Echoes of the Past

by Susanne Matthews

  “Let’s call it a night. I’m tired. We’ll talk tomorrow. Maybe by then, you’ll have calmed down a bit. I don’t want to argue with you, and say something I’ll regret in the morning.” He’d already done enough of that for both of them.

  He nodded as if he didn’t trust himself to speak.

  She picked up her coat and walked to the door. Good manners won out over her anger and resentment. How had the situation devolved so quickly?

  “Thank you for the soup.”

  She closed the door and didn’t hear his answer. She walked briskly to the cottage and let herself in. Tears filled her eyes and ran down her cheeks.

  What the hell just happened?

  * * * *

  Tony sat on the couch and stared at the closed door.

  What the hell’s wrong with me? Why did I attack her like that? It’s as if there was some angry, jealous monster inside my head. In the space of forty-eight hours, I’ve become someone I neither like nor recognize. My God, I’m losing it. What the hell is this place doing to me?

  He stood, went to the cupboard, and took out the bottle of fifteen-year old scotch he’d placed there—the bottle he’d brought with him to celebrate his discovery when he made it. He didn’t even stop to think, cracked it open, and poured an inch into the bottom of a water tumbler. He downed it in one gulp. He poured the same amount again.

  Hell of a way to treat fine scotch.

  The disastrous argument they’d had replayed itself like a bad movie—each frame clear, but the story only got worse. The minute the words had come out of his mouth, he’d known he’d crossed the line. In his mind, he’d seen her lying naked on the bed, her face in the throes of passion, but the man hovering above her had been Ron, and the image had driven him insane. He’d wanted to grab her and shake her…at least he’d been able to control that impulse.

  He went out on the porch and stared out at the lake. The moon bathed it in silver. He could see the ripples shining, but nothing else. There were no ghostly canoes rising out of the mist, no strange lights on the surface, just a plain old lake. He felt torn in two. He sipped the scotch. Michelle was right. He’d known he’d need more proof before he could go to the police. Hell, he’d sung that tune to his students himself. Had guilt triggered his uncharacteristic behavior? He’d told them he’d needed proof. Jackson verified they’d gone after that proof and had gotten themselves killed. Their deaths were on him.

  His reactions to the thought of Michelle and Ron together bothered him the most. It was one thing to dislike a person, but where had this festering hatred come from? He knew he had absolutely no proof against the man, and the things he’d said tonight bordered on slander. The last thing he wanted was for Ron to have something else to hold against him.

  Tony knew his attack on Michelle—and that’s what it had been—had been completely over the top. He’d been blinded by the jealousy of a lover who’d found the woman he loved with another man. He had no claims on Michelle. She might be married for all he knew.

  That thought stabbed him in the heart, and he gasped. She couldn’t be married. He wasn’t sure how or why, but he was positive they were meant to be together, and he kept screwing it up. He knew sexual tension could mess with a man’s mind, but this was ridiculous.

  Maybe they were only supposed to solve this mystery together, but he couldn’t separate the flesh and blood woman in his kitchen from the passionate vixen in his dreams. Michelle looked like his ghost, and the longer they’d been together, the more she’d reminded him of his temptress, the one he craved like a drug. He loved her as surely as he could ever love anyone, and seeing her in Michelle was killing him. The thought that he couldn’t touch her, couldn’t hold her the way he wanted too, had increased his level of frustration, and when she’d defended Ron, he’d lost it.

  Was Joseph right? Was he this how-many-times-removed uncle of his? His feelings for her were real. Reincarnation was the only thing that made sense, and yet how could he accept that? There was no scientific proof for it. Gut feeling? He was a reincarnated man in love with a woman who resembled a ghost? That makes me officially certifiable.

  He saw her again sitting across from him, chatting animatedly as they ate their soup. It was the little things, like the way she held her head, the way she smiled, the sound of her voice, but the way she’d bitten her lip had pushed him over the edge. He’d seen her do it so often as she’d shyly disrobed for him. He’d been hard as a rock, embarrassed as all hell, and frustrated. He’d wanted her and knowing she’d spent time with the one man he seemed to hate above all others had made him crazy. The accusations he’d thrown at her—how the hell was he ever going to apologize for those?

  He let another mouthful of scotch burn its way down his throat. The glass was empty.

  He turned back into the house, locked the door, and shut the lights. He climbed into his bedroom and got ready for bed. Somehow he’d have to apologize again, but damned if he knew how. In the morning, he’d get up with Jackson and go collect samples from the stream on the southwest side of the lake where the concentrations seemed highest. He’d test and look for answers. He’d send those samples to Belleville. For the moment, there wasn’t anything he could do. He was exhausted, bone-tired, and humiliated. He’d made a first-class fool of himself—again. Could his life get any more complicated?

  Chapter Eleven

  Michelle awoke with a start. Light filtered into the room through the multicolored plaid curtains. She stretched like a contented cat. My God, she felt wonderful! For the first time in months, she’d slept soundly. There’d been no nightmares. Even the argument she’d had with Tony hadn’t kept her awake. Like everything else in this crazy case, it would probably sort itself out in the light of day. She looked at the clock—just before seven. Ron would arrive around ten. She had plenty of time to look over the crime scene and arrange for Aaron’s car to be taken into Belleville.

  The instincts she’d trusted for years convinced her not to trust the locals with any more of the investigation than she had to. They already had Lindsay and Aaron’s personal items, and that was all they’d get. Some of Tony’s accusations last night bothered her. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, the loss of all the water samples was suspicious, especially when she knew they’d existed, not because of what Tony had said, but because of what Aaron had told her. Ghosts didn’t lie. If Aaron said there were samples, then where the hell were they? More importantly, who’d taken them?

  She had a lot of questions for Ron, and hoped he’d be able to provide answers, which would satisfy Tony as well. Maybe Ron didn’t understand how dangerous those toxins were. It might just need to be a matter of presenting the information in the right light, but corroborating evidence was essential. Judging by the way Tony conveyed the material to her last night, he needed to work on his public relations skills almost more than Colin did.

  Her face flushed at the prospect of spending time today with Ron. Being attracted to two men was a new experience. She stretched and threw back the covers. It looked as if The Three Sisters were holding up their end of the bargain.

  “Ladies, anything you want, you’ve got it!” She sang loudly into the quiet space. She jumped out of bed, and spun around the room. It felt wonderful to feel so good, so normal. Singing the words to Bobby McFerrin’s song, Don’t Worry, Be Happy, she made her bed. Someone would come in weekly to change the linens and clean the place, but generally she’d be on her own, and that was fine.

  She grabbed the robe off the foot of her bed and slipped her feet into the moccasins. She walked over to her open suitcase, took out clean undergarments and her running gear. Last night, she’d unpacked what she’d need for bed—the flannel nightshirt, her robe, and the buckskin slippers. As quickly as she could, she emptied the suitcase, filling the dresser drawers and hanging garments in the small closet. Her shoes and boots were still in the car, and as soon as she was dressed, she’d bring them in along with the other things she’d left there last night. She hated
putting her feet into cold running shoes. She folded the woven blanket and placed it at the foot of the bed.

  Michelle turned toward the bathroom doorway and wondered if her new found serenity would extend to the shower in there. Stepping into the small room, she examined the shower stall. She might feel well-rested and relaxed, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to take a leap of faith right now. She’d have to after the run, and it would be soon enough. After wiping her face with a towelette and brushing her hair into a long, sleek ponytail, she reached for the hem of her white and pink flowered flannel nightgown and pulled it over her head. She glanced in the mirror and stopped cold. There were several small red marks on her breasts.

  Not again!

  Michelle stared at the marks. So much for thinking everything was over. In the past, when she’d had an erotic dream, she’d remembered at least parts of it. This complete blank made no sense. What could possibly have caused the marks other than a lover’s lips and teeth?

  She closed her eyes and shook her head. Damn it! Now I have the dreams and don’t even remember them.

  She slowly opened her eyes, stared at her breasts, and blinked. The marks were gone.

  What the… She laughed aloud and shook her head. I’m imagining stuff because I can’t believe I feel so good. The words to the James Brown tune played through her mind as she applied her usual moisturizer, added BB cream and lip gloss, and returned to the bedroom.

  Once dressed, she opened the curtain and looked outside. The bedroom window faced the lake. Her breath caught in her throat. A sense of belonging filled her, banishing the empty place in her heart—a place she hadn’t been able to fill since her parents had died. She was home. She’d finally come home.

  Mesmerized, Michelle stared at the vista before her—it was the lake of her nightmares. From her vantage point, the small, almost circular body of water surrounded by trees and marshlands looked pristine, untouched by time, which had forged ahead and left the lake in its wake. There were cottages, houses, wineries, and other businesses nearby, but because of its status as a provincial park, none of the buildings actually appeared on its shores.

  There were no mowed lawns, no boathouses, no motorboats and jet skis tied to wharfs or trees, nothing to show the world had progressed beyond the day of its creation. She could see strips of beach, here and there, but in most places, the trees or bulrushes stopped at the water’s edge. She squinted and watched as a deer stepped out of the trees onto a small beach a few yards north of the resort, and bent its delicate neck to drink. It was a glimpse of paradise. She watched it for a few moments longer, and then let her gaze roam around the rest of the lake. She stopped at the large marsh area in the southwestern section of the pond. Tony said the levels of toxins were concentrated in that area.

  Since it was mid-autumn, few trees held onto leaves still gleaming orange, red, and gold in the sunlight. This morning, the lake was still, its slight current barely noticeable. As the sun rose higher, it silvered the blue-green water making it resemble the surface she’d seen in the moonlight. How was it possible for the sun and moon to have the same effect on the water? This was the sacred lake, a fitting resting place for gods and spirits. Gentle, almost imperceptible waves kissed the edge of the beach in front of her. She’d come here to solve two murders and in doing so, she’d found peace. Now, she needed to figure out which of the two men was her mate and save the Lake of the Gods. It should be a snap.

  She pulled her thoughts back to the present and focused on the beach. Police tape wrapped around one tree and stretched across the entire beach indicating where the bodies had been found. The tape kept people away from what might be critical evidence. From here, it was impossible to tell if anything had been touched, and unless she got those crime scene photos, she might never know if it had. Debris littered the sand. She had time to go down there now. The sooner she checked for evidence, the better.

  Michelle grabbed the running jacket off the chair and left the bedroom. She slipped her feet into shoe-boots and opened the door. On the tiny stoop sat a metal pan, its lid in place. She opened it. Inside were two slices of bread, two eggs, and a juice box. Smiling, she pulled out the note, knowing whose signature would be at the bottom of it. Warmth filled her.

  You have a toaster in there, and the resort provides coffee, sugar, sweetener, and powdered coffee creamer. I thought you might want breakfast. I’m sorry about last night. Once again, I put both feet in my mouth. The only thing I can do is claim temporary insanity. You’re right. I can’t prove anything, and until I do, I shouldn’t cast aspersions on anyone. I’ve gone out with Jackson to get new samples for you. I’ll give you half to test in Belleville, and I’ll test the other half. You can pick the containers yourself. Let’s hope we come up with the same answers. I’ll be back for lunch. I’ll see you then.

  Tony

  She picked up the pot, placed it on the kitchen counter, and stuffed the note in her jacket pocket. She’d leave him a message thanking him before she went running. Maybe they could meet for a drink later and discuss the case calmly and rationally. As an apology for being pig-headed and rude, the gesture would do, but he still had humble pie to eat over the things he’d said. Questions needed answers, and it might be easier to get them if they were all on the same side.

  Michelle went out to the parking lot, unlocked her car, and removed the few items she’d left on the back seat before relocking it. Aaron’s old Chev sat next to Tony’s SUV. How had it gotten back here? Maybe the techs would find fingerprints to implicate whoever had driven the car. If it had been wiped down, that too would tell a story.

  After carrying her parcels back to the cabin, she emptied the shoe bag and lined up her shoes in the rack by the door. She exchanged her low shoe-boots for her lined rubber boots, and grabbed a pair of rubber gloves and a plastic evidence bag out of her medical kit. She didn’t know what she’d find, but it was always best to be prepared. She closed and locked her cottage door, mindful about what Tony had said about intruders and pocketed her key. She turned on her cell phone and took pictures of the scene as she walked toward it.

  She crossed the grass to the beach intent on finding whatever she could to help with the case. Footsteps sounded on the gravel path. Thinking it was Tony, she smiled and looked over her shoulder, but the older man coming toward her was a stranger. He extended his hand. Michelle turned and reached for it.

  “Morning. You must be the coroner from Toronto. Isaac Newcomb. I’m the handyman around here. I got a phone call at the crack of dawn this morning from a woman named Sheila who said you didn’t get my pictures. I don’t understand why. I gave the memory card to that policeman, but I guess I backed them up when I went to take my personal pictures off the camera. The gosh-darn things are on here.” He handed her a USB drive. “You want them?”

  “I most certainly do.” Michelle reached for the small, red, plastic stick. She’d checked her email inbox twice yesterday looking for the photos. Why wouldn’t the police have sent them?

  “Thank you. I’ll download these and get the drive back to you shortly.”

  “Erase it and leave it with Kara. I don’t even know how I made a copy of those pictures. I didn’t mean too. I told the policeman I hadn’t. Will I get in trouble for lying to him?”

  Michelle shook her head. She had no intention of telling anyone she had the pictures.

  “I wanted to keep the pictures of my new grandson.” Isaac continued. “He’s a year old next January. It isn’t as if I’m likely to forget what I saw that morning. I’ve got to get to work. By the way, that canoe went missing back in August. I figured some kid took it out and left it along the bank somewhere. I wonder how they found it—if they did.”

  The man turned and walked away.

  “Wait.”

  Isaac stopped and looked back at her, a questioning look on his face.

  “Kara said you heard something that night.”

  “Damn right. I’ve lived here my whole life. I’ve seen things that
would curl your hair, but that night I heard the lake scream in pain. And before you ask, no, it wasn’t those kids.” He turned and walked away, leaving Michelle gaping after him.

  She stared at the USB drive and slipped it into her pocket. What was going on here? How many others had seen or heard things no one believed? If the canoe had gone missing months ago, it backed up what Aaron had said. Perhaps it had been caught in the marsh and swept to shore along with the bodies. She stared at the lake. Are you in pain because of the deaths or are the toxins to blame? Surely others had died in the lake over the years, but where would she find that information if she needed it? City hall? Maybe.

  The Three Sisters didn’t answer her, not that she expected them to, but it would be so much easier if they did. Everything she knew and years of experience told her those bodies should have sunk. Why hadn’t they? Did you carry the bodies to shore for me? No answer, but she didn’t really expect one. She continued down to the beach.

  The canoe was much farther up the beach than the bodies had been, almost as if someone had pulled it up out of the water. In fact, there was a staged look about the whole scene. It took only seconds for her to realize any evidence here had been compromised during the recovery of the bodies. The beach was covered in footprints, made by the police officers, doctor, and paramedics. There were smaller footprints, no doubt belonging to women—the girlfriend and the clerk? As she scanned the shore, it was what was missing which concerned her most—no shoe, no paddles, no lifejackets. She used her cellphone and snapped several pictures of the area, especially the section where the bodies would have lain. She’d compare her pictures to Isaac’s.

  She walked over to the canoe and noted the lack of water in it. A canoe, lying at that angle should have rainwater in it at least. She walked toward the bow. There, the canoe had hit something. That crack would cause the small craft to sink in time. Now, it had allowed the water to drain. It was doubtful they’d been in that canoe. Was someone messing with the evidence? Things weren’t adding up.