Demon Spirit, Devil Sea

by Charlene D'Avanzo

  Harvey asked, “Hey, could we change the subject?”

  To reach Sandspit, Gene had to leave the protected waters of the archipelago. The boat slapped hard against the waves. We had to hang onto the seats so we wouldn’t fly off.

  Out on the open water, an orca breached not fifty feet from the boat. Glistening in the morning sun, its rich black skin set off bright white markings on the animal’s belly and sides, under its mouth, and above its eyes. The killer whale slipped beneath the surface. Ted, Harvey, and I leaned over the side of the inflatable and peered down to see where it had gone. The orca stuck its head out of the water, and Harvey launched herself backward and bounced off the opposite side.

  “Jesus. Scared the daylights out of me.”

  “Funny,” I said. “That toothy grin makes orcas look friendly. But they eat seals, sea lions, and whatever they can catch.”

  “And whales, even baby ones,” Gene added with a wink.

  Compared to Kinuk, Sandspit looked like a megalopolis. A massive stone breakwater protected the marina and fifty-odd boat slips. We passed a hundred-foot sailboat with Mount Moresby as its backdrop. Postcard perfect.

  Gene cut the motor and coasted alongside the floating walkway closest to shore. “This is it, folks.” He pointed to the right toward a peninsula jutting into the water. “Airport’s out there, as you know.”

  He jumped out and wrapped the inflatable’s bowline around a cleat while we unloaded our bags.

  “Like we promised, you’ll get our report within ten days,” Harvey said. “After that, it’s up to the UN to decide what to do about the iron venture, if anything.”

  “Well, I can’t imagine a better UN crew. You folks take care.”

  Ted shook Gene’s hand. “And I can’t imagine a better guide and teacher. You’re dealing with a difficult situation.”

  Harvey was next. “Mind if I hug you?”

  Gene laughed and held out his arms. “Haida are big on hugs.”

  When it was my turn, Gene bear-hugged me as well. I stepped back and took both of his calloused hands. “Ted’s right. You’ve done an amazing job with a powder-keg situation.”

  Gene blinked as if confused by a troubling though. He quickly recovered, and a grin spread wide on his broad face. “Please come back.”

  We watched until the inflatable disappeared behind the marina’s breakwater.

  Harvey looked at her phone. “Whoa, full bars here. Plane leaves in an hour. We better head out to the airport now.”

  I walked between Ted and Harvey into town.

  “Sure you don’t want to try to change your ticket?” Harvey asked.

  “Nah. Like I said, there’s a little museum here I really want to see.” I didn’t mention my need for private time to call Angelo.

  Big on hugs, too, Harvey gave me one before she and Ted took off for the airport. “Don’t you dare miss that plane.”

  Missing planes, buses, and other means of transportation was our little joke. Harvey hated to hang around terminals and the like and didn’t allow much leeway time. Traffic jams had made her late more than once. I always got to the airport or bus station hours ahead of time. That made her crazy when we traveled together.

  “You know me. I won’t.”

  Ted strolled away and said over his shoulder, “See you in a couple of hours. Have fun.”

  I turned down School Street in search of a good cup of coffee and wondered why Ted hadn’t hugged me. Ouch. I wanted it both ways.

  I’d think about Ted later.

  Halfway down the street, I found the perfect place. A blackboard outside The Sandspit Café boasted “best coffee in town” and “homemade muffins!” I ordered coffee and a blueberry muffin. “Okay if I sit outside?”

  The woman behind the counter had blue-black hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and bangs cut perfectly straight across her broad forehead. She reminded me of Bart that way. Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen him for a while.

  She slid an oversized mug of coffee toward me and said, “Of course, dear. How about I warm up your muffin?” Like a typical Canadian, her “about” sounded like “aboot.”

  A white metal table and matching chair outside took advantage of the morning sun. I sipped good coffee, closed my eyes, and lifted my face toward the warmth. With slow yoga breaths, I tried to let tension from the last few days drain away.

  It didn’t work. I was still as tense as a spiny lobster in a crevice with a circling wolfish above.

  William’s unsolved death was a big part of it. I’d failed him, and was about to abandon the quest and fly away to New England. I relaxed my grip on the mug and flexed my hand.

  Besides that, my treatment of Ted felt lousy. The rest was Haida Gwaii itself.

  Beautiful as it was, the archipelago had taken an emotional toll on me. The richly interwoven natural, cultural, and spiritual domains made the islands unforgettable. But something in that interwoven fabric challenged me to the core.

  As a scientist, I put my money on what I could see, smell, hear, and record with instruments—observed phenomena, data. Spiritual claims couldn’t be tested, and fell outside what existed. Other people experienced “unexplained events.”

  I did not.

  But my experiences over the last few days had been overshadowed by doubt and an irrational fear I didn’t know what to do with or understand. Like most people, I’d had my share of personal trauma and raging emotions—mainly when my parents died. But that was a knowable phenomenon.

  Feathers that magically appeared, oversized ravens that streaked by run-away kayaks, and sentient seals—these experiences challenged me to rethink my worldview. I felt like I was on a cliff edge about to fall off.

  The café waitress placed a grapefruit-sized muffin in front of me.

  “My goodness, that’s big.”

  She flipped her ponytail with one hand. “We got big eaters in Sandspit. You here for a while?”

  “No, on my way home. I’ve been in Kinuk with some friends.”

  “Oh. Hey, I heard what happened to William Edenshaw down there. Just terrible. Knew him when he was a kid. Came here to fish with his dad and brother. My husband ran a charter boat, bless his soul.”

  I stared up at her. “William has a brother?”

  “Sure does. Richard. They look alike but couldn’t be more diff’rent.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “William, he was a gentle soul who liked being on the boat, you know, out in nature. Not for the sport of catching fish, my Bill said. But that Richard, he was real competitive like his dad. Practically kill himself to get the most fish.”

  “Richard doesn’t sound like the nicest guy.”

  “Truly, I think he ran to nasty.”

  “William became a Watchman. What happened to Richard?”

  “Lives in Vancouver, I think. Heard he’s doing, what’s it called, like on Wall Street?”

  “A trader?”

  “That’s it. A trader.” She flipped her ponytail again. “Well, I need to be getting back.”

  I watched the waitress until she disappeared around a corner. Something she’d said seemed important, but it was just out of reach. I sighed. It was intriguing how everyone knew everyone on Haida Gwaii. Family and friends, all connected. Maybe that was it.

  I bit into the muffin and washed it down with coffee. Comfort food. I ached to be in Angelo’s kitchen again, drinking his espresso and nibbling on biscotti. My only family. I checked my watch. Time to call Angelo and Knapton.

  Knapton answered on the second ring.

  “Sergeant Knapton, it’s Mara Tusconi. I have some information you may find, ah, peculiar.”

  “Go ahead. I’m interested in anything you’ve got.”

  “Anna, the woman who spoke with William’s parents?”

  “Yes?”

  “She said she found some suspicious plants in the room a woman named Lynne uses when she’s on Kinuk. Lynne used to be William’s fiancée.”

  “Yes. I�
�m taking notes. Okay, go ahead.”

  “I’m not a botanist, but I did try to identify the plant. It might be false hellebore, native to this area and poisonous.”

  “Where are you? How can we get this plant?”

  “Sandspit, on my way home. Why don’t you contact Gene Edenshaw. He’ll know where Anna is.”

  “Good. I will.”

  “Of course, someone may have put the plants in Lynne’s room.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “Are you considering William’s death suspicious?”

  “Mara, you’re not family so I can’t say much. We always look hard at an unexplained death of someone so young and healthy. And we did find something this time. With the new, ah, evidence, William’s parents have asked for more tests. I’ve agreed. Maybe your information will help us narrow our search, who knows. As you can imagine, it’s often a needle in a haystack.”

  I could imagine. Given thousands of possible pollutants, environmental chemists needed details about compounds to test for. The same would be true for human fluids and flesh.

  I gave Knapton my contact information in Maine.

  “Thanks, Mara. We’ve got forensic experts who deal with plants and poisons. Who knows, this could be the lead that opens up the case.”

  I prayed Knapton was right.

  One more call—Angelo. I needed and wanted his help, but that didn’t make asking for it much easier. I’d always assumed strong people were independent and didn’t burden others with their troubles. But in the last few months, it was amazing how much I’d learned about myself and others when I opened up.

  I wanted to see my godfather’s face when we spoke. There’s a video app on my phone that doesn’t get much use, and I had to fiddle around to get the thing to work.

  Angelo picked right up.

  “Angelo, it’s Mara.”

  “Sweetheart! Where are you?”

  “I’m still on the islands off British Columbia. Ted and Harvey took the first island hopper to Vancouver. I’m on the next one. You got the message we’re delayed a day?”

  “I did.”

  “We catch the red-eye from Vancouver this evening. I’ve got video on my end. Set the phone up so I can see you.”

  Angelo’s features—gray eyes, mop of curly white hair, and ready smile—filled my little screen. I wanted to reach into the phone and touch him.

  “Can’t wait to hear all about the place and what you three have been up to.”

  “Um, do you have a few minutes to talk?”

  “Of course. Is something the matter? Are you okay?”

  “Fine, mostly. A young man we knew died. And a few odd things happened.”

  “Someone died? That’s awful.”

  “It was, but let me back up. On my first day, I was, ah, in my kayak and a bit of danger. Right before a Haida Watchman motored up in his skiff to give me a hand, a huge bird swooped down and zipped by the kayak. I can still see its eyes—pitch black like in some Haida’s painting of the Raven—then glowing. They call the bird the trickster.”

  “Dio mio. Go on, dear.”

  I hesitated for a moment and decided Angelo didn’t need to know—not now anyway—that I’d discovered William’s body. “William, he’s the Watchman who helped me, died the next day in a hot pool. And soon after that, the hot pool drained. It’s still empty.”

  “Oh no, he died? Why?”

  “Police are still investigating.”

  As a mechanical engineer, Angelo was curious about why the pool suddenly drained. “And the pool. Was there tectonic activity out there?”

  “Yes. We called Arthur. You remember him? The geologist. He said there had been.”

  “Have to look that up.”

  “The next thing happened on an island where there are old totem poles lined up right above the beach. It’s a World Heritage site. Haida carvers decorated the poles with animals piled on top of each other. Gene—he was our guide that day—explained that the carvings depict a family’s spiritual ancestors.”

  “Sounds fascinating, Mara.”

  “It was. Harvey and Ted followed Gene into the forest. I stayed behind, looked out over the water, and tried to imagine life there hundreds of years ago. Suddenly, the forest got still and a black blur zipped by and evaporated over the water. I found a big, black feather by my feet.”

  Across the thousands of miles, Angelo nodded like he’d heard such things before.

  “The last, um, event was the oddest. We dove in the kelp forest. Harvey and I were buddies. In the middle of the kelp, a current out of nowhere carried me down. I got tangled. But a seal appeared, bit into the kelp, and released me. Later, Harvey said I’d disappeared for a half-minute, but it seemed much longer.”

  I squinted at the screen and tried to gauge Angelo’s reaction. He looked thoughtful.

  “So the feather, seal, and the rest frighten you?”

  “Each one alone might not. But together, I don’t know, it feels powerful. I can’t explain it.”

  “Actually, Mara, it doesn’t surprise me you’re susceptible to strange events like these, considering what you say about the place.”

  Not the response I’d expected. “What do you mean ‘susceptible’?”

  He smiled. “You are half Italian and half Irish. Both believe in the spiritual.”

  “The Irish have their wee people, fairy folk, and all that. But Italians?”

  “For us, it’s mostly religious, I think. Remember when you used to go to Mass? All those statues and paintings of Gwen, the apostles, and angels? For some Catholics, that’s very real. The incense helps, of course.”

  His mention of incense triggered the pungent scent and a long-forgotten memory. “Haven’t thought about this in years, but when I was ten or eleven, I had a vision in church. It was a special holy day because the priest walked up and down the central aisle swinging that metal incense holder on a chain. The smell of frankincense, myrrh, whatever, was powerful. The church had a painting of an angel I liked. She had auburn hair like mine that fell down her back in curls, red-gold wings, and a flowing white dress. I was at the end of my pew when the priest swung the incense right in front of me. When he passed, I looked at the painting on the far wall. The angel winged out of the painting and whispered into my ear. I don’t remember what she said.”

  Angelo nodded. “There, you see? What did you think at the time?”

  “I didn’t have breakfast before we went to church, so I figured that was it.”

  Angelo’s chuckle was contagious. I laughed, too, and it felt great.

  “A while back, before you were born, Mara, I had a revelation in church, too.”

  “You’ve never mentioned it.”

  “Saw no need to. It was soon after my bride died in that car accident. I was so young and loved her so very much. Figured life was over for me.”

  Angelo in despair? It was hard to imagine.

  “I didn’t see a vision like you did. It was—this is hard to explain—a presence.”

  Angelo narrowed his eyes like he was trying to see into the past.

  “The, um, presence didn’t say words out loud. I heard them in my head. She—the voice was female—said my darling was with me, always would be, and that this time of trouble would pass. I was destined for important work that would save lives.”

  “And your engineering teams did save lives. The marine acoustics and all the rest.”

  “We did.”

  I glanced at the time in the top corner of the phone. “Angelo, I’ve got to go to the airport.”

  “You’ll be fine, Mara. These things aren’t rational. They’re something else entirely. Give that intense brain of yours a rest.”

  “Okay.”

  “We’ll talk more about this when you get back.”

  “I love you, Angelo.”

  “And I love you, Mara. More than you can ever know.”

  I ended the call, carried my mug and plate into the café, and asked for directions to the museu
m. It was right down School Street. On my way out, I picked my duffle up off the ground and shouldered it. Walking slowly toward the museum, I mulled through my conversation with Angelo.

  My godfather had been my rock, beloved friend, and stand-in parent ever since my real parents died in a submarine accident when I was nineteen. In winter, we chatted in front of the fire in his living room with bay windows that looked out over the Maine coast. When the weather was warm, we sat outside on his patio, sipped wine, talked, and watched the sun set over Spruce Harbor. Angelo was a renaissance man who knew about history, art, fishing, people. I trusted him completely.

  Angelo didn’t think my visions were odd given my heritage. I relished my parents’ legacy. If my genetics made me “susceptible” to the spiritual, maybe I wasn’t losing my mind. “Give your brain a rest,” that’s what he said, and it felt just right. For the moment, anyway, I’d let my subconscious sort through the meaning of my visions.

  I enjoyed my relief for a moment before guilt returned. I was about to leave Haida Gwaii and had done precious little about William. Near the end of the street, a “Welcome Centre” sign greeted me. I paused in front of the entrance. Angelo’s message might help me understand something about William’s death if I let my subconscious mind work on that problem, too.

  I climbed the steps in quick anticipation.

  20

  The door opened into a small, empty room. Maps were strewn across a Formica counter. On the opposite wall, a display held brochures advertising adventure trips and bed-and-breakfasts.

  “Hello?”

  “Back here. Please come in.”

  Next to the display, a sign labeled “Museum” hung above a door. I stepped through.

  Facing me, a woman sat behind a table littered with what looked like long, thin sticks. Scissors, a knife, and twine lay in front of her. It looked like she was about to make a basket.

  She stood. “There’s only me here today. Do you need a map or anything?”

  She was tall with long, curly blond hair and pale skin. Since it was a Haida museum, I assumed she was of Haida heritage but didn’t want to ask.

  “Actually, I’m here to see the museum.”

  She smiled and held out her arms. “This is it. The Haida Heritage Centre is in Skidegate. We’re a kind of a satellite.”