Storm Lines Page 10

  “It’s okay, pet,” Carla said. “I know you’re scared. Nothing is going to happen to you. You have me and Marley and Devon. All you need in life is some good people who will look out for you.”

  Marley looked at Devon a beat and then longer. All you need in life.

  Aimee shifted and lifted her head. Her eyes, usually full of joy and intensity, were sorrowful. She looked around at the three of them, then dropped her head again.

  “We’re here, Aimee,” Devon said.

  “We’re right here,” Marley added.

  Aimee didn’t look up, her small body swaying with the motion of her grandmother’s hand on her back.

  “Come on, pet,” Carla said, her voice gaining some of the no-nonsense tone. “Let’s try the mantra, see if that moves us out of the scared.”

  Aimee didn’t react, but Carla started anyway, using her free hand to complete the actions.

  “My thoughts are clear, my body is safe, my heart is healing.”

  When Carla started going through the mantra a second time, Devon and Marley both joined. They touched their foreheads, hugged their shoulders, and placed a hand on their hearts. It was a prayer and a promise.

  Aimee looked up, but she didn’t look reassured. She sliced her hand through the air, then slapped at her shoulders in an angry imitation of the hug. Devon picked it up first.

  “You don’t feel safe,” Devon said.

  Aimee then pointed at her grandma and sliced her hand through the air, slapped her shoulders. Not safe. Then Marley. Not safe. Devon. Not safe.

  The apartment was silent. Marley didn’t know what to say. All her training, her oath to serve and protect. And she didn’t know what to say.

  “You’re right, pet,” Carla said. “Let’s take a step anyway. How about you help me up off the floor, we’ll get you cleaned up, and we’ll start making a plan. All of us.”

  Aimee sniffled and wiped her nose on her forearm. She looked around the circle and nodded. Then she stood up and started pulling on Carla’s arms. With Marley and Devon’s help, they got Carla up off the floor, and Aimee, looking defeated and ashamed, followed her to the bathroom.

  Marley found a stack of old takeout napkins and started wiping up the floor, heart aching and mind racing. Devon rummaged in the small cupboard under the kitchen sink.

  “I’ve got a two bedroom townhouse,” Devon said, handing Marley a half-empty bottle of all-purpose cleaner. “They can stay with me for a few days.”

  Marley swallowed her immediate dismissal, inhaling the sharp scent of the cleaner as she sprayed some on the floor. She finished wiping up and tossed the handful of napkins in the can under the sink. Still needing a moment, she washed her hands before turning to look up. Devon managed to exude both calmness and intensity. Marley had never met anyone who could be so present.

  “I don’t know,” Marley finally said.

  “You think it’s not safe enough or you’re worried about putting a burden on me?”

  Marley sighed and closed her eyes. Maybe dating a psychologist was not a good idea. Not dating, Marley corrected herself. Why was she so tired? Marley opened her eyes.

  “Both,” she said. “The safety worry is a bit of a stretch, I’ll admit.”

  “There’s nothing that links me to this.”

  Marley knew she was right. The brief mention in the paper of Marley getting injured had not identified Devon as the helpful bystander. Her name only showed up in official reports, and Marley trusted her department enough to not suspect a leak.

  “I agree,” she said reluctantly.

  “That leaves your worry about whether or not I can handle this.”

  Marley tried to read her expression. Hurt or nervous? Doubts?

  “It’s a lot to ask.”

  “I know. And I’m offering.”

  Before Marley could formulate a response or even evaluate which way she was leaning, Carla and Aimee emerged from the bathroom. Aimee was wearing blue leggings and a sweatshirt with the hood pulled up. She wasn’t crying and she didn’t look angry, but she was very subdued.

  “Hey, Aimee,” Devon said. “Can I show you something?”

  Aimee looked up at Devon, almost suspicious, then nodded.

  Devon pulled their completed but not yet set brain Jell-O mold closer to the edge of the counter. She turned it around, the colourful liquid sloshing in its plastic casing. She pointed at the base.

  “Humans all have an animal part of the brain. It takes over when we’re scared, and it tells us not to think, just act. This part of the brain,” she tapped the plastic case, “is only worried about keeping us safe. So, sometimes our bodies do things out of our control because our brain is doing exactly what it needs to do.”

  Aimee seemed to be considering Devon’s words, then she glanced over to where she had been sitting on the floor. Her cheeks reddened, and she ducked her head.

  “Your brain was doing exactly what it was designed to do,” Devon repeated. She moved the brain again to the side and tapped the casing. Aimee looked up at the sound. Curious. “This is where shame lives in the brain. Shame tells us we’ve done something wrong.” Devon tapped her hand to her chest. “Shame lives right here, too.”

  Aimee glanced at the model of the brain on the counter, then back to Devon. She tapped the side of her head and then her chest.

  “You did nothing wrong, Aimee. No shame.”

  Aimee didn’t look entirely convinced, but she stepped in beside her grandma and leaned into her.

  Carla hugged her and looked at Devon and Marley.

  “I can find somewhere for us to go, but it will take a few days.”

  Devon looked at Marley, eyebrows raised in a silent question. Marley appreciated she hadn’t overstepped, letting Marley evaluate what was best. She sighed.

  “Devon has offered for you two to stay at her place until we can find something more permanent.”

  Carla looked at Devon. “That’s good of you. Are you sure?”

  “I’m positive. I’d be happy to have you two.”

  Carla looked down at her granddaughter, then back up at Devon and Marley.

  “Okay,” she said. “Let’s pack.”

  Chapter Seven

  Devon woke to the unfamiliar sound of voices in her house. She smiled to herself, listening to the thump of Aimee’s feet as she flitted into the living room, careering off walls, followed quickly by Carla’s whispers to be quiet. Aimee had been subdued the whole time they were packing up Devon’s car with their bags of clothes, toys, books, and food. Devon thought she was turtling, pulling back into protective silence, trying to keep herself safe in a world that kept changing. It was a good sign she had some life back in her this morning.

  Devon stretched and got up, pulling on a pair of sweatpants. In her ensuite bathroom, she splashed water on her face and looked in the mirror, pushing her hand through her hair. She thought back to the night before. The four of them had carried everything into Devon’s apartment and then sat around eating pizza, Aimee entranced by a nature documentary Devon found on Netflix. By the time Carla had gone to put Aimee to bed, Marley looked utterly exhausted and alarmingly pale.

  Devon had said she should either crash early like Aimee, or head home. Marley had agreed, ordering an Uber as they went outside to wait on Devon’s front porch, a body-warm wind enveloping them. They didn’t talk, but after a moment, Marley had looked up at Devon, given her an exhausted, grateful smile, and slipped her arms around Devon’s waist. Devon had pulled her in close and they stood there, swaying a little with the wind and their own intimate rhythm. Then the car pulled up, Marley kissed her cheek, and was gone.

  Devon smiled to herself in the mirror. So much of her life had been disrupted since meeting Marley. Her daily routines were thrown off, the order of her thoughts thrown into chaos. She also hadn’t smiled this much or laughed or felt connected in so long. Marley was tugging her back from aloneness with her easy smile, her humour, and her understanding. Marley seemed to get it, where
Devon had been and where she was now. She even seemed to understand where Devon was trying to go, even though Devon herself wasn’t always sure. Devon grinned at herself in the mirror. And she made a kick-ass sandwich.

  Feeling lightness in her chest, Devon followed the sounds of life to the kitchen. Aimee was spinning herself around on one of the barstools, giggling and looking a little dizzy. Carla looked up from where she was rifling through cupboards. She’d found the mugs but not the coffee.

  “Good morning,” Devon said.

  “I hope we didn’t wake you up,” Carla said, grimacing.

  “Not at all.” Devon reached into the cupboard above the toaster and pulled out the silver canister of coffee. “I should have showed you where everything was last night. Or at least the coffee.”

  Carla leaned back against the counter as Devon began assembling the coffee.

  “It’s good of you to put us up,” Carla said.

  Devon glanced at Carla as she measured grounds into the filter. Carla looked tired today, her spirit somewhat dimmed.

  “You are both welcome here as long as you need a place to stay,” Devon said. “I’m happy to have you.”

  Carla said nothing, watching Aimee inspect the glinting bits of quartz in Devon’s granite countertops.

  “Are you okay this morning, Carla? Did you sleep alright?”

  Carla snorted. “This one is an octopus when she sleeps. I swear she grows limbs at night so she can toss them around.”

  Aimee looked up from tracing patterns through the countertop and waved her arms in the air, making Carla and Devon laugh. Once Aimee was occupied again and the coffeemaker was burbling, Devon tried again.

  “You seem worried this morning.”

  It was an invitation, and Devon wasn’t sure if Carla would accept it. They were quiet, the only sound the coffee maker behind them and a light rain on the windows.

  “I’ve always hated feeling like I’m indebted to someone,” Carla said. “Always. But I can’t find any way around it right now. I’m totally dependent on your kindness, you and Marley.” She cleared her throat and looked at Devon. “I appreciate it, don’t get me wrong. It’s just…” Carla trailed off, looking more defeated than before.

  “It just eats at your soul a little.”

  Carla looked surprised. “Exactly. Add on what happened yesterday and worried about this one’s reaction—” Carla cut herself off, seeming to get choked up.

  Devon didn’t know the best way to offer her comfort. She knew she could not offer reassurance about her son or her granddaughter and the future, so she sat with her in the silence as Carla cleared her throat again and tried to pull herself together.

  They both watched as Aimee ran to the large window by the kitchen table. She clambered up into the frame, bracing her arms against the sides.

  “Aimee,” Carla started to say.

  “It’s okay, really,” Devon said.

  Aimee looked back at them and grinned, then used her nose to chase raindrops as they dripped down the outside of the window.

  Carla sighed. “That’s going to dirty up your windows real fast.”

  Devon laughed and looked at Carla. She still seemed worried; the heaviness was still there.

  “Nose prints on the window might be the very least of our worries, I think,” Devon said, smiling.

  Carla gave a short laugh, but her eyes glimmered with a spark. Devon wanted to keep that spark alive.

  “How about some coffee and breakfast and then a short, rainy walk to the corner store to get the paper?”

  Carla looked surprised and a little like she was trying not to get excited. “I was thinking that was okay, being where we are now. But I wasn’t sure.”

  Carla’s uncertainty tugged at Devon. Not being able to make decisions, take care of Aimee, or even make herself coffee in the morning was killing her.

  “I hope this feels less like a prison,” Devon said softly. “And I checked with Marley. She thinks you guys should be able to have a little more freedom in this neighbourhood.”

  They’d discussed it the night before. Devon’s little enclave of townhouses was a good distance from Randolph’s area and the east end.

  “A walk would be welcome,” Carla said. “I don’t think I have a raincoat for Aimee, though.”

  Devon grinned. “We’ll improvise.”

  Carla smiled back. “You know, a walk in the rain to get the paper sounds a little like heaven today.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  * * *

  Marley had been staring at the paper for more than ten minutes. She’d stare and look away, glance back, and then away again. Ten minutes of this dance, her blood pressure skyrocketing whenever she looked at the list of addresses in Aimee’s neat printing. Marley was frozen. She needed to take this to Simms. She needed to talk to Crawford.

  The investigation had stalled. Their leads were turning up almost nothing that could help answer the uptick in hospitalizations or the odd symptoms of withdrawal. Everything pointed to this being a run-of-the-mill drug manufacturing and distribution business. Not a small one, for sure. But nothing that could give Public Health the information they were looking for.

  Marley glanced back at the paper. Three addresses written on a page of French spelling test words. Marley glanced at the careful numbering one to twenty on the left side of the page. Aimee had spelled all the words but printemps correctly. Spring. Aimee had forgotten the s at the end of the word and had copied it out six times at the bottom of the page.

  She looked at the three addresses and her blood pressure rose again. There could be other explanations as to why Aimee had written down addresses. Play dates, maybe. Another school assignment. She shook her head and rubbed at her nose under the itchy mask. Marley knew what she was looking at. Evidence that Randolph West had involved his eight-year-old daughter in the drug trade.

  A knock at the seminar room door made Marley jump. Superman opened the door and leaned his head in.

  “You’re not supposed to be in here,” Marley said.

  “Only my perfect hair follicles are in the room. Hardly counts. And you’re supposed to check your texts.”

  Marley pulled her phone toward her, wondering what she’d missed.

  “Your annual review with Crawford. Five minutes.”

  “Well, shit,” Marley said, reading the three texts from Superman and one from Crawford. She also had two texts from Devon, and one was a picture.

  “Let me log this last piece. Tell Crawford I’ll be two minutes?”

  Superman gave her a lazy salute. “Will do. But hurry up, it takes you ten minutes just to walk down the hall.”

  Marley resisted giving him the finger, but he laughed anyway as he closed the door.

  Without allowing herself to think, Marley logged the French test with the addresses as evidence, put the lid on the boxes, and left the seminar room, locking it behind her.

  She went down the hallway faster than she had a few days ago but still pretty slow. The rawness of the injury had faded, but the ache of stitched-together muscle remained, making it hard to feel comfortable in her skin.

  Also uncomfortable was her yearly review. Marley wasn’t nervous, not entirely. But it was awkward to sit there while her boss went through her record, bringing up any complaints from colleagues or the public as well as commendations. Marley usually had a secret, ridiculous fear her boss would lean on the desk between them with his serious stare and tell her there had been some mistake. She was never meant to be a cop and maybe it was time for Marley to find a new career.

  It had never happened, of course. Would never happen, but the childlike anxiety lingered.

  Crawford was on the phone in his office and he held up a finger, asking Marley to wait. She sat on the chair outside his office and pulled out her phone, not wanting to talk to anyone walking by. She pulled up the texts from Devon. The picture was of Aimee, though taken from behind so Marley couldn’t see her face, about to jump into a giant puddle
. Marley grinned at the photo. Aimee was wearing an adult-sized blue and turquoise raincoat with the sleeves rolled up and something to tie it around her waist. It still hit Aimee at the knees and was comical in its largeness. Devon’s text read: Rainy walk to get the paper. I checked with both re: sending a photo. Hope it’s okay.

  Marley was about to text a reply when she heard Crawford calling her in. She tucked her phone in her back pocket, greeted her boss, and sat across from him at his desk. He had a file open and began with the annual review preamble. Marley barely listened. She was with Devon and Carla and Aimee on their walk. She was confronting Randolph West in the studio. She was staring at Aimee’s purple boots she’d seen in the scene photos, wondering if she’d worn those boots to deliver drugs.

  “Constable Marlowe?”

  Marley blinked as Crawford’s face came into focus, worried and annoyed. Definitely more annoyed.

  “I need to tell you something.”

  Crawford put down the paper he’d been referencing and folded his hands. “I’m listening.”

  “I helped Randolph West’s mother, Carla Slessinger, and his daughter, Aimee West, secure housing in the city after they were released.” She checked Crawford’s expression. It hadn’t changed. Not a good sign. “Carla was fearful her son would track her and Aimee down if she went back up north, and she had nowhere else to go.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “Staying with a friend.” Crawford’s absolute silence asked the question for him. Marley sighed. She couldn’t keep Devon out of this. “Dr. Devon Wolfe offered to take them in when Randolph West tracked them down at the apartment I’d found for them.”

  More silence and a very long, unblinking stare from her superior. Marley struggled not to squirm. She lifted her chin a fraction, ready to take on the consequences.

  “Let me see if I have this straight. You registered a concern when Ms. Slessinger and her granddaughter were being released into the care of Family and Children’s Services. You were told to leave it alone. You ignored that directive and secured housing for the two, out of concern for their well-being.” He paused here and allowed Marley to nod. “And let me guess, this housing was in the east end, possibly very near where you were stabbed by the Warren brothers.” Another nod from Marley. “And you lied when I asked you directly if you knew where they were, since F&CS had no record of them ever showing back up in Thunder Bay.” He paused here, seeming to want Marley to say something.