Which they did. She was chuckling and giggling like a kid, and put him in the same mood. “Any birds? Seals? Tigers? Or are all the photos of my scrawny butt and bearded face?”
“Actually, everything except the seals and tigers, but yes, I got a whole bunch of orange – and maybe numbered – markers and some machinery on the beach. Some people in hardhats too, but too far away to see if they were paying any attention to us. But...this is an insanely expensive camera, and with Photoshop we should be able to get out some pretty good stuff.”
“Wow, that’s perfect. Thank you so much, for the photography and your imagination to set up the photo-shoot. Remind me to give you a hug when we get back. But now...” as he eased back the throttles until the launch was moving at about two knots and punched in the autohelm once again... “it’s time for lunch. It wouldn’t look well if you went boating with me, brought along the lunch, then I let you starve to death. Someone would be sure to notice!”
“Me, for one. I get super-grumpy when I’m hungry. And yes, I will remind you about the hug, Mister Anderson.”
The roast-beef sandwiches, garden-fresh tomatoes and hard-boiled eggs disappeared almost as fast as the two bottles of beer, and the two sat out on deck for a long while talking about her struggles with learning her craft as a painter, and her challenges getting recognized for her work.
“I like painting pictures of rocks, and that’s one of the reasons I convinced Wendy to come to Awan Lake. Trouble is, lots of other folks like painting rocks and scraggy trees on the Laurentian Shield. I like detail; I was at a special exhibition in Banff while on a course there, recognizing an artist whose first name escapes me but the last name was Taylor. He painted the Canadian Rockies, and he saw them in ways I had not seen before. The level of detail was incredible, and I’ve always wanted to capture that with our northern Ontario rocks. Maybe someday before I die I’ll get it right; if so, I’ll die happy!”
By the time they had finished lunch and chatted for awhile, they had almost reached a large, low island near the middle of the lake. It was about a half mile long, almost as wide and covered with a tangle of twisted little trees and scrub brush. It was uninhabited, but a few randomly-placed white signs along the shore identified it as a wildlife preserve, with no approach allowed during the spring, summer and early autumn. Anderson gave the island lots of space; he noticed that the depth readings had decreased as he got closer, so he took a wide turn around the south shore of the island before heading north toward Spirit River. Once clear of the island he increased the speed back to about eleven knots and settled in for what would be an hour-long run back to Marjorie’s island.
***
It was about 14:00 hours and Anderson wanted to be home in lots of time to get ready to head to Ottawa with Arnold the next day. “I’m headed to Ottawa with Arnold tomorrow afternoon,” he said to Marjorie, wondering how much he should tell her about why they were going. He left out the Anita component – it seemed a little silly out of context – but continued: “Every now and then we have to meet with the Feds about the Protected Shorelines Program. They have people they send out from time to time, but the funding agreement is with Environment Canada so once in awhile the bosses like to meet with the local committee executive, or in this case the committee chair and vice-chair. Kind of a pain in the ass ‘cause it’s a three-hour drive, but at least they pay for the gas, hotel room and dinner if we don’t go crazy on the price!”
“I’ve been wondering about that Program,” responded a very relaxed-looking Marjorie who had curled up on the navigator’s seat behind the map table. “Those two young people who were out with you on Thursday – the ones with the canoe – I figured they must be part of it, right?”
“Yup, they are university-level summer students studying sustainable environmental management, with a focus on wetlands, lakes and wildlife. They refer to it as biodiversity management; the guy is a graduate student, chasing his Masters degree, and the gal is an undergrad in biology.”
“What do they do?”
“Count frogs. Well, frogs and other critters.”
“So what does the ‘Program’ do?
“Long story, or short”
“Well, I’d like to know more because that stuff interests me. Actually, I’m really curious because Wendy has no interest in birds or bees or frogs (or rocks, unfortunately) so the only thing she appreciates about the lake is that she gets some peace and quiet away from Toronto. And yet, this Program seems to have her all revved up. Yesterday – the morning after the meeting – she was all a-buzz on her cell phone and on the internet (she uses her iPhone as a ‘hot-spot’ so she can get internet on her laptop). But, she didn’t really say anything to me about it, just said she was helping out a client.”
Anderson pondered over that for a moment and decided to answer Marjorie’s curiosity before digging for more information about Wendy’s clients: “Well, years ago – and several prime ministers ago – it seems the Feds decided to get out of environmental research and leave it to the private sector – mostly big non-profits – and over the years they have cut back on personnel – big time. Of course, there was still stuff that needed to happen – the environment was always prominent in public surveys even if people voted for jobs and tax-cuts at election time. So the Feds created some public-engagement programs so the government would at least be seen to support things like biodiversity. The Protected Shorelines Program, or PSP as we call it, is one of those. Basically it’s a federal grant managed by local committees across Canada.”
Anderson paused a moment, then: “I happen to think it’s awfully heavy on public communications and youth education, and really low on research, but then I am not a biologist so I don’t really know how it all washes down. I just know that we’re pretty limited here about what our local committee can take on for Programs and – above all – what we can say in public. We have to crank out warm fuzzy brochures about the importance of the birds and bees to human health and happiness, and we get to employ some local folks on conservation Programs – like putting up signs on that island back there – and to bring in some interesting young folks as interns, like Cyndi and Adumbi. From a local feel-good perspective, it’s worthwhile, I guess, and the interns we have had over each of the past four years do get to know, and maybe inspire, some of the young folks in the community. I am sure – in fact I know – that several young locals are in college or university now who likely wouldn’t have gone there if it hadn’t been for spending some time with the interns, whether on local Programs or even just after-hours at the Inn!”
Marjorie took in the information, and more as they chatted about the meeting and the upcoming event with the nearly-famous Dr. Horowitz. Then she laughed: “Maybe Wendy is all excited because she knows that what you really need is a public relations expert!”
They both laughed at that. Then Marjorie said, “Or maybe not.” She got up from the navigator’s chair, went to her backpack and took out her camera, which she fidgeted with for a moment then walked across the wheelhouse to Anderson and handed him the camera’s memory card. “I want you to take this home, okay? Then, if it’s alright with you, I’ll come to your place with my laptop and we can have a good look at those photos I took, in private.” She turned, put her camera into its case and replaced it in her backpack, then went back to her seat.
Anderson breathed a sigh of relief – he had been wondering about how to talk to Marjorie about his discomfort with her sister’s recent behaviour, both at the meeting, and as described by Marjorie. He looked across at her with a smile and said, “Thank-you, and I look forward to going through these with you, soon. It’ll have to wait until I’m back from Ottawa, though... maybe Tuesday or Wednesday.”
“Perfect. I am looking forward to it myself.”
Soon, Ship Island was only about a mile off and they could barely see the little dock and the cottage perched behind. Anderson left the autohelm switched on but pulled the throttle back to about half speed.
&
nbsp; Again Marjorie stood up, walked across to him, then tapped him on the shoulder: “I’ll take that hug now, if you don’t mind.”
Anderson stood up, embarrassed and showing it. He put his arms around Marjorie, pulled her close and held her for a few moments, very relieved that she had changed back out of her elegant camouflage and was actually wearing clothes. Then he moved back and softly kissed her on the forehead. “Thank-you, Marjorie, for a perfect day, a delicious lunch, and some wonderful conversations.”
He squeezed her shoulders gently and returned to the wheel and the guidance of his little ship, about which he felt away more confident in his ability. By now they were just outside the bay, and could see that Wendy was walking down to meet the boat. And he and Marjorie both knew that it was for the better that her sister hadn’t been a witness to that exchange of quiet affection.
14:30 JULY 16
Arnold and Anderson had been on the road for an hour and hadn’t eaten any lunch, so when an A&W sign revealed itself on their side of the road, Arnold turned in and headed for the drive-thru. “I plan to have a good dinner on the federal government’s dime,” he said, but I do feel like a hamburger. Work for you?”
“Sure does. Maybe a junior burger with cheese, small fries and a small coffee,” Anderson said and handed across a twenty.
Arnold doubled the order, moved forward, took the two bags and paid. “This will go down well. Did you even have breakfast?”
“Ya, actually I did have an eggo thing, but this will be good. Last night I made up for not much breakfast today: fried up a salisbury steak (otherwise known as a big hamburger) and a couple of eggs and some onions. It was great. Of course I had a good lunch too: Marjorie brought along some great sandwiches, fresh tomatoes and even a couple of beers.”
Arnold began to laugh. “Marion told me after the meeting on Thursday that sure enough you would be chasing after that pretty blonde that showed up, but I told her ‘nah, Anderson likes her sister’. Hah, so you got her out on the boat didja? Might have known!”
“Yes, well, seemed like a good way to get to know her. But actually one of the things I wanted to find out was all about her sister. Wendy, it turns out, is a public relations executive with seriously big corporate clients. Between you and me for now, I have a sneaky feeling she is somehow connected to the Robertson bunch. And while we were out there, we cruised by the Robertson facility along the southeast shore, and got some photographs.”
“Of what?”
“We don’t really know, but Marjorie has a camera and telephoto lens from hell that she used, and she has PhotoShop on her laptop, so we’ll get a chance to see what her lens saw.”
“Marion seems to think there’s some weird stuff going on,” Arnold replied. “She’s usually the one that tells me I’m just paranoid about stuff, but this time even she thinks some things ain’t the way they seem. And on another topic – talk about paranoid – she wants you and I to be careful when we go out to the bar tonight to talk to the band leader, in case he and his friends don’t want people asking too many questions.”
Anderson was silent for a moment or two. “I dunno, musicians aren’t known for being conspiracy guys, unless maybe it’s about drugs. Which, of course, could be involved with Anita’s disappearance, but I don’t see a connection with any other stuff.” He paused again, then went on: “The other stuff sure has me a bit paranoid too, I have to admit, and even Marjorie seemed to be sensing the same thing, even though she really doesn’t have a clue about all this stuff. I guess it’s tied up around her sister’s behaviour; they are normally very close but Marjorie seems to think something is different and that Wendy doesn’t want to talk about it. Anyway, I trust Marjorie’s perspective, even though I barely know her.”
***
Two hours later, Arnold turned the little black SUV onto the Queensway headed east into Ottawa. “Where’s our hotel, anyway?” asked Anderson.
“Day’s Inn on Rideau, near the Market,” said Arnold. “Marion says that since Parliament isn’t in session in July, she had no trouble finding a reasonable hotel downtown, with parking, so we’re within easy walking distance of the Market and easy to cross over to Gatineau for our appointment with the Feds.”
He took the Nicholas Street exit off the Queensway, found King Edward Avenue and arrived at the Rideau Street intersection. As he turned right on to Rideau, he said to Anderson, “We’re just a couple of blocks from our hotel, and we’ll probably have to go around the block to get to it. I’m not one hundred percent sure this has been the most direct route here, but I kind of know it from coming downtown a few years ago.”
“Could have fooled me,” Anderson replied. “I might as well be in Spain for knowing where we are... hey – there, over on the left – Day’s Inn. Ya nailed it!”
They did wind up circling the block to get into the hotel parking lot. Arnold took his briefcase full of PSP papers and an overnight bag, Anderson slung his worn-out old backpack over one shoulder, and they headed for the reception desk: “Hi there, reservations for Anderson and Jamieson?”
Anderson raised his eyebrows at Arnold: “two rooms, yet... Marion must have been feeling generous!”
“She told me that for an extra eighty-five bucks she didn’t want to have to hear you complaining about my snoring. She’s got a good point, actually!”
“Cool. I kind of like my own room anyway – I’m kinda really used to living alone and not bothering anyone. That way I can paddle around the room in the middle of the night if I get restless, and not worry about waking anyone up.”
As they went up the elevator, Arnold suggested they head out to the Market area and find a pub near the nightclub where the band would be playing. “Marion gave me the name of the club (L’Hibou), and said the web reviews claimed they had good dinners, but it’s too early to hang around there all night.”
The rooms were not luxurious, but they were clean and comfortable. Both men put their bags in their rooms, washed up and headed toward the Market together. It didn’t take long to find a pleasant little pub and settle into some beer and a bowl full of unshelled peanuts. The pub was fairly quiet – it was, after all, early on a Sunday evening – so Arnold and Anderson were able to plan how they would approach the band leader once they got to L’Hibou. Being good friends, they threw out a lot of ideas and ultimately decided to play it by ear. After polishing off another sixteen ounces of beer, they headed down the street to the club, looking forward to something more substantial than an A&W burger.
L’Hibou was “old-fashioned trendy”, with an overdose of Great Big Sea blasting out of the house sound system. There were few people around, so service was immediate and friendly. “Menus, yes please, and two light local draught beers.” Anderson asked if they had batter-fried owl, and Arnold called him a smartass; they settled on New York steaks, one medium and Anderson’s very rare. The food took its time arriving, but was worth the wait, and the men took their time finishing their meal. By the time they were done, people were beginning to filter in for the entertainment. Anderson asked their server when the band usually showed up: “This outfit is usually here quite early,” she said, “but they were actually here earlier this afternoon, cleaning up and getting ready to move out tonight. While they were here they did some sound-checks, so they’ll likely just come in time to start.”
Anderson turned to Arnold and said quietly: “Damn. Seems like we missed that opportunity.” Turning back to the server, he asked “How have you liked them?”
“They’re pretty good. A little more rocky than country, but that’s pretty normal. And they were breaking in a new bass player this week, so they were a bit ‘off’ at first.”
“Could you point out their leader to us when he comes in?”
“Sure. Better than that, I’ll bring him over. His name is Xavier, and he’s a good guy; had coffee with him after closing a couple of times.”
“Thanks very much!”
About twenty minutes later, after a couple of shaggy you
ng men had come in and settled in at a table between the side of the stage and the fire exit, a tall well-muscled guy with a shaved head and wearing a black tank-top joined them. True to her word, the server went over and spoke quietly to him, pointed in Arnold’s and Anderson’s direction, and accompanied him over to their table: “Hi,” she said, “this is Xavier, Amanita’s lead singer.”
Arnold and Anderson stood up in greeting, introduced themselves and shook hands. Anderson thanked the server, and invited Xavier to join them at the table. “You talked to my wife Marion on the phone a couple of days ago, “Arnold began. “She said to say hello and that she is very thankful for the information you gave her.”
Xavier was visibly relieved: no drug cops or bill collectors this time. “Hey, there wasn’t much to tell, really. You’ve come a long way looking for that girl – Anita? – and we haven’t seen her since a week ago Thursday...”
“Thursday?” Arnold broke in. “We thought she’d been hanging out with your bass player right through the weekend.”
“Either of you guys related to that chick?”
“Nope,” said Anderson. “Daughter of a friend. And don’t worry, we all know Anita had more than a normal person’s share of, er, ‘issues’. Really nice kid, but a pack of trouble.”
Xavier relaxed and grinned: “Okay, well, then you already know she seemed a little flaky. Perfect match for Albert! So when she came in and talked to him all worried-like before the gig started on Thursday – then took off – we were all teasing him that she beat him to the “good bye” part of his love affair. Albert is a one-night-stand specialist, and we thought it was some kind of miracle that he had kept her around for three nights!”
“So you never saw her for the rest of the weekend?” Arnold asked.
“No, never did. And the gig at Maple Falls was over Saturday night, not like here, and we were packed and outta there by Tim Hortons breakfast time Sunday morning. Never saw her Friday or Saturday.”
Sunset at [20 47] Page 8