58
The Ontario Provincial Police patrolman dropped Dale at the residence hall right about dinnertime. Dale felt like he’d been run through an old-fashioned clothes wringer, squeezed absolutely dry of anything useful. He ached to waddle up to his room, drop everything on the desk, take a long shower, and vegetate. Maybe finish that new Rob Cornell karaoke lounge mystery.
But he’d made promises.
Dale compromised. He dropped the weighty laptop backpack, grabbed a new blue T-shirt, threw it back in favor of a black one, and began the trudge down to Byward Market. Surprisingly, the walk went more quickly than he’d expected—maybe because it was downhill, or maybe the evening breeze along the canal was just cool enough to take the heat off him. If it was as cold tonight as last night, he’d sto
