Murder at Lost Dog Lake (11 page)

Jeremy
paced up and down along the lakefront, throwing the occasional
pebble into the water. The scowl was back with a
vengeance.

Deep
male laughter and bright giggles announced the return of the
berry-pickers long before their canoe pulled into sight. Jeremy
wandered back up to camp, a failed attempt to appear casual and
nonchalant. But instead of pulling onto our little beach the canoe
kept on going and crossed the lake towards the far shore, swampy
and thick with lake grasses. Once there, Craig pulled out his
fishing rod and showed Barb the basics. He didn’t touch her, simply
demonstrated the proper technique of casting and reeling in the
hook before passing the rod over. She was having a great time,
which was far more than can be said for Jeremy. His scowl had
turned into a thundercloud, and too much sun couldn’t account for
the redness of his face.

Eventually the fishing fleet pulled up their rod and returned
to camp, empty handed. Jeremy was turning green before my very
eyes.

No one
else paid him any attention. Rachel was asleep, but as the sun had
moved and a clump of birch trees were now casting enough shade on
her recumbent body there was no need to wake her. Richard and Joe
continued to talk intently amongst themselves as they consulted the
binder propped up on Richard’s knees. Dianne filled up her
sketchpad.

Jeremy
met Barb and Craig as they pulled their canoe up onto the rocks.
The woman carried a plastic jar filled to the brim with bright red
raspberries and held them up for his approval with a huge
grin.

“
Took you bloody long enough,” Jeremy shouted, ignoring the
berries, hands on hips, and legs spread far apart.

“
Oh for heaven’s sake, back off, Jeremy.” Barb dragged the bow
of the canoe out of the water while Craig pushed the stern. “We
picked some berries. And then we went fishing. For all that it’s
any of your business. Which it isn’t, I might add.”

“
We just gathered raspberries, buddy.” Craig waded out of the
water and joined them on the rocky beach. “Any one could have come.
I didn’t see you volunteering.”

Jeremy
leapt forward and pushed Craig solidly in the chest. Our guide had
about five inches and maybe 60 pounds on the skinny, young
Englishman but the attack came as a surprise. He took an
involuntary step backward and slipped on a rock, crashing backwards
into the water.

Jeremy
kicked at Craig’s exposed side. He had to step calf-deep into the
lake to reach his imagined opponent so the force of the kick was
weakened considerably. Craig let loose a shout of anger, reached
out and grabbed Jeremy’s foot. He twisted the ankle and tipped the
English boy onto his back. Jeremy fell heavily with a grunt of real
pain. Within a second Craig had recovered his wits and leapt to his
feet. He stood over the boy who was now gasping for breath and
floundering in the shallow water.

Barb
screeched and threw her hands up to cover her eyes.

I waded
into the water and grabbed Craig by the arm. “Don’t.”

He shook
his big head and wiped his eyes, all the fight leaving him in a
flash. He threw a feeble smile in my direction and allowed me to
lead him to shore.

With
much splashing and grunting Jeremy struggled ineffectively to his
feet, his face still burning red as much from embarrassment as
anger.

Craig
held out a hand to offer Jeremy help getting out of the water, but
the gesture was ignored. He kicked furiously at a pile of kindling,
which I’d laid out neatly by the fire after finishing the dishes,
and without a word he stomped off into the woods. The sounds of
something heavy crashing through the undergrowth could be heard
long after he disappeared from sight.

Craig
shrugged and bent to gather up the scattered twigs and small
branches. Barb watched Jeremy’s exit but made no attempt to follow.
A self-satisfied little smirk turned up one corner of her mouth.
She saw me watching her and the expression disappeared to be
hastily replaced by a worried frown. She bustled over to Dianne and
asked to see what she was working on. The older woman held out her
sketchbook, and Barb settled down beside her to admire the
artwork.

Rachel
moved her towel out of the shade, applied more sunscreen, and tried
to get comfortable. Joe and Richard continued to pore over their
binder. So intent were they in whatever lay before them, they
hadn’t even noticed the short altercation.

The
remainder of the day passed without incident. Jeremy eventually
returned from the woods to disappear into his tent. Joe and Richard
finished their business and Joe took Rachel out for a canoe trip.
When they returned, dead leaves were clinging to the back of her
hair and his T-shirt was on inside out. Myself, I spent the rest of
the day lost in the wonders of Victorian London, emerging only
occasionally for a quick dip in the lake.

At one
point a group paddled by, four or five canoes with two instructors
and a troop of loud, raucous pre-teen boys. Their enthusiasm and
joy sounded across the lake, echoing off hills and rocks and trees.
I watched them go with an ache in my heart. In a few years my sons
would be about the age of these boys. I hoped they would get a
chance to enjoy the wilderness as much as this group seemed to. As
I had taught myself to do, I closed down my heart and shut my mind
to all that I’d lost and returned to my book.

Dinner
that night was pea soup: a thoroughly unpleasant shade of slime
green, full of lumpy peas and other unnamed blobs. It was the first
meal of the trip I hadn’t enjoyed whole-heartedly, and I merely
wiped at the edges of my soup bowl with the accompanying
bread.

Jeremy
appeared in time to receive a serving of dinner and plunked himself
down at the edge of the fire circle, speaking to no one. Barb took
her plate and went over to sit beside him. He perked up at that and
the scowl slowly left his face. They chatted together in quiet
tones, their soft English accents out of place in the remoteness of
the forest.

Dianne
proudly pulled a deck of cards out of her daypack and invited us
all to play. Jeremy declined with a grunt, but unfortunately for
him, Barb was keen to join the game and ignored his suggestion that
she accompany him on a late night swim.

“
Are you in, Rachel?” Dianne asked, shuffling the deck as if
she’d learned at the feet of a Las Vegas dealer.

Rachel
shrugged and sighed mightily, the despair of the world resting on
her thin shoulders. “Nothing else to do around here, is there?” She
moved into the circle.

“
You could always go for a long swim and not bother to come
back,” Dianne mumbled under her breath as she arranged the baking
sheet on top of the equipment pack to serve as a table. Only I was
close enough to hear.

It was
hard to think up a card game for seven people. I suggested “Up and
Down the River” and taught it to everyone. As the summer sun
disappeared into the lake and the warm darkness closed in, Craig
tossed more logs on the fire. We moved in closer to throw a bit of
light onto the cards in our hands.

Joe and
Richard played cards like I imagine they did everything: to win.
Unfortunately for them, my father taught me to play cards as I
drank my mother’s milk. Plus I have always been possessed by a
too-much-for-my-own-good dose of competition. Dianne, Barb and
Craig were soon out-classed and they settled back to step though
the motions. I cleaned up neatly and sat back with a smug smile on
my face. “Another round, everyone?”

One by
one they declined. Just as well; it was getting so dark we could
barely distinguish the faces of the cards, one from the
other.

The
little party broke up and we separated to get ready for the
night.

I was
strangely restless and found myself not wanting to go to bed. I sat
on the rocky beach in my oversized nightshirt (Go, Leafs Go! it
screamed) and watched as a canopy of stars ever so slowly punctured
the inky blackness of the sky. This far away from the city and the
lights of human habitation, the night sky was ablaze with stars.
The brightest of our celestial neighbors cast reflections into the
lake so that the waters themselves shimmered and glowed as if giant
diamonds rested below the surface.

I sighed
happily. I was glad I came. I would try to ignore my companions and
all their crazy feuds and jealousies and weird habits and just
enjoy myself in the peace of my beloved woods.

A
shooting star streaked across the night sky, followed almost
instantly by another, even brighter. I sighed in contentment.
Behind me a twig snapped, jerking me out of my revelry. I was half
way to my feet before I recognized Craig’s lumbering form. Like a
bear, he couldn’t move quietly if he wanted to.

“
Sorry to startle you, Leanne,” he mumbled, sinking to the
rocks beside me. “Nice night.”

“
Yes, it is. But I guess that they’re all nice, up
here.”

“
Some more than others.”

We sat
in comfortable silence for a long time. Overhead more shooting
stars crossed the heavens; from across the lake we could hear the
mournful cry of a loon.

“
They always sound so sad, the loons,” I said. “So
lonely.”

“
They are lonely,” Craig whispered, his voice raw with
passion. “They live most of their lives alone in their own family
groupings, but there are fewer and fewer of them all the time. The
more people, the less space for loons.”

“
We’ve seen lots of them over the past few days.”

“
Here, yes. In the park. But how many loons have you seen on,
say, Lake Muskoka?”

“
Not many.”

“
Loons verses Jet Skis. I wonder which will
survive.”

I stared
up at the stars and said nothing. His bulk moved. His arm rested
lightly on my shoulder. I patted Craig’s hand in what I intended to
be a suitably maternal gesture and shifted as far away as I could
politely get.

Craig
moved along with me. I was already half-overhanging my rock with
nowhere to go but down. So lightly that I almost could have been
imagining it, I felt Craig’s arm slip across my back and apply
gentle pressure. Without a thought, I leapt to my feet in a flurry
of arms and rash excuses.

“
It must be awfully late,” I babbled. “Time to turn in. Good
night, Craig,”

I dashed
into camp.

Behind
me I heard his soft voice, tinged with humor. “Good night, Leanne.
Sleep tight.”

Chapter 9

Day 6: Morning into Night.

The
night before, I’d promised myself to simply enjoy the trip and to
stay well out of everyone else’s business. But, like most
late-night resolutions, that one came to naught in the clear light
of the next day. As we carried all our equipment down to the
water’s edge and loaded up the canoes, I suggested to Barb that she
ride with me for a change.

She
gazed longingly at Craig. As there was no worry about sunburn, yet,
he hadn’t pulled on his shirt. It was loosely tied around his
shoulders, so that he displayed a chiseled chest, thickly matted
with a carpet of black hair. An enticing line of black curls ran
from his belly button downward, disappearing into the waistband of
his shorts, now falling low around his hips. He loaded the
equipment packs, working every hard muscle in his chest and arms.
Barb sighed with longing but her manners were far too good to
refuse my suggestion outright.

Jeremy
wasn’t happy at the prospect either, but I was long past caring
what the petulant Jeremy thought.

We
lifted our canoes carefully off the rocks and slipped them back
into their natural environment. We clambered in and were about to
get underway when Craig whispered sharply.

I looked
up to see a mother moose and her baby, high stepping and full of
grace, wading through the thicket of weeds at the water’s edge.
They tugged mouthfuls of thick plants out of the mud and munched
contentedly. We watched in silence. For no apparent reason but
interest the mother lifted her massive head and stared directly at
us. A thick length of waterweed hung from one side of her mouth.
Her deep brown eyes watched us steadily, until, tiring of the show,
she stepped out of the water leaving barely a ripple behind. The
baby followed, nose pressed closely to mother’s flank. A few silent
steps and they were gone.

Moose
are the most ungainly of creatures. Legs like matchsticks, so thin
you think they’d snap in an instant; all knobby knees and not much
else holding up enormous, heavy bodies. Yet they move through the
dry underbrush of the forest like dark ghosts, not a sound to mark
their passing.

“
Wow.” Rachel breathed into the silence. “That was really
something.” The spell broken, we pushed off into the
lake.

Unlike
Jeremy, whose pale English skin was turning pinker and pinker under
the summer sun, Barb’s peaches and cream complexion had gradually
taken on a fresh, light tan. A gentle sprinkling of freckles dotted
her nose and cheeks. She wore her hair twisted up at the back and
tucked into the ubiquitous Toronto souvenir: a Blue Jay’s baseball
cap. White teeth flashed against her tan as she handed back a
bottle of sunscreen. Canadian Backcountry Expeditions could have
used a picture of her, fresh and lovely and completely outdoorsy,
to advertise their trips. “This is such a great holiday,” she
sighed deeply when I returned the lotion. “Aren’t you having the
best time, Leanne?”