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Meg Harris Mysteries 5-Book Bundle. R.J. Harlick
Читать онлайн.Название Meg Harris Mysteries 5-Book Bundle
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9781459722712
Автор произведения R.J. Harlick
Жанр Ужасы и Мистика
Серия A Meg Harris Mystery
Издательство Ingram
From under the shack emerged Sergei’s black hind quarters, his tail wagging vigorously. As I approached, he backed out, shook the dirt from his fur, emitted one shrill bark then resumed digging. Praying it wasn’t a skunk he’d found, I hurried past and started the slow weaving climb up the steep hill to the Lookout.
“Gareth is gone. Gareth is gone,” I vowed with every step. From this point onwards, Gareth was out of my life, never to return. And as I hiked up the hill, the anger gradually dissipated, leaving in its wake a sense of peace. I said the word “Gareth” and felt nothing. I felt the tension flow from my shoulders, down my arms and out my fingertips. This time he was gone, forever.
I breathed in deeply the fresh forest smell and stopped to listen to the honking of geese flying overhead. Around the next bend, I found myself staring into startled brown eyes, then with a flash of its white tail, a deer disappeared through a wall of gold.
I continued walking. This time I kicked the leaves in play, not in anger.
I reached the smooth granite knoll of the Lookout feeling invigorated and not out of breath, as was my usual state after climbing the hill. I perched atop Aunt Aggie’s rickety bench. Two feet away, the granite plunged a hundred feet to the vibrant canopy of the maples below. Through gaps left by fallen leaves, I could see rusty sections of the remaining sugar shack’s roof.
I reached down to pick up a piece of birch bark wedged in a crack and discovered instead a cigarette butt. I started to get annoyed at the thought of trespassers but decided there was no harm in others taking advantage of this unique view. I hoped it was the same person I’d spied from Eric’s boat the day we went to Whispers Island. I didn’t want too many people invading my private retreat.
I held out my arms and embraced the magnificent unfettered view of my world, a world that would never contain Gareth. I breathed the crisp clear air, air that would never smell of Gareth. The sparkling waters of Echo Lake winked back at me as if to say “I’m with you, gal.” Even Three Deer Point seemed to be passing opinion on Gareth with its long fingerlike point.
The lake was surprisingly busy for so late in the afternoon. Several boats were speeding towards Forgotten Bay Fishing Camp, while others were racing away. I could just see the tip of the camp’s dock, where an unusually large crowd congregated. I assumed it was a large fishing party getting ready for some dusk time trawling. But sporadic flashes through the trees of something large and red moving towards the Camp made me wonder if something else wasn’t going on.
When I looked out towards Whispers Island and saw a line of boats cluttering the northern spit, I wondered if this activity didn’t have something to do with CanacGold. A thought re-enforced by the frequent bursts of light coming from the island’s backbone, where we’d discovered CanacGold’s mining claim.
It also made me wonder if this wasn’t the real reason behind Gareth’s visit. For when Charlie had suddenly appeared on my doorstep, it had taken me less than a second to jump to the obvious conclusion. Gareth’s new employer was CanacGold.
But why would a mining company hire Gareth? He was a criminal lawyer. The only thing he knew about gold was how to buy it; gold cufflinks, gold bracelet, even a gold Rolex watch, all in the interests of looking successful. Unless CanacGold’s only requirement for a lawyer was sleaze, of which Gareth had plenty.
Still, it didn’t answer the question of why Gareth wanted my land. Or should I really say CanacGold? Was it possible there was gold on my land too? Was I Gareth’s special project? Get me to sell my land, and he got the big bucks?
Damn that double-dealing bastard. I’d better get to the Fishing Camp and try to find out what he was up to.
From my canoe, I heard the echo of angry shouts across the water long before I saw the tense crowd of people at the Camp’s boat launch. They were watching Eric and Charlie Cardinal standing face to face, shouting at each other. Some of the onlookers were positioned behind one or the other of the antagonists, while others stood further back, as if reluctant to show sides. And lurking behind them like a giant lizard waiting to pounce was the red object I’d seen from the Lookout, a huge transport trailer with letters emblazoned in gold along its side that spelled out the word “CanacGold”.
I beached my canoe on the shore, not far from the action. Although a few watchers cast angry glances in my direction, most eyes were fixed on the shouters.
“For the last time, tell the driver to haul that damn truck back to where it came from,” yelled Eric, the scar beneath his eye a searing white.
“Like hell I will. He has every right to be here,” came the angry retort from Charlie Cardinal.
They were both standing feet planted apart, arms crossed, faces locked in stubborn refusal. A faint breeze nudged the eagle feather attached to Charlie’s braid, while Eric held his own feather ramrod straight in his left hand.
I searched for Gareth and found him where I expected, standing by his car waiting for events to unfold. Never one to get his hands dirty, Gareth let others do it for him. Under the full force of his glare, I turned away and determinedly aligned myself behind Eric’s solid back.
“Charlie,” Eric shouted, “you know damn well, that truck has no right to be on our land without band permission. I’ll charge the driver and all his friends with trespassing if they don’t leave immediately.”
At a nod from Charlie, a man who looked like a retiree from the Hells Angels walked towards the cab of the transport trailer. A line of men in red CanacGold windbreakers held their ground beside the truck.
“As hereditary tribal chief, I give him the right,” Charlie retorted.
From his groupies rose sporadic cries of “That’s right Charlie”, “Give him hell”.
“You don’t have the authority,” Eric replied.
“Damn right I do,” Charlie yelled. “My ancestors were chiefs of the Migiskan when yours were Mohawk slaves. Now get the hell out of the way, or this truck’ll run you down.”
And to emphasize his challenge, the truck let off one piercing peal of its horn, which throbbed against the bordering cliffs until it dissipated into the bay. Gareth remained by his car, watching and waiting.
But the threat only made Eric stand firmer. “Charlie, you’re only making things worse for yourself. Only the band council has the authority, and we voted earlier this afternoon not to permit CanacGold the use of band lands. So tell the driver to leave, and we won’t bring the police into it.”
“Yeah, that’s right Charlie, we don’t want them bastards here,” came a shout from one of Eric’s supporters.
“Knock it off, Charlie”, “Forget it” came others.
But the CanacGold response was a dull clank as the truck’s gears shifted into drive and slowly moved towards us, only to stop as it met our line of silent, determined faces. The truck inched forward again. I gulped, not sure how far I wanted to take this. Some of the men gave way, I with them, but John-Joe stood his ground. The truck’s gleaming bumper nudged John-Joe’s chest, causing him to lurch backwards and fall. The truck stopped. John-Joe picked himself up and planted his feet in front of the waiting truck. I walked over, stood beside him and heard the shuffle as others joined our line.
Finally, Gareth made his move. “Enough, Charlie,” he shouted.
For a moment it looked as if Charlie were going to hit Eric, then he turned abruptly on his heels and strode away, forcing a path through the men who blocked his way to the truck. He wrenched the door open and climbed into the cab beside the driver.
Gareth, his face a mask of professional calm, stalked over to Eric. “Sorry about this misunderstanding, Chief