“You’re trying to let me know that you found the right room,” she said. Wow. She understood. I looked at my brother, who was wiggling his eyebrows at me. “Good.”
“Yes, thanks,” I said. “Listen, we just got here, and it seems the water is off.”
“That’s the other reason I was phoning,” she said. “We keep the power turned on year round – Dad has a nerdy reason for that, but don’t ask me, ’cause I don’t listen. But we always turn the water on and off if we go in off-season. Do you want me to walk you through turning it on?”
“I’m going to let Laurence do that,” I said. Now that Debbie was on the phone, my fear of the basement seemed silly. I wasn’t nuts about admitting I was making my brother do the manly work, but I was the product of fairly traditional parents, and Jack and I had always lived in apartments. I had wanted to go into the basement to save Laurence from any machete-wielding boogeymen, but if I tried to turn the water on, I’d probably wind up extinguishing a pilot light somehow and blowing us both up.
“Before you hand me over to him, I just want to thank you,” she said. “I’m sorry if I put you in an awkward position today. I shouldn’t have said what I said. I was upset.”
“I get it,” I said. “Really.” I did. I’d said as bad or worse to people I shouldn’t have when Ginger and Jack died. “And thanks again for letting us stay here. It’s really very nice of you.”
“Yes, it is,” Laurence said loudly in the background, for her to hear. He was looking for a corkscrew and seemed much more relaxed. Constable MacLean laughed.
“Use the phone as much as you want, don’t worry about it,” she said. “Nobody can get cell reception in that spot. About a half mile as the crow flies in either direction you’re fine, but we’re in a dead zone there.”
“Nice choice of words, Constable,” I said.
“God, call me Debbie,” she said. “Now, let me talk to your brother so you guys can relax and try to get some sleep.”
I stood at the top of the stairs holding the phone while Laurence went down to turn the water on. MacLean – Debbie – was quiet on the other end. I think she knew I would be nervous until he got back up.
“Danny,” she said. She sounded like she was being careful. “You saw Sarah, obviously, yes?”
“Not her face,” I said. “Just some of her body. Enough.”
She sighed into the phone. “You’re not particularly squeamish, after everything you’ve been through?”
“I don’t know about that. No, I guess.”
She spoke quietly and quickly. “Sarah didn’t die in that spot. Well, we knew that.”
“Right.”
“The ME said… well, she said that Sarah suffered from exposure and dehydration as well as her wounds. Her hands – well, her wrists were severely abraded.” She didn’t have a lot of her hands left, which was what Debbie was trying not to say.
“What happened to her?” I said. I was being quiet, trying to hear downstairs as well as into the phone.
“The working theory is that she was tied to a tree or a rock – probably a tree, had something stuffed in her mouth so she couldn’t scream, and she was left there for the animals.” I could hear MacLean lighting a cigarette.
“Holy mother of God,” I said. “In one night? That happened to her in one night?”
“One night and one day, yes,” she said. “We’ve got more wildlife in some areas than people realize. Wolves, we’ve had a few black bear maulings over the years… even stray or feral dogs could have done what was done to her.” We were both silent for a minute. It didn’t bear to be considered too much.
She had been sitting with us just last night. Sitting around the table with us.
“Danny, try the water,” Laurence yelled up from the basement. I walked over to the sink, got some noisy air, then rusty water. I let it run, just as Debbie was telling me to let it run.
“I got it,” I said. I yelled to Laurence he could come back up. “I feel sick,” I said to Debbie.
“We all do,” she said. “And listen – what I told you today, about the woods? Stay away from there. Stay in the cottage, play board games. There’s no TV, but there’s a radio and stuff. My stepmom is a huge reader, there’s tons of books. I’ll pop in tomorrow afternoon sometime and bring you guys some food, but I’ll call first. You know what the other key is for, but don’t go looking for any trouble. This is too much. Just stay safe.”
“Thanks,” I said automatically. Laurence came into the kitchen with a big smile on his face, as though he had dug the well himself.
“And, Danny? Just to keep my mind easy, maybe tonight keep the curtains closed and don’t keep all the lights on.”
“Oh,” I said. “Right.” Of course. If Dickie had anything to do with this, he’d be able to see the lights from the woods, if he liked tramping around in there as much as she seemed to think. If he was still alive, that is. Had Sarah died in these woods? Surely it would have to have been even more remote than this?
I waited until after he’d eaten to tell Laurence about Sarah, and even then I didn’t mention the animals. But he wasn’t stupid. We drank two bottles of wine quietly, in the semi-dark, checked the locks on all the windows, and quietly made up our beds. Laurence was in the room next to mine, and I told him to put a chair under his door. The bedroom doors didn’t lock.
Why should they? This was rural Nova Scotia. The safest place in the world.
NINETEEN
I set my internal clock to wake up half an hour before sunrise. I wanted to be out early, in case Laurence woke up with the sun. New places can do that to a person.
Just after five a.m., I was up, quietly bathed, and dressed in somebody else’s clothes.
Not only did Debbie MacLean’s room have the gun safe, it also had a few things in the drawers – a couple of bikinis, an old pair of Seven jeans and a few pairs of denim cut-offs, and an oversized Acadia University sweatshirt. I was glad that the jeans fit, and were even the right length, more or less. After a second’s thought, I took them off and put a bikini on underneath as underwear – I hadn’t worn a bra last night and I had nothing with me, and I wanted as much on as possible. Why a bikini under my clothes should make me feel safer, I couldn’t tell you, but after sleeping in my t-shirt and jeans – the furnace wasn’t turned on yet, and the nights were still cool – I felt like the layers were armor. I put my t-shirt back on over the bikini top and pulled the Acadia sweatshirt over the top. I tiptoed to the bathroom and pulled my hair into a ponytail. It had been a long time since I’d kept it that long.
From a distance, if you didn’t see the Glock stuck down the back of my jeans or the frown lines etched between my eyebrows, I could be a student on a late-spring stroll. Gathering mushrooms, perhaps.
I listened at Laurence’s door, glad he was a loud snorer. He was fine. He would be fine. I’d listened to the radio before bed and the day was promising to be warm and sunny. Nothing bad would happen today.
Downstairs, I used the landline to call the detachment. I kept my fingers crossed, hoping they had made an arrest while Laurence and I slept.
They hadn’t. Plan B: walk up the road until I could get cell reception, and call Dave out of earshot of Laurence, if he woke up and wandered downstairs.
The thought made me feel better. I had a gun, and it was loaded, and I had extra ammo in my fanny pack. My phone was charged, even if it wasn’t getting a signal here. I’d written a note to my brother saying I’d be right back, that I was armed, and for him to sit tight. I taped it to my closed bedroom door, which he’d have to pass on his way to the bathroom.
I’d hesitated for long minutes about telling him about the gun, but I figured he’d worry less if he knew I had it. I’d deal with the flak later. And that’s if I didn’t get back before he woke up.
Just before I left the house, I grabbed a bottle of the energy drink that I’d put in the fridge the night before. I thought of Sarah, thirsty, scared, cold. And then the animals.
&
nbsp; I had to sit down on a chair for a minute with my head between my legs.
Then I said a quick prayer that Laurence would sleep for hours, soundly and safely, and I quietly left, locking the door behind me.
The sun was coming up, and the birds were making a racket. Twenty feet from the cottage, I took the Glock from my waistband and carried it in my hand.
I had no permit, and even if I did, I was pretty sure Nova Scotia would be like Ontario – no open carry, anywhere. Canada took its gun laws seriously, and there should be Mounties posted somewhere on the main road near Dickie’s cabin. But I was planning on walking the other way, and with the quiet, I figured I would hear any car in plenty of time to hide or toss the gun. Besides, with what I’d seen in the last couple of days, I knew there were worse things than the possibility of a weapons charge.
If I could only block out what I thought might be lurking in the woods, it was a beautiful morning. The road had been freshly gravelled, and crunched pleasingly underfoot. It felt good to be moving my body again. It was cool – it wouldn’t warm up for a few hours – but the sweatshirt was warm, and even with tight jeans on I was tempted to break into a slow run. But my ankle was aching a bit already from lack of use in the last days, and I couldn’t risk injury. I hoped nobody else had been killed in the hours I’d slept. I hoped the police had made an arrest.
How could someone have carried Sarah’s body onto the grounds of Rose’s and left her there, so close to the main house, with no one seeing? It spoke not only of an incomprehensible amount of luck and/or skill, but also dangerous confidence. Overconfidence. Nobody could take that many risks and continue to evade police. Not to mention the media, who had been camped at the end of Rose’s driveway for days. I hadn’t listened to enough radio to hear more than basic details last night, but they had the news about the shooting on the grounds. Impossible to quash that story; it would have been heard. They hadn’t released Colin’s name, or even mentioned a fatality. I was glad I wasn’t on the RCMP Communications team this weekend. But as far as I was concerned, the less information that got out immediately, the better. The killer, or killers, didn’t seem to want to target anybody who wasn’t involved with Rose’s Place. So far, at least, the general public seemed to be safe.
I just hoped there wasn’t anybody on staff or with the police who had loose lips about the names of residents. My notoriety after the events in Maine in December may have died down, but here on the east coast, they might still be fresh in people’s minds. And having Michael Vernon Smith know my whereabouts when I was this exposed was not something I wanted to add to the mix.
More reason to get hold of Dave.
After fifteen minutes or so of walking, I tried my phone. There was only a faint signal, but enough. I’d put the local RCMP detachment in my contacts, and after hesitating for a moment, I called them back. I decided to try to speak to Des. The other officer had confirmed no arrests, but maybe they had more information, a lead of some kind, and I wouldn’t have to bother Dave. It was a beautiful morning. Something good had to happen today.
I moved to the centre of the road, furthest from the trees on either side. I’d hear and see a car coming, but if I was distracted on the phone and trying to hear what someone was saying, I might not hear anyone – anything – approaching me from the bush. I longed, at that moment, for city streets, the first time I had since I had arrived in Nova Scotia.
Someone at the detachment answered on the first ring. It was a different cop, and he sounded more awake than the one I’d just spoken to.
“Miss Cleary,” the cop said. “We’ve met. I’m Constable Gordon.”
“Okay,” I said. I had no idea which one he was.
“Have you seen Sergeant Murphy since yesterday afternoon?”
Oh, no. Des.
“No,” I said. “The last I saw, he was going to inform Mary about Colin. Uh, Constable LeBlanc.” I was aware my voice was tight. “I was calling to see if he was on duty. Why?”
There was a pause. “He left there – Mary’s, that is – after a couple hours. And… well, he never came back here, or to Rose’s. And he didn’t go home last night, either.”
“Oh, fuck,” I said.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I know you and the sarge became friendly, and he was watching out for you. If you hear from him?”
“Of course,” I said. “Thanks, Constable.”
I hung up, and felt like my head was going to explode. Not him. Not Des. If Des didn’t turn up, alive, today, then I was going to get Laurence into the car, and we were going to drive as far away from here as we could get, Dickie or no Dickie.
I was about to phone Dave, phone the number that was tattooed into my thigh and into my brain, when I heard a vehicle some distance away. It was a long way around the bend, but not many people at this hour observed speed limits.
Immediately I chucked the Glock, underhand, a few feet into the woods.
On impulse, I followed it, darting into the woods and flattening myself into the muddy ground.
The vehicle approached without slowing, and when it passed I peeked up.
Canary yellow pickup. Tinted windows, rolled up this time. Coming from the direction of both Dickie’s and the MacLean cottage.
Laurence.
I waited a couple of beats until I was sure it was out of sight, grabbed the Glock from where it was, under my body, and then I turned and ran, back toward my brother.
TWENTY
I got twenty yards. Before I was out of cell range, I stopped and hit redial. The same cop answered, and in a breathless rush, I told him what had just happened.
Leaving aside the Glock, of course.
He wanted to know what road I was on, and I couldn’t tell him the name of it.
“A few kilometres past where Mary lives,” I said. “On Ferryman Lake.”
“We’re on our way,” the cop said, all business. “Miss Cleary, I want you to stay exactly where you are, by the side of the road. Someone will be right with you. Do not step back into the woods, and don’t go back the way you came. Stay exactly where you are.”
“No,” I said. “My brother. We’re staying at Constable MacLean’s cottage. She gave me the keys, somewhere safe to stay. He was asleep when I left.”
“Oh, good,” he said. “I know it. We’ll be there in two shakes. But stay where you are. And if you see the truck again, then get off the road.”
Which? I wanted to say. Stay out of the woods, or get into the woods? “Hurry,” I said. I hung up, and continued to run. As I did, I put the Glock into my fanny pack, in case I released the safety while running and shot myself in the foot. Stranger things have been known, etc.
I ran, full tilt, and cursed my hearing. I could only hear my breathing, which was too labored for such a short run, and my feet hitting the gravel, which no longer felt so pleasant. I didn’t know whether to pray for the sound of a car – the police – or dread it – the pickup.
I ran down the drive and fumbled for the keys. My hands were shaking. No lights were on, but it might be bright enough inside now. I’d only been gone for what? Half an hour? A bit more?
I ran up the steps to the porch, and accidentally dropped the keys.
They landed on a small box, wrapped in red tissue paper, that was sitting by the door. There was a white card on top that said “Lawrence.” Spelled incorrectly. Couldn’t be Dickie. Unless he didn’t want people to think it was him.
I grabbed the keys gingerly, trying not to touch the box. It was about the size of a shoebox, but flatter. I unlocked the door, but before I walked in, I looked over my shoulder. No police. I took the Glock out of my fanny pack and went in, closing and locking the door quickly behind me.
“Where the fuck did you get that?” Laurence said, looking at the gun. I jumped out of my skin. He was standing in the kitchen with a can of energy drink in his hand, wearing a robe.
“Come with me, quickly,” I said. I grabbed his hand and pulled, and he moved.
We ran up the stairs and into my – Debbie MacLean’s – room. I unlocked the gun safe and wiped the gun clean of my fingerprints with the sweatshirt while Laurence watched. After I locked it back in the safe, I wiped the safe. I stepped around Laurence, who was standing with his mouth open staring at me, and shut the bedroom door behind us, putting a flimsy wicker chair under the handle. I took the screwdriver out of my bag, wishing I had thought to tell Laurence to grab the hammer.
The police were on their way, yes. Constable Gordon had promised “in two shakes.” But I had found Sarah’s body right under their noses, and very probably whoever had left the box outside this door had shot and killed a cop through a window with us in the room. I whipped the curtains shut from the side, without standing directly in front of the window, and told Laurence to sit on the bed.
“How long have you been up?” I said.
“Ten minutes,” he said. “About.”
“Did you hear anyone? See anything by the back door?”
“Danny. No.” He paused. “But something woke me up. Some noise.”
I told him about the truck, and the package, and it was all I could do to keep him in the room.
“The police are coming. That package could be a trap to get you to open the door. Get you shot. Or worse.” I paced, and thought better of walking back and forth in front of the window, curtains or no. I debated taking the gun back out of the safe.
I thought of Sarah.
I sat next to Laurence on the bed. He grabbed my hand. “So, we wait,” he said.
“Not my forte,” I said. I felt like a coward. I don’t sit. This needed to be over with. And I hadn’t had a chance to call Dave.
“I’m aware,” he said. “But while you might be a fighting demon, I’m bigger than you are, and you’re not going to try to hurt me. You’re staying in this room until Sergeant Murphy knocks on that door.”
Rehab Run Page 14
