Murder at Lost Dog Lake (7 page)

Dianne
asked the inevitable question. “Where are your children
now?”

“
With their father.” I never discuss my private life. Not with
anyone, not my friends, my family, even my partner. And certainly
not to a woman of two days acquaintance. My divorce had been ugly,
destructive, bitter, and expensive, to put it mildly. It was an
open, gaping wound on my psyche, which I managed to keep carefully
hidden behind a sturdy brick wall of work and privacy.

Change
of subject urgently required.

“
That should be the portage over there. Where those two yellow
canoes are headed? That little bay?” Dianne’s eyesight wasn’t as
good as mine. The little bay ended at a strip of sand. The group I
referred to was most likely scouting out a potential campsite. But
it put a stop to Dianne’s questions and she turned her mind to
steering our canoe in that direction.

Craig’s
shouts and gestures soon alerted us to our mistake and Dianne
turned back on course. The chatty mood broken, we traveled on in
silence.

Lost in
a misery of remembrance, thinking back over the last few, horrible
years, I jolted back to reality only when the bow of the canoe
crashed into a submerged rock. My head snapped forward and my eyes
flew open.

“
For heaven’s sake, Leanne,” Dianne cried. “Weren’t you
watching where we’re going? It’s your job to tell me what’s up
ahead, you know.”

Thankful
that I was sitting in the bow, and thus facing away from Dianne, I
hastily wiped the tears out of my eyes and offered profuse
apologies.

There is
nothing like physical labor to distract the mind. We arrived at the
next portage and I was instantly swept up in the process of
unloading the canoe and lugging it and all our equipment around the
rapids in order to continue the journey. Only the task at hand
mattered, and my memories slipped back into the depths of my
subconscious, where they always lurked, ever ready to spring
forward at the slightest provocation.

The
portage was a moderately long one, almost 500 yards and rough
underfoot. As we ventured further and further into the interior of
the park the numbers of canoeists dwindled dramatically. Families
with small children and those on one or two night trips would
venture no further than the first or second portage.

We
lowered our packs to stretch backs unaccustomed to bearing much
weight, and Craig pointed out the next leg of our trip. Across a
tiny lake to yet another portage. But this time, he told us, the
portage was short and it ended in a beautiful waterfall where a
tiny river rushed to fill a vacuum between one lake and the
next.

In a few
energy-packed minutes we crossed the lake and made the next
portage. We loaded the canoes one more time but left them pulled up
close to shore. Craig clambered up the rocks to the top of the
waterfall and unpacked the lunch pail. We followed like a line of
starving ants invading a family picnic.

Lunch
consisted of dark rye bread with hunks of salami and thick slabs of
Swiss cheese. I slathered globs of bright yellow mustard over the
bread and dug in as eagerly as the others. Even Rachel, who didn’t
look as if she would ever allow a drop of fat to cross those
perfect lips, devoured one huge sandwich.

Sated at
last, we settled back for a rest.

I tossed
my daypack over one shoulder and I clambered up the hill in search
of a nice, secluded changing spot. Crouching awkwardly behind a
moss covered boulder, I slipped out of my clothes into my bathing
suit and then re-negotiated the climb down to the lake. Through the
trees I caught a glimpse of Dianne re-arranging the packs that had
been loaded into the canoes earlier. Richard was nowhere to be
seen. On a pit stop, probably. Joe stretched out on a rock, sound
asleep. Rachel sat beside him admiring her toenails. Barb and Craig
were already in the water splashing each other with gusto. But not
everyone was caught up in the general air of relaxation and fun:
all by himself Jeremy sat on the rocks staring at the people in the
water, fists clenched and scowl fixed firmly in place. He didn’t
seem to have any other expression.

Gingerly, I stepped into the water. It was shallow, and muddy
underfoot, but fortunately there were none of the dreaded water
grasses. I tiptoed deeper into the water and then stretched out on
my back and floated happily. It was another hot, hot day and the
cool water felt wonderful on my overheated body.

A plop
of something hitting the water brought me quickly vertical once
again. A tiny scrap of pink cloth drifted by. Barb’s bikini top
bobbed gaily on top of the waves before it absorbed enough water
and started to sink like a little pink, two-headed jellyfish. I
considered letting it continue downward, the water was deep, dark
and impenetrable, but my better nature took over (the cursed thing
does that at the most inconvenient times) so I retrieved it by one
delicate strap.

Barb
giggled brightly. “Oh, silly me. Look what I’ve gone and lost. Now
it’s your turn, Craig. Skinny dipping anyone?” Treading water she
pulled off her bottom and waved it wildly over her head.
Fortunately for those of us not particularly interested in the
nether parts of Barb’s anatomy, the water was as dark as tea leaves
forgotten and left steeping overnight, which made visibility under
the waterline about nil.

With a
curse Jeremy flung the little stone he was playing with into the
water, missing Barb by inches. He got to his feet and lumbered
heavily off into the woods.

Rachel
squealed in delight, peeling off her shirt and bra. I caught the
flash of a full body tan before she hit the water.

At that
moment Richard stepped out of the woods. He stood stock still in
amazement, his mouth hanging open.

I
wondered whether to join the fun myself, but having breast-fed two
ferociously hungry boys I was a bit embarrassed to reveal my
well-used self. I try not to worry about such things, after all
what are two lovely, perfect, perky breasts compared to the
richness of motherhood?

Enough
to keep me covered.

Craig’s
face was a sight to behold. He was trying so hard not to stare at
the lovely Rachel while Barb splashed and giggled and tried to turn
his attention her way.

“
I’d better pack up the lunch things,” he said with a croak.
Underneath the beard and the tan he had turned a delightful shade
of red.

Barb’s
smile disappeared the minute Craig’s back was turned, and she
watched him climb out of the water with a scowl fit to match
Jeremy’s. Oblivious, Rachel played on and Richard continued to
gape. I tossed Barb her bikini top; she snatched it out of the air
and replaced it with a furious snap. No actress she. Catching me
watching she plastered a huge frozen smile on her face but her blue
eyes flashed like ice chips. She stomped into the woods and came
out a few minutes later, clothes and flirtatious giggle back in
place.

I did a
few fast strokes along the shoreline, chuckling inwardly all the
while. How amusing other people’s love lives (or attempts to have
one) seem to those of us who are not involved.

Craig
packed up what few scraps of lunch remained and shouted that it was
time to get underway. While the rest of us were playing in the
water after eating, Dianne pulled out colored pencils and a
sketchpad and disappeared into the woods. At Craig’s call, she
returned, all ready and eager to be in motion on the lake once
again. Richard finally closed his mouth, and unnoticed I slipped
into the woods to change back into my clothes.

Rachel
pulled on her T-shirt without bothering about the bra. She nudged
Joe with her foot. The polish on her toes was beginning to chip.
Joe awoke with a start - that rock couldn’t have been all that
comfortable. A huge grin split his face as he took in the sight of
Rachel in all her wet T-shirt glory. He leapt to his feet eagerly,
but the sight of all of us standing around watching took some of
the enthusiasm out of his awakening.

Scowl
still fixed firmly in place, Jeremy returned from the woods. Being
rewarded with a toothy smile and a toss of Barb’s damp blond mane
forced the crack of a matching smile through his habitually
unpleasant expression. His teeth were small, a row of
corn-off-the-cob nuggets, and his too prevalent gums were harsh and
red.

Barb
giggled once again and led the way down to the canoes. Jeremy
followed like an eager lap dog. I almost expected him to sit back
on his haunches and beg. For a moment I felt sorry for the
boy.

Barb was
playing a dangerous game. But it was her game and absolutely none
of my business. Fortunately for my peace of mind and the enjoyment
of the day, I was quite oblivious to just how involved in their
antics I would soon find myself.

Chapter 6

Day 3: Afternoon.

While we
ate our lunch and cavorted with various degrees of happiness in the
dark lake, the wind turned direction and picked up speed. Now that
we were back on the water, the wind blew directly into our faces.
Paddling was tough work, requiring a good deal of effort. I
concentrated on the movement of my paddle through the water, pull,
lift, swing, drop, and pull again. Although I have always tried to
keep myself in reasonably good shape, I had made a special effort
over the last few months to build up the muscles of my shoulders
and arms. Second day in the canoe and my body screamed at me that I
should have worked harder.

I
wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Dianne paddled with even
more intensity than before. When I glanced over my shoulder to
catch the occasional glimpse behind me, she looked like a mad
thing, all steely-eyes, bulging neck muscles and fierce
determination. As usual we were far ahead of the others. Did Dianne
have something to prove here? On the bright side, the hard work
kept my mind from wandering and I did enjoy enveloping myself in
the single-minded focus of our task.

The wind
took the sting of the sun’s heat out of the air, but I had enough
presence of mind to remember that the rays were as powerful as
ever. I stopped paddling and yelled for Dianne to be sure to put on
enough sunscreen. She looked at me like I was a total incompetent
for daring to take a rest and didn’t even break her stroke. I
lathered more sunscreen on my arms and legs and filled up my water
bottle once again.

But no
matter how determined a paddler Dianne might be, Craig, who was
after all a male and at least 20 years younger than she, put on a
burst of speed and caught up with us.

“
Will you two slow down a bit,” he shouted across once he was
in calling distance. “We have to travel as a group.”

Barb,
seated in the bow of his canoe, gasped for breath. The sudden
increase in pace was a bit much for her, but she didn’t
complain.

Dianne
snorted. “Don’t see why I should have to hang back because some of
us,” we all knew she meant Joe and Rachel, “couldn’t make their way
across the lake in a bathtub.”

Craig
sighed and wiped the back of his hand over his forehead. “We’re a
group and we have to stay together. But I’ll tell you what, why
don’t you go on ahead, slowly! And check out the campsites. I don’t
think we’ll get as far today as I wanted, but we’ve all probably
had enough.”

Dianne
snorted again.

“
Once you think you’ve found a nice place, wait off shore for
us to catch up and we’ll all check it out. That sound okay with
you?”

“
Well, I’m game to carry on, but if you insist.” Dianne sighed
deeply to make sure that we all realized what an enormous sacrifice
she was making.

The lady
protests too much, I thought. It was obvious that Dianne was
exhausted.

Soon we
discovered a beautiful stretch of sandy beach, which, to my
delight, boasted a still unoccupied campsite. I flashed on an image
of a long-forgotten movie: somewhere in the South Pacific dug-out
canoes filled with muscular, bronzed Islanders paddling through the
pounding surf towards gleaming, perfect white sand.

There
was no surf, no gently swaying palm trees and the sand was more a
dull brown than white, but to my tired eyes the gentle whitecaps of
this pristine blue lake and the wealth of Jack Pine, Hemlock and
Maple were more welcoming any day.

The
campsite was well maintained and gave the appearance of having been
vacated recently. It was narrow, but spread out along the
shoreline. Three sides were thick with trees, brush and bramble but
the front opened up into the expanse of beach and the lake beyond.
The wind, blowing from behind the camp, was almost completely
muffled by the density of the forest, so the little clearing stood
calm, still and welcoming.

Perfectly happy with our choice, Dianne and I disobeyed
orders (what was he going to do, throw us in the brig, maybe make
us walk the plank?) and pulled up onto the sand. We checked the
site out in an instant and set to unloading the canoe and unpacking
the equipment.

In
perfect agreement, we giggled like schoolgirls, explaining to each
other that even if he wanted to carry on, Craig would never expect
us to repack everything. Would he?