embarrassed by his change in tone, I walked outside. Catching up, he placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder and said, “We’ll take my boat, it’s faster.”
Even before we reached my dock, I could see the flashing red and blue lights of several police cruisers through the trees of Three Deer Point. A quick climb up the stairs to my cottage revealed several policemen waving flashlights over the ground and Chief Decontie in consultation with Sgt. LaFramboise. Both were strapped into flak jackets.
LaFramboise quickly confirmed that although there was evidence someone had been in my cottage, the person was gone. And the search thus far had not uncovered Sergei, dead or alive. However, one of the SQ officers had found a spent shell casing on the stairs to the dock, which was viewed as further evidence that I’d been telling the truth. LaFramboise made this last comment with a barely contained curl to his upper lip.
“And now, madame, we will search this sugar hut you call a hideaway. Please acquaint us with its location,” LaFramboise said, removing his gun from his holster.
I started to lead the way.
“No madame, tell us where it is. You must remain here. It is possible this man waits for us with his rifle.”
But I couldn’t wait at the house not knowing about Sergei. I shrugged off Eric’s restraining hand and followed behind the line of police officers. Besides, the killer would’ve fled from the first flash of police lights screaming up my drive.
And I was right. The shack was as I’d left it; the kerosene lamp on the table stood unlit next to the half-empty bottle of rye, the mattress with its filthy Hudson’s Bay blanket remained shoved against the wall. And in the back corner the chicken bones lay undisturbed. There was nothing to suggest that the gunman had returned after chasing me. Nor did it look as if Sergei had come back.
I waited until the police had finished searching the surrounding bush before succumbing to Eric’s entreaties to return to the house. Along the way I called out Sergei’s name, even blew his whistle. But it was as if he’d never bounded through these woods.
“We’re only in the way here,” Eric said, as we started up the stairs to the verandah. “Grab some things, and we’ll go to my place. We’ll come back at first light and search for Sergei.”
I could see he was right as I watched a woman in a crumpled suit and latex gloves brush powder over an empty glass that sat on the small pine table where I usually placed my glass, except this one wasn’t mine.
“My suitcase’s already in the truck. In fact, let’s drive.” I’d had enough boating for one night. I just wanted to retreat into some warm, secure place away from police and guys in yellow firing guns. I’d started to shake as I finally realized how close I’d come to being killed.
“Why would he shoot an innocent dog?” I asked, handing Eric the spare keys kept in the kitchen. We climbed into my truck, me on the passenger side, Eric driving. I wasn’t up to dodging potholes.
“Maybe he took him?” was Eric’s thoughtful reply.
I let this idea still my nerves,. By the time we reached Eric’s place, I was feeling more optimistic about finding Sergei alive.
“I hope I’m not displacing your friend tonight,” I remarked as I walked through the door Eric held open. He chuckled in response, but the pungent smell of male sweat tinged with grilled steak gave me my answer.
I suddenly felt like a sixteen-year-old girl on her first date, which was ridiculous. I was over forty, had been married almost fifteen years. My body had more non-conforming bulges than desired ones. My hair, not quite the colour I was born with, needed a good cut. And my clothes looked as if I’d spent the last week in them, which considering the past hours, was understandable. Besides, Eric was just a friend. That was all.
“Come on in. I’ll show you your room,” Eric said, not quite meeting my eye, which made me realize I wasn’t the only one feeling shy.
Not sure if there really was a separate bedroom, I followed him through the neat but simply furnished living room to a small hallway with several doors. He led me past an open door, which revealed a large queen-sized bed with its blankets hastily thrown over the mattress. As I walked past, I caught the glimpse of a dream-catcher floating above the windowsill.
Eric opened a door at the end of the hall. “It’s pretty basic but should give you a good night’s sleep,” he said as I walked into a small neat room that smelt of fresh paint. The door almost collided with a cot hidden by a billowy duvet draped in a newish looking floral covering. A delicately woven dream-catcher hung from the curtain rod over one of the two large windows. I walked over, softly blew on its long slender feathers and smiled.
Eric smiled back. “To ensure your dreams are peaceful. Look, you’ve had a rough couple of days, why don’t you lie down while I go fix us dinner,” he said and retreated.
If I didn’t know better, I would say Eric had fixed this room up just for me. But I couldn’t quite believe that. No doubt he had lots of visitors, but then again his usual lady friends were probably more inclined to share that larger bed down the hall.
Suddenly feeling very tired, I lay down on the billowy duvet and promptly fell asleep.
FORTY-FOUR
I opened my eyes to the grey light of yet another rainy morning. Although I was firmly tucked under the duvet, I was still fully clothed. My feet, thank goodness, were boot free. A second later, I realized the doorbell was ringing. I waited for Eric to answer. It rang again. Why doesn’t Eric get it? Again the bell sounded, this time more persistently. I got up to see what was going on.
Eric wasn’t in the house. The bell rang again. Afraid to make my presence known, I furtively peeked out a window overlooking the front stoop. John-Joe stood impatiently at the door. In his hand he held the canvas sack I’d taken from the sugar shack.
Horrified at forgetting Louis’s money in my boat, I flung open the door and grabbed it. I hastily thanked John-Joe, closed the door and retreated to the kitchen at the back of the house. I hoped no watching eyes had seen my brief appearance. I tried to reach Eric at the Council Hall and the Fishing Camp but connected only to answering machines. Something important must have come up, I thought. Though it was unlike Eric to forget to leave me a note.
I called Chief Decontie to see if they’d found Sergei, and if they’d caught the gunman but received the unhelpful answer that Chief Decontie would call me when he returned.
Wondering what to do, I threw the sack onto the kitchen table. The top burst open and out spilled packets of twenty dollar bills and Aunt Aggie’s stolen wedding picture. I quickly counted twenty-five bills in one bundle and forty bundles in all. Twenty thousand dollars seemed a paltry sum to pay for the discovery of a multi-million dollar gold discovery. Trust Gareth to be cheap. But it was probably more than enough to keep Louis happy.
I looked at the picture of a marriage that had destroyed a life and wondered what use Gareth could’ve made of it. Even if Charlie did know the identity of Aunt Aggie’s bridegroom, the picture contained nothing to link the man to the owner of Whispers Island.
As I gazed at the picture, I realized it was lying on top
