Murder at Lost Dog Lake (23 page)

Rachel
had stopped the gulping laughter and she and Joe were standing like
statues under the tarp watching. Mouths gaping open in matching
expressions of shock, Jeremy and Barb stared at Craig as if he were
some sort of creature they had never seen before, and certainly
hoped never to see again.

I shoot
my head and struggled back to my feet to face him. As wet,
miserable, confused and frightened as I was, my valuable police
training came through again. Inside, I was trembling like a
butterfly caught in a tornado, but on the exterior I remained as
cool and calm as one can be. Casually I shifted my body into a
non-aggressive, but ready for anything, stance, bouncing invisibly
on my toes. Craig was a lot bigger and a great deal stronger and a
good bit younger than me, but I hoped that if it came to a fight I
was the better trained and the one with the most
self-possession.

Fortunately it didn’t come to that. With another tirade of
curses, and more mumbling about “useless rich bitches”, he turned
his back and climbed up the hill to disappear into the woods. His
purple raincoat bobbed once against the bruised and angry sky and
disappeared.

I
exhaled a sigh of relief. My hands fell to my sides as the tension
flowed in great waves out of my body.

“
What on God’s green earth was all that about?” Dianne
whispered.

“
Worries about the storm and Richard’s death and all that has
happened must really be getting to him. He’s responsible for all of
us, remember.” I said, not really believing it.

“
Well, I think he’s one serious loony.” Barb said. “I wouldn’t
want to get on his bad side.”

Jeremy
muttered in agreement.

“
I’m going to make coffee,” Barb said. “Anyone want
some?”

Dianne
and I looked at each other. “Were you going to fight him, Leanne?”
she asked.

“
It wouldn’t have come to that. But if I had to, I could,” I
said with a confidence I didn’t feel.

“
I’m sure you could at that.” And she went to help with the
coffee.

I peered
out over the water, straining my eyes for the slightest glimmer of
light or even a thinning of the clouds. The rain seemed to have
died down a bit, maybe it was my imagination, but I grabbed at the
little touch of hope. Now I was seriously worried. I didn’t mind
Craig’s little temper tantrum, much. He did have a lot of
responsibility, nothing less than our lives in fact, and this had
been a difficult trip even before the storm hit. He probably took
the death of Richard as a personal failure. I doubt that any of the
other guides at CBE had lost a client before.

I wasn’t
concerned about Craig in particular. No doubt he would be back soon
and we would all pretend that nothing had happened. But tempers
were getting extremely short and if we didn’t get away from here
soon it wouldn’t be much longer before someone really went off the
deep end. Richard’s killer must be getting desperate to be on the
move. Whoever that person was, he or she would be cursing their
luck, trapped on a little spit of land in the middle of nowhere in
the worst storm in Ontario’s memory.

Barb
carried a mug of steaming coffee down to me. I sipped it gratefully
and felt the welcome warmth spread through my body.

“
This is great. Thank you.”

“
As long as we have coffee, we can survive anything.” Dianne
followed, clutching her own cup.

I smiled
at her. “My sentiments exactly.”

“
What are we going to do now?” Barb asked. “Are we trapped
here? With just two canoes?”

“
No,” I said. “We can still send someone for help when the
storm is over. We couldn’t leave Richard here alone
anyway.”

“
I’m beginning to wonder if this storm will ever end,” Barb
said. “Maybe it’s the end of the world. Like in the bible or
something.”

“
Don’t be stupid,” Dianne snapped at her. “It’s a storm like
any other. No storm lasts forever, this is just a particularly big
one. Happens all the time.”

Barb
might have believed her, but Dianne caught my eye and we exchanged
glances. We had never known a storm to last this long and with this
intensity.

I
finished my coffee. “I’d better go and see if I have anything
approaching dry clothes.” I didn’t know cloth could get so wet. If
the elements, or the murderer, didn’t get us, pneumonia was certain
to.

Chapter 19

Day 10: Afternoon.

I made a
feeble attempt at cleaning myself up. Even amongst all this mess,
someone had had the presence of mind to hang the solar shower to a
nail already fastened into place on the side of a jack pine. It
felt wonderful to scrub my face with a bit of soap and brush my
teeth as I tried to force a little life back into my tired, sore
and wet body. I managed to make only my face and my teeth feel
better but that helped, a little bit. I had returned Rachel’s
raincoat and decided that I couldn’t bear to put mine back on,
whether because it was too wet or I was too squeamish I didn’t
spend any time contemplating. So I was wet, almost beyond wet. And
very, very cold. I wondered if I would ever be warm and dry
again.

To my
overwhelming joy I found one pair of dry socks lying forgotten in
the bottom of my pack. I wiggled my toes in ecstasy as I sort-of
dried my feet on my sweater and pulled up the soft, thick wool.
Fortunately I had been wearing sandals for the last several days so
my hiking boots were still in fairly good condition. I vowed to
walk around camp on my hands if that was what it took to keep my
feet dry.

Another
miserable day passed. Although we seemed to be all alone in the
world, surrounded by cosmic forces spinning an endless cocoon of
gray sky, rain, mud, thunder and lightening, I forced myself to
remember that we weren’t really alone. All around us, throughout
the park, there must be dozens, hundreds maybe, of groups trapped
in the storm. The Algonquin Park Rangers and the Ontario Provincial
Police would be out in force the second the weather permitted,
searching for lost campers and stranded canoeists.

Ever the
optimist, as we sat around the almost-lifeless fire sucking what
comfort we could from bottomless cups of thick coffee, I mentioned
to Barb that perhaps it was even a good thing that the storm was
lasting so long. It would give the authorities plenty of time to
organize a thorough search of the park.

She
brightened up a bit at the thought, but the practical Joe soon shot
us down. “There will be so much trouble on the roads and in the
lakes at the entrance to the park, they’ll never get to
us.”

“
Do you maybe wonder if there is anyone else out there at
all?” Rachel whispered huskily.

“
What do you mean?” Barb asked.

“
I mean, like this storm is so unusual maybe the whole rest of
the world has ceased to exist or something. Maybe there are just a
few groups of people left, clinging to rocks in the North. Waiting
for the end.”

“
Oh, shut up.” Dianne jumped to her feet, coffee splashing
everywhere. “You people are talking crazy. My world has ended, and
there it is up there.” She waved one arm at the solitary rock and
its lone occupant. “So I don’t think you have all too much reason
to talk about ‘the end of the world,’ Madam.” Speech over, she sat
down with a thump and a huff.

Rachel
had the grace to look sheepish and apologize under her breath.
“Sorry.”

Breakfast had been largely forgotten what with the shock of
the missing canoes and Craig’s abrupt departure, but eventually
hunger pangs and boredom forced me to the food pack in search of
sustenance. I managed to find most of a loaf of bread and a jar
still more than half-full of peanut butter and set about making
crude sandwiches and more coffee.

Joe
organized the others to gather several large but thin flat rocks,
and make a bit of a path through the mud. From the equipment to the
fire pit, from the fire pit to the tents. So at least we could get
around without sinking into more mud and splashing through
puddles.

We
munched our sandwiches in what passed for some feeble degree of
contentment. At least our stomachs were happy, for the time
being.

The food
sack was approaching empty. We couldn’t last here much longer. Our
bodies might be able to manage without food for a few more days,
but our tempters wouldn’t.

Unannounced, Craig stood in front of the fire pit. His thick,
curly hair was matted tightly to his head, his beard dripped water,
and his purple raincoat was so wet that it was almost liquid. His
legs were coated with mud up to the knees and beyond and covered
with scratches, thick and thin.

“
Any more of those sandwiches?” he asked.

We
shouted out greetings and shuffled over to clear a seat for him on
the log. Rachel waved the large cooking knife and prepared a thick
slab of crunchy peanut butter on brown bread.

I looked
around the little group and marveled once again that one of us was
a murderer. I tried to look through their eyes, into their hearts,
but no one betrayed any signs of guilt or of repentance.

Rachel
had given in to the inevitable and let the last of the makeup wash
off her face. Her yellow T-shirt and khaki shorts were reasonably
fresh. The woman looked better groomed lost in the bush than I did
relaxing in my own back yard. Joe tried to smile at her now and
again, but she lifted her pointed chin and ignored him.

Could
she have killed Richard? Hard to imagine. She had no motive, other
than to protect Joe, which I had earlier thought her capable of
doing. But her anger at him now was so intense I had to wonder if
her feelings ran deep at all.

Much
better for her if they didn’t. He was approaching abusive on a few
occasions, and if this was how he behaved amongst business
colleagues and strangers I hated to think what the man was like at
home.

Joe
liked to be in charge (but then again, so did I, guess you can’t
hang the man for that) and he was uncomfortable out here where
things were well beyond his control. Not even a cell-phone to come
to his aid. Lines of tension were carved around his mouth and
beneath his eyes. He was expending a lot of energy to keep himself
under control in the face of Rachel’s rebuff. Oh, yes. He would
have killed Richard in a second, if he thought he had to, but I
couldn’t think of a motive. Unless he mistook Richard for Dianne.
And in that there was the money motive.

Dianne
seemed to be genuinely suffering, but that has never been a
defense. She could be pretending, acting the part of the
grief-stricken widow. But even if her feelings were genuine, I well
knew that plenty of criminals convince themselves with no effort at
all, that they had no choice but to do what seemed necessary.
Murder didn’t seem to be Dianne’s style. She must have a stable of
lawyers at her beck and call. Death by litigation would be more up
her alley.

Craig
was angry at the world. Maybe he had a few bad breaks in his young
life, but didn’t we all? I watched Dianne twist the diamond on her
finger, and reconsidered. Most of us had some degree of bad luck,
anyway. And Craig had one heck of a temper; we all saw that, on
more than one occasion. But a lot of people have nasty tempers and
they don’t go around killing people. At least most of them
don’t.

Jeremy.
A possibility. Unlike Rachel and Joe, he and Barb seemed to be
getting on a lot better since our arrival at Lost Dog Lake.
Something to do with shared danger and hardship, I guess. She even
smiled at him now and again and touched his arm lightly when they
talked. He lapped it up like a kitten at a puddle of spilled cream.
I could see Jeremy being angry enough with Craig to take a swipe at
him, and getting the wrong person in the confusion.

But I
couldn’t see Jeremy keeping it hidden for so long. He was
impulsive; he wouldn’t be able to keep that sort of a secret inside
him for long. But, really, what did I know. He could be the most
feared axe murderer in England, or a fabulously successful
day-trader, for all I knew.

I
reminded myself once again that speculation was futile, but my
money was still on the English boy and I would keep a bit of an eye
on him.

Chapter 20

Day 11: Before Dawn.

I dreamt
that it was not raining. In my dream the sky offered up no bolts of
lightening or flashes of thunder. The steady pitter-patter of rain
being shaken out of sodden tree branches sounded on the roof of the
tent, but the louder and more determined fall of moisture straight
from the sky had stopped.

I didn’t
believe it. We had been fooled before. Tricked. The storm died down
overnight when we were too sleepy to react and then returned with
all of its fury once we optimistically crawled out of our tents to
face the day.

Maybe I
wasn’t dreaming. I strained my ears, daring to hope. The wind was
gone for sure; there had been no thunder for quite some time, and
the endless rain had stopped.