Echoes of the Past

by Susanne Matthews

  What could have caused such a vicious dream? Obviously, Joseph’s story had affected him deeply. The guilt he felt about Aaron and Lindsay probably came into play too. His imagination had pretty much recreated the legend, with a few twists entirely his own. Joseph had to be wrong about The Three Sisters releasing him years ago. As a scientist, he knew what he’d felt against his legs had been Eurasian Watermilfoil or Curly-leaf pondweed—it was all over the lake. Tony looked at the alarm clock. Just after two—again. Enough was enough. Once they determined the cause of death for Lindsay and Aaron, and they found the source of the poisonous chemicals in the water, he’d go back to Toronto and apply for his sabbatical. He might give up research and go to work for a company where he’d never be responsible for the lives of others again.

  He went down stairs and got a bottle of water. He opened the curtains he’d closed earlier. The moon was hidden behind clouds, and the lake was a void in the blackness. He couldn’t even see the fog on it now. There was no hint of a breeze. The water was calm. Just as he was about to turn away, a flash of lights out toward the center of the lake drew his attention. He watched what seemed to be headlights moving across the water. He blinked his eyes, and they were gone.

  I’m seeing things. There’s probably a hill along the road over there. Now the leaves are gone, it almost looked as if they were riding on the water. Weird. He shuddered as that eerie feeling that had been with him earlier returned. He closed the curtain, finished his water, and went back upstairs to bed.

  Chapter Six

  Michelle awoke cold and shivering in the rain. She was lying on the pavement, beside a red pool. Blood? What the hell happened?

  She pushed herself up and the room came into focus—not outside, inside. The rain was coming from the shower head whose curtain, now cold and stiff, wrapped itself around her naked torso and legs. Blood trickled down the side of her face. She lifted her hand and touched the edge of her forehead.

  “Ouch!”

  Her head throbbed, and she felt nauseous. She used the toilet to leverage herself upright and stood. She leaned forward, careful to keep her face out of the stream of water and turned off the taps. Shuddering, she pulled the wet plastic away from her, tossed it into the tub, and grabbed the towel from the bar, drying herself quickly before donning the fleece robe there. Somewhat warmer, but still trembling, she stared into the vanity mirror to view the damage. The gash at her hairline still seeped blood. Why did head wounds have to bleed so much?

  Memories of her struggle in the shower flooded her. Quickly, she spewed the contents of her stomach into the toilet. Absolutely humiliated to realize the depths to which she’d sunk, she straightened, opened the medicine cabinet, and took out the first aid kit, an antacid, and a mild analgesic. She quickly attended to the cut on her forehead, grateful it didn’t need stitches. How humiliating would that be?

  She brushed her teeth, dried her hair, packed up her cosmetic case, and wiped down the mess in the bathroom with towels and the bath mat. She carried the wet items into the laundry room and tossed them into the dryer. She returned to the bathroom, took the offending shower curtain, hooks and all, and carried it into the kitchen where she shoved it into a large, plastic garbage bag. She’d order shower doors and have them installed as soon as possible. Still shivering, she made her way back to the bedroom, donned the warmest pajamas she could find, and crawled into bed. The cut continued to ooze. It would no doubt stain the pillow by morning—something else she’d have to replace. Exhausted, she closed her eyes. The fear she might have a concussion surfaced briefly, but she was too tired and upset to care.

  * * * *

  Michelle drove her black Camaro along Highway 33, well aware she procrastinated. She’d used her own car today instead of one of the coroner’s office vehicles. Her baby needed a good run, and this jaunt to the island would do the trick. Despite Audra’s warnings about rain, she’d hoped for nice weather. While the sunroof remained closed, driving the car she’d always wanted made her feel better and, after last night, she needed an emotional boost. When she was behind the wheel, she was in control. As she’d moved eastward, the rain had intensified. Road conditions were atrocious. It had taken over four hours and two detours to get here, and she still hadn’t reached her destination.

  She’d gotten off the 401 at Trenton, not the most efficient way to get to Picton. She enjoyed driving the curvier secondary roads, mindful to keep her eye on the speedometer, and wasn’t ready for the fun part of her day to end. Who knew what was waiting for her? She didn’t want her lead foot getting her into trouble—she’d probably have enough of that as it was. Whatever was going to happen to her in the next few days would either make her or break her. She’d never doubted herself or her abilities before, but Audra’s words echoed in her mind. Don’t trust your senses, trust your heart. What she did, what she’d done these past four-plus years, depended on her senses—a scientist’s litany of facts and figures, and that sixth sense that let the dead tell her the truth. How was she going to do her job if she couldn’t rely on those? Gut feeling wasn’t listening to your heart, was it?

  Thank God the side bangs that hairdresser in Thunder Bay had talked her into hid the lump, bruise, and small cut on her forehead. It could have been worse. I could have a shiner to go with the bruise. A black eye would have been hard to explain. The last thing she wanted to do was expound on her fight with the shower curtain. Just thinking she’d almost been done in by the toilet rattled her enough. People died from similar accidents. Before she’d specialized in drowning, she’d seen too many people dead because of household falls. More accidents happened in the bathroom than in any other room in the house. She reached up and touched the tender spot on her forehead and sighed.

  It had been a shock when she’d awakened at seven when the alarm went off. Other than the bump on her head, she’d felt great, more rested than she had in months. Go figure! Maybe she should crack her head open more often. She’d finished her packing, had taken the paperwork to the office for filing, and had left for Picton by eight o’clock. Unfortunately, the driving had been horrendous, and whatever good feelings she’d had earlier had evaporated.

  Come hell or high water, when this was over, she would go and see a psychiatrist before she killed herself. While she prayed Audra was right and there’d be no more nightmares, her water phobia had to be dealt with once and for all.

  The highway and streets of Prince Edward County were quiet. She drove through several small communities including Wellington and Bloomfield. Here and there, parts of the terrain seemed eerily familiar, but Ontario wasn’t that different a place, and one part of the province could easily resemble another. She saw the signs pointing to Sandbanks Provincial Park, a popular camping place. She liked to go on holidays, but she preferred a five-star hotel to a tent and sleeping bag. Oh well, to each his own. Tourism, farming, and wineries accounted for the islands economic productivity. Judging from the size of some of the houses she’d seen, the island hadn’t suffered from the recent economic downturn. Most likely, some of the permanent residents were retirees, with healthy vested pensions, who’d come to live here because of the island’s relatively mild winter climate. She and Tasha should come back sometime and take the wine tour they’d discussed yesterday—had it only been yesterday?

  Michelle pulled her car into a parking space across the street from Shire Hall, Picton’s century-old municipal building in which all the county’s services were based. She stared at the building across from her, reluctantly acknowledging the time had come to get to work. She opened the blue folder on the seat beside her and reread the mayor’s bio. Colin had said the man had been annoyed about the delay. Well, there wasn’t much she could do about it now, and it wasn’t likely going to change. She hadn’t seen the bodies yet, but the deaths were suspicious. How could they not be?

  She’d stopped for coffee at a service center, not her favorite beverage, but tea in a paper cup—even steeped tea, just didn’t cut it. She’d made not
es on her tablet of things she thought seemed odd about the case. Obviously the fact they’d been found so soon posed one question, the bundled bodies another, but after last night’s dream, the missing shoe nagged at her. She’d ask the mayor about the professor and the research project too. She looked closely at the photo again. The man wasn’t unattractive, and that sense of déjà vu she’d experienced yesterday was as strong as ever. She closed the file.

  The mayor had his office on the second floor of the municipal building. The sooner she met with him, the sooner she could get on with the rest of the job.

  You just want to see the professor, her inner voice prodded.

  A momentary twinge of confusion gripped her. Both men attracted her. How would she know which one was which? Listen to your heart. Warmth filled as she remembered her erotic dreams. Would making love to the real man be even better than to the dream one?

  The last thing Michelle wanted to do was hang around here all day playing “what if.” Other than the muffin she’d had at the service center, she hadn’t eaten this morning, and she was hungry. The cut on her forehead ached more than it had. It was probably time for another analgesic.

  She got out of the car, locked it, and pulled up the hood on her hunter-green, water-resistant jacket. She’d decided to wear her waterproof shoe-boots as well. Her new skinny jeans might get wet, but it couldn’t be helped. The rain, now an annoying cold mist, continued as it had all morning. She looked at her watch. She was well over an hour later than she’d expected to be. She focused her attention on the red brick building with its Doric columned, small, white portico. Shrubs and a black wrought iron fence, designed to keep people off the grass, fronted the building. With the grass covered in wet maple leaves, it didn’t look any different than a hundred similar structures she’d been forced to enter in the past. She crossed the street and walked up the five steps to the white-painted veranda.

  She cursed when she saw the small sign posted on the door. Please use side door, and an arrow pointing to the right. She retraced her steps and followed the sidewalk leading to the back of the structure. The wind came up suddenly, bending the branches of the maple tree and blowing her hood off, allowing an unexpected downpour of rain to soak her face and hair. When it rains, it pours. The adage had never seemed truer.

  As she pulled the hood back into place, she realized the water in her face hadn’t caused the panic it normally did. Had the events of last night put an end to that too? It would certainly be nice if they had. She held the hood in place and continued along the walkway to the elusive side door. Why do buildings like these have front doors if they’re always locked?

  The side door was almost at the back end of the building, and when she pulled on the handle, it didn’t budge.

  Great! The rain was coming down harder, and here she was locked out, without even the benefit of an overhang to protect her. She pressed the bell and waited, none too patiently, for someone to answer. She was cold, wet, her head throbbed, her stomach grumbled, and she was tired. Not a good combination.

  She looked up as motion behind the glass door caught her attention. A woman in her mid-forties, dressed in a black skirt and gray blouse opened the door. The woman didn’t look any friendlier than Michelle felt.

  “Can I help you? The municipal offices are closed until Tuesday.”

  “I’m expected.” The woman’s tone was offensive, and Michelle had to force herself to remain calm. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her identification.

  “I’m Dr. Michelle Thomas from the Provincial Coroner’s Office.”

  The woman scowled. “Sorry. We were expecting a man. Follow me.”

  Michelle’s anger, just under the surface, boiled, and she bit her lip to keep from saying something she’d regret. She pulled down her hood, unzipped her jacket and followed the woman down the hall. Her headache had increased, and the tension wasn’t helping.

  “Excuse me, but could I freshen up someplace first? At least wipe my face?”

  The woman, as silent as stone, brought her to a door marked Employees only and indicated she should enter.

  Michelle went into the room and turned on the light. It was a break room with an attached bathroom. She removed her wet jacket, glad to see that the coat had kept her rust-colored wool sweater dry. She used paper towels to dry her face and tried to wipe down her hair as best she could. She swallowed two painkillers, hoped against hope they’d work quickly, added lip gloss and sighed. Under these circumstances, this was as good as she’d get.

  She opened the door and turned off the light. The taciturn woman moved away quickly, and Michelle followed her. Photographs of Prince Edward County lined the hallway, some of them eerily familiar. She stopped for a second to examine a black and white photograph of the marshlands, which so closely resembled the area she’d seen in last night’s dream, but the woman walked quickly, and Michelle hurried to keep up with her.

  The woman stopped abruptly in what must be a central reception area, and Michelle stumbled almost running into her back.

  “Wait here while I see if the mayor can see you now.”

  Michelle dropped onto an uncomfortable wooden pew stunned. She’ll see if the mayor could see me now? Unbelievable. Don’t these people talk to one another? Why the hell does she think I’m here? The mayor can’t refuse to see me; he doesn’t have a choice.

  The woman returned. “If you’ll come with me, Dr. Thomas…”

  Michelle stood and followed her to a massive set of double doors. Expecting to be led into the city’s council chamber, she was surprised to see a beautifully decorated modern office. The furniture was heavy, dark oak, polished to a gleam. Behind the wide desk sat a handsome man with close-cropped dark brown hair. Ron Davies. Michelle’s nerves tingled. It had been a very long time since she’d found a man attractive at first glance. If his hair was longer…He looked up as they entered, and the surprise and appreciation on his face warmed her.

  Déjà vu gripped her. Mayor Ron Davies looked younger than his official photograph suggested. He was dressed casually in a navy polo shirt with a municipal crest on the pocket. He smiled. Michelle blinked. The smiled transformed his face. It gave him an open, friendly demeanor, and she found herself drawn to him as she rarely was to any man.

  “Dr. Thomas.” He stood and moved quickly around the desk, his hand extended toward her. “This is a pleasant surprise. We were expecting a man. Welcome to Prince Edward County. I’m sorry you aren’t here under more pleasant circumstances.”

  Michelle returned his smile and reached for his outstretched hand. Her palm and fingers tingled at the contact. Interesting.

  “Thank you. I agree the circumstances aren’t the best, but from what I’ve seen you have a beautiful island.” The excitement in her voice surprised her. She didn’t usually show her emotions like this. “I’ll have to come back again when I’m not working.”

  The mayor spoke to his eagle-eyed secretary without taking his eyes off Michelle.

  “You can go now, Mildred. Thanks for coming in. I’ll lock up when Dr. Thomas and I leave. I’ll see you Tuesday.”

  The ever-vigilant Mildred nodded and left. Ron continued to stare at Michelle, and she noticed how dark his eyes were. There was warmth and humor in them, but they held secrets too. This wouldn’t be an easy man to understand. He reluctantly let go of her hand.

  “There’s something familiar about you, but I can’t put my finger on it. Have we met before? You certainly don’t look like any of the provincial coroner’s I’ve met in the past—probably the trend these days to have women doing jobs that used to be reserved for men.”

  Michelle frowned at his words. If she looked familiar to him, he could be her dream lover, but his comment upset her. Had she read this man wrong? She’d heard those comments before, but this guy seemed a little young to be a misogynist, and the attraction she’d felt waned somewhat.

  “We can’t all be at home raising our one point four children. Some of us feel we can contribu
te to society in a different way.”

  He flinched, and from the way his face registered surprise, understanding, and embarrassment, she knew he’d gotten her point. He reddened.

  “Oh God! Let me take my size twelve shoe out of my mouth. I’ve insulted you, and it’s the last thing I meant to do. I’m extremely happy you’re a woman. I mean…Please, let’s start again. Dr. Thomas, I’m Ron Davies, the mayor of the Municipality of Prince Edward. Call me Ron, please. How can I help you with this investigation? My office and whatever you need are at your disposal. The sooner we have answers the better. I really want to get to the bottom of this for the sake of those parents.”

  Michelle knew it would be churlish to take offense where none had been intended. She’d try not to jump to conclusions on this case. Besides, the man was gorgeous when he blushed, and it had been a while since a real-live man had made her feel this way.

  “Dr. Michelle Thomas. Please call me Michelle. I’ll do my best to wrap things up as quickly as I can. I know there are grieving parents to consider. The longer they have to wait for answers, the worse it will be for them. I’ll probably need to do a full autopsy on both bodies. I’ll have the Belleville M.E. help me to speed things up a little. I’ll order toxicology screens and other tests as soon as I see the bodies for myself and draw the blood. I’m sorry it can’t be faster, but these things take time. I should have some preliminary information for you by the end of the week.”

  “Of course, I understand, or at least I think I do, but the paramedics said they’d drowned. Why do you have to do all these tests and the autopsies?”

  “Because drowning alone isn’t an acceptable cause of death. It hasn’t been since the 1980s.” She spoken abruptly and hadn’t meant to. Her stomach rumbled loudly, and Michelle suddenly wanted the floor to open up and swallow her. So much for trying to impress this man.