“Huh?” said Hazel.

“I heard some shouting.”

“Oh… it was just a rough day.”

“It’s hard being in this situation, huh? Living here. With Dad and Glynnis.”

“It’s temporary, honey.” She recognized the handwriting on all of the cards, she thought.

“Is that what you were upset about?”

“It’s okay,” said Hazel.

“Are you listening to me?”

She turned sharply to Martha. “Sorry, sweetie. Honestly, you don’t have to worry. Today had nothing to do with you.”

“Why do you think I’d be concerned only if it had something to do with me?”

“I don’t…” She got up from the couch, with difficulty, and wiped her hands on her slacks. “Are all these gifts from you and Nanna and the, um, Pedersens?”

“Mum, why don’t you want to talk to me?”

Hazel looked down at her daughter. It was getting hard to think straight. It felt like her brain was bumping around inside her head. Pay attention, she told herself. “I do. You know… recovering from surgery has been hard. Going back to work has been hard. And it was a rough sixty-second birthday. But it’s better now.”

“Nanna is worried about you.”

“I know, but I promise you,” Hazel said, looking Martha in the eye, “that everything is okay and that everything is going to be okay.”

“Good,” said Martha.

Emily emerged from the kitchen and started down the hall. “You ready for us?”

“Actually… Mum, if you wouldn’t mind, could you pass me the phone?”

Emily gave her a look and then retreated to the kitchen and came back with the portable. “You want to invite someone else over?”

“Sort of,” she said, and she dialled the number of the station house. Wilton answered. “Spencer? Who’s on shift tonight?” She listened. “Will you ask MacDonald to put down what he’s doing and come over here, please?”

“What?” said Emily.

Hazel cupped the phone. “I’ll explain in a second.” She put the phone back to her ear. “Yeah, as soon as he can.”

She passed the phone back to her mother. Andrew and Glynnis were standing in the hallway behind her now. Andrew was drying a wineglass. “What’s going on?”

“We had a bit of a scare at the detachment on Tuesday. A gift that we weren’t expecting.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t think you want to know,” she said.

Martha had stepped away from the sitting room and was standing in the hallway behind her mother. She quietly took Hazel’s hand. “There’s nothing to worry about,” Hazel said. “Sean MacDonald is a trained scene-of-crime officer and he’ll know what to do.”

“Scene of crime?” Emily said, rather incredulously.

“It’s nothing to worry about.”

“Is he going to blow up your presents or something?” Martha asked.

Hazel squeezed her hand. “No. But he’ll tell us if I can open them.”

Glynnis made some more camomile tea while they waited, and they sat in the kitchen together, stiffly. “Most of that stuff in there is from us,” Andrew said. “And the rest is from people you know. The Chandlers came by with something. Your deputy dropped a couple of things off.”

“You saw him? Wingate?”

“I did,” said Glynnis.

“And he said the gifts were from him?”

“He said they were from your staff. Nothing was ticking, as far as I can tell,” she said.

“Well, I still think we should wait for MacDonald.”

“Never a dull moment,” said Andrew.

The sergeant arrived ten minutes later, and she took him aside and explained her concerns. He nodded seriously. He held his kit bag up. “I got a chemical swiper thing in here,” he said. “And some litmus strips.”

“You’re going to test whether my gifts are too acidic, Sean?”

“Maybe.”

“Just get to it. Don’t blow up the house.”

He vanished into the sitting room, and she stood apart from the others, waiting. She couldn’t untense her hands. After a few minutes, she took a couple more steps backward down the hall. Glynnis poked her head out of the kitchen. “You want us to wait outside?”

“Or in Fort Leonard, maybe?” called Andrew.

“I’m sorry, okay? Just better safe than…”

“Than what?” asked Glynnis.

“Never mind.”

MacDonald whistled while he went over the packages. Five minutes turned into ten. Finally, he was done and he emerged into the hallway.

“No strange lumps, no wires sticking out, no oilstains, nothing stinky or rattly. No animals or bodily fluids. I’d say you’re all clear. Unless you don’t like fifteen-year-old Glenfarclas.”

“What?”

“Ray Greene sent you a nice bottle.”

She frowned at him. “How do you know that?”

“I had to open the packages. But I resealed them. Nice to get something from your old deputy, huh? No hard feelings.”

“All right, thank you, Sean. You can go now.”

He smiled at her – he loved doing SOCO stuff and the opportunity so rarely came up – and she told him to wait a minute. She went back into the kitchen and sliced him a thick piece of the vanilla cake Glynnis had made, and put it on a plate and brought it back to him. “Just leave the plate with Melanie when you’re done.”

“Should I frisk it first?”

“Sure, you do that.”

She asked Martha to help her bring the gifts downstairs. Knowing that there was something from Ray had put her off opening the presents more than the possibility of finding a body part or a bomb had. Some nerve: not a word for months, and then a birthday present. It pissed her off.

Martha put the gifts on the table downstairs and helped her mother arrange the room. It was still a mess from earlier. When she was done, she said she’d leave her alone and maybe see her in the morning. Then she stood at the door to the stairs, looking forlorn and lost.

“What is it, honey? Why the faraway look?”

Martha shook her head instead of speaking, a worrisome prelude to tears. But she settled herself down and said, “That was weird, huh?”

“Yeah. A little. That why you’re upset?”

“Well, yeah. I don’t like to think of you being in danger.”

“Aw, sweetie, that’s so nice of you. But don’t you get all -”

“And… well, also… it’s just… look at all the people who care about you. Who love you. Those guys upstairs, and that guy coming from the police station to make sure you’re safe. All these people sending you gifts.”

“Maybe they’re just all afraid of me. They’re appeasing me.”

“I know,” Martha said distractedly. “It’s just…”

“It’s just what, sweetie?”

Martha leaned against the wall beside the door. The whole room was between them. “You have so many people in your life. So does Dad. You’re both just… naturally likeable. I wish I had that talent.”

“No one sees themselves the way others see them,” Hazel said. “You could never see yourself the way I do. And for your information, I don’t feel that loveable myself.”

“Well, obviously, other people disagree.”

“Maybe you just need to get out and be around people more, hon. You can’t have people in your life if you’re hiding from them.”

Martha nodded, her tongue stiff against the inside of her upper lip. Hazel had known it was the wrong thing to say the instant it was out of her mouth. Her daughter stood up straight against the wall. “So I’m living under a rock? What do you know about how I spend my time?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to accuse you -”

“I go to the gym, I go out with friends, I go to the library. You think Toronto is the kind of place you strike up conversations with people on the street? And then they come home for a cup of Lemon Zinger and you’re BFFs?”

“You’re what?”

“Never mind.” She turned and opened the door sharply. Hazel crossed the room quickly and put her hand on her daughter’s.

“Hey – wait… I’m sorry, Martha. Honestly. I hate saying the wrong thing. I only want you to be happy and feel loved.”

“I know,” said Martha, quietly. She was already embarrassed that she’d shown her vulnerability to her mother. She was always see-sawing back and forth between appearing strong and being helpless. She hated it. “I should let you get some rest.” She still hadn’t looked her mother in the eye.