by Wayne Purdy
Hazel changed into a bikini and rubbed sunscreen onto her amber skin. She came outside and all eyes were on her, even Heck. Her face reddened. “Wow,” Cass said. “You look great.”
“It’s not too much?” Hazel asked.
“Are you kidding? I wish I could pull off a cute bikini like that,” Cass replied wistfully.
“Me too,” Sam said, and Cass elbowed him playfully in the ribs, but with enough force to serve as a warning shot.
Hazel called Jaimie out so she could put sunscreen on her too. Heck pulled up a seat beside his brother and the two began talking. Hazel watched with interest. It was a side of Heck she had only ever caught occasional glimpses of. Normally he was stolid and introverted. Here, with the comfort of his family, he was funny, engaging, and outgoing.
“How’s it going, Paris? Are you okay?”
“I have good days and bad,” Paris said. “It’s harder on the boys.” Paris looked out into the pool. Hazel followed his gaze. There were two boys, both a little older than Jaimie, but close to her age. They both had shocks of platinum white hair and tanned bodies.
“What happened? I thought you guys were doing great.”
Paris turned towards his older brother. “I don’t know. We just fell out of love. It happens.” Hazel felt a kinship with Paris. They were both trying to piece themselves back together after a broken relationship. Paris was doing a better job of it than she. “I get the boys every other weekend and Mondays and Wednesdays. She gets them the rest of the time. And she gets the house.”
“Where do you expect her to live?” Cass said. “She’s raising two boys.”
“So am I,” Paris said. “Except I have to do it in a studio apartment.”
“Did you cheat on her?” Heck asked.
“Why do you automatically think that I’m the one who fucked up?” Paris’s eyebrows inched together.
“I don’t know. History, I guess.”
Well, I didn’t,” Paris said. His face was reddening. “I never cheated on her.”
“You just fell out of love? What does that even mean?”
“What do you want me to say, Heck? We’re not the same people we were when we met. We grew apart.” Paris's voice grew louder. He downed the rest of his beer and crushed the can.
“That’s enough, boys,” Harry said, putting his arms around each of his sons. “Get in the water and cool off.”
“Yes Dad,” they said in a practiced, sheepish whine. Heck stood up, pulling off his shirt. Hazel caught herself staring. She prayed her mouth wasn’t agape. She’d never seen him this naked before. All he was wearing was a pair of snug swim trunks. He was muscular, with broad shoulders that tapered to his waist, and a V-cut stomach that beckoned her eyes further south. She allowed her eyes to be directed. He jumped into the pool. Paris cannonballed after him, sending a tsunami of water onto the deck to the delight of the children.
“Can I get you a drink?” Cass asked, waving an empty glass in front of her, ice clinking like a klaxon.
Hazel, her attention broken, responded. “Sure. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
“Strawberry daquiris,” Cass said with glee, heading inside the house. “Watch the kids, Sam,” she said as she passed him.
Dutifully, Sam did as he was told. “I’ll take another beer,” he said.
Harry sat in the chair next to her and leaned forward. “How long have you and Hector been friends?”
“A while now. A couple years.”
“He’s a good man. I think he’s lonely sometimes. He could use a friend.”
“Dad,” Heck said from the pool’s edge. “That’s offside.”
“Fine. I won’t meddle.”
Cass returned with two icy, pink daquiris, and passed one to Hazel. “Cheers,” she said, clunking her glass against Hazel's.
“Thanks.” Hazel took the daiquiri but didn’t taste it. She hadn’t had a drop in years, not since that night. She wouldn’t have one now either, but she liked to hold it in her hands, to feel the condensation sweating down, to smell the rum mingled with the fruity sweetness. It was a test of her willpower.
“The rum got away from me a little bit,” Cass said. She leaned toward Hazel and whispered, “I’m fucking drunk.”
She wasn’t whispering as quietly as she thought. “Cassandra!” Annie admonished her daughter. Cass laughed. It was contagious because Hazel joined in.
Then, a memory struck her. Hazel was a bookish girl growing up, a real ugly duckling, before she sought confidence from a bottle. Until she discovered boys, or they discovered her. She loved the attention they doled out on her. Before that, she took pleasure from books. She had gotten away from it as an adult, but as an awkward, shy, pre-teen, they were her escape. One of her favourites was an old dog-eared paperback copy of Edith Hamilton’s Mythology. Sobo bought it at a rummage sale for a quarter. She loved those stories; The Labours of Hercules, Midas, Theseus and the Minotaur, Narcissus and Echo, Cupid and Psyche, she loved them all, but her absolute favourite was the Trojan War.
“Hector. Paris. Cassandra,” she said. Harry seemed to be nearly orgasmic. A smile grew across his face that couldn’t be contained within its fleshy confines.
“Go on,” Harry said, urging her forward.
“Ugh. Here we go,” Sam said. Harry ignored him, staring at Hazel.
Hazel felt her face redden. “Hector, Paris, and Cassandra are all players from the Trojan War. I can’t remember all the details, but I remember that Hector was a great warrior. I think Paris kidnapped Helen and triggered the whole war.”
“Have you read the Iliad?” Harry asked.
“I have, but it was a long time ago.”
Harry nodded. Hector was watching from the pool’s edge, leaning against the deck to listen in on the conversation. He pulled himself out of the water, his wet muscles rippled. “Dad was an English professor. He thought it would be fun to name his children after characters from mythology.”
“And you went along with it?” Hazel asked Annie.
“There was some compromise involved. It was almost Polydorus, Deiphobus, and Laodice.”
Harry guffawed and Cass rolled her eyes with a seismic force that must have registered on the Richter scale. “It never gets old,” said Cass.
“I think its cool,” Hazel said, and Hector eyed her appraisingly. She took a sip from her glass and pretended not to notice.
◆◆◆
A few hours later, Hector stood at the grill, barbequing burgers. Harry, Paris and Sam stood around, beers in hands, assisting him.
Hazel helped Annie and Cass set the table. Cass stopped drinking after that last daquiri and drank water from a bottle. The sun coupled with the alcohol had dehydrated her, and she could feel a hangover beginning to take root. “Why is it that it takes four men to cook some patties, while we have to prepare everything else,” she grumbled.
“It must go back to hunter-gatherer days. Like, this is the modern equivalent of bringing down a mastodon. It feeds their primal instincts,” Hazel said.
“It’s bullshit. It just keeps them from doing any of the real work.”
“Let them have it. It makes them feel useful. Anyway, we don’t want them getting in the way. I love them, but they are all kind of helpless in the kitchen,” Annie said.
“Mom! That’s so old-fashioned. The kitchen isn’t a woman’s place anymore.”
Annie gave her daughter a long glare. “Darling, I was burning bras before you were even born. I didn’t mean all men. Just these men in particular.” She turned towards the men in her family. Cass’s eyes followed.
“I see what you mean,” Cass said. Hector slid the spatula under a beef patty and flipped it into the air. It somersaulted onto the lawn. Paris gave him a playful punch in the arm. “Hector seems happy. Happier than I’ve seen him in a long time.”
Annie placed a soft hand onto Hazel’s arm. “A good woman will do that to a man,” she said.
“We’re not a couple,” she stammered. “We
’re just friends.”
“For now,” Cass said. “But I think it’s just a matter of time. You look great together.” Hazel’s face reddened again.
“What do you do?” Annie asked her.
Hazel’s face was already a brilliant crimson. It couldn’t possibly get redder and yet it did. “I’m a dancer,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Oh? Classically trained?”
“Mooooom,” Cass cautioned her, elongating the word.
Realization came to Annie slowly, like a pot of water finally reaching its boiling point. Now it was her turn to be embarrassed. “Oh,” she said.
“I work with Hector,” Hazel said, “at the gentleman’s club.” She said it as confidently as she could, trying to retain her dignity. Thankfully, Annie recovered quickly.
“Well, like I said, I was burning bras before you were even born, either of you,” she said. “I think there’s something empowering about a woman taking ownership of her own body, of her sexuality. So long as she’s doing it for the right reasons.”
“Me too. It pays well and it supports me and Jaimie. Lord knows her father doesn’t help.”
Annie’s colour retuned to its normal hue. Almost. “It can’t be easy being a single mother.”
“I do the best I can. It’s not how I wanted my life to go, but it could always be worse.” Hazel really didn’t want to mention her troubles. One bombshell at a time was enough.
“I don’t know how you do it,” Annie said, heading into the kitchen to retrieve a coleslaw. “You’ve had to make hard choices.”
Cass turned to Hazel. “You know what Cassandra was known for?”
Hazel was confused by the question. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Cassandra. In the Trojan War. She was cursed to know the future, but no one believed her.” She headed towards the kitchen to help her mother with the salads. Hazel was left standing at the picnic table trying to puzzle out Cass’s meaning. What was it that Cass said earlier? It’s just a matter of time. You look great together.
As if I don’t have enough going on, now I have to worry about prophesies too?
The drive home was subdued. Jaimie played and swam all day and fell asleep as soon as her seatbelt was buckled. “Thank you for inviting us. It was fun. I’d forgotten what its like to be a part of a family.”
Heck looked at her sideways. “Anytime. They really liked you. I hope they didn’t embarrass you. My mom and Cass are always-”
“It’s fine,” Hazel said. “I understand.”
He pulled into the circular driveway in front of her building’s entrance. Heck carried Jaimie up into her bedroom and Hazel carried her bag, as well as a Tupperware full of leftovers that Annie had packed. They hugged awkwardly and Hazel closed the door behind him. She sighed. If this were a date, it was probably the best one she had ever been on. But it wasn’t a date, so what the hell had just happened?
12
Hector
The next morning, I slept late. It was Sunday and I never worked Sundays. It was nice having Saturday off too. I couldn’t remember the last weekend I had off. It was a restless sleep though. I couldn’t help but replay the previous day’s events over and over in my mind. What was I thinking? I couldn’t get Hazel out of my mind. To further complicate things, Eddie’s words rattled around in my head.
She killed someone.
What did that mean?
I wanted something real between us. I didn’t want to be her rebound guy. I didn’t want her because of some misplaced hero worship. I brought her daughter home, but she didn’t owe me anything. I didn’t want to be some mistake that she immediately regrets. I probably should have told her that. Instead, I pushed her away without an explanation.
She killed someone.
I was also a little scared of her. She had issues. Substance abuse and promiscuity are hardly unknown to strippers, but she took it to another level. The suicide attempt scared me. And there’s more to her story. She only shared the good part. There was more, something worse than what she already shared, if that was possible. I booted up my laptop and searched Facebook for Hazel Abe. There weren’t any results. I did a Google search. Nothing. I didn’t like doing it. It felt like I was invading her privacy, but I wanted to know what she was hiding.
She killed someone.
Common sense told me to put distance between us. To avoid her. Instead, I invited her to a family barbecue. Inviting Hazel was as bold as it was spontaneous. I don’t know why I did it. Maybe I wanted to show Hazel that I come from normal, like it’s hereditary. ‘He has a normal family, so he must be normal too.’ Hazel got a first-hand view of what it would look like if she, Jaimie, and I were a family. Shit. Is that as crazy as it sounds?
She had fun, I know that, and there can be no denying that my family loved her. Mom already called and left a cloying message on my voicemail. Cass blew up my phone with her texts. I didn’t respond to any of them. How many times and in how many ways can I say that she’s just a friend? I couldn’t remember the last time I brought a woman to meet my family. It must have been Jen and that was a few years ago.
Jen. I haven’t thought about her in a long time. She was beautiful in a classically Nordic sort of way; tall, blonde, blue-eyed, and fair skinned. She would have given Hitler a boner. I wanted to marry her. She didn’t want to be married to a bouncer at a titty bar. It didn’t work out. Big surprise. Internet stalking revealed that she had moved on. She was married and had a kid now. All the things I couldn’t-or wouldn’t-give. Hindsight being what it is, I think I always knew that it wasn’t going to work out. I didn’t want it to work out. That’s why Cass is always saying that I have commitment issues.
I hopped in the shower for fifteen minutes and then put on a pair of shorts and a striped polo shirt. On Sundays, I went to a greasy spoon diner down the street and ate a full English. It was tradition, and I looked forward to it. Just as I was slipping on my sandals, my cell buzzed. The call display read Hazel. My stomach flipped. I was surprised by how happy her call made me.
“Hazel. Good morning.”
“Heck! What are you doing?”
“I was just heading out for some breakfast.”
“Skip it. We need to talk,” she said. There was a tinge of excitement in her voice.
“What is it? What’s going on?”
“I’ll be at your place in fifteen minutes.”
She burst through my door with frenetic energy. She wore capris pants and a striped, flowy tunic, with a matching hairband that pulled her sable hair off her face. She made no mention of her suicide attempt and I took the hint and didn’t bring it up either. She carried a coffee in each hand and handed me one. Double double. Just the way I liked it.
“I’ve been thinking about your little project. I think I can help.”
“My project?”
“The butterfly girl,” she replied matter-of-factly.
“My what?”
“Butterfly girl,” she said. Hazel picked up my files and pulled out the crime scene photographs, laying them out in sequential order.
“What are you doing? That’s private,”
“I’m sorry. Just bear with me. The first photo shows the man wrapped in the blanket with only his head poking out, like a caterpillar. He was in a cocoon. And slowly he is transformed into a butterfly.” She pointed to each of the photos as the transformation progressed.
I leaned in closer, looking at the photographs from her perspective. “I think you’re on to something here.”
“All traces of the person he once had been were gone. That’s why the penis was removed. He’s something else, now. Not a man.”
“A woman,” I said. “The killer transitioned her. I knew there was something important about the way she was found, I just couldn’t put my finger on it. I think you’re right. It makes a lot of sense.”
“What’s next?”
I looked at Hazel, gauging how much to tell her. Zaki had been clear. I wasn’t supposed t
o show the files to anyone, and he was right. On the other hand, Hazel provided fresh insight into a murder that was nearly ten years old. I opted to tell her everything.
“Is this the full report into the murder investigation of Gracie Telford. Doesn’t look like you had much. No suspects beyond Frank Bello.” Hazel pointed to the pertinent file.
“I didn’t have much time to investigate before I was injured,” I told her. “I never really liked Bello for the murder. It just didn’t make sense. He had no reason to kill her.”
. “Bello was never charged with the murder, was he?” Hazel asked, breaking my line of thought.
“No. He was a person of interest, but after I was injured, he was discharged. They couldn’t keep him in. He admitted to assaulting her and going AWOL.”
“AWOL?” Hazel asked.
“Absent Without Leave,” I said, explaining the acronym. “I was chasing him when I was injured. He stole a jeep and left the base without permission.”
“And they never bothered looking for the killer?”
“I think they didn’t care who killed her. They were just glad that she was dead. She was a problem. That would explain why Cutler ordered me to drop the case.”
“He ordered you to drop it?”
“I didn’t listen. That’s why I was discharged. Insubordination.”
“That’s not fair.”
I finished off my coffee. “You’re preaching to the choir.”
“Do you think the army wanted her dead?”
“I don’t think so. Murder is messy. They probably only wanted her roughed up a bit.”
“So, what happens now?”
“I’ve been planning a road trip for a while. I think I’ll hit the road tomorrow.”
“Where are you going?” Hazel asked, her excitement rising.
“I’ve got a small list of men who were both in Kandahar and close enough to the city for the Sandra Mack murder. I’m going to ask questions and check alibis. Besides me, Zaki Hasan, James Cutler, and Robert Nowak, there’s Irwin Bobb, currently living in Markham. Hernan Estes in Port Hope. And Frank Bello, who is a guest of the government at Millhaven Institution.” I went over to my laptop and refreshed the screen. My Google search results for Hazel were still on the screen. I quickly closed the window before she saw it.