Aunt Maggie greeted me with the cook’s hug. Her arms held me tight while she did her best to keep her hands off me. Andrea, the eldest, was scooping the dressing out of the turkey. She smiled and waved at us. Sonia had the job of stirring the gravy, so we exchanged a one-armed hug.
I brought premium coffee beans, Bailey’s and peach chutney. Jake brought warm-from-the-oven rolls, fresh churned butter and peach jam. As soon as these contributions were presented, Maggie put us to work.
“Igor is preparing to carve. Kate, can you set out the condiments and relishes? Or will the jars be a problem?”
I waved my good hand.
“I’m good.”
“Jake, you know where to find the bread basket. What kind of rolls did you make us this year?”
“Multigrain harvest rolls and sour dough twists.”
Jake baked bread? If it was good, I might cheat on my favourite bakery.
“Did you churn the butter?” I asked, setting out bowls for the pickles.
“I got it from a Mennonite farmer at the market.”
“But you found time to bake bread between leaving the office and when you picked me up.”
“From dough I prepped earlier and froze.” He handed the bread basket to Erica to put on the table and helped me with the jar lids which, quite frankly, I didn’t have a hope of wrestling open. “But that’s why I was a bit late. Good job Lim was there to help out.”
Magnus had cleaned and redressed my wound and was helping me wash and change when Jake arrived. Since I didn’t have enough energy to go upstairs, this was being done in the office washroom with the door open.
I reintroduced the two men who had met briefly at my father’s memorial. They acted cool, but I got the impression they were measuring each other up.
Magnus had height.
Jake had depth.
I called it a tie but kept my mouth shut.
“He’s a nurse,” I reminded Jake.
“Are you two talking shop?” Igor growled, waving the carving knife at us.
“No!” we said together, making the kids laugh.
Once the pickles were out, I ferried the dishes to the table while Jake cleaned up. There were two varieties of pickled onion, three varieties of pickled herring, gherkins, bread and butter pickles, sliced dill pickles, tamarind sauce, fig sauce and peach chutney. I tested the chutney before bringing a couple of jars. It wasn’t as good as the jam, but it was pretty damned good. Good enough to steal another taste.
“You like it?” Jake asked, catching me in the act. “Mrs. Cole must go through bushels of peaches. You have to wonder what she does with all the pits. Compost or recycling?”
“Mulch. But that’s just the shells.” Then I had an idea. “I need to check something.”
“Not work,” Jake warned, keeping his voice down. “Not here.”
He followed me back to the kitchen, where I grabbed my bag and helped myself to a glass of water.
“Be right back, Aunt Maggie.”
I headed for the powder room. I had one more task to heap upon Mohr, which, if it got back to the Chief would get me in more trouble than doing a little work at a family dinner. Besides, I also needed to take painkillers and it was always a good idea to pee before dinner.
The Thorsens knew how to host a dinner. They had a buffet with a warming tray set up with a plate of dark meat, a plate of white meat, two types of potatoes, three hot vegetables, gravy and stuffing. Then there was an ice tray with a mixed green salad, the assortment of pickles and herring. I knew what was coming and had worn harem pants with a drawstring waist.
“Red or white?” the Chief asked, as I loaded up my plate.
“Neither,” said Jake. “She’s on prescription pain meds for a couple of days.”
“Traitor.”
“Good call,” said Maggie. “If you don’t have wine, you should okay for a little something later.”
After the main course, I made Irish Coffees and we settled in the living room. There was an open spot on the couch next to Jake and I was tempted to take it. Then Erica pulled me down onto the floor next to her. A moment later, the excited little girl bounced up again, like she was made of rubber—a trait she’d had since she was a toddler.
“Presents!” she cried. “I want to give Kate my present first.”
No one objected, so Erica dug through the parcels until she found what she was looking for. Finally, she handed over a homemade box with a recycled bow on top. I opened the box, removed the tissue and pulled out a coffee mug. It was a bit lumpy and included a perfect thumb impression where the handle was joined to the cup.
“I made it myself,” Erica said. “I painted this side.”
She pointed to the side nearest me. It was decorated with holly and mistletoe.
“But on this side,” she turned the mug in my hands, “I had them put a photo. See, there’s me.”
It was a family photo from Erica’s first year. She was more interested in trying to get into Mama’s blouse than posing for the camera. The Chief had Sonia on his lap. Beside him was Dad with Andrea perched on a knee. On the other side of Maggie, I was trying to get baby Erica’s attention. Beside me, sitting on the arm of the couch was Jake.
Our first and last Yule together, captured on a mug.
I felt a lump rise up in my throat. Behind me, I felt a knee press against my back, offering support. I knew it was Jake’s and leaned into it.
“You okay, Katie?” Erica asked, her voice trembling. “Don't you like it?”
I pulled the girl into a tight hug.
“I love it, honey. It’s the best gift ever.”
Erica returned the hug then went back to delivering presents, taking time out only when she found a present for herself.
I kept leaning against Jake’s leg. When the kids went to play with their presents, I scooted back so my back was supported by the couch. Jake’s knees kept me from tipping over. I was at that stage of drowsiness when I could hear conversations but didn’t have the energy to respond or even to keep my eyes open.
“Big change from last time you two were in this house,” said the Chief. “I take it you’re getting along now.”
“Except when we aren’t,” said Jake.
“I’m going to want her back, you know. I let her have the time off because she would have quit on me if I didn’t, but she has the makings of a fine homicide detective. She won’t get that opportunity in private investigation.”
“Joe did.”
“Joe was Joe. There’s still a lot of resentment towards private contractors. You don’t see it because Joe was practically legendary. In other cities there’s been trouble. Toronto’s given up the practice completely. They’ll refer qualified private investigators, but they won’t hire consulting detectives.”
“Are you telling me that Carmedy and Garrett Investigations can’t expect much work from you?” Jake asked. “Or will you still send us the pet crimes?”
Yay, Jake, I thought.
“No business tonight,” said Maggie, sounding as sleepy as I felt. “Jake, Andrea made up the couch in the basement. I was thinking Kate could sleep with the girls.”
“I can sleep on the couch too,” I said, without lifting my head. “It’s big enough. Then Sonia won’t have to share with Erica.”
I opened my eyes and had the satisfaction of seeing my godfather blush. My guess was that it had more to do with being overheard than my provocative offer.
With a grunt of effort, I stood, using Jake’s knee for leverage. Once I was up, I grabbed Jake’s wrist and pulled him to his feet.
“Come on, partner. Good night all.”
As promised, the couch was made up into a queen-sized bed. There was also a full bath. I called dibs on the basis that I couldn’t keep standing much longer. One of my gifts had been a snowman nightshirt which I changed into after a quick wash up. When I came out, Jake had stripped down to t-shirt and boxers.
“Is sleeping with me a form of rebellion?”
I grinned.
“Partly.”
“Hold that thought. I’ve had to pee for half an hour but I didn’t want to disturb you.”
While he was gone, I slipped between the covers, staying to the edge, leaving him most of the mattress. If we kept to the edges, we’d have a decent buffer zone. That would work.
I checked my eCom. Though I wasn’t expecting anything from the lab this soon, I was happy to see a message from Mohr. I was going to owe him big time for this.
Jake emerged from the bathroom.
“You were saying.”
“The Chief’s right. We can’t count on getting high profile cases. We’ll be called in for support, but we won’t get the kind of cases my father got—not at first. The thing is, the first thing my father taught me, that was the most important thing about solving a case, was solving it. If you can take the stand in court and present the facts clearly, so that no one can shake your testimony, then you’ve done your job—whether it was a high-profile homicide or a traffic accident.”
Jake looked sceptical, but I knew my father had said something similar to him.
“Okay,” was all he said before turning off the light and taking the opposite edge of the bed.
Then he turned toward me.
“You’ve solved the case.”
“No, not that,” I said, grinning up at him in the dark. “But I now know where the bodies are buried.”