Cloutier handed Clare a brown Tim Hortons cup identical to his own. Extra large, which meant he wasn’t in a rush to get away. He took a seat on the park bench beside her.
“Still want to resign, hot shot?”
The paper cup was hot, even doubled up. Clare opened the lid and blew on the black coffee. “I already have. The police force will hardly want me back after I bailed at the first sign of failure.”
“On the contrary.” Cloutier shook out two cigarettes from his pack and passed one to Clare. “I know a couple of us who are impressed you kept working even when you weren’t technically employed.”
Clare accepted the cigarette and a light. Tim Hortons and duMaurier—the flavors of her teenage years back home. If she didn’t know better, she’d say Cloutier was trying to make her comfortable on purpose.
He said, “I wouldn’t make quitting a regular thing. But if you’re still interested in being a cop, I think we can convince the powers that be to not accept your resignation.”
“I don’t want to be a cop.” Clare shook her head. “Not if I have to go back to uniform. To paperwork. To break and enters and bicycle theft.”
She panned her gaze around Queen’s Park Circle, the lush green space that separated the eastern and central St. George campus. The parliament buildings were a majestic backdrop. In not even two weeks, she’d come to love her life here as a student.
“Suit yourself. So you gonna tell me how you figured Jessica Dunne for the killer?”
Clare took a drag. “I took a friend’s advice by accident.”
“Huh?”
“As soon as I stopped thinking about my own performance—trying to prove I could be so great at my job—I could see the information more clearly. Even though I was only supposed to be an awkward probe.” She shot him a meaningful grin.
He snorted. “It’s too bad you’re not coming back. There was this assignment I thought might interest you.”
“Huh?” Clare spun her neck to face him. “Like, undercover?”
“You know how to play poker?”
“I can hold my own at Texas Hold’em. I haven’t played much stud or draw. Why, am I one of the guys now? You inviting me to a game?”
“Not quite. There have been a couple deaths on the pro poker circuit. All the regular casino undercovers are as good as made by the players, so the feelers are out for someone new. Someone who doesn’t fit the stereotype.”
“I’d love to.” Clare would have clapped her hands, but they were full.
YOU ARE READING
Dead Politician Society
Mystery / ThrillerThe mayor of Toronto collapses and dies while making a speech. The newspaper receives an email -- a fake obituary that claims credit for his murder. The note is signed by a secret society at a prestigious downtown university. Clare Vengel is given h...
