LITMIR.BIZ

      As I drove away, I felt more confusion than anger. Despite Tommy’s non-answers, I was fairly certain he had hidden Marie away in a safe place deep within the bush, well out of reach of police searchlights and sniffing dogs.

      But was running in her best interests? If she had killed Louis, she had had every right. A good lawyer—and I’d make sure she had one—should be able to successfully argue self-defense. In fact I was surprised Tommy, fresh out of law school, hadn’t thought of this. Surely it would be better for her to go through the short-lived agony of a trial than to be on the run for the rest of her life.

      Tommy had definitely made it clear that it had nothing to do with me. As far as he was concerned, my only role was to keep my mouth shut. As much as I disliked the position to which I was relegated, it was probably for the best. Better to let Tommy and his people look out for Marie. They knew what they were doing. I didn’t.

      I turned into my driveway and thought about Louis being the guy in yellow. It didn’t compute. Although I might not have been all smiles towards him, it was hardly a reason to attack me. And I agreed with Tommy, he wasn’t the kind of guy CanacGold would hire to protect their interests. Besides, it looked as if Charlie had taken on that job.

      Unless the attack was related to the crosses. When Marie had feared that the men from the planes would anger the ancestors, I’d assumed she meant Anishinabeg ancestors in general. Now with Tommy’s angry reaction to my question I was wondering if Two Face Sky and Summer Wind weren’t in fact her relatives. Maybe Louis was only trying to prevent me from disturbing sacred ground. But what a way to do it. A simple yell would’ve worked just as well.

      The smaller footprints I’d seen on the beach could have been made by someone Marie’s size. Though I doubted short, wiry Louis had made the other much larger tracks. They were more Tommy’s size. But he was away when those footprints were left in the sand. At least, that’s what he’d told me.

      I was so caught up in my thoughts that I failed to notice the car parked in my driveway until I found myself swerving to avoid its gleaming bumper. A newly minted black Porsche, the kind of car that shouldn’t be driven within a hundred miles of these dirt roads.

      NINETEEN

      I puzzled over the identity of my visitor until I saw the all too familiar oil painting propped against the bottom verandah stair. Gareth. He was here. A day early. My stomach lurched. I had half a mind to drive away and return in a couple of hours when I was sure, given his low patience threshold, that he would be gone.

      Before I had a chance to decide, Gareth stepped down from the verandah. He sauntered towards me, his brown eyes alert, his cinnamon hair marred by only a few streaks of grey. The weight he’d put on from too many client lunches had been shed. His body had returned to the firm slimness of his youth. He looked good, too good. Something deep inside me twisted.

      “Oh, hell,” I muttered to myself.

      He stopped several metres away and gave me one of those smiles that used to make my knees weak.

      “Megs, it’s great to see you,” he said.

      Determined to end this quickly, I ignored his opening words and said, “Thanks for the painting. I appreciate you coming all this way, but I think it best if you get back into your car and leave.”

      “Please Megs, can’t we at least spend a few minutes together,” he said, “for old times sake.” He made no attempt to move closer, as if sensing that one step nearer could very well send me fleeing back to the safety of my truck.

      “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

      He ran his fingers through his wavy hair. “Sure you want it this way?”

      I could hear Sergei barking in the house and wondered what would happen if I let him out. During the short time Sergei and Gareth had lived together in Toronto, the two of them had waged a war. From the moment I brought the squirming ball of black fluff home to our condo, Gareth had refused to have anything to do with him. In fact, Sergei had been the cause of several arguments, most notably the time I caught Gareth kicking him after Sergei, full of puppy excitement, had peed on his dress pants. Perhaps I could use the dog as further incentive in getting Gareth to leave.

      A sudden gust of wind ruffled Gareth’s hair and loosened a shower of pine needles from the branches high above. Several landed on his designer sports jacket and in his hair. He flicked one or two off but didn’t bother with the rest.

      “We had so many good times together,” he said. “Surely you can’t pretend they never happened.”

      My heart thumped at the kaleidoscope of memories that came flooding in with his words. I tried to thrust them back. “It’s too late.”

      He looked at me with the kind of longing I’d not seen since our early years together. “Okay,” he said. “I’m sorry you feel this way, but I’ll accept your decision.”

      I felt my eyebrows rise in surprise with his last words. This was out of character. Gareth did not admit defeat so easily, especially to me. I searched for the sarcasm that would invariably lurk behind his eyes and saw none. Maybe our last terrifying argument had

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