Murder at Lost Dog Lake

by Vicki Delany

  They mumbled ungraciously. Joe and Jeremy sat down on a patch of log, Jeremy with eyes downcast and face flushed, Joe still glaring at everything around him. Barb huffed and marched off to stand at the edge of the lake, staring out over the storm.

  She appeared quite dramatic standing there, beside the canoes; arms wrapped tightly around the sleeves of her yellow raincoat, the blond hair hanging wet and matted down her back. The heaving lake and storm-congested sky provided a stark backdrop to her motionless figure.

  Beside the canoes!

  Something was wrong.

  Where there had been four, there were now only two. Two lonely, yellow canoes, high and - not very - dry on the rocks.

  Hoping that my eyes were confused by the dim gray light, I stumbled down to the water’s edge. Only two canoes remained, pulled up onto the safety of the rocks and flipped over so that their bright bottoms bravely faced the elements.

  The others heard my cry of shock and came running. As one, we stared out over the lake.

  Craig had his head still buried in the food bag, digging for some undiscovered treasure that might be playing hide-and-seek down at the bottom. He pulled up a plastic bag containing a few thin flakes of oatmeal. The last of the breakfasts.

  Eventually he turned to see what we were all looking at. He was slow to understand, not wanting to believe it, but then with an almost inhuman screech, he threw the bag of oatmeal into the wind.

  Yelling and swearing, kicking logs and stones with every furious step, he ran down to the water’s edge and waded out several feet. Legs apart, arms raised high overhead, he screamed at the uncaring wind.

  I thought I knew all the swear words there are, but I learned a few more that day. His anger was rising to match the storm that simply wouldn’t die. He picked rocks up from the lake bottom and hurled them into the air; he pounded on the water with his fists and stomped furiously around in circles. With a final primal scream of rage, he threw himself face first into the water and swam with powerful steady strokes out into the lake.

  We watched in shocked horror. Craig appeared to have gone stark raving mad.

  Yelling and jumping up and down we screamed out his name and begged for him to come back to us.

  I considered pushing one of the remaining canoes into the water and going after him, but rejected the idea immediately. I wouldn’t be fast enough, and I certainly couldn’t catch up to him by swimming.

  But Craig didn’t go far. He stopped his headlong rush forward, swam in place for a few seconds, then turned and paddled back to shore.

  He was climbing up out of the water, face still set like a stone mask, when close, too close, a flash of lightening lit up the stormy sky. A thunderbolt hurled directly into the choppy, gray and white lake, only feet from where Craig had been treading water moments ago.

  Rachel screamed once and then broke out laughing. Her laughter was sharp and high-pitched without the slightest trace of humor. Joe made soothing, cooing noises and attempted to gather her up in his arms. She brushed him aside as if he were an ant and marched back to camp. Joe followed.

  Craig watched them in disgust. He shook water out of his hair and pulled off his sandals. The swim hadn’t diluted his rage.

  “Spoiled little rich bitch,” he screamed after her. “Useless, completely useless.”

  “That’s enough of that,” Dianne said with sufficient frost in her voice to make a pack of huskies happy.

  Craig whirled to face her. “You’re no better,” he sneered. “Another spoiled, rich brat wanting to play in the woods. Why can’t you stay where you belong and leave the rest of us alone?”

  Dianne recoiled as if she had been struck. Her eyes widened in shock and she lifted one hand to her mouth. She began to cry.

  “Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Craig,” I yelled. “That is so uncalled for. It’s not Rachel or Dianne’s or anyone else’s fault that we’re stuck in this storm and that the canoes washed away.”

  “Oh, no,” he said with a vehemence that had me taking a shocked step backwards. Tripping over a wet rock, I went down hard and landed on my backside. A jolt of pain rushed up my spine to bounce off the interior of my skull. Air left my lungs with a whoosh and my eyes filled with water.

  Craig took one step towards me, large and threatening. I recoiled and struggled to regain my footing, but he didn’t move any closer. “Who do you think pulled up the canoes, eh? Which one of you rich, big-city idiots couldn’t even be bothered to drag the canoes high enough up onto the rocks? Just wanting to get out of the big, bad storm I guess. Never mind, good old Craig will take care of it.”

  Rachel had stopped the gulping laughter and she and Joe were standing like statues under the tarp watching. Mouths gaping open in matching expressions of shock, Jeremy and Barb stared at Craig as if he were some sort of creature they had never seen before, and certainly hoped never to see again.

  I shoot my head and struggled back to my feet to face him. As wet, miserable, confused and frightened as I was, my valuable police training came through again. Inside, I was trembling like a butterfly caught in a tornado, but on the exterior I remained as cool and calm as one can be. Casually I shifted my body into a non-aggressive, but ready for anything, stance, bouncing invisibly on my toes. Craig was a lot bigger and a great deal stronger and a good bit younger than me, but I hoped that if it came to a fight I was the better trained and the one with the most self-possession.

  Fortunately it didn’t come to that. With another tirade of curses, and more mumbling about “useless rich bitches”, he turned his back and climbed up the hill to disappear into the woods. His purple raincoat bobbed once against the bruised and angry sky and disappeared.

  I exhaled a sigh of relief. My hands fell to my sides as the tension flowed in great waves out of my body.

  “What on God’s green earth was all that about?” Dianne whispered.

  “Worries about the storm and Richard’s death and all that has happened must really be getting to him. He’s responsible for all of us, remember.” I said, not really believing it.

  “Well, I think he’s one serious loony.” Barb said. “I wouldn’t want to get on his bad side.”

  Jeremy muttered in agreement.

  “I’m going to make coffee,” Barb said. “Anyone want some?”

  Dianne and I looked at each other. “Were you going to fight him, Leanne?” she asked.

  “It wouldn’t have come to that. But if I had to, I could,” I said with a confidence I didn’t feel.

  “I’m sure you could at that.” And she went to help with the coffee.

  I peered out over the water, straining my eyes for the slightest glimmer of light or even a thinning of the clouds. The rain seemed to have died down a bit, maybe it was my imagination, but I grabbed at the little touch of hope. Now I was seriously worried. I didn’t mind Craig’s little temper tantrum, much. He did have a lot of responsibility, nothing less than our lives in fact, and this had been a difficult trip even before the storm hit. He probably took the death of Richard as a personal failure. I doubt that any of the other guides at CBE had lost a client before.

  I wasn’t concerned about Craig in particular. No doubt he would be back soon and we would all pretend that nothing had happened. But tempers were getting extremely short and if we didn’t get away from here soon it wouldn’t be much longer before someone really went off the deep end. Richard’s killer must be getting desperate to be on the move. Whoever that person was, he or she would be cursing their luck, trapped on a little spit of land in the middle of nowhere in the worst storm in Ontario’s memory.

  Barb carried a mug of steaming coffee down to me. I sipped it gratefully and felt the welcome warmth spread through my body.

  “This is great. Thank you.”

  “As long as we have coffee, we can survive anything.” Dianne followed, clutching her own cup.

  I smiled at her. “My sentiments exactly.”

  “What are we going to do now?” Barb asked. “Are we trapped
here? With just two canoes?”

  “No,” I said. “We can still send someone for help when the storm is over. We couldn’t leave Richard here alone anyway.”

  “I’m beginning to wonder if this storm will ever end,” Barb said. “Maybe it’s the end of the world. Like in the bible or something.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Dianne snapped at her. “It’s a storm like any other. No storm lasts forever, this is just a particularly big one. Happens all the time.”

  Barb might have believed her, but Dianne caught my eye and we exchanged glances. We had never known a storm to last this long and with this intensity.

  I finished my coffee. “I’d better go and see if I have anything approaching dry clothes.” I didn’t know cloth could get so wet. If the elements, or the murderer, didn’t get us, pneumonia was certain to.

  Chapter 19

  Day 10: Afternoon.

  I made a feeble attempt at cleaning myself up. Even amongst all this mess, someone had had the presence of mind to hang the solar shower to a nail already fastened into place on the side of a jack pine. It felt wonderful to scrub my face with a bit of soap and brush my teeth as I tried to force a little life back into my tired, sore and wet body. I managed to make only my face and my teeth feel better but that helped, a little bit. I had returned Rachel’s raincoat and decided that I couldn’t bear to put mine back on, whether because it was too wet or I was too squeamish I didn’t spend any time contemplating. So I was wet, almost beyond wet. And very, very cold. I wondered if I would ever be warm and dry again.

  To my overwhelming joy I found one pair of dry socks lying forgotten in the bottom of my pack. I wiggled my toes in ecstasy as I sort-of dried my feet on my sweater and pulled up the soft, thick wool. Fortunately I had been wearing sandals for the last several days so my hiking boots were still in fairly good condition. I vowed to walk around camp on my hands if that was what it took to keep my feet dry.

  Another miserable day passed. Although we seemed to be all alone in the world, surrounded by cosmic forces spinning an endless cocoon of gray sky, rain, mud, thunder and lightening, I forced myself to remember that we weren’t really alone. All around us, throughout the park, there must be dozens, hundreds maybe, of groups trapped in the storm. The Algonquin Park Rangers and the Ontario Provincial Police would be out in force the second the weather permitted, searching for lost campers and stranded canoeists.

  Ever the optimist, as we sat around the almost-lifeless fire sucking what comfort we could from bottomless cups of thick coffee, I mentioned to Barb that perhaps it was even a good thing that the storm was lasting so long. It would give the authorities plenty of time to organize a thorough search of the park.

  She brightened up a bit at the thought, but the practical Joe soon shot us down. “There will be so much trouble on the roads and in the lakes at the entrance to the park, they’ll never get to us.”

  “Do you maybe wonder if there is anyone else out there at all?” Rachel whispered huskily.

  “What do you mean?” Barb asked.

  “I mean, like this storm is so unusual maybe the whole rest of the world has ceased to exist or something. Maybe there are just a few groups of people left, clinging to rocks in the North. Waiting for the end.”

  “Oh, shut up.” Dianne jumped to her feet, coffee splashing everywhere. “You people are talking crazy. My world has ended, and there it is up there.” She waved one arm at the solitary rock and its lone occupant. “So I don’t think you have all too much reason to talk about ‘the end of the world,’ Madam.” Speech over, she sat down with a thump and a huff.

  Rachel had the grace to look sheepish and apologize under her breath. “Sorry.”

  Breakfast had been largely forgotten what with the shock of the missing canoes and Craig’s abrupt departure, but eventually hunger pangs and boredom forced me to the food pack in search of sustenance. I managed to find most of a loaf of bread and a jar still more than half-full of peanut butter and set about making crude sandwiches and more coffee.

  Joe organized the others to gather several large but thin flat rocks, and make a bit of a path through the mud. From the equipment to the fire pit, from the fire pit to the tents. So at least we could get around without sinking into more mud and splashing through puddles.

  We munched our sandwiches in what passed for some feeble degree of contentment. At least our stomachs were happy, for the time being.

  The food sack was approaching empty. We couldn’t last here much longer. Our bodies might be able to manage without food for a few more days, but our tempters wouldn’t.

  Unannounced, Craig stood in front of the fire pit. His thick, curly hair was matted tightly to his head, his beard dripped water, and his purple raincoat was so wet that it was almost liquid. His legs were coated with mud up to the knees and beyond and covered with scratches, thick and thin.

  “Any more of those sandwiches?” he asked.

  We shouted out greetings and shuffled over to clear a seat for him on the log. Rachel waved the large cooking knife and prepared a thick slab of crunchy peanut butter on brown bread.

  I looked around the little group and marveled once again that one of us was a murderer. I tried to look through their eyes, into their hearts, but no one betrayed any signs of guilt or of repentance.

  Rachel had given in to the inevitable and let the last of the makeup wash off her face. Her yellow T-shirt and khaki shorts were reasonably fresh. The woman looked better groomed lost in the bush than I did relaxing in my own back yard. Joe tried to smile at her now and again, but she lifted her pointed chin and ignored him.

  Could she have killed Richard? Hard to imagine. She had no motive, other than to protect Joe, which I had earlier thought her capable of doing. But her anger at him now was so intense I had to wonder if her feelings ran deep at all.

  Much better for her if they didn’t. He was approaching abusive on a few occasions, and if this was how he behaved amongst business colleagues and strangers I hated to think what the man was like at home.

  Joe liked to be in charge (but then again, so did I, guess you can’t hang the man for that) and he was uncomfortable out here where things were well beyond his control. Not even a cell-phone to come to his aid. Lines of tension were carved around his mouth and beneath his eyes. He was expending a lot of energy to keep himself under control in the face of Rachel’s rebuff. Oh, yes. He would have killed Richard in a second, if he thought he had to, but I couldn’t think of a motive. Unless he mistook Richard for Dianne. And in that there was the money motive.

  Dianne seemed to be genuinely suffering, but that has never been a defense. She could be pretending, acting the part of the grief-stricken widow. But even if her feelings were genuine, I well knew that plenty of criminals convince themselves with no effort at all, that they had no choice but to do what seemed necessary. Murder didn’t seem to be Dianne’s style. She must have a stable of lawyers at her beck and call. Death by litigation would be more up her alley.

  Craig was angry at the world. Maybe he had a few bad breaks in his young life, but didn’t we all? I watched Dianne twist the diamond on her finger, and reconsidered. Most of us had some degree of bad luck, anyway. And Craig had one heck of a temper; we all saw that, on more than one occasion. But a lot of people have nasty tempers and they don’t go around killing people. At least most of them don’t.

  Jeremy. A possibility. Unlike Rachel and Joe, he and Barb seemed to be getting on a lot better since our arrival at Lost Dog Lake. Something to do with shared danger and hardship, I guess. She even smiled at him now and again and touched his arm lightly when they talked. He lapped it up like a kitten at a puddle of spilled cream. I could see Jeremy being angry enough with Craig to take a swipe at him, and getting the wrong person in the confusion.

  But I couldn’t see Jeremy keeping it hidden for so long. He was impulsive; he wouldn’t be able to keep that sort of a secret inside him for long. But, really, what did I know. He could be the most feared axe murdere
r in England, or a fabulously successful day-trader, for all I knew.

  I reminded myself once again that speculation was futile, but my money was still on the English boy and I would keep a bit of an eye on him.

  Chapter 20

  Day 11: Before Dawn.

  I dreamt that it was not raining. In my dream the sky offered up no bolts of lightening or flashes of thunder. The steady pitter-patter of rain being shaken out of sodden tree branches sounded on the roof of the tent, but the louder and more determined fall of moisture straight from the sky had stopped.

  I didn’t believe it. We had been fooled before. Tricked. The storm died down overnight when we were too sleepy to react and then returned with all of its fury once we optimistically crawled out of our tents to face the day.

  Maybe I wasn’t dreaming. I strained my ears, daring to hope. The wind was gone for sure; there had been no thunder for quite some time, and the endless rain had stopped.

  Hallelujah!

  As I lay still and relished the welcome peace of no-storm, I picked up another noise, soft, cautious, and intrusive. But at the same time sounding exactly as if it belonged.

  Wet leaves sucked up mud and a branch snapped as if a great weight pushed against it. Steady snuffling and the occasional heave of deep breath.

  I crawled cautiously to the tent flap and peered out. Nothing. The noise was coming from behind me.

  I stopped breathing and listened.

  Still nothing.

  I had almost convinced myself that I was imagining things and was about to crawl back into my unwelcoming sleeping bag when the clang and clatter of a stack of metal pots and pans rolling down the hill, hitting every rock in their path, had us scrambling out of the tents.

  Rachel was first and her shriek alone should have scared off the intruder.