Fire in the Stars (3 page)

“Yes.”

“And I know my problems sound trivial compared to Phil's and yours. They are trivial! But … but …” She raised her hands in futile defeat.

“Okay, so what happened? You started seeing the guy and Phil found out?”

Sheri thrust her chin out. She had always been a fighter and hated to be cornered. Amanda's challenge was enough to energize her. “No. I finally realized I couldn't help Phil if he wouldn't let me, but I could help my son. So I told Phil I was leaving him.”

“When?”

“A week ago. I told him I'd met someone. I thought maybe it would be the jolt he needed. He wanted to know who, but I wouldn't tell him.”

“And how did he …?” Amanda let the silence hang, too upset to trust herself with more words. The image of Phil in Nigeria, haunted and hollow, rose before her.

“He took off into the bush for four days, and when he came back, he said I was right. He'd been a bastard and he was glad I'd found someone who treated me better. But he still wanted to be a good father to Tyler, so he hoped the father-son camping trip was still on.”

Amanda felt a sliver of fear slip through her gut. Tyler had never been part of the plan. She and Phil couldn't predict what demons would be dredged up, what drunken rages and howling tears, what cathartic challenges the wind and the cliffs and the surf would hurl at them. It was not an adventure for a child.

But now Phil had cut her out and had taken off with his son, after feeding Sheri a pile of lies about forgiveness, understanding, and fatherly concern. Amanda knew Phil. He had always loved Sheri, but during the deepest darkness of Nigeria, he had clung to her memory like a drowning man. Afterward, he had ignored the advice of counsellors and debriefers in his headlong rush to get back to her.

Five days to put all that behind him, to master his rage and despair, and to reach a state of calm forgiveness?

Not a chance.

Instinctively she snapped her fingers to call her dog to her, so that she could sink her fingers into her soft, warm fur. Reading her distress, Kaylee nuzzled her and licked her hand. Amanda took a deep breath, stepped back from her fear, and rallied her common sense.

“What gear did he pack?”

“Camping stuff — tent, sleeping bags, cooking gear, life jackets.”

“Boat? Kayaks?”

Sheri shook her head. “Those are still out back. He said you guys would rent what you need.”

“Navigational gear? Sat phone, personal-locator beacons, GPS?”

“You know Phil. He likes the old-fashioned way.”

“Didn't he at least take his cellphone? I've been texting him and he's not answering.”

Sheri shrugged. “I haven't seen it. He may have it on him, but it could be turned off. He does that when he doesn't want to talk to people.”

Amanda pulled out her own phone. “We should check in the house. If it's turned on, we'll hear it. We might find some clues too.” She punched in Phil's number. She listened for ringing as she walked through the kitchen and dining area into the small den. The house was neat and full of local art from their travels, but no maps or guidebooks had been left on the tables to provide clues. When Phil's cheerful voicemail message came on, she dialled again.

“Do you mind if I check upstairs in your bedroom? It's ringing, so it's turned on. He may have left it there.”

Sheri waved her hand in permission. “Since you called this morning, I've pretty much torn the place apart, but be my guest. Phil's been staying in the spare room since he came back from Nigeria. He has trouble sleeping so he's often up reading or watching TV. He says he feels better not disturbing me.”

Amanda nodded. The depths of night were always the worst, when the wakeful mind filled the darkness with fiery images, screams, and the incessant yammer of self-doubt. She mounted the stairs, listening for a phone. Kaylee bounded ahead of her as Amanda had taught her, providing comforting reassurance that no danger lay ahead. Phil's little room was a mess; bedding was flung back, drawers opened, and clothing strewn about. Papers were spilled all over the desk, and Phil's laptop was open.

Sheri came up behind her. “I tried it,” she said. “But he must have changed his password. It used to be ‘password.'”

They both shared a spontaneous grin. How like impatient, cavalier Phil.

“Do you mind if I take it?” Amanda asked. “I'll try to figure it out later.”

When Sheri shrugged her acceptance, Amanda closed the laptop and picked it up. She scanned the room, but there were no telltale maps or brochures, and the only books in the bookcase were dog-eared thrillers and university texts from his global development studies.

No sound of a cellphone ringing, either.

Tucking the laptop under her arm, she went back downstairs, with Sheri at her heels. “Let's check the shed.”

Like their house, their backyard was neatly kept. The grass was lush and mowed, the perennials trimmed and mulched. Gladioli were swollen with buds, and purple asters and nasturtiums spilled over their beds. Phil's kayaks and small aluminum fishing boat were stacked on racks beside the shed.

As unreliable as Phil was with people, he had always taken excellent care of his physical space, as if it at least was under his control. Amanda opened the shed door. Inside, garden tools and bicycles hung on walls, and supplies and equipment were stored on shelves. Hockey and ski equipment was suspended on the beams overhead for next winter. A mower and snow blower took up one corner, a stack of winter tires another.

All the usual equipment of a middle-class homeowner. Nothing unusual struck her. He had an entire cabinet of fishing paraphernalia, but no guns or hunting gear. Phil had grown up in rural Manitoba with an annual family tradition of duck and deer hunting, but since his first encounter with tribal violence overseas, he had rejected all guns.

But that was before Nigeria.

Amanda turned to Sheri, who was examining his supply of fishing rods. “Did he have a gun?”

Sheri whipped her head back and forth. “He hates them now more than ever. My … my friend wanted to take Tyler moose-hunting last fall — that's almost a Newfoundland rite of passage — but Phil blew a fuse.” She paused, fingering the long, slim rods. “He's taken two of his salmon rods and his wading gear. That's not much help, since salmon brooks and rivers are everywhere.”

“That's good, though,” Amanda said. “It shows he's still following a plan.”

Her cellphone had gone to Phil's voicemail again so Amanda dialled a third time. From deep in the farthest corner of the shed came the muted sounds of a trumpet call. Both women rushed over. The sound was coming from somewhere in a pile of equipment beside the fishing cabinet. They tossed aside a folded tarp, dug out a bag of fertilizer, and began to shove aside the stack of tires. The trumpet trill grew louder. Finally, half hidden beneath the tires, Amanda found the phone.

The front screen was completely filled with notifications, most of them text and phone messages from Sheri and Amanda, none of them even opened, let alone answered.

Sheri craned her neck over Amanda's shoulder to catch a glimpse. Seeing the unread messages, she swore.

“Oh, spectacular! So now he doesn't even have a phone!”

Still squatting in the corner, Amanda glanced around the shed. How had the phone ended up buried under the tires? Someone had to move a tarp, a bag of fertilizer, and four heavy tires in order to hide it there. That made no sense. If Phil had simply put his phone down while collecting his fishing gear, or if it had fallen out of his pocket, it should have been sitting in plain sight, on top of the tarp, not underneath.

It was almost as if he had hidden it on purpose. But why go to all that trouble? If Phil wanted to get rid of the phone, so that no one could reach him or track him, why not just throw it in a Dumpster on his way out of town?

She tried to imagine the twisted path of Phil's reasoning. He had discarded his phone, but rather than throwing it away, he'd left it within easy earshot of the house. Had that been deliberate? Had he known that a little ingenuity and detective work would discover it? Was he counting on that? Was he counting on the confusion and worry that discovery would provoke?

Amanda held the phone in suddenly nerveless fingers. Did he want Sheri to find it, she wondered? And to know that he had chosen to cut all ties? Did he want her to know that he was beyond reach? Beyond salvation?

The ultimate revenge.

She stood up, bumping into Sheri in her haste to turn around. “I think you better call the police.”

T
o Amanda's surprise, Sheri balked. She leaned over to peer at the spot where the phone had been found. “He could have just dropped it and it slid down there.”

“But he would have looked for it.”

“Maybe it fell out of his pocket while he was getting his fishing gear, and he didn't even notice until after he left. Phil's like that, you know. Mr. Unreliable, remember?”

“But he'd have a checklist. All those years of training —”

Sheri set her jaw and headed out of the shed. “He would hate it if I called the cops on him. Even if he did leave the phone behind on purpose, so what? He just needs his space and time. This is a small town, and people have sharp tongues and long memories. He's having a hard enough time fitting in without having this written on his forehead. He'll come back when he's had time to sort himself out.”

Amanda hesitated. She didn't want to scare Sheri by pushing the panic button prematurely, but Sheri's denial of the darker possibilities seemed odd. “I'm not so sure. He's been walking the edge a long time, and I don't think he's thinking clearly. God knows what he'll do if he's desperate.”

They were crossing the grass toward the house, and Sheri turned to search Amanda's face. “He would never hurt Tyler.”

Despite her words, there was uncertainty in her eyes. Amanda didn't respond. Desperate people hurt their children all the time, sometimes from the depths of a depression so black they believed they were saving their children from an impossible world and other times from a vengeful wish to hurt their partner by taking away the thing they loved most. “But what about hurting himself? Has he ever talked about ending it all?”

Sheri gulped a sharp breath. She strode inside, checked the house phone and the street yet again. Her jaw worked. “There was a time, this winter, when he asked me to hide all the axes and knives. I wasn't sure if it was to protect me, or him.”

“Did he go for help?”

“Ask for help? Phil? Besides, here in Grand Falls, what kind of help is there? Trauma counsellors falling out of the sky, are they?”

Amanda came to her side and put a gentle hand on her arm. “I know this is scary, but we have to consider it. Because I think maybe it's what this is all about. He said he forgives you and he hid his cellphone where we would eventually find it, but only once he was too far away for us to stop him. I bet if we search it, or decipher the password on his laptop, we'll find a note.”

Sheri's chin quivered. She snatched the cellphone from Amanda's hand and tried to thumb through links. Once again a password stymied her. Frustrated, she shook her head. “Goddamn Nigeria! It made him so paranoid! It swallowed a wonderful, caring, trusting man and spat him back, destroyed. But Phil is a strong man. He's a fighter. Even if he's on the edge, he's not going to quit on Tyler. He's seen too many children suffer …”

“But would he quit on you?”

Sheri flinched.

“Please call the cops, Sheri.”

Sheri averted her eyes and walked to the window as if to put distance between herself and Amanda's pressure. “I need to think. Let me call his family to see if they've heard from him. Maybe he felt a need to visit home. There are a lot of possibilities to explore before we press the panic button.”

Amanda forced herself to back off. Every ounce of her screamed
danger
, but maybe she was overreacting. She could no longer trust her own alarm system; it had failed her one crucial time, and now its sirens shrieked at even the smallest hint of danger.

“Okay, good idea. I'll take Kaylee for a walk before she mutinies, and when I get back, we'll take stock again.”

The walk through the quiet, leafy residential streets was peaceful, giving Amanda time to sort through her fears. She was surprised Sheri had not already contacted Phil's family in Manitoba, which seemed an obvious first step for a worried wife to take, but perhaps the family ties were tenuous. When you spend most of your adult life in tumultuous, faraway lands, a placid, prosperous home can feel like a very distant place.

As always, Kaylee's boundless enthusiasm for each new person or patch of grass made her smile, and by the time they rounded the final corner half an hour later, Amanda felt almost relaxed. She hoped there might be a police cruiser in Sheri's drive, but instead, parked behind her own motorcycle was a dusty red pickup.

As she mounted the front steps, she heard a low murmuring from inside, which stopped the moment the front door screeched open. She found Sheri in the kitchen, busying herself with a pot of tea. Lounging against the counter was a tall, lean man in jeans and a black T-shirt. His grey buzz cut and square shoulders screamed
drill sergeant,
but before Sheri could say a word, he eased away from the counter and extended a confident hand.

“You must be Amanda. I'm Jason Maloney, Grand Falls RCMP.”

His hand enveloped hers in a warm, comforting grip. The skin was rough and weathered, like his face. “Nice-looking little Kawie you've got out there.”

His smile was teasing and Amanda found herself blushing in spite of herself. Before she could ask about Phil, Kaylee rushed in to tangle herself in Jason's long legs.

“Hey, boy!” He stooped to ruffle her fur, lost in the moment. His manner was casual. At home. Not at all like a cop on a missing-persons call. Amanda's sixth sense prickled.

“He's a she. Kaylee. What's the plan about Phil?”

Maloney straightened as if called to attention.

“Corporal Maloney thinks we should keep it low-key —” Sheri began.

Maloney interrupted her. “Unofficial. For now. Phil's a friend of mine and he's having some rough times. No point in siccing the dogs on him.”

Amanda shot Sheri a dismayed glance. The woman was still in denial. What the hell had she told this guy? “But —”

“We can still accomplish a lot without putting it on the books. This may be a big island, but it's a small place. People know each other and watch out for each other. They notice things. A word in the ear of a few friends in other detachments —”

Sheri was watching him as if mesmerized. When the kettle whistled, she blinked her eyes as if he had snapped his fingers. She returned to earth, flustered, and turned her attention to the tea.

“Phil has a friend who's a corporal in the Deer Lake detachment,” she said. “They've both been through some difficult times in the past. If anyone can understand Phil, it will be Chris.”

“Have you called him?” Amanda asked.

Sheri slipped Jason a hesitant look before shaking her head. “Jason thinks he should handle it. One cop to another.”

One man to another, he means
, thought Amanda. But he was probably right. If this Chris guy knew about the marital trouble between Phil and Sheri, he'd be much more likely to talk openly with Jason than with her.

Jason moved toward the door, brushing Sheri's hand with his fingertips as he passed by. Sheri edged away. “I'll make the call from my truck. You can fill Amanda in on the rest of our plans while I'm gone.”

Sheri's hand shook slightly as she poured tea into two mugs and dumped more cookies onto a plate. Amanda had taken a few coffee breaks along her journey to ease her muscles and let Kaylee out, but her last real meal had been breakfast at the roadside diner more than eight hours earlier. Her stomach roiled in protest at the sight of the cookies, but she suspected Sheri was too distracted to even think about anything more substantial.

Kaylee, however, was watching Sheri's every move with eagle eyes, reminding Amanda it was well past her dinnertime too. When Amanda went outside to fetch her food, she spotted Jason on his phone, head bent. His voice was raised as if in argument although Amanda couldn't make out the words.

Back inside, she fed Kaylee before returning to the living room. Sheri was gazing out the window at Jason's truck, frowning. At her own private thoughts or at Jason's behaviour, Amanda wondered.

“Are you hungry? We could go out to eat, my treat.”

Sheri flinched. Shook her head. “I don't want to leave, in case …”

“Of course. Order in pizza?”

Sheri shrugged in disinterest. “Maybe when Jason's gone.”

“Okay. So … what's the plan Jason mentioned?”

Sheri wrenched her gaze away from Jason's truck. “That's it, mainly. Jason is going to phone around to his colleagues and send them a photo of Phil and Tyler. Phil's family hasn't heard from him, not that I thought they would.” She pulled a wry face. “Nice enough people, but to them even a trip from the farm to Winnipeg is a trip to foreign lands. They don't understand what he's been doing all these years, mixing in other people's troubles.”

Amanda smiled in rueful understanding, even though her own parents were university professors. Cloistered in their academic ivory tower, they had mouthed all the right words of admiration for her as they wrote out cheques for the latest world disaster, but Amanda suspected they felt much the same.

Sheri sighed. “I phoned as many of Phil's friends as I can think of, which wasn't many. He hasn't made many connections here yet. He's picked up odd jobs to help fill the hours, but there's not much work on offer in this town, especially for a development teacher who speaks four languages but none of them Newfoundlandese. That was getting him down too, I know that. It gave him too much time with his thoughts and memories.”

She sat down and picked up her neglected tea, her hand steady now as she focused her thoughts. “It's even possible he's off looking for work. There is more to be had in the major centres like Corner Brook and St. John's.”

“But what about Tyler? He's taken him out of school, hasn't he?”

Sheri smiled, a fond, maternal smile that lit up her face and gave a brief flash of the old Sheri. “Tyler was delighted, believe me. The school year is just beginning, and not much new work is being done yet anyway. And Tyler is very smart. Missing a couple of weeks won't hurt him at all.”

Amanda wasn't surprised. She'd last seen the boy two years ago in Senegal, and even back then, home-schooled and left to his own entertainment in the village, his intelligence and curiosity had shone through. At the age of eight, Phil had put him to work tutoring the village children in basic reading. She remembered Phil's face, shining with pride and love.

“Phil and he always were close,” she said.

Sheri's smile faded. “That was before. But Phil knew he's been neglecting Tyler this past year, and he felt bad about that. Tyler's been hurt and angry. That's why Phil was taking him along on this trip with you. Hoping to rebuild.”

Amanda was saved from further comment by the opening of the front door. Jason's face gave away nothing about the argument or its resolution.
How like a cop
, Amanda thought. But Sheri's face was a different story. Hope, apprehension, and guilt collided in one flushed glance. Before she could ask, he shook his head.

“Chris Tymko's heard nothing. Knows nothing. Last he heard from Phil was a few weeks ago.”

“What does he think —?”

“Like I said, nothing. He's as surprised as we are.”

“I'm not surprised, Jason,” Sheri snapped back. Her colour was rising and her jaw was set. Amanda had seen that look before, when militia diverted some supplies needed for the local villagers. Sheri had berated them like an outraged schoolmarm. “I've seen this coming. I just didn't …” Her voice shook. “Well, you know.”

“This isn't your fault, Sheri.” He walked over and stood by her. Close and protective, yet dominant as well. Sensing a mixed message of support and warning, Amanda's intuition stirred.

Sheri stepped away from him. “What is Chris planning to do?”

Jason shrugged. “Tymko marches to his own drum. If he has any ideas, he didn't tell me, but I wouldn't be surprised if he had a hunch. He might head off on his own private search.”

“Then he's taking this seriously?”

Jason smiled. “Well, I guess there's not much action out his way. We'll find them, Sheri. One way or another, the whole island has their eyes peeled.”

“Thank you, Jason. Corporal Maloney.” Sheri headed for the front door, her face rigidly polite. For a moment Jason hovered on the threshold, his gaze lingering on hers, before with a quick nod, he was gone. Sheri stood in the open doorway, gazing out into the violet dusk.

“So,” Amanda said, “does Phil know?”

Sheri pressed her lips tight. Every ounce of her quivered for calm. Amanda had expected surprise, bewilderment, or denial, but after a long minute of tense silence, Sheri shook her head. “Not about Jason. Just that there was someone.”

“One of his friends. That would be a blow.”

Sheri slammed the front door. “That's why I didn't tell him! How cruel do you think I am?”

“I don't think you're cruel, Sheri. But husbands can sense these things. Even I sensed it after less than half an hour!”

“I lied. I told him it was someone I met at a teacher's conference in St. John's.”

“But does Tyler know? Did he ever witness anything?”

“Around him, we were always just friends — Jason and his son, and me and Tyler. The boys brought us together, in fact. There was never anything for anyone to see.”

I wouldn't count on it
, Amanda thought. Small town, handsome local cop, vulnerable mother … denial would be no match for such a luscious brew. She suspected this Chris Tymko might be way ahead of any of them.

Two hours later, pink and languid from a hot bath, Amanda curled up beneath the handmade country quilt and stuffed a couple of pink ruffled pillows behind her back. The outrageous extravagance of the Victorian B&B was well beyond her camping budget, but after three days straddling Shadow, and facing the prospect of sleeping on a two-inch strip of foam in a tent, she decided to toss her budget out the window.