Dark August
Page 6
That’s when it hits her. She knows what’s missing.
Gus riffles through Rose’s antique roller-top desk in the dining room. Inside she finds stacks of old receipts, a stapler, envelopes, a box of paper clips, and a drawer full of pencils, pens, and markers. Bingo! A red marker.
As if her hand has a mind of its own, Augusta picks up the red marker, moves to the far left of the wall, places the tip under the Polaroid of Gracie Halladay and slowly draws a thick red line down the plaster wall, through the Lakes and Islands article, across and through the missing persons report, the deed, all the way to the photo of the man crossing the intersection. Her line connects with red lines already marked across some of the documents by her mother. Remembering the numbers, Gus sidesteps back to the ballerina and scans for dates in the bylines of articles, next to signature lines of documents, and on the backs of photos. She writes these dates in red marker at various points along the red line.
September 2002. Freak accident.
July 2003. Disappearance.
August 2003. Signing of the deed.
January 2004. Land deal.
Gus takes a step back. Stands at the far side of the room to survey her work. Twirls the red marker between her thumb and index finger and smiles.
Now that’s her mother’s wall.
A timeline of events that took place over the span of less than two years, connected by evidence. She can’t believe it took her this long to remember the red timeline, considering remnants of Shannon’s marker still streak and circle parts of each piece of evidence.
This is what preoccupied her mother. A cold case that’s about more than just one person. A case she seemed compelled to keep warm.
Gus admires the beautiful transformation of her great-grandmother’s living room wall into Shannon’s wall. No longer a place for miniature teaspoon collections and kitschy art. It is now hers and her mother’s. A work of art they created together.
Augusta’s phone vibrates. Haley-Anne. She looks up at the wall and cringes a little. Oops. What would the real estate agent think if she saw the state of the living room? Not likely the staging she had in mind. Gus ignores the call. She’s not ready to sell just yet. A sense of purpose begins to slowly seep into her bones.
Gus takes a close-up photo with her phone of each item on the wall so she can carry them with her for quick reference. Then she grabs a pen and a small spiral notebook from a collection she found in Rose’s desk. Opens the notebook to a blank page and begins examining each piece of evidence more closely, jotting notes as she goes. Shannon was always taking notes. It feels right to do the same. Even though Gus isn’t exactly sure what she’s looking for or why she’s even doing any of this, she feels her mother’s guiding hand with every stroke of her pen.
Levi is long gone to bed. It’s after midnight. Gus is wide awake.
She starts with the Polaroid of Gracie Halladay. Writes Gracie’s name and the date written on the back of the photo. April 2002. She skims the Lakes and Islands article dated September 3, 2002. The headline reads, “Local Woman Killed in Freak Accident.” It’s a brief notice more than a full-blown article.
June Halladay, 23, was tragically killed in a freak accident early Monday when she was struck by her own car in front of her childhood home in Elgin, Ontario. The young heiress suffered severe head injuries and later died in hospital. Her seven-year-old daughter, a minor who cannot be named, was in the car at the time of the accident. No charges have been laid. The victim’s father, prominent local businessman and political figure Senator Kep Halladay, was home at the time of the accident. June Halladay’s daughter, now sole heir to the Halladay fortune, remains in the care of her grandfather.
In red marker, Shannon had circled Kep Halladay’s name.
Gus checks her notes. She does the math. The Polaroid was taken a few months before the accident. Gracie looks about seven. June’s twenty-three. If Gracie is her daughter, then June would have been fifteen or sixteen when she got pregnant. Gus writes June Halladay in her notebook. Then Kep Halladay. Adds the date of the accident next to June’s name.
Gus skims the missing persons report. July 16, 2003. Not much to it. The report was initiated by Ida and Ron Neil and filed at the Kingston RCMP detachment by Sergeant Marty Stanton. Henry was nineteen when he was reported missing. It names Senator Halladay among those interviewed, as well as his eight-year-old granddaughter, Gracie Halladay.
So Gracie was the minor who could not be named. Daughter of June.
Gus smiles. She’s enjoying connecting the dots. According to the statements given by those interviewed, Henry was last seen two weeks earlier collecting mineral samples seven miles from the town of Elgin. Again, Shannon has circled Kep Halladay’s name. Gus jots Henry’s name, age, and the date he went missing in her notebook.
She compares the two photos of Henry. One with his parents. A beaming young high school grad. The other on a porch. The image is grainy. Taken at night. Almost looks like a robber caught by a security camera. Tough to tell if it’s Henry. By the question mark after his name written across the top of the photocopied image, Gus sees that Shannon wasn’t sure either. And someone else is there. A hand is opening the door. There’s a large brass knocker on the front of the door shaped like a lion’s head.
Gus moves on to the deed of trust. It’s full of legal mumbo jumbo and lists a bunch of names and places. The town of Elgin is mentioned along with some longitudes and latitudes. There are thirty-three signatures at the bottom of the deed. And below those names is another signature. A thirty-fourth. Set apart from the others. Kep Halladay’s. The deed appears to be some sort of land deal relating to mineral rights. The rights are being signed over to Halladay by all the others. Halladay’s name has been circled in red marker. The deed was signed, notarized, sealed, and dated August 26, 2003, by the county records office of Leeds Grenville. The records office address is neatly typed across the bottom of the document.
Next is an article from the Globe and Mail dated January 22, 2004. Some five months after the deed was signed. The headline reads, “Prominent Tycoon Inks Landmark Mineral Rights Deal.” Senator Halladay is named as the tycoon. It details how Halladay just announced that he has negotiated a mineral rights deal with a Toronto land brokerage firm representing an American oil and gas company. His name is circled again. Another of her mother’s red bull’s-eyes squarely aimed at Senator Kep Halladay.
The final piece of evidence on the far right of Shannon’s wall is a photograph. Gus remembers it. Remembers never letting her young eyes linger on it too long because she didn’t like it. To an eight-year-old, the man in the photo looked like a ghost.
She leans in close now. Curious and unafraid. The photo was shot through the front windshield of a car from the driver’s seat. Looking closely, she can make out the edge of the tan dashboard and the blue hood. Her mother’s Corolla was blue with a tan interior. The figure is crossing the intersection in front of the car. Must have been taken when the car was stopped at a red light. He’s moving fast so his lower body is a blur. He’s broad shouldered. His arms swing. He’s wearing a white hoodie. His upper body and head are in focus. His face is in profile, partially hidden behind the hoodie, but his left ear pokes out. It’s deformed. A mass of wrinkled scar tissue that’s almost as white as his hoodie. Augusta flips the photo over. Shannon’s red marker has scrawled two words on the back.
Grease Monkey.
Gus flips the photo back over. In the background of the image, behind the man, is a storefront. Slightly out of focus, but the sign is readable. Elgin Apothecary and Gift Shop.
Gus reviews her notes and underlines key names and dates.
Gracie Halladay (7), photo dated April 2002.
June Halladay (23), died September 2, 2002.
Henry Neil (19), reported missing July 16, 2003.
Deed of trust, signed August 26, 2003.
Land deal, announced January 22, 2004.
She adds the words Grease Monkey to the list.
Gus picks up her red marker and circles Senator Halladay’s name in the article about Henry from today’s newspaper. Just like her mother would have done.
That’s when she spots it.
A tiny smudge of red ink at the bottom of the police report. Only this is more than just a remnant of a line or circle made by Shannon years ago. This smudge is a fingerprint. Only part of a fingerprint. Made accidentally. But it was made by her mother. Gus shivers. She presses her index finger against Shannon’s print. Feels herself being led. But where? And toward what? Augusta’s eyes search the evidence and a place jumps out. A town. Then it clicks. That’s where Shannon used to go and Gus is certain she must go there too.
She remembers her mother telling the babysitter, Annalee, that’s where she was going. More than once. She can almost hear them now.
She’s finished her French dictée homework. She’s settling in next to Annalee to watch a movie. The fifteen-year-old loves dance movies. Has DVDs of all the latest releases. Shall We Dance, Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights. The pair barely look up as Shannon stands at the door giving last-minute instructions before she rushes off.
Okay, I’ve set the alarm on my watch for 10 P.M. like usual. I’ll head back then. Call 911 if the house catches fire or if anyone accidentally gets stabbed.
Annalee laughs and waves.
Don’t worry, Mrs. Monet. We’re good.
I’m serious. Call 911 if anything happens. You might not be able to reach me. Cell service drops out in that part of the county, especially around Elgin.
Another time, Augusta is waiting in the parking lot of the Independent Grocer while Shannon’s inside. Gus has her feet on the dash and is doing a tap dance on the glove compartment when it pops open. A crumpled map tumbles out. Augusta opens it. Eastern Ontario. She finds Ottawa on the map. Then she notices a circle drawn around a town not far away.
Elgin.
12
James
AUGUSTA WAKES TO LEVI LICKING HER FACE. SHE’S LYING ON the sofa in the living room. The sun’s up. She must have fallen asleep sometime after two in the morning. Her eyes adjust to the light flooding in the front window. She looks up at Shannon’s wall. Levi follows her gaze. His eyes scan the red markings crisscrossing the collage of photos and papers. He looks at her. She shrugs. Dog doesn’t get it. Neither does she really, but she’s happy with what she’s done. Her mother now inhabits Rose’s house along with her and Levi. She ruffles the top of the dog’s scruffy head.
“Road trip?”
A half hour later, Augusta and Levi are standing in front of the rickety garage door. She opens it. A dust cloud billows from inside. Levi wags his tail. Next to a few rusty garden tools and cracked planters sits Rose’s beige Buick Skylark sedan. Levi barks. He knows the car. She puts the dog in the back, gets in, holds her breath, and turns the key in the ignition. The old Buick whirs then sputters and stalls. She floors the gas pedal like Lars taught her. Flushing the air out of the gas line. Tries again. The Buick chugs then turns over. She exhales and backs out of the garage. Levi settles down across the back seat.
Gus has her new satchel on the seat next to her. It was the first thing she bought with Rose’s mattress stash. Found it in a little luggage store a few blocks from Rose’s. To replace the purse Lars picked out for her. That one’s in the dumpster behind the Metro. This one’s less faux designer. More functional. Large enough to carry her phone, notebook, pen, red marker, two water bottles, and a couple of egg salad sandwiches wrapped in tinfoil for lunch.
One for her, one for Levi.
The Buick is a beast but Gus is comfortable driving it. The weight of it feels solid underneath her. No weird pings or moans are coming from its belly so hopefully it’s road-ready. Gus pulls into a gas station to fill up. She gets the attendant to check under the hood while she goes inside to buy a map of Eastern Ontario.
Gus likes maps. Likes the feel of the paper. The folds and the grids. The feeling that all the world can be seen from overhead in a glimpse. That everything has a place and connects to everything else. An illusion she finds comforting. Lars used to laugh when she’d suggest they buy a map instead of using his GPS. But to Gus, it’s much weirder to have a disembodied digital voice telling you where to turn and when. What if it steers you wrong? Paper feels more reliable. Besides, she’s pretty sure the phone Lars gave her isn’t that smart.
Opening the map, Gus finds the town. It looks to be about eighty miles from Ottawa, in the middle of a system of lakes and rivers. Looks remote. Not close to any major highways. A few small towns dot the county twelve miles away on either side, but Elgin seems to sit apart. Closest city is Kingston, which is about a forty-minute drive southwest. She circles Elgin with her red marker. Just like Shannon did. Gus leaves the map open on the seat next to her as she drives out of town due south. They’re in farm country inside twenty minutes. Rows of green corn stand at attention along the roadside under a baby blue cloudless sky. It’s a full hour before Augusta sees the first sign.
Elgin 50 km.
She rolls down the windows. The breeze turns her red hair into a cat-o’-nine-tails. Levi sticks his head out the window. Tongue flapping. Cheeks billowing. Eyes shut. Blissful. They pass acres of summer-soaked alfalfa fields. Cross a long bridge over a wide brown river dotted with cottages. A ghost tree sits solitary on a grassy hill at the far side of the bridge. All its leaves and bark are stripped away by wind, sun, and age. Nothing left but naked white bones reaching for the sky.
Elgin 35 km.
Augusta turns on the radio. It’s tuned to public broadcast. CBC. A noon call-in show. Some heated debate over whether or not elementary-school children should get two nutrition breaks versus one lunch break. Angry parents call in to give their two cents. A child psychologist offers her expert opinion. Gus can’t imagine getting so worked up about two twenties versus a forty. It’s the same thing. Kids eat either way.
Shannon usually forgot to pack Augusta’s lunch. If she remembered, it was some prepackaged salami-and-cheese combo in a plastic tray with a mini Kit Kat and a tutti-frutti juice box that turned Augusta’s lips blue.
Gus punches buttons on the radio until she hears the sweet rippling voice of a woman singing a bluesy folk song. Or is it two women singing together? In harmony. Lars never wanted to listen to anything but hard rock or heavy metal. She didn’t mind because the deafening noise drowned out her thoughts. This song does the opposite. It brings them achingly into the foreground.
Take me oh take me back,
Take me oh take me back,
To where I was when our world blew apart,
To how it felt when you wrecked my heart.
I want to live in the space between our kisses,
I want to wander through all our near misses.
Take me oh take me back, to that place we once called home,
Take me oh take me back, to that feeling of being so all alone.
She turns off the radio midsong. Instead, she tunes in to the dog snoring in the back seat. The hum of the Buick’s engine. The hiss of tires across hot asphalt.
Elgin 10 km.
The road slowly changes the closer she gets. The pavement becomes more and more riddled with cracks. Crumbling at the edges. After a few miles, the landscape changes too. Lush farmland gives way to dusty barren fields or great swaths of purple flowering weeds that cover huge tracts of land. Rock formations weave across the fields, jutting from hillsides and edging the cracked highway.
As she continues, Gus sees something blocking the road up ahead. She slows, then stops. A cement barricade runs across the two-lane highway. Blocking the road to Elgin. Dead end. She must have missed the warning signs.
Augusta leaves the car running and gets out to stretch her legs. Levi jumps out. Bolts off the hot pavement and pees on the purple loosestrife in the dry ditch. Augusta walks to the barricade and reads the sign bolted across it.
ROAD CLOSED. DO NOT ENTER. HAZARDOUS TOXIC WASTE. UNAUTHORIZED ENTRY BANNED.
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br /> At the bottom of the sign, there’s some smaller writing.
BY ORDER OF THE COUNTY OF LEEDS GRENVILLE PUBLIC WORKS AND RECORDS OFFICE AND THE CHIEF MEDICAL OFFICER OF THE ONTARIO MINISTRY OF HEALTH.
After taking a photo of the sign, Augusta jumps back into the Buick. Levi follows. She checks the map then pulls a U-turn, heading north on Highway 15.
There are other roads into Elgin.
She takes a right on 42, following the detour sign she missed before. All the side roads off the 42 that lead toward Elgin are closed from Lockwood Lane to Hartsgravel Road. She drives through the town of Delta and finds another detour sign rerouting her back to the 15 via Lyndhurst Road. This detour takes her through the village of Lyndhurst, past three more barricades at Old Briar Hill, Sweet Corners, and Back Street, which lands her right back on the 15, well south of Elgin. Reaching a T-junction at the 15, she checks the map again. She’s done a 180 around Elgin, never getting closer than three miles to the town. No back lanes. No cut-throughs. All blocked. And if the map’s right, there’s no access on the far side, either. Just a maze of rivers that connects Sand Lake, Murphy’s Bay, and Opinicon Lake.
She can’t drive in. Now she’s even more curious about this town her mother used to visit. She’ll have to park somewhere and walk in.
Gus turns right, passes a graveyard surrounded by a low fence bearing a sign that says DESIGNATED CEMETERY. Farther up, she passes a deserted gas station. Weeds spiral around the abandoned pumps. Past the station is another barricade. She pulls off the highway onto a dirt lane sheltered by a large willow. Parks in the shade and decides to eat before beginning the three-mile hike into town. She grabs an egg sandwich and tosses Levi half. He chokes it down whole, then nudges her shoulder for more. Gus ignores him, closes her eyes, and listens to the willow branches swishing lightly in the breeze. Levi delicately pulls the half-eaten sandwich from her hand. She doesn’t care. She leans her head back as the branches stroke the hood of the Buick. The song from the radio wafts back.