Murder at Lost Dog Lake (22 page)

“
What happened to your whistle?” Craig said.

“
Whistle?”

“
Yes, your whistle.” He held his up as evidence. “You’re
supposed to have your whistle on you at all times, for just this
sort of incident. That sound carries much further than any human
voice.”

Barb dug
into Joe’s shirtfront and pulled out the bright orange plastic
whistle.

He had
the grace to look sheepish. “Sorry, forgot all about
it.”

Dianne
huffed.

Barb
screeched and whacked his shoulder, but she was relieved to have
him back.

As was
I. One murder at a time was all that I could cope with right
now.

Chapter 18

Day 10: Early Morning.

Another
fitful night. Possessed of an inexhaustible supply of fury the
storm continued to rage, all through the long, long night, outside
our little circle of two tents and one drooping tarpaulin. I tossed
and turned for hours, my exhausted bones discovering every stone
and pebble and tiny grain of sand lying under the tent floor.
Judging by the sounds emanating from both inside and outside my
tent, not many of the others managed much sleep either.

Still
cursing my oversight in failing to protect the murder weapon, I
considered posting myself as a guard over Richard’s tent, but gave
that idea up in a flash. It was both impractical - I can’t stay
awake forever - and unnecessary. The wind and the rain had done
their work on Richard’s body well before I got him to shelter;
there was no evidence left.

It’s a
lot harder, and a great deal messier, to dispose of a fresh human
body than a canoe paddle.

I must
have managed to doze a bit, after most of what passed of the
endless night, because I awoke to the sound of Craig swearing
furiously as he realized that the storm continued,
unabated.

I
groaned and pulled my sleeping bag up over my head, hoping that I
was still fast asleep and dreaming, but the cursing only got louder
and more vehement.

Soon the
banging of pots and the clatter of setting up the makeshift kitchen
accompanied the curses and I was forced to face reality: I really
was back in the clear, cold light of consciousness. I stuck my head
out of the tent flap and let loose with some swearing of my
own.

Rain
continued to fall. The patch of ground around the tents was nothing
but a teeming puddle of thick, black mud. Visibility out over the
lake was practically non-existent. Clouds and land and water
blended together to form a solid wall of pewter.

From
behind my tent the crack of a tree breaking under the wind tore
through the noise of the storm. I ducked in reflex and a thick,
leaf encrusted branch flew overhead to land with a splash in the
lake. It bobbed briefly amongst the heaving waves, a touch of
cheerful green amongst the endless gray, and then it disappeared
from view.

Finished
with that tree, the wind turned its attentions to our little tent
and tugged furiously against the moorings. The fabric walls
shivered and stretched in answer, but the pegs held fast. Defeated,
the wind moved on and the tent sighed gently before settling back
into its patch of ground.

I tied
on my sandals and struggled upright. Pulling my fingers through my
hair and brushing my teeth with my tongue, I scrambled out of the
tent. I stepped into a river of mud snaking its way through the
camp; the thick ooze slithered over my sandals and wiggled into the
gaps between my toes. We were lucky the interior of the tents
remained as dry as they did.

At this
moment I would have traded my non-existent fortune for a half an
hour in a steaming, bubble-filled bath.

The mood
of the group was dark, to say the least. Day upon day of unending
rain is hard to take at the best of times, and this was certainly
not the best of times. I thought of my sons and was only glad that
they weren’t with me. At least they were safe, warm and dry even if
they did have no one but the nanny to kiss them goodnight and tuck
the Obi Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker duvets firmly under their
chins. Their father and his new young wife, Marlene the social
butterfly, were certainly unlikely to be there.

Head
down, avoiding all eye contact, Craig kept himself busy putting on
the coffee and preparing what he could of breakfast. We had past
the expected nine-day duration of our trip and the food was almost
gone.

Barb,
Jeremy and Joe stood off to one side, huddled together under their
raincoats, talking in low voices. They were well outside the
protection (what little it continued to offer) of the tarp; they
must be plotting. Another mutiny.

“
Look, Craig.” Joe moved back into the circle. His legs were
braced apart, hands on hips and chin jutting forward. “We can’t
stay here forever. We have to get moving.”

Porridge
ladle in one huge hand, Craig turned his attentions from the fire.
“We can’t do anything else, Joe,” he said calmly. “We can’t cross
that lake in this wind. And that’s final.”

“
Well one of us has to make the attempt. And you’re the only
one who knows how to get the hell out of here.” He shifted his
hands tighter on his hips and planted his feet firmly in the
mud.

Behind
him Barb and Jeremy nodded as they also settled hands on hips.
Dianne watched dispassionately from a log in front of the fire pit,
empty coffee cup held loosely in front of her, awaiting
filling.

“
Look,” Craig said calmly. He sounded much like a patient
university tutor lecturing particularly dense first-year students,
waving the ladle in the air like a pointer. “We’re not the only
people stuck in this you know. The park rangers and the police will
be on the water as soon as they can, checking campsites and remote
lakes. I filed the planned details of our route back at the lodge,
and we’ve pretty well kept to it. The safest thing to do is to just
sit tight. This storm can’t last forever, then we’ll flag down a
ranger and get help.”

“
Well, we’re sure as hell the only people out here with a dead
body and a murderer on the loose,” Barb shouted. “And I’m not going
to sit here waiting for help that might, or might not,
come.”

“
What do you mean, murderer?” I said.

“
Oh, come on, Leanne. Any idiot could tell by the way you were
cuddling that paddle to your chest and burying it under rocks that
you think it’s some kind of evidence. And going back to the body
with your camera after Richard was found, that wasn’t because you
wanted to take a few action shots of your summer vacation, I would
venture to guess.”

I sucked
in my breath and tried to steady my breathing. Dianne dropped her
coffee cup as if she’d found a snake curled up for a nap in the
bottom and leapt to her feet.

“
Murder!” she screamed. “What are you talking about? It was an
accident. Richard fell; no one would want to murder him. Everyone
loved Richard.”

I
doubted that but placed one hand on her arm as she lunged toward
Barb, ready to take her shock and anger out on the Englishwoman’s
face.

Rachel
scuttled out of her tent in alarm. Apparently she had run into some
difficulties applying this morning’s make-up. Probably not enough
light - the lipstick line overflowed the natural curve of her mouth
in a jagged edge and green eye shadow highlighted one lid but not
the other.

“
Murder, murder.” Jeremy and Joe whispered the emotion-packed
word at each other, eyes wide with alarm, all trace of aggression
and rebellion gone like wisps of smoke rising from the damp
fire.

“
You mean you didn’t know.” Barb looked around in a fair
resemblance of disbelief. “It’s as plain as the rain in front of
your face.” She laughed. “Some detective you are, Leanne, sneaking
around in the dark. Don’t give up your day job.”

The hair
on my arms bristled, but before I could throw a retort, Craig
stepped in. “Never mind all that. Nothing matters now, but this:
we’re trapped here, in this storm, on this little point of land.
And we’ll wait here until the storm ends or until someone passes
by. Get it?” He glared at each of the mutineers in turn. “Get it?”
he repeated to Joe.

They
mumbled ungraciously. Joe and Jeremy sat down on a patch of log,
Jeremy with eyes downcast and face flushed, Joe still glaring at
everything around him. Barb huffed and marched off to stand at the
edge of the lake, staring out over the storm.

She
appeared quite dramatic standing there, beside the canoes; arms
wrapped tightly around the sleeves of her yellow raincoat, the
blond hair hanging wet and matted down her back. The heaving lake
and storm-congested sky provided a stark backdrop to her motionless
figure.

Beside
the canoes!

Something was wrong.

Where
there had been four, there were now only two. Two lonely, yellow
canoes, high and - not very - dry on the rocks.

Hoping
that my eyes were confused by the dim gray light, I stumbled down
to the water’s edge. Only two canoes remained, pulled up onto the
safety of the rocks and flipped over so that their bright bottoms
bravely faced the elements.

The
others heard my cry of shock and came running. As one, we stared
out over the lake.

Craig
had his head still buried in the food bag, digging for some
undiscovered treasure that might be playing hide-and-seek down at
the bottom. He pulled up a plastic bag containing a few thin flakes
of oatmeal. The last of the breakfasts.

Eventually he turned to see what we were all looking at. He
was slow to understand, not wanting to believe it, but then with an
almost inhuman screech, he threw the bag of oatmeal into the
wind.

Yelling
and swearing, kicking logs and stones with every furious step, he
ran down to the water’s edge and waded out several feet. Legs
apart, arms raised high overhead, he screamed at the uncaring
wind.

I
thought I knew all the swear words there are, but I learned a few
more that day. His anger was rising to match the storm that simply
wouldn’t die. He picked rocks up from the lake bottom and hurled
them into the air; he pounded on the water with his fists and
stomped furiously around in circles. With a final primal scream of
rage, he threw himself face first into the water and swam with
powerful steady strokes out into the lake.

We
watched in shocked horror. Craig appeared to have gone stark raving
mad.

Yelling
and jumping up and down we screamed out his name and begged for him
to come back to us.

I
considered pushing one of the remaining canoes into the water and
going after him, but rejected the idea immediately. I wouldn’t be
fast enough, and I certainly couldn’t catch up to him by
swimming.

But
Craig didn’t go far. He stopped his headlong rush forward, swam in
place for a few seconds, then turned and paddled back to
shore.

He was
climbing up out of the water, face still set like a stone mask,
when close, too close, a flash of lightening lit up the stormy sky.
A thunderbolt hurled directly into the choppy, gray and white lake,
only feet from where Craig had been treading water moments
ago.

Rachel
screamed once and then broke out laughing. Her laughter was sharp
and high-pitched without the slightest trace of humor. Joe made
soothing, cooing noises and attempted to gather her up in his arms.
She brushed him aside as if he were an ant and marched back to
camp. Joe followed.

Craig
watched them in disgust. He shook water out of his hair and pulled
off his sandals. The swim hadn’t diluted his rage.

“
Spoiled little rich bitch,” he screamed after her. “Useless,
completely useless.”

“
That’s enough of that,” Dianne said with sufficient frost in
her voice to make a pack of huskies happy.

Craig
whirled to face her. “You’re no better,” he sneered. “Another
spoiled, rich brat wanting to play in the woods. Why can’t you stay
where you belong and leave the rest of us alone?”

Dianne
recoiled as if she had been struck. Her eyes widened in shock and
she lifted one hand to her mouth. She began to cry.

“
Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Craig,” I yelled. “That is so uncalled
for. It’s not Rachel or Dianne’s or anyone else’s fault that we’re
stuck in this storm and that the canoes washed away.”

“
Oh, no,” he said with a vehemence that had me taking a
shocked step backwards. Tripping over a wet rock, I went down hard
and landed on my backside. A jolt of pain rushed up my spine to
bounce off the interior of my skull. Air left my lungs with a
whoosh and my eyes filled with water.

Craig
took one step towards me, large and threatening. I recoiled and
struggled to regain my footing, but he didn’t move any closer. “Who
do you think pulled up the canoes, eh? Which one of you rich,
big-city idiots couldn’t even be bothered to drag the canoes high
enough up onto the rocks? Just wanting to get out of the big, bad
storm I guess. Never mind, good old Craig will take care of
it.”