Olivia's Mine by Janine McCaw

the
mountain was safe and sound. They signed it, and they put a seal on
it, and they left us a copy. I need that copy Sarah.”
    This rang a bell with her.
    “Oh yes, I remember the men. Quite
distinguished, weren’t they?” Sarah appeared to go off into
dreamland.
    McMichael coughed loudly bringing her back to
reality.
    “Oh, the report! Ah, no sir, I’ve been
looking all over for it. I thought you might want it. I know it is
here somewhere…”
    “Sarah, do you realize how important that
piece of paper is?” His voice was full of exasperation.
    He leaned over her desk, and a drop of
perspiration fell from his forehead onto the ledger she was working
on.
    “Yes sir,” she said, trembling. She felt
herself turning red despite her wishes to the contrary. A wave of
nausea passed over her. “I wish I could remember…”
    She could feel the icy stare through to her
bones. His eyes moved from her face to the wall behind her, and she
was glad he was focusing on something else.
    “Sarah,” McMichael said sharply. “What is
that bundle of paper you have hanging on a string with a
clothespin? Over there, behind the filing cabinet. The one with the
seal imprinted on the last page that I can see from here?”
    “Oh,” Sarah sighed, relieved. “There it is.
Now I remember. I had spilled tea on it yesterday and hung it there
to dry. You remember when I did that, you were going on about
Ruby…”
    “Lose it again Sarah, and I will
hang you out to
dry.”
    Sarah’s eyes began to well up. The pressure
of the last twenty-four hours was taking its toll on McMichael, and
his rage, which often lay just below the surface, was well above it
now.
    “Give it to me,” he yelled, no longer able to
hold his own composure.
    He wished that Ruby were his only problem
this morning. How much simpler things were yesterday. McMichael
took the report, slammed the door leading into his private office
and poured himself a stiff drink of Canadian rye whiskey. He had
earned it.
    There was a knock at the door.
    “Oh, for the love of God, Sarah!” McMichael
said and stormed over, opening the door with some force. “What
now?”
    But it wasn’t Sarah. There standing before
him was a man, dressed in a crisp navy blue uniform. The man, all
six-foot four of him, was of impressive stature. McMichael sized
him up quickly. The stranger appeared slightly younger than he was,
but McMichael sensed maturity in the man that went well beyond his
apparent chronological years.
    “J.W. McMichael, I presume? Sergeant Rudy
Wolanski,” the man said. “Vancouver Police. I’ve been stationed
here indefinitely by Chief Stuart Collin. I believe the two of you
are acquainted. He sends his regards. Now, why don’t you tell me
what the hell happened here last night?”
    “Excuse me, Mr. McMichael,” Sarah stammered,
“I didn’t get to announce him properly. I didn’t catch his name. He
just went scooting by me. And he has a badge and a gun and
all…”
    “There’s no problem Sarah,” McMichael said,
his voice suddenly finding insincere friendliness. “This is the
constable you said they were going to send up, Officer
Wolanski.”
    “Um, well actually there is sir,” she
said.
    She gazed at the stranger, thinking how
attractive he was and how single she was. This man, she sized up in
her own way, was quite something. He had a handsome, rugged look
about him, with a scar above his left eye. The scar dissected his
eyebrow, giving him a slightly roguish look. His moustache, the
same sandy blond as his closed-cropped hair, was neatly trimmed
below a nose that revealed it had been broken once or twice, which
in her estimation, only added character to his features. He was
tall, taller than most of the men in town, and just how tall she
was hoping to get close enough to, to tell.
    “There is what, Sarah?" he queried with some
exasperation in his voice.
    “Oh yes. A problem,” she giggled, blushing
like a teenager. “Mrs. Schwindt just called. She says