“Sorry? Why would you be sorry? It was not your fault. Just make sure you’re up early. Don’t leave Clayton wondering whether he should head in to the office.”
“I’ll be there first thing.”
“Do you have clean clothes to wear? You’re going to be representing the company, you need to-.”
I rolled my eyes skyward, seeking some respite from the hurricane that was my mother.
As the door closed and the clack of her heels carried down the hallway, I said a little prayer. Please God, let me have been adopted.
CHAPTER 3
Some people are morning people. They erupt out of bed, smiles already entrenched on their faces. They have big hot breakfasts, go for morning runs, read the paper, watch a morning talk show, play with their kids, and go to work.
I, on the other hand, am not a morning person. On a good day, I’m able to shave, brush some or all of my teeth, shower, get dressed — sometimes in clothes worn on prior days — and depart for work.
So when my alarm went off at five o’clock, my heart did a little hop and a skip to signal its displeasure. I managed to pry open an eye despite gummy yellow stuff having more or less sealed the lid while I slept. I just couldn’t get out of bed, though. That took a blaring radio alarm, my ringing cellphone alarm and, in the end, Ted hollering profanities.
I arrived at Arcane at a quarter to six, fumbling my way through the security code and taking way too long to find the light switches. Before I had left the hospital the night before, Harper had called Kara to tell her about the “incident” and ask that she come in a little early to make sure I didn’t destroy the place. I had fifteen minutes to render the building unfit for habitation.
Reception seemed in good order. A solid black leather sofa — worn, but still presentable. Pair of matching leather chairs. A square table with a glass top displayed a map of the Greater Toronto Area (the GTA, also known as the “Big Smoke” or the Centre of the Universe by those less fond of the city.).
Every driver was supposed to check their vehicle daily, but Clay had told me that he checked them himself, just in case. So after my inspection of the front office, I pulled open one of the loading doors and popped the hoods. Oil and fluids seemed fine. Tires seemed fine. No new dents or scratches. I pulled the hose out from below the dock and gave the vans a quick wash, then slid inside and wiped down the main surfaces.
I was just finishing up when Kara arrived.
Kara Sinclair’s title was dispatcher, but Clay had made it clear her role encompassed a lot more than that. As far as I could tell, she also handled customer service and inside sales.
For the past two weeks, Kara had been hiking in the Appalachians with her boyfriend, a fellow Clay described as a little “too” perfect. It all sounded pretty energetic to me, so I had pictured a tomboy-type — pretty in a next-door neighbor kind of way, maybe played softball on the weekends.
I got the pretty part right, but I don’t recall having any neighbors that looked like her.
When I glanced up at the sound of heels clacking into the room, I saw a woman with shoulder-length blond hair, maybe five three, and a figure that could not be hidden by a plain white blouse and dark skirt. Neither did her bookish, wide framed glasses hide her electric blue eyes and long lashes.
I climbed out of the van, suddenly feeling much better about my day.
“Good morning.”
“Uh, hi. I’m Donnie.”
“I’m Kara. Nice to meet you at last.”
She extended her hand, and I shook it — long, slim fingers, but strong.
“That is a nasty cut!”
“Hm?” She stepped forward, and then she was right there. Inches away, staring at the stitches on my forehead. This close, her lips popped red against her porcelain skin, and I could smell her perfume — a hint of vanilla.
“How many stitches?”
“Uh, six.”
Maybe it was the pause, but Kara’s eyes drifted from the cut down to my own. Normally hazel, more green than brown, I suspected they were mostly red that morning. In any event, our eyes met for a moment, then she blinked as though coming out of a day dream.
“Huh.” She was back-tracking now, moving away from the van and turning away from me. For a second, I thought I saw a blush rising on her cheeks. “My boyfriend had to get five stitches on his knee last summer. Scar’s mostly gone now.”
“What did he do?”
“Oh, he cut himself on a climb near Mount Nemo. We’re part of a rock climbing club.”
No one will ever convince me to try rock climbing. Man was not intended to hang by his fingertips a hundred feet above solid ground.
“Cool.” Reminder to self — she had a boyfriend. And I’d have no chance with her, anyways. Besides, I was her boss.
I felt like crying, but it was time to get back to the real world.
“Listen, I’m sorry you had to come back from vacation to this.”
“No, don’t worry. I’m just happy to hear Clay is alright.”
“So, what’s on the to-do list for today?”
“Well, I spoke to Helen Findlay last night… She’s one of the senior people at Sun Consulting.”
I nodded, signaling for her to go on.
“She was mystified. No idea why someone would want to steal the package.”
Interesting. That question had been running through my mind all morning.
“Now what?”
“Well, she asked if you would have time to meet with her later today.”
“Sure.” Oh shit. “Uh, did she seem upset?”
“No! No worries.”
Sure. Famous last words.
Big Jim was in just before six thirty, all five foot five inches of him. Right behind him was Harold — mid-fifties and an accent that suggested South Africa. Clay had called both of them the night before, ignoring his doctor’s orders, so they were up-to-date and ready to go. My impression from meeting them earlier was that both men were straightforward guys — work, get paid, go home. Their behavior that morning was consistent — stay out of their way and they would get the job done.
Jim was first out the door. He had the east end of the city, and would face the worst traffic. Don Mills, Willowdale, Scarborough and even Unionville. He’d be gone for the day.
Harold followed shortly after, headed to the airport for morning pick-ups in the car. He preferred the car, and that was just fine by me.
By six fifty I had readied my own deliveries and reviewed the schedule for the day. I would start out in the suburbs, the reverse commute. Two packages for Oakville, one for Streetsville, a half dozen in Mississauga. Time permitting, I would also try to make a few pickups in the West End. We had some catching up to do as a result of the prior night’s events.
Kara was setting up another shipment on her screen when I made my way out front.
“Ready to ride?”
I snagged a candy from the bowl on her desk.
“Yup. Wish me luck.”
“I can do better than that. Try the Lost and Found. Clay keeps the lucky charms in the drawer along the right wall.”
I chuckled, then realized she was serious.
“Then where was our lucky charm yesterday?”
She shrugged at that, and I saw the reminder about Clay had brought her down.
“I guess some days you need a pretty big charm.”
Clay had shown me the Lost and Found Room the day of our first meeting, which made me think it had been a bit of a litmus test.
No question it was full of temptations. A rack held a collection of swords, poles, walking sticks and similar items, most of them carved or embellished in some manner. A couple even looked like genuine weapons. The back wall was lined in clothes — musty leather cloaks, intricately detailed dresses, robes, scarves, even some kind of military uniform. A chair that in another place or time might have been called a throne. Several rolled carpets. A glass cabinet containing a huge array of jewelry — earrings, bracelets, necklaces, rings. On top of three shelves rested countless bottles and jars, containing various liquids and a few things that reminded me of biology in high school.