Two years ago, Edgar had experienced his first murder and the stain of other unspeakable acts that this little town had reeled over. He'd watched the village and the reserve go back to their normal, friendly, innocent ways over the last twenty-one months, painfully but determinedly putting the pieces back together.
It took hard work on the part of the politicians, the law enforcers and the people to maintain a calm serenity in the face of the potential for unrest and controversy. Especially given Burchill's unique circumstances—a small, conservative village and native reserve, seasonally inundated with tourists, plus a provincial park, a pleasure canal, surrounded by acres of untended forest.
In the last few months, Edgar had felt as if everything were unravelling again. The subdivision had been the first of the troubles, followed by Oona's and Frieda's disappearance. Now the scene that spread before him reminded him of an angry, tumultuous wave suddenly rising up on a relatively calm sea. He wondered briefly if it would turn them all upside down in salty water.
Flashing the lights on his car to illuminate and hopefully part the crowd, Edgar got out into the middle of a tight knot of people on the sidewalk in front of the Main Street Station Pub. It was difficult at first to see who was in the middle. Then he caught sight of a small old man flailing crazily in the direction of a tall dark suit. Voices were raised in a babble of anger, indistinguishable as the words swirled over one another. Several hands and arms struck out now and then, as though to either encourage or immobilize. Edgar shoved his way fairly roughly to the middle of the circle.
Henry Whitesand, his gnarled brown face purple with anger and exertion, was pummelling Victor Reeves' chest, with ineffectual punches. The taller, younger man merely stood there, laughing and jeering, seemingly unfazed by the blows despite a trickle of blood oozing from his lip. Barry Mills was trying to separate them without much success.
Edgar spoke twice, and the second time his voice penetrated Henry's fury. "Henry. Stop. Now." Loud, forceful, designed to drown out the raised voices around him. It worked.
The native man turned toward Edgar long enough to register through his outrage that the Chief Superintendent of Police was speaking to him. As soon as he had done so his anger dissipated like a balloon being popped, and he slumped against Basil Fisher. Barry, who had been trying to pin Henry's arms down long enough to calm him, gave Edgar a look of pure admiration.
Hands on hips, Edgar slowly looked around at the small group. Victor Reeves maintained the smirk on his face, but his three comrades stood grim and respectful. In the silence that followed, Edgar studied each person carefully. He noted that the four businessmen looked very much alike. They were handsome, well dressed and tall, in varied and attractive shades of grey-blond hair. Their formal state of dress contrasted sharply with the casual villagers. Henry Whitesand, Basil Fisher, Steve McEntyer, and two others whose names escaped Edgar at the moment, had mostly donned sweatshirts and jeans. Edgar almost groaned at the sight of Steve McEntyer. For through his wife Ruth, this incident would be all over the village tomorrow. Only Barry Mills stood out, his white apron glowing in the moonlight.
"What is going on?" Edgar finally said when he saw that everyone had become calm and silent. "Barry?"
"Henry and Mr. Reeves began to argue in the pub," Barry said, betraying no emotion, reporting the way he would in his role as police volunteer. "They were arguing over Walking Bear. Then Henry took a swing at Mr. Reeves. The other gentleman," he nodded toward the blondest, and apparently younger of the quartet, "got him to move out onto the street, but Henry followed. And then everyone else got up and went after them, so I thought I'd better call you. Sorry I wasn't able to handle it myself, Edgar."
"See, Chief, the little man swung at me first," Victor Reeves piped up, his tone still light and touched with amusement, "and," he said this as if he'd just discovered something quite profound and triumphant, "I'm bleeding." With that, he whipped out an impossibly-white, starched handkerchief and began to dab at the corner of his mouth.
A low growling sound erupted from Henry and his arms began to swing again. Barry, having just relaxed his stance, had difficulty getting the man under control again. Edgar put a hand on Henry's shoulder. "Henry, if you don't calm down things will get much worse. How about we go back into the pub? Just you four." Edgar pointed to Victor Reeves, the sandy-haired sidekick, Henry and Basil. "We can work this out, hopefully. The rest of you, please go on home. And Barry, do you think you or Kathy could brew up some coffee?"
"Coming up, Chief," Barry said with relief and quickly disappeared into his premises.
There was a bit of discussion following Edgar's request, especially among the contractor's quartet, who appeared to have only one car. In the end, though, the group complied. The five men were soon gathered around a table in the silent pub, each with hands wrapped around steaming cups of coffee.
"Okay, I need to hear it all," Edgar said. "And Henry, don't lose it again, or I will take you off to jail, and that's a promise." He sat back in his chair and surveyed the group, trying his best to maintain a casual, country-bumpkin air while at the same time listening to every nuance, alert to every gesture. "Why don't you start, Mr. Reeves?"
"Victor," the man said, making a big display of drinking from the uninjured side of his mouth only. "After the boy came into the pub screaming and crying about Walking Bear, we wanted to know the legend, so—"
Edgar held up his hand. "Stop. I think you need to go back to the beginning. What the hell are you talking about? What boy? What walking bear?"
"Maybe I can explain, sir," the sandy-haired man said, smiling and putting out his hand to shake Edgar's. "I'm Evan Fobert, Victor's partner. While we were in the pub, Mr. Mills' son came in, hysterical over an incident that had occurred in your forest." He said your forest as if he were accusing Edgar of not being very vigilant. "He and his friends were accosted by a creature that he claimed was called Walking Bear, which people at the bar began to tell us was part of some native tradition. Once the boy had been tended to and left, we asked about the legend and what it meant. Mr. Fisher here," nodding as though Edgar wouldn't be sure to which man he was referring, "was kind enough to explain the story to us."
"At which time," Basil interrupted, matching Evan Fobert's precise speech and condescending tone, "Mr. Reeves began to laugh and make derisive remarks about native folk lore."
"So I socked him," Henry mumbled. His head lowered as though either he'd just realized what a fool he'd been or he was falling asleep.
Edgar was well aware that his own responses to the conversation could have been based on prejudice toward the businessmen. But he was having a difficult time shaking the feeling that Reeves and Fobert believed they were talking to a bunch of illiterates, and he could sense their surprised reaction to Basil Fisher's vocabulary—a native man knowing how to use and pronounce derisive? Weren't they still at the How stage?
All of this passed through Edgar's mind in a flash, making him uncomfortably aware that he was a small-town police chief with emotional ties that could threaten his objectivity. However, just at the point when Edgar was successfully swallowing his biased thoughts, Victor Reeves began to laugh.
"I can't believe you people actually exist in this century. How the hell can you walk around in the twenty-first century believing in some kind of half human, half animal? I knew this was a hick town, but really..."
Edgar surprised himself and shocked the little group by slamming his hand down on the table. "That is not helping," he said in clipped, angry tones. "I ask you to keep your opinions to yourself for now. What you are telling me is that Bobby Mills was confronted by something he called Walking Bear and that he ran back here, hysterical?"
They all nodded.
"Okay. I'll have to check this out. Next, Victor, you began to insult native lore after you'd heard the story."
Victor, in the middle of a sip of coffee, tried to make some sort of verbal protest, but Evan Fobert smoothly cut in once more. "We apol
ogize for that, Edgar. We were out of line. We'd had a lot to drink, though I know that's no excuse. However, I do think Henry's violence was uncalled-for."
"Do you want to press charges, Mr. Reeves?" Edgar asked, ignoring Basil's look of disapproval and Henry's sharp intake of breath.
Victor Reeves looked straight into Edgar's eyes. The police officer could feel the steely, condescending vibrations from the stare. He knew instinctively that the contractor was calculating whether pressing charges against a respected older member of the Sahsejewon Reserve would seriously affect his business plans. His decision would have nothing to do with human decency, forgiveness or kindness. Edgar was certain of that. Reeves' definition of community only included quantitative factors.
"No," he said finally, putting down his coffee cup. "However, I would like an apology and a promise that the man will stay away from me. I don't want to feel constrained whenever I come in here."
Henry made a strangled noise. "The things you said," he moaned as though he had been the one bleeding, "are so hurtful, man. How can you live with yourself? How could you insult my people thus and not expect retaliation?"
"Henry, Mr. Reeves is offering a compromise. I'd like to propose one other caveat, Victor." Edgar took a moment to look at all of them. "Henry, you will apologize for striking at Mr. Reeves. Victor, you will apologize for insulting the Ojibwa traditions. Both of you will promise that you will not drink in the same place again. After all, there are other choices. You might find the Burchill Inn suits your purposes much better, Mr. Reeves, Mr. Fobert." He nodded at each of them in turn, reverting purposely to their formal names.
"Fine." Victor Reeves stood, towering over the table. "I apologize for insulting your traditions, Mr. Whitesand. May I go now, Chief Superintendent? I am tired and I wish to put ice on my lip." Though he sounded like a recalcitrant adolescent, Edgar surmised that his apology was likely the best one could expect.
"Not yet, sir. Henry has something to say."
"I apologize for socking you," Henry intoned immediately, without raising his head. Edgar noticed that Basil had poked his friend in the ribs to elicit the recital.
"Now you may leave, Mr. Reeves," Edgar said quickly. "And thank you for your willingness to end this situation amicably."
"Good night, everyone," Evan Fobert said sweetly, putting his hand on his partner's back and steering him solicitously toward the doorway. "Thank you for the coffee, Mr. Mills. Is there any charge?"
"Not at all," Barry answered formally, from behind the bar. "On the house."
As soon as the door closed, Edgar motioned for Barry to sit down with them. "Tell me the whole story about Bobby," he said, "but first, have you got any more of that delicious coffee?"
Out on the street, Evan Fobert folded his partner into the car with the other two contractors, who had waited up the street. "I'll take care of everything, Victor," he said quietly.
Victor Reeves looked straight into Evan's eyes, his mouth curled in a grin that managed to convey distaste, scorn and condescension all at once. "You'd better," he hissed.
"I'm gonna walk," Evan said in response, loudly, for the others to hear. "Clear my head."
He watched carefully as the automobile disappeared around the corner and then took his cell phone out, pressing the speed dial.
"It's working," he said. "I've got an idea for phase two."
As Evan Fobert strolled up the dark, quiet street, he continued to speak into the receiver. If anyone had seen his serene, smiling face, they might have thought he was simply enjoying the fresh, unseasonably warm air.
Chapter 13
The Friday before March break turned out to be quiet and subdued. It may have been partly because most of the staff was tired from the night before. It may have been the light, mild, springy air. Or, it may have been the presence of the police chief's car in the parking lot first thing that morning.
Edgar, May and I even had an opportunity to sip coffee and talk in the office.
"What did you think of Bobby Mills' story?" Edgar asked, tipping his chair back slightly, looking more relaxed with us than he had in days.
Edgar was very tall, with a compact body that boasted broad shoulders and long, muscular legs. He wasn't really handsome. His face was too broad and his nose too long. His black, wavy hair was always unruly and falling across his forehead. Yet his wide brown eyes were so alight with intelligence and interest that he couldn't help but be attractive. He was the perfect picture of a town chief, with the kind of strength that was apparent not only on the outside.
"At first we didn't know what to make of it," May told him. "But he certainly was genuinely afraid. I've never seen Bobby Mills look that way. To tell you the truth, I still can hardly believe he could be that frightened. It made him seem almost human."
All three of us smiled at this. We knew what May meant. Bobby always gave a facade of careless self-confidence that bordered on a superiority complex. It was difficult to remember how he'd sobbed like a baby last night.
"He told us it was Walking Bear, but the details were pretty sketchy. He described some very tall creature with a bear's head, fur and claws, and the ability to speak," I went on. "It told him to stay out of the woods and leave animals alone. Which is good advice, overall."
Edgar nodded. "I have to go over to the Main Street Station Pub after I leave here and ask him a few questions. I wanted to get your perspective first. Did you hear about the fight?"
May and I both said at the same moment, "What fight?" Which prompted Edgar to tell us the entire story of the confrontation between Henry and Victor Reeves.
Assured that Henry had not been injured, we asked a few more questions and got all the details. We were both shocked, but also slightly amused. The picture of the little native man swinging punches at the tall, conservative businessman made us want to laugh, despite the relative seriousness of Henry's anger and hurt.
"I'm going to watch Henry though, just to make sure he stays away from that bunch. It's not going to do him any good to remain angry with them. It'll just make Victor Reeves more determined than ever to spread houses all over the place. I don't trust Reeves and I don't like him. But I have to uphold the law, as they say."
"Of course you do, Ed, and Henry knows that too. He's just upset. I'm sure it won't happen again," May answered him.
"As for Walking Bear, May and I were saying last night that the boys definitely saw something, and it had to have been human. We were wondering if it could be Oona or Agnes, dressed up, wanting to frighten the kids."
Edgar mulled over that suggestion. "I had been thinking along those lines too...though I hadn't considered Oona." The meaning of his words was not lost on May. "I'm getting the search parties out again tomorrow. We won't just look for Oona and Frieda. We'll be looking for whoever is acting this little charade out too."
He stood up, placing his empty cup on my desk. "Well, I'd better be getting along. I have a feeling it's going to be a busy weekend." Edgar had no idea that this would turn out to be the understatement of the year.
The rest of the day was busy. By the time May and I had waved good-bye to all the staff and students, we were exhausted and more than happy that we'd brought our cars to school. Even the short walk home today would have been too daunting. Langford and I planned to go on the search tomorrow with May and Alain, so we made a promise to meet at Oona's cottage where Edgar would be gathering the volunteers early the next morning.
I happily spent the night at home with my husband and Angel. We watched a movie while eating popcorn and nuts, then I read my book, scratched the dog's back, and cuddled with Langford.
Because we went to sleep early, we awoke prepared for the long trek through the woods. It was difficult to know how to dress for the day, so we chose layers of heavier and lighter clothing, and a long leash for Angel.
We reached Oona's cottage on foot and were among the first to arrive. We said hello to Basil Fisher, Peter Smallwood and his wife Ellie, Ruth and Steve McEntyer an
d Edgar and Frances. Then, stood around talking about anything but the reason we were there, as other volunteers began to assemble. By the appointed time, there were thirty villagers, mostly couples, who were ready to comb the woods once again.
This time, as Edgar instructed us, he wanted us to look for any unusual signs, and since Ruth McEntyer had already told the Walking Bear story several times over, that included any signs of bear, real or otherwise. We were divided into groups of six and eight, and Edgar warned us seriously that we were not to walk in pairs or alone.
"Most of us here know the woods really well," Edgar said, "but we can't let that make us complacent. This forest is a dangerous place at times. Please be on your guard. Use the flare guns to signal to the other groups that you've found something important, or you've encountered danger. Make lots of noise. We're not trying to surprise anyone or anything and noise will limit the possibility of them surprising us." He handed out the equipment—flare guns, a hatchet and a weed clipper—to the people in the group who would know what to do with them. Luckily, our group consisted of Basil, May, Alain, Peter and Ellie, so both Langford and I felt safer and less ignorant. Edgar pointed out sectors on his map and sent us out with strict orders to return in three hours max.
As our natural leader, May started us off in our sector to the left of Bahswaway Pond, walking slowly abreast in a line through the woods. Whenever a weed tangled around one of our legs Alain would snip it off with the clippers.
It was an odd sensation to be inside the cocoon of a forest, trudging deliberately loudly and slowly, kicking up fallen plants, bark or stones, scaring small animals to a dash through the underbrush. The winter residue remained, especially in the shaded sections. Little pools of water were icy and almost frozen. Last week's snow still sprinkled the muddy earth and the growth surrounding us was stark and somewhat sparse. Every step felt like walking on top of a mattress, that soft little give followed by the firmness underneath. Every now and then we'd feel and hear the suction cup our feet made in the muddy ice.
The Emily Taylor Mystery Bundle Page 23