LITMIR.BIZ

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here. Hardly the actions of an owner.”

      “Maybe it belonged to your great-grandfather?”

      “Believe me, Eric, no Harris has ever owned Whispers Island.”

      “Look, I know it’s not much to go on, but couldn’t you at least check it out? It’s all we’ve got right now.” He looked at me with all the hopefulness of a young boy.

      Then, almost as a foreboding, a loon’s haunting laugh echoed from across the lake. It sent shivers up my spine. “All right, I’ll check. But we’d better come up with a surer way to stop this mine. Do you know who’s behind it?”

      “CanacGold.”

      If I wasn’t alarmed before, I certainly was now. Any idiot who could read the newspapers would know that this multinational mining company was bad news. Their name had been splashed all over the front pages these past months. One of their gold mines had caused a major environmental disaster in some South American country. A dam had burst, spilling out millions of gallons of cyanide. Countless fish and other wildlife had been killed, and whole villages forced to move. Last thing I wanted was the same thing to happen here. Echo Lake was my home now. I didn’t want it destroyed.

      Eric had no sooner started up his bike than I was on the phone to François Gauthier, my notary. He would know if Aunt Aggie had owned Whispers Island, since his father had handled Aunt Aggie’s property long before I was born. But he only confirmed what I already knew. Whispers Island was not included in the fifteen hundred acre property of Three Deer Point, nor had Aunt Aggie owned it separately and sold or bequeathed it to someone else.

      François did, however, offer a ray of hope.

      “There is a mistake, madame,” he said in that slow stilted manner he used when speaking English. Unfortunately, my French was limited to a halting high school vocabulary and not up to discussing anything as important as land. “I know much about the properties in your region, and this is the first I learn this island belongs to the government. The records for these lands are very old and sometimes confusing. I suggest my clerk check the municipal records.”

      I hoped he was right, and the property owner would turn out to be someone other than the government. He promised to let me know by Friday, four days from now.

      I could think of only two other places to check. My mother, who sometimes knew more than she let on. But she wasn’t home when I phoned, so I left a message.

      And the attic.

      When I’d moved in, I’d found it locked with the key missing. Although I’d finally found the key hidden away in the back of a drawer, I still kept it locked. I had better things to do with my time than wade through the collection of junk that filled it from floor to ceiling.

      I suspected there was a lot of Aunt Aggie’s past buried in there. I debated beginning the search after dinner that night, but figured since her junk wasn’t going anywhere, there was no reason why the search couldn’t wait until tomorrow when Marie would be there to help me.

      I returned to Aunt Aggie’s rocker in time to see the thin red line of day collapse into night. I rocked back and forth, fortified myself with vodka and worried about the damn gold mine, and Gareth.

      A faint sound made me look towards the trees near the salt lick. With ears cocked, Sergei sniffed the air. I placed a firm hand on his back as a dark shape silently emerged from the shadows, placing first one long graceful leg and then another into the fading twilight. A head heavy with antlers reached down to lick the salt.

      Sergei stood up. I pressed harder. The stag’s head jerked up. As if transfixed in a photograph, he stared at us, ears forward, head alert. A hoof slowly hammered the ground. I too was transfixed, locked into the majesty of the moment. And then with a bound, the deer was gone.

      FOUR

      Marie arrived earlier than expected. I was out for a hike, chasing the rising sun as it lit up the turning leaves. I’d wanted to recharge myself with fresh air and sun before spending the rest of the day in a dark, dusty attic. I returned to the cottage, expecting to have at least another hour before Marie arrived. I didn’t. She was sitting on the porch, her still form all but lost in shadow, with Sergei’s muzzle nestled in her lap.

      Usually, she was full of energy, impatient to start work. This morning she wasn’t. She sat in silence, hunched over her coffee. Her fingers played with the leather pouch she always wore around her neck.

      She didn’t move when I approached. No sound, not even her usual greeting of “Mornin’, Missie. You lookin’ good today. Great mornin’ for work, eh?”

      Only when my footsteps echoed on the wooden floor did she look up. Although she tried to keep her face in shadow, when she turned towards me, I discovered the reason for her silence. The left side of her face was swollen red, her eye puffy with the beginning of a dark purple bruise.

      “Bastard,” I whispered. I should have been prepared. But with the news of the gold mine and Gareth’s phone call, I’d forgotten about Louis.

      Marie shrugged her shoulders in mute acceptance and continued the slow nursing of her coffee.

      Damn the bastard, why couldn’t he leave her alone? Twice before I’d seen her this way. Each time just before Louis headed back into the bush, almost as if he had to remind her who was boss before leaving her on her own.

      “Has he gone?” I asked.

      She nodded yes.

      “Let me take you to the doctor.”

      She shook her head. She’d refused my help those other times too.

      “Then let me top up your coffee, and we’ll just sit here and enjoy the morning sun.”

      I also brought out a cold pack to help with the swelling. There was nothing else I could do. The only solution was for her to leave him, and she wouldn’t do that.

      But who was I to talk? It had taken more than a Janice to force me to finally admit to the truth about Gareth. But although I could admit it, I still couldn’t face up to it. I returned to the kitchen to retrieve the vodka.

      “You need some of this,” I said, holding the opened bottle over Marie’s cup. She pushed it away and watched silently while I poured a good measure into my own coffee cup.

      “Don’t worry, Missie,” she said. “Kije manido says gonna be okay.”

      “Pardon?” I asked, not sure what she meant.

      Instead of answering, she smiled and patted my hand as if consoling a distressed child. Then she resumed nursing her coffee.

      By the time both of us were smiling, the sun had disappeared behind a layer of cloud. We retreated to the attic as the rain began to fall.

      My pulse quickened at the sight of a lifetime of stuff crammed into every inch of space in the large room. Surely buried somewhere in here was something that would tell me whether Aunt Aggie ever owned Whispers Island.

      Trunks filled one side of the room from the floor to the steeply slanted ceiling. Wooden boxes, newspapers and who knew what else were piled one on top of another. Furniture spread from one end of the room to the other. A thick blanket of dust mixed with cobwebs, dead insects and mouse droppings coated everything.

      The smell of old wood and dead air made us cough. I opened the closest window and flooded the room with a fresh scent of pine, while from outside came the sound of rain tapping on metal.

      I looked across the lake to Whispers Island, a dark hump against the backdrop of golden hills. Something moved. Another group of dots, this time yellow, were scrambling over the rocks. Once again a line of boats littered the northern spit of land. They reminded me of yesterday’s strange demand.

      “Marie, why did you want me to tell those men to leave the island?”

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