Margaretsville, NS
The cows woke him. It was still dark, but Charlie knew he needed to be gone before the farmer came to milk them. The snow in the bucket had melted from the heat coming off the hay. He drank, then put the bucket back where he found it, packed up his meagre gear, and slipped out.
The snow had stopped, though the sky still hung heavy with clouds. He made his way across the field, hoping no one would notice he was leaving tracks, and hobbled off in the direction of the road. Moving would help keep him warm, but today he would have to find more than just a barn for shelter.
By sun up Charlie had made his way back to the road. It was deserted. So, where was Ginny? Still in Digby? Had she gone on to Halifax? Could he phone the Homestead maybe? Ask them to send a car for him? Charlie frowned at the thought. They wouldn’t know his voice and he couldn’t be sure he wasn’t talking to a policeman.
What he needed was a kind soul who wouldn’t turn him in on sight. Not to mention the fact that he was getting rather hungry, having eaten nothing but snow since yesterday noon. The cash was gone, but he had the diamonds. Who would buy a diamond from him? Not a thief. He’d just kill Charlie and take the diamond and everything else he could find. A reputable dealer then. Of diamonds? Here?
Charlie’s eyes narrowed. Where there were soldiers, there were pawn shops. According to the sign, North Kingston was two miles further up the road, handy to the Canadian Forces Base. No guarantees, of course. Charlie sighed, squared his shoulders, and set off for town, in the hope of finding food, a pawn shop, and transportation to Halifax.
* * *
Friday Morning
Middleton, NS
Ginny was alone in the breakfast area with the television on. She didn’t have to wait long before the station threw a photo of Charlie on the screen. They had decided he was drowned. There had been so many witnesses to his disappearance and no evidence of him being picked up by any of the boats in the area. The skippers had all been interviewed and all said they had not seen him.
Ginny’s mouth set in a hard line. She knew of at least one skipper who had seen him.
The boy had been instantly identified by the police as a known drug runner and his father, the owner of a boat suspected of being involved. The boat had been searched and the boy and father questioned carefully, but no evidence of Charlie—or drugs—had been found. So the police had let them go. That explained both the police station and the father’s willingness to take money, rather than fame, for rescuing Charlie.
The police were asking for the public’s help in locating any evidence of the dead man and directing them to several social media outlets. Ginny grabbed a pen and wrote down the addresses. With that many pairs of eyes, it was possible someone had seen or heard something and she couldn’t hope to find every inhabitant of Nova Scotia as unprincipled as the drug runner. They might turn him in before she could reach him.
Ginny finished her breakfast, trying to decide how to tackle the search for Charlie. Assuming he had been alive and in reasonably good health when he was put ashore, then he was somewhere in the area.
Finding him if he was in shelter would be a problem, since she had no idea who it would be safe to ask what of. Finding him if he was outside meant investigating any lump of snow large enough to be human, alive or dead. Was there any way to tell what might be him and what was just a refuse pile coated in snow?
At that moment Ginny experienced something she identified as the fortuitous coming together of the right question and the right useless bit of data buried in her mind. It had happened before. She seized the thread and followed it to its source.
Human beings, live ones, put out heat as a byproduct of cellular metabolism. A human, either alive or recently dead, would register as a heat source among all this snow. What she needed was something that could detect a hot spot in the woods. And she knew just where to find one.
The public Internet in the lobby gave her the address of a hunting and fishing supply store just up the road. She wrote it down, paid her bill, and headed out.
She had to wait a half hour for the store to open, but had no trouble describing what she wanted. She got a few sideways looks, but she smiled and explained it was a present for her boyfriend whose birthday was coming up. She bought extra batteries, made sure the Game Finder worked before she left the store, then turned back toward Digby and the section of Nova Scotia coast just south of Margaretsville.
By lunchtime she was sure he wasn’t anywhere in the area. She was both relieved and disappointed. He wasn’t hunkered down in a haystack and he wasn’t a decaying body in a ditch on the side of the road. He was in shelter somewhere. But where was she to look next?
* * *
Friday Morning
NS-103 W
Jim had eaten breakfast, then hit the roads again as soon as he could get the car rolling. There had been no news during the night, no new clues as to what had happened to Ginny. He hadn’t seen anything of her on the main road yesterday, so today he was searching the alternate route, the longer, less traveled way from Digby to Halifax, looking for signs of car trouble, of violence, of something to explain her absence.
He had nothing to do but think. He had to get into her head, to understand what she was doing. Why had she chosen (he grimly clung to the belief that she was still in a condition to choose) not to come straight on to the Halifax Homestead?
She couldn’t feel good today. Not if she was human. With Charlie dead, she had failed to complete the task Himself had set for them. Failed spectacularly, on camera, for the whole world to see. What would her conscience demand of her, before she could admit defeat?
She would need to do everything she could think of, before asking for help. She had seen Charlie die. She probably had seen the subsequent news coverage. She would know how little chance there was of finding him, either alive or dead, and how much more likely it was the authorities would get there first, but she would look.
Jim’s eyes narrowed. She would look.
He pulled the car over to the side of the road and grabbed his wallet. It was still there. He pulled the credit card sized device out of the slot and examined it. He hadn’t given it a single thought since Reggie had handed it to him, one to him, one to Ginny, explaining how they worked.
Charlie had the beacon and would have to turn it on. Both receivers could follow that signal, but they, too, had to be turned on and within the fifty mile radius to pick up the signal. Jim closed his eyes and tried to remember exactly what Reggie had said. Unlike the beacon, the receivers used the GPS system, which made them trackable, so the safest thing to do, if you didn’t want to attract attention, was to leave them off until needed. He slid his finger along the edge until he found the power button. The device sprang to life.
Jim found his mouth dry. This was what his subconscious had been trying to tell him yesterday. If Ginny was hunting for Charlie—or Charlie’s body—she would have her device on. If Charlie’s beacon was on, Jim could follow it, too.
But even if the beacon wasn’t on, and it was doubtful Charlie had activated it before he jumped overboard, Reggie could still find her, using the GPS in her receiver, and tell Jim where she was, and he could go to her.
Jim pulled the burner phone out and dialed home.
“Aye, Jim?”
“I’ve thought of something.” He explained his theory.
“Auch. ‘Tis a good thought. I’ll ask Reggie tae look.”
“And you’ll let me know?”
“Th’ minute we find her, aye.”
Jim put the phone away, then set the receiver on the console, the sound turned all the way up and angled so he could glance down at it as he drove. He put the car in gear and pulled back out onto the roadway.
It explained the delay. She had stayed in the area, to see if she could find the beacon, and been caught by the weather.
Jim swallowed hard. If he was right, she was coping with a shattering loss, by herself, handicapped by the need to keep away fro
m the authorities until she was sure there was no hope. When she was certain she could no longer hurt Charlie, she would call.
Jim felt his chest tighten. He could imagine her, alone, in despair, weeping for the loss of Charlie, blaming herself, and unwilling to face the truth. If he could find her, he could take her in his arms and explain it wasn’t her fault, that she could not have prevented this tragedy. She knew, she must know, he wouldn’t blame her, and, as the hours ticked by, it seemed more and more apparent that she was chasing a ghost. She should come in. She should come to him, so he could help her, hold her.
He looked out at the bleak countryside, covered in bleak snow, and thought bleak thoughts about life and death and misery.
* * *
Chapter 47
Friday Morning
North Kingston, NS
The pawn shop wasn’t open yet. Without so much as a dime in his pocket Charlie could not buy breakfast so he settled down to wait. He found a back corner, sheltered from the wind and heated by the building against which he leaned. It wasn’t exactly the Ritz, but it was comfortable enough for him to doze off.
When he woke, it was to the smell of coffee somewhere close by. Boy! What he wouldn’t give for a cup of coffee!
He hauled himself to his feet and went back down the street to the Pawn Shop. He pushed on the door and let himself in.
The proprietor’s smile faded as he took in Charlie’s generally disreputable appearance. “How can I help you?”
Charlie had already pulled the largest of the diamonds out of its hiding place and had it in his hand. “You want the truth?”
“That is usually the best choice.”
“I have run away from home, had my cash and credit cards stolen, and need to sell something to get back on the road.”
“You don’t look as if you have anything I’d be interested in.”
Charlie nodded. “I don’t blame you for doubting me. I’m sure you have to be careful.” He pulled out the fake ID and glibly recited the information on it. Reggie had gone to the trouble of making it look as if the Texas driver’s license had been in “Pete’s” wallet for at least a year and the immersion in the Bay of Fundy had added to that effect.
Charlie then pulled out the diamond and set it on the counter. He scowled at it. “I should never have bought that thing in the first place.”
The proprietor picked up the stone, then pulled a loupe out of his pocket. He examined the gem closely and Charlie could see something that looked remarkably like greed in his eye, just for a moment.
“You had this hidden?”
“I did.”
“Very foresightful of you.”
Charlie shrugged.
“How do I know it’s not stolen?”
Charlie was prepared. Ginny had given him particulars on the gemstones, knowing he’d probably have to negotiate with a suspicious buyer. He pointed at the stone.
“That is a one carat round, VS1, clarity grade E, cut grade ideal, for which I paid almost five thousand U.S. dollars last November.”
“May I ask why you bought it?”
“I was planning on having it set as an engagement ring.”
The proprietor looked up from the stone. “And why are you selling it now?”
“Because the woman I bought it for is why I’m not at home right now. I expect I’ll get over the mad eventually and go back to Texas, but even then, I won’t want that stone. I’d much rather have a motorcycle.”
The proprietor’s lips twitched. He set the diamond back down on the velvet tray. In the lights of the jewelry counter, it exploded with fire and in that moment Charlie saw why a woman might want a colorless stone. He’d never understood that before.
“We don’t deal in loose stones. There’s no market for them.”
Charlie looked at him, his eyes narrowing. “Ever been married?”
“No.”
“Take my advice. Steer clear of it.” He pointed to the diamond again. “When I showed that to her she said it wasn’t big enough. That’s when I decided she wasn’t sweet enough.” He sighed. “Look, I get it. You don’t trust me. Why should you? But here’s the deal. I don’t want that stone. I need money and I’m willing to take a loss on it. Can you help me?”
The proprietor looked at him for a long moment.
“One thousand, Canadian.”
“Three.”
“Fifteen hundred and that’s my final offer.”
Charlie looked at him, then nodded. “I’ll take it and chalk the rest up to experience.”
“Very good, sir. I’ll start the paperwork.”
It took him twenty minutes to fill in all the information necessary to complete the sale, at which point Charlie picked up the money and thanked him.
“If you ever get to Texas, look me up. I’ll show you around the spread and you can pet a longhorn.”
Charlie let himself out of the shop, thinking that Ginny had been right about the stones and about how hard it might be to use them, but the plan had actually produced some badly needed cash so he was happy.
He turned up the street, located a diner and bought himself breakfast. He sat in a booth with his back to the rest of the room and watched the TV screen. Sure enough, before he had finished, his face appeared. This time the banner said he was presumed dead and the police were hunting for the body.
So he was dead, was he? That should take some of the heat off. He ran his hand over his chin. Maybe he should keep the face fungus. A beard would make a good disguise.
He finished his meal, threw some money down on the table and headed out to the motorcycle store. He had no trouble finding it, but there he hit a snag.
Not only were the used machines too expensive (the cheapest costing twice what he had in pocket), but the regulations required documents he didn’t have (motorcycle rider’s license and insurance). He reluctantly gave up the idea and asked for advice on how to get to Halifax.
He was directed to a car hire service on the other side of the highway, in Kingston (not the same as North Kingston, you understand). Here he had a bit of luck.
First, the salesman at the motorcycle shop gave him a ride. (They had struck up a friendship over inspecting the machines.) Second, the car hire had a car available and the owner wanted it delivered to the Halifax airport.
The man behind the counter was on the phone. “What do you mean you can’t?” There was a pause. “I don’t have anyone else!” A violent and frustrated gesture with the left hand. “You can be sick later. Suck it up and get over here.” Clenched fist and dark scowl. “Don’t bother.” If it had been a landline, Charlie was sure he would have seen the receiver slammed down. As it was, the owner of the device stabbed at it hard enough to mark the screen.
The proprietor took a deep breath, then turned to Charlie, not yet able to be cordial, but trying to be professional.
“What can I do for you?”
“I’m told I can get a ride from here to Halifax.”
The man behind the counter looked at him, his eyes narrowing. “Halifax?”
“Yes.”
“Today?”
“Yes. Is that going to be possible?”
“No. My driver is sick.”
“Is there a bus station, then?”
The proprietor shook his head. “The buses stopped running years ago. Not enough demand.”
“Train, then?”
“You’ve missed it.”
Charlie felt his spirits sag. Was he going to have to walk to Halifax after all?
The man behind the counter looked at him, frowning slightly. “Can you drive a car?”
Charlie looked back. “I can, but I can’t rent one. My credit cards were stolen.”
The agent’s eyes narrowed. “You look like you’ve been through the wars.”
Charlie agreed. “I was mugged and tossed in a snow drift two days ago. But I have friends in Halifax who can help, if I can reach them.”
The other man sucked in his cheeks. “Why didn’
t you call the police?”
“I did. They filed a report and said they couldn’t take me all the way to Halifax.”
The man eyed him in silence for moment.
“You got any money?”
Charlie nodded.
“What about a license?”
Charlie pulled out Laredo Pete’s driver’s license and handed it over.
The agent looked at it, then at Charlie, then seemed to make up his mind.
“The company won’t let me rent a car without a credit card, but I can hire anyone I want to ferry cars from place to place.” He looked down at the driver’s license. “Texas. Never met anyone from Texas before.”
Charlie smiled. “Well now you have.”
The other man nodded. “Normally I’d use a local man, one I know and who lives here so I can track him down if I need to.”
Charlie nodded. “Sound policy.” He waited for the ‘but’.
“But I am between a rock and a hard place.” He fell silent, obviously weighing the risks. Charlie waited patiently.
The agent heaved a big sigh, then seemed to warm up to the idea.
“I have a contract to deliver a car to the Halifax airport. It has to be there by three p.m. My driver is sick and I will have to go myself if I can’t replace him.” He studied Charlie’s face for another long moment and Charlie began to be afraid he would make the connection with the news reports.
“Are you willing to drive to the Halifax airport and leave the car there and can you get there before three p.m.?”
Charlie nodded. “I am and I can.”
The agent nodded. “All right, then. I’ll call my contact at the airport. He’ll pay you two hundred, cash, when you deliver the car in good condition and on time.”
Charlie stuck out his hand. “Deal.”
The other man shook it. “I’ll have the GPS tracker on. Don’t break the law. I don’t want any questions. You’re responsible for gas. Make sure the tank is full when you turn it in.”
“Yes, sir.”
The agent glanced at the clock. “Better get started.”
He came around the counter and spotted Charlie’s limp.
“Can you drive with your leg like that?”
Viking Vengeance Page 30
