Seduced by the Screenwriter

Chapter 17, Game Over, Part 17

Chapter 17

Game Over

Six weeks later, Catrina opened the door to the SereniTea Shoppe and strolled in, Titan at her heels. The four elderly women enjoying afternoon tea ignored Titan as his nails clicked on the hardwood floor past them and through open French doors to the back deck. He immediately dropped and sprawled on his side on bare wood warm from the afternoon March sunshine.

A soggy wedge of snow tobogganed down the shop's metal roof and plopped onto Titan's tail. He scrambled to his feet and wagged it frantically to shake it off. Catrina chuckled. Laughing felt good. It had been a while.

The previous evening, a late snowfall had dumped four inches of sparkling snow. Although eager to share her news with Brigit, Cat remained at the railing, soaking up the sun and lake view. Ice receded from the shores of Lake Muskoka. The city dwellers would descend in the coming weekends to open up their cottages, float their docks, and repair winter damage from wind and wildlife.

Every spring stores, resorts, campgrounds, marinas, golf courses and service providers finalized choices to fill summer jobs. Even the Ontario Provincial Police added seasonal staff to deal with the influx of thousands of visitors, many of whom who got themselves into trouble on the water. Catrina had gathered her courage and submitted an application. It was a big step, but she felt ready. The nightmares woke her only once or twice a week these days. She'd been invited to fill in on two other OPP team dives, and hadn't freaked out, which bolstered her fragile confidence.

 I really can do this.

When she told Brigit about the OPP job application, her friend had briskly observed, "It's about time." Catrina had never shared her struggles with nightmares or the battle to heal from her past experiences, but she suspected that Brigit knew all along that Cat suffered from PTSD.

In the weeks following Chett's departure, Catrina's internal trauma continued to loosen its grip. Instead of being mired most days in her own emotional struggles and exhaustion from lack of sleep, her attention had turned outward. She focused more on other people. Cat belatedly discerned that Brigit was empathic as well as intelligent. The talented baker and pastry chef understood people on a deep level, much like those amateur detectives in the cozy mystery novels she devoured.

Frankly, in Cat's decade as a cop she'd never wasted valuable time on the twisted motivations that drove individuals to break the law. Maybe that was why she'd never made detective. Brigit, on the other hand, loved to psychoanalyze.

Hey, I bet Brigit broke up with good old boy-next-door Brad because he, not the sex, bored her. Made sense that Brigit had wanted to get her floury hands on Chett, an interesting stranger.

Catrina reluctantly stepped out of the warm sun to join her friend. Inside, Brigit stood behind the marble-topped counter. She loaded a tray with a teapot, two cups and saucers, and a white wicker basket filled with fresh scones. She wore a frilly white apron over a blue cotton dress that matched her eyes. Very 1950s. Tourists and the retired four-season cottagers lapped up the nostalgia.

Catrina carried the tray over to a coffee table at the rear of the tearoom, out of the gossip grannies' earshot. She poured two cups of peppermint tea, placed a warm cranberry scone on her saucer, and sank with a sigh into a chintz-covered armchair. Brigit settled into the chair opposite and picked up her teacup.

Hungry, Catrina opened her mouth to bite into the flaky scone just as the cell phone in her fleece pocket rang. She pulled it out, checked the caller ID, then swiped Cancel.