Stormy Cove

by Bernadette Calonego

  “Lorelei Finning, I haven’t heard a word from you! I was beginning to worry.”

  Lori felt warmth spreading through her abdomen.

  “I figured you were up to your ears in baby stuff and didn’t want to bother you.”

  The last two times Lori was in Danielle’s apartment, it was chaos: screaming children, diaper changes, and relatives scurrying around and constantly interrupting them with questions and advice. Danielle had looked so exhausted that Lori would have loved to whisk her away to a beach in the South Seas—she looked worse than she ever had when she was running a busy photography agency. But at the moment, she sounded more feisty, a bit pugnacious even. This was the old Danielle Lori knew from the days when the two of them fought side by side to get better contracts for freelance photographers.

  “OK, so I’ve got twins, but that doesn’t make me a leper! I sometimes feel like I’ve fallen off the face of the earth. People look at me kind of funny.”

  Lori heaved a sigh.

  “Oh, I know exactly how you feel, Danielle.”

  Her answer released mutual heartfelt gushing that lasted until they were all caught up on each other’s life and could find space for some critical feedback beyond the much-needed declarations of empathy.

  “Keeping your distance? Now listen up!” Danielle exclaimed. “You can’t fence yourself off from village life, Lori. That’s just not possible if you’re going to spend a whole year there. You’re a human being, not a traffic light that only turns red or green.”

  “But I want to be a neutral observer. That’s always been my strong suit.”

  “Sounds good in theory, but in reality—bottom drawer, no, the left one, yes, that’s it—sorry, my sister’s looking for some onesies—as I was saying, in the real world you’ve got to get in there with people. We’ve talked about this a lot.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I know what you’re going to say, but you know what? I think you’re still schlepping Germany around behind you. Somehow, you’re still convinced that . . . that, if you just get a teensy-weensy bit assimilated, the world will come crashing down on your head.”

  I’ve never told her about Katja, Lori mused. If Danielle knew about her, and how she died, she wouldn’t talk that way. But it had been so long now. And Lori didn’t want to dredge up that nightmare again.

  She gave Danielle a brief version of the situation with Noah, but it was somewhat censored because she hadn’t gotten everything straightened out in her own mind. Then she got going on the scene in the Hardy Sailor.

  “Now they think I slashed her tires out of jealousy!”

  Danielle laughed.

  “What a coup! Think about your future memoirs! There are intrigues in every village—I mean, those people live on top of each other. They’re no saints any more than we are in the big city.”

  “I never expected saints; I’m not that naïve.”

  “I think you want to be an observer without being observed yourself—no, without being affected—inwardly, I mean. Does that sound about right?”

  Lori was getting uncomfortable in the cold car. Her friend could read her like a book. But why did she always have to express everything in psychobabble?

  “Oh, come on. Could you please just cheer me up a little?”

  “OK. I’m terrific at that! Lori, you can sleep at night, you’re free as a bird, you have no money worries, you go on many adventures and you’ll probably have some thrilling sex soon—while, in my case, passion has hit rock bottom. The kids are all-consuming for the moment. Ralph must really feel abandoned.”

  At that instant, something flashed through Lori’s mind: What if Cletus had something to do with Una’s disappearance? What did that insolent kid say at Elsie Smith’s house? With an ocean next door it’s easy to make bodies disappear. They’ll never find them if the current’s right.

  She shivered.

  “Don’t worry yourself about that, Danielle, it’ll come back. It’s nature’s way. I read that when men become dads, their testosterone level plummets and—”

  “How are you getting along without Andrew?”

  “I feel really crappy sometimes, but I have to learn to let him go.”

  That sounded like more psychobabble, but at the same time, she knew she was right.

  “Enjoy your time with the kids, sweetheart. It’s really special to be the center of their universe for a while.”

  She heard Danielle sigh.

  “Why do we always want precisely the thing we don’t have?”

  Lori pondered this question on her leisurely drive back to Stormy Cove, having decided against stopping by Corner Brook after all.

  Did she yearn for Noah because it was preposterous for a photographer from Vancouver to take up with a fisherman in the remotest corner of a remote region?

  Snap out of it, Lori! The last thing you need is to get even more involved.

  It was no accident that she hadn’t told her friend about Jacinta’s death and Una’s disappearance. Danielle would just have said that murders can happen anywhere, so why not in a fishing village? Just because there are fewer inhabitants? She’d probably have accused Lori of stirring things up out of sheer boredom.

  The road in front of her car shone. No ice, just moisture. Gulls floated on easy wing beats through air that seemed more transparent than a few days ago. Rivulets emerged from the snow banks beside the road. Lori came to a sudden stop at the turnoff to Stormy Cove. She had to make a firm resolution that she could keep during the coming days. It materialized suddenly in her mind: she would stand up to them.

  But then she realized that she didn’t know who “them” was supposed to be.

  A truck was coming out of the turnoff. They’re probably wondering what I’m doing, stopped here like this, Lori thought. She recognized Archie Whalen behind the wheel; beside him was—could it be? . . . Patience. What was she doing in Archie’s truck? Maybe her car got stuck, and Archie had come to her rescue.

  But when she made it home and pulled into her driveway, she saw Patience’s car but not Ches’s truck. She went for her bag in the trunk. The sound of a motor came nearer and stopped. Patience climbed down from Archie’s truck and waved to her.

  Archie got out too, and they both came over.

  “We were worried about you,” Patience exclaimed. “We wondered if something had happened.”

  Lori immediately felt guilty. Of course people here would be worried—what did she expect?

  “I was at the Birch Tree Lodge for a few days,” she replied. “Snowmobiling.”

  “Oh, that’s where you went,” Patience said, looking at Archie, who was frowning. “We asked all over but never thought of that.”

  She seemed a little miffed that Lori had failed to inform them.

  “I’ll be sure to let you know next time,” Lori promised, but something held her back from saying she was sorry. Maybe the disapproval in Archie’s eyes. Besides, she had told Mavis, and the village store usually functioned like a radio station anyway.

  Archie cleared his throat.

  “Tomorrow is Sunday dinner at Nate’s, for the whole family. We’re expecting you too. With your camera.”

  It sounded like an order; the message was crystal clear. The invitation said he was on her side, the outsider’s, the “tire-slasher lady’s” side. She was almost touched as she thanked him.

  “Don’t bother to have breakfast; there’ll be lots to eat,” Patience chimed in. “And before I forget: You need the names of those people in the ice-fishing picture. I can drop by this evening.”

  “What do you need names for?” Archie wanted to know.

  “To archive them,” Lori replied. “Later generations will surely want to know who’s in the photo. It’s like a historical document.”

  She remembered that she’d given Ches a different reason a couple of days ago. Archie and Patience exchanged looks.

  “I’m getting the impression spring’s here,” she said, walking to the front door with
her bag. “Am I wrong?”

  “You’re right! The ice is breaking up,” Patience shouted back.

  Lori heard Archie’s truck leave as she entered the house. She turned up the heat, filled the kettle, and took a look around her mini-empire. She felt like she’d been gone for an eternity.

  The contact with the outside world had done her good. She felt on the same wavelength as people like Lloyd Weston. He too was a visitor from the outside world; he’d had some unpleasant experiences up here but nevertheless wasn’t intimidated.

  As she sat at the table with her hot coffee, she replayed the conversations of the past few days.

  Then put down her cup with a loud rattle.

  Her eyes looked all over the table. Then under the table. Nothing.

  The arrowhead was gone.

  CHAPTER 21

  The item that Lloyd Weston had identified as a projectile tip was nowhere to be found, even after a thorough search. And Lori was absolutely certain she’d left it on the table.

  The doors to the house had been unlocked during her trip—nobody locked their doors in Stormy Cove. Selina Gould hadn’t even given Lori a key. She’d taken her computer, photography equipment, and all her valuables with her to the lodge and so hadn’t given burglars a thought.

  But who would go into her house while she was away? Selina, checking up on her tenant? Patience or Ches, who might have been worried? The paperboy, who regularly went into people’s homes? Or little Molly, who was curious enough to sneak into a house that had been empty for so long and now had an interesting outsider living in it?

  But when Patience came over that evening, Lori couldn’t bring herself to ask about it directly, afraid Patience would interpret the question as a sign of distrust. She was leaning over the ice-fishing photo and busily writing down the names of the people in it in capital letters on some notepaper. She’d already written down seventeen names, but couldn’t make out a man in the background.

  Two vertical creases appeared between her eyebrows.

  “I’m not sure, it could be . . . Fred, Fred Bartlett. Or . . .” she said, bringing the picture closer. “No, I’m not sure. Better ask one of the Whalens tomorrow. They were there, after all.”

  She pushed the picture away from her with an apologetic smile.

  “By the way, Emma told me the party tomorrow is a potluck.”

  A potluck; she’d have to bring something like everyone else. She offered Patience a glass of sherry and drank to their friendship. Maybe the drink would loosen her neighbor’s tongue enough for her to tell Lori more about Noah.

  “So who’s going to be there?”

  Patience shrugged.

  “The whole family, I suppose. It’s Greta’s fortieth.”

  “Who’s Greta?”

  “Noah’s oldest sister. You’ve never met her?”

  “No, only Nate. And Lance. There should be lots of people there tomorrow.”

  “Yes, six brothers and three sisters, not to mention the little kids. The teenagers won’t be coming. They don’t like family gatherings.”

  Lori did the math.

  “Does that make ten siblings?”

  “No, eleven.” Patience stopped. “One sister isn’t coming. Robine never comes.”

  “Why not?”

  Patience blushed.

  “Don’t tell anybody you got it from me, but Robine . . . she went off when she was twenty-one and never came back. She . . . um . . . she had a girlfriend.”

  Lori was startled.

  “A girlfriend? What’s so bad about that? A young woman has to have friends.”

  Then she saw the red glow on Patience’s face and suddenly got it.

  “Oh, she loved women . . .”

  Well, now, wasn’t that an interesting revelation!

  “So what did the family think about that?”

  “They were mortified, I think. Nothing like that had happened in Stormy Cove before.” She burst out laughing. “And Robine was very pretty, and all the boys chased her. And then”—she held out her hands—“well, it shows how you can fool yourself.”

  “Where’d she go?”

  “Somebody saw her in Montreal, but that was—let me think—maybe ten, twelve years ago. I heard she sends postcards regularly, from Barbados and Hawaii. And once from Paris.”

  “So is it certain that she’s still alive?”

  Patience gave her a look of surprise.

  “Yeah, of course she’s alive. Her lawyer sent a letter once—about some legal matters.”

  Lori offered Patience another sherry, but she turned it down.

  “Thanks, but I’d better go get supper started.”

  She stood up and an almost roguish smile flitted over her face.

  “You’re in demand at all the events because of that camera, you know. Ever since those pictures you took of Elsie Smith’s family, everybody wants to be in your book.”

  “Well, lots of them will be! But about Robine? What do you think about lesbians?” Lori asked as Patience was putting on her jacket and boots by the door. She couldn’t help sounding her neighbor out, but she didn’t expect the answer she received.

  “Oh, every woman can be a lesbian, for all I care. Then they wouldn’t have to fight about men so much.”

  She opened the door and disappeared.

  Lori put the glasses in the sink. She was sure the pretty, beaming young woman in the pictures that Noah wanted her to delete must be Robine. Was he so ashamed to have a lesbian sister? She couldn’t imagine that. It didn’t add up somehow. Anyone who puts up a strange photographer from Vancouver overnight isn’t afraid of associating with women who don’t fit the norm. Her intuition told her that he wanted to protect Robine from something. But what? Why did he want to do everything in his power to stop her picture from appearing in a published book?

  He couldn’t avoid her tomorrow at the Whalens’ party; the mere thought made her tingle. But she dismissed it immediately because she had to think of what to bring the next day. She should have asked Patience for advice.

  And she’d forgotten to ask one other thing.

  Who had been Robine’s girlfriend?

  CHAPTER 22

  Ice floes were rocking on the waves by the next morning. For the first time, Lori saw open water in the cove. Her eyes strayed over to the trees beside the house that now poked up higher out of the snow cover. The layer of melting ice on the cliffs sparkled in the pale light. When she opened her bedroom window for a minute, she heard a few muffled gunshots.

  Men in the harbor were fiddling around on their boats or just hanging around together.

  Lori drove down to the harbor, passing a chained-up husky squatting miserably in front of its doghouse. She strolled along the wharf and listened to several fishermen discussing the weather. No trace of Noah. Nor of Nate and Archie.

  “Do you mind if I take some pictures?” she called to the fishermen.

  “Sure,” came the reply.

  “I’d have shaved this morning if I’d known,” someone shouted. The others laughed.

  An elderly man turned to her.

  “We were lucky this year. It’s the right wind to keep the ice away from shore until it melts.”

  “When does fishing start up?” she inquired.

  “Next week, twentieth of May, for lumpfish. Do you know what lumpfish are?”

  Lori didn’t.

  “We fish for them because of the roe. It’s a little cheaper than sturgeon caviar.”

  She snapped a shot of a young man just as he hopped off his boat onto the jetty. He came over.

  “You should come out with us tomorrow and take pictures. But you’ll have to get up early. We head out at five.”

  A voice behind her replied, “You’ll have to install a new motor first, Hart, so she doesn’t conk out every ten miles.”

  She recognized the speaker without turning around. To hide her embarrassment, she picked up her camera and panned until it was aiming at Noah’s face. Then she pushed the releas
e.

  “Who says I conk out every ten miles?” she quipped.

  “I meant the boat. A boat’s a ‘she,’ my dear,” he said with the faintest of smiles. “Everything that causes problems is feminine.”

  Hart laughed. “Yeah, every machine’s a ‘she.’ The truck, the computer . . . and the TV too, when it doesn’t work.”

  He seemed to take no offense at Noah’s barging in. Lori had a retort on the tip of her tongue, but she restrained herself. She was there to take photographs.

  “Which boat is yours?” she asked instead.

  “Over there—the Mighty Breeze.”

  There was pride in Noah’s voice, though he tried to sound cool. Lori felt his gaze on her back as she turned toward the boat. Suddenly, Archie stepped on deck.

  “Does he go out fishing with you?” Lori asked.

  “No, he just helps with repairs. He’s got his own boat, the Bella Vista. So you’re coming to the potluck?”

  She nodded. Now that they’d seen each other at the wharf, she could feel more at ease about going.

  “Your uncle said I can take pictures. Is that really true?”

  He glanced over at Archie, who was out of earshot, and said, “If that’s what he wants . . . best I ask Mother as well. Don’t see any problem with it. She knows what you do and she’d like to meet you.”

  He stood with his hands in the pockets of a jacket he’d thrown on over his blue overalls. He looked left and right to cover the lull in the conversation. Lori pretended she was watching the other fishermen. Then Archie shouted something from the boat, and Noah trotted off.

  Lori parked near Nate’s house two hours later. She hoisted out the large bowl of potato salad she’d made following her mother’s recipe, which had come down from her German mother. She’d never yet met a person who didn’t rave about it.

  She saw a man going through the door and decided to follow him in. A sharp, sweet smell hit her. At first, she could only make out shadowy outlines in the dim light. On the floor in front of her was a row of big black-and-white birds. Many had red bullet holes in their white belly feathers. When her eyes had adjusted to the light, she could see several men sitting on upturned pails; one of them held up a bird as a greeting.