Читать книгу Meg Harris Mysteries 6-Book Bundle - R.J. Harlick - Страница 28

With a warning that it would be jail if we tried to prevent the planes from landing again, Sgt. LaFramboise told all of us to leave the Fishing Camp and go home, except for John-Joe. Insisting that John-Joe had rammed Charlie’s boat intentionally, LaFramboise threatened to charge him with assaulting a policeman. When Eric tried to intervene, the SQ officer threatened to charge him too. Some of the surrounding angry crowd started to move in, which ignited an angrier response from the CanacGold men standing next to a soaking Charlie and Gareth.

However, before things could go too far, Eric stopped them.

“Relax, everyone,” he said. “We don’t want to make matters worse. I suggest you all leave, while I work things out with Sgt. LaFramboise.”

For a moment the crowd hesitated, then in ones and twos they backed off. Some hopped into their cars; others retreated to the Fishing Camp bar. Deciding to wait for Eric, I joined the throng headed for the bar.

The pine-panelled room quickly filled with angry and frustrated voices. Two of Charlie’s supporters were dumb enough to follow and were resoundingly booed away.

As I waited in line at the bar, I found myself staring into the dead eyes of a large muskie mounted on the wall. Scanning the rest of the mounted trophy fish, I wondered whether this collection would grow any larger if CanacGold did succeed in developing the mine.

With beer in hand, I searched around for a familiar face and surprisingly spied Hélène’s strong-jawed face above a group of heads at the far end of the bar. Intending to kid her about having the nerve to leave the General Store in some else’s hands, I made my way towards her. However, by the time I pushed through the crowd, she’d vanished. A quick question revealed she’d just upped and left without even saying goodbye.

Deciding I wasn’t really up to making small talk, I escaped outside with my beer to a picnic table near the dock. Eric and Sgt. LaFramboise sat talking in the front seat of the nearby police cruiser. John-Joe’s orange cap glowed through its back window. I smiled at the thought of LaFramboise sitting clammy and sodden while the two people he was trying to arrest sat comfortably dry.

I looked for Gareth and found him beside his Porsche, gloating with Charlie. While Gareth had somehow managed to change into a dry set of Eddy Bauer chic, Charlie still dripped. The eagle feather hanging from his braid appeared to be the only item that had dried. Several of Charlie’s supporters were bailing out the green boat, while the guy with the eagle-shaved head was attempting to start the motor.

Overhead, a plane droned. I watched it land on the lake just off the shore from Three Deer Point. It taxied in the direction of Whispers Island, but it was lost from view when it disappeared behind the head of land that marks the beginning of Forgotten Bay. The far hills echoed with clamouring engines that sputtered and died, only to be replaced by the buzzing whine of boat motors.

Radio static made me look around to see Gareth walking towards the dock with his transmitter in hand. Charlie Cardinal squelched behind him. Gareth glanced in my direction, then as if making a decision, he headed towards me. I tensed and waited.

“You thought your little lobbying scheme with Carrie was going to work wonders,” he hissed into my face. “Well, I’ve got news for you. The Premier is about to announce a change in the Environment Ministry. Your man’s out, ours is in.”

Damn, he’d found out. “Don’t count your chickens yet,” I spat in return. Then, wondering if I could make him run, I said, “Your mineral rights deal is about to collapse.”

His body recoiled as if I’d hit a bull’s eye. “So you did find—” he blurted out, then stopped and glared at me. “Your claim can’t touch us,” he sneered. “Our leasing rights are solid.” And turned on his heels back towards Charlie’s boat.

Gotcha, I said to myself. I was right. Gareth was behind the break-in. But the irony was he thought I’d already found whatever he’d sent his henchman after. However, judging by his dismissive tone, it couldn’t be the deed to Whispers Island, otherwise he’d be sweating. Still, I’d better have it in my possession before Gareth discovered I was only bluffing and sent Charlie back in.

Deciding I’d better return home to continue my search through Aunt Aggie’s papers, I started for my boat. As I reached it, I heard Eric call out, “Gareth, go to your planes if you want, but your car’s parked on private property. If it’s not gone in five minutes, I’ll have it towed away.”

Atta boy, Eric, I said to myself, sock it to him.

I turned back to see Gareth waver, half in half out of Charlie’s boat. I knew Eric’s challenge was awfully tempting to him, but my bet was on the car. He took too much pride in it. He wouldn’t want to see it damaged. Charlie tried to claim that Gareth was his guest, but Eric refused to accept it. With a few quick words to Charlie, Gareth stalked over to his car and with an “up yours” gesture, he drove off.

Meanwhile, Charlie and a couple of his groupies clambered back into his boat and roared out of the bay towards Whispers Island, but not before I noticed a chainsaw blade sticking above the side of the boat.

I walked over to where Eric stood, looking tired. Beside him slouched a very subdued John-Joe, who seemed more intent on ensuring the brim of his baseball cap was bent into proper shape than on being contrite. There was no sign of the sergeant or his cruiser.

“What did you do? Promise LaFramboise a free fishing trip?” I asked, surprised the SQ officer had relented.

“I wish it had been that easy,” he replied. “While he refused to concede that the ramming was accidental, he did at least agree to our own police handling the investigation. Meanwhile, I’m to act as surety for John-Joe. So I guess it’s single rations and cold showers for you, eh guy?” Eric pulled the brim of John-Joe’s cap completely over his eyes.

Pushing the cap back, John-Joe smiled weakly, shrugged his shoulders, then with a quick “Thanks, Eric,” walked towards the entrance to the bar, where he was greeted with slaps and loud guffaws.

“You okay, Meg?” Eric asked, turning a concerned glance towards me. “I shouldn’t have involved you.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Except it now appears we probably didn’t have to go that far.” And I proceeded to tell Eric about my latest confrontation with Gareth.

While we talked, another CanacGold plane landed on the lake. It ploughed through the whitecaps towards Whispers Island. A strong gust sent a shower of golden leaves skittering across my line of sight and brought the sound of chainsaws.

A boat suddenly appeared around the headland and raced towards us. Eric and I stopped talking and watched its approach. I felt uneasy. There was something about its haste that suggested this was not a carrier of good news, which was further reinforced by the grim look on the messenger’s face as he docked the boat.

“What’s up?” Eric shouted.

“We’ve gotta do something, Chief,” the messenger cried. “They’re gonna start cutting tomorrow.”

“Cutting what?” Eric shouted back.

“The ancients’ trees,” came the answer as a shiver of dread ran down my spine.

“It’s time to do something drastic, like chaining ourselves to trees,” I said.

Eric nodded. “Or more effectively, tree spiking. Unfortunately, it has one major drawback. It can kill a man.”

Eric explained how the blade of a chain saw would jump and possibly shatter when it encountered metal spikes hammered into the trunk of a tree. The only way to prevent injury was to discourage the loggers from cutting the trees. The best way to do this was to inform them of the danger by posting signs. It was assumed that, armed with this knowledge, the logger would rather go against company orders than risk losing a leg or an arm.

Eric finished by saying, “But I’m not ready yet to go this far. I don’t want a man’s death or his maiming on my conscience if he chooses to ignore our warnings.”

“Nor do I, but do we have a choice? We need to stall CanacGold while I try to find documents that can stop them,” I countered. “Despite appearances, Gareth isn’t completely bad. I’m sure he wouldn’t risk men’s lives if he knew trees were spiked.”

Eric smiled wanly. “I hope you’re right. I’ll let you know our plans once I talk to the band council.”

As I motored home through the rising chop, a plane took off, only to be replaced by another landing. After tying up my boat, I remained on the dock and watched as the Zodiacs ferried the new load back and forth to the island. Partway up the island’s backbone, the top of a tall fir tree wavered, then fell through the yellow canopy of surrounding birch. Another dozen trees, and they’d be cutting the ancients’ forest.

Not feeling very optimistic, I climbed the stairs to my cottage and headed to the attic to retrieve the other wooden box. For the rest of the afternoon I sifted through its contents. At first, my hopes were raised when I read 1935 on one of the documents but were slowly dashed as each successive document proved useless. Not a word about owning Whispers Island, not even an acknowledgement of its existence, although I did see several references to the selling of a parcel of land along the main road.

The mishmash of documents did, however, tell me how lonely and isolated Aunt Aggie’s life was. None of them contained anything the least bit personal. No treasured letter from Edith or other friend; no memento photo of Aunt Aggie or her constant companion Whispering Pine, let alone one of a visitor. Rather, they represented a lifetime of caring for Three Deer Point; bills for supplies, taxes and the like, correspondence to lawyers, and a very detailed account of her maple sugar operation.

And they revealed her generosity. There was a letter from a grateful neighbour thanking Aunt Aggie for the loan of a fairly significant amount of money and the promise to repay it as soon as times were better. And an itemized list of other loans she’d made.

Occasionally, the roar of engines would send me to the window, and I watched with increasing dread as another plane took off while one landed. And as the afternoon progressed, the yawning gap in the island’s profile grew larger.

The last plane was flying into the orange ball of the setting sun when Eric called.

“Any luck?” he asked.

“No,” was my frustrated reply.

“Chin up, it was an outside chance you’d find proof this quickly. We’ve decided to begin the spiking tonight. Come to the Fishing Camp dock at midnight. Wear dark clothing and bring your canoe and a hatchet or large hammer.”

I hung up feeling hopeful this would buy us some time, but also anxious over where it could lead.