Dragonfly of Venus

by Susan Ferrier MacKay

  “Who did I murder?” he asked bewildered.

  “Do as I say and it’ll be alright. Trust me,” said Natasha. “We’re gonna get the hell out of here.”

  Natasha led Declan to the beach where her boat was moored and instructed him to get in. He appeared to be in a zombie state and did as she said. Within ten minutes they were back at the deserted dock in Tarbet. Natasha tied up the boat and hustled Declan up the stone footpath to the car park. Thankfully, no one was around and hers was the only car in the lot. She put Declan on the passenger side, instructing him to wait as she retraced her steps to the office shack. She knocked once then opened the door. The man who’d rented her the boat was reclining in a beat up office chair with his feet up on a desk, taking a snooze. He woke, startled.

  “Aye, yer back then.”

  What’s with this guy stating the obvious, thought Natasha.

  “Yeah, just came to collect my deposit,” she said.

  “I’ll just take a wee look at her. Make sure ya didna hit any rocks or seals.”

  The man clumped down to the boat. After a cursory inspection he handed Natasha her deposit.

  “Did yer find what yer was looking fer?” he asked. “Any rare sightins like?”

  “Oh yes,” replied Natasha. “I got a very rare sighting indeed.”

  “Aye, that’s good,” replied the man, “We missed all the tourists this season on account ‘o’ tha poachin. We’re closing up now.”

  “I’m glad I could make it,” said Natasha smiling sweetly. “It certainly was most worthwhile.”

  The man watched the beautiful young woman walk away.

  A bird that’s into birds. He chuckled at his little joke. He’d tell it down at the pub later on. He thought that birdwatchers must truly be the craziest people on the planet.

  Declan was silent on the car ride back to Scourie Lodge. The fine highland day had disappeared replaced by a misty drizzle. Declan rested his head against the passenger window watching the rhythmic slap of windshield wipers. Natasha made sure she had the radio tuned to a classical station. She didn’t want Declan to hear any of his songs. It was important that she keep him ignorant of his past. She could invent a new future for them both, one in which she was his wife. They could even have children. It was going to be a happy ending.

  “Who was it?” Declan finally asked in a flat tone. Natasha knew he was asking about the murder.

  “Nobody important. Just some asshole in a bar. He totally had it coming.”

  “So how? Why?”

  Natasha swung the car into the parking lot of the Scourie Lodge, its tires crunching over gravel, and turned off the engine. She gave Declan her most sympathetic look.

  “It was an accident. You didn’t mean to do it. The guy was drunk. He was a thug. He wouldn’t leave me alone. You warned him several times but he grabbed my ass. That’s when you lost it.” Natasha continued, “You gave him a punch that sent him reeling across the bar. Unfortunately, his temple connected with the corner of a table. He died instantly.”

  Having engaged in a fight with a man over a woman rang true in Declan’s brain.

  “Shouldn’t we…I…go to the police?”

  “So you can go to jail? No way. Believe me you don’t wanna go there,” said Natasha.

  “Surely people must’ve seen?” he said.

  “The bar wasn’t that full. It all happened pretty quickly. I got you outa there before people started pulling out their cell phones and posting shit on Facebook.”

  “Facebook?” inquired Declan puzzled. Part of his brain recognized the word but his mind wasn’t presenting the answers he was looking for.

  “Never mind,” said Natasha. “You don’t need to know. Just do what I say and we’ll be fine. I’ll get us outta this mess.”

  Declan’s head began to throb. All he wanted to do was lie down and sleep.

  The front entrance to Scourie Lodge opened. The proprietor and his wife were leaving on an errand. Their timing was good. Natasha waited until they drove away, making a mental note that the proprietor was roughly Declan’s height and weight. She fingered the key to her room.

  “C’mon Decky. Let’s get you inside.”

  As soon as Declan was asleep under the covers, Natasha set about finding the proprietor’s apartment. After trying several doors, she found herself in an old fashioned living room with fading plaid carpet and a leather sofa set up in front of a television. Beyond that was a bedroom with a collection of china dolls set incongruously beneath several fish mounted in glass cases. His ‘n’ hers, thought Natasha, cute.

  She rifled through a man’s closet, taking a pair of black pants, a white shirt, a burgundy pullover, some socks and a pair of sneakers. These would do until she could get to a decent clothing store. On the way out of the apartment she checked the bathroom, helping herself to bandages, and antiseptic ointment.

  Natasha made it back to her room without being seen by anyone. She gazed down at the face sleeping on the pillow in her bed. Despite the weight loss, he was still the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen, and now he was all hers. Tomorrow she’d drive them to Glasgow and set her plan in motion. Meantime, while Declan slept, she tore all the pages out of her scrapbook that related to her crime or Declan’s past. They burned brightly before disappearing up a fireplace in the inn’s dining room. She saved just two pictures; her photo-shopped wedding photo and the photo of Elizabeth pushing the twins in their stroller.

  Wearing dark glasses and a scarf, Elizabeth could have been anyone. The longer Natasha stared at the photo, the more convinced she was that it was her pushing the children. Natasha was elated. Things were working out far better than she had ever dreamed. All she had to do now was pull off the rest of her plan.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Elizabeth entered the world of dreams. Sheawolf padded on all fours across a frozen lake turned blue by the frosty moon. A double layer of thick fur insulated her from a biting wind. She stopped and sniffed the air. Her pack was nearby, circling through the forest. She caught the rich, musky smell of their leader Heawolf, the alpha male.

  Something stirred inside her. It was the beginning of her estrus. She hoped she would mate with Heawolf but first she had to get his attention. She knew that other, more submissive females, would vie for his mountings but she would dispense with them. She bared her teeth and increased her speed, an alpha female streaking across ice and drifting snow towards her destiny.

  Sheawolf joined the pack in time to see one of the smaller she-wolves placing her head on Heawolf’s’s back. It was an invitation to mate. Sheawolf rushed at her subordinate giving the smaller wolf a sharp nip on the ear. The female yelped and slunk away to the periphery of the pack, where she belonged.

  Heawolf threw back his handsome furred head, his throat vibrating as he released a haunting howl. Sheawolf and the rest of the wolves joined in, their whooping chorus reverberating through ancient pines. They moved forward in tangent, ready for a kill. Heawolf led the way. Sheawolf trotted alongside, her fur brushing against his. She was uncertain whether he would welcome her or not. She was prepared for a snap of his teeth, or at least a growl but he gave no such sign.

  Heawolf stopped, arrested by the scent of prey. After crouching low, he charged full-speed and within minutes wrangled the hind leg of a young deer into his powerful jaws. The rest of the pack caught up. They joined the final decimation of the deer and had themselves a feast.

  Now that their bellies were full, Sheawolf thought she would try to mate. She laid a tentative paw across Heawolf’s muscular back. He stared at her, his yellow eyes gleaming. There was no hint of a snarl. She could proceed.

  The rest of the pack backed away, settling in a circle to watch the couple rut. The next step was crucial. Sheawolf stood in front of Heawolf, curling her tail to one side, fully exposing her ripe genitals for his view. He was accepting her. She moved behind him, raised her tail and rubbed her rump against his, feeling his firm testicles behind her. Now Heawolf turned
towards her, standing on hind legs. This is what she wanted. She too raised onto her back legs so the sparring dance between them could begin.

  Mounting would come next. After the mounting Heawolf was paired to her. No other males could come near her. He would make sure of it. Their pups would arrive in spring. Heawolf dismounted and sniffed her. She was full of his swimming seed.

  Sheawolf sat back on her haunches, licking herself and watching Heawolf as he sniffed his way, cautiously, towards a nearby stream to drink the cold water. Her hackles raised. She felt alarmed and suddenly afraid for him.

  A loud crack broke the silence of the night. Sheawolf startled at Heawolf’s blood-chilling yowls. He’d been caught in a hunter’s trap. Heawolf’s front leg was mangled, staining the snow bright red. He growled and whined in pain, struggling to free his broken leg but it was no use. His howls continued, an unbearable noise of suffering.

  Sheawolf tried to run to him but her legs worked in slow motion. By the greatest determination, she finally reached her mate. Heawolf was on one side, whimpering. Sheawolf lay beside his body, her thick fur intermingling with his. She licked his face. She hoped her body heat would be some comfort. There was no escape for Heawolf now. He would die. Sheawolf was helpless. She tried to howl but no sound came from her throat.

  Moaning and thrashing from the night terror of being unable to help her mate, Elizabeth woke up.The dream was so strong that Elizabeth remembered it clearly for days afterwards. She told Effie about it, asking if she had any possible interpretation.

  “We all have an animal spirit that protects us,” said Effie. “I’d guess yours is a wolf.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Elizabeth.

  Effie consulted a large book about symbols that she owned.

  “It says here that the wolf is a symbol of intuition,” said Effie. “I’d say that your dream was telling you to listen to yours.” She read on. “It can also be a warning not to trust someone.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Joan arrived outside gate seven of the Rogers Centre promptly at 12.30 p.m. She’d had an active morning preparing Boeuf Bourguignon a la Julia Child. She set the timer on her stove to begin a slow cook at three p.m. By the time she arrived back at the house with Byron, it would be filled with the delicious aroma of beef simmering away in an entire bottle of French Burgundy. A bowl of creamy mashed potatoes rested in the fridge waiting to be reheated. Joan’s secret was to add a single raw egg to the mash, along with lashings of butter and a dash of cream. For desert she had prepared a simple lemon tart. Her stomach gurgled as she thought of the meal, or was it nerves at the thought of sharing it with Byron?

  After ten minutes there was no sign of him. Joan peered anxiously through the crowd. A herd of slightly tipsy teenagers jostled past followed by couples, and male buddies sporting Blue Jays gear. A few yards away on the sidewalk, an uncomfortable looking middle-aged man was trying to get rid of a couple of tickets. He clearly wasn’t a professional scalper.

  Joan looked at her watch. Another five minutes had passed. The game would begin in fifteen. Joan liked to be settled in her seat before the proceedings began. Had Byron stood her up? The anxious scalper had no takers so Joan considered approaching him for a single ticket.

  Since she was here, she might as well see the game even if it was on her own. Joan was just about to take this course of action when she heard her name. She turned to see Byron sprinting through the crowd towards her.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he panted. “I got caught in construction on Spadina. The traffic in this city is a disaster.”

  “True enough,” agreed Joan.

  City planners had made a real mess of things back in the fifties when they’d constructed the ugly concrete Gardiner expressway, separating Toronto from its beautiful waterfront. Now the structure was decaying. While road crews tried to patch things up, traffic had to be diverted along main streets that were already clogged. A journey that once took ten minutes could now take as long as an hour.

  “Surely politicians must get stuck in traffic as well,” said Byron. “You’d think they’d try to come up with some creative solutions.”

  “Unfortunately groups are rarely creative,” said Joan thinking of the many tedious faculty meetings she had attended at university. “People just like to hear themselves talk.”

  “I swear you could fire half the civil servants in this city and no one would even notice,” said Byron. He flashed two tickets at the gate and ushered Joan into the building.

  “You could fire half of them but then they’d have to have twice as many meetings,” said Joan. “I think they have a quota to meet.”

  Byron laughed. He was wearing jeans and a light fall jacket of soft brown suede that enhanced his eyes. He glanced appreciatively at her.

  “You look lovely by the way.”

  Joan felt herself colour a little under his gaze.

  “Thanks,” she said. “You too. Lovely. No, I mean handsome.”

  “I blush,” he said, although he wasn’t blushing at all. Joan felt her face redden, glad that Byron was too distracted by locating their seats to notice. My God! They were sitting almost directly behind home plate.

  “These seats are magnificent,” said Joan. “I think they’re the best I’ve ever sat in.”

  “What is it you like about baseball?” asked Byron as they settled.

  “I like the leisureliness and civility of it,” said Joan. “It seems so calm compared to other sports. No ugly brutes trying to bash each other’s heads in.”

  “Same with soccer,” said Byron. “Although to be a soccer player you also have to be an actor…all those faked dives.”

  “You’re right,” said Joan. She glanced at Byron’s profile. He was watching intently as the two teams jogged onto the field. There it was again, that niggling feeling that she knew him from somewhere. Byron turned to her.

  “Joan, I know we’ve already talked about it but I can’t shake the feeling I know you already.”

  Joan inhaled sharply.

  “Maybe we did meet at the El Mocambo,” he said.

  “Yes,” said Joan. “I do remember the band ‘Ballsack’ so anything’s possible.”

  Joan didn’t tell Byron what she was thinking. It was something that seemed both possible yet highly improbable.

  The game began. It was scoreless until the third inning when the Jay’s third baseman hit it out of the park. The crowd roared approval and leapt to their feet. Joan and Byron high-fived each other then he grabbed her in a crushing hug. She thought she might faint as his strong arms encircled her.

  The moment lasted a few seconds but to Joan it felt like a lifetime. Breathless, she sat down while Byron continued to stand, fist pumping the air and emitting a piercing whistle through two fingers. Joan told herself the hug had been meaningless, simply the reaction of an enthusiastic fan. She both wanted and didn’t want to believe it could be anything more.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Elizabeth and Effie used the basement of their duplex as a temporary office to set up ‘Rags ‘n’ Beats.’ Given the success of Effie’s previous fashion magazine ‘Stylish’, they were confident of raising money. They knew they had to have a strong internet presence as well as a print version and agreed to split the cost of hiring a designer to devise a sample layout.

  After interviewing several people they settled on a young man who went by the name of Peabody. When they asked him his first name he replied ‘Peabody’.

  “So your name is ‘Peabody Peabody’?" asked Elizabeth, trying not to laugh. The young man scowled and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He’d clearly heard the mirth before.

  “My friends call me Pea.”

  Pea was in his early twenties wearing bright red designer framed glasses and a pair of tight plaid pants. Music and fashion were his main interests. He’d graduated from the Ontario College of Art then obtained a degree in web design. His portfolio was impressive as were the websites he showed Effie and Elizabeth. He was c
omfortable with all the latest design programs and thrilled to be working on a startup project that combined his two interests.

  “What sign are you?” asked Effie.

  Pea looked startled. “If I’m the wrong one does it mean I don’t get the job?”

  “Ignore my friend here,” said Elizabeth. “We really don’t care.”

  “Just curious though,” said Effie.

  “I’m an asparagus,” said Pea.

  Effie beamed. “An Aquarius. How perfect. When can you start?” she asked after getting a brief nod from Elizabeth. Pea glanced at his watch. “Now?” he asked.

  “Tomorrow will be fine, say 10 a.m.?” said Elizabeth.

  “Perf,” said Pea, grabbing his satchel and zipping up his portfolio case. “See you then.”

  “One problem solved,” sighed Elizabeth after Pea left.

  “The solving of one problem is a guarantee that another will be just around the corner,” said Effie, consulting her list of things to do.

  “Positive, positive,” admonished Elizabeth. “I must say Effie, it’s great to be doing something.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Effie. “I kinda missed the old days, making decisions about layouts, hiring designers, going to fashion shows.”

  “Me too,” said Elizabeth. “It was fun making deals, deciding who to represent, seeing if I could make the music biz take notice of a nobody.”

  “Speaking of stars, any luck with Gwen?” asked Effie.

  “Not yet,” said Elizabeth. “Still waiting to hear.”

  The women had decided that singer Gwen Stefani of ‘90’s ‘No Doubt’ fame would be a good choice for the cover of ‘Rags ‘n’ Beats’ because she had a line of outerwear.