by Linda Moore
“If I find something, I’ll let you know. Thanks for coming in, Roz.”
Shoot me! I thought as I left the station. I went down the walkway and stood for a moment on Main Street. Suddenly my eye caught on something: just across the street and down a bit was the gift shop where the notebook had been purchased. And I still had time to kill before picking up Sophie.
I went into the shop and removed the book from my bag and took out the receipt. I walked up to the counter.
“I’ve just found this journal and I’m trying to track down the person it belongs to,” I said to the woman behind the cash. “I’m wondering if you remember selling it.”
“May I see?” she asked. I handed her the notebook. It had a red leather cover and was very well made. There was a slender ribbon that could be used as a page marker. She opened the back cover and saw the name inside. “Aurelia,” she said. “Unusual name.”
“Yes,” I said. “Do you remember her?”
“You know, we don’t sell a lot of these little notebooks because they’re pricey and the students can’t afford them. But I think I remember having a conversation with this girl. I believe she said she had won a prize or something and was treating herself to a new daybook.”
“That’s right, she won a journalism award. You have an excellent memory. Can you recall what she looked like?”
“Well, let’s see…she was about your height—maybe a little shorter. It was a chilly day so she was wearing a dark wool hat, but her hair was long. Long red hair—I remember that, but I don’t think I’ve seen her since then.”
“Red hair?” I said. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. And blue eyes, I think. That pale Celtic look, you know….”
My mouth was suddenly dry.
“I do know that look,” I said.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Thanks for your help…I’ll try and…get the book back to her.”
I walked out and stood stock still on the pavement. Were they one and the same, the pale, red-haired Aurelia and the girl in the tree?
Chapter 10
Sophie was first off the bus, and with barely a greeting we headed straight to the vet. He came out from the examination room to fill us in. He had disinfected and bandaged Molly’s wound and confirmed that it was indeed a vicious bite, which had become infected. He had taken x-rays to make sure her bones were not broken and though they looked good, he wanted to study them in detail as Molly was badly bruised. She was sedated and they were now in the midst of re-hydrating her. He thought she should stay in the hospital for at least another day so he could change the dressing and observe her recovery, make sure her kidneys were functioning, and see if she could take food.
“She has definitely suffered serious physical trauma. I’ve seen these kinds of injuries go either way. We’ll know more in twenty-four hours.” He excused himself.
“I’d like to see her,” Sophie said to the assistant. “Just to lay eyes on her for a minute.” She nodded and Sophie followed her to the back room.
In no time at all she was back. “Molly’s going to be okay, Roz,” she said. Sophie was so often right about what the future held that her certainty about Molly’s recovery was a comfort.
We got into Old Solid and headed for Kingsport. I filled Sophie in on the events of the previous day—McBride and I pursuing the SUV until we ran out of gas, the young fellow at the arts centre, Jacob, coming to our rescue, and then McBride heading to the mountain on his own. Then I told her about this morning’s trip down to the Fundy shore that led to my discovery of Molly. Finally, I recounted my recent discouraging encounter with Corporal Monaghan.
“I think we should jump on your idea to find another way up to that bluff. If that’s where you think McBride is—what are we waiting for? Let’s go now.”
“It will take a little research first, Sophie. I’d like to get my hands on some kind of detailed map. I mean, we don’t want to wind up missing as well.”
Just as we were approaching the village, I remembered Grace telling me that she lived near the pier—and that her husband was a geologist.
“Geologists have maps, don’t they?” I asked Sophie.
“Beautiful maps,” she said. “I went out with a geologist from Denmark several years back—Björn, his name was. He had maps—lots of them! He would show me where things came from, what era was represented. Björn’s training crossed over into archeology too. He was always taking off to ancient sites around the planet.”
We’d been driving through Kingsport, and I pulled onto the wharf. The canteen had just opened for the season and there were a handful of people lined up for ice cream and hot dogs. I parked alongside the boardwalk. The tide was well into its return. Sophie grabbed her shawl from the back seat and walked along the pier, looking out at the Minas Basin while I went to talk to the girls working the canteen.
“Hi,” I said. They appeared to be twins, with identical long dark braids. “I’m looking for a woman named Grace; she has a two dogs, a big one and a little one.”
“Oh. I know who you mean!” said the first twin. “Grace Stevenson. She was just here a while ago, coming back from her walk.”
The other twin picked up immediately. “Her house is just up the road there, the second house along. And it’s Sorensen, not Stevenson,” she said with a sidelong glance at her sister.
“It’s that place where they cut down all the maple trees,” added the first twin.
“Elms,” said the second.
“Thanks, girls.”
I crossed over to the boardwalk and filled Sophie in. “I met a woman on the beach yesterday. Grace. She’s married to a geologist. Let’s see if they’re home. I’ll leave the car here for a bit.”
We walked away from the wharf and started up the hill. As we came to the second property, I could see all the wide tree stumps in the yard where the elms had been cut down, probably stricken years earlier with Dutch elm disease. We passed the honeysuckle hedge that bordered the road and turned into the driveway.
Before we got to the door, Grace came around the side of the house carrying some freshly cut early lilacs. “Rosalind!” she said, surprised. “How are you today?”
“Fine thanks, Grace,” I replied. I introduced Sophie and then got to the point.
“You mentioned that your husband is a geologist, and I wondered if he had any detailed maps of North Mountain. Sophie and I are interested in hiking up there.”
“He has loads of maps—but you’ll have to ask him. We have an understanding: I don’t go into Björn’s study, and he doesn’t spread his rocks and papers all over the house. He’s out at the moment, a meeting at the university. Come back in an hour or so. He should be here by five.”
“Thank you, we’ll do that,” I said. “See you then.”
I couldn’t look at Sophie until we were back on the road.
“Björn?” I said.
“Oh my God. How weird is that?” she said.
“Maybe all geologists are named Björn.”
“If it turns out their last name is Sorensen, it’s him.”
“It is, Sophie. At least according to one of the twins. Are you okay with seeing him?”
“It was years ago, Roz. I’m not a teenager. I’m sure we’ll be pleased as punch to see each other. In fact, I’m curious to see how the years have treated him.”
“Let’s drop your stuff into the cottage and have a cup of tea. The thing is, by the time we’ve visited Björn and studied the map it may be too late to go through the woods tonight. We’d be caught in the dark.”
“We’ll get an early start tomorrow then.”
I was buoyed by her determination to keep her spirits from crumbling. “I’m so relieved you’re here, Soph,” I said.
“How are you doing anyway, Roz? Liking the new job?” she asked a
s we turned onto Longspell Road and headed towards my cottage.
“I do. It’s amazing to actually have steady income, and about time, too. God, I’ll be forty soon. The truth is, though, Sophie, I felt like I really needed this vacation because I’m trying to cheer myself up—change focus, get back to some theatre work. It’s just…sometimes the job really gets to me.”
“How do you mean?”
“So many of the crimes we prosecute are because of corruption and exploitation of resources. The more I learn working on environmental cases, the more the grim truth sets in. All these corporations and companies just want to keep making a buck, no matter what. Some of these CEOs really are sociopaths—the lengths they’ll go to get around regulations is mind-boggling. They’d sooner pay a huge fine and keep profits coming in than actually preserve the planet for future generations—their own children for God’s sake. It’s very disturbing. Anyway, I needed a break from it.”
“What about that prosecutor, Harvie? Are you guys still seeing each other, or did he take that job?”
“He did. He moved to Montreal last month, not long after you left for Toronto. We’re in touch from time to time. I think he’s happy with the decision.”
“So you two weren’t serious?”
“Actually, I think we’re still crazy about each other, and we’ll always be really good friends, but basically we’re loners, and for both of us, work comes first.”
“At least you’re fighting the good fight, Roz—like you always do.”
“If it’s not one thing it’s another, right? Who would have thought I’d be spending my first real vacation looking for McBride,” I said as we turned into the driveway at my cottage.
An hour later we were back at Grace’s. This time there was a car in the driveway—a green Volvo wagon.
“Are you ready for the old boyfriend?” I teased Sophie.
“No time like the present.”
We parked on the roadside and walked up the drive. The front door opened and there stood Björn. He was a tall, fair-haired man with a warm smile.
“Oh my goodness, a face from the past!” he said, with his slight Danish accent. “Wonderful to see you, Sophie.”
“Isn’t this unbelievable, Björn? I had no idea you were living in Kingsport.”
“I see your name in the paper every now and again when you’re doing a play,” he said, “and I watched you in that science fiction series on TV. You had a fairly gruesome death as I recall.”
“Yes—an unseen force pushed me down the stairs. It was too bad they killed me off, that was a good gig.”
“Well, perhaps the Master of the Void can bring you back to life. Or maybe you now could join that zombie series, and become one of the walking dead.”
“Excellent idea! I’ll tell my agent,” Sophie said, laughing. “This is my friend Roz—Björn.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said, shaking his hand. “I understand from Grace that you’re a geologist.”
“Yes, and she mentioned that you two are looking for some maps.”
“We’d like to get the lay of land up by Jasper Creek Road and that vicinity around the Bay of Fundy.”
“It’s a very rich area there—lots of amethyst and agate, jasper of course. Are you looking for something in particular?”
“Just exploring,” I jumped in, wanting to keep our concerns about McBride to ourselves for the time being. “Do you know how far back into the bush Jasper Creek runs?”
“I can loan you a couple of maps that are very precise. One will show the topography, the creek and the bogs and so on. And the other will show you the geological properties. Please, come in, come in. Grace is not at home. She has started a watercolour group and the few that live here year round are all off painting somewhere this evening. The light in June is so spectacular, isn’t it?”
Björn took us into his study. It was crammed floor to ceiling with cabinets full of gleaming minerals, rocks, and crystal-filled geodes. The room sparkled as the western sun came through one of the tall windows. He opened a drawer labelled Fundy and began to thumb through his maps.
“Here we go,” he said, handing a map to me. “This one is from the Department of Natural Resources and zeroes right in on that area. Now, let me just fish out the other one that may be useful for you.”
“This is perfect,” I said looking at the topography.
“Ah! Here we are.” Björn handed Sophie another map which showed the geological history of the area.
“Are you aware of recent industrial development up that way?” I asked. “I mean right on the coast there?”
“I certainly hope there’s not. It’s been some time since I’ve been along that particular road. When I taught the introduction class, I used to take my students up that way every fall. I’d take them to Scots Bay to collect rocks, and over to Caroline Beach to see the monument to the shipwreck—The Caroline—that’s how that beach got its name. Jasper Creek as I recall is fairly isolated, but it’s vital to preserve the natural formations along that coast. It’s Triassic basalt, you know—200 million years old. This was a period of tremendous upheaval resulting in a massive flood of basaltic lava, and the formation of North Mountain and Cape Blomidon.”
“So it would make sense that the shoreline would be protected,” I said.
“Yes, but as with all things bureaucratic, getting the proper protections in place is complicated. For instance, in one of the coves up that way, but closer to Scots Bay, there is evidence that indigenous people came from far and wide because of the rare deposits of chert, also known as flint. Since it can be worked to form a very strong sharp edge, the resident natives quarried it to make arrowheads and also tools and items for daily living. It’s an astounding record going back ten thousand years! Yet anyone can simply walk away with remnants of that ancient tool-making workshop. So there it is, a real treasure trove of ancient history, and its random destruction goes on every day.”
Björn’s knowledge of this prehistoric world seemed to be both a blessing and a curse for him.
“So you’re teaching at the university these days?” Sophie asked.
“Just in the summer and fall. I still travel during the winter months. I like to be in the field—literally.”
“Are you still exploring those ancient ruins in the Mesopotamia area?” Sophie asked.
“Not to the extent that we could before the Iraq war—it’s much harder now, and, tragically, so much has been looted and destroyed. But one of the field trips I recall vividly involves you. Remember, Sophie, you had that remarkable dream!”
“Very well, Björn.” Both their faces lit up at the recollection.
“Okay, you have to tell me,” I said. “What dream?”
“When Sophie and I were spending time together, I was over in Iraq with an archeology team from the University of Pennsylvania, and she was here in Nova Scotia, and one night she had a vivid dream which ended up leading my team to a hidden cache of previously undiscovered clay tablets.”
“They were concealed at this ancient temple called The Prince’s Daughter,” Sophie added.
“Exactly right, Sophie. At Nippur,” Björn said. “Oh my goodness, that was a long time ago.”
“Thank you so much for these maps,” I said. “We’ll get them back to you soon.”
“No rush. Let me know if you need help interpreting anything. You know where I live. Here, I’ll give you my card.” He handed one to Sophie. “And be very careful. It’s easy to lose your way, or to trip over roots or to fall into a bog. Make sure you have water with you…and maybe some good rope.”
“We’ll be careful—don’t worry, Björn. Great to see you again,” Sophie said as we stepped out the door.
“What a resource he is!” I said to Sophie as we got into Old Solid.
“He’s just as I remember him, Roz, honestly—do anything fo
r you. Actually, he’s made me feel hopeful. Now, let’s go back to the cottage and suss out our plan for tomorrow.”
“First we need to run into Canning and pick up a few groceries for tonight,” I said, turning left onto the main road.
“Nothing in the fridge, Roz?” she teased.
“You know me, Sophie, I can’t seem to get a handle on the food thing.”
“You’re worse than McBride.”
“No way, he gets the prize. I’m a domestic paragon compared to him.”
This got us both giggling, but suddenly Sophie’s worst fears bubbled to the surface.
“Oh, dammit! I hate crying. What’s going to happen?”
I motioned to the glove compartment where I kept a box of tissues.
“It’s okay, I’m okay,” she said, blowing her nose.
“We’re going to find McBride,” I said.
“We have to.”
“We will,” I said, as we drove past the Canning Aboiteau turn-off.
I was signalling left, waiting to pull into the busy parking area beside the Canning grocery store, when I spotted the unforgettable Range Rover nosed in against the building.
My heart jumped into my mouth. “Oh my God.”
“What?” Sophie asked looking up. She was engrossed in one of the maps.
“It’s them—I’m certain that’s the SUV.”
Sophie looked at it. “Well then, they must be in the grocery store, right? Let’s wait and follow them, Roz. They could lead us to McBride.”
“They’ll recognize this car, Sophie. It could be dangerous.”
“We don’t really have a choice, do we?” she said. I looked at her. She was flushed with determination. She wanted this pursuit—this chance at finding McBride.
I switched my signal from left to right and pulled off into an empty lot across the road. My car was now partly concealed by a van parked on the street, and partly by a large wooden For Sale sign, but we had a narrow view across the road to the grocery store’s glass doors, which were busy with dinnertime customers coming and going.