Meg Harris Mysteries 5-Book Bundle. R.J. Harlick
hear Gareth saying these words. And he’d finish with his favourite expression, “I told you so.”
The words sure fit now. How could I have been so dumb as not to check for a way out before I’d blithely jumped down?
I quickly dismissed the idea of swimming out. The water was too cold. Besides, I wasn’t desperate enough, at least not yet, to reveal my middle-aged body with its non-conforming bulges to just anybody. Walking along the shoreline was a non-starter, for the cliff at either end of the beach dropped straight into the lake.
I paced back and forth along the edge of the water. I kicked what I thought was a small stone and almost broke my toe on a buried boulder.
To hell with the gold. They could destroy the whole damn island for all I cared.
“Eric, where the hell are you?” I yelled in frustration. He had to be somewhere nearby.
I threw a stone into the water and another. And then it finally sunk in. Although Eric was no longer on this beach, his footprints still were. They would show me where he’d climbed out.
I returned to the tracks and followed them once more to the cave. From there they continued beside the dead pine until they stopped at a boulder. I climbed over the trunk and found them on the other side. Except this time, I saw not one set of tracks, but two.
I easily recognized Eric’s footprints by their large size. A deeply ridged tread with an elongated “y” trademark of a popular brand of running shoe. I was surprised. I’d never seen Eric wear running shoes. But then again, maybe Eric hadn’t made these prints. Still, that was his aluminum boat. I was almost certain of it. And these tracks did look fresh.
The other set, however, surprised me even more. They were from a small foot, smaller than my own. Did this mean Eric had been here with a woman? Had they used the cave? I started to get angry, but immediately quashed it. We were just friends, after all.
I lost the tracks in a tangle of deadfall, then picked them up again a few feet away. But I found myself following only one set of footprints, the running shoes, to the water’s edge, where I swore. He had escaped by boat.
A wedge-shaped indentation gouged the sand where the bow had been dragged ashore. Although I could see where he had climbed in, I couldn’t find any signs of the woman boarding. But she was gone, so either her tracks had been erased by the water or he had carried her into the boat.
Then I reminded myself Eric’s boat was actually lying beached on the other end of the island. So this man couldn’t have been Eric. Unless, of course, the woman had come separately in her own boat, which would make sense if she were married.
Unfortunately, this escape route wasn’t going to work for me. I turned back to the cliff, determined to check one last time, and groaned. The top was considerably higher at this end of the beach than where I’d jumped down. However, to avoid swimming in the icy water, I’d climb Mt. Everest. I searched the smooth granite wall inch by inch for a firm foothold but saw nothing promising.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a splotch of brilliant yellow near one of the fir trees lining the top edge of the cliff. It abruptly disappeared, then flashed again at a different spot.
Convinced it was someone, I shouted, “Hey! Can you help me?”
The yellow remained for another second, then vanished.
“Don’t go away! I need help!”
I waited for a face to appear over the edge. But none appeared. I was mistaken. Probably a yellow plastic bag caught on a branch.
Discouraged, I sat down on a log and scanned the empty lake for life. It could be hours, if not days before a boat came to this side of the island. With growing dread, I realized swimming was the only way out.
A raven croaked once, twice, and then twice more. I looked up to find him perched at the top of a spindly pine growing at the base of the cliff. For a few moments we stared at each other, then he unfolded his long black wings and floated upwards. I watched him ride an air current high into the sky and wished I could do the same. I looked at the pine, which somehow was surviving on this barren beach, and wondered how long it would take before I looked as starved. Then I noticed two objects close to the pine that seemed at odds with the natural litter on the beach. Curious, I went to investigate.
At first glance, they appeared to be nothing more than the bleached remnants of old deadfall, but the nailed crossbars made me realize I was staring at two crosses jammed into the sand. Along the length of each crosspiece ran a line of irregular indentations, which had probably once spelled out the names of the dead.
It seemed a lonely and forgotten place for a burial. Maybe these were the ancestors Marie had mentioned. Though they looked as if they belonged more to the modern Christian world than to the ancient one inhabited by her ancestors. Most likely they were loggers, long since faded from local memory, who’d died before this area had cemeteries.
Then I noticed how carefully tended the burial site was and realized they weren’t forgotten. The sand around the crosses had been swept clean of broken branches, while the crosses themselves stood firmly upright, not slanted as they should be after years of frost upheaval. In front of each was a small cavity filled with a curl of birch bark containing leaves of translucent mica and several raven feathers.
And to add to the mystery, I found the footprints of Eric’s woman beside one of the crosses and two round indentations where she’d knelt as if in prayer.
Suddenly, above my head, a loud crack rang out. I looked up to see a tree hurtling towards me. I lunged out of the way as the tree crashed into my legs, slamming me into the sand. The ground shook. Branches snapped. I flung my arms over my head. Wood clattered against wood and thumped my back. A branch pierced the ground beside my cheek. I waited, body tense, face down on the sand. I heard what sounded like a stream of dirt landing on the ground.
I waited until the sound stopped, then looked up. An arm’s length away lay a dead spruce bristling with sharp branches, some broken, some buried deep in the sand. I breathed deeply, letting the tension slowly drain out. I mentally checked every part of my body, but felt no stabbing pain. My legs were pinned, but I could move them. I carefully eased them from under the broken trunk.
I slowly stood up. Everything seemed okay. My jacket was ripped, but that was minor. My cheek hurt. Blood dribbled from my chin. My legs hurt. Everything hurt. But I could move. I could walk. I silently thanked the gods, any gods, I wasn’t skewered to the ground.
More dirt rained down from the top. I looked up in time to see a head jerk back. I leapt far out of range.
“What the hell are you doing? You could have killed me,” I shouted.
I backed further away to get a better view of the cliff top. I saw another flash of brilliant yellow deeper into the trees.
“Who are you?”
I waited several minutes for an answer that never came. And then I began to shake. I could be lying in the sand with a broken leg. I could have a thousand branches sticking out of me. I could be dead.
The sound of a boat’s engine cut through my whirling thoughts. I jerked around to see Eric coming towards me.
SEVEN
I didn’t wait for Eric to land on the beach. I didn’t care how cold it was, I wasn’t staying on that beach a second longer. I splashed through the freezing water and clambered over the side into the bow, shipping almost as much water into the boat as there was in the lake.
“Watch it! You’ll get me wet,” Eric yelled. He rammed a paddle into the water to stop the rocking. “Christ, what’s got into you?”
“Get me out of here,” I yelled back.
“Slow down, you’d think a pack of wolves was after you.”
“Just go.”
Eric scanned the empty beach and raised his eyebrows in puzzlement. The bristling spruce