shifted his considerable weight from one foot to the other and back again. ‘There are a couple of old wells around. ConChem tries to keep people away … don’t want any accidents.’ He smoothed his sparse hair over his bald spot. ‘Wouldn’t want you drowning or getting stuck in an old shaft. Long way from help.’
‘I guess I’d have to wait for Mr Steimann to make his rounds,’ Catherine remarked.
Grant’s head shot up. ‘That old goat? ConChem fired him over a year ago. He’s supposed to stay away from here.’
She decided to say nothing about the gap in the fence and the fact that she’d often seen him and Duke heading off in that direction. ‘I’ll be careful,’ she assured him as she started to move off. Grant’s hand snaked out and gripped her arm. ‘Maybe I should drive you home.’
Catherine fixed him with an angry stare. ‘Let go of me.’
The pincers loosened, but he didn’t let go. ‘How’d you get here anyway … the gate was locked.’
She flushed. ‘I climbed the fence behind my house.’ She had no intention of getting old Mr Steimann into trouble.
Grant tut-tutted and shook his head. ‘You might have been hurt – it’s an electric fence. I just turned the juice off for a couple of hours while I did some repairs.’
Catherine tried to hide her spurt of dismay. Giving in to the insistent pressure of his grip, she let herself be pulled towards the truck. Grant opened the passenger door and stood beside her while she got in. She wanted to get her backpack, but admitting at this late date that she’d been digging around didn’t seem like a good idea. Instead, she fixed its position in her mind and resisted the temptation to stare at it as Grant got into the truck, slammed into reverse and squealed away. Now that she was in the truck, she could see the faint track they were following. A hundred yards further along, the vehicle turned on to a rutted road and then on to a gravel one as they approached a sturdy metal gate.
‘Stay here,’ Grant ordered. He took a key from his pocket, unlocked a heavy padlock and swung the gate open. Then he disappeared into the decrepit gatehouse.
Catherine opened her window. She needed relief from the smell of cigarettes and stale sweat which permeated the vehicle. When she’d been house hunting, Grant had driven her around in a fancy Oldsmobile. Evidently he wore more than one hat in the community.
The man got back behind the wheel and drove through the opening. Once he had the gate closed again, he smiled for the first time. ‘The current’s on again, Mrs Edison. Good thing I saw you or you might’ve been fried getting back home.’
Since he obviously expected some kind of reply, Catherine managed a curt ‘I was lucky’ as she fastened her seat belt. Fried indeed, she snorted to herself. Those electric fences just gave enough of a shock to discourage animals. She edged away from the driver. Grant’s body odour filled the truck like a stink bomb. ‘Is this the property you’re hoping to buy?’
Grant swivelled to look at her, almost driving off the road as he did. He jerked the truck back into the lane and snapped the radio off. ‘Where’d you hear that?’
‘I overheard you in the restaurant,’ she replied, surprised at his violent response.
Grant frowned. ‘Nothing’s decided.’
‘Some sort of development?’
‘It’s just an idea,’ the real estate agent said, relaxing again. ‘Nothing definite.’
The truck slowed and they turned on to the highway and headed back towards Elm Street.
‘How do you like the house, Mrs Edison?’
‘Fine.’ She compressed her lips. ‘But it would’ve been nice of you to tell me why I got it so cheaply.’
‘So you found out, did you?’ Grant laughed. ‘Would you have taken it if I’d said anything?’
‘I’m not sure …’
‘Well, I wasn’t taking any chances. I promised to find a tenant and I always keep my word.’ He ran his eyes along her body and grinned. ‘Besides, you’re just the kind of good citizen we like in Atawan.’
She ignored his innuendo and inched further away on the seat. ‘Who owns the house and the land now? Mr Desrochers?’
Grant turned his attention back to the road. ‘He’s just the trustee. Michael Bliss, the dead woman’s son, owns it.’ Grant stopped for the only traffic light in Atawan. ‘Michael’s only ten so Paul Desrochers is managing his inheritance.’
Catherine shivered. ‘Paul Desrochers? Is he the man with the red hair? Late thirties?’ The one who reminded me of my Paul, she silently added.
Grant nodded. ‘Good lawyer. If you need any legal work …’
‘I suppose a ten-year-old doesn’t have much use for a parcel of vacant land,’ Catherine remarked, trying to distract herself from her memories.
‘Especially since ConChem’s lease has expired and they don’t plan to renew it.’ Grant turned on to Elm Street and drove slowly up towards Catherine’s house. ‘Tracy Tomachuk wanted to sell the land but died before she did.’ He shook his head. ‘Poor woman. Pillar of the community. Terrible tragedy.’ He slammed his fists on the steering wheel as he pulled to a stop. ‘And they let the bastard go! What’s the justice system coming to?’
If she hadn’t been so anxious to get away from Grant, she would have asked about the man who’d been arrested. But she didn’t want to give Grant any encouragement and, besides, she wouldn’t know the man anyway. ‘Thanks for the lift,’ she said, scrambling from the truck.
‘Glad to oblige. Hope you enjoy your stay in Atawan.’ Leaning over he grabbed her hand. ‘Maybe you and I could take in dinner some time …’
‘I don’t think so, Mr Grant,’ she said, jerking free and slamming the door of the truck.
He gunned the motor and started to drive off, then jerked to a halt. ‘Oh, Mrs Edison,’ he called, an unpleasant note in his voice, ‘best stay out of that field. Don’t want a nice lady like you to get hurt.’
Men, Catherine thought. Squelch their oversized egos and they sulked like little boys. She dismissed him from her mind. As she climbed the porch steps, all she wanted was a cool shower and a long drink.
Feeling restless and hemmed in by the four walls of the house, Catherine slipped away early, without waking Morgan who liked to sleep till noon on weekends.
She headed south, then east along the lakeshore road, straining to catch a glimpse of the metallic expanse of Lake Erie between the trees. Five miles from town she pulled off on to a grassy road leading into a small conservation area. Here a shallow creek which had meandered through acres of farmland and small woodlots emptied into the lake. Catherine parked the car and crunched down the gravel path to the water’s edge where she perched on a rock. The creek’s delta cut through the beach to her left and the clay cliffs typical of the area rose to her right.
