Lake on the Mountain. Jeffrey Round

dog turned its gaze to the French windows at the rear of the house.

      “You want out?” Ked said.

      Ralph bounded to the back exit and stood waiting. Ked unlatched the door and the dog tore outside.

      “You have to ask him what he wants,” Ked said. “He tells you with his eyes. If he looks at the treat cupboard, he wants a reward. If he looks at the fridge, he probably wants whatever you just had to eat. If he looks at his leash, he needs a walk.”

      “Don’t tell me he speaks English.”

      Ked looked at his father sympathetically, as though he might be just a bit slow. “No, but he can understand what you’re saying. You have to learn his language, too.”

      Dan nodded. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

      “Hey, Dad! I got a new book today.”

      Ked retrieved a paperback from his knapsack and tossed it on the counter. Dan glanced at a woman’s pensive face framed by dark bangs, her cigarette upraised and smoke curling artistically overhead. Harrison Ford’s sweaty likeness menaced a library barcode with a hefty handgun. Across the top in red letters: Blade Runner.

      “It’s really cool. It’s about this guy who lives in LA after it’s been totally destroyed and hunts androids for a living,” Ked said. “The only problem is, they look and act exactly like humans, so it’s hard to tell who’s an android and who’s a real person.”

      Dan grunted.

      “You know it?”

      “I know it,” Dan said. “Only in my day it was called Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep.”

      “Yeah — I think that was before the movie, though.”

      “In the old days.”

      “Right. Anyway, I think I’m going to like this one.”

      The answering machine blinked red on the side table. Dan regarded it, appraising what it might hold. He pressed play. A cool voice emerged, the tones submerged beneath a wall of self-assurance.

      “Hello, Daniel,” said the voice. “It’s Bill....”

      “Speaking of androids,” Ked said quietly.

      “He’s cancelling,” Dan declared, shaking his head. “I knew he would.”

      “… I wanted to give you a heads-up. Something’s come up at the hospital and I can’t make it tonight. You and Ked have a good time without me....”

      “We will, you dick-head.” Dan reached out and cut the message off.

      “Why do you date him?” Ked asked. “He treats you like shit.”

      Dan raised a warning finger. “I can say that — you can’t.”

      Ked rolled his eyes. “I’m just saying ...”

      Dan pressed play again. A second voice began. “Hey, Sis — how are things?”

      “Does ‘Sis’ mean sister or sissy?” Ked said.

      “Both.”

      “Hey, Ked,” the voice continued. “Happy birthday, dude.”

      “Cool! He remembered.”

      “Danny, I forgot to ask if we’re having burgers or chicken for supper. I don’t know whether to bring white cream soda or red....”

      Dan smiled.

      “… so maybe I’ll bring both. See you tonight!” The message clicked off.

      Ked looked up at his father. “Is ‘sissy’ a bad word?”

      “Depends who’s saying it.”

      Ked pondered this. “Did you and Uncle Donny ever date? I know he talks about what you look like nude....”

      Dan raised a hand. “Don’t believe everything he says!”

      “… but I wasn’t sure if you ever dated him.”

      “We dated. It was a very long time ago.”

      “But was it more than sex?” Ked persisted.

      The topic of his father’s sexuality had never been off-limits, but of late Ked had become more curious about Dan’s private life.

      Dan thought this over. “I guess it was, though we may not have realized it at the time. Maybe that’s why we’re still friends.”

      “Then why don’t you still date him? Is it because he’s black?”

      Dan shot Ked a look. “You know it’s not. Your Uncle Donny just likes to date a lot of men at once....”

      “He’s a slut!” Ked crowed.

      Dan eyed his son. “Ked — don’t talk like that.”

      “Why? That’s what Uncle Donny says about himself.”

      “Nevertheless.”

      “And you like to date just one guy at a time, right?”

      “Something like that.”

      Ked thought this over. “Do you think you and Bill will ever get married? I mean, for real married, like in a church and everything.”

      Dan reached over and tugged his son’s dark curls. “Why? Do you want to be my best man?”

      Ked shrugged. “I would if you wanted me to.”

      “I’ll let you know when we set the date. In the meantime, I’ve got a bit of work to do....”

      Ked groaned.

      “… and you’ve got at least one guest coming for supper, so let’s go get ready.”

      Upstairs in his office, Dan set his laptop on the chair and cleared his desk. On the walls, Martha Stewart’s Corn Husk competed for calm with the green-and-white striped shade pulled down. A single upright oak shelf held investigative reports, half-read anthropological texts, and a handful of slim detective novels, book-ended by Joyce, Pound, Proust.

      Dan had three cases to write up before the weekend. Donny would be here by eight o’clock, and that left only tomorrow and Friday morning. After that, the wedding would take up all his free time. If he didn’t work now, they might not get done.

      He pulled up the latest: a seventy-six-year-old female who hadn’t returned from a day trip to Toronto. He scanned the screen. No physical or mental impairment. The woman’s daughter had tried to file a report with the Kitchener police; no one would take a formal statement. She’d been advised to contact the Toronto force, who confirmed they’d had notice of her mother’s whereabouts on two previous occasions. The bottom of the report carried a familiar name.

      Dan flipped through his Rolodex and fingered a card. He had a good guess what had happened. If he were right, Sergeant Carmen Stryker could probably confirm it. He glanced at the clock — nearly seven. If Stryker was still at work, that is.

      The phone rang once and someone grabbed it. “Stryker.”

      “Hey, Carm. Dan Sharp here.”

      “Sharp! How the hell are ya?”

      “Plugging away at it.” Dan pictured the beefy sergeant sweating at his desk. “How about you? Still on the desk, I see.”

      “Fuckers!” the cop growled. “I never get outta here before eight.”

      Dan heard what sounded like a fist banged onto a desktop.

      “You’re too good at what you do, my man. If you stopped solving problems indoors, they’d have you back on the streets in a flash.”

      A hearty laugh. “You got that right! Anyway, what can I do you for? Your mother disappear again?”

      “Close.