LITMIR.BIZ

      While I waited for Eric’s promised call about Tommy, I did some much-needed house cleaning. By the time noon struck, I might have had a much cleaner ground floor, but I’d heard no word from Eric. I waited another half-hour then phoned the Council Hall and was told he was out. I got no answer at his house. Eric could be persistent. I knew he wouldn’t give up on Tommy until he was convinced he’d done everything possible to give Marie’s son a chance to explain. I also didn’t think Tommy would harm Eric, his friend and mentor. So I decided to give Eric until one-thirty, then I’d call Decontie.

      I was washing up my lunch dishes when Eric finally arrived on his bike. He looked discouraged. I invited him inside, but he refused, saying he’d only come to tell me the news, what little there was. Tommy was nowhere to be found on the reserve. Someone remembered seeing him take off in his car shortly after his mother’s funeral. He’d not been seen since, nor did he leave word of where he was going. And to make matters worse, Eric’s questioning had begun to arouse suspicions within the band.

      “I hate to say it,” Eric said. “but it looks as if you were right. I’ll notify Decontie.”

      “I’m sorry, Eric, truly sorry, not only for your sake but also for Marie’s,” I replied. “Maybe I should’ve left well enough alone. Everyone was satisfied with the murder-suicide verdict. And I’m sure Marie would be resting easier in her grave. But I can’t accept it. I’m sorry. If Tommy killed his parents, he should be held accountable.”

      “I’m with you on this. I just find it hard to accept that he could betray the hope and pride of our people,” he replied, angrily snapping his helmet back on. He kicked his bike back into action.

      “Don’t go yet,” I shouted above the noise. “I want to tell you about a very interesting phone call.”

      He turned off the engine. His smile got broader and broader, the more I revealed about my conversation with Wilson McLeod. However, when I mentioned Gareth, he frowned.

      “Meg, don’t dismiss Gareth too quickly,” he said. “Remember, you thought he was behind your break-in.”

      “Are you suggesting that Gareth somehow found out about the envelope and sent Charlie to steal it?”

      “Maybe not the envelope per se, but its contents.”

      “But how would he know? Even I don’t.”

      “From Charlie. His grandfather was chief in the thirties. As a result, Charlie probably knows as much if not more than me about your great-aunt’s connection to Whispers Island.”

      “Damn the sneaky bastard. Playing lovey-dovey with me while knowing all the time. He was probably waiting for the right moment to search my house and had to resort to Charlie after I kicked him out.”

      Eric’s brow creased in worry. “To be on the safe side, Meg, I suggest you tell no one about that phone call.”

      I agreed, knowing it wouldn’t be difficult. With Marie gone, I’d already told the only other person close enough to confide in, Eric.

      With my promise to join him later for a drink at the Fishing Camp, Eric roared off on his bike, while I returned to my housecleaning.

      THIRTY-FIVE

      Late afternoon shadows were creeping across Three Deer Point by the time I finished cleaning the second floor of my too-large cottage. Although it didn’t quite meet Marie’s high standards for cleanliness, I felt very proud of my efforts. But once was enough. I’d have to begin the search for a new housekeeper soon.

      When I entered the kitchen to return the cleaning paraphernalia to the pantry, I found Sergei whining to go outside. He raced off through the opened door and disappeared into the trees, yelping shrilly, which meant deer in sight. I hoped he wouldn’t go far. I was more than ready to relax with Eric at the Fishing Camp.

      Deciding hunger would soon bring the dog back, I placed his food bowl outside. I showered, then changed into a more presentable set of clothes. When I was ready to leave, Sergei still hadn’t returned, nor had his bowl been touched. I called his name. A muffled bark answered. I waited a few seconds, but he didn’t come.

      I called again. Another bark, but no dog. I cursed. I wanted to go, but I was afraid to leave him outside in case he met up with the wrong kind of animal, like a porcupine. I used the whistle he’d been trained to respond to and got only a barking response.

      I groaned in frustration. A cornered animal was the one thing that would keep Sergei from his food. Unfortunately, the only method of extrication was to forcibly drag him away by his collar. I tried to catch a glimpse of him through the trees, but it was impossible to distinguish his black body from the deepening shadows. Besides, his muffled barking suggested he was further into the forest.

      With leash in hand and dog bribes in my pocket, I walked quickly towards the sound, which seemed to be coming from the direction of Aunt Aggie’s sugar shacks. While I could still see the web of overhead branches against a sunset sky, I could barely see my feet on the path. I figured I had about ten minutes, fifteen at the most, before it became too dark. I debated returning to the house for a flashlight but didn’t want to waste any more time. I quickened my pace instead.

      Sergei’s barking drew nearer, then abruptly stopped. Worried, I called out and was answered by the rustling of leaves. He’s finally coming, I thought, and walked on, expecting to see Sergei’s dark shape bounding towards me, but reached the sugar shacks without even a glimpse of him.

      I blew his whistle. This time only dusk’s stillness answered. Where was the damn dog? Half annoyed, half worried, I felt my fear of darkness rise. I frantically pushed it down. Now was not the time to run panicking back home.

      I searched the ground for signs and found a number of tracks in the mud near the door of the main shack. Unfortunately, in the fading light it was impossible to tell if a dog had made them. I peered through the surrounding forest, searching for Sergei’s darker mass and saw only the converging shadows of night. Frantic, I called again, several times, each time more shrilly as I fought my rising panic.

      All of a sudden, the rustling started again. It was coming towards me. I froze. Every nerve ending in my body tingled as I strained to see through the dark.

      “Sergei?” I whispered.

      I waited. The rustling drew nearer. I edged towards the shack door with the idea of escaping inside. Before I reached it, a black mass suddenly lunged towards me and knocked me to the ground. A wet nose jabbed my face, followed by the sandpaper lick of a dog’s tongue.

      “You stupid animal!” I cried out in exasperated relief, and gave him a big hug to show that I was more than glad to see him. Then as I stood up, I noticed another dog, almost as large but lighter in colour.

      A voice cut the silence, “Meg, that you?”

      My nerves spiked. This person knew me. Footsteps slowly approached.

      “Who’s that?” I gingerly called back. I unlatched the shack door with the intention of barricading myself inside.

      “Hélène. You got my bitch with you?”

      “God, did you scare me. What in the world are you doing here?”

      The glowing tip of a cigarette moved towards me and stopped a few feet in front. I could just make out her tall, lanky shape. Her face loomed into view as she sucked on her cigarette. Her eyes sparked with its fire, then went black.

      For a moment she remained silent, then she said, almost as a challenge, “I was at the Lookout. That okay with you?”

      “Sure, no problem,” I said, then remembering my last trip to the rock outcrop, I asked, “You go there often?”

      Her cigarette glowed brighter as she took a deep drag. I heard the slow release of air when she answered, “Why do you ask?”

      “Saw

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