Murder at Lost Dog Lake

by Vicki Delany

  “Oh for heaven’s sake, back off, Jeremy.” Barb dragged the bow of the canoe out of the water while Craig pushed the stern. “We picked some berries. And then we went fishing. For all that it’s any of your business. Which it isn’t, I might add.”

  “We just gathered raspberries, buddy.” Craig waded out of the water and joined them on the rocky beach. “Any one could have come. I didn’t see you volunteering.”

  Jeremy leapt forward and pushed Craig solidly in the chest. Our guide had about five inches and maybe 60 pounds on the skinny, young Englishman but the attack came as a surprise. He took an involuntary step backward and slipped on a rock, crashing backwards into the water.

  Jeremy kicked at Craig’s exposed side. He had to step calf-deep into the lake to reach his imagined opponent so the force of the kick was weakened considerably. Craig let loose a shout of anger, reached out and grabbed Jeremy’s foot. He twisted the ankle and tipped the English boy onto his back. Jeremy fell heavily with a grunt of real pain. Within a second Craig had recovered his wits and leapt to his feet. He stood over the boy who was now gasping for breath and floundering in the shallow water.

  Barb screeched and threw her hands up to cover her eyes.

  I waded into the water and grabbed Craig by the arm. “Don’t.”

  He shook his big head and wiped his eyes, all the fight leaving him in a flash. He threw a feeble smile in my direction and allowed me to lead him to shore.

  With much splashing and grunting Jeremy struggled ineffectively to his feet, his face still burning red as much from embarrassment as anger.

  Craig held out a hand to offer Jeremy help getting out of the water, but the gesture was ignored. He kicked furiously at a pile of kindling, which I’d laid out neatly by the fire after finishing the dishes, and without a word he stomped off into the woods. The sounds of something heavy crashing through the undergrowth could be heard long after he disappeared from sight.

  Craig shrugged and bent to gather up the scattered twigs and small branches. Barb watched Jeremy’s exit but made no attempt to follow. A self-satisfied little smirk turned up one corner of her mouth. She saw me watching her and the expression disappeared to be hastily replaced by a worried frown. She bustled over to Dianne and asked to see what she was working on. The older woman held out her sketchbook, and Barb settled down beside her to admire the artwork.

  Rachel moved her towel out of the shade, applied more sunscreen, and tried to get comfortable. Joe and Richard continued to pore over their binder. So intent were they in whatever lay before them, they hadn’t even noticed the short altercation.

  The remainder of the day passed without incident. Jeremy eventually returned from the woods to disappear into his tent. Joe and Richard finished their business and Joe took Rachel out for a canoe trip. When they returned, dead leaves were clinging to the back of her hair and his T-shirt was on inside out. Myself, I spent the rest of the day lost in the wonders of Victorian London, emerging only occasionally for a quick dip in the lake.

  At one point a group paddled by, four or five canoes with two instructors and a troop of loud, raucous pre-teen boys. Their enthusiasm and joy sounded across the lake, echoing off hills and rocks and trees. I watched them go with an ache in my heart. In a few years my sons would be about the age of these boys. I hoped they would get a chance to enjoy the wilderness as much as this group seemed to. As I had taught myself to do, I closed down my heart and shut my mind to all that I’d lost and returned to my book.

  Dinner that night was pea soup: a thoroughly unpleasant shade of slime green, full of lumpy peas and other unnamed blobs. It was the first meal of the trip I hadn’t enjoyed whole-heartedly, and I merely wiped at the edges of my soup bowl with the accompanying bread.

  Jeremy appeared in time to receive a serving of dinner and plunked himself down at the edge of the fire circle, speaking to no one. Barb took her plate and went over to sit beside him. He perked up at that and the scowl slowly left his face. They chatted together in quiet tones, their soft English accents out of place in the remoteness of the forest.

  Dianne proudly pulled a deck of cards out of her daypack and invited us all to play. Jeremy declined with a grunt, but unfortunately for him, Barb was keen to join the game and ignored his suggestion that she accompany him on a late night swim.

  “Are you in, Rachel?” Dianne asked, shuffling the deck as if she’d learned at the feet of a Las Vegas dealer.

  Rachel shrugged and sighed mightily, the despair of the world resting on her thin shoulders. “Nothing else to do around here, is there?” She moved into the circle.

  “You could always go for a long swim and not bother to come back,” Dianne mumbled under her breath as she arranged the baking sheet on top of the equipment pack to serve as a table. Only I was close enough to hear.

  It was hard to think up a card game for seven people. I suggested “Up and Down the River” and taught it to everyone. As the summer sun disappeared into the lake and the warm darkness closed in, Craig tossed more logs on the fire. We moved in closer to throw a bit of light onto the cards in our hands.

  Joe and Richard played cards like I imagine they did everything: to win. Unfortunately for them, my father taught me to play cards as I drank my mother’s milk. Plus I have always been possessed by a too-much-for-my-own-good dose of competition. Dianne, Barb and Craig were soon out-classed and they settled back to step though the motions. I cleaned up neatly and sat back with a smug smile on my face. “Another round, everyone?”

  One by one they declined. Just as well; it was getting so dark we could barely distinguish the faces of the cards, one from the other.

  The little party broke up and we separated to get ready for the night.

  I was strangely restless and found myself not wanting to go to bed. I sat on the rocky beach in my oversized nightshirt (Go, Leafs Go! it screamed) and watched as a canopy of stars ever so slowly punctured the inky blackness of the sky. This far away from the city and the lights of human habitation, the night sky was ablaze with stars. The brightest of our celestial neighbors cast reflections into the lake so that the waters themselves shimmered and glowed as if giant diamonds rested below the surface.

  I sighed happily. I was glad I came. I would try to ignore my companions and all their crazy feuds and jealousies and weird habits and just enjoy myself in the peace of my beloved woods.

  A shooting star streaked across the night sky, followed almost instantly by another, even brighter. I sighed in contentment. Behind me a twig snapped, jerking me out of my revelry. I was half way to my feet before I recognized Craig’s lumbering form. Like a bear, he couldn’t move quietly if he wanted to.

  “Sorry to startle you, Leanne,” he mumbled, sinking to the rocks beside me. “Nice night.”

  “Yes, it is. But I guess that they’re all nice, up here.”

  “Some more than others.”

  We sat in comfortable silence for a long time. Overhead more shooting stars crossed the heavens; from across the lake we could hear the mournful cry of a loon.

  “They always sound so sad, the loons,” I said. “So lonely.”

  “They are lonely,” Craig whispered, his voice raw with passion. “They live most of their lives alone in their own family groupings, but there are fewer and fewer of them all the time. The more people, the less space for loons.”

  “We’ve seen lots of them over the past few days.”

  “Here, yes. In the park. But how many loons have you seen on, say, Lake Muskoka?”

  “Not many.”

  “Loons verses Jet Skis. I wonder which will survive.”

  I stared up at the stars and said nothing. His bulk moved. His arm rested lightly on my shoulder. I patted Craig’s hand in what I intended to be a suitably maternal gesture and shifted as far away as I could politely get.

  Craig moved along with me. I was already half-overhanging my rock with nowhere to go but down. So lightly that I almost could have been imagining it, I felt Craig’s arm slip ac
ross my back and apply gentle pressure. Without a thought, I leapt to my feet in a flurry of arms and rash excuses.

  “It must be awfully late,” I babbled. “Time to turn in. Good night, Craig,”

  I dashed into camp.

  Behind me I heard his soft voice, tinged with humor. “Good night, Leanne. Sleep tight.”

  Chapter 9

  Day 6: Morning into Night.

  The night before, I’d promised myself to simply enjoy the trip and to stay well out of everyone else’s business. But, like most late-night resolutions, that one came to naught in the clear light of the next day. As we carried all our equipment down to the water’s edge and loaded up the canoes, I suggested to Barb that she ride with me for a change.

  She gazed longingly at Craig. As there was no worry about sunburn, yet, he hadn’t pulled on his shirt. It was loosely tied around his shoulders, so that he displayed a chiseled chest, thickly matted with a carpet of black hair. An enticing line of black curls ran from his belly button downward, disappearing into the waistband of his shorts, now falling low around his hips. He loaded the equipment packs, working every hard muscle in his chest and arms. Barb sighed with longing but her manners were far too good to refuse my suggestion outright.

  Jeremy wasn’t happy at the prospect either, but I was long past caring what the petulant Jeremy thought.

  We lifted our canoes carefully off the rocks and slipped them back into their natural environment. We clambered in and were about to get underway when Craig whispered sharply.

  I looked up to see a mother moose and her baby, high stepping and full of grace, wading through the thicket of weeds at the water’s edge. They tugged mouthfuls of thick plants out of the mud and munched contentedly. We watched in silence. For no apparent reason but interest the mother lifted her massive head and stared directly at us. A thick length of waterweed hung from one side of her mouth. Her deep brown eyes watched us steadily, until, tiring of the show, she stepped out of the water leaving barely a ripple behind. The baby followed, nose pressed closely to mother’s flank. A few silent steps and they were gone.

  Moose are the most ungainly of creatures. Legs like matchsticks, so thin you think they’d snap in an instant; all knobby knees and not much else holding up enormous, heavy bodies. Yet they move through the dry underbrush of the forest like dark ghosts, not a sound to mark their passing.

  “Wow.” Rachel breathed into the silence. “That was really something.” The spell broken, we pushed off into the lake.

  Unlike Jeremy, whose pale English skin was turning pinker and pinker under the summer sun, Barb’s peaches and cream complexion had gradually taken on a fresh, light tan. A gentle sprinkling of freckles dotted her nose and cheeks. She wore her hair twisted up at the back and tucked into the ubiquitous Toronto souvenir: a Blue Jay’s baseball cap. White teeth flashed against her tan as she handed back a bottle of sunscreen. Canadian Backcountry Expeditions could have used a picture of her, fresh and lovely and completely outdoorsy, to advertise their trips. “This is such a great holiday,” she sighed deeply when I returned the lotion. “Aren’t you having the best time, Leanne?”

  “Yes, I am. But I do wish everyone would stop fighting.”

  She waved one hand in dismissal. “That’s what men are like, they always have to be fighting over something.”

  “No, they don’t. I know lots of men who never fight.” I took a breath and plunged in. “Pardon me for saying so, but I don’t think you’re helping the situation much, Barb.”

  “What do you mean, me? I’m not fighting with anyone.”

  I sighed, but carried on regardless. Normally I wouldn’t interfere in someone’s private life (well, not much). Let her make her own mistakes. But on a trip like this things are different. We’re living closely, very closely, almost in each other’s pockets and everyone has to get along. If Barb was playing little-girl games it was time for her to give it up.

  I stopped paddling and allowed the canoe to drift. A great blue heron took off from shore with a loud flapping of powerful wings. We watched as the bird circled once over the lake only to disappear into the trees. Better fishing elsewhere.

  “You’re playing Craig and Jeremy off against one another and I don’t think that’s terribly wise.”

  “I am not. Craig’s really cute. I’ve noticed you looking at him you know. Are you interested in him for yourself? If you want me to back off, just say so,” she offered generously, blue eyes twinkling. “Not that I’m saying I will, mind. But we should be honest and open-like, don’t you think? So we know where we both stand.”

  “I am not interested in having anything with Craig, and that’s not what I’m saying. I don’t think you’re being too honest yourself. It isn’t fair to Jeremy to make him jealous over the attention you’re playing to Craig. You can do what ever you want the rest of the time, but we’re all feeling the strain here.”

  Barb threw back her head and laughed. A bright clear laugh, it echoed across the lake and bounded back at us from the trees along the shoreline. Ahead I saw Craig’s head turn.

  “You think I’m trying to make Jeremy jealous? Oh that’s rich, that is. Honestly, I couldn’t care less what Jeremy thinks. If he’s not having a good time on this holiday, then that’s his fault, isn’t it? Not mine.”

  Now I was confused. Could this woman really be as shallow and cold-hearted as she appeared to be? “But Jeremy’s your boyfriend. Of course he’ll be mad if you start flirting with another guy, don’t you think so?”

  Barb laughed again. “Jeremy’s certainly not my boyfriend. Why on earth would anyone think that?”

  To my horror I realized that I had rather jumped to conclusions. A dangerous habit in my line of work. “He seems to think so. At least he acts like he wants to be your boyfriend.”

  “I’m sure he does. But it isn’t going to happen, not in this lifetime anyway.” Barb dabbed at her eyes.

  I was glad I’d managed to amuse her so much. Now that I thought about it a bit more, I hadn’t seen Barb and Jeremy acting particularly intimate, not even once. Nothing more than friendly, actually. Maybe she was a bit flirty on occasion, but that was her personality. “I am sorry, Barb,” I apologized meekly. “The way he behaves, it’d obvious how jealous he is, and came on the trip together…”

  “Oh, I can understand if that’s how it looks to all of you. ‘Cause we’re traveling together and all.” She turned around and watched the other canoes disappearing into the distance. “We’d better catch up. Or Jeremy will be wondering what I am doing out here with you. Jerk.” She picked up her paddle and dug viciously into the water.

  I joined her and we set off towards the others. Once we resumed a steady pace, Barb started talking again. “I only met Jeremy at Heathrow. I was with my best friend, Annie. We’ve been planning this trip forever. For absolutely years, all the time we were growing up, me and Annie planned our big trip to North America once we finished school.

  “The plane was like really late leaving Heathrow. We sat around the airport for hours and hours waiting. That’s when we met Jeremy and his pal Josh, who were on the same flight. They were nice boys so we thought we would all travel together.”

  “Where’s Annie now?”

  “Would’ya believe it? Years we’ve been planning this trip, and then right after we get here, Annie falls down and breaks her leg. We were in Ottawa, visiting the Parliament buildings, a lovely tour it was too, but then Annie ups and trips on nothing. Tumbles down the stairs, ass over tit and bang! It’s all over.” She slapped the water with the blade of her paddle, startling a lone Canada goose who was, until then, oblivious of our passing. With an offended honk, the goose scuttled across the surface of the water, wings flapping furiously, and took to the air.

  “So I packed Annie back off to England and carried on with Jeremy and Josh. Josh was nice and we all had great fun at first. We went to Montreal and Quebec City and it was great; we practiced our dreadful school French and ate at little bistros, but then out
of the blue Josh decides to go to the States to visit some cousin and said he’d meet up with us later. Annie and I had already paid for this canoe trip, so I mentioned to Jeremy that I was still going, and he took Annie’s place. It really wasn’t until a day or two before we got the bus to the lodge that he started coming over all possessive and jealous. It’s quite a pain, you know? He’s always watching me, and acting all controlling like. Jerk.” The bright smile had faded long ago and a worried frown touched Barb’s face. She pulled her hat off and scratched at her scalp. “Boy, it’s hot. Didn’t know it got so hot in Canada. Annie was all for packing gloves and wool hats, ‘just in case’, she said, until she read a brochure that told us what the summer temperatures were like.”

  “Keep drinking water,” I reminded her, unable to think of anything less mundane to say.

  “So what do I do now, Leanne?” She lifted her arms behind her head and re-rolled the masses of blond hair into a loose knot before plopping the cap back on. I knew she wasn’t asking for tips on how to keep cool.

  We were at a halt once again. I leaned over the side to fill up my water bottle. “I don’t really know what to tell you. You don’t want advice on handling men from me, that’s for sure.” My laugh was tight and forced.

  We picked up our paddles and resumed the journey in silence.

  After dinner we all snuggled back into our own comfy spot of log clutching mugs of hot chocolate. The last remaining marshmallows bobbed in the rich, dark drink.

  With one finger I poked my marshmallow down into the liquid and then licked the gooey remains.

  The clouds had moved in fast and covered all trace of moon and stars. The camp seemed remote indeed. Only our little fire cast a flickering circle of light into the darkness that surrounded. Clutching my mug I wondered what it must have been like for the vast majority of all humanity, with only the tiny flame of a carefully guarded fire standing between them and the terrors of the night.