The Case of the Missing Deed (4 page)

“Yeah, you’re free to get rich by wrecking our island,” said Kevin, a member of the Saanich band who ran the Emergency Station next to the lighthouse.

Mark Saxby ignored the comment. “As you may know,” he said, “we have applied to the government for a permit to operate the mine. In order to receive the permit, we have to meet three requirements. First, we have to submit an economic report showing how the mine will benefit the island’s economy. Second, we have to do an environmental assessment showing that the mine will have little or no impact on the environment. And third, we have to do public consultation. I’m happy to tell you that Tantalus is meeting all three of these requirements. So first, to tell you about the economic report, I’d like to call on Valerie.”

The woman stood up, smoothing her skirt and smiling. “Thank you, Wayne,” she said, “and good afternoon, everyone.” When you see how great the mine will be for Otter Island’s economy, I’m sure you will be as excited about it as we are.”

There were several snorts. But there were also some murmurs of “Yes” and “Let’s hear it” from the side of room where Stan Wilensky was seated.

The cover page of an official-looking report filled the screen.
OTTER ISLAND TANTALUM MINE: ECONOMIC REPORT
, it read. London clicked the mouse, and a graph appeared. “This shows that 72.6 full-time jobs will be created by the mine,” she said.

“I feel sorry for the point-six guy,” someone said, and some people snickered.

London went to the next page. This was a chart full of numbers and dollar signs. Down the left column, all the businesses and shops on the island were listed: Tillie’s Café, Wilensky Air, Beachside Bed and Breakfast, and so on. As the columns moved to the right, the numbers got bigger and bigger.

“As you can see, virtually every business on the island stands to get more business as a result of workers flooding in. And then, when they finish their jobs and tell their friends how terrific Otter Island is, tourism here will go through the roof!”

“Too bad there’ll be nothing left to see,” Bernie called out.

“Don’t worry, Bernie, they can go for a tour of the beautiful mine,” Leon said.

London continued clicking through the pages, going over all the great things Otter Island would get from the mine. New roads. Better float-plane service. A real estate boom, as construction workers and others bought homes here. Money from the sale of the tantalum.

The screen returned to the Tantalus Mining logo.

“You can pick up a copy of the economic report and read
all the exciting details,” London said. “But take it from me, with this mine, Otter Island has hit the economic jackpot!”

There was a smattering of handclapping from the side of the room. Sébastien turned. Stan Wilensky, of course, was clapping. Next to him, also clapping, was Ted Crombie, Hugh’s son.
That’s odd
, Sébastien thought,
since Hugh is so opposed to the mine
. He looked at Hugh. A flush had spread up his face, and he was frowning.

Mark Saxby strolled back to center stage. “Thank you, Valerie. Now, ladies and gentlemen, we’d like to present our environmental report. Here again is our resident scientist, Dr. Wayne Cheng. Wayne.”

Cheng stood up, straightening his tie. He cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said, “we – that is, I – found that the tantalum mine will have little or no environmental impact on Otter Island.”

“What!” several people shouted at once.

As Cheng clicked the computer mouse and turned toward the screen, Sébastien noticed that he wasn’t just stiff. He seemed uneasy, as if he didn’t want to be up there. Maybe he just didn’t like speaking in public.
Can’t blame him
, Sébastien thought. He didn’t much like it himself. Still, Cheng seemed awfully uncomfortable.

The lights went down, and the title of another report appeared:
OTTER ISLAND TANTALUM MINE: ENVIRONMENTAL REPORT
, by Dr. Wayne Cheng.

He clicked the mouse, and the title “Waste Management Solved” appeared. Beneath it, a mathematical equation said:

WASTE ROCK = STORED ROCK = ZERO WASTE PROBLEM

“Now, it is true that the mining operations will produce a great deal of waste rock,” Cheng said. “All mining does. But this will not be a problem because we will store the rock in a temporary, sustainable, state-of-the-art containment system during the mining phase, and then bury it all back inside the mine once the tantalum has been removed.”

“How is a huge, ugly rock pile a ‘sustainable’ whosit whatsit containment system?” Muriel asked, but Cheng had moved on to the next slide. It showed a chunk of silver-blue rock, light glinting off its cut surfaces.

“You will no doubt be relieved to know that tantalum is inert–”

“What’s that mean?” someone called out.

“It means that it doesn’t break down easily,” Cheng explained. “So there will be no toxic emissions into the land, air, or water.”

Click. A page titled “Impacts on Fish and Wildlife” came up. “No bird colonies or salmon stocks will be endangered by our operations,” Cheng said. “And if they are, we have solutions. We’ll relocate the birds to other nesting trees. We’ll stock other streams with salmon fry. Everything will balance out.”

“That’s ridiculous!” yelled Chad, a young man who’d recently moved to the island and was an avid birdwatcher.

“You can’t just move birds’ nests – they’ll never survive!” said his wife, Rachel.

“And dumping salmon fry into other streams doesn’t work,” Leon shouted. “They’ll die!”

Cheng didn’t respond. Wiping his brow, he clicked the mouse. A list of phrases appeared: Appropriate waste
management. Fish and wildlife protected. No effects on land, air, or water. Next to each one was a big red check mark.

“To conclude, our study found that, for all these reasons, the tantalum mine is an environmentally sound project and can go ahead.”

Quickly, Dr. Wayne Cheng sat down.

The room filled with shouts.

“What about the noise and pollution from the trucks?”

“And the dust?”

“And the traffic? I’d call those environmental impacts. You didn’t talk about any of them!”

“No effect on birds? Where’s the proof?” Rachel said.

Chad nodded. “Yeah, let’s see that environmental report.”

Mark Saxby strolled back to center stage. “That report is being printed as we speak,” he said smoothly, “so unfortunately, we don’t have copies on hand today. But if you pop into the office in a few days, we’ll be glad to give you one. Besides, not wasting paper is part of Tantalus Mining’s commitment to being environmentally responsible.”

There were loud guffaws at that.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, we’ve presented our economic and environmental reports. That leaves only the third requirement, to hold public consultation. And that’s what we’ve just finished doing. As soon as we can write up a report on today’s open house, we will submit all three reports to the government, and we will have met all the requirements for the permit.”

“You call this a public consultation?” Hugh shouted. “It’s a whitewash!”

“Yeah, you didn’t consult. You just told us what you were going to do!” Kevin added.

Saxby went on as if no one had spoken. “We expect to receive the permit shortly, in a week or ten days. Once the permit is issued, you must decide immediately whether to sell or not. And I can tell you that the prices we will be offering then will not be as high as they are right now. So sell now and get all the value you can out of your property!”

The meeting ended. Chairs scraped, and the swell of conversation filled the room. Neighbors gathered in small groups, debating the pros and cons of the mine, of selling or holding on to their properties, of the future of Otter Island.

Grandma stood up, clutching the back of a chair. “Take me home,” she said.

At the word
home
, her voice broke. Eve took one arm, Aunt Meg the other, and surrounded by the rest of the family, they headed out of the hall.

lex was awakened the next morning by the soft brush of a kiss on his cheek. He opened sleepy eyes to see his mom and dad and remembered they were going home to Victoria, to work, and would be back in a week to pick him and Olivia up. He said goodbye and rolled over to go back to sleep. Beside him, in a sleeping bag on the floor, Sébastien snored softly.

Alex closed his eyes, but he didn’t feel sleepy anymore. He tried to slide back into the dream he’d been having, about kicking the winning soccer goal, but it refused to let him in. He thought about how cozy he was in the sleeping bag and took slow, deep breaths. Nothing worked. He couldn’t get back to sleep, and he knew why.

Grandma.

She looked terrible. She wasn’t eating. She probably wasn’t sleeping. She was nervous and upset and sad – not like the old Grandma he knew and loved.

Something had to be done. But what? They’d searched the cottage for the deed, and even though it had to be there somewhere, they were all stumped. Without it, Grandma would lose the cottage, and that would be –

No. It was too horrible to think about.

Again, his mind came back to the thought:
We’ve got to do something
. I’ve
got to do something
.

But what?

No clue.

Oh, if only Grandpa were here, Alex thought, rolling onto his back and gazing at the ceiling. If he were, Alex would get him to go fishing, and while they were drifting in the canoe, the only sound the plop of their lines hitting the water, he’d say, “Grandpa, Grandma’s in trouble. What can we do?”

And Grandpa would say …

But that’s the trouble
, Alex thought, flopping over again.
Grandpa isn’t here, and there are no answers, and everything is a muddle
.

Wide awake now, he slid out of his sleeping bag – careful not to wake Sébastien – put on his glasses, got dressed, and tiptoed downstairs. Passing the living room, he saw that the girls were still asleep, Geneviève on the couch and Claire and Olivia on the floor.

Entering the kitchen, Alex spotted a box on the counter.
Heaven Preserve Us
it said.
Yum!
That was Muriel’s company. With the berries she harvested from her patch, she made jams, preserves, syrups – and delicious muffins. He opened the box. Twelve plump blueberry muffins sat in rows.

For a moment, Alex stood there, puzzled. How had they got there? Had his parents gone to Muriel’s general store at the crack of dawn, driven back to the cottage, and then left again for the ferry? No, that didn’t make sense. But then …?

A peal of laughter coming from the beach gave him the answer. He looked out the window. Yup – Aunt Eve and Charlie. They were strolling, hand in hand, near the water’s edge. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but their laughter carried on the breeze.

Alex knew that Sébastien didn’t like his mom’s new boyfriend, but Alex thought Charlie was okay. Although if
his
parents split up and
his
mom showed up with a new guy, Alex knew he wouldn’t like it one bit either. So he couldn’t blame his cousin.

Alex took a muffin and bit in. Mmm … The blueberries were juicy and sweet. Muriel sure was a good cook.

Of course, Alex thought loyally, she wasn’t the only one. Grandma was too. Or at least she used to be. Alex sighed, remembering how they’d all wander into the kitchen on summer mornings, sleepy and hungry, to find Grandma making fruit salad and omelets and cinnamon rolls, her cheeks flushed and her apron spotted with berry juice.

Suddenly he had an idea.

One by one the cousins straggled into the kitchen: first Claire, wide awake and instantly ready to go out and play; then Sébastien, his dirty blond hair hanging in his eyes, a book of Grandpa’s brainteasers tucked under his arm; next Olivia, her glasses smudged with charcoal fingerprints, her ever-present sketchbook in hand and a pencil tucked behind her ear; and finally Geneviève, her eyes bloodshot as if she hadn’t slept well, already flipping open her phone.

Alex waited until each of them had discovered the box and chomped down on a muffin. Then he told them about his idea for cheering Grandma up.