Reluctant Detective Read Free Page B

Meanwhile, it was picking up speed. It ran into the getaway car, and pinned the crooks inside. Billy covered for me, thank god, or I’d have been working security at the Laurier Retirement Village. Billy never said a word, but his new favourite rock group became Crash Test Dummies, and he hummed Superman’s Song every time I got behind the wheel. He’d say, ‘Aren’t they a terrific group? Crash Test Dummies… catchy name. I think they’re gonna be really influential… you know, on the younger generation, people like you. What do you think, Ben?’ He really rubbed it in.”
    Mary Anne banged down another tray of drinks. “On the house,” she said and sat down. “Did I miss anything?”
    â€œAnother of Ben’s war stories,” said Sarah. “They improve with each telling. What are you going to do now?” asked Sarah, bringing the focus back to Anne.
    â€œI don’t know,” said Anne. “Maybe I can find something around here. This isn’t the industrial hub of the Maritimes, though. We’ll see. Maybe back to Ontario.”
    â€œMom! I’ve got friends here… and school.”
    â€œI know, hon. I’ve got Billy’s office to close up and some of his papers to sort. We’ve got the whole summer to decide what to do. There’s no rush. Who knows what wonderful opportunities will pop up by then?”
    Anne spoke with an assuring confidence. She put her arm around Jacqui, smiled, and tweaked her nose playfully a few times until she got a smile in return.
    â€œOkay?” she asked.
    â€œOkay,” said Jacqui.

3
    Anne knew she was feeling sorry for herself, but she took pleasure in the warmth of her melancholy. Each wave of it was like a mouthful of chocolate. Sweet. Almost sinful. Yet it was oh so tempting to drift between the struggle of swimming and the surrender of drowning.
    Memories of her dead parents, the broken body of her husband, her meagre education, her ruined career, and poor Billy over whelmed her. She was only thirty-five. Today she felt fifty-five. A worn-out fifty-five.
    Yet, even in sadness, Anne had no delusions. This self-indulgence was temporary. She would pull herself together in spite of her life being a litany of tragedy. It wasn’t in her nature to wallow too long in the muck.
    In fact, she knew she didn’t have any right to do so. Some things were more important than her self-interests and expectations. At the top of that short list was her daughter. Jacqueline had suffered, too. She had to protect her, she had to be the strong one, the hopeful one, the one with vision, the fixer of all things broken in her life. That’s what a mother does.
    Anne had gone to the office the week following Billy’s funeral. Mostly out of habit. There was much to be done, but so far she’d had trouble focusing. On the third day, though, she finally dug into some of the paperwork. She started with the safe.
    The office safe was a rat’s nest of odds and ends. It was Billy’s private place and she’d respected that without him having to tell her. Anne spun the dial; the tumblers clicked like a roulette table. She snapped the handle and the vault door swung open.
    Inside were three shelves, a gun rack, and several sliding metal drawers. The gun rack was the first thing to catch the eye. A riot shotgun and two rifles stood in vertical slots. Next to them, hanging one under the other, were a snub-nosed Colt .38, an S&W .38 special with a six-inch barrel, a small .32 revolver, and a 9 mm Beretta, the standard US military version. Each was gun-metal blue and glinted with a light coating of oil. An assortment of holsters hung from a hook. One of the drawers held neatly stacked boxes of cartridges and spare magazines for the Beretta and the .303 rifle. The other drawer was a dumping ground for personal papers, notebooks, scraps of paper, memorabilia, and items that Billy had considered