Murder Knows No Season

by Cathy Ace

  She pressed, ‘We’ve both got lots of sunscreen on us now, Dad, so we won’t burn, and we could pick up that hat and glove – just to keep them safe.’

  Dave thought about how much of her mom’s persistence Becky displayed, but, unfortunately, he couldn’t think of a good reason to not try to get a signal out on the lake.

  ‘We’ll all go together, wearing life vests, with no diving, and we’ll try to grab the “clues” – if we spot them.’ Dave knew he sounded hesitant; he reckoned his kids picked up on it right away and didn’t want him to have time to change his mind, because Becky ran to get the little fishing net they’d spotted inside the cabin – to help retrieve the ‘evidence’ – and Zack enthusiastically pulled the boat to the edge of the water, ready for the off.

  ‘Can you bring something to eat, Becky?’ called Zack to his sister.

  ‘Sure,’ his sister called back, as though it would be a terrible chore.

  Finally, Dave once again pushed away from the beach, pointing the little frog-boat toward the widest part of the finger of water immediately ahead. He rowed carefully, trying to not splash too much.

  ‘Dad, look, there’s the hat,’ shouted Becky gleefully as she reached out with the net and successfully captured the floating ball-cap. ‘Now everyone look out for the glove,’ she instructed her father and brother, in her mother’s voice.

  ‘You keep checking for a signal on all three of those phones,’ said Dave to Zack, who was peering from beneath his own ball-cap in the hot afternoon sun.

  ‘Nothing. Not even one bar on any of them,’ said Zack, glumly. ‘Why don’t we try a bit farther out?’

  Dave didn’t want to venture too far from the cabin, but he saw the sense of trying to get a signal. ‘Let’s go as far as those rocks,’ he suggested, nodding toward a knobbly little island poking out of the deeper waters of the lake not far ahead of them; it wasn’t more than twenty feet long, and was home to a couple of cedars and some moss-covered outcrops.

  The kids seemed to be excited by the prospect of getting to the island, so Dave rowed on, sweating in the heat of the early afternoon. He fancied a beer – but hadn’t dared bring any adult beverages on the trip, in case Debbie had spotted them.

  Finally, panting like a steam train and with his tee shirt completely soaked with sweat, Dave felt the boat bump against the rocks; he pulled in the oars. Looking around, it was clear there was nowhere to tie up, so he grabbed onto a fern that seemed to be growing directly out of a boulder.

  ‘Still no signal,’ announced Zack in an ‘I told you so’ taunt directed toward his sister.

  ‘Well at least we tried,’ retorted Becky, rolling her eyes at her brother. ‘If you’ve tried your best, you can’t blame yourself if you don’t succeed,’ she pointed out, quoting their mom.

  ‘Okay, you two,’ snapped Dave, exhausted and wishing he didn’t have to row all the way back to the cabin again, ‘just keep quiet and enjoy the scenery.’

  Becky seemed to be taking in the sights around her, while Zack fiddled with his ball-cap and life vest, grumbling under his breath that there was nothing to look at that was interesting, and that he was hungry. Dave felt exasperated; when had Zack become such a pain in the butt? He used to be a great kid – always running and playing and jumping and full of energy; now he just seemed to want to sit, eat, and moan about everything, even out there in the stunning wilderness.

  ‘I can see the glove, Dad,’ shouted Becky, excitedly. ‘See – it’s just there, between us and the buoy. Come on Dad, let’s get it.’

  Dave had to say something; he had to explain about the glove. ‘Becky, I think we should just leave it to float around – it’s not going anywhere.’

  Dave didn’t sound convincing, and Becky wasn’t taken in.

  ‘It could be evidence,’ she said petulantly.

  ‘Is it a hand, Dad, not a glove?’ asked Zack.

  Dave was surprised at his son’s insight, and decided to come clean. ‘I think I saw fingernails on it, so, yes, I think it might be a hand. I think we should leave it alone; I don’t want you two having nightmares about floating hands.’

  ‘Oh Da-ad,’ Becky wailed at him, ‘now we’ll have to get it, because what you just said is what could give us nightmares, because it’s the unknown. If we collect the actual hand it won’t be half as bad as our imaginations could make it, so we won’t have nightmares about it. It’s basic psychology.’

  Once again, Dave wondered what had happened to his little girl. He gave in, let go of the fern and pushed away from the islet, rowing with as little effort as he could manage; he’d splashed himself with the cool lake water, but he was still unpleasantly sweaty.

  Becky once again completed a successful retrieval, and hauled in what was, indeed, a human hand. Dave was horrified that his children paid such close attention to it, noting the way the flesh had started to fall from the cut around the wrist area, and commenting calmly on how the fish had started to nibble at it. All he could do was look away, while steering generally toward the cabin.

  ‘We’ll put it into a Ziploc box and store it in one of the coolers when we get back,’ announced Becky, ‘it should keep fresh that way.’ Her brother, for once, agreed with her. Dave was shaking his head as he rowed.

  God, his kids were weird.

  Back at the cabin, Becky secured the ball-cap and hand in a manner she felt appropriate, while Zack planned the next meal. Dave had given up on the idea of them being able to reach anyone by telephone, and resigned himself to spending a night in a rickety old shack with his children, in close proximity to a dead body, and with a decomposing human hand in a cooler box beside his cot. Not quite what he’d imagined.

  But the children didn’t seem to have missed a beat; Becky had taken over sorting through supplies to work out what they could eat – the idea of fishing now not appealing to Dave at all, considering what any fish they might catch may have been nibbling at – and Zack was trying to work out the directions to the tree house, from the map on the wall.

  ‘Dad, it’s real hot here in the cabin – can we go into the forest and find the tree house? It would be shady there, wouldn’t it?’ asked Zack, applying some surprising common sense.

  Dave couldn’t think of a good reason to not go; at least it would get them away from all the dead stuff. So they set off into the woods; Zack had the map and led the way, Becky had a small backpack with some snacks and water, and Dave brought up the rear with the compass, though he wasn’t really sure why he’d brought it because Zack seemed to be doing just fine without any direction from him.

  It turned out the tree house wasn’t as far up the hill and into the trees as the map seemed to suggest, but it was a magnificent structure nonetheless. Zack was first to climb the ladder that stood against the tree itself, then Becky followed, and finally Dave hoisted himself up. It wasn’t really a tree house, more of a tree-platform, with a brown tarp tented over part of it. Dave knocked a lot of detritus off the tarp, and Becky kicked bits of twigs, needles, cones and leaves off the platform itself.

  Then they all took the time to take in the view; they were up inside the trees, with a view toward the lake – due south, Dave’s compass told him. They’d climbed a good way up the hillside, and then they’d climbed the ladder, so now they were a couple of hundred feet above the lake itself; the view was spectacular.

  Dave loved it, and he sensed the children did too – even Zack grunted what Dave took to be his appreciation. Becky ‘wowed’ a lot, and Dave was just grateful for the moment, and the distance between him and the dead body.

  ‘Look at the bald eagles,’ whispered Becky, pointing in wonder to half a dozen birds wheeling above the forest which scrambled up the hillside beyond the lake.

  ‘They can’t hear you, stupid, why are you whispering?’ mocked Zack.

  ‘Zack!’ warned Dave. ‘Let’s enjoy this moment – they’re beautiful, aren’t they?’

  Zack grunted.

  ‘I like bald eagles, Dad,’ said Bec
ky, still speaking quietly. ‘Can we go to Squamish in the New Year? There’s an art gallery in Brackendale where all the bald eagle counters gather – I saw it on TV. In 1994 they counted a record of nearly 4000, but the recent counts have been way down. Maybe we could volunteer to help them?’ Becky sounded proud that she knew so much, and Dave was suitably impressed. Dave smiled warmly at his daughter; he loved it when she suggested they should do something together.

  ‘Sure,’ he replied, ‘so how do you count eagles?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know, but I’m sure we could help. I know they’re easier to count the worse the weather is, ’cos they stay closer to the ground and the rivers then.’ Becky still sounded upbeat, but Dave was beginning to have some misgivings about the whole thing.

  Great, thought Dave, I get to sit around in freezing rain while my daughter counts eagles. ‘Sure,’ he said.

  ‘Who d’ya think he was, Dad?’ asked Zack, out of the blue.

  ‘Who was who?’ asked Dave, still thinking about bald eagles.

  ‘The dead guy,’ replied Zack, as though his father were a complete idiot.

  Dave sighed. Of course, the dead guy.

  ‘I have no idea,’ replied Dave, ‘and there’s no point even thinking about it, because there’s no way of us knowing. Come on kids, let’s try and enjoy all this –’ he waved his arm toward the vista – ‘rather than that.’

  ‘But it’s a mystery,’ said Zack, stating the obvious.

  ‘We could examine the body,’ suggested Becky, ‘and see if there are any clues.’

  ‘I told you he was naked,’ said Zack, ‘there won’t be any clues.’

  ‘There might be – he might have birthmarks, or tattoos,’ said Becky, sharply.

  ‘I don’t care what he might or might not have,’ interrupted Dave, ‘you’re not “examining the body” and that’s that. Forget it, you two. We’ll leave him where he is and call the cops when we get back tomorrow.’

  Dave could feel himself scowl; the mood was broken for him, and he started to wonder how to entertain the kids for the rest of the day. Obviously they were going to go on and on about the body. He knew he shouldn’t have been surprised, but he’d so hoped they could just get back to the way he’d wanted things to be.

  ‘When are we going to cook on the grill?’ asked Zack.

  Dave was grateful that at least he’d changed the subject. ‘We could make our way back to the cabin now and do it right away, if you like,’ he said more happily.

  Both kids agreed, and they clambered down the ladder and followed the trail back to the shore. Half an hour later, Dave felt they were back on track because they were finally feasting on grilled wieners; some looking a bit like charcoal, some were not more than warm, but they were all perfectly edible, he reckoned. Then they had cookies, all washed down with cans of soda.

  Zack went for a swim – Dave deeming it acceptable since the floating hand was now safely out of the water and stored inside the cabin. Becky pulled Dave’s old guitar out of the cabin and encouraged him to play, which Dave was delighted to do, but he found it difficult to make his fingers form the shapes he’d learned in his youth, so he just strummed tunelessly for a while, before Becky lost interest and started asking if he could play some ‘real songs’. Dave did his best, but he’d never been very good at tuning the instrument, so even he had to admit he wasn’t as good as he’d hoped.

  Zack toweled off after his swim, changed into dry clothes, and they all gathered together some wood to make a proper camp fire.

  Although the sun was still in the sky, it had dipped below the mountains and the cabin was in the shade. Dave could tell it was going to be a clear night, and he suspected they might feel chilled. He and Becky set up the wood ready for a warming fire, and they all pulled on some extra clothes and dragged some blankets out to sit where Becky had laid out the supplies needed to make S’mores.

  Dave’s watch told him it was seven p.m., and he imagined the firelight dancing in the gloaming later on, his children’s faces happy and tired; it would be magic.

  Then, before they could even light the fire, Dave heard something in the distance – it was a boat engine.

  Why’s Mike coming back early? he wondered. Despite the dead body, he’d wanted this night alone with his kids. Why wouldn’t anything go right?

  ‘It must be Mike,’ said Dave, without enthusiasm.

  ‘No, it’s a different engine. That boat’s much more powerful than Mike’s,’ replied Zack with authority.

  ‘How do you know?’ asked Dave, before he realized he’d just shown himself up in front of his son.

  ‘Mike’s has a different tone – can’t you hear it?’ Zack wasn’t even trying to be patient with his imbecile father.

  ‘Yeah, right,’ said Dave, as though he could spot the difference.

  ‘It sounds like they’re coming this way,’ said Becky.

  Though it was clear the boat was still some way off, Dave could at least tell from the engine’s tone that the speed of the craft had slowed; the boat was probably beginning to work its way through the shallow channels they themselves had negotiated earlier in the day.

  Then Dave heard a sound that made his heart miss a beat. He didn’t know how he knew what it was, because he’d never heard the sound before, but he was certain it was a gunshot. Then there was another, then another. Then a loud ‘Woo-hoo’.

  Dave had no idea what happened to him next; it was as though something had taken over his whole being . . . like a switch had flipped in his head. He stood and kicked all the wood they’d gathered for their campfire away.

  ‘Dad! What are you doing?’ squealed Becky, leaping to her feet in disgust; she’d spent quite some time making the neat pile and clearly wasn’t impressed by her father’s actions.

  Dave snapped, ‘Becky, Zack, I need you to listen to me very carefully and do exactly as I say, right?’ Dave’s tone ensured they took notice. ‘Becky – quick as you can, go to the cabin, get our backpacks and put some portable food and water into them. Put some warm clothes on, then come back here and pack away these blankets into the backpacks too – we might need them. Zack – help me put the boat and the grill back into the cabin, then go get some warm clothes on. Becky – we’ll need flashlights and the medical kit as well. Let’s move, now!’

  Neither child asked a question. Neither moaned, nor kicked up a fuss; they both did exactly as they were told. Finally certain that everything had been cleared away, and that they had sufficient supplies, Dave locked the cabin and put a protective arm around each child.

  ‘We’re going to the tree house. Zack, you have the map, right?’ Zack nodded. ‘We know where we’re going and we’ll stay there as long as we need to. I’m going to be honest with you, kids, I don’t know who’s on that boat, but I don’t want to find out. Got it?’ Both children nodded. Dave knew neither was so stupid that they didn’t understand he was deadly serious.

  He felt that, maybe, the people in the boat had something to do with the dead body, and he could tell from his children’s faces they were thinking along the same lines.

  Zack led the way, with Dave following behind Becky. This time, the trip to the tree house took longer; it was dark beneath the trees, their flashlights didn’t illuminate much, and they were all carrying heavy backpacks. Dave had also brought along the gun case; though he didn’t know how to use the damned thing, what he did know was he couldn’t leave it where it might be found by the people in the approaching boat.

  As they trudged up the mountainside, Becky stumbled a couple of times, and Dave picked her up, brushed her down, and looked into her eyes to check she was okay; she was obviously apprehensive, but was keeping it together quite well. Meanwhile, Zack was grinding up the hill ahead of them – he was acting like a Sherpa, and doing a great job of it. Dave was proud of his children.

  Finally they reached the ladder to the tree house. They were all out of breath and glowing with sweat. Zack went up first, and Dave passed the backpacks up to
him, one at a time. Then he made sure Becky got up the ladder safely.

  ‘Stay there – I’ll be right back,’ whispered Dave as loudly as he dared to Becky and Zack who were peering over the edge of the platform. ‘I just want to throw a few branches across the trail – two minutes.’

  He was as good as his word, then clambered up the ladder himself.

  ‘Give me a hand, Zack,’ he whispered, and he and his son hoisted the ladder up onto the platform, out of sight from the trail. ‘Now, both of you, start pulling as many branches around the edge of the tarp as you can,’ he said quietly, and soon they had made themselves almost invisible. Finally, Dave felt they were as safe as they could be.

  ‘Good job!’ he whispered, as he hugged his children to him. He took stock; Becky and Zack had laid out the blankets while he’d been masking the trail. Their backpacks could act as pillows, and they could roll themselves up in the blankets if it got cold, but, in the meantime, they were fine. They had water, snack bars and cookies, medical supplies and – if they needed it – a gun. Looking at the metal box, Dave lost some of the confidence he’d felt earlier; if he needed to use it, he’d work out how to do that, he told himself.

  In the meantime he tried to convince himself there was no real reason to suspect that whoever was on the boat meant them any harm; he was being overcautious. The people on the boat were probably just a bunch of guys letting off some summer steam.

  That was what he told the kids.

  That was what he told himself.

  ‘I think we should bed down here, kids; we don’t want to draw any attention to ourselves, let’s just try to get some sleep, right?’

  ‘But it’s still light, Dad,’ was Zack’s accurate observation; the tree house had been built in such a way that it offered a great view of the lake below, but that meant it was also catching the sun.

  ‘You’re right,’ replied Dave, ‘but the main thing is – even if we can’t get to sleep yet – we must keep still and quiet. Frankly, kids, I don’t want those guys guessing we’re here; they shouldn’t notice anything amiss at the cabin, not unless they break into it, and I’m pretty sure they won’t know about this tree house or the trail, but there’s no point giving away our location, right?’