do the same. She then told me that the pelts wouldn’t be safe in the storage locker. Because she, Catherine Gale, had found them, the new player, whoever the new player is, could also find them. We don’t know what Catherine Gale is, but I doubt there’s only one of her.”
“That’s a thought to give a person nightmares,” Amelia murmured. Catherine Gale reminded her of the nuns who’d taught at her primary school—only with the powers that terrified children had always assumed the nuns could manifest. Two of whatever Catherine Gale was, well, that was two too many.
“The conclusion that best fits the facts we have,” Paul continued, “is that Two Seventy-five N have hired something like her to retrieve the pelts. We therefore know they can find the storage locker. Catherine Gale believes the mine will hide the pelts from the new player long enough for the permit to clear if they’re in a tunnel that extends under water.”
Amelia tapped her upper lip, wondered if it was time for more collagen, and said, “Do we believe her? She could want the pelts in the mine for her own reasons.”
“Does it matter? For whatever reason, she doesn’t want them found, and that works in your favor.”
A significant part of Paul’s job description involved shoveling through the details to find the bottom line and, bottom line: Catherine Gale, seal pelts, and the availability of the Duke all came back to keeping imaginary creatures the hell out of her business. Carlson Oil had everything tied up in this well. In order to pay for the platform, the refinery, a new rail line—not to mention bribes and “entertainment” of local officials—she’d sold what she could and borrowed against what was left. If she had to hire a character from a fairy tale to stop a character from a fairy tale in order to finally get that oil out of the ground, then so be it.
“Take the pelts to the mine.” A raised hand held him in place. “Tomorrow,” she told him after a moment spent appreciating the way he’d instantly responded to her gesture. “The rest of today is booked solid and I need you here.”
“Tomorrow, then. Catherine Gale did say it would take a while for the new player to get up to speed,” he added making a note on his phone.
“How convenient her information dovetails with my needs.” When Paul ducked his head in silent apology, reminded of which she he worked for, Amelia pushed a government file folder across her desk. “Right now, we’ve kept the honorable member of parliament for Cape Breton South waiting long enough.” Long enough he knew her time was valuable but not so long as to devalue his. “Send him in on your way out to find me a chair exactly like the one in my Halifax office.”
“That particular chair won’t fit behind the desk, Ms. Carlson.”
“Then replace the desk.” The Gale woman had obviously rattled him; she shouldn’t have had to tell him that. “Oh, and have the room painted. I can’t work in this shade of green.”
Jack’s family lunch turned out to be a picnic in Nose Hill Park with an aunt, an uncle, and seven cousins. Aunt Judith and Uncle Randy weren’t married to each other, but both of their mates were at work.
“We don’t say mates,” Aunt Judith corrected.
Jack cocked his head and frowned. “Why not?”
It was another one of those things no one had a good answer for, so he let it go. Maybe Allie would explain later.
When he’d decided to be more Gale, he’d forgotten that he was pretty much exactly in between the cousins who’d come west for university and the cousins who’d come west with their parents. The older cousins were all working . . .
Jack stared down at his vanilla-glazed, custard cream doughnut with sprinkles and snorted. “You know this isn’t actually food, right?”
“You can’t smoke in here,” Melissa sighed.
. . . so today was all about the kids. He didn’t mind. He’d been youngest for so long, it was kind of cool being
“That’s a thought to give a person nightmares,” Amelia murmured. Catherine Gale reminded her of the nuns who’d taught at her primary school—only with the powers that terrified children had always assumed the nuns could manifest. Two of whatever Catherine Gale was, well, that was two too many.
“The conclusion that best fits the facts we have,” Paul continued, “is that Two Seventy-five N have hired something like her to retrieve the pelts. We therefore know they can find the storage locker. Catherine Gale believes the mine will hide the pelts from the new player long enough for the permit to clear if they’re in a tunnel that extends under water.”
Amelia tapped her upper lip, wondered if it was time for more collagen, and said, “Do we believe her? She could want the pelts in the mine for her own reasons.”
“Does it matter? For whatever reason, she doesn’t want them found, and that works in your favor.”
A significant part of Paul’s job description involved shoveling through the details to find the bottom line and, bottom line: Catherine Gale, seal pelts, and the availability of the Duke all came back to keeping imaginary creatures the hell out of her business. Carlson Oil had everything tied up in this well. In order to pay for the platform, the refinery, a new rail line—not to mention bribes and “entertainment” of local officials—she’d sold what she could and borrowed against what was left. If she had to hire a character from a fairy tale to stop a character from a fairy tale in order to finally get that oil out of the ground, then so be it.
“Take the pelts to the mine.” A raised hand held him in place. “Tomorrow,” she told him after a moment spent appreciating the way he’d instantly responded to her gesture. “The rest of today is booked solid and I need you here.”
“Tomorrow, then. Catherine Gale did say it would take a while for the new player to get up to speed,” he added making a note on his phone.
“How convenient her information dovetails with my needs.” When Paul ducked his head in silent apology, reminded of which she he worked for, Amelia pushed a government file folder across her desk. “Right now, we’ve kept the honorable member of parliament for Cape Breton South waiting long enough.” Long enough he knew her time was valuable but not so long as to devalue his. “Send him in on your way out to find me a chair exactly like the one in my Halifax office.”
“That particular chair won’t fit behind the desk, Ms. Carlson.”
“Then replace the desk.” The Gale woman had obviously rattled him; she shouldn’t have had to tell him that. “Oh, and have the room painted. I can’t work in this shade of green.”
Jack’s family lunch turned out to be a picnic in Nose Hill Park with an aunt, an uncle, and seven cousins. Aunt Judith and Uncle Randy weren’t married to each other, but both of their mates were at work.
“We don’t say mates,” Aunt Judith corrected.
Jack cocked his head and frowned. “Why not?”
It was another one of those things no one had a good answer for, so he let it go. Maybe Allie would explain later.
When he’d decided to be more Gale, he’d forgotten that he was pretty much exactly in between the cousins who’d come west for university and the cousins who’d come west with their parents. The older cousins were all working . . .
Jack stared down at his vanilla-glazed, custard cream doughnut with sprinkles and snorted. “You know this isn’t actually food, right?”
“You can’t smoke in here,” Melissa sighed.
. . . so today was all about the kids. He didn’t mind. He’d been youngest for so long, it was kind of cool being
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