by Vicki Delany
“Yes, I’ll do that. I’ll start now. Good-bye, Joanna.”
“Good-bye. And, Maude, if you need anything, please give me a call.”
She drove into town to pick up her mail. She wasn’t worried about Tiffany. The stupid girl jumped at the chance to have a night out without her grandmother knowing.
She sat in her car outside the post office, sorting through her mail. One envelope bore the return address of a major computer magazine. With nervous fingers she opened it and peeked in. The letter very politely informed her that her proposed article on “Fighting Computer Viruses in your Home Based Business” was not suitable for publication in their magazine at this time. They invited her to submit more articles at her convenience.
Joanna tore the letter over and over until all that was left were handfuls of rather large confetti. She stomped out of her car and dumped the paper into the garbage can on the side of the road. When she looked up, Tiffany was standing in the doorway of the post office, watching her.
The girl looked like hell. Her black eye-makeup had carved rivers down her cheeks. A family of rats appeared to have taken up residence in her hair. She wore only a light sweater over her jeans and shivered in the cold morning air.
“I need a ride home,” she mumbled.
Joanna bit her tongue before she could insist that the girl say “Please.” This was probably not a morning for a discussion of manners. “Get in the car.”
Tiffany wrenched open the passenger door and slid inside. She crouched down low in the seat and chewed at her fingernails.
“Where’s your coat?” Joanna started the engine, and turned the heat up full blast.
“Lost it.”
“How can you lose your coat?”
“It happens, okay,” Tiffany snapped.
“Your grandmother knows that you weren’t at my place last night. She’s very worried.”
“Then stop yakking and take me home, okay!”
They drove the route in silence. Joanna concentrated intently on the road, as if a vast chasm would suddenly open up and swallow the car, and its passengers, should she let her attention be distracted for one brief moment. Tiffany wrestled the last of the black polish off her nails.
Finally the endless ride was over. Joanna pulled up in front of Maude’s neat house. “Do you want me to come in with you?”
“No, I don’t want you to come in with me,” Tiffany snapped, leaping out and slamming the door shut. Without a backward glance she ran up the steps into the house. The curtains were open and Joanna could see Maude cross the room hurriedly, arms outstretched. She turned away and backed the car out of the driveway before witnessing anything more.
As soon as she got home she made a cup of tea and collapsed into her chair to read the rest of her mail. The pile included several bills and a long letter from her ex-mother-in-law, now living in Florida, with whom Joanna made a special effort to remain on good terms. Then she fired up the computer to check her e-mail. There was one from her son, James, at UBC.
The stress that enveloped her whenever she was in Tiffany’s company eased as Joanna gave herself in to the sheer enjoyment of her son’s letter. She was laughing out loud at his efforts, wholly unsuccessful so far, to impress a young woman in his psychology class, when she heard a car turn into her driveway. This place was becoming more like Grand Central Station all the time.
She opened the door to face a very tired and tense looking man, well into late middle age. He twisted a black toque roughly in his hands.
“Ms. Hastings, I’m Larry Snelgrove, Luke’s brother. Sorry to bother you but I was wondering if you have seen my brother since yesterday?” He blurted the question out before she could even say hello. “I know he does some work for you.”
“What’s the matter? Is he missing? I saw him last night. He was walking down the road. He told me he was on his way to meet you.”
“Well, he never showed up. I was supposed to pick him up at the old property right after the bar closed at two. I was pretty late, got talking to some of the boys out in the parking lot.”
“Come on in.” Joanna stepped back. Belatedly, she held out her hand. He stuffed the toque into one pocket and shook her hand.
“Nice to meet you, Larry. It’s too cold to stand outside. Perhaps he ran into a friend and spent the night somewhere else. Luke knows everyone around here, from what I understand. Would you like some tea? I’ve just made a fresh pot.”
“Yes, please. Maybe that’s what happened.” Larry nodded eagerly at the thought, stripping off his coat and boots.
Joanna poured another cup of tea and set it on the table, then went to fetch hers and joined Larry.
Luke’s brother gripped the mug so tightly in his hands, Joanna was afraid it would shatter. “It’s just that he…Well, I worry about Luke, you know? If he did go to someone’s place for the night, he probably wouldn’t think about calling me. But anyone else would. They know I have to look after him. He’s a lot older than I am, but ever since we were kids I have always sort of had to look out for him.
“I really don’t want him hanging around the old place anymore. But I can’t stop him. He belonged to that old house, you know. In a way that the rest of us can’t comprehend. He’s scared without it. He feels like he doesn’t belong in the world any more. Can you understand that at all?”
“I can’t imagine what it must be like,” Joanna replied, honestly. “But I think I can understand on some small level. He told me last night that he was there to clean up the barn.”
Larry laughed dryly, “As if anyone cares. No one will ever want to buy that property, and if they do they’ll just rip down all the out buildings.”
“Luke cares.”
Larry loosed his grip on the mug and looked in her eyes. “You’re right. Well, I’d better get going. Vera’s at home, calling all the people around here. I’ll drive around a bit. He wouldn’t be lost. He knows every bush and tree in this part of the world, but he might have fallen or something. Keep your eyes open when you go out, will you please, Joanna?”
“Of course. Good luck.”
She stared out the back window while washing up the teacups. A cold shiver crept over her as she remembered the night she heard the scratching at the door, and the sense of something watching her in the woods. Luke Snelgrove may have walked these woods all his life, but he was only a human after all, and no human ever truly belonged if nature decided they didn’t.
Chapter 12
The next morning panic spread throughout the area as Luke’s whereabouts continued to be unknown. At last, Larry formally contacted the local police to report his brother as a missing person. Of course they knew about it all along.
Constable Jenkins settled himself at Joanna’s kitchen table as she, once again, set out the tea things. She picked the mug that looked so much like Luke out of the cupboard, stared for a few moments at its funny/serious face, and put it back in the rack. Instead she selected one with “I love my Mommy” written in a pseudo-childish hand, a gift from countless Mother’s Days ago.
Joanna related her story while Jenkins sipped his tea and slathered a freshly baked blueberry muffin with butter.
“You’re sure of the time?” he asked through a mouth full of muffin.
“Reasonably sure. It was a very long, tiring drive back from Toronto. But I remember that the CBC news was ending as I drove through town. So it must have been about one or quarter past when I saw Luke.”
“He didn’t say anything about going to visit a friend or anything?”
“No. It was such a short conversation. I remember it pretty well. He was going to walk along the road until Larry drove up. That’s it. You don’t think that he could have just decided to leave? His home is gone, remember-burnt to the ground. Maybe he just took off.” Joanna thought of Luke’s kind old face and didn’t believe a word she said.
“Maybe,” Jenkins mumbled reluctantly, “but remember, the man can’t drive. Ain’t many people to be passing by at one o�
�clock in the AM. And what there are ain’t gonna pick up no old man they don’t know.”
“Yes, you’re right.”
“Seems like you’re the last person who saw him. No one else has come forward yet. The whole county knows about it by now. You’d think if anyone knew anything they would be in touch with us.”
She nodded in agreement. “Have you searched the area? Maybe he met with some kind of accident.” She grimaced at the thought of kind old Luke lying helpless in the cold snow unable to call for help.
At her words Jenkins’ worn face tightened. It was obvious that his thoughts were an echo of Joanna’s.
“We’ll be forming a search party later today. But there’s a lot of land out there. Keep your eyes open, Ms. Hastings. If you’d like to help with the search, we’re meeting over by the Number Three Concession Road at noon.” He patted his belly and pushed the chair away from the table. “Nice muffins those. Didn’t think you city folk could cook like that.”
Joanna didn’t know if she had been complimented or not. She decided to take it that way and showed Jenkins to the door.
At the appointed hour, she drove slowly past the field where the search party was gathering, watching out for an open parking space. A line of vehicles, mostly pickup trucks, snaked along both sides of the road. The majority of the searchers were men and only a very few arrived singly, like Joanna. They formed into small groups, shifting from one foot to another uncomfortably and rubbing mittened hands together in an effort to generate some warmth.
The snowfall was tapering off, but it had fallen steadily since late last night, and a fierce wind was still blowing. The wind carved the snow into wild patterns across the landscape. Everyone knew that all traces of footprints would have long since disappeared.
She was standing uncomfortably at the edges of the crowd, feeling like the outsider she was, when she heard a piercing voice calling out her name. Nancy Miller waved wildly as she made her way through the small clusters of people. She was wearing the ugly fake-fur coat, this time with matching earmuffs. Her nose and cheeks glowed in the cold, but she smiled warmly at everyone she passed. Joanna looked around, searching for an avenue of escape, but she was too late. Nancy reached her, puffing steadily from her walk up from the road.
“It’s nice to see so many people out, isn’t it?”
Joanna nodded.
“Poor, dear old Luke. Most folks around here liked Luke very much.” Nancy brushed a small tear away with her mitten. “God, I hope he’s all right.”
All around them people were getting restless. It was quite simply too cold to be standing around waiting for instructions. Eventually the Senior OPP Officer, whom Joanna recognized from the night of the fire, raised his voice and called for attention.
“You all know why you’re here,” he said. The crowd stood at attention, listening to every word. “We’re looking for Luke Snelgrove. Most of you know Luke well. Now Luke was last seen Friday night around one AM, Saturday morning that would be. He was walking down this road. About an hour and a half later his brother Larry drove by and didn’t see him. Luke talked to Ms. Hastings that night. Ms. Hastings, would you come up here and tell the folks what Luke was wearing?”
Joanna flushed with embarrassment. Every eye watched her make her way up to the front.
She described Luke’s appearance as well as she could remember: heavy black overcoat, his usual brown cap, black or brown mittens. The police officer thanked her and she slunk back into the crowd.
“Now, I want this here half of you,” with his arm he created an imaginary line down the center of the group, “to look on the south side of the road, and you others to take the north. Form a line and start into the woods. Keep the people on either side of you in sight and don’t go any faster than the rest of your line.
“If you find anything, call out ‘Over here’ and an officer will come over. I don’t want everyone else breaking the line to rush over and have a look.” He glared at the crowd daring them to break the line. Everyone nodded solemnly.
“Don’t you decide what is important and what isn’t-that’s our job. Is everyone sure of what they’re supposed to be doing?”
Once again they all nodded, a few men mumbled their agreement.
“Let’s go,” a man shouted.
“Mind if I walk with you, Joanna?” Scott O’Neill stood off to one side by himself. He stepped forward as Joanna and Nancy passed. She hadn’t noticed him arrive.
“If you want,” she replied. As Nancy was regarding Scott with undisguised interest she felt obliged to introduce them.
“I knew your parents well.” Nancy smiled at Scott. “They used to come into the store all the time. Real nice they were, too. I was very sorry to hear about them passing.”
“Thank you,” Scott said simply.
Nancy shouted greetings at several of the searchers and fell back to talk. The moment she was out of earshot, Scott turned to Joanna.
“I’ve been meaning to call you,” he said quietly, “and apologize about the other day in North Ridge. I’m sorry if I offended you. I don’t know any of those kids and perhaps I was a bit quick to judge.”
“Apology accepted,” she said. “I think I was pretty much out of line as well.”
He smiled at her, his teeth white and even. Snowflakes were sprinkled lightly among the salt and pepper of his hair, worn loose today, soft, thick curls touching his shoulders.
They were among the searchers assigned to the north side of the road. Fortunately it was still early in the season so the snow accumulation wasn’t too thick, although in a few places it had drifted into soft piles that clutched at the searchers’ knees. But it was still tough going-very tough. They plowed through wet, sticky snow, stumbled over broken logs and stumps and were sideswiped by low hanging branches. It was a dull, monotonous afternoon. Occasionally they heard a shout of excitement from further down the line, but it always came to nothing and the line carried on resolutely. Fingers freezing, nose running, eyes watering, sprained wrist throbbing, head to the ground, she walked on. The monotony was broken only once by a flash of excitement as frantic shouting burst through the trees to her right. As instructed Joanna and her group of searchers resisted the urge to rush to the source of the commotion and reluctantly carried on along their assigned path. Their ears were stretching almost out of their heads as they tried to catch a whisper of what was happening. But soon enough word spread down the line; it was only an old high-topped Nike basketball shoe that, half-buried in the snow, the searcher had over-enthusiastically mistaken for one of Luke’s winter boots. Even before the officer looking after their section arrived to inspect the find, everyone shrugged and carried on. Luke would never own a pair of shoes like that.
The December night descends early and fast in the north. By the time the search was called off due to fading visibility Joanna was tired, hungry, cold and cranky.
In ones and twos and small groups, they slowly returned to their cars, calling to each other not to give up hope, surely tomorrow something would be found, some indication that Luke was alive. Joanna marveled at their optimism. She, herself, had absolutely no doubt that after a few nights in the winter wilderness, no matter how much of a woodsman Luke might be, he was dead. She thought everyone understood that they were looking for a body, plain and simple. Obviously not.
Engines sputtered loudly to life and headlights broke through the dark, lighting up the heavily trampled clearing like a Wal-Mart parking lot on December twenty-third. The few groups of people who remained behind blinked and raised their hands against the harshness of the lights, and carried on gossiping quietly among themselves.
Joanna and Scott stood just outside a circle of men into which Nancy Miller had thrust herself. Joanna shuffled from one foot to another uncomfortably. She was more than ready to go home. Images of a hot bath, a glass of slightly chilled red wine and a beautiful dinner danced tantalizingly through her head. She glanced sideways at Scott. He grinned and smiled speculatively.
She was afraid he was about to ask her what her plans were for the evening, then she was afraid he wasn’t.
“…said it was good riddance to bad rubbish and he didn’t care if Luke was ever seen around these parts again.” An elderly man with a massive gray beard and twinkling blue eyes paused to draw deeply on his pipe. He looked so much like a child’s vision of Santa Claus it brought a ghost of a smile to Joanna’s frozen blue lips.
“What a thing to say,” Nancy Miller tut-tutted crossly. The others in the circle nodded in agreement. “If he doesn’t watch his big, flapping tongue, people may start to think he has something to do with all of this.”
“Who are you talking about?” Scott asked.
They were only too happy to fill him in. “Roy McMaster. Old guy lives over the other side of Hope River. Him and Luke have been enemies ever since they was in grade school. Only this morning Roy was sounding off to everyone who would listen…”
“And some what didn’t want to,” Nancy cut in.
“…that he wasn’t sorry about Luke being missing.”
“Pretty mean talk,” a man agreed. No prizes for guessing this must be Santa Claus’ son, Joanna thought. He was a paler image of the older man. His face was less lined, still a bit of black among the gray hair, beard not quite so bushy, eyes not quite so blue and they didn’t seem to know how to twinkle. He resembled nothing so much as a cheap photograph of a famous painting. The reproduction may try to capture the colors, the lines and the image of the original, but could never achieve the depth or the power.
“Have the police spoken to this McMaster yet?” Scott said.
“Don’t know,” Santa Claus’ son replied. “Roy and Luke been enemies ever since they was in grade school together. By now it’s just a habit. Don’t reckon as anyone pays any attention to them any more.” He offered his hand to Scott. “Hugh Murphy.”
Scott shook it. “Scott O’Neill, pleased to meet you.”
