John Moss - Grave doubts

Miranda smiled uneasily. She suspected perhaps there was a subtext to the relationship between the other two she did not grasp, and ascribed her anxiety to feeling a little left out. On the drive over from Penetanguishene, Rachel had come up with the suggestion, herself, that she ride with Alexander as far as Owen Sound. It had seemed entirely reasonable, but now Miranda felt herself resenting the petty betrayal of her friends. Somehow the three of them broke down into a configuration of pairs. They were not all three friends together. Like teenagers, she thought. In any permutation of their affections, one of them was invariably left in the cold.

She had decided early that morning she needed to get back to Toronto. She loved camping and had reconciled herself to the day’s adventure, but she felt an indefinable sense of urgency. Something was not quite right. She suggested they head back after diving. Rachel seemed content with the revised plan.

By the time Morgan reached Peter Singh, he was less than an hour from Georgian Bay. He had anticipated having difficulty explaining what he wanted Peter to do: see that she’s okay and stay with her. To Morgan’s surprise, this was not received as an unreasonable request. He felt a rising affection for the young officer and told him he’d explain when he got there.

“For sure, Morgan. I will meet you; just say where.”

“Wherever you connect with Miranda. When you find her, get back to me.”

“I will.”

“Good, go for it.”

“You mean I should drive to Beausoleil? Why don’t you contact her on your radio?”

“She’s camping with Rachel — I think you met her. She’s not carrying her cellphone. They’ll have gone to see Pope, but he’s not answering.”

“Have you tried the campground?”

“No, I don’t know the area. I wouldn’t know where to start. I’m counting on you to do that.” Morgan’s newfound affection was beginning to wane. “I really would like you to get going on this. Call me.”

“Where are you?”

“Just north of Barrie.”

“You’re probably closer to her than I am, but let me see if I can pin her down. I’ll get back to you.”

The radio went blank, then Officer Singh came on again.

“I was talking to her last night, you know.”

“You what?”

“I was talking to her last night. She called from a restaurant in Midland. They were having dinner together — Miranda and Mr. Pope, and Rachel Naismith.

“Why did she call? Was she okay.”

“Oh, yes, she was very okay. They were having a good time.”

“Why did she call you?”

“Why not? She is my friend. I suppose you would like to be analytic. Possibly she was fulfilling a social obligation, given she’s a visitor in my part of the country.”

“Did she say where she’d be today?”

“Oh, no, I do not think so. Well, she said if she comes through Owen Sound she would give me another call.”

“Why would she be coming through Owen Sound?”

“Goodness, Detective, we’ll have to ask her.” Peter Singh had lost his sense of the gravity of the situation, in his delight at the possibility of connecting with both of them.

“Peter?”

“Yes?”

“If she calls, let me know.”

“Yes, of course. And meanwhile I will call around and see if I can track down her camping ground. I suspect if you cannot reach anybody at the church, they are on their way here. Goodbye now.”

Morgan felt the first pangs of hunger since he had left home. It was well past breakfast time and still too early for lunch, so he compromised on a couple of doughnuts outside Midland.

Miranda had to concentrate not to get separated from Alexander Pope’s van. She was intent on drinking in the splendour of the countryside, which was at its most lush in June. To one side she could see beyond the gnarled groves of apple orchards the high hills of the Niagara Escarpment creeping along the edge of the coastal plain, and on the other side, beyond orchards and grasslands, she caught glimpses of the lake, dazzling evanescent in the sunlight. Ahead, the blue van snaked through what little traffic there was, and periodically she would rev the Jag and catch up behind them. Pope would honk in acknowledgement and she would honk back. She was more and more looking forward to their adventure.

They stopped for coffee at the Tim Hortons in Collingwood.

“How are we doing for time?” she asked.

“It’s too early for lunch,” said Alexander. “We’ll grab a sandwich in Owen Sound and eat on the way.”

“You two finding enough to talk about?” she asked Rachel.

“No,” said Rachel. “We don’t say a word to each other. It’s murder.”

All three laughed.

“Let’s go,” said Rachel. “It’s still a long drive. Where are we gonna meet in Owen Sound?”

“At the police station,” said Miranda. “We’ll leave my car there. A vintage Jag by the side of the road is flaunting temptation. We can pick up some food at the same time.”

Rachel and Alexander exchanged looks. He said, “It’s okay with me.”

Rachel shrugged. “Whatever. See you there.”

They pulled out in tandem, coffees in hand.

“Morgan,” said Peter Singh. “Save yourself time. I tracked down the campground.”

“Good.”

“No, not so good. She has checked out.”

“Did they know where she was going?”

“The man said she mentioned Tobermory.”

“What’s in Tobermory?”

“Beautiful scenery, I suppose. Funny rocks with holes in them. A lot of cedar trees.”

“Does she have to go through Owen Sound to get there?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you now?”

“I am in Owen Sound, at home. I am now off duty, since I talked to you before.”

“Where did she call you last night?”

“At home.”

“Stay there. She’ll call. She likes you.”

“I like her, too. Are you coming straight through? I should tell you how to get here.”

“Owen Sound’s on the map, I’ve been there before.”

“I mean my home. I am looking forward to seeing you.”

“Yeah,” said Morgan. “Talk to you later.”

He looked around. He was driving along the edge of a town. It’s big enough, it must be Collingwood, he thought. He pulled into the Tim Hortons for coffee and another doughnut at the takeout window. He thought of a sandwich, but the anxiety running in tremors through his entire body distorted his appetite. Doughnuts fill voids other foods can’t even find.

Odd, he thought. Doughnuts and cars. In Toronto he ate the occasional pastry and yet, out here in the country, driving, they seemed as indispensable as gasoline. He looked down at the fuel gauge. He was not used to either doughnuts or cars. His stomach felt bloated and the gas tank read empty.

Miranda ran into the police station and explained who she was — a Toronto detective and a friend of Peter Singh’s. No problem, said the woman at the desk. Where was she off to? Miranda explained they were going to Tobermory, and behind schedule. The woman shrugged and waved her away, telling her to have a good day.

On the outskirts of Owen Sound, Morgan got through to Alex Rufalo and pulled over to the side of the road so he could hear better. He had already called Peter Singh, asking him to meet him downtown.

“I’ve got Officer Naismith’s file, Morgan. It looks straightforward to me. Three years on the force. Good record. Good future. She’s got a degree from the University of Western Ontario, comes from the Chatham area between Windsor and Sarnia. Nothing stands out in her background.”

“What’s her degree?”

“Honours sociology. Oh, and honours art history. Double honours — very impressive.”

“Art history?”