by Linda Moore
“And most of the young ones.” Sophie grinned.
“So what’s he doing?” I asked her.
“He’s over by the bridge, right where the cable connects to the steel pole. He’s got a little wooden crate down there to sit on. Looks like he’s just waiting.”
“So maybe he’s manning the cable,” I said. “Where’s his truck?”
“Down in the parking area, by those sheds.”
“Yup. That’s exactly where it was parked earlier. Well, it’s good that you checked him out, Sophie. He must be on the payroll. That would account for his push-me-away attitude this morning.”
“I just wanted to make sure he didn’t have McBride with him,” she said.
“No stone unturned,” I said. We pulled onto Jasper Creek Road and began driving back towards the valley. I glanced at her. “We’re going to find him.”
A few minutes later, we passed the entrance to the quarry on our left and I slowed down so that we could get a good look in as we went by. Sure enough, another tanker truck was parked there, waiting, its nose pointed out towards the road. Waiting for our cowboy to drive by and signal that the coast was clear, that now it was this one’s turn to cross the Jasper Creek bridge.
Chapter 12
When we arrived back at the cottage, Sophie and I were stressed, exhausted, and hungry, and we still hadn’t made it to the grocery store.
“Guess what? I have a can of chicken noodle soup,” I said.
“That’s pathetic, Roz. But it sounds delicious—heat it up immediately!”
“You heat it up and I’ll make a fire. After we eat, let’s take a close look at those maps.”
We sat in the living room by the stove and ate soup while munching down the half package of saltines I had brought along from the city. The cat ate her dinner too, and stretched out on the mat in front of the fire.
“This is a great place to stay,” Sophie said, finally relaxing a little. “You’re planning to work on the Beckett here, right?”
“Yes, and the Beckett gang actually paid me a surprise visit. They sort of arrived in the middle of everything and after McBride left, we had a meeting about the project. I’m still hoping to work with them next week up at that arts centre. Sophie, remember when we did Beckett’s Happy Days, and you played Winnie?”
“How could I forget—buried to the waist in that papier-mâché mound. ‘Another happy day.’ That’s how we got to know each other, Roz, madly figuring it all out.”
“I can still see you holding the parasol,” I said.
“That spontaneously combusts on cue! Talk about a technical nightmare!”
“And then in the second act, buried up to your neck.”
“I’d love to be working with you guys on the short works. I’ve always wanted to play that woman in Beckett’s Eh Joe—do you know it?”
I stopped still.
Sophie went on. “I learned it once for a workshop. It’s actually a voice-over—you don’t see her. She’s the voice in his head—”
I could feel my blood run cold.
“—Roz? Are you all right?”
“Sophie, now that you say it…it’s….”
“What?”
“That’s what she reminded me of. That’s the image that’s been just under the surface, that’s been haunting me.”
“Who? She?”
“When I saw the girl out there in the basin, before she was tied to the frame and lifted into the helicopter, she was placed on the sandbar, facing out across the water, and it was like she was staring at me.
“There’s that section in Eh Joe, I think it’s right near the end. She’s taken the pills and she lies down a few feet from the tide…do you remember from the script, the description of her eyes…?”
“Right, right, give me a second…” Sophie said, and then: “‘pale…the pale eyes…The way they opened after….’”
“Yes—that’s the line! It reminds me of her.”
“Really—that whole piece is eerie,” Sophie said, “…the lavender slip, the gillette….”
“You know what, Sophie? I’m fairly certain she stayed right here in this cottage in late April, early May.”
“Who, you mean the dead girl?”
“Yes. Aurelia Strange. That’s her name. I think she and the girl in the tree are the same person.”
“But Roz, I mean April’s almost two months. How do you know her name, anyway?”
I told Sophie about Ellie finding the journal in the loft the day before, and what I’d learned from the newspaper clipping about her. “Also, there was a receipt tucked in the notebook so while I was waiting for your bus I went into the shop in Wolfville where it was purchased and the clerk remembered that the girl who bought the journal had red hair and pale skin—just like the girl in the tree!” Breathless, I pointed towards the basin.
Sophie shook her head. “There are lots of women with red hair, especially around here.”
“But this girl, Aurelia Strange, was a young award-winning journalist, and according to the only entry she made in that little notebook, she was moving to a cabin up on the Bay of Fundy to be closer to ‘the daily activity’—something she was investigating—and she was planning to do an interview that could be ‘treacherous.’ It all fits, right? I mean, someone tied her into that tree! That sounds treacherous to me.”
“But you have no proof that the girl whose body was recovered by the helicopter is this journalist. And until her identity is published, you won’t know.”
“And now that this case is ‘classified’ and in the hands of the so-called ‘higher-ups,’ that information may never be forthcoming. Do you want to see the pictures of her?”
“Of course I do. Show me.”
I got out my phone and we pored over the images. We came to the image of the girl lying on the sandbar after being disentangled from the roots, her arms out in front of her, one crossed over the other. She was on her right side, facing out towards the basin just as I remembered.
“But her eyes are closed,” Sophie said, looking at me.
“I know. That’s so strange—honestly, when I took the photo, I swear she was looking right at me.”
“Sometimes we see what we want to see, and you wanted her to be alive,” Sophie said, leaning in to study the photo. “I think there’s a ring on her finger. Can you zoom in and make her hand clearer?”
I brought the girl’s left hand into full view.
“It’s a signet ring for something,” Sophie said.
“That’s King’s, Sophie. It’s a King’s College ring! There you go. The newspaper article said Aurelia Strange graduated with honours from the journalism school at King’s in 2012!”
I started pacing around the living room. “This is crazy,” I said. “I need to tell someone who I think she is.”
“Don’t get distracted, Roz. We have to stay focused on finding McBride. We have to stick with tomorrow’s plan.”
I looked at Sophie, and could see she was panicking at the thought that finding her husband might have become secondary.
“No, you’re right. We’d better prepare for that hike,” I said, reassuring her.
“Okay, good. I’ll get out the maps.”
“And I will recharge this phone,” I said, taking it into the living room.
“Wow, this coast—this Fundy coastline!” Sophie said, spreading out Björn’s maps on the big table in the porch. “There are so many falls and coves—and what are these things called ‘vaults’?”
“They sound like places where pirates stash gold, don’t they? And there is plenty of lore about hidden treasure all along that coast. But I think I’ve read that vaults are deep holes that have formed naturally. So, sometimes, treasure did get hidden in them.”
We sat and studied the map of Jasper Creek Road and surrounds, and concluded
that we’d best start our hike on a cart track which looked to be right behind the quarry. That would lead us directly to the brook. However, once on the other side of the brook, the track turned and went inland, away from the coast. “So, after we cross, we would need to follow the brook towards the coast,” I said.
“But before we get near the new bridge, we need to judge when to move away from the brook and start our covert climb up to the top of the bluff,” Sophie said.
“Right. Hopefully it won’t be too boggy or overgrown. It’s a long way up.”
“Björn’s map makes it look straightforward. In fact, you know what, Roz? This could be exactly what McBride did. He said he was by the bridge when he was talking to you, but when he realized he couldn’t cross it without being stopped, he may have decided to get up to the top another way. That could be why his car is parked in the quarry. And we know Molly was with him at that point. So whatever happened to him, or to Molly, could have happened on the way up there.”
“Right. We need to be prepared for anything,” I said.
Sophie stood up and stretched. “Man, I’m really exhausted.”
“Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She abruptly put her hands on my shoulders, and spoke: “Let’s make a pledge, Roz. We’re going to find him!”
I reached out and put my hands on her shoulders, and we looked at one another. Together we said, “We’re going to find him!”
“Good night, Sophie,” I said.
Sophie had selected the middle bedroom off the living room. She closed her door. I stayed in the porch thinking about what we would need to take along for our trek, and then I gathered the bowls from the living room and tidied up the kitchen. I fed the cat, who was a bottomless pit. Good thing I had brought more food along for her than I had for myself.
I stepped out on the stoop for a moment to get some air and thought about the bridge, and the tanker trucks we had seen. I went back inside to look them up.
A few minutes of online research turned up all manner of tankers, the size they come in, what liquids they’re able to carry, and how the pumps work. The ones we’d seen crossing the Jasper Creek bridge were the biggies. After about half an hour I decided it was time to pack it in and head to bed. We had a big hike ahead of us in the morning.
I was awakened from a dead sleep by the sound of Sophie’s voice. I bolted up, trying to get my bearings in the pitch dark. My feet found the floor. Sophie was crying out loudly, “I can see you! We’re coming! Don’t, no, please don’t slip away.” Then I heard her sobbing. I made my way towards her room. There was a night light on in the living room and as I opened her door, I could see her silhouetted in the bed. She was sitting up and reaching out.
“Sophie! Sophie. It’s okay. It’s me, Roz. Wake up! You’re having a dream.”
Her eyes opened wide and she stared at me.
“Take it easy,” I said. “I’m going to turn your light on, okay?”
“Okay.” She was breathing in short gasps.
I found the reading lamp by her bed and clicked it on.
“Oh, Roz…it’s McBride. It’s very dark where he is. He needs help—he’s dying.” She abruptly grabbed my wrists. “This was real—I really saw him.”
“Sophie, we’re going tomorrow to look for him, remember? It’s okay. Do you want some water?”
“He kept saying this name—this woman’s name.”
“What was it?”
“Caroline. He was saying, ‘Find Caroline, find Caroline.’”
“Who’s Caroline? Why is that ringing a bell? Wait!… Wait just a minute.” I hurried out into the porch and turned on the light.
Our map of the Jasper Creek area was still spread out on the table. In tiny letters along the Fundy coastline, just a few short coves down from Jasper Creek, there it was.
I heard Sophie’s bare feet padding across the living room into the porch.
“Look, Sophie, you must have seen this when you were studying this map tonight. Right here, just a few coves over from Jasper Creek is Caroline Beach.”
“Let me see,” she said leaning over the map. “Caroline! That could be it, Roz. Let’s go…we need to go there. Now.”
“Sophie, listen, it’s only 3. It won’t be light for another couple of hours. It would be too dangerous.”
“Dangerous or not, there’s no time to lose.”
“We’ll go at first light. Let’s calm down and have some tea.”
I went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. I took a deep breath and tried to think. There were other times Sophie had astonished me with her dreams and premonitions—enough times that I knew her witchy sense was nothing to scoff at. Our scheme to find our way to the top of the bluff where the tankers went wasn’t necessarily going to lead us to McBride. And Caroline Beach was only a short distance from Jasper Creek Road. If we found nothing there, we could just carry on with the original plan. Besides, I knew she wouldn’t rest until we’d followed up on the dream. The kettle whistled and I poured the water into the pot. Then I heard her voice. Apparently, there was no stopping her.
“Hi, Björn. It’s Sophie, I’m so sorry to wake you in the middle of the night, but this is urgent…. No, no, we’re okay, it’s a long story, but the reason I’m calling is, well, there’s something we didn’t tell you when we visited you earlier. My husband has gone missing and I think he’s trapped somewhere at Caroline Beach up on the Bay of Fundy…. Yes, we did. Roz talked to the RCMP because they found his car up that way, but they’re not doing anything more at this point. Oh, and she found his dog on the Fundy shore, very badly injured. The dog’s at the vet’s now. But, do you know where I mean?… That’s right, you mentioned taking your students there. I’m looking at a map. It’s not that far from Jasper Creek Road…. Yes, a few coves further along. And are there caves there at Caroline?… You will?… Okay…okay, at dawn…. Around five thirty. The tide? Just a second, I’ll ask Roz. Roz? Do you know—”
“I think high tide’s going to be around 9:30 this morning,” I called from the kitchen.
“Björn? Roz thinks 9:30…. Okay, five then! See you at five. Thank you, Björn. Again, my apologies to you and Grace for calling at this crazy hour. See you soon. We’ll be ready.”
A moment later, Sophie came into the kitchen. She was crying.
“Oh God, what’s wrong?” I said. “You just made something great happen, Sophie.”
“I’m so afraid we’ll be too late…I mean, I know we have to wait. I’m just so worried.”
“I’m worried too, but we’ll be there soon. Is Björn going to drive us out there?”
“Yes. He said he has some old drawings and charts he can dig out.”
“Drink this tea,” I said handing her a cup. “I’m going to make us some oatmeal. That’ll set us up for Caroline Beach.”
Chapter 13
The orange glow of the sun just peeking over the horizon found Sophie and me standing outside the cottage by Longspell Road. When Björn pulled up in his dark green Volvo, Sophie was raring to go. She jumped into the front seat beside him as I climbed into the back.
“Are you all right, Sophie?” was the first thing he said.
“I confess I’m wound up, but I’m very grateful to you, Björn,” Sophie replied. “I’ll be better once we’re on Caroline Beach.”
“Which will be very soon,” Björn said. “One thing about the early hour is that there’s little traffic to contend with. Now Sophie, tell me please why you think your husband is out there?”
Sophie looked back at me. I nodded. It seemed only fair under the circumstances to bring Björn into the picture.
“McBride. That’s his name. He’s a private investigator,” she began. “And Roz often works with him on cases.”
“That’s right,” I said, jumping in. “McBride thought something strange was going o
n down at the end of Jasper Creek Road.”
“What do you mean?” Björn asked, clearly intrigued.
“Well,” I continued, “there’s a big, shiny industrial-style bridge down there which is apparently off-limits to the public, and has video surveillance.”
“That’s perplexing,” Björn said. “I don’t recall ever hearing anything about it.”
I explained to Björn what had happened over the last few days in detail, right up to the previous afternoon, when the Mounties found McBride’s car at the quarry.
“While we were there we discovered that tanker trucks were waiting in that same quarry, then crossing that bridge and climbing up to the top of the bluff,” I added. “We don’t know what their purpose is, but we think McBride was onto something.”
“That’s why we needed your maps,” Sophie continued. “To find another way up to the top of the bluff, without crossing the bridge….”
“Which was our plan for today, except that”—I looked at Sophie—“in the middle of the night, Sophie had a vivid dream about McBride in distress at Caroline Beach.”
“And, as we know, Sophie has very prescient dreams. This really doesn’t surprise me,” Björn said, glancing over at her with a little grin.
“Are you teasing me, Björn?” Sophie asked.
“On the contrary! Why do you think I’m here, driving you around at 5 A.M.? I’m a believer!”
Once on Gospel Woods Road, we drove past the turnoff to Jasper Creek Road and took the next right turn, which Björn said would land us much closer to Caroline Beach. After several kilometres, we turned onto a single-lane dirt track for the final leg. When we reached the Fundy shore, we parked the car under the trees and began to pick our way down through the rocks and onto the beach. Björn carried a backpack containing useful things like rope, a flashlight, water, and some tools. He was in his element. Once we were all walking freely along the shore, he took a deep breath.
“What a morning! Look at the early sun lighting up Cape Split!” he said, pointing across the water.
