by Sky Curtis
“You wouldn’t know him. The last time you saw a show was in the fifth century.
He was right. But still. “Whatever. What famous actor drove you up?”
“Dave Sparling. He was the star of Cruise Away. Remember? Ran for months. He’s got millions.”
Oh great. Cindy and I were going to be in the same cottage as a guy we thought was a murderer. A smart one. “Well, isn’t that niiiiccce.” “You staying the night? We’re not leaving until the morning.”
“Why? What have you got against him? He’s a great guy.”
“I don’t know about that. But I thought you didn’t like him because of the way he behaved at your party. Oh right. He has moooolahhhh.” I drew out that word too, to make my point. “And he was in that court case. Charged with sexual assault.”
“Pfft. That was dismissed. No evidence. He’d never do that. Just a bunch of women jumping on the entertainment industry sexual assault bandwagon. It’s all the rage.”
Cindy stiffened. “Yes, Andrew, ‘all the rage’ is right.”
He raised his hand with disdain and banished her comment with a deft flick of his fingers. “I’ve tidied up and let’s hope the place stays that way.”
“Cindy and I are going to make lunch. Maybe your rich and famous actor will be back in time so we can all eat together.” Joy of joys.
“Look, you know I don’t really like him either, but he is a client, and that means money for me. It was my money that put on the new metal roof.”
I loved emotional blackmail and gave him the finger. Andrew huffed out of the room. Cindy was digging in the fridge and slapped the cheese on the counter. “God, what a misogynist.”
“Oh, yeah.” I whispered so he wouldn’t hear. He was my brother and I had to get along with him, at least a little. “And look, here comes another one.”
A shiny BMW was pulling up beside my car in the driveway and stopped at the very edge of the grass. The long, lanky figure of Dave Sparling emerged carrying a black cloth shopping bag. He took his own bags to the store? A murderer with a conscience? I looked him up and down. He was wearing cowboy boots, a checkered red shirt, faded jeans, and there was some grey stubble on his square chin. About six-foot-two and a hundred and eighty pounds, he was the epitome of The Marlborough Man. His tight little ass strutted across the gravel driveway onto the sodden grass. I was pleased to see mud oozing over the edges of his tooled leather boots.
Andrew called jovially from the living room, “Speak of the devil!”
Yeah, right, speak of the devil. This should be a barrel of laughs. Sparling flung open the kitchen door and then stood stock-still, arms slightly raised. He was making an entrance. Geezus.
His voice boomed, “You must be Robin, Andrew’s sister, and you,” he turned to Cindy, “are Cynthia Dale. The notorious crime reporter for The Toronto Express. I recognize you from your online profile. Looks like the picture was taken some time ago.” Cindy bristled. He stretched out his arms and clasped Cindy’s hand in his left and mine in his right. I felt like puking. “How nice to finally meet you, Robin. You’re with the Home and Garden section? Am I right?”
I withdrew my hand and molded my face into what I hoped was a smile. Fucking jerk. “That’s me.” I was playing the innocent. “Flower shows and home decoration.”
Cindy had turned her back on him and was slicing thin slivers of cheese off the block. Every time her knife thunked against the bread board my heart jumped.
“Oh, lovely.” He swept a speck of dust off his plaid shirt. “Moi? Although I’m an actor, I’m not into that sort of thing.” He made a limp wrist and laughed.
Cindy’s head jerked up. “Not all actors are gay. Not all people into home décor are gay. Plus, you never know who might be gay. Watch it buddy.” She chopped the hunk of cheese with vigour.
He laughed, so amused. “Oh, aren’t you the feisty one. Me, I prefer male activities. Hunting, fishing, dirt biking.”
My ears perked up. “Hunting? You like to hunt?”
“Oh, sure,” he said, snatching a piece of cheese off the cutting board. If he tried that again, I was sure Cindy would hack off his finger. “Every fall, me and some buddies head into the bush. In fact, I picked up some hunting stuff in town. It was on sale.” He held up his black fabric shopping bag. “So much easier to find here than in Toronto.”
Andrew had finished plumping the pillows and was now in the kitchen as well. The place was getting crowded. “Hey Dave, glad your trip was successful. The girls are about finished making lunch. Hand me the sushi and I’ll put it on the table.”
“Sure.” He took the plastic containers out of the black bag and reached behind Cindy to give them to my brother. Andrew was doing his best to not look at the mud Dave had dragged in. “I’ll put the rest of this stuff in my car. I’ll get some wood for tonight while I’m out, if someone would show me the woodpile.”
Andrew said, “Robin, you go. You still have your outdoor shoes on.”
Outdoor shoes? What was this? Kindergarten? The last thing I wanted to do was go outside with Sparling. “Sure Andrew, no problem.” I either had to go or make a scene.
As we walked across the muddy lawn, I casually asked, “So David, how long have you been a hunter? And what do you hunt?” Other than women.
He puffed out his chest. “I’m not into deer, moose, or wild turkey. I prefer wildcats, bears. You know, big animals that are in the real wilderness.”
“You hunt bears?” I was feigning indifference. “It’s now illegal to hunt grizzlies in British Columbia.” Just a fact. “Did you know that? And a woman was killed by a bear next door.” Another fact. Making idle conversation. “Aren’t you scared of them? Or do you have bear spray with you all the time?” I scanned his face for any reaction to my reference to bear spray. Did he have Darlene’s? But he was a very good actor. His face was completely neutral.
“I always carry bear spray. Bears need to be treated with respect, for sure. Andrew told me about that woman. Poor thing. Bears don’t usually attack.”
“Not unless they have a reason.” Was I pushing it? Probably. “Did you know the woman? Darlene Gibson?” Definitely pushing it.
“What a small world. Andrew mentioned her name. It rang a bell. She was an employee of the theatre I was working in at the time.”
Did he really think I didn’t know about his sexual assault case? Maybe he thought the Home and Garden section of the paper was only for lining birdcages. “Oh, come on. She pressed sexual assault charges against you. Of course you knew her!” I was pushing it.
He merely shrugged his shoulder and brushed it off. “People like me have to deal with all sorts of accusations. Jealousy is rampant. The case came to nothing.”
So that was how he was going to play it? Like it didn’t exist. I was getting pissed off. I decided to change tack and get back to the bear topic. “I’m sure it’s bothersome. How on earth do you get near enough to a bear to shoot it? They are so skittish.” Dangerous ground?
But he was eager to show off his expertise to the little lady. “Bear pheromones.” He held up his bag. “I got some in town. You put it on a tree and the bear comes out of the bush.”
“Bear pheromones. They must have a strong scent to lure a bear out of the bush.”
“Oh yeah, it really stinks. I’ll show you.” He reached into his bag, pulled out a bottle, and took off the lid. “It really reeks.”
I pretended to take a whiff. I don’t know what possessed me, but I said, “What a stench. It’s so strong. You sure wouldn’t want to get that on you. That would be pretty dangerous. It could make a bear maul you to death.”
We were standing beside Sparling’s car on the gravel. Perhaps I was being naïve, but I honestly didn’t feel I was in any danger. There were witnesses for heaven’s sake. I could see Andrew’s blue oxford cloth shirt through the living-room window; he was fussing
around the table. And although Cindy had her back turned, I could see through the kitchen window that the door was open and I knew that her hearing was acute. But Sparling had frozen still. His piercing blue eyes had turned laser-cold and his breath was coming in jagged bursts as he controlled his anger. Without warning, he pitched the contents of the bottle at me, splashing my sweatshirt and jeans with the noxious liquid. I slowly backed away from him, acutely aware of the danger he had placed me in. That young bear was no doubt close by.
“Fuck, Sparling. Are you crazy? A bear could come out of the bush and kill me at any moment.”
Sparling laughed. “How terrible that you tripped on the wet grass beside my car while smelling the bottle of pheromones and grabbed my hand, causing it to spill all over you. What an awful, awful accident.”
I heard crashing in the bush behind me and watched as Sparling slid easily into the passenger side of his car. I heard the automatic locks go down; he was locking me out. An arctic grin froze on his face as he looked at me through the windshield. My car was parked on the far side of the BMW. I took flight. I needed to get inside my car. Thank God, I never locked it. My feet slid on the muddy grass as I desperately raced around the nose of his car to the passenger door of my car. My sore hip was burning with pain and my ankle twisted in the muck. A spasm of agony sparked up my leg. Behind me, I could hear the bear snorting as it pounded the earth toward me. It seemed to take me a million years to reach the pitted chrome handle of my car and tug it open, all the while praying this was not one of the times it had decided to seize up. Mercifully, it squawked open and I dove inside, pulling the door shut behind me.
When I turned around and looked through the window, I saw the bear’s jaws snapping at me, revealing its huge canines embedded in red gums, surrounded by wet black flesh. Its beady eyes bore into mine as it clawed at the passenger door. I leaned over the centre console and pressed hard on the horn. It emitted a pathetic whimper, but still loud enough to be heard in the house. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cindy seemingly drift down the porch steps and then abruptly turn around and run back up. I didn’t blame her.
The noise inside the car was incredible. Every time the bear swiped a paw against the door, there was a loud screech of nails as they scratched against the paint. With every strike, the Sentra rocked on its wheels. Would the car roll over? I kept pressing the horn, hoping the pitiful bleats would scare the bear away. Finally, above the mewing of the horn, I heard the howl of sirens approaching. Cindy must have called the police. I glanced in Sparling’s direction. Behind the reflection of the crazed bear on his window, I could see him smoothing down his hair.
27.
TWO O.P.P. CARS CAREENED down the driveway, sirens whooping and lights blazing. The first one skidded on the gravel as it flung sharply around the front of the BMW. Then it fishtailed wildly on the slippery grass until its brakes screeched, stopping halfway in front of my Sentra. The second car spit out small stones as it shrieked to a halt behind me, effectively cornering the bear between the two cars. A third car pulled up beside my driver’s side door. Ralph’s Jeep? What was he doing here? I thought he’d gone to Toronto? Relief flooded through me. Ralph was here. He wouldn’t let me die. He’d told me he loved me.
Rearing up on hind legs and roaring over the scream of the sirens, the bear shook its whole body. Six feet of fur brushed against my window, leaving smudged lines of oil. Oddly, I felt like I was inside a fishbowl at a car wash, the brushes beating at the sides. My old friend, the hissing snake, circled my brain. Oh, God. I couldn’t faint. Not now. I took a deep breath. I was safe inside the car. The bear couldn’t get me. Ralph was here.
The car began rocking violently, and I watched with amazement as the bear climbed onto the hood, its seven hundred pounds denting the metal. For a brief second, I admired the animal’s problem-solving skills. Blocked between Sparling’s car and mine on both ends by the cop cars, the bear’s pea-brain had figured a way out. Part of me cheered it on, hoping it would get away. It was such a magnificent, glorious beast. The beautiful creature wasn’t crazy—it was only doing what it was supposed to, be attracted to bear pheromones. I muttered under my breath, “Go, go, go.” Ralph started honking his horn and the bear, surprised at this new noise, went stock-still on all fours for a second and then slid down the hood of my car. I breathed a sigh of relief as it took off toward the path into the woods.
Through the windows of the cop car in front of me, I could see Kowalchuk getting out of the passenger side. His huge head appeared over the top of the car while Andrechuk’s hands gripped the wheel, her knuckles white. Niemchuk must be in the car behind me. And then I saw the barrel of Kowalchuk’s gun resting on his hand that he placed on top of the car.
“No,” I screamed. “Let the bear go. It’s not crazy. It was baited.”
Kowalchuk, of course, couldn’t hear me inside the car. I wound down my window a crack and shouted through it, “No. Don’t shoot the bear.” My pleading was impotent. I pounded on the windshield.
A shot boomed through the air.
I watched the bear disappearing into the bush, his hind legs pushing hard into the mud. I couldn’t believe Kowalchuk had missed. But then I saw why. Ralph had jumped out of his car and was waving his arms. He was hopping up and down right in Kowalchuk’s line of fire.
Ralph was shouting, “Don’t shoot. It’s not a rogue bear. Don’t shoot.”
Puzzlement distorted Kowalchuk’s beefy features. But he put down his pistol and yelled, “Get out of my way. It’ll attack again. Stay in your car. Get out of my way.”
Ralph brushed the air in front of him with both hands, as if to iron out the tension and fear. He made a turning motion with his fist at Andrechuk, telling her to turn off the siren. He then made the same motion to Niemchuk behind me.
All of a sudden, the air was deathly quiet. “No,” I could hear Ralph say, reason personified. “The bear won’t attack again. It went after Robin because she is probably covered in bear pheromones.”
Ralph had believed me about the contents of the insect repellent bottle! He’d assessed the situation and knew what had happened. He didn’t know why or how, but he knew I was a walking target, a bull’s eye for the bear.
“Bear pheromones?” Kowalchuk was disbelieving.
“Kowalchuk, let the bear go. I’ll explain inside.”
“This better be good,” Kowalchuk muttered. He thumped over to Sparling’s BMW and tapped on the window with his knuckle. “Sir, the coast is clear, for now. You can come inside with us. You’ll be safe.”
Sparling’s doors unlocked with a clunk and he got out of his car, shoulders hunched. He was pretending to be frightened, but he knew that as long as I was inside my car there was no danger to anyone. He looked over his shoulder at me, trying to hide his smirk as he walked away, the three police protectively huddled around him.
I watched from inside my car as the four of them headed into the cottage. Ralph tapped on my window and shouted through the glass, “You’re covered in bear pheromones, right?”
“Yes,” I mouthed. No sound came out.
“You can’t be in the open or the bear will come back. I’m going to open my passenger door. You scoot over your centre console and quickly get into my car. And I mean scoot. I’ll drive you to the porch steps. Then you run inside, okay? You got it? Run. Put your clothes in a plastic bag and have a shower with that great shampoo of yours.”
Shower and shampoo talk at a time like this? I looked up at him and nodded mutely. “Got it,” I finally managed to mumble a few seconds later.
Ralph’s Jeep was parked beside mine, his passenger door level with my driver’s side. I was sitting in the passenger seat of my Sentra, and he wanted me to climb into my driver’s seat and then quickly get into his car on his passenger side. I completely understood what he wanted me to do.
But I wasn’t so sure about the scoot part. I eyed the gearshift
with trepidation. Then an interesting thought swept through my mind that had something to do with Ralph’s gearshift being in the shower with me. No, no, no, Robin, don’t think like that. You are in danger. Focus. But I knew the danger was over. The bear was gone. Sparling was with the police and I was with Ralph. My big, strong man. What had come over me? I tamped down the hysterical giggles that were blooming in my chest. This would not do at all right now. I had a job to do. I had to scoot over the gear shift. Easy-peasy. No problemo. Scoot here I come.
I put my hands on the driver’s seat and hoofed my rear end up, hoping it would follow the momentum of the top half of my body. My knees creaked and my shoulders almost collapsed. I was on all fours, the gearshift poking into my hanging belly. I knew in my heart of hearts that this was not an attractive sight. There was no way I was going to be able to somehow move my legs over the gearshift and onto the driver’s side of the car. I felt giddy. Weakness was flooding my body as helpless giggles threatened to explode from my throat. What a way to cement a relationship. God, I was so stuck.
Ralph flung open my car door. “Oh Robin,” was all he said as he put his hands under my armpits. He pulled with all his might. Was I sweating? I hoped not, but somehow that seemed to be the least of my problems. I slithered out of my car like a newborn baby whale entering the world. Ralph moved to my side, grabbed my belt, and tossed me headfirst into his car like a football. God, he was strong. My sore hip banged on the handle of my car door. Surely, it would have a bruise later. As he stood behind me I was glad I wasn’t wearing a skirt he could see up, but I was also painfully aware that my jeans were threatening to split. I bet my bum crack was showing. I heard a small squeak. Ralph was trying not to laugh. He whipped the car door shut behind me.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” he cackled as he got in the car, panting and screwing up his face. “You stink.”
Oh really? This was news? I knew I stank to high heaven. I had landed on his car seat in a heap and was valiantly trying to adjust my body parts. “Thank you,” I said.