Chapter 9

It was now more than a week since Mélanie had any news about the complaint. Megan had offered her to take the evening off but Mélanie thought that drowning herself in her work would help her confront her anxieties. All told, it had been the right choice because the complaint had been the talk of the pub that night and all of her customers made a point of supporting and encouraging her during this time of trouble.

That evening, Mélanie had called Karine to tell her what had happened and to warn her about what she had told about Sonny’s birth but Karine did not seem at all worried about her involvement. As with her customers, she was more concerned about how Mélanie was feeling.

Without disappearing completely, the daily routine of her workload made that her worries gradually drifted towards the back of her thoughts. She did have the impression that Sean, Megan and her customers were more circumspect, that they ... pussyfooted ... more carefully around her, had she dared speak of it. She was sure that the police were still investigating and she wondered who, amongst her customers, had already been interviewed.

Her cell phone sounded ... it was Karine. Ever since the police had come, they had the habit of calling each other every afternoon, after Karine had come home from work and before Mélanie started her shift, to see if there were any developments.

“Hey, Karine, how’s your love life?”

“No news yet, not that I’m complaining. If anything, I’d say that Roger is even more caring and sex is even hotter now that we’ve a goal in mind. I look forward to the time this heat wave is finally over, that or that there was a breeze from time to time – it’s like an oven, here. It almost makes me want to stop doing it ... mind you, I said ‘almost’. You’re lucky to be where you live, it’s quite comfortable over there.”

“Last night, after supper, we had a visit from a detective of the Sureté. She asked us a lot of questions about you. I mostly talked about the birth the same way you had. I made sure to mention, however, that Butch had never done anything to help out with Sonny. I told her you were always complaining about trying to make ends meet during breaks. I thought it would be good to give that rat back a little of what he’s doing to shaft you.”

“The cop wanted the name of the midwife but I said that she had gone back to Central America. I didn’t want to cause her any trouble. And Roger suddenly remembered that he had met Butch one time at the brasserie after I had called you that first time. It was he that told him you were living in Sherwin’s Falls. He had totally forgotten about it and had never told me. How about from your end; nothing new?”

Two days later, Françoise Dubeau came back to visit the inn. Megan was at the reception desk. Together they came to rejoin Mélanie who was busy taking inventory of the stock in the pub. When she saw them come in, she froze but seeing their smiles, she dropped everything and came running.

“Hello, Mélanie. I thought you’d like to hear the results of our investigations and since I know you and since it was I who first questioned you, I asked to be allowed to tell you myself. We have some good news for you.”

“It would appear that your ex is a small-time crook. While we can’t prove it, we know he’s involved in some shady deals. He’s, as they say in the papers, ‘known to the police’. From what I’ve learned, at the same time as he laid that kidnapping complaint with us, he also accused you of negligence to the DPJ, insinuating that you worked in a cathouse...”

“What!?”

“He told the DPJ that this inn was a whorehouse ... In any event, we have interviewed your neighbours here and headquarters sent detectives to talk to your friend ... Karine, I think it is... , your ex-boss and the man your ex worked for. We decided to close the file. One thing, though,” she said with a smile, “the next time you ‘borrow’ a car, make sure you at least have a driver’s licence.”

Mélanie blushed. “I don’t see that happening again, anyway.”

When the man showed up at the door of the inn and saw Megan, naked, behind the counter, he hesitated.

“Is this the Inn at Sherwin’s Falls?”

“Yes, Sir. The inn is part of the naturist resort next door; Total nudity is part of our mandate. Can I help you?”

The man coughed, embarrassed. “Actually, I must see Ms. Mélanie Turgeon. Is she here?”

“Yes, just a moment, please...” Stepping through the door behind her, she called out “Mélanie, there’s someone to see you out in front.”

A moment later, Mélanie stuck out her head. “Yes?”

The man pulled a yellowish document from the inside pocket of his jacket. “Ms. Mélanie Turgeon? I’m a bailiff at the Superior Court of Quebec. You are summed to present yourself at Youth Court, on St-Denis Street next Tuesday morning at ten A.M. with your son, Jean Turgeon. Should you not present yourself, legal proceedings will be taken out against you. The details are in this document. Good day to you.” And he turned around and almost ran out the door.

The greater Montreal area is in a perpetual state of construction and repair, to the point that whole areas like down-town or the Plateau Mont Royal are frequently inaccessible by car. Even coming into town is difficult because, often, all the bridges are under repair. Luckily, St-Denis between Rosemont Boulevard and Jean-Talon was relatively untouched so the only problem was finding a parking spot.

Mélanie was to meet with the Directeur de la Protection de le Jeunesse in person. Because of past abuses by the Catholic Church and later on by government agencies where, because of philosophical differences of opinion or because of false claims, entire families had been separated by force and spread out and locked up in various institutions, the government had created an entire parallel system whose sole purpose was the protection of minor children. In order to get away from the image of an immense bureaucratic structure, the province was divided into nineteen regions, each administered by a separate director. Theoretically, parents retained the final say over the upbringing of their child and could contest any decision with which they did not agree. As well, any child fourteen years old or more could also contest a decision. In spite of this, it happened that said parents were completely outclassed by bureaucratic proceedings and totally lost in this labyrinth.