“Did you mention our photography expedition on Saturday?”
“Heavens no!” Marjorie replied quickly. “I just told her we went out around that island bird sanctuary, but I didn’t even get any pictures. And this morning she thinks I just came in to see if I could get a new memory card for my camera, and some milk. I did tell her I might see if I could find you for coffee, so she wouldn’t figure she should come along to keep me company!”
“Makes sense – wise move,” said Anderson. They both sat silently for a couple of minutes, as if there was more to say, but uncertain where to begin. Anderson began: “This whole thing is just... strange... and keeps getting more so.” He filled Marjorie in on their discovery at the nightclub that Anita’s disappearance might prove to have been some sort of kidnapping, or be mysterious anyway, and he outlined the discussions – both official and off-the-record – with the Environment official on Monday morning.
“Last night I actually started a little list,” he continued. It’s like we are looking through the windshield at four seemingly unconnected things: a waterlogged murder victim, a young woman who has gone missing under mysterious circumstances, a development Program by a company with a shaky environmental record (and a long reach into the federal government bureaucracy), and – frankly – the very distinct possibility that someone is trying to keep that development Program out of the public eye, maybe explaining Wendy’s behaviour which somehow seems out of character.” Anderson paused again. “I dunno, have we all become screaming paranoids?”
“Where is Arnold in all this? He was with you in Ottawa, and I assume he has heard about the murder thing directly from John?”
“Yup, Arnold is up-to-date on all of it, except nothing specific about Wendy being somehow connected except a little shared puzzlement about the way she acted at the meeting. And Sergeant John knows nothing at all about Wendy, or the meeting. I have been waiting for you and I to talk first. Which reminds me... Arnold and the meeting... I hope he or Marion have been in touch with the Board of Trade folks this morning to see if they will host that public meeting with Horowitz. Once that is set up, then the OPS will need to be informed we are expecting to hold a public meeting in the village, and that it may attract a pretty big crowd. Cops like to know about that stuff. But they certainly don’t need to know about Wendy or in fact, even about Robertson Mines. That they can figure out on their own.”
“You know, Frank, I just feel terrible about this. I feel so torn between my sister (and perhaps her clients) and this wonderful lake and little village which is now almost my first home, not just a vacation place. And you. You are becoming a problem to me, because I like being around you. It’s even fun being screaming paranoids together, but I do still feel torn.”
That stopped Anderson dead in his tracks for a moment. He looked long and hard at Marjorie before speaking: “Two things. First, I am honoured by your trust and very happy that we share a growing connection with each other. It’s not something that I am used to – the connection bit – so forgive me if I seem awkward. Trust isn’t easy for me either, and that’s part of the second thing: normally I would keep things to myself and not easily share information. But back to the paranoia thing, we – I anyway – have been avoiding an important thing about Wendy. I have no real reason to believe that she is involved at all with this stuff. She may have been having a grumpy moment, or just been shy, at the meeting the other night. And at home with you, it is possible she is just worried about some unrelated work stuff and worrying about her sister at the same time. So it seems unfair – especially for you – not to be able to share the things we are thinking with a friend and sister. And – even if she is somehow connected to this stuff, and if it’s bad I expect that deep down inside she is family and would dump her client if you could show that her client was up to bad stuff.”
Marjorie put her head to one side and looked at him hard. “I hope so. I really do. I have trusted her for many years about many things, and have never been let down, even though she was always a whole bunch more aggressive than I am. Are you suggesting we should talk to her about all this? I guess that way we’d learn right away if she’s even remotely aware.”
“I’ve always preferred to sort out the good from the bad, and then make sure the good things are on my side of the river. And I surely don’t want to screw up your relationship. We also have to remember that you, and I, and Arnold, are just bystanders in all of this. It’s really not our battle, so I think, if you’re game, let’s simply go talk to her before we take all these suspicions with us down the rabbit hole. It’s weird enough down there already. Let’s start by driving up to the Zoo and I’ll buy us lunch.”
***
Ten years ago, the Zoo had been pretty much a hamburger joint with things like pork chops for lunch specials. A young couple from Ottawa inherited a (very) small fortune and bought out the ageing owners; he had been a line chef in a chain restaurant, and wanted to do something better, so while they only barely refreshed the interior they kept it clean and neat. The burgers and fries were more tasty, and in the summer tourist and cottager season he began to serve quiche specials at lunch. They were good, and popular, and now he offered a wide variety year-around, which the locals devoured and talked about to anyone who’d listen.
Anderson and Marjorie ordered a ham quiche with fries, and wolfed it down with a half-draft each. Half way through, Marion joined them for a sandwich and Coke; she smiled warmly when introduced to Marjorie, nodded wisely to Anderson and said, “your reputation precedes you!” to Marjorie.
“I hope that’s a good thing,” Marjorie chuckled.
“It is. very.” Turning to Anderson, she told him that Arnold had been on the phone first thing and lined up the Board of Trade committee members, who were only too happy to host the public event – and the fundraiser bar afterward – so long as they didn’t have to pay for the guest speaker. And now Arnold was catching up on work, so stay the hell out of the garage please until after supper.
“No worries, Marion – thanks! I’ll go out to Tony Barker’s place and see if I’ll have any luck getting him to dredge up a sponsor. And I guess one of us should ask Dave Bradshaw if he was able to nail down Horowitz, and if he got an idea of what it would cost to get him here.”
“All done,” said Marion. “David called this morning and gave me a date too – August 10 (a Thursday) and the cost will be a maximum of $3000, including flights, car rental and one night in a hotel in Toronto.”
“Wow, that was quick. Thanks! Did you tell Dave about the change in hosting organization?”
“Nope... figured I’d leave that to you. Or Arnold. Or maybe both of you in case he bitches too hard!”
“Nah, I don’t suppose. He wouldn’t have survived at the university this long if he didn’t understand the politics of that kind of stuff.”
Anderson stepped out into the sunshine to answer a couple of messages from people wanting work done at their cottages, while Marion and Marjorie chatted away like old friends. They shared a love of growing good things to eat in the garden, and a frustration of never having the time to do it properly. With Marion, it was work. With Marjorie, it was that planting time at her city home was before she came to the lake, and harvest was before she got back home. And growing anything but a pot full of chives was impossible on that rocky little island she shared with her sister.
When Anderson came back in, he paid the tab and returned to the table, saying he supposed they should be getting out to the island, and that he wanted to visit Tony Barker on his way home. As they left, Marion called out, “Marjorie, next time you’re in, I’ll have some lettuce for you. It’s the only damn thing that’s growing – like a weed – and if you don’t help me out I’ll have to buy a rabbit!”
14:00 JULY 18
They chose to take Anderson’s launch, as the wind had freshened since morning and was raising a noticeable chop out of the northwest, although the day was warm under an almost cloudless sky. The thirty-seven
foot launch barely noticed the waves, but Marjorie’s little fourteen-foot outboard runabout would have kicked up enough spray to make for a wet ride. Anderson had turned on the ship-to-ship radio as usual, and had clicked it over to the marine weather forecast, learning that a cool front was moving in this evening which would bring some showers by morning. Out of habit he flipped the radio back to the call channel, not because he expected any calls from the very few boats on the lake that used radios, but because the marina at Spirit River had equipped its half-dozen rental houseboats with them, so there were, in fact, other ears within reach.
Marjorie was happily standing outside the wheelhouse with one hand on the roof, facing to her right and apparently drinking in the wind. Anderson, though, was less comfortable, worrying that meeting Wendy and bringing her up-to-date on recent events could yield some uncomfortable moments in the next couple of hours. He kept those thoughts to himself, but he did ask Marjorie if Wendy would be worried to see them in the launch rather than the little outboard.
“Actually, I’m surprised she hasn’t called me already to tell me about the waves and suggest I come and get you! When it comes to boating. she is nervous as a cat when there is any more than a ripple on the lake.”
“ I had thought maybe we should tow the outboard behind and take it to the island, but if it gets any rougher than it is now, that has its own set of problems. Tell me, how do you ever convince the poor girl to come to the island with you, if she’s so nervous about the water?”
Marjorie chuckled: “If truth be told, it was her idea, and she probably wouldn’t even have come to Awan Lake if I hadn’t agreed. She relies on me to take care of all the wet stuff. She doesn’t even swim unless it’s, like, flat calm, 45 degrees in the shade, and no shade!”
“Why then?”
“She yearns for the peace and quiet she can find at the island. Of course, she needed to have all the internet and cellphone connections so that she can keep in touch with her office, but she usually only allows herself less than an hour a day for that stuff, then she turns it all off. Period.”
Anderson began a lazy turn to go east of the island so he could nose into the little bay and the dock with the bow into the wind. He gave his usual two short blasts on the horn as he went past where the cottage sat along the island’s south shore, and noticed that most of the south-facing roof was covered with solar panels. “Ah ha,” he said. That’s cool, you ladies are making your own power!”
“Sure are... all the comforts of home! We do have a small generator in case we need to top up the batteries in cloudy weather, but usually we generate enough from that roof to keep our refrigerator working – it’s just a little one the same size as the ones they put in campers, but it keeps the milk cold and the lettuce fresh. That, a couple of lights in the late evening and keeping the phones, laptops and a radio charged is all we use it for. We love it, and it wasn’t even all that expensive. The folks at the marina are selling the equipment for a store in the city, and they installed it too.”
“Could I get you to put the fenders over the side as we come in? Since your boat isn’t at the dock, I’ll pull along our starboard side like I do in town, and the wind – such as there is in here, it’s pretty sheltered – will keep her quiet alongside instead of pulling unevenly on the ropes. Thanks!”
Wendy had heard the horn and already walked the hundred yards across the island from the cottage. As she approached, Anderson could see she had suddenly recognized Marjorie on the deck, and given her a big wave and a grin. “Hi Sis. Wondered who was arriving at the dock with the Queen Mary, then remembered the boat from last week. And you must be Frank... maybe now we can actually be introduced properly!”
By now Marjorie had looped the bow and stern lines over the posts that anchored the dock, so Anderson stepped off the boat and held out his hand: “Hi Wendy! I guess we sort of met twice... once very quickly here when I dropped off Marjorie and her kayak last week, and again at that meeting at the Spirit Inn – you remember, the Protected Shorelines committee. Nice to finally shake hands!”
Anderson checked the mooring lines with his eyes only, nodded thanks to Marjorie, and the three of them took only moments to cross the island on a rough path that had been hacked out of underbrush. “I’ve spent most of the day lying around on the porch swing reading, and was just wishing I had an excuse to have a glass of wine. Now I have one... you two will join me I hope?”
Marjorie grinned at Anderson: “Should have warned you we didn’t have any beer.”
“No worries at all. And nice to see you are at least drinking a civilized wine made in Ontario. All the folks in the village ever drink is some god-awful pink fizzy stuff from California, and the cottagers all seem to pickle themselves in imported stuff!”
It was Wendy’s turn to smile: “Actually, I used to be an imported wine buff, but the winery from Niagara that produced this stuff is a client of mine, and they keep dropping cases of the stuff on us. Now, I really like it!”
With glasses of wine in hand, and seated comfortably on the little veranda, in the sun and out of the wind, Anderson pondered how to begin the discussion he knew they had to have. Seemed a shame to ruin the moment, somehow, but he thought he’d start with the PSP meeting.
“You were pretty quiet at the meeting on Thursday,” he began. “I hope we didn’t come across too disorganized. We can be pretty hillbilly when we get together, and there is almost never a well-planned agenda!”
No, it seemed to me that you all seemed to know what you needed to do. And, I’ve always noticed in small groups – especially small communities – there’s always a wise and well-organized woman who keeps everyone in line... Miriam or... sorry, I forgot her name.”
“You’d be talking about Marion. Yeah, she does that. She and her husband Arnold have a way about them, for sure. Everybody in town appreciates what they do, which is cool.”
“That must have been her I talked with at lunch. Hey Sis, we’re going to have some fresh garden lettuce next time I go to town!”
“That would be so good!” said Wendy. “On the subject of California wine, I can handle that but I hate going to a store in Ontario and have to buy California lettuce in July. It infuriates me!”
Anderson began to relax. I like these people. I like the way they think, and I like that they are close to each other. Maybe I should just dive right in. “Wendy,” he said thoughtfully, “I need to ask you a question, which is none of my business except it’s related to that meeting. Marjorie has told me you are a public relations specialist, and I am wondering if you have any government departments – or corporate clients like Robertson Mines – as clients?”
Wendy looked at him steadily and never even blinked. But she did take a quick sip of wine. Marjorie chose that moment to take Wendy’s cigarettes off the table, offer them around and take one herself, which she lit and sat back down, looking out at the lake. Anderson lit Wendy’s cigarette, thanked her and lit his own, then continued quickly, “Reason I ask is that we had to go to Ottawa for an emergency meeting on Monday, and the government department – Environment – knew about the meeting and what it was about.” He forced a laugh: “In my experience with government departments, they never ever move that fast!”
“Hmm.” No – and yes. Much as I would like to, I don’t have any government clients at all, or even government agencies except for a couple of provincial ones in the secondary education field. But, Robertson Mines’ Canadian Division office in Toronto is a client.”
You could have cut the silence with a knife. All eyes were turned to the lake, and no one looked at each other. Crap. Now where does this go, Anderson wondered.
It was Wendy who broke the silence: “Well, some of that was me, and now I feel terrible about it. Before the meeting was even over, I recognized there could be a public relations nightmare for my client, so I called my primary contact – a senior Robertson official – from the parking lot before leaving for home. And I didn’t hang around because I had the
little boat and I wanted to get home before dark... boats aren’t my thing. But the next day was full of emails and calls about that public meeting, expecting me to be prepared in case it all blew up. Marjorie, Frank... this is awful. Really awful.”
Marjorie put her head down, and remained silent. “Wendy,” Anderson said quietly, “please don’t feel badly about your part in this. You had a responsibility to your client and you did what you had to do.” He paused. “You had no way of knowing where this might lead, but now is a turning point. There is information on both sides of this issue that have huge implications, and now there are decisions to be made and – in seaman’s language, there are courses to be set.”
“Thank goodness for white grapes and Ontario tobacco.” Wendy walked to the little table by the porch door, poured herself a second glass of Chardonnay, sat down and lit a fresh smoke from the one she was finishing. “Actually, thank wineries and tobacco growers a lot, because not only do I have wine and cigarettes, but one of the wineries - and the tobacco growers association – are both clients of mine. Now I am beginning to wonder about what I’m doing in this business at all. I feel like an information slut – wine is a curse for many people and families, tobacco is never good for anyone, and all along, deep down inside, I have felt that Robertson had inexcusably bad business ethics, especially when it comes to the environment.”
Her voice raised and her eyes moistened. “Damn it, I’m supposed to earn my living making excuses and keeping these companies looking good regardless of all the bad stuff. Shit!”
Marjorie stood up, walked over and sat down beside her sister. She smoothed back Wendy’s hair and sat with her a few moments, letting a hand rest on her shoulder. Anderson felt acutely embarrassed. He was not a debater at heart: he got no pleasure from putting people on the spot, let alone making someone cry. And a woman especially. “I apologize, to both of you,” he said slowly. I didn’t mean to barge into your lives with our local problems, and I confess I don’t really know what’s happening at all. It just seems like a bunch of weird stuff.”
Sunset at [20 47] Page 11