BOILER

Chapter 7

Toland's long career as a detective on the murder circuit coupled with a reluctance of ever putting a hand in his pocket had him in a good place financially. That position was boosted by his marriage to the daughter of two architects who herself was a chemist. They lived at the edge of town, in a quiet area that had views of more than high-rise brick. There was a forest of pine trees that rolled out ahead of the east, and the mountains of the wilds cut at the horizon beyond.

The streetlights there were the coach kind Jack the Ripper would've dodged. There were trees along the road and bushes all clipped with the care you might keep for a baby's thumbnail. Charlie took a bottle of red wine out of the passenger foot well and went through a cast-iron gate up to the house. The cat, Jasper, a pretty, green-eyed, grey-furred thing watched him come from a window.

Toland let him in, taking the wine, reading the label and nodding, satisfied. He looked Charlie up and down.

'What's wrong?' Charlie asked.

'Nothing. You're fine.'

'How was it up at the school?'

Toland grumbled. 'Don't ask.'

He brought Charlie through to the dining room. Helen said, 'Hi,' from the kitchen. 'Make yourself at home, Charlie.'

'I'll do that,' Charlie said. 'You know, I was in two minds about coming over, but when Jim said you were doing the cooking, I knew I'd be keeping it down.'

'I can cook just fine,' Toland said, going out to the kitchen. He mentioned the wine to Helen. The tone was positive. Helen went to a drawer, took out a yellow envelope, and held it out for Toland.

'What's that?' Toland asked, setting the bottle down. He took the envelope and turned it over. Mr and Mrs Toland was written on the paper in black ink.

'I found it in the mail.'

Toland pulled a note out from the envelope.

'Who's Miss Jude?' he asked.

'Our daughter's teacher. That note is a complaint about her recent behaviour.'

'This has been going on for weeks now and must be addressed.' Toland read.

'So should we have a talk with her, or what?'

'You need to have a talk with her. It's the girls at school saying her daddy is a bad man that's stirring her up like this.'

He dropped the card in the trash, opened the wine and poured a glass. He leaned against the counter and folded his arms. 'She doesn't listen to me.'

'I might sympathise with you if I could remember the last time you tried to talk to her. You have to talk to her.'

***

Charlie wandered into the living room. He stood in there, looking around the family photos and admiring a metronome that had belonged to Toland's grandparents. He poked it into action when the cat walked by the way they like to — like they'd had a fight two days ago, and he wasn't out of the woods yet. He followed it back to the dining room where Helen was laying out cutlery. She came around the table and gave him a hug, and the light slipped over the silver streaks in her hair. She had a voice not heard since femme fatales were in black and white.

'How've you been, Charlie?'

'Been doing fine. How's life with misery out there?'

She smiled. 'I broke his favourite wine glass. It was the same as all the others he has, but he'd grown attached, somehow.'