scene, but they did at least prove that he knew about the rendezvous. Surely that must count for something.
“But Pierre also speak about something he call ‘skosh’. He say enjoy it too. But I do not know what is this thing. Perhaps something to eat?”
Bingo. I had him. “He said ‘scotch’, as in scotch whiskey. I’m sure you know what whiskey is.”
“Oui, bien sûr. My papa drinks it.”
“Would you be prepared to tell the police what you just told me?” I said.
She blanched. “I could go with you if you don’t want to go on your own.”
“But Papa, he will be very angry.”
“It could help to prove John-Joe’s innocence.” The police might dismiss Pierre’s knowledge of the rendezvous as happenstance, but surely they couldn’t ignore the significance of Pierre also knowing about the bottle of scotch whiskey that proved to be doctored with GHB.
She took a deep breath. “Oui, I do this for John-Joe.”
“We’ll go now,” I said, rushing to get my jacket. Forty-five minutes of her lesson still remained. If we timed this right, I could have her back well before her father arrived to pick her up. And he need never know that we hadn’t spent the entire time discussing verb conjugations. But before I could slip on my jacket, the front doorbell rang. I ran to the door and was greeted by the scowl of Soeur Yvonne.
“My sister, she is here with you, non?” she said. I decided to ignore her accusatory manner and invited her to join us for a cup of tea. Hopefully, by the time she’d finished, she could be persuaded to let Yvette go to the police.
“How curious,” she said. “You English and your afternoon tea. But I am sorry. Yvette must come home with me.”
“Yvette has forty-five minutes remaining on her lesson,” I said. “If you don’t mind, I’d like her to finish it.” I should have saved my breath, since Yvette had already put on her coat and was in the process of buckling up her boots.
“My poor darling,” Yvonne said in French. “It is too soon to leave the house. You are not well.”
“Nonsense,” I said, my frustration getting the better of me. “A visit away from the oppressive atmosphere of your house is exactly what she needs.”
“You poor child,” Soeur Yvonne replied, looking directly at me, who was easily her elder by five years, “you don’t understand.” Before I could ask what it was I didn’t understand, she had floated down the verandah stairs, trailing her long habit in the snow, and was in the process of opening the door to a car, which I now saw was her brother’s Mercedes.
“It is better I leave,” Yvette said. Although the colour had faded from her cheeks, her eyes still shone with a determined brightness. “My sister has lost a special friend. She is afraid she loses me too.”
“Don’t forget the visit to the police. How will we do it now?”
“I phone you, okay?”
“Okay, but don’t leave it too long. The sooner the police can check it out, the sooner John-Joe may be set free.” She nodded and ran down the stairs to the waiting car. I returned inside to find the dog whimpering behind the closed kitchen door. Surprised at how he’d managed to get himself into this predicament, I let him out.
I wondered how to extricate Yvette from Soeur Yvonne’s domination and thought Yves might be able to help. But I remembered his less than charitable comments about John-Joe. It wasn’t likely that he’d go against the wishes of both his father and his twin sister to help someone they viewed as not quite good enough for their family. Still, if I ran into too big a roadblock from his two relations, I would plead my case with him.
By this time, the land had been plunged into a bleak winter night, and although the snow had stopped falling, the temperature was plummeting. My thermometer read minus twenty-five, likely minus thirty-five by morning.
It was the second night of John-Joe’s escape, and I had yet to learn if he’d found shelter. Although Eric had denied it, I was still confident that the young man had found help with his people, and I wanted to be assured of this before I spent another sleepless night worrying.
Luckily, I knew someone else in the band who might be able to provide this assurance; his cousin, Ajidàmo, and their common grandmother.
twenty-two
I followed a familiar SQ police cruiser into the reserve and watched it stop beside the MPD cruisers parked at the police station. There was only one reason why Sergeant LaFramboise would be here. John-Joe had been caught or was about to be. Praying I wasn’t too late, I floored it past the flood-lit building and headed towards Ajidàmo’s house.
All was quiet. Only the deathly stillness of a sub-zero night greeted me as I stepped onto the path to their cabin. And the undisturbed snow told me that if the police had been there, it was before the storm. A thin spiral of smoke reached upwards from the chimney to stars, made more brilliant by the frigid air, while from inside the faint glow of an oil lamp shone through the one unboarded window.
When I knocked on the door, I heard an exclamation of surprise through the thin wood and some shuffling, which started me wondering. Then Ajidàmo called out, “Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Meg,” I answered. “I’d like to talk to you. Could you let me in, please?”
More shuffling, and finally Ajidàmo opened the door. His grandmother stood behind him. Neither smiled. Neither said a word. Steam generated by the room’s escaping warmth billowed around them.
“Please, it’s about John-Joe.”
No response.
“Look, I’m worried. He could freeze to death if he spends another night in the bush.” As if on cue, the crack of a branch contracting from the cold pierced the stillness behind me. “And I’m afraid the police might know where he’s hiding.”
Fear flashed across Ajidàmo’s face. He rattled off something in Algonquin to his grandmother.
“Could you please let me in?” The cold was beginning to penetrate the double layer of fleece I’d worn.
More hurried discussion between the old woman and her grandson. Then finally both stepped back into the hot room to let me in. Contrary to my growing suspicions, I saw no indication that John-Joe had been in this room seconds before. The room was little changed from my last visit. A halffinished moccasin lay at one end of the table, while at the other end a child’s school workbook sprawled open at one of the lessons. The doors to the two back rooms were closed, but they’d been closed last time too.
However, I couldn’t help but sense the boy’s nervousness. I was fairly certain he’d been in touch with his nìtàwis, might even know his hiding place. The challenge was to get him to tell me. I decided the truth was the only way.
I explained how I’d found his cousin at his hunting camp after the murder, how I’d sheltered John-Joe following his first escape and how I’d promised to help him. I ended by saying that I still believed in his nìtàwis’s innocence and would do all I could
