Читать книгу Meg Harris Mysteries 7-Book Bundle - R.J. Harlick - Страница 21

I puzzled over the identity of my visitor until I saw the all too familiar oil painting propped against the bottom verandah stair. Gareth. He was here. A day early. My stomach lurched. I had half a mind to drive away and return in a couple of hours when I was sure, given his low patience threshold, that he would be gone.

Before I had a chance to decide, Gareth stepped down from the verandah. He sauntered towards me, his brown eyes alert, his cinnamon hair marred by only a few streaks of grey. The weight he’d put on from too many client lunches had been shed. His body had returned to the firm slimness of his youth. He looked good, too good. Something deep inside me twisted.

“Oh, hell,” I muttered to myself.

He stopped several metres away and gave me one of those smiles that used to make my knees weak.

“Megs, it’s great to see you,” he said.

Determined to end this quickly, I ignored his opening words and said, “Thanks for the painting. I appreciate you coming all this way, but I think it best if you get back into your car and leave.”

“Please Megs, can’t we at least spend a few minutes together,” he said, “for old times sake.” He made no attempt to move closer, as if sensing that one step nearer could very well send me fleeing back to the safety of my truck.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

He ran his fingers through his wavy hair. “Sure you want it this way?”

I could hear Sergei barking in the house and wondered what would happen if I let him out. During the short time Sergei and Gareth had lived together in Toronto, the two of them had waged a war. From the moment I brought the squirming ball of black fluff home to our condo, Gareth had refused to have anything to do with him. In fact, Sergei had been the cause of several arguments, most notably the time I caught Gareth kicking him after Sergei, full of puppy excitement, had peed on his dress pants. Perhaps I could use the dog as further incentive in getting Gareth to leave.

A sudden gust of wind ruffled Gareth’s hair and loosened a shower of pine needles from the branches high above. Several landed on his designer sports jacket and in his hair. He flicked one or two off but didn’t bother with the rest.

“We had so many good times together,” he said. “Surely you can’t pretend they never happened.”

My heart thumped at the kaleidoscope of memories that came flooding in with his words. I tried to thrust them back. “It’s too late.”

He looked at me with the kind of longing I’d not seen since our early years together. “Okay,” he said. “I’m sorry you feel this way, but I’ll accept your decision.”

I felt my eyebrows rise in surprise with his last words. This was out of character. Gareth did not admit defeat so easily, especially to me. I searched for the sarcasm that would invariably lurk behind his eyes and saw none. Maybe our last terrifying argument had scared him as much as it had scared me and had caused him to have a good hard look at the kind of man he’d become.

He seemed at a loss, unsure what to say or do next. He cast a bleak glance at the painting and said, “Enjoy it.” Then, with a wan smile, he walked towards his car.

It was the dejected slump to his shoulders that did it. I began to feel sorry for him. Maybe I was being too harsh. After all, it was partly my fault things had gone so disastrously wrong at the end. “Okay,” I called out, “come in for a drink.”

“You’re sure? I wouldn’t want to push you into anything you didn’t want.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” I replied, reaching for the painting. This wasn’t turning out to be the traumatic confrontation I’d feared for the last three years.

He followed me into the house, where he confronted his old nemesis, Sergei. But amazingly, after a few threatening growls, the dog quieted down, even condescending to receive a few pats.

“I thought you were coming tomorrow,” I said as I poured us both some lemon vodka, the drink he’d introduced me to.

“Last minute change in plans.” He glanced around the large kitchen. “I see you’ve made a few improvements since my last visit.”

“Aunt Aggie may have been able to cook in a turn-of-the century kitchen, but I couldn’t. I had the new cabinets and appliances installed last year shortly after I moved in. The only remaining fix-up is the repainting of the chairs. What do you think?”

“Looks good. Not too modern. Blends nicely with the age of the house. Do you mind if I take a look at the other rooms?”

So with Sergei bringing up the rear, we started in the large dining room, where Gareth ran his hands over the antique patina of the mahogany table and suggested that the wall above the buffet would be the perfect spot for the Chaki painting. Next we wandered into the small room I’d converted into my television room and disregarded another small room still jammed with the empty packing crates from the move. Then we crossed the hall to the largest room on the ground floor, the living room spanning the entire lake side of the house. But Gareth ignored this room and walked across to the turret that occupied the front corner.

“Best room in the house,” he said, surveying the octagonal walls with their long floor to ceiling windows. His eyes drifted over the antique desk and oriental carpet and fell upon Aunt Aggie’s old wooden box, but he made no comment. Thank goodness I’d returned all the letters and replaced the lid. I wouldn’t want him asking awkward questions.

Returning to the living room, Gareth looked appreciatively over the massive stone fireplace. “Boy, they sure don’t make them like this any more.”

“Hey, isn’t that your aunt?” he said, picking up the wedding picture. “Sure was a looker in her day, just like you.” And he ran his eyes over my spreading middle-aged body, stopping to focus on the too-tight sweater I’d mistakenly put on this morning. “You look terrific. The wilds must agree with you.”

Embarrassed, I muttered some sort of a reply and suggested we go out onto the verandah to finish our drinks, where Gareth immediately installed himself in Aunt Aggie’s old rocker. I started to protest, then decided I shouldn’t be so set in my ways. I sat down in the wicker chair, which was really just as comfortable. Sergei slumped his large, curly haired body down on the wooden floor between us.

Mumbling about something digging into him, Gareth extracted his cell phone and his key chain from his jeans’ pocket and placed them on the table beside his drink. He took a long sip and said, “I’d forgotten what a fantastic view you have of the lake from here.” He lit up a cigarette.

“I see you’re still doing your best to become another lung cancer statistic,” I said.

He laughed. “And you’re still nagging me about it.” He attempted to blow the smoke into my face, but it scattered with the breeze. He continued, “Got a good view of the island too. What’s it called?”

“Whispers Island, or Minitig Kà-ishpàkweyàg as the Algonquins call it, Island Where the Big Trees stand. Majestic, isn’t it?” I was about to mention the threat of the gold mine but stopped, figuring best not to bore Gareth with my environmental woes.

“You still the only one on the lake? No cottages or farms?” he asked.

“Nope, mine’s the sole private holding on this lake, and it occupies the only accessible shore. The other shorelines are too steep. Probably why the government has never sold off the land. Of course, there’s the Migiskan Reserve on the north side of the lake.”

He dragged deeply on his cigarette and blew the smoke out in one forceful stream. “Yeah, the Indians, forgot about them. You don’t have much to do with them, do you?”

“Well, we are neighbours,” I said and left it at that. His faintly derogatory tone told me he wouldn’t welcome my close relationship with Marie and especially Eric, whom he’d probably view as a threat. Gareth always did have a nasty streak of jealousy. He used to get quite upset when I spent what he considered too much time talking to another male.

His face softened. His eyes shone with a forgotten tenderness. “Remember that trip we took to Waterton Lakes? This place has the same quiet, peaceful feel to it.” He paused, then continued, “Boy, we had some wonderful moments together, didn’t we, Megs?”

With a few more words, he plunged me back into the happy years of our marriage when we were two young people very much in love. As the afternoon sun gradually spread its warmth into the verandah, we laughed and smiled over shared memories of exploratory trips to out-of-the-way places, of lingering afternoons lying in bed, of candlelight dinners and other special moments. Once in a while, the words would fade, as each of us became lost in our own private memories.

After one long pause, Gareth said, “Don’t you think we could go back to those days?”

Lulled by the memories, the soothing afternoon sun, I said, “Perhaps.”

He reached for my hand lying beside my glass. For a second, I enjoyed the soft caress, then like an electric shock, the painful memory of his last touch flooded back. I jerked my hand away.

“Hey, what gives? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he said.

I shook my head, too stunned by the force of my reaction to come up with a good excuse.

But it looked as if Gareth knew the cause. “I wasn’t going to say anything, Megs. I thought you wouldn’t want to drag up old dirt. But look, if it means anything, I’m sorry, really sorry I hurt you. I never meant to. I don’t know what got into me that day.”

I took a long slow sip of vodka to try to still the trembling that had returned. “You’re right, I’d just as soon not drag up the old dirt. Why don’t you tell me about that new job of yours?”

He turned a startled look towards me. “How do you know that?”

“I called your old office number. Who did you go with? Anyone I know?”

“No, you wouldn’t know them. Great job, though. Came after me and made an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

“Enough to eat into your usual hefty credit card balances?”

He laughed, “You sure know me, don’t you? Yeah, I like the high life, why not? And with the bonus I’ll get when I deliver on this special project, I should be on easy street.”

“Oh, what’s that all about?”

He lit up another cigarette, sipped his drink, then replied, “Nothing much, it would only bore you. Hey, what do you think about my new car?”

“Great,” I said absentmindedly, while I thought about the special project that he didn’t want to divulge.

“Company car. Didn’t have to spend a cent of my own.” He glanced quickly at his watch and continued, “What about yourself? Like living in the wilds?”

“It suits me,” I said.

“Do you think you’d ever move back to Toronto?”

“In time perhaps, but not now.”

“Well, you do have a special place here, Megs,” he said. “Not many like it. I know people who’d pay a fortune to stay at a place like this. Ever think of converting it into a lodge?” he asked.

“No, why would I?”

“Just a thought. How are you for finances these days, now that you’re no longer working?”

“Aunt Aggie’s money provides me with enough. Besides, living here doesn’t cost much,” I replied, beginning to wonder why he was asking me these questions.

“Must cost a bundle to maintain this old building, though?”

I nodded. I’d just finished writing out a cheque for five thousand dollars to pay for the drilling of a new well.

“Ever think of selling it?”

My antenna went on alert. “Of course not.”

Gareth rocked back and forth in Aunt Aggie’s chair. He puffed on his cigarette, then took a drink. I waited.

Finally he said, “Look, I might as well not beat about the bush any longer. I’ve got this client who’s looking for a property exactly like yours to develop a resort. I know I could arrange it so you’d get top dollar.”

“Now the truth comes out,” I said, trying to keep from shouting. But before I had a chance to really blast him, a loud pounding from the other side of the house cut me off.

Half-hoping it might be Eric, I went to answer it. As I turned the corner of the verandah, I said, “Hi Eric, glad—” and stopped. Instead of Eric standing at the front door, it was the grinning mass of Charlie Cardinal.

Too startled for words, I could only gape.

“Expecting your boyfriend, eh? Whatever would your husband think? Tell Mr. Patterson I’m here.”

“You never mentioned a boyfriend, Megs,” sounded Gareth’s voice at my ear. “He this guy Eric you called me on the phone? Never mind, we can talk about him later. Go inside while I see what this guy wants.”

Gareth brushed past me and down the verandah stairs with Charlie Cardinal in tow and a barking Sergei not far behind. I remained rooted, trying to fathom why Charlie Cardinal was here, let alone how he knew Gareth.

I watched Gareth march towards his car, abruptly turn around and jab his finger into Charlie’s chest. Charlie just stood there and took the full force of Gareth’s anger. For a second, I almost felt for Charlie, for I knew too well how it felt to be pummelled into the ground by Gareth’s scathing words. I strained to hear, but caught only the familiar condescending tone of his voice. I moved closer.

“I told you not to come here,” Gareth hissed. “If you screw up this deal, Charlie, I’ll kill you.”

His face twisted in anger, he finally noticed me. “Get inside, Meg. This has nothing to do with you.”

Old habits die hard. I started to do his bidding, then I woke up. “The only person leaving is you . . . and your henchman,” I shouted.

“Now, Megs, no need to get yourself worked up. You’ve got it all wrong.” Gareth tried to erase his anger with a conciliatory smile. But it didn’t work. The glint of sarcasm had returned to his eyes.

And I was suddenly back to where we’d been three years ago. Gareth standing over me, saying those exact words in that same patronizing tone after I’d finally mustered up my courage to confront him about Janice. His words hadn’t stopped me. Determined to find out the truth, I’d believed that once he admitted to the affair that that would end it, and we’d go back to being the loving couple we were supposed to be. How stupid. All I got was a trip to the hospital after he’d slammed me against the kitchen counter.

This time I wasn’t going to be a fool. I was going to do what I should have done then.

I turned around and walked back to the verandah, where not five minutes ago we’d almost been old friends. I grabbed his keys and cell phone, went inside and locked the door behind me. I locked all the other outside doors. Then I stomped back to the front door. I wrenched it open, threw his stuff as far as I could and shouted. “Gareth, it’s over. If you’re not gone in five minutes, I’m calling the police.”

I returned inside and double locked the door. I held my breath and waited. Silence reigned. Even Sergei had stopped barking. I peeked out the side window. Where minutes before tenderness had gazed out of clear brown eyes, now only anger flashed.

He walked towards the stairs. “Megs, listen to me,” he shouted. “You’ve got it all wrong. Let me in, and I’ll tell you the whole truth.”

I stepped away from the door. He started hammering on it. “Damn you, let me in!” I heard Sergei’s muffled growls. “Get away, you damn dog!” Gareth snarled.

“Keep at it, dog,” I whispered and retreated into the living room.

The pounding filled the room, filled my head. What was I going to do? I was miles from help. I stood frozen, emotions whirling, afraid to move. A sudden yelp from Sergei woke me up.

“Leave the dog alone!” I cried.

I ran to the kitchen, grabbed the phone and a butcher knife. I dialled Eric’s number and got only his voice mail. I called the provincial police and was told it would take at least twenty minutes. I tried the Migiskan Police, but they were tied up on another call.

I’d have to deal with Gareth myself.

I took a deep breath, clutched the knife firmly and walked steadily to the front door. The hammering had stopped. I waited. I strained my ears, expecting to hear Gareth’s ragged breathing behind the door. Nothing. Total silence.

And then I heard the sound of engines firing up. By the time I got to the window, Gareth’s company car was roaring down the drive with Charlie’s red Yukon in hot pursuit. A yapping Sergei chased after them as I collapsed into Aunt Aggie’s rocker.