by Tanya Huff
"That explains why she wants him gone; what about everyone else?"
"Lifestyle."
"They think he's gay?"
"Not his, theirs. The people who live out here, down in the village and around the lake — while not adverse to taking the occasional tourist for everything they can get — like the quiet, they like the solitude and, God help them, they even like the woods. The boys who run the hunting and fishing camp at the west end of the lake—"
"Boys?"
"I'm quoting here. The boys," he repeated, with emphasis, "say Gordon's development will kill the fish and scare off the game. He nearly got his ass kicked by one of them, Pete Wegler, down at the local gas station and then got tossed out on said ass by the owner when he called the place quaint."
"In the sort of tone that adds, and 'a Starbucks would be a big improvement'?" When Celluci raised a brow, she shrugged. "I've spoken to him, it's not that much of an extrapolation."
"Yeah, exactly that sort of tone. Frank also told me that people with kids are concerned about the increase in traffic right through the centre of the village."
"Afraid they'll start losing children and pets under expensive sport utes?"
"That, and they're worried about an increase in taxes to maintain the road with all the extra traffic." Pushing away from the table, he started closing plastic containers and carrying them to the fridge. "Apparently, Stuart Gordon, ever so diplomatically, told one of the village women that this was no place to raise kids."
"What happened?"
"Frank says they got them apart before it went much beyond name-calling."
Wondering how far "much beyond name-calling" went, Vicki watched Mike clean up the remains of his meal. "Are you sure he's pissed off more than just these few people? Even if this was already a resort and he didn't have to rezone, local council must've agreed to his building permit."
"Yeah, and local opinion would feed local council to the spirit right alongside Mr Gordon. Rumour has it they've been bought off."
Tipping her chair back against the wall, she smiled up at him. "Can I assume from your busy day that you've come down on the mud hole/vandals side of the argument?"
"It does seem the most likely." He turned and scratched at the back of his neck again. When his fingertips came away damp, he heard her quick intake of breath. When he looked up, she was crossing the kitchen. Cool fingers wrapped around the side of his face.
"You didn't shave."
It took him a moment to find his voice. "I'm on vacation."
Her breath lapped against him, then her tongue.
The lines between likely and unlikely blurred.
Then the sound of an approaching engine jerked him out of her embrace.
Vicki licked her lips and sighed. "Six cylinder, sport utility, four-wheel drive, all the extras, black with gold trim."
Celluci tucked his shirt back in. "Stuart Gordon told you what he drives."
"Unless you think I can tell all that from the sound of the engine."
"Not likely."
*
"A detective sergeant? I'm impressed." Pale hands in the pockets of his tweed blazer, Stuart Gordon leaned conspiratorially in towards Celluci, too many teeth showing in too broad a grin. "I don't suppose you could fix a few parking tickets."
"No."
Thin lips pursed in exaggerated reaction to the blunt monosyllable. "Then what do you do, Detective Sergeant?"
"Violent crimes."
Thinking that sounded a little too much like a suggestion, Vicki intervened. "Detective Celluci has agreed to assist me this weekend. Between us, we'll be able to keep a twenty-four-hour watch."
"Twenty-four hours?" The developer's brows drew in. "I'm not paying more for that."
"I'm not asking you to."
"Good." Stepping up on to the raised hearth as though it were a stage, he smiled with all the sincerity of a television infomercial. "Then I'm glad to have you aboard, Detective. Mike — can I call you Mike?" He continued without waiting for an answer. "Call me Stuart. Together we'll make this a safe place for the weary masses able to pay a premium price for a premium week in the woods." A heartbeat later, his smile grew strained. "Don't you two have detecting to do?"
"Call me Stuart?" Shaking his head, Celluci followed Vicki's dark on dark silhouette out to the parking lot. "Why is he here?"
"He's bait."
"Bait? The man's a certified asshole, sure, but we are not using him to attract an angry lake spirit."
She turned and walked backward so she could study his face. Sometimes he forgot how well she could see in the dark and forgot to mask his expressions. "Mike, you don't believe that call-me-Stuart has actually pissed off some kind of vengeful spirit protecting Lake Nepeakea?"
"You're the one who said bait…"
"Because we're not going to catch the person, or persons, who threw acid on his car unless we catch them in the act. He understands that."
"Oh. Right."
Feeling the bulk of the van behind her, she stopped. "You didn't answer my question."
He sighed and folded his arms, wishing he could see her as well as she could see him. "Vicki, in the last four years I have been attacked by demons, mummies, zombies, werewolves—"
"That wasn't an attack, that was a misunderstanding."
"He went for my throat, I count it as an attack. I've offered my blood to the bastard son of Henry VIII and I've spent two years watching you hide from the day. There isn't anything much I don't believe in any more."
"But—"
"I believe in you," he interrupted, "and from there, it's not that big a step to just about anywhere. Are you going to speak with Mary Joseph tonight?"
His tone suggested the discussion was over. "No, I was going to check means and opportunity on that list of names you gave me." She glanced down towards the lake then up at him, not entirely certain what she was looking for in either instance. "Are you going to be all right out here on your own?"
"Why the hell wouldn't I be?"
"No reason." She kissed him, got into the van, and leaned out the open window to add, "Try and remember, Sigmund, that sometimes a cigar is just a cigar."
*
Celluci watched Vicki drive away and then turned on his flashlight and played the beam over the side of Stuart's car.
Although it would have been more helpful to have seen the damage, he had to admit that the body shop had done a good job. And to give the man credit, however reluctantly, developing a wilderness property did provide more of an excuse than most of his kind had for the four-wheel drive.
Making his way over to an outcropping of rock where he could see both the parking lot and the lake but not be seen, Celluci sat down and turned off his light. According to Frank Patton, the black flies only fed during the day and the water was still too cold for mosquitoes. He wasn't entirely convinced but since nothing had bitten him so far the information seemed accurate. "I wonder if Stuart knows his little paradise is crawling with bloodsuckers." Right thumb stroking the puncture wound on his left wrist, he turned towards the lodge.
His eyes widened.
Behind the evergreens, the lodge blazed with light.
Inside lights. Outside lights. Every light in the place. The harsh yellow-white illumination washed out the stars up above and threw everything below into such sharp relief that even the lush, spring growth seemed manufactured. The shadows under the distant trees were now solid, impenetrable sheets of darkness.
"Well at least Ontario Hydro's glad he's here." Shaking his head in disbelief, Celluci returned to his surveillance.
Too far away for the light to reach it, the lake threw up shimmering reflections of the stars and lapped gently against the shore.
*
Finally back on the paved road, Vicki unclenched her teeth and followed the southern edge of the lake towards the village. With nothing between the passenger side of the van and the water but a whitewashed guard rail and a few tumbled rocks, it was easy enough to lo
ok out the window and pretend she was driving on the lake itself. When the shoulder widened into a small parking area and a boat ramp, she pulled over and shut off the van.
The water moved inside its narrow channel like liquid darkness, opaque and mysterious. The part of the night that belonged to her ended at the water's edge.
"Not the way it's supposed to work," she muttered, getting out of the van and walking down the boat ramp. Up close, she could see through four or five inches of liquid to a stony bottom and the broken shells of freshwater clams, but beyond that it was hard not to believe she couldn't just walk across to the other side.
The ubiquitous spring chorus of frogs suddenly fell silent, drawing Vicki's attention around to a marshy cove off to her right. The silence was so complete she thought she could hear a half a hundred tiny amphibian hearts beating. One. Two…
"Hey, there."
She'd spun around and taken a step out into the lake before her brain caught up with her reaction. The feel of cold water filling her hiking boots brought her back to herself and she damped the hunter in her eyes before the man in the canoe had time to realize his danger.
Paddle in the water, holding the canoe in place, he nodded down at Vicki's feet. "You don't want to be doing that."
"Doing what?"
"Wading at night. You're going to want to see where you're going, old Nepeakea drops off fast." He jerked his head back towards the silvered darkness. "Even the ministry boys couldn't tell you how deep she is in the middle. She's got so much loose mud on the bottom it kept throwing back their sonar readings."
"Then what are you doing here?"
"Well, I'm not wading, that's for sure."
"Or answering my question," Vicki muttered, stepping back out on the shore. Wet feet making her less than happy, she half hoped for another smartass comment.
"I often canoe at night. I like the quiet." He grinned in at her, clearly believing he was too far away and there was too little light for her to see the appraisal that went with it. "You must be that investigator from Toronto. I saw your van when I was up at the lodge today."
"You must be Frank Patton. You've changed your boat."
"Can't be quiet in a fifty-horsepower Evenrud, can I? You going in to see Mary Joseph?"
"No. I was going in to see Anne Kellough."
"Second house past the stop sign on the right. Little yellow bungalow with a carport." He slid backward so quietly even Vicki wouldn't have known he was moving had she not been watching him. He handled the big aluminium canoe with practised ease. "I'd offer you a lift but I'm sure you're in a hurry."
Vicki smiled. "Thanks anyway." Her eyes silvered. "Maybe another time."
She was still smiling as she got into the van. Out on the lake, Frank Patton splashed about trying to retrieve the canoe paddle that had dropped from nerveless fingers.
*
"Frankly, I hate the little bastard, but there's no law against that." Anne Kellough pulled her sweater tighter and leaned back against the porch railing. "He's the one who set the health department on me, you know."
"I didn't."
"Oh, yeah. He came up here about three months before it happened looking for land and he wanted mine. I wouldn't sell it to him so he figured out a way to take it." Anger quickened her breathing and flared her nostrils. "He as much as told me, after it was all over, with that big shit-eating grin and his, 'Rough, luck, Ms Kellough, too bad the banks can't be more forgiving.' The patronizing asshole." Eyes narrowed, she glared at Vicki. "And you know what really pisses me off? I used to rent the lodge out to people who needed a little silence in their lives; you know, so they could maybe hear what was going on inside their heads. If Stuart Gordon has his way, there won't be any silence and the place'll be awash in brand names and expensive dental work."
"If Stuart Gordon has his way?" Vicki repeated, brows rising.
"Well, it's not built yet, is it?"
"He has all the paperwork filed; what's going to stop him?"
The other woman picked at a flake of paint, her whole attention focused on lifting it from the railing. Just when Vicki felt she'd have to ask again, Anne looked up and out towards the dark waters of the lake. "That's the question, isn't it," she said softly, brushing her hair back off her face.
The lake seemed no different to Vicki than it ever had. About to suggest that the question acquire an answer, she suddenly frowned. "What happened to your hand? That looks like an acid burn."
"It is." Anne turned her arm so that the burn was more clearly visible to them both. "Thanks to Stuart fucking Gordon, I couldn't afford to take my car in to the garage and I had to change the battery myself. I thought I was being careful…" She shrugged.
*
"A new battery, eh? Afraid I can't help you, miss." Ken, owner of Ken's Garage and Auto Body, pressed one knee against the side of the van and leaned, letting it take his weight as he filled the tank. "But if you're not in a hurry I can go into Bigwood tomorrow and get you one." Before Vicki could speak, he went on. "No, wait, tomorrow's Sunday, place'll be closed. Closed Monday too seeing as how it's Victoria Day." He shrugged and smiled. "I'll be open but that won't get you a battery."
"It doesn't have to be a new one. I just want to make sure that when I turn her off on the way home I can get her started again." Leaning back against the closed driver's side door, she gestured into the work bay where a small pile of old batteries had been more or less stacked against the back wall. "What about one of them?"
Ken turned, peered, and shook his head. "Damn but you've got good eyes, miss. It's dark as bloody pitch in there."
"Thank you."
"None of them batteries will do you any good though, cause I drained them all a couple of days ago. They're just too dangerous, eh? You know, if kids get poking around?" He glanced over at the gas pump and carefully squirted the total up to an even thirty-two dollars. "You're that investigator working up at the lodge, aren't you?" he asked as he pushed the bills she handed him into a greasy pocket and counted out three loonies in change. "Trying to lay the spirit?"
"Trying to catch whoever vandalized Stuart Gordon's car."
"He, uh, get that fixed then?"
"Good as new." Vicki opened the van door and paused, one foot up on the running board. "I take it he didn't get it fixed here?"
"Here?" The slightly worried expression on Ken's broad face vanished to be replaced by a curled lip and narrowed eyes. "My gas isn't good enough for that pissant. He's planning to put his own tanks in if he gets that goddamned yuppie resort built."
"If?"
Much as Anne Kellough had, he glanced towards the lake. "If."
About to swing up into the van, two five-gallon glass jars sitting outside the office caught her eye. The lids were off and it looked very much as though they were airing out.
"I haven't seen jars like that in years," she said, pointing. "I don't suppose you want to sell them?"
Ken turned to follow her finger. "Can't. They belong to my cousin. I just borrowed them, eh? Her kids were supposed to come and get them but, hey, you know kids."
According to call-me-Stuart, the village was no place to raise kids.
Glass jars would be handy for transporting acid mixed with fish bits.
And where would they have got the fish? She wondered, pulling carefully out of the gas station. Maybe from one of the boys who runs the hunting and fishing camp.
*
Pete Wegler stood in the door of his trailer, a slightly confused look on his face. "Do I know you?"
Vicki smiled. "Not yet. Aren't you going to invite me in?"
*
Ten to twelve. The lights were still on at the lodge.
Celluci stood, stretched, and wondered how much longer Vicki was going to be. Surely everyone in Dulvie's asleep by now.
Maybe she stopped for a bite to eat.
The second thought followed the first too quickly for him to prevent it so he ignored it instead. Turning his back on the lodge, he sat down and
stared out at the lake. Water looked almost secretive at night, he decided as his eyes readjusted to the darkness.
In his business, secretive meant guilty.
"And if Stuart Gordon has got a protective spirit pissed off enough to kill, what then?" he wondered aloud, glancing down at his watch.
Midnight.
Which meant absolutely nothing to that ever-expanding catalogue of things that went bump in the night. Experience had taught him that the so-called supernatural was just about as likely to attack at two in the afternoon as at midnight but he couldn't not react to the knowledge that he was as far from the dubious safety of daylight as he was able to get.
Even the night seemed affected.
Waiting…
A breeze blew in off the lake and the hair lifted on both his arms.
Waiting for something to happen.
About fifteen feet from shore, a fish broke through the surface of the water like Alice going the wrong way through the Looking Glass. It leaped up, up, and was suddenly grabbed by the end of a glistening, grey tube as big around as his biceps. Teeth, or claws or something back inside the tube's opening sank into the fish and together they finished the arch of the leap. A hump, the same glistening grey, slid up and back into the water, followed by what could only have been the propelling beat of a flat tail. From teeth to tail the whole thing had to be at least nine feet long.
"Jesus H. Christ." He took a deep breath and added, "On crutches."
*
"I'm telling you, Vicki, I saw the spirit of the lake manifest."
"You saw something eat a fish." Vicki stared out at the water but saw only the reflection of a thousand stars. "You probably saw a bigger fish eat a fish. A long, narrow pike leaping up after a nice fat bass."
About to deny he'd seen any such thing, Celluci suddenly frowned. "How do you know so much about fish?"
"I had a little talk with Pete Wegler tonight. He provided the fish for the acid bath, provided by Ken the garageman, in glass jars provided by Ken's cousin, Kathy Boomhower — the mother who went much beyond name calling with our boy Stuart. Anne Kellough did the deed — she's convinced Gordon called in the Health Department to get his hands on the property — having been transported quietly to the site in Frank Patton's canoe." She grinned. "I feel like Hercule Poirot on the Orient Express."
