CHAPTER FOUR

Meg sat in a straight-backed wooden chair against the wall of the small parlor in the Abbey. The cozy room was quite changed. The little round table where she took her meals was gone, as was much of the other furniture. A long rectangular table was set up, tribunal-style, though this wasn't a legal proceeding. At the middle of the table, sat Catherine Mimieux, the President of the Federation of Quebec Maple Syrup Producers (aka the Global Strategic Maple Syrup Reserve), and on her left, her Vice President. Filling in the rest of the seats, were the Minister of Commerce, the law enforcement trio - the chiefs of the Surete, the OPP and RCMP - and Brian Forbes, Member of Parliament. These six men and one woman were arrayed on one side of the long table, looking out on the man on the other side.

Fraser, garbed in the brown woolen robe of the Order, sat facing the panel of VIPs. From her perch along the wall, Meg kept a weather eye on him, but he seemed his usual professional self, as he led the officials coherently through the narrative of the Great Northern Maple Syrup Adventure. At least, that's what she had begun to call it, in the privacy of her thoughts.

In the two days since Ray Vecchio had discovered three milliondollars worth of maple syrup stashed in the old NORAD tunnel under the Abbey's kitchen pantry, Fraser's medical condition had improved markedly. Still, she had forced him to be honest with her this morning, before she would allow him to participate in this high level meeting. His tiny room had been crowded with her, Fraser, Brother Nathaniel and his medical paraphernalia.

"I'm fine, sir," he said, as Brother Nathaniel removed the blood pressure cuff from his left arm.

"Benton, remember what we talked about," the doctor admonished, with a stern look.

Fraser looked guilty, then started again. "I'm ... better, sir." At Nathaniel's approving nod, he continued. "I still have a headache, but it's tolerable. My right arm and shoulder are ... uncomfortable, but improving. Except for a tendency to tire easily, I otherwise feel ... normal." He added, with a twinkle, "that is, normal for me."

Nathaniel interjected, "Make sure he gets a chair with a cushion." Then added, "For where he got shot in the can." He chuckled at Ray's joke.

Meg smiled wanly. That joke had gotten old, real fast, and she was too anxious to appreciate a rerun of it now. As he continued with his examination, she said, "I want to be sure you're up to this, Fraser. These are very important people."

"I am, sir," he said, with all the confidence one can muster with an otoscope poking in one's ear.

"Well?" she said, looking at Nathaniel.

He nodded. "Make sure he sits. I meant it about the padded chair. Don't let him overdo."

In the parlor, Meg realized with a start that she had let her mind wander away

from Fraser's narrative. She tuned back in.

He was looking fixedly at President Mimieux. From Fraser's perspective, there were eight people at the table, not counting himself. To the left of MP Forbes, Sergeant Robert Fraser sat in full dress uniform, studying a pile of papers in front of him. His father was behaving himself thus far, but Fraser avoided looking at him. He didn't need any distractions. He had been at this for two hours, now.

He responded to a question put to him by President Mimieux. "To answer your question, ma'am, we had encountered the gentleman before. Detective Vecchio and I had temporarily subdued him and two other men on the barge as they were unloading the contraband at the dock at what we now know is Lake Nipissing. Although, we had confiscated his driver's license at that time, Detective Vecchio and I were not then in a position to take prisoners." He took a breath. "We saw him again at Jake's Café on Highway 63. He was a passenger in a large cargo truck that was pulling away from a fuel pump."

"At that point, you were standing at a public telephone, Fraser. Why didn't you call the Surete then?" This question was from Brian Forbes, MP.

"I knew that it would be some time before the Surete would be able to respond to such a remote location, sir. Even in the time it would take to place the call, the truck would have been gone. I thought it important to ascertain the destination of the contraband. The only way to do that was to stay with it."

"More important than reporting the four dead bodies you and Vecchio left in Ontario?" Forbes said, with a glance at the chief of the OPP.

Fraser paused. "Yes, sir. The men were dead. Nothing more could be done for them. I realize that this delayed the recovery of the bodies and notification of next of kin by another twenty four hours, and I deeply regret that. But, in the circumstances, I judged it more important to stay with the drugs and weapons."

The chief superintendent of the RCMP, John Foster, spoke up. "You stuck with the little fish in hopes of netting the bigger one?"

"In part, sir," he replied. "At that time, it seemed most important that we not let the drugs and weapons get to their destination, untracked, to be disseminated from there."

"Quite right, quite right," said the Surete head, Marcel Proust. "We all know that shutting down these operations at the highest level is the ultimate goal. Too many of the small fry clutter up our courts and prisons, while the sharks swim away."

"How did you know that the truck at Jake's Cafe, a truck which you admit you never saw before, was, in actuality, carrying the arms and drugs from Chicago?" That was Forbes again.

"I didn't know when I boarded the truck, sir. Detective Vecchio had a hunch, when he spotted Francois D'orleans in the cab of the vehicle. He acted upon it. I followed his lead."

"A hunch?" Forbes said, raising his eyebrows. "Do you usually base your actions in a criminal investigation on your hunches, Constable?"

"No, sir. I rarely have hunches," he said, honestly. "But, Detective Vecchio's hunches, I would ... I believe the expression is ... 'take to the bank'."

A ripple of laughter went through the law enforcement trio.

"Go on, Constable," the President said, when it died down.

"Yes, ma'am. Once Detective Vecchio and I were aboard the truck, I recognized the contents of the barge."

Forbes again. "Surely, one box or crate looks much like another?" he said, skeptically.

"Sir, I had been traveling on the barge among those particular boxes and crates from Chicago to Ontario. In fact, I lived in one of the big ones for three days with another man," he said, without any trace of humor. Nevertheless, there was another wave of amusement around the table. "Detective Vecchio had marked that crate with a knife while we were on the barge. I saw those same marks on the crate in the back of the truck."

"Go on, Constable," the President said.

"Yes, ma'am. Once the truck arrived at the Depardieu Northwest Distribution Center approximately eight hours later, Detective Vecchio and I were able to observe Francois D'orleans personally supervise its unloading. He and the men he directed dismantled the crates, separated the canned goods from the contraband, stacked the innocuous contents above-ground in the garage, and stored the drugs and weapons in the hidden room under the floor."

"I believe this is what has been referred to as the ... uh ... 'smugglers cache'?"

"Yes, ma'am. We learned later that Depardieu had modified the underground room left behind in the decommissioning, adding the stairs and secret entrance for this purpose."

Forbes said, drily, "Smugglers cache, smugglers cove ... you take poetic license, Constable."

"No, sir. I was merely endeavoring to be descriptive."

Chief Superintendent Foster said, "When did you see Francois D'orleans again, Constable?"

"Two days ago, sir."

"He was not involved in the melee at the Depardieu Distribution Center on the 8th?"

"I can't say, sir. I didn't see him again at the Distribution Center after the truck was unloaded." He rubbed his forehead. "He and the crew who unloaded the truck mentioned going for coffee. Detective Vecchio and I waited for them to leave Garage #5 before we climbed down from the rafters. From there, Detective Vecchio and I temporarily parted ways, as I had stated previously."

"Yes," she said, looking down at the papers in front of her. "You were both quite busy."

"I learned later from Officer Truffaut that Francois D'orleans was not one of those detained in the mass arrest at the Distribution Center four days ago."

"So, he got away." Forbes again.

"Yes, sir," Fraser agreed. "In his initial statement to the Surete, Detective Vecchio had reported Mr. D'orleans' actions at the cove, on the truck, and at the warehouse, and turned over the driver's licenses we had confiscated, to Officer Truffaut. An arrest warrant was immediately issued for Mr. D'orleans based on that sworn statement, but the suspect could not be found."

The MP rustled through the stack of papers in front of him. "That would be on March 8th. I don't see a statement from you on that date."

"No, sir. I was ... indisposed. My statement was taken two days later by Lieutenant Latourette of the Montreal office."

"All right, Constable," Foster cut in. "I think we're following you. When did you next see this man?"

"Yes, sir. Two days ago, after Detective Vecchio noticed a large supply of barrels in the tunnel under the Abbey's kitchen pantry, we –"

The Minister of Commerce snorted, "A large supply! There were over two thousand barrels down there."

"Yes, sir."

"You have a talent for understatement, son."

Fraser blinked. "Yes, sir."

He waved his hand. "Sorry, go on."

"After discovering the ... very large supply of barrels, Inspector Thatcher, Detective Vecchio and I explored the tunnel. After proceeding east approximately one thousand feet, we discovered a point of ingress." He paused, cocking his head slightly. "Or egress, depending on one's orientation. We discovered a steel security door, which could only be opened from the other side. We had learned that these doors had been installed in 1975 when the site was decommissioned and the government land subdivided for private sale. Apparently, filling in the tunnels was considered cost-prohibitive at that time."

"Budget cuts," the Minister muttered.

"Yes, sir. We secured the door –"

"How?"

"We stacked several of the nearest barrels in front of it, creating a barricade. While not impregnable, it made opening the door from the other side difficult. It was when we moved the barrels, that Inspector Thatcher, Detective Vecchio and I discovered Francois D'orleans asleep behind them." He paused. "I'm afraid we startled him."

"We identified ourselves as police officers and Mr. D'orleans surrendered without a struggle. He had been hiding there, in the tunnel, since the raid on the Depardieu facility two days before. At that point, we searched the area and determined that no one else was hiding among the barrels. We returned to the Abbey with our prisoner. Detective Vecchio remained on guard at the steel door in the Abbey's pantry, while the Inspector and I escorted the prisoner upstairs. We alerted the Abbot, Brother Adrien. Then, the Inspector telephoned Officer Truffaut and advised that we had Mr. D'orleans in custody. We turned the prisoner over to him upon his arrival at the Abbey."

The President leaned forward, fixing him with an intense gaze. "This is very important, Constable. Did you tell any of the local Surete officers or any of the monks about finding the maple syrup in the underground tunnel?"

"No, ma'am."

She looked dubious. "No one?"

He elaborated. "Detective Vecchio and I had previously given statements to the Surete which were the basis of the arrest warrant for Mr. D'orleans. We told Officer Truffaut and the Abbot merely that we had discovered the suspect hiding on Abbey property." He looked uncomfortable.

Thatcher interjected. "I advised Constable Fraser and Detective Vecchio not to volunteer that information. As we know, the locations of the Global Strategic Maple Syrup Reserve –"

The Vice President of the consortium, Philippe Forquet, spoke for the first time, "Actually, we prefer Federation of Quebec Maple Syrup Producers."

She nodded. "The location of the maple syrup held by the Federation of Quebec Maple Syrup Producers is classified. I thought it prudent not to reveal the discovery in the tunnels until I had sought guidance from a higher authority."

The Minister of Commerce frowned. "What about this Antoine Depardieu? He must have known."

Fraser shook his head. "Strange as it may seem, sir, Mr. Depardieu knew nothing about the Reserve being housed in the warehouses at the Fleming Manufacturing Company. Nor had he any knowledge that one of his employees had engineered the theft from the Reserve and stored the barrels of syrup in the tunnel under the Abbey grounds."

"I find that hard to credit."

"Yes, sir. So did I." Fraser smiled briefly. "Mr. Depardieu purchased a small quantity - twenty barrels in total - from his employee, Francois D'orleans. He knew the D'orleans family farm produced premium maple syrup. According to Mr. D'orleans, Mr. Depardieu thought he was buying the maple syrup directly from the farm, in defiance of the law. He considered it a petty infraction. Not one that was likely to be noticed by the authorities." Fraser added. "I understand that it is not an uncommon practice in the province."

The Vice President made a noise. "They call them scofflaws."

"Yes, sir." Fraser continued, "In reality, that maple syrup was sold by Mr. D'orleans to Mr. Depardieu, without the knowledge of his co-conspirators, from the supply that they had already stolen from the Reserve."

"Why?"

"Greed," he said, simply.

President Mimieux said, "But, I thought they were idealists who believed in a higher purpose," she looked down at her notes, "that they were freedom fighters 'liberating the syrup from an illegal cartel.'"

"I believe that is true for the rest of the group," Fraser acknowledged. "But, Mr. D'orleans could not resist the temptation to line his own pocket while currying favor with his employer."

"And he never told Depardieu where the syrup really came from?"

"No, ma'am," he confirmed.

"And you believe this thief?" Forbes said.

"Yes sir, I do," Fraser replied. "I believe Antoine Depardieu would never have risked drawing attention to his own nearby illegal activities by sanctioning or condoning, however implicitly, the theft at the Reserve." He paused. "If he had known, I think he would have put a stop to it, for that reason."

Foster said, "And yet, it was this very maple syrup which Depardieu sent to Chicago as a gift for his brother-in-law that started your investigation and led to the discovery of the theft at the Reserve, as well as the drugs and guns operation." He shook his head, wonderingly. "What an amazing coincidence!"

"Yes, sir."

"It is a strange world that we live in."

"Yes, sir."

"What about the monk, the one that's the cook?" the Minister asked.

"Brother Victor isn't a monk," Fraser corrected, automatically.

"Eh?"

"He's a lay brother."

"What's the difference?"

"He hasn't taken vows, sir."

"Vows?"

Fraser explained, "All of the monks here at the Abbey have taken vows of obedience, poverty, and chastity."

The Surete chief frowned, "Chastity? What does that mean, exactly?"

Fraser colored slightly, "Celibacy, sir."

The Minister said, impatiently, "I don't care about his sex life, or lack thereof, I want to know if he'll talk about this?"

Fraser looked earnestly at him. "Brother Victor is an honorable man, sir. And very concerned about his cousin, Francois D'orleans. He has given me his word that he will not speak of this discovery until and unless I advise him to do so."

"And do you believe him?"

"Yes, sir. He has given his word."

Forbes said, skeptically, "And no one else from the monastery knows of all that maple syrup down in the tunnel?"

"No, sir. I don't believe so. Brother Victor is the only one of the brothers to venture into the tunnels. Well, except for Brother Charles who came to our rescue, but that was a different tunnel, on the opposite side of the Abbey, which had not been used in twenty years." He added. "As you know, the barrels are being retrieved by the Reserve using the entrance at the other end of the tunnel, not the entrance from the Abbey pantry. The pantry entrance has now been secured. The brethren here believe that all the activity, including this meeting, is solely related to the drugs and weapons investigation."

"It's like a warren down there," the Minister commented, peering at a sketch of the tunnel system.

"Yes, sir. The tunnels are quite extensive, as we now know." He continued. "Brother Victor opened the steel door in the Abbey pantry on his own initiative, and was using the room he discovered to hang his hams. He is very particular about his hams. No one is allowed near them." He leaned forward. "Brother Victor is a very trusting individual. Or perhaps, it is more accurate to say, that he is a very trustworthy individual and cannot conceive of the lack of that quality in someone he loves."

"So, you believe he was not involved in this conspiracy of the - what did they call themselves?"

"The Sweet Libertarians, sir. The play on words takes into account their political philosophy as well as the maple –"

"Yes, I got that, Constable," he said, sourly. "Do you believe the cook was involved in their conspiracy?"

"No, sir," Fraser said, emphatically. "Brother Victor is innocent of any wrongdoing, as evidenced by his lack of guile in revealing the maple syrup 'Reserve' to Detective Vecchio. Fourteen months ago, when he discovered that his cousin and his accomplices, the Sweet Libertarians, were using the tunnel to store the barrels of stolen syrup, he believed the lie that Francois told him. That Francois had your job, ma'am," he nodded at the President, "by top secret appointment, and that this secret, along with the location of the Reserve, must be kept absolutely confidential. Victor believed that it was his duty to keep that confidence - a moral, familial, and patriotic duty."

"And what about the American?" Forquet asked.

"Sir?"

"Does Vecchio believe that it his duty to keep silent about what he found in the tunnels?"

"No, sir. He doesn't." He added. "And neither do I."

"Fraser!" Meg exclaimed as the room erupted. The President called for quiet and it settled down. She said, anxiously, "I understood, Constable, that you had agreed to keep silent on the matter. If that is not the case –"

"Pardon me, ma'am, but that wasn't the question that the Vice President asked me."

"Eh?" he said. "Yes, I did."

"No, sir. With respect, you asked about duty." Fraser sat up straighter in his chair. "I don't believe it is my duty to keep silent that, in an act of misguided civil disobedience, three million dollars' worth of maple syrup entrusted to the Federation was siphoned from full barrels in the warehouse into empty barrels in the tunnel below; or that the Federation's auditors counted the barrels in the warehouse accurately during three recent audits, yet failed to discern that half of them were empty and left standing in place. Nor, do I believe that I have a duty to keep silent when an American detective discovered the massive theft just days before the perpetrators planned to remove the barrels from the tunnels."

All eyes were riveted upon him. He said, earnestly. "It is not my duty, ma'am, sirs. It is my choice. I choose to keep silent because I believe that doing so will serve the greater good."

"I see," the Minister said, after a moment. "And how will Detective Vecchio exercise his choice?"

"He, too, will remain silent."

Everyone sat back in their chairs, relieved. Except Forbes. He said, "So,

you'll graciously allow this mess to be swept under the rug? This time." The other members of the panel stared at him, surprised at his contemptuous tone.

Bob Fraser frowned at the MP. "I think he's talking about me, son!"

Leaning back in his chair, Forbes looked down his nose at Fraser. He smirked. "I'm glad to see you've changed, Constable. Must be the company you've been keeping down south."

Fraser looked at him for a long moment. "No, sir."

"What?"

"With respect, I disagree that this is a case of 'sweeping the mess under the rug.' That implies a coverup of a wrong, without the occurrence of remedial action or positive consequences." Fraser leaned forward in his chair as he addressed the whole panel.

"No lasting harm has been done to the maple syrup stores. Arguably, the conspirators have done the Federation a favor by revealing the weaknesses in your security protocols for you." He looked at the President. "Weaknesses which you are even now taking steps to address, ma'am. Furthermore, the agreement that the Federation will not prosecute the Sweet Libertarians, while self-serving, also spares generally law-abiding citizens with a grievance from criminal prosecution. In exchange, those citizens have renounced their misguided actions and have agreed to work within the law, in future."

"Justice will be served by prosecuting Francois D'orleans for his involvement in the arms and drug dealing operation. He is cooperating with the authorities and has agreed to testify against Antoine Depardieu and his smuggling ring. Brother Victor and his naivete will remain a private matter. And the brothers of the Abbey of Sainte-Jean-Baptiste will be spared the notoriety and media attention that would come with public disclosure."

"On a broader level, the economy of Quebec and the nation at large will not be damaged by revealing the thwarted conspiracy to steal the maple syrup, one of the most important commodities produced in Canada." He paused. "More than a commodity. A part of our national identity."

He looked directly at Forbes now. "But, you are right on one point, sir. The company I've been keeping down south has changed me." He lifted his chin. "For the better."

Forbes' jaw clenched, but he didn't say anything.

"Hear, hear, son," Bob said.

Fraser met Meg's gaze. He smiled without smiling in that way he had. She knew with a certainty that she was included in the southern company he kept. She ducked her head, not trusting her face at that moment.

There was silence in the room. After a moment, the President asked, "Are there any other questions for Constable Fraser? No?" She turned to him and smiled warmly. "Thank you, Constable."

"You're welcome, ma'am."

"Would you escort Detective Vecchio to the meeting, please?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, getting to his feet. Meg noticed he held on to the back of the padded chair for an extra moment or two before walking stiffly out of the room. The VIPs buzzed among themselves as he pulled the door closed.

He found Ray in the kitchen, bent over the butcher block table. Fraser's eyebrows climbed into his scalp as he saw Ray was wearing a big white apron over his brown robe, and piping frosting on to little cakes arranged on a tray. His concentration was absolute. Fraser waited until he was finished before calling his name. Never startle a man with a loaded gun or pastry bag in his hand.

Ray spun, then looked sheepishly at his friend. He gestured down at himself. "Some getup, huh?" Without waiting for a reply, he set the pastry bag down carefully on the table, and untied the apron.

Brother Victor approached with a laden tray in his hands. Fraser unburdened him, put the tray in the dumbwaiter, and pushed the button for its ascent. Victor peered worriedly into his face. "How does it go up there, Benton?"

Fraser patted his arm in reassurance. "I think it is going well." He turned to Ray. "They're ready for you."

Ray smoothed his hair nervously, then nodded. As he followed Fraser up the stairs, he said, "I couldn't take the waiting anymore, Benny. Thought I'd make myself useful."

"I understand, Ray." He ushered him into the parlor. The VIPs stopped talking suddenly, turning as one when the door opened. Ray took in the array of bigwigs arranged like a kangaroo court and hesitated before following Fraser to the big table. From a chair against the wall, Meg flashed him the briefest of smiles and Ray felt a little better. Fraser introduced him to the panel.

"Please sit down, Detective," the President said, motioning to the chair that Fraser had vacated.

"Thanks," he said. He had to clear his dry throat and repeat it.

Fraser unobtrusively took a spot against the wall by the door, where he stood at attention. He wasn't leaving unless ordered to do so.

The President adjusted the half glasses on her nose and peered through them at Ray. "There's nothing to be nervous about, Detective. You're not on trial here."

Not yet, Ray thought. "Uh, no, ma'am," he said. Then, louder, "I'm not nervous." He relaxed in the chair, and assumed a confidence he did not feel. "I'm just not much for small talk. I'm ready. Fire away."

The law enforcement chiefs hid their amusement at his bravado. The President smiled, gently. "Inspector Thatcher and Constable Fraser have been very thorough in their presentations. We don't have any questions for you, Detective."

Ray was astonished. "You don't?"

She shook her head, slightly. "No." She paused. "Well, maybe just one."

He leaned toward her. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Tell me ... what address should we use to send the lifetime supply of maple syrup?"

He gawked at her, then stammered his address. She wrote it down carefully. "Is that zip code 60601?"

"Y-yes, ma'am."

"Thank you, Detective."

Ray rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I don't understand what's going on here," he admitted.

She smiled, warmly. "On behalf of the Global Strategic Maple –"

Her Vice President interrupted, "You mean, the Federation of –"

"Oh, give it a rest, Philippe," she said, in annoyance. "That's what everybody calls it." He sat back, chastened.

She continued, "Detective Vecchio. On behalf of the Global Strategic Maple Syrup Reserve, I would like to thank you for your actions in this matter." She glanced at Fraser. "And for your choices." She paused, then added. "Constable Fraser has advised us that you have agreed to keep the matter of the breach of security at the Reserve completely confidential."

Ray shrugged. "Sure. It seems like the best thing for everybody."

"We're grateful. The maple syrup is a mere token of that gratitude." The Vice President was nodding vigorously beside her.

Ray peered at her. "Does that mean I'll be home to enjoy it?"

The President looked pointedly at the law enforcement trio at the table.

The chief of the Surete harrumphed a bit, shuffled papers, then said, "You are released from house arrest, effective immediately. The Surete du Quebec thanks you for your assistance throughout this entire affair." He managed a respectful bow from a sitting position.

The chief of the Ontario Provincial Police added, "That goes double for the OPP. No charges will be brought in my province. On behalf of my department, I thank you for your service." He paused. "And, let me add my personal thanks. I have a summer cottage on Lake Nipissing, Detective. Not far from that cove. My grandchildren visit every summer." He shook his head, dolefully.

The chief superintendent of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police glanced at Brian Forbes, before leaning forward. He picked up a piece of paper from the table and studied it carefully before speaking. "Over the last few days, I have had quite a number of telephone calls from Chicago, Detective. Your Lieutenant is quite persistent."

Ray snorted, then straightened respectfully. "Uh, yes, sir. He is, sir."

"He faxed this to me today." He handed the paper to Ray who quickly scanned it. "Your status as a member of the International Joint Task Force of the Canadian Consulate and the Chicago Police Department has been duly noted. Thank you, Detective, for all you've done." He turned to the man on his left. "Brian, do you have anything to add?"

Forbes grunted in the negative.

Ray sat there, unable to process. He looked down at his "get out of jail free card," then back up at the panel. "That's it?"

The President nodded. "That's it." She looked around at her colleagues. "If there's nothing further ...? Then, we're adjourned." She glanced at her watch. "Lunch will be in this room in twenty minutes. Courtesy of Brother Victor."

Ray sat in a daze as the panel gathered up their papers and belongings and exited the room. Meg came over to him.

"Are you all right, Detective?"

He looked up at her, guessing that the "duration" had ended at last. He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. It was over and they had endured. He grinned up at her. "I'm fine, Inspector. Just fine." He looked over his shoulder. "Where'd Fraser go?"

She followed his gaze. "I don't know."

Young Brother Matthew was at his elbow. "Excuse me, Brother Ray, but we have to set up for luncheon."

"Oh, sure," he said, pushing himself to his feet. There were a couple of other brown-robed figures behind him carrying table linens and dishes.

"We'll get out of your way," Meg said, with a warm smile that made the young monk blush. She felt wonderful. She wanted to smile at everybody. Everybody, that is, except Brian Forbes. She took a deep breath and straightened her face.

Ray grinned as she tamped down the unbearable lightness of being and put on the professional mask of Inspector Margaret Thatcher, RCMP. There was still a twinkle in her eye, if you knew where to look. He knew exactly how she felt. They headed for the door together, walking on air.