Windigo fire, p.28
Windigo Fire, page 28
“What did Logan say to you before he walked into the fire?”
Danny stared down at the dark brown bourbon, hoping Ricky couldn’t read him in the dim light.
“John wasn’t thinking straight. He’d lost a lot of blood.” He fiddled with his shot glass. “He … he mumbled something weird about getting on a train. Meaningless stuff.”
“What did he say about the bones in the mine shaft?”
“Nothing. Nobody knew about them till McKenna and the OPP found them. Ask around. Everybody here will tell you the same thing.”
“Guess they would.” Ricky gave him a long, hard stare: a cop’s stare. Then he relaxed and downed his shot. “Fire’s a helluva way to off yourself. Why do you think Logan did it?”
“I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about it.” Danny swallowed his bourbon, feeling it burn all the way down.
The band broke into Corazon’s signature disco tune, Hot Stuff. Thank God, Danny thought.
Corazon strutted onstage wearing a blazing gold-sequined tunic.
“You bet I’m hot stuff, baby tonight,” she shouted into the mike. “WELCOME, ALL YOU MOTHERS!”
The audience shrieked and howled, banging the tables.
Corazon covered her mouth in mock horror. “Oops, I gotta watch my language ’cause there’s so many kids and seniors here. But hey, you gotta excuse me ’cause we’re stripping for a great cause tonight, right, people? We’re gonna show all we got to keep our Red Dog Grizzly out of jail.”
“How’s he doing?” someone shouted.
“Glad you asked, Baby,” Corazon said. “The docs are kicking him out of the burn unit tomorrow. He’s waving you all a big hello with that trouser cobra of his, all the way from Toronto, the Big Smoke. So drink up and get hot and horny ’cause it’s time to get down and dirty!”
She pranced past Danny’s table and threw Ricky a broad, lascivious wink. Ricky grinned back and raised his shot glass in salute.
So that’s it, I get it, Danny thought. Well, the two of them are both in their forties. Why not?
Corazon had stopped inviting him to stay over for breakfast. He couldn’t blame her: he’d avoided her, and everyone else, since the events on Fire Island. Just the same, he felt hurt. Even if it was high time for both of them to move on.
First up onstage was Charmaine, Santa’s old girlfriend or Edgar’s new girlfriend, whichever way people chose to look at it. Ricky gazed in rapture as Charmaine jiggled her way through a popular Shakira tune. The noise, the flashing lights, the cigarette smoke … the show was just getting started and already Danny had had enough.
He stood up and said: “I’m stepping out for a minute. My grandmother …”
Ricky choked on his shot. “Your grandmother’s here?”
“Yeah, she’s at the back with some of the elders from The Community.”
“Sure, sure, man.” Ricky grinned. “And roll one for me while you’re at it. I’ll smoke it later.”
“No problem.” Danny grinned back. He pushed his way through the crowd and escaped outside into the fresh air.
The night was soft, dark, and full of stars. Warm weather for September. Sergeant McKenna had parked her cruiser in the middle of the parking lot and sat alone in a bubble of blue-white light. No doubt she’d heard that if she ventured into the Galaxy, Corazon would make her strip.
Danny slumped down on the wooden bench beside the tavern door and felt for the spliff in his shirt pocket. Had to rely on local bush weed now that Santa’s Fish Camp was out of business. He pulled out the spliff and wet it. McKenna was looking straight at him, but he doubted she’d interfere. Judging by the fragrant fog bank of smoke around him, she’d have to arrest half the town.
He lit up, wishing he’d stayed at Blue Sky tonight. There stillness and contentment flowed like water between the bookshelves. He’d moved back home with Odile after the doctors and the cops were through with him. To keep busy, he’d offered to run the bookstore for her.
She’d simply inclined her head and said: “The bookstore is yours now, Mahikan.”
He’d insisted, too, on doing his fair share of the cooking. Dinner tonight had been Rachel’s favourite: pan-fried fresh trout and Odile’s blackberry pie. True happiness, Danny thought, releasing a lungful of smoke.
Rachel was back at school down south, but they spoke on Skype and connected on Facebook thanks to the satellite Internet Corazon had installed at Blue Sky Bookstore in an unusual burst of generosity. For a time, he’d feared that he’d never see his little sister again. Rachel’s dad had checked himself out of rehab after McKenna called him and he’d driven through the night to bring Rachel home. Luckily he’d calmed down once he met Odile. He’d even agreed to let Rachel spend Thanksgiving at Blue Sky next month: Grandmother had that effect on people.
Now that the tourists were gone, the bookstore remained quiet. Danny had had plenty of time to work on the graphic novel. After long reflection, he’d decided to finish the windigo story. To his relief, Rachel’s illustrations of the demon resembled Hendrix, not Logan, but the young brave looked disturbingly like himself.
He started as the wooden bench creaked. Odile sat down beside him. She had an uncanny sense of knowing exactly when he lit up a spliff. He sighed, put it out and stowed it back in his shirt pocket.
“It is time for me to leave,” Odile said. “Mayor Fortin has decided to strip. He will have much to tell our priest at confession tomorrow.”
“Right.” Danny cleared his throat. “I heard Corazon kicked in ten thousand bucks for Edgar on behalf of the Galaxy.”
“Yes, Madame is a remarkable woman.” Odile folded her hands in her lap. “She told Joseph she wishes to thank him and The Community for saving Edgar’s life. She has set up a fund: bicycle economics, she calls it. Giving back to Canada’s First People.”
“Anybody ask her where she got the money?”
“Not really.” Odile smiled. “Our Community is most grateful for her help.”
Danny watched McKenna adjust her radio, head bent as she listened to the OPP dispatcher in Kirkland Lake.
“Raven stopped by the diner this afternoon,” Odile said. “I have asked her to dinner tomorrow.”
“What for? McKenna’s a cop. She can talk to me any time she wants. We don’t have to give her dinner,” Danny said.
“Raven is investigating a cold case that troubles her very much.”
“I see.” Danny shifted on the bench. “She’s coming on shaman business.”
“Yes, she is asking for our help. Unofficially.”
“Our help? No, Grandmother, your help.”
“You are being too hard on yourself, Mahikan.” Odile paused. “Your vision is there if you wish to use it.”
“No.” Danny shook his head. “Vision goes to the women in our family.”
“Your mother’s vision was very strong. And you are forgetting your grandfather, Albin. His gifts were remarkable.”
They sat quietly together, gazing at McKenna’s cruiser and the empty highway.
“Grandmother,” he said at last, “what happened after Hendrix shot at you and McKenna? Where did you go?”
“Raven told me to run so I did. I hid in the forest by the side of the road until the young men found her and the windigo left on his motorbike. Then I went walking.”
“Everyone was looking for you.”
“They should not have worried. I have known how to survive in the woods since I was a child. Besides … you needed me.”
Danny hesitated a moment then said: “Out in the bush, I had, well, these vivid dreams. I was dehydrated, and pretty traumatized so that probably explains it, only … were you really there?”
“If you believe I was there, then I was there.” She rested her hand on his. “I know you are troubled, Danny. You are thinking of Logan.”
“Yes,” he admitted.
When the cops hauled up Hendrix’s body and the meth from the Archangel Mine shaft, they’d made a grisly discovery: skeletal remains, dating back decades. McKenna had pressured Danny for answers – just as Ricky had tonight.
Don’t tell Flag. Promise me you won’t tell Flag.
“Logan saved our lives,” he said. “Mine and Rachel’s. I tried to stop him walking into the fire, but I couldn’t.”
“Maybe you were not meant to.” Odile looked thoughtful. “John lived too close to evil for much of his life. He feared – perhaps he knew – that his heart had turned to ice.”
Danny felt his eyes burning. “Do you know … do you understand what he did on the island?”
“Yes, you have just told me, Mahikan.”
“Rachel must never know. I promised John...”
“We will keep his secret.”
Danny wiped his eyes. “I can’t stop thinking about the horrible way he died.”
“We must try to forgive him. He is at peace. His spirit is with Pasha’s now.” Odile squeezed his hand. “Come with me tomorrow. We will light a candle for him at Mass.”
Acknowledgements
First of all I want to thank my Print publisher, Maureen Whyte for believing in Windigo Fire and for making my book part of the Seraphim Editions family. I feel blessed to work with my editor, George Down, who reviewed my prose with respect, care and unfailingly sharp insight.
Behind every developing writer stands an army of friends, teachers and supporters. My teachers, Rosemary Aubert, Maureen Jennings and Peter Robinson, were more than generous in their encouragement and in sharing their knowledge and remarkable skills. Authors and close friends, Gail Hamilton, D. J. McIntosh and Roz Place, read the manuscript of Windigo Fire and offered valuable suggestions and warm support when I needed it most.
I owe enormous thanks to my two literary critique groups, collectively known as the Mesdames of Mayhem. They are sixteen wonderful women authors whose thoughtful feedback and longstanding friendship continue to be more than important to me. The Mesdames are: Catherine Astolfo, Rosemary Aubert, Donna Carrick, Melodie Campbell, Vicki Delany, Lisa De Nikolits, Catherine Dunphy, Cheryl Freedman, Sylvia Maultash-Warsh, D.J. McIntosh, Rosemary McCracken, Lynne Murphy, Joan O’Callaghan, Jane Peterson-Burfield and Caro Soles.
Mitch Kowalski, founder of the Toronto Writers Centre, provided a safe haven that allowed me to create and research Windigo Fire.
Last, but not least, thank you forever to my family: my husband, Ed Callway, my daughter, Claire Callway and my son-in-law, Mitch Risman for their unfailing love and belief in my ability as a writer.
About M.H. Callway
M.H. Callway is an award-winning short story writer whose work has appeared in several publications, including Crimespree Magazine, Futures Mystery Anthology Magazine and Mouth Full of Bullets. She is the founder of the Mesdames of Mayhem, a collective of fifteen leading Canadian women crime writers and editors. Windigo Fire is her first novel.
She is a longstanding member of Crime Writers of Canada and Sisters in Crime. An avid cyclist, runner and downhill skier, she has participated in the Toronto Ride to Conquer Cancer every year since 2008. She and her husband share their Victorian home with a very spoiled cat.
M.H. Callway, Windigo Fire
