by Linda Moore
“Not a clue. Maybe they know we’re behind them and this is a wild goose chase.”
The road ended at the county highway, which led either down into the town of Canning or up North Mountain to the Look Off and beyond to Scots Bay on the Fundy coast. The SUV turned right and started heading up the mountain. There was plenty of traffic and we allowed several vehicles to come between us before we turned.
The long twisting climb ended at Gospel Woods Road on the brow of North Mountain. Most of the traffic in front of us headed right, towards the Look Off, a wide paved area off the highway that offered a stunning view of the whole valley. But the Range Rover didn’t go that way. They took a short left and then a right onto Jasper Creek Road, a fairly straight and virtually deserted gravel road.
Following unnoticed would be impossible. We pulled over to consider our options before the turn. Just then, a large passenger van marked Jasper Creek Centre for the Arts passed us. Inside was a crowd of rollicking teenagers all talking at once. The van turned and began heading along Jasper Creek Road.
“Made to order,” McBride said falling in behind it. The SUV was well ahead by now, moving fast, and kicking up dust.
A few kilometres along, the van signalled left at the sign for the Jasper Creek Arts Centre, and proceeded down a long driveway. But on the road ahead of us there was no SUV. It had completely vanished. McBride stopped the Mazda opposite the arts centre driveway and looked at me.
“We’re pretty exposed on this road, but I think we should carry on, keep our eyes peeled, and try to find out where they went. They haven’t turned off anywhere up to this point.”
“I agree,” I said. “Let’s keep truckin’.”
As McBride put the Mazda in gear, it sputtered, coughed, and the engine quit. He looked at the dash. “I’d say we’re out of gas—that gauge never moved.”
“Excellent choice of vehicle, McBride.”
“We’ll just walk down to that centre,” he said. “I bet they have gas on hand. Maybe they can tell us what’s further down this road. Come on, Roz. Molly could use the walk.”
The lab bounded out of the truck delighted with this turn of events, finally getting the exercise she’d been craving. At the end of the long driveway there was an old farmhouse on our right, and straight ahead were parking lots and the main building. There was a sign for an art gallery and another for performance studios.
“Look at this place, McBride. They have studios! Maybe I can work on the Beckett stuff here.”
“Uh huh,” he said, glazing over as he always did when I mentioned my theatre projects.
We entered the main building and looked around for someone who might help us out. The teenagers we had seen in the bus were crowded around a reception counter where a blond woman was busily registering them one by one. Lingering at the back of the group was a tall kid with long green hair. I approached him. “So what’s everybody up to?” I asked.
“Signing up for the animation workshop,” the boy replied.
“Sounds cool,” I said.
“Oh yeah, and you get a school credit for art class.”
“That’s excellent,” I said.
I realized it would be a long time before the woman would be free to talk to us. I could hear the sound of a lawn tractor starting up, and looked back to where McBride had been standing, but he was already out the door and waving at the driver who had begun to mow around the farmhouse.
“Have a great workshop,” I said to the boy, and stepped back outside. Molly had found herself an old tin basin filled with water and was drinking greedily from it. The young farmhand had stopped the tractor and was talking with McBride who was pointing to where our truck was stranded at the top of the driveway. The fellow got off the machine and he and McBride walked towards the drive shed. I followed. He was handing McBride a plastic gasoline container as I caught up to them.
“Hi, I’m Roz,” I said.
The boy looked up and nodded at me. He looked about eighteen years old and he had intense blue eyes. What some might call sapphire blue.
“Do you happen to know if they rent out the performance studios here?”
“If they’re available, they do. Call the centre and talk to Heather.”
“Heather—okay, I’ll do that,” I said. “That’s great, thanks.”
“And what’s further along Jasper Creek Road up there?” McBride asked, cutting to the chase.
“She goes right down to the Bay of Fundy. There’s a few farms along the way, most of them deserted. There’s a small quarry off to your right and then some summer cabins along the water. That’s about it. But if you want to check out something awesome, I wouldn’t bother with this road. Just over to the west you’ll see a sign for Black Hole Road. Turn right and drive all the way down to the end. From there you can hike in along the brook. You’ll come to a huge waterfall, and this steep gorge that opens right out into Black Hole Cove.”
“You know your stuff,” I said.
“I live out that way with my mother and sister.”
“And you work at the centre here?”
“Just part-time, I lend a hand around the property.”
“You don’t happen to have noticed a big official-looking black Range Rover out this way?” McBride asked.
There was the briefest of hesitations. “You see a lot of vehicles over the course of a day. Listen, I better get back to this mowing.”
McBride handed him a twenty for the gas.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Jacob.”
“We’ll bring this container right back down to you. Thanks for your help, Jacob.”
We headed out of the shed. As we walked past the farmhouse towards the start of the driveway, we heard a roar in the distance and could see a dust cloud speeding along Jasper Creek Road; it was coming from the direction of Fundy. We stopped in our tracks and I ducked behind McBride for cover. “Is it the SUV?” I asked him.
“Unless there’s another one just like it.” It thundered past the stalled Mazda without slowing down and continued on towards the highway. “They’re still in a hurry,” he said, as we watched the blur of dust disappearing.
When we finally reached the top of the long driveway, I leaned against the truck and groaned as McBride poured in the gas. The road was deserted. “Well, what now? We’ve lost them…twice.”
“Since we’re here, why don’t we investigate further down this road anyway,” McBride said. “We might find something.”
“Or we could follow young Jacob’s suggestion and go straight to Black Hole,” I said bleakly.
“What do you call that, Roz—the karma of names?”
I shivered. A cold wind had come up, blowing straight in off the Bay of Fundy.
Chapter 4
Molly chased the truck down the driveway when we returned the gas container to the shed, and then followed us all the way back up to the top. McBride stopped at the road to let her jump in.
“At least Molly’s happy,” I said as she settled in between us, panting. “Finally getting lots of exercise.”
“The poor critter’s been pent up in the house with me. But I’ll tell you, she got some exercise this morning giving that cat of yours a run for her money,” McBride said, chuckling as he put the truck in gear.
“What? You’re saying the cat got out?”
“Oh yeah—I opened your door and she flew out of that porch like a tornado. Scared the bejesus out of me. Headed straight for the edge of the cliff with the dog on her tail!”
“McBride!”
“What?”
“For God’s sake! We’re definitely not going down to the end of this road. We’re not going anywhere except back to Kingsport!”
“Roz, I’m sure she’s—”
“No! We’ve lost those creeps for the time being anyway. We’re heading ba
ck. Hurry up!”
We drove in silence down the steep winding road into the valley. I crossed my arms and stared straight ahead, trying to block out visions of all the disasters befalling the cat. As predicted, there was no sighting of the Range Rover.
We had just turned onto North Medford Road when the alarming shriek of a police siren cut into the silence. We pulled the truck over and the RCMP cruiser pulled in behind us.
“Well done, McBride,” I griped.
“You’re the one who told me to hurry! Besides, if it was up to me we’d be checking things out on the Fundy shore right now. This is your fault, Roz—”
“My fault! Did I let the cat out? Did I steal the truck?”
McBride rolled down the driver’s window, and none other than Corporal Monaghan appeared.
“Can you show me your license, sir?” she said. “You know, I don’t see an up-to-date sticker on the plate, so—”
“Corporal Monaghan,” I cut in. “It’s me, Roz, remember? I have to talk to you.” I started to reach into my pocket to take out my phone.
“Just keep your hands where I can see them,” she said sharply.
“Listen, this is important! We’ve been tracking these guys—they have something to do with the helicopter I told you about and—”
“I’m speaking with the driver of this vehicle right now,” she said. “So cool it, or I’ll have to restrain you and put you in the back of my car.”
“I’ve already done that dance today, thank you very much.” I wondered if, like Alice, I had fallen down a hole into a world where everyone was mean and contrary.
So far McBride hadn’t said a word, but he was working up the charm. He handed Corporal Monaghan his driver’s license. She took it from him and studied it.
“So how’s that tractor parade going?” he asked, giving her his best smile.
She looked at her watch. “It’ll be almost over now. I look forward to it every year. I’ve got a soft spot for those old guys.” She smiled back at him.
“Salt of the earth,” McBride said.
“The very best.” She handed back his driver’s license. “I need to see your registration.”
“I have the registration for my car in here,” he said, motioning to his wallet, “but my car is with the farmer down on Longspell. I borrowed his truck in exchange.”
“That’s not how it works,” she said.
“No?”
“No. Because this truck isn’t supposed to leave farm property.”
“No! I guess I misunderstood.”
“I guess you did,” she said. “So, here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to follow you down to the farm and we’ll get this truck back where it belongs, and we’ll take it from there.”
“Sounds like a plan,” McBride said.
“In the meantime, your friend Roz can ride with me and fill me in on what’s been happening since she took those pictures this morning.” She gestured with a nod for me to get out of the truck.
“Okay, good,” I said relieved, casting a glance at McBride.
“See you there,” he said, giving me a big grin.
As we drove down Medford Road towards the farm, I told Corporal Monaghan about the two so-called official investigators arriving at my cottage in their armoured SUV and lifting me right off my own porch when I refused to produce my phone. “And you actually saw that vehicle and spoke to that driver,” I said, “because he stepped out to give you a hard time when you made him wait for the tractors.”
“Oh right. The cranky one.”
“If cranky includes dangerous!—I was there! I was right there in the back seat with his partner who had put plastic restraints on my wrists.” I held them out so she could see the marks. “Then, when I tried to get your attention, he threatened to gag me.”
She was silent, so I continued with my story, telling her about returning to the cottage, discovering McBride by the back door and our hairy escape, how we hid his car at the farm, took the Mazda, and followed the SUV as far as Jasper Creek Road. “If we hadn’t run out of gas up on North Mountain, who knows what we might have discovered. Something weird is going on, Corporal Monaghan,” I said. “I mean, you saw that girl out there in the basin with your own eyes. Looks to me like abduction and murder—we don’t know! And how did she end up out there?”
“Listen to me carefully,” she said. “This is where your interest in this situation ends. There are some high-level conversations going on. Things are being looked after.”
I was dumbfounded. “What sort of high-level?” I asked.
“That’s not for me to get into—it’s classified. But word has come down from the higher-ups that everything’s being dealt with, and the smartest thing for you and your friend McBride to do now is forget about it.”
“Forget about it? How do I ‘forget’ about my personal safety? Can you guarantee they won’t be back to harass me? What’s changed? I’m sure they’re still interested in getting their hands on my phone!”
“You don’t have anything to worry about. Admittedly, they were overzealous, and I’m sure they’ll be reprimanded.”
“Overzealous?” I said. “That’s a hot one. Who are they? And who’ll be doing the reprimanding?”
“Like I said, it’s classified.”
“Classified or not, I don’t intend to look the other way. I’m going to charge those thugs with abduction!”
“Listen up, Roz, this is official! You’re not hearing me. As far as you’re concerned, this is over now. And here’s what it comes down to: if you want me to give your friend McBride a break on helping himself to an unregistered truck and driving it all over the county, then you better cool your jets!”
She turned onto Longspell Road. McBride, who was just ahead of us in the Mazda, signalled and turned up the driveway to the farm. I was stunned.
“Let me out here,” I said at the bottom of the drive. “I have to look for my cat.”
“Don’t forget to forward those pictures,” she said.
I got out and stood for a moment watching the cruiser going up the drive. “Did that just happen?” I said aloud.
I felt as though I’d been hit in the stomach. I had made the mistake of assuming Corporal Monaghan was on my side. I had told her everything, and now I felt like a fool.
It’s the first lesson of a good investigator: trust no one.
Chapter 5
I walked slowly down the road, waiting for McBride to come along so we could talk about getting warned off the case. I tried to distract myself, lingering by the farmer’s lush fields, well on the way with their spring crops. This is a painter’s paradise, I thought. Van Gogh fields with North Mountain and Cape Blomidon as a backdrop.
I was checking either side of the road for the cat when a tall black and white tail swished through the high grass in the ditch to my right. I took a few steps over and caught sight of Mama and three baby skunks out for a promenade. I tried to recall remedies for skunked felines. Tomato juice, peanut butter, apple cider vinegar…oh yeah, she’d love that! If I found her.
I was startled to see a familiar van parked in my driveway. Walking around the cottage, I noticed that the four wooden Adirondack chairs had been moved and were set in a row facing out towards the basin. In those chairs, laughing and talking, sat Mark, Cym, Ellie, and Regan, the four performers in the Beckett troupe. Mark, lean and gangly, had his legs stretched out in the sun. Regan was lighting a cigarette, looking stern. Ellie, ever curious, was pointing at a hawk flying over the basin, while Cym, at the far end of the row, was on her phone, no doubt in yet another wrangle with her current girlfriend. Just then, Ellie turned and saw me.
“Hey, Roz! The whole Cat’s-Astrophe has arrived!” The next moment, they were all out of their chairs and we were exchanging hugs. My spirits began to lift despite everything. “We thought we’d surprise you and
drop out for a visit, have a bite and a natter about the Beckett stuff.”
“I love that idea—but I have to tell you it’s been one crazy day so far. I’m a little distracted. Speaking of catastrophes, is that the cat?” I looked in the direction of a strange yowling sound. “It is, isn’t it? There she is!”
Two properties over was a cottage that had a towering ash tree in the centre of the garden. It had just begun leafing and was a real beauty. High up and clinging to a branch was the cat.
“What’s her name?” Ellie asked me.
“You know, my friend McBride always teases me for naming my car but not my cat. I just call her The Cat, or You Again.”
“And what do you call your car?” Ellie asked.
“Old Solid,” I replied.
We hurried through the adjacent property and into the garden with the tree. I called up to her, but she wasn’t budging. She was trembling, and her meow was pure pathos. I looked around. “No one seems to be here, no cars or anything, blinds are down.”
“I don’t see any ladders, but there’s a rope hanging from that branch up there,” Cym said. “Don’t worry, Roz, we can get her.” I protested, but there was no deterring them. The company were all in excellent shape—a physical theatre troupe with lots of strength and acrobatic skills. They got work gloves from their van and swung into action, standing on one another’s shoulders until Mark and Cym were able to grab hold of the rope and pull themselves to the first major branch.
“Take the rope and swing it over that branch up there!” Mark said, tossing the end to Ellie. More climbing. Then Cym was within reach of the cat, though she was not exactly co-operating with her own rescue. In fact she was awkwardly backing up and a low growl was emanating from her. But Cym, in this as in all things, was undeterred. “Stand by, Mark. I’m going to hand her across to you,” she said. “She’s all claws—are you ready?”
“Standing by,” Mark said. “Go for it.”
Cym, precariously balanced on a branch, took hold of the cat by the scruff of the neck. She was lifting her over open space when we heard the sound of a car door slamming and Molly appeared, charging towards us, barking loudly. The cat began wildly squirming, and Cym couldn’t get her all the way across to Mark but managed to get her near a stout lower branch. The cat clawed her way onto it and stared at the dog. Instantly ferocious and looking twice her size, she bolted down the tree and straight towards Molly who skidded to a halt, turned, and hightailed it back across both yards to McBride with the cat hot in pursuit.
