by Jim Heskett
An idea formed.
Since the building was only one story tall, there was no fire escape leading up to the top, but the building did have a storm drain. Some elevation might afford better options.
So, she put the wallet in her own back pocket and latched onto the storm drain. Foot over foot, hand over hand, she grunted and struggled her way up the side of the Voxx coffee building. She dug her heels into the exterior and scaled the surface in five seconds.
Serena skittered across the gravel on top of the building, jerked to a halt before she tumbled over the edge, and then peered down to the ground below. The befuddled guard was still out front, his hands on his hips, searching around the patio area. Serena gripped the wallet in one hand and held it out into the air, hovering above the front entrance to the coffee shop. One quick drop and she could put it right next to him.
Now, she only needed him to turn around so he wouldn’t see it falling from the sky.
For a moment, she thought he might not turn. He looked ready to give up. Even from up here, she could see the frown on his face. If at first, he'd thought he had lost it, he was certainly now starting to think it had been stolen.
Attempting to re-insert it near him was a risk.
There was no other choice, though.
The front door opened and Daphne strolled out. As she passed the guard, she lowered her sunglasses and winked at him. His eyes followed her, brow scrunched and his mouth hanging open. He turned his back to the building, facing the street out front.
“Have a nice day,” Daphne said, tossing in a flirty and girlish giggle at the end.
The guard stayed quiet as he tugged on a little soul patch below his lower lip, ogling Daphne as she sashayed by. She was practically throwing herself at him as she slinked away from the building.
This was a gift. Time to use it.
Serena adjusted the trajectory of her toss, then launched the wallet toward the ground. She had aimed for a potted plant, one of two next to the front entrance of the building.
The wallet glided through the air. It landed smack into the middle of the soil, making only a light thud as it hit the potted plant. She held her breath.
In another few seconds, as Daphne crossed the street, the guard turned back around, cocked his head, and squinted down at the potted plant. He bent over, examining the item. Then he snatched up the wallet and gave it a quick examination. He opened it and picked through the inner pockets. After a couple seconds of this, he shoved it into his back pocket. And, without any fuss, he reentered the coffee shop.
Serena finally let out a massive breath. Lightheaded. Had it worked? Was he fooled? She might not find out soon, and maybe not for several hours.
14
Dozens gathered around the spaces inside the lodge’s main meeting room. There were refreshments, of course, and several of the SMRC’s instructors made themselves available to speak with those who were distraught. They adopted concerned faces and actively listened as upset guests described the anxiety they felt over knowing one of their own had died so suddenly.
Layne and Harry hovered near the edges, looking out the window. The aging hippie who taught the stretching class was at the front of the room, singing tranquil songs into the microphone attached to a karaoke machine.
Outside, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police went about their jobs, investigating the scene of Rudy Costello's death. What Layne had learned so far was that Rudy had slipped and fallen while he was in the shower and had broken his neck on the cold tile floor of the bathroom.
Likely, that was bullshit.
Layne spent time wandering around the lodge room, mixing in with the other retreat participants, listening to their stories. He wanted to see how they were reacting to the news of Rudy's passing. He listened for their tone in the way they spoke, the words they used, anything out of the ordinary. Mostly, they spread bits of gossip about the man and what had happened to him.
Rudy was here alone. He hadn't stood out or caused problems. The housekeeper had discovered him in a torrent of shower water, cascading off his body due to the way he’d landed half in and half out of the tub. He’d been nearly frozen when found. Layne doubted that last detail because as far as he knew, the heat in the room hadn’t stopped working. But, Icicle Rudy did make for a juicier bit of gossip to spread, Layne supposed.
There were so many rumors flying around, he had a hard time pinpointing the exact sequence of events. Maybe it didn’t matter. After some time, Layne decided there wasn't enough useful information to glean from these people. No one seemed to know anything they shouldn’t, which had been Layne’s purpose for snooping around the room.
He returned to Harry and asked his roommate, "want to get some fresh air?"
Harry nodded and said he did.
Outside, they watched the paramedics pulling the stretcher out of the front door of Rudy’s bungalow. One of them slipped on a patch of ice, and he nearly dropped the empty stretcher. Nearby, the housekeeper who had discovered him was babbling to a couple of constables, each of them tapping on tablets while nodding. The housekeeper was inconsolable. Tears streaming down her face, black streaks of eyeshadow, her fingers tickling the beads of a rosary clutched in her hands. She wore a massive down parka draped over her shoulders, the arms of it dangling and shaking as she sobbed.
“Learn anything interesting?” Harry asked.
“Not really. If someone here killed him, no one in that room gave any sign. They’re all acting exactly how I would expect people attending an overpriced meditation retreat would act.”
“How’s that?”
Layne sniffed. “Making it all about them.”
“You really don’t like it here, do you?”
“I’m just frustrated. All this spinning our wheels is killing me.”
“I get that.”
“But no, this isn’t my scene,” Layne said. “I’d rather do my meditating with a microbrew and a thick fantasy novel in my recliner in front of my fireplace. Or, deep in a national park, with a 70-liter backpack, headed for a backcountry campsite far away from established roads. All this transcendental stuff isn’t my scene.”
Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. Some of the breathing exercise practices are interesting. I’ve heard they have a sensory deprivation tank, but you have to know somebody and know how to request it, like a secret menu at a fast food restaurant.”
“That’s fine. Nothing in the operation parameters said you can’t enjoy yourself while you’re here.”
Harry stared at the sobbing housekeeper, trying her best to speak coherently to the constables, but failing at her task. “You make me sound shallow when you say that.”
“Sorry, man. That’s not how I meant it.”
Harry nodded. “I know. But, either way, looks like we can cross Rudy off the list.”
“Not necessarily.”
Harry looked at him, head cocked and eyes askance. “You think so?”
Layne wasn’t sure. Maybe Rudy had slipped and fallen in the shower. While he’d seemed a couple decades too young to have that sort of accident, it did happen to people in real life. Nothing so far suggested foul play. But it seemed too convenient. Too perfect. Layne and Harry investigate him, and within a couple of days, he turns up dead?
“I don’t know,” Layne said. “It does seem odd, though, to have a crew of Mounties here for a slip and fall.”
“Right. That reminds me. I was going to tell you: Rudy Costello is wanted in British Columbia for aggravated assault. Or, he was wanted. Looks like they won’t be looking for him anymore.”
“I see. I’ll bet that’s a nice black mark on the SMRC, especially after two other recent guests have been indicted for human trafficking. Must be getting tense in those staff meetings.”
The doors of the main lodge opened and angular Victoria Overton walked out the front, escorting a constable. She shook his hand, and he skated down the front, almost slipping on an icy step. Only a quick grasping of the guardrail kept him on his fee
t.
Victoria remained on the top step, clutching her jacket close as snow trickled all around her. The wind whipped her red hair, contained in a loose ponytail running down the pale flesh of her neck.
Her eyes locked onto Layne, her gaze intense and absolute.
Yes. Rudy’s death seemed a little too convenient.
15
After the cops left, things at the retreat center went back to normal. They didn't even cancel sessions for the day. Layne kept a pulse on the general attitude as the afternoon progressed. Checking in, studying people, noting their reactions.
Overall, the guests were shaken, but not devastated. It’s not as if Rudy Costello was a figure beloved by this small and temporary community. He was chatty, amiable, but a little guarded.
One detail Layne noted was how easily everyone assumed that what the RCMP and Victoria Overton had claimed about the circumstances surrounding Rudy’s death were true. The average person didn't even question it.
Layne and Harry decided to split up for the afternoon sessions and focus on finding new leads to investigate. Harry had been having trouble conducting online research since the cellular networks—and therefore internet service—were so spotty.
Layne entered the northernmost lodge on campus for a breakout session on proper posture. Fortunately, this one was a lecture, not another hands-on thing. He’d had enough of being scorched with hot rocks and having dreadlocked hippies lay hands on him to correct his breathing.
As he meandered through the seats toward the back to procure a cup of coffee, a tall brunette with striking green eyes and a little pug nose was filling her cup.
She held it under her nose and smiled at him as he lifted a cup from the stack next to the machine. This same woman had made eyes at him a few times over the last couple days. He’d meant to find out why.
“Hello,” she said. “I’m Janine.”
“Leonard,” he said as he extended a hand to shake. His sleeve rode up a bit, exposing the tattoos along his forearm. “I’ve seen you around.”
Janine grinned down at his tats while she twirled a coffee stirring stick into her light brown coffee. She had a habit of sticking her tongue between her teeth whenever she flashed her toothy smile. “I like your ink. Recent?”
“Mostly from my twenties, a few in my early thirties. So, no, I’m afraid. Wish I could say that was recent times, but I’m not so lucky anymore.”
“Is anyone safe from the cruel grip of time?” she said as she popped the coffee stirrer into her mouth and then drew it out, a little too slowly. Her cheeks caved in, and she batted her eyes. Janine was flirting with him, and not in the most subtle way.
“That’s the truth.”
“You American?” she asked.
He nodded and sipped the coffee. “How can you tell?”
“Because you haven’t apologized once since we started talking.” She giggled, pleased with herself. “I am too. Ocala, Florida by way of South Carolina.”
Layne wondered where this was going. If he had any reason to avoid or engage with her questions. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, and Layne hadn’t seen her interacting with any of the other guests. Their eyes had met a few times in various sessions, but Layne didn’t know a thing about her. Not where her bungalow was, or how she spent her evenings, or anything else.
But, he reminded himself, she could still provide useful information, directly or indirectly. At this point, anyone could be a suspect. It made sense to keep all the avenues open. “I’m from Colorado.”
“So all this cold is right up your alley.”
He shrugged. “The weather where I come from is generally nice, but yeah, it snows there too.”
“This is our fourth day here, right? Sorry, but I don’t believe we’ve actually met so far.”
“True. I’ve been spending a lot of quiet time. Recharging. But, I’ve seen you around.”
She nodded absentmindedly, then her eyes jumped wide like she’d just remembered something. “Did you hear about the poor guy who fell in the shower this morning?”
Of course Layne had heard about it. Everyone at the SMRC was aware of Rudy’s death. Layne thought this was an odd thing to say, but he chalked it up to her floundering for ways to continue the conversation.
“Yeah. Crazy. He seemed like a nice-enough guy, right?”
“I didn’t really get to know him.”
A throat cleared near the front of the room. An instructor approached a podium, and she tapped on a microphone a couple times. The pops echoed around the room. Behind her, a slide projector came to life, showing a bright blue screen.
“If you could take your seats, please. We’re about to get started.”
Layne tipped his cup to Janine and pivoted his foot to leave.
“So nice to make your acquaintance, Leonard,” she said, lowering her eyes at him. For a moment, he thought she might pull on his arm, to suggest they leave the room together, or, at the very least, sit in adjacent seats. But, she didn’t do anything like that. She had some restraint, apparently.
“You too,” he said, and then he skirted away from her. He grabbed a seat on the left side, and Janine took up a spot in the same aisle, on the other side of the room. Fifty seats away. She crossed her legs and grinned at Layne.
As the speaker began her presentation, Janine dropped him a wink.
16
In the morning, Layne woke to an amazing sight. While previously, there had been six to eight inches of snow covering the grounds outside of his bungalow, this morning, at least eighteen blanketed the entirety of the outside world. Everything was drenched. He couldn’t even see the first three steps of the staircase to the main lodge.
The mountain peaks around the grounds were half-covered in clouds, but the visible ones were now a stark white.
Layne left his room and jabbed the button on the coffeepot in the kitchen, then he knocked on Harry's closed-door.
"Hey K-Books,” Layne said.
A moment later, a rumbling came from behind the door, and an unkempt Harry made an appearance in the crack. He rested his forehead against the doorframe, eyes bleary, shaggy brown hair mussed. "What is it?"
"Have you looked out your window?”
Harry blinked a few times and then said, “no. Thirty seconds ago, I was dreaming about sitting in the stands at my son’s soccer game, wearing shorts and eating an orange slice. I have not looked outside at frigid and snowy Canada yet today.”
Harry shuffled over to the window and opened the blinds. "Holy shit," he said as his eyes grew as wide as saucers. “This is a big deal.”
“You don’t get this in Virginia?”
Harry slowly shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“This changes things. Since we’re probably bungalow-bound for now, can you look up one of the guests today?”
“Sure, Layne. Who is it?”
“Janine. I don’t know a last name. Mid-thirties, brunette, green eyes. From Ocala, Florida, possibly, but she could have been lying about that.”
“I’ll see what I can do, if I can get the network to cooperate.”
For a few moments, both of them marveled at the abundance of white outside. And above, the sky was a solid block of gray, dumping more snow. Even in the deep mountains of Southern Colorado where Layne primarily resided, he didn’t see accumulation like this. A foot over the course of a whole day wasn’t uncommon, but eighteen inches in one night? This was crazy.
“Did you know,” Harry said, “that Daphne was planning on firing Alicia from the team after the London operation? I mean, did you know beforehand that she was planning to do it?”
Layne nodded. “At the bar, when we were organizing the warehouse raid. It’s why Daphne pulled me aside to talk to her.”
“Ahh, I always wondered why she did that. I’d assumed she wanted to make out with you or something.”
Layne glared, and Harry chuckled. “Come on, Boy Scout, you two were the worst at keeping that secret.�
� Harry’s smile dissipated as he sighed out the window. “I wonder if Alicia knew about it. If it helped shape the things that came after that raid. If it made Alicia do what she did in the alley later, you know?”
“There’s no way to know. All that matters is what we did. All of us. We made mistakes. I made mistakes. Everything went to shit because of it.”
“I know we were sorry to see you go when you retired. The team lost one of the best shadows it ever had that day.”
Layne’s breath had steamed a circle of the window, so he rubbed the sleeve of his shirt across it. “Thank you for saying that. I didn’t think the team would disintegrate after London. Honestly, I didn’t think about much at all after the car crash and the dance club incident.”
“I get it. You were newly married, thinking about having a family. Playing war games in foreign countries loses its luster after a while.”
Layne’s eyes unfocused as the coffee pot timer beeped behind them. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
“That’s fine. Sorry, Layne. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
As they stared out the window in silence, within a few seconds, a figure entered their vision from the left. A man wearing snowshoes, flinging powder with each step, holding a hat on his head as he trudged through the snow, wind whipping against him.
This man knocked on the front door of a nearby bungalow and waited until someone came. A young married couple stood in the doorway, having a conversation with this man. Within a few seconds, they were nodding, and he was on his way.
Layne checked his watch. 6:30 AM. The man then trudged over toward Layne's bungalow, wicking snow from his brow as he clumped up the steps. He knocked on the door, so Layne and Harry shuffled through the living room to the front door and opened it.
"Hello," said the man, his face and nose bright red from the cold. He was out of breath, pushing funnels of steam with each exhalation.
"Morning," Layne said, "would you like to come inside? You must be cold. We have coffee.”