“It sounds very outdoorsy,” Michelle noted.
“It was.” Lana sounded more wistful than sorrowful now.
“Not anymore?”
“Well, I haven’t felt like doing anything for a long time.”
“But you’re so fit,” Michelle blurted without thinking.
“What?” Lana sounded puzzled.
“I just meant that you look really good,” Michelle said. “That usually takes dedication.” She almost added “at your age” and managed to swallow it back in time.
“Well, the thing with exercise,” Lana pointed out, her voice deadening a little, “you don’t have to think about it. In fact, it’s really good for not thinking about anything at all while you’re doing it.”
“Oh, yeah, I got you,” Michelle said, kicking herself internally for poking the sensitive spot again. When would she learn? “Sorry.”
“No, it is what it is.” Lana lifted her head and nuzzled closer to Michelle, kissing her gently. “Then you came along and turned it all upside-down. And that’s a good thing. I needed it. I didn’t know how much until it happened. So thank you.”
“Glad to be of service,” Michelle said, dryly. She glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. “Still got a few hours before we conduct our mission. Want to go again?”
Lana purred and stretched, pressing her curves against Michelle. “As many times as possible.”
“Oh, boy,” Michelle mumbled, wondering if perhaps she hadn’t bitten off more than she could handle.
Chapter Ten
Emily shut the door of her apartment more firmly than she intended, but she was in a hurry. Tossing the duffle bag containing her uniform onto the kitchen counter, she went into the bedroom to pack an overnight bag. She didn’t know how long it would take for her to catch up to Lana and the Devereaux woman, so she packed for the whole weekend, including an extra uniform in case she had to come into work on Tuesday directly from wherever she ended up.
As she packed her toiletries, a photo of herself and her father hanging on the wall caught her eye, and she stopped, once again assailed by doubts. Should she really be doing this, chase a woman she knew only from an occasional meal at the Kennetcook diner?
She looked at the picture again, her first tour as an RCMP constable, dressed in her red serge uniform, her father in his, his ruddy features beneath the brown, felt, wide-brimmed campaign hat beaming with pride. She had grown up wanting to be a police officer like him, rather than a lawyer like her mother. Her parents were still in St. John’s, both retired now, though he was still the first person she called whenever she had a difficult case.
Not that she had difficult cases anymore, not since her tour just outside Winnipeg in southern Manitoba. The Weaver murder had been a tough one, and once it was closed and she had the opportunity to transfer to the more serene and quiet posting in Nova Scotia, she’d taken it. The choice wasn’t great for her career, but it had done wonders for a psyche scarred from encountering too many brutalized children and too many battered women, unable to help any of them as much as she wanted. Not that there weren’t the same problems here in the Maritimes, but with a much smaller population density, she encountered correspondingly less crime of the type that had wounded her so deeply.
Her father had been a little disappointed in her choice, how the transfer had interrupted what had been a steady rise through the ranks, but her mother had been greatly relieved to know Emily was in a far more peaceful posting and that she was closer to home. She really should take the time to visit them more often, Emily thought unhappily. This weekend would have been perfect for that. It would have been so easy to book a quick flight to Newfoundland and spend the whole three days with them.
Instead, Emily was preparing to pursue a woman who might or might not be in trouble, just because she had a crush on her. A woman who probably didn’t even see her as anything more than an occasional meal companion.
Except, she reminded herself as she touched the envelope in her jacket, this letter had been addressed to her. Not to any of Lana’s neighbors, nor to any of Lana’s immediate family, her mother in New Glasgow, her sister in Brookfield, or her brother in Moncton, and not to any of her other friends. No, it was as if Lana had known Emily would be the first to notice she was gone, the first to miss her, and the only one who would keep checking in on her even after she’d done her best to push her away.
Her cell phone erupted suddenly, the brief 70s rock tune indicating the call was from her friend Joanna.
“Hey,” she said, bringing the phone to her ear as she stuffed the letter back into her jacket and resumed packing. “What’s up?”
“That’s what I was about to ask you.” Joanna was incredibly cheerful, relentlessly optimistic, and apparently thought Emily’s life was a lot more exciting than hers because she always claimed to be living vicariously through her. Emily couldn’t see how, considering Joanna had a great partner, Collette, two kids, and frankly, one too many dogs. “If you’re not working, come by for dinner tomorrow night. We’re having turkey.”
“Sounds great, but I’m going out of town this weekend,” Emily said, zipping up her bag.
Joanna immediately perked up. “Oooh, with anyone I know?”
“Nope, just on my own.” Emily did a quick run-through, making sure her apartment would be all right for the next few days. Pausing by the large cat condo, she reached in and stroked Maxine, her calico, who purred a little but otherwise displayed little interest. Considering how much Emily was gone because of work, that was normal. Maxine was used to being on her own and liked it that way so long as her food dish was full and her pet fountain kept running.
Emily tended to both now as Joanna continued to chatter in her ear.
“Where are you heading?”
“Grand-Pré,” Emily told her. “Down the valley.”
“Why?” Joanna sounded astonished. “It’s the middle of winter. Nothing’s open—Oh, wait, are you going to the Rainbow Festival?”
“The what?” Emily frowned as she resealed the cat-food bag.
“You know, the whole Valentine’s Day weekend thing down there in Wolfville,” Joanna explained. “Dinner, dance, seminars at Acadia, displays at the farmer’s market, all kinds of things. Collette and I were planning to go, but we couldn’t find a sitter for the whole weekend. We thought about asking you but figured you’d be working. Damn it, I wish I’d known you were available.”
“Huh,” Emily said, pausing to think. She didn’t like to lie, but the event provided an easier explanation than why she was really headed there. “Yeah, sure, that’s why I’m going.”
“Well, it’s about time you meet someone. It’s been awhile since Amanda. You could always use a little pussy play in your life.”
Emily lifted her brows. “Really? That’s what you’re calling it now?”
“Hey, just because Amanda turned out to be a bitch doesn’t mean we all are. Besides, you have to get back on that horse sometime.” She paused. “You are a mounted police officer, after all.”
“You’re funny,” Emily said, in a tone that indicated the opposite. “C’mon, Amanda wasn’t a bitch. She just couldn’t deal with my being on the job. She was always worried I’d get hurt.”
“She was a bitch,” Joanna said firmly. “Trust me on that. I’ve known her longer than you. So when you’re down there, meet up with someone hot and get it on. You need that.”
Emily smiled. Joanna was relentless when she got a thought in her head. “We’ll see what happens,” she said noncommittally. “Listen, I have to go. I’m on my way out the door.”
“Well, have a great time,” Joanna ordered her. “And be sure to call me when you get home so I can hear all about it.” She sighed. “Oh, to be single and on the hunt once again.”
Emily laughed. “Sure, that’s what you’d be doing if you were single.”
“I would! I’d be screwing everything that wasn’t nailed down. So if I can’t, you have to. Take full advantage
of being hot and young and gainfully employed.”
“You think I’m hot?”
“Oh, you know you’re hot,” Joanna said. “So go find yourself another hottie and see if you can spontaneously combust.”
“You’ll stop by and check on Maxine?”
“The cat hates me, you know. She knows I’m a dog person.”
“Just make sure her dishes are full and the litter box is scooped. You don’t have to pet her. She doesn’t like it anyway.”
“Don’t worry, I got it. Go get yourself laid, lady.”
Emily shook her head as she hung up. That was the one thing about Joanna. Five minutes on the phone with her and she was ready to tackle the world. A tiny part of her even regretted that she wasn’t headed to Grand-Pré for this celebration, whatever it was.
However, with a festival going on, it would be considerably busier in the area than she’d initially anticipated, which would make it that much harder to find Lana and the Devereaux woman. Locking the door behind her, Emily descended the back stairs in a rush and went out to the yard where her Challenger was parked by the dumpster used by the China Rose. She’d rented the apartment over the restaurant when she was first posted to Windsor, but ended up staying because she liked being in the downtown area and the couple owning the restaurant liked having a cop living upstairs. She provided a certain sense of security, and they provided great food, available at the most convenient times, especially after a long shift when Emily didn’t feel like cooking.
As she pulled out of the alley running beside the building, she turned on the stereo, her playlist starting off with a Bob Seger tune perfect for driving. She continued to rehash the letter in her mind, trying to figure out if Lana had been under any kind of duress when she wrote it, any type of coercion.
Instead, all she could think was that a definite excitement had been threaded through it, a sense of adventure she hadn’t expected of Lana or sensed in her personality before outside of her books. Was it possible she didn’t really know Lana at all?
She was both relieved and worried when she finally pulled into the Evangeline Motel & Inn. Relieved to find it was open this time of year, but worried there’d be no more room. It was nine o’clock in the evening and pitch dark, rain falling steadily, making everything look slick and shiny in the streetlights. A lot of cars were in the lot, and Emily suspected the proprietors would be thrilled to be making so much money this time of year. She wondered if the business people in the area were the ones who came up with the whole Rainbow Valentine Festival idea to begin with.
Inside, a pretty woman stood at the counter, and smiled brightly at her when she came in. Emily took note of the posters on the wall advertising the upcoming dance, as well as the rainbow flag hanging demurely in the front window. Apparently, they were going all out to attract a specific customer base this weekend.
“I don’t suppose there’s a room available?” Emily asked, readily returning the smile as she took note of the nametag on the innkeeper’s slender chest.
“Last one,” Cindy said, accepting her credit card. “But it’s a double, two queens.”
“That’s all right. I’ll take it. It beats looking for another place this time of night.”
“I don’t know that you’d find it. As far as I know, everything else as far down as Berwick has been booked.” Cindy chatted away as she processed the registration. “Would you like some tickets for tomorrow night’s dinner and dance? I still have a few available.”
Emily hesitated and, for a moment, thought about finding Lana, extricating her from the clutches of the Devereaux woman, and maybe asking her out on a real date. Deciding to be optimistic, she nodded. “Sure, I’ll take two. I understand it’s for a good cause.”
“It is.” Cindy took her twenty dollars and handed over the tickets. “Breast-cancer research. You get a free pin with the tickets.”
Emily tucked the tickets in her wallet, along with her receipt and the card key. “Thanks,” she said, attaching the tiny metal pink ribbon to the collar of her black leather bomber jacket.
Outside, she got back in her car and moved it down the row of units to where hers was located. Overhead, the skies opened up and rain pounded down as if it were late for dinner, and Emily let out an oath as she retrieved her bag, ducking quickly into her motel room.
She hoped the bad weather wasn’t an omen.
Chapter Eleven
“There doesn’t seem to be anyone around,” Lana said finally.
They’d been sitting in her Jeep for a half hour, just to be sure no further activity was going on in the Grand-Pré National Historic Site, especially nothing new in terms of security, like a police car cruising in the vicinity or the presence of a new watchman hired after the break-in, though that would be a lot like locking the stall door after the horse had disappeared over the hill. Lana had driven in the back way, along a dirt road called Miner Lane that, although icier than she would have liked, had at least been plowed. The rain had eased into a light but steady mist, while fog rose from the layer of snow like the scattered ghosts of winter. In the mist, the church was little more than an indistinct outline through the leafless trees.
“Let’s do this,” Michelle said, impatient but respecting the fact that as long as Lana had the car keys and the credit cards, this was her show.
“I have a head lamp in the back,” Lana said as they got out. “I’ll put fresh batteries in. What else do we need? A shovel? It’s going to be hard digging up frozen ground.”
“We’re not going to dig,” Michelle told her, huddled in her new winter jacket. She shivered. How the hell did Canadians put up with this weather? It was inhuman. “But I could use a rope and something sharp. Do you have an ax?”
Lana frowned at her “I have a hatchet. Planning on chopping down a tree?”
“God, I hope not,” Michelle said reverently as she accepted the items Lana handed her from the kit stored in the back of her Jeep. “We’re going to leave tracks in the snow.”
“Can’t be helped,” Lana said. “Where are we headed?”
“To the old well. It shouldn’t be too far from the church they built.”
Lana lifted her brows, a familiar expression of mingled interest and wariness, but proceeded to climb over the bank that lined the road, plunging into the field where the snow reached almost to her knees. It was a struggle for them to cross the small meadow to the line of trees bordering the back of the site, each step threatening to twist a joint, and if Michelle wasn’t so sure of what she was going to find, she would have turned around and gone home. The rain left a layer of moisture on her face, chilling it, and a cold dampness was seeping through her jeans. Fortunately, her boots were completely waterproof and kept her feet warm and dry.
The snow was shallower beneath the trees but grew deeper once they cleared that area and began walking by the church. The top of the well, a circle of stones, was barely visible above the white, and they clambered over to it through the soggy drifts. Michelle was sweating by the time she reached it, and from the forceful way Lana was breathing, she wasn’t in much better shape.
“Now what?” Lana demanded as they leaned against the cold rocks. A bitter wind blew in from the Minas Basin, which lay not far from where they stood, hidden from their view by dikes built by the Acadians and still standing firm, solid earthen mounds holding back the tidal marsh.
“This way,” Michelle said and began to pace, fifty paces exactly, to the northeast. In the distance, she could see a monument, the stone cross erected by John Frederic Herbin, who had purchased the land believed to be the site of the Saint Charles-des-Mines Church in 1907 to preserve it for the Acadian community. No one could find the foundation of the original church, but they had discovered an old cemetery lay beneath the monument.
She stopped beneath the shelter of a huge sugar-maple tree, rising a hundred and sixty feet above her, the dark branches swaying in the wind. It was still here, exactly where her research had put it. Not cut down in all t
hat time, not blown over in all the wind and ice storms that had followed in the centuries since, not killed by insects or disease. Still standing as it had in 1755, two hundred and sixty years earlier, a fully mature tree even then.
“What are you doing?” Lana demanded as she made her way over to where Michelle was standing, staring up in wonder.
“When the British came, Father Beauséjour knew he had to hide the cross from them,” Michelle said in a hushed, trembling voice. “He put it in a box and gave it to Thomas, his eight-year-old altar boy, and sent him to hide it. Thomas did what he always liked to do. He climbed the tree closest to the church. This was his favorite. He hid it in a knot where the two largest branches intersected.”
“Jesus,” Lana said, head tilted back as she looked up, as well. “You think it’s still up there?”
“It has to be,” Michelle said. “There’s no record of it ever being found. The only recollection of where it was hidden was a cryptic notation in Thomas’s diary, handed down through the generations after his family was expelled from Acadia and sent to Louisiana. No one paid much attention to it until I found the letters from Beauséjour to Father Hebert in Port Royal.”
“That’s how Hector got it?”
“He’s descended from Thomas Duperies. He hadn’t read it either until I showed it to him.”
“Oh, boy.” Lana exhaled audibly, her breath a white cloud. “Now what?”
“Now I climb up there and get it.”
“Are you crazy?” Lana stared at her. “Do you know how dangerous that is?”
“I didn’t come all this way for nothing,” Michelle said firmly, setting her jaw. “Give me a boost.” The lowest branch was well out of the reach of her short stature.
“Oh, my God, I guess I’m the one who must be crazy,” Lana groaned, but she went over to the base of the tree and hooked her gloved fingers together, holding them out for Michelle to step onto.
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