Raven Lake

by Rosemary McCracken

  It was almost nine thirty, but not too late for a phone call. I punched in a number and Irene Hounsell answered at the other end of the line.

  “Pat Tierney here,” I said. “Fran Reardon was a part-time teller when Vi was at the bank. I assume that Fran was short for Frances.”

  “Probably, but I only knew her as Fran.”

  “Is she still there?”

  “She left a few months after Vi was let go.”

  “What did Fran look like?”

  “Tall, shoulder-length white hair that she often wore up in a chignon. Weathered face. Probably in her early sixties back then.”

  “Was she married?”

  “She mentioned her husband now and then, but I never met him.”

  “Did she say what kind of work he did?”

  “I don’t think so. I remember they had a place in the country. Went there most weekends.”

  “Did she say where it was?”

  “She may have, but I don’t remember.”

  “Well, thank you—”

  “Wait. The name had something to do with a bird.”

  “Raven Lake?”

  “That’s it. Their place was on Raven Lake.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  At breakfast the next morning, I asked Bruce what he knew about Wilf’s crusade to keep the planet green.

  “Wilf was definitely a greenie,” he said as he poured coffee for us. “He was talking about buying a hybrid car.”

  “Darlene told me the greenies show up at council meetings when anything about the aggregate companies is on the agenda. Bruce was at those meetings?”

  He took his coffee mug to the table. “You bet he was. There are seven aggregate operations in the township. The greenies claim they’re driving the planet into extinction and Wilf was leading the fight against them. He wasn’t shy about addressing council on this issue.”

  “Didn’t he cover council for The Times?” I asked.

  “Janet Bailey covers council. We can count on her to write unbiased reports.”

  I pressed on. “Darlene said Wilf was looking into ethical investing.”

  “He talked about putting money into green funds, but I don’t think he did much of that. Not while they were raising two kids.”

  “He had some freelance work.”

  “The occasional wedding helped out, but they didn’t come along as often as he would have liked. The locals prefer to take their own pictures.”

  “He did some work for Daniel Laughton recently.”

  “Wilf was excited about that. Considered it an honor to photograph a man he admired.”

  “Did he say how it was going?”

  Bruce shook his head. “He didn’t talk about it all, which was curious seeing how pleased he’d been to get the job.”

  “Darlene said Wilf and Daniel had a falling-out.”

  “Wilf never mentioned that.” Bruce looked thoughtful for a moment or two. “A few weeks ago he sent me an email about a pharmaceutical company. I don’t recall the details, but I can show it to you.”

  “I’d like to see it.”

  “I’m meeting an advertiser at ten. If you want to come in with me now, I’ll give you a printout.”

  I nodded and sipped my coffee while he finished his breakfast. “When you went to the Laughtons’ place after the fireworks, Daniel picked you up in the boat. Didn’t Frances usually come for you?”

  “Yeah, she usually did, but she’d been visiting their daughter that weekend. Rob brought her back to the cabin on Sunday afternoon.”

  “Where does the daughter live?” I asked.

  “Toronto.”

  Frances had been away from home on the evening of the fireworks.

  “Did you know that Frances worked with your mother at the bank?” I asked.

  Coffee sloshed over the rim of Bruce’s mug. “No way.”

  I told him about the photograph that identified Daniel’s wife as Frances Reardon Laughton. “She went by the name of Fran Reardon at the bank. Vi may not have known she was Daniel’s wife.”

  “Frances never said anything about knowing Mom,” Bruce said. “Are you sure about this? There wasn’t another Fran Reardon at the bank?”

  “An employee who worked with your mother told me Fran Reardon had a place on Raven Lake. What are the odds of two Fran Reardons being on this lake?”

  We drove to Braeloch in separate vehicles and went directly to Bruce’s office at The Times.

  “One of Wilf’s animal rights friends gave him a tip about a company called Spadina Pharmaceuticals,” he said with his eyes on his computer screen.

  “I’ve heard of it. Its headquarters are in Toronto.” And it was one of the companies held by The Green Funds.

  “Wilf was hot to trot on this,” he said.

  The printer across the room began to rumble. Bruce went over to it and handed me a sheet of paper.

  I read the message aloud. “Buddy of mine at AnimalPals says the big pharma outfit, Spadina Pharmaceuticals, is trapping cats, and using painful, invasive methods in experiments on them. This is a BIG story. Let me follow up on it. Wilf.”

  I looked up at Bruce. “What did you say to him?”

  “I told him—whoa, we’re a small-town paper and local news sells local papers. Spadina Pharmaceuticals is a Toronto company, and Toronto is outside our coverage area.” He paused. “And we don’t have the resources to tackle this.”

  “You were worried about a lawsuit.”

  He nodded. “A lawsuit could put us out of business.”

  “How did he take it?”

  “Called me a chickenshit. I told him he was welcome to pursue the story as a freelancer. Sell it to one of Toronto papers or one of the TV networks. That was the last I heard of it.”

  “But why wouldn’t his friend, or this AnimalPals group, approach the Toronto media? Why come to Wilf at a small newspaper in cottage country?”

  “Good question. Maybe they weren’t as ready to go public as Wilf thought they were. Needed proof to back their claims and wanted him to poke around.”

  “You met the friend?”

  “Nope. Don’t even know his name.”

  “Darlene said the police took Wilf’s home computer. I assume they took the machine he worked on here?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then they’ll probably contact Wilf’s friend and find out what he knows.”

  He shrugged. “Do you think this is important?”

  “Last month, Daniel signed a contract to do television endorsements of Green Unlimited’s Green Funds,” I said. “Have you heard of them? Four mutual funds. Spadina Pharmaceuticals is one of their holdings.”

  Bruce whistled. “I see what you’re getting at. Wilf must’ve told Daniel what he’d heard about Spadina. That’s exactly what he would’ve done.”

  “Hence the bad blood between them,” I said.

  “It would certainly sour their working relationship.”

  “Daniel might not have known about Spadina’s mistreatment of animals. He may have toured its facilities and found everything looked squeaky clean. But if the claims turn out to be true, the fallout will badly tarnish his reputation.”

  As I waited for the elevator, I watched Bruce join Maria at a desk in the middle of the room. Another issue of The Highland Times was taking shape.

  At the library, I did an Internet search for the Sustainable Living Society of Toronto. Frances Reardon was listed as its president emeritus and a member of its board of directors. A search for her name brought up three articles that referred to her as Daniel Laughton’s business manager.

  Back on Main Street, I crossed paths with Jamie. “How’s your mother?” I asked after I gave her a hug.

  “She’s coming along nicely. Yesterday was the caregiver’s last day, and I’ll go back to Toronto on Sunday. How are you doing? I hear you had more renters at the cottage.”

  “I’m staying with Bruce.”

  “Tracy told me that. It was the smart thi
ng to do.”

  I had something to run by her. Jamie is the greenie in our family. She walks and bikes wherever she can, and she voices her concerns about greenhouse gas emissions and endangered species.

  She’s also a lawyer who specializes in investment issues.

  I steered her over to the bench in the parkette and showed her the email that Wilf had sent Bruce. I told her about Daniel Laughton endorsing The Green Funds on television.

  “I caught a few of those ads,” she said. “Laughton was very convincing but I was surprised to see him doing endorsements. There must be a whack of money in it for his foundation.”

  “Would he know that Green Unlimited’s funds may not be as green as it claims?”

  “He would have done his homework, but he wouldn’t know everything that goes on at a company unless he actually worked there.”

  “I’d like to talk to him,” I said.

  “That’s what Wilf probably did. He must have confronted Laughton about what his friend told him. And look what happened to him. Be careful.”

  Something cold rattled down my spine.

  My next stop was the OPP detachment. Foster grunted and didn’t look up when the sergeant on duty brought me to his office.

  I ignored his bad manners. I sat myself down and told him about Wilf Mathers’ freelance assignment. And that his widow had the impression that it hadn’t gone well.”

  Foster scribbled notes on a pad and gestured with his other hand for me to continue.

  I told him about the email Wilf had sent Bruce, Daniel’s TV endorsements of The Green Funds and that the mutual funds held shares in Spadina Pharmaceuticals.

  I pushed my printout of the email across his desk.

  He grabbed it. “I’ll keep this. Why the hell didn’t Stohl show it to us?”

  “He only thought of it today when I told him about Daniel’s endorsements.”

  “I’ll bet he did. He’s been thwarting this investigation at every turn.”

  It was just bluster. Foster had no evidence against Bruce, which was why he’d eased up on him.

  “At the time, Bruce dismissed it as a pitch from an over-eager reporter,” I said. “When he called up the email this morning, I remembered that The Green Funds were invested in Spadina Pharmaceuticals. Bruce said Wilf would have confronted Daniel about the claims against the pharmaceutical company.”

  “And you rushed right over to tell us.”

  “That’s exactly what I did. There should be emails from Wilf’s buddy at AnimalPals on his computers. You have them, so you may be able to locate him.”

  “You’ve got more to tell me?”

  I told him that Daniel and Vi had been friends when they were teenagers, and that Daniel had visited Vi at Highland Ridge in recent years.

  Foster put down his pen. “Where can we find Laughton?”

  “He has a place on Raven Lake. On one of its northern arms.”

  “Thank you for bringing this to our attention. We’ll talk to Laughton and we’ll take another look at Wilf Mathers’ computers. We need to find his animal-rights friend.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. A thank-you from Foster. I took the opportunity to slip in a question. “Have you got the test results for the cardigan you found on Bruce’s porch?”

  “There’s a backlog of evidence at our labs. What’s important is that we get results in time for a court appearance.”

  I sighed. They still had no idea whether the cardigan was Vi’s.

  “Let us worry about it, Ms. Tierney.”

  “If you need me,” I said, “I’m staying at Bruce’s place. The rental scamster has targeted my rental cottage at Black Bear Lake.”

  He grunted. “This township is a hotbed of crime.”

  I was thinking about how I’d get the kayak down the steps to the lake, when Ronnie’s Mazda roared up the lane. A blue kayak was strapped to its hood.

  “Like my boat?” Jamie called through the open window. “I rented it for a few days. Figured you’d want to explore Raven Lake and you’d need company.”

  “How did you find this place?”

  “I went over to The Times and asked Bruce.” She held up a brown paper bag. “Our lunch.”

  I must have looked wary because she smiled. “I passed up the kelp wraps for tuna and egg salad sandwiches,” she said. “We can have a picnic on the lakes.”

  Ten minutes later, we were on the water. The lake was calm, the water sparkling in the sunlight. Jamie took the lead. I reminded her that it was my lake, because I was staying at Bruce’s cabin and that I should be in front. Our laughter echoed over the water.

  We paddled steadily until we came to a sandy beach. I pointed to it and Jamie nodded. We made smooth landings. Jamie tied the kayaks to a tree and I spread a blanket on the sand.

  While we ate, I told her about my visit to Foster. I took my map of the chain of lakes out of my pack. “The Laughtons’ cabin is up here.” I pointed to the north side of the lake. “Here’s where we are.”

  “That’s a long paddle on this big lake.” She glanced at me. “I take it you want to go there.”

  “Not today. Foster said he’d be talking to Daniel. He may be there this afternoon.”

  She bent over the map. “We can check out the old-growth hemlocks at Cat Lake. There’s a portage into Cat from Raven.”

  “Portage?” I wasn’t up for hauling a kayak across the township.

  She showed me where Cat Lake was on the map. “We’ll leave the kayaks on the shore and walk to Cat. It’s not far.”

  “Can we drop in on Chuck and Gracie Gibson on our way?” I told her that their home had been one of the rental scamster’s targets. I pointed to its location on the map.

  “Of course we’ll stop by,” Jamie said.

  I’d been calling the Gibsons every evening as I’d promised, but it had slipped my mind the night before.

  We got back into our kayaks and headed east. We passed Riza’s place—a handsome two-storey log affair with bright red shutters that matched the red metal roof. The lawn sloped down to the waterfront and was completely given over to a woodland garden with flowering plants nestled among the rocks. A motorboat was moored at the dock but Riza’s silver canoe was nowhere in sight. I figured she was out on the lakes with Zoe.

  I led the way across the bay to the Gibsons’ dock. Chuck hurried down the path, brandishing his air pistol.

  “Chuck, it’s Pat Tierney with a friend,” I called out.

  He lowered the pistol. “Pat, thank goodness. We were worried when we didn’t hear from you last night.”

  I introduced him to Jamie and told him I was no longer at the cottage at Black Bear Lake.

  He sat on the edge of the dock. “More renters turn up?”

  I gave him a wry smile. “Another group arrived when I was in Toronto. It seemed best to get out. I’m staying with a friend.”

  He looked down at the pistol he’d placed on the dock. “Is this ever going to end? I don’t know how long Gracie and I can hold on here.”

  “More renters came by?” Jamie asked.

  “It’s been quiet this week but we’re gearing up for the weekend. That’s when they seem to show up.”

  His face broke into a grin. “I was interviewed by The Highland Times. For an article on the rental frauds. It’ll be out on Friday.”

  “I’ll look for it,” I said. “But, Chuck, tell me that you’ve had an alarm installed.”

  “Not yet. We’re having trouble deciding between two companies.”

  “Don’t wait too long.”

  I was about to push my boat away from the dock when I thought of something else. “Do you know Riza Santos across the bay?” I asked. “Big house with a red metal roof? She’s out in her canoe a lot.”

  “Riza?” Chuck said. “Never met anyone with that name. And since we sold the boat, we’re not down at the water much. Especially not this summer.”

  “I’ll call you tonight,” I told him.

  Jamie took us into a
bay farther east on the lake. It was ringed by trees and bushes, with not a building in sight. As we approached the far shore, I spotted a yellow sign on a tree. Closer still, I made out a black stick figure on the sign holding a canoe over its head. Under the figure were the words: Cat Lake, One Mile.

  We tied the kayaks to trees at the waterfront and hit the trail. Sunlight filtered through the trees, illuminating the forest like light through a cathedral window. We were well past the peak of black-fly season, and I only had to slap a few suckers off my neck and arms.

  At Cat Lake, Jamie led me down a path to our left. “This is a protected area because of its old-growth ecosystems.” She pointed at a tree that was growing over a large rock, its roots extending down into the ground below. “Yellow birch. They’re pretty rare around here.”

  She looked up at a magnificent tree that reached into the sky. “Hemlock, hundreds of years old. How did these giants manage to hide from the loggers?”

  She went up to the tree and wrapped her long arms around its trunk. I went to its other side and did the same. The tips of my fingers brushed hers. “We’re tree huggers,” I said.

  “How many years would it take for another tree to grow to that size?” she said as we returned to the trail. “We need to preserve places like this.”

  A breeze had picked up when we got back to Raven Lake, and waves were slapping the rocks. The stony beach was empty. The kayaks were gone. I glanced at the tree we’d tied them to. Two pieces of nylon rope dangled from it.

  Jamie was looking at the lake. “Out there.” She pointed to two shapes, one red and the other blue, on the water.

  She stripped down to her swimsuit and pulled a length of nylon rope from her pack. “Stay here with the backpacks.”

  She dove into the water and swam hard with sure, even strokes. She circled each kayak, attached the rope to it and swam back to shore towing the boats behind her.

  “The paddles are gone,” she said as she waded out of the water.

  “We’re stranded here,” I said.

  “It would be a long swim back.”