Aloha, Candy Hearts (27 page)

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Anthony Bidulka

I was still wearing my Nureyev getup. Damned if the thing wasn’t comfortable, especially once I sloughed off the tunic. Brutus slumped down on the floor next to the unlit fireplace, as if in wait for crisp fall weather. Barbra, a little more in tune with my mood, hopped onto the sofa and set her fuzzy head on my lap. Every now and then her rough tongue would dart from her mouth to lick my hand.

Errall and I had a long and stormy history of biting each other ’s head off. We were just that way with one another. Like two hungry locusts trying to be friends. Sometimes it ended badly. Like tonight. Usually the words we threw against each other meant nothing, other than that we were frustrated and needed someone to lash out at. Errall was going through a load of personal crap right now. Her acting like a bitch to me wasn’t that difficult to figure out.

But I had to wonder if she was right about some of what she’d hurled at me. I’d made my peace with how I felt about Jared long ago. Anthony could not doubt that I loved him and Jared as friends. My attraction to my best friend’s boyfriend was undeniable. It went deeper than his looks. Something about him pulled me to him. But all those feelings had come to a head five years ago when Jared and I had been abandoned in the middle of a killing winter blizzard. We had no idea where we were. He’d been wounded. We’d only barely found shelter before hypothermia could set in. We survived. We saved each other. It was during those desperately dark hours that we cemented our love for one another—as friends—for life. That friendship is the most important thing between me and Jared. Sure, I still think the guy is heart-tug-gingly sweet and drop dead gorgeous, but my yearning for him is long over. In my heart, I knew I was truly thrilled that Anthony and Jared were getting married tomorrow.

And all that stuff about Keith, well, she knew nothing about that. The relationship was over ten years ago. I was young.

Idealistic. A bit stupid, maybe. But what about Alex? And Ethan? I hated to admit Errall might be right in that case. My behaviour over the past week had been abominable. I hadn’t returned Alex’s call. I’d kissed Ethan. What was wrong with me?

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Aloha, Candy Hearts

I feared that this too, wasn’t so difficult to figure out.

I had other problems to deal with as well. There was a murderer out there. And I had a feeling I was getting very close to finding out who it was. The closer I got, the more dangerous it became. But there was no turning back now. I’d volunteered for this job.

The ringing of my phone startled me. I checked my watch. Not yet eleven p.m. Probably Sereena wondering where I’d disappeared to. I set down my drink and reached for the phone.

“Hello.”

“Mr. Quant?”

“Yes. Who is this?”

“It’s Reginald Cenyk, from the university archives.”

“Of course, hello.” I hadn’t recognized his voice. It sounded higher and even squeakier than before. And there was something else I could hear over the phone line. He sounded frightened.

“I did what you asked,” he told me. “I’ve just finished going through the Durhuaghe collection.”

“Oh gosh, Reginald, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to give up your Friday night to do this.”

“I had to,” he told me. “Once you told me you thought there might be something missing from our archives, I had to be sure. I take my position here and the reputation of the archives very seriously, Mr. Quant.”

“Of course, I understand. Thank you.” I waited a beat, and then asked, “Did you find anything?”

“I’m afraid I didn’t find any indication of your missing journal or the letters. But…I did find something else. Something you might be interested in.”

I got that great little tingly feeling detectives get when a seed of their investigation sprouts a clue. “What is it, Reginald?”

There was a deadly silence on the line. It lasted so long I worried he’d hung up. Then I heard: “I-I-I don’t know if I should tell you.”

“Why not? Of course you should tell me. This could have something to do with Walter Angel’s murder. You knew Walter. He was your co-worker, your friend.” I had no idea whether the two men had been friends or not, but it was worth a shot. “Why would-DD6AA2AB8

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Anthony Bidulka

n’t you tell me?”

“I’m…I’m afraid. This involves some very…well, powerful people. I could get fired. Or worse.”

“Reginald, where are you right now? Are you still at the archives? I can meet you there, or wherever you say. Right now.

Tonight.”

“No!” he exclaimed. “Not now! I can’t do this right now.”

“Okay, okay. When? Where? If you feel you’re in danger, I can help you.”

“Tomorrow maybe.”

My heart sank. The clock was ticking. “I can meet you now,” I offered again.

“Tomorrow,” he insisted. “I need some time to think about this some more.”

That’s what I was worried about. I worried he’d think himself right out of talking to me. But the archivist was the one in control.

All I could do was make it easy for him.

“Okay. Just name the time and place.”

There was another silence while he considered this. Then he said, “Do you know the Impark parking lot on the corner of First Avenue and Twentieth Street?”

“The one across from the Galaxy Theatre?

“Yes. It’s near where I live. It should be safe there. Meet me on the top level. Nobody should be able to see us up there. Park in the southeast corner. I’ll find you.”

“Yeah, sure. What time?”

“Midnight. Most of the movie traffic will be gone by then. Can you be there at midnight? If I don’t show up it’s because I think there’s someone else around or something weird is going on…I can’t lose my job over this ….I have to be sure.”

This guy was freaking petrified. It made me wonder what exactly he’d found in those archives. “Yeah, for sure. I’ll be there.”

Midnight would be just when the party was getting going tomorrow night. I had no idea how I was going to slip away unno-ticed from the wedding festivities, but I’d deal with that when the time came. “And don’t worry. I’ll be extra careful that no one follows me.”

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Aloha, Candy Hearts

He hung up and I was left listening to a beep beep beep on the line, telling me I had a message. I hadn’t bothered to check when I got home. I typed in my code and listened for the message:

“Mr. Quant, you have no idea who you’re messing with. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away from me, and my family, and my past. If you don’t, I will make your life a living hell.”

I knew the voice.

Sherry Fisher.

And then the power went out.

Oh crap. The woman meant business.

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I’d only managed a couple of hours of sleep. With my power turned off—by the mayor ’s wife?—my alarm clock was useless and I was afraid I’d sleep in. I couldn’t afford to waste one minute today. Not only was I hot on the trail of a killer, but I was best man at the wedding of two of my best friends. That’s a nice full day.

Shuffling into the kitchen, I was heartened to see flashing lights on every appliance with a digital clock. Power had been restored. After letting the dogs out back to do their morning ablu-tions and resetting clocks, I trundled out the front to retrieve my Saturday morning paper.

Not there.

That was odd. The paper was always at my front gate by six a.m., rain, shine, or blizzard. I stepped into the quiet street and scoured the front lawns of my neighbours. Mine was the only one without a paper.

“Hey Russell, g’morning!” a voice called.

It was Graham, a fireman who lives two doors down. Friendly DD6AA2AB84

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sort. Paper tucked under his arm, he was rolling his big, black garbage bin back to his garage. I waved a greeting as I headed over to collect my own. I let out a surprised grunt at the effort it took to move it. What the…?

It hadn’t been emptied.

Leaving the trash container where it was, I fumed as I contemplated the exact wording of my call to the city’s sanitation department. Grumbling my way back to the house, I stopped short at my front door. There was some kind of letter posted to it. I hadn’t noticed it on my way out. I pulled it off and opened it. It was from the City of Saskatoon Animal Services Program: This official Notice of Violation is issued for breach of Bylaw No.

7860 (The Animal Control Bylaw, 1999) Offence: Failure to immediately remove a dog or cat’s excrement (defecation) from public or private property other than the property of the dog or cat’s owner [Section 13]

Penalty: $250

Even though my mouth was open, wide, I couldn’t seem to catch a breath.

The power. My newspaper. My garbage. Now this.

Sherry Fisher.

This woman wasn’t fooling around. And I had a feeling these were just warning shots. I stuck the ticket in my housecoat pocket.

I didn’t want Barbra or Brutus seeing it. They would be mortified to think anyone was accusing them of pooping where they weren’t supposed to.

I marched into the house in full huff. Sure, I could empathize with Sherry Fisher ’s having been unhinged by my visit yesterday.

At the least, I’d brought up memories that were likely very distressing to her. At the most, I was messing around in her garden of secrets and posed a threat to her carefully crafted public persona.

If the mayor ’s wife was being blackmailed because of a decades-old teenage dalliance, I could manage some sympathy for her plight. But that didn’t mean she had the right to wield the power of the mayor ’s office like a battering ram. If there’s one thing I can-DD6AA2AB8

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Anthony Bidulka

not abide, it’s a bully. When I get pushed, I push back harder.

I decided to salvage the morning with pancakes. Indulgent, and a little time-consuming, but I needed something pleasant to offset the rotten start to the day. Not to mention that beating eggs and whipping batter felt pretty good about then.

When my feast was prepared, I stuck my nose outdoors and debated eating on the deck. The morning was surprisingly cool. (I hadn’t noticed earlier because of my hot head.) Billowy clouds playing hide-and-seek with the sun were keeping the day from warming up. So instead, I took my food and coffee into my office and set up in front of the computer. It would be a working breakfast.

A couple of hours later, Sereena and I were in the backyard of the new Ash House. We were supposed to be putting finishing touches on the arbour beneath which Anthony and Jared would be wed, but mostly I was complaining about the curse of Sherry Fisher.

Sereena seethed in sympathy as she artfully attached gladiolas and palm leaves to the metal structure. She too was not fond of bullies.

When we (well, mostly she) finished, Sereena crossed something off a list and tilted her head up to study the sky.

“You look worried,” I said, following her gaze.

Indeed, the sky did not look great. Anthony and Jared were on the wrong side of fate. It had been hot and sunny and windless for over a week. On the Saskatchewan prairie, that meant one thing.

The polar opposite was on its way.

“I never worry,” Sereena observed nonchalantly. “I simply adjust to what I can’t change.”

I doubted there was much Sereena couldn’t change if she put her considerable mind and resources to it. But even she couldn’t do much about a rainstorm on the day of an outdoor wedding.

I assessed the distressingly cool blue horizon, rumpled with threatening stratus clouds. “What do you think?”

“I think two wonderful men will get married today,” she proclaimed.

I smiled. “Come hell or high water!”

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Aloha, Candy Hearts

“At this point, I’d prefer hell. Easier on the shoes.”

“What’s next?” I asked, trying to be peppy about wanting to help, at the same time itching to get away like a schoolboy wanting to ditch homework for the park. The time had come in my investigation into Walter Angel’s death to make like a gopher. I needed to dig holes wherever I could, to see what lay beneath the surface of dirt.

“You need to get a trim.”

“What?” I just had a haircut before I left for Hawaii. I ran my hands through my longer-than-usual, sun-blonded hair. I wasn’t ready to abandon it quite yet. “I like my hair the way it is.”

“A clean up couldn’t hurt,” Sereena suggested. “Perhaps you might try someplace new this time. I was thinking Cutz?”

Carleen Fisher ’s place? What was she talking about? Was this another one of Sereena’s moments of caprice? Every now and again my neighbour discovered a new favourite person, place, or thing. Like the artist whom she’d insisted was modern day Picasso. The restaurant whose chef she’d thought was the Prairie’s answer to Emeril Lagasse. She said everyone needed to buy their art or eat their food, or risk missing out on something quite extraordinary. She was usually right.

“You never know what you might find out,” Sereena kept on, seemingly more interested in consulting her to-do list than in our conversation. “You know how these common hair salons and barbershops are such excellent breeding grounds for gossip.”

I frowned at that. Sereena disliked gossip almost as much as she disliked too-sweet wine and potato chips. Both, she said, were a waste of time and natural resources. Something was up here.

“I’ve made an appointment for you.” She consulted her watch.