by Lou Allin
Sun was streaming in the window when Belle awoke to a polite knock. “Brekkie. Hope you didn’t check your appetite at the door.” Hélène peeked in, an oversized mug of coffee in her hand. A wee frown crossed her pleasant face as she saw the empty bed. “What are you doing on the floor? That’s our best mattress.”
Belle yawned and stretched, burying her face in Freya’s thick ruff. “Sometimes a friend is the best mattress.”
She let the dog out into the yard with Rusty and went to the bathroom for a splash in the sink. The mirror reflected someone not too much the worse for wear, clean, her abrasions sprayed with some magic orange instant bandage. Her face bore a few scratches on the chin, and despite the quick shower last night, one cedar shred hid in her ear. The bug bites were bothering her, and the skin was swollen near her eye where several had feasted. Back in the bedroom, she changed to a borrowed sweatshirt and sweatpants from the DesRosiers’ trip to Graceland.
Hélène sat her down at the kitchen table, putting a juice in her hand and refilling her mug. “No one likes to go straight from bed to a big meal, so wake up a bit. And tell me what’s been going on.”
From the clanks by the dock, Ed was outside fiddling with their party barge for a huge Canada Day bash. Belle gave a large sigh and gulped the juice, still dehydrated, and reached for the carton. The label promised that the product cleaned out arterial plaque. What was in it, drain cleaner? “First I reported some dumping near Skead. Then a high school boyfriend of mine . . .”
Hélène listened to Belle with a serious expression, leaving only to check on an egg-and-cheese casserole in the oven. Its savoury aroma filled the kitchen. “I’ve met Sophia Bartko at St. Bernardine’s. That lady arranges the altar flowers. She’d never have anything to do with this. Sounds like teenagers. A person with access to that awful drug.”
“I could have been killed and taken a few people with me.” Belle nibbled on the toast. “Someone in the office that afternoon is responsible. The place was mobbed. Yoyo is checking her records.”
“But how does all this fit in with your friend’s drowning?”
“I’m not sure. The robbery followed, then Mutt’s so-called accident. Dave disappearing. The missing notebooks. I was thinking about some kind of a cover-up.” She wiped her mouth and shrugged. “But this attack on me. It could be connected with Joey and his friends. He admitted to cutting my brake lines.”
“This is getting dangerous. Maybe you should . . . lie low? You could stay here.”
Belle struggled to keep annoyance from her face. Hélène meant well, but hiding was no solution. “You’re kind to offer, but I can’t do that. I have a business to run.” She rubbed at her bug bites, then stopped. “And I need to look around the area where Gary had his base camp.”
“Where was that?”
“Burwash area.” Belle struggled to recall her upcoming appointments. When could she get away?
Hélène ripped into a pound of turkey bacon and arranged it to sizzle in the pan while she popped more slices of brown bread into a supersized toaster. “That’s strange. Did Dad tell you about his relative Mike? He accidentally shot himself while hunting there years ago.”
“He did tell me. I forgot all about it.” Belle nodded to herself, nosing the bacon smells with the boldness of a bear. Didn’t someone else mention a disappearance or death in that area? Cyril, the wood man? Had the place been a Bermuda Triangle, or was she jumping to conclusions? People died in the bush all the time. But Gary made three, even over many years. She’d give the area a once-over, and for good measure, take some water samples from Bump Lake and other places on the connecting courses. But her canoe was too heavy on portages. It was one thing to slide it up and down from the lawn to the lake and another to hoist the big Grumman over her head for a couple of hundred yards tiptoeing through a boulder garden until she broke her leg. How could she . . .? Then outside she saw the inflatable double kayak that the DesRosiers had bought last summer for their teenaged grandchildren. It looked light and manageable.
“You’re awfully quiet. That usually means you’re thinking. And that means trouble.” Hélène gestured with the spatula, then turned to knock on the window to call Ed in.
Belle sneaked a piece of bacon, chewing with approval. “May I borrow your kayak? Just for a day.”
“No problem. But what do you . . .” She gave Belle a sideways glance of assessment. “You’re not going to do anything—”
“I’m thinking of getting one for those water-access-only camps. Just a test drive.” Then she rapped her temple and gave a bitter laugh. “I forgot about the van. When I get home, I should call—”
“Uh, about home. There is something we didn’t tell you.”
Belle stood at attention, one hand on her chest and her breakfast stuck in her throat. “My house? Is it . . .” With her luck, it had been vandalized or burned to the ground.
Hélène patted her arm, a reassuring smile wreathing her mouth. “No, it’s fine. But your garden isn’t. That damn storm rushed down the road like a tornado. Left piles of hail like snow. It stopped after your house, so we lucked out.”
Belle blew out a long breath. She’d been dozing in their SUV all the way back. It was kinder of them to keep the news to themselves until she’d had a good sleep. After all, at this early stage, a garden was no more than a dab of sweat and a wish. “There’s always next year.”
TWENTY
The next day, Belle was hoeing under the ruins of her garden. Small piles of hail still dotted the ground with white. Only the sturdy rosemary had survived the assault. Rosemary for remembrance. But which memory of Gary did she prefer? The dream or the reality? What fool had said that ignorance was bliss? She plucked a thick leaf of the evergreen and crushed it to enjoy the lemony herbal flavour.
The portable phone in her sweatshirt pouch rang. It was Officer Redfern. “Thanks to the resident snitch, we ran a check on Joey’s pals, Minor, Szabo and Flack. Traced Szabo’s vehicle to the U.S. border yesterday down at Kingston, so they’re out of the area. We’ll keep tabs on them when they re-cross. They’ll definitely be stopped for a search. They’re not headed for Disney World, so we’ll probably find something to send them to our free hotel for a few years. Lizards like that should learn to keep their heads low.”
A muscle twitched in Belle’s temple, and slang from cop movies popped into her mouth like a peppermint. “I still don’t like them for drugging my coffee. My assistant would have noticed thugs like that. Did anyone talk to Mrs. Bartko?”
She heard a slow sigh. “Had a massive coronary last night. She’s unable to be interviewed until her condition stabilizes. But we canvassed the area. Her neighbours say that the lady’s a churchgoer, volunteers to take care of the elderly in Skead.”
“That’s what they said about Lizzie Borden.”
“Sounds familiar. She a local?”
By Monday, life was back to normal. Robinson had opened his garage on Sunday to replace the struts on the van and polish out the scratches. Like Belle, it wasn’t much the worse for wear. With her thousand dollar deductible to keep rates low, she swallowed the bitter pill like the dregs of the coffee. Making a claim with CAA might have elicited questions about why she was dune jumping in the bush.
As a singular bright economic spot, Rosaline Silliker had reconnected, and Belle had arranged to give her mother a tour of the Maki Cove model condo. She picked the old lady up at her home on Roxborough Drive. It was a lovely tan brick house with gingerbread trim, a whimsical fairy tale for stolid Sudbury. Plots of cheery multi-coloured zinnias were edged with white alyssum. Expensive baskets hung by the quaint rounded door and on wrought-iron stands on the manicured grass. Belle knew the perfect buyer, a lawyer. “What a wonderful home,” she said, as she helped the woman into the van.
“I’ll be sorry to see it go, but it’s just my husband and I now. The children have been on their own for longer than I’d like to confess.”
Eileen Gable, a well-preserved seventy-five
, had once been taller than Belle was now, but time and osteoporosis had taken a toll. Her dowager hump reminded Belle of Terry Palmer and the reason for calcium-fortified orange juice. Eileen wore a tailored grey dress with a lace collar, low-heeled spectator pumps, and a broad straw sun hat. She set her purse on the floor.
Mrs. Gable was inclined to chat, nodding her powdered pink chickadee face, her crinkled eyes merry behind jewel-winged trifocals. As the family saga unfolded, Belle learned that the lady’s father, Marshall Mincore, had prospected in the Sudbury area, operating several small mines. “Of course that was before you were born, young lady. Twenties and Thirties. Filthy time with those roasting beds. Not like now. I was an only child, so my husband Robert carried on the business, and Gable Minerals was born. Long after the Old Batty by then, though.”
Belle recalled overhearing Rosaline at the hospital. If Robert died, Eileen’s plans might change. And what was the Old Batty? A nickname for her father?
Mrs. Gable tapped her bird-like chest. “Now Robert’s not doing so well. Heart. Eighty years of bacon and eggs has its price. I prefer oatmeal. My Scottish grandmother lived to be ninety-five.”
“Sorry to hear about your husband. And is Gable Minerals still in operation?” Belle asked. It didn’t hurt to sound interested.
“Thriving, as a matter of fact. My son Barry is in charge. We have a mine in Manitouwadge. That’s over by Marathon, past Wawa. Lovely little houses for the workers, a school and hospital.” She began chuckling to herself. “Father had an old joke about going up by train and coming back by . . .”
Belle had heard that chestnut a thousand times, but she laughed as if it were fresh from Saturday Night Live. So that accounted for the family wealth. It sure didn’t come from Rosaline’s husband’s job as a minister. He was no televangelist.
Mrs. Gable kept chatting as they drove, her hands fluttering in her lap like pale butterflies. “Barry’s also running for MPP. Conservative, of course. That party’s the best steward of our resources. With Rosaline working in the Ministry, our family does its part.”
In love with the show model of the condo, Mrs. Gable gave Belle a cheque for thirty thousand dollars, ten per cent of the purchase price. She could move in by September. Easy as pie, Belle thought, driving back to the office with the paperwork to list the Roxborough home. A twofer, the realtor’s dream.
Dancing an impromptu soft-shoe, she sang out, “Guess what? We’re in the mon—” Then she did a double-take. Miriam was sitting in her chair, grinning. “You look familiar. Do you come here often?” Belle asked, going over to give her a hug. Miriam had quite the tan, as if she and the recovering Jack had enjoyed themselves outdoors.
Miriam threw up her hands. “The darn poodle got me kicked out. A dog moved into the house next to the apartment, and she started shrieking whenever she saw it from the window.”
The pitch of that mini-monster could shatter plate glass at a hundred paces. “So you’re back for good?” Belle dared not ask the fatal question. She felt her blood pressure quiver.
“I’d better be, because I was a very bad girl up North. Nearly gave Jack a relapse.” Chuckling, Miriam began to fumble under the desk. “Where is that foot roller? And why is my mug on your desk?”
As Belle passed over the mug, Yoyo came out of the back room, her small personals case under her arm and a woeful look on her face. “Guess that’s it. Except for one thing.” She pulled a book from her purse and handed it to Belle.
“Eats, Shoots, and Leaves?” Belle considered the panda on the cover and the offending comma. “Thanks. This looks hilarious.”
“Figured you could use some laughs around here now that I’m gone.” Yoyo tossed Miriam a moue and received a raised eyebrow.
Belle said, “You’re entitled to some advance notice. How about . . . your salary to the end of the month? Come on Friday, and I’ll have it.” In the back of her mind, she remembered something about a bonus. Her memory still wasn’t clear about that night.
Yoyo set down her case and parked her bum on the desk. “I hear they’re hiring at Teletec at the City Centre. Night shift. It might tide me over until something more permanent turns up. I can’t commit until after my girl arrives.”
Miriam gestured to her belly. “So you got an ultrasound?”
“Naw. My mother does this thing with a string and a dime. Never fails. Has to be a pre-fifties coin, though.”
Miriam polished the mug with a tissue, giving it some scrutiny. “Yoyo told me about the poisoning. I turn my back, and all hell breaks loose. Do you have any ideas?”
Yoyo handed Belle a list. “Here are the names of the people who came in. They all check out as legit except for one. Cassandra Lachance. The address on Second Avenue doesn’t exist, and the phone number belongs to Sudbury Steam Cleaners.”
“Good work.” Belle flashed an okay sign. “What did she look like? Sounds like a lap dancer.”
“It’s really hard to put faces and names together. I called everyone, but I guess I didn’t ask the women what they looked like. What an idiot.” She crossed her eyes in a dimwit pose and screwed her finger into her temple.
“Take a guess. Think about clothes, too. You have a good . . . fashion sense. Do a little self-hypnosis.”
Miriam and Belle watched as Yoyo placed her hands over her face. Silence filled the room like a wall of cotton batting. Then she slapped her palms on the desk. “There was one in her forties. Not very well-dressed.”
“What do you mean? Sweat pants? Shorts?”
“I mean she looked like she came from the Sally Ann reject bin. A very shapeless dress in a pink flower print. Big floppy hat, more for gardening, covering up her face. Ugly shoes. Clunky. Not the type in the market for a house.”
“That sounds stupid as a disguise, because it stands out.” Did Joey have a female friend they had overlooked? No one had mentioned a sister or an aunt. Clearly, Mrs. Bartko was not to blame here.
“Honestly, I never exchanged more than a few words with her. I was busy with a couple. She just left her name and number and mumbled about coming back later. Damn, if I hadn’t cleaned that pot—”
“Chances are that whoever did it was careful enough not to leave prints.” Belle looked over at the coffee station, now moved strategically behind Miriam’s desk.
Miriam smiled, filling her mug and doctoring it. “By the way, what ever happened with that old . . . friend of yours? Was it an accident after all?”
Belle filled her in, noticing that Yoyo was reluctant to leave. She moved slowly around the office, straightening a file, closing a drawer. Belle hadn’t really said goodbye yet or thanked her for her work. How did you thank someone who had saved your life?
Miriam’s eyes narrowed, and her Roman nostrils flared. Question everything was her motto. “Two deaths and one disappearance in the same general area. That’s a big red flag, even given the time span of over thirty years.”
“And so many years between incidents? It sounds creepy. Like a curse.” Yoyo made a woo-wooing sound.
“Two hunters and a zoologist. All strangers as far as I know,” said Belle. “The only connection is the territory. So I need to check out the site where Gary was working, go a bit farther into the bush. I’m not sure what to look for, but water samples could be important.”
Well-versed in the local geography, Miriam pointed at the regional map and frowned. “But how are you . . . I mean your canoe is too—”
“I’ve borrowed a kayak. It weighs less than thirty pounds.”
Yoyo’s eyes lit up. “Tom and I paddled kayaks in Algonquin Park on our honeymoon. It was so much fun. Can I go with you?”
Both women stared at her then at each other as Belle answered, “In your condition, I—”
Yoyo plumped out her bottom lip and gave Belle’s arm a light punch. “Come on. Soon enough I’m going to be paddling in a diaper pail. Disposables are not allowed in my family. This could be my last chance for a long time to get outdoors. Besides, I know the area.
Maybe I’d have some ideas. Pleeeeeeeeeeeease?”
Belle applauded the frugality and logistics of avoiding those plastic landfill polluters. Anyone who was prepared to handle baby hygiene the old fashioned way should be allowed one wish from the Eco-Genie. “The town has been razed,” she said, shaking her head in stubborn resistance. “Demolished. There’s nothing left.”
Yoyo gave a sigh of nostalgia. “But the trees are still there. The big oak that was a billion years old. I had a swing, and my brother had a treehouse.”
The trees did it. Belle rolled her eyes, and Miriam chuckled. “Just for a few hours, then. Sunday good for you?”
Yoyo clapped her hands. “Of course. As you say, I’m in no condition to camp out.”
Belle eyed her stomach with wariness. They’d never be more than an hour from Route 69. She wondered if the Burwash area had cell coverage. “You’re sure your doctor would approve of this?”
“Yes, I’m in great shape. Just had my check-up. He said to keep active. There’s nothing to kayaking. The boat is so light. And hey, I’ll bring lunch.”
With that settled, Belle dialled Athena to ask for a set of water-testing tubes. Her friend promised to drop them at the office on her way home later that afternoon.
On Sunday at six, just as the sun cracked its crimson-streaked egg into the sky, Belle chucked the bulky deflated kayak, its foot pump and two paddles into the rear of the van. More a child’s toy, the boat was designed for small, calm lakes or slow rivers, since it had no keel or steering gear. Gusts of wind could send it sideways. There was no designated cargo space, as in a normal kayak, only a few zippered pockets. Fortunately for Yoyo, it had large, cushy seating areas.