Lake on the Mountain: A Dan Sharp Mystery

by Jeffrey Round

  “I know. I’ve been thinking about that.”

  “So?” Trevor’s tone was jocular, half-taunting. “When are you coming?”

  Dan pretended to mull this over. “How does now sound?”

  He heard Trevor laugh. “Now what?”

  “How does right now sound for a visit?”

  There was a pause. Dan waited. “Um, explain?”

  “I’m on the ferry. I’ll be berthing at Village Bay in fifteen minutes.”

  “What?”

  “….and I sure hope there’s a hotel on your island if you’re too busy to see me.”

  “Is this for real?” The ferry’s three-toned wail sounded over the engine’s roar. “Oh my god!” Trevor exclaimed. “Are you really here?”

  “How far are you from the terminal?”

  “Ten minutes by foot, if I start now.” He paused. “You’re not kidding, are you? I mean, I hope you’re not, you bastard.”

  “I never kid. See you soon.” Dan clicked off and went back inside.

  Dan couldn’t remember ever having driven in such utter darkness. It could have been the blackness of death, deep and irrevocable. Here and there cottage windows glowed like fireflies, winking in and out between trees. Trevor talked excitedly all the way, pausing briefly to announce an upcoming turn Dan could barely make out. A long, narrow drive elbowed into the forest, turning perpendicularly before lurching upwards over rocks and weeds. High above, a roof jutted from a hilltop like a misplaced runway. Lights sheared off from the windows and into the trees.

  “Even in the dark I can tell this is quite a piece of architecture,” Dan said.

  “Thanks. I designed it myself,” Trevor said. “We have to park here and walk up.”

  The headlights died and everything disappeared outside the car.

  “Sorry it’s so dark,” Trevor said, swinging the flashlight back and forth on the path ahead. “My garden lights stopped working last month.”

  They navigated the stone steps studding the hill. The climb brought them to a metal walkway spanning a gully and leading to the front door.

  “In the daytime this gives a great view of the harbour,” Trevor said. “You can stand here and see clear across to Pender Island.”

  At the door Dan waited for Trevor to step forward with the keys. “Go ahead — it’s unlocked,” Trevor said with a laugh. “It’s always unlocked.”

  Dan put his bag down inside the entryway. Trevor scooped it up and trotted off with it. “I only have one bedroom, and you’re sleeping in here with me,” he said, “so don’t get any ideas!”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Dan replied. “I didn’t come all this way to sleep on a couch.”

  Three walls of windows flanked an open space whose ceiling sloped up at the far end. The blackness outside seemed to press in on them. Sleek lines and clean surfaces lent the interior a modern tone, but the old-fashioned feel of wood and tile kept it comfy and warm. Dan suspected it mirrored its owner’s personality.

  “You’ve done well,” he said.

  Trevor shrugged. “Back when I had a real job....” He removed a bottle of wine from the fridge and held it up. “White okay?”

  “Sounds great.”

  Trevor uncorked the bottle and set it on the counter. He looked at Dan with an odd smile. “I can’t believe it.”

  “What can’t you believe?”

  “You. That you’re here!”

  Dan stood in the middle of the room. Trevor came over to him. The kiss started as a question but quickly turned insistent, the flat of Trevor’s hand on his back urging Dan closer. Trevor broke it off with a sigh.

  “Please — have a seat,” he said, running around the cottage, switching off lights and pulling down shades.

  Dan sat as Trevor stepped onto a back porch and returned with an armful of logs, stacking them in the fireplace. Flames reached up from rolled newspaper and kindling to the logs. Trevor’s nervous energy seemed to be running down. He slid onto the couch beside Dan.

  “I’m afraid to look too closely,” he said. “I’m afraid this will turn out to be a dream and I’ll wake up lonely again.” His hand on Dan’s neck drew them closer. “Kiss me again. If it’s a dream, this will wake me.”

  Their lips met and withdrew. Trevor smiled. “Mmm … not a dream.”

  “You feel pretty real, too, I’m glad to say.”

  “Okay. What are you doing here? Have you come to live snuggly ever after with me or what?”

  “Actually, I’m here on a case.”

  “You’re searching for someone? How exciting! But if it’s me, your search is over. I promise not to resist.”

  Dan smiled. “You’re number one on my list, but there is someone else I’m here to find.”

  “Wait!” Trevor exclaimed and shot up from the seat. “This calls for a drink.” He returned with the bottle and a pair of glasses. “I hope you like Viognier.”

  Dan’s eyebrows rose comically. “I adore caviar.”

  “Ha!”

  They toasted and Trevor sat back on the couch. “Shoot,” he said, glancing over to check that the fire was burning properly.

  “I’ve got a lead on a misper that’s taking me to Vancouver Island,” Dan said.

  Trevor’s face was a blank. “You’ve got a lead on a what?”

  Dan smiled. “Sorry. A ‘misper.’ A missing person.”

  Trevor searched Dan’s face, eyes focusing on his lips. He inched closer. “On second thought, let’s save business for later,” he murmured, running a hand over Dan’s chest. “If I wait any longer to touch you I might explode.”

  Dan woke to a window full of stars. Fingers reached down his belly and began to stroke him. Dan wrapped his fingers around the hand and squeezed, filling his cock with warmth. He searched in the dark for Trevor’s mouth and kissed him long and hard.

  “I’m jealous of every man you’ve ever slept with,” Trevor murmured. “Are you always that fantastic in bed?”

  “Generally speaking, I’m not even mildly interesting, so no.”

  “Liar,” Trevor said, his fingers continuing their work. “You are hot hot hot!”

  When they lay back again twenty minutes later, the stars had dimmed, the treetops beginning to lighten.

  “If we get up now we can have breakfast and watch the sunrise,” Trevor said.

  “Are you always this romantic?”

  “Always.”

  Outside the sky was cool and grey. The chill felt good against Dan’s skin. Sounds filled the air — branches rustling, birds calling, the far-off rush of water — noisy in their way, but different from the city’s restless pulse.

  His impressions of splendour in the dark had been right. The house sat perched on an incline, surrounded by soft fernlike branches of green and rust. From the walkway he could see the harbour between the trees and catch an occasional glimpse of Pender Island’s dark cliffs through the mist.

  He crouched along the steps leading to the drive, his fingers trailing the wires that connected the garden lights. By the time Trevor called him for breakfast, he’d repaired the short.

  “Anything else need fixing?”

  Trevor’s eyebrows rose comically. “Besides me?” He smiled. “Seriously, can you build a wood shed? My firewood gets wet out on the porch, even with the tarp. The damp gets into everything here.”

  “No problem,” Dan said, glancing around. “It looks like there’s no shortage of lumber.”

  The mist stubbornly clung on all morning and refused to part for the sun while they ate and put the dishes aside.

  “Come on,” Trevor said. “I want to take you someplace special.”

  “More special than this?” Dan said, looking through the windows at the canopy of trees dropping to the ocean in the distance.

  After twenty minutes of walking they reached a turnoff. Trevor stopped to look over the backdrop of Western Redcedar. It was the clothes, Dan thought. And the uncombed hair — a little windswept. Trevor wasn’t exactly dressed in f
ull-lumberjack garb, but he had an outdoorsy look, different from how he’d looked in the city. In a good way. Not a J.Crew posed-for-effect way. Then again, he was a man who would look good in almost anything.

  Trevor turned, as if he’d heard Dan’s thoughts. “Want to stay here with me and grow old together?”

  “You make a compelling case for it.”

  “It’s paradise here. Or it would be. But every Adam needs his Steve.” Trevor smiled. “Just a suggestion.”

  A family of deer crossed the road and stopped to regard them with big liquid eyes.

  “Pretty fearless, aren’t they?” Dan said.

  “No natural predators,” Trevor said. “That’s the best thing about living on the island. There was a wolf once. It used to swim from island to island and eat its fill of deer, but it was shot over on Pender when it attacked a dog.”

  “Any bears?”

  “None that I’ve heard about. There are a lot of cougars, but only the human variety.” Dan looked at him curiously. Trevor was grinning. “Single, middle-aged women hunting for men.”

  “Oh!” Dan laughed. “I’m out of practice with straight humour.” He paused and looked around. “Speaking of, is there much gay life on the island?”

  “I know a few couples. No single men that I’ve come across. There’s not much gay life here, but then there’s not a lot of anything other than retired straight couples and me.”

  “Must get lonely.”

  “All the time.”

  A car passed. “Wave,” Trevor commanded.

  Dan waved and someone honked. “Who was that?”

  Trevor shrugged. “Just people. Doesn’t matter. Everyone’s friendly here.”

  The sign pointed down the path: Japanese Memorial Garden.

  “We’re here,” said Trevor.

  The garden had been built to honour the Japanese-Canadians who settled the islands and were incarcerated during the Second World War. The scant quarter acre surrounded by forest was inventively landscaped. Unobtrusive signs identified shrubs and trees planted strategically throughout the space, gingko living beside yews and plums and flowering cherries. Everything centred around a green-encrusted pond. At the far end, a giant rhubarb with leaves the size of small satellite dishes drooped gently down to the water.

  “I’m still amazed that I live here,” Trevor said. “I guess I’m not convinced I deserve it. I’ve always lived in cities — Calgary, Edmonton, and before that in Vancouver for a number of years. That was a long time ago, in another life.”

  “How did you end up here?”

  Trevor stepped carefully over a patch of emerald moss. “The truth?” he said.

  “If it’s appropriate.”

  Trevor smiled. “Very diplomatic — but I don’t mind saying. I had a breakdown.” He shrugged, as though to say it was over and there was no use going through it again. “Afterwards, when I realized I was going to live — and that I might one day even want to live — I knew I needed to disappear.”

  “So you came here….”

  “For years I had a job that paid me a lot of money but gave me absolutely no joy. My life — what I called a life — was spent in a box in the sky that smelled like Febreze. I had a nice view and all the right friends and everyone said I was a success, but the truth was I got no pleasure from anything. I wasn’t even alive.” He smiled ruefully. “So I gave it all up and moved here. It’s lonely but much easier on the nerves.”

  “You can be lonely surrounded by millions of people. Cities aren’t what they seem,” Dan said. “Most days I can barely stand Toronto. It’s become so greedy and aggressive and uncaring.”

  Trevor laughed. “Isn’t that what people always say when you tell them that? Cities aren’t supposed to care — they’re too busy being cities.”

  “I’ve never known what to do about it.”

  “You can do whatever you want — including nothing. I think that’s what most people do. They just live with it and never figure out that it’s killing them.”

  The Queen of Nanaimo edged into view, a giant white swan against the green-black of the water. They watched the boat manoeuvre the coastline and head into harbour.

  “So here I am,” Trevor said. “Alone on my island retreat, lonely as hell, but with my peace of mind intact.” He paused. “Come on, I want you to meet someone.”

  They made their way around the pond to a fence where dozens of small brass plaques had been affixed at regular intervals.

  “Joe meet Dan. Dan meet Joseph.”

  Dan bent closer to read the inscription: Joe Wilkinson 1968–1999. He looked to Trevor for an explanation.

  “My ex. The one thing I couldn’t leave behind when I moved here. I scattered his ashes in the forest over there.” Trevor pointed past the far side of the gate. “And some in the water over there.”

  “I’m sorry,” Dan said.

  “Don’t be sorry, he’s happy here.” Trevor smiled and looked along the length of the fence. “Here with all the others who nobody really remembers except the ones who put up the plaques.” He shrugged philosophically. “And a hundred years from now, no one will even remember who we were.”

  A curved metal plate hung between two trees, an exotic bronze art piece catching the sun, with a clapper strung next to it. Dan struck it and the gong reverberated through the forest, rich and low, holding its tone long after they’d passed through the gate.

  Trevor scrambled down a rocky ledge to the shore. Tidepool sculpin darted in the pooling water while birds with flecked wings flitted in the branches above. He jumped up onto a rock and crouched there like a garden gnome. “I never heard the rest of your story. You mentioned you’re here on business.”

  “Yes. Thanks for reminding me.”

  “So I shouldn’t hold out hope that you’ve come to live with me forever?”

  Dan sighed. “You’re welcome to try to convince me. But no, I’ve come on business. And I can’t forget I’ve got a family back home.” He paused. “Actually, I’m in B.C. to look for Thom’s father.”

  Trevor looked at him with a quirky smile. “Thom Killingworth? You’re looking for my Uncle Craig? I didn’t know he was in B.C.”

  “I’m not sure he is, but the trail leads here.”

  “So, why…?”

  “Someone hired me to look into his disappearance.”

  “Who? If I can ask.”

  Dan shrugged. “It’s odd, but I don’t know who the client is.”

  Trevor licked his lips and nodded. “Is that why you came to see me? You think I can tell you something?” Dan started to speak, but Trevor cut him off. “It’s all right — I understand if you did. I’m still grateful that you’re here.”

  “I said that’s why I came to B.C. I came to Mayne Island to see you.”

  Trevor admitted a slight smile.

  They stood on the upper deck of the ferry heading to Vancouver Island. It had rained for an hour that morning, as it had nearly every morning since Dan’s arrival, then the sky cleared and turned blue by the time they reached the terminal. Dan left Trevor outside the public gardens in Victoria.

  “You sure you’ll be all right? You won’t get bored?”

  “It’s my favourite place to shop,” Trevor said. “I might even have High Tea at the Empress Hotel.”

  “I’ll see you back here at three then.”

  “Say hi to my uncle if you find him.”

  Dan followed the highway north out of town. At an intersection outside Ladysmith a dirt road hesitantly joined the highway. Dan found the bank of mailboxes just past a ridge. He looked down the rows of numbers till he came across 37 and the name Magnus Ferguson in a tight script. It had been that easy. Then he reminded himself that he’d found a man’s name on a mailbox, not the man himself.

  Dan’s eyes followed the dirt road where it disappeared around a line of trees half a kilometre ahead. He looked back at the mailbox that held upwards of fifty names. How many of these places would he have to investigate? How many wer
e even down this stretch of road ahead? There were probably a half-dozen others nearby.

  He got his answer at the fourth place he tried. Three German Shepherds ran alongside his car, barking insanely as he drove up the drive. He stopped outside the squat bungalow and waited. Lacy curtains parted and a face appeared in the window. The door opened and a man approached wearing a T-shirt, jeans, and rubber boots. Dark eyes followed him as Dan rolled down the window. “Sorry for the intrusion. I’m looking for Magnus Ferguson.”

  The man scratched his chin and grew pensive. “You’ll find his trailer three, maybe four drives down on the right,” he said. “But I don’t think you’ll find Magnus.”

  Dan’s eyebrows rose.

  “You family?” the man asked.

  “Distant.”

  The man looked concerned. “Well, I don’t think he’s alive any more, I’m sorry to tell you. He went off to the hospital in Vancouver a couple years back. He was looking pretty poorly at the time. The wife heard some time later that he died. Lung cancer, I think it was.”

  Dan nodded. “Can you tell me who looks after the trailer now?”

  The man slumped. “I did for a while, but I stopped about a year ago. I figured he wasn’t coming back.”

  “Do you know who collects his mail? His name’s still on the box out by the road.”

  “Sorry, I don’t. I’d be surprised it he even got any now.”

  Dan looked away. All this way to hit a dead end. Somehow it didn’t seem right. For a moment, he wanted to thank this man for looking after the trailer of a man he never knew.

  “What was he like, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Nice guy. Kept to himself mostly, but friendly if you approached him. Always kept a neat garden. I imagine it’s gone to pot now.” The man smiled ruefully. “Not that kind of pot. He even stacked his firewood meticulously.”

  Dan thanked him and drove on to the white-framed twenty-four-footer. The power lines were still attached. The garden surrounding it looked like it had once been something, but now it was overgrown, disappearing into forest, the line between what had been kept in and what kept out impossible to distinguish. He stepped out of the car and knocked on the flimsy door. The sound reverberated through the woods and startled a murder of crows.