by K. E. Warner
“Yeah, fun.”
“Do you know it? I thought you might be familiar with it?”
She tilted her chin at him, then turned back to watch her footing. “I’m not sure. I guess it sounds familiar – it must be around here, maybe that’s why I’ve heard of it.”
He cocked his head, examining her profile, a faint outline under the cloudy sky. The flashlight swung from side to side with the rhythm of their steps, projecting light on her face in gasps.
“Yes, close. It’s a small island on the other side of Lasqueti Island.”
When Magda didn’t respond, he cleared his throat and continued. “Interesting history. Someone brought goats and sheep there – possibly Spanish explorers. Back in the 18th century. The Spanish kept goats on board their ships and put them ashore on select islands to eat the grasses. These may be descendants of those animals. A family bought the island mid-20th century, hoping to live a simple life, but eventually sold it to the province as a marine park.”
She remained silent. “Hey, Magda. Don’t you find that interesting?”
Magda croaked one word. “Goats.”
“Okay, so you heard that part. I didn’t think you were listening to my enthralling story.”
“No. Sorry, I’m listening. Just thinking about goats.”
“I’ve never been, but it sounds interesting. I’ll try to get off work the day Henri rents a fishing boat. It would be fun. You don’t mind if I come?”
Her voice came out in a strangled whisper. “No, no. That’s good. Yes, great.”
◆◆◆
Once they picked up the picnic basket and returned to his car, they drove to the parking lot in silence. He pulled up beside her car and leaned over, kissing her cheek goodnight before she got out.
“Raheem, thank you for the ride. I appreciate it. I hope this evening is a fresh start for us. I want it to be.” She beamed at him, and he grinned back as she pulled her picnic basket and chair from the back seat. “Do you want me to take the table and flowers back to Donna?”
“No, I’m good. I want to check on someone in the Muirfield condos tomorrow anyway. I’ll call you after that.”
She hopped in her car and yelled back as the engine came to life. “I look forward to it.” Her hand waved through the window and she sped toward the road.
The minute she was out of sight of his headlights, she turned onto a side street, stopped and pulled her phone from her purse.
g-o-a
“Goat?” She spoke to her cell phone as she scrolled to the message. “It could be ‘goat’. What other words start with goa? Goa - the place in India, maybe?” She looked at the number that sent the text. Definitely a local number. She put the car in gear and continued driving, but as she reached the road to the marina, she cranked the wheel left, and followed the gravel road to the fishing boats moored there.
The marina appeared dark under a clouded sky. Two street lights held watch over the parking lot, one on either end. They shed faint light and the darkness blackened the large gap where light didn’t reach. Magda squeezed her car between two marina service vehicles, her car dwarfed by the trucks.
She contorted herself from the car, unable to open the door more than a few inches, but unwilling to find a new place to park. Walking toward the docks, cool sea air sent a shiver up her neck. She drew her arms around herself, attempting to keep warm.
Her eyes followed the dock, mentally marking the boat slips and recording each boat tied down for the night. The slip where the Snowflake berthed was not empty - nor was it filled with the Snowflake.
“Maybe these berths are interchangeable,” she whispered to herself, the words echoing in her ears. Not likely, she thought, and considered the challenge of tracking payments for boats if they were allowed to change locations each night. She stepped on the dock to see the boat in the Snowflake’s slip more clearly. It looked to be older than Chris’ boat, and larger. A light flickered below-deck, visible between two captain’s chairs. Muffled voices rumbled out to sea. She moved a few steps closer, and the deck creaked under her weight. Was that Chris’ voice?
The voices stopped and she froze. Her weight shifted from side to side as the boat rolled; port to starboard to port to starboard. Someone was walking below deck. She pressed her palm against her chest, a reflex movement to steady the thumping, then took a quick breath and leapt to the back lip of the boat in the next berth. Light disappeared in shadowy shapes on the deck. She knew she’d done the right thing as a shadow blocked the light, rolling left and right with the slow shift of the boat. She made herself as small as possible, squatting inch by inch.
A flashlight lit the dock, moving along each boat. Occasionally the light held fast as if it found something, until finally, she heard a man’s voice. “I guess not. Probably just a boat pulling at the dock.”
She smelled cigarette smoke, and her throat scratched. Although no one spoke, someone remained up top. Her legs began a series of spasmodic cramps and her teeth chattered in the cold. She clenched her jaw, clasped her arms around her torso, and grimaced at the spasms in her muscles.
A voice growled. “I’m heading out now. Take the boat out by five to check on him. I don’t want those cops coming by to find another boat in the slip. I’ll see you back here tomorrow night. Three more days of this, and we’re outta here. Hang in there.” Then a cough and she saw the red glow of a cigarette fly into the water, disappearing as it made contact.
The reply came as a grunt. If the growler walked by, he’d see her crouched at the end of the boat. The last thing she wanted to do was meet these guys. She lowered herself off the lip of the boat, submersing herself in frigid water.
The man leaped onto the deck as her head broke the surface beside the boat. From the dark shadows of the water, she watched him scrutinize each craft he passed until he reached the end of the dock. As he walked, she treaded water, struggling to keep the white dress from floating up to her chest. All she needed was a buoyant white life jacket to give away her location.
A car door slammed and she swam to the rocks of the manmade breaker, her legs continuing to cramp in the cold water. The sound of the car engine grew faint, then disappeared. She pulled herself up the rocky breaker wall, struggling to find footholds on the algae and seaweed-covered rocks. As she shifted her weight to her arms, her hand lost its grasp and a jagged rock tore down her forearm. Salty tears burned her cheeks and she fought the pain till she made it to the flat path on top of the dike.
Throwing herself on the dike, she pulled her dress around her arm to stop the blood, and lay flat against the ground, listening. The rhythmic slap of waves on boats broke the silence, and she stood to a crouch. When she was sure her legs would move, she scrambled to the parking lot, her legs continuing to cramp.
At the car, she slipped inside, started the engine, and backed out of the space as if in a single motion. Her car crunched over the gravel road. Headlights dimmed, she cranked the heat, groaning at the blast of cool air that hit her before the warmth. A sigh escaped and her chest deflated with a release of tension. Seawater dripped from her hair down her face to her shoulders, then mingled with the blood on her arm creating a soupy rust-coloured puddle on her lap. The cut along her arm stung as warmer air blew from the vent. But she was safe; she made it out without being caught.
But as she glimpsed her rear-view mirror, she saw the shadow of someone standing on the dock, watching.
Chapter thirty
Magda lay tangled in her bedsheets, chilled despite layers of blankets. Her head pounded, her body ached, the sunlight coming through the windows was blinding, and her phone was ringing. She considered life couldn’t feel worse at that moment. Swiping the phone to answer, she managed only a throaty croak.
“Hullo.”
“Magda? Magda it’s Raheem. Is that you? Are you okay?”
The last person she wanted to hear from. She grunted in response, hung up, and texted him.
I think I’ve lost my voice sorry bad cold
She threw a little green-face ‘sick’ emoji in for good measure. She didn’t want to talk to Raheem – and definitely didn’t want to explain why she felt terrible.
His text back was brief.
Coming to check on you CU soon
She groaned as she read the clock. Ten-thirty, and she hadn’t been to work. She needed to get the White Night Dinner story off her desk by two-thirty, an impossible task made worse by the aches and pains from her unintended swim and rock climb.
Magda rolled out of bed and dragged a grubby pair of jeans from the laundry basket. Last night she’d pulled a sweatshirt on for warmth and didn’t have the energy to change out of it now. She pulled up a sleeve and looked at the scrape along her forearm. At least she’d put ointment on it before climbing into bed.
Walking to the bathroom consumed much of her energy and she leaned on the counter, staring at the swamp monster in the mirror. Her hair sat wet all night and was now replaced by a mass of brown tangles. She was still brushing at the knots when the intercom buzzed.
“It’s me.”
Magda buzzed Raheem in, unlocked the front door, and went back to the bathroom to resume tugging on her hair.
“Magda, hey? Where are you?”
She couldn’t answer, but as she walked from the bathroom, she found him in the bedroom, staring at the crumpled, blood-smeared, and still wet white dress piled on the floor beside her bed.
“Something happen?” His voice boomed with baritone clarity.
She shook her head, her smile a tight grimace, and waved her hand at the dress as dismissal.
“Except it looks like you fell into a cesspool.” He picked the dress up, pointing at a tear at the hem, green algae, and rust-coloured blood.
“Is that blood?
She pulled a notebook from her purse and scribbled, hoping to shorten the conversation.
Went for a walk on the pier after U dropped me off. Fell in.
She attempted to appear as chastised as possible, her bottom lip puckered out in a pout.
His eyes darted across her face. “Magda, you could have drowned. Why didn’t you tell me you were going there? It was late. At least let someone know. Was anyone around? How did you get out?”
Swam over to the breakers. Climbed out. Am okay just a cold.
He hugged her, stroked her still knotted hair, tilted her chin to his face, and kissed her.
“You scare me woman. Sometimes you terrify me. And I’ve seen some pretty terrifying things. I’m not happy you didn’t tell me, but I’m glad you’re relatively unscathed.”
She pulled the arm of her sweater up in full disclosure so he could see the scrapes and bruises caused by the rocks. He kissed her forehead and caressed the bruises around the cuts. She pulled back and grimaced.
“You’re a wounded sparrow. I can see you aren’t going anywhere soon.”
She jumped away from him and attacked the notebook with a pencil to respond.
The article. I have to do the article - it needs to get done
“Magda, it won’t matter to anyone if that article goes in one day later than planned. And to prove it, I’m going to stop by your office and have a quick conversation with your editor. Get back in bed and I’ll bring you soup. After that, you need to go back to sleep.”
She couldn’t fight him, she was too tired, and he was too stubborn. She climbed back into bed, jeans and all, and her head fell against the pillow as she listened to kitchen cupboards opening and closing.
She dozed, waking long enough to see him set the promised soup on the bedside table near her phone and scribble in her notebook. She was out cold by the time he kissed her forehead.
Chapter thirty-one
Magda squinted into darkness, the green haze from her cell phone the only light. A recent text lingered on the screen as she turned the phone to read the message, then grimaced as she saw it was not one, but several missed messages. Shuffling up against the headboard, she scrolled the texts, relieved to see they were all ‘get well soon’ and ‘hope you are okay’ from friends.
She opened her emails to find her editor was happy she was still alive, and the suggestion to submit the article tomorrow. Magda saluted the reprieve on the deadline with a sigh, and dropped the phone to her lap.
Flicking on the bedside lamp, she reached for her notebook, cringing at the spokes of pain flickering up her arm. Raheem’s spikey script reminded her of how concerned he had been.
Hey M. Take it easy. Get some rest. I have a hectic day but will call you later. xoxo R
Her chest tightened and she swallowed. A ball of guilt stuck in her throat when she thought how she hid her boat trip with Chris from him.
But what was she guilty of? She’d gone out on a boat, with Chris Ducharme, to a secluded picnic. Yeah. Maybe that wasn’t smart. Clearly Chris had ulterior motives – at the very least he was interested in her. She was interested in him too, but not in the same way.
What she felt for him was a need to give him a chance. She didn’t get the same negative vibe from him everyone else did. Donna portrayed him as the wayward son. Henri seemed to see him as a lost soul, and worst, Raheem came just short of calling him a criminal who could very well be the key to at least one murder, the disappearance of the murdered man’s son, and a drug shipment. She couldn’t imagine Chris involved in any of it. Her instinct about Chris contradicted Raheem’s portrayal of the man. Someone needed to side with Chris – maybe it was her.
She picked up her phone, pulled up the obscure text message, and tried a reverse look-up. Nothing. It might be possible for the police to get more information, but without consulting Raheem, that couldn’t happen. So she was back to ‘goa’.
The phone rang and Donna’s anxiety bubbled through the line before Magda could say hello.
“Magda. Oh, I’m so glad you answered. Raheem was over at the Connor’s today while I was there, and he told us you fell off the pier last night. What were you thinking? Why would you go there in the middle of the night? What if it hadn’t ended the way it did?”
Magda heard her friend’s tearful voice and responded in a croaky whisper. “Donna, I’m so sorry. Yes. I’m fine except for a few scrapes. Lesson learned. I think I just wanted to look at the stars. So lovely out there in the dark.”
“Well, your voice sounds terrible, but we’re all grateful to know you’re safe. Listen, I called because Henri has a boat for Sunday and I want to make sure you can make it. He’s going to take us to Jedidiah Island. It wouldn’t be the same without you, so I’m not confirming until you do.”
Magda perked up at the mention of Jedidiah. She looked at her cut forearm, felt the aches in her body, and considered saying no, but had another thought instead.
“Donna, Sunday is perfect. Who else is coming?”
“Wonderful. Alice and Dave, Charles is bringing Saori, Elaine, and Raheem may come. I get the sense he’s working on something important and doesn’t want to commit to anything too soon.”
“Okay, great.” She hoped Raheem wouldn’t be there.
“So, seven a.m. on Sunday. Unless it’s pouring rain. If it is, we’ll bail.” Donna giggled.
Laughing hurt Magda’s entire body, but she couldn’t help it. That kind of comment was out of character for her friend.
“I’ll see you at seven at the marina. Donna, thank-you. I’ll take tomorrow to rest and look forward to Sunday.”
Donna would never know how much Magda looked forward to Sunday.
Chapter thirty-two
Magda huddled in front of her computer, trying to focus on the White Night dinner article. She sipped at her coffee and grimaced; too cool for her taste. Glancing at her watch, she rolled her eyes as she realized two hours had passed since she’d arrived at work.
The Sentinel had encouraged attendees to submit photos to the paper, and Magda spent the morning scrolling through the dozens they’d received. Each photo distracted her more than the last, as she reminisced at the beauty of the evening and the joy on
guest’s faces.
Some shots were grainy, some were too much about the people rather than the event, and some had too many onlookers in the background. She wanted the article to portray the magic and elegance of the evening. The photos that unwittingly included bare-chested young men with board shorts and sandals in the background had a place in Stey Cove, but not to showcase the dinner. She dismissed most and took her time jotting notes about each photo she chose.
One caught her eye. A man in dark pants and hoodie, a shadowed silhouette standing on the perimeter of the event, angled toward the camera. She scanned the photos and noticed the same man appeared in several shots. He had moved around the perimeter, but always turned in the general direction of their table. An admirer of the event? Perhaps. A friend of someone at the table? Possibly. The lighting and distance made it hard to tell if she knew him.
