“Never did like that picture.”
The newscast showed road blocks being set up on the highway they had planned to take out of Saint John and around to Halifax. Then a telephone number and a clear appeal to the populace. If you see this man, phone it in.
Charlie wiped his hands, his eyes still on the TV. “What do we do now?”
Ginny had no idea. They were still four hours from Halifax. She couldn’t stick Charlie in the trunk of the hatchback. There was no way the searchers would overlook a man-sized hiding place. He couldn’t shuffle through the snow on crutches at each police barricade. The toll booths had cameras. The bridge spanned a quarter mile of open water too cold to swim. If she couldn’t find another way to reach Halifax, they were trapped.
* * *
Wednesday Evening
Canada
Jim crossed the bridge from Calais, Maine, into New Brunswick, Canada, and followed the official’s directions to pull into a parking slot. He handed over his real passport and identification and the border patrolman compared his face to the ID picture. Jim’s fake passport was currently hiding in a special sleeve, provided by Reggie, guaranteed to avoid the usual scanning technology employed by law enforcement types.
“Anything to declare, Dr. Mackenzie?”
“Nope.” Jim had left the guns in a locker at the Baileyville Truck Stop.
“Purpose of your visit?”
“Genealogical research, in Nova Scotia.”
The patrolman nodded. “We get a lot more of that since DNA testing got so popular. Would you exit the car, please.”
Jim stepped out and watched as the officer went through the back of the SUV.
“You look like you’re planning to camp out.”
“Not up here. Did that back in the States. From here on it’s hotels all the way.”
The guard nodded. “Smart move. The weather up here can get nasty this time of year.”
He made several notes on his tablet, then handed it over. “Sign here, please.”
Jim looked over the form, then added his signature.
“Thank you. Have a nice visit.”
“Thanks!” Jim got back in the car and headed into downtown St. Stephen. He located a gas station and topped off the tank, then made his way back toward the St. Croix River.
Following the map, he arrived at the Bailey Rips at about five. The sun was on the horizon and the clouds blocked the last of the light, but it was easy to see there was no one here. He turned around and headed back into St. Stephen. She hadn’t waited, probably hadn’t been able to.
Where to from here? And when was she going to check her messages? He pulled the burner phone out and turned it on. Still no response. At this point, she was at least six hours ahead of him. She must have driven on into Nova Scotia. That was the only thing that made sense.
It was a five hour drive to Halifax from here and the snow would slow him down even further. He called his grandfather, using his regular phone, and asked him to call ahead and let them know to expect him, then got in the car and set off up NB-1 headed for the Trans-Canada. With any luck at all, she was already there, safe and out of the weather. He wished he could say the same for himself.
Jim drove on, seeing no evidence of the hatchback in Saint John or Moncton or on the road at any of the places she might have pulled off for food or gas or rest stops. He could not avoid the roadblocks, but they didn’t seem to be looking for him. They opened the doors and shone lights in the SUV, then waved him through.
It was past midnight when he arrived at the Halifax Homestead. He pulled into a parking space and got out. They were waiting for him at the door.
“Dr. Mackenzie? I’m Mrs. Robertson.”
Jim followed the Matron inside. As soon as the door was shut, he turned and asked her the only question that mattered.
“Is she here? Ginny Forbes?”
“No, and we haven’t heard from her either. We were hoping you would know what happened.”
Jim shook his head.
Mrs. Robertson handed him a battered manila envelope, addressed to Ginny. “I know the mail is supposed to be delivered only to the person it’s addressed to, but I thought this might contain a clue.”
Jim tore it open and pulled out the talisman, feeling his heart twist. Maybe if she’d had it with her she wouldn’t be lost.
“Thank you. I’ll see she gets it.”
“This way, please.”
They escorted him to a bedroom on the second floor, helped with the luggage, and made sure he had all he wanted to eat, then left him for the night. When he was alone, Jim pulled out the burner phone and dialed Texas.
“Grandfather.”
“Jim! Are ye all right?”
“I’m fine, but Ginny isn’t here.”
“Ye passed her on the road, perhaps.”
“I don’t think so. I was looking carefully.”
“Auch, weel, th’ lass has probably found a place tae spend the nicht. No need tae worry about her. No just yet.”
“You haven’t heard anything?”
“Nae.”
“She hasn’t called her mother?”
“She’s under orders not to.”
“I know that.” Jim was chewing his lip. “She left me a note pinned up on the bulletin board at the Truck Stop today, but I didn’t get it in time.”
“Did the twa o’ them get across th’ border?”
“I think so. The note said I was to meet them on the Canadian side.”
“All right, then. She’s layin’ low. Dinna worry, lad. If she needs us, she’ll let us know.”
And with that Jim had to be content.
He got ready for bed and curled up under the covers, then reached for the TV remote. He was channel surfing, looking for a weather report when he saw Charlie’s face suddenly fill the screen. Five minutes later he knew what had happened. She was laying low all right. They both were. They hadn’t moved fast enough and the roadblocks had cornered them somewhere in New Brunswick, and what on earth was he going to do about that?
* * *
Wednesday Afternoon
Saint John, New Brunswick
Ginny’s mind was racing. The gamble on the Busted Bum had paid off, in that Vincent had helped Charlie get across the border, but at the cost of twenty-four hours they could not afford to lose.
There was no way of knowing whether or not the girl Charlie pulled from the river could identify him. There was no reason to believe any law enforcement persons, on either side of the border, had seen Laredo Pete win the biathlon. But either could be true and anyone who saw his photo on the news might recognize him.
She didn’t think anyone other than Vincent could connect Charlie to the hatchback, but she couldn’t know for sure, and, in spite of her efforts to establish goodwill, she wasn’t sure Vincent wouldn’t turn them in.
She was staring out the window of the restaurant. On the other side of the highway was yet another dock, looking like all the rest at first, but this one had a sign, ‘Nova Scotia,’ and an arrow.
Ginny’s eyes narrowed. They had originally ruled out the ferry from Portland to Yarmouth because of the border crossing, but they were in Canada now. They would not need a passport to go from New Brunswick to Nova Scotia.
She picked up Gordon’s phone, ignored the blizzard of incoming signals, and concentrated. Ten minutes later, she knew there was a ferry between Saint John, New Brunswick and Digby, Nova Scotia, that it left Saint John every morning in February at nine a.m., and that the crossing took two hours and fifteen minutes to cover the fifty miles of water in the Bay of Fundy. Another ten minutes gave her the name of a motel near the dock.
She brushed the crumbs off her hands and hustled Charlie out to the car. They managed to get away without any obvious sign that someone had recognized him. She hoped no one had been paying attention.
They drove to the motel and Ginny went to see if they had a vacancy. She found herself blessing Reggie MacDonald yet again. She’d had no tro
uble putting the room on Bonnie Jean Bowie’s credit card once she produced ‘her’ driver’s license and passport.
She returned to the car with the room key.
“One backpack each.”
“What are you planning?”
“We have to abandon the car. We can walk onto the ferry, then hire a car on the Nova Scotia side.”
“Why do we have to leave the car behind? It’s a ferry. It takes cars.”
“Because of the bear. Remember all those people taking pictures? I didn’t think a thing about it at the time, but if even one of them showed your face in that car, the police will have the description. We can’t chance it.”
They spread out the gear in the room, deciding what to take and what to leave behind. She pulled out the gemstones and laid them on the table. “Do you want to carry any of these?”
Charlie pushed the sparklers around with his fingertip. “Yes. Let me have the clear ones.”
“Why clear?”
“Because they disappear in water. It will be easier to hide them.” He pulled a small red bag off his belt and showed it to her. It was about the size of Ginny’s hand, made to look like a tiny backpack, faded and worn.
“This is my survival kit.” He opened it and pulled out the contents. There was a whisper-weight survival blanket; a tiny glow stick; a whistle with a compass built in; a plastic baggie with tissue inside; and an ancient-looking screw top container, army green and made of rubber. He unscrewed the top and dumped the contents on the bed.
“Matches, tinder, emery board, tweezers, fish hook, and line.” He took the diamonds and carefully dropped them into the bottom of the container.
“And here’s a neat trick.” He took a black disc and dropped it into the vial. “That thing just fits the diameter. It creates a false bottom. When I put this stuff back, it will push the disc down further and wedge it in place. That way, someone can tip it up and pour the contents out and the diamonds will stay put.” He demonstrated. “But even if the disc gets moved, someone looking down into the vial probably won’t see anything, ‘cause the diamonds are clear. And if it gets wet, you won’t be able to see anything at all.”
“Nice!” Ginny put the remaining jewels back into the velvet drawstring bag. “I’m going to put the rest here.” She showed Charlie the inside pocket in her jacket. “We need some Canadian cash. I’ll go find an ATM.”
In the end, Ginny brought back foodstuff for dinner; sweaters, hats, and gloves for each of them; the equivalent of five hundred dollars U.S., in Canadian bills; two tickets for the morning ferry; and a ticket stub from a car park near the pier. It was unattended and labeled as meant for use with the ferry, so the car should be all right for a day or two, assuming all went well.
Ginny felt a qualm in the pit of her stomach at the thought. Not much had gone right with this trip. Why did she think this would be any different? She handed Charlie the cash.
“I hope that will be enough.”
He nodded and stashed the money in his wallet.
“I apologize for making you walk to the ferry, but I didn’t want to leave the car in the motel parking lot overnight. Someone might have noticed.”
They both took advantage of the bathing facilities, then settled down to try to get some sleep. Not surprisingly, Ginny had trouble. She kept seeing disaster every time she closed her eyes. In the deepest part of the night she sat up suddenly, shivering, and found she had waked Charlie. He climbed into the bed beside her and pulled her into his arms.
“Just pretend I’m Jim and go back to sleep.”
Ginny did as told, comforted by the feel of male arms around her, even if not the ones she wanted. She closed her eyes and drifted off again, waking next when the alarm clock sounded time to rise and face the day.
* * *
Chapter 42
Thursday Morning
Saint John, New Brunswick
Ginny made her way to the street, stepping carefully. Even so, she hit a patch of ice, lost her footing, and almost fell. As she hauled herself upright, she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned to look and felt her heart leap into her throat.
There was no mistaking it. The Cù-Sìth. A huge, shaggy dog, always depicted in green fur. It stood there now, glowing green in the early morning darkness, looking at her. The Highlanders believed it was a harbinger of death.
Ginny stared, telling herself it was a mirage, but she was wrong. As the traffic light turned from green to red, the dog did, too, and she could see it was an Irish wolfhound, its pale fur translated by a trick of the light, not demonic possession.
It continued to look at her for a moment longer, then turned and loped off. Ginny caught her breath and hurried across the street. It was just a dog. A living, breathing, warm-blooded mammal. Nonetheless, she decided not to mention it to Charlie.
* * *
Thursday Morning
Saint John, New Brunswick
Ginny had done her best to assure Charlie blended in with the other passengers. He already had heavy sweat pants, snow boots large enough to fit over two pairs of socks and the cast, a faded turtleneck, and a pilled sweater. The winter jacket they’d bought in Virginia had suffered from hard use and no longer looked new. She’d added a cap with ears like the natives wore, which would cover his hair and change the shape of his face. He’d also stopped shaving in Albany and now sported a manly stubble.
She’d been worried about Charlie’s ability to walk from the motel to the ferry, but it hadn’t been too bad. He limped, of course, and should have been on crutches, but she’d substituted a cane and this way maybe it would be mistaken for a chronic condition. People would look away and that could be useful.
Still, she’d bet good money that Jim would want to take that cast off just as soon as they got to the Halifax Homestead. She felt a stab of unease at the thought.
Where was Jim, anyway? He hadn’t shown up at the rendezvous. Had he even seen her note? Was he in jail in Albany? Had he been sent back to Texas? Without permission to call him, she would get no news until she reached Halifax.
They were beginning to load. She moved over into the pedestrian queue, and watched the first six cars drive slowly down the ramp and into the belly of the ship. Then the deckhands were opening the gates for the foot traffic.
The ship could handle 700 passengers, but there was nowhere near that number in line this morning. It was off season and only locals and lunatics like herself would be using the ferry today. She ended up several people ahead of Charlie because of his limp, but he looked calm and relaxed. She tried to do the same.
She made her way through security and up onto the viewing deck. As a scenic vista, it was a disappointment. Heavy clouds threatened snow and an icy fog lay on the water. Ginny could see nothing beyond what was immediately around her, and that consisted mostly of huddled passengers waiting for the snack bars to open.
“What’s the holdup?”
Ginny looked over at the woman who had spoken. She was addressing a crewman who shrugged. “Don’t know, ma’am.” He moved off.
“As if we weren’t miserable enough, having to wait to get underway.” Her male companion nodded without lifting his eyes from his phone. “Yes, dear.”
“At last!” The unhappy woman announced the moment of departure. Twenty minutes late.
The cause of the delay soon became apparent. The Canadian version of police officers, three of them, walked past and made their way forward. There was no way for Ginny to know why they were onboard. Perhaps this was routine.
Still, it wouldn’t hurt to keep Charlie out of sight. She found him on deck, leaning over the rail. He glanced over at her.
“There’s an awful lot of cold weather in Canada.”
“It’s February. According to the tourist flyers, the summers are great. Wait until July. I bet it won’t hit a hundred and ten in the shade up here.”
He laughed shortly. “No. I don’t suppose it will.” His eyes rested on the surface of the Bay
where it disappeared into the fog. “I’ve heard there’s good fishing along this coast.”
Ginny nodded. “The locals will know where to go and what tackle you’ll need.” She looked out at the water. “Did you see the policemen?”
“I did.”
“If they start searching, duck into the head.”
Charlie nodded.
“If we get separated, turn on the beacon and I will find you.”
“GPS?”
“Yes and no. It sends a distress signal, but it doesn’t use the same frequency as NOAA, so it won’t trigger a search and rescue and it requires a tracker so only authorized people can follow you.”
“What’s the cover story for today, if we need one?”
Ginny turned to face him. “That we met on the boat and fell into conversation.” She grinned up at him. “Is it all right if I say I took an instant fancy to you?”
“Sure.” He smiled down at her.
Ginny was going to have to leave Charlie behind when they got to Halifax and for the first time she realized she might not want to. She swallowed the lump that was forming in her throat and turned back to the water. “I’m never going to forget this trip.” She heard him sigh.
“Me, either.”
* * *
Thursday Mid-Morning
Bay of Fundy, Canada
They were more than halfway across and it was beginning to look as if the Canadian police weren’t interested in Charlie. As of this moment, one of the three officers hadn’t been seen since embarking and the other two were leaning against the rail, watching the water slide by. Ginny sidled closer, trying to overhear their conversation.
“Yeah, he’s supposed to have murdered a man.”
Ginny caught her breath at the taller officer’s words.
“If we find him, we’re to ship him back to Texas, at our expense, though the department might get reimbursed, eventually.”
“Did you read the report?” the second officer asked. “The dead bloke killed his family.”
“Why wasn’t it a justified killing, then?”
“They think he stalked the perp for a month before he knifed him.”
“Well, there you go. What makes them think he’s aboard the ferry?”
Viking Vengeance Page 26
