Echoes of the Past (7 page)

“I’ll answer whatever questions the pathologist has. Maybe
he’ll be more interested in the test results than you are. Someone needs to
find that lab. If you won’t help me, maybe he will.

The mayor threw back his head and laughed.

“Good luck with that. No one’s going to help you prove
something that’s all in your imagination. Go home, professor. Accept what we
all know. There’s no real mystery as to why there’s water in our lake. It’s the
water cycle every kid learns about in science. There’s an extensive swamp, and
two streams all flowing into the lake. They’re your water sources.
If the water has the same mineral properties as a lake a thousand
miles away, so what?
This is the Canadian Shield. The rocks are all the
same. Your students are dead because they knew the truth, and you wanted to
shut them up. As far as I’m concerned, you killed them as surely as if you’d
held their faces underwater.”

“Look, your honor,” Tony fought to keep his voice level. “I
did not send them out to test the water last night. I would never send anyone
out in a canoe on a stormy night like that, and my students wouldn’t have gone
even if I’d told them to. They were found bundled together inside one coat.
That makes no sense to me. Does it make sense to you? They were experienced
canoeists and swimmers. Neither of them would have done something as stupid as
tie themselves together like that. That’s what I told the family. That’s what
doesn’t make sense. Lindsay and Aaron were colleagues and friends, but they
weren’t a couple, and they had no reason to be out on that water.”

“What do you really know about your students? Maybe they
were in love, and it was some kind of suicide pact. Hell, for all I know they
could be the ones with the meth, and they were afraid you’d find their lab. Who
better to cook up that little chemistry project than university science
students? They could have been high or drunk and thought they’d go after your
mysterious maiden. Some woman who’d had way too much of the local wine claimed
to have seen her ghost paddling away from shore just last month. Maybe your
students ‘saw’ her too. Or maybe the little girlfriend found her boyfriend
diddling the competition and took care of them. It doesn’t matter. It’s not
germane to the situation.
Your students, your responsibility.
You explain why they’re dead.”

“We’ve had problems from year to year—poor weather, poor
economy—but this time, even I don’t think I can spin this in our favor. It’s
okay for people to believe we have a plesiosaur in the lake, but if they start
thinking it’s tipping canoes, then we’re all in trouble. This island survives
on tourist dollars. Some tourists will come out of ghoulish curiosity, most
will stay away. If they think our ghostly lovers have turned into malevolent
ghosts going around murdering people, it won’t help. In the meantime, I’m
trying to get your research permit revoked. I suggest you pack up. You’re out
of here as soon as I can manage it.”

“I’m not leaving until I’m good and ready. I want answers to
why my students are dead, but I also want to know where those chemicals are
coming from. Someone’s poisoning the lake, and I want to know who. But
something else is bothering me right now. I want to know why you don’t care.”

Ron laughed again, the sound as unpleasant as the man
himself.

“I don’t care because as far as I can see, this is all a
crock of bull. There are no poisonous chemicals in our water. Get out of my
office, professor, and don’t come back. I’ll be sure to send the provincial
coroner your way. Don’t worry. He’ll know all about you and your nonsense
before he meets you.”

* * * *

Michelle unlocked her apartment door, and walked into the
foyer. The converted warehouse complex hosted eight lofts. Hers was a second
story corner unit with windows on two sides. She loved the red brick walls,
high ceilings, and cedar plank floors. Huge Douglas fir pillars held up the
roof. Her plants thrived thanks to all the natural light. The walls were
painted a soft moss green and anything upholstered was covered in deeper shades
of that color. She’d furnished it primarily with antiques and reproductions. On
the far wall of the dining area, her collection of carnival glass reflected the
overhead lights.

Lynn came in every week to clean, dust, and
water
the plants. Tasha brought up the mail for her and put
it in a basket on the hall table. Since her bills and bank statements were all
e-posts, there wasn’t anything critical waiting for her. She noted most of what
was in the basket consisted of brochures for tropical vacations and cruises.
She shuddered at the thought of ten days at sea—all that water.

Michelle carried her suitcase into the spare room and placed
it on the sleigh bed. Most of what was in it wouldn’t be suitable for Prince
Edward County, but she’d bought a couple of sweaters when the weather had
turned cold. She opened the case, removed the items she’d need and carried them
into the apartment’s small laundry room. She’d wash what she could now and do
the rest later tonight.

She kicked off her heels and padded into the washroom. What
she wanted was a shower. What she’d settle for would be a nice hot bath. She
looked at the clock. It was almost four. She had to meet Tasha at six.
Lots of time to soak and try to make sense of all this.

She put the plug in the drain and started the water. The
scent of her favorite herbal bubble bath perfumed the air, and she removed her
clothing. The mirror above the sink beckoned, and she relaxed when her own
image stared back at her.
I’ve got myself
all worked up over nothing.

She sank into the warm water, letting the fragrance and the
heat relax her. It would be interesting to meet two hot and alive men, and
doing it on the company’s dime wouldn’t hurt anyone. She’d solve the case and
see where it left her and the two
hotties
afterward.

She closed her eyes and let her thoughts drift back to the
unpleasant scene with Tasha in the deli. She hated arguing with her best
friend, but Tasha was right about one thing. This fear of water had to end.

* * * *

Tony stared at the road through the rain trying to keep his
mind on his driving instead of letting it go back to that meeting with the
mayor. He white-knuckled the steering wheel as the wind battered the SUV. The
rain came down faster than the wipers could clear it from the windshield, and because
of the storm, dusk had fallen earlier than usual. Visibility worsened by the
minute. He should have waited until tomorrow to get his answers, but violent,
angry outbursts weren’t him, any more than pining over some woman was. The
scene in the kitchen haunted him. He had to know the truth—one way or another.

A particularly strong gust of wind slammed rain and debris into
the windshield momentarily blinding him. Tony shivered. He should turn back and
go straight to the inn, but his gut told him he needed to see Joseph. The rain
eased up slightly as he pulled into Mohawk Territory.

Was that jackass mayor right? Would the parents blame him
for what had happened? They were young adults not children under his care
twenty-four-seven, but he felt responsible. A career and research grants seemed
like pittance when compared to the lives of two of the brightest students he’d
ever had. He’d gladly trade places with them if he could.

He took his left hand off the steering wheel and pushed his
hair off his face, back behind his ear. He should have tied it back, but his
head had been pounding when he’d left Ron’s office and he thought letting it
loose would help. Not likely with the stress he was under. He’d get it cut
first thing tomorrow. Enough was enough. God! How had things become so chaotic?

Tony frowned. He’d never considered needing an alibi. If you
hadn’t done anything wrong, why would you need one? How many people who lived
alone spent their time wondering if they had alibis in case they needed them?
More often than not—on television anyway—the good guy, erroneously accused on
circumstantial evidence, ended up in jail because he had no alibi. Well, he might
have one, but if he did, he wasn’t sure it was going to be much help.

He’d seen the light go out in Jackson’s window, but he
hadn’t seen Jackson, and he didn’t know whether or not Jackson had seen him. If
he had, he’d seen him on the beach around two o’clock in the morning, alone, in
the middle of the storm, bare-chested, looking like a madman. If that wasn’t
suspicious, he didn’t know what was. Hell, he’d consider himself guilty based
on the circumstantial evidence.

People would be looking to pin this on someone, and he was probably
the number one choice. If Tony mentioned he’d gone after the woman, then they’d
think he was crazy, and anything he said would be discredited.
Guilty by reason of insanity?
What a mess! Just how much
store would the coroner and the police put in Jackson’s statement if he had one?
He might be in big trouble here, and he was one hundred percent innocent.

The lights of
Tyendinaga
shone up
ahead, and he made a right turn onto the road that led to Joseph Smoke’s
two-story limestone house, one of the oldest houses on the reserve. He breathed
a sigh of relief when he saw the welcoming lights in the windows. Thank God
someone was home. He’d hate to have made the trip out here for nothing. He
should have called. He looked at his watch. Well, four-thirty was a little
early for supper. He’d be gone long before it was time to eat.

He parked the vehicle and ran up onto the covered porch. The
door held an intricately designed doorknocker, and he used it. The sound
reverberated. The door opened and a young blonde, several months pregnant by
the looks of her, stood in the doorway. Did he have the wrong house? Smoke was
almost eighty years old.

“Whatever brought you here in this weather must be
important.” The woman’s words were friendly, her smile inviting.

“I’m not sure I’m at the right place. I’m looking for Joseph
Smoke.”

She laughed and nodded. “You’ve got the right house. Come on
in.
Papa’s bow hunting in the den.”

The words made no sense. Who bow hunts in the house? Tony
followed the woman down the hall.

“I’m Maggie, by the way, Joseph’s son Mike’s wife. They’re competing.”

She opened the door and the two men stood there facing the
forty-six inch television currently be used to showcase the electronic game
they we’re playing. The young man’s shot went wide, and Joseph laughed.

“Your family would go hungry if you had to feed them with
your hunting skills.”

“Yeah well, the province pays me well, and Maggie can get
lots of food for us all at the store. Sorry Pops, I’m a game warden, remember?
I don’t believe in killing for sport. If I had to, I would, but I can get my
steak from the butcher faster than off the hoof.”

“Papa, you have a guest,” Maggie interrupted probably in
time to prevent an argument on traditions.

Joseph looked up, and his weather-worn face split into a
grin. “Professor Steele, I wasn’t expecting you.” He sobered. “I heard about
the
drownings
. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know the girl,
but I’ve met her uncle, and he’s a man of honor. Mayor Ron,” he said the word
as if it left a bad taste in his mouth, “says I have to speak to a coroner from
Toronto for permission to purify the lake.”

“Thanks, Joseph. We’re all still in shock. Could I speak
with you in private? I’d like your help with a personal matter.”

The old man looked at him with so much concentration Tony
felt as if he was looking inside him. After a few minutes, he nodded.

“Come with me. Maggie, can you bring some willow bark tea.”

“Aren’t you feeling well?”

“No, daughter.
It isn’t for me. The
professor’s head hurts.”

“How did you know I had a headache?” Tony asked as soon as
they were alone the private audience chamber, reminiscent of a long house. The
walls were decorated in Mohawk motifs with the Peace Tree, symbol of the Mohawk
Confederacy, easily recognizable. There were animal symbols for the various
clans, with a large thunderbird dominating the others. Joseph’s family belonged
to the bear clan. Hanging on the far wall was Joseph’s formal eagle feather
headdress. Beside it hung his buckskins, and next to that his ceremonial ribbon
shirt.
This place must be an office or
counselling chamber of some sort.
Although Joseph wasn’t the tribe’s
shaman, as an elder he commanded respect, and his opinion was often sought by
others.

“Would you believe me if I told you the spirits told me?”

“I don’t know what I believe anymore.”

The old man sat in one of the two recliners and indicated
the other. Joseph had an air of peace about him unlike so many of the people
his age Tony knew at the university. Instead of being in a rush all the time,
striving to prove he was still effective, still worthy of his title, Joseph was
calm, satisfied with life. He wore jeans and a cowboy-styled chambray shirt in
dark green. His hair was long and white, braided the way the woman’s had been
in his dream. His face was as dark and wrinkled as old leather, testifying to
his years at work in the sun. In his younger days, Joseph had been a sky
walker, one of the Mohawks who worked on the New York City skyscrapers. He’d
worked on the World Trade Center and, like many others, despite his
age,
he’d gone to New York to help in the aftermath of
nine-eleven.

“I think I’m losing my mind, Joseph.”

“Tell me what’s been happening to you, my son. You may not
be Mohawk, but the
Nanticoke
Lenni
-Lenape blood of your ancestors runs deep in your
veins.”

Tony’s gaze jerked
away from his perusal of the room. He stared at Joseph.