Stain of the Berry (22 page)

"I don't know who attacked you, and I'm sorry about that, but I had nothing to do with it," he repeated.

"Oh yeah," I said, pretending I wasn't exactly convinced. "So you're telling me you'd never do such a thing."

For a second he hesitated, no doubt judging how honest his reply should be. "I didn't say that," he said.

"I just didn't do it this particular time."

Ahhhh, a tough guy. Well, so am I. "Are you going to tell me what this is all about, or are we just wasting our time here? If so, I'll give you your shirt and you can buzz off." I was hoping he'd stay. And keep his shirt off.

The next words out of his mouth threw me into a spin.

"Russell," he began carefully. "I know you've been searching for Sereena Orion Smith. I'm here to stop you."

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I was desperately trying to make enough saliva in my mouth to swallow. The words Alex Canyon was saying to me made no sense. How could this man, this stranger, know about my search for Sereena and now be prepared to stop me?

Why? Why would he want me to stop?

Who was he really?

How would he know about any of this?

Where was she? He had to know where she was if he was so desperate to keep her hidden...or imprisoned?

Little did Mr. Canyon know that I had already begun to conclude for myself that the search for my missing friend was futile. Over the past months I'd tried everything, talked to everyone, travelled everywhere I thought she might be, all to no avail: plenty of expense and time and heartache for nothing.

She was gone. Maybe forever. I believed, somewhere in my soul, that her disappearance wasn't foul play but rather that Sereena had masterfully orchestrated her own disappearance. Like a ghost. Poof. Gone.

She just didn't want to be here anymore.

But none of that made it any easier. I missed my friend. I worried about her.. .when I wasn't pissed off that she'd left without so much as a goodbye wave. All that remained of her was that blasted For Sale sign on her lawn. Having drinks and witty repartee with a cardboard sign isn't nearly as pleasant. Even so, the time was coming when I knew I'd have to give it all up. I had to let her go. I had to believe she would come back when she was ready-if ever.

But now...this changed everything.

"Where is she?" I hammered him with a steely gaze and hard words. "Tell me."

"No," he said simply.

I stood up from where I'd been crouching by the fireplace and glared down at him. "So then why are you here? Why have you been watching me?"

Fie wasn't much for being stared down at, so up he came, our noses inches apart. "I wanted to get an idea of what you were up to."

"What are you talking about? Why? You're not telling me anything, Mr. Canyon."

"Alex."

"You're not telling me anything, Aaaaaaalex." The bitchy me.

He grinned, but said nothing more.

Another faceoff. Finally I stiffened my chin, curled my lip and told him, "I won't do it. I won't stop looking for her." So there!

He looked at the flickering fire as it grasped at charred logs with its hungry fingers, then back at me.

There was a burning glint in his eye, but nary a smile as he licked his lips. "Something about you, that first night we met.. .well, I didn't think you would."

"So now what?" I goaded. "Come on, you gonna pull a gun? Silence me? Do it now, buddy, just try it."

Apparently a little nap really puts the piss and vinegar in me.

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Instead of any of my suggestions, Alex Canyon calmly said, "I'll take my shirt back now."

The power was still out so I hadn't tossed the sopping shirt into the dryer and I hadn't thought of hanging it up in front of the fire. "It'll still be wet," I told him. What a putz I am sometimes. Like that was going to stop him from leaving and encourage him to tell all.

He turned heel and headed for the kitchen. The dogs looked up from where they'd taken root by the fire, close but not as close as they get to the gas fireplace in my office which burns even hotter but without the risk of flying sparks that might singe their precious fur coats. With looks that urged us to reconsider, they stayed put until I too headed off.

By the time I arrived in the kitchen, Alex had buttoned up the front of his shirt and was tucking it into the waistband of his jeans.

"Thanks for the towel," he said, brushing his fingers through wavy hair, eyeing me with those Kahlua eyes.

I was at a loss for words. I couldn't get a grasp on this guy's game.

I watched as he reached behind him. Was this it? Was he pulling out a weapon? I hadn't seen one in his back pocket and I certainly had checked him out, stem to stern. It wasn't. It was an envelope. He handed it to me. It felt damp. The front was blank, without address or any other marking.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Just be careful, Mr. Quant," he told me. "Be very careful."

Alex Canyon left and the rain dissipated, leaving behind a scent of heaven and slivers of sun poking through the spaces where clouds were breaking up. It had gone from night to day, and, in an hour or so, it would be night again. I fingered the envelope he'd given me and slowly peeled back the flap. Inside was a letter of instructions. At the end Alex had handwritten a request: "Trust Me" followed by his name. I dialled Errall's number. I'd need someone to look after Barbra and Brutus.

It was very early on a late July Tuesday morning when I stepped out of my life and into a dream, a dream that would last for the next thirty-six hours. I would leave behind Saskatoon, my current case and, in some ways, all that I knew to be sane and real. There was no way I could have known as I began that day how much my world would be shaken.

The sun in Saskatchewan was forecast to rise at 6:01 that morning and as I turned off Thayer Avenue onto Wayne Marks Lane it was still two hours off. Between two pond-size puddles compliments of the previous night's rain, I found a parking spot near Hangar 10. The West Wind Aviation Aerocentre is within visual distance of Saskatoon's commercial airport but wholly removed from the main terminal. I locked the Mazda and headed inside. Surprisingly someone was waiting for me, processed me through, and within minutes I was walking down a brightly lit tarmac, gleaming with early morning dampness, toward a Cessna Citation 560 Ultra, engines running. I was almost upon it when I saw a figure standing beside the plane's right wing. A jolt ran through my chest and I stopped in mid-stride.

I'd been hoodwinked.

This wasn't about Sereena at all. I had stupidly allowed myself to fall into a trap, with the promise of Sereena as bait, for there, next to the Cessna was Pepe le Bleu, all six-foot-five of her, skin gleaming black and that crazy stripe of blue blazing atop her head, like some punk rooster. She of the golden nose ring and Mr. "Trust Me," Alex Canyon, were obviously in cahoots. She'd tailed me on Broadway Avenue 94 of 163

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and to Vancouver, Alex everywhere else. And now they had me.

Or did they? I swivelled my head right to left and debated my chances for a clean getaway on the deserted tarmac. They weren't good. Flights out of the main airport hadn't begun for the day, so the chances of getting someone's attention over there wasn't likely and, as far as I knew, everyone in Hangar 10 was in on this with Alex and his pet, Godzilla. Still, I wasn't about to stand there and be abducted or threatened or killed or maimed or whatever they had in mind for me, so I was preparing to bolt when it spoke: "Get on the plane." Her voice was as deep and cold as a coal mine and sounded kind of Arnold Schwarzenegger-ish.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," I told the Incredible She-Hulk. "I agreed to meet Alex Canyon here.

Alex, not you. I'm not going anywhere in that plane and certainly not with you." I think I made my intentions clear.

A new voice: "Russell." It was Alex. He appeared from nowhere and was now standing next to the gleaming white, unmarked jet. He was wearing a lightweight, knee-length jacket to protect himself from the morning chill and a wind that whipped locks of dark hair over his forehead.

I hesitated, decided to hell with it, and moved forward slowly, stopping in front of him. We didn't shake hands. "I can only assume you've decided to whisk me away to a deserted island where we'll romp naked on the beach, after which you'll profess your love for me," I said, my tone more serious than the words.

His eyes were dark slits as they searched mine. For a fleeting second there was some kind of connection, then it was gone. Without a word, his thick jaw moved up and over, indicating the steps and that I should use them. The strong silent type, I guess. Last night he'd instructed me to trust him. It was now or never. But how could I? I glared at the big woman next to him.

"Grette Gauntlus," he said by way of introduction. "She's with me."

In for a penny...I did as instructed and mounted the steps, bowing my head as I entered the cabin of the eight-passenger jet. The lighting was dim, but I could see enough to tell this wasn't just an everyday corporate junket type of aircraft. It had leather seats that looked like sofas, a fully stocked bar and entertainment centre, plush carpet and obviously expensive artwork fastened to the rounded walls. I was betting I was in for more than pretzels and plastic utensils.

At first I thought the cabin of the plane was empty...but then...I saw a sole inhabitant, someone sitting with their back to me. My heart began an erratic pitter-patter. Sereena. Perhaps this aircraft wasn't going anywhere at all. Maybe this happened to be the most convenient place and time for a meeting with my long-elusive neighbour. Maybe...

I inched down the aisle, my eyes never wavering from the back of the chair. I stopped less than a metre behind it and waited. I wasn't sure if I was ready to face this.

"Please," the voice said, "won't you join me?"

When I sat in the seat opposite my host, I studied his unfamiliar face. He was dark, with liquid black eyes, jet-black hair-dyed maybe, and beginning to recede-and beautifully shaped, thick lips. The skin beneath his jaw and over his eyes was beginning to loosen; he was nearing seventy, and a strikingly handsome man.

"My name is Maheesh Ganesh," he told me in his polished Indian accent. "Will you have some coffee?

Or perhaps juice of some sort?" But then he must have thought better of it. "But maybe not yet. We've a long way to go and you must return home the sooner the better, yes?"

I nodded. I guess I'm taking a jet plane ride this morning after all, I said to myself, still debating whether I should make a run for it.

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"Of course then." He picked up a small portable device that looked like a miniature cellphone and spoke into it. I understood none of the words but imagined he told a pilot to get us underway. "You'll like to fasten your seat belt device now, yes?"

In surprisingly short order, the jet was hurtling down a runway and was off into the silky dark sky. I wasn't even certain which direction we were flying in or whether Alex or Grette Gauntlus had boarded the plane or stayed on the ground.

A button on a console lit up with a musical bing and Maheesh Ganesh told me it was safe for us to release our seat belts which we both did.

"And now, Mr. Quant, some coffee? Something else for you?"

I accepted coffee, which he poured from a handy carafe he plucked from where it had been fastened in a nearby alcove made just for that purpose. As we sat across from one another, the Cessna zipping through the sky, we regarded each other as friendly strangers. Strangers about to get to know one another a whole lot better.

"Who are you?" I asked the man.

He laughed. "You are direct. I like this."

I nodded but said nothing. Was he stalling?

"As I've already said to you, my name is Maheesh Ganesh, and I am the very close friend of Candace Batten."

I gave him a blank look. I'd never heard of the woman.

"And Darlene Krimpky." His heavy left eyebrow rose high on his forehead as he added the last name,

"and Sereena Orion Smith."

"Obviously you know that I know Sereena. But who are these other women?"

"They are all the same woman," he told me. "You see, Darlene Krimpky, sometime in her early teens became Candace Clark...or, should I say Candace Clark Doerkson Chapell Ashbourne Batten.. .who eventually became the woman you know as Sereena Orion Smith."

For a brief second I wanted to tell the man that he was a crazed maniac and demand that the plane be turned around and I be returned to Saskatoon. But only for a brief second, a brief second during which I wanted to hold onto Sereena's mystery. I knew that once I had the truth there was no turning back. My jaw tightened and I winced as I waited to hear. After all these years, after all this time knowing only parts of this woman, I was about to have the whole of Sereena's life revealed to me. Or, at least, what this man-whoever he was-knew of it. I knew it was possible that he knew little more than I did, or that he was preparing to lie to me, but something told me that this was not the case.

"Where are we going?" I asked, wanting even for a few seconds more to halt the inevitable. "Are we going to see Sereena?"

"Can you wait to learn that if I ask you to?" the man said in his strange way.

Jeepers. I nodded. I sipped the good coffee. It was time. "Tell me."

And so it began.

"Your friend, the woman you know as Sereena, was born Darlene Krimpky. She was raised in a small village, I believe not far from where I just met with you. A place called Smuts." I knew it. It was not even 96 of 163

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