Lane stepped inside. Jordan was around twenty-five, blonde, with an athletic build.
“What would you like? I already know what Jelena wants – black coffee.” Jordan smiled from behind a counter of meats, cheeses, and vegetables.
Lane looked at the coffee menu posted above the espresso machine. Jordan’s specialty was a double shot of espresso, chocolate, caramel, and fresh cream. “I’ll have the special,” Lane said.
“Large?”
Lane nodded and looked over his shoulder at Jelena, who watched him through the window with her hunter’s eyes while taking a drag from her cigarette.
“She’s tough, but she‘s had no choice, in case you’re wondering,” Jordan said as he poured cream and chocolate milk into a metal cup with a thermometer hooked inside the lip.
Lane watched Jordan move with practiced efficiency as he measured coffee grounds for the espresso machine. “You know her well?”
“I opened my business at the same time she started over there. Gradually, we got to know one another. I send customers to her, and she does the same for me. She keeps her business going, takes care of herself and her daughter. Single mom making it work – you know the story.”
“Sort of,” Lane said.
“Her husband left about a year ago. He used to work the cash register in the shop when he was able.” Jordan steamed the chocolate milk and cream.
“When he was able?”
“Alcoholic.” Jordan poured the espresso into the milk and cream. Then he added a shot of caramel and put Lane’s special on the counter. Jordan poured coffee from a carafe into a second cup. Lane handed over a twenty. Jordan made change. “Jelena came here after the war. She started over, raises a daughter, runs a business, and does it on her own. It hasn’t been easy for her.”
“Thanks.” Lane took the change, tucked it into his pocket, and took the drinks outside.
Jelena stabbed her cigarette into an overfull ashtray and took her coffee. She closed her eyes when she tasted it. “Jordan makes good coffee.”
Lane sipped his. I have to agree.
“What you want?” Jelena asked.
“Who’s Borislav Goran?” Lane watched her eyes.
She looked through the window at Jordan. “Died in the war.”
“He looks a lot like your husband,” Lane said.
“Borislav was Andelko’s cousin. We called him Bo. He liked that nickname.” Jelena continued to look away.
“What did you and Andelko fight about before he left?”
She looked directly at Lane. “He drank too much. I got tired of it.”
“Did he drink because of the war?”
Jelena reached for another cigarette. She lit it, inhaled, and blew her smoke away from the table. “Andelko saw a man downtown, at Eau Claire.”
Lane waited. Her answers sound rehearsed.
“A juggler. It was on a weekend. Andelko saw the juggler, came home, got drunk, and we started to fight.” She drank the last of her coffee.
“What was this juggler to Andelko?” Lane asked.
“Andelko said the juggler was going to kill him. He kept saying the juggler’s name was Mladen.”
“I need to find out all I can about Borislav Goran. Apparently he died in the war.” Lane set a cup of lemon tea in front of Lori.
“So, give a girl a cup of tea and she’ll do your work for you?” Lori smiled, ready for some verbal fencing.
“We both know you’re the computer genius, and I’m hopeless at it. I need to know what’s available on Borislav Goran and Andelko Branimir. Today I was told that Goran was a cousin of Branimir. If possible, that fact needs to be verified.”
Lori leaned forward in her chair. She cocked her head to the left. Lane moved closer.
“Something’s up. I don’t know for sure what it is, but the deputy chief called Harper in. They met for most of the morning. Whatever it is, the whole building is buzzing with rumours.” Lori leaned back in her chair.
Lane sat down in a wooden armchair. He sipped his cup of coffee. Guess that means I’ll be out of a job come Monday. He shrugged. “I’ve got this case to solve.”
“And you’ve got Arthur to worry about.”
Lane tried to smile. “We see the surgeon in a week.”
Gregory stepped into the office. He was wearing a white shirt and tie. His belly was a muffin top hanging over a black leather belt. He glared at Lane. “You getting paid to sit around?”
Stockwell followed Gregory into the office. He was wearing the high black boots and the jodhpurs of a motorcycle cop. He put his hands on his hips and looked down on Lane. “It’s what the good detective does best – sits on his ass and drinks coffee.” Stockwell’s close-shaved head shone like Gregory’s.
Gregory went into his office, followed by Stockwell, who closed the door.
Lori said, “Charming pair of assholes.”
“Eau Claire? What time?” Christine asked.
They sat around the dinner table. Roz had her nose at Christine’s elbow.
“Please stop feeding her from the table,” Lane said.
Christine pointed her fork at Matt. “How was work at the golf course today?”
“Same old, same old. Bunkers and mowers.” Matt speared a piece of chicken and sawed at it with his knife. His arms and face were a Mediterranean brown.
“At least you’re getting a nice tan,” Arthur said.
Lane spotted Christine as she took a piece of chicken from her plate and dropped her hand under the table. “Stop that!” Lane said.
“What?” Christine smiled innocently back at him. She blinked several times.
Lane shook his head.
Christine shrugged. “Roz likes chicken. When do you go to Eau Claire?”
“It’s something I have to do for work.”
“Isn’t tomorrow your day off?” Arthur asked.
“Why don’t we all go?” Christine asked.
“Good idea.” Arthur cut a slice of chicken and added blueberries.
Good, blueberries are antioxidants, Lane thought.
“I’ve got the afternoon off,” Matt said.
Anything to get away from here so we can think about something besides Arthur’s cancer.
SATURDAY, AUGUST 18
chapter 4
“You need to be at work this early?” Matt climbed to the top of the stairs. He wore his heavy khaki-coloured denim work pants and tan golf shirt.
Shit, Lane thought, I forgot he gets up early to work for a few hours at the golf course. “Couldn’t sleep. Want a cup of coffee?” Lane slid his chair back.
“I’ll get it.” Matt reached into the fridge for chocolate milk. He poured it into a cup, and set it in the microwave.
“What are you doing?” Lane asked.
“I heat up the chocolate for forty-five seconds, then add coffee. Try it.” Matt pulled the cup out of the microwave, filled the cup with coffee, and sipped.
“Want me to make you some breakfast?” Lane looked into his half-empty cup.
“It’s Saturday. I buy breakfast at the snack shack on Saturdays.” He sat down beside Lane at the table.
Lane looked out the window. When kids get older, they get a life of their own. The belly of an overcast sky was purple with a hint of pink. “Is Christine driving the beer cart today?”
“Tomorrow. There’s some kind of tournament going on.” Matt hesitated. “Uncle?”
Something in Matt’s tone warned Lane he was about to say something important.
“What’s going to happen to Uncle Arthur?” Matt looked out the window.
“All I can tell you is I think it will be okay. Everybody says I’m depressed, but I think it will all work out fine,” Lane said. Matt must think I’m crazy, Lane thought as he sat in the driver’s seat at a red light. He looked to his left.