dozen yellow carnations. She was asleep when I came in the room and I left them on the window sill.”
“Thank you. I’ll let Jake know,” Trillia said, relieved. “Did you remember to make out the card? Jake was adamant the message be word for word.”
“’All the best, Helga! See you soon!’ as requested. I wrote it myself so there weren’t any mistakes. I don’t get why Jake didn’t want his name on it.”
“He said she would know who they were from,” Trillia said.
“So,” Elaine began, “when am I going to meet this new mystery man? Are you hiding him for some reason? I swear I’ll be nice.”
Trillia took a final mouthful of coffee and put the empty cup in the sink. “You will,” she lied. “He’s got a lot of meetings all over the country in the next few weeks and can’t drop them to see little ol’ me.”
Taking the cue that their coffee visit was coming to a close, Elaine finished her tea and placed her mug by Trillia’s. “But he hasn’t seen you in person. What if he’s a she? You’ve watched Catfish. It happens all the time on that show with internet hook-ups.”
“The difference is that I’ve talked to Jake using video messaging, unlike the idiots on Catfish who only text or chat online.”
“Sure you’ve talked, but haven’t felt him yet,” Elaine said playfully.
“I will in the near future,” Trillia replied. “Love and travel schedules take time to work out, that’s all.”
Elaine gave Trillia a hug and they walked to the back door. “Have a great day. I need to get ready for my afternoon shift.”
Trillia held open the door as Elaine stepped off the porch. “Can you check on Jake’s aunt with her nurse and give me a call later?”
“I’ll give you a shout after my rounds. I’m on dinner tray delivery duties, so I’ll be on the eighth floor anyway.”
“Perfect. We're doing inventory tonight, so leave a message on my cell phone if I don’t answer.”
Trillia waved to Elaine as she walked across their shared driveway and into her house. Trillia was glad she had such a good neighbour to talk with on a daily basis, even if their one common thread was bad luck with men. Elaine kept saying she was in a loveless marriage, but never made plans to leave her husband Bruce, despite the fact they had no children or substantial wealth to divide. Elaine was now living vicariously through Trillia’s life in the dating world. From the moment Jake’s name was spoken, Elaine’s interest hit an all-time high.
“You better not be holding back any juicy details, girlfriend,” she’d warned one morning.
“I’m not,” came Trillia’s modest protest.
Of course her on-going affair with Jake was a big lie, at least in the conventional sense. He did exist and over the past year had professed his undying love for her in emails, letters and cards. And Trillia had heard his voice, knew his speech patterns and what he looked like. She even had an opinion of how long his sandy brown hair should be for optimal hotness.
By the end of his televised murder trial with its guilty verdict, she was convinced that she’d found her soul mate.
The hard part was finding a way to make this relationship last.
FIVE
HENRIK
Henrik Dekker replaced the payphone handset in its cradle and tried to figure out the fastest way to the front parking lot from the O.R. Family Waiting Room.
He was tired and needed to go home to rest.
His job was done.
Helga was in surgery and it would now be someone else’s responsibility to get her to the morgue. How this would happen wasn’t his problem. His boss hadn’t been pleased with the botched confrontation, but how was he to know she’d slip free from his grip, trip over a cat and then tumble to the first floor, breaking her hip on the way down.
If only she’d hit her head and hadn’t started to scream before I could get to her, he’d thought.
The appearance of a woman through the unlocked front door had been the second unlucky incident, forcing him to run out the back door, where he found the fences were too high to jump. “It’s impossible for an 80 year old man to climb a six-foot wooden fence,” he’d advised his boss as they drove out of the area.
Henrik was dropped off at a diner and told to stay put. “I’m heading back to the house. Hopefully there’s still a way we can get this done.”
But there wasn’t.
The paramedics and police were at the King Street address in minutes, both responding to Genifer’s 911 call.
“I sit and wait,” Clive Hill said aloud, parking the stolen Alero up the street. He hoped that Henrik’s account of what happened was wrong; that the target would be treated for a strained muscle and then left alone. If that was the case, he was ready to act brazenly to complete the deadly task today. “’She’s an old lady,’ he says. ‘How much trouble could she be?’ he says,” Clive recalled in disgust.
Within twenty minutes, Helga was in the ambulance on a stretcher and driven away.
Unreal, Clive thought, hitting the steering wheel with his right palm.
On the front porch a police officer spoke with the good Samaritan who had crashed Henrik and Helga’s party for two.
“Let’s find out who you are, my pretty lady,” Clive said, putting the car in gear as he watched Genifer walk out of the neighbourhood.
He followed her at a safe distance and was rewarded when Genifer entered her house several minutes later. Clive scribbled down the Whelan Drive address and the license plate of the grey Volvo C30 parked in the driveway.
Pulling to the side of the street, Clive retrieved his cell phone and placed a call. “I need information on everyone who lives at a house I’m watching. I see two girls’ bicycles in the backyard. I want their names too.” He repeated the house and car plate numbers to ensure there’d be no mistakes. “Call me as soon as you have anything!”
A few minutes later, his phone rang.
“Give me what you’ve got,” he demanded.
“The house is owned by Stan and Genifer Grant. They have two girls: Zoe is 11 and Aleena is 9. The car comes back to that address. Stan is a CMM operator – you know, writes programs for die cuts in the tool and die industry – and Genifer has worked at the post office for 23 years. I think she’s a carrier.” The female caller paused as she scrolled through Genifer’s Facebook page. “It appears she’s very active at work. The vice-president of the local union, the Health and Safety Committee co-chair, a shop steward, a Human Rights Master Trainer, whatever that is.”
“In other words,” Clive broke in, bored already, “this woman doesn’t take shit from many people and may be trouble.”
After writing the Grants’ home
