Neal lowered himself onto a chair. “I can’t believe she won’t be in the restaurant when we go over for supper. This is so unbelievably horrible.”
Martha watched him closely through tearful eyes. She slid into the seat kitty-corner to his. “Is there any … are the police involved?”
He glanced over, but his eyes returned to stare into the glass he clutched in one hand. “An officer named Clark Harrison came up from the Soo to help look for her. I was outside when he and Owen Eglan were walking back to his police car, and the cop asked if I had time to help with a search along the route into town. He was driving Owen home to be with his wife before he started looking and wanted another set of eyes. We drove and walked the road at different spots. I’m not sure if the cop had a gut feeling or not, but it was a blessing that Rachel’s father wasn’t with us when we found her. I saw Rachel’s body down the gully amongst the flowers on that long, curved section of road about halfway to town. Harrison wouldn’t let me any closer, but I recognized her jacket and … her red hair. He asked me to walk back to the lodge and ask that Stonechild woman to go meet him at the site. I found her in her cabin and then got my car and led her to the site in her truck.” Neal raised his eyes. “Did you know she’s a cop?” He gulped at the drink as if he had a thirst to quench.
Martha took another sip from her glass before setting it carefully on the table. “No, I didn’t know. Have you told anybody else about Rachel?”
“Shane. He’s probably told Petra by now. Thank goodness it’s the end of the season because this has killed any desire I had left to be here.”
Her heart felt as if a vice were tightening around it until she could hardly breathe. She grabbed on to his forearm. “Please, Neal, let’s take some time and get our bearings again. I don’t want us to separate. I know that I’m to blame for … for all that’s gone wrong. I’ll do anything you want to make things right between us.”
He didn’t shake off her hand, which she supposed was progress. She couldn’t read the expression in his eyes before he drained the last of the Scotch. He set his glass next to hers. “I need to get back to the restaurant and think you should, too. The other guests will need to be told.”
You haven’t shut the door completely. Martha kept the hope from her voice. “I’ll change my clothes and will be right behind you. We’ll get through our grief.” She wanted to say “together,” but wouldn’t push her luck.
“Do we have a choice?”
She waited at the table and listened to him put on his coat and boots and clomp out of the house. He had a heavy tread, but she’d gotten used to the sound. She supposed she’d hear him walking around the house in her dreams if he ever left her for good.
Word had travelled through the lodge like a brush fire because everyone was gathered together when Martha stepped inside the restaurant. All, that is, except for Kala Stonechild and her niece. Petra and Shane were standing slightly apart from the others, but Neal was talking to the lodgers — Ian, Blaine, and Thomas.
“We cancelled the dinner reservations from town,” she heard Shane say before he saw her standing in the doorway.
She crossed the floor to stand next to him. “This is unbelievable,” she said. Everyone looked stricken, but Thomas Faraday appeared the most distraught. He’d run his hand through his white hair so often that it was sticking on end. She added, “I don’t know how this could have happened.”
“One of us should have driven her home,” said Blaine. “Ian or I often do, but last night she said that she had a ride coming. We should have checked back with her.”
“You couldn’t have known,” said Neal.
The door opened and they all turned. Martha shivered in the sudden blast of air that brought Kala Stonechild into the room. The girl Dawn was behind her, body language closed off and face sullen. Their entrance was a reminder of the investigation to come. Everyone broke apart as if caught in a guilty act and moved toward their tables while Martha stepped forward to greet them.
“This has been a terrible day,” she said. “I’m sorry that you’ve come to visit us at such a time.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
“No, but just the same — this is so horrible. We’re reeling and it’s going to take a bit of time to recover from this devastating news. We all loved Rachel.” Martha had to remember that these were first-time lodge guests and had no connection to Rachel or to the other people here. She forced her voice to lighten. “Come take a seat. We’re serving lasagna tonight, or leftover stew.” She led them to the table they’d sat at the night before. She remarked, “I had no idea you were with the police.”
The Stonechild woman’s gaze sharpened. “There was no need to tell you. I’m here on vacation.”
“Of course. I know this hasn’t been the most pleasant day. We’re all in a bit of shock, but we don’t want this tragic accident to interfere with your holiday. Please let me know if we can do anything to make your stay more pleasant.” She felt the blood drain from her face as she realized how odd her comment was given the circumstances. She added, “Although I know that sounds out of place at the moment.” She turned and stifled the urge to slap herself on the forehead for letting herself get so flustered.
Petra was waiting for her outside the door to the kitchen. Her face was pale and her eyes glassy. She’d tied her hair into a sloppy ponytail that cascaded in messy strands to her shoulders. Martha grabbed her by the arm and led her into the hallway to the washroom. “You can’t carry on here. What have you taken?”
“Nothing too strong. I’m fine. What happened to Rachel? Shane wouldn’t tell me anything except that she’s dead.”
“We heard that she was struck by a car and left at the side of the road on her way home from work.”
“When?”
“Last night, sometime after closing.”
Petra closed her eyes and sagged against the wall.
“You don’t know anything about it, do you?” asked Martha.
Petra shook her head and her hair swung side to side like a child’s. She opened her eyes. “I was late getting home last night … I don’t remember the drive. What if I hit her and didn’t know it?”
Martha wanted to shake her. “That’s crazy. You’d have felt something strike the car.”
Petra straightened and pushed herself from the wall. Her face was inches from Martha’s and Martha stepped back. She could smell Petra’s trademark scent: musky damask rose. The perfume left on many a pillow after she got out of whatever bed she’d leapt into. Petra’s voice dropped to a hiss. “I never liked her. Always lurking around doors and listening. I won’t pretend sorrow when I feel none.” Her breath smelled like peppermint and wine. Her wide blue eyes sparkled in the harsh overhead lighting.
“You can’t mean that.”
Petra’s thoughts jumped again. “Shane told me to go home and rest. I’m going to do as my husband ordered. I hope you can get through the night without me here.”
“We’ll manage.” Martha thought of the cop Stonechild sitting steps away, watching and weighing every nuance, every comment, every bit of body language. “Sleep this off,” she said more gently than she felt. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Petra saluted and hit Martha’s cheek with her fingers as she lowered her hand, sliding her fingertips down Martha’s face. “Try not to look so worried. I’ll leave by the back entrance so I don’t get the lodgers talking. God forbid I make a scene.”
Kala refused a coffee refill from Neal and studied his slow walk back to the counter. The other lodgers had watched her and Dawn enter and take their seats. Neal had come right over with glasses of water and pointed them to the night’s menu written on the chalkboard near the door. While they waited for their meals, Kala searched the faces of the others seated nearby, looking for guilt. Dawn squirmed in the seat across from her and she shifted her gaze. “Everything okay?” she asked.
“Was Gundersund waiting for us to call him?”
“Maybe. We can go
to town in the morning and try him at work.” If Dawn wanted her to feel bad she was succeeding. “We’ve only been gone two days.”
Dawn looked around and lowered her voice. “You’re checking them out, aren’t you?”
Kala’s default reaction was not to answer but she owed Dawn the truth. “Officer Harrison wants me to be a set of eyes and ears. It’s possible someone in the lodge was responsible for Rachel’s death.”
“Why would he ask you?”
“They don’t have a police force in Searchmont, and Clark and I used to work together. He trusts me, I guess.” Dawn’s eyes signalled that someone was coming up behind her and Kala stopped talking.
“Mind if I join you for a minute?” The older man she remembered was named Thomas stood at her elbow.
“Please,” said Kala, pointing to the vacant space at the table between her and Dawn.
He dragged over a chair from the next table and set his beer down. “I like to welcome new guests. I’m the resident old codger, Thomas Faraday. Good canoe ride this morning?”
“It was.” Kala remembered there were no secrets in small communities. He likely already knew she was a cop. “How long have you been staying here?” she asked.
“Third summer. I go out shooting most days.” He laughed at the look of disgust on Dawn’s face. “I should clarify. Shooting with my camera. I’m an amateur wildlife photographer in my retirement, although my photos have been bought for calendars and tourism campaigns. A couple even made some of my pictures into a book. I used to have my own portrait business on King West in Toronto.” He put both hands around the beer stein. “I guess you know about the death of our young server, Rachel. We’re all devastated by the news. She worked here all summer and was well-liked. A most pleasant young lady.” He dropped his eyes to the table before taking a drink from his glass.
“We only met her when she served our meal yesterday. We’re so sorry for your loss. Was she close to anybody here?” Kala tried not to meet Dawn’s eyes, which fixed steadily on her face.
“Rachel was everyone’s favourite. She wasn’t talkative lest you got her one on one. She confided in me once that her mother curtailed her freedom so she took employment at the lodge to get out from under her.” He laughed. “She liked that we had no internet or cellphone service so her mother couldn’t keep tabs on her every movement.” He grimaced as if remembering that this was not a time to make light.
“You spent a lot of time talking to her?”
“Not overly. Only during mealtime. She also chatted with our resident Hydro workers.” He looked over at the two young men sitting at the table by the window. “Ian, the taller, good-looking one with the dark brown hair and five o’clock shadow, is getting married at Christmastime when he goes home to Thunder Bay, which is slated to happen next week. Blaine hails from Marathon. They met at trade school in Thunder Bay and got hired by the same company.”
Kala followed his gaze. Both men wore checked bush jackets, jeans, and Kodiak boots. Their hair had grown shaggy over the summer and their faces had tanned to a deep shade of brown. However, in comparison to Ian’s dark good looks, Blaine was plainer: clean-shaven, dirty-blond hair, hooked nose, and stocky build. “They seem to be good friends.”
“One would assume. They spend a lot of time together, although Ian of late has taken up fishing in the evenings, making me think that they’ve had their fill of being constantly in each other’s pocket.”
“The lodge owners seem nice,” she said to get his reaction. Lobbing out softballs. She realized that this was a man who liked to watch and judge those around him. He got off on feeling superior to the others. Spoke in affected language.
“They are intriguing beyond a doubt. I believe Martha and Shane are cousins of some variety. Second or third. Perhaps even first. He got into a spot of financial trouble and she gave him a job here for the summer.” He bit his bottom lip and smiled as if leaving some malicious tidbit unsaid. “Shane’s wife, Petra, is something of an … oddity.” Thomas waved a hand at Neal, who approached the table with their dinners.
“Your meal is served,” Neal said pointedly to Thomas as he set plates of lasagna and garlic bread in front of Dawn and Kala. “Shall I bring another beer to your table?”
Thomas stood and bowed his head toward Kala. “I’ll leave you to it, then. I trust our paths will cross again.”
Neal stayed standing in place until Thomas was back at his table. His voice was apologetic but annoyed. “I hope Thomas wasn’t bothering you. Impolite as this sounds, he likes to have his nose in everyone’s business.”
“No, he was fine,” said Kala. “It’s a difficult day for everyone.”
Neal nodded. “We’re just trying to understand how it could have happened.”
“Rachel sounds like she was a good kid.”
“I keep expecting to see her coming out of the kitchen with a tray of food and then remember what happened. The only saving grace is that we’re closing for the season in another week. It’s tough being here right now.”
Dawn had begun eating with her head down. After Neal left, she didn’t break the silence and Kala let her be. She took a bite of lasagna and debated asking to have it reheated. She decided she was too hungry to wait and tucked in. As she scraped up the last of the tomato sauce she lifted her eyes and found Dawn watching her.
“You’re going to take on this case, aren’t you?” Dawn asked.
“If it were you this had happened to, I’d move heaven and earth to find out who did it and make them face the consequences, but no, I’m not doing more than this little bit of assessment.” Kala softened her voice. “I’m helping Clark today and that’s it. Tomorrow you and I and Taiku are going for a long canoe ride to find the perfect place to scatter your dad’s ashes. We’ll only do it when you feel we’re in the right spot.”
“And we can talk to Gundersund tomorrow?”
“Yes, I promise.” Kala smiled. “I miss him, too.”
Shane had made a Boston cream pie for dessert, and Martha insisted they each have a piece. By the time they were ready to head back to their cabin, Ian and Blaine were gone. Kala had wanted to speak with them and would have to waylay them in the morning, hopefully while Dawn was still asleep. After she talked to them, she’d stop helping Clark altogether and could spend the rest of their vacation with a clear conscience.
CHAPTER TEN
Jacques Rouleau checked his watch before turning his attention back to the PowerPoint presentation on youth gangs. The information was interesting enough but not particularly pertinent to his current job. He’d had to set aside the stack of paperwork he faced every Monday morning to come downtown to the conference centre and wasn’t convinced he’d made the best decision. Kingston had its share of youth problems, but nothing like they had in the larger urban centres like Ottawa and Toronto. Sometimes smaller really was better.
The workshop wrapped up before noon and he texted Marci that he was on his way. The August sun was still strong enough to counter the cool wind off the lake and he left his jacket in the car after parking and backtracking to Chez Piggy on Princess Street. Marci was waiting for him in the courtyard, a pitcher of sangria on the table. She stood and embraced him before he took the seat facing her.
“Good day so far?” she asked, pouring him a glass.
“It’s been informative but not all that exciting. I might be late leaving work tonight since the paperwork will have piled up on my desk all morning. Are you expecting company? Because I have to get back to HQ.” He pointed to the pitcher and smiled.
“I’m taking the afternoon off and plan to sit here and read the news and sip from my glass until I walk to your dad’s for supper.”
“That’s right. He’s slow-cooking a prime rib this afternoon.”
“With roast potatoes and gravy.” Marci raised her glass. “A toast to your dad and to this end-of-summer day.”
“To Dad and summer.” Rouleau clinked his glass with hers and drank. “Has something good happe
ned at your work?”
“Well, now that you ask …” she set down her glass and rested her arms on the table. She was wearing a kelly green turtleneck sweater that complemented her auburn hair. “I’ve been made an offer that I wanted to talk over with you.”
She appeared hesitant and he braced himself for whatever she was going to say. “I’m listening.”
“There’s an overseas opening at the New York Times in Paris. It’s a great opportunity to live in Europe and travel. You’ve spoken about retiring and this could be a wonderful time to hand in your notice and come with me. We could bring your dad and rent a house or apartments in the same building. I’m excited thinking about what a great adventure we’ll have.” She reached across the table and entwined her fingers with his. “I know this is a big change, but I’m really hoping you’ll take some time to consider it.”
Rouleau let her words sink in. He’d spoken about retiring, but in an abstract way, and not for another five years. “Will you take the job if I don’t go with you?”
She bit her bottom lip and shook her head, but he could see the truth in her eyes. “I hope you’ll say yes and that won’t be an issue. Will you promise me that you’ll think about this move seriously, Jacques?”
“I will.” He squeezed her hand before releasing and picking up his glass. “At the very least we should toast your success.”
“It never hurts to keep doors open,” she said, laughing, and clinking his glass with hers. “That way wonderful surprises can arrive out of the blue.”
He was late returning to headquarters but had kept an eye on his messages, and nothing pressing arrived that needed his attention. Marci’s news had him distracted and he thought over the possibility of chucking everything and going with her to Paris. He wasn’t certain Henri would want to come along. Perhaps he was up for an adventure — you could never tell with his father. Then Rouleau reminded himself that Henri had lived in Kingston for fifty years and was a creature of habit. He still kept an office at the university and his research was ongoing. The odds of him giving up this town were slim.
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