It was immediately clear to Elizabeth why none of the three Vecchio children in the house used Isabel's studio as a bedroom. The narrow basement room was a glorified storage closet barely large enough to hold the twin-bed air mattress with a round, glass-topped patio side table as a nightstand. The sole window, with a creaky-looking frame and single-pane glass that had frosted at the corners, was too small and set too high in the wall to comply with modern fire regulations. A single overhead bulb affixed to the bare floor joists lit the room. Only one short wall was finished in drywall and decorated with pink and purple flowers on a light rose background. Isabel's studio lights and tripod had been stuffed in the corner next to the mural.
Elizabeth could hear every footstep on the ground floor as she unpacked into the mid-century wardrobe. It still held two loud jackets that she recognized from her father's old photos. It was touching, she thought, that Ray would keep something sentimental at his sister's house. It did not occur to Elizabeth that Francesca might be secretly hoarding them to use as blackmail, long after they had never been in fashion.
Elizabeth placed her shoes and boots next to the wardrobe, neatly folded her civilian clothes into the drawers, then hung her uniforms, grouping all their components together. The brown jacket went with the straight leg pants and the scarlet tunic with the breeches. Accessories for each went in a drawstring bag attached to each hanger.
When she finished, she collapsed onto the air mattress, which jiggled under her weight. Montgomery glared at her from the corner. The only space large enough for the wolf to lie down was cold, bare concrete.
"I'll ask Francesca for a rug." She leaned her elbows on her knees and let her shoulders sink down.
Montgomery whined.
"I can't go back up there now. They'll never let me leave."
Although the Yukon was two hours behind Central Time and it wasn't yet bedtime for Francesca's household, Elizabeth felt as though she'd crossed an ocean. Weariness weighed in her bones. The thought of climbing the steep stairs, plunging into the living room chatter, and dodging more questions about what happened at the police station was unbearable. So was the thought of calling her mother back.
As Montgomery scratched at the door, Elizabeth folded one of the three blankets Francesca had provided and placed it on the floor. The wolf sniffed it with suspicion, but finally settled upon it.
"You've slept in snowbanks. Only a few hours and Chicago is already making you soft. What will you do when we go home?"
Though exhausted, Elizabeth was not ready to sleep. Her mind spun in a million directions. At times like these, she had always called Tamara. Tamara could untangle the knot of Elizabeth's confused feelings, separating anger from guilt, guilt from sadness, and give her permission to laugh at all of it. Usually by laughing at Elizabeth.
Tamara could never do that again.
Instead of reaching for her case notes, Elizabeth reached for the folded notepaper her father had given her the night she decided to go to Chicago. He'd taken most of the evening to write a draft, repeatedly touching his pen to his chin before scrawling a line or two, then crossing them out and starting over. When he was finally satisfied, he had copied the draft onto a clean sheet of paper, folded it in quarters, and told her not to read it until she was on the plane.
Elizabeth,
I have tried to teach you all I know about policing, and you have been the most diligent student any teacher could dream of. Yet my lessons have focused on the northern mountains and not on the wider world. A person can lose themselves in the city as easily as they can in the wilderness and danger can wear a smiling face. I fear that my stories of my Chicago years focused too much on laughter and not enough on learning, and it would take years to remedy that failure. Instead, I have tried, in whatever way I can, to distil some wisdom from those years. Follow these rules and, hopefully, you will avoid some painful mistakes.
YOU ARE READING
Northern Lights: A Due South Novel
FanfictionConstable Elizabeth Fraser thought she'd spend her whole career policing the Canadian north. As a third generation Mountie, she knows how to track suspects through wilderness, handle a dog sled team, and press a scarlet tunic in a log cabin, but onl...