LITMIR.BIZ

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next, but there were no more. I was out of range.

      I raced down Forgotten Bay to Eric, frequently checking behind to make sure the gunman wasn’t coming after me. I kicked at the sack in the bottom of the boat and considered its implications. I blew on my freezing hands in an attempt to warm them. Unsuccessful, I stuck them in my pockets and felt something other than tissue in one of my pockets.

      I pulled out a rock. It was caught in a strip of what looked to be a piece of nylon fabric. For a moment I was puzzled, then laughed perhaps a little too shrilly when I remembered where I’d picked up this piece of flotsam. Returning it to my pocket, I looked up just as my boat was about to ram the Fishing Camp dock.

      FORTY-THREE

      Intent on getting the police to Three Deer Point as fast as possible, I jumped out of my boat and raced along the Fishing Camp dock to the bar, where country music blasted through half-lit windows. But that was the only sign of life. The rest of the sprawling timber building lay shrouded in darkness.

      It looked as if Eric had given up waiting for me. Only one car stood in the parking lot, and it didn’t belong to him. Unless he’d parked his motorbike around the back, it wasn’t here either.

      I stepped into the dimly lit lounge where the glow from the stone fireplace revealed an empty room. Not even John-Joe stood behind the bar.

      “Hey, where is everybody?” I shouted above the blare of the music.

      I walked towards the door leading to the main part of the building. But before I reached it, John-Joe came rushing through, his head bare of its orange cap, his brow furrowed in worry.

      “Sorry, I—” He started to say and stopped when he saw me. “The damn pump’s broken again.”

      “Eric here?”

      John-Joe blinked in puzzlement. “He not with you?”

      “Nope, why should he be?”

      “How am I suppose to fix this friggin’ thing?”

      “Did Eric go to my place?”

      “Yeah, you didn’t see him?”

      “Shit,” was all I could reply. He probably ran right into Marie’s killer. “When did he go?”

      “I dunno, guess about a half hour ago or so, soon as he got the pump going, eh? Now it’s stopped. Christ, our biggest customer is coming—”

      I didn’t wait for John-Joe to finish but picked up the phone and dialed the Migiskan Police. I quickly told Chief Decontie about the killer and my fear for Eric. Although Three Deer Point was outside his jurisdiction, he and another officer would go immediately. He would also alert LaFramboise. I, on the other hand, was to remain at the Fishing Camp. As soon as he knew anything, he’d call.

      “Why did Eric go to my place?” I asked.

      “He got tired of waiting. He even called, but when there was no answer he got worried, eh?”

      If he was dead because of me . . .

      Unable to sit, I paced back and forth in front of the fire. The seconds stretched into minutes, which seemed to stretch into hours. But probably not more than fifteen minutes had actually passed, before I suddenly realized someone was walking through the outside door.

      I glanced up and saw Eric.

      For a second I didn’t want to trust my eyes, then as the anxiety drained out, I cried, “Why couldn’t you wait?”

      “Thanks be to the spirits,” he said. “I thought you were dead. When I discovered your house empty, you missing with your truck parked out front, I–”

      “Wait a minute. You didn’t see anyone?”

      “No one. Why? He came after you, didn’t he?” He shoved his thick mane from his face. “Damn, if only I’d gone sooner.”

      “Before I tell you what happened, just tell me Sergei’s okay.”

      “He isn’t with you?”

      “You didn’t see him?”

      “No, and he would’ve come when I called out for you.”

      “We’ve got to go back,” I said, starting for the outside door. “The police should be there by now. You probably passed them en route.”

      “Nope, I came here to call them. Your phone cord was ripped from the wall. Another reason for thinking the worst.” His eyes smiled. “But thank the Creator you’re very much alive.”

      And so are you, I said to myself. However, embarrassed by his change in tone, I walked outside. Catching up, he placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder and said, “We’ll take my boat, it’s faster.”

      Even before we reached my dock, I could see the flashing red and blue lights of several police cruisers through the trees of Three Deer Point. A quick climb up the stairs to my cottage revealed several policemen waving flashlights over the ground and Chief Decontie in consultation with Sgt. LaFramboise. Both were strapped into flak jackets.

      LaFramboise quickly confirmed that although there was evidence someone had been in my cottage, the person was gone. And the search thus far had not uncovered Sergei, dead or alive. However, one of the SQ officers had found a spent shell casing on the stairs to the dock, which was viewed as further evidence that I’d been telling the truth. LaFramboise made this last comment with a barely contained curl to his upper lip.

      “And now, madame, we will search this sugar hut you call a hideaway. Please acquaint us with its location,” LaFramboise said, removing his gun from his holster.

      I started to lead the way.

      “No madame, tell us where it is. You must remain here. It is possible this man waits for us with his rifle.”

      But I couldn’t wait at the house not knowing about Sergei. I shrugged off Eric’s restraining hand and followed behind the line of police officers. Besides, the killer would’ve fled from the first flash of police lights screaming up my drive.

      And I was right. The shack was as I’d left it; the kerosene lamp on the table stood unlit next to the half-empty bottle of rye, the mattress with its filthy Hudson’s Bay blanket remained shoved against the wall. And in the back corner the chicken bones lay undisturbed. There was nothing to suggest that the gunman had returned after chasing me. Nor did it look as if Sergei had come back.

      I waited until the police had finished searching the surrounding bush before succumbing to Eric’s entreaties to return to the house. Along the way I called out Sergei’s name, even blew his whistle. But it was as if he’d never bounded through these woods.

      “We’re only in the way here,” Eric said, as we started up the stairs to the verandah. “Grab some things, and we’ll go to my place. We’ll come back at first light and search for Sergei.”

      I could see he was right as I watched a woman in a crumpled suit and latex gloves brush powder over an empty glass that sat on the small pine table where I usually placed my glass, except this one wasn’t mine.

      “My suitcase’s already in the truck. In fact, let’s drive.” I’d had enough boating for one night. I just wanted to retreat into some warm, secure place away from police and guys in yellow firing guns. I’d started to shake as I finally realized how close I’d come to being killed.

      “Why would he shoot an innocent dog?” I asked, handing Eric the spare keys kept in the kitchen. We climbed into my truck, me on the passenger side, Eric driving. I wasn’t up to dodging potholes.

      “Maybe he took him?” was Eric’s thoughtful reply.

      I let this idea still my nerves,. By the time we reached Eric’s place, I was feeling more optimistic about finding Sergei alive.

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