I tried to imagine a place of refuge.
One image came to mind:
Trees…trees…
A forest of them, standing sentinels,
Promising me peace.

9 -- Sixty-Three Acres

It was late afternoon when Leda’s Honda rolled up the drive to settle beside Helen’s Jeep. Evidence of winter’s final hurrah remained, especially in the shade at the forest’s edge. Today’s cold spell had come on top of a warm, drizzly stretch. It wouldn’t be long before spring took care of the rest of the snow.

“Quite a place,” Helen Strachan said, stretching.

Leda Maguire looked at the hidden clearing that held her new house. Nearly two acres of natural forest had been removed, creating a meadow that was not visible from the highway. A year ago, she’d used a bolt of orange ribbon to mark her favourite trees – the ones that would be spared. The rest had been uprooted by local contractors. The job of landscaping would begin in April.

The property still boasted over sixty acres of forest, ideal for hiking along the old logging trails.

“Thanks,” Leda said. She paused a moment, noting how the sunlight warmed the grey brick and picked up its strains of Laurentian blue. It had been necessary to clear the meadow, although in Leda’s fantasy the house had nestled quietly into the forest. Leaving the trees would have resulted in an unbearable black fly situation.

As it was, Leda knew spring and early summer were going to be difficult. She’d had the contractors screen in the front porch and back deck. This time of year, shutters were rolled down to ward off the worst of winter.

Because of the imposing tree line, the sun would set early. Leda and Helen unpacked quickly, carrying suitcases and bags of groceries into the closed porch.

Helen followed Leda to the spacious marbled kitchen.

“Wow!” she said.

“I know,” Leda said. “It’s kind of criminal. Nearly thirty years old and I don’t even know how to cook. Now I’ll have to learn.”

“It’s fabulous.”

“They just installed the cupboards.” Leda opened a door, then another, inspecting the workmanship. The third door squeaked.

“I can fix that,” Helen said. “You know what they say: ‘If it moves and it shouldn’t, duct tape. If it doesn’t move and it should, WD-40’.”

“I’ll pick some up next time we’re in town.”

“As it happens, I have WD-40 in the Jeep.”

Leda laughed. “Do you also carry duct tape?”

“Never leave home without it,” Helen said.

“Come on,” Leda said. “Let’s look around.”

Helen followed Leda from the kitchen down a few pine stairs into the chalet style living room. Red brickwork ran up the outside wall for two stories. Etched glass on both sides of the brick allowed natural light to flood the main area through frosted leafy swirls.

A fireplace stood in the centre of the brick. To its left, the wall was lined with bookshelves waiting to be filled. To its right, a picture window allowed for a stunning view of the forest.

“I was going for ‘Harry Potter meets Mr. Canoe-head’,” Leda said.

“It’s great.”

“Looks like a hotel lobby. Stylish but sterile.”

“It just needs to be lived in,” Helen said.

“All right, then. Let’s start messing it up.”

Together they explored the loft that held Leda’s bedroom, office and bathroom. The bedroom was open, looking out over the main living area and fireplace. Several painted screens could be drawn to hide the room if necessary. There was only one staircase, which led directly into her bedroom. The office and bathroom were accessed through doors on the far side of the sleeping area.

On the main floor to the right of the living room and tucked behind the kitchen was a spacious all-season dining room. In warm weather glass panels would slide open to allow for an outdoor feeling.

On the left of the living area a hallway led to two guest rooms, only one of which was furnished. The hall then veered to the right. Leda pushed open a door and stepped onto a pool deck. The smell of salt filled the air. The water was heated greenhouse-style by sunlight that poured through a thick glass ceiling.

“Now I know why you told me to bring my swim suit,” Helen said.

“The pool was my one serious requirement. The one in my condo building is small, but if I go at odd hours I can usually get it to myself. I love the smell of chlorine, but the contractor told me salt water would be healthier and better for the environment.”

“Now you’ll always get the pool to yourself.”

“It’s one of my charming quirks. I don’t like to share. It has to do with personal space.”

“Very charming. Do you want to have a swim now?”

“You can if you like. I’ll wait till morning.”

“Me, too,” Helen said. “You should be the first one in your pool.”

Leda walked around the pool deck, checking the locks on the new windows. Security could easily become an obsession if she wasn’t careful. She would have to get her head around it, try to feel more comfortable.

Helen pointed at one of the large windows and Leda looked up in time to see a pair of does step out of the forest. With the afternoon light disappearing, they felt safe coming into the open meadow to forage for last year’s dried grass and leaves.

“Now I remember why I bought this place,” Leda said.

They were just about to discover whether the television worked when Leda’s cell phone rang. She glanced at the call display.

“It’s the hospital,” she said.
***

Inspector Brown loosened his coat as he entered the big-box InkWells bookstore. The brisk walk across Bay and down to King left him wishing he’d passed up eating the hot dog.

Starky was near the checkout counter with the manager and a clerk, both wearing the inky blue vests associated with store employees. He waved when he saw Jack Brown.

“Inspector,” he said, “this is David Grossmann, the store manager. Both he and Wendy Scott were in the store the other day. They identified Robert Lowry.”

“Mr. Grossmann, Miss Scott, I’m Inspector Brown.” Jack held out a photo of the late Mr. Lowry. “I take it you’ve seen this photo?”

“Yes.”

“And you remember this man as being a customer in your store?”

“Absolutely,” David said.

“What day was that?”

“It was last Tuesday,” Wendy said.

“Was he a regular customer?”

Both the manager and the clerk shook their heads.

“I don’t remember seeing him before,” the clerk said.

It was a long-shot, but Jack had to ask. “What did he buy?”

“He picked up a copy of that new self-help book,” Wendy said. “You know the one, by the woman whose family was killed in Toronto.”

“Two Good Hands,” David said.

“Yes, that’s the one.”

Jack couldn't remember the author's name, but he certainly recalled the case. Three brutal murders in a quiet Toronto neighbourhood. The two adult victims were said to be ordinary, middle-aged folks. The boy was a newborn, less than three months old.

He studied the store's aisles bloated with bestselling titles and over-run with customers.

“You get a lot of people in here every day,” he said. “If you never saw Mr. Lowry before, how is it you remember him so well? How can you be sure what day he was here and what he purchased?”

The store manager and the clerk exchanged a quick glance.

“That’s easy,” Wendy said.

The manager shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“There was an incident,” he said.
***

“Is this Leda Maguire?” a young man’s voice said. “I got your number from the nurse.”

“Yes, this is Leda.”

“My name is Darren. I just wanted to thank you for saving my life.”
_______________________________

TUNE IN NEXT WEEK, FOR VOLUME10 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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