Vein of Love

by Pat Mestern

  “I don’t think a deposit for $1,135 had anything to do with Harry playing bingo or selling furs. And that’s a lot of money for one deposit in 1979,” Ramona said. “It’s definitely a new bankbook because it only has one entry. And the key appears to be for a safe deposit box.”

  “Both these finds indicate to me he had some sort of dealings with someone or some business up here. He had, or still has, an account at the Algoma Branch of the Royal Bank. They might not know that he died. To tuck a key in a tin of matches is unusual. He probably tucked the book into the tin and forgot about it when he headed south after his 1979 visit. And the key indicates he had a safe deposit box at the bank!”

  “There was no mention of a bank account in Algoma in papers at his house, in any notes he might have made, or when he talked to you?”

  “No.”

  “You’ve got some work ahead of you,” Ramona said.

  “Being executor of Harry’s estate is proving to be interesting, to say the least.” Don tucked the small bankbook into a pants pocket. “And I’ll have to eventually give this to the lawyer in charge of all the official paperwork.”

  “Good luck,” Ramona said. “I’ve had enough of the cabin. Let’s go figure out how we’re going to make dinner.” She pointed to the shelf. “We’ve a pot for the soup, an iron frying pan for the grilled cheese, and the outdoor fire for cooking. There’s a spring just past the elder bushes over near the ruins of Harry’s hovel. If it isn’t running, we can boil lake water.”

  “There’s something that’s bothering me about the fire pit,” Don said. “Did you see the small pile of firewood by the boulder near the seats?”

  “I did,” Ramona said. “But, up here in the middle of nowhere, it’s not unusual for someone to overnight in a cabin and leave firewood for the next person who happens by the property. And there’s the fellow, Dean mentioned. Maybe he spends time here. He might be a hermit, trapper, or hunter who loves the wildness more than civilization. Do you know, the last time I was here, on Matinenda, was for two weeks in 1958.

  Ramona sat on one side of the pit holding a pot over the fire, stirring the soup inside. Don was on the other side buttering bread and putting it in a large frying pan. Hearing a whistle, he looked past Ramona toward the ruin of Harry’s hovel. A tall, muscular, bearded middle-aged man with a pack over his shoulder was approaching the campfire.

  “We’ve got company,” Don said. “Take a look behind you. See if you recognize him.”

  “Wave to him,” Ramona said. “He’s whistling to let us know he’s no threat.” Ramona took a quick look and was startled by the look of the man. She raised her hand in way of greeting and said, “I’m sure that I saw him at Uncle Tomas’s burial service. I recognize the long hair and the beard. He’s the fellow Lorraine talked to at Harry’s burial.”

  Don waved and motioned him to come to the fire.

  The fellow waved back and said loudly, “I could smell that tomato soup t’other side of the tract.” He stopped just short of the fire. “I heard the plane this morning, finished my chores, and paddled down the lake to see who was at my friend Harry’s cabin. Are you friends of his? He never brought folks with him.”

  “You’d better come and sit down,” Ramona said. “I’ll open another can of soup.”

  The fellow set his pack down and put his hand out to Don. “Jonas McMann,” he said.

  Don acknowledged Jonas then introduced himself and Ramona.

  “You look vaguely familiar,” Jonas said as he shook Ramona’s hand and looked closely at her.

  “I can’t say that we’ve met but you too look vaguely familiar,” Ramona said. “Were you at Tomas Carmello’s burial service and at Harry’s internment?”

  “I was,” the man replied. “I couldn’t believe Harry had died. ’Twas only because I tried calling his neighbour to give Harry a message that I heard he’d kicked the bucket. The guy let me know when the burial was taking place. I called the neighbour because my letters to him were returned as couldn’t be delivered.”

  “Strange,” Don said. “I’m sure I asked the postmaster to keep all Harry’s correspondence for me to pick up. I showed him my credentials.”

  “Change of personnel at the Post Office,” Ramona said. “Your instructions didn’t get passed along.”

  “I got a letter from Harry in December,” Jonas said. “Come to think of it he didn’t mention coming to camp this year. He wrote that he was pretty far out on his twig which I thought funny at the time.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Ramona said. “He wrote that?”

  “Yep, letter’s back at my camp if you want to see it.”

  “That’s just something that grandmother Carmello used to say. Did you know a Marianna Carmello?”

  “The first name’s not familiar. The last is. I worked for Tomas Carmello at the airways, in the icehouse, and around the hanger. Harry introduced me to him.” Jonas sat on one of the logs. “That tomato soup does smell good,” he said.

  “I’ll go get another bowl.” Don left for the cabin.

  Ramona dug around in a pack beside her and found another tin of soup and the opener. “I’ll hold the can, Jonas. You open it. There’s water in the kettle we can add.”

  By the time the soup had been consumed, Ramona and Don found out that Harry had taught Jonas a lot about rocks and prospecting. As Harry aged and had difficulty doing the harder work on his yearly visit, Jonas spent a lot of time around the camp helping when he could.

  “He was a decent fellow,” Jonas said. “He didn’t have a perfect life, but he was a good, kind man, a gentle man who sometimes lived in the past. Wait a minute!” Jonas looked closely at Ramona. “The pictures Harry showed me were of you—Charlotte!”

  “Not me,” Ramona said. “They were probably of my Aunt Charlotte. I look like her twin. Aunt Charlotte and Harry were … connected. Did Harry mention her a lot?”

  Jonas glanced from Ramona to Don a couple of times then said, “A lot is an understatement! When he wasn’t talking about rocks and minerals, he was reminiscing about Charlotte. I assume that because Harry is dead you’re here about his estate. You’re not cops or private investigators, are you?”

  “Of course not,” Don said. “That’s a strange question.”

  “Not if you know what Harry and I got up to some twenty-six years ago.”

  “Why do I get the feeling it wasn’t exactly legal,” Don said.

  “You gotta know my … history afore you pass judgment,” Jonas said. “I was raised in a rough area of London, as in Ontario. I had no pa and a mom who spent more of her time drunk and on the streets than in the kitchen.”

  “I get the picture,” Ramona said. “Go on.”

  “One night I broke into Packsacker, Harry’s barbershop, figuring to rob it. I didn’t count on his dog that cornered me quick enough. I mean, I hadn’t had a decent meal in three days. I was desperate.”

  “And Harry called the police,” Don said.

  “Harry came down from his apartment with a poker. I took one look at him and started to laugh. He took one look at me and laughed too. You see the dog had gotten me by the … ripped a patch outta m … Let’s just say my family jewels were hurting pretty bad.”

  Ramona laughed. “Oh my Lord!”

  “Let me guess,” Don said. “The two of you had a long chat.”

  “Harry suggested I leave London and make a new life for myself up here. There was work in mining and construction in Elliot Lake. I came north with him in 1961. I never went south again—well not until ’78. I didn’t even attend my mother’s funeral.”

  “And you stayed with Harry when you went south.”

  “Yep, I rented a car and we did some … traveling around the countryside. Can I have one of those burnt sandwiches?”

  “Go ahead,” Don said.

  Jonas took a burnt offering from the frying pan and bit into it. “You both need lessons on cooking over a campfire if you’re going to stick around. Either that or you can stay
with me. I’m a pretty good cook.”

  Ramona laughed. “We’re at the camp overnight,” she said. “Dean’s coming to pick us up tomorrow.”

  Jonas glanced toward Don. “You got questions, haven’t you? I can tell by the way you’re looking at me there’s more on your mind than tomato soup.”

  “There sure is and I sure do,” Don said.

  “Go ahead. Fire away.”

  “Your name is really Jonas Williams-McMann, isn’t it?”

  Jonas stopped chewing. “How’d you know?”

  “I can’t tell you at the moment. Why the change of surname?”

  “I did have a police record in London. Harry suggested I change my last name. It made sense. There wasn’t any family to object. Ma didn’t give a damn.”

  “It’s not a problem,” Don said. “You lived in Harry’s neighbourhood in London, didn’t you?”

  “We did. Our apartment, if you want to call what Mom and I lived in an apartment, was a couple of blocks over from Harry’s barbershop.”

  “And you occasionally did some work for Harry.”

  “He used to hire me to paint the shop or his apartment. I don’t know how we connected. I think it had something to do with Ma, some way they knew each other. She probably asked if he had any work for me to do so she could put food on the table. Any money I made was handed to Ma.”

  “And, that police record in London involved a stolen car.”

  “Yes, I hopped in a car that was left running and drove it round and round the block. I didn’t really steal it. I was thirteen years old and just wanted to learn how to drive. Harry bailed me out. He told the judge I was a good kid with a bad parent.”

  “There was definitely a lot of truth to that statement.”

  “The guy who owned the car was … visiting Ma at the time, and not to borrow a book, if you get my drift.”

  “Now it’s time for the odd questions. While on your visit in 1978, you and Harry got up to a rather nefarious deed, didn’t you? You dug up a grave, removed the remains, and delivered them to a crematorium in Toronto.”

  “No!” Ramona said. “I shouldn’t be listening to this. It was you who dug up my aunt’s coffin and removed the name place?”

  “It was Harry and me. He showed me a letter that stated it was OK for us to dig up the body. I knew it probably wasn’t really legitimate, but you didn’t say no to Harry. We did the deed in the middle of the night and tidied the area afterwards. The cemetery was out in the country near a Catholic Church. There hadn’t been a burial in the place in years. We dropped the remains off in Toronto and a week later we picked up the ashes and brought them back to the cabin in the woods.”

  “The letter would have been written by my Grandmother Carmello,” Ramona said.

  “Well, that information clears up several points,” Don said. “The ashes were kept at Harry’s cabin until you added him to the urn before his burial.”

  “Oh my heavens!” Ramona exclaimed. “You have got to be kidding. Aunt Charlotte was on Harry Forest’s mantle for years!”

  “I know that it’s just plain ghoulish!” Jonas said. “Am I in any trouble?”

  “No,” Don said. “I have just one more question. Did Harry ever mention anything about a child? Any child …”

  Jonas thought for a moment. “He didn’t, but the woman, Ollie’s woman, did. I heard her talk about a child just once, something about a babe and an illness.”

  “Nothing more?”

  “She was a woman of few words,” Jonas said. “And after Ollie died she became very much a recluse. I used to get her supplies, check on her, read her mail to her. You know she couldn’t read, don’t you.”

  “There was no one close to her, like a son or daughter?”

  “No.”

  “Jonas, we’re going to be around Algoma for the next three, four days. If we need to chat again, how can we reach you?”

  “I gotta go back to my camp tomorrow so I can’t fly out with you. If you want to talk again, just leave a message with Dean or at the general store. I’ll get it and come to you. If I leave a list with you, will you give it to George so when I come out I can pick up my groceries the easy way?”

  “George. The fellow who runs the store,” Ramona said.

  “Yep,” Jonas said, helping himself to a second burnt cheese sandwich.

  Chapter 9

  Algoma

  Wednesday, August 12: 11:00 a.m.

  Don was pleased that Ramona decided not to go into Algoma Mills with him. He was comfortable with her staying at the cabin by herself. She knew the area very well. It was a short walk back to the cottage. When she mentioned she had a grocery list Jonas trusted her with to give to George, he dropped her off in front of the store. She agreed to make a nice fresh fish dinner for Don if he’d stay away long enough that she could enjoy an afternoon nap after her walk.

  At the store George acknowledged Ramona’s presence by holding up a file folder. “I found what you want,” he said.

  “And, I have what I promised plus a bonus.” Ramona handed George a fifty-dollar bill and Jonas’s grocery list. “I’ve no idea when he’ll pick the order up,” she said.

  “In a week or so, sooner if a plane is going to the lake.” George pocketed the money. “You didn’t say why you wanted my family history. I trust you. There’s nothing in the folder to embarrass me, so you’re welcome to it. If you find any rats in the details do let me know.”

  “No rats. Maybe relatives,” Ramona said. “I’ll make sure you get the file back.”

  “There’s no need to,” George said. “I gave you a copy of everything in Grandmother and Mother’s files.” He looked over Jonas’s list while Ramona gathered dinner supplies.

  “Do you know where I can get a fresh white fish or lake trout?” Ramona asked.

  “How big?”

  “It should be big enough to feed two.”

  George disappeared through a door then returned with a nice fresh fish. “Will this do? It was fresh caught this morning.”

  “If you gut and scale it, I’ll take it.”

  “Done.”

  Ramona spent an hour going through some of the files George had given her. There were hints but nothing that leapt out at her in the first few pages. Frustrated, she went for a walk, down to the dock where several seaplanes were tied up. She’d heard the Norseman leave earlier, probably taking fishermen up to their lodge on one of the more remote lakes.

  The secretary of the airlines joined her on the dock, a cigarette in her hand. “There’s no way the boss will let me smoke in the office,” she said. “I’m Lulu by the way. You look frustrated, like you’re not having a good day.”

  “That would definitely describe the way I feel at the moment,” Ramona admitted.

  “Anything I can do to help? You want a cigarette?”

  “Thanks, but I don’t smoke. I used to come here years ago when my Uncle Tomas owned the business. I was trying to sort out some … issues, find out about the people I used to know, Ollie and Nibi.”

  “After Ollie died Nibi stayed here, in one of the small cabins. That guy, Jonas, kept an eye on her.”

  “Were they related?”

  “No. That Harry fellow …” Lulu snapped her fingers as she tried to recall Harry’s last name. “Oh yeah, Harry Forest, strange little fellow, he was. He asked Jonas to make sure Nibi wanted for nothing. Not that Jonas hung around much. He spends a lot of time in the bush.”

  “I met Jonas. He seems a decent sort.”

  “He is. After Nibi left us he cleared out the cabin. He didn’t take anything, just boxed it up. I tucked the boxes away, in the cubby above the office.”

  “I’m doing a family history. Do you think I could look through them?”

  “Sure.” Lulu crushed her cigarette out on the dock. “Come on. The boxes aren’t heavy. They contain mostly letters and pictures.”

  “For some reason, I thought that Nibi couldn’t read so it’s strange to hear that she received letters.�
��

  “The lady from the general store was a good friend. She’d read the letters to Nibi and make sure she understood what was in the letters. Sometimes she’d read bits of news from the newspaper too while they enjoyed a wee tipple. Liza enjoyed a tipple. Nibi drank tea.”

  “When Nibi left, where did she go?”

  “Where does anyone go when they’re 85 years old? I mean life doesn’t go on forever.”

  “Understood,” Ramona said. “Life as we know it comes to an end at some point. Don and I will be leaving for home, probably tomorrow. Can I take these boxes with me?”

  “You are most welcome to them,” Lula said. “What’s in them is of no use to me.”

  4:00 p.m.

  Ramona heard Don whistling as he approached the cabin. She quickly began to gather papers from the table, hoping to clear it before he saw anything. He burst through the door, dropped his briefcase, and presented Ramona with a bottle of wine. “Time for a celebration!” he said. “It looks like you’ve been busy. What are you working on? Where did these papers come from?”

  “Here and there,” Ramona said. They are just some papers that were filed away years ago. Let’s just say, family business.”

  “Your Uncle Tomas’s business?”

  Before Ramona could answer, Lula appeared at the cabin door. “Sorry to bother you, Ramona.

  You’ve got a phone call. The woman says to tell you it’s Lorraine and it’s important she talk to you.”

  Ramona made for the door. “Oh dear, I’d better take the call. Lorraine said she wouldn’t bother me unless something important came up. Don’t mess with anything on the table, Don. It’s all sorted into piles. I’ll be right back.”

  By the time Ramona returned Don had changed into more comfortable clothes and made a pot of coffee. He figured the wine might not be appropriate if Ramona’s news was negative. She didn’t look upset when she came through the door, just frustrated.

  “Was it bad news?”

  “No. Well, in a way, yes. The cat’s fine. There was a suspicious fire in the back of a church in dispute. A fire would solve the issue about a new church being built, wouldn’t it? Just burn the historic building to the ground and voila, the issue goes away! And the kicker, the Carmello property has been sold. Lorraine drove by and saw “Sold” on the sign. She called the broker. He told her it was none of her business who bought the property.”