Aloha, Candy Hearts (16 page)

“And from there it was easy for her. She’s so damn smart, that wife of mine. It scares me some of the things she knows.

“Unlike you, obviously, I figured there might be somebody else who had this map. And if that was true, they’d be looking for the same thing I was. I thought it couldn’t hurt to stake out the San site for a coupla days to see who came digging around.” He shook his head in mock disgust as he added, “And lookee who I found rootin’ around in the dirt.”

I let the comment slide. I was too busy trying to figure things out. “What I want to know is, how did White Truck Guy know where to find me?”

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“You think that’s who hired those guys?”

“Of course. Who else? What I don’t get is how he found me. I’ve been so careful about getting him off my back. I’m not staying at my place. I’m not going to…oh.”

“What?”

“I was about to say I’m not going to the office. But guess where I was earlier tonight.”

“At PWC.”

“Yup. He must have been hanging around hoping I’d show.

And he was right. Damn! I should have noticed.” I’d screwed up.

“Yeah, well, it’s hard to keep your guard up twenty-four seven,” Kirsch said, in a rare display of empathy. “Now hand it over.”

This was what I was afraid of. The waitress came by and I ordered another two beers to delay what I knew was coming next.

“Quant, I want whatever it was you dug up from under that tree.”

“And I want us to work together. This is the last clue. Two heads have got to be better than one. And by two, I mean me and Treena. You can watch.”

Darren’s eyes darkened. “You are perilously close to having your ass thrown in a cell for interfering with an active police investigation.”

“If it’s so active,” I shot back, “why were you out there all alone tonight? Is it SPS policy to send its officers on dangerous stakeouts by themselves?” I knew Darren Kirsch. He was working a hunch.

A hunch he wouldn’t devote expensive and already strained man-power to until he was sure about it.

“Just show me what you got.”

I had been a good boy. I’d brought the box with me. And I hadn’t even peeked on my way to the bar. Nah, that’s not true. I totally peeked. And I hadn’t liked what I saw. That’s why I was willing to hand it over. I needed help.

Darren received the box and set it down carefully in front of him. What? Did he expect it contained a bomb or something?

“So what’s in it?” he asked.

I shrugged and waggled my head back and forth and did DD6AA2AB8

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whatever body movements seemed appropriate to convey the lie.

“I dunno.”

His eyebrows shot for his hairline. “What do you take me for?”

And with that he loosened the tin’s lid and pulled it off.

Popcorn. It was a tin full of popcorn.

Kirsch slowly upended the container and let the popcorn slide out onto the table in front of us. I’d already done that in my car.

There were probably a few stray kernels left on the passenger seat.

There was nothing in the box but popped corn.

“What the hell is this?”

I shook my head again. This time I was telling the truth. “I dunno.”

“Jee-zus! This is crazyass shit! What does this mean?”

“Well, I do have one unsettling idea.”

“What’s that?” Kirsch asked.

“I’ve heard that some companies use real popcorn—instead of those Styrofoam ones—as packing material. It’s more biodegrad-able.”

“So what does that have to do with all this? You th…ooooooohhhhh. Shit. You think someone got to the box before we did?”

I nodded. “Yup. And all we’re left with is the packing material.”

I fell asleep on the cab ride back to Ash House. It had been a full day. Bit of an emotional roller coaster too. Everything from the early morning boat ride with Errall to spread Kelly’s ashes, to finding out I was being evicted from PWC, to digging around in dirt and being threatened at knifepoint. So it was little surprise that, having ended up at an Irish pub with Darren Kirsch, that I said an exuberant yes to several “for the road” shots. And this was after we’d downed our third beer and started telling raucous jokes. As far as I was concerned, I had my reasons for over-imbibing. I don’t know what Darren’s excuse was. But I have to say, I’d never seen him laugh so much and so easily. Lots of beer does that to a guy, I suppose.

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As the taxi was pulling into the yard—better lit now than it was last night (the workmen had been busy)—I saw someone getting into the only vehicle left in the parking lot. It was Ethan. First guy there in the morning, last to leave at night. He was burning the candle at both ends with this project.

I was short about five bucks for my fare. Those shots weren’t going cheap. And who carries cash anymore? Besides, I hadn’t really anticipated being in need of the services of a taxi that night.

While the cabbie scowled and growled at me, Ethan, having gotten out of his vehicle, slowly approached. I gave him a lopsided grin, wiped sleep from my eyes, and tried to act like I wasn’t a bit looped. “Uh, hey, Ethan, buddy, you wouldn’t happen to have five dollars on you, would you?”

Ethan paid the cabbie, sending him off with a nice tip.

“It’s a little pricey coming out here in a taxi,” I commented, frowning as I listened to my voice. In my head everything sounded just right, but when the words came through my lips they were slurred and maybe a bit pitiful sounding.

“Yeah,” he agreed, kindly ignoring my altered speech patterns.

“We’re thinking of offering a scheduled shuttle service for the residents. It was one of Jared’s many good ideas. That guy should be running a conglomerate or something. He really knows what he’s doing.”

“Yeah, he’s great. Hey, I’ll pay you back the five tomorrow.” I didn’t want him thinking I was a deadbeat.

He grinned. “No worries. Consider it a down payment on having you out here watching the place at night. The way I see it, I owe you.”

“How’s it all going?” I asked.

Smooth question, Quant. I knew Ethan probably had as long and tiring a day as I’d had. No doubt he just wanted to go home; maybe right into the arms of Damien the devil boy. I didn’t think that was a good idea.

“It’s a lot of work, but oh man, it’s exciting. They got the pool running today,” he answered, his enthusiasm as bright and vigor-ous as if he hadn’t just put in a sixteen-hour day. “And it’s got this great fountain attachment. It floats in the pool and shoots water up DD6AA2AB8

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in a plume about fifteen feet into the air. I thought it’d be great during the wedding reception. And the new dishes came today. That’s what I was doing tonight. Trying to find space for them in the kitchen cupboards. Do you have any idea how many dishes you need for fourteen people?”

“Fourteen?” I made a meek guess.

“Rhetorical question,” he told me.

I knew that.

“Are you okay? You look a little bleary eyed? Do you n…oh, wait a sec…the cab…I get it.” He chuckled. “You’re soused, Mr.

Quant. And on a Monday night!”

I gave him a sloppy smile, although I didn’t mean for it to appear that way. “Not soused. Just a little happy.”

He smiled back, then moved in to throw an arm around my shoulders. “Well, Mr. Happy, how about I help you into the house?

There still aren’t a lot of lights working. I wouldn’t want there to be an accident before the place is even open.”

Although I could see perfectly well, I allowed Ethan to guide me toward the house, up the steps, inside the front door, and down the hall to one of the future resident’s rooms. The sensation of his body so close to mine was thoroughly enjoyable. I could feel the bunched up muscles of his arm as it held me upright. The sinewy firmness of his torso moulded into mine like it was meant to be there. Again his musky scent, compliments of a hard day’s sweat mixed with tangy cologne, played in my nose like a pheromone.

I’d never had the occasion to be so intimately near the man before.

And if I’d been sober, I’d have had the good sense to be disturbed by what it was doing to me.

Ethan directed me to sit down on a fully madeup bed. The room was dim; the only light a faint shaft from the hallway. Even in my state and the diminished light, I was astonished to see how much had changed in just one day. Yesterday this room had been bare as a jail cell. Now it looked almost lived in.

“This is really something,” I said, admiring the deep, rich colours of the walls and matching drapery and bed linens. “You got a lot done today.”

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only shooting to get the public areas looking presentable for the wedding on Saturday. But I wanted at least one hospitable room for our first guest.”

I looked up at him. He was standing so close. “You mean me?

You did all this for me?”

There was a two-second delay in his response. Not much, but I caught it. He answered, “Sure. Of course. We couldn’t have you sleeping on the porch in a sleeping bag.”

I’d enjoyed the sleeping bag on the porch, but I was warmed by his generosity. “Thank you,” I whispered.

“You’re welcome,” he whispered back, his voice suddenly grown husky.

For a beat, there was only silence.

With a slow, deliberate movement, I reached for his hand.

When we touched, I felt explosions going off in the centre of my chest.

I ran my fingers up the length of the inside of his forearm, marvelling at how something so silkily smooth could feel so hard.

I could sense Ethan’s body tense. An unidentifiable noise escaped his lips.

The next thing I knew, I had pulled myself up and we were nose to nose.

I touched his face. Cupping his jaw with my hand, I drew it closer. Our foreheads met and I whispered his name. For what seemed like forever, we stood there, breathing each other in.

Heaving chest against heaving chest. Hip bone against hip bone.

Muscled thigh against muscled thigh.

Our lips touched, gently. Our eyes were open. His brown ones mixed with my greens.

And then he was gone.

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Waking up with a gift-wrapped package on your tummy is pleasant. Realizing you can’t quite remember the night before, is not.

It was actually the banging of hammers and deep voices that woke me up. The Ash House workmen were at it again. I gazed at an alarm clock next to the bed and was shocked to see it was almost ten a.m. I hadn’t slept that late in a very long time. And it wasn’t as if I’d had a ridiculous number of drinks. Yes, I’d drunk too much to drive home, but I wasn’t smashed.

I shoved my body up into a half sitting position and tore open the present. I chuckled when I saw it. A large bottle of Aspirin.

There was a card.

Russell,

You’d think I was the one who’d had too much to drink, given how I acted. I hope the Aspirin helps. Unfortunately, there are no pil s for being stupid.

Sorry.

Ethan

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Now I remembered. It all came back to me. Vividly clear.

Excruciatingly clear. Maybe I had been smashed.

I reread the note. What a guy. Taking the blame for something that was obviously my fault.

I was that guy. A drunken idiot. I’d made a fool of myself. And I had made things between my host and me uncomfortable. Too uncomfortable to stay. I had to get out of there. I jumped out of bed, called for a cab, and stuffed everything I’d brought with me into my duffle bag. I tidied the room, fixed the bed, and made a quick sweep of the room to make sure I’d left nothing behind.

Maybe if I disappeared, I could pretend I’d never been there in the first place. Especially not last night. I ran a hand over my face and mess of hair. I’d have to shower and shave and brush my teeth at the gym. I would not come back here.

Anthony, Sereena, and I had long ago planned the mid-week get together for a pre-wedding meeting, to go over any possible last-minute wedding details. Silly, I know. As if with Anthony and Sereena, the two most organized and prepared people I knew, in charge, there’d be any element of the celebration, however minute, left undone. In reality, I expected lunch would be nothing more than one last pleasant gathering before my friend and mentor became a married man. Both Anthony and Jared had refused a bachelor party with the requisite stripping fireman. I was hoping we’d at least have a really cute waiter.

The Ivy is an urbane, LA-meets-Prairie restaurant and cocktail lounge in Saskatoon’s warehouse district. The area had struggled for years to become more uptown chic than downtown ghetto, and by the looks of the place, success had arrived. After a brief work-out and hot shower at the Y, I’d found a handy parking spot across the street, and I entered the restaurant feeling much better than I had that morning. I was a bit underdressed for the well-heeled lunch crowd, but what can you expect when you’re living out of a duffle bag?

Anthony and Sereena, meanwhile, had claimed the best table DD6AA2AB8

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in the house and looked every inch the sophisticated socialites who lunch. I joined them with the only things I had to offer: a killer smile and kisses on the cheeks.

At first I was having a perfectly lovely time. It wasn’t until our main courses arrived that they hit me with the big one.