LITMIR.BIZ

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was the thin gold chain, which lay on the table in front of me. On her lap nestled a small baby wrapped in furs. She could only be Summer Wind with her daughter Whispering Pine, Marie’s mother.

      Underneath the photo, the headline confirmed that “German Baron Dies in Tragic Fire.”

      The killer had made no mistake. Two Face Sky had called Summer Wind his wife, which meant Aunt Aggie had divorced him. Marie was the true heir to William Watson, not I. She would have owned Whispers Island, and she would have stopped the gold mine.

      My heart ached for Aunt Aggie. Her cherished Johann had deserted her for Summer Wind, the same sweet girl after whom Aunt Aggie had named her baby girl, the baby girl who had tragically died. I could almost feel the agony she must’ve suffered, especially when he set up house with his new wife within sight of her once happy home. Every glance across the water would have reminded her of his betrayal. Little wonder she suffered from bouts of mental illness. Still, she could have moved from Three Deer Point. Instead, she spent the rest of her eighty-odd years harnessed to the constant reminder.

      I removed the newspaper clipping from the frame and discovered the rest of the article folded underneath. It seemed Baron Johann von Wichtenstein had become enthralled with the northern wilds and had taken on the guise of an Indian chief, calling himself Two Face Sky. He gave up the trappings of the modern world and lived off the land as a native. The only mention of Aunt Aggie was a brief reference that he’d once been married to a lady from one of Toronto’s finest families. So even in his death the marriage had been kept secret.

      But Charlie had known. He’d probably learned this family secret while growing up with Marie and her mother. So he had come to my place that night looking for proof and found it in Aunt Aggie’s wedding picture. After that it was simple. He only had to compare it, like I was doing now, to the picture he’d already stolen from Tommy’s place.

      Still, could Charlie also be Marie’s killer? The presence of her amulet with the two pictures and Louis’s money pointed in that direction. And what about Louis’s mysterious partner whom Gareth had mentioned? Did he really exist, or was this simply Gareth’s way of diverting attention from himself?

      The phone rang. Assuming it was Eric, I picked it up and heard a low, raspy voice that wasn’t his.

      “Meg Harris, you better bring that money, if you want to see your dog alive. If you’re not at the sugar shack within fifteen minutes, the dog dies. And he dies if you bring the police.”

      I was certain the voice belonged to Charlie Cardinal.

      FORTY-FIVE

      I hung up the phone, knowing I’d just heard the voice of a killer. If it weren’t so deadly serious, I could almost laugh at the absurdity of the phone call, which made me feel as if I’d just taken a bit part in a B movie. But two deaths and a shooting were more than enough to convince me that the threat would be carried out if I didn’t deliver the money. And to make the fifteen-minute deadline, I had to leave now.

      Despite his warning, however, I wasn’t about to go into the killer’s den without police protection. I quickly called the Migiskan police detachment, explained the situation and told the dispatcher my suspicions about Charlie. She now offered to tell me what was keeping the Chief busy. A stake-out with Sgt. LaFramboise and his men. At Aunt Aggie’s sugar shack no less. Had been there since last night.

      The dispatcher tried to dissuade me from going by saying it wasn’t worth putting myself in danger just for a dog, which only served to reinforce my resolve. So with time fast running out, I told him in no uncertain terms to make sure Decontie was prepared to cover me and nab the killer once I had my dog.

      I grabbed the sack, ran through the rain to my truck and drove as fast as the groaning suspension would allow. I reached my house with five minutes to spare, barely enough time to run to the sugar shack.

      At first I was surprised not to see police vehicles parked in the drive, but I realized they wouldn’t want to advertise their presence. I would have to trust that the dispatcher had managed to alert Decontie.

      I jumped out of my truck and slammed the door as hard as I could to warn them of my arrival. Amazed at how empty the woods felt, I felt a moment’s hesitation before I started racing down the waterlogged trail to the sugar shack. At least the sound of my splashing pace should give the police sufficient warning of my progress.

      I was more than halfway when I heard shouts, one rifle shot followed by another. Surprisingly, it appeared to be coming from as far away as the main road, not from the direction I was headed. What was going on? I debated continuing, when a sharp bark from the sugar shack decided me.

      I sprinted the last hundred yards down the trail and stopped when the hut’s black shape loomed through the rain. The door was closed, windows dark.

      Police radios crackled above the rain’s patter. Although the noise was still distant, it convinced me the police were capturing Charlie on his way to the shack.

      I called Sergei and was answered by a burst of yapping from inside the shack. I suppose I should have wondered why the dog was inside and his kidnapper some distance away. But I didn’t. I was too relieved to find my dog still alive.

      I dropped the money sack and ran to the door. I wrenched it open and braced myself for his joyous pounces. But his black body remained beyond the range of the meager light from the windows. I ran to the sound of his yelping, and finding him tied to a post, quickly unclipped his leash. But before my mind had a chance to absorb the fact that someone had done the tying, the room suddenly exploded with light and a guttural voice said, “About time.”

      I jerked around to see the massive yellow figure of Charlie Cardinal leering behind the kerosene lamp, his moose-like features sculpted into a caricature by the harsh light. He pointed a rifle barrel straight at me.

      Too shocked to be afraid, I sputtered, “I thought—”

      “Ya liked our little trick, eh? A phone tip to that fool Decontie saying we was at another camp down the road. By the time he clues in, we’re long gone. So where’s the money?”

      As Sergei clung to my side, my heart sank with the realization that I was completely without police protection.

      Sergei whimpered. “What did you do to my dog?” I asked.

      “More like what he do to my bitch? The horny cur wouldn’t leave her alone.” Charlie curled his lip as if attempting to smile.

      I watched him pull out a cigarette package from inside his yellow slicker.

      “You said ‘we’, Charlie? Who else is involved in your dirty dealings?” I asked. I ran my eyes around the brightly lit room in search of clues as to the identity of this mysterious partner.

      Charlie smirked in response.

      My eyes caught sight of a familiar tweed jacket thrown over the back of one of the plastic chairs. A jacket I’d seen only yesterday on someone who’d tried to convince me of his innocence. “It’s Gareth.”

      Charlie blew out a stream of smoke. “Whatta joke, him being your ex, eh?”

      “Where is he?” I asked.

      “Wouldn’t you like to know. Now give me my money.”

      I knew if I told him the money was lying outside, all would be lost. He’d escape the police and I’d be dead. Praying the police would quickly realize their mistake and return, I decided my best option was to stall for time.

      “Nice scheme you and Gareth cooked up,” I said. “Get rid of everything that reveals the true owner of Whispers Island, and the gold mine goes ahead.”

      Charlie started to protest, but remembering I’d seen the results of his theft in the sack, grinned instead. “Knew Marie’s grandparents and your aunt had somethin’ to do with the island. So figured I was on to somethin’ when I nabbed them two pictures.”

      “But the picture didn’t prove Marie owned the land,” I said.

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