“DAVE, sorry I’m late,” said Norris. “Got stuck up at the grocery store. At least I don’t have babysitter problems now—JB’s friend Andrea started this week and is working out just fine—Bobby just loves her.”
“That’s okay,” he said. “It’s just after four. Glad that’s working out. I was heading out for some fresh air before dinner at Rosie’s,” said Dave. “Take a walk with me, will you?”
He’d been getting more involved in staffing issues lately, not that he liked it but he realized he couldn’t just ignore it. Norris had potential. She had great empathy with people and a clever mind. He’d checked her 1004’s on file, the performance logs were generally favourable. Her main problem was that she was off and on as far paperwork went—nothing so drastic to put her on report, but she needed to be guided a bit. He wasn’t sure how though, as he wasn’t much better than her at that bane of their existence.
As they stepped out the door Dave blinked and reached for his sunglasses. “Wow, it sure turned nice today. That sun is still blinding off the snow. I guess the days are finally getting longer.”
“So, what did you want to talk about?” said Norris.
“Nothing serious,” said Dave. “You’re doing a great job. We’re lucky you were here to manage things before I came.”
“It’s been a challenge,” she said. “Reese has been good too.”
“You’ve been doing the important things,” he said. “But now that I’m here to share the load, and before the summer rush — ”
“Let me guess,” she said. “Paperwork. I know, reports are late, and I miss diary dates sometimes.”
“I understand,” he said. “You’ve a lot to handle.”
“I can manage,” she said, “Don’t be afraid to give me hell if I’m messing up—I don’t want special treatment just because I’m a single mother.”
“Understood,” he said. “I can give you some shortcuts with your reports, though. Some quick ways to help make them look good for Staff up in Sub-division. I’m going to start assigning more specific work to Sheila too. I think she can handle it; just needs more of a challenge and responsibility.”
He still wasn’t sure what Sheila did on her three days, other than chat on the phone and bustle up to ‘her’ counter when anyone came in. Maybe getting more involved in some specific reports would give her a feeling of being part of the team.
They continued their walk down the main street, enjoying the sun while it lasted. The sidewalks were busier than usual, as it seemed like a lot of people had the same idea. With Norris by his side Dave couldn’t very well fade, so he ended up talking to everyone they met. It wasn’t that bad, maybe because he was more at ease with his job and the town, or maybe people were just warming up to him.
***
“What’s today’s special, Rosie?”
Dave settled onto a stool at the counter. In addition to the good coffee, the fries were exceptional too—not frozen, always fresh cut. Aside from the great dinners, Dave also enjoyed just sitting and talking with the owner. Well, it was more listening to Rosie, but he did have helpful comments to make, and seemed to know everything that was going on in the town.
Rosie smiled from the kitchen pass through. “You’re early, I’m still prepping for supper. How about some soup and an omelet?”
“I’ll take it,” said Dave. “I just finished my shift and took a stroll with Norris as she started hers. Took a while because everyone wanted to stop and chat. They seem friendlier today.”
“You can thank JB for some of that,” said Rosie. “She’s spreading the word about you. Telling people you really are an okay guy, if they just give you a chance. She does have some say here behind the scenes, directly and through her grandfather. And of course, I have mentioned to people what a good group you all are.”
“Thanks,” said Dave. “It would help my investigations if I could get people to share more details with me.”
“Anything new on Bourbeau’s disappearance?” asked Rosie. “Or is all that classified.”
“It’s still open,” said Dave. “Still working on it. Funny, when I mentioned it to Barretto and Klein they acted like the case was closed. They were quite worried that I’d keep going, wanted me to drop it.”
“And will you?” said Rosie.
“Drop it? No. But maybe that’s why my promised mill tour keeps getting delayed, maybe all my questions are making them nervous. I don’t think there’s any link between the two though.”
“It can be an interesting tour,” said Rosie. “It’s pretty impressive in there at first glance.”
“Well, I have had some complaints about pollution and the mill. Not really my jurisdiction, but I will try to keep my eyes open.”
A few minutes later Rosie set a plate down in front of Dave. “Here you go, omelet and soup.”
“This looks amazing,” said Dave. “My omelets just look like scrambled eggs.”
“Patience,” said Rosie. “Now when you get to the mill, Tony Barretto will be giving you the standard Paper Mill for Dummies tour, but maybe you can read between the lines. Notice where he doesn’t take you, as he can be sneaky. He’s very much a loyal mill employee too, and likes to brag, so he may let something slip too. He’s dumber than he looks.”
“I’ll push him a bit,” said Dave. “Thanks for the tips. They never told me in training I’d have to be an industrial spy too.”
***
“Thanks again for working on all those reports,” said Dave. “You’re doing a great job on them—you’re a fast learner.”
“Glad to help,” said Sheila.
They’d had a few stormy winter days, so Dave had focused on getting Sheila more involved in the internal paperwork. He’d just opened the budget file when he heard a cheery voice at the desk, “Hi Sheila, is Dave in?”
“Yes, I’ll let him know you’re here —”
“No problem, I’ll do it,” JB interjected. Before Sheila could even unwedge herself from her chair, JB popped in the door and perched on the corner of his desk.
“How’s your day?” she asked.
“Pretty good,” he said. “We’re all getting more used to each other in here. Sheila has taken over a bit more too—that’s a help. My little trip into the bush was a good break to get me thinking about some of the benefits of up here too. People seem more open to me, which is nice, I think.”
“Well, it’s sometimes more work to be a loner up here,” she said. “We are a friendly bunch. Might as well relax and enjoy us.”
“I feel a bit better,” he said. “Still having those weird dreams though, mostly with those animals in them. Nothing specific but I get the feeling they mean me harm.”
“Hmm,” she said, and looked at him thoughtfully. “You know, the clouds have cleared away, and it’s a nice day out there. Why don’t you let me take you for a walk.”
He was tempted, but he was just beginning to get the hang of running a detachment—staffing reviews, schedules, reports to headquarters and the town, even a trip to the local school to give a talk to the kids.
“Sorry, I’m on a roll here, just about to tackle the budget figures.”
“Budget?” JB laughed. “Whatever has possessed you? You used to hate paperwork.”
“Dave, it will wait,” said Sheila. “The top of your desk is in need of a cleanup again anyway. I’ve a pile of file folders and labels and am dying to tackle it.”
Dave was pleased to see this new side to Sheila. He smiled and grabbed his parka. “Sounds like a win-win for me. Let’s go.”
***
JB took a deep breath as they stepped outside. The air was crisp, but clean. They headed down the street slowly, jackets open a bit, occasionally bumping into each other and quickly apologizing. Birds flitted from branch to branch down the street, chirping in the warm sun.
Dave pointed to a large black and white one. “What’s that? It looks like a huge chickadee.”
“That,” she said, “is a Canada Jay. We call him Wisakedjak, or Whisky Jack.”
“Reminds me of you,” he said. “Always hopping around, never rests, seems to be interested in everything.”
She was pleased that he had noticed. “Good call. The Whisky Jack is my totem animal, my spirit guide.”
“What’s that for?” he asked. “Is it like a guardian angel or something?”
JB smiled. “Or something. My people use animals and dreams a lot to help us in our lives. We believe the spirits speak to us through them. Often it’s a particular animal for the person, and the meaning can be related to the kind of animal, or what happens in the dream.”
He looked at her sideways. “And when did you become an annoying little bird?”
“Annoying?” she said. She gave him a poke in the arm. She could tell he was teasing, but didn’t mind. “My mother said that while she was waiting for me to come into this life, she often saw the Wisakedjak outside her window, like he was keeping an eye on her.”
“Well, I guess whatever works for you,” Dave said, “I’ve always been a logical practical type, never into religion.”
She suspected that was about to change, once they started to investigate whatever was in him. “Think of it as a spiritual thing, not a religion,” she said. “I can tell you more if you’re interested.”
“That I am,” he said. “Part of my aboriginal liaison studies.”
Now it was her turn to look at him quizzically. If he wasn’t serious about learning this she didn’t want to waste her time.
“I admit, initially that was just something my boss put on my to-do list,” he said. “That and stay out of trouble. But I’m not asking because I have to, now I really am interested.”
“Okay then,” she said. “It is part of our culture after all, and we’re part of the community.”
She smiled, then whistled at the bird. It squawked back at her and flew off. “Daylight whistling is fine, don’t worry.”
“Thanks,” he said, “you had me worried for a minute, I was afraid some dark spirit was going to take you over.”
She glanced quickly at Dave, but he seemed to just be joking. She didn’t see any darkness now in him, here in the bright sun. As they walked he told her a bit about his other postings, and his latest one in Toronto, doing undercover work, and getting busted, when they saw through his disguise. When she pushed for details, there was that nervousness again, and a bit of a shadow around him. Interesting. She’d have to mention this to the elders; they needed every clue they could find on this.
“I overheard you practising your French on some locals,” she said. “It was passable. Where’d you pick that up?”
“Here and there,” he said. “Besides the Ojibwa there’s some French and some Irish in me. My middle name is Bernard.”
She laughed. “Bernard Browne? That’s rich, especially with that big brown parka you arrived in town with. Still just here for the year?”
“Yes, only a year,” said Dave. “Less if I can arrange it. Just making sure things go smoothly before I head on to more drug squad work, and hopefully a promotion. How about you, up here for good?”
“I might be,” she said. “When I was down at Ottawa U, I wasn’t sure what to take so settled for just a general arts program. It was interesting, but wasn’t that inspiring. I’ve always been an artist, so when I met some kids down there doing graffiti murals I persuaded them to let me watch them and learn. I’d tagged up here as a kid—everyone does I think. And no, I won’t tell you which are mine in the back alleys here.” She smiled, as he held up a hand in protest.
“No problem,” he said, “Let me guess, you got distracted and spent more time outside than in the classroom.”
“You got it,” she said. “I started priming walls, then graduated to small pieces on my own. Went to some clubs with the artists, met some DJ’s, danced all night. After a while I was spending most of my time working on my art, even getting some pieces onto the top legal walls. I really liked it and the crowd.”
“What sort of crowd?” said Dave.
“Some were students,” she said. “Some worked in a pub or a shoe store or a bank. Some were street kids sleeping under a bridge. What tied us together was our passion for this art. I volunteered on some youth projects too, even helped start a program for some First Nations kids. It was great to see what changes can be made once you find the key, a way to reach kids.”
“Sounds like you found your passion,” he said, “both the art and working with youth. Why did you leave?”
“Well, aside from failing all my courses, my dad disappeared.”
“Oh yeah,” he said, “sorry. So, now what? I understand the Grande is yours, right?”
“Yes. It was my dad’s, now is mine. I work at the pub, hang with some friends, talk to my grandfather and other elders. They can actually be quite interesting, especially when they start with the stories. Just don’t expect the Reader’s Digest condensed version; they do go on and on at times.”
“Like George did my first night here,” said Dave. “He knew I was already half asleep.”
JB chuckled. “I think they enjoy the process of storytelling as much as the specific ending. They need to ensure our culture is being passed on. It used to be discouraged, especially in the old residential schools, but it’s back out in the open now. Our culture is important to my people in many ways, and is even more in need as we try to deal with modern world issues. The elders and their stories are not only our historians and leaders, they are also our version of psychologists. They can guide us and help with our problems. Even more, sometimes it’s used to pass on knowledge to the gifted, help them further on their path—maybe to being a leader some day.”
She laughed and said “Don’t get me going, I get very excited when I talk about this topic. I could go on forever.”
Dave smiled back. “I don’t mind, I enjoy listening to you. Your eyes really light up when you get excited. I like that.”
Well, that was unexpected. “Thanks,” she said.
There was a pause. “So, when do they have these story times?” said Dave.
“It used to be a regular winter thing,” she said, “for the long dark evenings. Now it only happens at special occasions, like a pow-wow. And it’s getting harder to find youth willing to listen, as all they seem to want to do is play video games or turn on the TV for some mindless American sit-com.”
“I’d like to listen,” said Dave. “Let me know when I can hear some.”
“Just be sure to have a strong coffee first,” she said.
“I will,” he said. “Speaking of which, I need to drop in at Rosie’s—join me?”
“What like a date?” she said. She was joking at first, but realized maybe it was time she got over Pete the jerk ‘and tried again. Dave didn’t seem like the jerk type.
Dave looked back at her, paused, then said, “Sure, a date, let’s try that.”