Bingo. “Do you know what time of day? Maybe we could tie it into the timing of the murder.” I’d thought all along Reggie was capable of framing Eric.
“Nope. But the police can check the flight plan.”
I thought I heard a shout drifting on the wind. “Did you hear that? We’d better check on Florence.”
fifty-seven
I scrambled after Malcolm, leaving Uncle Joe to follow at his own pace. The shouting continued, but as we crested the backbone of the point, I couldn’t tell whether it was an argument or a boisterous conversation. We slipped and slid our way down the shifting stones of a steep incline to another bay, more like a shallow indentation in the lake’s undulating shoreline. The bow of an aluminum boat was pulled partway onto the beach. Three people were dragging a fishnet through the water. Its content writhed and thrashed with silvery objection.
One was a young man in his early twenties wearing his Oilers ball cap backward over long, glossy black hair. With jeans rolled up past his knees, he waded through the frigid water as if it were a southern lake at the end of summer. His facial features, namely the largish nose, were too much like Malcolm’s for him not to be Angus. The second person could only be Florence. Her royal-blue scarf and wisps of grey hair flickered in the wind as she half stood, half sat in the boat. Beside her stood Gloria, helping her to pull the heavy, writhing net alongside the hull toward the shore.
“Gloria, tell your grandmother to stop fishing,” Hans shouted from atop a granite outcrop overlooking the boat. “I’m not going to wait any longer.”
Reggie stood farther away as if trying to distance himself from his partner. His rifle hung loosely at his side, while Hans had a firm grip on his, a more modern-looking model complete with a scope and sling.
“I told you, she won’t answer any of your stupid questions until she’s finished with the fish,” Gloria screeched back. “We got to fillet the fish while they’re fresh.”
“Fuck that.” He jumped down onto the beach and strode toward the two women, his gun clasped in both hands.
“Hey, back off, man.” Angus dropped his end of the net and thrashed through the water toward the German. “Don’t you lay a hand on Mamàcho.”
“Stop where you are,” Malcolm yelled at the same time as Reggie shouted. “Hans, this won’t get us anywhere.”
But a determined Hans kept going.
Meanwhile, the fish, seeing their chance to escape, started slipping through the dropped end of the net.
The old woman, oblivious to the advancing man and his rifle, cried out in Tlicho and tried to climb out of the boat after the fleeing fish. But Gloria caught hold of her and wouldn’t let go, despite her struggles to break free.
“The fish be here tomorrow,” a puffing Uncle Joe called out as he came up behind me.
By now the net was empty, apart for a few stragglers. But no one noticed.
A determined Angus stood in front of the boat, feet apart, arms crossed, facing a snarling Hans, who towered over him by a good half foot. “Leave Auntie alone,” he hissed.
“Get her out of the boat.” Hans pointed his rifle at the boy.
Angus stood his ground. Behind him in the boat, Gloria had her arms around Florence as if to protect her, but the old woman had other ideas. She broke away and clambered unsteadily to the bow of the boat, where she stood as erect as her hunched back would allow and cried out in Tlicho.
Uncle Joe shouted back an answer, which seemed to satisfy her, for she smiled and nodded and sat down on the bow seat.
Reggie had raised his gun and was pointing it in the direction of the boat, but it was impossible to tell the intended target.
Behind me I heard Uncle Joe lift up his rifle. He aimed it at Hans’s back. I was afraid he was going to shoot until he lowered it and muttered, “Not this way.”
He shouted, “Everyone relax. You come here to talk. We talk Tlicho way. Not with guns. Put them down.”
Hans continued to stand his ground.
As if daring him to shoot, Angus inched forward so that his chest touched the barrel.
Neither Malcolm nor Reggie lowered their guns.
“Drop it, Hans,” Malcolm called out. “Or I will shoot.”
“Hans, please,” Gloria pleaded. “Not this way.”
He raised his eyes to the young woman, who looked back at him with a tentative smile.
“Okay.” He lowered his rifle. “Sorry, I meant no disrespect. I’m just worried the forest fire will reach us before we finish.”
I sniffed the air. The intensity of the smoke had increased, while the clarity of the air had taken on a brownish tinge.
Uncle Joe began retracing his steps slowly back up the hill.
Reggie, lowering his gun, strode over to his partner. “It’s better this way.”
The two of them walked briskly after the old man.
The old woman teetered at the side of the boat as she tried to climb out with Gloria’s assistance. I ran down to help, but Angus reached them first. He deftly lifted his great-aunt out of the boat and settled her gently on the solid ground. She shoved a flying strand of hair under her scarf and patted down her pleated skirt before turning her red-rimmed eyes up to me. Easily a head shorter, her grin revealed more gaps than teeth, but the web of wrinkles couldn’t hide the chiselled features that defined Teht’aa’s beauty.
“You Meg,” she said, followed by more words in Tlicho.
“She doesn’t speak much English,” Gloria said. “She’s saying that she is very happy to finally meet you, after hearing so many good things about you from Teht’aa.”
I felt myself blush. “Please tell her that I am happy to meet her too.”
“She thinks of you as another granddaughter,” Gloria said as the old woman wrapped her arms around me.
I hugged her back and felt her frailty. I could do with another grandmother. Both of my real ones were long dead. One, remembered only as a smiling face, passed away when I was small, the other when I was in my twenties. Distant and stern, she hadn’t been the twinkle-eyed, warm, embracing sort of grandmother I suspected Florence was.
Breaking free, the old woman shambled over to Malcolm and hugged him too. “Good nephew.” She patted him on the back and started her slow way up the hill with Malcolm supporting her elbow.
Anita, who’d been sitting wide-eyed on the beach, watching the skirmish unfold, ran over to her mother. “I’m scared, Amà.”
“Don’t be. Everything’s going to be okay.” Gloria clasped her hand, and together they followed Florence and Malcolm.
While Angus hauled the boat further onto the shore, I slogged up the hill to join the others. Partway up I caught sight of Father Harris. He hadn’t moved from his perch on the end of the point, except now he was facing the camp.
I thought I saw flames flickering in the thick black smoke rising behind him. Though the fire looked to be on the verge of breaching the hill, I wasn’t overly worried. It would have to leap over several kilometres of lake to reach us.
I expected to find everyone standing around glaring at each other, waiting for the talking to begin. Instead, Reggie and Malcolm were standing beside one of the tents, arguing. Hans was sitting cross-legged on the dirt, his rifle forgotten beside him, staring at the fire blazing with renewed energy. The anger I’d seen on the beach was gone.
Uncle Joe was balancing a kettle as blackened and battered as his own on a warped grate set over the fire. Florence was sitting on a flat rock filleting the lake trout her brother had caught the previous night. On seeing Gloria, she called out and the young woman disappeared into the nearest tent.
Meanwhile, her daughter stepped shyly toward the prospector. “Aba.” She stopped a couple of feet from him. “You okay?”
When he opened his arms, she ran into them.
fifty-eight
I never suspected that Han
s’s child could be Gloria’s daughter. But seeing them side-by-side, I saw the resemblance. Anita shared more of her father’s features than her mother’s. From the way he was smoothing her curls and laughing with her, I could tell he loved her and she, with her bright eyes shining up at him, loved him in return.
I suspected Gloria, who kept casting adoring looks in their direction, loved him too, which surprised me given her derogatory comments about the man. But we had been talking about his relationship with Teht’aa. Perhaps jealousy had interfered. Hans hadn’t minced his words about his love for her cousin or lessened his despairing comments about her. Was jealousy influencing her relationship with Teht’aa, and even Eric? Was it strong enough to make her retaliate?
I assumed she would do what she could to protect her grandmother. Now I didn’t know what she would do if the man she loved forced her to choose.
Florence fried the fish and the bannock over a Coleman stove set up on a wobbly table made from plywood and spindly tree trunks. Though I’d eaten mostly fish and bannock since arriving in the Territories, I wasn’t yet tired of it. Starving, I served myself a goodly amount along with a mug of tea and sat down on the ground in front of the fire.
Across from me, Uncle Joe attempted to lower himself into his chair with a plate piled with food in one hand and a mug overflowing with tea in the other and ended up sloshing the hot liquid onto his pants. He brushed it off with a shrug and a few flicks of his hand and commenced eating. When Reggie attempted to use the other chair, Joe stopped him with a gruff, “It Florence chair.” She sat down only after everyone had served themselves and silently crossed herself before dipping her fork into the fish.
We’d all found a spot around the fire, except for Father Harris. He remained at the end of the point, though he’d shifted his position. He now sat with his feet dangling over the edge with his back once again to us. Was he trying to ignore his guilt by turning away from his accusers? Or was he finally facing up to the damage he had done to the Bluegoose children and all the other lonely and homesick students?
Though the man might be a pariah, he still had to eat. I started to rise to load up a plate for him but Angus beat me to it. But when the young man placed the full plate and mug on the rock beside him, the priest ignored it.
We concentrated on eating. Anita, oblivious to the tensions seething around her, chattered away while she played with her doll, showing it off to her mother and father sitting on either side of her. While Hans ignored Gloria, she couldn’t stop herself from glancing at him when he wasn’t looking.
Florence chatted with her brother between mouthfuls of food, as if they were having a pleasant family conversation. But since it was in Tlicho, I didn’t know whether they were discussing their tactics for handling the two men or simply commenting on the weather.
Reggie, sitting next to me, jiggled his knees with impatience. Finally, unable to wait any longer, he set his partially eaten plate on the ground and began speaking in Tlicho. The only words I caught were “Ohndah Florence” before he switched to English.
“I’m worried the forest fire will cause us problems, so let’s not waste any more time. Since Florence speaks only rudimentary English, we’ll conduct it in Tlicho. Mine is pretty basic, so Gloria can be our translator.”
“I guess,” she muttered. “Except I don’t understand everything.”
“Joe will help out.” He jerked his head in the direction of the old man, who acknowledged with a reluctant grunt, while continuing to shovel the remaining food into his mouth.
“Ohndah Florence, Hans and I want to—”
The old woman cut him off with a string of Tlicho.
“She wants Father Harris here,” Gloria said.
“What the fuck does she want him for?” Reggie shot back.
“I don’t know,” Gloria replied, “but she’s not going to do anything without him.”
Sensing Reggie was about to argue, I jumped up. “I’ll get him.”
The old priest seemed to be waiting for this call, for I met him on his way back to the camp.
“Is she ready?” he asked, slipping a tattered bible into his jacket pocket.
When I first met him, I’d sensed a certain energy, a zest for life. It was gone. In its place was a man shattered by his wrongs who stumbled as if he were sleepwalking. Worried he would fall, I took him by the elbow and guided him over the uneven rock.
The silence was deafening as we approached the fire blazing with more strength than when I’d left it. Every pair of eyes was trained on us, some filled with hate, others with bemused curiosity. When no one shifted their position to let the priest join the circle, I led him to the only empty spot, mine, and helped him lower himself to the hard ground. At the last moment, Angus ran inside the tent and returned with a folded canvas chair, which Father Harris declined by turning his head away, despite the obvious pain as he struggled to cross his legs.
“I’ll take that,” Reggie called out to Angus. “Bad back.” Wincing, he raised himself carefully off the ground and sat with more ease in the sagging director’s chair. “Okay, let’s begin. Ohndah Florence, we want to—”
Uncle Joe cut in, “We thank Nòhtsi.” He chanted softly in Tlicho and was joined by his son and Florence.
Angus, who’d been heating a hand-held drum at the edge of the fire, began tapping on its translucent hide surface with a flat drumstick.
Anger flashed across Reggie’s face as he opened his mouth to object, but he clamped it shut, realizing it would put himself deeper into Florence’s bad books. He stood up with his plate in hand and joined in the singing.
One by one, they approached the fire and let the remaining food on their plates fall into the blaze. When it came to my turn, I wasn’t certain what to do. I’d been so hungry that I’d gobbled down every succulent morsel and wiped my plate clean with the last of the bannock. Florence, seeing my dilemma, placed a piece of leftover fish on my empty plate. Thanking her, I said a silent prayer for Eric and Teht’aa as I tipped the food into the flames and watched the fire consume it. I returned to my spot and let the drumming sweep over me.
It took me a few minutes to realize the singing had stopped. The tension of impatience had been replaced by an armistice of calm. Reggie no longer jiggled his leg like a man focused solely on satisfying his own greed. Instead he wore the respectability of who he was, Grand Chief of the Tlicho. Hans appeared more interested in playing with his daughter than in interrogating Florence. Both rifles lay forgotten on the ground.
The ceremony had no effect on the priest. He remained hunched over, staring at the bible he’d placed on the ground in front of him. It seemed to be lying on a folded piece of moosehide. With a start, I caught a glimpse of purple peeking out from the edge of the fold.
fifty-nine
“Good. You bring,” Florence said in her quiet way, nodding toward the hide.
With trembling fingers, the priest unfolded the hide and spread it out carefully on the ground. Two flowers and a partial one emerged purple in the sun. Their beaded centres sparkled. He ran his fingers gently over the tufts, as if caressing something precious. I noticed a tiny green bird embroidered in the same corner as the others.
Florence spoke a few words to Gloria, who turned to Hans and said, “Mamàcho wants the embroidery you brought.”
“The two stolen pieces,” I added.
“He only took one piece. Reggie stole the other.” She raised questioning brown eyes to her daughter’s father. “That’s right, isn’t it?”
When he didn’t respond, she continued, “But that’s what you told me.”
“No fucking way did I steal it!” Reggie broke in.
“It had to be you,” I said. “I saw you getting into your blue truck.”
“Wasn’t me. I sold my truck to Hans a week ago.”
“Hans, was it really you?” Gloria pulled their child closer and wr
apped her arm around her as if to protect her from the father. “Did you hit me?”
The prospector remained studiously silent.
“But why? I was going to give it to you.”
“Why in the hell didn’t you tell me?” he shot back.
“I did. I left you a message.”
But as if he hadn’t heard he continued, “You knew I needed it. Did you really expect me to go shouting up and down the halls of the Gold Range Motel looking for you with your latest fuck?” He spat this last out with the full venom of his distaste.
Gloria shrivelled within herself, looking everywhere but at us.
Her grandmother didn’t need to understand English to know the despair her granddaughter was feeling. She motioned her to come over and hugged her tightly. Gloria sat down on the ground beside her and wept silently into her lap while she faced the truth that the father of her child, the man she loved, had almost killed her.
“You broke into Teht’aa’s apartment the first time, didn’t you?” I accused the prospector. “Why? The embroidery wasn’t there.”
“I didn’t know that. The stupid bitch wouldn’t give it to me. When I learned she was in the hospital, I raced over to her apartment to get it.”
“And took her computer instead. Why?”
“I wanted to see how much she knew.”
“And stop her from exposing you,” I retorted.
He shrugged.
“That’s why you attacked her. When she refused to give you the embroidery, you tried to kill her.”
He held his hands up. “I never touched Teht’aa. I couldn’t. I love her too much.”
For some strange reason I believed him.
The more Hans revealed, the further Reggie leaned away from him. Finally he said, “Look, I knew nothing about any of this.”
“Don’t you dare plead innocence,” Malcolm lashed out. “You wanted the diamonds as much as Hans and were willing to do whatever it took to get them. Isn’t that the reason you’re here? To frighten an old lady into telling you where they are?”
Purple Palette for Murder Page 27