Hiding in the shadows
Of dawn’s half-sketched canvas…
A reflected glimmer, a fleeting hope,
Then gone again –
Love’s fickle offerings.

10 -- What Remains Unseen

Darren Bigelow led the way into the store. Wye Meadows was one of those villages you see on post-cards, with trendy white-lace trimmed houses and big yards.

The town had so far resisted the lure of big-box shopping. According to the sign above the door, Lorne Grendel ran the general store. Leda recalled it had been in his family for years.

“What do we need?” Helen asked, holding the door for Leda Maguire. “I thought we got everything yesterday.”

“There’s always something I forget. Besides, I want to have a look around.”

Leda watched Darren move through the aisles, surprised at how tall he was. At sixteen, he was almost the same height as Helen Strachan. The previous night’s hospital stay had restored his body, but his mind remained fractured. His statement to the police had given them little to go on.

He’d remembered his name and the fact he’d been on his way to Toronto from New Brunswick. Just another Maritimer looking for a job, he’d hitched a ride with a couple of truckers on a lonely stretch of highway in the middle of the Gaspé Peninsula. He’d told the officers he was eighteen, which wasn’t true, but his height had carried the lie. He wasn’t carrying any identification.

His attackers had relieved him of it when they’d left him to die in the County forest.

It took Helen less than five minutes to extract at least a portion of the truth: that Darren was sixteen, not eighteen, and that he was running from an intolerable home situation, trying to find his sister in Toronto. He had no memory of the past few days, only confusing mental images that he could not describe. The doctor said amnesia was common in people who’d been drugged with Rohypnol. Memory would be slow to return, if indeed it came back at all.

Against Helen’s better judgement, Leda immediately offered to give him a lift when they drove back to the city on Monday.

Naturally, the youth had no place to stay for the weekend.

Leda was about to suggest that he sleep on her couch, but Helen shook her head.

“There must be a hotel in Midland,” she insisted. “We can pick him up when we’re ready to head back.”

“There’s a B&B in Wye Meadows,” Leda said. “It’s closer. We’ll be able to check on him.”

At first, Darren had refused to accept the offer of a room and a ride. When Helen pointed out the alternative was a phone call to the police, he agreed.

In the store, Leda tried to reach a pack of bathroom tissue, but it threatened to tumble from its high shelf. The store owner reached past her, easily lifting the package.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Happy to help.” His voice was soft with a Canadian twang, as changeable as the northern climate. “Can I get you anything else?”

“Just information,” Leda said. “There was a B&B in town. Is it still here?”

“You mean Callie’s place. She took the sign down last fall when they painted the porch. Hasn’t put it back up yet. She’s still taking in guests, though. It’s on this side of the school, three houses down. Tell her Lorne sent you.”

“Thank you, Lorne.”

“Staying long?” He glanced at her companions, including them in his smile.

“The room is for the young man,” she said. “I’ve got a place outside of town.”

“Then I’ll be seeing you around.”

“You will,” Leda returned his smile. This was what she’d come to the North country for – simple folks with friendly manners. A quiet lifestyle in pleasant surroundings. She could get used to it.

She passed a ten-dollar-bill over the counter.

“If you need a place to eat,” he said, “my cousin’s got a decent diner just on the edge of town, west of here. Her specialty’s the all day breakfast, but she does a nice dinner menu, too.”

“Thanks again,” Leda said, following Helen through the doorway. Darren was already waiting beside the car.

“What do you think?” Helen said. “Want to eat out tonight?”

Leda nodded.

“Did I mention,” she said, “that I’m a lousy cook?”
***

Lorne closed the cash register and watched Leda’s Honda pull away. He wished he’d had the nerve to ask her first name, but he already knew she was a Maguire. Wye Meadows was too small a place for keeping secrets. Besides, Lorne had known her aunt. Although he couldn’t remember the old lady’s name, he had a vague memory of a skinny girl who had a thing for candy necklaces.

A door opened at the back of the store.

“Who the hell are you talking to now?”

“No one, Mom. It was just a customer.”

“Local?”

“No,” he lied.

“Well, quit your jabbering and get your ass upstairs. I told you a dozen times that toilet isn’t working right. Just for a change, do you think you can do one simple thing I ask?”

“Yes, Mom,” he said. He knew better than to argue. Half the time she didn’t remember who he was, and the other half she spent berating him. If he stopped to discuss it with her, the conversation was bound to end in name-calling. The doctor called it dementia, but he knew it went deeper than that. She’d been a bitter shrew for as long as he could remember.
He shut the door, leaving her alone in the store.

“You lazy bum!” she shouted after him. “You’re no better than your father!”
***

Inspector Brown pulled into the hidden driveway on Concession 3 and parked beside the Jeep.

Nice cabin, he thought, studying the spacious deck, the brickwork and the unfinished landscaping. He’d been told what to expect. The author’s agent, Maggie Landers, had described what she’d referred to as ‘Leda’s Folly’, the isolated retreat where her client intended to seclude herself.

He rang the doorbell and knocked, but there was no indication of life inside the house. He tromped around the building, cupping his hands to peer through the one-way glass at the swimming pool. A wild turkey shrieked and scurried away, leaving a small pile of acorn shells at the base of a large boulder.

Jack completed his tour of the building’s perimeter before returning to his car. His map assured him there were nearby towns, the closest of which was Wye Meadows to the north. He considered driving into town and killing an hour, eating and looking around, before trying again at Leda Maguire’s house.

He’d anticipated the possibility she might not be home when he arrived. Still, calling beforehand would have alerted her – given her time to think about her answers. He preferred to question people off the cuff. Their behaviour when caught off guard was often as important as what they said.

He had just climbed into his car when he heard a vehicle roll up behind him. Not wanting to alarm anyone, he held up his identification as he approached the Honda.

Leda rolled down her window.

“My name is Inspector Brown, Toronto Metro Police,” he said. “Are you Leda Maguire?”

“I am,” she said, opening her door.

On the other side of the car, Helen got out and walked around.

“I was told you lived alone,” Jack said.

“Who told you that?” Leda asked.

“I got your address from your agent, Maggie Landers.”

“This is my friend, Helen Strachan,” Leda said.

“Strachan Security?” Jack asked.

“That’s right,” Helen nodded. “Ms. Maguire employed me earlier this month to travel with her.”

“Oh, yes,” Jack said. “Because of the fan who was stalking her.”

“Did Maggie tell you that as well?” Leda said, inserting herself firmly into the conversation. Being smaller than the others and diminutive in stature, she was accustomed to being talked about as if she wasn’t there. Accustomed perhaps, but not accepting.

“What was his name?” Jack asked.

“You mean the stalker? I don’t remember,” Leda said. “Oh, wait – I think it was Robert. I don’t know his last name. What is this about?”

“Lowry. The man’s name was Robert Lowry.” Jack tucked his ID badge into his coat pocket.

“If you knew his name,” Leda said, “why did you ask?”

“Perhaps we should go inside,” Jack said. “It’s cold out here.”
_______________________________

TUNE IN NEXT WEEK, FOR VOLUME11 OF "TWO GOOD HANDS", a Leda And Strachan mystery!

Copyright belongs to Donna Carrick. No part of this story may be reproduced without the written consent of the author.

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