Elwood locked his office and walked to the front door of the bank with the receptionist, locking that and bidding her good evening. He watched her stride off down the street and automatically contemplated an office session together. Stella replaced the image and he snapped his attention back to the present. Another honey trap was all he needed.

His concern now was Ray Simmons and what kind of trouble he might cause. Stella wasn't upset enough, he felt; it wasn't her job on the line for the criminal activities she'd coerced him into. He pictured them together again in his office and moaned aloud over his dilemma. Four o'clock closing left him with plenty of time to get home, shower, change and gather his thoughts. They needed to thrash this out and come to some new terms; he'd emphasize that when she called... if she did.

He strode down the sidewalk to the drive and walked back to where his car sat in the shade of a huge maple. The crunch of tires caused him to turn and he jerked nervously as Garth Williams drew alongside in his cruiser. The passenger window came down slowly and Elwood leaned toward it.

"Is there a problem, Garth?" He looked back at the safety of his automobile but didn't move.

"You tell me, Woody. Get in."

"I'm just on my way—"

"In the car. Now." Elwood opened the door to the passenger side and clambered in, shutting it carefully and turning to face Garth.

"What's wrong? Why—"

"What did you tell Simmons?"

"Who, Simmons? Oh- you mean the one asking about—"

"Don't waste my time, Woody. Answer the friggin' question."

"Nothing! I told him nothing." Elwood's hands waved like an orchestra conductor's. "How did you—?"

"So why did you call Stella and say that, 'he knew'?"

"Hmmm? Uh- because- because..."

"Because you're an asshole, Woody. You coulda just told him to get on his horse, you didn't have to even talk to him."

"For your information I'm in the public service business. I can't ignore people coming into the bank. I didn't know who he was or what he wanted. Besides, what business is this of yours?" As soon as he asked he realized the truth. Stella and Williams were partners. Why had he been so blind as to think she was running her scheme all alone? Of course Williams was in on it; weren't they ex lovers after all? Another thought occurred—they weren't ex lovers. This was looking even worse.

"It's very much my business Woody and not one I'm about to let a little prick like you mess up."

"I never wanted any part of this!" Elwood protested. "Why am I even involved, I'm not getting anything out of it?"

"You got what you wanted, up front—literally." Garth's smile was pure evil. "That's what happens when you make decisions with your hammer instead of head." Elwood turned a rust colour in the dashboard light. "Just remember your part in this. Screw up and I'll personally hang you out to dry." Garth let the statement hang between them for a minute and then told him to get out.

"You have no idea how dangerous this is for me!" He tried again.

"If you want danger, Woody, your headin' in the right direction. Now get out."

"I have to watch everyone in the place when those packages come in."

"If I hear any more outta you, Woody, you're package is gonna be watched by everyone, period. Remember Stella's camera pictures?"

"She wouldn't..." His voice broke.

"Oh yeah... she would." Garth leaned across and opened the door. "Now get out and keep your mouth shut."

Elwood climbed out of the car and with a sinking heart he watched the cruiser make a u-turn and roll down the drive. He needed his shower more than ever.

******

Ray sat in the corner booth of the Lazy Daffodil, a too dainty café run by a pair of silver-haired fairy godmothers. Twyla, the larger and older of the pair worked the kitchen and the cash, while Mildred, in a gingham apron, swanned about the few tables tending to the diner's needs with little touches on the shoulders and half curtsies with each delivery or removal of dishes.

The sign on the tiny, off the main drag restaurant, had boasted REAL home cooked meals for discriminating diners and Ray figured he could be discriminating, so now he found himself stuck with a lace napkin, cut glass bread and butter plates and water glass and a menu offering some very simple meals.

Apparently, 'REAL' home cooking consisted of mainly peas, mashed potatoes and either pork or beef or the day's special, which this day was chicken in a secret sauce and the same veggies. Mildred was trying so hard he couldn't refuse to eat there so he opted for the pork. Twyla leaned around the kitchen door and toodle-dood him. Did he want cranberries or applesauce? Ray chose cranberries.

He took out his binder and began leafing through the notes he'd taken from the police file and halted at his question marked section on the two visits by Williams and Hersch. This was another question that bugged him. It didn't sound right that they wouldn't enter two visits in their patrol log, and was really strange that they didn't question Oliver Attura.

His problem now was how did he ask Williams about that without giving away the fact that he'd seen the file? He lifted the heavy water glass and took a swallow, surprised to find it had a hint of lemon, which was quite refreshing. He read some more and then put the binder aside and stared at the floral wallpaper and the faux gold-framed watercolours around the walls.

Large colourful ribbons were used to tie back the frilly curtains adorning the windows and tiny flower boxes hung from each sill. Ray found it almost oppressively feminine and gave himself a small laugh comparing the two women to Stella, for example. That thought prompted another and immediately he was back brooding over his notes.

Stella had made the rental arrangement with Elwood Peters. She told him the amount to collect. Why did he do it, were they in cahoots? Why? Five hundred dollars wasn't a retirement fund. Did she have some deal with Oliver or did Oliver do a deal with Elwood somehow? Stella and Oliver... that thought interested him for some reason.

Russell Church suddenly popped into his mind. Why? He turned back to the provincial police interviews and reread the statements of both Oliver and Russell. They had no real connection other than being in the same graduating class but Ray had a crawling feeling about his unexpected focus on the two young men.

Mildred arrived, curtsying, and placed a gold-rimmed china plate loaded with steaming potatoes, peas and a monstrous slab of delicious looking pork. A separate bowl of cranberry sauce with a tiny silver spoon followed. The water glass was refilled and Mildred bowed away as from royalty. Ray tossed the binder aside and dug in with both hands. It was 'SUR-REAL' home cooking!

******

Oliver Attura leaned in the dorm doorway smiling. His final year of university placed him in the enviable position of one who had wisdom of the skills required in surviving the campus life and consequently he was using it to his advantage, hosting small parties for the freshmen disguised as orientation meetings. Oliver had begun his pursuit of a lifestyle that require little more than the weakness of those around him and his ability to exploit it for considerable financial gain.

The beginning had been tough, with a number of incidents involving people more seasoned in his chosen career, leaving him in considerable pain and more often than not, without product or money, but Oliver had endured and eventually gained the necessary respect to become an insider in the sale of domestic drugs.

The five classmates currently visiting his campus dorm room and availing themselves of that product, at an exorbitant fee, huddled around his coffee table, heads bent over snail-like streaks of white powder, all snorting noisily through rolled bills. They all thought this was the norm for getting in with the right crowd.

He was already in charge of the graduation blast off weekend in Thompson Bay and the woman he'd dealt with proved very interested in the same product he was sharing with his current charges. It hadn't taken much to read her character over the phone. The voice and the acceptance of flattery and double entendres all pointed to boredom in her home life and an open mind to adventure. It would be nice to expand his market to help supplement the style of life he was anticipating. He wasn't planning on writing résumés for tiresome jobs in some corporate office; instead he was counting the huge income he saw in his future as supplier to the fools.

Some of his fellow graduates posed exciting challenges for that weekend and Oliver was celebrating the possibilities with this one last freshman meeting. Two of the three females fell back on the couch with a whoop and began giggling. A moment later they were thrashing around with the one male still functioning. The other couple was staring glaze-eyed at the ceiling. Oliver wiped a bit of powder around his gums and sauntered over to the lone female, taking her hand and hauling her to her feet. She showed him a vacant smile and obediently let him lead her to the bedroom.