27

If you’re going to snoop, don’t make it so obvious. Put my things back in order.

What would I hide in the pages of my books? An address? A phone number? A name of a mistress? A picture of her?

I’m not sure what enrages me more—Heidi’s mistrust or that she left my office a mess. I ask myself if she did it intentionally to piss me off. Most likely. She knows how orderly my things have to be.

I spend a few minutes rearranging my books alphabetically by author and aligning the spines evenly with the shelf. Then I straighten up the mouse and keyboard on my desk. Obviously, Heidi tried to access my computer as well.

The thought of her trying to figure out my password amuses me. I wonder how many names she punched in before she got mad and gave up.

I use the name of my first, a pretty blonde I met ten years ago in the quartzite hills of Killarney Park.

I can still see her standing on the top of Silver Peak, gazing out at the breathtaking view, her hair blowing in the breeze.

She was the catalyst to this enjoyable adventure. Twenty-four now, including the mountain biker on Saturday.

I remember them all equally. Each location. Each face. Each confused, terrified look. Each little noise they made.

Taking a seat, I fire up my computer and search the web for any information on the mountain biker. Kimberley Daily Bulletin has a piece on him.

Kimberley RCMP are asking for the public’s help in locating a missing man from Marysville.

Twenty-seven-year-old Guillaume Mills is described as 5’ 10”, 165 pounds, with short brown hair and brown eyes. He has a tattoo on his left calf that reads, “Live To Ride, Ride to Live”.

At approximately 10:00 a.m. Saturday, Guillaume left his home on 307 Avenue. He was last seen wearing a blue jacket, black cycling tights, and white cycling shoes. Family members said he was riding his bike for Kimberley Nature Park.

RCMP are concerned for his safety.

Smiling, I sit back in my chair. Guillaume Mills. I put the name to the face already seared into my memory.

I wonder how long it’ll take them to find his body. Kimberley Nature Park has a lot of real estate, twice the size of Stanley Park. It could be days, weeks, even months.

It took five months to find Lionel Gunn in La Mauricie. By then, animals had scattered his bones to different areas of the park. Police couldn’t even determine the cause of death.

A police drawing of a man in a hood covers the front page of The Chronicle Herald. They call him a person of interest.

I can’t say it’s like looking into a mirror. The eyes are all wrong—too expressive and set too far apart. The upper lip is too full. The nose is too large. And the eyebrows don’t have those sharp arches. The jaw and chin are the only things in the ballpark.

The longer I stare at the drawing, the more it reminds me of a male model. Broad cheekbones. Not an ounce of fat on his face. I could call it a flattering recreation.

The details in the write-up worry me. Someone guessed my height, weight, and eye color correctly. Nailed the clothing I wore.

A roll of sweat trickles from my armpit. I sit back from the desk, wondering who saw me. How’d I attract attention to myself? Was I overly friendly? You know, that nice-guy curse. You smile a bit too much, and people think you’re weird or an imbecile.

I dress according to my activity and environment, so I never look like that proverbial fish out of water. I wear sweats and running shoes whenever I jog. When I hiked the trails in Kimberley Nature Park yesterday, I wore my Gore-Tex boots, cargo pants, and shell jacket. I never carry a backpack like some hikers, but I did take a small EDC sling bag to carry my water bottle and a GORP bar. And of course, I had the new trekking poles I bought Thursday.

Shortly after I entered the park, I happened on a guy in a pea coat who was walking a Great Dane. I don’t think he even looked at me. I remember more of his dog than him. The thing was the size of a horse.

Farther on, I met an elderly couple by the container terminal. They were busy talking to each other, but the old guy did give me a curt nod as we passed each other. I doubt he looked at me long enough to retain an accurate memory.

He was jogging toward me with a big smile on his face and his eyes glued to mine. As we passed each other, his smile and stare never wavered. He greeted me with a boisterous hello. I flashed him a smile. Can’t remember if I spoke or not.

I come back to what I said about someone who smiles a bit too much. People think you’re weird or an imbecile. That was my first impression of this fellow.

He had to be the one who talked to the cops. But what made him think of me? Did he witness something? Was it my demeanor? Why am I being called a person of interest?

I wonder about Heidi. What are the odds she checks the news out of Nova Scotia? I’ve never known her to. But if she did. Shit. Shit.

If Heidi sees this story, would she have a light-bulb moment? Would she consider the scratch I came home with? The fact that I inadvertently called her the name of the actual victim? Would she then see my face in the drawing? And the clothing? Fuck, what about that? If she goes looking through my closet, she’ll find the hoodie and sweatpants I took to Halifax.

My mouth is dry. My throat is constricted. My muscles are tense. I can’t remember the last time these weird sensations hit me all at once.

I hear the girls laughing and splashing around in the bathroom. Heidi will be in there watching them.

Quietly, I dart down the hall to our bedroom. Heidi and I have separate walk-in closets. I go to mine.

I hear a noise and freeze. It’s the sound of feet thumping on the bathroom floor. The girls are getting out of the tub.

Hurrying from the bedroom, I go to the kitchen and stuff the clothes into an empty garbage bag.

Tomorrow is collection day. Does the garbage go or just the blue boxes and green carts? I shake my head, unable to remember.

Clenching my teeth, I fight through this chaos in my brain. I recall the piles of leaves raked to the curb all up the street. Every fall, the city comes around with a vacuum truck and cleans up the leaves for residents.

I rush out to the garage. Through the window in the roll-up door, I see our trash can at the end of the driveway. Perfect. As long as Heidi doesn’t see me.

I take the bag outside and push it down inside the can. When I go back inside, I find Jade waiting for me in the kitchen. She’s wearing her Dora the Explorer pajamas.

I give her a big hug. “Good night, honey. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

Jade gives me a little laugh and runs off to her bedroom. Jaleesa never comes out to see me.

As I’m returning to my office, I run into Heidi coming out of our bedroom. She’s carrying folded bedclothes. She shoves them into my arms.