Saving Farley's Bog (3 page)

“And then?”

“Then, like I said, it all changed. He started staying out late. He wouldn’t talk to me about what meetings he attended. He refused to discuss the rezoning application. He stopped answering the phone. Then,” Molly’s eyes grew wide. “Then he changed his vote! I couldn’t believe it.” She shook her head. “All these people worked so hard to save the bog. And then he just ignored them.”

“Do you have any idea why he might have switched his vote?” Stitch asked.

Molly shook her head emphatically. “Absolutely none.”

“Molly, did Bob suddenly seem to have more money?”

Molly cocked her head. “It’s interesting you mention that. Bob was an accountant. He pinched every penny.” She swept her arm around the room. “Look at this place.”

Stitch looked around. The carpet was stained and tattered. He sank deeply into the green sofa as if the springs were long gone. He noticed that the brown chair was vinyl, not leather.

She shook her head. “Honestly? He was just plain cheap. We made good money. But Bob bought what little furniture we have from garage sales. If we needed a mixer, he bought the cheapest thing he could find on eBay.”

“And then?”

“And then a few weeks ago he started showing up with all these new clothes.” Molly leaned forward again. “You know what he did? He bought himself a Rolex watch. Can you believe that? Our car is a beat-up old Kia, and he buys himself a Rolex watch! When I asked him what was up, he got all defensive. Told me it wasn’t their most expensive. Can you believe that?”

“Yes, ma’am. Now, if your husband took off and didn’t want to be found, where might he go?”

Molly thought for several moments. Then she shook her head. “I don’t know Stitch. I just don’t know.”

“Did you go anywhere remote for a vacation? A cabin, maybe? A favourite campground?”

Molly’s face lit up. “Yes, there is a place. When the kids were little we went to a little cottage in Upper Michigan.” She smiled wryly. “I think he found it on some cut-rate web site. But it turned out to be great. Right on Lake Huron. We ended going there, oh, for three or four summers. There was such a lovely pebble beach.” Molly sighed and leaned back in her rocker. “Those were such good times. What happens, Stitch?”

Stitch shook his head slightly in sympathy. “Can you be more specific on the location, Molly?”

“I’m not sure, Stitch.” She frowned. “Bob always made the plans. I just went along for the ride. Maybe I’m just beginning to realize how much.”

“Can you remember a town? Or how you got there?”

Molly thought for a moment. “Yes. I think the nearest town was Hesse, or Hessie. Something like that. And I remember that we crossed at Sault St. Marie. Drove over this little toll bridge to get into the US.”

Stitch closed his notebook. “Molly, do you have access to Bob’s credit card information?”

Molly looked doubtful. “Bob looked after the finances. He was an accountant,” she said a little defensively.

Stitch nodded. “I understand. But do you know where his card number and password might be?”

“Password? Like for an internet account?”
“Exactly.”

“I may,” Molly said thoughtfully. “Years ago Bob told me that if anything happened all the financial info was in the safe.”

“At your bank?”

“No. Here in the house. It’s in our bedroom. Do you want me to look?”

“Yes, ma’am. That could be very helpful.”

“If you keep calling me ma’am I’m going to kick you in the groin,” Molly said pleasantly.

Stitch laughed aloud. “Yes, ma’… You bet, Molly.”

Molly led Stitch into their bedroom. She pulled aside a framed picture of a fairy tale cottage in deep woods. The windows of the cabin glowed invitingly. Behind the picture was a small wall safe about a foot wide. It looked like a cheap Honeywell model. On the face of the safe was a keyboard like that of a telephone. “Now,” Molly mused. “If I can just remember the combination.”

She punched in a sequence of numbers and tried the door. It remained locked tight. Then she tried another. Again the door refused to open. She thought for a moment. Then she pushed another series of buttons. This time they could hear a soft click.

Molly looked at Stitch. “I remember now. The combination is Bob’s birthday. Plus 11. She smiled slightly. “That was the age of his childhood dog when it died.”

Molly went swiftly through the files inside. She pulled out a closed brown envelope. She pulled the tabs back and emptied the contents on a bedside table. She sorted through the contents. “Aha,” she said. “Here it is.” She handed a slip of yellow paper to Stitch. “Here is Bob’s Visa number. All the internet info is there, too.” She pointed to the line just below. “And this is his security code.”

Stitch looked at the paper. “King?”

“That was his dog’s name. When he was a kid.”

Stitch nodded. “Right. Now let’s go and log onto your bank account online.” He glanced at Molly. “You do have access to the account?”

Molly looked surprised. “Yes. But what good will that do?”

Stitch smiled. “I’ll show you. Do you have wireless internet?” he asked as they walked back to the living room. Molly nodded. Stitch pulled his laptop out of the bag. He turned the machine on and quickly typed in the internet access data. He entered Maxwell’s card number. The he typed “King” in the code box.

Immediately all of Bob Maxwell’s credit card charges for the month appeared on the screen. Stitch studied them briefly. He nodded at the laptop screen. “Have a look.”

Molly peered over his shoulder. Her hair brushed gently against Stitch’s neck. “OK,” Stitch said. “This is what he’s charged in the last month.”

“Look!” Molly cried. “There’s that damned Rolex. See — $8,471!”

Stitch pointed to the latest charges. “But these are the ones that really matter.”

“Why?”

“Because he charged these since you saw him last.” Stitch pointed to a line on the screen. “Notice the location of the gas station.”

“Parry Sound!” Molly exclaimed.

“Right. April 26.” Stitch pointed at another charge. “Look at this. Later that same day.”

“Victor’s Grill,” she read. “Sudbury.”

“Stopped for dinner. And quite a dinner it was.” He pointed to the amount: $274.45.

“He spent that much for his dinner?” Molly asked, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“I’m afraid, Molly, he’s not alone. Celebrating, I imagine.” Molly flinched. “As soon as he left here he headed straight up 69. Directly towards Sault St. Marie. He got to Sudbury in time for dinner.”

Molly looked up from the screen. “It’s five days since the last entry. Why aren’t there any more charges?”

Stitch shrugged. “I imagine he wised up. He realized how easily we could trace him.” Stitch turned back to the screen. “Or the person he was travelling with did.”

Molly was quiet for a moment. “You think he’s headed for Michigan? To the cabin we rented?”

Stitch wrote internet access information in his notebook. Then he shut down the computer. “It’s possible. At least it’s a place to start. Molly, I am willing to look into this for you. But it could take some time.”

Molly sat down heavily in her rocking chair. Her shoulders slumped. “It will cost a lot of money, won’t it?”

Stitch looked at the ceiling, thinking. “It could. But there is more here than a simple missing person case. I think his disappearance is related to his vote on the shopping centre.”

Molly looked at him in surprise.

“I want to see where this takes us,” Stitch went on. “How about we don’t talk about fees until after it’s all over?”

Molly looked at him. She smiled gratefully. “I suppose it would be bad for client relations if I kissed you?” she asked shyly.

Stitch slipped the laptop into its case. “No, ma’am. In fact, I’d be right pleased to accept that as a down payment.”

CHAPTER 4

Farley's Bog

“So this is it?” Stitch asked. “Farley's Bog.”

Daffy stood next to him on a small dock that pushed through the reeds into the water. Stitch had called Daffy after he left Molly Maxwell's house. They had agreed to meet the next day at the bog. “I'm out here most of the time now anyway,” Daffy had said. “Besides. I want you to see what I'm talking about.”

“Yep. This is it,” Daffy replied.

“Still looks like a swamp to me,” Stitch joked.

Daffy bristled. “It is a swamp. That's the whole point!” Daffy's voice began to rise.

Stitch gave him a playful punch in the ribs. “Just kidding. Lighten up, eh, Daf?”

Daffy's face fell. “This isn't light, Stitch. I mean it. There are lots of things worth fighting for. And this is one of them. In Canada, we've destroyed more than half of our wetlands. Isn't that something? Over half of our swamps, bogs, marshes – gone.”

Stitch looked out over the quiet bog. It covered maybe 30 or 40 acres. A line of turtles was sunning on a log near them. A great blue heron stood motionless and regal near the shore.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” Daffy asked.

“The heron?”

Daffy swept his hand around the perimeter of the bog. Cattails stuck up along the shore like fuzzy spears. Islands of glossy water lily leaves floated on the still water. Yellow iris bloomed in clumps in the shallows. Sedges and other grasses crowded the shore. “All of it,” he said softly. “The whole thing.”

The two men were quiet for a moment. Birds were flitting and chattering in the black spruce edging the swamp. A carp splashed gently as it turned over in the still water near the pier.

“And it's not just about the beauty,” Daffy went on. “Wetlands are like giant sponges. They soak up rain water that could lead to floods and erosion. All these plants? They suck up poisons like insecticides and fertilizers. Yeah, and they absorb lead, mercury and other heavy metals . Without this, all that crap is in our rivers and lakes. In our drinking water.”

“And they want to pave all of this?” Stitch asked.

“Oh, not all of it,” Daffy said wryly. “Just most of it.” He pointed to a field north of the bog. “They own that parcel. What they needed was the bog. That's what was rezoned. Venam will fill in about half of the wetland. That's 30,000 dump trucks of dirt. Then they'll pave the whole thing. The runoff with the gas, oil and other crud will kill off what's left.”

Stitch shook his head. “That makes no sense. No government should allow this.”

Daffy laughed bitterly. “Oh, there are regulations. Tons of regulation. Take Ontario Regulation 97/04. The Development, Interference with Wetlands and Alterations to Shorelines Regulation. Here's a direct quote.” Daffy looked at the sky as he recited the clause. “This regulation is intended to insure that the regulatory processes are as streamlined as possible for development approvals.”

“Great,” Stitch said.

“And get this,” Daffy went on. “Every municipality decides what that means. It's open season. Sure, the province can step in. So can the feds if fish are involved.” He shook his head. “But they never do. Not until the damage is done. When the wetland is lost forever.”

Stitch was quiet for a long moment. “I can see why you care so much.”

Daffy smiled and shrugged. “We do what we can, eh? There are huge issues facing our world.But this is my corner. And I'm going to fight like hell to keep it healthy.”

Stitch nodded. “And that fight boils down to the city council level.”

“Yeah, that's right. And of course the developers come back again and again. We can stop them 10 times. But all they need is one approval. Then they bring in their bulldozers and it's all over. That's what Venam did. We stopped them eight months ago. Then they were back. And this time they got the vote they wanted. Maxwell's.”

Stitch nodded again. “That's why I wanted to talk to you. After I left you at Tim Hortons I had a call. It's one that might interest you.”

Daffy nodded. “Go on.”

“It was from Molly Maxwell.”

Daffy frowned a moment. “You mean Bob Maxwell's wife?”

“One and the same. She is now a client.” He paused. “Quite a pretty client.”

Daffy was getting exasperated. “You wanted to meet to tell me that Molly Maxwell is good looking?”

“Calm down, Daffy. And listen for a change. As my client I have to respect confidentiality. But this involves you too. And I may need you to help me figure it out. You see, Maxwell has disappeared.”

Daffy whistled quietly. “She hired you to find him?”

Stitch nodded. “I can only give you the broad strokes. But there's a woman involved.”

“Isn't there always?” Daffy asked.

“Yeah, but this one is a knockout. Maxwell isn't. She's 15 years younger than Maxwell. They left together.”

“How'd you find all that out?”

“I visited the Blue Angel Lounge last night.”

Daffy snorted. “That's a sleazy place. I thought you liked microbrews.”

Stitch rolled his eyes. “Not for a drink, you lunkhead. Maxwell went there every night after work. I caught up with a couple of his friends. Asked a few questions.”

“So they unloaded?”

“Nope. Completely useless. Wouldn't say a thing. But the bartender wasn't so reluctant. Especially after I gave him two 20s.”

Daffy looked back over the bog. “Ah, money. Money and greed. That's what makes the world go round, it seems.”

“Don't get philosophical on me. The guy filled me in. Maxwell had been showing up with the chick for the last three weeks. Maxwell introduced her as Didi.”

“Didi who?”

“Not that far yet. But we're working on it. Erin is checking out some contacts. See if we can get an ID on her. Show the barkeep some pictures.In the meantime, I'm heading after Maxwell.Tomorrow.”

Daffy was getting more and more interested. “Do you think this chick was blackmailing him?”

“Dunno. But Maxwell was also spending like a drunken sailor.”

Daffy whistled again. “You know what this means, don't you Stitch? It means if we can prove Maxwell switched his vote because he was bribed I can get an injunction.”

“I thought it might run something like that.” Stitch replied. “That's why I wanted you to know this. But there are no guarantees. The guy has a head start. The trail is pretty cold. I don't know if I'll find him.” He paused and looked out over the bog. “And if I do, I don't know if I can get him to return.”

Daffy put a huge paw on Stitch's shoulder. “I've never told you this, bro. But you are one smart guy. That's why you're the best detective in southern Ontario.”

Stitch pretended to twist Daffy's beard. “What about the rest of Ontario?”

Daffy shook his head. “Nah. There's tons better than you up north.”