grabbed the sack, ran through the rain to my truck and drove as fast as the groaning suspension would allow. I reached my house with five minutes to spare, barely enough time to run to the sugar shack.
At first I was surprised not to see police vehicles parked in the drive, but I realized they wouldn’t want to advertise their presence. I would have to trust that the dispatcher had managed to alert Decontie.
I jumped out of my truck and slammed the door as hard as I could to warn them of my arrival. Amazed at how empty the woods felt, I felt a moment’s hesitation before I started racing down the waterlogged trail to the sugar shack. At least the sound of my splashing pace should give the police sufficient warning of my progress.
I was more than halfway when I heard shouts, one rifle shot followed by another. Surprisingly, it appeared to be coming from as far away as the main road, not from the direction I was headed. What was going on? I debated continuing, when a sharp bark from the sugar shack decided me.
I sprinted the last hundred yards down the trail and stopped when the hut’s black shape loomed through the rain. The door was closed, windows dark.
Police radios crackled above the rain’s patter. Although the noise was still distant, it convinced me the police were capturing Charlie on his way to the shack.
I called Sergei and was answered by a burst of yapping from inside the shack. I suppose I should have wondered why the dog was inside and his kidnapper some distance away. But I didn’t. I was too relieved to find my dog still alive.
I dropped the money sack and ran to the door. I wrenched it open and braced myself for his joyous pounces. But his black body remained beyond the range of the meager light from the windows. I ran to the sound of his yelping, and finding him tied to a post, quickly unclipped his leash. But before my mind had a chance to absorb the fact that someone had done the tying, the room suddenly exploded with light and a guttural voice said, “About time.”
I jerked around to see the massive yellow figure of Charlie Cardinal leering behind the kerosene lamp, his moose-like features sculpted into a caricature by the harsh light. He pointed a rifle barrel straight at me.
Too shocked to be afraid, I sputtered, “I thought—”
“Ya liked our little trick, eh? A phone tip to that fool Decontie saying we was at another camp down the road. By the time he clues in, we’re long gone. So where’s the money?”
As Sergei clung to my side, my heart sank with the realization that I was completely without police protection.
Sergei whimpered. “What did you do to my dog?” I asked.
“More like what he do to my bitch? The horny cur wouldn’t leave her alone.” Charlie curled his lip as if attempting to smile.
I watched him pull out a cigarette package from inside his yellow slicker.
“You said ‘we’, Charlie? Who else is involved in your dirty dealings?” I asked. I ran my eyes around the brightly lit room in search of clues as to the identity of this mysterious partner.
Charlie smirked in response.
My eyes caught sight of a familiar tweed jacket thrown over the back of one of the plastic chairs. A jacket I’d seen only yesterday on someone who’d tried to convince me of his innocence. “It’s Gareth.”
Charlie blew out a stream of smoke. “Whatta joke, him being your ex, eh?”
“Where is he?” I asked.
“Wouldn’t you like to know. Now give me my money.”
I knew if I told him the money was lying outside, all would be lost. He’d escape the police and I’d be dead. Praying the police would quickly realize their mistake and return, I decided my best option was to stall for time.
“Nice scheme you and Gareth cooked up,” I said. “Get rid of everything that reveals the true owner of Whispers Island, and the gold mine goes ahead.”
Charlie started to protest, but remembering I’d seen the results of his theft in the sack, grinned instead. “Knew Marie’s grandparents and your aunt had somethin’ to do with the island. So figured I was on to somethin’ when I nabbed them two pictures.”
“But the picture didn’t prove Marie owned the land,” I said.
“Didn’t matter,” Charlie replied. “Marie never told nobody she owned the island. Once she was dead, we just had to get rid of anything that said she did. Patterson said that with no living owner, the land goes back to the government, and we get the rest of our money.”
“Is that why you killed Marie and tried to shoot Tommy?”
“Kill her? What ya talkin’ about? She done herself in after killin’ Louis.”
“Maybe you didn’t, but what about your partner?” I asked, not wanting to believe that the man I’d once loved would actually kill someone to get what he wanted.
A twitch suddenly appeared in the corner of Charlie’s right eye. He grunted, then spat on the floor, which made Sergei press harder against my side, causing something sharp to jab into my thigh.
“Where’s my money,” Charlie hissed.
“Hardly yours. You stole it.” I reached into my pocket to remove the sharp object and discovered the piece of quartz I’d noticed last night.
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, lady. It’s mine. Now give it to me or else.” He walked towards me, rifle pointed.
Sergei growled.
“Shut up, you damn dog.”
Sergei lunged forward. Charlie grabbed his collar and dragged the snarling dog across the floor to the door. I tried to stop him but was shoved back against the wall. In the scuffle, I dropped the rock. With a final yelp, the dog was outside. The door was slammed against him. The latch was shoved into place.
Charlie swung the pointed barrel back at me. “Now where’s the money?”
“I’ve got it,” spoke a voice from outside. Sergei growled. “Get away,” yelled the voice, followed by a loud yelp. “Let me in.”
“Run away, dog,” I muttered under my breath, as I stared at the piece of purple fabric lying under the quartz on the floor and knew suddenly that Gareth wasn’t a killer.
Charlie opened the door to a figure, almost his height, who kicked the sodden sack into the room. Water coursed over the yellow slicker onto the floor. One large, angular hand clutched the wooden stalk of a rifle, while the other shoved the jacket hood aside. With the inevitable cigarette jammed in the corner of her mouth, Hélène’s acne-ruined face glowered back at me. “Jeez, Charlie, she still here?”
I wasn’t surprised. Hélène herself had told me about her lover Charlie. The piece of fuchsia fabric told me rest.
She dumped the money onto the floor and began counting it. “It’s all here. I’ll get the rest, and then we’re outta here. Police might be back any time now.”
She walked over to
