“I’d appreciate that. Sometimes she can be thoughtless.”
“Sixteen is a conflicted age.” Martha smiled in sympathy before she ran to the back door. She shook the rain from her hair and stood for a moment watching Owen drive away before she crossed to the counter for a second mug of coffee. Instead of returning to the veranda, she took out the sheaf of bills and her laptop and sat down at the kitchen table. Paperwork would take her mind off Rachel. She opened the laptop and stared at the screensaver: a photo of her and Neal at the waterfront in Cobourg. A jogger had stopped and offered to take the picture with Martha’s phone even though Neal had first refused. He wasn’t smiling but he’d finally put his arm around her waist and she was leaning into him.
That’s how it was with Neal. Never up for spontaneity or displays of affection. He’d rather sit quietly in the room than be part of the party. Their fight, which had started two days before, seemed over in his mind, but not hers. He’d left the restaurant after she saw him talking with Rachel and had not returned to their cabin until she was lying in their double bed, pretending to be asleep. They hadn’t spoken this morning, and she would put off their next encounter as long as she could.
He needed space to cool off. He needed time to forget that he’d told her he wanted a separation.
CHAPTER SIX
OPP officer Clark Harrison got the call just after eleven Sunday morning. A sixteen-year-old girl named Rachel Eglan hadn’t made it home from her shift at a restaurant at Pine Hollow Lodge the night before and her parents were worried. “Can you drive up and have a talk with them?” the dispatcher asked.
“Could you repeat the address?” Clark asked. “Okay, just punched it in. The drive should take about an hour.” Or longer if the rain picks up.
He pulled a U-turn and stopped at the side of the road to call his wife, Valerie. She answered on the fourth ring as his heart was beginning to pound with trepidation.
“Hey,” he said. “Were you busy?”
“Lying down. The baby kicked all night and kept me awake.”
“Not much longer.”
“Three weeks and two days, but who’s counting?”
“I got a call and have to head out of town for the afternoon. You’ll be okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll sleep the day away.”
“I’ll check in with you once I know what’s going on with the call.”
“Don’t worry about waking me up.”
“Sleep tight, babe.”
He tucked the phone back into his pocket and drove until he reached Great Northern Road, which fed into Highway 17. The road split at Heydon and he kept right, taking the 556 East for a ways before it angled north and became the 532, which took him the last leg of the route into Searchmont. The trip took three-quarters of an hour with the constant rain drumming on the windshield to keep him company. Puddles filled the hollows and gullies and spread across the road. Searchmont was a ski and snowmobile destination in the winter and kept itself alive in the summer by outfitting vacationers for water ventures. The sawmill had once been the mainstay of the town, but its closure had depleted the population to handfuls with their houses spread out amongst the trees and along the river. Some went so far as to call Searchmont a ghost town. Clark had visited the Searchmont recreation centre once as part of a community policing presentation, but he’d not taken any calls since. Crime was not an issue in this neck of the woods.
The Eglans lived in a log cabin painted chocolate brown across the road from Garden Lake, which was also the name of their street. Manicured lawn spread from the front yard around the house to the water. The nearest neighbour was half a kilometre down a road thickly lined with conifer trees.
A stressed-looking woman in her early fifties opened the door and introduced herself as Isabelle Eglan. She invited him into the living room. He took the easy chair and looked out the windows at the storm clouds over the lake while she went in search of her husband who was outside working in the garage. The room was comfortable: log walls in honey brown and well-worn furniture. The pictures on the wall were framed photos of the landscape around Searchmont. A wooden cross hung above the dining-room table.
Clark heard the back door creak open and slam shut. He stood and shook hands with Owen Eglan after he’d clumped across the floor in his work boots. He was a stocky man with red hair and beard and a ruddy complexion that looked to have been recently wind-burned. They sat facing each other and Isabelle offered coffee, which Clark gratefully accepted. The woodstove wasn’t lit and dampness from the day’s rain had seeped into the house.
“Can you tell me about your daughter, Mr. Eglan?” he asked, taking out his notebook and pen. He settled back in the chair and rested the notepad on his crossed leg.
Owen took a moment to organize his thoughts before speaking. “Rachel is sixteen and our third child. Her brothers are both away working at summer jobs in the oil patch in Alberta. Rachel took a position at Pine Hollow Lodge for the summer and went missing after her shift last night. I was supposed to pick her up but got called into work last minute. I left her a voicemail but can’t be sure she got it. I’d forgotten how sporadic the reception is at the lodge.” He glanced over at his wife, who was pouring coffee at the counter, and Clark could tell they’d had words before he arrived. Owen added, as if trying to rationalize his mistake, “I wasn’t all that worried, though, because she’d gotten home on her own steam all summer. She usually had her bike or got a lift from one of the lodgers if the weather was bad.”
“But she wouldn’t have taken her bike if you said you were picking her up,” said Isabelle.
“I suppose not.” Owen dropped his eyes to stare at his hands folded in his lap.
Isabelle set a full mug of coffee on the end table at his elbow and sat on the couch next to him. She added, “Rachel is responsible. She always tells me when she’s going to be late. This is not like her at all.”
Clark kept his voice even although Isabelle’s statement gave him pause. “When was your last contact with her?”
“Yesterday before she went to the lodge. It was just after lunch.”
“And I hadn’t seen her since the night before. She was still in bed when I left for work yesterday morning.” Owen rubbed a hand across his eyes. “I went up to the lodge this morning, but Martha Lorring said Rachel had gone home after her shift the evening before as far as she knew. I drove the route Rachel would have taken home last night around midnight and again this morning and didn’t see any sign of her.”
“Does she have a boyfriend?” asked Clark.
“Yes,” said Isabelle. “His name is Darryl Kelly and he’s in her class at school. He said that he hadn’t seen her all week. Rachel seemed lukewarm about him lately, so I wasn’t surprised by that. I called everyone else I could think of and nobody saw her yesterday. We have no idea where she’s gotten to.”
Clark took a drink of coffee while he thought. “I’ll take a run out to the lodge. Maybe she spoke to somebody about her plans after work.”
“I could come with you,” said Owen. “I can introduce you to Martha and her husband Neal. They’re the owners.”
“I’ll come too,” said Isabelle, starting to rise from the couch.
Clark nodded at Owen, but said to Isabelle, “I think it best you wait here, ma’am, in case someone calls with information. Owen will be able to give me the lay of the land.”
“If you insist. Make sure you come straight back, Owen. I’ll be waiting for news.” She stooped over the table and began clearing the coffee mugs.
Clark realized that her anger directed at Owen was a defence that was keeping her from losing control. “I’ll be in touch as soon as we have anything. Try not to worry,” he said, and followed Owen to the front door and into the pouring rain.
The distance to Pine Hollow Lodge was between four and five kilometres, but the road was unpaved and wound through forest and rock cuts. Add in the pouring rain and mud and the drive took ten minutes longer than it should have. The lo
dge consisted of a string of cabins stretched out along the lakeshore with a larger building and parking lot off the main road. He pulled into the parking area and they sat for a moment with the rain pattering onto the roof of the police car.
“Lights are on in the restaurant,” said Owen. “It’s that bigger building through the trees.”
“Should we start there?” asked Clark.
“Good a place as any.”
The front door was unlocked and they stood on the welcome mat shaking off rainwater from their clothes before following the music from a radio into the kitchen. The building was constructed with wooden beams and pine log walls, roughly hewn but sturdy. There was nothing fancy about the decor, but Clark felt that the buildings suited the wilderness setting. Visitors who wanted the spa treatment would have to go elsewhere.
A dark-haired man had his back to them, chopping vegetables and singing along to “Magic Carpet Ride.” He had a decent voice and was good enough for a career in music, thought Clark. The idea was reinforced when the man turned. He had the good looks that sell concert tickets. Lean, but broad-shouldered, sandy hair tied back in a ponytail, dark bedroom eyes and stubble on his cheeks. He saw them and turned down the radio. “Can I help you?” he asked.
“Shane, it’s Owen Eglan. We met a few times when I came to get Rachel. This is Officer Harrison who’s helping us find her. Officer, this is Shane Patterson, cousin of the lodge’s owner.”
Shane stared at Owen. “What, is Rachel missing?”
“She didn’t make it home last night after her shift. We have no idea where she is.”
“Christ. How can I help?”
Clark stepped forward. “Did Rachel say if she planned to go anywhere after work? Did somebody pick her up?”
“I have no idea. We were busy and it took me a while to clean up. Three town couples and the new woman and her daughter in Glen Cottage, plus the three long-term renters, Ian, Blaine, and Thomas.”
“Did they leave at the same time?”
“Like I said, I was working in the kitchen and didn’t see all the comings and goings.” Shane appeared to be thinking. “Rachel left shortly before I did and told me that you were coming to get her, Owen. I went out the back door and she was waiting out front.” His eyes darted over to Owen and back to Clark.
“What time was that?”
“Just after eight. The other customers had all vacated sometime earlier. I dished up the last meal at seven. Martha was also serving, but she left before me and Rachel, I think around seven-thirty. Rachel had a bite to eat with me in the kitchen before she cleared the last tables and went outside to wait for her ride. I have no idea where Neal was. Somebody said he was by, but I was in the back.” He gave a sharp laugh. “I sound as if all I do is keep track of people.”
The front door opened and a moment later another man entered the kitchen. He was as tall as Shane and lean with black hair cut short, a full beard, and hazel eyes. “What’s this about?” he asked looking at Shane.
“Speak of the devil — this is Neal Lorring,” Shane said to Clark. He looked at Neal. “Rachel didn’t make it home after her shift last night.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was.”
Clark couldn’t read into the look the two men exchanged. He said, “Did Rachel say anything to you about where she might be going?”
Neal shook his head. “I hardly spoke to her. She was getting pie at the counter for the new renters when I came into the room and we only chatted for a moment.”
Clark took out his notepad. “The names of the new renters?”
“Stonechild. The woman has an unusual name. Not Carla …”
“Kala,” said Shane. “Not all that unusual.”
Clark lifted his head. Surely there couldn’t be two Kala Stonechilds? “I should speak with her. Which cabin is she in?”
“You won’t find her there. She and the girl went canoeing first thing this morning. I saw them paddling around the bend.” Shane turned to Neal. “Where’s Martha? She should know about this.”
“I talked to her early this morning,” said Owen. “She has no idea where Rachel could be.”
Clark was getting a bad feeling but didn’t think he should push the panic button yet. Sixteen-year-old girls were unpredictable by all accounts. She might have met up with a friend and gone off to a party. Gotten drunk or stoned and lost track of time.
“I’ll buy a cup of coffee if you have a pot on,” he said to Shane. “May as well wait around a bit and have a word with Kala Stonechild. I can’t imagine she’ll be out on the water much longer with the storm front moving in.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Clark was on the dock when Kala Stonechild angled the blue, canvas-covered cedar-strip canoe alongside. The rain had let up slightly, but he knew the reprieve wouldn’t last long. He knelt and grabbed on to the front end, steadying the boat while Stonechild and the girl stepped onto the dock. They both wore green poncho raincoats under their life jackets, but their faces were slick with rain.
“Thanks,” said Kala. She looked him over before saying to the girl, “Run inside and I’ll be right there.”
The girl hesitated, her wide black eyes studying him, but Kala nodded and she started toward the cabin.
“I never expected to see you again,” Stonechild said. Her voice was mild, neither friendly nor antagonistic, and he took this as a good sign. She turned and bent to hold on to the front of the canoe. She dragged it through the water from the dock until she’d pulled it up on the shore. He followed behind her and grabbed the back end. They flipped it over and carried it to a protected spot resting on a layer of pine needles under the shelter of tree boughs. The canoe must have weighed all of thirty-five pounds — lightweight and easy enough to handle alone.
“I gather this isn’t a social call,” she said, nodding at his uniform. “Let’s get inside where it’s dry.”
She was as fit as he remembered, but leaner, her cheekbones more pronounced and her eyes larger. Her beauty was intriguing and ageless. She greeted the dog, kicked off her boots, and hung the raincoat on the hook next to the door. “Coffee?” she asked as she walked barefoot to the kitchen. She still had that animal grace — like a gazelle, leggy and sure-footed.
He didn’t need another cup but wanted to make this meeting as relaxed as possible, to prolong his time with her. “Sure, one cream and one sugar.” He slipped out of his wet boots and joined her at the kitchen island. The girl was reading a book on the couch and ignoring them. Taiku stretched out on the floor next to her. Clark remembered seeing Stonechild with the same dog after shifts when they worked together in the northern detachment.
“When did you leave Red Rock?” Stonechild asked, scooping coffee into the top of the coffee machine.
“I transferred to the Sault detachment two years ago.” He could have let her work her way into asking about his brother, but he wasn’t one to play games. “Jordan moved to Thunder Bay just before that. He and Miriam split up so he decided to start his own electrical business. It’s doing well and he’s been able to hire a couple of guys. He gets the kids every other weekend and holidays.”
“Kids?”
“Two. A boy and a girl. They’re still pretty young and need their mother. He didn’t fight her on that. He misses you. I guess I can say that because I know he’d like to tell you in person.”
He wasn’t sure if he’d made a mistake being so open, but his brother had never hidden his feelings for her. Jordan would still be with her if she hadn’t left town and refused to speak to him. He’d gone back to his wife and they’d tried to make another go of their marriage. The daughter was proof of that, but bottom line — the two of them were incompatible.
“I’m with someone,” she said. She turned her back to pour the coffee into mugs and busied herself getting cream out of the fridge. When she finally joined him at the island her mouth was set in a tight line and he could see by the rigid set of her shoulders that she wasn’t going to t
alk about his brother.
He looked toward the girl in the living room. “She can’t be your daughter. You haven’t been gone from Red Rock that long.”
“No. I think of Dawn as my niece. Her mother’s in Joliette. We’ve been like sisters since we met up in foster care.”
They each sipped from their mugs. He knew her well enough to know that she wouldn’t be more forthcoming about her relationships, and he wouldn’t make this strained situation even more awkward by asking the obvious follow-up questions. He was about to change the subject, but she beat him to it.
“Why are you here?” she asked, lowering her cup of coffee. Her face was closed off, her hands gripped around the mug.
“A sixteen-year-old girl named Rachel Eglan served you supper last evening.”
“Yes, although I didn’t know her last name.”
“Did she tell you where she was going after her shift?”
“No. Is there a problem?”
“Rachel didn’t make it home last night and her parents have no idea where she is.”
He could see Stonechild’s brain running through possibilities. “Did they call her friends?”
He nodded.
“Boyfriend?”
“Yup. Nothing.”
“Has she done something like this before? Gone off and not told them?”
“They say not.”
“How was she supposed to get home from the lodge after her shift? She did tell us that she lives in Searchmont.”
“Her father was going to pick her up, but he got called in to work. He’s an outfitter. He left a voicemail but forgot about the connectivity problem at Pine Hollow, or that’s his story anyway. His wife is some pissed off at him. Rachel likely walked, but maybe someone picked her up.”
Stonechild called to the girl in the living room, “Dawn, did Rachel, our server last night, tell you anything about her plans after work?”
Dawn raised her eyes from her book. “No.”
Stonechild looked from her to Clark. “I’m sorry. We really have nothing to offer.”
Closing Time Page 4