Authors: Bernadette Calonego
CHAPTER 36
In the middle of the night, Lori was woken up by a racket outside. She stumbled out to the kitchen to see what was going on.
A car door slammed next door, and she heard Ches’s truck roaring and his tires squealing. She peeked out the window to catch his rear lights as they vanished into the dark. Then she saw the glow from a fire in the direction of the harbor. She stared in apprehension at the flames flickering before a black background.
She threw on a jacket and ran next door, where the lights were all on.
Patience was at the window.
“A boat’s on fire!” she shouted to Lori.
“Whose?” Lori sounded hoarse.
“I don’t know. Ches just drove down.”
Lori gave voice to a terrible suspicion.
“Isn’t Noah’s boat on that side of the harbor?”
“I’m not sure,” Patience replied, but a glance at her face said it all.
“I’ve got to get over there,” she said, running like a hunted deer back to her house, where she hurriedly threw on some clothes.
She was at the moorings a few minutes later, where about two dozen people were assembled.
Her camera was set to go in her car, but she couldn’t bring herself to take it out. She joined the crowd that was so transfixed by the fire that they didn’t notice her arrival.
Suddenly, somebody grabbed her arm.
“Don’t,” Greta Whalen urged. “You’ll have that sight before your eyes for the rest of your life.”
“It’s Noah’s boat, isn’t it?”
“Come and give me a ride home. Then we can talk.”
Lori was too shaken to argue.
Arriving at Greta’s modest home, Lori realized she should have gone over there long ago.
Rubber boots in the entranceway, blue overalls on a hook on the wall.
“Is your husband back?” Lori inquired.
“No, he’s still in Alberta. He works for six weeks and then gets three weeks off. He’ll be back next week.”
“How can you stand it here by herself?”
Greta shrugged.
“We need something to live on, and there’s big bucks working on the tar sands.”
That explained her new kitchen: dark imitation wood and a green-speckled countertop with every imaginable appliance on it, like a display of trophies.
Lori dropped into a chair.
“It’s arson, isn’t it?”
“Yes, some bastard set fire to the boat, sure as shooting.”
“Where’s Noah? Was he at the wharf?”
“He and Archie and a couple of men tried to put the fire out. But with all the oil and grease on the boat it’s hopeless.”
“Did you talk to him? How is he?”
“Didn’t say much, but it’s a disaster. The boat’s not insured.”
“What? He’s got no insurance?” It was worse than she’d thought.
“No, way too expensive. What fisherman can afford it nowadays?”
Lori buried her face in her hands.
“It’s all my fault,” she said, on the verge of tears.
“Why the hell is it your fault? You didn’t set the boat on fire.”
Greta put a bottle of rum and two glasses on the table.
“Here, drink this. Want some Coke in it?”
Lori shook her head. She didn’t need rum or Coke—she just wanted to wake up from her nightmare.
“I told the police Reanna was wearing a yellow life jacket, and they found it in Jack’s parents’ garage. And they arrested Jack.”
“So what?”
Greta poured two fingers of rum and mixed it with Coke. Lori pushed some strands of hair away from her face.
“Now everybody thinks Noah ratted on Jack.”
Greta uttered a note of disapproval.
“They don’t arrest a person because of one life jacket—anybody could have worn it. I guarantee they already had a suspect in mind.”
Lori thought it best to keep quiet about her picture with Jack’s ATV and Reanna.
“But why would anybody burn down Noah’s boat?” she asked.
“Because somebody or other wanted to settle a score with him, or maybe not with him, maybe with Archie or Nate or another one of my brothers.”
“Why is it always Noah? It started way back with Jacinta. And there were plenty of suspects then. Cletus Gould, for instance.”
She looked into Greta’s eyes, pleading with her.
“You were Cletus’s girlfriend back then. You must have gotten wind of something.”
Greta stared at her, shocked at the turn the conversation was taking.
“Cletus would never kill anybody.”
“I found an arrowhead in his house. The same kind of arrowhead that was found in Jacinta’s grave. How do you explain that?”
“What? Who’d you hear that from?”
“I can’t tell you. But the police will put two and two together.”
“They were already here. I told them everything I knew. Cletus never killed anybody.”
“But he stole an arrowhead.”
“What for? What would he do with a thing like that?”
“Maybe out of revenge, because the archaeologists fired him?”
Greta stopped talking and averted her gaze. She seemed to be in another place, far away.
“Greta, why did you leave Cletus that summer?”
“It was in the fall.”
“Whenever. Why?”
“Our relationship had been more or less on the rocks for a while. It didn’t come out of the blue.”
Greta looked at Lori’s glass.
“Sure you don’t want any rum?”
“No, I don’t feel like drinking.”
Lori suddenly felt dead tired.
“I’m going home.”
She got to her feet.
“You don’t have to blame yourself for anything,” Greta said as she saw Lori out. “Jack will be home soon.”
Lori had those words on her mind until her eyelids finally shut sometime in the early hours of the morning.
She didn’t wake up until eleven o’clock. She went straight to work on her laptop to keep from going to the window to look down at the harbor. It was high time to get in touch with Mona Blackwood.
But she didn’t get very far. The first thing she saw was a headline: “
Suspect in Sholler Murder Confesses
.” It took Lori’s breath away. She had no idea the Royal Canadian Mounted Police would get Jack to talk so fast. She feverishly scanned the article.
Jack Day, 17, of Stormy Cove, confessed to the murder of the 23-year-old journalist Reanna Sholler, according to Corner Brook police. The police will make a statement on the sequence of events at a Friday press conference. Sources close to the police say that Day strangled the young woman. They say Sholler arranged to meet Day on the north shore of the bay near Frenchman’s Hill to follow him to the burial mound on the Barrens where excavations are currently underway. The mound’s location has not been made public until now. Day has reportedly been charged with rape. Unofficial sources say he confessed after assurances that he would be tried in juvenile court and not as an adult, which would significantly reduce a possible sentence. Jack Day’s family has no comment at this time. Day has no criminal record and recently completed high school.
Lori sent Mona a link to the article and suggested a phone call.
She made breakfast in a mental fog, surprised she had any appetite at all. But she gobbled down two pieces of toast, a fried egg, and a banana. Her survival instinct had kicked in.
Lisa Finning was the first to call.
“Come home for a while, my dearest,” was her gambit.
“I can’t.”
“Is it the book?”
“Yes, that too.”
“So it’s the man?”
Lori didn’t answer.
“Are the police leaving you alone?”
“They were here. Questioned me about Reanna Sholler.”
Lori didn’t mention some other disquieting news that she had heard: A woman reporter who said she was Reanna’s aunt was making the rounds in Stormy Cove. Reportedly, she had already talked to half a dozen people. She said she worked for
Smart Woman
, a reputable magazine.
This made Lori nervous. It was worrisome enough that Lisa Finning knew about the police.
“I thought they would. No cause for alarm, or is there? There’s been a confession.”
“Yes. But Jacinta’s death is still unaccounted for.”
“You won’t want to hear this, my darling, but a lot of cases never do get solved. I grapple with them every day—that’s the reality of it.”
“But innocent people are suspects.”
“Don’t let it eat you up. Save your energy for the job.”
“Somebody set fire to Noah’s boat.”
“What? Who’s Noah?”
“The man.”
“Ah.” Silence. And then, “Arson cases involving boats rarely make it very far because the evidence burns so fast.”
“His boat wasn’t insured.”
“Oh! That’s awful. That . . . in that case, somebody’s really being vicious. Let me know right away if there’s anything I can do.”
“You don’t have to bail me out this time, Mom.”
“I know, Lori, that’s all behind us. But it doesn’t hurt to ask people for help. I do it too, you know.”
Lori regretted her remark.
“I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that so many terrible things are happening.”
“You know, sometimes it’s necessary to physically get away from a stressful situation.”
“I simply can’t leave here now.”
“I mean the man.”
“Noah? He’d never leave this village. He just can’t. He’s never been anywhere else.”
“Maybe he can get out now. Maybe it’s his big chance.”
Is she thinking that if he comes to live in my world, then the magic will be gone for me? Her mother didn’t have a clue about life in Stormy Cove. But she couldn’t blame her. You’ve got to experience some things firsthand to understand them. She was relieved when her mother had to take another call.
Lori’s brain was screaming for fresh air. She hung her camera around her neck and went to pick up Rusty. The dampness on her skin predicted rain, but she could still see a few bands of blue in the overcast sky. There wasn’t a boat on the bay. A pleasantly warm wind massaged the ruffled water. Lori couldn’t get the houses behind her fast enough. She climbed up to the high plateau. There she took several deep breaths and gazed in all directions. The ocean surface trembled like the flank of a tense animal. Rusty rooted around for mice in the tufts of grass.
She’d never be able to describe to her friends how this rocky, austere, forbidding landscape, the sparse vegetation, moved her so. Perhaps it was the combination of the fragile and vulnerable with tough, muscular resistance. One was unthinkable without the other. She loved the lichens, rocks, and grasses and ponds, and now the fine little bright blossoms in delicate white, pink, violet, buttery yellow that would soon become berries. Her photographs would capture all that beauty, the beauty she’d discovered during those reverent moments.
She hopped from stone to stone, balanced on unsteady grass hillocks while Rusty relished wading in the mud. She let him pull her through low bushes, and as he picked up the scent of a moose track, she closed her eyes so she could see everything anew on opening them.
When she got back late in the afternoon, the answering machine light was blinking.
“Please call me as soon as possible.” The urgency in Lloyd Weston’s voice was disquieting.
She couldn’t reach his cell phone so she left a message.
He called her seconds later.
“What’s up, Lloyd?”
“Have you heard? They arrested Beth.”
“What? Why?”
“Don’t know exactly. I’m still trying to get her a lawyer.”
“That’s . . . I can hardly believe it. What’s she charged with?”
“That’s what I’d like to know. Nobody will tell me anything. It’s a disaster.”
“Did you try the police?”
“Yes, and not only me, but they stonewall and stonewall. It’s enough to drive you insane.”
“But they can’t arrest her without charges. What’s going to happen to the dig?”
“No idea. Everything’s up in the air. Goddamn it! First Sholler’s murdered. And now Beth’s been arrested.”
“They’re two separate things, Lloyd. They must be!” Her voice was starting to crack too.
“I’m going to go crazy! It’s just like back then!”
Apart from Beth, none of the team was directly involved back then. But Lori didn’t bring it up, saying instead, “Beth came by yesterday.”
“Oh? What did she want?”
“She asked me if I’d found any more arrowheads or other artifacts in the house. You apparently told her about the arrowhead.”
“What did I say? What arrowhead?”
“The one that looks like a fish or a bird. I mentioned it to you in the Birch Tree—”
“Yes, yes, I remember. But I didn’t say a thing about it to Beth. No way she heard that from me.”