Turning on her flashlight, she pulled her notebook out of her pile of clothes. She had brought it to make notes of potential destinations and adventures, needed gear, and points of caution. In the past, on the recommendation of her therapist, it had also served as a sounding board for her personal fears and doubts. Her journey toward recovery had been recorded there, vivid and raw in the staccato language of her thoughts.
I expect to be rescued tomorrow, she wrote after the date, but if the storm is really bad, it may be a few days. I am safe, I am dry, and Kaylee keeps me warm. We have plenty of water and food for at least three more days. But if something goes wrong and no one finds me, this is a record of what happened.
She hesitated, her pen tracing doodles on the page as she pondered how to frame her experience. Yesterday we picked up a woman who had sunk her boat. She said her name was Sophia but gave no further explanation. She seemed afraid. Ronny Gifford deserted me in order to take her to the mainland, an extremely unprofessional thing to do, and if he does not send someone back to rescue me, he should be charged.
Her anger welled up again, but with it an eerie calm. She was not fleeing for her life across hostile terrain; she had been abandoned by an inconsiderate prick who had no business being a guide. No matter what else, she’d see him pay for that.
But the more she replayed the scenario over in her mind, the more she thought perhaps Ronny had been trying to stop Sophia, and having failed in that effort because he had the heavier, more cumbersome kayak, he had opted to go with her to shore. But if that were the case, why had he not sent someone back to rescue Amanda, and why had he taken away all her means of signalling for help?
The little pup tent swayed and shuddered in the wind, and rain hammered against the flimsy nylon shell. As darkness descended, Chris ate the remains of his trail mix and scurried down to the water’s edge to filter more drinking water. He had come prepared to meet up with Amanda, not to spend a night on his own. He had a flashlight but was reluctant to squander battery power, so he huddled in his sleeping bag and tried to sleep. Visions of Amanda, lost, wet, and scared as she’d been in Newfoundland drifted through his head. Questions crowded in. Why had she not contacted him? And why had they left no message with their kayaks?
His watch read 6:00 a.m. when he awoke, stiff and sore. Who do they design these things for anyway? he thought as he jackknifed his tall frame out of the tent and scanned his surroundings. The wind had abated but a cold, steady rain slanted down, blending sky with lake in a grey wall. The granite rocks were slick, and water dripped from the pine branches and soaked the forest floor. He squelched down to the water’s edge and peered up and down the shore. Nothing. The chop was still strong but probably manageable with a decent powerboat.
Back inside his tent with fresh tea brewing, he phoned George Gifford. Judging by the sound of his voice, gravel raking across steel, he suspected he’d woken the man up. But George was clearly used to the unexpected and to the prospect of trouble, for he snapped to attention with a gruff, “Yeah, Gifford here!”
Chris identified himself. “Has your son shown up?”
“Not that I know. Where are you?”
Chris explained about the campsite and the abandoned kayaks. “But there’s no sign of them, and Amanda is still not responding to her cell.”
“Yeah, well, in this weather …”
“I know all about weather, George. And crappy cell coverage. But I’ve just spent a miserable night freezing in a tent and starving, so I’m running out of patience.”
George grunted. “These kayaks, any ID in them?”
“Your name, one red, one yellow.”
“That’s them.”
“I called the cops last night, but they were pretty dismissive. Maybe I should call again.”
There was a pause. “They pretty much got their hands full with a death up on one of the islands. Let me give Ronny a call and get back to you.”
Barely two minutes later, George called back. “Still no answer. They could be out of range. Where are you? I’ll come out and pick you up. Give me time to pack up some supplies.”
Chris read off his GPS coordinates, grateful that someone was finally taking him seriously. The OPP had not phoned him back, and he debated bugging them again, but decided to wait until George arrived. The man had not sounded alarmed, but his quick assessment of potential danger was reassuring.
It was past seven thirty when the faint drone of an engine penetrated the steady drum of the rain and waves. As it grew louder, Chris emerged from his tent and waded into the water to guide George’s battered aluminum boat to a safe landing. George tilted the motor and poled the boat in with an oar. As it ground ashore, he leaped from the bow with an agility that belied his weather-beaten age. The hand that gripped Chris’s was gnarled and rough, but strong.
“Any word?” he said as he headed up the shore to inspect the kayaks. “Yep, these are the ones. Ronny’s gear too. Why the hell wouldn’t he take his gear? She took hers.”
He raised his head and pushed his rain hood back to search the woods. “Tents are gone. They must have gone inland, left their kayaks properly protected, so they weren’t in a rush. Maybe just taking a hike to explore the island.”
Chris felt a chill. “Could they have been injured on the hike? Fallen off a cliff?”
“You can always slip and fall, but two of them? No, I think they’re just camping out of range. Did they know what time you were coming?”
“I don’t know. It depends whether Amanda got my texts.”
“Well, then they’ll probably come back to the shore when they wake up this morning. That’s Ronny for you. Not one to worry.”
“But Amanda wouldn’t leave me hanging.”
George cast him an appraising glance, but whatever his thoughts on relationships — or women — he kept them to himself. “Lots of inland campsites. I brought coffee and breakfast, and if they haven’t shown up by the time we’re done eating, we’ll check out the campsites.”
As soon as the strong, smoky coffee coursed through him, Chris’s spirits revived. George was right; Amanda hadn’t known his arrival time, and if they were out of range, she might not have received his follow-up texts either.
The rain continued, reduced now to a fine mist that soaked the landscape. After pouring fresh coffee into two thermoses and storing all their gear under tarps, they set off. George had a detailed map of the island, which showed all the hiking trails and inland campsites, but he did not appear to need it as he strode up the trail.
Chris left a clear message for Amanda tucked in the shelter of his kayak, asking her to sit tight until their return. It was eight thirty. Surely she and Ronny would come walking back any minute.
It had been a long night. Each gust of wind jolted her awake, and by morning Amanda could feel every twig and rock beneath her. Daybreak did not bring new hope but instead a drenching wall of mist that blocked all view of the lake. She ducked out of the tent and went to scan the open water. Her heart sank. Not a peek of sun or blue sky. Another day marooned. Another day of damp and cold and fear.
Just as she was making her way back to the shelter of her tent, she heard the drone of an engine. She rushed to the water’s edge and peered through the mist. Sound was deceptive, but it appeared to be coming from the open lake to the west. Slowly a white shape materialized, blurry at first but taking the form of a large cruiser as it drew closer. It was barrelling northward so fast that Amanda knew she had only moments to catch its attention.
She snatched a yellow tarp and raced up and down the shore, screaming and jumping. Within seconds Kaylee joined in the chaos with excited barking.
The boat continued north. Drawing opposite, it was close enough that she could make out the railing around the prow and the sleek white cabin on top. Amanda grabbed her life jacket and hurled it high into the air, again and again.
The boat slowed, turned its nose toward her, and seemed to hover uncertainly. Amanda renewed her frantic waving un
til mercifully the boat headed for shore. It approached cautiously, pitching and tossing in the waves, until finally the engine stopped altogether. A small figure in a fuchsia raincoat with large white polka dots emerged from the cabin and went to the rear to lower the anchor. Amanda’s relief was short-lived, for there was still at least seventy feet of roiling water between the boat and the shore. What did the skipper think she was going to do? Swim?
The figure stood on the front deck shouting at her. Although Amanda could only hear snatches of sound, she could tell the skipper was a woman. “I’m stranded!” she shouted back.
After several moments of futile shouting back and forth, the woman unhooked a back hatch and hauled out a large yellow object, which she quickly unfolded into a self-inflating dinghy. The little yellow boat looked impossibly fragile as it bounced around in the waves. Wielding tiny oars, the woman climbed into the boat and began to row. Amanda smiled with relief as she waded into the frigid water to greet her. She could see a scowling face peeking out from the oversized rain hood and recognized the cherry lips and sodden platinum hair.
“Hello!” she exclaimed as she helped to guide the dinghy onto the beach. “Thank you so much! I’ve been waiting since yesterday —”
“I don’t have much time!” the woman snapped. “Get in.”
Amanda turned towards her tent. “I’ll just grab —”
“Get in!”
“Okay.” Amanda called Kaylee and snapped her leash on.
“Not the dog! I won’t take the dog on my boat.”
Amanda stared at the woman in dismay. She wore the same impatient, harried look she’d had the first time Amanda had seen her in the parking lot at Pointe au Baril. “I’m sorry, I can’t leave my dog. She’s seen me through thick and thin, she’s more a guardian angel than a dog.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
“I’ll keep her glued to my side. She’ll be no trouble.”
“I have white leather seats.”
“I won’t let her on them.”
The woman shook her head and glared out into the storm. “This isn’t even my boat; it’s my friend’s. If she scratches anything, you’re paying.”
Gratefully Amanda grabbed her backpack, held the leash tightly, and scrambled aboard the wobbly dinghy. The woman looked more at home in the gardens of Rosedale, but to her credit, she knew how to handle a boat. She guided it easily through the chop and within minutes had them all aboard and the cruiser fired up again. She wasted no time on small talk as she gunned the motor north.
The grim set of her mouth suggested she had things on her mind, so Amanda wisely kept her own small talk to a minimum. She perched on the edge of the immaculate white leather bench and kept Kaylee pinned at her feet. Beneath her, the powerful boat throbbed.
“You can just drop me off at the nearest cottage or store that has a cellphone signal,” she said.
“Not much open this time of year.”
“There’s a signal on Franklin Island.”
“I’m not headed that way.”
“Okay, any place along the way would be fine. I really appreciate this. I didn’t relish being stuck for days. That island was getting awfully small.”
The woman cast her a sidelong glance. “You forget to tie your boat up?”
How to explain? She remembered Sophia’s fear the day before. Who knew what her story was, but it was not Amanda’s to tell. “Long story. Something like that.”
Now that the boat was slicing full throttle through the open water, the woman dropped into her seat and rested her head on the wheel.
“Can I get you anything from the galley?” Amanda asked. “You look done in.”
The woman raised her head. To Amanda’s surprise, there were tears in her eyes. “You look familiar,” she said.
“I’m Amanda. We met … well, not exactly met, but our paths crossed at Pointe au Baril, when you were meeting your —” She paused, unsure of the relationship. “Benson.”
The tears spilled over. She dashed them away. “He’s dead. That’s where I’m going. My sister called me in a panic.”
Amanda felt a stab of loss. She remembered the handsome man striding up the dock to greet her, tossing the ball for Kaylee, and laughing aloud at the dog’s response. So vibrant and full of joy.
So young.
“I’m sorry,” she exclaimed. “He didn’t look sick.”
Candace whipped her head back and forth. In the shelter of the cabin she had pushed back her hood and now her unkempt, wet hair flew in all directions. “No, he wasn’t sick. My sister says … they don’t know how he died. The cops were called.”
Amanda sucked in her breath. “What happened?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know! All I know is she called and said they found him yesterday morning, dead in the library. I —” She faltered. “I didn’t check my messages until this morning. My sister is in a state.”
“But it could have been a heart attack or something.”
“The place is crawling with police, and they won’t tell her anything.” Candace shook her head. Shadowy islands loomed ahead in the mist, cluttered with cottages and docks. She slowed the boat to navigate between them.
“I’m sorry I’ve put you to this trouble,” Amanda said. “There are houses along the way here where you can let me off.”
Candace was on her feet, steering ahead with a stony gaze. The tears had dried on her cheeks. “And give these bitches something more to gossip about? We’re almost at Janine’s place. You can call from there.”
A large island loomed ahead. Amanda recognized it from the boat trip with Ronny. Had that only been two days ago? At the time, only a yacht and some power boats were tied to the docks, and a few canoes and kayaks were stacked on a rack, but now the entire shoreline was bristling with official-looking boats. Police in uniforms and white coveralls could be seen through the trees. Candace forged ahead at full throttle, aiming for one of the larger docks, and only cut the engine back at the last minute. A barrel-chested officer in an OPP uniform hurried down the dock and tried to wave her off, but she ignored him.
“Excuse me, ma’am, this is a restricted —”
“Oh, fuck off, Neville!” she snapped as she grabbed the bowline and tossed it to him.
“Sorry, Candy,” he said, meekly tying off the boat. “I didn’t recognize you. It’s been a while.”
“Yeah, well, it’s Janine’s place now, isn’t it? Where is she?”
“I’ll take you to her.” The OPP officer tried to take Candace’s elbow, but she shook him off. As an afterthought, she flicked her hand in Amanda’s direction. “This is Amanda. She’ll be going soon, she just has to call for a ride.” With that, she headed up the stone stairway toward the mansion perched on the hill.
As the OPP officer turned to follow her, he glanced at Amanda, and his scowl returned. “Don’t touch anything, don’t get in our way!”
Amanda stood on the dock, keeping a tight hold on Kaylee. Thus dismissed, she took in her surroundings. The grand old house commanded a stunning view of the lake from its perch on the hill. Built of stone, with massive square timber beams darkened by age to a rich mahogany, it seemed to command views from every room, as well as from decks and stone patios staggered at intervals down the slope. Two equally luxurious guest houses were visible through the trees.
There’s real old money here, she thought as she switched her phone back on. Money, death, plus a hint of sibling jealousy. And a frightened stranger fleeing southward in a dilapidated old boat.
She glanced at her screen and saw a dozen missed messages from poor Chris.
CHAPTER SIX
Amanda walked over the flat granite rocks along the shore until she was out of sight and hearing of the police and other officials. Tucked in behind an overhanging spruce at the water’s edge, she dialled Chris. He picked up before the second ring.
“Amanda!” he shouted, and the unbridled joy in his voice sent a thrill through her body. “Jesus! Where are
you? We’ve been looking everywhere!”
“I’m fine.” She lowered her voice. “Who’s we?”
“George Gifford and I. We found your kayaks but —”
“Where?”
“On Franklin Island. We figured you must have gone inland to escape the storm.”
She heard muffled voices as Chris spoke to someone else in the background. “Two kayaks?” she asked.
There was a pause. Doubt in his voice. “Yeah. Why?”
“That’s not me, Chris. That’s Ronny Gifford and someone else. Ronny left me and Kaylee stranded on an outer island while he took some woman to the mainland.”
“What the hell? Who?”
“I don’t know. Sophia Somebody. She cracked up her boat off the island where we were exploring.”
More muffled voices. “Where’s the island? We’ll come get you.”
“No, I got a lift to an island cottage up near Pointe au Baril.” Amanda heard voices nearby and glanced past the tree to see two officers poking along the shore with long poles. Gripping Kaylee’s leash, she moved farther away.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” she whispered, “but Chris, something is going on. The owner of this cottage was found dead here yesterday. There are cops everywhere.”
“Yes, we saw them.”
“I think he may have been murdered. The woman we found yesterday seemed in a desperate hurry to get away. I think that’s why Ronny took her to the mainland. I don’t know the connection — she seemed foreign — but I do think there is one.”
“You should tell the cops.”
“I will, but …” Amanda tried to sort through her feelings. “She seemed really scared. Panicked, in fact. I don’t know if she witnessed something or was just afraid she’d be under suspicion. She didn’t seem dangerous.”
“And you know that means nothing.” He paused, and she heard him talking to another man, presumably George. “They must still be on the island here. The water is too rough for kayaking. If you like I’ll call it in, since this is where they are. So the cops can at least get the search started.”
Prisoners of Hope Page 6
