Chapter 16

 

Paul fingered the detective’s card in his pocket and watched the police walk out the door. Detective Garraway said Chance had been hit on the head. What kind of person would attack an innocent mutt? It wasn’t like Chance would have jumped at him. More likely the dog had tried to make friends.

The apartment felt hollow without Chance. Would he be okay? Paul snorted. As if that was his biggest problem now. If Mom contacted her brother, she’d find out they’d been writing. She’d be furious. What if Harry told her about the band?

Paul’s stomach twisted. Mom looked so pale, so drained. With the break-in, and almost losing Chance, the last thing she needed was to find out he was playing guitar. Not that he wanted the fireworks it’d bring, either. Paul sighed. It all came down to whether a convicted killer could keep a secret.

He wrapped his mother in a hug. “Mrs. Johnstone will start the tea before those officers fasten their seat belts.”

“She’s worried about us.”

Paul snorted. “And curious.”

“I guess. Would you run up and tell her I have to stay here in case the vet calls?”

“Go have a cup of tea. I have homework, anyway, and I can take a message.”

“I’m not leaving you by yourself.”

And this was why Paul kept his secrets. Why couldn’t she give him some space, have a little faith in him? He tried to keep his voice level. “Mom, come on. You heard Detective Garraway. Extra patrols, and the creeps have to give us enough time to get what they want. I’ll be fine.”

Her chin quivered, then firmed. “I need to stay home.”

“All right.” Paul jammed his feet into his running shoes and went outside. He didn’t come back alone. He carried the steaming teapot, and Mrs. Johnstone brought a plate of fresh banana muffins.

Mom needed the company, and if Paul didn’t get his math finished there’d be trouble in class tomorrow. He hung up his jacket, poured a glass of milk and snagged a couple muffins, then headed for his room. It felt weird opening the door and going in, as if his space had been violated. He shivered.

The guy would have prowled everywhere, even if he didn’t make a mess. And the officer looking for bugs had been in here, too. Paul closed his door and set the snack on the edge of his desk. He opened the closet and reached past sweatshirts and jeans to squeeze the left sleeve of his parka. The rolled magazine buckled inside.

It stank, having to leave his stash at Barry’s place. After Keith, Mom got too good at finding hiding places. Keeping one or two issues was risky enough.

Paul pulled the math homework from his backpack and spread it out beside the muffins on his desk. This came so much easier in the library with Tara-Lynn. He wished he’d asked for her phone number. A bit of help might get him to sleep before midnight.

A male voice joined the women’s in the kitchen. Mr. Johnstone must have returned with the new door locks. Paul turned on his radio to mask the conversation. His station played heavier rock than his mom’s. Tonight, it chased away the uncomfortable sense that lingered after the intruder.

He left it on when he finally crawled into bed.

In the morning, Paul’s head ached and his eyes felt gritty. Mom looked worse. Had she slept at all? He sniffed. She was drinking coffee, and she’d made a full pot instead of using the single-cup thing. Not a good sign. He poured himself a cup too.

Mom’s lips pulled into a thin smile. “Can you meet me at the café, or go to Barry’s after school?”

Paul’s shirt collar seemed to tighten. He tugged at it. “I’d be okay coming in here alone, but I’ll be late.” His conscience squirmed. “Maybe you should get Mr. Johnstone to walk through the place when you get back.”

Her eyes flashed. “Invade my home, nearly kill my dog, and eat my food, that creep better hope he’s not here when I get home!”

“Mom!” Paul drained his cup and put it in the sink. He slid into his jacket. “I gotta go, but listen. You’re always worried about me. Well, I don’t want to lose you, either.”

He barely caught the bus. It already felt like a long day.

Math came before lunch today, so at noon Paul and Tara-Lynn headed for their table in the school library to tackle the new assignment. He’d be glad not to face this one after work tonight.

After school, Paul had an hour to cram for a science test before heading to work. It made sense to clear his head first, so he walked Tara-Lynn to the bus stop. Okay, forty-five minutes to study.

When Paul pushed open the door to Morelli’s and stepped into the shop, school and home stress fell away. He loved this place. The instruments, the lessons, his Einstein-haired boss. Here, and practicing with the band, he could be himself and let the music run free in his soul.

Greeting the clerk he’d relieve in ten minutes, Paul cut through the showroom to the back. He stowed his backpack and jacket in the tiny break room and called hello to Mr. Morelli in the office.

“Paul, I have another letter for you.”

Frowning, Paul stepped into the office. “From the same place?” He’d only mailed his reply on Sunday. Today was Tuesday. No matter how bored Harry might be, Canada Post never gave that kind of turnaround service.

The envelope bore the penitentiary’s return address, though. And a hand-scrawled note. Personal — Urgent.

Paul raised his eyebrows and shrugged at his boss. “Sorry, sir. I guess I should see what it’s about.” In the doorway, he turned back. “He’s not in for theft, Mr. Morelli. And he won’t show up here.”

Morelli spread his hands. “I’m sorry one so young must carry secrets like this and bear his family’s shame. If you need support, I’m here.”

“Thank you.” Paul hurried to the break room, tearing open the envelope as he walked. When he unfolded the letter, something fell out. He retrieved two photos from the floor. Mom, outside Sticky Fingers, and him, here at the store.

If Mom ever saw this... Paul stuffed the photos back into the envelope and shook open the letter. Halfway down the page he realized he hadn’t taken in a word. He glanced at the clock. Five minutes. He sat at the tiny table and began again.

Dear Paul,

These came in the mail today. Certain people want money that I’ve hidden, and this is their way of threatening you if I don’t cooperate. It was to be their payment for arranging my escape. I’m back inside, but they still want what’s due.

If they haven’t contacted your mother yet, they will. Tell her to look in the desk I sent. She’ll remember how to open the secret drawer. Neither of you are safe until that money is gone.

She’ll be angry about you talking to me, but she needs to know. If it would keep you out of trouble, you could tell the police and let them talk to her. My enemies have eyes here and if I’m seen running to the warden, everything will hit the fan.

After Keith, I know you won’t want to cooperate with drug dealers, but please don’t mess with these guys. Playing the hero will cost your mom a second son.

Paul winced. The man knew how to get his point across. Standing, Paul skimmed the last lines. You and your mom look well. I pray for you every day.

He stuffed the letter into his pocket and left the break room, feeling sick. Dirty money and drug dealers. An uncle with a past like Harry’s, praying for him.

 

~~~

 

By the start of the supper rush, Carol’s eyes burned like desert sand. She’d run on adrenaline and coffee all day, and nearly ruined a batch of cookies at that. Carol ducked into the washroom and splashed cold water on her face. They were short-staffed today, so going home wasn’t an option.

Home. Were her enemies in the apartment now, setting up more pranks to scare her? Would Basil and Cecilia install a security system if she begged?

Would it matter if they did? The apartment wasn’t safe. Nowhere was. Running hadn’t helped. She had to trust Detective Garraway to do his job.

Carol frowned into the mirror as she refreshed her lipstick. She had to stand her ground. Like she’d done as a teen, battling her aunt’s restrictions and rules. Aunt Isobel had always wedged hands on hips and put the younger Carol’s choices down to wilful stubbornness.

Life with her aunt and cousin hadn’t made good memories, but that was likely as much Carol’s fault as Isobel’s. Two strong natures battled until they couldn’t agree on the colour of the sky. Arranging an early marriage by conceiving Skip’s child had seemed like a perfect escape.

Carol donned a clean apron and picked up an order pad. She’d grown up fast, with a baby at seventeen. Too bad Skip never did. Pinning on a smile, she pushed through the swing doors into the dining area.

Friendly chatter hummed around the handful of occupied tables. The street door opened. Estella and Leo Termoli scurried in, shedding drops of rain. Carol’s heart lit up, and a few of the regulars called out happy hellos. She filled two glasses with ice water and carried them to the couple’s usual table.

“Mr. Termoli, you shouldn’t be out on a night like this, but it’s wonderful to see you. How are you feeling?”

He flashed a shy grin. “Don’t know what all the fuss is about. I’m too dried-up to die.” His wife beamed, patting his hand.

Carol set the clinking glasses in front of them. “Better not overdo it on the water, then. I’ll be back once you’re settled.” She pressed his shoulder and moved to take an order from the family at the next table.

Over the next twenty minutes more customers trickled into the café despite the autumn rain. As Carol carried meals to the group of university students in a corner booth, Patrick stepped through the door and propped a dripping umbrella beside the coat rack. His reserved demeanour seemed unchanged by last week’s tabloid upset.

She returned his smile, willing her arms to hold the loaded tray steady. Plates clinked mildly but the tremor passed. Too bad the weather hadn’t kept him away tonight. Now Carol had to face him with a throbbing head and nerves on edge.