Signed stolen delivered, p.1
Signed, Stolen, Delivered, page 1
Signed, Stolen, Delivered
Douglas J. McLeod
Table of Contents
Title Page
Signed, Stolen, Delivered
Acknowledgements
Other books by the Author
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Signed, Stolen, Delivered
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Copyright © Douglas J. McLeod, 2017
McLeod, Douglas J. 1971 –
Signed, Stolen, Delivered
First Edition
ISBN: 978-1542304641
ISBN-10: 1542304644
1. Mystery – Fiction.
2. Toronto (Canada) – Fiction.
3. Peterborough County (Canada) – Fiction.
Cover Photo: By Steve Mann (http://wearcam.org/dundas-square/2004oct10/d382p.jpg) [CC BY 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
Acknowledgements
First, and foremost, I would like to thank my darling wife, Catherine, for continuing to endure my writing endeavors during the course of our first couple of years together. She is the love of my life, and I am truly appreciative of the fact she’s still willing to put up with my trials and tribulations.
I would also like to thank my Aunt Pat, my mother, Penny, and my sisters and brothers, for supporting my hobby. This book was originally released after being in the writing game for six years, and I thank them for the love and support they’ve all given me during that time.
Finally, I’d be remised not to thank all of the crazy writers I’ve come across in my incredible journey as an author. These are not limited to, but including, Jen F., Allison C., Laura S., Bethlyn B., Cassandra J., Crystal S., Sonya R., Dawn M., Barb J., Alice H., and many others I’m probably neglecting to mention. We’re still all a bunch of crazy writers, and I’m honored to be a part of their lives, no matter how minutely it may be via social media.
Finally, thank you, the reader, for joining me on this sojourn. The road has been long, but it’s far from over.
Douglas J. McLeod
Other books by the Author
Scarlet Siege
Barbadian Backlash
Rouge Numbered Week
Kawartha Christmas Caper
In loving memory to Elizabeth,
The woman who helped shape me into who I am.
Chapter 1
I was video chatting with my girlfriend, Maggie MacPhearson, like I always did on Sunday mornings. Ever since we first met over the Christmas break when my good friend, Detective Gary Celdom, invited me to his cottage in the Kawarthas for the holiday, Maggie and I talked daily via instant messaging, and video conferenced once a week. There were times when Maggie was feeling under the weather, and we had to postpone our weekly video chats. However, we were able to continue as normal for this instance.
"So, what does your schedule look like for this week?" I asked.
"It's going to be busy," Maggie stated. "I have dissertations to review all week, so my chance to talk will be limited. What's on tap for my special guy?"
"The usual," I replied. "Trying to work on my latest novel, and not lose my train of thought in the process.
Maggie hesitated. "Phil, can I ask you something?"
I answered with a smile. "Sure, sweetie. What's up?"
"Well, this is something that has been bugging me for a while, and I don't want to sound like I'm coming down hard on you..."
"Uh oh," I thought. I feared she was going to bring something to my attention that was going to make or break our relationship. I was not ready for this. Maggie was the first woman I had been comfortable with since my previous relationship with Amy ended.
Maggie continued, "But, while I like the fact you're ambitious about your writing, I was wondering if there was something more stable you could be doing to earn an income."
I blinked. "You mean, like, finding a real job?"
"Nothing major," she clarified. "I want you to still be able to find the time to write. However, I would think it would be beneficial if you found something part-time where you could earn some extra money, and still work on your writing in your spare time."
There it was, I was being given an ultimatum, or so I thought. I knew it was only a suggestion. I didn't want to admit it, but she was right. I was having problems scraping by from month-to-month. My social assistance was nice, but only afforded me the bare minimum. While writing was something I enjoyed, there were few social activities I could partake in; much to the chagrin of my roommate, Jim Marsden. He always wanted to go out with me, but his choice of lifestyle was much different than the one I chose to live. He was a social butterfly, while I was someone who suffered from social anxiety. I always considered myself somewhat of a shy person until I grew comfortable with those around me, but for the most part, I kept to myself; my annual forays into the NoMo writing challenge, and the odd Northern Winds fan convention, notwithstanding.
"You're right, "I resigned. "Having some extra cash to do things would be nice. It'll give me the freedom to go out on occasion, but I don't know how long it will be until I find a place willing to take me on."
"I'm not saying you have to get one right away," Maggie stated. "I know it's a tough market out there, but promise me you'll start looking for a job?"
I sighed. "Alright, I'll start the search as soon as possible."
My girlfriend smiled. "Thank you, baby. It means a lot to me that you're willing to try."
We finished our video chat with our usual goodbyes, and said 'I love you' to each other. I was about to head into the living room where Jim was playing on the desktop computer when I heard a familiar ghostly voice.
"You know," the voice said, "Maggie's right."
"How do you figure?" I asked.
"Think about it, Phil. While writing is a great hobby to have, unless you get a huge publishing contract, you'll be struggling on the independent market for quite a while. You need to find something to help pay the bills. You can't expect to live on social assistance forever."
While I was bemused to hear the cautionary tale from my current girlfriend, hearing the sentiment echoed by the ghost of a former girlfriend of mine, Amber, was enough of a slap in the face to wake me up. Amber was a woman I had met through my love of Northern Winds over 15 years prior. We had started chatting through a chat room for the series, and would meet in person at the first fan convention for the show I ever attended. The two of us hit it off instantly, and commenced a relationship which would last for 10 months until I decided to defend her honor in an incident which was misconstrued by me. While things were smoothed over in the end, Amber decided to break up with me to prevent any further occurrences. However, the two of us remained the best of friends.
Alas, Amber's health began to deteriorate in the months leading up to the last time I would ever see her alive. She had contracted a form of anemia, combined with a bout of pneumonia would lead to her eventual death in September 1999. When I learned of her passing, it devastated me greatly. It took years before I was able to ever feel comfortable to be in another relationship. However, Amber never truly left me. Like Gary's former fiancée, Karen Prairie, had never left him in the after-life, Amber had been a constant presence in my life.
"I know I should find a steady job," I argued. "But, I don't want to lose the drug benefits I get with social assistance. Some of my prescriptions can cost a pretty penny."
Amber nodded. "Yes, the type of medications you need aren't cheap. Perhaps you could find something part-time to help give you some extra money, like Maggie suggested."
"That's all fine and dandy, but where would I be able to find a place that's willing to hire someone with my baggage?"
My room fell silent for a short while I mulled over the situation until Jim's voice called out from the living room.
"Yo, Phil," he inquired. "Are you coming today, or not?"
"I am," I answered. "I'll be right out."
"Just think about it," Amber pleaded.
"Don't worry," I assured the spirit. "I'll seriously consider it."
I grabbed my baseball cap, and left the apartment with my roommate, unsure of what I was going to do with my immediate future.
~ * * * ~
It was a pleasant May Sunday in Toronto. There was minimal cloud cover, and the temperature was continuing to lose the shackles of winter's icy grip. While late Spring saw the mercury flirt with the 70s on the Fahrenheit scale, after the brutal Winter we had experienced, the warmer weather was more than welcome.
Whenever Jim and I would venture out to Christie Pits to watch the local semi-pro team in a small provincial league play, we would hit a coffee shop in the nearby Annex neighborhood for a cup of java and a slice of cake as an unhealthy lunch bef
"What's eating you, Phil?" he asked. "Usually, you gobble your Nanaimo bar up like it's about to go stale."
"It's something Maggie suggested during our video chat earlier," I answered. "She said I should think about finding some sort of part-time job to help with my expenses."
Jim grew worried. "She's not planning on leaving you if you don't, is she?"
I shook my head. "Maggie gave me no indication of such, but after what I went through with Amy, I don't want to be in another relationship where my partner doesn't love me anymore."
My roommate took a sip of his coffee. "Has she given you any sign that her impression of you is changing?"
I did a double-take. "Oh God, I hope not. She is still willing to encourage my writing exploits, but we both know the books aren't setting the world on fire."
"I thought you had gotten a few buys with your first book?"
I continued to pick away at my dessert. "Not as much as you'd think. Most of the buying action are in the romance genre, and let's face it, detective mysteries aren't as popular as stories about paranormal love triangles."
"I'm surprised by that. You'd think people would be interested in a mystery about a tropical locale with a romantic tryst thrown in for good measure."
I shrugged, "Just the way some readers' minds work, I guess."
"So, what are you thinking of getting into?"
I took a swig of my coffee. "That's the thing, I don't know what place would be willing to take me on. Sure, I have that community college degree, but it was earned almost 20 years ago. I'm not sure if my skill set would be as fresh as most other candidates. Technology has changed the industry quite a bit."
Jim nodded, "That it has."
"What's more, it's a tough market out there. I don't know of any place that would be hiring right now."
Jim and I finished our makeshift lunch, and he patted my arm. "Don't worry, buddy," he comforted. "I'm sure something will come up in due time."
After lunch, we made our way to the Pits for the game, and I felt a ghostly pat on my back.
"Don't get discouraged, Phil," Amber stated. "I sense something will come up sooner than you think."
I was never one to take stock in those who could foresee the future, but this was one time I should have believed in what Amber said.
~ * * * ~
The ball yard at Christie Pits is simplistic, but does the job. It's situated on the northeast part of a city park, with a hillside flanking the foul lines. There are a limited number of bleachers, stretching from one dugout, leading behind the backstop behind home plate, and ending at the other dugout. Because of this, most spectators who take in the games opt to sit on the hillside. The park got its name from it being the site of the Christie Sand Pits until the early 1900s. The official name for the land was Willowvale Park, but the name never caught on. The City change the name to Christie Pits in 1983, as most frequenters referred to it by its common name.
On this day, Jim and I were fortunate enough to score a couple spots on the bleachers behind the Visitors' dugout. Upon our arrival, we were met by a couple for the regular patrons to the games, Glen Finch and Bob Mitchell. Glen and Bob had been coming to the games for years, as did Jim. I only started attending the match-ups at the Pits when I moved in with my roommate five years before.
Before the game started, Jim decided to hit the concession stand behind the center field wall to grab a hot dog and a drink. I was still not all that hungry as Maggie's suggestion was weighing on my mind. I knew Amber was supporting me in my upcoming job search, but I still had my doubts. Glen noticed something was up, and approached me.
"Something going on, Phil?" he asked.
"Life problems, Glen," I replied.
"What's wrong?"
I explained to him what Maggie had asked earlier during our video conference call. I told him I was attempting to find a job, but it was a tough market out there.
"Actually," he stated, "I know of a place that is hiring, but I'm not sure if you qualify."
I looked at my fellow fan. "Glen, at this point, I'm willing to try anything."
"There's a courier company my business deals with, and they're in the midst of a recruiting drive."
Whatever hope I had initially began to vanish. "Courier company?" I asked. "But, I don't drive, nor do I ride a bike."
Glen clarified, "You wouldn't need to. They do all of their deliveries via public transit.
I blinked. "Really? Wouldn't that be a costly venture to the employees?"
"Not really, the couriers are given monthly transit passes if they work a certain number of days a month; otherwise, they're given day passes depending on which days they're working."
I mulled it over for a moment. If I could work three days a week, not only would I be able to earn some income, but I would get my monthly transportation paid on top of it. It was an intriguing proposition, but Glen said he wasn't sure if I would qualify for the job.
I probed further. "I like the prospect, but what about this catch you were mentioning?"
Glen explained, "Well, here's the thing, all of the couriers who work there have some sort of mental health issue."
Shit! I don't have a mental health issue. I have an addiction issue; unless...
"You talk to a premonition on a regular basis, Phil," Amber chuffed from behind me. "I think this could be classed as one."
"Glen," I asked, "You wouldn't happen to have their address, would you?"
Chapter 2
After the game, I came home and immediately went to work on my Netbook; tailoring my resume for the job I was about to apply for. While I was not sure what skills were necessary for the position, one thing I did possess was a knowledge of the Toronto transit system. Growing up, I had a vested interest in the transit workings of the city; studying the various transit routes, and the destinations they serviced. It proved to be handy whenever members of my own family contacted me when they needed directions to get from Point A to Point B on the system. I believed having such wisdom would be an asset for the job if I were to be hired on.
Amber appeared in the corner of my room, and admired my initiative.
"Wow," she commented. "You're really going all out in finding out about this position."
"I want to make sure I'm prepared for any question that might come up in the interview," I reasoned.
"Whoa, whoa, easy there, cowboy," the ghostly figure cautioned. "You're putting the cart ahead of the horse here. They might be hiring, but it takes a while for them to sift through all the applications and resumes to make sure they have a qualified candidate."
I paused my browser searching, and turned to her. "Amber, this is for a transit courier. How qualified does a candidate have to be?"
"Think about it," she explained. "You're going to be dealing with customers when you're picking up and dropping off packages, so you have to have some level of customer service know-how. Plus, you might also have to come up with conflict solutions in the event there is a disagreement between you and the customer. Also, in the event of a transit delay, you have to think of alternate routes to get to your destinations. There are a whole lot of things you have to consider if you're lucky enough to score an interview, which I don't think they would give you right on the spot."
I lowered my head and sighed. Amber brought forth valid points, and I was getting ahead of myself. Like any job search, it was a process, and I was forgetting one of the basic principles in my desire to find employment: patience. I was becoming too eager in getting a job, and expecting immediate results. It was one of the character flaws I had within me, hence why I had turned to my vice in the past. I could not allow myself to fall into the same trap. I had to open my toolbox, and use the right implements to see this through without getting frustrated.
"You're right," I conceded. "I was thinking about the big reward at the end, and not thinking about the steps to get there. I need to step back, and allow things to develop naturally."
