“What kind of boat did Old Stink have?” she asked.
Casey rolled his eyes. “He’s had dat boat going on sixty years. Sixteen-foot dory, used to row ’er until he put a fifteen-horsepower outboard on ’er.”
“Does it have a cabin on it?”
“Oh no, my dear, it’s just a dory. Like dat one.” He pointed to a boat lying on the grass, its hull gouged and its white paint scraped off. “Stink never went far out to sea with ’er. Mostly in the bay and around the head.”
“Is it seaworthy, though?”
He shrugged. “Depends. Water’s calm, you couldn’t ask for a better boat. They’ll all swamp in a good blow. But Stink’s boat, now, the motor has a mind of her own. She’ll cut out on you if you look at her wrong, especially in a headwind. Doesn’t like the waves.”
Amanda could see that the wind was picking up, rippling over the ocean and through the long shore grass. Would Phil know enough to keep the boat going? Overseas, they had both learned how to keep the most cantankerous of generators and trucks running and the most precarious of boats afloat. Phil could read river patterns and monsoon skies, but he knew nothing about the oceans, the tides, or the bruised black clouds of an incoming Atlantic storm.
Casey had been watching her, his expression softening. “Your friend likely won’t get far. If he pushes ’er over ten knots, she’ll quit on him. Mind you, if he heads south to Englee, he could go up Canada Bay to Roddickton. He could go by road from there.”
“How long would that take?”
“No more than three to four hours, even in Stink’s boat. And he’d be out of the ocean swell.”
Too many options! Amanda thought with dismay. Phil’s truck was still stranded here in the village, of course, but in his desperate state, that wouldn’t stop him. He knew how to hot-wire just about any vehicle, and most of the locals left their keys in their trucks anyway.
“Speak of the devil,” Casey said, jerking his thumb toward the road. Amanda turned to see an official RCMP vehicle from Roddickton crest the hill and began to curve down toward the centre of the village. Amanda and Casey watched as it slowed to a stop in front of the pier. Willington and a young woman piled out, along with an impossibly young-looking constable.
Willington gave Amanda a quick nod before turning to Casey. “Anything new to report, Case?”
“Body’s not gone anywhere, Willie,” Casey replied. “I’ll take you all straight over.”
“Constable Bradley will stay here to conduct interviews. Saves time, and details are forgotten so quickly.”
“We already got a pretty good suspect,” Casey began, gesturing to Amanda. “This lady’s friend —”
“We don’t know anything for sure,” Amanda interjected before he could say more.
“Still, the feller’s truck is back there —” Casey pointed toward the entrance to town. “He was after buying one of our boats a couple of days ago. Now he’s gone missing, and Stink’s boat’s missing too.”
Willington hesitated. Amanda could see him eyeing the truck and then the boat, debating how to proceed. The medical examiner, a vibrant young woman with olive skin and cropped black hair, laid a hand on his arm.
“Let’s have a look at the body first, okay, Willie?”
Willington gestured to Phil’s truck. “Check that out, Bradley,” he said to his constable. “Get the man’s ID and find out what people saw. I’ll be back in an hour or two.”
After they left, the village hummed with that peculiar mixture of excitement and horror that always surrounded a major disaster. Some of the houses were vacant, their owners away at jobs in Labrador or Alberta, but a handful of children, their mothers, and grizzled old-timers were visible, the children running happily in the September sunshine and the adults doing house repairs or laying in firewood for the coming winter. They all stopped their work to watch the police drama unfold.
As Bradley questioned them, Amanda edged close in an effort to eavesdrop. Several villagers gestured down toward the back harbour and Amanda caught the words “truck” and “boy.” After a few interviews, Bradley climbed in the RCMP cruiser and drove down the road to Phil’s truck. Amanda watched as he circled the truck and rifled through its interior before pulling out his radio.
She drifted closer. “Right, sir,” she heard him say before signing off and placing another radio call. This time he turned his back on her so that she couldn’t hear, but she could clearly see him reading the numbers off Phil’s licence plate. Her heart sank. Soon the police would know there was a missing-persons report out on him, with concern expressed about his mental health.
After Bradley had signed off and was heading back toward the harbour, Amanda walked up the hill leading into the village, hoping to snag a wayward cellphone signal from somewhere. After a few minutes of searching, she climbed on top of a picnic table and got lucky.
Sheri snatched up the phone on the second ring. “Any word?” she asked.
“Not directly.” Amanda chose her words carefully, opting not to mention Old Stink or his murder, for Sheri sounded tense enough. “We found his truck in the village of Conche, but we’re still a couple of days behind and we’re not sure what direction he took. The police may contact you with questions about his …” she groped for neutral words “… his state of mind.”
Sheri didn’t seem to be listening. “Jason thinks he’s got a lead on him.”
“What?”
“He said a fisherman spotted a man and a boy in a small boat near a place called Nameless Cove. I’ve looked it up on the map. It’s near the tip, just north of Flower’s Cove.”
And Deadman’s Cove, Amanda recalled with a shudder. She’d spoken to a fisherman there a few days earlier, on her way up the western shore. If Jason was correct, she and Chris were way off track. Yet Phil’s truck was here. That made no sense!
“When was this?” she asked.
“I don’t know exactly. But he called this morning, so it was probably in the past day or so. Jason’s going to rent a boat and check out the coast. That’s good news, right? Phil and Tyler are still safe, doing what they’d planned.”
Amanda forced a cheerful agreement. “Keep me posted, and I promise to do the same. The minute you hear from Jason, call me. And leave a voice message if I don’t answer. Cell service is pretty iffy where I am.”
Sheri laughed. “Welcome to Newfoundland, my dear.”
Amanda hung up, glad that at least one of them was able to laugh. She wasn’t nearly as optimistic about this latest news from Jason. Phil’s truck was sitting in plain view at the bottom of the hill, probably 150 kilometres across the northern peninsula from Nameless Cove, and according to the locals it had not moved in several days. There were only two ways he could have shown up in Nameless Cove; either he had succeeded in piloting Stink’s dilapidated old boat all the way up and around the northern tip of the peninsula and down the western side, or he had stolen a vehicle in Roddickton, and had made his escape across the peninsula. Toward airports, ferries, and places far away.
More likely, Jason’s witness was mistaken. How could anyone clearly identify two people in a boat on the ocean, probably wearing hats and lifejackets, caught in the glare of the sun off the ocean?
She was just turning to head back down the hill when her cellphone chirped. She glanced at the text message. From Matthew Goderich, succinct and pointed.
WTF???
She sucked in her breath. She knew Matthew was back in Canada, having abandoned