her. He took her in his arms and squeezed hard. After a time, they turned back toward town, walking arm-in-arm in silence. Shelter thought about the years to come — Kelsey finishing high school, going to university and hopefully settling down with someone she loved and becoming a parent herself. He’d made mistakes with her, but there was still time to make up for them. He closed his eyes for a second, and when he opened them, he followed the sailboat now heading back to port, lovely in the sunshine and breeze, and thought of nothing else.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The writing of Omand’s Creek has been a long, often rewarding, sometimes maddening journey. I’m indebted to so many people for their kind and generous assistance along the way.
I am grateful to the organizations and talented authors that have supported me in my efforts to learn the craft of fiction and novel writing. At the wonderful Quebec Writers’ Federation, I appreciated the guidance of Claire Holden Rothman, Peter Kirby and fellow participants in writing seminars. I am grateful to the Banff Centre for my place in the inaugural Crime Writing Residency, where I learned so much from Michael Robotham and Louise Welsh. I have received continuing and deeply appreciat
ed support from my fellow course participants and now friends, Paddy Hirsch, Kim Murray, Hope Thompson, Sandy Conrad, Marie Fontaine and Tony Berry.
I would not have been able to write this novel without technical guidance from experts in Manitoba who were remarkably kind and patient in answering my questions. An early and ongoing source of information about homicide investigations and the Winnipeg Police Service was James Jewell. David Buck helped me understand the workings of the police service’s Forensic Identification Unit. Dr. Peter Markesteyn, Manitoba’s former Chief Medical Examiner, was an excellent source of information on forensic autopsies. Bruce Benson answered my questions about commercial fishing on Lake Winnipeg. Shayla Elizabeth brought an intelligent, caring eye to the manuscript.
My thanks to the friends and colleagues who took the time to read and comment on the manuscript at various stages. Thanks to Jamie Orchard and Jean-Luc Boulch for your support and friendship. My poker buddies, Bryan Demchinsky, Joel Yanofsky and Mark Abley were there for me with comments, advice and support. Michelle Lalonde has also been a great source of advice and support. I appreciated the notes, comments and advice I received from Jennifer DeLeskie, Keiran Gibbs, David Lemay and Denis Coupal. Besides his insightful comments and encouragement, Yutaka Dirks told me about the Crime Writers of Canada awards. My thanks to my friend Alina Pahoncia for her support. My thanks to my friends Richard Schultz, Jonathan Cote and Steve Vincent. A special shout-out to Linda Vincent for her care and diligence in reviewing and commenting on the manuscript. Thanks to Alastair Gillespie. Also, my thanks to my friend Jeff O’Malley for reading the manuscript and offering his comments and insights.
Finally, all my thanks and love to my family — Catherine, Julia, Alex and Barbara.
Any errors or oversights are my sole responsibility.
About the author
Don Macdonald was born and raised in Winnipeg, Manitoba and now lives in Montreal. He worked for over 20 years as a print journalist. Omand’s Creek, his first novel, was a finalist for the Crime Writers of Canada’s award for Best Unpublished Manuscript. To learn more about Don and Omand’s Creek, please visit donmacdonald.ca.
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