Raven Lake

by Rosemary McCracken

  We were all ears.

  “Kyle!” Yvonne said.

  “Mom can’t resist taking things that don’t belong to her. One time she tried on an expensive pair of shoes in a store and walked out with them on her feet. Another time she slipped a bracelet into her pocket.”

  Yvonne stared at him with her mouth open.

  “She’s not very good at this because she keeps getting caught,” he went on. “Dad managed to get some charges dropped, but last year she was found guilty of theft under five thousand dollars and put on probation.”

  “How could you, Kyle?” Yvonne’s voice shook.

  “I told you,” he said, “and now I’m telling you again. If you don’t stop trying to take our baby, I’ll let the rest of the world know why I don’t want you raising him.”

  Yvonne turned to look at me. Her face was wet with tears. “My therapist says I’ll be okay.”

  I felt sorry for her. She was a bored, wealthy woman who needed a project to keep her busy. “I’m sure you’ll be fine,” I said.

  “I understand, Mom,” Kyle said in a softer tone. “And you’ll have to understand what Laura and I want for our baby.”

  I went over to Yvonne and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s go inside and make some tea. You’ll want a cup of tea before you drive back to the city.”

  Yvonne and I made tea, and we set mugs and cookies out on the porch. Then we called the kids inside. Nobody said much at the table and Yvonne didn’t say a word. “Goodbye, then,” she managed to croak out as she got up to leave. She looked sad and broken.

  “Goodbye, then,” Laura said as we watched the Ferrari drive down the lane. “What did that mean? Is that the last I’ll hear from her?”

  “Of course not. She’ll want to see a lot of the baby. It’s her grandchild, after all.” I gave Laura a sidelong look. “But she may have given up the idea of raising him…or her.”

  “I hope so,” Laura said fervently.

  Tommy went down to the lake with Maxie. Laura and I stayed at the table, watching the loons teach their chicks how to fish. We sat there, deep in our thoughts, until our reverie was interrupted by the sound of a vehicle coming up the lane.

  “Damn it,” I said. “They’re back.”

  But the vehicle was a green sedan, not a black Ferrari. It pulled up beside the cottage, and a man and a woman in their thirties, and two small children, got out.

  “Hello,” the man called out, “I’m Steve Matthews. You must be the Simpsons.”

  I stepped onto the deck. “I’m sorry. You have the wrong place.”

  He came over and thrust some papers at me. “We’ve rented this cottage for two weeks.”

  I looked at the papers. One of them was a printout from VacationSpots’ website. A thumbnail photo of the cottage where we were staying was circled in red ink.

  I looked at Steve. “I’m sorry, but I think you’ve been scammed. Ross and Maria Dawson own this place, and I’ve rented it from them for the summer.”

  “We’ve been scammed?” Steve ran a hand through his short ginger hair.

  “Yes, and you’re not the first,” I said. “There’s been a rash of phony listings in cottage country. The police are investigating, but so far they haven’t found who’s posting them.”

  By this time, Steve’s wife, Pauline, and their kids had joined him on the deck. They looked tired and bewildered, so I invited them onto the porch.

  “Sit for a bit,” I told them. “I’m going to call this cottage’s owner. And the police. They may want you to give a statement.”

  I went into the cottage and called the Dawsons’ landline. Maria picked up and said she’d be over in ten minutes. I reached Bouchard at the OPP detachment and he told me he was on his way.

  Back on the porch, Pauline was saying, “We should have gone to Maine with Mom and Dad.”

  The little girl, a blonde cherub, began to cry. She and her brother were hot and tired and didn’t know what was happening.

  “Why don’t you get the kids into their swimsuits, and take them down to the lake while we get this sorted out?” I said to Pauline and held the door to the house open for them. “Bathroom’s at the end of the hall.”

  I told Laura and Tommy to take the Matthews down to the water when they were ready.

  “This Donald Simpson you wired money to,” Maria said to Steve when she had joined us on the porch. “You answered an ad he placed on the Internet?”

  “That’s right, on VacationSpots. He offered me a discount if I sent him the full amount, so I did.”

  “I’ve never heard of Donald Simpson,” she said. “And we don’t advertise on the Internet or anywhere else. We only rent to people we know.”

  Bouchard arrived, and told Steve about the rental scams. “There’ve been a number of cases in other parts of the province,” he said. “They’ve just started around here.”

  Steve looked skeptical. He probably thought we were all in it together.

  “You’re the first people to show up here,” I told him. “But a couple on another lake have had several groups come to their cottage.”

  “They’re elderly and their home is isolated,” Bouchard added. “They’re afraid.”

  “Why should they be afraid?” Steve asked. “Renters like us are the ones who get hurt. We sent our money in good faith and we lost it. Looks like we lost our vacation, too.”

  “Cottage owners are afraid that a renter who’s been duped will take out his frustration on them,” I said.

  “The chances of getting your money back are pretty slim,” Bouchard told Steve. “The guys who place these phony ads seldom get caught. They use burner phones and generic email addresses.”

  Steve looked at each of us in turn. “It took us four hours to drive here. We’re not going back tonight.”

  I wondered if he expected me to put them up. “The Sandy Cove Inn is across the lake,” I said quickly. “I’ve heard good things about it. Shall I see if they have a room?”

  I went inside to make the call. Nothing was available at the Sandy Cove so I tried the Dominion Hotel.

  “The Dominion Hotel has a double room,” I told Steve. “It’s on Main Street in Braeloch. You can’t miss it.”

  Looking none too happy, he went down to the water to round up Pauline and the kids. The Matthews had been looking forward to two weeks at a lake, and they were headed for a hotel in town. I thought of Bruce’s room at the Dominion and grimaced.

  “I’m going to get to the bottom of this,” Steve said when they came up from the lake.

  His daughter began to cry again. He picked her up, scowled at us and walked over to his car. Pauline took her small son’s hand and followed her husband.

  It wasn’t my fault. So why did I feel like I’d ruined their vacation?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The next morning, I woke up much too early again. I’d had more weird dreams and Ella was in all of them.

  I lingered in bed, mulling over the events of the previous day. I now knew exactly how Chuck and Gracie felt—like sitting ducks. I threw off the bedcovers and slipped my feet into my sandals.

  I wondered when the next group of renters would show up at my summer home.

  Ruth Cameron unlocked the front door of the Braeloch Public Library on the dot of nine. “You’re back,” she said to me.

  “There’s no Internet access where I’m staying.”

  I logged into a computer, called up VacationSpots, and typed in “Glencoe Highlands, waterfront.” I skimmed over images of homes on lakes and rivers, and there it was—our gray clapboard cottage with its red shutters. The rent that was listed was considerably more than I was paying the Dawsons.

  I clicked on the thumbnail photos of the cottage’s interior: the living room, the kitchen, the master bedroom with my canvas carryall bag on the chair in the corner. My bag! The next shot was of Tommy’s room. His brown teddy bear sat on his nicely made bed. And Tommy never made his bed.

  The hair on the back of my
neck stood up.

  The photographer had taken those pictures in the past week, after we’d moved into the cottage. That person had been watching us, waiting until we left the cottage.

  A search for vacation rental scams in Ontario brought up an article dated three weeks earlier. It quoted a police spokesman who said that seventeen properties were known to have been targeted in Muskoka and Georgian Bay this season. No mention of the Glencoe Highlands, but Chuck and Gracie’s renters only started arriving after the article had been published.

  I made printouts of the photos on VacationSpots, and drove over to the police detachment.

  I showed the photos to Bouchard, and pointed out my carryall and Tommy’s teddy bear in the pictures. “These were taken after we moved in last weekend,” I said. “Someone broke in while we were gone.”

  “I spoke to our Anti-Rackets Branch yesterday,” Bouchard said. “I thought the ad would be down by now. I’ll fax them these photos.”

  He unclipped his walkie-talkie. “Be there in ten minutes,” he said into it.

  I swung by Chuck and Gracie’s place on the way back to the cottage. Chuck came out of the house holding the air pistol.

  “All’s quiet,” he said.

  “How’s Gracie?”

  “The same. She’s taking the sedatives and sleeping a lot.”

  “She needs the rest.” I paused. “I didn’t want to get into it on the phone last night but…the cottage where I’m staying has been targeted. A family came by yesterday, saying they’d rented it for two weeks.”

  “It’s an epidemic,” Chuck said.

  But my news seemed to cheer him up. Misery likes company, I’ve noticed.

  “Keep Sergeant Bouchard’s phone numbers handy,” I told him. “My number, too. And give an alarm some thought.”

  Gracie came out of the house in pajamas and a housecoat. Her white hair stood up in tufts and her walk was unsteady. “Hello, Pat.”

  “Renters showed up at Pat’s place,” Chuck said.

  Gracie’s eyes lit up. “You, too.”

  “What will those con men think of next?” Chuck said.

  “The woman who came here,” I began.

  A look of pain crossed Gracie’s face.

  “Did she think you were behind the rental fraud?” I asked.

  She thought about that for a few moments. “She seemed to accept what I told her about the fake ads. When she asked for a glass of water, I assumed that she was about to leave. So I let her in.”

  “What did she look like?”

  “She was wearing sunglasses that covered part of her face but I’d say she was in her fifties. Had one of those turban things on her head so I couldn’t see her hair color.”

  Tracy’s Honda bounced up the lane just before noon. Veronica’s Mazda, with Jamie at the wheel, was right behind it.

  “Ronnie wasn’t up to coming?” I asked when the girls got out of the cars.

  “She’s doing a bit more every day,” Jamie said, “but she has to lie down frequently.”

  They changed into their swimsuits, and Tommy took them down to the lake. When they returned, Laura fired up the barbecue. I put salads and buns on the table.

  As soon as we sat down, Laura began to tell Tracy and Jamie about the Matthews’ visit the previous day. I touched her arm and inclined my head toward Tommy. “Later,” I said.

  I took Tommy inside when he’d finished his burger. I put on a Harry Potter video and settled him on the sofa with a bowl of chocolate ice cream.

  When I returned to the porch, Laura had finished her story.

  “You’ve been targeted by the Cottage Con,” Tracy said to me.

  Jamie nodded. “That’s what the Toronto media is calling whoever’s behind these frauds. Of course, there may be more than one person.”

  “The police can’t seem to stop them,” Tracy said. “Renters should deal directly with cottage owners.”

  “That didn’t help me,” I said. “The Dawsons don’t advertise and this place still got hit.”

  Tracy placed a hand on mine. “Mom, people will be turning up here at all hours. If you’re not here, they’ll force their way inside.”

  “And what if they don’t believe you had nothing to do with the scam and become aggressive?” Jamie said. “A woman and a small boy out here…”

  Variations of that scenario had been flashing through my mind since the Matthews arrived. My dream vacation had become a nightmare.

  Laura put an arm around me. “You and Tommy have to get out of here.”

  “Why don’t you stay with my mother while you look at other options?” Jamie asked.

  Ronnie didn’t need visitors while she was recovering. “We’ll be fine here,” I told them. “If any renters show up, I’ll call the Dawsons and the police. And I’ll take anything valuable with me when we go out. If someone breaks into the house when we’re not here…well, there’ll be a broken window to fix.”

  The girls didn’t look convinced. I was glad I hadn’t told them about the photos of my carryall and Tommy’s teddy bear.

  “Hey,” Laura said to Tracy and Jamie, “Yvonne may have backed off.”

  They looked puzzled, so I told them about the Shinglers’ plan to raise Laura and Kyle’s child. Laura capped that with an account of how Kyle had handled his mother.

  “Are you sure that Yvonne cares what people think of her?” Jamie asked. “Is that more important to her than raising her grandchild?”

  Laura grinned. “She cares a lot about what people think. And I’m counting on it.”

  “I saw Ella Prentice at the supermarket yesterday,” Jamie said to me. “She pulled into the parking lot as I was leaving. In a white Corvette convertible. I asked Mom if she’d rented a cottage, but she said Ella never comes up here.”

  “She must’ve changed her mind about the Glencoe Highlands,” I said, “because I’ve seen her around too.”

  Jamie left for Braeloch right after lunch. I was helping Tracy and Laura load up the Honda for their trip to Toronto when a blue Chevy drove up the lane.

  Tommy grabbed my arm. “Bruce is here. He’ll take me fishing.”

  Bruce got out of the car and Tommy rushed over to him. Bruce put an arm around the boy’s shoulders. I gave my daughters one last hug, and the three of us stood waving as they drove away.

  “Let’s go fishing,” Tommy said to Bruce.

  “Bruce just got here,” I told Tommy. “He’d probably like a piece of apple pie.”

  “That sounds good,” Bruce said.

  “Aww,” Tommy said, and took Maxie down to the lake.

  “I heard that Wilf’s funeral went well,” I said to Bruce.

  He took a chair on the porch. “The church was packed, and there were a lot of heartfelt tributes. Wilf would have liked the send-off.”

  I sat beside him and we looked at each other sadly, knowing that Wilf would have preferred to have more time with his family and friends.

  “Has Foster been on your case these past few days?” I asked.

  “He seems to have backed off. For now.”

  “He must have another suspect.”

  “He has no evidence against me. Only what was planted at my place.”

  Bruce leaned back in his chair. “Maria told me about the renters who were here yesterday. I want you and Tommy to stay with me until this guy is shut down.”

  Bruce would be doing home repairs in the evening and on his days off. I didn’t want to live in a construction zone. “We’ll be fine,” I told him.

  “You don’t know who’ll turn up,” he said. “They may not be as accommodating as the people who came by yesterday.”

  “As I said, we’ll be fine.”

  He must have seen that I’d made my decision because he eased up. “My phone will be connected tomorrow. I’ll get you the number. If renters come by, call me at home or at The Times. You’ve got Maria’s numbers?”

  “I do,” I said, and I went to get him a piece of pie.

  When
he’d scraped his plate clean, he pushed his chair back from the table. “The Times will run an article on the rental scams this week.”

  I knew where he was going.

  “Maria and Ross are willing to be interviewed,” he said. “And I talked to the Matthews this morning. Steve Matthews is game. He thinks an article might help catch this guy.”

  Tommy opened the porch door. Maxie ran in and Tommy followed her. “What’s interviewed mean?” he asked.

  I put an arm around him. “Bruce asks people questions and they answer them. That’s called an interview. Then he writes up what they tell him into an article for the newspaper.”

  “Are we going to be in the newspaper?” Tommy wanted to know.

  “Maybe.” I patted his shoulder and turned back to Bruce. “You want to interview me for the article?”

  “The Dawsons and Steve Matthews should be enough,” he said. “The story will focus on Steve because he lost his vacation money.”

  “Interview me. I’ll give you an earful about how these con men are messing with the people who live in these cottages. They see pictures of their homes on the Internet. They don’t know who’ll be at their door next.”

  “It would draw attention to your situation,” he said.

  “I’ll live with it.”

  “Has it occurred to you that this guy may know who you are? That he targeted this cottage because you’re staying here?”

  I’d been pushing that thought to the back of my mind. “But why? I don’t know anything that could ruin his scam.”

  “It may be connected to my mother’s murder. You’ve been looking into that.”

  “And I haven’t got very far.”

  “Be careful, Pat.”

  “I should get myself an air pistol.”

  “We’re getting an air pistol?” Tommy asked.

  I had to watch what I said around that kid. He didn’t miss a thing. “I was joking, Tommy.”

  “Grab your fishing rod and life jacket, Tommy,” Bruce said. “I’ll meet you and Maxie at the boat.”