just like Jim said.” Her tone was innocent enough.
“Taken as a compliment,” Belle replied, watching the girl’s colour return. A few minutes of getting-to-know-you chat convinced Belle that Melanie could handle the unvarnished truth, so with an occasional glance of assessment, she proceeded with the story of her tragic discovery in the lake.
The girl was having none of it. “I don’t care what all of you saw, or think you saw. That was no accident,” Melanie said with a touch of bitterness and as dark a frown as youth and beauty would allow. “Anyone can tell you how well Jim knew those woods, every lake, tree and branch, down to the last mushroom. Besides, he had no time for bushwhacking. Exams were coming up, and he was part of the Stop the Park group, working on a project to document the diameter of those Granddaddy pines, he called them. Even had names for the biggest ones.” She stopped to brush back a tear, sniffing into a napkin and pausing to gather her arguments.
“He mentioned that project when he stopped by for breakfast the last time I saw him. And you’re right. The lake wasn’t on one of his usual routes.
“That’s why I called you. His parents told me that you didn’t believe the accident theory either,” the girl continued as Belle looked away helplessly. “Jim was the most cautious person in the world when it came to winter travel in the bush. Once he was standing on shore when a young boy broke through trying to cross an open patch. The machine flipped, and the boy was killed. First thing he told me when we went snowmobiling was never, never to break trail on a small lake, no matter how tempting.”
“I agree with everything you’re saying, but we don’t have all the facts yet. Have the Burians mentioned the autopsy?” Belle wondered.
“Apparently Dr. Monroe has already finished. Told Ben that he checked for alcohol, but we all know that Jim never drank more than one beer, and never when driving. It just doesn’t add up.”
Belle looked into the swirly pools of cream in her coffee as if divining the future. “I’m not a professional investigator, Melanie, just a lowly real estate hack. Sure, we can trade our doubts, but why don’t you go to the police? Steve Davis is a good man. Tell him I sent you.”
The girl took a deep breath and contracted her brows. “What’s the point? They’re not taking it seriously. Listen, can we ask around? I’ll take the campus, his friends, his teachers. Maybe together we can find out something. Jim did mention those planes near his hunt camp. The Burians said you had travelled the area north of the lake, and I know they wouldn’t mind if you went to his new camp to see if he left some papers or notes. I’m sure they’d loan me a sled, but I’m tied up during daylight hours with my clinicals at the hospital.”
“Last time I saw him, he was pretty upset about the drug traffic. If he found anyone using the bush for transfers, who knows what he might have done? As for records, Jim was pretty methodical. The camp might be worth a look.” Belle pulled out a small notebook and scrawled a few words, frowning at her efforts. “My writing is so bad that it has a shelf life of about ten hours. After that, it’s illegible. Anyway, I’ll be glad to do some fieldwork. Just don’t expect magic revelations. And don’t discount the accident idea completely. One bush pilot I knew for twenty years flew right into a mountain near the Sault ski hills one bright June afternoon. There were five witnesses, and even they didn’t believe what they saw. Nothing wrong with the plane either.”
They sipped their coffees for several minutes, the interview winding down as they both checked their watches politely. Then Belle spoke up suddenly. “Something I didn’t ask you, Melanie. The answer is probably obvious, but it is personal.”
“Jim was my personal life, Belle.” She looked dangerously close to tears again, but Belle pressed on.
“The ageless question. What about enemies?”
“Enemies? He never had a bad word for anyone. He was a kind and gentle man. I never heard him raise his voice. Oh, except when he got excited about the drug problem in schools.”
“Kind and gentle means nothing to some people. They regard it as weakness. Did anyone carry a grudge against him, a disagreement even in principle?”
The girl thrummed at the table with her fingers, a pink flush appearing on each check. “Well, there was Ian, my old boyfriend. Kind of embarrassing, though.”
“Just keep it under a hundred words. You don’t have to write for the tabloids. What was the story?”
Mel had been engaged to Ian MacKenzie in her sophomore year. He was in pre-law and heading for Osgoode Hall in Toronto. His irrational jealousy in combination with his heavy weekend drinking had spelled an end to the relationship.
Belle seemed surprised. Perhaps Melanie’s judgement was not as sound as she had thought. “Did he ever hit you?” she asked.
“Ha! I’d never have stood for that. But the verbal threats were frightening enough.”
“What kind of threats?”
“It happened after I began seeing Jim. In the halls, in the cafeteria, Ian never missed an opportunity to make an evil comment. Once he made a pretty ugly scene and called Jim awful names. Even gave him a shove. You know that kind of male posturing. I was proud when Jim put him down with a few choice words.”
“And lately?”
“No sign of him. I hear he’s been hitting the books to raise his grade point average.”
“So he’s still in town. One last question, Mel, a significant one. We need ‘means’ here. Does Ian have a snowmobile?”
Melanie grabbed Belle’s arm in her excitement. “My God, yes. A new one every year. His uncle owns the biggest dealership in North Bay.”
“Too good to be true, and it probably isn’t, if you can follow that. I’ll see, though. Give me his address.”
Melanie seemed more optimistic when Belle left her. She obviously had a rare combination of common sense and imagination, just like Jim. What a couple they would have . . . Belle shook herself out of Shakespearean tragedy mode as she crunched on a last maple dip and ordered a box of Timbits for the road.
Early that afternoon, the Bravo took her to the Burians’ lodge. No welcoming smoke poured from the main chimney this time. Ben gave her a long hug at the door, the wool from his hand-knit sweater brushing her cheek. “Warmer outside than in today. Sorry we can’t offer you anything,” he said.
“Are you packing up?”
He touched the cold stove with a sad sigh. “Yes, that’s why no fire. Going back to town soon as Ma sorts the food. Don’t have the heart to stay. Might even sell, anybody’s foolish enough to try to run this dog-eared place. You can list it for us.”
Belle met the old man’s crinkled eyes and let him talk. “The viewing is this afternoon.” He snorted into a handkerchief and apologized. “Halverson’s. Will you be there?”
Belle felt as chilled as the dead stove. “Of course. And you probably know that Melanie called me. We had a long talk. I promised her I’d look around the camp.”
“Don’t know what you’ll find of help, but I guess we owe it to Jim to try. Ted and I gave it a once-over, but it was too much for us to handle right off. Broke me down, that picture of Melanie and all his keepsakes. She was almost like a . . .” His
