by Cushnie-mansour, Mary M. ; Jamieson, Bethany (EDT); Tanguay, Danielle (EDT)
Back in the cottage, Gerry looked around. This place was supposed to have been his daughter’s salvation, and it appeared to have been over the past five years. But now? He made a decision, and headed for the phone and placed a call to a local realtor. Gerry told the realtor that he would leave a key under the welcome mat and asked that any paperwork be faxed to his work. Finally, taking one last scan, Gerry closed and locked the door. Until it sold, the cottage would remain closed.
As they drove slowly away from their summer home, Caroline sat in the back seat, humming and rocking back and forth. Her laptop was still clutched to her chest. Princess lay asleep beside her.
“We’ll be home soon, Caroline,” her father said, taking a quick glance at his daughter.
“Why do you keep calling me Caroline, sir? My name is Ruth.”
a stop by the boat house. It had been five years since the incident, since her second breakdown. Despite what the paramedics had initially thought—that she was just in shock—Caroline did not recover quickly from her ordeal at the model’s house. She had spent two years in and out of institutions, but for the past three years, life had begun to steadily improve. Caroline only saw her psychiatrist, Martha, once a month now, and most of their conversations were just idle chit-chat. Caroline had decided she really had no further need of Martha’s sessions at one hundred dollars an hour, so on her last visit, she’d told Martha she was going away and would not be returning anytime soon.
She had begun writing again, and this made Caroline think about the cottage on the lake. She was twenty-four now, and technically on her own; her parents were living their dream, and would be travelling the world for a couple of years. However, they had left a substantial trust fund for Caroline to live on. She’d wondered if the cottage was still owned by the couple her father had sold it to—and if it still was, would they be willing to sell. Caroline figured she could borrow a down payment from her trust fund.
After mulling the thought over for several days, Caroline had made a phone call to a realtor in the area where the cottage was. To Caroline’s surprise, it was for sale again. The real estate agent, Mark, had been more than happy to make a deal, saying that that cottage had been on the market for three years and the owners would be only too pleased to get rid of it—they weren’t using it. Caroline had purchased it for less than her father had sold it for five years ago.
Princess meowed from her cage. Caroline reached over and undid the latch. “We’re home, baby.” Princess crawled out. Caroline shut the motor off and opened her door. She stepped out of the car and breathed in the fresh northern air. Princess jumped down beside her, rubbing around Caroline’s legs.
Caroline stooped over, scooped up her cat and walked up to the cottage. She would get her clothes later; she was anxious to check out her old room. The key Mark had mailed to her was a bit stiff, and she had to wiggle it in the lock before it caught hold. The door squeaked open, making an arc of dust on the floor. Caroline noticed the dust-laden sheets covering the furniture.
She wandered through the living room and into the kitchen, checking the cupboards. They were still full of dishes. She would have to take a trip to town to stock up on groceries, though. Caroline left the kitchen and headed for the stairs and her old room. She opened the door. “Strange,” she murmured. The furniture that had been there five years ago was still in place. Princess darted in and jumped up on the desk.
There was one more place to check out before bringing in her luggage—the basement. Back on the main floor, Caroline tried to open the basement door. It was locked. She looked around for a key, but could not see one. “I’ll have to call the realtor,” she said to Princess.
Princess meowed.
Caroline stepped onto the porch and noticed the Muskoka chairs were still there—just a bit more weather-worn than they had been five years ago. They still faced Mr. Malcolm’s place across the lake. She wondered if he still owned it. He had recovered from the wound she had inflicted on him, but she had not really cared to know anything more about him. Even though he had turned out to be a cop, he still gave her the creeps. “I’ll bet my bottom dollar that he’s a dirty cop,” Caroline said to Princess. The cat meowed and rubbed around her legs. “Okay, I’ll go get the luggage, and your food!” she laughed.
After unpacking her suitcases, Caroline went outside to sit on the porch, taking a glass of white wine with her. She twirled the glass in her hand. Princess sat in the other chair. Suddenly, she noticed a movement on the porch across the lake. Could it be Mr. Malcolm? No, whoever it was moved with a youthful grace. The person noticed her looking his way and waved. She grimaced and waved back. Maybe she would take the canoe across tomorrow and see who it was. It was good to know your neighbours. Hopefully, there was still a canoe in the boathouse.
Caroline headed back into the cottage, locked the door and as she drew the curtains, she noticed the man was still gazing her way. She reached for the wine bottle, refilled her glass and headed up the stairs to her room. She had left her laptop on and the screen saver was flipping through its pictures. Caroline moved the mouse and a word document appeared on the screen. She glanced over the first few paragraphs and then shut the file down. “Not today, Ruth, it’s too late and I am bushed.”
Caroline stretched out on her bed and lay quietly for a few minutes. Princess jumped up and began kneading in the pillow behind her head. The cat’s purring lulled Caroline to sleep.
Black clouds had rolled in overnight, covering the area with murky darkness. A thick fog hung over the lake. Caroline had slept better than usual, but not well enough to not have the dream. And this time, there were two new faces in the kaleidoscope—faces faintly familiar to her, but from where?
She splashed water on her face and headed downstairs. Princess trotted after her, almost tripping her on the staircase. “I have to go into town to get some supplies; you stay here and keep an eye on things,” Caroline said, putting food in the cat’s dish. “I might be a while because I want to stop by the realtor and pick up a key for the basement door.”
Princess didn’t respond. She was busy eating. Caroline grabbed her keys and headed out. She glanced across the lake but the fog was so dense she could not see Mr. Malcolm’s cottage. She wondered if the stranger was watching. She wondered who he was.
After buying her groceries, Caroline stopped at the realtor. “I need a key to the basement door,” she said to Sally, the secretary.
“Mr. Dawson is showing a house right now; I’ll leave him a note and have him give you a call if there is one.”
“How long do you think Mark will be?” Caroline queried.
Sally’s eyebrows rose at Caroline’s use of her boss’s first name. “Well, he left about an hour ago…”
“So he should be back soon then?” Caroline interrupted. “Why don’t you page him and let him know I’m here; I can wait. Save us both a trip.” Caroline smiled.
Sally hesitated before picking up the phone. “Well, I guess if you want to wait…hello, Mr. Dawson. Caroline is here wondering about a key to the basement door in her cottage…you gave her all the keys…okay, I’ll tell her…yes…you’re going for lunch now…okay, see you at 1:00…no, no other calls…bye.”
She put the phone down and turned to Caroline. “Mr. Dawson does not have a key. He suggested you call a locksmith and get a new one made. He recommends Mr. Calvin. I’ll give you his number.” Sally paused, as though she wanted to say something else. Finally, “Why would anyone put a lock on a basement door on the inside of a house?”
“I have no idea,” Caroline answered evasively.
“Oh well, here is Mr. Calvin’s number and address. His office is actually a couple of streets over if you want to stop by there. You might catch him on his lunch break.”
Caroline took the piece of paper. “Thank you.” She turned and left. She was a bit disappointed at not having seen Mark again—he intrigued her. As she headed out the door, she thought back to the first time she had met Mark in person
. There had been something familiar about him, but she had not been able to quite put her finger on what it was.
The locksmith’s shop was easy to find and Caroline was lucky to catch him just as he was leaving. “Mr. Calvin,” Caroline called out. “A moment of your time please.”
“How might I help you, miss?” He stopped at his truck door.
“Mr. Dawson from the real estate office gave me your name. He said you could make me a new lock for my basement door. Apparently, the original key has been lost. How soon do you think you could come out to the cottage?”
“Let me check my schedule book,” he said, opening the truck door and reaching inside. He flipped through some pages. “Hmmm…I could come out at 9:00 tomorrow morning. Which cottage is it?”
“I’m at 55 Deerfoot Lane.”
“Deerfoot Lane…55…something familiar about that address…I know the place…oh yeah, some city folks used to own it…when they sold, I installed the new locks for the folks that bought the cottage—they didn’t stay long, though. Place has been empty for quite some time now.”
Caroline did not want to let this man know that she was quite familiar with the cottage. The past was something she did not wish to discuss with a stranger. “Nine o’clock will be fine; I’ll see you then. Sorry, but I do have to run now. Thank you, Mr. Calvin.” Caroline turned quickly and headed back to her car.
The sun had finally broken through the clouds and the fog had lifted, making the drive back to the cottage more pleasant. Caroline took in the surrounding scenery. Not too much had changed in five years. There was a new cottage being built, though, just before she turned onto Deerfoot Lane. Caroline wondered who her new neighbour was going to be.
before getting out of her car. All appeared quiet. She grabbed her grocery bags. An agitated Princess greeted her at the front door.
“Come on now, I wasn’t gone that long.” Caroline walked into the kitchen and glanced up at the clock. It was 1:15, later than she’d thought. Her stomach grumbled. She rummaged through the groceries and pulled out a package of fig cookies. Princess ran to her dish.
“Nothing for you until supper; people eat three times a day, not overweight cats!”
Princess flattened her ears and switched her tail angrily. Finally, in a huff, she left. Caroline heard her running up the stairs.
After putting her groceries away, Caroline made a cup of tea and headed out to the porch. It was still too early for wine. She could see Mr. Malcolm’s cottage quite clearly. It appeared deserted. She glanced down the shoreline and noticed that the new cottage at the end of Deerfoot Lane was actually not far from Mr. Malcolm’s. She noted where the construction of a boat house and dock had already begun. Whoever had bought that piece of land must have enough money to build everything at once. Most cottagers in the area did things in stages.
Suddenly a figure stepped out of the woods and walked down to the half-built dock. Even though there was something familiar about the person, Caroline could not tell who it was because she didn’t have a clear view of his face. He turned and looked over toward her cottage, but his hat was shadowing his face and she still couldn’t get a good look at him.
at 9:00 the next morning. Caroline was in an unusually indifferent mood. She had polished off a bottle of wine the previous evening and had not slept well. The dream had repeated itself, but the faces were still hidden.
“Previous owner installed this. I guess they were a bit nervous about what had happened in the basement,” Mr. Calvin commented as he got started.
Caroline sat down at her table and watched him. “Do you know who owns the new cottage at the beginning of Deerfoot Lane?” she asked.
Mr. Calvin looked up. There was a puzzled expression on his face. “Why the real estate fellow, Mark Dawson; didn’t he mention that you and he would be neighbours?”
Caroline glanced out her window. “No…no, he failed to mention that. How long has he been around these parts?”
“A couple of years. No one really knows where he came from. Just showed up one day. Went into partnership with Mr. Donaldson, who owned the real estate office. Strange thing happened, though: Donaldson, who had never been sick a day in his life, suddenly took ill. Died about six months after Mark went into business with him. Course he was old, and I hear that sometimes that happens to folks. Mark’s done a good job though…there, that should do it. Here're your new keys.” He paused. “Want me to take a look down there for you? If it’s been locked up, you never know what might be there.”
“No, it’s okay, thanks; how much do I owe you?”
“Well if it’s cash we can forgo the taxes; sixty should cover it.”
Caroline went to get her purse. When she returned, she handed Mr. Calvin the money. He looked at her for a moment and then said: “You be careful now. There have been some strange things going on around here lately.”
“Like what?”
“Well, I don’t really want to say too much…” he paused. “You’re the girl that lived here back when that crazy model was kidnapping all those girls, aren’t you?” Mr. Calvin raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“Your point being?” Caroline didn’t feel comfortable with this line of questioning. Her past was her business.
When she didn’t answer him, he continued: “That cop you stabbed…now don’t take me wrong…he said you were mighty scared…said he shouldn’t have been in the house like that…said he never really blamed you and that he was just glad your dad came along when he did, or he would have been a goner. Well, he rented his cottage out for a few years; he just returned this past summer. His grandson is with him. Troubled boy if you ask me. I was out there to change the locks because Mr. Malcolm wasn’t sure if any of the renters had kept a key and he wasn’t willing to take any chances, being a retired cop and all. He retired after the incident, you know.
“Well, I met the grandson; looks a lot like his grandpa, but there was something about him that I didn’t cotton to. There was a real angry look in his eyes, which were an icy-grey colour. He watched every move I made, extremely uncomfortable feeling.” Mr. Calvin paused for breath.
Caroline did not want to hear any more. “Well, that is good to know, Mr. Calvin; I will be sure to be very careful. Is Mr. Malcolm there with his grandson?”
“Yep. Heard the boy’s parents needed a break from him and that the old man offered to straighten him out.”
“I see.”
“Well, can’t believe everything you hear; some of it could just be idle gossip. Only wanted to warn you to be careful.”
Caroline smiled. “One can never be too careful nowadays, even in a paradise like this.” She began walking toward the front door to give Mr. Calvin the hint that he needed to move along. He had not actually told her what strange things were going on, but she did not care to know at this point in time. “You have a good day now, Mr. Calvin,” she said as she opened the door for him. “And thanks for your concern; I’ll be sure to be careful,” she repeated.
“You do that, Caroline,” he smiled and then paused on the porch as though he were going to say something more. Caroline did not give him a chance. She shut the door. From her window, she watched him leave. When his dust had settled, she headed for the kitchen and the basement door. Princess was sitting beside it, ready to follow her mistress anywhere she was going.
The basement smelled stale. Thick layers of dust were everywhere. “Lot of cleaning up to do down here,” Caroline muttered. She passed by the wall with the traps, surprised they were still there; someone must have found them by the swamp and returned them to the cottage. She wandered down to the room. She stepped inside and shivered. There was still a faint red spot on the floor where Mr. Malcolm had lain. Caroline glanced up at the window—still barred. The sun filtered through and she followed the dancing dust particles to a corner and noticed a pile of boxes.
“I wonder what’s in these?” she said to Princess. Caroline brushed the dust off and opened the top box. Inside, to her surprise
, was her scrapbook that she had kept under her bed. “I wonder why the new owners didn’t just throw this out.”
She pulled out the book and began flipping through the pages. Old memories started to pour into her head. She read and re-read the news clippings and went over her notes. The final article was not glued in. It had obviously been put there by someone else for it was the news story of the rescue. A picture of each one of the girls, including hers, was spread across the top of the story. A report given by Mr. Malcolm was in another clipping. It was dated a couple days after the main article, obviously because he had not been well enough to give a statement on the day of the take-down. There was a picture of the model, taken before the fire that had disfigured her, and a short story about the tragedy that had led to her kidnapping the girls. Caroline tucked the book under her arm and headed upstairs.
She set the scrapbook on the table, made herself a cup of tea, and then sat down to re-read the articles she had only scanned through. Mr. Malcolm was saying how he didn’t blame his friend’s daughter for stabbing him and he was sorry he had broken into the cottage the way he had. He thanked the cat for showing Caroline’s father where he was—he actually owed his life to the cat. It went on about the surveillance and other details.
There was one thing that really bothered Caroline, though. Not one of the statements made by the other girls who had been in that house mentioned anything about the woman’s son. “Was I the only one who saw you?” Caroline leaned back in her chair and put her hands behind her head. Princess jumped up on the table and settled on one of the news clippings.
call it a day, but he was getting fed up with the contractors delaying the completion of his cottage. He was anxious to move in, especially now that she was there. She certainly was a looker. He picked up his phone and dialled the contractor’s number.
“Wesley’s Construction, how may I help you?”
“Wesley there?”
“He’s in a meeting right now; may I take a message?”