Plots

by Sky Curtis

  “Hmmm,” I said. “I don’t think we have to look anything up. Feels like things are looking up already.” I laughed. My, wasn’t I bold. He knocked my elbow and my hands splashed in the sudsy water.

  He laughed, “Oh look, you’re getting all wet.”

  Enough of the innuendo. I shook the water off my hands, turned around, slipped out of his arms, and sprinted up the stairs. He chased me and was closing the distance. “What time is Cindy getting back?”

  “Late, late. We won’t be interrupted.” And we weren’t.

  Around ten o’clock we were sitting in the living room, quietly reading, when Cindy waltzed in. Not so “late, late” after all.

  “How was your date?” I asked. It couldn’t have been good if she was home already.

  “Hi Ralph,” she answered, ignoring my question. Wasn’t good at all.

  He grunted. And didn’t look up. He turned the page he was reading with exaggerated care.

  “Fuck you, too,” she sang.

  He smiled a little.

  “Do you like her?” I asked.

  “She’s great, in a lesbian ‘I-want-to-go-to-the-arctic-while-wearing-my-Birkenstocks’ kind of way.”

  “A bit young for you, then?”

  “If sprouted broccoli had been a topping, her pizza would have been covered with it.”

  “Are you going to see her again?”

  “Not unless another dead body shows up. Specifically mine.”

  “Okay-y-y-y. Speaking of dead bodies, that body we found was Darlene Gibson.”

  Cindy’s mouth dropped. She knew right away who that was. “Darlene Gibson? The woman who brought charges against David Sparling? The guy who got off on strangling her and then got off for strangling her?”

  Ralph spoke up. “Impossible to prove. It was his word against hers and his meant more. He was a famous actor and she was a lowly government employee.”

  Cindy said, “Well, no. She had a different job.” She leaned against the kitchen door frame, crossed her arms, and put her hand under her chin. “I remember now. She was a set designer for the show he starred in. A true abuse of power. But still lowly I guess, compared to him. I gave the trial some coverage. I don’t believe it. A woman? She must have had really skinny hips to wear that Carhartt jacket.” She thought for a minute. “And she must have cut her hair. It was long when I interviewed her.” She poured herself a glass of wine and sat down on the couch beside me and Lucky. “And what was she doing in the woods up here anyway, carrying a clipboard?”

  Ralph replied, “That’s what I meant about lowly government employee. She was likely eyeballing possible lot lines for the next-door property. The new purchaser was going to sell lots of plots. She got a job up here in Huntsville so she could live with her parents after the court case. Apparently, she was vey upset with the result of that case.”

  Cindy’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know all this?”

  “Kowalchuk.” He went back to reading.

  I was listening to this interchange with interest. A government employee? Plots? Probably worked for the Town of Huntsville. The planning department. “She worked for the planning department?”

  Ralph looked up, “Yup. That’s what Kowalchuk said. Her job was to measure lots in undeveloped land. Location of structures. Distance from lakes. That sort of thing.”

  Cindy put her finger on her mouth, thinking, “Right. That makes sense. I remember now. She got a Master’s Degree in Urban Planning from Dalhousie, couldn’t find work in her field, and became a set designer. I guess that didn’t work out for her.” She laughed.

  I could feel anger bubbling around in my chest. How could the two of them be so cavalier? Here was a young woman, dead for God’s sake, and they were discussing her like nothing had happened to her. I tamped down my reaction. “Couldn’t have been the most popular position here in the north. I mean, there’s so many groups that oppose development. And she was on the front lines.”

  Cindy started counting on her fingers, bending each one back as she stated the people who would oppose a developer: “Environmentalists, animal rights groups, cottager’s associations, water protectors, light pollution people, native bands. The list is endless.” She thought for a moment. “And you, Robin. And your family.”

  I let it go. “If her death were a murder, there could be lots of suspects, lots of plots against her.”

  Ralph looked up. “But her death wasn’t a murder, Robin. She was simply attacked by a bear. There was no murder weapon but fangs and claws. It was pretty obvious, according to Kowalchuk.”

  But I wasn’t so sure. “I’m not so sure. Maybe someone killed her and left her in the woods, hoping that animals would destroy signs of a stabbing, or a strangling, or a clubbing on the head. Or however people die.”

  Ralph stopped reading. “The full autopsy report will reveal any or all of those things. You saw the skull. Did it look crushed in any way?” He was challenging me.

  Cindy stepped in. “I didn’t take a really good up-close look, but from what I saw, it seemed pretty intact.”

  My stomach lurched as I pictured the skull half-buried in the leaves, black holes for eyes.

  Ralph continued. “The coroner will inspect the bones carefully for signs of a knife nick or a strangling. But with all the tooth marks? I don’t know. Pretty impossible to tease it all apart. Anyway, Kowalchuk will let us know the verdict.”

  Cindy put her wine down on a table and picked up a magazine. The subject was closed as far as she was concerned. But I had my doubts. There were so many people who despised development of any kind. They became so angry. Their passion was heated. And here was a beautiful piece of property that had been sold to a developer. Not to a conservancy group, or a philanthropist, but to a greedy developer who would slice it up into little plots and destroy the forest and habitat for hundreds of species, both for plants and animals. Even though I was incensed, I wouldn’t murder the person who was measuring the lots. No, I’d go for the developer. Legally. Or maybe key his car. Late at night.

  But maybe the developer was unavailable, was off in some foreign land. Foreign investors were buying up plots of land and houses left right and centre in Canada. Maybe that’s what the story was, not the sale of one piece of property, but the sale of the whole country. Foreign investment had become so rampant that Toronto and Vancouver had both implemented foreign investment taxes. But I didn’t blame foreigners for wanting a piece of Canada. Who wouldn’t want to invest in a stable government, a fairly tolerant society, and safe cities? At any rate, I would tie on my patience hat and wait for the coroner to examine the body under a microscope and give a verdict as to cause of death. In the meantime, time was of the essence and I had a story to write. I would stick with Shirley’s suggestion of not going into the woods in the spring or you might get eaten by a bear. That would placate her while I got to the truth of what had happened.

  My phone rang. Who’d be calling me so late? I took a quick glance at my watch as I reached into my back pocket. Ten-thirty. The screen said it was Andrew. What did he want?

  “Hi Andrew. What’s up?”

  “I read the online news a minute ago. About the body in the woods near Huntsville. The article said that two women found it while hiking. Are you up north? Was that you?”

  How did that story get out? He had to know everything. “Yes, and yes. I’m at the cottage. I’m here with Cindy. We were walking through the woods on the property next door and found some remains. Called the cops, they came, took the body away. End of story.”

  “Don’t be like that, Robin. I was pretty sure it was you. No one else walks in those woods but members of our family and it is the largest tract of land around. Except for that Dick Worthington. I called to make sure you were okay.”

  “Sure you did.” He was just plain nosey and controlling. But I relented a tad. I had to be a good Buddhist an
d not contribute to bad feelings in the universe. It was hard to do with a butt plug of a brother like Andrew. “Thanks for asking, We are both fine.”

  “I’m not worried about Cindy, she’s used to dead bodies. I’m more worried about you.”

  God. He thought I was a weakling. My family had such an inaccurate perception of who I was. And then I remembered how I had barfed, fainted, could hardly walk. If the shoe fit, I had to wear it. “Thank you, Andrew. It was a bit rough at first, but I’m okay now. Kind of you to ask.” See, I could be open-hearted. That Buddhist thing was sinking in. After all, it was kind of him to call.

  “How did you find the cottage?”

  At the end of the driveway, stupid. Oops. Old habits die hard. I reset my compass. “Great. You must have been cleaning for hours, both before your cocktail party and after. It was spotless.”

  “It was the least I could do. Not that the crowd was full of yahoos.”

  He rhymed off a short list of some his guests. He was hobnobbing with bank presidents and the CEOs of multinational companies. They didn’t sound like the kind of people who would trash a place. My parties, not that I had any, but if I did, would be peopled by a completely different set. “Nice friends,” was all I said.

  “On the whole, they’re pretty cool. But I have to say, those people in the entertainment sector, they can get pretty wild.”

  Of course he had to say that. He wanted me to know he was rubbing shoulders with stars. “They like to play, do they?”

  I could see him puffing out his chest, looking important, as he gossiped about people he knew. What a little boy. Maybe Cindy was right. Bunch of mama’s boys. Now, now, Robin, be charitable. He’s just insecure. Maybe. Maybe he’s just an asshole. “They got a little smashed?”

  “More than a little. That David Sparling? You know, the guy who starred in Cruising Away, the musical? Some of the cast were there. But Sparling? He was really tying one on. Tossing off his clothes, knocking back the shots, and going after various women. Wives even. He had no discretion. And when I asked him to cool it, he asked me if I knew who he was, he was that high. Of course, I knew who he was. I’d invited him. I manage his money. We are friends. But right then I wanted him to cruise away.”

  “Sounds like a boor, Andrew. My friend Cindy wrote a piece about him and his court case in The Toronto Express.”

  “I know all about that.” Naturally he did. “He got off, didn’t he? I can’t believe that a friend of mine would be involved in something like that. To make matters worse, Darlene’s parents were at the party. So awkward. They’re friends of mine up there.”

  “It was her body that was found.”

  “You’re kidding me. Darlene’s?”

  “Yes. Completely dismembered.”

  “That’s terrible.” Andrew continued as if her death were nothing. “Anyway, her parents are clients as well.”

  “You sure do get around.” Blah, blah, blah.

  “Her father Harry was in precious metals. I think he’s about fifty-five and took early retirement last year. I handle his money,” he said by way of explanation. “It was pretty difficult. They knew who he was, but he had no idea who they were.”

  “If he’s about fifty-five, that puts Darlene in her late twenties.” I was thinking she’d still be thin at that age and able to wear a man’s jacket. “And how old is David Sparling?”

  “He looks about fifty, but he could be older. His face looked a little tight.”

  A little tight? What did that mean? Oh, a facelift. I lived in the wrong demographic, was part of the wrong class. He must be pretty successful. Considering I was having trouble scraping the money together for a crown on my crumbling back molar, I guessed a facelift was out of the question. Or liposuction. “He preys on younger women then.”

  “I finally got him to go upstairs to bed by telling him I’d invited some officers to the cocktail party and they would be arriving soon, after their shift at midnight.”

  I was curious. “Why did that make him hightail it out of there?”

  Andrew coughed, “Blow.”

  “Blow?” I blew into the phone.

  “No Robin. I mean blow, blow. Cocaine. He was ripped.”

  I really ran in the wrong circles. Or maybe the right ones. But I’d had enough of my conversation with Andrew. It was taxing trying to be kind to him. I would have to chant for inner strength. “Anyway, I’m glad it worked out. The cottage looks great. And thank you for calling to check up on your little sister.”

  “One last thing. Why are you at the cottage anyway? It’s during the week. Are you up to something?” He knew me too well.

  At that moment, my eyes met Ralph’s. He was looking at me quizzically. I pointed at the phone and mouthed “Andrew.” He angled his head toward the stairs and faked a yawn. He was tired and wanted to go to bed. Cindy was getting up off the couch and lumbering into the kitchen. I watched her as she reached for the kettle. Tea, I guessed, to drink in bed. I’d stick with wine. Oh yeah.

  “No, I’m not up to anything weird. My editor wanted me to do a story in cottage country, that’s all.”

  “So, you’re not investigating whether or not the property next door is Crown land. I already looked that up. I told you. At the Town Hall. It’s not. I told you this at dinner, that it was owned by a neighbour of mine in Rosedale.”

  His voice had taken on that fake English accent that people in Rosedale use when they’re feeling under fire. As if it gave them credibility. The old Andrew was back. Still an arrogant fat cat. I despised him. I really had to chant more.

  “I know you did, Andrew.” Why did I have to please him? “And I’m not doing a story about real estate. It’s going to be on the dangers of walking in the woods in the spring when mother bears are protective of their young. Cindy got some great shots.”

  “Shots of what?”

  “Of a bear charging through the woods on its way to attack someone.”

  He was horrified. “Robin? How did that happen? I thought you only stumbled onto a dead body? What’s going on? A charging bear? Charging whom? Are you really okay? Should I come up?”

  “Charging ‘whom’ Andrew? Language is fluid. No one uses the dative case like that anymore.”

  “Don’t change the subject. Charging who?”

  Ha. I’d won that little skirmish. “A police officer. But don’t worry. I was miles away when it happened. No need to come.” Please don’t. But I was a little touched by his concern. I wondered if now that Dad was becoming infirm if Andrew was stepping up to the plate. Whether he was or not, I was getting the sense that the direction of our relationship was changing. Slowly, like a car with no snow tires in a blizzard. It would be so easy to slide into a ditch.

  “I’ve never heard of a bear charging a person like that, not our bears.”

  As if our bears didn’t shit in the woods. “Listen Andrew, all bears will protect their young if threatened.”

  “I don’t like it. I really don’t, Robin. I don’t want you in the woods if there’s a bear like that around. They get into people’s garbage and eat things that make them crazy. Mercury in batteries. Paint. Chemicals.”

  “Andrew, trust me. It’s taken care of. The bear is dead. It was shot by the police. I guess that didn’t make the news. But I’m sure it was the same bear that attacked Darlene. There can only be one loose cannon of a bear out there.”

  “This doesn’t make any sense, Robin. A bear attacked Darlene? And then attacked a police officer? That bear could have been around when I had my party. Oh God. Someone could have been killed.”

  Thinking about himself again. Cindy was right. Narcissistic. Guys. “But nobody was so it’s okay, Andrew.”

  “I really don’t like this, Robin. I know it’s late, but it’s not that long a drive. I think I should come. I’m up for it. What if there’s another crazy bear out there?”
/>
  “I said don’t worry Andrew. Ralph, my boyfriend, is here as well.”

  “You have a boyfriend? I thought you said Cindy was there.”

  He was practically shrieking. What on earth was going through his mind?

  I said in my calmest voice, “Yes, I have a boyfriend. I’ve been keeping it private. Cindy is here. So is Ralph. I am not alone. I am safe. We can talk later. Thank you for offering to come at this late hour, but please, don’t come. Everything is okay. Goodbye.” I poked the end button before he could object.

  I looked over at Ralph on the couch. He was so cute with his eyes half-closed. I wondered if he was up for coming upstairs. Again.

  16.

  I WOKE UP WEDNESDAY morning with Ralph curled up beside me, breathing soft puffs of air scented with stale toothpaste and the sickly-sweet undercurrent of alcohol. I blew into my hand and sniffed. Yup. The same. So alluring. It was definitely time to stop. Boy oh boy, did I ever need to follow Sally Josper’s directions every day. I lay there and reviewed her concise instructions. In the morning, I was to log three things I was grateful for.

  I had to follow her instructions if I wanted to stop drinking, and I did, because most of the time I did not want to be an old homeless person pushing a shopping cart full of cheap bottles of wine tucked into my possessions. I had to weigh this visual against the picture of me lounging in a beach chair, a chilled glass of white in my hand, licking the condensation dripping down the side, deliciously cold on my tongue. Sometimes it was hard to make choices.

  I wouldn’t put Ralph on my grateful list of three today because I had written him down every day this week. But still. I looked at him, his face relaxed and his mouth slightly open. I looked closer. His nose hair was undulating softly on every out breath. Maybe that wasn’t so cute. But his lips were so plump and pretty. But wait. Was that drool on the pillow? I peered at the corner of his mouth. Yes, there was a very thin transparent filament stretching from his mouth to the yellow daisy on the pillowcase. I actually thought it was kind of cute. Big strong man, drooling on the daisies.