“Okay; that’s pretty interesting. You spent some time in BC; does this ring true for you?”
“Well, that part of BC – the Chilcotin – really is cowboy country. It don’t get any more redneck than that, and the good ol’ boys eat university professors and TV glamour girls fresh-frozen for breakfast.” He got up and walked over to the still-gurgling coffee pot, from which he stole two half-mugs of coffee and brought them back to the table. “But those good ol’ boys had begun to think that maybe the problem was not the university professors, or the media, or – in their case – the Indigenous leaders, but maybe – just maybe – it was the mining companies that were pushing the development agenda and just making it look like the do-gooder side was causing all the trouble. So when the local committee got Horowitz to come out to a public meeting, things really started to change. Just for starters, they got the Globe & Mail and the three networks out there, and that was a huge help to their cause.” He shrugged at Arnold and raised his eyebrows.
Arnold stared at him. “Okay, I’ve just learned more about you in seven minutes than I have in seven years. How come you don’t tell us this stuff at our meetings?”
“Well, first, it’s not my community. I mean, don’t get me wrong; I’ve been welcomed here and it’s where I really want to be. But I don’t want to be a shit-disturber and especially not a shit-disturber from somewhere else. This kind of community activism just has to come from within the community, or it’s just confused with all the other outsiders. There has to be buy-in at home for it to work.”
Arnold suddenly stood up. “John and that lady friend of yours are almost here. We gotta continue this conversation later – but before the meeting. Don’t forget, turkey!” He went to Anderson’s door and opened it to John and Marjorie. “Welcome to Frank’s place. He couldn’t wait for coffee so he left. That’s some guy named Anderson over at the table.”
The guy named Anderson stood up and grinned. “How do you like my new houseboy?” he asked. “As you can see, it’s hard to get good help these days.” Sergeant John and Marjorie grinned widely and shuffled the gravel off their feet. “Get any good spy stuff from the lady of the lake, John?”
“All I’ll ever need to know,” the sergeant responded. “Actually, the OPS owes all of you a big bucket of thanks for what you have pulled together, from Ms. Webster’s powers of observation last night to all the stuff we did this morning.”
“Wait ‘til you see the bill,” laughed Arnold. “Anderson even wants to bill Ms. Webster for disturbing the peace!”
“Yeah, we’re pretty expensive around here,” Anderson chuckled. “But a late lunch at the Zoo would more than cover it all; I’m starved!”
The sergeant laughed. “Sounds like a plan to me. If the Zoo won’t take an OPS credit card, they’ll sure as hell take my personal one! And we should go soon - but before we go, could we just chat together for a few minutes so I can make sure I have the continuity right in my notes?
Anderson had already poured four coffees. Marjorie quietly made a point of sitting next to Anderson, and smiled at him quietly as she did so. She was grateful for his help, and his support, through this strange adventure and wanted to show it.
After a few clarifying questions, mostly about times and the order of events last night, the sergeant left for a few minutes to give some instructions to his staff. The coroner had finally arrived, and after a brief glance at the water-logged corpse he got the officers to help stuff Sam into a bag and load him into the back of his Dodge Caravan, and he rattled off up the road headed for Maple Falls. The officers, too, headed to Maple Falls, towing the inflatables on their little trailer.
On the pretense of wanting to look at an outboard motor in Anderson’s shop, Arnold went outside, leaving Anderson and Marjorie alone to catch each other up on the whole event. As with any two strangers who share a significant event, a bond had formed between them. She seemed pleased about that, and Anderson was nervous. He was a man who loved the ladies, but never got close except in midnight motel rooms. This lady, however, was not a motel room lady, and it was nowhere near midnight. And that made him more nervous.
15:25 JULY 13
The late lunch had been pleasant and – predictably – busy. Arnold had called Marion and asked her to join them, leaving the garage in the hands of their very junior gas jockey (a half-way high school drop-out they were trying to help get through the last year, even if it took two). Marjorie had begged off, as she had promised her sister they would go shopping in Maple Falls after the session with the police was done. So, it was just Sergeant John, Arnold, Marion and Anderson who munched down the quiche-and-fries special of the day, but they had lots of curious visitors, all aware they had been out on a search in the water, and all comforted to know it was not Anita they had been looking for. That was the official line, of course, but all four knew that was shading the truth a little. Everyone in town knew that an elderly man had left his car and disappeared in the spring, but nobody knew the man himself; he was just an old man from “The Falls”.
After lunch, and after John had retrieved his patrol car from Arnold and Marion’s garage and headed back to his office at “The Falls”, Arnold asked Marion to stick around and discuss the PSP special meeting that evening. He wanted Anderson to share his newfound perspective, and come to some conclusion about how to proceed. As the unwilling Chair of the PSP, Arnold leant heavily on his wife’s practical outlook and understanding of the good people of Spirit River, where she could be elected Queen if such a thing were possible.
After she heard Anderson’s comments, which Arnold almost had to pry out of him with a crowbar, she began: “Well, guys, maybe the time as come to make some changes about how we do things around here. How many committees and boards and clubs do we have around here that never really do anything they didn’t do the year before, and the year before that, and so on. It’s no wonder none of the kids stick around, or once they leave, ever come back. Even Gas-Jockey-George is frustrated by that; he’d like to do better than he does but he feels like a hamster in a wheel.”
“George has no idea what a hamster is, or what it would do in a wheel,” commented Arnold.
“Oh shut up Arnold, you know what I mean even if you and George never met a hamster!” Marion grinned across the table at him. “Anyway, guys, maybe it’s time to bite the bullet and see if we can raise a little passion around this place. I, for one, am tired of people telling me they don’t trust Robertson but are afraid to speak up because it’s always about somebody’s job.”
Arnold sat for a long moment after she went silent. “Well, yeah, when you scratch the surface this is more about Robertson Mines than it is about university professors. So, you two, what do I do about Jeremy, who seems dead-set against getting this Horowitz in?
Marion snorted. “Jeremy got superannuated by Robertson years ago, probably for being an old pain in the ass, but not because he was fighting them. He has no love for the company, and if he sees a little revenge built into this, he’ll be good to go!”
“Woman, how do you know this stuff?” asked Arnold. “I think your parents were a phone book and an encyclopedia.”
“Well, babe, while you’re greasing wheel bearings, I’m talking and listening.”
“Mostly listening, apparently,” observed Anderson. “So, shall I print off a handful of copies of that article I found, and bring them along with the agenda tonight?”
“Might as well. Can’t win a woman or a knife fight sleeping in the corner. Let’s see if it flies.
They got up to leave, and Anderson noticed the ATV was still perched in the box of Arnold’s pickup: “Say, did John forget to take that ATV back to The Falls?”
“Nah, he called me last night and asked if I had one to rent. I just told him no, but I have a demonstrator that I’d just bring along. I don’t think he wore it out.”
Anderson drove his old-model Colorado back to the dock and topped up the fuel in the launch from the slip tank he kept on the truck. H
e opened the engine hatch and checked fluids in the engines and the transmission, grabbed the left-over maps, mug, and thermos and stuffed them into his fancy and newly appreciated briefcase, checked the mooring lines, locked the wheelhouse, and drove home, all two hundred feet. When he got into his house, he emptied the briefcase and tidied up the cups on the table, putting them into the sink.
He opened the fridge and took out a small bottle of Pepsi. John had insisted that he and Arnold have a beer at lunch, even though he was wearing his uniform and couldn’t join them. Anderson didn’t want another beer before the meeting and had pretty well had it with coffee for the moment, so he opened the Pepsi. He didn’t like the stuff anyway, but he absolutely hated drinking it from a bottle, so he poured it into a glass and went and sat down at his desk where he printed off several copies of the Globe & Mail article he had shown Arnold. He made up the agendas as he had promised, and settled down at the table to re-read the article.
He wanted to know exactly what he was talking about if they were going to have this item on the agenda, as he had a feeling he would have to be the person defending it. He then went back to his computer and Googled Robertson Mines, looking through their corporate information and at some of the commentaries and blogs that concerned the company. The financial wizards thought the company was a huge and still-rising star; the environmental commentators thought they were more like a black hole.
***
“Who knows,” he sighed. It was time to go. He gathered the papers he had printed, got back in his truck and drove the half-mile west along Lakeshore Road to the Spirit Inn. It was still early, and the parking lot was pretty much empty. Anderson deliberately went in the lounge doors first and found Anita’s mother Georgina wiping down tables. She looked up and smiled, “hey, stranger, how ya doin’? Haven’t seen you for awhile – I suppose you’re here for that meeting?”
“Yeah, hopefully it won’t be a long one. Say, Georgina, as I’m sure you know, all of us have been worried sick about Anita. Any word from her yet, or any idea on where she might have gone?”
She put both hands on the table she had been cleaning and stood there a moment with her head down. Then she stood up straight and turned directly to face Anderson. Georgina was not a big woman anytime, but it seemed to Anderson that she had become even smaller. “Oh, Frank, I just don’t know. I really don’t know. There’s lots of times she doesn’t come home, but she stays in touch with her friends – and even sometimes with me, by text usually so we don’t argue. But this time, nothing. All I know is that she had been hanging out last week with the band working the Rock Pit in The Falls, but they’re gone now – gone to Sarnia I think. The police were going to checked into them, but so far I’ve learned nothing.” She wiped her hand across her right eye, and went on: “The whole thing is driving Fred crazy, ‘cause there’s nothing he can do about it – at least I can get out of the house and go to work in the evening. He’s been very good this time. He’s more worried than mad, and he’s staying off the booze.”
Two men had come into the lounge, and obviously had questions, probably about where the meeting was being held. Anderson took Georgina gently by the shoulders and gave her a short hug. “Is the meeting room open?” She nodded. “Thanks, Georgina. Folks are starting to arrive for the meeting so I guess I’d better go there with these guys. You take care, and say hi to Fred for me. And don’t hesitate to call if any of us can help. We’re all keeping our ears open.”
***
Anderson introduced himself to the new arrivals, and led them through the small side door that led directly to the lobby and the small meeting room, which was in fact two main-floor hotel rooms joined together. Georgina (who did almost everything at the Inn except sign the cheques) had loaded up a 20-cup coffee urn on a small table in the corner, and set out some paper cups along with a jug of cream, a box of sugar cubes and some stir-sticks. The plain white walls were adorned with a calendar and some local photos – including his favourite, locally referred to as “The Crash of ‘69”, when a bank manager, who commuted from his home on Toronto Island to his cottage on Awan Lake in a small airplane, mis-timed his landing and flipped the floatplane upside down in the lake. The banker survived just fine, but his ego apparently didn’t; he sold out that winter and hadn’t been seen since.
It didn’t take long for the room to fill up. Arnold and Marion were the next to arrive, and soon there were eighteen people crowded into a room set up for twelve. Arnold had invited the two PSP interns to join the meeting as observers (out of courtesy, but partly, he explained to Anderson, because if there was to be a public event later in the summer, they would likely need the interns to help with hosting it).
At 7:35, Arnold called the meeting to order. He handed around the agendas Anderson had prepared, and briefly explained the reason for the special meeting. He welcomed the ten or so visitors, and asked for everyone to introduce themselves around the table. He started with himself as PSP Local Chair, and went clockwise until it came back to Marion on his right, who simply jerked her left thumb in his direction and said “I’m with him.” Everyone knew Marion, and those who didn’t, soon would.
One of the several people around the table who Anderson didn’t know was an attractive young-ish blonde, in full make-up and hairdo and dressed in a business suit. She sort of looked familiar, and when she introduced herself as Wendy Webster from the cottage group, the light came on: he had just met her last night at the island. “So Wendy Webster is Marjorie Webster’s little sister. Geez,” he thought to himself, “she sure cleans up good. If she hadn’t said her name I would never have picked her out; she bears almost no resemblance to the ponytailed little chick I met last night. Well, I guess it was dark.”
“Okay folks, it’s time to get at the business of the day,” Arnold began. “First, though, Frank do you suppose Georgina could spare us a couple more chairs from the bar? I think we have brought in all the lobby chairs, but I guess we need a couple more.” Anderson said “yup” and headed out the door and across the lobby. Arnold continued: “A couple of you have told me that we may have a unique opportunity to have the Protected Shorelines Program group host a public meeting here this summer. Dave Bradshaw is one of our cottage residents who works at Ryerson University, and he has a handle on this; Dave – would you start us off by telling us what you’ve found out and exactly what you have in mind?”
Marion began writing notes in a school exercise book, while a tall, slim young man at the other end of the table took a sip of coffee and began: “As I mentioned in the introductions, I’m an associate prof at Ryerson, and I get to travel to conferences in different provinces and even down into the States as part of my research. I was out at a limnology workshop in late April at Nanaimo, and had the privilege of spending some time talking with Dr. Sebastian Horowitz who was the keynote speaker. I’m sure many of you here tonight have seen Dr. Horowitz on television, where he is often being interviewed about the desperate state of Canada’s – and the world’s – water supply. Dr. Horowitz is actually a medical doctor – a specialist in pediatrics – but he has spent much of his career studying and writing about water. He has retired from his medical career and now he actually lives at Nanaimo, but he travels extensively, from deserts in northern Africa to the mountains of Nepal, and of course all over the States and Canada...”
He was briefly interrupted by a shuffle of chairs that Anderson was bringing in. Once everyone was seated he continued: “To make a long story short, he gets a lot of gigs hosting documentaries about water; he loves a camera and a microphone, so when the media calls, he answers. But more importantly, for us here at Awan Lake, when Horowitz calls the media, they answer him. When I told him about our group here, and the looming concerns about Robertson Mines, he told me that he would be happy to speak at a meeting here. I asked about cost, and he said he has a private foundation that pays his expenses except for flights, and his speaker’s honorarium. He said it would be helpful if we could pick up the airfare. So
, if we do the flights in and out, the whole cost to us would be perhaps $2500.”
There was a short flurry of mostly whispered conversations around the room. “I’ve heard him on TV and he’s such a self-important little bastard. He drives me crazy!” That was Jeremy Forbes who spoke up, not unexpectedly, and Arnold was ready for him.
“Thank-you, Dave. That’s interesting information. I know that some in the room, and on our committee who are not here tonight, may feel this is the wrong time to have a high-profile event like you are proposing. Jeremy, you and I had talked a bit about it earlier this week; this would be a good time to get it all out on the table, so to give everyone a chance to speak up I’ll go around the table again.” Turning to the woman on his left, he asked “Janette?”
And so it went around the table. Janette thought the speaker would be interesting to hear, but worried about the community’s privacy with all the media showing up in town. Suzanne agreed with Jeremy’s earlier comment, saying she thought the guy was a pompous little jerk and wanted nothing to do with him. The two interns were next, and protested gently that their roles were as observers, but Arnold pressed them for comments anyway; both were enthusiastic about the idea and offered to help set it up. Jeremy was polite enough to mutter “I’ve said all need to say,” and shut up. Some of the other men around the table were cautiously favourable, wondering about costs, or logistics, or timing (should it be on a weekend to get more people?) When it was Wendy Webster’s turn, and to Anderson’s surprise, she said in a clear and confident voice that she wouldn’t say anything because she was new to the community and didn’t know enough about the Program.
Anderson was seated to Marion’s right, so he would be almost the last person to comment. When it had gone around the table, he picked up the little stack of Globe & Mail reprints he had brought along and started to pass them around. “I asked our Chairman earlier if I could pass these around,” he said, “and he agreed. We’ve heard an outline from David about who Dr. Horowitz is; this article gives an idea of the kind of impact he can have. Let’s just read it to ourselves for a few minutes, then I have something to say.”
Sunset at [20 47] Page 5