There was a shuffling of paper, then silence. Marion made some notes from the article and was jotting them down in her notebook, and there were a couple of whispered exchanges down the table. After about four minutes, Anderson began:
“Those of you around the table who know me, know that I kinda stick to myself and spend a lot time on my boat, often out on the lake doing stuff for people, and usually alone. I’m not a person that likes to attract a lot of attention. But sometimes there is a time for that, and this may be the right time for this community.” He took a big slug from his paper cup. “I’m sure most of us know that our local PSP Committee folks talk about more than just a few birds in the marshes around the lakeshore when we get together; we talk about everything to do with the quality of our lake whether it’s about septic tanks, marker buoys, speed limits, the village’s sewage lagoon, or the impact of the latest water toy of the season. All the things we see as threats. And anyone over ten years old with a pulse knows that Awan Lake could be under threat from mining activity, too, whether it’s happening now or proposed to happen soon – or anytime. To be more specific, there is a huge threat from one of North America’s biggest mining corporations – Robertson Mines – and its plans for a massive expansion of its ore refining capacity here that will almost certainly have a huge impact on our lake.”
Everyone had looked up from the print-out he had circulated; he had their attention. “So now you know what I think I know, and frankly, I think that if we fail to get our concerns out in front of a much bigger audience as soon as possible, we may miss the only chance we’ll get to save the future of our lake. I love this place and I don’t want to see us miss any opportunity to save it. Going public with the help of Dr. Horowitz, love him or not, could give us that chance.”
There was a short silence. “Thank-you, Frank,” said Arnold. “You’ve certainly given us something to think about. I hadn’t thought it all through before. Marion, I think you’re the last one we haven’t heard from. Any comments?”
Marion, apparently, was determined to be the strong silent type this evening: this time she jerked her right thumb in Anderson’s direction and muttered “like he said.”
Arnold dreaded the next call: “Jeremy, I know you are not at all fond of this whole idea, but maybe you want to say more?”
Jeremy Forbes didn’t answer right away, and when he did he spoke slowly: “I don’t read much, and the only television I watch is hockey, so at this time of year that ain’t much watchin’. But a couple of days ago I was talking to my favourite granddaughter, who’s...”
Marion had evidently decided she had something to say: “Forbes, you old twit, you’ve only got one granddaughter. What are you talking about?” Jeremy was married to Marion’s sister and their son had a daughter in her early teens, so the great aunt was having her moment.
“Arnold, tell your old lady to settle down,” Jeremy barked. “Yes, she’s my only granddaughter but if I had ten of ‘em she’d still be my favourite. She’s the only one around our place that makes any sense. Anyway, she’s planning to go to college, which is usually where kids go away and never come back. But she asked me, “Grandpa, when I’m done college and want to come home, will our town and our lake still be here?” That kinda stopped me, y’know. Deep question from a special young lady. So... even if I hate nosy people and pushy experts and silly self-important news reporters, maybe we’re gonna have to do something to make sure we keep what we got. So, yeah, Anderson, yeah, Arnold. maybe it’s the right thing to do.”
“Thanks for saying that, Jeremy.” Arnold looked around the table at the others. “Any other thoughts out there? Haven’t been many of us talking...”
Janette put her hand up and said, “Okay, you got me. Let’s try it – we can put up with the busybodies for a few days.” A few others nodded, and a couple said, “I’m in.”
Marion nudged Arnold and suggested “maybe we should get a count?”
Arnold held up his hand asking for quiet: “Okay folks, let’s do a show of hands; all in favour of asking Dave to contact Dr. Horowitz and set up a public meeting, hopefully before mid-August?”
The response was positive, and unanimous except for the interns and – to Anderson’s surprise – Wendy Webster who, like the interns, did not vote either way.
***
It hadn’t taken long for the meeting to be over. When Arnold went to adjourn, Marion broke in to remark that – once a date was confirmed for the proposed public meeting – the committee would need to put together some kind of special sub-group because there would be a helluva lot to do. And, she noted, someone need to make an estimate of how many people might show up, so they could figure out where to hold the damn thing. The community hall seemed an obvious place, but would it be big enough? Marion needn’t have worried – there was a flood of hands offering to help and someone suggested they adjourn to the bar and talk about it.
As Anderson predicted, after the meeting adjourned almost everyone shuffled across the lobby from the meeting room and simply re-formed around a gathering of small round bar tables in the lounge. “Might as well have just held the whole damn meeting here,” Anderson said as he settled into a more comfortable chair. He called to the bartender, “Nobody in at all tonight, Florence?”
“Nope, not since I’ve been here anyway. I figured I might as well sit here and give Georgina time to go home. She has enough on her mind these days and I figured she could use an evening at home.” Florence was the lady who wrote the cheques. She had been the Inn’s manager for years, a task she had taken on somewhat reluctantly for her brother who had bought the place in 2005 but continued to live in Ottawa where he had a federal government job. Apparently the Spirit Inn was to be his retirement Program.
Naturally, the chatter shifted to the missing Anita, a subject no one would have wanted to touch if Georgina had still been there. In that crowd of mostly cottagers, it was likely only a few knew Anita at all, but most had heard that a local girl had gone missing. The interns, though, who had made the Inn their home away from home most evenings, had gotten quite fond of her. “She was here most weekday evenings,” Cyndi remarked, “but on the weekends she used to spend her nights at that club in Maple Falls. About a week ago, though, was the last I saw her; she was talking non-stop about a musician – bass player I think – with Amanita, the band playing at the club.”
Adumbi’s voice was unmistakable, with its African lilt and low British undertones. And he always sounded terribly polite and serious: “Yes, and after early Wednesday evening she left here and we haven’t seen her since. We’ve been waiting to tease her about her new bass player but neither Cyndi nor I have seen her since then.”
Marion was “Aunty Marion” to all the young girls in town and especially, of course, to her niece. “Well, I spent a little time on the phone this morning and I was actually able to track down the band that had been at The Falls. I talked to their lead guy – woke him up I think, around noon – and he said that had just had to hire another bass player because this guy never showed up Tuesday night. And no, he didn’t remember Anita except he said his drummer told him that Albert (he pronounced like it was French) had been having some kind of trouble with a chick from Maple Falls. He didn’t know anything more, or wasn’t saying anyway. I told the cops, but I think they just filed that information. They’re not as excited about this whole thing as they should be, in my mind.”
“Where’s the band playing now?” Anderson asked.
“Ottawa. Some hangout in ByWard Market.”
“Oh, I thought somebody said they had gone to Sarnia. Well, if they’re playing a club in ByWard Market, they’re probably pretty good. Too good for that run down old rock joint in The Falls anyway. When was the last time Anita’s buddies heard from her?”
“Monday evening, I guess. According to the police she texted some gal named Twyla in The Falls to say she was having a great time with someone new and that she would tell her all about it soon. That’s it... Twyla ha
s heard nothing since and nor has anyone else.”
“ That’s not much to go on,” said Anderson.
“Not a damn thing,” said Marion. “I’ve told Georgina what I know, but there’s no comfort in it. This must be awful for her.”
The two interns had a few words between themselves, then stood up and said goodnight all around, smiling politely at everyone and thanking Arnold for letting them sit in on the meeting. Marion called to them when they reached the door, “Remember, I’ll be calling you when we start planning this thing!”
“No worries, Mrs. Jamieson, no worries,” replied Adumbi. “We’re happy to help.”
Jeremy was on his second double shot of bar whiskey. After they had gone out and the door had closed, he mumbled loudly enough for everyone to hear, “Nice way to go to school. Wish it was that way when I was young.”
Arnold looked across at him: “Huh?”
“Well, Mister Cool and his cute little blond girlie and all.”
Arnold chuckled: “You’d be surprised, old timer! I just learned the other day that Adumbi is gay and Cyndi is a lesbian, so I imagine there’s not a lot of action going on there!”
Jeremy sat stunned, then made his second speech of the night: “Gays and lesbians shouldn’t even be allowed to come here. You want to build our town but people like that don’t even have children!”
About now, everyone in the room had ducked their heads in embarrassment. Again, it was Marion’s turn: “That’s just dumb, you old fart. For two or three generations now all the old folks like you have been telling all your kids and grandkids to get the hell out of Spirit River and move to Toronto or Vancouver because there’s nothing to do here. You even said that back when you were mayor. What the hell do you care whether gay folks don’t have kids? That’s just stupid. That kind of thinking will make sure my niece never comes near Spirit River, ever again!”
Anderson laughed aloud and stood up: “Well put, Mrs. Jamieson! Forbes, the cops have been around all day and now you’ve got a skinful of whiskey; I’m gonna take you home so you don’t add point zero eight to your troubles. Come on, we’re leavin’ before Marion takes another run at ya.” Old Jeremy Forbes slammed his glass down on the table and went to say something... then thought better of it and got up, following Anderson unsteadily to the door and out into the parking lot.
Thankfully, Anderson thought, it was a short trip to the Forbes residence, but as he pulled up in the driveway Jeremy said quietly, “Thanks Anderson. Marion tells me I never shifted gears when the calendar turned from 1999 to 2000, and I guess she’s right. The second whiskey didn’t help... sorry for pissing people off.”
“That’s okay old timer. Tomorrow’s another day,” said Anderson. “Get a good night’s sleep, and thanks for your support on the meeting stuff.” Forbes mumbled something incoherent, shut the truck door and weaved up the driveway to his front door. Anderson waited for him to go in and shut the door, then reversed down the driveway and headed home. He considered it had been a long day, and the world could wait until he was good and ready for it tomorrow morning.
07:10 JULY 14
Anderson had hit the snooze button twice before he got up and headed for the coffee pot. He drained it, rinsed it out and prepared to brew another pot, making a mental note to buy another couple of tins of dark roast next time he went to Maple Falls. Anderson liked good food though he was not a fussy eater. But when it came to coffee, he was a fanatic: had to be fine grind dark roast, and fair trade coffee was a good way to go but the real stuff was hard to find in Maple Falls and very damn expensive and always whole bean. He told folks he was too lazy to grind his own.
When the coffee had brewed, he poured a cup, put on a light jacket and took it outside on the little open porch at his front door. The sun was already filtering through the line of trees along the shore to the east and over the top of a couple of ramshackled small sheds that blocked his view of the shore itself. Anderson went through the events of yesterday, arriving at the conclusion that it had really been just another day at Awan Lake and that he had work to do today.
One thing was puzzling him, though: just who were Marjorie and Wendy Webster, and in particular why had Wendy’s responses at last night’s meeting seemed somewhat out of place, over-cautious perhaps. Indeed, why had she decided to show up at a special meeting at all, since neither of the women had shown any interest in the Protected Shorelines Program before. “Well, one of these days I’ll give Marjorie a call and maybe drop by their little island for a visit. Wouldn’t mind seeing her again,” he muttered to himself, putting his cup down by the door and heading down to the docks where his little trackhoe had been sitting on the barge since Wednesday morning when he had brought it back from the Jorgenson place.
A quick check around the docks satisfied Anderson that nothing had changed since yesterday evening. He started up the KX Series Kubota, slid the shore-end of the barge ramps onto the beach and backed the machine off onto the shore, where he turned it around and waddled it slowly along the road back to his shop. It was a nice day, so he parked it by the big door, turned off the engine, and headed back down to the barge. He spent twenty minutes unloading tools and leftovers from the Jorgenson job into the back of his truck.
On his way back to the shop, Arnold drove alongside in his own truck, and stopped. “Mornin’ Frank! Got a few minutes?”
“You bet,” Anderson grinned. “Needed a second cup anyway. Let me back this thing up to the shop and we’ll go grab a cup.”
The two men settled at the table with their coffee. “Shoot,” said Anderson.
“Well, first, Marion says ‘thank-you’ for taking Jeremy home last night. I hope it went okay?”
“Oh yeah, no worries. He was well-behaved. I think he had sort of embarrassed himself. He even thanked me!”
“Okay, that’s good.” Arnold paused a moment then continued: “ Couple of things. First, I just got off the phone with – ah – LaChance (I forgot his first name) from the Feds at Environment. He’s not the guy who normally comes to meet with us, but his immediate supervisor. Anyway, he told me we have to meet with him – Monday if at all possible but no later than Tuesday morning. He was pleasant enough, but obviously something serious is going on in his office and it has to do with the Awan Lake Protected Shoreline Program local committee.” He stopped and looked across the table at Anderson: “So... how do you feel about a drive to Ottawa either Sunday night or early Monday morning? LaChance did say he will approve us taking the travel and hotel costs out of our expenses budget.”
“Humph.” Anderson growled, “it’s not like we have nothing else to do with our lives except volunteer our time to a federal Program. And I don’t really expect Marion will be thrilled with you going around the countryside meeting with bureaucrats and leaving her alone at the garage. However... I was wondering this morning if someone other than a cop might be able to get more information from the guys in that band about the bass player and Anita. I guess we could go take in some music on Monday night if the band is still in ByWard Market.”
“I already told Marion about this. She had roughly the same reaction as you, but we didn’t get to the Anita thing... not a bad idea. But, you’re talking Monday night and some places close and some bands switch out over Sunday and a new band turns up Monday. Marion found out the club name. Why don’t I call her and have her check it out? I expect she’ll think it’s a good idea.”
“Go for it.” Anderson go up and poured some more coffee. He did a little clean-up around the kitchen sink while Arnold called Marion and explained what they were thinking.
It didn’t take long. “Marion thinks you got a good idea, so she’ll call and get more information. Let’s hope there’s someone at that bar this early in the morning. And,” he said, “while we’re waiting, let me fill you in on some of the talk at the Inn after you left. It seems things are heating up over at the proposed Robertson Mines expansion.”
“I haven’t been that far up the east shore fo
r a while, and have no idea, except that I’ve seen a few more consultants in their pickups running around town. And Georgina told me a few weeks ago that the Inn’s rooms are pretty well full most weeknights”
“Yeah, well, no surprise there I guess. Doctor Dave – Bradshaw, you know, the guy that was pushing the public meeting with Horowitz – says that he has heard from engineering profs at his university that Robertson has been hiring young engineers and technicians big-time – fresh out of school – since May, and they have them all working on their proposed Awan Lake expansion. Hold on...”
Arnold cell went off with Beethoven’s Fifth, which Anderson thought an odd ringtone for a guy whose taste in music was Waylon Jennings and Johnny Cash. “Hi Hon... huh? Sunday night? Damn. Well at least they’re still there... you will? You are such a good women, must be why I married you. Yeah we’ll behave.”
He clicked off the phone and told Anderson that the band was playing through Sunday night but then was moving to a gig in Belleville, so if they were to catch them it would mean leaving Sunday around noon. Marion said she’d try to set them up with a hotel room close in, as they would need to get across to Gatineau for their meeting with Environment Canada on Monday morning. “At least we’ll be able to drive home after that. I’ll call that LaChance guy back and set the appointment up.” He took his phone out of his pocket again, and looked up his early-morning caller.
A few minutes later he hung up and told Anderson the meeting was set for 9:30 Monday morning, at the Gatineau office building. “LaChance (Pierre, it turns out) was pleased at our quick response. And if it’s okay with you we’ll take Marion’s Equinox. It’s a lot easier on gas than that old Ford of mine, and anyway there’s no place in Ottawa that I want to try and park a pickup with a long box. And I don’t trust that old Colorado of yours – or those tires that have lasted you so well – you think!”
Sunset at [20 47] Page 6