by Garry Ryan
It took five minutes to get back to the car.
“Okay.” Harper put the key in the ignition. “What?”
“Fibre’s just wacky enough to bug the elevator, that’s all.” Lane put on his seatbelt.
“So what if he does?” Harper turned on the engine and slipped the transmission into drive.
“He’s a valuable source of information. I don’t want to offend him.”
“You’re afraid I’m gonna open my mouth and piss him off?” Harper braked for traffic. He turned down the hill and headed for the river valley.
“Yes.” Lane looked across the river at the trees on the bluff.
“Do you want to know more about the land claim?” Harper guided the car around a descending curve in the road.
“There’s a coffee shop right around the corner.”
“Why did I know you were gonna say that?” Harper smiled.
After ordering coffee, they found a seat at one end of the café, close to a window.
“So, what did you find out?” Lane asked.
“It’s more complicated than I thought. You see, the land Blake Rogers lived on has been in his family for nearly one hundred years. One of his ancestors was the minister who worked on the Sarcee Reserve — that’s what it was called before T’suu T’ina Nation — and he was deeded the land.”
“Here you are.” The waiter slid their coffees onto the table.
“Thanks,” Lane said.
Harper took a careful sip, smiled and took another. “You’ve done it again! This is great coffee. How do you find these places?”
“You were saying?” Lane took a sip of his mochachino and wore a mustache of whipped cream.
Harper handed Lane a napkin.
Lane wiped at his lip.
“Forty years ago, Eva bought some of the land back. More recently, she made a claim. She says that the land Blake lived on was originally given to her tribe by treaty. I checked into it. She has a strong case. Blake couldn’t sell the land. This is where it gets especially interesting.”
Lane waited.
Harper took another sip of coffee. “Blake Rogers was broke. Because his land is now within city limits, it’s worth a fortune. Blake wanted to sell part of it but couldn’t. He actually owned more than twenty hectares of land. Some of it was rented out. He looked into subdividing some of it but found he could not. In fact, he may have been about to declare bankruptcy.”
“Eva tied the land up and messed him up.” Lane smiled.
“Apparently, and it looks like Eva will eventually win.”
“Are we looking at a motive then?” Lane asked.
“For Alex’s murder, but not for the others.” Harper looked out the window. A couple in their twenties sat on the terrace soaking up the sun.
“We have five deaths, the four who were residents at Blake’s house as well as Alex. Blake had a motive for killing Alex, and we have at least one witness who says that’s what he did. The evidence suggests that the same weapon that wounded me, killed Blake. Finally, the evidence points at Blake for the murder of Skip Lombardi.” Lane looked out the window. A male cyclist in a yellow jersey leaned his bike up against the iron fence. He bent to lock his bike. The yellow was stained with green on one shoulder.
“So far, that’s what we’ve got.” Harper looked out the window.
A second cyclist arrived. He was wearing black lycra shorts, a black jersey, and black helmet. There was a pinecone sticking out at an angle in the top vent of his helmet.
The cyclist in the yellow jersey stood up and turned to face the other.
Lane stood up. “We’d better go outside.”
Yellow jersey threw a punch. It connected with the black helmet of the other rider. The pinecone popped out. The cyclists wrapped each other up, fell over the fence, and onto the table, where the startled couple fell to the ground.
The waiter said, “Hey!”
Lane was first out the door. The cyclists rolled in opposite directions and stood. Lane pulled out his id and kept his voice low. “Hello, gentlemen.” The combatants had to listen carefully to hear his voice.
Harper pulled out his identification and stood next to the yellow cyclist.
“I think she’s done something to her shoulder.” The man at the table crouched over the woman, who was holding her arm and crying. There was blood on the front of her white T-shirt.
Harper nodded at Lane. He went to the woman. Her face was pale and she was shaking. “Better get her to emergency. She’s going into shock.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialled. He got up and walked toward the cyclists.
Lane pulled out a pair of handcuffs with his free hand.
Harper did the same.
The cyclist in black started to run. Harper grabbed his wrist and twisted it up between the cyclist’s shoulder blades. Harper cuffed one hand and then the other. He kept the phone tucked up against his shoulder and ear.
Lane walked over to the second cyclist and, using one hand, cuffed him.
“Not my fault,” the black-outfitted cyclist said.
Lane and Harper sat the pair down at opposite ends of the terrace.
The ambulance arrived five minutes later, just after the first police cruiser.
The injured woman was loaded into the ambulance. Her husband followed in their car. As he pulled away, he looked at the pair of cyclists. Lane saw murder in the husband’s eyes.
The cyclists were loaded into separate cruisers.
When Lane and Harper got back inside, their coffees were full and hot. The waiter said, “Thanks guys.”
“How often does that happen?” Harper asked.
“Every now and then, cyclists or joggers get aggressive.” The waiter took their cold coffees away.
Lane looked out the window. Another waiter picked up chairs and began mopping up the coffee that had spilled over the bricks. Lane thought about the adrenaline rush resulting from the aftermath of the fight, and he thought about the husband, whose wife was at the hospital.
Harper said, “What?”
“Bystanders. We’ve been looking too close to home on this one. What did you say the name of Alex’s friend was?” Lane turned back to Harper.
“Aidan.”
“We need to talk with her, and we need to talk with Norm some more.” Lane took a sip of coffee. “Remember what Eva said when we asked who was a good shot?”
Harper nodded. “She changed the subject.”
“This wasn’t what I had in mind when I asked for a different outfit.” Alex the marionette wore a white shirt with a series of red circles on the front and the back. He also wore black jeans and shoes.
Aidan shook her marionette head. “You’re never satisfied, are you?”
“It’s just that I never wore anything like this either.” Alex looked out in the direction of where the audience would be. “Anybody got a mirror?”
“That’s the point. You’re dead, so you shouldn’t wear what you wore when you were alive.” Aidan peered offstage. Both Aidans wore blue jeans and blue satin shirts. Their belts were white with silver belt buckles the size of dessert plates. They wore red cowboy boots and white hats.
Alex turned to Aidan. “There’s nobody out there.”
“Not yet.” She tipped her hat back and put her thumbs in her belt.
Alex imitated a drawl. “You doin’ one of those ‘merican themes? I mean it’s red, white, and blue all over y’all.”
“I just like the colours. It’s not a political statement.” Aidan adopted a coquettish pose. “Well, maybe just a bit of one.”
“That’s what I thought. There isn’t one thing here you haven’t done for a reason.” Alex used an extended right hand to indicate the stage, props, and costumes.
“Glad you noticed.”
“And you’re still keeping the big secret even from me?” Alex pointed at a closed box on stage right. All of the other boxes were open to reveal hanging marionettes and backdrops.
“You need to be surp
rised when you see it. It’s the finale. You’ll understand when we come to the end of the show on Saturday.” Aidan walked over to the closed wooden box and stood in front with her arms crossed.
“Perhaps.” Alex adopted a thoughtful pose. “This outfit was an unpleasant surprise. Hopefully whatever’s in the box will be a pleasant one.” He moved closer to the closed box, peering around one side and then the other.
“Is my grandmother going to be out there?” Alex looked offstage.
“Called her today. Says she wouldn’t miss it.” Aidan leaned back against the box as Alex continued to study it.
“Norm too?” Alex started to dance. He leaned on one foot and then the other, doing figure eights in front of Aidan. He danced around the middle of the stage, hovering and swooping.
“Hasn’t made up his mind yet.” Aidan watched Alex with suspicion.
“He still looking out for you and Eva?” Alex held his elbows out level with his shoulders.
“Yep. He thinks he’s doing what his mom told him to do, keeping us safe when really it’s supposed to be the other way around.”
“Can’t wait to hear what they have to say. I mean Eva’s never been to a rodeo quite like this one.” Alex stretched his arms into wings and continued his dance.
“You worried about it?” Aidan leaned against the wall and crossed one leg in front of the other.
“A little bit. I mean, she and I never really talked about it.” Alex looked sideways at Aidan.
“Give her some credit. She’s one smart woman. She learned sign language when she found out you were deaf.” Aidan studied Alex.
“Being deaf is different from being … well, you know, some people think it’s a choice.”
“This isn’t like you. Having second thoughts?” Aidan added laughter to her voice.
“Maybe. I’m worried.” Alex stopped dancing, looked at Aidan.
“Worried about what?” Aidan uncrossed her legs and leaned forward.
“I feel a storm coming and it’s headed your way.” Alex hung his head.
“You worry too much.” Aidan punched Alex’s shoulder.
Alex laughed. “Now that’s a switch.”
chapter 14
“Amanda. It’s Amanda.” Christine said the words like the name should mean something.
Lane looked at Amanda standing in the kitchen. She was the same height as Christine. Amanda’s hair was dyed black, her eyes were blue, and she had the face of an angel with pierced eyebrows. She wore a leather jacket, knee-length shorts, canvas running shoes, and a black T-shirt. Lane held out his hand and thought, Is she moving in too?
Amanda pushed his hand away and hugged Lane around the waist. He looked at Christine for help. Matt leaned against the fridge with his arms crossed.
Amanda said, “You don’t remember me?”
Lane recognized something in her voice. “You mean Amanda? Mandy? My brother’s daughter?” Lane hugged her back.
“You do remember! I didn’t forget you. Even when they stopped talking about you, I remembered. You sent me birthday cards every year.”
“You used to lick your finger and stick it in my …” Lane got chills up his spine.
Amanda stuck a wet index finger in his ear.
Matt bent double with laughter.
Christine said, “She still does.”
“Are you staying for dinner?” Arthur asked.
They moved to the deck while Roz chased wasps and made endless rounds of the spruce tree.
“I can’t really remember when it happened or why. My parents just stopped talking about you. There were no more Christmas dinners. No more birthdays with you. Remember the barbecues in the summer? It all just stopped.” Amanda looked around the table. No one replied. She looked at Lane. “Do you remember it that way?”
“Yes.” Lane watched Roz while thinking about Riley in their old yard.
Arthur set a salad bowl in the middle of the table. “He was told to stay away. There were several phone calls from his brother telling him that Lane had made his choice, and they were making their choice. By that time, Lane and I were living together. I was there when the calls came in. It was like a death.”
Lane got up to check the chicken on the barbecue. He felt emotions beginning to boil over.
“My mom went along with it?” Christine asked.
At the opening of the barbecue lid, Roz roared onto the deck and skidded to a halt next to Lane.
“What’s going on? Anybody been feeding the dog from the table?” Lane thought, What am I so upset about? I’ve dealt with this. I like this life better than the old one. He looked back at Matt, Arthur, Christine, and Amanda. Only Amanda made eye contact.
Roz’s tail was a windshield wiper on the deck. Her tongue hung out. Her pleading eyes never left Lane.
“Well, did my mom go along with the ‘excommunication’ or didn’t she?” Christine asked.
“We didn’t hear from any of them. Lane was told he wasn’t supposed to be around his nieces and nephews.” Arthur held up the bottle of white wine. “Anyone?”
“Me, please.” Amanda held up her glass.
Arthur smiled. “You’re underage.” He looked at Lane.
Lane shrugged. “Anyone driving?” He worked to keep his voice low, conversational, even though he felt like screaming at the outrage of losing all those years.
They all shook their heads.
Arthur poured five glasses.
Lane picked up the platter from the table. It took all of his concentration to take the chicken off the barbecue.
Matt passed the salad.
“So you were cut off from us, and no one asked us what we thought?” Amanda scooped Greek salad.
“I guess so.” Lane looked to his left. Roz was there, sitting and waiting. He saw Riley again, head resting on his paws.
“How come you don’t say much, Uncle Lane?” Matt asked.
Lane looked across the table at his nephew. Lane’s words flew out before he took the time to think about them. “You know what it’s like! You’re cut off from your family! My family wanted nothing more to do with me! They preached about the truth! When I told them the truth, when I came out, they disowned me. It was all very polite, of course! They just stopped inviting me over! I’d call, but my calls would never be returned, or they didn’t have time to talk! I finally gave up after I was told I was a bad influence around my nieces and nephews!”
Matt leaned back, a bit shocked at the explosion he’d sparked.
Lane read his nephew’s expression. “I’m not mad at you. I thought I was over it. I was wrong.”
“Finally, it’s out!” Arthur put his arms up like someone had just scored a goal.
Lane opened his mouth and closed it.
Matt smiled. “So, it’s just a mask! You always act like you’re in control. But, you’re just like the rest of us!” He started to laugh.
Roz rubbed her cheek against Lane’s knee.
Christine started to chuckle. “The dog’s already figured you out! You’re just a teddy bear on the inside.”
Amanda sawed at her chicken breast. Half the breast shot across the table and ended up on Arthur’s plate.
Arthur looked at her with amazement. As they laughed, the dog began to howl.
After supper, dishes, and a second bottle of wine, they stayed outside. Roz lay next to Lane. He felt her nose against his hand. He rubbed the thick fur on the back of her neck. When he pulled his hand away, she sat up and poked him with her nose until he returned to scratching her.
Lane felt the wine loosening his tongue and looked at the pink sky silhouetting the mountains.
“It’s great to be able to see the mountains,” Amanda said. “We can’t see them from my house.”
“That’s one of the reasons why we bought this place.” Arthur sat opposite from Lane.
“New house, new dog, new family.” Lane was surprised as anyone at what he’d said.
“Is that why you didn’t want us to get a dog,
after what happened to Riley and what happened to your family?” Matt asked.
Lane thought for a moment. “Maybe. You get close and then …”
“Tell me about it. I know exactly what you mean.” Christine lifted her glass to look at the sunset through the wine.
“It’s always about you. You never think of anyone else, do you?” Matt glared at Christine.
Amanda laughed. “You two really are like brother and sister. Always bickering. Just like me and my brothers. Always reading more into what’s said than is actually there.”
“And sticking up for one another. Like after the dance.” Arthur lifted his glass and drained it.
“Did she tell you?” Matt looked sideways at Christine.
“Christine didn’t tell us anything. We have eyes. We could see what was going on. She had your back,” Lane said.
“Oh, I forgot. You’re a detective.” Matt looked for Roz who wagged her tail, put her paws on the arm of his chair and licked his face.
“Don’t get mad at Uncle Lane! He didn’t do anything!” Christine said.
Roz moved to Christine and licked her face.
“See what I mean?” Amanda raised her wine to see what was so interesting about the sunset, then she looked through the glass at Matt and Christine.
“I do.” Lane raised his glass and saw the pinks of the sunset accented by the legs of white wine in his glass and thought, Things just never turn out the way you expect them to.
The phone rang.
Christine got up and went inside. A few seconds later, she poked her head out the back door. “It’s for you, Uncle Lane.”
Lane got up and went into the kitchen. It must be ten degrees warmer in here, he thought. “Hello.”
“It’s me,” Harper said.
“What’s up?” Lane sat down.
“Christine tells me the party is going well.”
“It has its ups and downs.”
“She says you’re getting a little wild and crazy.” Harper sounded pleased.
“A little bit.”
“The DNA results are in.”
“And?”
“Lombardi’s blood and hair are a match. It looks like Blake killed him. And Rosco, the dog, was a match as well.”
Lane thought for a moment. “So the most reasonable conclusion is that Blake killed Lombardi and then the dog.”