Stonechild and Rouleau Mysteries 5-Book Bundle. Brenda Chapman

She made one last trip to the kitchen for an order of turkey that she delivered to a table of three homeless men. She straightened from setting down the last plate and felt a tap on her shoulder. Turning, she found herself a foot away from Maya’s beaming face.

      “Well, now. You’ve done more than your fair share of serving people. It’s starting to slow down. Time to have a plate of turkey and some pie and coffee,” said Maya, taking her by the arm. “I’ve got it set up on the table over here. I could use a rest too.”

      “Now that you mention it, that pie does look good,” said Kala. “I’m not hungry for turkey though. I ate earlier.”

      “It’s fine pie. I baked them all myself.”

      They took seats across the table from each other. Kala added cream to her coffee and took a sip. She lifted her fork and took a bite of pumpkin pie. She rolled the filling around her tongue before swallowing. “Ah, I needed this. Thanks, Maya.”

      “You’re welcome, girl. Now, tell me the story of what brought you to us on this fine Christmas Eve.”

      “What makes you think I have a story?”

      “Everyone has a story. I’ve heard enough of them to fill a good number of books.”

      “I started a job here a few days ago. The reason I picked Ottawa was I got word my cousin was living here. I’ve been looking for her for a long time. We lost touch.” She stopped talking and drank from her coffee cup. She looked up at the narrow window near the ceiling. “It’s snowing again,” she said.

      Maya turned and lifted her head. She sighed. “Some folks’ll be glad we’re having a white Christmas. I’m not one of them.” She turned back around. “So, you thought your cousin might be dropping in here for supper? It’s a big city. We aren’t the only place offering supper to people with no place to go.”

      “The address I had for her was downtown, near here, but she’s moved on. I thought she might be in the same neighbourhood since her daughter’s in school.”

      “That makes sense. How old is the daughter?”

      “Twelve. Her name’s Dawn and my cousin’s name is Rosie. I’m wondering if you’ve seen them?”

      Maya leaned her head sideways and studied Kala until she seemed satisfied. “A lot of people I see don’t want to be found for one reason or another. Some are escaping their old lives that caused them pain. Some are sick or drinking too much and don’t want anybody to see how far down they’ve fallen. If they change their minds, we do all we can to help them get back to their old lives, but that doesn’t happen all that often. Sometimes we’ve had luck with teenagers, you know, getting them back to their families, but that’s less often than you’d think. This Rosie girl, did she have it tough?”

      “Yeah, she had it tough.”

      Maya’s inky black eyes held Kala’s so that she could not look away. “Looks like you might have had it tough too, child,” she said softly.

      “I’m doing okay.”

      Maya nodded. She chewed her pie while she considered the request. “A Native girl came in by herself when we first opened today. She looked to be around twelve. I went over to talk to her because it was so odd her being here all alone. She said her mom was too sick to come for supper, but she hoped she could bring some food home.”

      Kala’s heart quickened. “Did she say where they were living?”

      “No, but it had to be in the ByWard Market area somewhere. Somewhere nearby. We packed up two plates of food and sent her home with them.”

      “So close,” murmured Kala. “I wonder if I could leave my phone number with you in case you see them again. It’s really important that I find them.” It was even more important if Rosie was too sick to come for dinner.

      “You been looking a long time?”

      “Yeah. A long time.”

      “I’ll keep an eye out.” Maya took the card Kala handed her and tucked it into her pocket. “I’ll spread the word at the Ottawa Mission and see if I can find out anything for you.”

      “I’ll be forever in your debt.”

      Kala walked out into the brisk winter night. She jogged back to her truck and started the engine while she scraped the snow off the windshield of her truck. Flakes sparkled like granulated sugar in the street light. She took a moment to watch their silent descent before tossing the scrapper into the passenger seat and climbing in after it. The heater was on high but cold air was blasting into the cab. It would take a few more minutes to warm up. The street was all but deserted. She liked the calm of the night and the snow drifting down. What more did one need but a truck, homemade pie in the belly, and a warm bed waiting?

      A man in a dark coat and Santa hat came out of a tavern and started walking toward her. He glanced in her direction as he passed her truck and nodded his head. His footprints left a crooked path through the snow.

      You might have had it tough too.

      Was her life’s story written on her face or was Maya a witch who saw inside people’s souls? Kala believed in a universe bigger than herself. Not in a god, exactly, but laws of nature that had to be respected. She thought that Maya might be more in tune with the rhythms of the land and water than most. In her home town, Maya would have been one of the Elders — one of the people in the community the others would go to for guidance.

      I’ve seen things that no one should have to see. I’ve done things that I’m not proud of.

      Images in her mind were coming back that she’d long closed away. It was this search for Rosie awakening past terrors. She didn’t want to think about all the places she’d lived. The times she’d been scared and the reasons she lived alone. All the people she’d left behind.

      You might have had it tough, too.

      The snow was coming down heavier. Flakes were sliding down the defrosting windshield while a coating of snow was piling on the hood of the truck. It felt safe in this wintery cocoon where sounds were muffled and the sharp bite of the wind was kept at bay.

      She leaned back until her head was on the headrest and closed her eyes. It would be just fine to fall asleep like she’d done so many summers in her truck on summer canoe trips in the far North. Alone and safe with nobody knowing where she was. All alone, with Taiku, that is, with the exception of the summer before when Jordan had come with her. Two weeks canoeing the Fraser River as if they belonged together. Forgetting for fourteen days that he belonged to somebody else. She had nobody to blame now but herself for letting it go so far. She’d known better even as she kissed him back the first night they spent together after he’d told her that his marriage was over. She’d wanted so much to believe him that she’d ignored the warning signals going off in her head. Stupid. Stupid.

      She forced her eyes open and pushed herself upright. This wasn’t summer, and she wasn’t alone on a bush road with nothing but wilderness stretched out in front of her. It was the middle of a big city in the middle of winter. If she didn’t get moving soon, she’d have to get out and sweep the snow off the truck again. She checked the dark corners of the street one more time, put the truck into gear, and eased her way onto the road, thinking now only about laying her head on a pillow and closing her eyes for a night’s sleep.

      15

      Sunday, December 25, 11:15 a.m.

      Rouleau sat across from his dad and watched him open the gifts he’d picked up the night before. The Brian McKillop biography of Pierre Burton was a stroke of genius and the book on North American birds received a fair bit of attention. His father opened the down comforter last.

      “Tiens, tiens,” he said. “Now isn’t this something?”

      “Do you like it, Dad?”

      “It’ll keep me good and warm I should think. The apartment’s been