Stormy Cove (26 page)

“What amazes us the most is that this occurred so early in the history of civilization. Two thousand years before the pyramids. And considering that the people here were truly under the constant threat of death. Wild animals, starvation—it was bitter cold and sometimes there was no ice in the spring, which meant no seal meat. Or there were forest fires and the caribou herd went somewhere else.”

“Did they believe in any gods?”

“Not in gods, but probably in forces more powerful than themselves that they had to submit to.”

Lori didn’t look at him when she asked, “Could it be another human sacrifice?”

He hesitated before answering.

“If it’s a child or teenager, I’m not excluding it.”

“Why should a child be sacrificed? Is it meant to atone for something?”

He waited longer this time.

“If I only knew.” He folded his arms across his chest and rocked on his feet. “If I only knew.”

There was a tinge of resigned despair in his voice.

Lori shuddered.

CHAPTER 31

Beth Ontara was obviously angry when she arrived at the burial mound an hour later. Lori was taking detailed shots of the white and orange network of lichens on the rocks.

“Those damn reporters stick their nose into everything,” Beth said to Weston. “She turned up when we’d just finished loading.”

“What? On the runway?”

“Yes. All of a sudden, her car came speeding toward us, then she braked and hopped out. She was desperate to go with us. No way, I told her. Get lost. Then she worked on Gideon, who just laughed and kept quiet. What a perpetual pain in the ass!”

“Is she still back there?”

“No idea. Maybe she’s flitting about the tundra in her jalopy. I hope she falls into a bog. That’s the last thing we needed, somebody snooping around.”

Beth stamped around the bushes in a rage. Lori could empathize. She felt better now that she wasn’t the only one mad at Reanna Sholler. Not a nice trait, Lori realized, but Beth had to defend the secret location of the mound. And
she
had to protect her book project.

“She won’t find us,” Weston said. “And she hasn’t got the dough for a chopper.”

He winked at Lori. But Beth was ready with a plan.

“From now on, we need to have somebody stationed here at all times. Day and night. We’ve got the tents, and I’ll organize the guards.”

Weston shrugged.

“If you can find volunteers, I won’t stop you.”

Lori had the impression that Beth wouldn’t be stopped with or without his permission. After all, it was Beth who’d saved the artifacts from the fire twenty years ago. She’d guard this site with her life too, and defend it against any and all intruders. She mentally texted Reanna:
You versus Beth? No contest.

“I’ll help Gideon unload,” Weston told her, and said to Lori, “Beth will take you back as soon as you’re finished.”

Lori nodded.

“I’m almost done. Just need a few more close-ups. And a picture with you in it. For scale.”

“Put Beth in it. That’ll look just as good.”

He smiled, and Lori admired the way he rarely drew attention to himself. Was it out of gratitude toward a longtime colleague who was loyal and discreet in almost every situation?

She photographed Beth in front of the burial mound, an athletic figure bending over the monument as if speculating about what was hidden there.

Then she put down her camera to relieve Beth from the unnatural poses that would nevertheless look quite natural in the pictures. She packed up her equipment and, on an impulse, asked Beth for a moment of silence. She needed some kind of ritual before leaving the place. Surprising herself, Lori promised the spirit, whose presence she believed she sensed, to honor the dead person’s dignity with her photographs.

When she turned around, she saw Beth eyeing her with some curiosity.

To break the spell, Lori struck up a conversation on the way back.

“Do you think you might find projectiles in this grave that look like arrowheads?”

Beth shrugged.

“Dunno. Why do you ask?”

“Because a projectile like that was found in Jacinta’s grave.”

She was startled by her own boldness. What had gotten into her?

Beth turned around sharply.

“Where did you get that bullshit from?”

“From somewhere—I think it was in a law journal.”

“I haven’t read anything like that,” Beth declared, “and I’d have certainly known if that was the case. It’s definitely misinformation.”

It was obvious that the archaeologist didn’t believe her. That encouraged her to keep poking. Without looking up, Lori said, “You’re probably right. Lots of rumors about that case are making the rounds. I heard a few days ago that Jacinta saw Robine Whalen kissing a woman, someone working on the dig, just before she disappeared. How absurd is that! I almost burst out laughing.”

Beth was now visibly upset.

“People in this place should be careful about the rumors they spread. This time we know how to guard against lies. This time they won’t drag our reputation through the mud. We—”

She didn’t end the sentence. It was as if she’d been instructed not to talk about such things publicly. And that’s how Lori understood it.

Beth strode ahead energetically, and Lori followed her in silence.

Suspicion took shape in her head.

Beth and Robine.

On the flight back, Lori half-listened to Gideon Moore describing the confusion surrounding the first dig.

The young people they’d hired hadn’t a clue about what meticulous work archaeology was, he said. They’d treated it as a fun gig for the summer—young, flighty girls and lazy boys—too many people romping around the site. Everything needed to be better organized, with more supervision, in his opinion.

And there was much coming and going in and out of his lodge, he added, people who had no business being there, but he couldn’t keep track of everybody. So a few things went missing. Una Gould, for instance, had stolen Beth’s green jeweled bracelet, but what could he, Gideon, do if people left their valuables lying around?

Lori’s curiosity was piqued. Would she find more extraordinary things in Una and Cletus’s old home?

“Did Beth call Una on it?” she inquired.

“Naw, that Una business came out later, after Beth was long gone. And everybody had lost interest.”

“So nobody was watching the lodge the night it burned down?”

Gideon went on the defensive.

“I’d been invited to Lloyd’s birthday party and couldn’t say no. My brother was in Saleau Cove and my sister with our sick mother.”

Very interesting,
Lori thought to herself.
Maybe Una also stole the arrowhead?
Without suspecting that a photographer from Vancouver would find it behind the washing machine twenty years later.

But what was with the arrowhead under the seat of Noah’s snowmobile?

Lori was back home early that afternoon. From the living room window, she watched Weston’s SUV disappearing around the far end of the cove. He wanted her to go back up north as soon as they began excavating. Lori had a piece of toast with Patience’s homemade bakeapple jam and the Vancouver sheep cheese. She really had to call her mother that evening to thank her for it.

She took a half-hour nap on the sofa and then diligently started to evaluate the morning’s photographs. Her first fear was that the strong sunlight might have robbed the locale of its secrecy, of its unfathomable, mythic nature. But the sunlight in the north was different from Vancouver sunlight, as she’d already noticed. Here, the sun was subordinate to the landscape, making it more transparent, more massive, often ghostly because of the dark shadows the sun threw.

Lori grew more enthusiastic with each successful photo. She was so immersed that she didn’t realize how fast the time was passing. She didn’t even hear a car drive up and footsteps on the gravel. Which is why she gave a start when somebody opened the side door.

A man’s voice called out, “Hello!”

Noah!

She quickly plucked the colorful barrettes out of her hair and tried to comb it with her fingers. Then she dashed into the kitchen.

Noah was on the landing, holding a plastic bag toward her.

“Thought you ought to have some fresh fish.”

“Oh, that’s sweet of you, Noah. Yes, I’d like that very much.” She could hear herself talking way too fast. “Come in and sit down, and I’ll make some tea—or coffee, if you’d like.”

He came into the kitchen. “No white wine?”

They both laughed.

“Beer would be great,” he said.

She opened the fridge.

“You’re back on shore pretty early today.”

“Yes,” he said, rubbing his cheek. “Had to come in. Sudden strong northeast wind in the afternoon.”

Lori looked out the window, and it was indeed windy. How quickly the weather could change here! And other situations too.

“What have you got there?” she said, peeking into the bag. The fish was already filleted.

“Cod, naturally.”

He still hadn’t sat down but leaned against the china cupboard somewhat awkwardly, beer can in hand.

Lori brushed her hair back, but some recalcitrant strands fell into her face.

“Would you like to stay for supper?”

“So you want me to show you how to fry fish, eh?” He smiled mischievously.

“We catch fish on the West Coast too, mister. I’m no amateur.”

“We? How many have
you
caught?”

She laughed as she set the bag on the counter.

“Wait, I’ll wash it again,” Noah intervened.

They stood beside each other at the sink, and Lori watched his strong hands carefully hold the fillets under the tap, dry them with paper towels, and salt and roll them in flour while she peeled potatoes. There was something strangely intimate in sharing tasks, a naturalness that made her both calm and nervous at the same time.

It felt like her body was electrically charged when she was near him. She only had to shift an inch or two and their hips would have touched.

She peeled in slow motion, to make the magic last.
Maybe it’ll never be like this again,
she thought.

He fried the fish while she made a salad—which he refused, calling it rabbit food.

“What was it like on the Barrens?” he asked when they were at the table.

Lori ate her fish ravenously; it was superb. Noah looked on with evident satisfaction.

She briefly described her excursion but wondered if she should mention the rumors about Robine, or her exchange with Beth. He sensed she was holding something back and looked at her expectantly.

So she simply unpacked it all; she wanted to involve him in everything that affected her.

At first he said nothing. Then he placed his fork on his plate.

“Why did you tell her that?”

“Because . . . probably because I wanted to see how’d she react. I mean . . . I don’t have to beat around the bush.” She crumpled up the napkin beside her plate. “If Jacinta actually did witness Robine and another woman neck—kissing—and gabbed about it and a few days later she disappears without a trace . . .”

“You think that . . . if that’s true, Beth Ontara was the other woman?”

“I don’t know. Her reaction was rather strong, don’t you think?”

He started to eat again without answering. Lori looked straight at him.

“Did you hear those kinds of rumors at the time?”

He put down his fork once more.

Leave him alone, Lori. You’re spoiling the lovely mood.

“Yes, of course. Rumors spread like wildfire here.”

He drank some more beer and put the can down slowly.

“And anything coming from the Parsons family was mostly mischief. Or even worse.”

Noah stared out the kitchen window, as if collecting himself.

“Jacinta’s father, Scott Parsons, is . . . he’s often up to no good. My dad fished with him for years. Had no choice. Lost his boat in a storm, no insurance, couldn’t afford it. All he had was his fishing license. Parsons had a boat but no license. So the two paired up.”

“Like a partnership?”

“Yes, more or less.”

Lori saw his face growing tense.

“Father didn’t find Scott easy to work with. Some mornings he was late and kept him waiting. And Scott always wanted to take the wheel, so father had to work the fish out of the nets and gut them. Much harder than being a helmsman. What Scott really wanted was the fishing license. Often tried to buy it off Father—for peanuts, of course. But Father always refused.”

Noah drained his beer, and Lori got another out of the fridge.

“Father was knocked into the water when he was hit by the metal rake for catching scallops.”

He sketched the mechanism on the table with his hands.

“The rake hangs from a framework of two poles forming an
A
. Weighs about half a ton. Scott was at the wheel and made a sudden, violent swerve and the rake swung like a super heavy pendulum sideways and . . . and it knocked father overboard. My brother Coburn was on the boat and yelled at Scott to cut the engine and put it hard astern. He could see father surface, and he had the gaff ready for him to grab onto. But either Scott didn’t understand Coburn or . . . or he didn’t want to. He did everything wrong until Coburn couldn’t see him anymore.”

Lori felt a tightness in her chest.

“Didn’t he have a life jacket?”

“No. Water was bitter cold. Death always comes real fast.”

He cleared his throat. “But he still could have been pulled out. Coburn could have pulled him out if Scott hadn’t been such an idiot.”

“Scott did it on purpose?”

“Nobody on earth could act as stupid as he did. In any case, he got Father’s fishing license because they held the boat and everything in common. Didn’t bring him any luck.”

“How so?”

“Because we all suspected he had let father die. But he blamed my family for the vicious gossip about him that went around everywhere.”

“So your families have hated each other’s guts ever since,” Lori concluded. And after a slight hesitation, she added, “And Glowena became your girlfriend?”

“Big mistake,” he admitted. “But you make them when you’re young. I think I was just rebelling against my family.”