Never Hug a Mugger on Quadra Island (20 page)

Noel powered his cell phone. Searching for signal. Searching . . .  searching . . . “No signal.”

“Wait till we get to higher ground.” They drove up a hill. “Try now.”

Yes, a signal. Noel poked in the number. Linda picked up. No, nothing from Tim. Yes, good idea, she'd call the merchants at the village. He closed the phone. Jason made a U-turn.

•  •  •

For the first minutes Kyra and Shane didn't speak except for his telling her to head left at the top of the drive. Her jeans felt tight around the waist—too much food, or the growing occupant? Kyra tried to make conversation: When's your next competition? A date and silence. How much time a day do you spend on your programs? Four to six hours. Any skating friends around Campbell River? No. When are you coming in from outer space? She didn't ask that. But she was getting there.

Shane said, “Turn right.”

She did. She kept trying: “You figure Tim's okay? You worried about him?”

“Timmy can take care of himself.” He paused, adding, “Usually.”

“What's that mean?”

“Just what I said.”

“He doesn't need a little help from his friends?” But from Shane's face it was clear he didn't get the reference. From before she was born, but her parents shared their own popular culture, The Beatles a large part of it. She wondered what Jason and Linda shared with their kids. Or did their lives revolve only around figure skating and hockey? What would she share with her kid? If. Right now she had to pay attention to the oncoming traffic—lots of it. Probably the ferry unloading. Narrow road. She glanced in the rearview mirror. Just a van, far enough back.

“Everybody needs help. Sometimes.”

Hey, Shane actually spoke. A curious inflection, or was it a catch, in his voice. “Yeah, that's true. I need help a lot of the time. You need help?”

His head jerked her way. “Me? Why should I need help?”

“You just said it. Everybody does, at some point.”

“Mmm.”

“You got a problem, Shane?”

“Turn right up ahead, before the road curves. Balsam.”

She slowed, made the turn, accelerated. “I asked, you got a problem? Something you want to talk about?”

“What makes you think I've got a problem?”

“You don't exactly act relaxed. You act tense and worried.”

“How do you know what relaxed is for me?”

“I can figure relaxed for lots of people.”

“I'm not lots of people.”

“No, of course not. You're special. You get to mouth off at your parents, you get to be rude to your father's friend who wants to find out who beat up your brother, you get to ignore a cute young woman in your house. That does make you near to extraordinary.”

Shane slumped in his seat. “I don't need this, Kyra.”

The van behind her was coming on fast. She slowed and pulled onto the verge. The van roared past—too much of a damn hurry. She turned to Shane. “You can tell me to mind my own business. I'll be gone in a few days. But you'll be here and right now you're wreaking hell on a few good people who don't need that from you.”

He stared straight ahead. She pulled out and drove on. Nothing. No bike. She glanced at him. Keeping his face cool but something sure was burbling in there. She figured he wouldn't let himself, but he looked close to crying. Maybe she'd pushed too hard. She peered down side drives, no Tim, no bike. Shane, slouching in his seat.

“Turn right at the Tee.”

She did. April Point Road, winding and twisty. She had to pay attention so didn't glance Shane's way. “Sit up and check the sides of the road.” Shane did as he was told. Slowly and defensively, but now he flicked his eyes from right verge to left and back again. Few driveways off the road, she realized. An ultra-lonely island.

•  •  •

“That's a good place to stay.” Jason pointed to Quadra Island Harbour House B&B. “Good friends of ours run it. Great garden.”

“Stop by and ask if they've seen Tim?”

“They're in Vancouver, wedding of a couple who've stayed with them often. Place is closed for a week. Imagine—high season.”

They drove into Heriot Bay, west side of lower Quadra. Resorts, more B&Bs, vacation rentals, the ferry to Cortes Island. Jason stopped the Corolla at a gas station, got out. Jason talked to a man with curly red hair going to grey. No, hadn't seen Tim since last week. Back in the car, to the dock. Conversation with a rotund woman; no, no sight of Tim. At the kayak rentals a young woman in tight jeans and a halter top also said she hadn't seen Tim. To Noel, Jason said, “Sonia. She and Derek dated for a couple of months.” Similar negative answers at the Heriot Bay Inn and the Heron Guest House.

The pub at the Inn looked inviting, summer guests enjoying the warm evening, a light meal, a couple of beers. Noel was beginning to sense futility. Needle-on-an-island kind of thing. He checked out some postcards, one of an impressive stretch of peninsula called Rebecca Spit. “Think Timmy might have gone out there?”

“A long ride on a bike. Timmy doesn't much come even as far as Heriot Bay.”

Then why are we here, Noel heard his growing irritation ask. Not good investigative practice, beginning with the long shots. “Give Linda another call?”

“Sure, but if she'd heard anything she'd've called.”

Noel responded by poking at the phone pad. No, no signal.

•  •  •

To the right a road led down to the April Point Marina, moorings for private boats. Shane said, “Let's try down there.”

Kyra turned down a slope to the water, parked, they got out. An old warehouse, piles of crab traps. A dozen salmon fishing boats in the water. Kyra wondered if Noel would ever fish again. Not Brendan's kind of pleasure, so Noel had given up the fishing passion for a far greater one. Brendan was now gone. Maybe Noel would return to, at least retry, the lesser one.

Shane walked down to the docks, gave the moorings a cursory glance, and came back. “No sign of him.”

Kyra pointed to what looked like an RCMP vessel tied to the near dock. “Let's see if the cops are around.” They stood beside the Mountie boat, a large Boston Whaler with a small central enclosure. No one there. Shane noted someone leaving the warehouse and jogged up to him, a guy about his age. Kyra watched their conversation as she approached them. Shane nodded, and the other kid walked off. “Anything?”

“You don't know with Dean. We never did get along. But I think if he'd seen Tim, he'd've said.”

Three actual linked sentences from Shane. “Let's keep looking,” she said.

Back in the car, less than half a mile to the conglomeration of buildings that made up the resort and the point itself. A gravel road to the left featured a sign saying,
PARKING
. Hardtop to the right led down to the office. She pulled up into the lot, found a slot among the dozen cars. They got out, glanced around.

Shane said, “Timmy liked to go up there.” A path led to a ridge above the resort at the water's edge. At its entry stood a small round of fir supporting a rusted commercial tomato can which held a yellow and white plastic cup. From the cup rose a small sign:

EXTREME FIRE HAZARD

PLEASE EXTINGUISH

YOUR BUTTS

Kyra followed Shane along a wooded path. After a minute it narrowed, then dwindled to nothing where the ridge fell off the cliff. Discovery Passage lay in front of her.

“Timmy'd come up here to stare at the water.” Shane glanced about. “Sure isn't here now.”

Peaceful place for staring, Kyra thought. Across the water the sun hung low over Vancouver Island, hitting black clouds sideways and burning them orange. Below lay several buildings with rooflines that swept up just before their gutters, pagoda-like. The largest, set in the middle of a pond, featured bridges leading to platforms. Two guests sat on the near platform, drinking beer from bottles. She'd prefer vodka-tonic but even a beer would be good. Not for nine months. “Maybe Timmy's down there.”

“Doubt it. He doesn't like tourists.”

She could spend a few days in a place like this, chirping birds and lapping waves. “Okay. Let's keep looking.” Along the trail to the car. “Where to now?”

“Maybe April Point Road toward the village. New territory.”

“Okay.” She looked at the sky. “Going to be dark soon.”

“We can get home easily from the village.”

They drove down from the parking lot and headed the way they'd come. “Wonder if your dad and Noel had any luck.”

“They'd have let us know.”

“Yeah. Still, I think I'll give Linda a call.” She pulled her iPhone from her purse.

“Hey, you shouldn't be using a phone while you're driving.”

“You're right. But there's no one around and I'm going slowly.”

“Lots of curves, Kyra.” He glanced in the passenger side mirror.

She pressed three buttons—

“Anyway, there is someone on the road. A green van and he's coming up fast.”

Kyra checked the rearview mirror. “Damn fool.” The van was barely fifty feet behind and catching up. She set the phone in her lap and slowed the Honda.

Shane had turned to see what the van was up to. “Damn! He's going to pass us! He can't see around—”

The front of the van was beside the driver's side rear bumper, beside the rear door, it bashed against them. “What the hell—” They swerved toward the narrow shoulder. Kyra's hands squeezed the wheel and pulled the car straight. But the van was there again, a harder push, they were driving one wheel on the shoulder, ahead a gully filled with peckerpoles. Now the van was parallel and Kyra turned to see what the crazy guy was doing and she saw his face, something wrong with it— He hit them again, they were off the road heading for the scraggly trees, Kyra yelling “Hang on—” as the Honda dropped into the gully, one braked but speeding wheel after another, half-dozen scraggly trees ahead, car cutting a path between them, bouncing off tree trunks, slowing. Stopped.

•  •  •

“Oh my god, thank you thank you. Yes, we'll be right there.” Linda put down the phone.

“What?” asked Alana. “Tim?”

“Yes, oh thank god yes.”

“And he's okay?”

“Well mostly. He's banged up but they don't think anything's broken. Oh, but he's okay, yes,” and suddenly she was hugging Alana. “Yes, he seems to be okay.”

Alana's arms went around Linda. “That's wonderful, that's great!”

Linda pulled away. “I didn't think I was that worried.”

“You sure didn't show it.”

“Let's get over there.”

“Where?”

“Medical clinic.” She grabbed the truck keys.

“Um, shouldn't you let Noel and Kyra know?”

“Oh. Yes. Of course.” She found their cell phone numbers on a slip of paper. She dialed Kyra first. The staccato buzz of a busy signal. “That's strange.”

“What?”

“Busy. Who's Kyra talking to?”

“Noel maybe?”

“Yeah. But if it's busy isn't an answering system supposed to cut in?”

“All these phones are different.”

Linda pressed the off button and connected again. After one ring Noel picked up. Tim was okay. At the clinic but okay. She was on her way. She'd tried Kyra but the line was busy. They'd meet at the clinic. She cut the connection and tried Kyra's number again. Still busy. Damn! Who was she talking to?

•  •  •

Shane opened one eye. Then the other. Where—? He felt a seat belt. The strap dug into his neck. In a car? Hurt. Right shoulder, shit—He closed his eyes. That van, it shoved them off the road! He tried to stretch out his left leg. It seemed blocked. His right— Aaarghgh!! Shit! Shit shit shit! Ogodhurting! Shitshitshit! He felt some kind of material along his arms, plasticky stuff. Yeah, a green van. Kyra. He spoke the name aloud: “Kyra?” No answer. He tried to turn his head, slowly. Yeah, there she was, slumped forward. Same plasticky stuff. He spoke louder: “Kyra!” Nothing. Well, he was alive. Was she? Breathing? He reached over to her slowly and touched her shoulder, shook it lightly. “Kyra?” Unconscious? And suddenly felt cold. Way too cold for a summer evening. Going into shock? Maybe already there. Got to get out. Got to do—something. Open the window, shout for help. He looked at the window. He nearly giggled—didn't have to open, it wasn't there. The windscreen—spiderwebbed. He turned to the window. “Help! Help!” He listened. A breath of wind. “Help! Somebody! Help!” Nobody out there. Shit. Double shit. What the hell was he going to do? He touched Kyra's shoulder again, shook it a little. She groaned. Hey, she's alive! “Kyra? Can you hear me? Can-you-hear-me?” Another groan. Her head sagged, chin against her chest, a deep breath. She raised her head. At least her neck wasn't broken. “Kyra, you okay? Kyra?”

She opened her eyes. “Where're we?”

“Middle of the woods.”

A look of horror on her face, eyes and mouth wide open. An intake of breath as she realized the awful thing she'd done. “Noel's car!”

“I—I think it saved our lives.”

“What?”

“Air bags.”

“Air bags. Saved our lives.” She turned to look at him. “How are you?”

“Cold. Scared. I think my leg's broken.”

“Oh god, Shane. We've got to get out of here.”

“Good idea. How?”

“We've got to get help. Call for help.”

“I tried that. We're in the woods.”

“My phone, where—?”

“You were making a call when the van started pounding us.”

“My phone?” She looked about. The air bag material covered everything. She slowly released her seat belt and sat forward. “Oh. Ooohh. Damn.” She breathed out a sigh that came close to a sob. She took a deep breath in, and again out. “I hurt.”