Murder at Lost Dog Lake (3 page)

The
peaceful silence of the northern woods settled back over the camp
as if it had never been disturbed. My nerves twitched and I whirled
around to find the young guide standing beside me. I didn’t hear
him coming, but suddenly he was there. He was a large man, looming
over me in the darkness. I took a step backwards.

“
What’s all the commotion?” I asked, my heart settling back
into my chest and my curiosity mounting.

He
looked at me carefully, deciding whether to talk or not. “Scott
took sick. They’ve taken him to the hospital.” His voice was deep
but melodious, soft and very attractive.

“
Is he going to be okay?”

“
Don’t know. But he won’t be taking any trip out tomorrow,
that’s for sure. Guess that leaves me, if Barry can’t find anyone
between now and tomorrow morning.” He held out a rough paw. “I’m
Craig. I’ll probably be on your trip. Hope that’s okay?”

“
Leanne.” I took his hand. “Fine by me.” It probably wouldn’t
be okay with Barb. She had seemed quite taken with the classically
handsome Scott.

“
I’m going back to bed now. Big day tomorrow.”

We said
our goodnights and I slipped into the lodge and made my way up the
stairs to my room. The little blonde had finally stopped trying to
wake the dead and I snuggled under the quilt.

My last
waking thought was of Scott and the look on Rita’s face as she bent
over her patient in the back seat of the car.

Chapter 3

Day 2. Early Morning

The
wake-up bell clanged much too enthusiastically, a rude disturbance
cutting into the lovely dream I was having of dining in a fancy
Toronto restaurant accompanied by some rich and fabulously handsome
movie star.

“
Bleedin’ ‘ell,” Barb mumbled from beneath the quilts, “It’s
not even morning yet.”

“
The sun is up,” I said.

“
Not me.”

“
Suit yourself.” I pulled the curtains open. Our room was on
the east side of the building, and sunlight flooded eagerly into
the room. Barb groaned in disgust and covered her head.

I
slipped down the hall to the communal bathroom. By the time I
returned, the grumbling girl was sitting up in bed, combing her
fingers through her long fair hair.

A light
knocking on our door and a woman’s voice whispered. “Breakfast in
fifteen minutes.”

A huge
meal consisting of freshly baked muffins, hot oatmeal, fruit,
scrambled eggs, bacon and sausages, was served buffet style around
the indoor fireplace which stood cold and empty, waiting for the
onset of winter.

When
we’d filled our plates, accompanied by brimming glasses of orange
juice and mugs of hot coffee, and taken a seat on the wooden
benches, a tired and ill-kempt Barry cleared his throat and moved
to stand in front of the empty fireplace.

“
Before we get ready for your departure, I have a bit of news.
Unfortunately, Scott, whom you met last night, won’t be able to
take your trip, as had been planned.”

Barb
groaned, while her companion, the skinny, pale English boy, grinned
ever so slightly.

“
What happened to him?” the older woman asked “I’ve used him
as a guide before, he’s very good.” Her voice was strong, as if she
was accustomed to being listened to.

“
He was taken ill, in the night.”

“
Not the water!” The pretty young woman with the fabulous red
hair, the one accompanying the older man, squeaked. I had caught
her name the night before, Rachel, but not his. “Did he drink the
water?”

“
Oh, no. Nothing like that.” Barry rushed to assure us. His
smile was tight and strained; he wiped his hands on the back of his
shorts. “A bit under the weather, that’s all.”

Most of
the group nodded and returned their attention to their breakfasts.
One guide was as good as another.

The
redhead mumbled to her companion and I caught the reference to “bad
water”. He hastened to assure her that she had nothing to worry
about.

Fortunately, Barry went on to explain, another of their
regular guides, Craig, was still here and he would be happy to take
over. The young man who’d stood with me last night watching the car
careen out of camp, stood and smiled shyly at the group, his
brimming breakfast plate held awkwardly in two huge
hands.

In the
daylight I got a better look at our new guide. He stood well over
six feet and was thickly muscled to match. A bushy black beard
covered the lower half of his face, but his youth showed in his
eyes, clear gray and still unlined. His mane of light brown hair
was his best feature. Shoulder length, it tangled in thick, wavy
masses around his head and down to his shoulders. He wore an
Ontario Parks T-shirt that stretched over the muscles of his chest
and arms, and a pair of loose drawstring shorts.

I tore
my eyes away before I managed to embarrass myself and returned to
my eggs.

“
When we’ve finished breakfast, I would suggest we gather
outside as it looks like it’s going to be another fabulous day, and
I can give you a few tips on what to expect on your trip,” Barry
said, clearly relieved at being able to return to more familiar
subjects.

Breakfast over, we filed out of the lodge. The whole front of
the building consisted of a wide and welcoming porch, overlooking
the sparkling waters of the lake beyond. Wooden Muskoka chairs,
polished to rich amber by the rubbing of countless bottoms, lined
the deck. A heavy table of interwoven wooden planks held pitchers
of juice and a platter of fresh fruit (not enough breakfast?) An
old dog dozed lightly in the sun, arthritic joints twitching as she
dreamt of past glories - chasing fast rabbits and cheeky
squirrels.

Barry
offered instructions on how to pack up and the rules of the trip.
If anyone was unsure of what to pack, he told us, bring it down to
the porch and one of the staff would be happy to give him or her a
hand.

Lecture
over, we went our separate ways to try and figure out how on earth
we could fit more than a week’s worth of clothes (with no laundry
facilities along the way) into one stuff sack. Eventually the feat
was accomplished and I managed to force my sleeping bag into its
sack on the fourth attempt. Flushed with success, I made my way
downstairs to see how the others were faring.

The
female half of the middle-aged couple leapt about the porch full of
enthusiasm and endless advice for us all on what to bring and what
could safely be left behind. She was tall and quite chubby in a
manner that before Heroin Chic and Kate Moss had been approvingly
called “plump”, and she seemed possessed, even at this early hour,
of boundless energy. She advised Craig on how to pack the cooking
equipment and foodstuffs, advice that I noticed he accepted with a
gentle smile and words of thanks and then proceeded to do it all
his own way once she turned her back and danced off to help someone
else.

“
You’ve been wilderness camping before, I would guess,” I said
as she bent over to retighten the drawstring of my sleeping bag’s
sack.

She
beamed at me. Her eyes were a strange but attractive shade of
brown, with plenty of gold mixed in, giving them a touch of the
mystery of cat’s eyes.

“
Many, many times. I have been coming up here for years. On
one trip or another. And do you know, this is the first time that I
have been able to drag my husband along with me.” She nodded in the
direction of the man I’d long ago guessed to be her better half.
“He’s always too busy, you know how it is.”

I
mumbled agreement.

“
Richard prefers to spend our summers at the cottage where he
can receive phone calls and use his computer to keep in touch with
the goings-on at the office.

“
I know we met last night, but I’m no good with names. I’m
Dianne. Dianne Blackwell, and that’s my husband Richard over there
in the red shorts and the hat, don’t you simply adore that hat!
Makes him look like Smokey the Bear.”

“
Uh, Leanne,” I squeezed in.

“
Would you believe it? After all these years, he suddenly
upped and said he would like to come along with me. And he brought
friends as well. Isn’t that great?”

Without
waiting for an answer she bustled off to help the little blonde
English girl who was having trouble forcing her sleeping bag into
it’s sack and had dragged everything outside, looking pitifully
lovely as she searched for aid.

She
received Dianne’s help, however, with some degree of ill grace. The
girl cast glances at Craig out of the corner of her eye and was
obviously hoping for assistance from that direction.

Despite
her air of country familiarity and cheerful attempts to act like a
true woodswoman it wasn’t hard to notice that Dianne’s hair was
expertly and expensively cut and colored, her Eddie Bauer clothes
were all new, her sandals brand-name Tevas, and her sleeping bag
top-of-the-line. The single diamond ring she wore on her left hand
would come in handy if we were lost and needed to signal a passing
aircraft.

In
contrast, the stunning redhead who I’d noticed the night before
sitting around the fire with a look of total boredom, was still
sitting around, this time on a Muskoka chair by the door of the
chalet, looking just as bored. She studied her long red fingernails
as her husband? boyfriend? companion? prattled endlessly trying to
encourage her into showing some interest in the
proceedings.

“
I don’t think you need these, do you Rachel, sweetie,” he
implored, holding up a demure little pair of Winnie the Pooh
shortie pajamas.

Her
husband, I struggled for his name, had earlier walked up the beach
with Richard Blackwell, supposedly to inspect the canoes. In his
absence, Rachel had carried down her suitcases in their entirety,
not even bothering to sort things out for packing into stuff sacks.
Then she placed the bags on the porch and tapped her brilliantly
painted toes impatiently, waiting for someone to load
them.

She
looked up from her nails. “I guess not,” she sighed. She really was
quite beautiful, a perfect size four with long red hair, immaculate
makeup, flawlessly groomed nails. I made a bet with myself on how
long the nails would last and slapped my mental money down: gone by
the first portage. The neatly painted toes were wrapped in a tiny
pair of gold sandals secured by one thin strap. Her outfit would
have been perfect for a cruise in the Mediterranean, but it didn’t
look too likely to stand up to a week in the Ontario
bush.

Craig
eyed her with trepidation. Lovely as she was, she would be a
handful. She noticed his glances and ran her hands through her red
hair and sat up slightly straighter, the better to show off her
chest, I guess. He scowled and looked away.

Rachel’s
companion continued pulling stuff out of her suitcase and holding
it up for her inspection. I left them arguing over footwear and
wandered off to take some photos of the lodge and
environs.

The
English boy, Jeremy, stood about, looking awkward and quite out of
place with his pale skin, button-down, short-sleeved shirt, too
tight shorts and black socks pulled up to bony, white calves. His
pack was neatly prepared and resting at his feet. Jerky little eyes
watched Barb’s every move.

Unlikely
as it seemed, eventually it was all sorted out. Rachel had been
persuaded to trade the dainty gold sandals for a pair of thick
socks and hiking boots and Craig called us all together to carry
equipment down to the lake.

Dianne
picked up the heaviest of the packs, flung it on her back and
marched down the hill. I bent to do likewise and found myself
unable to even lift the thing, much less toss it casually across my
shoulder. With a chuckle Craig picked up the pack, rested it on my
back and showed me how to slip my arms through the straps. I
staggered for several steps until I decided that the indignity of
falling on my back with my arms and legs in the air like a trapped
turtle would be too much for my feeble pride. I steadied my burden
and followed Dianne.

We
gathered at the lakefront and selected four yellow canoes to serve
as transportation. Craig supervised storing the packs into the
boats and helped us to choose lifejackets and paddles. He folded
out his map to show the proposed route, where we would stop for
lunch, and where we would spend the first night. The rest of the
trip he filled in with “if you want to” and “what everyone
decides.” Dianne had plenty of suggestions, but I knew we would do
exactly as Craig suggested. Rachel stared out over the lake, paying
no attention at all to the map or the selection of
route.

Then, at
long last, we were off into a beautiful day. Postcard perfect,
featuring a bold blue sky, bright sunshine, azure water, and a
gentle sprinkling of fluffy white clouds. The sun sparkling off the
lake was dazzling. I stopped paddling for a moment to take a deep
breath and sigh with contentment. Truly Heaven on Earth.

I had
been paired with Dianne, I don’t really know why. She had leapt
into the first canoe, assumed her position in the stern, or the
back, and shouted “Leanne, you can ride with me.” I saw no reason
not to, so I clambered into the bow. We were off before my bottom
touched the seat. She was a strong paddler and at first I had to
work to keep up. But before long, some faint remembrance of canoe
trips past floated to the surface and I fell into a regular,
natural stroke. Our canoe cut through the water like we were born
to it.