Читать книгу Meg Harris Mysteries 7-Book Bundle - R.J. Harlick - Страница 43

I buttoned the two key letters securely into the back pocket of my jeans. Wherever I went, they would go too. I glanced nervously at the clock and realized it would be dark in another hour. I knew I didn’t want to spend the night alone at Three Deer Point, miles from police help. I placed a call to Eric, the one person I could trust. He proposed that Sergei and I spend the night at his place, a safe block away from the Migiskan detachment. With a promise to meet at the Fishing Camp within the half-hour, I hung up feeling considerably more secure.

After putting the dog out, I went to my bedroom to pack a few clothes. I automatically grabbed my flannel nightgown, then noticed wedged into the corner of the drawer the soft silky one Mother had given me after Gareth had left. It was still wrapped in the original tissue. I picked it up, shook the wrinkles out of it and thought, why not tempt the gods. I carefully laid it on top of the other packed items.

I checked the house to ensure all windows were securely bolted and doors locked. Then, with suitcase in hand, I headed outside to my truck. Although the rain had finally stopped, the heavy cloud cover suggested it wasn’t completely over. Patches of mist hovered in the recesses of the forest, making it difficult to see much beyond its edge. The wet, dripping silence was only broken by the raucous noise of squabbling birds, probably ravens, coming from the direction of the sugar bush.

I threw my bag into the truck, then set out to look for the dog. I found him cavorting near the woodshed with a strange looking object clenched between his teeth. He barked in greeting, dropped it to do so, then snatched it back up. But not before I recognized with disgust the bottom portion of a deer leg, complete with fur and hoof. He’d found a deer kill, which explained the quarrelling ravens.

Very pleased with himself, Sergei bounded down the trail to the sugar bush with his prize, looking backwards to see if I was playing his game of catch-me-if-you-can. In frustration, I yelled after him, but other than a quick backward glance, he ignored me and disappeared into the mist.

I’d never get him now. The last time he’d run off with a bone, it had taken an hour to finally coax him to drop the bone and come. Today I didn’t have an hour.

Sergei was hungry. His dinner might be the lure. So I placed his bowl brimming with dog food beside the truck, called him and waited. The raven’s cackling continued. But no sign of Sergei. Damn him. He’d done it to me again. I was angry enough to abandon him but knew I couldn’t leave him alone and unprotected. As much as I feared delaying my departure, I had no choice but to go after him.

I figured he’d most likely returned to the dead deer, which shouldn’t be difficult to locate. I’d follow the sound of the ravens quarrelling over the carcass. The problem was the noise seemed to be coming from further into the sugar bush than I cared to go, possibly as far as Aunt Aggie’s abandoned sugar shacks a quarter mile away. So before my nerves had a chance to dissuade me, I took a deep breath and headed towards the racket.

I walked along the trail thick with wet leaves and called the Sergei’s name in the futile hope that he would come. The reverberating cackles grew louder, as I neared the shacks. When I finally rounded the last bend, the ravens scattered in an uproar of flapping black and angry shrieks. Several flew to the top branches of nearby maples, while one landed on the metal roof of the main shack, where he emitted a loud croak, as if in warning.

What remained of the deer lay only a few yards from the trail, not far, I nervously realized, from my encounter last night. Just as well it had been Hélène. I didn’t want to think what would’ve happened if I’d met up with the wolves instead.

Although Sergei was nowhere in sight, I wasn’t completely disheartened. I counted four hoofs with femur attached amongst the blood-splattered bones and chunks of fur. Three lay tangled in the rib cage. The fourth, the one Sergei must’ve had, was propped against the starkly staring head of the deer. It was enough to tell me Sergei had returned.

Praying he hadn’t wandered far, I called out. The raven sitting on the shack’s roof answered with a hoarse chortle. And, miraculously, from inside the timber shack came a muffled bark and the sound of scratching.

I ran to the door, wondering how he’d managed to open the latched door and was brought up short by the sight of the latch still in place. He must have squeezed through a hole in the back. But then again, why didn’t he escape back through this same hole?

Warily, I opened the door. Sergei rushed out to me, whimpering, squirming. “It’s okay, boy,” I said, patting his head. “We’re outta here, dog.” I snapped the leash to his collar.

I was about to close the door when I realized it had become quiet. The noisy ravens had disappeared from the trees. Only the large one sitting on the roof remained. He gave me a black beady stare, croaked as if wanting to tell me something, then unfolded his wings and lifted into the air.

He’d no sooner vanished then I smelled stale cigarette smoke from inside the shack. I froze, all nerve endings on full alert. The nail securing the latch to the doorframe was shiny and new, not old and rusty like the other nail-heads. Someone had been here. Was this what the raven had tried to tell me?

Sergei strained at the leash to go in. I hesitated. Half of me wanted to get out of there as fast as I could. The other half wanted to find out what was going on. Finally, curiosity took over. I stepped gingerly into the dark interior.

The smell of cigarette ash was strong, and so was the odour of kerosene. I stood a few feet inside and waited for my eyes to adjust to the dim light. Gradually, shapes that had no right to be there emerged from the greyness; a couple of white plastic chairs, a table with an oilcloth covering. A mattress draped in a ragged Hudson’s Bay blanket was shoved against a side wall. I was dumbfounded and scared. Someone had moved in. Who?

Sergei continued pulling. With one vigorous tug, his leash slipped through my fingers, and he vanished into the back of the room. I strained to see where he’d gone, but the light was too dim. However, I noticed a kerosene lamp on the table, so I lit it with a match from a nearby box.

Is this some kind of hideout? I asked myself, as I surveyed the room. Another chair, a couple of glasses beside a half-empty bottle of rye, even a rusty camp stove. A can of kerosene stood under the table next to an overturned garbage can whose rotting contents were strewn across the floor. I spied Sergei gnawing on what looked to be a chicken bone. Annoyed, I yanked him away and forced him to lie next to me.

My heart stopped at the sight of an ashtray overflowing with butts, but before I had a chance to absorb its warning, my attention was jerked to a noise outside. I waited. Silence except for water dripping onto the metal roof. Sergei still continued to lie unconcerned with his head flopped between his paws.

Suddenly, his head went up. He looked towards the back of the hut. Was someone out there? I peeked nervously out the back window but saw only a still and misty sugar bush.

As my gaze turned back inside, a glint of light caught my eye, and I found myself staring at Aunt Aggie’s wedding picture. It was wedged into the opening of a canvas sack, a sack filled with packets of twenties. I’d found Tommy’s stolen money.

Sergei began to growl. Terrified of making my presence known, I blew out the kerosene lamp and held the dog quiet. I remained rigid, barely breathing, while he squirmed under my hold. I waited. The dog relaxed.

It seemed a lifetime, but it probably wasn’t more than five minutes before I felt confident enough to admit my nerves had got the better of me. No one was outside. Just an animal stepping on a branch.

I took it as a warning, grabbed the sack and the dog and headed towards the door, but I’d stepped only a few feet outside when I felt a sudden whoosh of air against my ear, followed by a soft thwack in the nearby tree. Then the gun explosion filled my head. I fell to the ground as another shot boomed through the trees.

Sergei barked frantically at a spot of brilliant yellow about a hundred yards to the right. My worst nightmare! I bolted towards the open door as another shot bit into the timber wall. I flung the sack over my shoulder, scrambled inside with the dog and slammed the door behind us.

But the gaps in the log walls told me I was no safer there. This place was a sieve. As if to prove my point, a shot exploded through a window and sent shards of glass in every direction. Another tore a hole in the fragile caulking. I lay flat against the floor and searched frantically for something solid to hide behind. Another shot slammed against the outside wall. I didn’t know whether to force him to come get me or surrender now before Sergei or I got shot.

Suddenly a crashing thud echoed through the walls, followed by what sounded like a man’s voice hissing “Damn!” He’d fallen, no doubt tripped on some slippery deadfall. I took my chance, grabbed the sack and ran, letting the dog run free. The door banged behind me.

I sped deeper into the sugar bush. I thought my chances would be greater lost in the clutter of trees than racing down the open trail in the direct line of a bullet. I scrambled through the underbrush, weaving in and out of the thick protective trunks.

I almost tripped over a hidden stump but caught myself in time. Several yards later, I stumbled over a large branch and collapsed. For long agonizing seconds, I lay on the wet ground, gasping for breath. Surprisingly, the dog wasn’t with me. Then I heard through the mist the sound of shuffling leaves coming in my direction. Praying it was Sergei, I pushed myself up and without a backward glance raced deeper into the sugar bush.

A solid wall of spears stopped me. I’d reached the beginning of a spruce forest. The weather-honed tips of the interlocking branches prevented me from going forward. I had to turn. The problem was, in which direction?

Until now, my only concern had been to get out of firing range. Now I had to decide where to go. I knew my best chance for escape was my truck parked in front of the cottage. But I had no idea in which direction it lay.

I stared back the way I’d come. Nothing moved in the mist, but the swish of leaves grew louder. In my gut, I knew it wasn’t Sergei. I tried to remember if I had heard a gunshot after I’d run, but couldn’t. While my heart wanted me to return to the shack for Sergei, logic told me I’d be crazy.

Branches snapped. Running feet pounded on the ground. A dark shape loomed. I turned and ran.

I raced over the uneven terrain along the edge of the spruce forest. Jumped over fallen debris. Scrambled over rocks. The pounding behind me grew louder. I expected at any moment to hear a rifle ring out.

A shape lunged towards me! He’d found me! The brown shape leapt across my path. I stopped. It continued on its course. It took me several quaking seconds to acknowledge what my eyes had told me. A deer. I paused to catch my breath.

I tensed as I caught the sound of metal against metal. Thwap! Boom! The branch beside me broke. This time he’d found me! I turned, unsure of where next. Through the tangle of dead branches, I saw a retreating white tail. The deer! It was following a track through the spruce forest. I crashed through the thin break in the black web of branches and raced after it.

I scrambled along the narrow path, through a deer-wide tunnel of broken branches. A pointed end reached out to stab me. I smashed it with my arm. Another took me by surprise and I felt the pain of a scratch on my cheek. I held the money sack in front for protection and used it like a battering ram.

I glanced down at my red jacket and cursed. It made a perfect target. I wrenched it off and threw it to the ground. I continued along the tunnel, skidding over moss-covered rocks and decaying needles, dodged jutting spears. I could see no further than the next web of branches. Soon I realized I was going downhill. I hoped this meant I was heading toward the familiar beaver swamp. Once at the swamp, I could find my way to safety.

I’d no sooner raised my hopes than the crash of breaking branches dashed them. I glanced backwards. No sign of him. The pounding on the ground, however, told me he was closing in. I picked up my pace.

I tripped and lay crumpled in a clearing of moss. Branches snapped. The thud of running feet closed in. My time had run out. I looked around in desperation. The massive remains of a downed, rotting tree stretched along one side of the clearing.

Suddenly it was quiet. He’d stopped. A flash of red through the branches told me he’d found my jacket. I inched slowly towards the fallen tree. The footsteps started up again, this time more slowly. I watched yellow legs move towards me.

I jumped up and over the deadfall. I landed at the bottom of a narrow trench concealed by a tangle of ferns and roots. I heard the sound of laboured breathing. I held my breath.

“Christ! Where is she?” came a hoarse whisper. The footsteps stopped. I sank further into the ditch. I didn’t dare look up. Something scrapped along the ground. Clunk! The rifle barrel rattled against a rock. A thump against the rotting trunk, which quadrupled the rate of my already racing heart. “She can’t be far from here!”

Suddenly a muffled crash sounded from the direction of the beaver swamp. My pursuer’s footsteps retreated towards the sound. But I kept my relief in check and remained in my hiding place, terrified he would return. A shot rang out, silence, and then another.