“Look at David’s charm. Look at his interest in those kids. Doesn’t it seem a little overboard to you? You know the profile. He’s reading them stories and serving snacks to gain access.” I twisted the key in the ignition, the car fired up, and we pulled away. “Soon he’ll be plying them with communion wine.”
“Baptists use grape juice.” Will tapped my shoulder. “Not everyone who likes kids has ulterior motives. I used to coach Little League – that make me a pedophile?”
“I worked on child pornography stings. I know something about these creeps.” My voice moved up half an octave.
“As if I don’t!” He gazed out the window.
“What about the boots?”
“So, they match. They match the boots of every farmer in Sterling County.”
“I think we should interview the nephew, the one who said he saw Jordan set the fire.”
“Give me a break. At 6:30 a.m. it was pitch black. Alan couldn’t have seen anything.” Will shifted in his seat and clutched the strap as I swerved into the passing lane.
“Alan could have seen him through the window and watched him come outside. The moon was almost full the night of the fire.”
“Alan Dare comes from the shallow end of the family gene pool. He’ll say whatever Rex wants him to say. Rex’s brother Gordon saw me pick up the baseball bat at the fire scene. He put two and two together.”
“Well, Jordan’s ex-wife accused him of sexually abusing his own daughter.”
“Yeah, right!” It took a moment for what I said to register. We exchanged glances. His eyes were full of questions.
Ha, he didn’t know this already. “She did. I saw a copy of her affidavit.”
“Where did you get that?”
“Catherine Ross. She keeps a file on Jordan.”
“People say crazy things during divorces. I wouldn’t stake too much on it. It was during a custody battle, I bet.”
“You can’t automatically assume Rex Dare is lying just because he comes from swampsville.”
“Look, I know Rex Dare. I know this community. You don’t. These aren’t nice people. Whether David was sexually abusing his daughter is irrelevant. Rex Dare or someone he sent firebombed the Jordans’ house. Whether or not we can prove it is another story.”
Driving in silence, I made up my mind to interview Rex’s nephew Alan and find out one way or the other if David Jordan was a pedophile.
Chapter 5: The Child
That evening Catherine’s daughter Grace sat at their pine kitchen table in red-footed pyjamas. Her face shone with love for me. “Hi, Auntie Linda.” Her little hands were spread over a stack of picture books.
“Hi, pumpkin. What you got there?” I sat across from her and examined the cover of Green Eggs and Ham by Dr. Seuss.
“I can read this.” Grace opened up the book. “I do not like green eggs and ham. I do not like them, Sam-I-am,” she recited.
I glanced at the page. “That’s good, Grace.”
Catherine, who was wearing a burgundy dressing gown, patted her daughter’s head. “Time for bed, sweetheart.”
“I want Auntie Linda to read me a story.” Grace beamed at me, her legs swinging under the table. “Please?”
Catherine popped some fried chicken into the toaster oven. “This’ll take a few minutes to warm up. If you want to, Linda, go ahead.”
Upstairs, Grace hopped into bed and arranged herself under her covers. She patted the edge so I would sit next to her. I leaned against the wall and stretched my legs over her patchwork quilt.
Grace cuddled against me, nudging me until I put my arm around her. Grace and I had become buddies when I took some vacation time in early October to renovate my house before starting work with the Sterling detachment. I had been stacking some scrap wood in the yard and saw her prancing around in the meadow. I figured she was pretending to ride a horse. She didn’t see me and pranced onto my laneway and up to my small barn. Then she pretended to dismount and tie the horse up. She jiggled the latch on the door and then peeked through the cracks between the weathered boards. I snuck up behind her. She was so intent on getting a glimpse inside that she didn’t hear me.
“That’s a nice horse you have there.”
Grace jumped, and then her little body froze with embarrassment.
“I’m Linda, your new neighbour.”
She glanced at me with luminous blue eyes, then looked away, blushing. I regretted startling her.
“Are you a Mountie?”
“That’s right.”
“Do you have a horse?”
“No, I drive a police car with a flashing light on top.”
“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. She tucked her hands into the pockets of her blue denim jacket. The sun brought out the highlights in her long reddish-brown hair braided down her back.
I squatted so I was at eye level. “If I had a horse, I’d let you ride it.”
Grace smiled shyly, her trusting, shining eyes melting my insides.
She asked if I had a red coat, so I brought out my scrapbook and we sat under the trees while I showed her pictures of me in my Mountie dress uniform – red serge tunic, Stetson, Sam Browne, breeches and riding boots. Over the next few weeks she followed me around while I stripped linoleum and sanded floors in every room except the kitchen.
Grace was one of the most beautiful children I’d ever seen, mostly because of her innocence. She was like a little angel. She reminded me of the baby girl I’d given up for adoption. Maybe that’s why my feelings for her were so strong.
Catherine’s warmth and generosity sealed the bond. In no time I was Auntie Linda and a frequent supper guest. I hadn’t allowed myself to really love since Ron’s betrayal. Their friendship had changed all that.
The little bedside lamp created a golden bubble with Grace and me inside. I could feel my heart thawing, and it hurt. But I felt more alive than I had for well over half my life.
“I want to show you something,” Grace said, bringing my attention back to the present. She kicked off the covers and freed herself from my arm. Her little feet dug into my thighs as she climbed over me, reached under her bed, and emerged with a hat and child’s Western holster with a silver cap gun in it. She buckled on the holster, her brows knit and her naturally pink lips pursed.
“Don’t tell Mom,” she whispered. “She doesn’t approve of guns. I cut the other holster off so it would be more like yours.”
Grace beamed. When Catherine called me for dinner a moment later Grace tore off the holster and hat, slid them under the bed, then scrambled over me and under the covers. Catherine trudged up the stairs and into her daughter’s bedroom.
After kisses goodnight, Catherine and I returned to the kitchen and wolfed down the most decadent crispy fried chicken I’d ever eaten. Catherine was good for me, teaching me how to enjoy life.
She handed me the latest edition of The Sterling Spectator. In her account of the fire she’d written that the Jordans had lost everything since they had no insurance. She even mentioned the rumours circulating that the pastor had set his own house on fire. She countered those rumours with quotes from within the Christian community that Pastor Jordan was the next best thing to the Second Coming. All in all, I thought she was fair. Nothing about Rex Dare’s nephew Alan. I had a chance to get to him first.
As I sipped