by Jim Newell
Before they departed, Toby called Corporal Brock aside. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but I got out my shotgun, loaded it, and I’m carrying it with me wherever I go out of shouting distance from the house. That okay by you, I hope?”
“Mr. French, I think you may be over-reacting a bit, but then again, maybe not. I don’t think you’re in any danger, but then again, like I said, I don’t know that you aren’t, either. Just be careful. We don’t really know what’s going on either.”
When he got back to the house, Toby found Allison gone. He went outside and could see her walking slowly way down the path toward the long reach at the south end of the island. He caught up to her, but didn’t say anything, just took her hand and they walked slowly along until the path turned north. There, Allison stopped and just stood, looking out at the waves as they broke over the rocks. The tide was about three-quarters high and the waves were crashing in a light breeze from the southwest.
They stood quietly for about fifteen minutes, not saying anything. Toby rubbed his hand up and town his wife’s back for a few minutes and when he stopped, she leaned back against him. Her hair smelled clean and fresh as the breeze teased it against his face. The sun was in and out behind the clouds, and they were both glad they had their warm jackets. Finally, Allison turned and kissed her husband, quietly, lingeringly.
“Toby dear, this is such a beautiful place. I love it. But I don’t like it very much right now. Help me deal with my feelings. I just don’t know how to cope with my thoughts.”
“You had anything to eat today beside that cup of coffee this morning?”
“No. But the fresh air has made me hungry. Maybe that’s the place to begin.”
They turned back to the house and together made scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and a pot of coffee. When they had finished eating, the time was almost three o’clock. Toby took his wife’s hand.
“C’mon. We have an hour before I have to go to the light.”
He led her to the bedroom; she allowed him to undress her and they made very slow and caring love together. After an hour and a bit, Toby got up. “Stay here and I’ll be back,” he said.
He dressed quickly and went down to the lighthouse for the nightly chore of turning on the light and checking to make sure that everything was ready for the long hours of winter darkness that were already beginning to make their presence felt in mid November. When he returned to the house, he stopped at the office and got the weather forecast. Then he returned to the bedroom where Allison was waiting for him. As he stripped off his clothes, she reached her arms toward him and welcomed him into the bed and into her body.
CHAPTER FIVE
Because Rocky Island had been in the news so frequently in the past couple of months after the discovery of the wrecked fishing boat, the helicopter crash and rescue and the body washed up on shore, there was considerable interest in the little speck of land off the coast. One of the Halifax television stations decided that a documentary program videotaped on the island might be of great interest to its viewers.
Toby and Allison were somewhat taken aback when the Transport Canada Lighthouse Supervisor reported that the department had agreed and requested that they cooperate with the television crew. After some discussion between them and some questions to clarify exactly what would be required, the two agreed that they could probably live with the publicity, although it was not their first choice of a way to spend a run-up to Christmas.
The date for the taping was set for the first week in December, weather permitting. The first date was postponed because of fog that prevented the television station’s chartered helicopter from flying in, and the second date was also postponed because of a storm with winds too high for the chopper to cope with. Finally, on the third try, the weather cooperated. The temperature was cold, but the sun was bright with a few high mackerel-shaped clouds in the west foretelling another storm by next day.
The television crew arrived shortly after eight in the morning: a producer/director and an assistant, two sound men, a script writer, make-up artist and a handsome young man who turned out to be the on-air personality who would do the interviewing and narration. He was dressed in cords, a fisherman’s jacket with a flowing scarf, his brown hair held in place with plenty of spray. His smile turned on and off, depending on whether or not he was on camera and wanting to coax Toby and Allison to respond to his questions and comments. The on-air personality and the producer seemed to be at odds frequently over what scenes should be shot and in what order.
The assistant producer, together with a sound man carrying a long boom microphone and one of the camera operators were dispatched to shoot background material. They were to take pictures of the lighthouse, long and close-up shots of the house, the sheds, both inside and out, the windmill and what scenery there was on the island, as well as various views of the rocks and reefs. The producer wanted lots of pictures and sound of waves crashing on the shore. Some of those shots would be taken from the air using the helicopter. These views, Toby was told, would be mixed in with the interviews; a voice-over would be dubbed in later after the script was finished.
Both the producer and the on-air personality, whose name was Jonathan, made it quite clear that Toby was their main target for interviews and that Allison was to be a background figure, the housewife who played a minor role. Toby caught on to that idea pretty quickly and made sure that Allison was included in as much as possible of the interviewing. One place where she was not included was the time spent in and around the lighthouse.
The producer, a man in his fifties and physically out of shape, puffed his way up five flights of stairs to the top of the lighthouse. “Make sure the script reflects the distance this man has to climb twice a day to turn the light off and on,” he told the scriptwriter. “That’s important.”
“It’s not difficult if you keep in shape,” Toby put in a bit of a dig. “I also walk around the island every morning to check out anything that may have happened over night.”
“How far is that?” puffed the producer.
“Oh, maybe five miles and a bit.”
“Be sure to get him to say that on camera, Jonathan.” The on-air personality ignored him, continuing to gaze out over the ocean. “You hear what I said?”
“I’m not stupid,” muttered the on-air personality without turning around.
The producer glared at him, then turned to Toby and shrugged his shoulders. “Prima donna,” his gesture indicated.
“I suppose you’ll want to see the places where I found the wrecked fishing boat and the fisherman’s body,” Toby told him. “They’re maybe three miles or so around to the north-east.”
“You got an ATV we can use to ride out there on?”
“Nope. It’s only a short walk.”
The producer groaned.
Finally the interviewing on camera began. In short takes, with remarkably few retakes, Toby explained the workings of the light, the fog horn—which he turned from automatic to manual—and translated the Morse code flashes of the red light on top of the revolving signal light. He explained the jobs he did every morning and evening and the weekly servicing he carried out on the equipment.
Then they had a close-up look at the workings of the windmill, but only a brief stop at the diesel generator. When they got to the shed where the Zodiac was kept, Toby insisted that Allison be brought into the discussion concerning the crash of the helicopter and subsequent rescue. The on-air personality wanted to make Toby the central figure, but he was having none of that. He made sure that Allison told her story and that of Ed Harrison and Luke Hepburn.
“I think you ought to make a stop at Yarmouth and interview those two guys,” Toby said to the producer. “Each of them helped save lives.”
When they got to the house, Allison was in her element and Toby stayed completely in the background. Allison made much of how ordinary were the household tasks she managed despite the on-air personality’s insistence that life on an isolated islan
d must make things difficult for her. She showed him her up-to-date appliances and told him how she ordered supplies from Yarmouth and talked about her small summertime vegetable and flower gardens. She showed him a couple of her paintings without mentioning the prices and the rising market. Her bright personality carried the day and caused the smile from the interviewer to seem almost genuine.
The producer groaned almost every step of the way on the walk along the shore path, although the camera and sound men with their heavy equipment didn’t utter any complaints. The on-air personality found that his clothes, fashionable as they might be, failed to keep him as warm as did the jeans, heavy sweaters and parkas worn by the production crew, and he shivered mightily except when on camera. Toby pointed out the spots they wanted to see and told about the events he had seen and where he had seem them, describing what actions he had taken. He even climbed down the rocks to show how he had managed to pull the body of Harvard Meadowcroft up onto the shore.
Finally, after more than eight hours of work with a break for lunch courtesy of Allison, the crew were ready to pack up and head back to the mainland. “This should make a good half-hour documentary,” the producer said, shaking hands with both Toby and Allison. “Much of what we recorded will not be used of course. That will be up to the editor back at the station. Thank you both very much for your cooperation.”
The on-air personality said a perfunctory good-bye as he climbed aboard the helicopter. One of the camera operators commented, “I hope you have that Zodiac ready in case this thing crashes,” as he got on board. Toby just laughed.
As the helicopter disappeared to the westward, Toby turned to Allison and remarked, “Well, that was an experience I wouldn’t want to repeat every day.”
“Sure gives you an idea of what people are really like. Remind me not to watch that particular station when Jonathan is on the air—except to see what they do with this program, if anything. S’pose they’ll have the courtesy to let us know when it’s on?”
*
Christmas for the French’s on Rocky Island had always been a quiet affair with just the two of them and this year was no different. They put up an artificial tree a couple of days before Christmas, decorated in the traditional way with twinkling lights and shiny ornaments. Each managed to surprise the other with gifts; this year Allison had set aside time when she had been on the mainland for her father’s funeral to shop in person for a beautiful new warm parka for her husband. He gave her a silver monogrammed comb and brush set as well as a small kitchen radio that was also a stereo CD and tape player. Both were surprised and pleased with their gifts.
They had a traditional Christmas dinner timed around Toby’s lighthouse duties. Allison had made sure that the small turkey and trimmings had come on the December helicopter flight and had been kept in the kitchen freezer until the 25th. In the evening, they watched TV, and discovered that the Rocky Island documentary would be shown the next afternoon at three o’clock, not exactly prime time, but that really didn’t bother them. Allison made sure that her mother knew about the time when she called so that she could wish her a Merry Christmas. Toby did the same for his father. Both parents had had gifts sent out to the island and Toby and Allison remembered to thank them. Allison’s mother was quite teary but Allison wasn’t quite sure how much was genuine and how much put on for the occasion.
The Rocky Island program was pretty much what they expected. The parts not shown were mostly from the sheds and outbuildings and Allison was amused at how much from the interior of the home was also cut. She was pleased that the shots of her paintings had been left intact. All in all, they were satisfied and decided that maybe they had actually enjoyed the experience.
*
As he walked along the shore one morning in early January, Toby was suddenly struck by an idea that had not occurred to him before. He wondered why, because the thought seemed so evident to him, once he actually put it together. He also wondered whether the police had considered it. When he returned to the house he called Corporal Brock to talk to him about it.
“Happy New Year, Mr. French. Don’t tell me you’ve found something new?”
“Just a new idea. Did you know that on the day The Smitty II was hit by some other ship, there was only one vessel reported in the area, a tramp freighter that reported her position as fifty miles east of Rocky Island at two o’clock in the afternoon?”
“If I did, I don’t remember thinking much about it. Why? There wouldn’t be a local fishing boat out that far with that storm brewing.”
“Exactly. I wonder whether anything showed up on the radar, and if not, then maybe that freighter wasn’t that far off shore after all.”
“W-e-l-l, that freighter was having engine trouble and had to be towed into Halifax.”
“I guess my questions are, when did he lose his engines and where exactly was he when the tug met up with him? Did anyone check to see whether there was damage to the bow of that ship when it was tied up in Halifax?”
“Don’t know. But I’ll find out. So far, Mr. French―”
“Toby.”
“Jason, here. So far, Toby, we don’t have anything to go on at all. Your idea seems to me to be worth pursuing. Thanks very much. I appreciate your help. I’ll be in touch.”
Toby told Allison what he had been thinking about and recounted his conversation with the policeman. Allison agreed.
“Dad would never be out that far, especially knowing there was a storm. And anyway, what would he be fishing for that far out and in October? He was probably handlining for halibut and they should have been maybe ten miles out. But I don’t understand why the bow of The Smitty II arrived in a couple of days but it took more than two weeks for Harvard’s body to come ashore.”
“We may never know. One of those ocean mysteries, Allie. But I think you’re right about the distance your father was from shore. That’s a halibut area. They’re bottom fish and that area is the right depth. If there was a freighter in that close, then she was running too close to shore for safety.”
CHAPTER SIX
Early in the New Year, Inspector McLellan and his two drug unit officers held another conference.
“Guess what, guys,” began the Inspector, obviously in a good mood. “We have found that the owner of the Helen of Troy is a New York company called Antonelli Imports and Exports. The DEA has been watching that outfit for a couple of years but has never been able to get close enough to pin anything really positive on them. Now they’ve found something new.”
“What?” asked Staff Sergeant Kellerman.
“Antonelli Imports and Exports also owns N. A. Transport, a small trucking outfit that runs between New York and Maine. They mostly carry potatoes and fish. They have an agent in Presque Isle and another in Bar Harbor.”
“But those are customs ports of entry. Since 9/11, you don’t smuggle drugs through customs.”
“Presque Isle isn’t a port of entry. But there are plenty of places to sneak across the border near Presque Isle and there are small harbor near Bar Harbor where small boats could land undetected, just like the south shore of Nova Scotia and the coast of Newfoundland.
“So what’s our next move?” asked Jason Brock.
“We watch for the sailing of the Helen of Troy and keep a close watch on the harbor of Shelburne County,” replied McLelland, “and that will be a big job.”
*
January was a rough month for weather along the coast of Nova Scotia.
The lobster fishermen were not at all happy as they were forced to remain tied up to the wharves for almost an entire month of the fishing season. Storm after storm blew up the Atlantic seaboard from the south piling snow and high winds on many parts of New England, then crossing the mouth of the Bay of Fundy to slide up the south shore of the Canadian coast toward Newfoundland. The low pressure areas causing the storms collided with low pressure areas moving eastward across the rest of Canada after following the jet stream south from the high Arctic, and altogether
, the combination played havoc with the weather.
Rocky Island, and indeed the areas along the adjacent shoreline received more rain than snow because of the warmer temperatures off shore over the water, but there was more than enough snow to cause a spate of shovelling now and again. The white stuff was wet and heavy, and after changing to rain and following with freezing temperatures, ice formed on everything. For most of the month, the weather was just plain miserable, the walking treacherous and life on the island was quite unpleasant.
Throughout the entire month the regular helicopter run of supplies was not able to take place. Fortunately, both Toby and Allison had planned for such eventualities and were not unduly bothered by any shortages of food or operating supplies. Toby’s biggest concern was ice forming on the blades of the windmill. That did occur a couple of times, but he was able, with a judicious use of de-icing spray, to keep the power supply operating.
Fortunately, there were no shipping accidents in the vicinity of Rocky Island, although one bulk carrier further along the coast did send out a distress call after being overcome by high seas in one of the January gales. After a struggle, the Coast Guard was able to get a ship alongside and get a towrope to the distressed vessel to help it safely into port without loss of life.
Jason Brock called Toby a couple of times to discuss the events of the past October. Nobody, he told him, had thought to check on the bow of the Helen of Troy to determine whether it had been the ship in collision with Allison’s father’s fishing boat. The big interest in the vessel had been the cargo that was not found aboard. The customs people had suspected that the ship was carrying drugs to drop off to smugglers, using fishing boats to land the illegal cargo at small out of the way harbor.