Amanda was propped up in bed, just beginning to research Todd Ellison on the Internet, when Skype rang and Chris’s mischievous face popped up on her screen.
“What are you doing calling so late?”
His big, crinkly grin vanished. “Why? You don’t want to talk to me?”
“Of course I do! I’m over the moon to see you. But it must be midnight in Newfoundland.”
“I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
The teasing sexuality in his voice set her body humming. She blew him a kiss. “Miss you too. Hold that thought … and whatever else you want to.”
He chuckled.
“What have you been up to?”
“The usual summer stuff. Tourists getting lost in Gros Morne, capsizing in kayaks because they think how hard can sea kayaking be? Speeders, moose collisions. Major criminal stuff.”
“That sounds idyllically calm.”
He laughed. “It needs you to spice it up. What’s new with you?” he added quickly, as if remembering too late that Newfoundland had already beaten her up.
She filled him in on the DNA request. “Do you think it means they have a potential match?”
“No, it means they did some preliminary inquiries and determined you’re not a nut case. That the MisPers report is legit.”
She was about to tell him about the human remains and the attack on Livia Cole when he spoke again. “Have you told your mother you asked Jean instead?”
“No, I was going to, but …” In truth, the intervening events had driven it from her mind.
“Honey, you have to tell her before she finds out from Jean.”
“That might be easier.”
“For you. But she needs to hear from you why you chose Jean. She’ll be hurt.”
“You don’t know my mother. She might be angry, but she doesn’t do hurt.”
“All mothers do hurt.”
He was right, of course. Her mother would hide it, as she always did, and she would agree that Amanda’s reasons made perfect sense. But beneath the bravado, the affront would sting.
“All right, all right. I will, first thing in the morning. Now, can we talk about something else?” She gave a low chuckle. “Your trouble sleeping?”
After another fifteen minutes, she signed off and curled up in bed, cradled in a warm glow.
As soon as her mother answered the phone the next morning, Amanda knew she was too late. Her mother spoke only one word, “Amanda,” and her tone was chilly.
“Jean told you.”
“She did.”
Amanda was sitting at Maeve’s kitchen table, toying with a cup of coffee. She’d found herself unable to eat the pancakes Maeve set in front of her. Now she looked at the ceiling as if guidance would magically appear. When in doubt, deflect.
“Old human remains have been uncovered in a coulee here. I think that’s what the DNA is for.”
Her mother stayed the course. “I see.”
“It will take weeks, but it’s a start. I hope it’s not Jonathan, but I’ll keep you posted.”
“Will you?”
Again, Amanda had to dodge the hostility dripping from her mother’s voice. “I’ve got more news about him. His pregnant girlfriend in Fort McMurray had a daughter who was raised by an uncle. She looks just like —” Amanda was about to say Aunt Jean but stopped herself on the brink. “Like you. She has kids of her own now.”
Predictably, her mother seized on the suspicious part of the story. “Why was she raised by an uncle?”
“I told you, Jonathan ran out on the woman. It seemed best for the baby.”
“Right. Typical.”
“It’s not clear what happened to Jonathan after that. He …” She hesitated. Telling her mother about his letter with the abortion money would only cement her mother’s contempt. “He and his girlfriend lost touch.”
“So he has a daughter he never laid eyes on and never bothered to tell us about.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know why you’re taking the time to look for him, Amanda. He obviously hasn’t changed.”
That’s exactly why I asked Jean instead of you, Amanda thought, but bit back the retort. “That was thirty years ago. Maybe he has changed. Maybe he’s ashamed, or afraid of disrupting his daughter’s life. And maybe, Mother, he’s dead.”
The word hung in the silence. In that silence, in the soft, measured breathing she could hear over the phone, Amanda tried to guess her mother’s reaction.
“Yes,” her mother said finally. “That wouldn’t be a surprise.”
“I will keep you posted,” Amanda said. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t involve you sooner.”
“Well, nothing new in that.” One parting shot, followed by the beep of a disconnected call.
Maeve had been discreetly washing pots at the kitchen sink throughout the phone call, but now she turned to Amanda with a sympathetic smile. “It sounds like you dug up a lot of old skeletons yourself.”
Amanda sighed. “I’ve never been good at managing my mother.”
“Your aunt is easier.”
“We’re more alike.”
“And there’s none of those pesky expectations. No big hopes or disappointments.”
“She’s so prickly!”
“I wasn’t talking about her.”
A protest was on the tip of Amanda’s tongue when Maeve laughed. “Nice thing about getting old? The mouth gets a will of its own.”
The man walked into Tim Hortons as if he were entering an ambush in a bad Western movie. He peered through the glass door before opening it and then sidled along the wall to check out each section. Amanda had told him she was wearing a green Fun for Families windbreaker, but instead of approaching her directly, he betrayed no hint of recognition when he saw her. Instead, he continued to scour the restaurant. It could have been comical, but something about his fear was contagious.
She had found him on Facebook and messaged him. The public venue had been his idea. He probably figured she wouldn’t stab him in a coffee shop packed with double-double lovers. Eventually, he slipped into the chair opposite her, clutching his own coffee.
“Got any ID?”
As she showed him her driver’s license, she studied him. He was tall, slim, and tanned, with a mane of thick, dark hair. He should have carried himself with confidence, but he had a whipped look.
He flashed a weak grin. “Sorry. The attack on Livia Cole has me spooked. I’m even imagining stalkers in dark corners, mystery dudes following me in trucks. I asked her not to tell anyone, but it seems to be all over town.”
“She didn’t tell me. Her parents told me you’d visited, and I took a guess. Why don’t you want people to know? Was there something about the bones that spooked you?”
He shook his head. “No, they were interesting. You could tell they were old. I just wanted to keep the discovery to myself. I’m writing a book, and I’m sure the bones have a story to tell.” He leaned forward. “What makes you think it’s your uncle?”
“Once again, a guess. I could be way off base. He’s fallen off the face of the earth, and the police are suddenly interested in the family’s DNA.” She didn’t elaborate on the sordid details surrounding Jonathan’s disappearance. She barely knew the man. “But they’re not telling me a thing about the body or the investigation. About what they think happened. Can you take me to the coulee?”
“There’s nothing there anymore. Just a hole and a bunch of tire tracks.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’d like to see the surroundings, to see if they can tell me anything about what happened. How he died.”
He played with his coffee cup. “I’d like something in return. We’re both interested in what the story is. Maybe we can team up and share what we know.”
It wasn’t a bad deal, Amanda thought as they stopped by Todd’s place to pick up his ATV. The bungalow was little larger than a shed, but it was surprisingly well kept, with a garden out front and a bright sunroom on the side. She could decide later how much to share with him, but meanwhile it would be useful to have the help of a local who had contacts and knew something of the history of the area. Not to mention someone who had an ATV.
They bumped over a well-worn track in the sandy riverbed deep into the maze of hills and hoodoos. The south sides of the hills were parched stripes of barren rock, but tufts of wild grasses and flowers clung to the northern sides, which were protected from the fierce sun. Amanda had left Kaylee with Maeve, thinking she’d have more fun keeping her new friend company, but now she regretted it. Kaylee would have loved every rock and secret cranny.
“Was this track always like this?” she shouted in Todd’s ear. “It looks as if a lot of people come down here.”
He shook his head. “There was no track. The cops and forensics people made this mess. It used to be pristine rock and sand and grass. The only tracks in the sand were deer and coyotes.”
She gazed up at the towering hills. “How did you get down here?”
“From up above. I followed a fissure in the hills that wasn’t too steep.”
“Why? What made you come here?”
“I was following camera shots. I see light and shadow, silhouettes, colour contrasts … whatever. Sometimes I just want to photograph a tiny flower. I can easily wander for hours.”
He steered the quad around a sharp bend, and the dry riverbed opened into a broader plain that looked like a battle scene. The sand was chewed up and pockmarked with holes. A larger, irregular hole scarred the base of the hill near the bend. Amanda caught her breath.
Todd switched off the engine. Together they gazed at the hole. There had been no rain since the excavation, and already the blowing sand had begun to soften the harsh edges of the dig marks. In the stillness, the sun blazed off the rock face. She shrugged off her jacket. Insects buzzed around her head, and high overhead, a hawk swooped against the bleached blue sky. Todd showed her how the bones had been laid out in the grave.
As she pictured the body, sorrow welled through her chest. Had he died here? Not the heartless bastard who had turned his back on his sister and his pregnant girlfriend, but the man with the big, warm hug and the endless love of play. The man who had carried her on his shoulders and played hide-and-seek in the woods. Had he breathed his last, alone and frightened?
“Did the bones seem deliberately buried? I mean, by someone who wanted to give him a decent burial? Or …” Her voice trailed off, leaving the alternative unsaid.
He shrugged. “It wasn’t laid out on its back, if that’s what you mean. It looked more like it was dumped. But I didn’t see how it looked when it was all exposed. I was only there the first day.”
She looked at the camera, which was slung over his shoulder as if it were part of him. “Did you take pictures?”
He squinted into the distance. “The cops deleted them all.”
She sensed he was holding back, as was she. She could have pressed him but decided to postpone that until later when trust was better established. Instead she looked up at the surroundings. At the sweep of riverbed down the valley, the steep cascade of rocks down the hillsides, and the ragged lip of the mesa up above.
“Whoever it is, I wonder how they got here and why.”
“Lots of possibilities,” he said. “That’s why I know there’s a story worth telling. In the pioneer days before phones or cars, settlers used to ride or even walk for miles to get to town, to go to the train station, the general store, or the doctor. Sometimes they’d cut across these badlands as the quickest way to get from A to B.”
“Maybe they got lost. It all looks the same to me.”
“Not to someone who lived on the land. But if there was a blizzard or a sandstorm, yeah, you could get seriously turned around. In the winter you could easily freeze to death.”
Sweat trickled into her eyes, and she swatted at the mosquito whining in her ear. “That’s hard to imagine right now.”
“The temperatures in Central Alberta, and especially in the badlands, are extreme. Freeze in winter, but in summer these gullies act like an oven, and it can reach forty degrees in here at the height of the day. As you can see, there’s not much shade, and if you get disoriented and haven’t brought enough water, you can die of heatstroke and dehydration real fast.”
Amanda had already been warned of that danger and had built in protections for her tour. Even today surprised her. Up on the plains, the cool breeze over the open land had kept the temperature to a pleasant twenty-five degrees, but down here, she was already drenched with sweat.
“But the bones ended up buried,” she said. “Not lying there like the person had collapsed.”
Todd wandered around the site, pointing to the swirls and lines in the sand. “I’m not an expert, but soil geologists should be able to tell if time alone would bury it in the sand. This landscape is always changing. Sand and till would wash down from the hillsides and from upriver, and it would settle out here at this bend. Even snow melt or heavy rains might bury the bones over time.”
She looked dubious. “Wouldn’t animals have scattered them all around if they were just lying there?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. It’s also possible the person didn’t die here, but the body was washed down from higher up. Again, it could have happened bit by bit, until it was stopped by this bend.”
“He could also have slid down the steep hill and hit his head.” Frustration surged through her. As interesting as the speculation was, it raised more questions than it answered, but at least she had avenues to pursue. She raised her head to the plains up above. “What’s that thing up there? A house?”
“A shack. Likely from the pioneer days, abandoned years ago.”
“Who owns it?”
“No one. It could have been a shelter used by cowhands back when it was open range.”
“What’s up there now?”
“Grazing land.”
“So who owns that?”
“It’s a community pasture. The Irrigation District owns it but allows local ranchers to use it for summer grazing.”
“So anyone can use it?”
“Well, no, it’s regulated. You have to belong to the grazing association.”
“So there would be records of who’s been on it?”
“Yeah, and I did look into it,” he said. “But over the years, there could be hundreds of people. It’s public land, so hunters can go on it in season too, and people like me. You just ask permission.”
She sighed. A wild goose chase, especially when she had work to do and no clear evidence the human remains were even Jonathan’s. But it was a path forward. A way to satisfy her relentless drive for answers.