The Pacific Giants

by Jean Flitcroft

Vanessa took her plate to the sink, rinsed off the eggy remains, and put it in the dishwasher.

  “I think I’ll go and read for a bit,” Vanessa said. She needed to go to her room to think.

  “I’m almost certain that there’s some guy, some professor,” Frankie said thoughtfully. “I can’t think of his name now. He’s up near Tankard’s place. He’s retired here to write a book about Caddy, I heard.”

  “Oh my God, that’s incredible, Frankie,” Vanessa said, clapping her hands together, unable to hide her excitement.

  Frankie smiled warmly at Vanessa, delighted at her interest.

  “Like Ireland, we’ve got our very own Loch Ness Monster here. Caddy’s not world famous, perhaps, but lots of people here have seen it all the same.”

  Funny how people always mixed up Ireland and Scotland, Vanessa thought. A bit like the way people confused the US and Canada back home.

  She hugged Frankie suddenly—surprising them both.

  “Thanks,” said Vanessa.

  “For what, honey?”

  For Caddy, for giving me a lead, for proving I’m not mad, she wanted to say.

  “For breakfast,” she replied.

  CHAPTER 21

  In 1994 two scientists proposed that Caddy be recognized as a “new species representative of an unnamed subcategory of reptilian” and that Cadborosaurus willsi would be its proper scientific name.

  Wayne made himself scarce for the rest of the morning. When he didn’t turn up for lunch, Frankie began to display little signs of distress. Her eyes darted to the kitchen window every few seconds.

  “I think I’ll give Lettie a call and see if Wayne is there,” she said finally.

  Vanessa heard Frankie on the phone in the hallway. She couldn’t make out the words, but the fact that Frankie was laughing was surely a good sign.

  “Wayne’s at Lettie’s all right. He’s helping her in the shop and forgot the time. He’ll be home later.”

  Vanessa lowered her eyes to her sandwich and hid her smile by taking a large bite.

  “Another glass of milk, honey?” Frankie offered.

  Vanessa shook her head. She stood up to take her plate over to the dishwasher, but Mrs. Bouche intercepted her.

  “You are such a helpful girl. I’m sure your mom must be very proud of you.”

  Frankie was being kind. She clearly didn’t know that Vanessa’s mum had died, but the words were painful all the same. Vanessa swallowed, trying to compose herself before she spoke.

  “What are you doing with yourself today then?” Frankie continued.

  “Is there a bike I could borrow to go to the village?” Vanessa asked.

  An inspired thought had struck her out of the blue: She needed to get away from the guesthouse and see if she could find out more about Caddy and this professor.

  “You could borrow Wayne’s,” Mrs. Bouche suggested. “I don’t think he took it when he went out to the village. It’s the red and silver one in the shed. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

  Vanessa seriously doubted that, but she took it anyway. There was no need to ask directions. It was a matter of following the road from the guesthouse until it stopped. It took about fifteen minutes to get to Jo-Jo’s, and Vanessa really enjoyed the ride.

  The hand-painted sign had carved letters in pink and white, and the letters were topped with a swirl of cream, nuts, and marshmallows. There was a giant spoon sticking out of the top. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to make it.

  Vanessa leaned the bike against the wall. She had forgotten to ask about a lock, but looking around, she felt sure it would be safe. Even if someone did steal it, the only way to get it off the island was by private boat, as the ferry was only twice a week. And if you had a private boat, it was highly unlikely you would want a kid’s secondhand bike.

  Vanessa looked around the sleepy little village. A few cars were parked, but the road was empty, not a living soul in sight. What must it be like on Duquette Island in the heart of winter? No buses, no taxis, no cinema, no playground. Vanessa shuddered slightly. She imagined the roads covered in snow, the trees a ghostly white. It would be beautiful, but so quiet and so very lonely. Maybe Wayne was to be pitied just a little.

  CHAPTER 22

  The sea creature known as Caddy has repeatedly been compared to a giant reptile in appearance but also has mammalian features such as hind flippers.

  Vanessa pushed against the door of Jo-Jo’s, half-expecting it to be locked, as there was nobody inside, but it swung open. She went in, delighted by the bright, cheerful feel of the place. It smelled sweet.

  Vanessa looked around. No sign of Wayne. There was a long bar counter with stools and a large display freezer with lots of containers full of ice cream. Vanessa looked at the delicious swirls of color and read their exotic names.

  A young woman came out from the back wearing an apron covered in angels.

  “Welcome, welcome,” she said, spreading her hands out, like a TV preacher welcoming her to church. She had clear blue eyes, and her glossy black hair was smoothed back into a ponytail.

  “What can I get you on this beautiful day?” she said, smiling at Vanessa.

  Vanessa chose praline brittle in a paper cup rather than a cone and said yes to the hot fudge. Then they chatted. Vanessa was asked about where she was staying and where she was from.

  “Oh, Ireland—I’ve always dreamed of visiting it, so green and beautiful!” the lady behind the counter exclaimed.

  “Yes. But it’s no greener than here, and your mountains and forests are much more dramatic,” Vanessa replied. “And you have such great stories too. I just heard about your sea monster—Caddy.”

  “Caddy?” said the ice-cream lady, looking puzzled.

  “Like Scotland has Nessie—doesn’t Canada have Caddy?” Vanessa persisted, trying to hide her disappointment.

  “Oh, you mean Ogopogo. Yeah, sure. He’s real famous, like Nessie. But he’s a long way off. I grew up in Vernon, a town near the lake, so I know the stories well.”

  The woman took her cloth and cleaned the full length of the already spotless counter.

  “When did you move to the island?” Vanessa asked, thinking that if this woman was a newcomer, that might explain how she’d never heard of Caddy.

  “Joe and I moved here about a year ago. He’s an artist, and we used to live in the city but decided to move here—slow the pace a little. So he paints and I grow organic vegetables for Givney’s store year-round and run this place in the summer.” She wrinkled her nose and gave a little laugh. “To be honest, I much prefer ice cream to digging in the dirt.” She looked around the shop anxiously. “Did OK last season. Hope this one is better, though.”

  “It’s really nice,” Vanessa said with feeling. “I’ll bring Lee next time, she loves ice cream. I’m Vanessa, by the way.”

  “Lettie Cuspard,” the woman replied, putting out her hand to shake Vanessa’s across the counter.

  “Ahhh,” Vanessa said with a big grin, “Wayne is a friend of yours, I think.”

  Lettie gave a hoot of laughter. “Quite a character, Wayne. He was here earlier and he sure does love my ice cream.” Then she lowered her voice confidentially as if they were in the middle of a crowd. “To be honest, I think he’s found it hard since his daddy left.”

  Vanessa stopped eating and stared at her. “He left?”

  “A few years ago, before we came here. He upped and left overnight. Left a note, that’s all.”

  “How dreadful!” Vanessa said, feeling sorry for Frankie. She even felt a bit sorry for Wayne. Thank goodness she hadn’t asked about the photographs of him.

  “It’s not easy to bring up a child by yourself,” Lettie said, busying herself at the sink, without looking up.

  Vanessa nodded.

  Lettie put out more paper cups and napkins on the counter, although there were plenty there already.

  Vanessa looked out of the window, feeling confused and guilty. She didn’t like Wayne, but his dad walking ou
t was really tough. It also might explain why Frankie spoiled him.

  Vanessa sat up suddenly, her brain registering a familiar-looking man walking on the opposite side of the street. It was the man from the ferry! But he wasn’t wearing his yellow raincoat this time, and he certainly looked a lot healthier.

  “Who’s that, Lettie?” Vanessa asked quickly, nodding her head at him rather than pointing, in case he happened to look over.

  “That’s Tom Tankard,” Lettie said with a look of surprise on her face. “That’s very unusual. He rarely comes to town.”

  “He looks a lot better today,” Vanessa said. “He was on the ferry the day we arrived. He looked so unwell, and I felt bad because I nearly knocked him down on the deck.”

  Lettie’s eyes bulged.

  “Can’t have been Tom Tankard then. He doesn’t leave his house often, and the island—never,” she said firmly, turning away.

  “Really?” Vanessa said faintly.

  “Not been the same since his brother’s accident. I don’t really know him, of course, but they say that he turned a bit strange after that. Unpredictable, if you know what I mean.”

  Vanessa had no idea what Lettie meant. But the name Tom Tankard rang another bell in her head.

  “Frankie was telling me about some scientist,” she said brightly. “He lives up near Tom Tankard’s, and she says that he has retired here to write a book.”

  “A scientist, is he? I knew he was a professor and worked at the university in Vancouver all right. He’s taken Blackwell’s old cottage up beside Tankard’s.”

  Vanessa fished for information: “That’s on the road beyond the guesthouse, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” said Lettie. “The professor lives right at the end of Salem’s Lane. And he’s dark chocolate and orange.” She grinned broadly.

  “Sorry?” Vanessa said, thinking she had misheard Lettie.

  “I think of people by their ice cream choices,” Lettie explained a little shyly. “When you walked in I guessed you were a praline brittle.” Lettie appeared quite serious now. “But some days I imagine you’re more lemon sherbet.” Vanessa laughed but was slightly taken aback all the same. How on earth had Lettie known that lemon sherbet was her other favorite ice cream?

  Lettie gave Vanessa a long, hard look.

  “I don’t think you should go anywhere near Tom Tankard’s place, Vanessa,” she said seriously. “He likes to be left alone. Rumor has it that he threatened the mayor with a shotgun once.”

  “What flavor is he, then?” Vanessa said lightly.

  She could hardly give a promise not to go near Tom Tankard when she was certainly going to visit the professor who lived right next door.

  Lettie didn’t answer. She busied herself behind the counter for a minute before offering Vanessa a free refill.

  “No, honestly, I’d better just pay and head back to the guesthouse, thanks.”

  “That’ll be a loonie then,” Lettie said moving to the cash register.

  “Sorry?” Vanessa thought she had misheard again.

  “A loonie,” Lettie repeated. “A dollar, honey,” she explained when Vanessa gave her a blank look.

  Vanessa held out a dollar coin.

  “Our dollars in Canada are called loonies because there’s a picture of a loon on them,” she explained pointing to the bird on the coin. “The two dollars are called toonies.”

  Vanessa laughed. “That’s brilliant. We’ve got euros at home. It doesn’t sound half as good, does it?”

  Vanessa paid and left, promising to return with Lee before they left the island. It wasn’t until she was freewheeling down the hilly section, with the wind blowing through her hair and chilling her teeth, that she remembered the question she should have asked Lettie—the professor’s name! It would be so much easier to introduce herself if she knew his name.

  So much for her great detective work! It appeared that “dark chocolate and orange” was the entire sum of her knowledge of the professor so far.

  CHAPTER 23

  Author Hubert Evans was interviewed for an article in the Rain-coast Chronicle in 1994. He confessed to witnessing Caddy with several others years previously, although he was reluctant to admit it. He said the head was “very much like a horse’s in general shape, with eye bumps, nostrils and something in the way of ears or horns. … It just put the hair up on the back of your neck.”

  Vanessa approached the cottage at the end of Salem’s Lane, unsure what to do now that she had found it. She looked around at the long grass and the overgrown flowerbeds. It didn’t look as if the professor enjoyed gardening much.

  The house itself was very sweet, and the front door was being painted—half of it was a horrible mustard color and the other a bright green.

  As Vanessa stood there, partially hidden by shrubs, the door opened. A man with woolly gray hair and a thick gray beard stepped out with a paint pot in one hand and a brush in the other. Then he stood back to look at the door.

  It was now or never, Vanessa thought. She might not get another chance to meet him. If she didn’t introduce herself now, she’d never learn about Caddy.

  Vanessa stepped out of the shadows and approached the gate.

  “Hello,” she began. But she stopped suddenly, horrified by her own pushiness. Her father would kill her if he knew she was introducing herself to strange men.

  She should probably just turn and walk away. Before she could make a decision, though, she heard him call out.

  “No, don’t go, please,” he said in a friendly voice. “Your timing is perfect. Divine intervention, I’m guessing,” he said dramatically. “And now that you’re here, I need your advice.”

  Vanessa smiled shyly. She liked his voice. He was friendly and his manner was easy.

  “Just tell me what you think of the color,” he called out, waving the paintbrush in his hand.

  Vanessa walked up the path and stood in front of the door.

  “I’m guessing the hideous mustard color is old and the green new?” she said in an amused voice. “Kelly green. It’s brave. I like it. Most people go for just the usual black or blue or red. …”

  Vanessa’s voice trailed off as she ran out of steam. Where did she go from here?

  The man laughed.

  “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. My wife always claimed that I was color-blind. Now she’s passed away I have to rely on my own judgment, which ain’t easy sometimes.”

  He put down the paint pot and offered his hand to Vanessa.

  “Jack Noire. Delighted to meet you,” he said warmly. There was the slightest hint of an accent that Vanessa couldn’t place. Something other than Canadian.

  “Vanessa Day. Pleased to meet you too,” she replied.

  Jack Noire had a weather-beaten face that crinkled when he smiled, like a well-worn leather handbag. He wore a beige T-shirt with paint streaks all over it and long khaki shorts. His feet were bare.

  “Think you could do me a favor?” he asked. “Could you check out the color for the sitting room too? I’m not really sure about the one I’ve picked.”

  Go into his house? Oh, God! Vanessa felt a sudden rush of adrenaline. Her father and Lee would freak out.

  She stared at the professor, wanting desperately to trust her instincts. It was the perfect opportunity, and if she didn’t take it, how would she ever find out about Caddy? Wayne was certainly not going to tell her.

  Vanessa followed him in through the front door. The hallway wasn’t very long and he disappeared almost immediately. Walking slowly to the end of the hall, Vanessa peered into the room. The center of it was filled with furniture. A huge desk, leather armchairs, sofas, chests of drawers, and an assortment of lamps and books were all piled on top of each other.

  “A bit of a mess at the moment, I’m afraid, but as you see, I’ve got the painting bug. Now tell me what you think. Honestly.”

  Vanessa looked around. The walls were bright yellow.

  “Lemon sherbet,” Vanessa exclaimed wi
th a laugh.

  “Very fresh. One of my favorite colors and my favorite flavors.” For a second, Vanessa was tempted to mention Lettie Cuspard’s dark chocolate and orange opinion of him, but she stopped herself in time.

  Jack Noire smiled. He was clearly unbothered that she had arrived without invitation at his door and hadn’t yet explained her reason for calling.

  “Now, this color is for the sitting room but I do think it’s a bit too strong,” he said, pointing to another pot of paint. It was wine-colored.

  Vanessa caught his eye and decided to be direct.

  “A bit dark and gloomy, I think. If you want to stay in the reds, something lighter, terracotta maybe, would be nicer.”

  The professor looked pleased.

  “You could try adding a little white and a touch of the yellow into it and see where it ends up,” Vanessa suggested.

  “Brilliant. OK, that’s the paints picked. Let’s find the kitchen table and the kettle and I’ll make us a nice cup of tea. That’s what the Irish drink all day, isn’t it?”

  So he’d spotted her Irish accent. At least he hadn’t said Scottish.

  “Were you born on Duquette Island?” Vanessa asked politely, although she knew he had retired here only recently.

  “No, no. Lived most of my life in Vancouver, but born out on Kuper Island. It’s a little one between Vancouver Island and the mainland—a native reservation that belongs to the Penelakut.”

  “Oh, you’re Indian!” Vanessa exclaimed. The professor smiled at her.

  “We’re actually called First Nations these days, although I still like the term Indian myself.”

  “Is Kuper Island like Duquette?” Vanessa asked.

  “Actually, I only lived at home until I was about ten. Then I was sent to the mainland with lots of other kids from the reservation, to a boarding school. I hated it,” he said vehemently.

  “Why were you sent away?” Vanessa asked.

  “So they could knock the savage out of us,” he said, smiling. “Don’t worry,” he continued with a chuckle, “it didn’t work on me.”

  Mr. Fox’s comments about civilization and progress flashed into Vanessa’s mind. She was about to ask more about the First Nations, but the professor brought the teapot to the table with two cups.