by Laura Drewry
“If Granny over here can manage to find fourth gear without putting us in the ditch, we should be there in five. It’s like she thinks the H-shape changes every time she drives.”
“Nice, Ellie.” Jayne stepped on the clutch, glanced down at the shifter, and only ground the gears a little trying to find fourth. “Mock my driving all you like, but of the two of us, which one still has her license?”
Touché.
Chapter 2
“I don’t make things difficult. That’s the way they get, all by themselves.”
—Detective Martin Riggs, Lethal Weapon
Every cop had at least one unsolved case sitting on his desk, and Brett was no different. For a year now he’d doggedly followed every tiny lead he could dig up on the hit-and-run, but he always ended up at the same place: nowhere.
The suspect vehicle, reported stolen a few days before the accident, had been found easily enough, but the driver had vanished. IDENT had been all over the truck and had ruled out as suspect every print they’d found. Painstaking dissections of the scene and both vehicles, as well as interviewing the victim and reviewing surveillance tapes, had given him nothing.
Bupkis. Nada. Zippo. Zilch.
And if that wasn’t annoying enough, the victim in the incident was Ellie, and the lack of movement in the case had only fueled her contempt for the police department. Pulling her over today hadn’t helped matters, but she’d been doing almost twenty clicks over the speed limit.
She was lucky it was he who’d pulled her over and not Constable Hudak, who would have been too happy to not only ticket Ellie but to impound her vehicle without so much as a second thought. He could have written her up today—hell, he probably should have—but a couple things changed his mind.
The first was that she’d just lost her license, and even though that was her own damn fault, he didn’t kick people when they were down. The second was that he knew she expected him to write her up. In fact, she wanted him to do it, because then she could keep on believing he was a prick, and by not meeting her low expectations, he was proving her wrong.
And yeah, okay, after all the guff she’d given him over the last few years, he liked the fact that his being a good guy and cutting her some slack would piss her off a hell of a lot more than his issuing her another ticket.
So maybe Ellie wasn’t far wrong; maybe he was a bit of a prick after all.
He waited until her old blue Beetle disappeared around the curve near the bridge, then slowly got back into his patrol car and turned off the flashing lights. A small part of him would kill to be a fly on the wall when her letter from the Motor Vehicle Branch finally arrived and she saw the list of driving instructors in the area.
Until the MVB found a replacement for Larsen, Brett was the only one in a fifty-kilometer radius, and maybe if she hadn’t called him “Poncherello” he might have warned her about that.
“Seriously,” he grumbled. “Anyone who’s ever seen a single rerun of CHiPs knows I’m way more Baker than Ponch.”
But Ponch was better than some of the other names she called him, like Dudley Do-Right or Barney Fife.
Ellie’s past brush with the Ontario police was no secret to him; he’d known about it since the first time he pulled her over and ran her name through the system. It didn’t surprise him to see drug charges attached to anyone’s name, not with the number of cases he saw day to day, but after getting to know Ellie a little, none of that made sense. Hell, so far as he knew, the only time she’d even been intoxicated in the last four years was the night she, Regan, and Maya threw a post-wedding bachelorette party for Jayne.
She liked her wine, there was no question about that, but heroin? No way. And if she’d been wrongly charged and dragged through the courts, he couldn’t really blame her for having such a hate-on for law enforcement, especially after her stalking complaints against her ex, Kurt Neill, seemed to have gone nowhere. The whole thing seemed a little sketchy to Brett, but even if the cops hadn’t been able to help her with Kurt, surely her dad, some big hotshot attorney, would have been able to secure a restraining order against him. Yet there was no record of that having been done, either.
Given her complaints against Kurt, Brett had added him to the list of suspects in the hit-and-run but had crossed him off when the info from Toronto came in stating that Kurt had been on probation at the time, part of which included restricted travel. According to the Toronto detachment, Kurt had spoken to his probation officer on the phone the day of the accident, just like he’d done every week, as required.
One thing about Ellie: she didn’t seem to lie about anything, so it didn’t surprise him to hear bits of her past come out in conversations when they were all together. Regardless, it wasn’t his place to comment on any of it. What had happened was her business, and as far as Brett was concerned, the case had to have been thrown out for one of two reasons: either she was innocent or the cop assigned to the case hadn’t done his job properly.
Brett slipped his notebook into his vest pocket, making sure her license was still tucked inside. Jayne wasn’t wrong about him having Ellie’s info memorized. He only asked for her license and registration every time because it was procedure, but he’d long since stopped needing it in order to fill out her tickets.
Palmer, Elleanor Grace, DL #4885210, date of birth 1983-12-05, eyes brown, hair brown, weight 59.4 kg, height 171.5 cm, address 2649 Graemsay Road, Class 5 license with Restriction 21.
Technically, her hair was more of a chestnut shade, her eyes weren’t just brown; they were…well, brown brown, and the right one had a tiny gold speck near the bottom of her pupil. The only reason he knew that was because he’d once questioned her on the corrective lenses restriction and she’d responded in typical Ellie fashion; instead of simply telling him she wore contacts, she’d opened her eyes as wide as she could, pointed toward her lenses, and given him one of her all-too-familiar “dumbass” looks. It was his job to make sure she was actually wearing them, and in the time it took to spot the right one, he’d noticed the speck.
It’d taken him two seconds, maybe three, but it was long enough for Ellie to call him Mr. Magoo and make a crack about him being the one needing corrective lenses. He shouldn’t think it was funny when she took shots at him like that, yet every single time it happened, he had to work on keeping a straight face.
Sarcasm and honesty weren’t for everyone, though, and maybe that was why she didn’t date much; maybe the guys she met didn’t like the way she just laid everything out there. But still, a good-looking woman like that who was smart and funny…didn’t seem right that she didn’t go out more. Regan had laughed about it while she trimmed Brett’s hair a while back, telling him that Ellie’s idea of a date was the half hour it took to meet a guy for coffee.
Weird.
Brett parked his cruiser in the gated area behind the detachment and spent the final hour of his shift finishing up reports, all the while looking forward to their first ball practice with about as much enthusiasm as he would a double root canal without anesthesia.
When Nick first mentioned starting the team, Brett hadn’t hesitated, not even when he found out Ellie had already signed up—but that was before he’d revoked her license and thrown a huge wrench into her life. He’d almost considered calling Nick and backing out, to forgo the headache this was no doubt going to cause the team, but the thought had barely formed in his mind before he completely dismissed it.
He hadn’t missed a ball season since he was four years old, and he wasn’t about to start now.
—
“Three months.” Regan shook her head for the hundredth time as Ellie and Jayne, both freshly shampooed and trimmed, stepped out of her salon and all three looked up at the gathering clouds. “Don’t worry, Ellie. Between Jayne, me, and Maya, we’ll get you where you need to go.”
“Thanks, Reg.” Ellie forced a dry laugh even though none of this was funny. “I appreciate the offer, and I’ll definitely need to hit you guys up for r
ides sometimes, but I have my bike.”
She really did appreciate their offer, and she knew there wouldn’t be a moment’s hesitation if—when—she needed help, but Jayne was right: it was her own stupidity that got her into this mess, so in good conscience, Ellie would only beg favors from them when it was absolutely necessary.
And now wasn’t one of those times.
“Just park at your house,” she said to Jayne as they climbed back into the car. “And I’ll walk from there.”
“You’re not walking home, Ellie—it’ll take you at least half an hour, it looks like it’s going to rain, and we have to be at practice in an hour.”
“Yes, Mother, I know.” She grinned. “But it’ll give me time to ponder my bad behavior and make me appreciate what a privilege it is to drive.”
“You can ponder it from the inside of your house, where it’s dry,” Jayne said. “Call Nick and tell him to pick me up at your place.”
“But—” And so it began. There was no point in arguing because they were already headed to Ellie’s place.
Reluctantly, Ellie pulled out her phone and dialed Nick’s number. He was just leaving his jobsite and heading downtown, so he said he’d meet them at Ellie’s.
“See,” Jayne said, turning onto Ellie’s street. “We’re here in no time and…”
Ellie wasn’t listening; instead she was squinting through the front window, toward her front porch.
“Shiiiit. This can’t be good.”
“What?” Jayne was busy frowning at the gearshift as she pulled into Ellie’s driveway, so it wasn’t until she’d finally stopped that she looked up. “Who’s that?”
She’d let her hair go gray, but it was still cut in its usual neat bob and tucked behind her ears. Dressed in faded jeans, a green T-shirt, and a plaid flannel overshirt, with her half-moon reading glasses hanging from a silver chain around her neck and a big red suitcase beside her, the woman smiled and waved as though she showed up on Ellie’s front porch every day.
“It’s my mom.”
“Your mom?” Jayne jerked up the emergency brake, shut the car off, and gaped out the window. “Were you expecting her?”
“No.” Ellie dragged her gaze away from her mother and focused instead on gathering herself together before stepping out of the car. Muttering another low curse, she took a deep steadying breath and started toward the porch. Slow, even steps, girl. That’s it.
“Mom—what are you doing here? Are you okay? Is Gabbie?” She hesitated at the top step, but her mom didn’t; she immediately reached for Ellie and wrapped her in a long, tight, strong hug, something Ellie hadn’t even realized she’d missed until that very second. Who would have thought that the combination of soft, worn flannel mixed with the powdery floral scent of Chanel No. 5 could whisk a person back to their childhood so fast?
“Fine, fine, everyone’s fine.”
“Then what’s wrong?” Ellie pulled out of the hug first. “And how did you get here?”
“I took the bus from the airport and cabbed it over from the bus depot. Can’t a mother visit her daughter without there being something wrong?”
In other families maybe, but neither one of Ellie’s parents had visited since she’d moved out west from Toronto, so the answer to that question was a definite “probably not.” Before she could say as much, her mom waved Jayne up onto the porch.
“Scoot over, Ellie, let your friend up.” She all but shoved Ellie to the side to make room, then reached for Jayne’s hand and gave it a fast pump. “You must be Jayne—Ellie emails me pictures all the time. I’m Gail.”
“It’s, uh, nice to meet you, Mrs. Palmer.” As Jayne smiled, she moved a little closer to Ellie, showing where her true loyalty lay.
“Pfft, call me Gail.” She nodded toward the door Ellie had just opened and reached for her suitcase. “Come on in. Ellie can make us some tea.”
Whatever Jayne was going to say froze on her tongue when Nick’s big black truck pulled up. Before he could get out or Jayne could say anything else, Ellie gave her friend’s hand a quick squeeze.
“I’ll call you later.”
“Maybe Nick and I…” As if Nick heard her from the cab of his truck, he jumped out and started toward them, but one tiny head shake from Ellie and Jayne flagged him off. “Okay, well, don’t worry about ball practice—you’re not going to miss much tonight.”
“Ball practice?” Gail asked. “What time?”
“Six.” Jayne’s answer almost sounded like a question.
“She’ll be there.” Gail stepped around Ellie, waved at Nick like they were long-lost besties, then turned a pointed look at Ellie. “You’ve never missed a practice in your life, and you won’t be starting today just because I’m here.”
“But—”
Gail ignored her and turned her smile on Jayne, who’d hesitated halfway down the driveway, unsure if she should stay, go, argue, or what.
“She’ll be there,” Gail said. “On time.”
“Uh, okay.” Still not sounding certain, Jayne stopped at the passenger door. “We’ll pick you up in forty-five.”
“Thanks,” Ellie answered. “But I’d planned on riding my bike anyway.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, thanks.” She waved them off and turned to follow her mom inside, then stopped, frowning at the wicker chairs on her porch, one at either end now.
“Mom, did you move my chairs?”
“Mm-hmm,” she said, more than a little dismissively. “I didn’t like them so close together like that. It was too…confined.”
Okay. It’s just chairs, Ellie. It doesn’t matter.
Inside, her mom stood in the middle of the room, hands on hips, head tipped a little to the right, giving the whole place a quick yet thorough inspection.
“I know it’s small, Mom, but I like it.”
“Small?” Gail snorted. “Your dad’s toolshed is bigger than this.”
When the previous owner had repeatedly failed to pay the property tax, the city had been only too happy to sell the little log house to the first bidder, just to get it off their books. The downstairs was one huge room divided into kitchen and living areas by a small pine table and chairs Ellie had picked up at a garage sale. The only bathroom was upstairs, along with two small bedrooms, and an open space at the front of the loft that looked down over the living area.
Every time Ellie walked through the front door, she smiled. Except this time.
“It’s just me here, Mom—I don’t need anything bigger.” Forcing back a sigh, she moved the suitcase out of the way and tugged her mom toward the kitchen. “I’ll make you a cup of tea while you tell me why you’re here—and don’t give me any of that ‘can’t a mother visit’ crap, either.”
“Fine.” Gail inhaled a long, slow breath, but she didn’t huff it out like she usually did. Instead, she exhaled slowly, lifted her chin a little, and crossed her arms over her chest. “I left him.”
The mug slipped out of Ellie’s grasp, and she bobbled it from one hand to the other and back again before finally managing to catch it and set it down in one piece.
“Buck?” she gaped. “You left Buck? Well, holy mother of God, where’s the champagne when you need it?”
“Don’t start.” Gail reached around Ellie and pulled a second mug out of the cupboard as though Ellie were too inept to do it herself. “And please don’t call him that.”
“Why not? Everyone else does. I have a whole list of other names I could use if you like.”
“That’s enough.” After all these years, Gail’s clipped, sharp tone was still able to freeze Ellie’s tongue. “Why don’t you try calling him ‘Dad,’ like you used to?”
Oh, yeah, that wasn’t going to happen, not now. Ellie set the kettle on to boil, then pulled out the tea and the sugar.
“Where do you keep your honey?” Gail opened the cupboard and started pushing things around. “Ellie?”
“I don’t have any.”
“You don’t have
honey?” Gail frowned, peering back over her shoulder. “What do you put in your tea?”
Ellie lifted the ceramic sugar bowl and waved it back and forth.
“Oh honestly, Ellie.” The way Gail clicked her tongue, you’d have thought Ellie had just confessed to mainlining the stuff. “Sugar is nothing but white death. Honey is a perfect food; it helps with acid reflux—”
“Which I don’t have.”
“It minimizes seasonal allergies.”
“Which, again, I don’t have.”
“It helps boost your immune system, and—” Gail stopped Ellie’s interruption with a raised hand. “Studies show it might help prevent cancer.”
It had been over four years since they’d been in the same room—was this really the first thing they needed to argue about?
“Fine.” Ellie nodded. “You’re right, yes, honey is awesome; I’ll pick some up tomorrow.”
“Don’t get that crap they sell in the grocery store. They homogenize and pasteurize all the goodness right out of it; get it fresh at the farmers’ market.” Gail stopped, looked up, and frowned. “Does this town even have a farmers’ market?”
“Yes, Mom,” Ellie sighed. “Of course we have a farmers’ market. Now can we please talk about you and Buck?”
Giving up on the honey, Gail moved to the fridge, pulled out the carton of 2 percent, and sniffed it. “How long have you had this?”
“Seriously?” Ellie jerked the milk out of her mom’s grasp, poured a bit into one of the prepared mugs, and closed the fridge. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” Gail lifted her glasses, breathed hard on the right lens, then used her shirt to wipe it.
“Nothing?” When staring at her mother didn’t earn a response, Ellie shrugged. “Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think people generally walk away from thirty-five years of marriage because of nothing. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I support you a hundred and fifty percent….”