The Stalker (2 page)

Liz and I met our tour group down at the marina. Artists’ studios, cafés, and a fish and chips shop lined the waterfront. Fishermen’s boats were tied up along the docks beside the tourists’ sailboats and motorboats. Across the inlet, mist drifted down the rocky cliffs. The scene was postcard perfect.

Jason was already there, as we had arranged. He sat at a table outside the donut shop with a balding man and a middle-aged woman. Jason would drive with us out to the launch site, and then he would drive my truck back to town. The next day, he would pick us up farther along the coast. That way, the clients didn’t have to paddle back.

“You’re late,” Jason said as Liz and I reached his table. Other than the strange fact that he was always on time, he was a real west-coast guy. He wore sandals year round, though in the winter he wore wool socks with them. When he wasn’t guiding kayak tours for me, he played his guitar at the marina. He set his open guitar case on the sidewalk beside him, and tourists threw money into it. Busking paid well for him because he was a talented musician.

I ignored him and held out my hand to the man seated next to him. “I’m Mike, your guide for the weekend. And this is our other guide, and your chef, Liz.”

The man stood and took Liz’s hand first. He actually kissed it. “A real pleasure to meet you,” he said. Then he went on holding her hand as he gazed into her eyes. Liz pulled her hand away and laughed nervously.

“I’ve never had a man kiss my hand before,” she said.

“Yeah, he’s a real charmer,” said the woman seated beside him. Her sour face showed that she believed otherwise.

“Gerald Williams,” the man said when he shook my hand. “I’m so looking forward to this.” He had a thick, lisping, upper-crust English accent. In fact, his accent was so pronounced that I wondered if he was faking it.

“Have you just recently moved to Canada?” I asked him.

“Hell, no,” the woman said. “He’s lived in Vancouver for twenty-five years. The accent comes and goes, depending on who he’s trying to impress.”

I assumed by the way she talked about Gerald that this woman was his wife. I guessed she was here to see him off, but he hadn’t introduced her. That seemed odd. Also, I caught her checking me out in a way most wives wouldn’t, at least not in front of their husbands. She looked at me so long that I wondered for a moment if there was something wrong with my face or hair.

I took a quick look at my reflection in the donut shop window. Everything seemed in order. Sara had told me I had “rugged good looks.” I guess she was right. I have a strong nose and
a square jaw. I only shave every couple of days, so I often have a chin full of stubble, as I did this day. One of the benefits of running a kayak tour business is that I stay fit. My high school buddies had already started to grow beer-bellies, but I had gained nothing but muscle.

“Are we still waiting for our other guest?” I asked Jason.

“I am your other guest,” the woman said. She held out her hand. “Samantha Andrews.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Samantha.” I said. “When the secretary told me your company would send two computer experts and their names were Gerald and Sam —”

“I know,” she said. “You assumed we were both men. Surprise, surprise.”

“You don’t have to make a federal case out of it,” Gerald told her. “He made an honest mistake.”

I felt an instant dislike for Gerald, so I hated to agree with him. But almost anyone would think at first that someone named “Sam” was a man. Samantha was right about one thing, though. Gerald’s heavy English accent did come and go. I noticed only a hint of it when he talked to her.

“Men always underestimate what women can do,” she said. “They hear the title ‘doctor’ or ‘computer programmer,’ and they assume the person must be a man.”

“Oh, here we go,” said Gerald. “Another lecture from Sam.”

“That’s Samantha to you,” she said. Samantha turned away and drank coffee from one of the donut shop’s mugs. Her short hair was carefully styled and stiff with hairspray. She wore a dry suit that she had obviously bought especially for this trip. The plastic loop that once held the price tag was still on her sleeve.

Gerald hadn’t bought his coffee here at the donut shop. His throw-away cup and his box of donuts came from Tim Hortons. He held up his coffee when he saw me glance at it. “Will there be a Tim Hortons anywhere along our route?” he asked.

Jason snorted out a laugh.

“No,” I said. “I’m afraid not.”

“No coffee shops of any kind,” said Jason. “No nothing, for miles and miles.”

Jason was right. We were about to kayak along some of Vancouver Island’s most rugged and
isolated shores. We likely wouldn’t see another soul for the two days.

“I wish I’d known,” Gerald said. “I would have brought a thermos.”

“I’ll make you coffee,” said Liz.

“That’s reassuring,” said Samantha. “I suppose we’ll all sit around a fire and drink it out of tin cups. Are we going to sing camp songs, too?” Samantha clearly did not want to be there.

“Oh, give it up,” said Gerald. “What could be more fun that wandering the Canadian wilderness in a canoe?”

“Kayak,” Samantha said, correcting him.

“Kayak, canoe,” Gerald said. “What’s the difference? A boat is a boat.”

“Actually, there are quite a few differences between a kayak and a canoe,” I said. “For one thing, the paddler of a canoe either sits on a seat or kneels. When you go out today in your kayak, you’ll sit with your legs stretched out in front of you. Also, you’ll use a kayak paddle that has a blade on each end. In other words, you’ll use both ends of your paddle to move the kayak along, first one end and then the other.
Canoe paddles have a handgrip at one end and a blade at the other.”

“Oh, look, look!” Gerald cried. I doubt he’d taken in a word I said. He waved at a totem pole down by the waterfront. “I love this stuf,” he said. “Here, take a picture of me beside it, will you?” He handed his camera to me and trotted over to the totem pole, expecting me to follow. “I’ve got a collection of Indian baskets and cutting tools at home,” he said. “I try to pick up something every time I leave the city.”

I did take my clients to ancient First Nations sites. I had planned to show Gerald and Samantha a burial site in a cave that day. But removing anything from these sites was against the law. I knew right then that Gerald would cause me a whole lot of trouble.

As I handed Gerald his camera back, who should drive into the parking lot but Sara. She had two kayaks and her gear in the back of her pickup. Now that she worked on the one-day trips with Jason instead of coming on the longer trips with me, I was surprised to see her.

“What are you doing here?” I asked her. “This is your day off.”

“You’re not planning to come with us, are you?” Liz nodded at the kayaks in Sara’s truck.

“Oh, no,” said Sara. “Dave and I are going out for an hour or two later.”

“Is Dave with you?” I asked Sara. The rising sun hit the windshield of her truck, so I couldn’t see whether her husband was there or not. I
hoped he wasn’t. He was jealous, even though nothing had ever gone on between Sara and me. Sara and Dave had argued before nearly every one of the tours she and I had taken together. He didn’t want her to go. Dave said Sara gave me way more time than she gave him during the summer, and he was right. Every year, we spent several weeks together, guiding tours. Now, of course, all that had changed.

Sara shook her head. “He’s still in bed, sleeping. I’ll pick him up later.”

“And get changed, I expect,” said Liz. She nodded at Sara’s short dress and then glanced at me. Clearly, she still felt hurt by the comment I had made about her tank top that morning.

Sara glanced down at her dress but said nothing. The two women eyed each other for a moment.

Sara looked good that morning. Her blond hair was loose around her shoulders. She wore plenty of makeup, which she never did when she helped me with kayak tours. And her swingy little summer dress showed a whole lot of thigh. I had never seen her in a dress before.

I introduced her to our clients. “This is Sara, one of our guides,” I said. “Sara, this is Gerald and Samantha.”

“Call me Sam,” said Samantha. “All my friends do.”

Gerald rolled his eyes.

“Sam it is,” I said.

After Sara had greeted them, both Gerald and Sam started text messaging, typing on their phones with their thumbs. I had the feeling that neither of them would be much fun.

Jason finished loading the clients’ gear into my truck and joined us. “Just can’t stay away from us, eh?” he said to Sara.

Sara shrugged. “I guess I miss going out there with you,” she said. As she spoke, she looked at me and not at Jason. “Anyway, what is a kayak tour without these?” She handed me a plastic bag full of her wonderful oatmeal raisin cookies. They were still warm and smelled of cinnamon. She had brought along a bag of these cookies on nearly every tour we did together.

“Thanks,” I said. “For the clients?”

“For you,” Sara said. “They were always for you.” Her smile took my breath away.

Liz cleared her throat. “Ready to go?” she asked me.

“Yes, yes of course,” I said. “All right, everyone. Let’s head out.”

“Will we get cell phone reception out there?” Gerald asked.

“Absolutely,” said Jason. “We count on it in case of emergencies.”

That pulled Sam’s attention away from texting on her phone. “Emergencies?”

“We’ve never had one in five years,” I said, trying to reassure her. “But of course we have to be prepared.”

“Prepared for what, exactly?” she said.

“This is the west coast,” said Jason. “We have to be prepared for anything.” He winked at Sam and she turned pale.

“We’re not likely to run into any killer whales, are we?” she asked.

“Orcas?” said Jason. “Yes, there’s a good chance you’ll see a pod.” That was true. We were likely to see a group of these beautiful black and white whales. They might even swim along beside our kayaks.

“They don’t eat humans, right?” asked Gerald.

“We’re not a staple in their diet,” said Jason. “But we would make a good snack, don’t you think?”

I gave Jason a hard look to get him to shut up. The last thing we needed was to make Sam and Gerald more nervous than they already were. “Orca attacks on humans are very rare,” I said. “And orcas tend to attack only when they are captive in marine parks. You will be perfectly safe. I’ll make sure of it.”

Gerald didn’t look convinced. “So you
can
guarantee cell phone reception,” he said.

Jason shook his head. “We can’t
guarantee
anything. Most of the time we have reception, but like I said, this is the west coast. Phone reception sometimes cuts out around the back sides of the islands. And if a storm comes up —”

“I doubt we’ll have a problem,” I said quickly, and I nudged Jason. He had a habit of saying far too much.

“I better make a call before we leave,” Gerald said. He walked over to the grassy area by the children’s playground, dialling his cell phone as he went.

“And I better go home,” said Sara. She turned before reaching her truck. “I’ll make sure Jason remembers to pick you up tomorrow.”

I watched Sara get in her truck. She was so lovely, and after five years of running kayak tours with her I figured I knew her better than anyone. She was the closest thing I had to a best friend. Like her, I missed our time together.

As Sara drove off, my cell phone rang. The caller was the guy with the strange alien voice. “I know where you’re going,” he said. “You go and I’ll be out on the water with you.”

I held the phone against my chest. “Jason, are you playing one of your sick jokes on me?” I asked.

Jason held up both hands. “What?” He wasn’t using his cell phone.

“Never mind.” I put the phone back to my ear.

“This is no joke,” the guy said. “I know where you’re going. I can see you right now.”

I looked around the marina. There was the fish and chip shop, the tiny artists’ studios lined up one beside the other, the empty picnic tables, and the children’s playground. I noticed
a guy sitting in a pickup truck down the road, but I couldn’t tell if he was on the phone or not. Liz and Sam were out of view, waiting behind my truck. Gerald was still on his cell phone. Surely Gerald wasn’t the creep talking to me now? Gerald saw me looking at him and raised his hand as if he thought I had asked him to hurry up. Then he turned his back on me to finish his call.

“You’ve been warned,” the voice said. “Don’t go out on the water.”

Was
it Gerald? The weird voice on my cell didn’t carry even a hint of an English accent. But then Gerald’s accent came and went. But why would Gerald try to freak me out? I didn’t even know him.

“Who is this? What do you want?” Maybe it
was
the guy in the truck. When I walked towards the truck to see if the driver was in fact on the phone, he drove off.

“Go home,” the caller said.

“Stop phoning,” I said. “I’ll track your number, find out who you are, and call the cops.”

Actually, I had no idea how to find out this guy’s phone number. He must have blocked it, because it didn’t show up on my phone display or call history list. In any case, my threat didn’t scare him off.