Wolfe in Shepherd's Clothing

by David Gane

  Mike nods, considering what I’ve said. “He’s weird.”

  “Yup, I know.” I’m not going to argue with the truth.

  “He’s not going to pull any shit, is he?”

  “I honestly don’t know, but he’s trying to not mess things up, so I hope not.”

  He picks up the ball and dribbles it back and forth between his hands. “You trust him?”

  “I do.”

  He bounces the ball toward me, nodding. “Then I guess I better get used to him.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.” I keep it low key but I have tons of respect for Mike’s willingness to accept Charlie so easily. Mike can be a lot of things, but in this moment, he’s being a really great friend.

  He smiles. “Besides, if he screws up, somebody’s got to have your back.”

  Fair enough, Mike. Fair enough.

  chapter 30

  At the end of our spare, we meet up with Charlie for lunch.

  We find a table in the cafeteria, and I’m digging into my lunch bag, pulling out leftovers from last night, when I catch Charlie’s look. He hasn’t touched his bag.

  “You okay, man?” I ask.

  “I just realized, no one’s ever packed a lunch for me.”

  I’m staring at him and he knows it, and I don’t know what to say, but Mike does it for me.

  “Good thing Tony’s dad is a good cook then.”

  We both consider him. I doubt Charlie realizes how much of a leap Mike just made, especially after our little talk outside.

  Mike continues, “I’m just saying, it’d suck if your first packed lunch tasted like crap, right?”

  Charlie smiles before offering a fist bump. “True.”

  Mike reaches across the table and delivers it back.

  I quietly admire the gesture and move the conversation along. “How was Native studies?”

  “Fantastic. I wish I’d taken the whole class.” Charlie takes a bite of roasted barbecue pork bun before adding, “But what’s the deal with Statten?”

  Mike nods. “I know. Hot, right?”

  Charlie shrugs. “Yeah, I can see that. But she’s going through something.”

  He’s piqued my interest. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. Something’s off about her.”

  “You only met her today. How can you know that?”

  He sets his sandwich down and digs out a juice box. “Well, she seems really put together. She’s smart and confident. Like Mike pointed out, she’s attractive, but more importantly, she knows it but doesn’t overthink it. Her clothing is sharp, business casual—”

  I interrupt, “But not always. Sometimes she’s in jeans, but it’s often matched with a dress jacket or high heels.” I wouldn’t have given these things much thought a couple of years ago, but since hanging around Charlie, I’ve started noticing these details. I’m also aware that Mike is looking at me, but I ignore it.

  Charlie continues, “There’s barely a hair out of place, her makeup is on point, and even the frames of her glasses are high-end and expensive. She also has quality tech gear: smart watch, computer, phone. I’m betting the newest and best?”

  I confirm Charlie’s suspicions. “Always. And styled to match the rest of her outfit. So what makes you think something’s going on?”

  “I feel some of that confidence has slipped. Sharp noises, like a door slammed too hard or the bang of a desk, seem to affect her. Also, if students get too close, she takes a step back.”

  Mike’s curious now. “How do you know she hasn’t always been like that?”

  Charlie turns to me for confirmation and I know he’s right. Although I’ve never paid attention to it, somewhere along the way I have noticed something’s off with her.

  But where’s he going with this? “Even if something is off—”

  “We’re not doing a damn thing.” Charlie glances at Mike as if he’s saying it solely for Mike’s benefit. “School, work, home, sleep. That’s our focus. Mysteries are no longer our business.”

  I almost want to believe him.

  chapter 31

  After lunch, we all go to our classes. Mike has gym, Charlie has Graphic Arts 20, and I head to my law class. Most of it is spent cleaning up Randy’s mess and putting together all the pieces of our project. Fortunately, Shannon, our other project partner, had almost three-quarters of the work saved on a USB drive from when she transferred all our individual sections onto the computer. Then we tracked down any backups we had on our computers and added them to the file. By the end of the hour, we’d Frankensteined together a nearly usable version and Shannon volunteered to clean up the rest of it tonight. Thank you, Shannon.

  At the break, I get a text from Charlie:

  Working a shift at the

  The Sugar Dough Stop

  What about class?

  Spare

  Texted your folks to let them know

  K. You home for supper?

  Are we an old married couple now?

  Now that he’s said it, I can’t help but feel like somewhere along the line, that’s exactly what we’ve become.

  And I hate it.

  I try to think of a comeback—even punched in you’re not my type before deleting it—totally aware that Charlie can tell I’m struggling.

  Shepherd, quit it. You’re a manly man

  Come by and I’ll give you a doughnut

  Then, just when I think he’s done:

  And if we WERE a couple,

  I’d be the one wearing the pants

  chapter 32

  My last class of the day is Biology 30, which has been far more enjoyable since our usual teacher, Mr. Harriet, went on leave a while back and was replaced with a substitute, Mr. Hall.

  None of us are sure what happened to Harriet, and the staff isn’t talking. Of course, there are plenty of rumours: cancer, death in the family, inappropriate conduct, outpatient psych ward, and last but not least, mid-life crisis. But like most gossip, the truth probably lies somewhere in the middle of all that—though it’s likely more boring.

  Harriet’s never been exciting. In all the time I had him for a teacher, he talked in the same monotone voice, wore the exact same kind of dress shirt and tie, and always expected our notes to be completed in a very specific, detailed way—and if we didn’t follow his system, we were penalized.

  Hall, on the other hand, is young and casual, with a trendy beard and a badass sleeve tattoo. On his first day, he pulled up on a Triumph Bonneville motorcycle, which definitely caught people’s attention. Over the past few weeks, he’s told us stories of how he spent the first year after high school touring across Canada, the US, and some tropical places in South America before coming back to get his education degree. A lot of the guys in my class find him relatable, but I also know a couple of girls who wouldn’t mind corrupting his teaching career.

  The interesting thing, though, is that he’s strict too. When the final bell for class goes, he shuts the door. Normally, this is annoying because most teachers do it just to be dicks, making a false claim to power. Yet, Mr. Hall has fun with it. If you’re the dumbass who’s late, he makes you draw your punishment out of a bucket, which is usually doing some sort of exercise reps, answering biology questions, or singing something of his choice. Although push-ups would be pretty easy, I have no interest in performing “I’m a Little Teapot” in front of the whole class, so I make sure I’m always on time.

  As Hall turns on the data projector and gets into the processes that enable movement in unicellular organisms, we scramble for our notebooks. Mr. Hall doesn’t wait and we start diagramming an amoeba and a paramecium and don’t stop until the bell rings.

  chapter 33

  After school, Mike spots me a ride over to Charlie’s work before he takes off to pursue his two-toned-hair girl.

  Th
e Sugar Dough Stop is in the corner of a strip mall at the intersection of two busy streets in the warehouse district. The place is filled with blue collar and emergency service workers—at least one ambulance and a fire chief’s car are outside—and it’s a noisy racket of conversations.

  Charlie’s behind the counter, sliding trays of doughnuts into the display racks. He’s wearing a Sugar Dough Stop shirt that he’s tucked into his pants and a visor that fights to contain his trademark shaggy hair, which has been scooped into a net.

  He waves me to an empty table and comes over with a large coffee and a Boston Creme doughnut.

  “On the house,” he says.

  I’m staring at his clothing and I want to say something smartass, but he stops me. “Just don’t.”

  I’m still tempted, but he’s gone before I can open my mouth.

  I look around the restaurant. There’s nothing fancy about the place. No art on the walls or televisions in the corners. Absolutely no attempt to brighten it up. The clientele seems to be here to meet over coffee and doughnuts and not much else.

  Then I taste the coffee. It’s rich and flavourful—something I would never have expected, or noticed, until Charlie started making it for me—and I wonder how much he’s a part of it. I take a bite of the doughnut and marvel at its freshness.

  Yup, I definitely understand why Charlie works here.

  Since he’s busy working, I grab my backpack and pull out my copy of King Lear. I’m supposed to be on Act 4 and I still need to get through Act 3, so I start reading.

  I’m deep into Lear’s storm rant when I hear, “Anthony?”

  I look up to see Detective Gekas standing beside me.

  “May I?” she asks, indicating the chair across from me.

  “Of course.”

  She sets down her cup of coffee and a piece of apple pie, served with a dollop of whipped cream on the side, and slides into the seat. When she looks at me, her eyes are fresh and focused, but her brows are furrowed, the corners of her lips drawn down with unease. She seems tense, nothing like the Gekas I saw at yesterday’s party.

  I glance over at Charlie. He’s not paying attention, but if she’s been to the till, I’m sure he’s aware of her presence.

  “I wouldn’t expect this to be quite your type of hangout,” she says.

  “I guess it’s all about the company we keep.”

  “I suppose it is.” She smiles, intentionally ignoring Charlie. “You two hanging out lots?”

  “Yeah, you could say that. He’s moved in.”

  At first Gekas seems surprised, but then she relaxes. “After last night, I wondered. But I think a house like yours may do him good.”

  I don’t know Charlie’s history, but I do know Gekas has a thick file on him back at her office. She knows his secrets—some of them, anyway.

  “How’s he doing after last summer?” she asks, genuinely curious.

  “Good. At least, I think so. You know him. Never shares much with anyone even on a good day.”

  Gekas smirks.

  “How about you, Detective?”

  “Healing. A little slower than my liking, but I’m coming along.”

  I nod. I can’t help but feel a little guilty since Charlie and I are very much responsible for her current condition.

  “It’s been a steady stream of OT.” Then, based on my look, she explains, “Occupational therapy, physio, and desk work.”

  “That doesn’t sound like fun.” I add, “I once tore ligaments in my ankle. Physio sucks.”

  Shut up, idiot! Torn ligaments do not equal being stabbed in the back!

  The comment doesn’t seem to bother her, though. “I’d take it over desk work any day.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I hate being in an office.” She laughs a little. “I guess I should just be glad to be on a case again.”

  She’s talking about the bodies that have turned up. With the new one that was found today, I’m guessing she’s feeling the pressure.

  She’s got something on her mind. Maybe she’s waiting for me to ask questions about the investigation, but I stay quiet.

  She goes on, “You two keeping out of trouble?”

  Again, the same question as the night before. I wonder if she’s worried about us messing things up again.

  “Yes, Detective, we’re behaving.”

  And again, that brief hint of disappointment.

  Am I missing something here? I’m about to ask when Charlie’s appears at our table.

  “How’s the coffee, Detective?”

  She looks up at him with a smile. “Very good, thank you.”

  “And the pie?”

  “Just like something my father would have made.”

  “Since he ran a bakery, I’ll take that as a compliment,” he says, all nonchalant.

  She looks at him, surprised, and shakes her head.

  “Hey, you’ve got your file on me, so I figured I better have one on you too,” he counters.

  She studies him, and I expect her to yell, but instead she asks, “So what else have you found out?”

  “Besides your parents, grades, and service record? Not much. You keep a pretty low online profile.”

  “It pays to keep your private life private when you’re in my line of work.”

  “Too much dealing with the riff-raff?” he asks, grinning.

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  I laugh, knowing we’re probably included on that list.

  Without pause, Charlie switches gears. “You’re pretty busy with those murders, huh?”

  Gekas’s smile fades and the tension returns to her face. Sometimes he’s so blunt, I really want to facepalm myself.

  “Got any leads on who’s killing those people?”

  And then sometimes I just want to facepalm him—so hard that it knocks him on his ass.

  He continues, “What can you tell us about the victims?”

  “You know I can’t—”

  “Any connections between them?”

  “This is a police matter—”

  “How about leads on the killer’s M.O.?”

  “Charles—”

  “C’mon, Detective. You must know something ?”

  “Charles, enough.” She raises her voice and people turn to look. It’s very un-Gekas-like. “Sorry, it’s just— Please …”

  I gesture at Charlie. “Go. Do something. Maybe frost some doughnuts.”

  “Geez. Fine, Shepherd. I was only curious.” He leaves, looking a little sheepish, to take his place behind the counter.

  I turn back to her. “Sorry. He’s just being … Charlie.”

  “It’s all right. It’s not him. It’s—” she breaks off. “He’s not a bad kid. Pretty smart, actually. Just sometimes, he pushes a little too hard.” She sighs, gripping her coffee mug. “The truth is, this case has been a series of dead ends so far.”

  I’m a little surprised that she’s telling me this.

  “Two bodies—” she realizes her mistake, “three bodies now … And sometimes, it just feels so personal. Like the killer’s mocking me.”

  I’ve never heard her speak this way, and it actually sends a chill down my spine.

  She sighs again, staring into the murky depths of her mug before glancing up at me. “You boys really haven’t been snooping around at all?”

  I shake my head.

  “This guy’s been so methodical and confident …”

  I notice her slip—they assume the killer is a male. For her to casually mention it, giving me details of the case … What is she up to?

  Charlie reappears. “Two fresh chocolate-glazed doughnuts.

  Still warm.” He pushes the plate under Gekas’s nose. “I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

  I’m still searchin
g her face, trying to understand why she’s revealed this clue, but she breaks my gaze and looks up at Charlie.

  “You don’t have to do this, Charles. I was out of line—”

  “No, Detective. I insist.”

  She studies the plate, takes one, and tastes it.

  Although she’s not in the mood, I can tell she’s impressed. “Very good. Thank you,” she says through a mouthful.

  Charlie slides in beside me. “I don’t know if you know this, Detective, but I can be a little socially inept around cops.”

  She laughs. “It’s all right. It’s what makes you good at what you do …” She trails off, suddenly distracted by her phone, checking it as if it buzzed, though I didn’t hear anything. “I should be going. Thanks again for the doughnut, Charles.” She glances at me briefly. “You boys behave yourselves. Stay out of trouble.”

  She rises, desperation plain on her face, and strides out of the restaurant, not looking back.

  But all I can wonder is: What the hell just happened?

  chapter 34

  While Charlie works, I attempt to do homework, but my head is swirling, trying to understand what Gekas was up to. I want to ask Charlie what he thinks, but he’s busy at the till.

  His shift ends, and I think I’m finally going to get my chance, but he says, “Your dad’s on his way to pick us up.” And as if on cue, Dad honks his horn as the car pulls up. Before I can say anything else, Charlie calls, “Shotgun!” and rushes outside.

  We pile into the car and I stare out the window while Dad and Charlie talk about his first day of school.

  I’m only half listening when Dad asks, “And how was your day, son?’

  I mumble something—“Good,” I think—before the conversation moves on without me.

  When we step through the front door, Ollie rushes down the hall, barking, until he realizes it’s us and immediately goes into chill mode, wanting love.

  Mom calls from the family room, “Food’s in the fridge. Help yourselves.”

  Dad wanders off to be with Mom, and I follow Charlie into the kitchen.

  He pulls out plastic containers full of roast beef, scalloped potatoes, and salad, and sets them on the counter. “Working around food makes a guy hungry!” he says, piling it all onto his plate. “It’s like Christmas dinner here every day.”