About the Author

Brenda Chapman

Brenda Chapman grew up in Terrace Bay, Ontario, near the border of Minnesota. She has a BA in English from Lakehead University and a B.Ed from Queen’s University in Kingston, Ontario. Brenda taught reading and language arts to children and adults for nearly fifteen years before entering the federal government to work as a writer/editor. She is currently working as a senior communications advisor in Ottawa, Ontario. Chapman began her fiction career with children’s fiction. Running Scared (Napoleon, 2004) was her first YA novel featuring Jennifer Bannon. She then went on to pen three more in the series. Hiding in Hawk’s Creek (2006) was shortlisted for the 2007 Canadian Library Association Book of the Year for Children. Where Trouble Leads, set in the Georgian Bay wilderness, was published in 2007. Trail of Secrets (2009) was the final instalment in the series. In Winter’s Grip is her first mystery for adults.

Books by this Author
Bleeding Darkness

Bleeding Darkness

A Stonechild and Rouleau Mystery
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also available: Paperback
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Excerpt

“You have one fine set of knockers, you know that, right?”
Lauren propped herself up on the hotel pillows and knocked a cigarette out of the pack on the bedside table. She blew a perfect smoke ring while Salim’s tongue worked its way from one breast to the other and licked its way down her stomach. Her hand found the top of his head and gently pulled until he stopped and looked up at her. His black eyes reminded her of a cat’s, sly and otherworldly.
“What?” he asked.
She kept the regret she was feeling out of her voice. “I don’t have time for round two. I’m leaving the city for a while.”
“Where’re you going?” His finger circled her belly button.
“My father’s not well and I promised my mother I’d … God, don’t stop whatever it is you’re doing.”
He grinned. “Did your schedule open up all of a sudden?”
“Yes. I mean no.” She pushed herself off the pillows and lowered her face to kiss the top of his head. She was going to have to be the one to show some self-restraint. She said with feigned conviction, “I have to go and you have to get back to the office, Salim.”
He rolled onto his back and crossed his hands over his chest. The loud release of air through his nose expressed his frustration, but she ignored him. She stood and stretched her arms over her head, breasts and belly pushed forward, all the while knowing that he was looking at her body and liking the feeling. She dodged his hand as he reached over to pull her back on top of him.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he said, his voice low and thick with lust.
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
He plumped up the pillows she’d vacated and flopped against the headboard. “When you hired me, I had no idea this is what you had in mind, but I’m not complaining.”
“No, I don’t suppose you are.” She crossed to the desk where she’d laid her clothes across the back of the chair. “I need to have the kitchen drawings completed before Monday morning.”
“You’re going to owe me one if I have to work on my day off. I have an idea how you can pay me.”
“Whatever it takes.” She smiled. “You’ve almost nailed the design but she’s not happy with the position of the island and the flow into the dining area.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Will you be back early in the week?”
She hesitated on her way to stepping into her panties. “I have no idea how long I’ll be away. Let me know when you’ve saved the drawings and I’ll access them from my laptop. If worse comes to worst, you can take the meeting with the client and I’ll call in.”
“Hurry back.”
“Believe me, I wouldn’t even be going if I had a choice.”

Three hours later, Lauren sat in the driver’s seat of her Honda Civic, forearms resting on the steering wheel, staring at her parents’ house on Grenville Crescent. The last time she’d been home had been the year before in the spring for her dad’s birthday, having gone south for Christmas on an all-inclusive holiday with Salim to avoid the usual holiday depression. The trip home in April had been a quick overnight visit, and then back to the safety of her life in Toronto. Her parents had lived in this house since their wedding day forty years ago. A seventies split-level with a twocar garage on a treed lot — oak and maple now bare of leaves. Shingles on the roof were lifting in spots where snow hadn’t accumulated. The white siding had turned a dull beige in the fading sunlight. A light snow had fallen the last hour of her drive from Toronto and coated the driveway and sidewalk. Her father would have cleared both by now if he’d been home.
She looked to the right of their property, at the Orlovs’ house, and saw the same slow decay taking over the property. Boris and Antonia had been living there as far back as she could remember. They’d never had any kids and Lauren had resented them for it when she was younger. She’d longed for a girl next door to hang out with instead of her two brothers.
On the other side of her parents’ house, the woods stood thick and dark, the deciduous tree limbs bare of foliage. A path cut through the trees, marking an opening to the Rideau Trail, almost four hundred kilometres of interconnected pathways through the back country between Ottawa and Kingston. She’d planned to bike the length of it once but never had. A boulevard of trees across from their house in the middle of the road blocked out the neighbours and made her feel as if they lived in the country.
She took another drag from the cigarette burned down to a stub between her gloved fingers. A car she didn’t recognize was in her parents’ driveway and she wondered which of her brothers had made it here ahead of her. Probably Adam. Tristan and Vivian would make an entrance as usual, or at least that’s how the vivacious Vivian would arrange it.
She began to feel the chill through her thin wool coat, so she butted her cigarette out in the ashtray and opened the car door at the same time that her mother opened the front door of the house. Her mom stood backlit by the hall light. Clemmie was next to her, tail a waving flag as he looked up, waiting to see if they’d be going for a walk. She swiped a hand across her eyes and swore softly.
Damn it all to hell. I hate that I have to be here. I hate that this is happening.
Lauren hugged her mom, who hugged her back with one arm, her ear pressed to a cellphone. “Just talking to Ruth,” she said. “I’ll order pizza when we’re done. Take your old room.”
Lauren felt the familiar disappointment. Against all reason, she’d hoped for a warmer greeting this time with her dad so ill, but her mom put little pressure into the hug and turned away as she waved Lauren inside, already saying something into the phone. Lauren carried her suitcase upstairs and lay on the single bed for a moment, closing her eyes and breathing in the smells of her childhood. She knew that it was only the fabric softener, but it was the same fabric softener her mother had bought forever.
Welcome home, Lauren.
She found Adam in the den working on his laptop. He glanced up at her and back down at the keyboard. “Hey, kid.”
“Hey,” she answered and sat in the chair next to him. Clemmie flopped at her feet. She reached down to scratch behind his ears. She and Adam had never had a demonstrative relationship, but a hug wouldn’t have killed him. “Mom’s finishing up a phone call with Aunt Ruth and then she’s going to order pizza.”
“I’m starving so that’s good news.” He typed a few more words before shutting his laptop. He smiled at her. “I like your hair short and white. Very on trend. Hipster.”
She touched the back of her neck, surprised at the compliment. “Thanks, I think. When are Tristan and Vivian expected to arrive?”
“Mom said tomorrow morning.”
She studied her brother, whom she hadn’t seen in over a year. He looked tired, his brown eyes that could snare a woman’s interest with one glance bloodshot, and the way he slumped into the couch, dripping exhaustion. He’d lost weight since the last time they’d met up in Toronto on one of his stopovers. “Are you still on the western and northern routes?” she asked.
“I accepted a new itinerary at the end of the summer. I’m flying between Vancouver and Hong Kong now. Didn’t Mona tell you?”
“No, but we haven’t spoken in a while. That’s a big change. Did you ask for it?”
“I was ready for something else.”
“How does Mona feel about that?”
“Good, I guess. I’m home more now since half the stopovers are in Vancouver.”
“I was hoping to see her this trip.”
“It’s hard for her to leave her class and Simon isn’t good when his routine is disrupted, but she’ll come for the funeral.”
They were silent for a moment, thinking about their father’s impending death without the idea of his passing seeming real. Lauren didn’t want to contemplate the change this would bring to her family … at least, not before it happened. “What grade is Mona teaching this year?”
“Four, and Simon just entered grade three at the same school. He’s got a full-time teacher’s aide with him, which is helping.”
Even though they hadn’t seen each other in a long time, she knew her brother well enough to hear the frustration underlying his words. “I imagine it’s been tough for you.” She remembered how hard he’d taken having a son with special needs. Mona had wanted to try for a second child but Adam had so far refused.
“Tougher for Mona,” he said. “Your kitchen and bath design business appears to be doing well.”
“Can’t complain.”
She started to talk about her latest kitchen project but before she’d finished her first sentence, Adam opened his laptop again and clicked on a couple of keys. He glanced up at her and back at the screen a few times, pretending an interest in her work that she knew he didn’t have. She let her words trail off after a few moments and stood up. Clemmie was instantly on his feet, eager chocolate eyes fixed on her face. “Just heading out for a walk with Clem,” she said.
“Right, see you later then.” Adam glanced up and smiled one last time. She heard the keys tapping in earnest as she went in search of her coat and the dog’s leash.
“Well, Clemmie,” she said as she bent down to grab his collar, “At least you’re always glad to see me.”

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Butterfly Kills

Butterfly Kills

A Stonechild and Rouleau Mystery
edition:Paperback
also available: Audiobook eBook
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Closing Time

Closing Time

A Stonechild and Rouleau Mystery
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Hiding in Hawk's Creek

Hiding in Hawk's Creek

A Jennifer Bannon Mystery
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Shallow End

Shallow End

A Stonechild and Rouleau Mystery
edition:Paperback
also available: eBook
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Excerpt

Chapter One

Sunday, September 4
Jane Thompson lifted a hand to the window and widened two slats of the metal blind so that she could see the street below. The sun struck her full in the eyes, and for one disorienting moment, blinded her. She tilted her head and squinted through the dazzling light toward the sidewalk across the street. The homeless man who’d taken up residence was gone. The media camped outside for the past week also appeared to have given up their daily vigil. By the angle of the sun, darkness would have completely descended in another hour. The reporter and photographer would be off having supper, likely complaining about their thankless assignment. Hopefully, they’d tire of waiting for her by morning.
She wasn’t counting on it.
She let the slats fall back into place and turned to look around her new living quarters on Regent Street. She’d deliberately picked this cramped second floor apartment in a three-unit rental outside of the downtown. The building was a converted house with two units on the main floor and hers taking up the second. One of the downstairs units was empty, the young couple with a baby slipping off in the night the week before, owing two months’ rent. The landlord was having trouble renting it again since most of the university students already had places for the upcoming school term. Not helping his cause were the three university boys who shared the larger unit below her. They played their music loud through most of the day and enjoyed entertaining their buddies at odd hours. Jane couldn’t afford much but she had enough to make the first and last month’s rent and felt lucky to have found this one-bedroom apartment even with the annoyances. Where she lived hadn’t mattered so long as she remained in Kingston.
The confined space made her feel safe.
The bedroom and living room came furnished with somebody’s castoffs. The bed, visible from where she stood, consisted of a saggy mattress on a frame — not even a headboard to make up for the discomfort. An old dresser with a mirror filled one wall, the mirror warped with age so that her reflection came back slightly distorted. The closet was small with room for a few pairs of shoes. A crooked pole at eye level was empty except for the green fall jacket she’d been given.
She made the three steps to the couch and slowly lowered herself onto the cushions. The slanted roofline had meant pulling the couch out from the wall so that she didn’t bang her head. The window that she’d been looking out toward the street was behind the couch, wide and narrow, halfway up the wall. The couch faced an old, cumbersome television sitting on a wood veneer stand — and that was it for furniture. Not even a carpet to soften the space. The first evening, she’d gotten down on her hands and knees and crawled across the hardwood floor, counting twenty-three cigarette burns on its pitted face in the living room alone. A scarred space. Like her.
Jane stared at the blank television screen. She hadn’t turned it on yet, not wanting to let the outside world into her private space. Not yet.
Should she chance a walk to the grocery store for milk and bread? It was several blocks from her apartment in a high traffic part of the city. The idea of going there scared the hell out of her in daylight when she could be recognized. Her trips outside had all been done under the cover of darkness up until now. But she needed an early night. Maybe, if she settled in earlier, she’d be able to sleep. She closed her eyes. Tomorrow morning, she had to go out, regardless. Eight thirty she was to be at the Sally Ann on Division Street to begin her job sorting clothes. The store was open from ten to five thirty, six days a week, but she’d be in the back and had to get there before opening time. She’d leave the apartment extra early to avoid the reporter in case he was sent another day.
The higher you go, the harder the fall. Her God-fearing mother had been right about that. Wrong about a whole lot of other stuff, but bang on with the dire predictions.
Jane stood and crossed the narrow space to the bedroom. She opened the closet door and for a moment stood staring into the empty space. Adam had promised to come by with her clothes but hadn’t returned her calls. She knew that he was away. She’d walked the back streets to her old home on Silver Street her first night out and three evenings after that, each outing filled with disappointment.
She took her jacket off the hanger and slipped it on, pulling the hood over her head. Adam knew her release date was Monday. He’d deliberately taken Olivia and Ben out of town to send her a message. He wanted her out of their lives. He’d let her see them when he was ready, on his terms. She felt resolve course through her. She had nothing left to lose except her relationship with her children. Adam may have divorced her a year in, but she was still their mother. Adam couldn’t make that go away, much as he’d threatened to sever their ties with her.
She paused for a moment in front of the mirror. A diet of prison food had made her lose weight. So much so that she barely recognized the jutting cheeks and narrow jaw of the woman before her, even considering the wavy effect of the glass. Her last haircut, two days before her release, had shorn the length into a cap — long bangs and cropped short above her ears. A pixie cut, the girl had called it, before Jane’s locks of blond hair fell to the floor.
Jane had called it a fresh start.
She grabbed her keys from the top of the dresser and headed for the door. She’d sneak out the back way just in case someone was lingering out front. The fence behind the detached garage had a gap that she could easily slip through. It led into an alley with the brick wall of a house lining the other side of the path. The opening allowed her to come and go unobserved — an escape route already coming in handy as she began her new life in the shadows.

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Stonechild and Rouleau Mysteries 4-Book Bundle

Stonechild and Rouleau Mysteries 4-Book Bundle

Shallow End / Tumbled Graves / Butterfly Kills / Cold Mourning
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Stonechild and Rouleau Mysteries 5-Book Bundle

Stonechild and Rouleau Mysteries 5-Book Bundle

Bleeding Darkness / Shallow End / Tumbled Graves / and 2 more
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The Second Wife

The Second Wife

edition:Paperback
also available: eBook
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Tumbled Graves

Tumbled Graves

A Stonechild and Rouleau Mystery
edition:eBook
also available: Paperback
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Excerpt

Chapter One 
At first, Catherine Lockhart wasn’t worried. Perplexed, possibly even annoyed if she was honest, but definitely not worried. It wasn’t until she and Sammy stood on the country road in front of Adele Delaney’s house that a sense of foreboding rolled slowly upwards like a bad meal from the bottom of her gut. Her shoulders wriggled as a shiver travelled up her back, even as her face was warmed by the late-April sun. Something doesn’t feel right, she thought. She’d remember that exact moment of trepidation for days afterward. 
Sammy tugged at her arm until she looked down into his freckled face. “They’re home,” he said, pointing a chubby finger toward the rusty Fiat halfway up the long driveway. His blue eyes brightened and his voice rose joyously. “Can I play with Violet?” 
She’d meant just to walk by, to assure herself that Adele had been ignoring her phone messages because she’d been called away suddenly. The sight of Adele’s car standing unashamedly in the drive felt like a betrayal — as if she were thirteen again and her best friend had just ditched her for the cooler crowd. The bit that didn’t feel right, though, was the front door. Wide open, it swung gently back and forth on its hinges in the gusty spring breeze. 
Catherine and Sam had moved into the small white house with the blue shutters a kilometre down the road a year and a half ago. She’d wanted Sam to grow up surrounded by trees and space, not in a scuzzy high-rise in the east end of Toronto. Luckily, her freelance writing job meant she could work anywhere. This stretch of land just east of Kingston and north of Highway 2 was close enough to civilization but far enough out of town to feel like they were living in the countryside. They’d met Adele and Violet at a mom-and-me fitness class and their kids had hit it off. Naturally, they’d started meeting up for coffee and playtime during the weekdays when Adele’s husband Ivo was at work. 
Catherine ruffled Sammy’s ginger hair, soft and fluffy from his morning bath. The strands felt like warm silk in her fingers. “I’m not sure Violet and her mommy are up for company just now.” She checked her wristwatch. “Maybe Violet’s having a nap.” 
“Violet doesn’t nap,” Sam said, scowling. “She said that napping’s for babies.” 
Before Catherine could stop him, Sam had sprinted across the gravel shoulder of the road and was halfway up the long drive. He stopped long enough to check that she was following before turning and running toward the front steps. A premonition made her call out to him. 
“Wait, Sam! Wait for me.” 
She stepped around the puddles left over from the morning rain. Sam had barreled through the mud and water in his black rubber boots, not caring about the muck splashing up onto his pants and jacket, but what four-year-old ever cared? She was panting when she reached him. The cigarettes were going to have to go or she would be on a ventilator before she hit forty. For the second time that day, she made a solemn promise to herself to quit. The same promise she made every time she exerted herself beyond a brisk walk. Sam had found a stick and was poking it into an ant hole. She spit onto her fingers and rubbed a smear of mud from his cheek. 
“Why’s the door open?” Sam looked up at her, his brow creased as he tried to work out what an open door could mean. She glanced up the steps into the shadowy hallway. 
“No idea, kiddo, but we shouldn’t just rush in. I’ll knock and you wait here until Violet’s mom tells us to enter.” 
Sam shrugged and moved over to a mud puddle where he began digging in the muck with his stick. Catherine slowly climbed the steps and grabbed onto the swinging door when she reached the top. She knocked and called down the hallway. The lights were off and gloom thickened towards the kitchen. “Adele! We’ve just come by to see if everything is okay. Are you home? Adele?” 
Catherine kept one hand on the door and listened. The house smelled of cinnamon and apples. Adele must have been baking pies with apples she’d bought during an outing they’d all gone on that Tuesday. She looked back at Sam. He’d made it to the bottom step and looked up at her. “Can we go in?” 
She hesitated. 
No noise except the normal house sounds — the furnace kicking in, a clock ticking, the shudder of the fridge cycling on. She suddenly felt ridiculous, standing on her friend’s steps, imagining the worst inside. 
“I’m just going to make sure everything’s okay since the door was left open,” she said to Sam. “Come wait here in the hall while I have a look.” 
“I want to come too,” Sam said, stubbornly climbing the steps until he was next to her. 
She took his hand and led him into the living room. All looked in order. The furniture was frayed and second hand, but cozy. Sunlight filtered through the white lace curtains. Sam dropped down next to the basket of Lego and started pulling pieces onto the floor. A moment later and he was laying on his stomach, fitting pieces together, their search for Violet forgotten. 
She backed out of the room and walked quickly down the hallway into the back of the house, leaving Sam engrossed in building a spaceship. She stood at the entrance to the kitchen and glanced around the large space. The smell of cinnamon and spices was stronger but other smells competed. A container of open milk had been left on the counter, a half-filled glass beside it. A carton of eggs and a block of cheese were next to the stove. Plates of uneaten scrambled eggs and toast sat patiently on the table as if waiting for Violet and Adele to sit down and tuck in. Catherine stepped farther into the room until she was standing beside the kitchen table. A greyish crust had formed on the eggs, which looked the consistency of rubber. She reached a hand out and touched the toast with her fingertips. It was stone cold, unbuttered. She looked around the kitchen, her eyes searching the attached family room for any sign of them. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried that they weren’t anywhere to be seen. 
She returned to the doorway to the living room. Sam was still busy with the Lego, so she had time to finish her search. She crossed to the stairs and climbed toward the light coming in from the window half-way up. The carpet was red and frayed but it muffled the sound of her footsteps. The landing was empty except for a laundry hamper at the far end. Catherine took a deep breath and darted the length of the corridor, checking each room as she went. Satisfied that nobody was lying dead on the floor in any of them, she took her time returning with a good look inside the three bedrooms and bathroom. Nothing. Jesus. Her overactive imagination was going to kill her before the cigarettes. She laughed out loud at herself before taking the stairs two at a time back to find Sam. 
“Let’s go, honey bun,” she said to him. 
He looked up. “Where’s Violet?” 
“They must have gone out.” In a big hurry. 
“Then why’s their car in the driveway?” 
Catherine stopped and looked at his scrunched up features, serious eyes so like the father he would never meet. She had no answer to his question or to the others that crowded in alongside. Why had the front door been left unlocked and swinging in the breeze? Why hadn’t Adele answered her phone all afternoon? The anxious feeling returned. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her cellphone. She checked if Adele had responded to one of her calls, but no voice mail or text messages. What to do? She didn’t feel right just leaving. Ivo worked in a bank downtown on Princess. She knew his direct line because she’d returned his call the summer before when he was organizing a surprise birthday dinner for Adele. She found his number and tapped the screen. He answered on the second ring. 
“Catherine,” he said as a way of greeting. His voice quavered as it always did when he spoke to her. He’d been a big awkward boy who’d grown into a man without quite recovering from his shyness. “What a pleasant surprise to see your name pop up. Everything okay?” 
Now why had he asked that? “I’m not sure. Adele and Violet missed our appointment so I came by to see if they were feeling well. We were supposed to meet at playgroup in the church basement after lunch. The car’s in the drive but the front door was open. Nobody’s here.” 
A pause, then, “Are you sure?” 
“Yes. Sam and I came in to check on them since the door was open. Their breakfasts are on the table uneaten. Could they have gone out with someone spur of the moment? Maybe in a friend’s car?” 
“I wouldn’t know who. Adele doesn’t have any other friends that I know of. I’m going to come home. Can you wait until I get there?” 
“Of course.” She wanted to say no, but his voice had picked up the worry she’d been trying to ignore for the past half hour.  

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Turning Secrets

Turning Secrets

A Stonechild and Rouleau Mystery
edition:Paperback
also available: eBook
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Excerpt

Chapter One

Fisher Dumont stopped in front of the window on his way to the kitchen with one last tray full of dirty dishes. He gazed out at the grey April day now sinking into a cool Toronto evening, where on the street, the shift change was well underway. Office workers in power suits were hurrying past on their way to the subway, oblivious to their nighttime replacements. Misha the Amazon transwoman swayed by on stiletto heels heading to her usual corner while Flip, a panhandler who could have been forty or seventy, squatted on the sidewalk next to a hot air grate. Two college girls crossed to the opposite side of the street, their faces flushed and animated. Fisher imagined they were meeting up with friends at the Firkin, set for a night of beer and fried finger food. The sight of the girls was like a stoner’s fix; they made him want … want something clean and soft to make him forget the empty hours that made up his life — but he wouldn’t let his dreams go there. Not now. He turned away from the street dance and shifted the heavy tray.

Fisher hated this time of the afternoon. The shadows and thinning sunlight brought on the loneliness.

The dying hour.

“Your buddies are waiting for you out front,” said Nico, interrupting his thoughts with the noise of clinking glass as he pushed aside the strings of red beads in the doorway. Nico’s greased-back hair momentarily caught a shaft of sunlight on his way past the window. “Raff just arrived if you wanna split a few minutes early. He can do that load.”

Fisher looked down at the tray of dishes and hurried ahead of Nico into the steamy kitchen. He set the tray on the counter next to the dishwasher and slipped off his apron, hanging it on the hook near the fridge. Gina waved a spoon coated in tomato sauce at him from where she stood at the stove. Rhonda was chopping carrots near the sink and ignored him, as per usual. Bitch thought she was above the job because she’d had a year of university. He’d like to tell her to wipe that stuck-up look off her pointy face, but she was the vindictive kind who’d make sure they put him back inside if she could make up a reason. He wouldn’t put it past her.

He glanced back down the long hallway toward the ruby beads and the two men he knew were waiting for him. Luckily, his coat was hanging in the corridor; he grabbed it on his way to the rear exit. The alarm was busted and he made it outside without alerting anybody. He ran past the garbage bins in the alleyway, calling hello to the stray cat chewing on something it had dragged out of a bag dumped at the end of the lane. The cat’s green eyes locked onto him as it picked up the treasure with sharp teeth and scuttled deeper into the shadow of the building.

He didn’t know how long he’d be able to keep avoiding Loot and Ronnie, and he shivered at the thought of what they’d do when they finally caught up to him. Maybe he’d have some of their money by then and could talk his way into a reprieve for the rest. Maybe they’d give him more time to make good on what he owed and wouldn’t beat him to a pulp. And maybe a flying pot-bellied pig would land on the blue moon.

At the corner, he stopped and looked back. He was glad now for the shadows and coming darkness. It was getting tougher to stay away from all his old haunts but he had a few safe places they hadn’t figured out yet. Marie had said he could crash at her dump another night. He turned left onto Dalhousie to take the back streets north to Gerrard. He’d buy a twenty-sixer of rye on his way as payment for another night on her mattress. With any luck, she’d pass out before she pressed her bony hips onto his and he was forced again to return her hospitality in another way.

 

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