Scare the Light Away

by Vicki Delany

  I laughed. “I’ll suggest that to my dad. What have you got for me, Jenny?”

  Dad poured the last of the coffee into a thermos and set off out the back door, heading for his shed. Sampson went with him.

  Jenny talked and I made notes. Nothing momentous, nothing requiring my immediate attention. She was merely keeping me up to date.

  “Andrew wants a meeting when he gets back on Friday,” she said. “Can he conference-call you?”

  I asked the time and marked it onto my computer’s calendar. “I’ll get that on my cell phone. My family is in and out of the house all day; you never know when someone is on the phone. I’ll have it on all the time, and if by chance the battery’s run out you can call the house next.

  “I’ll be back on Monday, Jen. Hold the fort until then, can you?”

  “It’ll be hard, but I’ll try.”

  “Thanks.”

  I attached the computer to the phone line one more time.

  An old pickup truck drove up the laneway, moving much too fast, tossing mud from beneath its well-traveled wheels. It could only be heading for Jimmy and Aileen’s place and, now that the Hope River grapevine was in control of the story, it was unlikely anyone was making a social call.

  I ran out the door, not even bothering to disconnect the computer. Rain continued to fall, leaving the morning air fresh and clean, the moisture as light on my face as any expensive moisturizer. There was no need for a coat, but as I ran, I realized that I should have stopped long enough to put boots on in place of my slippers.

  When I saw the small group gathered on Jimmy’s deck, I realized that I also should have brought Sampson. It was Dennis Taylor, Jennifer’s dad. His twin sons stood on either side of him. They all bristled with hostility—fists clenched, feet apart, chests thrust forward.

  Jimmy stood in the front door, waving his hands and talking. Aileen’s face peered over his shoulder, white and pinched tight with fear.

  Jimmy continued to talk as I ran up. His pose was relaxed, comfortable, but he balanced on the balls of his feet, ready for anything. “I can assure you, Mr. Taylor, Ryan, Kyle, I had nothing to do with Jennifer’s murder. I am as upset as anyone in this town about what happened to her, she was a wonderful girl.”

  “You liar, the cops know it’s you what did it, why else would they have arrested you?”

  “That’s right,” the larger of the twins said, taking a half step forward. He was taller than Jimmy, heavier and much, much younger. His hands were balled into fists and his shoulders stiff with tension. He carried far too much weight around his middle and under his chin for a boy his age. “You can’t get away with this, you bastard, the cops might be afraid of you, but we aren’t.”

  Aileen plucked at Jimmy’s sleeve. “Come inside, hon. Please. There’s no talking to them.” She raised her voice. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Taylor, but it has nothing to do with my husband. Please go home. Your poor wife must need you there.”

  “Don’t you mention my sainted wife, you filthy cunt.”

  Aileen gasped and Jimmy stepped forward, his calm demeanor gone in a flash. “If you want to make something out of this, Taylor, it’s between you and me. Leave the women and children out of it.”

  I walked up the steps. “Now what seems to be the problem here?” I stepped around the smaller boy and reached for his father’s hand. “Dennis, so nice to see you after all this time. Please accept my condolences on your loss. And extend my best wishes to your wife.”

  “Who the fuck are you?” As an adult Dennis Taylor was no more attractive than he had been as a boy. He was a small man, thin and wiry with a few greasy hairs plastered across his bowling ball of a head. He peered at the world through Coke-bottle-bottom glasses, which magnified eyes so bloodshot they looked as if a demented child had gone wild with a red marker. Not even noon and the man’s breath reeked of beer.

  “This has gone far enough, Dennis. If the police have reason to charge my brother with the death of your daughter, they will do so. Please, go home now and comfort your wife.”

  “That you, Becky?” He looked me up and down. “You look real good.”

  “She’s right, Dad.” The smaller twin took his father’s arm. The larger boy, Kyle, was already going to seed, the result of too much fast food and beer, but the younger was trim and fit. Strange to see such different expressions on two otherwise indistinguishable faces. The fat boy was angry, hostile, looking for a fight, his prey in his sights. The lean twin tried to calm his father down, to defuse the situation. Neither of the boys appeared to have been drinking. That was a bonus.

  “Fuck off, Ryan,” the fat twin said. “Me and Dad have things to settle here.”

  I looked at Kyle. “You and your father have been asked to leave.”

  “Come on, Dad.” Ryan tugged at his father’s sleeve.

  The man struggled with his emotions for a moment, he opened his mouth to say something to me, but Ryan pulled at his arm once more. Dennis Taylor deflated and took a step backward.

  “Don’t think you can get away with this, McKenzie,” Kyle said. “If the cops don’t do nothing, my family will.”

  Aileen sobbed with relief.

  “Come on Kyle, we’re leaving,” Ryan said.

  Kyle spat at Jimmy’s feet but followed his family. Jimmy didn’t flinch.

  They were halfway down the steps when a rusty old hulk of a pickup truck roared up the hill and pulled to a stop.

  Jack Jackson and Pete Hartman climbed out. Two other men leapt out of the back. Jack carried a baseball bat.

  The Taylors turned back to face us.

  Chapter 38

  “Get in the house, Rebecca,” Jimmy said, his voice sounding as calm as if we were making arrangements for a stroll in the woods after supper. “Take Aileen with you, lock the door, and call the police.”

  “Like hell. You two get into the house; I’m going for my car. Be waiting for me at the back door.”

  “No, Becky. They won’t let you get away.”

  “I can outrun that rabble of walking beer barrels.” Of that, I had no doubt. Except for Pete—lean and angry, he could give me trouble—this attempt at a mob didn’t look as if they had traveled on foot for any distance further than from a bar stool to the men’s room in more than a few years.

  The Taylors’ departure had ceased abruptly although Ryan, the thin one, continued, with no success, to try to drag his father and brother away. They stood on the bottom step, watching the men approach, walking slowly. Jack swung his bat.

  “This isn’t a good idea, Dad,” Ryan said.

  “Go in the house and call 911, Aileen.”

  “Jim, please.”

  “Now, Aileen.” My brother’s eyes were sharp and focused, his body taut, ready for whatever was about to happen. That, more than anything, was what terrified me. Jimmy knew these men weren’t here for polite conversation. He was wearing a thick down vest and casually slipped his hand inside. Aileen went into the house.

  “Come on Jimmy, don’t be a fool,” I said. “There’s too many of them.”

  “Go with Aileen, Becky.”

  “I’ll go inside if you do, Jimmy.” And then I could head out the back door, through the woods to my father’s house and the SUV.

  We all heard them long before we saw them, police cruisers, sirens blaring, coming down our road—the proverbial cavalry.

  The men walking toward us looked at Pete, doubt and confusion running across their dull faces. Pete raised his hand in the universal stop gesture. Jack tossed his bat under a sleeping rose bush. Jimmy’s hand came out of his vest, empty

  There were two cars. Two officers stepped out of each, leaving the red lights on the top of the patrol cars swirling round and round in demonic circles. Puddles of muddy water dotted the road and the driveway; they reflected the red light so that Jimmy and Aileen’s front yard looked like the entrance to the first ring of hell. As perhaps it very nearly was.

  “Trouble here?” said Constable LeBla
nc, looking exactly like a knight in shining armor with his crisp black uniform and handsome face partially obscured by the official OPP “Smokey the Bear” hat. Rosemary Rigoloni stood behind him, her hand resting on her nightstick. The other two officers were unfamiliar, but exceedingly welcome nonetheless.

  “Just a social call, Officer,” Pete said.

  “Everything okay here, Mr. McKenzie?”

  “Fine, thank you.”

  “No,” I began.

  Jimmy drowned me out. “These gentlemen were just leaving.”

  Pete and his friends headed back toward their truck.

  “You dropped something, Mr. Jackson,” Rigoloni said, pointing to the baseball bat scarcely concealed by the rose bush. “I’ll look after it for you, shall I?”

  Jack looked nothing but confused. Pete pushed him toward the truck. “Thank you, Officer, my friend is always careless about handling his things.”

  They piled into the old pickup, and were gone.

  Two of the officers returned to their car and followed the truck. Rigoloni and LeBlanc walked up to the house.

  “Mr. Taylor. I’m sorry to hear about your daughter. Is there anything we can do for you?”

  Taylor had been emboldened by the arrival of reinforcements, never mind that they’d left so abruptly. “You can arrest this man here.” He climbed back up the steps and pointed at Jimmy, spittle forming in the edges of his mouth. The words were slurred. “For the murder of my daughter.”

  “The matter is under investigation, sir. We’re doing everything possible to apprehend the person or persons responsible.”

  “Yeah, right,” Kyle said. “And pigs can fly. Right up your ass, lady.”

  “If there is nothing further we can do for you, Mr. Taylor?” Rigoloni said. She stepped to one side and gestured down the path to the truck.

  Ryan took his father’s arm and led him away. Kyle glared at Jimmy one more time and followed.

  Jimmy raised his voice. “Oh, Constable LeBlanc, how is the processing of my application for another firearm going? I’d like to be able to pick it up as soon as possible.”

  LeBlanc looked confused. It was Rigoloni who answered, her tiny voice loud enough to carry through air so charged it might sprout bolts of electricity at any moment. “We can’t comment on that, Mr. McKenzie. Firearm permits are out of our control.”

  The Taylors reached their truck. Kyle helped his father climb in and then took the driver’s seat. Ryan leaned out the passenger window and flipped us the bird.

  “Do you wish to register a complaint, Mr. McKenzie?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I do,” I said. The words came out more as a croak. Now that it was all over, my body was starting to register the shock, my heart beating so fast I might as well have finished a marathon, my throat as dry as ancient parchment. I wiped my hands on the butt of my jeans.

  “Please, Rebecca.” Jimmy looked at me, his eyes wide and clear. “Let me handle this.”

  I relented. “Oh, all right.”

  “We’ll request a patrol car to be stationed at the bottom of your road,” Rigoloni said. “Until this is settled.”

  “One way or another.” LeBlanc looked at Jimmy with eyes as cold as marble chips. “You’d better watch your back, McKenzie. We won’t always be so close at hand, you know.”

  “Is that a threat?” Aileen stepped out of the house and pulled herself up to her full height. She clutched the cordless phone with white fingers, and the whole of her fragile, tiny-boned body shook.

  “Of course not, Aileen,” Rigoloni said, giving her a warm smile.

  “Take it however you want,” LeBlanc said. “Are you in possession of a firearm, McKenzie?”

  “Why do you ask?” Jimmy gathered his wife in his arms and held her quivering body tight.

  “You have a criminal record, don’t you? Yet you referred moments ago to applying for another weapon?”

  Jimmy shrugged. “Look it up, Officer. It’s a matter of public record. But let me assure you that I am not in possession of an unregistered firearm or of a firearm that is not registered to me. Or to my wife. Satisfied?”

  LeBlanc looked anything but.

  “Please call us if there is any more trouble,” Rigoloni said. “It might be a while before that patrol car gets into position.”

  “Thank you, Rosemary,” Aileen whispered.

  “Just doing my job. Let’s go, Dave. Dave, I said, let’s go.”

  And they left, walking through the light rain and heavy mud to their car. Rigoloni lifted her hand once, but LeBlanc staunchly ignored us. I had no doubt on which side of that potentially ugly skirmish LeBlanc wanted to be.

  But who cares what he thinks as long as he does his job? Thank God we still live under the rule of law.

  Jimmy practically carried Aileen back into the house and settled her into the soft leather chair. The fireplace was cold and dark, the candles melted stubs. The unwashed brandy glasses were still on the table, their insides coated with remnants of the heavenly, golden liquid.

  “What on earth is going on here?” Dad appeared at the door, his face lined with worry and confusion, rainwater dripping from his cloth cap, Sampson at his heels. I knelt down and gave her a huge hug, ignoring the wet and mud, letting all my fear and tension pour into the dog’s big furry body. She licked my face and I burst into tears.

  “Becky?” Dad said. “What were all those people doing here? And the police? Why are you crying?”

  I scrambled through my pockets and came up with a scrap of previously used tissue. “Nothing, Dad. Nothing.”

  “You might see a police car on our road a bit more than usual, Dad,” Jimmy said. “But don’t pay them any mind. They’re trying to keep rubberneckers and ghouls away from the area, that’s all.”

  “People these days have nothing better to do,” Dad sighed. “In my day we kept out of the way and let the police do their work. I remember when they arrested Corporal Seagal for beating up a whore near the base. ’43 it was, or maybe ’44. Yeah, ’44, just before the Invasion. The English didn’t know she was a whore, and they were all in a fine fit, shouting for a charge to be laid.”

  To forget the horrors of the last half-hour, more than true righteous indignation, I stepped in. “It made a difference, that the woman was a prostitute?”

  Aileen laughed. But it was not a good laugh, not a genuine laugh, one full of amusement or mirth; rather a laugh tinged with hysteria. She rubbed her eyes and tucked a stray hair back into its clip, whereupon it immediately escaped. “You McKenzies. I should write you up someday, I could do a wonderful thesis on the fine art of ignoring reality.”

  Jimmy looked at me, his eyes speaking his concern. “I’ll put the coffeepot back on. Dad, care for coffee?”

  “No thanks, son. Popped up to see what all the commotion was. I’ve a mind to get at least one horse finished today. Best get back to it.”

  “Leave Sampson here, Dad. Please,” I asked.

  I followed Jimmy into the kitchen. He took off his vest and slipped a knife out of the breast pocket, a big one with a long shiny blade. A Henckels carving knife. Top quality. Razor-sharp. He slipped it back into its place in the wooden stand that sat on the butcher’s block in the center of the room.

  My brother looked at me. “You learn a few tricks in prison.”

  I swallowed.

  “I won’t let anyone touch Aileen. No matter what I have to do.” He pulled a packet of coffee beans out of the freezer and poured a handful into the grinder. “I’d like to get her out of here for a while.” He spoke over the roar of the machine.

  “Where?”

  “Her sister lives in Oakville. That’s near Toronto.”

  “I’ve been there.” I searched in the cupboards for mugs.

  “They get on well. She’d be happy to have Aileen stay for a bit.”

  “Think Aileen will go?”

  “Not the chance of a bat in hell.”

  “She can stay with Dad and me.”
/>   “I can’t see her agreeing to even that.”

  “What about going to Oakville with her? Seems to me that you’re the one who needs to get away.”

  “I’ve been advised not to leave the area. You know anyone in this town, other than my family, who’d take me in? Didn’t think so. And if they come after me, they won’t let anyone I’m staying with stand in the way. And that includes you, Rebecca. Don’t be so sure of yourself. No doubt you’re a big shot in your business world, but how many fights have you ever been in? Real fights, I mean. Fists, knives?”

  “You know the answer to that. Zip, nada, none.”

  “So please, next time, if there is a next time, don’t be so sure of yourself. Do what I tell you.”

  A tiny glass ball hung on a string in the window. It threw a rainbow of red, blue, and green light to dance across the far cupboards. The sun had come out and chased away the rain clouds. For now.

  “Well, Ray always said that my mouth would get me into trouble one day. But so far it has been more likely to keep me out of it.”

  Jimmy smiled. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet him. I would have liked him.”

  “He would have liked you, too.” And he would have. The two men would have gotten on great. Yet for all these years I had kept a continent between my husband and my family. Not wanting him to meet them. Ashamed of them. And now it was too late to bring them together.

  “I like you too, Jimmy,” I mumbled. His back was turned, tending to the coffee and he didn’t hear me. I cleared my throat. “Did you get a call from Alex Singh?”

  “Yeah. He’s going to drive down from North Bay this afternoon. He told me not to speak to the police until he gets here. We have an interview with Inspector so-and-so at four. Thanks for finding him, Rebecca. I mean it, thanks a lot.” The coffeemaker stopped dripping and Jimmy poured three mugs full. He reached into the cupboard and pulled out a bottle of brandy and poured a generous slug into each portion. “And thanks for standing by me today. But please. Don’t do it again. I can fight my own battles.”