Chapter 4

 

Tuesday morning before work, a loud knock at the apartment’s front door interrupted Carol’s solitude. Fingers dripping suds, she turned from the breakfast dishes and grabbed the nearby hand towel.

The doorbell rang.

“How fast do you think I can move?” She snatched her glasses from the table, shoving them into place as she headed through the living room. They never used this entrance. The kitchen door opened five steps from Carol’s parking space.

The frosted glass window in the upper part of the door showed a single silhouette. Shoulders stiff, Carol opened the door the length of the chain.

A man in a brown suede jacket stepped back when she peered through the crack. He gave her time to study him, then asked, “Carol Daniels?”

“Who wants to know?” Carol drew back into the room. No photo-op here, although the man didn’t look like a reporter.

He stepped closer, extending an open leather wallet. “I’m Detective Rick Garraway of the city police. Here’s my badge. I’m with special investigations. That’s why I’m not in uniform.”

“Has something happened to my son?” Carol’s legs wobbled and she clutched the edge of the door.

“It’s okay, Mrs. Daniels. Nothing to do with your son, but I do need to talk to you.” He held his badge nearer to the door, and after a minute she took it.

It looked real, but she’d heard of scams like this. Suspicion replaced Carol’s fear. “What’s this about?”

“May I come in, please?” He reached for his badge case.

“Wait while I call your office.”

The detective’s eyebrows lifted and he smiled. “Wise lady.”

Still gripping the badge, Carol shut and bolted the door. She ran for the phone.

When she opened the door a few minutes later, Detective Garraway looked her in the eye. “You keep that up, and I won’t worry so much.”

Carol locked up behind him and led him to the kitchen. If she had to have a stranger in her home, a cop at that, it would be on her terms, in the room where she felt most in control.

The detective hung his coat on a free peg by the door. “May I sit down?”

At Carol’s nod, he drew back one of the chairs from the table and sat as if settling behind his desk at work. He motioned for her to join him. Folding his hands on the tabletop, Garraway drew a deep breath. “Mrs. Daniels —”

“Ms. My husband’s out of my life. What’s going on, Detective?”

He drew a long breath. “I’m here about your brother.”

Carol positioned her glasses more firmly on her face. “I don’t have a brother.”

Patience settled over the detective’s features. “I’m sure I’d say the same in your shoes, but he’s made some enemies. They can’t get at him, and there’s reason to believe they may try to take it out on you.”

His words hit like a tsunami. The threatening note in Calgary — the one that sent her running for cover. Carol bit her lip and drew a deep breath through her nose, trying to slow her thumping heart. “I’ve had threats before. Mostly you can tell it’s just a crazy stage of grief. The victims’ families know I wasn’t involved.”

She should tell the detective about the note, the horrifying words that still haunted her. You and your son are easy targets. Especially the boy.

But he’d have to follow up, try to find the culprit. And if the writer knew Toronto police were investigating, he’d know where to look. Carol couldn’t risk him finding her — and Paul — first.

The detective steepled his fingers, palms apart, and stared down at his fingertips. “This is a little awkward. When your — ah, when Harry Silver was taken back into custody last June, certain things happened that were kept out of the paper.

“He asked for you to be warned, and the order must have ended up on a desk somewhere. I just found out this week that you weren’t contacted. On behalf of the law enforcement system, I apologize.”

Carol sat straighter. “Warned about what?”

Garraway tapped his fingertips together. “Silver turned himself in. Apparently he had some kind of change of heart. Didn’t even harm his hostage. The thing is, he confessed to a couple other crimes, including smuggling drugs.”

“The dirty —!” Too bad she couldn’t take back the words that seared the air, but a cop would have heard them all before.

“Yes, I suppose he is, ma’am.”

Heat rose in her neck. “You don’t understand, Detective. I lost a son to drugs. With all the terrible things Harry did, he had to be pushing drugs too?”

“I believe his only connection was transportation. He claims he was coerced, under the threat of harm against yourself and your family.”

Carol snorted. Since when had Harry cared about anyone but himself?

The detective leaned forward, forearms on the table. “The long and short of it is, Silver provided significant evidence against a major drug ring with branches throughout Canada. They cleaned up the one on the East Coast and because one of the members got scared and started talking, the gang didn’t find out that Silver talked first. I’m investigating the connections here in Toronto.”

He watched her, his eyes serious. “Ms. Daniels, until we haul this crew in, you and your son may be in danger. We’ve kept the lid on the rumours, but if these guys suspect Silver spilled on them, they’ll want revenge. They made threats against you before, ma’am, when the stakes were lower. Relocating, and I notice you look different than the description on file, will help. But there’s no guarantee.”

Garraway slid a white card across the table. “If you see any sign of danger, day or night, call my cell.”

Carol fingered the card. This felt like a TV cop drama. A tiny corner of her heart was glad to see these creeps get what they deserved, or at least a portion of it. There was no price high enough for the life of her son and all the others.

How deep had Harry really been in? If he had anything to do with Keith getting into drugs...

Carol wouldn’t go there. Not now. This new danger was enough to deal with.

 

~~~

 

The detective’s visit made Carol late for work, and she hit the cafe kitchen at top speed. No time to really process what Garraway had said, no time to decide what to do. She forced her full attention onto the recipes and read each step twice. Waiting tables later, Carol repeated each customer’s order back to them, wrote every detail on her pad. And made it through her shift with only a few mistakes.

Driving home, the same thing. Concentrate on traffic, on pedestrians. Don’t listen to the fear scratching at the edge of thought.

Inside the apartment, she double-locked the door and leaned her forehead against it. Blessedly cool. The dog snuffled and whined at Carol’s side, and she put out a hand for his welcome-home nuzzle. “I know you’re hungry, Chance. Just give me a minute.”

Carol pushed away from the door and shook some food into his dish. No point trying to eat a meal herself, with her nerves jumping like this.

For once, she was glad Paul wasn’t home yet. She had to think this through. Decide how to keep them both safe.

Garraway had said Harry’s enemies first threatened Carol and her family. That was in the past. It sounded like this latest threat targeted her. Not her son. Did they think Harry cared more about his sister than his nephew? Especially now that the nephew wasn’t a cute little kid?

Tension crept up Carol’s neck. Even if Paul wasn’t on their radar, she was. And hurting his mother would hurt him. If they killed her — A sob broke through Carol’s lips. She clamped them tight.

She should have asked Garraway what kind of threats these goons made, but it didn’t matter. She had to stay strong, stay alive, to guide her son into responsible adulthood.

By the time Paul arrived at ten, Carol had decided. She set a mug of hot chocolate and a few cookies on the table for him along with a cup of strong, black tea for herself. “Paul, sit a minute. We need to talk.”

He took a deep breath and dropped his backpack beside the door. “O-k-a-a-y.” He eased into the chair in front of the snacks. “Thanks for this. What’s up?”

Carol bit her lip. He’d fought the last move, but this was for his own good. “We have to find another place to live.”

Paul’s eyes went wide. His outstretched hand froze inches from the cookie plate. “But our landlords love us! What gives?”

She shifted her tea to one side, watching the cup instead of meeting his eyes. “The Johnstones have been really good to us. I haven’t told them yet. We have to leave Toronto.”

“You are so not doing this to me again.” Paul’s palms slapped the table and he pushed to his feet. His chair slammed the floor behind him. In the living room, Chance barked. The dog bounded into the kitchen.

Paul strode to the door, picked up his backpack, and came to stand in the middle of the floor. “Look, I know what happened in Calgary wasn’t pretty. Jerk reporter, anyway, and you’re better off without him. But you dragged me away from my friends, my school — no way am I doing that again on some whim.”

The dog nosed at Paul’s leg and came to Carol’s side. She wound her fingers into his soft fur and counted to ten. “Paul, I’m sorry about Calgary. You don’t know everything that went on. And this is not a whim. If you’ll sit down, we can discuss it like adults.”

“Adults.” Paul snorted. He picked up his chair, replaced it at the table, and stood behind it, fingertips white against the back. “So why do you want to mess me around this time?”

Tears pricked Carol’s eyes. She blinked hard, and glared at her son. “A little respect would be good here. It’s not all about you, you know.” Except it was. That’s why she had to do this. She sighed. “It’s more fallout from your convict uncle.”

Paul stood a minute, lips clamped tight. A slow sigh escaped, and he dropped the pack and took a seat. He grabbed a cookie. “What now?”

“A detective came to the door this morning. Apparently Harry has enemies.”

“Well, duh!”

Carol hugged both hands around her cup. “Serious enemies, in some kind of drug ring. As if his own crimes weren’t enough. They can’t get at him in jail, so apparently we’re the next best choice.”

“He didn’t —” Paul studied his cookie. He took a big bite.

“I don’t think Harry had anything to do with Keith getting into drugs. At least I don’t see how he could have. He wasn’t that close to us, thank God.” Carol shivered. “Paul, we can overcome people pointing and gossipping, judging us based on what he did. But we can’t protect ourselves from organized crime.”

She picked up her cup and held it in front of her face like a shield, studying him over the rim. “I want to ask the detective to put is in witness protection.”

Paul went completely still except for a narrowing of his eyes. The dog left Carol’s side and rested his muzzle on Paul’s leg.

Carol waited. Couldn’t he see? They had no choice.

Paul coughed, and gulped some of his drink. “Did this detective have specifics? Exactly what sort of danger we’re supposed to be in?”

“He didn’t say. I was too surprised to ask enough questions, but he left his card. I can phone him tomorrow.”

“Sounds pretty vague to me. We’re not worth bothering over, and Uncle Harry isn’t either, for Pete’s sake. I vote we stay. Chance can be our guard dog. Won’t you, boy?”

Carol sat taller in her chair. “The detective thought it was worth bothering over. Paul, I don’t want to move again either. This is a good place to live, you’re in a good school, I like my job. We’re making friends. But I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you, and if something happened to me, you’d be an orphan. And you’d be moving anyway, because my will appoints Jackie as your legal guardian. You’d be back in Calgary.”

His sigh bordered on a groan. “Mom, nobody’s going to kill either of us. And I’m not going to run if nobody’s chasing me.”

“You’ll run if I say so. And I do. I’m phoning Detective Garraway in the morning.”

Paul’s face hardened. “Do what you’ve gotta do. I’m not going with you.”

The air left Carol’s lungs. She should be angry. Should force him to obey. But the set of his jaw, the tilt of his head said he’d hold firm. “Paul, I’m your mother.”

One corner of his mouth flickered. “I know. And I love you, Mom, but I’m not doing this again. You want to go, go. I’m staying.”

Under the table, Carol clenched her hands until the nails bit her palms. She would not cry. Or beg. “Where would you live? You think I’m overprotective. What would you do, ask to move in with the Johnstones? Cecilia gets on your nerves just living upstairs.”

“My friend Barry has a huge house and he’s an only child. His mom’s kind of pushy too, but I wouldn’t have to lose my friends.”

Carol’s scalp and the back of her neck pressed in on her skull, constricting until her head felt ringed in fire. She squinted at her son. Her one reason to live. “I can’t go without you.”

Paul’s shoulders lost their stiff posture. “Then we’re staying. And we’ll be careful.”