Читать книгу Meg Harris Mysteries 7-Book Bundle - R.J. Harlick - Страница 22

The sound of their engines was still reverberating through the hills when rage took over. And it was rage directed not at Gareth, but at myself. Sure, he’d betrayed me, but he was only being the bastard he’d always been. He hadn’t changed. Why should he?

And I hadn’t changed either. Despite all my efforts to escape his controlling grip, I’d still been sucked in. Like a dewy-eyed bitch, I’d fallen for his phony line. He didn’t need to do more than smile, bat his puppy eyes, and I was hooked. Just like every other time.

“God damn it!” I shouted to the walls. I kicked at the chesterfield and threw the cushions to the floor. I pounded on the coffee table and almost broke my hand. Then I saw the Chaki painting still leaning against the wall where I’d dropped it.

With single-minded purpose, I walked over, picked it up and marched outside to the overhanging bulge in the verandah. I leaned over the railing as far as I could and flung it into the air. It soared down the cliff wall like a flying saucer, then a sudden gust of wind picked it up and deposited it in the twisted crown of a pine growing out of the rock. I couldn’t even do that right.

I marched into my bedroom, put on some outdoor clothes and hiking boots and stomped outside. I needed to get out of there. This time, vodka wouldn’t do the trick. I needed to drown myself in the wilds.

I stomped along the trail towards the Lookout, through Aunt Aggie’s now defunct sugar bush. I kicked my anger out on the fallen leaves, creating a mini bow wave of shifting gold. As if knowing better than to stay near me, Sergei raced up the trail and was soon lost behind the converging trunks of the maple trees.

I cursed myself with every forward step. I was an idiot and a fool. All the things Gareth had called me at one time or another. Well, I wasn’t going to be a fool any longer. It was clear Gareth would never be the man I’d thought I’d married. He was a selfish, controlling bastard, always had been and always would be. It was high time I accepted it. I had my own life now. I didn’t need him any more.

Around the next bend in the trail, the remains of Aunt Aggie’s maple sugar operation loomed into view, and with them came the muffled barks of Sergei. It was a sorry-looking collection of log shacks that had once housed the huge iron cauldrons Aunt Aggie used to boil the clear maple sap down to the super sweet brown syrup. Only one of the shacks remained standing, with its roof still intact. The others were jumbles of rotting squared timbers, broken planks and rusted metal roofing.

From under the shack emerged Sergei’s black hind quarters, his tail wagging vigorously. As I approached, he backed out, shook the dirt from his fur, emitted one shrill bark then resumed digging. Praying it wasn’t a skunk he’d found, I hurried past and started the slow weaving climb up the steep hill to the Lookout.

“Gareth is gone. Gareth is gone,” I vowed with every step. From this point onwards, Gareth was out of my life, never to return. And as I hiked up the hill, the anger gradually dissipated, leaving in its wake a sense of peace. I said the word “Gareth” and felt nothing. I felt the tension flow from my shoulders, down my arms and out my fingertips. This time he was gone, forever.

I breathed in deeply the fresh forest smell and stopped to listen to the honking of geese flying overhead. Around the next bend, I found myself staring into startled brown eyes, then with a flash of its white tail, a deer disappeared through a wall of gold.

I continued walking. This time I kicked the leaves in play, not in anger.

I reached the smooth granite knoll of the Lookout feeling invigorated and not out of breath, as was my usual state after climbing the hill. I perched atop Aunt Aggie’s rickety bench. Two feet away, the granite plunged a hundred feet to the vibrant canopy of the maples below. Through gaps left by fallen leaves, I could see rusty sections of the remaining sugar shack’s roof.

I reached down to pick up a piece of birch bark wedged in a crack and discovered instead a cigarette butt. I started to get annoyed at the thought of trespassers but decided there was no harm in others taking advantage of this unique view. I hoped it was the same person I’d spied from Eric’s boat the day we went to Whispers Island. I didn’t want too many people invading my private retreat.

I held out my arms and embraced the magnificent unfettered view of my world, a world that would never contain Gareth. I breathed the crisp clear air, air that would never smell of Gareth. The sparkling waters of Echo Lake winked back at me as if to say “I’m with you, gal.” Even Three Deer Point seemed to be passing opinion on Gareth with its long fingerlike point.

The lake was surprisingly busy for so late in the afternoon. Several boats were speeding towards Forgotten Bay Fishing Camp, while others were racing away. I could just see the tip of the camp’s dock, where an unusually large crowd congregated. I assumed it was a large fishing party getting ready for some dusk time trawling. But sporadic flashes through the trees of something large and red moving towards the Camp made me wonder if something else wasn’t going on.

When I looked out towards Whispers Island and saw a line of boats cluttering the northern spit, I wondered if this activity didn’t have something to do with CanacGold. A thought re-enforced by the frequent bursts of light coming from the island’s backbone, where we’d discovered CanacGold’s mining claim.

It also made me wonder if this wasn’t the real reason behind Gareth’s visit. For when Charlie had suddenly appeared on my doorstep, it had taken me less than a second to jump to the obvious conclusion. Gareth’s new employer was CanacGold.

But why would a mining company hire Gareth? He was a criminal lawyer. The only thing he knew about gold was how to buy it; gold cufflinks, gold bracelet, even a gold Rolex watch, all in the interests of looking successful. Unless CanacGold’s only requirement for a lawyer was sleaze, of which Gareth had plenty.

Still, it didn’t answer the question of why Gareth wanted my land. Or should I really say CanacGold? Was it possible there was gold on my land too? Was I Gareth’s special project? Get me to sell my land, and he got the big bucks?

Damn that double-dealing bastard. I’d better get to the Fishing Camp and try to find out what he was up to.

From my canoe, I heard the echo of angry shouts across the water long before I saw the tense crowd of people at the Camp’s boat launch. They were watching Eric and Charlie Cardinal standing face to face, shouting at each other. Some of the onlookers were positioned behind one or the other of the antagonists, while others stood further back, as if reluctant to show sides. And lurking behind them like a giant lizard waiting to pounce was the red object I’d seen from the Lookout, a huge transport trailer with letters emblazoned in gold along its side that spelled out the word “CanacGold”.

I beached my canoe on the shore, not far from the action. Although a few watchers cast angry glances in my direction, most eyes were fixed on the shouters.

“For the last time, tell the driver to haul that damn truck back to where it came from,” yelled Eric, the scar beneath his eye a searing white.

“Like hell I will. He has every right to be here,” came the angry retort from Charlie Cardinal.

They were both standing feet planted apart, arms crossed, faces locked in stubborn refusal. A faint breeze nudged the eagle feather attached to Charlie’s braid, while Eric held his own feather ramrod straight in his left hand.

I searched for Gareth and found him where I expected, standing by his car waiting for events to unfold. Never one to get his hands dirty, Gareth let others do it for him. Under the full force of his glare, I turned away and determinedly aligned myself behind Eric’s solid back.

“Charlie,” Eric shouted, “you know damn well, that truck has no right to be on our land without band permission. I’ll charge the driver and all his friends with trespassing if they don’t leave immediately.”

At a nod from Charlie, a man who looked like a retiree from the Hells Angels walked towards the cab of the transport trailer. A line of men in red CanacGold windbreakers held their ground beside the truck.

“As hereditary tribal chief, I give him the right,” Charlie retorted.

From his groupies rose sporadic cries of “That’s right Charlie”, “Give him hell”.

“You don’t have the authority,” Eric replied.

“Damn right I do,” Charlie yelled. “My ancestors were chiefs of the Migiskan when yours were Mohawk slaves. Now get the hell out of the way, or this truck’ll run you down.”

And to emphasize his challenge, the truck let off one piercing peal of its horn, which throbbed against the bordering cliffs until it dissipated into the bay. Gareth remained by his car, watching and waiting.

But the threat only made Eric stand firmer. “Charlie, you’re only making things worse for yourself. Only the band council has the authority, and we voted earlier this afternoon not to permit CanacGold the use of band lands. So tell the driver to leave, and we won’t bring the police into it.”

“Yeah, that’s right Charlie, we don’t want them bastards here,” came a shout from one of Eric’s supporters.

“Knock it off, Charlie”, “Forget it” came others.

But the CanacGold response was a dull clank as the truck’s gears shifted into drive and slowly moved towards us, only to stop as it met our line of silent, determined faces. The truck inched forward again. I gulped, not sure how far I wanted to take this. Some of the men gave way, I with them, but John-Joe stood his ground. The truck’s gleaming bumper nudged John-Joe’s chest, causing him to lurch backwards and fall. The truck stopped. John-Joe picked himself up and planted his feet in front of the waiting truck. I walked over, stood beside him and heard the shuffle as others joined our line.

Finally, Gareth made his move. “Enough, Charlie,” he shouted.

For a moment it looked as if Charlie were going to hit Eric, then he turned abruptly on his heels and strode away, forcing a path through the men who blocked his way to the truck. He wrenched the door open and climbed into the cab beside the driver.

Gareth, his face a mask of professional calm, stalked over to Eric. “Sorry about this misunderstanding, Chief Odjik,” he said with barely disguised contempt. “We won’t disturb you again. We’ll bring our supplies in another way.” And cupping his hands to his mouth shouted, “Okay guys! Everyone in your trucks, we’re leaving.”

The CanacGold men jumped into several shiny pickups and a couple of nondescript rentals. Gareth turned to leave, then as if changing his mind he walked over to me and spat out, “Indian lover, I wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole . . .” he turned towards Eric, “. . . now.”

Infuriated not only by the insult to me, but to my friends, I threw a handful of stones after him and grinned when he wheeled around, rubbing his head. And since Gareth had to have the final say, he jerked his finger at me with a gesture that needed no translation, then turned back to his car.

With a groan, the truck slowly backed away from the boat launch, past the timber lodge, with its windows filled with cheering onlookers. The spasmodic beep of the back-up horn echoed off the watching hills. The driver didn’t dare attempt to turn the massive vehicle around in the limited space. He just continued reversing down the narrow winding Camp road towards the main road, more than a mile away. Close on his front bumper followed the cavalcade, with a dusty Porsche in the lead.

A war whoop erupted, accompanied by shouts of “Hurray, we did it!” There were even a few steps of the warrior’s dance I’d seen at the last Pow Wow.

Grinning broadly, Eric shouted, “Thanks, men, but show’s over. Back to work!” With more war whoops, they dispersed.

“Hi, Meg. See you caught the fun.” Eric walked chuckling towards me.

“Congrats. Round one to the good guys.” I laughed, luxuriating in this minor victory.

“Might as well enjoy it. Not sure how many more we’ll have,” Eric replied, suddenly looking serious. “They need to get that equipment over to the island to start the drilling. You heard that guy, they’ll find another way.”

“That guy was Gareth,” I said. “As you saw, he’s one of them.”

“I’m sorry, Meg. Sorry for you that he had to turn up like this.” He searched my face as if seeking answers. Finally, he asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Okay now.” I sat down on a nearby picnic table and motioned Eric to join me. “I’ve made many mistakes in my life, Eric, and will no doubt continue to do so, but he’s one I won’t make again. So tell me, what’s this about CanacGold drilling?”

“They want to start exploratory drilling next week to confirm the size of the deposit.”

“There goes our theory about nothing happening until next spring. What are we going to do?”

“I think we can still buy ourselves some time. As long as we deny them access.”

I thought his tactic made sense. The Fishing Camp offered the only truck access to the lake. Most of the Echo Lake shoreline was either too far from a road or too steep to permit the off-loading of heavy mining equipment.

And then I understood why Gareth wanted to buy my land. My property had the only other possible access point, a low marshy area that stretched from the main road to Echo Lake, which could easily be filled in to make a road wide enough for truck access.

Damn him. The nerve of him to think I would so easily do his bidding. But he was right. The old me would’ve eventually sold it to him. Well, he’d shot his bolt, so to speak. From this point onwards, I wouldn’t even let him and his CanacGold buddies breathe on my land, let alone run their trucks over it.

Eric and I sat for a few more minutes, discussing what more we could do to stop CanacGold. Other than continuing to pursue the island’s ownership, we decided some lobbying of politicians was in order. Eric knew some people he could call upon. I had Carrie, an old school friend, now a parliamentarian in Ottawa. I promised to phone her the minute I returned home.

We were about to go our separate ways, when John-Joe approached, looking worried.

“Eric, what do you want me to do about Louis’s boat?” he asked, pulling the brim of his orange cap further down his forehead. He flashed me a Tom Cruise smile, which seemed to say I was okay.

“Nothing that I’m aware of. Can’t we just leave it for Tommy to take it away?”

“That’s the problem. Tommy said he can’t get to it for a couple of days. I can’t wait that long. It’s in the way.”

“Move it then.”

“Can’t. Tommy locked it to the dock with a chain.”

Curious at the mention of Tommy’s name, I asked, “When was that?”

John-Joe replied, “Can’t say exactly. Boat’s been there almost a week. I suppose it was last Tuesday or Wednesday.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, surprised by his answer. Last Thursday, the day Tommy caught me peering through the windows of his house looking for his mother, he told me he was just returning home from a trip.

John-Joe repositioned his hat, bringing the brim down till it almost covered his eyes, then he answered. “Yup, had to be. Caused me a shit load of problems with that big fishing party we had Wednesday morning, eh?”

So Tommy had been lying to me from the beginning to protect his mother. He’d used the boat to take her to some isolated location on Echo Lake. She would be well hidden anywhere on the uninhabited shore, but still within easy reach of food and supplies. Whispers Island was even a possibility. That would explain the footprints on the beach, two sets arriving, only one leaving. But with CanacGold intent on moving in, would the island remain such a good hiding place?

I turned to Eric to ask if he or Tommy had already thought of this, but he was fast disappearing into the main lodge. Just as well, I thought. I wasn’t sure how to bring this up delicately, without revealing that I knew where they were hiding Marie. Besides, it probably wasn’t a real concern, as long as we could stop CanacGold from moving their equipment onto the island.

Deciding it could wait, I shoved my canoe into the water and headed towards the cliffs of Three Deer Point. When I reached home, I phoned Carrie, who didn’t hesitate to offer to help stop CanacGold. She suggested that if I didn’t mind the long drive to Ottawa, I could meet her on Monday at her parliamentary office.