“I’m sorry, okay? Just better safe than…”
“Than what?” asked Glynnis.
“Never mind.”
MacDonald whistled while he went over the packages. Five minutes turned into ten. Finally, he was done and he emerged into the hallway.
“No strange lumps, no wires sticking out, no oilstains, nothing stinky or rattly. No animals or bodily fluids. I’d say you’re all clear. Unless you don’t like fifteen-year-old Glenfarclas.”
“What?”
“Ray Greene sent you a nice bottle.”
She frowned at him. “How do you know that?”
“I had to open the packages. But I resealed them. Nice to get something from your old deputy, huh? No hard feelings.”
“All right, thank you, Sean. You can go now.”
He smiled at her – he loved doing SOCO stuff and the opportunity so rarely came up – and she told him to wait a minute. She went back into the kitchen and sliced him a thick piece of the vanilla cake Glynnis had made, and put it on a plate and brought it back to him. “Just leave the plate with Melanie when you’re done.”
“Should I frisk it first?”
“Sure, you do that.”
She asked Martha to help her bring the gifts downstairs. Knowing that there was something from Ray had put her off opening the presents more than the possibility of finding a body part or a bomb had. Some nerve: not a word for months, and then a birthday present. It pissed her off.
Martha put the gifts on the table downstairs and helped her mother arrange the room. It was still a mess from earlier. When she was done, she said she’d leave her alone and maybe see her in the morning. Then she stood at the door to the stairs, looking forlorn and lost.
“What is it, honey? Why the faraway look?”
Martha shook her head instead of speaking, a worrisome prelude to tears. But she settled herself down and said, “That was weird, huh?”
“Yeah. A little. That why you’re upset?”
“Well, yeah. I don’t like to think of you being in danger.”
“Aw, sweetie, that’s so nice of you. But don’t you get all -”
“And… well, also… it’s just… look at all the people who care about you. Who love you. Those guys upstairs, and that guy coming from the police station to make sure you’re safe. All these people sending you gifts.”
“Maybe they’re just all afraid of me. They’re
“I know,” Martha said distractedly. “It’s just…”
“It’s just what, sweetie?”
Martha leaned against the wall beside the door. The whole room was between them. “You have so many people in your life. So does Dad. You’re both just… naturally likeable. I wish I had that talent.”
“No one sees themselves the way others see them,” Hazel said. “You could never see yourself the way I do. And for your information, I don’t feel that loveable myself.”
“Well, obviously, other people disagree.”
“Maybe you just need to get out and be around people more, hon. You can’t have people in your life if you’re hiding from them.”
Martha nodded, her tongue stiff against the inside of her upper lip. Hazel had known it was the wrong thing to say the instant it was out of her mouth. Her daughter stood up straight against the wall. “So I’m living under a rock? What do you know about how I spend my time?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to accuse you -”
“I go to the gym, I go out with friends, I go to the library. You think Toronto is the kind of place you strike up conversations with people on the street? And then they come home for a cup of Lemon Zinger and you’re BFFs?”
“You’re what?”
“Never mind.” She turned and opened the door sharply. Hazel crossed the room quickly and put her hand on her daughter’s.
“I know,” said Martha, quietly. She was already embarrassed that she’d shown her vulnerability to her mother. She was always see-sawing back and forth between appearing strong and being helpless. She hated it. “I should let you get some rest.” She still hadn’t looked her mother in the eye.
“Do you accept my apology?”
“I do,” said Martha.
“Will I see you in the morning?”
“Yeah.”
She let her go.
When the door closed, Hazel went over to the couch and sat down. She pulled the gift that had to be the bottle over toward herself and opened the card attached to it. The card said
Her mother had bought her a beautiful blouse; Glynnis and Andrew a matching pair of slacks. The gift from Wingate was a copy of
The final gift was from Robert and Gail Chandler, a long, purple silk scarf. It was gorgeous. She wrapped it around her neck and then pulled Greene’s bottle toward herself and stared at it a long time.
It had been more than thirty-six hours since her last Percocet and her nerves had been crying out for solace ever since. But the adrenaline that had been roaring through her since the visit to Willan had done some of the work she’d counted on the pill to do. To painkill, yes, but also to numb, to reduce the noise in her head. After her birthday evening, though, she could feel the noise returning. The burn in her guts, the dizziness, the shakes. She recalled the small object wrapped in tinfoil that she’d had in her pants pocket yesterday. She went to the closet and found it still in the pocket of the black slacks she’d worn yesterday. She unwrapped the pill and held it in her fingers. How could something that small take such a hold of a person? She lifted it to her mouth and touched her tongue to it. It was bitter, like aspirin, and she thought she could feel it sizzling. In a day or two, it would begin to get easier: she believed this now. She was on the dividing line between one life and another and she need do nothing to cross it; the line was coming toward her. On the other side of it was a manageable pain, a clearer head, maybe even her own pillow and sheets. And, more importantly, she was going to need a clear head from here on in. There was a chance to save the man in the video; a chance to save “her,” whoever she was.
She went into the bathroom and flushed the pill down the toilet. It turned in smaller and smaller circles, arrowing in on something like it was supposed to do in the body, and then it was gone into the grey tube in the middle of the bowl as if down a throat and she pictured it streaming end over end into the sewer. From one bottomless place to another. It was progress.
17
She was in early on Friday morning and called a meeting with Wingate, Sergeant Geraldine Costamides, and Kraut Fraser. These were her most senior people now and she was going to need them. After confirming that nothing had changed on the website, she ushered them all into the office and closed the door behind them.
“Where are we with the prints from Eldwin’s house?” she began.
“I had to send the mouse down to Spere,” said Fraser. “It’s going to take more than powder to get a print off
