From the sympathetic way he’d been treating her so far on this trip, I thought he was beginning to put their past history behind him. Not so. It came out as one big rant when I raised the subject once we were finally alone.
“She’s too damn spoiled. Always the little princess wanting her own way and not prepared to think of others. Always trying to get others to do things for her. She never faces up to her responsibilities …” And so on and so forth.
When I suggested that she was in a fragile state and needed our understanding more than our hostility, he brushed me aside with “She sure didn’t show me any understanding when she tried to cut me out of Mom’s will.” So I left it.
The next three days were going to be very interesting. Either he would decide to accept her, warts and all, and make her a part of our family, or he would severe the connection once and for all.
His continuous tossing and turning during the night told me that come morning his spirits wouldn’t be any better. When it did arrive and he could barely growl “Morning,” I knew it was a day for being the dutiful wife and keeping my opinions to myself.
Running out of shaving cream didn’t help. Though I offered to go out and buy some he, in true pigheaded male fashion, insisted he could scrape his skin without it. And scrape he did. When I saw the tissue-covered cuts on his chin, I was sorely tempted to shout “Told you so,” but bit my tongue instead and offered to make us a nice pot of English Breakfast tea.
Heading down the hall to the kitchen, I almost collided with Sherry coming out of her room. She was dragging a large black suitcase with one hand and with the other juggling a clothes bag and her leather purse in the shape of an exceedingly large flower, complete with petals. Her fingers slipped and the purse landed on the floor with a thud.
“Are you leaving?” I asked, retrieving the purse.
“Yah.” She grabbed the purse, slung it over her shoulder, along with the clothes bag, and headed down the hall in front of me.
“Once again, I’m so sorry about François.”
“Thanks.” She continued walking. “But it never should’a happened.”
“No, it shouldn’t have. It was just a dreadful accident.”
She stopped and turned around. “So some people say, but I know the guy wanted Frank dead.”
“Do the police have a line on who did it?”
“They’re not saying, but Ern says he’s got a pretty good idea.”
“Who?”
“Some guy by the name of Johnnie. He’s suppose to be a cousin of the new chief and I guess was all jealous because he wanted to be the big honcho.”
Poor Louise. Someone else who thinks her nephew guilty.
“Did you tell the police?”
“Ern doesn’t want to. He wants to talk to him first.”
“Are you sure this is a good idea? If this guy did cut the ropes, he could be dangerous.”
“Ern says he knows how to handle him. They go way back.”
“I assume Ernest knows where to find him.”
“Yeah. We’re taking Ern’s boat to get there.”
“What does Ernest plan to do? Talk him into turning himself in?”
“I guess. Ern’s taking his rifle. If he won’t use it, I will.”
“Aren’t you worried you could get yourselves or Johnnie killed?”
“I’m a good shot. I’ve been hunting since I was a kid.”
Amazing what could be disguised by a beehive hairdo, skin-tight pants, and spiked heels. Except today she was wearing running shoes and cargo pants, although they were considerably tighter than mine. And her hair had been collapsed into a more functional ponytail. This time she wasn’t going to let man-luring fashion slow her down.
A car horn sounded from outside.
“That’s Ern. Gotta go.”
“Be careful,” I said to the closing door.
Eric was more sanguine when I told him about their plans. “If this Johnnie can be so easily found by Ernest, the police will eventually find him. Since the two men know each other, I’d say we let Ernest handle this without bringing in the police, not at this stage. Bringing them in could complicate things. The Haida might have traditional ways for dealing with situations like this.”
“Whatever you say,” I said, although I didn’t entirely agree. A rifle and someone as hot-headed as Sherry didn’t always lead to a peaceful solution.
I passed Eric a freshly poured cup of tea along with a shortbread cookie to help raise his spirits.
After taking a long sip and a bite of the cookie, he chuckled. “Sorry for growling at you. I guess I’m still trying to sort out my relationship with my sister.”
“I know.”
“These three days in close proximity with each other are going to be very interesting.”
“I know.”
He laughed. “You have it all figured out, eh?”
“No, I don’t. But I’m hoping you can come to accept her. She’s really struggling. With the end of her marriage and the death of her son, she needs a shoulder to lean on, and that’s something neither your brother nor your father can provide.”
“You’re right. I’ll try not to be so judgmental.”
“Thanks.” I gave him a lingering kiss.
He glanced in the dresser mirror and ran his fingers lightly over the cuts. “I guess I wrecked my chin, didn’t I?”
I laughed.
He tried removing one of the bits of tissue but the cut started bleeding again. I tore off another a piece and dabbed it on the cut. When it stopped bleeding, I said, “Why don’t you make breakfast while I pack, okay? And please, leave those cuts on your chin alone.”
“Yes, Mummy.” He chuckled and gave me a slap on the behind before heading to the kitchen, while I gritted my teeth. I wasn’t anyone’s Mummy.
We, together with Cloë, had been sitting packed and waiting in the living room at the cottage for a good hour before Louise and Becky finally arrived. Cloë seemed better this morning. She’d gone straight to bed after our visit with Louise, and apart from waking up to eat the dinner Eric had brought back from Jimmy’s, she’d slept through. None of us, though, felt like talking, so we waited in silence, flipping through magazines or staring out the window at the rain.
“Sorry we’re late,” Becky said, bounding into the cottage. Louise had apparently stayed in the car. “We were all set to leave when the cops showed up.”
“Not bad news, I hope?”
“I’m not sure. The police were asking questions about her nephews, Johnnie and Colin.”
“Is it related to François’s death?” I asked.
“The cops didn’t say. Jeez, I sure hope it wasn’t them who cut the ropes. That would be so hard on Auntie. She loves them like they were her own sons. But Col couldn’t have done it. He lives in Vancouver.”
“What kinds of questions were they asking?”
“Mostly they wanted to know if she had seen either man recently, and if she knew where they were.”
“And?”I pressed.
“She kept saying she hadn’t seen Col in a long time and that as far as she knew he was in Vancouver. As for Johnnie, she last saw him on Saturday along with everyone else when he made that horrible scene at the pole raising.”
“Does she know where he is now?”
“She just said if he wasn’t at home, she had no idea where he could be. You know, I sensed she knew more than she was saying, but I don’t think the police picked up on it.”
“Is there a place south of here where he could be?”
She stopped and gave me a querying glance. “Yeah, maybe. Why?”
“No reason. Just wondering.” For the moment I didn’t want to mention Sherry’s plans in case it turned out to be nothing.
We collected our bags and headed to the door. Before we stepped outside, Becky said, “Look, guys, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t let on I told you about this business with the police. Auntie might not want you to know.”
Forty-Eight
I was very glad the rain had stopped by the time we reached Moresby Island on the ferry — the same one we’d taken over three days earlier. With my rain jacket nearing the end of its water-shedding life, I hadn’t been looking forward to spending a day out in a deluge. Unfortunately, low dark clouds still hid the mountaintops and a mist had closed in, blotting out the distant shore of Graham Island. I figured it was only a matter of an hour or two before the rain returned.
But I was pleasantly surprised when we emerged from under the forest canopy an hour later. After bumping, grinding, and zigzagging our way over a treacherous logging road that wound its way up and down through the dense bush, we were greeted by an expanse of blue sky, sparkling water, and rising green mountains. In the distance, snow-covered summits shimmered in the sun. Only a handful of fluffy whites remained.
Amazingly, our rental car survived, although I wouldn’t want to be around when the agency checked its undercarriage. Despite Eric’s best manoeuvring, the bottom scraped roughly along the road’s surface numerous times when the tire-swallowing potholes couldn’t be avoided. Even Becky’s father’s truck, with its much higher suspension, had its problems.
We drove along the shoreline of an estuary that at the moment was more tidal flat than water, before turning into a parking lot for boats. Next to a wooden shed stood six boat trailers, each topped with an oversized grey Zodiac with a rigid hull.
Becky stopped the truck beside the shed and hopped out. “We’re renting one of these boats from an adventure company that I work for in the summer. I figured it would be safer and more comfortable to use one of these than to try to cram the five of us plus our gear into my dad’s boat.”
She unlocked the shed door. “By the way we’ll be camping out for two nights. I hope that’s okay.”
While Eric and I enthusiastically greeted this opportunity to sleep in the great outdoors, his sister didn’t bother to hide her annoyance. “Doesn’t this place have an inn?”
“Just the wind, the sea, and the trees,” Louise said. “You’ll be okay. Becky will find us a nice soft carpet of moss to sleep on. Close your eyes and you’ll think you’re sinking into a bed of feathers.”
Grimacing, Cloë muttered, “For Allistair.”
Besides, being packed with lifejackets, ropes, gas cans, and other boating paraphernalia, the shed also had racks crammed with rubber wet weather gear. Thank goodness.
By the time Eric and I struggled into dark green rubber overalls, doffed mid-calf dark green rubber jackets, clamped ourselves into bulky lifejackets, and stuck our feet first into two pairs of heavy wool socks and then into roomy rubber boots, we looked like two very fat penguins. Becky, on the other hand, looked very svelte in her form-fitting chest-high waders and yellow Gore-Tex jacket. Though Eric’s sister was not the least bit amused at having to wear such unflattering and unfashionable attire, I thought she handled it gamely with barely a disdainful twitch of her lips. Initially she hesitated to take the pair of overalls Eric handed her, but with another muttered “for Allistair” she gritted her teeth and put them on.
While Becky was helping her auntie with her gear, she said, “Did you know Harry has a new boat?”
“Good. A boat means he’s planning on spending time here,” was Louise’s response.
“I thought he was going to live in the house where the pole was raised,” I said.
“That’s his mother’s place, although he owns it,” Louise replied. “I suppose they’ll call it the Greenstone longhouse. But I don’t imagine he’s going to move in on a full-time basis. Since he won’t make any money being clan chief and he has that big loan to pay off, I expect he’s going to continue spending most of his time in Vancouver, where his job is.”
“He spent a bundle on the boat, too,” Becky added. “I hear it’s a forty-eight-foot Sea Ray, bigger than Ernest Paul’s Sunseeker.”
“He certainly didn’t buy that on the island, did he?” Louise said, struggling to get the overall straps over her shoulders. I grabbed the one hanging down her back and handed it to her.
“They say he bought it in Vancouver and hired someone to bring it here,” Becky continued. “It arrived a couple of days ago.”
“More money. I hope he’s got it,” Louise said.
“You said he’s made a lot of money in the computer business. Maybe he owns one of those web startups the big computer companies pay millions for,” I suggested, removing my lifejacket and undoing the jacket. I was beginning to feel very warm encased in all this rubber.
“I doubt it. He’s not that smart.” Louise laughed. “Though to believe Rose, you’d think he was the next … ah … what’s the man’s name?” She eyed each of us for the answer. “You know, the man who owns one of the biggest computer companies in the world. He lives not far from my son in Seattle.”
“Bill Gates,” we replied in unison.
“That’s the guy. At bingo a few weeks ago, Rose was bragging about the millions Harry was going to make. Harrumph. He doesn’t have it in him.” She tried on the jacket Becky handed her and was quickly lost from view. “A little big. You got a smaller one?”
“Oh Auntie, don’t be so hard on Harry. He’s a nice guy.” Becky riffled through the rack. Finding a smaller size, she handed it to Louise. “This should fit.”
“Louise, I have what is probably a stupid question,” I said. “I’m having difficulty understanding why Harry would want to spend all this money to become chief, if he’s not going to get any money from it and won’t be living here.”
“Simple. Prestige and status.” While this jacket wasn’t quite so roomy, it still reached almost to her ankles and the sleeves swallowed her hands.
“I’m sorry, Auntie, that’s the smallest size here.”
“It’ll be fine, child. I figure if I fall out of the boat, I’ll float like a fat blubbery seal.” Her laughter filled the dark shed.
“Louise, if you don’t mind my saying so, the prestige and status is only within your small community. Being Chief Greenstone won’t mean much in Vancouver.” I ignored the darts Eric’s eyes were shooting in my direction. He thought I was being insensitive.
“You’re right, Meg.” I shot a triumphant glance at him. “It’s one of the reasons why my sons chose not to pursue it. Neither of them thought the debt was worth it.”
“I would’ve given Allistair the money to become chief,” Cloë said, more to herself than to the rest of us. “He would’ve made a good one.”
Louise patted her gently. “I’m sure he would’ve.”
“So why did Harry want to be chief?” I asked.
“His mother put him up to it. She’ll be the one to benefit with her higher status as Matriarch. Mind you, not much comes with that other than people pestering you at all hours of the day to help them solve their problems.” She removed the jacket and placed it on the bench with her lifejacket.
“But, Auntie, you love helping people, and you’re so good at it.”
She shrugged. “I doubt that’ll change. Rose is about as approachable as a snake. Come on child, we’re wasting time. Let’s get the boat into the water. It’s closing in on noon and we have a ways to go. I want to get there before suppertime.”
Along with the others, I threw my gear into the back of the truck. With Eric directing, Becky then backed the vehicle into one of the boat trailers. After Eric attached the hitch, Louise climbed into the cab beside her. The rest of us followed behind on foot. We arrived at a point of land that appeared more man-made than natural with its almost vertical sides and long, rectangular shape jutting far out into the water.
Taking over as driver, Eric backed the trailer down a steep stony slope into the water until the boat floated. With the advantage of her hip waders, Becky ventured out into the deeper water and pulled the boat up onto the stones. With help from Louise, Eric and I passed the gear to Becky, who stowed it away in two long wooden lockers built side-by-side lengthwise into the centre of the boat. Though Cloë made no effort to
help, we wouldn’t have let her anyways. But when it came time to pass over the urn, she grabbed it from Eric and raised the heavy bag into Becky’s reaching hands almost as if it were a ritual.
Included with the gear were two large gas cans. Becky attached one of these to the high-powered outboard motor and tested it. It started on the second try.
While she parked the truck, the four of us struggled back into our gear. Once fully dressed, we waddled like a parade of penguins down to the water.
Getting into the boat over its high, rounded side was challenging. Despite a leg up from Eric, I landed like a beached whale on the bottom. Cloë climbed in with considerably more finesse. Louise, with the help of Eric, Becky, and I, arrived inside the boat as gently as we could manage. Eric, after pushing us farther out into the water, sprang into the Zodiac as if he were born to it.
Becky lowered a row of four seats over each of the storage lockers. Straddling the seat like a horse, each of us wedged into a spot bounded front and back by a metal railing. Becky started the motor. This time it took three tries.
“Not to worry,” she said. “Although the motor was overhauled recently, it hasn’t been used much since last fall. It’ll be working fine after a good run.”
It roared to life and over the sparkling blue we flew.
Forty-Nine
We needed the wet weather gear not only for the frigid waves splashing over the bow, but also for the cold wind pummeling us. To get a good view, Eric and I had sat in the seats closest to the bow. We were paying for it now. On the other hand, Louise and Cloë were avoiding the worst of it by sitting in the more protected seats near the stern, just in front of Becky, who was at the helm. Eric’s sister had her hood pulled down over her face to keep the water out but Louise seemed to be relishing the wind ripping through her curls.
Becky deftly steered us across an expansive body of water. Surrounded by an undulating ridge of forest-covered mountains, it looked like a lake, but I imagined somewhere ahead of us would be an outlet to the sea.
I ducked my head as another wave crashed over the bow and felt coldness course over my hood and down my back. I laughed at Eric, who’d taken it fully in the face. But he didn’t seem to care. Beaming, he looked like he was having the time of his life. He loved speed. Why else would he own a Harley?
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