Page 94 of Patio Lanterns

“Oh, I will, I will,” Dove said, beaming. “Come on. Let’s get back to the party, and I’ll buy you a free drink.”

While the crowd thinned out, the revelry continued after midnight. The circle of friends gathered around the fire had grown a bit smaller, with two, maybe three dozen of the hardier partiers staying to enjoy the hospitality.

As the music continued playing and people continued dancing, Robin couldn’t help but think how much her mother would’ve loved that the festivities were still going strong. Back in the day, Micki and Marc were infamous for being among the last to leave the neighbourhood dock parties. Legends.

As another of her mom’s favourite songs began to play, Robin found her hips swaying to the disco beat. After slipping in with the other dancers eager to get down, she spotted Rick engaged in conversation with Carl Koskie and a few of the other neighbourhood men. There’s my boyfriend.

They locked eyes and he held her gaze. She wiggled her fingers at him. He returned her smile with a knowing wink, watching her boogie. A moment later, he excused himself and made his way to her, nestling his hand on the curve of her hip and falling in step with smooth moves of his own. Either the hot gossip about them—gasp!—dancing together was already old news, or else no one had ever really given a rat’s ass, because no one was making a fuss now. Obviously, their canoodling hadn’t stirred quite the uproar that Lark made it out to be.

The thumping bass reverberated in Robin’s chest, pulsing through her endorphin-fuelled body as she lost herself in the rhythm. Rick took her hand and twirled her around. She threw her head back laughing, dancing without a care in the world, and spinning freely as an electric rainbow of lights whirled by in euphoric flashes of colour. The reds. The blues. The lights burned so bright it was almost blinding. Red. Blue. Red.

Wait a minute. Those aren't patio lanterns.

The cops.

Robin froze, as did the rest of the party. Dizzy from spinning, her eyes needed a moment to re-focus as a pair of uniformed officers climbed out of the Ontario Provincial Police cruiser in the driveway.

“All right, who's the party pooper who called the fuzz?” she joked.

Rick immediately went to the van to turn down the volume as Robin dutifully strode past her neighbours to face the music.

“Good evening, officers. I'm sorry, we'll try to keep it down,” she said apologetically. “We held a celebration of life for my mother earlier this evening, and it's evolved into something of a dock party.”

A rather sombre-looking officer with a serious mustache looked down at his notes as he walked towards her. “We’re looking for a Miss Robin Pelletier.”

Shit. Was this a bust? Nah, she had nothing to hide. “Y-yes, that's me,” she said, her heart pounding all the same. “I'm Robin Pelletier. What's this about?”

The second officer politely tipped her hat. “Constable Hayward. I’m afraid it’s a matter of a rather sensitive nature. Is there a more private place we can talk? Perhaps indoors?”

Robin led the police inside the cottage, with Rick and Dove following close behind. Even Mutt seemed to understand the gravity of the situation enough to leave the snack table and go inside with them.

Aidan and Lark, sitting together on the couch, were startled by the sudden presence of law enforcement. “What's going on here?” Lark asked, scrambling to her feet.

“That's what I'd like to know,” Robin said, perching on the arm of the chair behind her. “Did we need a permit for scattering our mother's ashes?”

"No permit is required to scatter ashes on Crown land as long as it's unoccupied," muttered the mustachioed one. His name badge read SINCLAIR.

Well, if it wasn't about disturbing the peace, or contraband, or disposing of cremains without a permit, Robin couldn't figure out for the life of her why the cops were standing in the Blue Canoe Cottage.

"I'm afraid we're here to deliver some rather difficult news," said Constable Hayward, as stoic as her stodgy partner, but with a slightly kinder, gentler expression. "Miss Vera Crawley died this evening. You were listed as a secondary contact at her place of business."

“What?” Robin clapped her hand over her mouth. “B-but I was just with Mrs. C at the store earlier today. She was perfectly fine. What happened?”

"It appears to have been natural causes, but the medical examiner’s report will be more conclusive," Sinclair stated.

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Hayward said. “Is there anyone else you think we should contact?”

“Anyone else?” Robin searched her mind. “I really don't know. She never married, there were no children or grandchildren. I’m not sure there was anyone else, really.”

Poor Mrs. C, all alone. Robin had known her almost all her life and yet, only really got to know her over the past week. The hollowness in her chest ached. How sad it was that Mrs. C didn’t have anyone closer to her in case of emergency.

“She didn’t have any next of kin?” Lark asked, posed in her usual take-charge stance in the middle of the room.

“She never mentioned anyone other than our great-grandmother,” Robin told her. “They were best friends.”

Dove put her hand on Robin’s shoulder. “I guess in a way, that does make us family.”

Mutt limped over to Robin and rested his chin on her leg. She stroked his furry head and peered into his gentle, consoling eyes.

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