Prisoners of Hope

by Barbara Fradkin

  “Who?”

  “Some man. I didn’t get it all because she kept switching languages, but I could tell enough. She was talking about getting a boat to pick him up.”

  The patio door burst open. “There you are!” Candace exclaimed. “Make yourself useful. The twins are tearing the place apart!”

  “Isn’t Mom there?”

  Candace grew red. “Your mother just lost her husband. And the girls just lost their father.”

  “I lost him, too, you know,” Kaitlyn mumbled.

  “Yes, but he wasn’t your father!”

  Kaitlyn’s face collapsed. As she turned to flee, she cast one last salvo over her shoulder. “Tell Mom to deal with her own spawn!”

  Candace deflated as she watched the girl disappear down the hill. “I guess that was harsh. But just this once, I wish that girl would show some heart.”

  Amanda heard the drone of an approaching engine and looked up as a boat streaked into view. As it rumbled to a stop and drifted into the dock, she recognized the tall, reedy man standing in the bow, painter in hand. She hadn’t seen him in almost four months, but her heart jumped and a thrill rushed through her.

  She stooped to untie Kaylee. “There’s my ride. Thank you so much for your help.” She paused. “This is a difficult time for everyone.” She left the woman still standing on the patio. Regretting her words or reluctant to return inside? Death had left the household in chaos, but perhaps no one more than the young teenage girl who’d been denied the right to grieve. Amanda considered the latest tidbit of information Kaitlyn had let slip in her bitterness. Was it worth passing on to the police?

  Something else to talk to Chris about, she thought as she ran down the slope to the dock. Right after I give him the biggest hug he’s ever had.

  Pressed against the cold damp of his raincoat, Amanda had little time to savour the hug before the police descended onto the dock, snapping orders. Restricted zone, they said. Move along. Their tone changed when the scowling cop, whom Candace had called Neville, recognized George.

  “Sorry, George, we can’t let you dock. There’s been an incident —”

  “I heard,” George said, leaping off the boat without a hint of back pain, Amanda noted. A quick recovery … or had Ronny been lying? “This is Corporal Tymko of the RCMP. Neville Standish.”

  Standish frowned. “RCMP? You guys involved already?”

  “Nothing official,” Chris replied, disentangling himself from Kaylee, who was whirling around his legs. “I’m mainly here to pick up Amanda.”

  Standish’s frown eased. He even managed a handshake for Chris and a smile for Kaylee.

  “We may have some information for you, though,” George said. “Don’t know if it’s related, but could be. My son Ronny picked up a woman out of the water off the Mink Islands. Her boat had swamped. Ronny and her paddled over to Franklin Island, leaving Amanda stranded …” George shook his head in disbelief. Anger reddened his face.

  Standish snapped alert. “Where are they now?”

  George shrugged. “Don’t know. Ronny’s not answering his phone. Chris and I found their two kayaks pulled up on Franklin Island, and we searched for them but with no luck.”

  Standish swung on Amanda. “When was this?”

  “Yesterday morning, maybe eleven?”

  “Did you see the woman?”

  Amanda hesitated only briefly before nodding. She bristled at his accusatory tone, but the police needed to know the facts.

  “Description?”

  Amanda gave a quick description of the woman and her clothing. “She gave her name as Sophia, but I think she may have been the nanny here.”

  “Danielle Torres? We have a BOLO out on her.” Standish strode over to one of the Coast Guard boats and unfurled a large waterproof topographical map of Georgian Bay. They all bent over the map while Amanda figured out where Danielle’s boat had swamped. It was out in the open lake beyond the shelter of the many islands but on a clear path toward the cities and towns of the populated southern shore. Standish tapped his finger on their present location, which was marked Saint Clair Island, and then traced the route south past the Mink Islands.

  “Looks like she was making a run for Midland or Collingwood. Right, now George, where did you say you found the kayaks?”

  George peered at the map. “Pretty much straight opposite this Mink Island, on the western side of Franklin. Can you get a more detailed map of that?”

  “Yeah, I can pull one up on the computer, but let me call this information in to Regional HQ. We’ve got to update the search.”

  He disappeared out of earshot, leaving Amanda studying the map with Chris and George. Amanda saw George sneak a peek at his phone. “What the fuck is Ronny playing at?” he muttered. “This doesn’t make any sense!”

  “The water was extremely rough when they took off,” Amanda said. “Maybe they considered themselves lucky to get across at all and didn’t want to try going around the island. The wind could have blown them onto the rocks.”

  Chris had been studying the map. “Or maybe they crossed the island by foot. Look, it’s only a couple of kilometres wide at this point. They could have caught a boat on the other side and been in Snug Harbour or Parry Sound in no time.”

  George straightened, the lines of worry and anger easing on his face. “Ronny has a lot of buddies in the area. Everyone’s got a boat. He could have phoned one of them. And if the little bastard is helping this girl escape, it explains why he hasn’t been in touch yet.”

  “Is that like him?” Amanda asked. “To help a perfect stranger?”

  “Yeah, if she was young and pretty.”

  Amanda was silent, replaying the brief exchange between Sophia and Ronny on the shore after the rescue. Had he recognized her? Before she could make up her mind, Standish reappeared with a couple of OPP officers in tow. “Right. Incident Command wants you to take me to those two kayaks, George.”

  When they all moved to climb on the boat, Standish stopped them. “George will do. We don’t need the whole gang, including the dog.”

  “But how will we get back?” Amanda asked.

  “We’ll take George in one of our boats.”

  “Take mine, Chris,” George added. “I’ll get it back from you later.”

  Chris turned to Standish. “Do you need us for anything further?”

  “I’ll need your contact info, especially Ms. Doucette’s. The investigators from GHQ will need to take a formal statement from you. But for now …” A smile twitched across his thin lips. “You’re free to go. Carry on as planned.”

  “This is not exactly what we planned,” Chris murmured as they approached the rustic front door of the little lakeside cottage. It was one of five scattered along the shoreline of a sheltered cove north of Snug Harbour, but because it was not yet high season, only one other was occupied.

  “He’s out fishing by six a.m., so he won’t bother you,” the resort owner said with a grin as she unlocked the door. They followed her from room to room as she showed them the amenities, which were few. But the greatest amenity of all was the spectacular view across the broad channel from the mainland to Franklin Island. The rain had stopped and the sun peeked through a sliver in the clouds, spreading gold and peach across the sullen pewter lake. The rain-washed grass sparkled and the wind had dropped to a soft breeze that kept the mosquitoes at bay.

  Even better, two red Muskoka chairs sat on the slab of rock in front of the cottage, beckoning. Once the owner had left, Amanda walked down and sank into one with a sigh. Now that they had retrieved her motorcycle and his rental truck, booked a cottage, and bought a few groceries in Parry Sound, now that the drama and fear and anger of the day was over, an exhausted peace descended over her. Thinking she couldn’t move another limb, she’d left Chris to unpack the groceries.

  Peace hadn’t descended, of course. Ronny and Danielle still hadn’t been found, and out on Saint Clair Island just a few kilometres up the coast, a family was still locked
in the turmoil of grief and suspicion. But she and Chris were out of the maelstrom, safe to enjoy the next few days and maybe salvage the planning of her kayaking trip.

  Kaylee, fed and watered, seemed content to curl up at her feet, ignoring the call of the sticks and the water. Amanda reached down to stroke her fur and willed away the memories of the day. Behind her, the screen door creaked open, and footsteps on the grass behind her brought a smile to her lips. Chris held a glass of wine in each hand. He handed one to her, and set the other on the arm of his chair as he sat down. He groaned as he stretched out his long legs. They sat in silence awhile sipping wine and savouring the sunset. Gulls wheeled overhead, and the whine of a distant boat drifted in on the breeze.

  He reached out and twined his fingers through hers. “How are you doing?”

  “Better.” She tilted her wine glass toward him. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll fire up the barbeque in a minute.”

  She tightened her fingers in his. “Not yet. I’ve been thinking …”

  He brushed his lips to her fingers. “Mmmm?”

  “Not that.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  She laughed. The wine was flowing through her in a warm flush. “There’s more to this story. Ronny’s behaviour was odd. Little things. He insisted on going out to the Mink Islands yesterday, even though the wind was picking up and the islands weren’t on my agenda anyway. He told me the marine forecast was fine, but I checked and it wasn’t.”

  “What are you thinking? That this was all planned?”

  She shook her head. What was she thinking? “Probably not the swamped boat. That would be too dangerous. I don’t know if anything was planned, there are just these weird pieces that hint at something. The victim’s teenage stepdaughter told me she’d overheard the nanny making arrangements on the phone. The first night, on Franklin Island, Ronny got a phone call in the middle of the night. And earlier, when Ronny and I were in his motorboat going along the coast from Pointe au Baril, he was pointing out all the cottages, who lived in them, and their history, but when I recognized Benson Humphries’s boat on Saint Clair Island, he didn’t want to go for a closer look. He steered away, in fact.” She groped for the elusive threads of connection. “It was like he didn’t want to be seen.”

  She shifted in her chair. Straightened. “Another thing. I may be reading too much into this. Ronny said he didn’t know the nanny, but when she said her name was Sophia, he got a funny look. Just for a split second. He recovered fast, and I thought he was just reacting to her. She was terrified.”

  “She’d almost drowned.”

  “Yes, but this was a different kind of terrified, as if she were running from something.”

  “We now know she was.”

  “Yes. She was. But it makes me wonder, what did Ronny know? He looked startled when she gave a fake name.”

  “What do you want to do about all this?”

  “Nothing. Not yet. It’s all just impressions.” She tilted her head at him playfully. “And you cops don’t deal in impressions, do you?”

  “No, we don’t.”

  They grinned at each other in silence. Coral light was spreading across the water, and the first mosquito of the evening whined in her ear. He stroked her fingers. She felt the heat of his touch spread through her. He turned his hand in hers.

  “Are we …?” he whispered.

  Her voice almost gone, the fear and yearning so great. A whisper back. “Yes, we are.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  She awoke to the gentle caress of his fingers on her arm and the soft press of his lips on her shoulder. It was too early. She feigned sleep, but her lips curled.

  “I see you,” he whispered, nuzzling her neck.

  Her smile widened. She felt the warmth of a morning sunbeam across her back and the tangle of sheets cocooning them. It had been a night embraced in pleasure, urgent at first and later languid and sleepy, both of them giggling as Kaylee tried to wriggle between them.

  “What time is it?” she murmured, still not opening her eyes.

  He nibbled her ear. “Who cares?”

  As she arched her back, a cold, wet nose shoved itself against hers. She shrieked and her eyes flew open. Inches away, Kaylee’s eyes were fixed on her. Now the dog leaped onto the bed, tail wagging.

  “So much for the tender moment,” Chris said.

  “She’s never had to share me before. You could always feed her and put her out,” Amanda murmured, reaching down to squeeze him. “I’m surprised you have anything left in there.”

  “I’ve been saving up for months.”

  “Hold that thought. But for now, the perfect tender moment would be a fresh cup of coffee in bed.”

  He clambered out of bed, grabbed some pants, and padded out of the room with Kaylee bouncing at his heels. She listened as he rustled around the kitchen, filling the coffee pot and feeding the dog.

  “You and I have to come to some sort of agreement, princess,” he was saying to Kaylee. “You can’t hog the bed. Not always. In fact, sometimes you should withdraw discreetly to the other room. And staring is a no-no.”

  Amanda stifled a laugh. This was going to be new ground for all of them. She stretched and pulled the quilt up against the morning chill. What wonderful new ground it was! She was just imagining the delights of his return to bed when the throaty rumble of an engine drew near and tires crunched on the gravel outside. Kaylee started to bark.

  Amanda peeked through the window to see George Gifford swinging down from his truck. Behind the truck was a trailer carrying two kayaks and a boat. Hastily, she began to pull on clothes just as he hammered on the door.

  “Sorry to disturb you two lovebirds. I brought a couple of double-doubles and a dozen Timbits.”

  Amanda entered the kitchen as Chris was setting the Tim Hortons coffees and doughnut holes down on the table. She handed him his shirt, which he accepted sheepishly.

  “Any news?” she asked George.

  George shook his head. Amanda could see a pinch of worry on his face beneath his studied casual air. “No word from Ronny yet either. I’ve called around, talked to his friends. No one’s heard from him, and he didn’t call any of them to pick up him and the woman either.”

  “Does he have a lot of friends?”

  “He gets around. He’s lived here all his life, and he’s always been the friendly sort.”

  Amanda pried the lid off the coffee and took a doubtful sip. She preferred her coffee akin to rocket fuel, but she was grateful for its warmth. Chris had not progressed beyond filling the pot. “Did he know Danielle?” she asked.

  George had selected a chocolate Timbit and paused in midbite. A frown flitted across his brow. “Why would he?”

  She shrugged. “Just wondering if maybe they planned something.”

  “Like what? Smashing up in the middle of the lake?”

  “Of course not. But I’m trying to make sense of things. Ronny received a phone call the night before, and I overheard him say ‘I’ll be there.’ The next morning he was really insistent on going out to Mink Islands. He also said he was going to check on a friend’s cottage there.”

  “What friend?”

  She shrugged. “Something about checking for winter damage.” She replayed Ronny’s explanation in her head. “He said he’d only be a few minutes. I remember thinking it was a bit weird.”

  George looked doubtful. “I don’t know any friend of his out there. Did you tell the cops any of this?”

  “Not yet. There is nothing firm, just funny coincidences.”

  George sighed. He sat back in a kitchen chair, looking weary. “I don’t know if he knew her. But it’s possible. She was here with the family last summer, and if she brought the kids to any activities at the Chippewa Club, their paths might have crossed. That’s a community club on an island up near Pointe au Baril. He was a boating and diving instructor out there. The cops are nosing around, and you can bet if Ronny and Danielle so much as said h
ello, they will uncover it.”

  Chris leaned against the counter, his long legs crossed. “So they turned up nothing in the search of Franklin Island?”

  “Some footprints on the inner beach where they might have caught a boat. The ERT unit may bring K9 in today, but they’re talking like they think Ronny and Danielle have already left the area.”

  “They’re just covering all the angles. That’s what we do.”

  George set his Timbit down, half eaten. “But it makes no sense that he wouldn’t contact me. He doesn’t always think things through, but he knows I’d worry. I can see him helping out this woman. He always had a soft spot for the ladies — as they had for him — and it’s got him into trouble sometimes. A couple of bloody noses, mostly. That’s how he lost that tooth. But why would he not send word? I’d even settle for a goddamn text! Everything good, Dad.”

  “Maybe he will once she’s safely away,” Amanda said. It was a lame excuse, but it was all she could come up with.

  “It makes him look guilty,” George continued as if he hadn’t heard. “The cops already think he was part of this. Not that he killed Ben Humphries, of course, because he was with you, but they’re talking accessory after the fact. And maybe conspiracy to plan the crime and the get-away.”

  The small shreds of coincidence did point that way, but Amanda kept her concerns to herself. “That’s a lot of planning. And a lot of dots to connect to prove it.”

  “Unless they can prove he had a prior relationship with her,” Chris said. He was looking thoughtful. You’re not helping, Amanda wanted to say.

  “Well, he does know the wife. Known her for years, since they were both kids.”

  “What wife?” Amanda said. “You mean Janine?”

  George nodded. “They haven’t been close for years, but one summer they were a hot item. The talk of the Chippewa Club.”

  “When was this?”

  “Years ago, when they were teenagers. Ronny was in a high school rock band, noisy punk stuff, mostly, and they were hired regularly to play at the club. And at local bars in Parry Sound. He thought he was pretty hot stuff, he got the girls going with that Elvis hip thing. And Janine … she’s always been a wild one. Her father couldn’t corral her even if he tried, and he didn’t. Just laughed. Let her turn that island into party central all week while he worked in Toronto. And when he died, the whole cottage and island were hers.”