Northern Lights: A Due South Novel

Chapter 8: The O'Hare Ranger

Air Canada flight 1048 from Vancouver landed five minutes early at Chicago O'Hare International Airport: 3:44 pm Central Time. Elizabeth was ready to leap into Chicago's mean streets. She had spent her long journey and overnight connection evaluating potential leads and planning precisely what she would say to the Chicago detective assigned to Tamara's case.

America had other plans. When the jet reached the gate, two air marshals boarded to detain Elizabeth for questioning. It turned out that marking up a paper map of Chicago while reviewing police reports and writing speeches on scrap paper were suspicious acts. Her campaign hat, vintage brown uniform, and Sam Browne belt with its (empty) gun holster allegedly crossed the line from eccentric to delusional. And so, after Elizabeth explained her background and mission to her seatmate, a fidgeting redhead with streaks of greying hair and a wrinkled grey suit, the woman had moved three rows back and summoned a flight attendant.

Flashing her RCMP ID earned Elizabeth her freedom some twenty-five minutes later, although not before the younger air marshal copied her phone number into his personal phone and asked if she had a boyfriend. By the time she reached the baggage claim, Elizabeth's checked bag and Montgomery's crate had not yet appeared. While waiting, she received three successive text messages from Francesca Vecchio explaining that she was "leaving in five minutes, might be late". She tried to converse with the other waiting passengers from her flight. Most walked away, continued to stare at their phones—or asked if she was a park ranger.

The moment her bag arrived, Elizabeth withdrew her pocketknife, and noticed the gaze of two security guards and one plainclothes officer land on the blade. It was an impressive knife, a solid weight with a four-inch blade. She smiled at the plainclothes officer as she tucked it into her belt.

"Good for gutting fish," she said. He grimaced and picked up his phone.

Waiting for Francesca provided ample time to help elderly passengers retrieve their bags from the carousel and push them to the taxi queue. Unaware of the risk of theft, she left her canvas backpack by the carousel. Unfortunately for Chicago's thieves, she also left Montgomery unleashed. Montgomery chased the greasy-haired thief across the arrivals hall with Elizabeth close behind. A half-dozen smartphone cameras recorded her sprint past a Taiwanese tour group and tackle the man into an ornamental tree.

By the time Francesca Vecchio arrived—an hour later—the O'Hare Ranger was trending on TikTok.

"You're famous!" Isabel Vecchio shouted as she leaped from the car to hug Elizabeth without bothering to introduce herself. Francesca's teenage daughter had long, sleek brown hair, a full face of makeup, and the largest smartphone Elizabeth had ever seen. She clutched the phone between her fingers via a round handle glued to the back of the case, as though if she dropped it, her hand would go with it. "The Internet thinks you're a national park ranger, but we can work with that. Come on, take a selfie with me."

Elizabeth only understood parts of Isabel's sentence, but she knew she didn't want her face on the Internet. "The Internet can't have thoughts. It's a network of computers." She stiffened and tried to pull away, but the shorter girl wrapped her arm around Elizabeth's shoulders and pulled them together before she could ask for an explanation. The girl pursed her lips and tossed her hair as she held the phone at arm's length above their heads. Elizabeth looked down.

"Ugh, you need to learn how to take a selfie," Isabel said. "Your hat's covering your face! My followers won't believe I met you if your hat's covering your face!"

Elizabeth did not tell Isabel that had been intentional. Before she could lift her bags, Francesca cut past her daughter to wrap Elizabeth in another unwanted hug.

"You...you must be Francesca," Elizabeth said. "I wasn't certain if you'd recognize me."

"Kid, I'd recognize a Fraser anywhere," Francesca flicked the brim of Elizabeth's hat. At fifty-five, Francesca's wide smile had folded fine lines and crow's feet around her eyes. Her dark brown hair—likely dyed, Elizabeth inferred, based on her age and the uniform colour—cascaded past her shoulders. She wore tight skinny jeans and a lacy v-neck blouse with no coat, even though it was nearly freezing.