by Sky Curtis
My mind wandered on the edge of sleep. Garbage. Garbage can. No food. I pictured myself shaking it for Cindy. Just an empty bottle of insect repellent rattling around. With the word DOG on it. Insect repellent for a dog. Someone loved their dog. What was that joke about God spelled backwards? Dog, God. Next time I was at my desk, I would look it up. Words. But was it a word? Maybe it was initials. Desk. Suddenly, the white desk in the Gibson’s cottage with a name carved in the upper right-hand corner drifted across the film screen of my eyelids. Darlene Olive Gibson. Oh-h-h. D.O.G. That bottle of insect repellent wasn’t for a dog, it was for Darlene. She was worthy of insect repellent. And then Worthington again. Knife. Bear bait. Wait. What was the smell in the garbage can? Was it only insect repellent? Maybe it was bear pheromones. What did that smell like? And how would bear pheromones get in the garbage can? I would have to ask Worthington. Maybe it was his garbage can? No, it was ours. Don’t be stupid, Robin. Of course, it was ours.
Suddenly my eyes flew open. Holy fuck. Bingo. I’d figured it out. All at once, I knew what had made the bear attack. I knew how the bear had been manipulated to kill. Someone had put bear pheromones in Darlene’s bottle of insect repellent. Which had then been used by Niemchuk. So both had been attacked. Well, fuck me sideways. That was so clever. What a perfect way to murder a person. But who had access to her insect repellent? And who would do this? Worthington?
Worthington had bear bait. Did he kill Darlene? Was he the one? Not Sparling or her parents or an animal rights group? Creepy Dick with his rural application of justice? But maybe not. Was he smart enough to plan something like that? Maybe. Maybe not.
This was so exciting. I had figured it out. Should I wake up Cindy and Ralph and tell them how a bear had been manipulated to murder? Naw. It could wait. Everyone was tired. I’d tell them in the morning. God knew I was exhausted. But who had filled the bottle with bait? With question marks floating in my head, I finally fell dead asleep.
24.
THE SMELL OF COFFEE floated up the stairs as I staggered down on my sore hip to the living room. Getting old was such a bitch. I rubbed my hands together in front of the roaring fire in the woodstove. I wasn’t cold. It was simply a nice habit, something I’ve always done in front of cheery flames. I looked around. Ralph had been busy this morning. He’d even refilled the wood box after building the fire. Expecting to see him in the yard, I looked out the window over the couch but only saw a bright and sunny day. No Ralph. There was a slight breeze on the lake and the buds on the trees were almost completely open. How fast the spring was turning into summer. It seemed as if it was winter just yesterday and now I was itching to swim in the inviting lake. I was also itching to tell Cindy and Ralph what I had figured out last night. About how the bear had been manipulated to kill.
But where was everyone? Not even Lucky was home. His bed had been abandoned in the corner by the sideboard. I lumbered over and touched its red plaid flannel cover. Still slightly warm. Not long gone then. Next, I hobbled to the harvest table. Ah, a note. Damn, I’d left my glasses upstairs. I squinted my eyes and peered at it. It said, I thought, that Ralph was in town, picking up the phone. Really? Is that what it said? I picked up the piece of paper and held it at arm’s-length so I could read it. There was nothing wrong with my eyes. My arms weren’t long enough. But yes, that’s what it said. Interesting. I wondered if Kowalchuk would let him have it. I guessed that because the case had been closed before the phone had been handed in, the phone wasn’t evidence. I knew nothing about police procedure, but this made sense. Besides, Ralph wouldn’t be bothered to go get it if he thought it was a lost cause.
But where was Cindy? My slippers scuffed the pine boards as I shuffled through the kitchen and over to the back door. Maybe she was out back, playing with the dog. But the hook beside the door where Lucky’s leash usually hung was empty. So, she must be out walking with him. That was nice of her, if not a bit stupid. Her acknowledgement of danger was a tad in the sparse department. But then, she didn’t know about the bear bait. Not yet, anyway. And the offending bottle was right by the house in a garbage can, not up the road where she’d be.
I couldn’t wait to tell everyone about my startling epiphany last night. That the bear had been manipulated to kill Darlene because someone had filled her insect repellent bottle with bear pheromones. At least I thought so. The residue in the bottle would need to be analyzed. But it made so much sense.
The question was who? Who would be devious enough to think of such a thing? What kind of person would subject someone to the terrifying torture of being mauled to death by a bear? This person would have had to execute the plan well ahead of time. My mind considered the alternatives. Who had access to her stuff? Her family, for sure. Sparling? Maybe not. And the Ursula Major crowd? Who knew? I didn’t even know where they were located, although from the comment on Darlene’s Facebook page, they looked local. Worthington? Well, maybe. He was in the neighbourhood. Maybe he’d run into her. I would never forget the look in his eyes, the rage, at the thought of losing the land where he hunted. This was a premeditated murder for sure. Not an accident. There was no way her death was an accident. Bottom line, the bottle would have to be tested for pheromones. Maybe Ralph could help with that.
I had to get the bottle, so that I could give it to him. I saw through the window in the kitchen door that the garbage can was still sitting at the bottom of the steps where Ralph had righted it. Did I dare take off the lid and remove the bottle of insect repellent? I’d taken off the lid last night and nothing happened. But now there was no one was around to help me if anything happened, except Mr. Worthington next door. And he might have put his bait in the insect repellent. Some help he’d be. What if the bear was lurking in the woods, its tiny eyes zeroed in on the can? Did I defy the bear and go out and grab the bottle?
I stood by the door and thought about all the risks. Then I slapped my forehead. Oh God, I was so stupid. I didn’t have to take to take the lid off outside. I could bring the whole can inside and remove the bottle in the safety of the cottage. I was so smart. No, I wasn’t. The bear had attacked the can with the lid on. Oh, what to do?
If I brought it inside, would the bear attack the cottage? I thought about this for a minute as I stood by the kitchen door. Would it or wouldn’t it? Probably not. The insect repellent had been on the kitchen windowsill before the Niemchuk incident and the bear hadn’t attacked then. The best plan, the safest plan, probably, was to get the can and bring it inside. Probably was good enough for me. Kind of.
As I opened the kitchen door, I was terrified that I would be attacked and my mind went into safety mode. This was the place where my brain retreated when it was frightened, into a la-la land of inconsequence, where it tried to find a place to relax. This place in my brain was close to the place where the snake lived, hissing away at me, if I let it. The snake was pretty much under control, but I felt its rattle right at that moemnt.
Not to put too fine a point on it, I was frightened out of my skin.
The first thing that crossed my mind as I opened the screen door was the riveting question. Why do we say the bear? Why not a bear? It was always the bear. Like there was only one. For years I had been saying to my kids, “Watch out for the bear.” But it wasn’t only me. If anyone saw a bear around, they would say, “I saw the bear,” and look terrified. And when I had purchased an air horn at Canadian Tire last fall, I’d said to the salesperson that I needed it to scare away the bear. As if there were only one bear in the woods. But now I knew better. Now I had proof there was more than one bear. Oh, yes, I did. That event with Niemchuk was a clincher. With this not-so-relaxing thought in my mind, I clutched the banister and shambled down the porch stairs as quickly as I could, my feet swimming in my fake leather slippers. I tripped on the last uneven board, felt my arms windmill as I tried to regain my balance, and fell on my hands and knees in the yard. Fucking slippers. Fucking hip. Fucking getting old. I picked myse
lf off the ground, checked out my palms for bits of gravel embedded in the torn skin, grabbed the garbage can, and hurriedly limped back up the stairs, the garbage can in front of me like a huge pregnant belly.
“Yoo-hoo.”
Cindy. Shit. Did she see me fall? How embarrassing. I nonchalantly turned my head and said, “Oh, hi. Thanks for taking Lucky out for a walk. Weren’t you worried about the bear?” My left hand was bleeding and my hip hurt like hell.
“Naw. I’m more worried about the person who made the bear kill Darlene.” Sounded like Cindy was now firmly onside with the bear manipulation theory. “And I doubt that person is anywhere around here.” She clambered up the steps with Lucky and held the door open for me. Her eyes travelled up and down my dishevelled body. “Interesting look.”
I was a sight. Naugahyde slippers streaked with a smear of dirt. Stiff hair standing straight up. Worn cottage pyjamas with a faded SpongeBob motif. Ratty old maroon terrycloth housecoat complete with pulled threads. A bleeding hand. And, as a finishing touch, the garbage can. Dressed for success. “I figured out the murder weapon.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?” She followed me into the living room and turned her head suddenly to the window. “Oh, there’s Ralph.”
She was right. He was walking in front of the cottage. I hadn’t heard his tires on the gravel. Great. Bad eyesight and dim hearing. Ralph flung open the kitchen door and barged in, holding Darlene’s phone in the air. “Got it!”
“Great,” said Cindy, meaning not great. “What do you need it for?”
Ralph did an exaggerated Road Runner screeching stop in front of me. “Hi sweetie. Just getting up?”
“I know I look fetching, but I figured out the murder weapon.” I gave them a hint by thumping the garbage can on the floor so the rattle of the empty bottle was clearly heard.
Ralph looked at me quizzically. “No offence, and I don’t mean to cast aspersions on your puzzle-solving abilities, but we all know she was killed by a bear.” He was patting my hair, trying unsuccessfully to tame it.
“True enough. But the bear was made to kill her.” I snapped off the black handles holding down the garbage can lid, reached my arm in as far as it would go, and pulled out the empty bottle of insect repellent. I gingerly held it out in front of me as if it were a bomb on a short fuse. In a way, it was. “With this.”
Ralph scratched his chin with the edge of Darlene’s phone, a smile playing on his lips. “Hmmm. Insect repellent keeps away bugs. It doesn’t attract bears.”
“Let her explain,” said Cindy, my protector.
I padded into the kitchen and got the other bottle of bug spray off the kitchen window ledge. It was comparison time. “We’ll do a little test.” I took the lid off the empty bottle and held it first under his nose and then under hers. Then I took the lid off the newer bottle of repellent and held it under their noses. “What do you think?”
“All I see is that the old bottle stinks worse, probably because it’s old.” Ralph had never been hunting in his life, being a city boy. Well, except for criminals, of course. But they weren’t attracted to pheromones.
Cindy took a second whiff of the empty bottle and wrinkled her nose. “Wait a second. That empty bottle smells as bad, but it’s different. It’s sort of musky.”
“Bingo,” I shouted. “This bottle,” I held it up as if I were holding up the hand of a boxing champion, “the one that has the word DOG on it, probably contains bear pheromones. I’ll bet any money that if the residue were tested, that’s exactly what would show up.”
Ralph had not quite bought in to the idea. “So-o-o-o, how did the bear know to attack Darlene and not someone else?”
“D-O-G,” I said, spelling it out for him slowly.
He cocked his head, trying to make sense of it. “Did she have a dog? The bear was going for her dog and she tried to save it, getting killed for her trouble?”
“Her initials were ‘D-O-G.’ Darlene Olive Gibson. She’d written ‘DOG’ on her bottle of insect repellent so no one at work would take it. But someone did. And they filled it with bear bait. She didn’t have a chance. Just like Niemchuk didn’t. She must have sprayed herself with it before going into the woods, and that’s why she was attacked. I am sure. If you google ‘bear pheromones’ it says to not get it on your clothes or skin for that very reason. Bears go wild over that stuff and will move mountains to get to it.”
“But how do you know the bottle was used by her? And why is it in your cottage?”
Sometimes I got so frustrated by Ralph. Why couldn’t he believe me? He wanted fucking details. I hoped I was smiling patiently but my voice sounded a little clipped, even to my ears. To be fair, he didn’t know the bottle’s history.
“Cindy and I found it in the woods when we were out exploring the next-door property. The same day we found her body. Who else would it belong to? Not many people go into those woods except us. Not many people have the initials D.O.G. I guess we could have it checked for fingerprints, and if hers are on it we would know for sure. I mean, go ahead and send it to the lab.” He nodded, so I was halfway there to getting it analyzed. “So, we brought it home, rather than have it littering up the environment. Also, I doubt many people would write the word ‘DOG’ on their insect repellent. I mean, who puts insect repellent on their dog?” I thought about this for a second. “I guess lots of people do, but not this kind. They use citronella and geranium oil and various natural alternatives. But not this commercial brand. It’s way too poisonous for dogs.”
Cindy huffed. She was always hammering away at me about how I fed my dog organic food, but thought nothing of eating a full bag of neon-coloured cheese puffs myself.
“Anyway, that’s why I think it was her bottle. I found it in the woods and brought it back here. Niemchuk saw it on the windowsill and used it up, throwing the empty bottle into the garbage can. That’s how it ended up in our cottage. That’s why he was attacked as well.”
“Let me get this straight. You think someone took her bottle, probably from her work or home, filled it with bear bait, and then put it back so she would use it in the woods and get killed by a bear? Is that what you’re thinking?” Ralph was shaking his head, digesting the information.
“Exactly! But why are you looking like that?”
“I believe that it’s certainly a possibility,” he was being polite, “but who would ever think of such a thing? I’ve seen a lot of despicable actions, but this is disgusting. It’s a sociopath’s idea of a practical joke.”
“But you think it’s possible? I do.” This from Cindy, the world’s best skeptic. She had seen things that other people could do to each other and was no longer surprised by truly cruel acts.
Ralph hated to give her an inch, but he said, “It makes more sense than any other idea we’ve had.” He reached into his pocket. “Here, Robin. I have an evidence bag. Give the bottle to me and I’ll take it to the lab. I’ll get it worked up. Contents, fingerprints, the whole enchilada. I’m heading back to Toronto later today for an early shift tomorrow.”
He’s leaving? News to me. But did I hear him say “the other ideas we’ve had?” There was no “we” about this. I thought of it. I stood up for myself. “I’ve had. Any other idea than I’ve had.”
He looked sheepish. “You’re right. Your idea.”
I accepted this apology and let it go. Thank heavens for my Buddhist practice. Then I said, “Kowalchuk gave you the phone.” It wasn’t a question.
“He said the case was closed. The phone was redundant.”
“I don’t know why he’s so shut down over this. I find it bizarre. You’d think he’d want to solve her death. What’s wrong with you cops, anyway?” Cindy had a hand on her hip, challenging Ralph.
Ralph met her head-on. “He believes what he believes. That it was an accident. Pure and simple. Me? I’m open to other ideas. That’s why I wanted to examine
her phone myself. I doubt he even looked at it.” He sat down at the table and tapped the phone open. “I’m going to look at all her digital stuff, going back about six months. This is going to take a little time.” He sighed and took off his jacket.
I looked at Cindy. “While he’s doing that, did you have breakfast? I’m starving.”
“I had a piece of toast, but I could eat some fruit or something.”
I beelined into the kitchen, my hip feeling more mobile now that I’d been moving around a bit. “How about bacon and eggs, pancakes and maple syrup?”
“You won’t want to eat any lunch if you eat all that, Robin. Have a small bowl of cereal or a piece of toast.”
“What? Are you my mother?”
Cindy sighed. Loudly.
But she was right. I definitely had to get my weight under control. But I loved maple syrup. Maybe I could put some on my cereal. Or my toast. I know: I’d fry the toast in some egg and put maple syrup on that. French toast. “How about some French toast?”
“Robin.”
“Oh, okay, you’re right. Lunch is in a couple of hours. I’ll have cereal.” With some maple syrup on it, I added mentally.
Cindy and I placed our bowls of cereal at the pine table while Ralph sat at the far end thumbing through the contents of Darlene’s phone and writing notes. He had great hands. His sinewy fingers dwarfed a small pen as he wrote a word or two. From the frequency of the taps he made on the phone, I could tell he was searching through her Facebook, going through all the comments to her posts. Lucky was lying on his bed in the corner, his soft snores picking up pace when he dreamed, his paws twitching while he chased imaginary rabbits. Every now and then, Ralph looked up and smiled at me, causing my heart to beat a little stronger deep in my chest. It was a peaceful scene and I could feel myself settling down after my adventure of getting the garbage can. Even my scabbed-up hands felt better. There was no hissing snake, or stupid thoughts, merely the comforting sounds of spoons tinkling against the sides of bowls, a dog’s snuffles, and the scratching of pen on paper. Even Ralph’s tapping on the phone had slowed down. He was probably going through her emails now. Life was good. I was sitting at a beautiful wooden table with two of my best friends.