Killer Cables

by Reagan Davis

  By check my calendar, I mean figure out how to shut down this pseudo-dating situation. Craig is looking for someone who wants to get married and have babies, and I’m not comfortable committing to anything more than an appetizer. I need to tell him we’re destined for friendship and nothing more. As Hannah would say, I need to Friendzone him. I haven’t had to have this conversation with a guy since I was eighteen.

  Glenda comes out of Phillip’s house carrying Kevin and puts him down on the snowy lawn. Phillip isn’t with her. Perfect. I was hoping to get her alone, and her timing couldn’t be better, because speaking to her is the next item on my to-do list for today. I almost didn’t see her, but Kevin is wearing a tiny fluorescent yellow parka with tiny fluorescent yellow booties, so he’s hard to miss.

  I get out of my car and we wave.

  “Nice to see you back on your feet!” she calls across the lawn.

  I curtsey.

  We laugh and she gives me a thumbs-up.

  I walk across the lawn and join her on Phillip’s driveway.

  “Don’t let Phillip see you do that,” she says, smiling and pointing to the footprints I made walking from my driveway to theirs.

  “I know, I know, he hates footprints. He prefers the snow to be smooth and pristine,” I say.

  He always forgives me, and we have a fresh snowfall to look forward to every few days, so they won’t be there long, anyway.

  “How are you, Glenda? Phillip mentioned that you were planning to go to Laura’s house yesterday.”

  “I couldn’t do it. It’s too hard,” she replies. “I have to get over it and go tomorrow, no matter how difficult it is. I told Mort I’ll drop off Laura’s outfit on Tuesday.”

  Mort Ackerman is our local funeral director. He owns Mourning Glory Funeral Home in Harmony Hills.

  My heart goes out to Glenda, I can’t imagine having to choose the outfit to bury my sister in.

  “I can go with you, if it would help,” I offer. “Knitorious is closed on Mondays so I don’t have to be at the store.”

  Glenda unzips her coat halfway, picks up Kevin, puts him in her coat, and zips it until just his head is peeking out.

  “I’d really appreciate that, Megan, thank you! Phillip was there for a short while earlier today, but I can tell he’s not ready to go back either.” She rubs Kevin’s head. “Also, he’s not comfortable being in her bedroom and going through her personal things.”

  “I’m happy to help anyway I can,” I say.

  Glenda cups one of Kevin’s ears in her hand, then the other. I think she’s checking to make sure they aren’t too cold.

  “You and Kevin seem to have really bonded,” I say, reaching out and scratching Kevin between the ears. “If you want to spend some time with Sophie so you can get to know each other before you take her back to Ottawa, we can figure something out.”

  “That would be a good idea,” she replies, lowering her gaze to the ground, “if I were taking her back to Ottawa with me.”

  Glenda looks up at me. “We live in a tenth-floor condominium. We don’t have a yard for Sophie to run around in. And if I’m honest, I love animals, but I’m not much of a pet person. Never have been. I think growing up as a veterinarian’s daughter, I’ve had more than my share of pets.”

  I nod.

  At least she knows her limits and isn’t taking Sophie out of a sense of obligation, that wouldn’t make either of them happy.

  “I understand,” I say, nodding and trying to sound reassuring.

  I’m about to ask if she’s made other arrangements for Sophie and suggest that I could keep her if no other arrangements have been made, but before I can open my mouth, she starts speaking.

  “Is there a chance you might want Sophie? You two are obviously close, and she seems happy living with you.”

  You think?! Yes, I want to keep Sophie!

  I nod enthusiastically.

  “I’d love to have Sophie as a permanent roommate! Thank you!”

  I clap my hands in front of my chin.

  “Glenda?”

  I take a deep breath. Tread carefully, Megan.

  “Did you misplace your cell phone by chance?” I ask.

  “Yes! I did! Did you find it?”

  “Not exactly, but I have it,” I explain. “You left it at Artsy Tartsy, and April picked it up.”

  “I must remember to thank her,” Glenda says.

  “After you left it at the bakery, it rang.”

  “Oh?” she asks, her interest piqued.

  I tell her what April said about her pharmacist in Ottawa relaying a message from the Hav-A-Nap hotel.

  “It’s true, I’m afraid,” she admits. “I arrived in Harmony Lake the night before they discharged Laura from the hospital, not the following morning like I led you all to believe.”

  “Why didn’t you tell the truth?” I ask. “This is the type of thing that Eric can confirm using credit card statements, cell phone pings, and such. Wouldn’t it have been better to tell the truth?”

  “I left Ottawa early Monday afternoon,” she explains. “My plan was to stop at Harmony Hills Hospital on my way into Harmony Lake and pick up Laura’s house keys. Then I could pick up some groceries while I was in Harmony Hills and fill the fridge before she got home the next morning.”

  These are things Phillip would have already taken care of, and I think Glenda would know that.

  “Traffic was a mess, there were patches of black ice between here and Ottawa, which means there were lane closures because of the ice and accidents blocking the lanes that were open, and instead of getting to Harmony Hills at dinner time, like I’d planned, it was almost 9 p.m.—far too late to visit Laura, get her keys, and go grocery shopping. I was exhausted, so I got a room at the Hav-A-Nap and went to bed.”

  “I’m sure if you contacted Phillip, he would’ve let you into her house or told you where the spare key is,” I counter.

  “I’m sure you’re right,” Glenda agrees. “But I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone or cause any trouble. I just wanted to put my head down. When I arrived at Laura’s house the next day, and Eric told me what happened, I panicked. I knew I didn’t have an alibi for the last sixteen hours. Saying I was alone in a motel room isn’t exactly a strong alibi, especially when half the town knows that Laura and I weren’t seeing eye to eye about the Mega Mart offer.”

  “Glenda, you have to tell this to Eric.”

  “I know, and I will,” she says, checking the temperature of Kevin’s exposed ears again. “I didn’t do it. I love Laura. She’s my big sister, and I looked up to her. I would never hurt her.”

  Her eyes well up, and I’m not sure if it’s because of tears, the cold temperature, or both.

  Glenda asks me if she can have her phone back. I tell her I have to check with Eric first. She says she understands.

  We agree we’re both chillier than we’d like to be, so we decide on a time to meet at Laura’s house tomorrow, and she takes Kevin inside to warm up. I run across the lawn, leaving a second set of footprints in my wake, excited to tell Sophie that she’s staying in Harmony Lake.

  Chapter 13

  Monday January 13th

  Knitorious is closed on Mondays, so today’s my day for running errands.

  After Sophie and I finish breakfast and go for our morning walk, I drive to Water Street and park behind The Pharmer’s Market, our local pharmacy.

  First stop: acquire caffeine at Latte Da.

  Until recently, a daily coffee from Latte Da was part of my morning routine, but it’s been demoted from daily necessity, to an occasional treat because Sophie isn’t allowed inside Latte Da.

  Dropping off Sophie at the store first then going to Latte Da might sound like a good idea, but by the time I drop her off, take off her sweater and her leash, and freshen up her water bowl, going out feels like a hassle and I end up making coffee instead. My wallet is happier with the new arrangement, but my taste buds aren’t.

  I join the rest of the caffeine
addicts in line, right behind Eric. I take a deep breath. He smells so good. Just one more deep breath.

  “Hey stranger,” I say.

  “Hey there! Nice boots,” he says, looking at my feet. “It’s nice to see you wearing two of them again.”

  “I know, right?” I agree.

  The line moves forward, and we move with it, getting one step closer to the caffeine we both crave.

  “How was your date on Saturday night?” he asks.

  “It wasn’t a date,” I say. “Craig is Mrs. Pearson’s son, and the doctor who helped me at the hospital after I slipped on the ice. By the way, thank you for breaking up the ice and preventing another accident.”

  “It looked like a date,” he states tersely. “Most doctors I know don’t take their patients to an intimate pub for drinks and nachos.”

  The Embassy isn’t exactly what I’d call intimate, but whatever.

  “You paid attention to what we ordered?” I ask.

  This is both impressive and slightly unnerving, until I remember that I noticed him sitting at the bar, eating a bowl of Dublin Coddle, and drinking a beer.

  “I’m a cop. It’s my job to be observant. It’s hard to turn off when I’m not at work, but I’m trying, trust me.”

  He sounds irritated. Why is he giving me attitude?

  “So, do all his patients call him Craig, or just you?”

  Excuse me? He’s obviously annoyed about something, and I sympathize, but I don’t appreciate him taking it out on me.

  “I don’t know,” I reply curtly. “I’m not acquainted with all of his patients, but if you’re really curious, I’ll give you his number and you can ask him.”

  Bad moods are contagious, and now I’m starting to feel grumpy. I move closer so I know he’ll hear me when I speak quietly.

  “Eric, are you angry with me?” I ask. “Have I offended you?”

  His chin falls slightly toward his chest, and his shoulders droop ever so subtly, causing his normally perfect posture to be not quite perfect with a hint of a slouch. He looks defeated. I’ve never seen him like this.

  Before he can answer, it’s his turn to order. He takes a break from giving me attitude and orders a medium roast, double-double.

  He moves along to the end of the counter to wait for his coffee, and I approach the cash register to place my order. While I’m waiting for the cashier to come back, I hear Connie’s voice.

  “Honestly, Eric, why don’t you just pull her pigtails!” she says just loudly enough for me to hear and squeezes his arm.

  I bite my lips trying not to laugh out loud. The cashier comes back, and I order a cafe mocha with extra whipped cream.

  “I didn’t see you guys when I came in,” I say to Connie and Archie as they both stop and give me a quick hug on their way out of the coffee shop.

  “Take care, my dear. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I move to the end of the counter and wait for my coffee. The barista hands Eric his order, and he breezes past me, through the door, and onto Water Street.

  Good day to you, too, sir!

  Acquire caffeine: check!

  Next stop: The Pharmer’s Market, to replenish my ibuprofen supply.

  I think this is the first bottle of ibuprofen I’ve ever finished before it expired. While there’s probably no hurry to replace it, it might be best to keep some on hand in case I find another patch of ice to slip on.

  I walk out of Latte Da, and Eric is standing on the sidewalk sipping his coffee. I pretend I don’t see him, turn, and start walking toward The Pharmer’s Market. I’m wearing sunglasses, and it’s easy to ignore someone from behind tinted lenses.

  “Megan!” he calls.

  I turn and make my best surprised face.

  “I didn’t see you there,” I fib.

  “I’m sorry for being a jerk.”

  I’d have chosen a different, more swear-y noun, but jerk will do.

  “I’m in a bad mood, and I took it out on you. It has nothing to do with you and I’m sorry.”

  “What does it have to do with?” I ask.

  He moves closer to me. If he’s trying to speak privately, it’s not possible on Water Street.

  “I feel like I’m spinning my wheels on this case,” he says. “I’ve solved two murders in Harmony Lake, moved here, joined the local police department, done as much community outreach work as I possibly can, gone out of my way to be approachable, and people still don’t trust me. They won’t talk to me. Half of them won’t even call me Eric, they insist on calling me Detective or Mr. Sloane.”

  “That sounds frustrating,” I sympathize as we stroll toward The Pharmer’s Market.

  “The only information I get from the community are bits of gossip I happen to overhear, and the information you pass along to me, because they trust you. I just want to do my job.”

  “It takes time,” I assure him. “This is a tight-knit community, and the people are protective of their privacy and cautious of outsiders. I know it’s not fair and not what you want to hear, but that’s how it is.”

  “How much time?” he asks

  “Well,” I say, “I once heard a fourth-generation town resident refer to a third-generation town resident as ‘that new guy who’s only been in town for five minutes.’”

  Eric laughs and I decide not to ruin it for him by telling him it’s a true story.

  “Thank you,” he says, “for making me feel better. Please don’t think I’m not grateful for all the help and information you pass on to me, because I am. I just wish they’d skip the middleman, er, middlewoman...middlePERSON and come to me directly.”

  “Speaking of passing along information, can we talk later? Away from potential eavesdroppers?” I ask. “I have a few things to pass along to you.”

  We try to figure out a time to get together, but I’m meeting Glenda later at Laura’s house, and I don’t know how long we’ll be there. I don’t want her to feel rushed. We agree that I’ll text him when I get home from Laura’s house, and he’ll come over.

  In the pain relief aisle at The Pharmer’s Market, I’m comparing the brand name ibuprofen to the store brand ibuprofen and enjoying my cafe mocha, when a man sidles up next to me.

  “It’s nice to see you standing up, Megan,” he says. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

  “Hi Mr. Sweeney, it’s nice to be standing up. I’m glad you recognized me, it’s good to see you again.”

  I recognize him as the universal blood donor Connie introduced me to at the hospital. His voice is jollier, and his smile more exuberant than I remember.

  “Remember what I said?” He’s waggling an index finger at me.

  What did he say? Think, Megan.

  “Mr. Sweeney was my father, you should call me Brian,” he says, reminding me.

  “How are you doing, Brian?”

  “Pretty good, under the circumstances. Laura and I were friends, you know.”

  “Connie mentioned that,” I say. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  His exuberant smile disappears, and a weaker smile, with sad eyes, take its place.

  “Yes, growing up Laura and I were very close, but we had a falling out—well our families did—and I’m just glad we mended our friendship before she died.”

  “I’m sure she was glad to make amends with you too,” I say.

  “Anne-Marie and I are here to drop off my father’s old medication. Finally. He passed away two months ago,” he says, changing the subject. “Anne-Marie is my wife. She’s over at the pharmacy counter.” He uses his thumb to point over his shoulder.

  “I’d heard your dad passed away. I’m sorry for that loss too.”

  “Thank you, Megan,” he says. “He had a long and happy life. Ninety-five is a good age, and nothing to be sad about. He was healthy, too, until he turned ninety, that’s when all his problems began…”

  I suspect I’m about to hear the not-so-short version of Mr. Sweeney’s health over the last five years of his life, when we’re interr
upted by a lovely, friendly lady, who I assume is Anne-Marie.

  “Brian, don’t bore the poor woman!” Anne-Marie says teasingly while she playfully nudges him.

  She smiles at me and extends her hand. I shake it.

  “Megan, this is my wife Anne-Marie. Anne-Marie, this is Megan Martel. She just took over Connie’s knitting store.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Anne-Marie.”

  “Likewise, Megan.”

  “We’re heading to Harmony Hills to look at furniture and paint colours,” Brian says. “We’re redecorating Dad’s bedroom, making it cheerful, and setting it up so the grandkids can sleep there when they come to visit.”

  Their faces light up when Brian mentions the grandkids. I know proud grandparents when I see them and give them the opportunity to brag.

  “Oh, you have grandchildren?” I ask.

  They have two married sons, wonderful daughters-in-law, three grandsons, and one granddaughter. Their granddaughter adores all things horse-related, and Brian can’t wait for her to visit in the summer so he can take her to the Animal Centre to visit the horses.

  “She might be able to learn about grooming and caring for them too,” he says. “Those are the kinds of educational programs we offer there, you see.”

  “Yes, I’d heard you were volunteering at the AC. How do you like it?” I ask.

  “I enjoy it very much. I originally did it to spend time with Laura, after we became friends again, but it really is a great organization that does wonderful work with animals and the community. I’m happy I decided to do it, and with Laura gone, they’ll need more volunteers than ever, so I’ll stay on if they’ll have me,” he replies.

  “What do you do there? What’s your role at the AC?” I ask.

  “Referee, mostly.” He laughs, and Anne-Marie joins him. “I spent most of my time distracting Laura and Dr. White when they would argue.”

  “They argued a lot?” I ask.

  “Oh yes,” he replies. “Always butting heads, those two. If one says it’s raining, I swear the other one would say it’s sunny just for the sake of not agreeing.”