While he was eating, he reflected that meeting her had affected his life more profoundly than he’d realized. For one thing, he hadn’t been to his favorite bar with his buddies for several weeks. In addition, he often helped out on a yacht, which was owned by one of the guys at work and his girlfriend. It was too big for two people to operate safely when the sea was at all rough, which was often the case in Conception Bay. He had turned down the last two invitations. Perhaps if he called, they would let him bring Riley. She’d love it.
When he’d finished his meal, the wind and the rain were still lashing the house so violently that it shuddered in the stronger gusts. Riley had once complained that the few Newfoundland storms she’d experienced kept her awake at night; they had the opposite effect on Paul, no doubt because they were part of normal life.
Beginning to feel very drowsy, he returned to Riley’s room with the idea of going to bed. The prospect of changing the sheets didn’t appeal to him. In any case, it seemed unnecessary. Tropical storms brought a warming humidity with them, so he put on his pajama pants, fluffed up the pillows and pulled the sheet over him. As he did so, a barely detectable fragrance permeated the air. For a moment he thought it was his imagination, then he remembered noticing a delicious aroma on those occasions when Riley was near him and also when they were kissing. He guessed it was a very subtle perfume of some kind. Whatever, it made her seem closer. As for the aura he had thought about, Riley was all around him. Quite unaware that his eyes had closed, he was soon in a deep sleep.
Four hours later, the radio alarm went off; Paul had set it for three p.m. By getting up after a shorter than normal rest, he would be able to sleep again during the coming night. His original plan for the afternoon was to go for a walk down the trail, but the storm was still battering the countryside and it was out of the question. Instead, he went to the spare room in search of something to read. He had noticed a bookshelf there. The titles were an odd mixture, but the collection was Riley’s uncle’s, not hers. Nevertheless, he found an old thriller that looked promising. He made himself comfortable on the sofa and had just started the third chapter when the phone gave a half-ring and the fridge stopped humming in the kitchen. Paul tried the nearest light switch. Nothing. The power was off. Something to do with the weather, no doubt.
Curiosity got the better of him so he decided to investigate. The first thing he needed was a waterproof, which he found in the closet by the front door in the form of a plastic mackintosh. He held it over his head and ran for the Mustang. The driveway was almost a river when he headed down the slope to Dog Cove Road. Paul automatically turned left toward his home. He drove through the deluge with care, the windshield wipers slapping back and forth at their fastest setting.
The problem was a few hundred yards down the road. An unusually tall balsam fir at an exposed corner had fallen across the power and phone lines, its roots unable to grip the thin layer of soil covering the bedrock. Not one, but two hydro poles had been snapped off. It would take a while to clean up the mess and replace them. He continued on down Dog Cove Road, turning right at the bottom of the hill. After about a mile, he came to a familiar store. There was a sign saying it was open and the lights were on inside. The widened shoulder served as a parking area so he only had to run a few steps to get out of the rain.
The gray-haired woman behind the counter smiled as he closed the door against the wind.
“‘Ello, Mr. Sutherland,” she greeted. “Not fit for man nor beast, is it?”
“It certainly isn’t, Mrs. Fowler. There’s a tree down on Dog Cove Road. It took out a couple of hydro poles.”
“Is that so, now? I thought it was a mighty strong wind.”
“May I use your phone to report it?”
“‘Elp yourself.” Mrs. Fowler pushed the instrument across the counter.
Riley would be phoning in an hour or so and would wonder why her line was out of order. It therefore seemed a good idea to see if she’d returned from Corner Brook.
“Thanks. And I’ll need to make a long distance call.” He took a $2 bill out of his pocket and handed it over.
After reporting the outage to Newfoundland Hydro, he dialed the guesthouse. As expected, Riley was still out, so he left a message saying he would contact her Thursday evening.
On his way back to the house, Paul couldn’t stop yawning. Earlier on, he’d thought about going out for a meal but was much too tired. There was ham and cheese in the fridge; that would be enough with the bread and salad he’d brought with him.
By the time he parked the Mustang, the rain had stopped so he checked for downed trees in the woods bordering the lawn. There was nothing visible except for a sizable, half-dead branch near the far end. That would have to wait until morning. Meanwhile, food and bed were priorities.
When Paul awoke, he was reluctant to relinquish a rather jumbled dream in which Riley was in bed beside him, alternately naked and fully dressed. The red numbers of her radio alarm weren’t visible, which meant the power was still out. The dim face of his luminous watch told him it was a little after one-thirty a.m. He was about to reach for the flashlight that he’d brought in from the Mustang, when he heard something. It was a faint thump from somewhere below. If the wind hadn’t dropped considerably, he wouldn’t have noticed it. Then it happened again. This time it was louder. Was someone trying to break into the basement?
Paul’s heart raced as panic began to rise, but he soon got a grip on himself and began to think logically. With the power and phone still out, there was no way to contact the police. The only alternative was to go outside and find out what was going on without being seen or heard. After that he would play it by ear.
The front door was on the opposite side of the house from the basement and Riley’s bedroom. It was almost pitch black but he couldn’t use his flashlight to get there as it would almost certainly give him away. All he could do was to make sure he didn’t bang into anything.
He had scarcely got to his feet, when there was a flash of light from outside and the beam of a torch swung slowly across the window. Shining from below, it only illuminated the ceiling. Someone was definitely out there.
Paul’s journey to the front door went without a hitch. The only piece of furniture he forgot about was the small table with the phone. It rattled from the gentle collision, but otherwise there was no sound. He froze. Nothing happened. Seizing the opportunity, he lifted the receiver, just in case, but there was no dialing tone. He would have to go on. The hinges of the front door and its lock were well-oiled so that it opened without a sound.
It wasn’t until he was standing outside that he realized all he had on was pajama pants. Worse still, he had no weapon. There was nothing he could do about either, except hope that he wouldn’t be seen, which seemed a good bet. What little light there was came from the streets and buildings of Portugal Cove and distant St. John’s. Their glow was reflected from the clouds that were racing across the sky in the wake of the storm. His plan was to turn left then creep around the house, keeping tight against the wall.
Halfway toward the Mustang, he heard muffled voices. The light outside was better than indoors, and as he rounded the first corner the car came into view, its dim outline barely distinguishable. For a moment, he was surprised that there wasn’t another vehicle parked behind it, but whoever it was had probably come through the woods. Minutes seemed to pass as he continued on his way. In fact, it was just a matter of seconds before he stepped on a sharp stone and almost fell. He stopped abruptly, only to find himself standing in full view of the basement door just a few yards away.
An eerie, motionless tableau froze into his brain. There were four figures, all wearing ski masks and illuminated by the reflection from a flashlight being played on the lock. It was held by a tall person leaning forward, while a second intruder was gripping some kind of probe that had been inserted into the keyhole. The other two were farther away, looking down and watching the operation.
Paul must have made a s
ound without realizing it, because they all turned in unison. At the same moment, the flashlight swung around, momentarily blinding him.
“What the fuck?” said one of them gruffly.
Then someone else cried, “Whaa—”
“Let’s go!” snapped the third intruder, who was holding the flashlight. He turned it away from Paul and shone it down the lawn.
All four started running across the grass toward the path that led through the woods to the meadow.
Without thinking, Paul threw caution to the winds and gave chase. There was no sound as his bare feet gripped the wet grass. Although he was gaining on his quarry, he had no idea what to do if he caught up with them. In a few short seconds, the waving light from the torch began to disappear into the trees. At the same moment the shape of a head rose in front of him, black against the faintly lit clouds. Something grabbed at his shins. He tripped, stumbled a few feet, then crashed to the ground. His temple smashed into a hard object and everything went blank for a few moments.
Paul found himself lying flat on the ground with his face in a bed of wet spruce needles. He could hear the distant sounds of snapping twigs and heavy footfalls as he tried to raise his head. Pain shot through his temple. All he could manage was to roll on his back. By the time he had regained his senses, he guessed that the intruders were halfway across the meadow. There was nothing more he could do.
Soaking wet from the sodden grass, he began to shiver in spite of the warm night. His head ached abominably as he got to his knees then staggered to his feet. The peak of the house was outlined against the glowing clouds, enabling him to locate the front door without incident. Inside, it was still dark, then he remembered the flashlight from the Mustang. He soon found it in Riley’s bedroom where he’d left it.
Paul was one of those people who are almost obsessed with time, no doubt because of the nature of his job. As a result, the first thing he did was to look at his watch. It was 1:37 a.m. The entire incident had taken less than five minutes from start to finish. As he relived the sequence of events, it suddenly came to him. The voice that cried “Whaa—” was that of a woman.
With the phone still out, the quickest way of contacting the RCMP was to wake up Mrs. Fowler at her store and call from there. Ignoring his injury, Paul put on some clothes and drove down the hill. Crews were working under floodlights on the hydro poles leaving little room to get past. He noticed that one of the trucks was from the phone company, but there was no knowing how long it would be before service was restored.
At first Mrs. Fowler seemed put out, but when she heard what had happened and saw the weeping lump on Paul’s head she became quite concerned. While he used the phone, she disappeared out back to fetch a bowl of water and towels. After taking the particulars, the duty officer at the station said a patrol car would be around in a few minutes.
Mrs. Fowler returned and set about cleaning Paul’s wound. When she was satisfied, she stood back and set the bowl on the counter.
“You looks a lot better now, Mr. Sutherland, but it’s a nasty bruise you have there.”
“Thanks for everything,” Paul replied. “And I’m sorry to disturb you.”
“Take care of yourself, now. And let me know what the police have to say.”
“Of course, Mrs. Fowler.”
Paul was halfway up the driveway when an RCMP cruiser turned in behind him. He parked the Mustang and stood waiting in the blinding glare of its headlights as it pulled up. The lights were turned off then two officers got out.
“We’ve obviously come to the right place,” said one of them as he switched on a flashlight. “My name’s Constable Taylor and my partner is Constable Byrne. Too bad about the phone being out. The suspects will be long gone by now.”
“Before we go inside,” said Paul, “I’ll take you to the basement and show you what happened.”
He went through the sequence of events with the aid of Constable Byrne’s flashlight and in so doing discovered the cause of his injury. When one of the intruders had tripped him, his head hit the branch that had fallen on the lawn during the storm. His assailant must have chosen the spot in the hope that Paul would be disabled. While the constables were examining the outside of the basement door, Paul retrieved the key from the kitchen and they all went inside. The place was empty save for Riley’s picnic table. This was the first time Paul had seen the three concrete pillars that supported the bearing wall and the slab of rock sticking up through the dirt to the right of the door. They made no impression at all, either on him, or by the looks of it, on the constables.
As they stepped outside, the sky opened. Paul slammed the door behind them and they ran for shelter. The moment they entered the house, he heard the fridge kick in and the kitchen light came on. He glanced at the two officers. They were both big and burly.
“Take a seat,” he said, indicating the sofa. “Can I get you some coffee?”
“No thank you, sir,” Taylor answered. “We won’t keep you long.” He pulled out a notebook. “Our night patrols have already been briefed on this house by Sergeant Kelly, so you needn’t bother with any background information.”
Paul went through everything for a second time while Taylor took notes. He agreed with Paul’s observation that the intruders had gone down the trail to the back line, where they had doubtless left their car. While they were talking, Constable Byrne checked that the phone was working and reported in to the duty officer.
Half an hour later, Paul saw them to their cruiser. Taylor thought it most unlikely that the intruders would be back. Paul could sleep through the rest of the night without worrying. However, the constable asked him to call Sergeant Kelly as soon as he got up. He added that it was unfortunate about the rain; any tire marks, footprints or similar clues would have been washed away. It seemed to him a complete mystery why the thieves would be interested in the empty basement; they probably thought it contained something worth stealing.
As the sound of the departing police car faded, Paul went to the bathroom and took three aspirins before returning to bed. He thanked his lucky stars that he didn’t have to go to work until noon. Miraculously, he drifted off to sleep.
When he awoke a little after nine o’clock, he decided not to call Riley and spoil her day. He was certain she would contact him when he returned from work. Instead, he got dressed then dialed the RCMP as requested. Sergeant Kelly answered the call. After hearing the story, he said it would be well worth checking the trail and the back line now that it was daylight. Someone might have dropped something. That would be done after Paul had gone to work. He also wanted to see the inside of the basement for himself, but since he had Constable Taylor’s description, it could wait for Riley’s return.
Chapter Thirteen
Dinner at Last
Riley found Corner Brook delightful and picturesque. She spent the morning wandering around the city center and the afternoon walking in the nearby hills. On the way back to Rocky Harbour, she diverted via Squires Provincial Park for a picnic dinner beside the Humber River. While sitting beneath a tree and eating the sandwiches provided by the guesthouse, she was able to watch dozens of salmon jumping the falls. As the cool of the evening became apparent, she began to wonder if her holiday was going a little too well, but soon dismissed the thought and continued on to the guesthouse.
After a shower, she called Paul at work.
“How was your day?” he asked.
“Perfect. Corner Brook’s a neat place. And how was yours? What about the storm? Sounds like it was a bad one.”
“Things were pretty wild for a bit. No damage or trees down though, just a big branch on the lawn. Unfortunately, there’s something else. I hate to tell you, but last night, some people tried to get into the basement.”
“What?”
“I heard noises about one-thirty and went to investigate.” He gave her a short description up to the point when he’d been spotted. “Then they ran across the lawn. Without thinking, I chased them.”
“Paul—”
“Don’t worry. I fell over and they got away.”
“Thank God you’re all right. Well, that does it! I’m coming home tomorrow. Quite apart from what’s happened, I miss you too much. I’ll leave early and see you around dinner time.”
Paul told her about Constables Taylor and Byrne, then they hung up.
Next morning, Riley skipped breakfast and set off for home soon after six o’clock. The weather was beautiful and perfect for driving. It seemed a shame to cut short her vacation, but all she wanted was to be with Paul again.
After an hour or so on the road, she began to feel drowsy. Even a particularly bumpy section failed to keep her alert. As luck would have it, she soon came to a gas station where she had a badly needed coffee while consulting her road map. St. Peter’s looked an awful long way. It wouldn’t be safe to drive so far in her present state. The thing to do was overnight somewhere and continue in the morning. The airport town of Gander seemed a reasonable target. There should be no problem finding a motel there. This would get her home sometime during the following afternoon. Then she had a spur-of-the-moment inspiration. When Paul returned from work at eight o’clock, she would give him a welcome he’d never forget. Being a Saturday, the shops would be open and she could get the wherewithal for a candlelight dinner. Afterwards, she felt a surge of excitement at the thought.
Riley was right. It was too dangerous to drive. She had been stuck behind a large white truck for miles, unable to overtake because of the winding road. It was ambling along at about 50 mph. After a while, she gave up trying. Her eyes soon became locked on the words written in black across the back: “Newfoundland Movers Ltd.” She followed at a safe distance, but her head nodded. In a second, the Pontiac was skittering along the soft shoulder and she almost ended up in the ditch. The close call snapped her back to reality so she stopped for another coffee.
On arriving at Gander, she chose one of several motels on the main road, but before registering, she called Paul at the weather office.
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