Читать книгу Meg Harris Mysteries 5-Book Bundle - R.J. Harlick - Страница 14

I quickly changed into a clean pair of jeans and turtleneck. In my haste to get to Marie’s that morning, I’d picked up the first thing that had caught my eye, the previous day’s clothes lying in a heap on the floor.

When I returned to the living room, Eric was bending over the coffee table, peering at Aunt Aggie’s wedding photograph, which I’d removed from the broken frame the evening before. Sergei, still glued to his side, looked at him longingly.

“I see you’ve acquired a new friend,” I said, glad the dog, who could be a pest at times, was looking elsewhere for attention.

Eric laughed and gave Sergei another vigorous pat.

“Before I forget, Meg,” he said, becoming serious. “Looks as if your man in yellow didn’t dock at the Fishing Camp yesterday.”

“Where could he have landed then?”

“One of my guys found a Fishing Camp boat abandoned on band lands, close to Indian Point. Probably his.”

I was surprised at the answer. I’d never considered that it could be a member of the band. It also meant there might be another reason for the attack other than keeping me away from the gold.

“I know some of your people would prefer I hightail it back to Toronto,” I said. “But I never thought any of them would try to drive me away.”

“I don’t like it either. Leave it to me. I’ll get to the bottom of this and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

I wanted to ask him if he had any suspects, but the closed look on his face convinced me not to. I turned to leave.

“A moment, Meg,” Eric called our. He held Aunt Aggie’s photo in his hand. “I never knew your great-aunt had been married.”

“Neither did I.”

“Any idea who the husband was? Sure had a bad scar.”

“Scar? What scar?” I grabbed the photo from Eric’s hand. Where the smudge of dirt had covered part of the man’s face, a long ugly scar ran from his right eye to the tip of his mouth.

“I’m surprised he still has an eye. Wonder how he got it?” I said.

“Given the age of this picture, it could be a war wound, maybe from a bayonet. Or possibly a sword.”

“Bayonet, maybe, sword hardly likely. This injury may have happened a long time ago, but it certainly wasn’t when people fought with swords.”

“Seriously, it could be. I’ve seen pictures of men with scars like that. Prussians. They used to have dueling clubs where they’d fight with bare sabres until blood was drawn. A scar like this was considered the ultimate badge of manhood.”

“You mean like yours?”

He looked at me in surprise, then reached up and touched the small scar under his eye and laughed. “Yeah, I suppose you could say that. You know Meg, this guy looks vaguely familiar. It’s that scar. I’m sure I’ve seen it before,” he continued.

“Where?” I asked in surprise. The last place I’d expected to find an answer to the identity of this secret husband was from our area.

“Nothing immediately comes to mind, but the more I look at this guy the more I’m convinced I’ve seen his face somewhere else.”

“What about a name like Winter, Waters, something like that? Sound familiar?”

He thought for a few minutes, then shook his head. “Nope, doesn’t.” He continued studying the picture then placed it back on the table. “We better go, or my men will start looking for the gold without us.”

Eric’s aluminum boat hammered through the chop towards Whispers Island, directly into the eye of a strong west wind. Each plunge whipped more spray into the air. I huddled in the seat in front of Eric with the hood of my GoreTex jacket snug around my head and attempted to keep my back to the cold, drenching spray. I rubbed the back of my legs, bruised and sore from yesterday’s encounter. I moved closer to Eric. Once on the island, I intended to stay glued to his side and let him handle any confrontations with men in yellow.

Trouble, however, seemed to be far from Eric’s mind. With the tiller firmly clenched in his hand, he was smiling broadly into the wind, ignoring the spray. His mane of hair streamed behind him like a triumphant flag. He was in his element, meeting the challenges this northern land flung at him.

His gaze turned towards me. “That’s a nasty cut. You should have the nurse look at it.”

I touched it. It hurt. But not wanting to dwell on it, I said, “I can’t stop worrying about Marie. What if Louis did hurt her, and she can’t walk out on her own?”

“If he needs help, Tommy can use the satellite phone I gave him. But I don’t believe she’s hurt. Remember, she hiked in with Louis.”

“Yeah, you’re right. What if Louis’s drunk? How’s Tommy going to deal with him?” I stuck my freezing hands into my sleeves.

“Don’t worry. Tommy knows how to handle his father.” He looked at me with the kind of look people should only give sick puppies. “Meg, everything’s going to be okay. Trust me.”

Although I nodded in acceptance, I wasn’t completely convinced. Eric hadn’t seen the kitchen. Marie would never have left that mess willingly nor, despite what Tommy had said, would she have left her dream scarf behind.

To take my mind off Marie, I watched the cliffs of Three Deer Point merge with the vibrant colours of the surrounding hills. Although the maples still wore their autumn splendour, patches of bare branches were beginning to eat into the gold. A “V” line of Canada geese, fleeing south, was fast disappearing beyond the furthest ridge.

I could just make out what looked to be someone wearing purple at the edge of the Lookout, a granite outcrop high in the hills behind Three Deer Point. I was surprised to see someone using my favourite retreat. But I supposed, even if it was my land, there was no reason why others couldn’t take advantage of the marvelous view. Still, I was surprised. I’d never seen anyone there before.

Eric beached his boat on the north point in the lee of a clump of birch and young pine. His guys had waited, four of them. They stood in a group stamping their feet and flapping their arms against their bodies to keep warm.

I recognized John-Joe, the bartender at the Fishing Camp. You couldn’t miss the orange baseball cap clamped low over his forehead. I wasn’t sure whether he wore it low to avoid noticing customers’ requests or to hide behind. Although with his sculpted cheek bones and cougar eyes, I wasn’t sure why he would want to hide. His looks would make any girl’s heart flutter. They did this one, even if he was a bit too young.

Eric quickly introduced the other guys: Pete, in a black and orange Migiskan hockey jacket; Gerry, who obviously liked his beer; and Jacques, whom I remembered seeing at the General Store yesterday. He’d followed Frosty out the door when Charlie Cardinal had arrived.

“Eric, take a look at this.” John-Joe walked to the end of the narrow point and kicked at a wooden stake hammered into the loose pebbles. A brass plate with a series of numbers was screwed into the end.

“It’s a claim stake with a registration number,” answered Eric. “I found a couple yesterday on the other end of the island. There’s probably at least one other at this end. Needs to be four to make it official.”

More concerned about the looming threat, I cut in, “What are we going to do if we run into the guy that came after me yesterday?”

“Kick him off the island, eh guys?” Eric grinned.

“You bet,” came back the replies.

But Gerry answered, “It’s our gold, no way they can take it,” which made me nervous. I’d been naïve enough to assume that if we proved this wasn’t crown land, there would be no gold mine. Gerry’s reply was suggesting otherwise.

“Men, I want you to head up to that large clearing in the ancients’ forest. You should see some long streaks of white rock embedded in the granite. I have a feeling that’s where we’ll find the actual discovery. Meg and I will catch up to you later.”

As they headed off on the trail leading away from the point, I turned to Eric and asked, “What gives?”

“I want to go check out your favourite beach.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. What’s there to see other than deadfall and sand?”

“Never can tell. Might be something.”

“Count me out, I’m not going back.”

“Why not?”

“You have to ask?” I searched his face for some hint that he was a joking and realized he really didn’t appreciate how frightened I’d been yesterday. “Forget it, I’m going with John-Joe.”

Before he had a chance to answer, I was running along the path the guys had taken. I stopped when I reached the same clearing as yesterday, with the three diverging trails. John-Joe and friends were nowhere in sight.

Unsure of their direction, I shouted, “John-Joe, wait up.” But the wind overruled any answer.

Close behind me, Eric said, “They’re too far ahead to hear you. If you want, you can try that trail.” He indicated the middle path, which disappeared into a tangle of dense forest. “Or you can come with me.”

I looked into the gloom of the endless trees and quickly decided. “Okay, you win.” I turned to walk back to the point.

“Where’re you going?” Eric asked.

“To your boat. Only way we can get in and out of that place.”

“No need. We can climb out.”

I looked at him in disbelief.

“Trust me,” he said. “If I remember correctly, there’s an old hunter’s track at one end of the beach.”

“And what happens if there’s not?”

“Then we’ll be stuck. Might have to come up with something to pass the time until we’re rescued, eh?” His dimples erupted.

“You can go on the beach. I’m staying on top.” I headed towards the trail I’d taken yesterday. Eric’s chuckles followed behind.

We reached the drop-off in considerably less time than it had taken me the day before. Maybe Eric was no longer a physically fit hockey player, but his walking pace was equivalent to my running. I arrived panting. Eric was barely breathing. Below our feet stretched the narrow beach, split in two by the giant pine. Except for the addition of the dead spruce, the beach looked as desolate and forgotten as it had the day before when I’d stood on this same spot.

“That the tree?” Eric asked.

“Yeah.”

From this height, the spear-like branches that bristled the length of the shattered trunk from the roots to the tip made the tree look even more life-threatening.

“Christ, you were lucky, Meg. That could’ve done serious damage.”

I shivered in response. For a heartbeat, he gripped my shoulder, then he turned and started walking along the top of the cliff. I stood, unable to move. My shoulder tingled.

“Come on, let’s find the spot where the tree fell,” he said.

I shoved back the feeling that was rising unbidden and ran to catch up.

It wasn’t difficult to discover where the tree had clung to the edge of the cliff. But it was impossible to tell whether the dead roots had been forced to release their hold in the thin soil or whether they’d surrendered to the laws of nature.

A search of the adjacent ground revealed no footprints or other clues that would suggest someone had stood there, only the day before, and watched me below.

We retraced our steps to where I’d jumped yesterday. Without another thought, Eric dropped the ten feet to the beach and turned around, hands raised to help me down.

“I told you, I’m not going down there.”

“Meg, trust me, we can climb out at the far end of this beach.”

“How do you know?”

“We used to do it as kids. Considered it one of the tests for becoming a warrior.”

“It’s straight up. I can’t climb that.”

“Meg, you can. Quit the whining and jump down.”

And I jumped, but away from Eric’s waiting arms. The memory of his first touch was too unsettling. I glanced to where I’d seen the footprints yesterday, but they’d merged with the other indentations in the sand.

“Whew, what a smell,” he said as he walked towards the giant pine.

“Yeah, I noticed it yesterday. It’s worse today, coming from that cave over there.” I pointed to the dark opening in the rock wall behind the pine’s tangled root ball.

“Could be an animal den? Bear, maybe wolf?”

“Lover’s cave is more like it,” I replied.

But as if to prove his point, we saw animal tracks spreading out from the cave opening, none clear enough to identify. “Wolf, coyote, possibly lynx” was his calm observation, accompanied by a broad smirk.

With a sudden desire to get this over with, I clambered over the pine and ran to the spruce tree. Eric chuckled. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.

I peered through the web of branches bleached smooth by years of harsh weather. Many were broken, but a few were still as pointed and sharp as yesterday.

A strange fluttering object dangling from a branch caught my eye. I bent down to investigate. At that moment, something burst from the tangle. I jumped back and thrust out my arms to ward off another attack. Eric laughed. I looked up in time to see a raven land where I’d seen one yesterday on the twisted crown of the pine. He let out a hoarse guttural croak and ruffled his feathers as if settling in for a long vigil.

“Afraid he might peck your nose?” Eric grinned.

I ignored him and turned back to the object I’d seen.

“Curious,” Eric continued. “I wonder what he’s doing here.”

“Using the facilities.” I pointed to the bird droppings smeared over several branches.

“Don’t joke. The raven is special. My people call him the trickster. Usually, he just causes trouble, but sometimes he can be a messenger from the spirits.” The raven emitted several loud crackles. “What do you think he’s trying to tell us?”

“Maybe he just wants this back.” Though I doubted it belonged to the raven, unless he’d fallen into some bleach. I reached down to pick up a large black and white feather.

“Don’t!” Eric yelled.

My fingers stopped inches from the feather.

“Sorry, but you can’t touch it.”

“Why ever not?” I stared at him in amazement.

“It’s an eagle feather, one of our people’s most sacred objects. I didn’t mean to yell at you like that, but no one can touch it but the owner.”

“The bird?” I was confused.

He glared at me in disgust. “The elder or honoured person it belongs to, who else? You’ll anger the spirits if you touch it.”

“What? Just because I’m white?”

“Meg, you should know better than to say that.”

He placed his hands on the feather, closed his eyes and mumbled. Then he gently picked it up and held it by the tip with the vane pointing skyward.

“Kije manido, the Creator, chose the eagle as the leader because it, of all creatures, flies the highest into the heavens, up where the thunder and lightning roam. The eagle feather unites us with our spirit world. When a person becomes a keeper of an eagle feather, we conduct a special ceremony to notify kije manido. Once that is done, the spirits are appeased.”

“I thought you didn’t believe?”

“Well, I do, and I don’t. As the leader of my people, I feel I should. And, I guess you could say, there is a touch of superstition in me that makes me not want to tempt the anger of kije manido.”

“Then why are you holding it?” I wasn’t inclined to anger the gods either. I figured every little bit helped to keep things moving along on an even keel.

“Don’t worry. I think kije manido wanted us to find the feather. That was the raven’s message.”

“This feather belongs to the person who pushed the spruce tree over, doesn’t it?” I asked as the implications finally sank in.

“Yup.” Instead of smiling, Eric was strangely subdued.

“This means it really was one of your people?”

“Looks like it.”

“Why would he want to harm me?”

“No idea, but I’ll soon find out. I’ll make sure the person without his feather tells me.”