"Exactly," Liam confirmed, with that mile-wide grin. "You've got it."
"I just can't believe it," I muttered.
"Me either," Tovey said, finally wedging a word into the conversation. "I was so scared, and I felt so bad about Shane. I still do," she said, eyes shining. "It's my fault he was lying unconscious in that horrible little man's kitchen. If only I'd never gone there. If only I hadn't left him." The tears brimmed over and coursed down her pale, freckled cheeks. Tovey buried her face in her hands.
"You mustn't blame yourself," Brooke soothed, moving to the young woman's side. She wrapped a motherly arm around the huddled shoulders. "What happened to Shane, he brought on himself."
"Brooke's right," Liam assured her. "And you were only doing what you thought was right. Though you took a heck of a chance. I'll never know why you didn't just turn the whole thing over to Roy Friesen in the first place."
Tovey sniffed. "I guess I kept hoping I was wrong," she said, accepting the tissue Brooke offered. She wiped her eyes and dabbed at her nose. "Shane wasn't all bad."
"We know that," Matt said. "His motives were good. He just made some wrong choices."
"And caused a lot of trouble," Liam declared, still unwilling to paint Shane Deeks in a white hat. "Look what he did to Dan and Brooke."
"I know," Tovey admitted. "I had no idea he was behind all that. It was terrible of him to be disloyal."
"He thought he had good reason," Dan conceded, sadly.
"And the damage isn't irreparable," Brooke added. "Because of
Walt's friend, nothing was lost when the freezer went down. Insurance will cover the cabin. And Reno's all right. Our biggest fear was the travel agents. But even that's turned out all right. We've already had some new bookings."
"What about your sodden sailors?" I asked, remembering threatened lawsuits.
Brooke giggled. By the time their buddies were through ribbing them in the bar, their mishap had been elevated to the status of departmental legend. They'll be dining out on that one for years."
"Then everything's okay," Matt said.
"Pretty much. This mess has even taught the two of us something,"
Brooke replied, flashing Dan a rueful glance. His response was a sheepish grin.
"I still have a question for Tovey," I said. "Yesterday, when Legge had you tied up in his cabin, why didn't you tell him you'd called Roy Friesen from his house?"
"I was afraid he'd panic," Tovey murmured, blanching at the memory of her ordeal. "As far as he was concerned, I was the only one who knew about either the galls or Shane. I kept stalling for time, hoping Roy would go to his house. But I would have used it as a last resort."
You have a lot to learn about tactics, I thought to myself. Tovey was lucky her stall had worked, because the Kenny Legge I saw in that cabin was long past believing any Hail Mary story.
"Oh no," Tovey cried, her eyes suddenly saucer-round. I followed her transfixed gaze to a pair of uniformed strangers standing just inside the door. Three familiar figures strode into view behind them. Roy Friesen, Adam Tang, and Denise Pardue looked as serious as the RCMP officers. Dan and Brooke sprang to their feet and hurried toward the newcomers.
It was impossible to overhear what passed between them—try as I might. But soon Roy and Adam followed one of the uniforms up the gallery stairs. Minutes passed. Nobody moved. My neck muscles bunched. Willing them to relax did nothing. Anxious glances flitted around the group like moths attempting to escape a glass dome. Several times I sought to catch Brooke's attention. It was no use. Her eyes were riveted on the wooden staircase.
I'd reached the breaking point and was just about to march over and poke my nose into other people's business—yet again—when a disturbance in the upper hall stopped me cold.
"I wish to give you the following warning..." intoned a deep voice. "My lawyer will chew your ass and spit it in your face," shouted Max Edelman as the Mountie marched him into view.
I'm pretty sure I heard the sound of six jaws hitting the floor. I know mine did.
The recitation continued without pause. "You need not say anything—"
Blood vessels throbbed at Edelman's temples, clearly visible from across the room. "I'll have your badge," he roared.
"You have nothing to hope from any promise or favour and nothing to fear from any threat whether or not you say anything—"
Sweat glistened from the patrician brow. Sculpted nostrils flared. "Do you have any idea who I am?" Edelman roared.
"Anything you do or say may be used as evidence," the Mountie concluded, completely unmoved. "Do you understand?"
"I demand a lawyer!"
Two paces behind the raging prisoner and the impassive police officer, Roy Friesen's chin jutted at an uncompromising angle. Adam Tang, on the other hand, wore something close to a smile. At the very least, I'd have to describe the look as a satisfied smirk.
As Edelman's escort led him past reception, I suddenly remembered Rachel van Brennen. She stood gaping behind the desk—mouth open, words stalled on her tongue. So much for the fast track, I thought. As far as Rachel's former tycoon-career-ticket was concerned, the shapely receptionist might have been part of the furniture. Sparing her not even a sideways glance, he stumped ahead of the cadre of officials and disappeared through the tall entrance.
Just before the double doors closed, our former bartender broke formation from his rearguard position and hurried over to us. "Here's the wrap for your story," he crowed, singling me out with his snapping black eyes. "When the Deeks kid's medical report dumped Legge in a barrel of the smelly stuff, that scumbag was on his knees in a minute. He couldn't wait to make a deal."
"And Edelman was his trafficker?"
"The very man," Adam confirmed. "Beautiful operation," he added appreciatively. "The guy flies himself into a territory, supposedly hunting for development properties. Stops for pick-ups from each of his suppliers, then disappears into the wild blue."
"You mean he wasn't a developer at all?" Matt asked.
"No, no. There's probably a shell company somewhere out on the Coast. But bear parts were his real business."
"That slimy son-of-a—"
"Whoa, there," my husband mock-chided, wagging a warning forefinger at me. "How about some journalistic objectivity?"
I raised one eyebrow and quirked the corner of my mouth. "Right," I said, heaping on the sarcasm. But then I turned to Adam and sincerely thanked him for his help.
"No need," the undercover CO assured me. "I'm only too glad to see this story go public."
Adam was preparing to follow his colleagues, when Matt's ringtone interrupted our farewells. My husband looked at his call display, then darted an unsure glance at me.
"Who is it?" I asked, knowing I wasn't going to like the answer. "Global Press," he replied, trying—and utterly failing—to repress the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
I rolled my eyes. "Go ahead and take it," I said, laying on a theatrical sigh. "This honeymoon is obviously over."
About the Author
Laurie Carter is an award-winning writer and photographer whose work appears in books, newspapers, magazines and online. For more than twenty-five years she lived in British Columbia's Okanagan Valley where she gained an abiding love of nature and respect for wildlife. She regularly saw black bears ambling through her back yard on the way to a nearby cherry orchard and from time to time encountered others on backcountry hikes. She now shares a home in Eastern Ontario with her husband, writer/photographer Bruce Kemp, and a very tame SPCA rescue cat.
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Bear of a Honeymoon Page 23