The Emily Taylor Mystery Bundle

by Catherine Astolfo

  "Fine, Emily," she said, her tone cold and angry. "I'll go by myself." And then the line went dead.

  For a moment I held the receiver in my hand, unable to move, listening as the telephone began to whine again, shocked that May would actually hang up on me. It was, however, the impetus that I needed, for suddenly I was no longer relaxed or sleepy. I flung on my clothes and headed out the door.

  Although I didn't want to keep Langford out of the loop, I didn't want to spend too much time telling him what was happening either, so I stuck my head into his studio and told him May was really upset, and I was going over to her place. Which was, in fact, part of the truth. Her desire to go to the sacred grounds was the part I didn't want to explain to him just now.

  I jogged up Lakeview, across Lawrence, cut through Norval Lane and was at the corner of Rideau and Julia before I realized I was completely out of breath. Leaning back with my hands on my hips, I panted for a few moments and looked up at the grey sky. In my panic, I hadn't realized the wind was so strong, hadn't appreciated the fact that the air smelled of spring, and the darker morning clouds were being dispersed to make way for sunshine. I also hadn't realized that a few weeks had gone by since I'd last jogged. I was sweating and my legs were screaming at me, even though I'd only gone a short distance.

  Once my breath was under control, I walked briskly to number seven and mounted the steps of the porch just as May pulled the front door open. When she saw me, she dropped the backpack and toolbox she was carrying and dissolved into tears. I folded her shaking form in a huge hug and we stood there for a few moments while she clung to me, her grief and despair flooding through her. I kept saying, "It's okay, it's okay." But I knew it really wasn't.

  Eventually we sat on the porch chairs, neither of us minding the winter dust that still clung to them. I held May's hands in mine, as if afraid she would fly away if I let go.

  "May, I'm not going to try to talk you out of this. You have to do it," I said, and her tear-filled eyes brightened with gratitude. "If you don't, I'm so afraid you're going to have a breakdown or something. I just want to talk you into going to see Edgar and asking him to come with us."

  May sniffed and actually wiped her face on her coat sleeve. "Okay," she said in a small voice, so immediately that I was taken aback, having put several arguments together in my head. "I'm so sorry, Emily, I don't know what's wrong with me."

  She started to cry again, so I pulled several crumpled, but clean, tissues from my pocket trying to save her coat from more damage.

  "I do," I said. "You're suffering from shock. You haven't been able to grieve and so much has happened in such a short time. Oona's so close to you it's like losing your mom all over again. Edgar will come with us. I know he will."

  I convinced May to freshen up and change her jacket to a lighter—and I didn't mention, cleaner—one and we headed out to see Chief Superintendent Edgar Brennan.

  Small towns in Ontario are policed by a detachment of the Ontario Provincial Police services. A couple of years ago, due to the increase in traffic on the provincial highway surrounding Burchill, not to mention the large influx of tourists, our little detachment had become a regional headquarters. Edgar had been promoted to regional commander and Frances had been hired as one of four detectives assigned to Burchill's station.

  The other three detectives lived in the small towns to the north and west of Burchill. So, although we would see their vehicles patrolling the area and meet them in the street, we had not gotten to know any of them as well as we now knew Frances. Edgar was thrilled with the help. Covering Burchill and Sahsejewon, plus the provincial park and the canals filled with tourist boats had become more and more difficult to do thoroughly. But he also had more responsibility and was actually less free than before.

  The Burchill Regional Headquarters was a fancy name for a very small office at the corner of Lawrence and Main Street, also known as Provincial Highway 54. The station was, like a lot of places in Burchill, old but refurbished. A tall, brick structure, which was once a granary, was now split into two narrow, three-storey buildings. The other half had been converted into Robin's Nest, one of those fancy tourist boutiques that sold cute little knickknacks and antiques side by side.

  Edgar's office was now on the second floor, somewhat away from the action. He claimed, not entirely tongue-in-cheek, it was designed to keep him from being curious about what was going on outside, so he'd remain focused on all the paperwork that was expected of him in the new position.

  I didn't share my misgivings with May that he might not be able to get away. As we got closer to Main Street, I also did not share my discomfort at going to the station. I had not been there since being questioned two years ago by the Ottawa contingent, one of whom was Frances Petapiece, a stranger.

  In the past, I would often persuade myself that I had left all my old fears far behind. Lately, however, I had to admit that I was still haunted. As I approached the Burchill Regional headquarters—as I swung the door inward to face the counter that I had stood fearfully in front of just a few months before, I was suddenly transported all the way back to Vancouver...all the way back to Langford and the bars that separated us. I shivered and swallowed, struggling to hide my reaction from May, who had become very adept at reading my face. But I didn't have to worry this time. My friend was too preoccupied with her own fears and tensions to even look in my direction.

  The constable behind the counter was Martin Michano, one of the new additions to the headquarters. Martin was half native and half French descent, but the French features had won out. There was a reddish tinge to his shortly cropped brown hair. His eyes were a deep blue, and his face was thin, ending in a long dimpled chin. There was something very attractive about Marty. Perhaps it was his grin and the sparkle that reached his eyes every time he said hello.

  I was impressed that he knew our names too, even though he had only met us a few times. Perhaps that was an advantage of being the school principal, or maybe Martin Michano was just good at names. I felt better immediately after his cheerful, warm greeting.

  When we explained that we wanted to see Edgar, he didn't question that at all. He lifted the intercom phone and almost immediately, we were invited to go on up the stairs. The steps creaked under our combined weight, reminding us that this building, despite its modern facelift, was still old.

  We found Edgar behind his desk, signing what looked like a stack of parking tickets. When he stood, smiling warmly at us, May started to cry again. Finding my voice surprisingly calm and strong, I explained what we wanted to do.

  Edgar drummed his fingers on the desk, not meeting our eyes for a moment. It took him less time than I thought it would. "Let's do it," he said, amazing both May and me. "I'll talk to Chief Dan, but I know he won't have any problem with it because you're going, May. And he respects our school principal here too, go figure."

  I wrinkled my nose at him but our attempt at humour didn't help.

  "Can we go today?" May asked, her eyes still brimming over with tears. "I just have this—I can't explain it, but I have a terrible feeling..." She crumpled into sobs again.

  Edgar put his arm around her shoulders. "We probably should have gone before this. I kept hoping they would turn up and say they'd been on a hunting expedition. I just can't imagine that they're hiding out in the sacred caves. Even Agnes Lake can't be there. She has never gone there on a vision quest, according to Chief Dan, even when she has been on quests longer than this. But it's been nearly a month, and I think it was a mistake waiting so long." When May started to protest, he shook his head. "No, I'm not saying that to get sympathy. I've been thinking for a while that we've been too certain that they would not go to the sacred ground. Sorry, May, but Oona had been acting strangely before she left…"

  "I know, I even said that myself," May inserted.

  "Frieda, well, she's an odd duck to begin with. So who knows? And now with no sign of Victor Reeves—"

  "What?" May and I exclaimed at the s
ame time.

  I had not given Victor Reeves another thought since Sunday's fire, and with the search of the pond and my self-imposed retreat, I hadn't heard a thing from anyone else either.

  Edgar explained. "After the fire, as you know, we tried getting in touch with him. It seems Evan Fobert hadn't seen him in a couple of days, or so he says. Victor was supposed to be heading to Ottawa to be at a meeting, which he reportedly said he needed time to prepare for. He hadn't specified about when he'd be going, so Fobert claims he thought nothing of the fact that Reeves didn't show up for dinner etcetera. Sounds pretty fishy to me, though."

  I was sure Frances would not approve of Edgar's negativity, but I personally agreed with him where Evan Fobert was concerned. "Sounds very weird," I said. "In fact, everything seems pretty weird at this moment. But what could Victor Reeves have in common with Oona and Frieda, and maybe even Agnes, to have someone kidnap them all?"

  "There might not be a connection at all. Maybe the subdivision fire and Victor are completely separate from Oona and Frieda's absences. Maybe Victor has just gotten pissed off and is on a business trip. Maybe the women are hunting. But we won't know anything sitting around here." Edgar stood up and grabbed his coat. "Let's go see Chief Dan."

  About two hours later, just as the noon sun swept away the rest of the clouds and beamed down from above, May, Edgar, Alain, Langford and I set out along Lakeview Road in Edgar's jeep. May and I had not even tried to convince Langford and Alain to stay behind, nor had Chief Dan seemed the least bit perturbed that all these extra people were going to advance on the caves. I could tell when he looked into May's tortured eyes that he was willing to agree to almost anything that might help solve the mystery. At any rate, he had immediately gotten the blessing from the remainder of the Native Council, which made Edgar feel much better. Although legally he'd have the right to search the area, Edgar Brennan was Burchill born.

  We parked the car in the provincial park on the other side of Ogeechee Lake. From here, it would be a hike of about four hours before we reached the cliffs near the sacred caves. As I shifted my back pack, I hoped for at least two things. One, that my physical condition was still up to the trek, and two, that the weather would continue the sun-filled, warming trend it had been following all morning. I didn't dare think further ahead than that. We all knew that it would take most of the day to get to the caves. We were all aware of the small tents and sleeping bags that we had rolled into the packs on our shoulders. But the idea of spending the night inside the forest was not one I had yet allowed to sink in.

  The first two hours of the hike were straight through the forest on flat land. This was largely un-traversed territory. Not many ventured this far east of Ogeechee, as most people used the many hiking trails that had been provided by the province and the Native Council. Single file, we hacked our way through the brush, Alain in the lead, swinging his scythe and expertly slicing through the vines that might entangle our feet. Despite his efforts, I found myself tripping fairly often, forcing me to keep my head down to watch my boots as they squished through the barely unfrozen ground.

  We tramped along in silence, our bodies slowly becoming used to the high-stepping walk that we had to adopt. The distant hum of the highway gradually gave way to birds busying themselves with the signs of early spring. Rustles in the distance echoed as animals scampered out of the way of our noisy march. The breeze soughed through the brittle limbs of trees. Soon I was engulfed in my new surroundings. Away from the noise of the town, I focused only on our progress forward.

  We stopped in a clearing after about two hours of walking, guzzled down more water, ate energy bars, and met the 'call of nature' in our own private tree-sheltered stalls. Covered in perspiration and each with our secret fears about what lay ahead, we didn't talk very much.

  Langford enwrapped me in an encouraging hug and gave me one of his lingering looks that still, after all these years, can send shivers down my back. I smiled up at him, thinking about everything we had been through together, and wondering what experience would meet us in this unknown part of the forest.

  Back in the line, tramping once more through the woods, Langford kept grabbing me from in front, making me laugh until I begged him to stop. Our laughter seemed to loosen everyone up though, and from then on there were calls back and forth to each other, mostly designed to make all of us giggle. We kept this up—more or less—for two long hours, over land that began to elevate slightly with every step, until suddenly we reached the ridge that overlooked the sacred caves.

  The sight of the land ahead silenced us and sent the smiles scurrying away from our faces. We were standing on the edge of a cliff that sloped at a forty-five degree angle away from our feet. But it was not the distance below that caught our eyes first.

  Chapter 23

  Rising above us about thirty metres high, a wall of rock fanned out in front of us, its ridges and lines shaped into five long fingers, spread and pointing upward. The hand displayed small dark openings, as though the giant rock held a string of marbles across its palm. The light breeze became a wind here, pummelling us from above, tugging at our hair and coats, flinging small bits of dirt at our faces. There was a deep silence. No birds sang, no animals scurried. In spite of the breeze here on the cliff, the other side, where dots of bushes stuck out of the rock face, was frozen and still. No leaf stirred. No squirrel awoke to scold us for disturbing the winter sleep.

  The silence roared in my ears, making me feel dizzy. I could hear Langford's deep intake of breath, and sought his hand for comfort. He quickly wrapped his arm around me, as if sensing my imbalance.

  It was May who broke the silence. With a sudden, swift movement she turned sideways and began to crab-walk down the slope. The ground was still damp and slightly frozen, so her footsteps were sure and solid. Edgar and Alain soon followed. Langford and I brought up the rear. No one spoke as we slowly descended the incline, our progress impeded by bushes and vines, our feet carefully ensuring we were anchored before proceeding. A few times I could feel myself slipping and my breath stopped, but Langford was always just slightly below me, his arms ready to halt my fall. The descent seemed to take hours. Heads down, scrambling sideways, clutching and releasing, slipping and regaining purchase, we zigzagged our way through the bushes, stumps and vines that snaked through the trees.

  Finally, one by one, we tumbled onto the gravelled surface of the old riverbed. Looking back up at the steep grade we had just traversed, I had a sudden fear of never being able to get out of that valley again. We stood there picking off the debris and mud that clung to our pants and boots, staring around and at each other.

  No wonder it was forbidden to come here. Suddenly, it appeared to me to be a trap. I could tell by the frowns and silence from the others that everyone was feeling much the same way. Again it was May who spoke first.

  "This was once a riverbed," she told us, taking on the role of teacher. "Years ago, it would have been covered in muddy water every spring. That's why there are so many small boulders and pieces of rock strewn about. Be careful where you step. The hill that we just came down was something Oona called a terminal moraine."

  We all nodded in silence, as if we had come here expressly to learn geography. Encouraged by our attention, May continued.

  "See how it slopes up again over here." This time she pivoted in the direction of the rock face. "This section of the cliff made a perfect place to dig caves, because the water couldn't reach the entrances. It's also hard to climb, so that ensured safety too, from animals and other enemies." Her voice had taken on a childlike quality, and I realized suddenly that she was repeating information her aunt had shared with her when she was a child. I wondered whether May had been to the sacred caves since she had become an adult.

  We all gazed upward at the ridge that preceded the ascent to the caves. Although the angle was not steep, the incline was flat, shiny rock. This was the Canadian Shield, a solid core of the most ancient rock on the planet. The combination of
granite and gneiss covers most of Ontario and quite a large portion of the Canadian landscape. The portions that seemed to shine were the streaks of hard crystalline minerals glinting in the sun.

  "I know a secret passageway, though, that we can use to get up there."

  Obediently, as though we were her sedate pupils, the group of us turned in the same direction and followed May along the ancient riverbed. It was more difficult to walk here than we'd imagined, just as May had warned. Fist-sized rocks and pointed pebbles continually turned under our feet causing us to sway, and often, nearly stumble. We walked single file, our arms and hands out to steady from behind, concentrating on the task of walking, listening to the wind whip overhead and dash off into the forest.

  The silence down in this enclave made my flesh crawl with goose bumps. I knew for certain that we should not be here.

  When May turned toward the rock face, I at first thought she was planning to go back where we'd come from. I couldn't believe she was headed for the gnarl of bushes and branches that appeared at the edge of the cliff. When I looked to my right, I could see the beginning of the woods and the end of the riverbed clearing. This forest was similar to the one we'd come through. But here it was extremely thick, a tangled mixture of evergreen, brush and deciduous, all climbing on top of each other to reach the sunlight. The result was a mass of vegetation that seemed dark and impenetrable.

  To our surprise, May parted the bushes and branches to reveal a yawning cave. The odour of dampness and mould, along with a bitter cold, reached out and slapped at us.

  "It's very dark in here," May said, her voice echoing back to the group. "Every one of us must keep our flashlights on. Stay close."

  I was not happy about going into this cave, I must admit. Even though I trust May completely, the thought of entering this wet darkness was daunting. When we filed into the musty opening, my fears were not assuaged. The walls of the cave almost brushed against our shoulders and we had to lean over, hands on knees, to avoid striking our heads on the roof. The only thing visible was the small circle of light in front on our feet, pinpointing the black, wet rock beneath us. No one spoke.