Grave Concern (21 page)

“Uh, just catching up.”

“Okay, so on top of
all that
, dear,” added Mary, “there's a widespread rumour MNR's behind the cougar stuff.”

“The ‘
cougar stuff?
' Mary,” said Kate, “I'll let you in on a lesson from my illustrious PR career: in any communication there is the communicat
or
and the communica
tee
. Further, in any communication, the latter must be kept in mind.”

“
You know
,” repeated Mary, “
the cougars
. They're actually
reintroducing
them. MNR is.” Unsure whether Kate's mouth hung open in disbelief or incomprehension, Mary went on. “On the sly. Uh, quietly. Without telling people.”

Yes, yes, Kate understood. But failed to say so right away, the knowledge having rendered her speechless.

“Soooo,” said Mary, taking a deep breath, “what does it all mean?”

“Uh,” Kate choked out. “Hoping you'd tell me.”

“Well, I could speculate.”

“Please.”

At that moment, the Beanery door opened, and a cool blast of air lifted their paper napkins up off the table. After a slow, looping flight between tables, the napkins coasted like gulls —
whish, whish
— to the muddy floor. As Mary bent down to pick them up, who should Kate see over Mary's back but Nicholas himself?

Noting Kate's startled look, Mary looked around. “Speak o' the devil,” she said. “Shall we pin the man down?”

Ignoring her better judgment, Kate nodded yes.

On being hailed at some volume by Kate and therefore unable to prolong the fiction of his non-existence, Nicholas reddened and fumbled the lid of his recyclable go-mug, spilling cream on the counter.

As she made her way among the tables toward the ever tall, dark, and handsome Nick, Kate's past reared up over her present like a tidal wave. She was fourteen again, and so was he. She glanced back at Mary for support. Mary gave her the thumbs up.

“Nice to see you in town, Nicholas,” Kate said. She indicated Mary at the table. “Like to join us?”

“Uh, really should run. Not on my own time.”

“C'mon, Link. It's been ages. Be good to catch up.”

Nicholas said nothing, and Kate's armpits broke out in a sweat. Their roles had been flipped, Kate now the rejectee. She turned to look again at Mary, shrugged —
Sorry, I've royally screwed up
.

Suddenly, Nicholas relented. “Okay, okay, for a minute, I guess.”

Formal introductions out of the way, Mary got straight to business.

“Mr. Enderby, I'm aware you hardly know me, but I hope you don't mind if I ask you an intimate question.” Kate had never heard this kind of talk out of her friend. Must be the doctor leaking out.

Kate watched Nicholas redden as he always had — quickly and thoroughly. Still stung by his earlier brush-off, she gained pronounced satisfaction from this.

Nicholas mumbled something into his coffee, and Mary pressed on. “So, this cougar thing. Which side do you come down on? I'm talking of MNR, not you personally, though I'm guessing you and they are as tight as two coats of paint.”

Kate studied Nicholas's face, which seemed longer and leaner than in those days. What she read in the few lines and crow's feet didn't tell her much about the intervening years. Kate had heard about the “good government job.” From scraps of gossip since, she'd inferred the rest: nice balance between the Toronto office and fieldwork (like this), lovely wife, great kids. A stranger meeting Nicholas today would not divine what Kate recalled from their teens: his pack-a-day cigarette habit, trips to the vice-principal's office, late-night stoner staggerings. Still, you couldn't call Nick complicated or complex. That hadn't changed.

Seeing his cover blown, Nicholas let his cup clunk on the table. “None of your business, really, is it?”

Despite the unfavourable response, Kate felt proud of him, standing up for himself. Mary should have used more discretion.

Avoiding Nicholas's eyes, which were lingering on her face, Kate said, “The point is we're pretty concerned about the graveyard comings and goings. Especially since that screwy meeting.”

“Meeting?” Nicholas said.

Kate groaned. “I thought that might be the case. They said you weren't there because you were down in T.O. on business.”

“I was, but that's not why I wasn't. Uh, if you get my drift.”

“They never told you about a meeting?”

“Nope. And I hope to hell they didn't spill the beans.”

“I hate be the bearer,” said Kate, “but they pretty much emptied the beanbag all over the floor.”

As Kate filled him in, the look of horror on Nicholas's face grew profound. He dropped his head and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“That jerk Foxy's the one getting everyone riled up,” he said. “The others are too stupid to be dangerous.” He looked up, and Kate saw fatigue about his eyes.

“Except when they've got guns,” Kate said. “So what's the drill, then, Link?” Kate hoped the old nickname was working in her favour. “Are they planning to blast the hell out of this beast, or what?”

“Damned if I know. Although I'm guessing if they see it again they're not going to call 911. And don't call me Link, by the way.”

“Didn't J.P. start it?” Kate still got a cheap thrill out of saying the name.

“Yup. And that's where it stays. Was never meant for general use.”

“Oookay. Guess I was told.”

Nicholas softened. “Listen, if I could just get one positive … you know …
conclusive
identification of this animal — ”

“So you're not with them — the guys with guns,” Mary said. Was Mary working up to telling Nicholas about the attack on Ned Nickers? If so, she was being super-cautious. Kate had never seen such reticence in her friend.

The look on Nicholas's face needed no interpretation, but Mary wanted it spoken aloud. “Yes? No?”

“Listen. I don't have to answer to you, Doctor. Or you, Kate.”

“Except for the insignificant detail that it's my workplace that has hunters and predatory beasts hanging about,” said Kate. “Nick, don't be so bloody tight.”

Stopped in mid-air as he lifted, Nicholas's coffee mug mirrored the round O of Nicholas's mouth.

In frustration, Kate took a flying leap. “If
you
are not going to tell
me
what's going on,
I'll
tell
you
. You are at odds with the townies because you think it might be cougar and therefore should be protected. Or maybe you
know
it's cougar because you put it there.
Moreover
, if you can get proof of cougar on your watch, you'll have it pretty much made for life at MNR. On the other hand, Foxy and company are on the warpath, and Foxy's secretly hoping to acquire a nice, warm, cat-skin rug for Greta's sunroom, she who's screwing me in new and imaginative ways, but we'll leave that out of it. Meanwhile you, worried the old boys will shoot, shovel, and shut up, are trying to stay in their good books. You're hoping to come across tracks or a deer-kill before they do. Hmmm? Link? Am I right, or am I right?”

“Here's a thought,” said Mary, picking up on Kate's tirade. “With all these guys creeping around, maybe they're just sighting each other.” She turned to Nicholas. “My advice is, don't shoot. You might want to pass that on to your friends.”

Nicholas stood up. “You two are something else, you know? You have no idea what's going on. Why would I sit here and put up with this abuse?”

Now Kate felt bad … really bad. What had gotten into her? Nicholas was just doing his job. He was as pissed off at Foxy and his henchmen as she was. Why was she leaning on him like he was some kind of murderer?

She put her hand lightly on his arm, which he immediately pulled away. “Nick, I'm just so sick of the bullshit. All this hush-hush and cover-up — it drives me crazy. It's like when we were kids, you know? No one ever just came out and spoke the truth.”

The two-second sunburn again infused Nicholas's face.

Kate went on, “Well, except you. You always did. So why am I such a jerk? I'm so sorry, Nick. I apologize.” She nodded at Mary. “And for her, too.”

Mary raised an eyebrow, but kept her mouth shut and examined her shoes.

Nicholas took up his go-mug and stood up.

“For everything,” Kate continued.

At the Beanery door, Nicholas turned. “
Take care,
” he said, with a sarcastic edge that surprised Kate. Then, more sincerely, “Heads up at the graveyard, Kate.” And was gone.

Kate turned to Mary. “Well, I royally screwed that up.”

“Hey, I helped, too,” Mary said. “Credit where credit's due.”

“So, Mary, still want that party?”

“Can't say as I'm much in the mood.”

“Perfect. Best time to celebrate. We'll go above and beyond ourselves, get everyone flattened and see what comes of it. Whaddya say?”

As the Beanery door came to, Kate was already scrabbling in her purse for a pen. She and Mary put heads together to compose a suitable guest list. Fifteen minutes later, they parted company, as pleased with themselves as was decent, considering their common and separate regrets.

Kate groped her way to the wall. Gingerly, she reached out in the dark, feeling for the bench. But, once grasped, it proved difficult to budge. What the hell was it made of — petrified wood? Eventually, by dragging alternately one end and the other, Kate was able to budge the miserable thing a few inches. With each straining effort, Kate loudly addressed both the Creator and every variation thereof, right down to the most intimate nooks and crannies of his human creation. When she finally got the bench moved directly under the hole in the roof, she plopped down to catch her breath.

It was evident that, in its new spot, the cursed thing would be of little use. Even on tiptoe, she would only just be able to grab the exposed beam above her head. From there, a serious chin-up was required. Never in her life had Kate managed this feat, and she wasn't likely to now. As night's darkness softened to grey dawn, she folded in on herself and wept.

The sun was noticeably higher by the time Kate unfurled from fetal and sat up. And there, before her eyes, was the reply to her holy petitions. Stuck in the wall, well above where the bench
used
to be, was a foot-long black metal spike, gritty with recent clods from, Kate guessed, J.P.'s boots. Kate scoured the walls of her brightening prison. Yes! Hammered into the wall adjacent, a giant step from the first, was another huge muddy nail. Above that, open sky beckoned.

Kate couldn't remember the last time she'd truly enjoyed a large social gathering and was determined to alter this pattern. In preparation, she opened her wallet as never before and encouraged Mary to do the same. Mary came through beautifully, placing an order for live lobster from PEI, and for fun, from her own province, some cod tongues, a walloping crateful of screech, and something mysterious she wouldn't tell Kate about. Not to be outdone, Kate leaned on Hille, who leaned on Ron, who knew a member of the local Opimian Society, who put aside a case of authentic and rare champagne. Then Kate promised to work free for a week if Gwyneth Waters would lend all her best vases to the cause plus order up a whack of roses and baby orchids. This, of course, necessitated issuing Gwyneth an invitation. Sometimes you just had to make a sacrifice.