Murder at Lost Dog Lake (19 page)

Dianne.
For the police, the next of kin is always the most likely suspect,
unfortunately for good reason, but I couldn’t see that Dianne had
much of a motive for killing Richard. Follow the money was another
one of our credos and in this case it appeared to be she who had
the money. As I had learned from bits of conversation overheard,
financially Dianne stood to gain nothing by Richard’s death
(unless, of course, there was more to their relationship than I had
been able to gather). She was threatening to cut him off, not the
other way around.

Which
line of thinking brought me, of course, to Joe, who appeared to
have a lot to gain or lose from the dynamics of Richard’s marriage
to Dianne. Although, once again, I could not figure out how
Richard’s death would do Joe any good at all. Dianne would give
him, quite simply, nothing. Rather, once again judging by what I
had overheard, Joe had much to lose and nothing to gain by the
death of Richard. It was Dianne who the threat to the survival of
their business.

Barb?
Not a possibility as far as I could tell. Even if Richard attempted
to besmirch her honor (did any of us have any in this day and age?
Did we want any? I don’t think so, and a good thing too), she
didn’t seem the type to creep up on him with murder on her mind,
rather she would scream and howl and make sure we all knew
precisely what was going on.

Rachel?
Again, no reason came to mind of why Rachel, with the body of a pop
star, a mind like a steel trap, and the pretences of an air-headed
bimbo, would want him dead. The opposite would appear to be the
case: Joe’s business needed Richard. But there could be insurance
issues. Maybe Joe did stand to win with the death of
Richard.

Like
Barb, if Richard offered Rachel some sort of insult, she would more
likely laugh out loud than sneak up on him from behind to avenge
her honor.

Craig
didn’t like Richard much, that was obvious. Craig may have felt
that Richard was impugning his authority a bit (the old moose stags
at the rut routine one more tedious time). But such was scarcely
motive for a dark and silent murder. In humans, as in nature, the
rutting stags loved nothing more than to make a flamboyant display
to all assembled to demonstrate their supposed
superiority.

Jeremy?
He was an obnoxious, pig-headed boy, eaten up by jealousy because
of Barb’s interest in Craig. I would have more expected Jeremy to
murder Craig over Barb, but not Richard. He didn’t seem to have
paid any attention to Richard at all.

So far I
had not a single motive for the murder of poor old
Richard.

I had
thoroughly disliked the guy and now I was thinking fondly of the
dearly departed, wrapped up all nice and dry in his comfy sleeping
bag, nothing but the best in all weather technology, while I lay
here, cold, hungry and still slightly damp. I wondered how my
raincoat was faring, hiding in the rocks.

The
raincoat. My eyes flew open with the realization of what that
meant. We all, except for Craig, owned almost identical raincoats.
Bright yellow, total waterproofing. We laughed about it, back at
the lodge, how we had all bought nearly identical yellow
raincoats.

Is it
possible? I sat up in a flurry of excitement. Maybe the killer
wasn’t after Richard after all. Maybe he (or she, never forget,
she) saw the yellow raincoat, assumed it was his or her enemy and
struck blindly. Maybe Richard really was struck down in mistake for
someone else. What a hopeless, sad way to go.

That
thought opened up a huge range of possibilities. If anyone in this
group thought the yellow mac was someone else? The possibilities
were almost limitless. Even me? Was one of them after
me?

What on
earth for? Jealously of my sagging boobs and
starting-to-protrude-no-matter-how-much-of-the-gym-I-did stomach?
Lust for the self-same attributes? Maybe someone is after my
fortune in a two-person P.I. agency and a dingy urban townhouse in
a not very good area. I don’t think so. Better chances that they
are in pursuit of a bat in hell.

I dozed
again.

Like
some sort of mischievous elf, the night teased us with the promise
of relief from the storm, but morning returned full of nothing but
rain and wind and more rain and wind and still more rain and
wind.

I awoke
with a feeling of heavy dread as water fell in torrents once more
across the roof of the tent.

When I
finally struggled into consciousness, most of the others were up
and greeting the day with moans, sighs and grumbles. Dianne wept
gently, lying in her sleeping bag, face turned to the tent
wall.

I pulled
my wet shorts and sweatshirt out of my pack and dragged them on
over my protesting body. The fabric was cold and clammy; definitely
not the best start to what could only be a horrid day.

Crawling
across Joe, I reached Dianne and patted her arm
ineffectively.

She
flipped over and stared at me with red, swollen, pain-filled eyes.
“Oh, Leanne. I loved him so much.” Behind me I could hear Joe
scuttle for the entrance. Nothing quite like a display of female
emotion to have a man running for safety.

I lay
down beside Dianne and hugged her tightly. “I know, dear, I know.”
Of course, I didn’t know at all, but it seemed the appropriate
thing to say. And she wasn’t my ‘dear’ by any stretch of the
imagination. We slip into platitudes with such ease.

“
I was so rude to him on this trip. Plain rude. And now I’ll
never be able to tell him how much I loved him. I would have done
anything for him, absolutely anything.” Confession over, she burst
into another deluge of tears. I continued, simply, to hug. We lay
there for a long time, as my right arm grew numb, and Dianne cried
in heavy, gut wrenching gulps.

The
torrent of rain hitting the tent lightened up and then, to my
delight, it ceased altogether.

The rain
and the tears stopped at almost the same moment, and the sobs
turned into dry hiccups. Dianne wiped at her eyes and nose with a
towel and began to mumble an apology.

“
You stay in here as long as you want,” I told her, guiltily
glad to pull my arms back and clamber to my knees. “We’ll leave you
alone for a little while. I’ll go and see what Craig’s plans are
for getting out of here. You call me if you need me.”

“
Okay.”

What
remained of our group sat huddled around the propane stove. A pot
of water was reaching the boil, and Craig clutched the coffee tin
in his hands. He poured a ration of grounds into the pot as Barb
laid out cups and spoons, sugar and dried milk. I could have kissed
her. Once the water was at a full boil, Craig took the pot off the
heat and placed it to one side to let the coffee grounds settle.
Eagerly we held out our plastic cups like shipwrecked sailors
waiting for the daily water ration.

I gulped
the dark liquid. At least it was hot, if not very good. A burning
throat was almost worth it as the welcome heat spread through my
miserable, damp body.

“
What a joy.” Rachel expressed my thoughts perfectly. She had
actually managed to apply a little eye makeup and lipstick. Some
women’s need to keep their own, natural face hidden never fails to
surprise me.

Coffee
distributed, Craig placed another pot of water on the stove and
measured out oatmeal.

“
What’s the plan, Craig?” Joe asked.

“
Plan?”

“
For getting out of here, you fool. You might be happy to sit
around the fire like a new-age hippie, but for the rest of us, this
holiday is over and we want to get the hell out of
here.”

“
I am well aware that the trip is over, Joe.” Craig’s handsome
face was lined and drawn, deep bags had settled under his eyes and
I would swear those gray hairs in his beard weren’t there
yesterday. “But thanks for reminding me anyway.”

“
Cut the sarcasm, guide-boy. Just get us back to the
road.”

I braced
myself for Craig’s response to the insult. But he only shrugged his
shoulders and added oatmeal to the still-cold water.

“
I don’t think we’re going anywhere today.”

The
circle erupted into a babble of shouts and protests. Even Dianne
stumbled out of her tent, wiping her face on a towel and demanding
to know what was going on.

“
Quiet down.” I managed to make myself heard above the din.
Nothing like the voice of authority, even from one who doesn’t have
any.

“
Fill us in, please, Craig,” I asked pleasantly. “It has
stopped raining, we do have an emergency situation here, and we
would all agree that it is time to return to the lodge.
Right?”

“
Wrong.” Craig pointed over his shoulder. The lake was still
dark and troubled but at least the rain was holding off. Always the
optimist, I assured myself that the sky was lightening, just a
teeny bit.

But
Craig had seen more. A shimmering silver curtain, a solid wall of
rain, advanced towards us. Thick, black clouds accompanied it like
outriders before the main army.

“
That front will hit in a few minutes. I don’t mind the rain
too much, but I won’t venture out on the lake with that
wind.”

“
But the wind is behind us, right?” Barb offered. “It’s coming
this way, so that means that when we get to the other lake, it will
be at our backs. That’s a good thing, right?”

“
Right,” Craig agreed. “Normally. But this isn’t normal
weather. That wind can shift in a heartbeat. If it turns on us we
would be swamped.”

“
Well, I’m willing to take that chance.” Jeremy was on his
feet. “We should have left yesterday, like I wanted to. We would be
safe by now.”

“
We’d be at the bottom of the lake by now.” Craig stirred the
oatmeal with thoughtful, careful strokes. This would be one creamy
batch of cereal.

“
Let’s go, Craig, please.” Rachel was almost pleading. “We
can’t stay here.”

Craig
stopped stirring and looked at us, all in turn. “We can’t go onto
the water in this weather,” he said firmly. “Now, it can’t last
forever. As soon as the storm breaks, I’ll take Leanne and head
back to the main lakes. If we’re lucky we can meet up with a ranger
or a group with a couple of leaders and someone can go for
help.”

They all
looked at me. I smiled back, unsure of why I was suddenly the
chosen one.

They
were close to breaking into an all out fight. Joe and Jeremy looked
like they were about to take Craig on and Barb was wavering between
choosing sides. Only Rachel and I were prepared to take the guide’s
advice. Yesterday’s responsibility of setting up camp over, Dianne
had sunk onto a log, ignored us, retreated back into herself, and
wept silently into her towel.

Joe
advanced toward the canoes, Jeremy seconds behind him. Craig held
the oatmeal spoon high (not quite the strangest weapon I have ever
seen, but getting there).

Jagged
and angry, a bolt of lightening flashed through the night-dark sky,
an ancient god hurling bolts of fire down from above. In the same
heartbeat a crack of thunder had us all gasping in shock. Rachel
screamed and fairly leapt into the air. The skies opened like a
faucet turned to “ON”.

Joe and
Jeremy were drenched in seconds; they turned pale and stopped in
their tracks. Meekly the two rebels returned to the circle,
attempting to look as if that was part of the plan all along. Craig
dipped his spoon back into the pot, stirred some more and casually
announced that breakfast was ready.

Chapter 16

Day 9: Afternoon

The rest
of the day passed in a blur of wet misery. I was torn between the
feeling that I should be keeping an eye on all the suspects and the
overwhelming desire to retreat into my own little shell. For a
while I shut myself in the tent, attempting to return to the world
of Victorian London where tendrils of fog wrapped itself around
gaslights and murders were committed by scoundrels with evil eyes,
black capes and twirling moustaches. I doubt I managed five pages
in an hour and kept getting up to step outside and check the
sky.

We were
visited several times by a family of happy ducks. The children
poked enthusiastically around the campsite, while mother and father
paddled nearby, beaming proudly. Barb and Rachel were so happy for
the diversion that they scattered a goodly portion of our remaining
loaf of bread for the visitors. Huddling under the tarp, they
tossed their offerings into the winds. Ducks scrambled up over the
rocks and dove for the feast.

We had
been told at the beginning of the trip not to feed the wildlife. It
gets them used to coming around the campsites, makes them dependent
on people and then they have trouble fending for themselves. All
that wise stuff.

But
right now it gave us something to do. And it was nice to watch them
waddling and diving and fighting amongst themselves for the
offerings. At last, stuffed to the gills and thoroughly enjoying
the weather, the family sailed off without so much as a backward
glance of thank-you.