The Unlikely Association of Meg & Harry

THE UNLIKELY ASSOCIATION OF
MEG AND HARRY

By
Jennifer L. Armstrong

The Unlikel y Associ ation of Meg and Harry
by J ennifer L. Armstrong

2010

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Second Edition Web V1.0 2011

Photo used in cover art
Konstantin Sutyagin | Dreamstime.com

Graphic Design
Paul Krichbaum

Cold in Canada

2

Prologue

ream big.
That's what my dad says. He dreamt big. That's why
he got on a plane at the Toronto Pearson International
Airport and flew to Reno, sending Mom and I a postcard saying
he'd be back when he made it rich.
At the same time, Mom discovered that their joint bank
account was empty.
Tragic?
A bit.
Mom has a reasonably good job at Phillips Fine Foods as an
Administrative Assistant to Mr. Phillips himself. So there was no
danger of her and I ending up living in a ditch. I was 17 at the
time and in my final year at high school.
I have big dreams too.
I want to be a cop. Yeah, I know. I'm a female. Everyone who
knows about my dream likes to point this out to me. Then they
think about it a bit and say, well, there are female cops. They do
stuff like hand out traffic tickets and do safety lessons at the local
middle schools and frisk the female suspects and that sort of
thing, so maybe it will be OK.
D
The unlikely association of Meg and Harry
4
But that's not what I mean. I want to be the investigative kind
of cop, the kind who goes into the room and looks over the body
and crouches down and looks for clues. Mom isn't crazy about
the idea but Dad loves it. He and I always sat on our worn-out
plaid couch watching cop shows when I was little.
And Dad is always sending me postcards from Reno saying as
soon as he wins the money, he'll send me back everything I need
for college.
Except that, no surprise, he never wins any big money, so he
never sends anything back.
Oh, he keeps at it. And he isn't a bad father. Every week I get
a postcard and Mom gets a long letter and Mom and I even went
down there to visit him. He's working a part-time job to keep
going. Mom doubts he'll come back. We have casinos in Ontario,
but Reno is devoted to gambling and dreaming big. You don't
have to drive two hours to get to a casino, it's everywhere.
So that's where we are a year and a half after Dad left. No hard
feelings, really, but no great hope for the future. Mom has her
job, I have my dreams, but that's about it.
With no cheque from Dad, I have applied to no colleges.
I've gone around to every police station and begged for a job.
Sweeping floors, filing old files, anything, but of course, it's
impossible. I started volunteering at a local community centre in
the hope that one of the neighbourhood thugs might commit a
crime and I could solve it and then maybe I'd get a job. But as it
turns out, neighbourhood thugs don't hang out at the After
School program created by the community to keep kids off the
street and I am mostly left with quiet girls who want to be left
alone to do their homework and noisy boys who want to be left
alone to play floor hockey.
It's early December, we've already had our first snowfall of the
year, and I am desperate. I have to get a real job soon and it
probably won't have anything remotely to do with my dream.
In that spirit, Mom and I set out for the Phillips annual
Christmas party at the Hilton Hotel.
The Hilton Hotel's proximity to the airport gets Mom talking
about Dad as she parks the car and we walk through the snowy
parking lot.
Oh, Meg, she says. I miss him. I know I saw him in the
summer, but I think I'll book a flight and see him right after
Cold in Canada ~ Prologue
5
Christmas. Maybe another Christmas alone will convince him
that he should come home.
That would be nice, I say, brushing some snow off my black
crushed velvet dress as we go through the second set of double
doors and into the warm interior. A big sign directs us to the
Phillips party, not necessary for the old-timers since it's always in
the same ballroom.
Mom is already being greeted by people from work who are
saying Merry Christmas! to her even though they've seen her
four hours earlier at the office.
We get rid of our coats at the cloakroom, brush any remaining
snow out of our hair in the ladies' room and go back out into the
ballroom's foyer. Mom's attractive so a lot of guys in suits are
already lining up to talk to her. Dad's crazy to leave her behind
here. I think part of his desire to make a whole ton of money at
once is to be able to buy her a big house or a diamond necklace
or something like that. He swore to me he wasn't seeing anyone
else and that he just wanted to make it big and then come back to
us.
Well, I guess I take after Dad because nobody seems very
eager to talk to me. I inherited Mom's dark red hair and pale
complexion, but somehow, nature didn't put me together the
same way. Leaving Mom surrounded, I wander and pretend to be
examining the pictures on the wall. I figure I'll move around a bit.
Maybe I'll witness a crime, or something interesting.
Meg!
I turn from a picture of a black Grecian pot.
It's Harry Phillips. Second son of Mom's boss. Tall, wavy
brown hair, brown eyes. Cute, yes. My type, no.
I want a rugged man, a strong man. A cop. Basically, I have
this dream that I'll have this really tough partner with a heart of
gold and after years of solving crimes together, we'll just gradually
grow closer and closer until one day he gruffly pulls me into his
arms and we live happily ever after.
Harry looks like he should be modelling something. Clothing,
toothpaste, a can of Phillips artichokes, something harmless. My
man is going to be packing a pistol. Harry looks like he could
barely pack a suitcase.
Oh, hi Harry.
Harry and I went to high school together.
6
We always said hi in the hallways because of knowing each
other from these Christmas parties, as well as the summer
company picnics held down at the Beaches by Lake Ontario.
Tonight, he's in a tuxedo. Looking good, of course. That's
what he's good at.
Did you get some champagne? He already has a glass. He
grabs one for me from a passing waiter. We're both 19 now so
we don't have to be sneaky about it. Haven't seen you since
graduation. What've you been up to?
Nothing. Volunteering. Trying to figure out what to do next.
Harry groans.
At first, I think he's been struck by appendicitis.
I totally know what you mean! he says when he is done
groaning. I have no idea what to do next! He flops down on a
nearby couch without spilling a drop of champagne. I put my
champagne down on an end table and sit down more carefully.
Maybe it's the champagne. Harry keeps leaping up to get us
more every time a waiter goes by. But we end up talking,
seriously talking. He tells me his woes and I end up telling him all
about my situation.
Harry's problem is that he has no head for business (I told
you) and has spent the last six months at Phillips Fine Foods in
absolute agony. His dad insists that he learn the business. It isn't
a case of needing someone to take over when he passes on.
Johnny Jr., Harry's older brother, is doing just fine and loves his
job as Vice President. But Harry has no idea what he wants to do
and so his dad says he can't just be a bum, he has to work. So
Harry trudges off to Phillips Fine Foods every day, has a desk,
even has an administrative assistant named Phyllis who is 64-
years-old and available to take down every word he says in case
he wants to dictate a memo, which, of course, he doesn't. He
doesn't even really know what he's supposed to be doing. Papers
end up on his desk and he's supposed to read them and reply, but
Phyllis handles most of it without his help and so far no one has
complained. Except that Harry is worried he's going to die of
boredom if something doesn't happen soon.
He shows a lot of interest in my situation.
He thinks the cop thing is interesting, although it is clearly not
something that has ever occurred to him to do. But as a
supportive statement, he does tell me that he reads a lot of
7
mysteries. In fact, that's what keeps him going. On his computer
at work, he surfs the net and spends a large portion of his day
reading classic mysteries at those free online novels sites.
You know, he says, as we stand up to go into dinner. Most
people are already in the ballroom and seated at their tables.
We'd make a good team, you and me. I know a ton of people
who are always looking for private investigators. Dad's friends
and all. In fact, there's one woman in our neighbourhood who
just lost a diamond necklace. She told my mom she thinks it's
stolen but that she can't exactly call the police about it. I don't
know why. But she's really upset. Wouldn't that be a great case
for you and me to solve?
And then he's gone. Sitting at the head table with his dad and
Johnny Jr. and their dazzling mother in her red-sequinned dress
with matching rubies.
Wouldn't that be a great case for you and me to solve?
His words play over and over in my head.
If only . . .

That would have been the end of it except that the next day
when Mom comes home from work, she has an envelope for me
and is looking at me strangely.
She hands it to me.
It's from Harry Phillips, she says.
I blush.
Goofy, I know. But it's the way Mom is looking at me. Like
maybe I have a crush on Harry Phillips or maybe, totally unlikely,
he has some kind of interest in me.
But I rip open the envelope because I'm eager to read what he
has to say.
The creamy white paper has the Phillips company logo with
the address, phone number and email address below.
Dear Miss Carmichael,
With regard to our business proposition discussed on December 4
th
, at
7:30 p.m., I would like you to know that you can fully rely on me to support
this venture. I think it would be mutually beneficial to both of us. I eagerly
await your reply regarding this matter.
Yours sincerely,
Harry Phillips
Division manager
8
Phyllis must have typed it up but Harry's signature is boldly
written across the bottom and he's been careful to add his direct
extension beside it.
Maybe if I weren't so desperate, I would ignore the letter.
But as things are, I go to bed knowing I'll be phoning Harry
tomorrow at exactly 9:00 a.m.

I told my dad I had a business meeting, says Harry, biting
into a sandwich.
We're sitting at a Second Cup, within sight of Phillips Fine
Foods. When I phoned (and got Phyllis and then Harry), he
suggested we meet for lunch.
He was so thrilled, continues Harry, reaching for his coffee.
He didn't even ask me who I was meeting with.
Since this is a business luncheon, Harry tells me to order
whatever I want. His corporate expense account covers business
luncheons. I'm having a sliced turkey sandwich and a caramel
cappuccino.
Harry and I have agreed that it might be wild and it might be
crazy, but we are going to give it a go. He will tell Mrs. Shanklin,
the lady who has lost the necklace, that we would like to have a
try at solving the case. We'll charge her nothing but the expenses
on the understanding that if we succeed, she'll discreetly tell all
her friends how wonderful we are.
What will your Dad think of all this? I ask.
Hard to say, says Harry, biting into a biscotti. He sure
doesn't need me at the office. Phyllis can do my job. I think he'll
be glad that I'm doing something. What about your mom? Will she
like the idea?
Yeah, the case sounds safe enough. No murders or anything.
She knows I want to be a cop more than anything. She'll be cool
about it. Dad'll burst his buttons with pride. Especially if we
solve it. And we will. You're sure your dad will be OK with this?
You know, my mom works for him and all.
Yeah, it'll be fine. Business is good. He's making loads of
money. He's happy. Harry reaches for his large paper cup of
coffee. My father's an atheist. The love of money vs. the love of
God, that sort of thing. So naturally I became a Christian.
My eyebrows go up. Its a strange confession. I am definitely
not a Christian.
9
I hope you won't let it interfere with your work, I say.
Well, I do like to pray occasionally, about matters in my life
and all that.
Just don't do it out loud.
I'll do my best. Just ignore me if my lips move slightly. He
looks at me like he's trying to contain his amusement. Of
course, scripture forbids me from being unequally yoked with an
unbeliever, so I hesitate to form any kind of absolute partnership
with you . . .
Unequally yoked? I can't believe my ears. You mean, like
cows ploughing a field, or . . .
Oxen, interrupts Harry. Oxen plough the fields. The
females are used for milking.
Whatever. I'm not an ox and if it will make you feel better, we
can skip the whole partnership thing and just split the profits.
I can live with that. I've never really understood the whole
business end of things.
I kind of suspect his father will be relieved to have him out of
the company.
Johnny, now he's the one with the brains for business,
continues Harry. But I like to look at things from the
perspective of how they honour God . . .
How they honour God? I cant believe my ears. I also cant believe
what pops out of my mouth.
Shut up, Harry, I say to him.
Harry grins.
Boy, we're going to be a great team.
10

Chapter One

on't worry, Meg, Harry assures me. I've prayed all
about this. We'll be fine.
Do you think you could lay off the religious talk? I
say.
We're heading around a circular driveway that leads to Mrs.
Shanklin's front door and our first case.
I had met Harry that morning at his house, no, more like his
estate, and then we had walked over to Mrs. Shanklin's estate. In
my neighbourhood, the distance would have been covered in five
minutes. In Harry's neighbourhood, thanks to large properties
and houses about a mile back from the road, it has taken 40
minutes.
Just wanted you to know, says Harry. I feel more at peace
with something when I've taken it to God.
Taken it to God? I turn to look up at him. Harry, you're a
sap! We're going to solve this mystery! Us! I've got brains, you
know!
Harry doesn't look too upset.
You can persecute me all you want, he says. But you can't
stop me from praying. Prayer makes a difference . . .
Persecute you? How exactly did I persecute you?
D
12
You called me a sap, explains Harry. In fact, I welcome the
rude remarks. It makes me feel part of the greater Christian
community. Christians are persecuted in China, you know. And
in most parts of the world they face a certain measure of hostility
depending on the government in power . . .
Shut up, Harry, I say.
We are at the front door now.
I run a finger through my long hair now coated in snow --
before pressing the doorbell. Harry, I notice, doesn't seem
nervous at all. His brown hair is dishevelled and he's wearing a
leather aviator's jacket with jeans. His ears are warm because he's
wearing an absurd pair of purple earmuffs. On the other hand,
despite the cold, I'm in a dress, pantyhose, heels and my mom's
winter dress coat. Great outfit if you want to go from the car
straight into the restaurant, but lousy for a 40-minute hike on a
snowy day.
Mrs. Shanklin doesn't answer her own door.
I'm sort of expecting some butler-looking guy to answer the
large wooden door, but it's a middle-aged maid wearing a simple
black dress with a white apron. She opens the door wide enough
to allow us to enter and tells us that we are expected. We are
directed to wait in a cool sitting room that runs off of the large
foyer.
I say sitting room because it doesn't feel like a living room.
There is nothing cosy about it. It looks more like a museum
paintings on the wall, some of them several feet long. The
furniture could be scattered around Versailles. I gingerly sit down
on something that looks about two hundred years old and feels
lumpy. Harry is more comfortable with the whole arrangement
and collapses onto a chaise longue.
Mrs. Shanklin enters the room and Harry stands right up again.
She is older, older than my mom anyhow, with a grey bob, a
simple navy blue dress with pearl earrings and a pearl necklace.
The pearls are real, I'm sure.
Her smile is for Harry and only covers me in the periphery. It
is to Harry that she talks, sitting down across from him in a chair
that matches the one I'm perched on.
I'm so glad you called, she says. Her weary smile is genuine.
Is this a new venture for you, then?
Cold in Canada ~ Chapter One
13
Yes, says Harry, leaning forward. It's something we've just
started.
I hope he doesn't blow this.
And when I heard of your situation, I knew we could help
you.
He's actually projecting confidence. Unbelievable.
Well, I'm glad you called. To be quite honest, I didn't know
where to turn. If I call the police, they'll think I'm a lunatic. And
I'm so worried about Jett I can hardly think.
Harry nods sympathetically.
Jett? Who's Jett?
I'm looking back and forth at Harry and at Mrs. Shanklin, but
they aren't looking at me. I'll have to pick it up as it goes along.
I know Jett doesn't have anything to do with this, continues
Mrs. Shanklin. But he's all I can think about right now . . . Mrs.
Shanklin's voice drifts off as she stares at a painting on the wall, a
field with people in the distance, maybe harvesting something. I
don't think she's really looking at the picture.
I know, I know, says Harry soothingly.
There's a pause and I almost have time to get nervous.
Actually, the first thing I want to do is to talk to Jett, says
Harry. Mrs. Shanklin looks at him. There is interest in her eyes.
I think we should find Jett first. And that's why Meg and I are
the right ones to investigate this.
Mrs. Shanklin glances at me, like she's seeing me for the first
time.
Now, of course, continues Harry. In all fairness, I have to
tell you we're just getting started. So we won't charge anything to
investigate your stolen necklace. But we will have to bill you for
our expenses.
Boy, he's good. He sounds humble and capable at the same
time.
Mrs. Shanklin waves a hand.
I understand. I wouldn't have it any other way. Do you really
think you can find Jett?
Harry nods.
Its quite possible, yes.
This is the first hope I've had in days . . . Mrs. Shanklin's
eyes are focused entirely on Harry.
14
I totally understand, says Harry. And he really sounds like he
does.
Now, I say, leaning forward. Even though this is the first
time Ive heard of Jett, I think it's time to insert myself into the
conversation. I think what we need to do is . . .
I think we need to see Jett's room, says Harry, standing up.
Of course, says Mrs. Shanklin, also standing up.
My feeling is Jett may know something about this, Mrs.
Shanklin, says Harry, as we exit the sitting room. I am forced to
follow along behind them. So often, people know more than
they realize.
You might be right! says Mrs. Shanklin. From her tone, you
would think she is talking to Sherlock Holmes himself. Jett is so
observant about things! And he was so close to his grandmother.
He spent entire summers with her, you know.
OK, so at this point, I would make a wild guess that Jett is
Mrs. Shanklin's son. What his grandmother has to do with it, I
have no idea.
But I would go so far as to presume that Jett and Mrs.
Shanklin's necklace disappeared at about the same time. I really
wish that I had taken the time to grill Harry about this case. Why
wasnt I thinking? Now he's in the lead and I'm trailing behind.
Literally.
We are going up a winding staircase. Large chandelier above
us. The upstairs hallway is lined with more well-framed pictures
of nothing in particular. The doors are shut and there are
occasional little end tables with floral arrangements between the
doorways. Honestly, this house could be a Hollywood set.
I expect Jett's room to be a total contrast.
Black, I suspect. Everything black. Somehow my mind has put
Jett and black together. I am expecting heavy-metal posters on
the wall and an unmade bed.
But his room matches the rest of the house.
It's blue, with a nautical theme. Not babyish, but definitely
boyish. There are paintings of tall ships out in the middle of the
ocean.
Everything is neat and orderly. The bed is made. The
bedspread is blue and white with small anchors around the edge.
At this point, I have no idea as to what the relationship
between Jett and the missing necklace is. I figure Harry will have
15
to fill me in later, but the main thing is that we need to search the
room for clues, any sort of indication of where he might have
gone. It's too much to expect that it will be something obvious.
Mrs. Shanklin would have already found a receipt for a plane
ticket or would have noticed a Frommer's guide to Mexico sitting
around on his dresser. This is the point where I will have to take
over.
Discreetly, I open a dresser drawer and start to carefully move
stuff around. Mrs. Shanklin is eyeing me as if I might do some
damage. The top drawer is full of miscellaneous junk. Kind of
like that kitchen drawer that gets everything thrown into it. This
drawer has an old doorknob, some keys, a lot of old coins, some
unidentifiable brass objects, rocks, a whole collection of model
dinosaurs, some dry pine cones, an old piece of paper. I have my
doubts that this drawer will be of any use to us.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mrs. Shanklin pulling a
handkerchief out of her sleeve.
That's his treasure drawer, she says, dabbing at the corner of
her eyes. He's been collecting things since he was a little boy.
Always picking things up off the ground. It's a filthy habit and we
strongly discouraged it . . .
I shut the drawer.
I open the next drawer and am almost knocked off my feet by
Harry who has suddenly appeared at my side and is opening the
top drawer again.
What the . . . ? I shut my mouth when I realize Mrs.
Shanklin is looking at me with disapproval.
Harry has pulled out the piece of paper and moved back next
to Mrs. Shanklin.
What's this, ma'am?
Mrs. Shanklin glances at it.
A map, I think.
Harry is diplomatic enough not to sarcastically say that any
half-brain could have figured that out.
I realize my mistake in not examining the piece of paper and
move closer to Harry.
Harry is studying the piece of paper. It is hand drawn, but very
clearly, a map.
North Drumheller, Harry reads randomly. Bankview,
Greentree . . .
16
It appears to be a town, a town with a river running through it.
Harry may have found the map, but I am determined not to be
left out.
Do you know where this is? I ask Mrs. Shanklin.
She shakes her head.
Do you have any idea if your son made up this map?
Mrs. Shanklin nods her head.
It's his handwriting, though obviously he made this when he
was much younger.
I glance at the map, still in Harry's hand. She's right. There's a
childish quality to it.
Have you ever been to this town? I ask.
Of course not, says Mrs. Shanklin. You asked me if I knew
where it was and I told you I didn't.
I blush.
I just wanted to know if maybe this is some place Jett visited
or maybe it's some imaginary place he made up.
Mrs. Shanklin decides to ignore me and turns her attention
back to Harry.
Very gently, Harry folds the map back up and hands it to Mrs.
Shanklin, kind of in the way that they fold up a flag and hand it
to the grieving widow of a dead soldier.
Mrs. Shanklin, he says earnestly. I believe we can find Jett.
And I think I even know where he is. With your permission, Meg
and I will book a flight and begin our investigation immediately.
I am flabbergasted.
I think I should look around the room some more, I say.
But Mrs. Shanklin is looking at Harry, her hero.
Can you really? she says, her eyes full of hope. Do you
really think you can find Jett?
Harry nods.
So at some point this whole thing has changed from a search
for a lost necklace to a search for a lost son. What is Harry
thinking? We have to look around the room! We have to find
some kind of link between Jett and the necklace before we book
any flights. And where are we going to book a flight to anyhow?

Alberta.
Harry explains when we get outside. The cold air stings me but
I am too busy being miffed to notice.
17
Drumheller, he says. It's in Alberta. You know, the Alberta
Badlands?
I don't know the Alberta Badlands. I must have slept through
that Geography lesson.
So you found some map in his drawer, I say. We still have
the long Shanklin driveway to go down. And more snow has
fallen. Next time I will avoid heels and the dress altogether and
just wear my usual combat pants, oversized sweater and winter
boots. My professional attire has done nothing to inspire Mrs.
Shanklin's confidence.
And so what? I continue. So the guy made a map when he
was 8-years-old. What makes you think he's gone off there now?
Well, here's where I have the advantage over you, says
Harry, sounding annoyingly modest about it. I know Jett. Not
that we were best friends, or anything. But I've been in that room
before. My mom and Mrs. Shanklin are friends and now and then
she dragged me along to visit with Jett. You saw how his room
was . . . ?
I nod.
His parents did all that for him. I think they have some sort
of lineage they're proud of, you know, they're descended from
some Admiral who fought the French in the old days. Or maybe
it was the Americans, I forget. So they like to think of themselves
as nautical. Mr. Shanklin has a yacht and he taught Jett everything
about sailing.
Yeah, so what?
So Jett hates the ocean. He likes the desert. Not the Sahara,
or anything like that, but the Alberta Badlands where there are
dinosaur bones. You saw those little dinosaur models he had?
Yeah, but that's kids' stuff . . .
Actually, Jett told me that as soon as he could, he was going
to go there and become a palaeontologist, or something like that,
and look for dinosaur bones.
Look for dinosaur bones? I say incredulously. What is he,
10-years-old?
Harry shrugs.
That's really neither here nor there. The point is, his parents
never went for the idea, so that would explain why he just left
without telling them. It's a dream, Meg. Come on! You've got to
relate to that.
18
He has me there.
OK, OK, I say. So we book ourselves a flight to
Drumheller. Do they even have an airport? And then when we
get there, what? Do you even know how to drive?
I could if I had to.
But do you have a license?
Never quite got around to it.
If it had been a beautiful summer day, I would have paused at
the end of the Shanklin's driveway to think about this. But since
the wind-chill factor is contributing to me not being able to feel
my legs anymore, I consider this while we walk briskly along the
unshovelled sidewalk. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I never got
around to getting my license either. Hopefully Mrs. Shanklin
won't mind the taxi bills we incur.
When we get back to Harry's and shake the snow off, we go
into some sort of a den with a large wooden desk in the corner
that has a computer. Harry drags another chair over so I can sit
down while he fires up the computer. He figures the easiest way
to book a flight will be online even though he could have called
up his former administrative assistant, Phyllis, and had her do it.
We go to the Air Canada site and find out that to get to
Drumheller we will have to fly to Calgary. Further research yields
the information that Drumheller is 140 kilometres northeast of
Calgary.
I whistle.
That's going to be one expensive cab ride, I say.
Oh, I'm sure they'll have a bus going there.
Taking a bus on a case doesnt fit with my image of an
investigator, but until I get on a police force and have my own
unmarked car, Ill just have to go along with it.
Yeah, I guess so, I say.
Well, let's do it then, shall we? says Harry cheerfully,
returning to the Air Canada site.
The reality of this is starting to sink in. We are really going to
do this thing.
Harry is typing away, our starting point, Toronto, our
destination, Calgary, and examining the results. He clicks on the
first available flight which is 8:07 a.m. . . . tomorrow.
Tomorrow!
19
What will my mother say! She doesn't even know that Harry
and I have formed a partnership though she has kidded me
plenty about our tte--tte at the Christmas party. Now I'm
flying to Calgary with him!
Harry stands up in order to pull his wallet out of his back
pocket.
That's another thing! I don't even have a credit card! But here's
Harry typing his number in, and making all the arrangements, and
then next thing, there's a receipt coming out on the printer and
we're all set to go to Calgary.
I think I'd better get home and pack, I say, standing up.
Maybe get some cash out of the bank.
Harry nods, standing up with me.
We'll just have to keep careful track of everything we spend.
Receipts and all that. You know, for Mrs. Shanklin.
I nod.
I am already feeling in-over-my-head and I wouldn't admit it to
anyone, but I'm kind of happy to have this cheerful idiot by my
side.
He really doesn't have to do it, but Harry actually walks me out
onto his street and then to the main road where I can catch a bus
back to my crummy neighbourhood. He even waits in the snow
for the bus to come. The whole time, he talks.
He promises he'll print some maps off the internet tonight.
From Calgary to Drumheller and then of Drumheller itself. He'll
make a list of all the phone numbers of all the hotels and motels
in the area so we can call around and try to locate Jett that way.
Though he figures we'd probably be more likely to find him in
the local Y, than at something too upscale. Apparently Jett
doesn't like the wealthy life.
Harry says he'll also use the internet to check out the museums
or universities or any other educational place that Jett might be
drawn to. Being winter, there wouldn't be an archeological dig in
process, but Jett might try to get on with some team and do some
work in the meantime . . . Harry has so many ideas, I'm in a bit of
a daze.
He's still talking when the bus comes down the road.
OK, he says, wrapping it up. We'll meet tomorrow. Air
Canada. The new terminal. Flight 147. Got that? 147 . . .
20
He gives me a wave as I pay my fare and sit down in one of
the window seats. Feebly, I raise my hand in a return wave.
I get one last smile from Harry as the bus pulls away from the
stop.
In his brown leather aviator's jacket, the snowflakes in his hair
(he left the goofy ear-muffs at home), even though he is still a
pretty boy, he does look kind of rugged, and I dunno, kind of
appealing.

Chapter Two

arry has a carry-on bag. I have a huge suitcase.
Thankfully, I have found him.
I had forgotten our flight number and of course,
didnt have the tickets. But I had stumbled around the oversized
terminal with my oversized suitcase and managed to find him
despite the early morning crowds.
Mom has been kind of freaked out. But I told her the whole
thing from start to finish and I think she's also kind of impressed
at where this might go. She acted like Harry and I had this
romance-thing and cautioned me about getting too physical with
him. I explained that this is strictly business, and besides, he's a
Christian, but she just couldn't seem to get past the fact that he's
really good-looking and comes from a really rich family and what
girl wouldn't be thrilled to be going anywhere with him?
So we just left it at that and she was nice enough to get up
early to drop me off at the Pearson International Airport, where
she would then carry on to work, smug in the knowledge that her
daughter has attracted the attention of the boss's son, and maybe
people at work would even find out and begin to talk about it.
Harry checks us in, checks my suitcase in and then chooses our
seats on the plane.
H
22
We join the other passengers in the waiting area and sit down.
We are surrounded by professional people, suits, and like Harry,
with carry-on bags. Obviously, I have really muffed up there. I
wanted to be prepared for anything, but now I will be loaded
down. Learning as I go. That's all I can say.
So, says Harry cheerfully. Here we are!
Here we are, I agree, continuing my general survey of the
waiting room, not really wanting to warm up to his smile.
I couldn't find out if there's a YMCA in Drumheller, says
Harry. But I figure we can start with the less-expensive motels
and work our way up. He may not have had a chance to find a
room to rent yet. Let's hope not, anyhow.
I give him credit for not bellowing. He's speaking in a low
voice.
Listen, Harry, I say, even softer. This means that he has to
bend down a bit and my lips are practically on his ear. I feel hot
and hope I'm not blushing. We're really looking for a necklace,
right?
Harry nods.
So what makes us think Jett didn't have to steal the necklace
in order to fund this whole adventure?
Ahhh, says Harry, nodding more vigorously. This time, I'm
sure my lip did touch his ear. I should have told you this
yesterday. I'm really sorry. You see, Jett has a grandmother. His
father's mother, I think. And Jett's really close to her. Was really
close to her. I sort of picked this up over the years. Parent's
talking and stuff. And he was her only grandchild.
OK, I say. But what does this have to do with . . .
Well, that's just it, says Harry. She died recently. And left all
her money to Jett. And from what I gather, again, parents and
gossip, she had more money than Jett's dad. And that would be a
lot of money. Now, of course, there'd be all that stuff, can't
inherit while still a minor and stuff, blah, blah, blah. The magical
age was 19. But last week Jett turned 19.
I think about this.
He's stinkin' rich, says Harry, in case I didn't get it.
OK, I say. That's a good reason for assuming he didn't steal
it. But why are we doing this? Why does he know anything about
this necklace?
Cold in Canada ~ Chapter Two
23
The necklace would be an inside job, says Harry. In the
background, a voice announces that the flight to Calgary is now
boarding first-class passengers and people with small children. It
disappeared just before Jett left. Now Jett's mind would be
entirely on his future and his inheritance, but he's the perfect one
to talk to because he knows the house and the people in it. It's
definitely an inside job. Nothing else was taken. The thing is
probably in a safe. But my guess is that Mrs. Shanklin took it out
and wore it and may not have always put it back right away. I've
seen her wearing it . . .
What's it look like? I interrupt.
It's magnificent. Something you'd see on a queen at some
state occasion. Jett will be able to give us all the dirt about the
servants and stuff. Mrs. Shanklin may not.
This is a world out of my experience. Does Harry know all the
dirt about the servants in his house? Before I can ask, the voice
announces that our rows are now boarding.
As I say, the majority of people on this flight are suits. Men in
suits. Women in suits. Harry's dressed like he was yesterday. I'm
more comfortable today in blue jeans, black sweater and an
oversized black winter bomber jacket. When we take our seats,
me in the window and Harry in the middle, the aisle seat is taken
by the one other person on the flight who doesn't look like she's
flying to a morning business meeting.
She's about 60-years-old, with white fluffy hair in wild disarray,
as if she pulled off her hat and didn't bother to smooth it down
after. She has on a long purple coat, which she has just sat down
in. Harry and I have both put our coats in the compartment
above, but she seems too distracted for this, almost frantic. She
makes me nervous and I'm glad Harry is between us.
Are you OK, ma'am?
It's Harry that asks. I was planning on ignoring her.
Oh yes, dear, says the lady breathlessly. Well, no, dear. I'm
not really. I hate flying.
There, there, says Harry soothingly, actually taking her hand.
I momentarily wonder if he would take my hand if I confessed I
hated flying. Then I feel stupid.
I mean, what's keeping us up in the air, anyhow? the lady
asks. Some mechanic could have had a late night and not
bothered to check things properly. We don't know!
24
Harry nods, as if her lunacy is the most sensible view in the
world.
I hear you, he says. I don't think I would get on a plane
unless I knew God had me in the palm of his hand.
I groan inwardly. Maybe even outwardly.
Oh, my dear, says the lady, her eyes closed now. She is
gripping her arm rests with Harry's hand still on one of hers. I
should have faith, but I don't, dearie. I lost my faith years ago.
This should shut up Harry but he doesn't let it stop him.
Often God shows us his love by sending us people who will
care for us.
The woman nods faintly. Probably just to be polite.
I believe God has sent me to care for you on this flight.
Holy Moley. I'm here with Brother Harry, Mother Teresa's
successor.
But the lady has opened her eyes and is looking at Harry.
I never thought about that, she says, and she doesn't look so
desperate. Are you an angel, dear?
Harry laughs.
No, I'm flesh-and-blood. But God loves you and wants you
to know it. So maybe he made sure you sat next to me.
The plane is still boarding but as soon as everyone is settled
and the flight attendants have done their quick check that we're
all seat-belted in, the engines start up and we move out. Harry
has the woman talking. I'll give him credit. He doesn't go on and
on about that God-loves-you stuff. He starts asking gentle
questions about where she's heading to.
Alberta is her home, as it turns out. She only came to Toronto
to see her first grandchild. She seriously wishes her daughter
hadn't married a man from Toronto. Now she won't get to know
her grandchildren, except for photos and the occasional visit.
Though next time she thinks she'll just take the bus, even if it
takes two days. Anything would be better than flying.
Of course, at this point we are flying. And then the woman,
Vera, decides to resign herself to her situation and relax a bit and
soon she and Harry are laughing and drinking ginger ale and
chomping on peanuts and playing some game with a pack of
cards that Harry pulls out from somewhere. I sulkily sip a Coke
and watch the clouds out the window.
25
After awhile, Vera seems to be having a snooze and Harry
turns his attention back to me. He pulls some papers out of his
knapsack.
I did some research last night. About the Badlands. His eyes
are on his papers. They're found primarily in southern Alberta.
You can have valleys a mile wide and four-hundred feet deep . .
. His eyes are skimming the page. Volcanic ash turned into
impervious bentonite. Do you think that's some kind of rock?
Glaciers had something to do with it all. Now there's coal, shale,
clay, sandstone, stop me if you know all of this already.
I shake my head. How would I know this? A day ago I didn't
even know these badlands existed.
Apparently there are these things called hoodoos, irregular
monuments made of rock. Wow . . . ! Harry sounds as if he's
just learned something amazing. As Canadians we should be
proud. These things are quite unusual. Apparently a lot of this is
caused by sun and rain and wind and frost . . .
I really don't want to know all of this, I say.
Now, at this point, a normal person would be an idiot and
keep on reading just to bug me, but not Harry. Not only does he
not look offended, he actually stops reading out loud and just
keeps it to himself.
Honestly, he takes the fun out of everything.
Oh fine, I say. You can tell me.
He continues as if there was no interruption.
Lots of wildlife too. Hawks and eagles. Snakes. Bobcats. Of
course, I don't know what it's like in the winter. Do bobcats
hibernate? Anyway, the main thing is the dinosaur bones. Loads
of them apparently. And it can be quite challenging to get at
them. Takes ingenuity.
So how much of these badlands are there anyhow?
Well, they run for 300 kilometres along the Red Deer River . .
.
Three hundred kilometres? I turn and look up at him. How
on earth are we going to find Jett?
Well, that's where we've gotten lucky, says Harry, taking a
sip of his ginger ale. It's winter. Nobody excavates in winter.
He'll be in Drumheller, I'm sure, where all the action is. They
assemble the bones they've found. That sort of thing. That's all
here too, says Harry, pointing to his papers. Palaeontologists
26
coat the fossils with shellac and wrap them in a plaster cast. At
the museum they assemble the bones and it can take a year and
four men to put together a skeleton . . .
What museum? I ask. Any museum?
No, theres really only one, says Harry, pulling out another
paper. There's this huge museum there, the Royal Tyrell
Museum. Definitely the place to go in Drumheller.
But, Harry, I say. I know from personal experience that you
can't just march into a place and tell them it's been your life-long
dream to work there and please give me a job. He's got a high
school education. He wouldn't even be able to get a foot in the
door without a university degree.
Harry nods.
But that's not going to be a problem with Jett, he says. He's
got money, remember? I think he's going to go into the whole
thing as a patron. He could fund an archaeological dig in the
summer. They'll be really, really nice to him because they're
always looking for patrons to sponsor things.
A voice comes on overhead and tells us that we'll be landing at
the Calgary International Airport in 25 minutes. This wakes up
Vera, who has another panic attack before remembering that
she's got a personal angel sitting beside her to hold her hand all
the way down.
Harry couldn't possibly have planned it, but as we're waiting at
the carousel for my suitcase and Vera's luggage, she asks him
where we're heading. He says, Drumheller and she says, What
a coincidence! Vera lives in Stettler which is about a hundred
miles north of Drumheller. She has her car parked in the airport
parking and would be happy to drive us.
I really should have flown from Edmonton, says Vera, as
Harry picks up her suitcase. I'm left to handle my own. But I
flew out of Calgary so that I could visit an old high school friend
who's moved here. She knew my daughter and had a handmade
quilted blanket for the baby so I drove down here.
We're walking toward the glass sliding doors that will take us
out of the baggage area.
I mean, when you're driving such a long distance anyhow,
what difference does it make?
27
Harry agrees, as if he's had plenty of experience in these
matters. He even asks her what the distance from Stettler to
Edmonton is.
Takes just over two hours, says Vera. And it's two and a
half hours to Calgary. But really, dearie. I know I was meant to
fly out of Calgary because that meant that I would meet you and
honestly dearie, I feel my faith in God renewed.
I'm so happy we met, says Harry sincerely.
As we head for the doors that will take us outside, Vera is
bundling up her coat. The pilot said the temperature in Calgary is
-16 degrees Celsius with a wind-chill that makes it feel more like -
28. I'm hoping Vera's car isn't miles away.
Harry momentarily puts down Vera's suitcase to pull his
ridiculous ear-muffs out of his pocket. His ridiculous purple ear-
muffs. When he puts them on, Vera squeals. With delight, as it
turns out. Vera loves to knit and while she was at her daughter's,
she made a purple scarf. It practically matches the ear-muffs. She
pulls it out of her carry-on bag and gives it to Harry as a present.
He puts it on, with great thanks, telling her how beautiful it is,
not seeming to mind one iota that it makes him look like a
complete idiot.
Except that as soon as we're out of the door and the wind chill
hits us, I realize that it would be better to look like an idiot than
to have one's face freeze off. Vera's scarf looks thick and Harry is
walking forward into the cold as if he can face anything with it
on.
Mercifully, Vera has parked her car in the lot closest to the
terminal. But even when we've got the suitcases in the trunk and
I'm in the backseat with Harry up in the passenger's seat, the car
is still freezing.
Might take awhile to warm up, dearies, she says as she starts
the engine. This old car takes awhile. When I was coming here,
it didn't start to warm up until I got to Big Valley.
How long did that take? I ask. My first direct question to
Vera.
Twenty, twenty-five minutes, says Vera, backing the car up
without seeming to look out for pedestrians. You kids hungry? I
barely ate on that plane.
Harry says, sure. He seems to be game for anything. But I feel
edgy. I feel like we should just get to Drumheller and start the
28
investigation and think about food once we know where we're
going to begin.
We'll go to Nectar Desserts, announces Vera. My doctor
says I have high cholesterol, but what the hell! Oops! She smiles
at Harry as if he might not approve of such language. But he
grins back, like they're partners-in-crime.
So that's how we find ourselves driving around Calgary instead
of on our way to Drumheller.
Calgary looks like any other city. It has some kind of a tower,
but Toronto has the CN Tower, so that's not too unusual. Of
course, I've only seen Toronto and Reno. But where Calgary
differs is it has this big stadium called the Saddledome. (And it
does look like a saddle.) Harry points it out to me and we get a
chance to get a good look at it as Vera obligingly drives by. It's
close to her destination anyhow. The whole area is urban, office
buildings mixed with those nonstop rows of trendy shops and
cafs.
She explains to us that we'll absolutely have to have the red
velvet cake. It's what Nectar is known for. It's a bright red cake,
chocolate flavoured, with vanilla icing.
We park the car and get back out into the cold. Thankfully, the
place is located nearby. Nectar is found on the second floor of
one of the shops. We go through a red door and up some stairs.
The atmosphere is nice, comfy, with oversized chairs and
wooden tables and lots of art on the walls. Harry even kind of fits
in with his purple scarf. Vera bustles us over to a free table and
when a cheerful waitress comes up to us, she puts in an order for
three cups of tea and three slices of red cake. Then she and Harry
talk about the art on the wall.
The mugs of tea are large and much appreciated since Vera's
car didn't seem to warm up in the short drive. The cake is
excellent. We compliment Vera on her choice of places to eat.
I've never had red cake before but it's great. Even Harry and
Vera don't talk much while we eat. Then Vera goes up to the
counter and orders a whole assortment of cookies.
For the road and a few extra for home, she says, with a
wink. Then she insists on paying for everything and it isn't cheap
so even I thank her profusely.
It's early afternoon now, and I think we should be getting on
the road. But Vera seems to want to stop in some of the
29
boutiques on the way to the car. She buys a fancy rattle to send
to her grandson. Harry shares her interest in some blue pottery
and then they move onto a bookstore. Vera wants some romance
novels. Harry browses the thrillers and points out a few that look
good. Vera agrees with him and buys them too. Then she makes
him choose a nice devotional for her. Apparently, a devotional is
something Christians get. It's got a scripture for each day and
some profound thoughts to go along with it. This particular
bookstore has three of them and Harry and Vera look each of
them over carefully. I'm just about out of my mind. At this rate,
it'll be dark by the time we get out of Calgary.
Finally, we're on the road again.
Vera switches on the radio and it's set for a country-and-
western station.
I'm too happy to be moving to care.
Vera asks Harry what church he goes to.
Harry surprises both of us by saying he doesn't go to church.
I know the Bible says we shouldnt forsake the assembling of
the brethren . . .
Forsake the assembling of the brethren?
. . . but I found that church really wasn't the heart of
Christianity. Shortly after I became a Christian, I started
attending a nearby church, but the whole experience made me
think that church and faith may not really go together.
Vera seems to like this line of thought because she's nodding.
For one thing, continues Harry. The whole thing was run
by a board of directors. It reminded me of my dad's company.
Oh, I hear you! says Vera. I've been to church too and I
didn't get a whole lot out of it.
You would have, if church was like Jesus said it should be.
Jesus said we shouldn't be like the world, but we should be each
others servants. But I found church was all very superficial. No
one really wanted to get too involved with each other outside of
the Sunday service.
My church days were spent mostly in the kitchen, says Vera.
They were always trying to get me to volunteer for something I
didn't really want to do.
We had some pot-lucks, says Harry. But more time was
spent setting up the fellowship hall than there was
fellowshipping.
30
Church has so many rules, says Vera.
Harry nods.
It ends up being all about outward appearance and doing
things a certain way, rather than really taking care of the needs of
the people there. When church has all these rules, there's very
little room for the spirit of God.
I think you're onto something, says Vera.
We're out in the open country now. So I don't panic too much
that Vera is looking at Harry instead of the road. It's just a long
straight stretch.
What I ended up doing was just praying to God that he
would provide me with fellow-Christians that I could serve.
People who weren't just playing church, but people who had a
real need.
That's so beautiful, says Vera, shaking her head.
Oh brother. Especially since I know he's serious. And I
seriously hope he doesn't think I'm one of his need-cases.
There should be more like you, dearie, says Vera, patting his
hand. The world would be a better place.
Well, I believe Jesus put all of his children here to make it a
better place. I hope that when people look at me, they'll see him.
He doesn't even sound embarrassed. I could never say something
like that, even if I believed it.
That's really wonderful, says Vera. I'm not kidding. You've
changed my faith. I was really turned off church because I would
go there and Id barely be in the door and they would want me to
join some committee and volunteer to clean under the cupboards
of the church kitchen. I mean, I don't even clean under my own
cupboards. It was like, all they cared about was keeping that
building clean. The big push was to raise funds to pave the
parking lot.
Harry nods.
And there are so many real needs in the world, he says. I
had a similar problem. My dad owns a company and when they
found out I was his son, they wanted me to talk to him about
donating enough money to tear down the old church and build a
more modern one. I told them that if I could convince my dad to
part with his money I would ask him to send it to an organization
that feeds hungry children or supplies Bibles to Christians who
don't have one.
31
Vera shakes her head as she smiles. Clearly these two are on
the same wavelength because Harry is smiling too.
Bet they didn't like that.
No, they didn't. They said that they supported some
orphanage in Africa, but that the new building was really the
priority right now. They were nice to me right up to the end
when I left because I think they really wanted me to talk to my
dad. I talked to the man in charge of missions about that
orphanage in Africa but as it turned out, all they did was sponsor
a child there. One child. That's basically $30 a month. I was not
impressed.
Vera is nodding.
I can't take it anymore. I wish I had my mp3 player but
somehow I never thought I'd need it while solving a case.
Learning as I go.
I'm not tired but the monotonous scenery and the kooky
conversation leave me no choice. I take off my coat it's now
warming up in the car, in fact, it's getting too warm and use it
as a pillow against the window. I probably only doze off for half
an hour but when I wake up the scenery is all different. I guess
this is the badlands.
It's sort of like desert, except that there are brownish patches
of grass poking up through the snow. The rock formations are
unreal. It's like, each one is different. Now I'm not bored, there's
so much to look at, and I'm not even into rocks. There are large
formations that plateau on top and smaller ones that stand on
their own. The whole place is unpredictable. You don't know
whether you're in the mountains or in the valleys.
Harry glances in the rear-view mirror and sees I'm awake.
Those are the hoodoos, he says, pointing.
A hoodoo turns out to be a rock tower with a hat on top.
Covered in snow, it's an enchanted world, very easy to imagine a
princess in white ermine attended by elves suddenly appearing.
We pass a sign for Drumheller, 15 kilometres.
Now, where will I be dropping you dearies off? asks Vera.
The Super 8 Motel, says Harry.
I don't know when we decided on this, but I guess it's as good
a place as any and I wouldn't have been able to answer the
question.
32
Now, is this your first time to Drumheller? asks Vera as we
get closer to civilization.
Harry says yes.
I'll show you around then.
Being winter, the sun is getting low in the sky, but there's still
enough light to see everything.
Vera's tour is down-to-earth. First, she drives by the Super 8
Motel so that we can take it all in in relation to where we're
staying. There's an IGA near us for groceries. A Boston Pizza.
The Greentree Mall is within walking distance, as is the DQ. A
little further down is a Wal-Mart. Then we cross over the railway
tracks and Reptile World is pointed out to us. We drive by the
World's Largest Dinosaur, a towering T-Rex that looks like he's
about to come to life and stomp on the traffic below. A bridge
takes us across the river where the Funland Amusement Park is
shown to us despite it being closed for the winter.
Vera wants to show us something special.
She says that now that we've seen the world's largest dinosaur,
we should see the world's smallest church. And she looks at
Harry like he'll be pleased.
And the moron is.
We're in the middle of nowhere. Vera parks the car and she
and Harry get out to go look at this tiny white building with a
pointed roof and a steeple. Despite the cold, they have a good
look around and even go inside the little building, leaving me to
freeze in the car. My coat goes back on and I'm practically
shivering by the time they get back, chatting about the church.
For some reason, they both think it's a big achievement to be
able to build a church with room for only six people. Vera is
especially impressed that the pews only seat one.
Now it's just down the road to the museum, says Vera and
in another five minutes we're in the parking lot of the Royal
Tyrrell Museum. I'm ready to get out of the car and start looking
for Jett, but Vera turns us right around and takes us back to the
motel.
At the motel, our luggage is unloaded. OK, my suitcase is
unloaded. And then Harry and Vera hug and talk about how it
was God's will that they met and exchange email addresses. Vera
gives us the whole bag of cookies from Nectars, very generous of
33
her, insisting that she really shouldn't eat them, high cholesterol
and all that.
And then finally, she's off and we're in the lobby of the motel
and Harry is booking us two rooms. Honestly. I really wouldn't
have cared if we shared. But Harry obviously does. At least the
rooms are adjoining so I won't have to go out in the snow every
time I want to ask him a question. I sit down in one of the brown
leather chairs in the lobby while Harry pays with his credit card.
From where I'm sitting, I hear the concierge tell him about the
free SuperStart breakfast that comes with our rooms. In addition,
he's told that each room has a coffee machine, a fridge, and a
microwave. We can shop at IGA and eat in our rooms for all I
care. I just want to start finding Jett.
But I will give Harry credit. He picks up my suitcase and
carries it down the hallway to our rooms.
Harry drops off his knapsack and then comes into my room
via the adjoining door.
He goes over to the little kitchenette, starts brewing up the
complimentary pack of coffee and when that's done, he brings it
over to a table with two chairs where we drink it with the
cookies.
Is it possible Jett's somewhere in this motel? I ask, biting
into a star-shaped vanilla sugar cookie. Harry has just finished
eating a gingerbread bear and is reaching for a cookie that has
cranberries.
Yum, cardamom, he says, as he bites into it. Yes, it's quite
possible. Though did you notice that campground we passed?
I nod.
He'd probably be there if it were summer. I'm not kidding
when I say that Jett really hates luxury. It's one of the ironies of
life that he inherited so much money.
A thought occurs to me.
Is he a rough-and-tough sort of guy? I ask hopefully.
Not at all, says Harry, pouring himself some more coffee.
Pale and fragile. Blondish hair. Wears glasses.
Oh, I say, disappointed.
So why aren't we bribing the guy at the front desk to see if
he's here? I ask.
Harry shrugs.
34
If he's here, he'll be at the complimentary breakfast. If he's
not here, I'll start calling around. But thanks to Vera, after seeing
everything, I really think that there's only one place where we're
going to find him and that's the Royal Tyrrell Museum.
I agree with him.
Harry, being the perfect person that he is, tidies up our little
mess, including cleaning the mugs, and then excuses himself to
spend the evening in his room. Probably has to pray or do his
devotions.
I'm left alone with two double-beds and a TV.
And my mom warned me about getting too physical!

Chapter Three

t's way too easy.
While Harry and I are drinking our coffee and eating our
danish in the little breakfast room, along with about six other
quiet people, in walks Jett.
He and Harry are slapping each other on the back and then
Jett is sitting down with us at our small table, drinking orange
juice and asking us what we're doing in Drumheller.
Harry tells the whole story, including how he and I met. He
tells about how we volunteered to do this case just to get the
whole thing going. Jett is laughing.
It's just like Harry said. Jett is pale and slim with glasses and
light blond hair. But he's lively and seems nice. You wouldn't
know that he's got money. He's wearing a blue plaid flannel shirt
and jeans with hiking boots.
You came a long way for a fake necklace! he says, when
Harry is finished telling him all about our visit to his mother.
A fake necklace! I say.
Jett nods and bites into his danish.
Don't tell anyone though, he says. Mom still probably
wants the mystery solved. Everyone thinks it's real.
When did you find out it's a fake?
I
36
I overheard them talking. But how they found out, I have no
idea. Did they take it to a jeweller? I really don't know.
Harry whistles.
We came in at the right time. She has this stolen necklace. It's
a fake. There's a real mystery here.
Yeah, you're doing her a big favour, agrees Jett.
I see God's hand in all of this, says Harry, thoughtfully.
Jett laughs and slaps his thigh.
You and your God! he says, but it's good-natured.
Harry nods.
Call it a coincidence if you want, but God has a way of
bringing people in need together. Meg and I needed your mom
and your mom needed us.
Jett shakes his head. Finishing his juice, he turns his attention
to a mug of coffee.
Here we are in the valley of dinosaur bones, Jett says,
stirring some sugar into his coffee. All around us is proof that
life evolved over millions of years. And you talk about God!
Dinosaur bones don't come with tags on them that say they're
millions of years old, says Harry. And just because there's a
whole bunch of them all together, doesn't mean they all evolved
here. In fact, the evidence here is more consistent with that of
Noah's flood . . .
Now you're talking like a fanatic, says Jett. But he's amused,
not annoyed.
Does that mean the necklace has no value? I ask.
I'm really not interested in the age of dinosaur bones.
Oh no, keep looking, Jett assures me. And don't bother
mentioning to Mom that her necklace is a fake. She doesn't know
that I know. I only know because Dad and her were talking about
cancelling the insurance on it and I put two and two together.
Then why would someone steal it? says Harry.
I don't know. But it's a damn good fake. It's fooled everyone
all these years. It belonged to my grandma and it's somewhat of
an heirloom. That's what I heard my parents talking about. Mom
was talking about its value to our family. Dad said she could do
whatever she wanted with it. Insurance, no insurance, he really
didn't care. Mom said she couldn't understand why he didn't care
since it belonged to his mother. Anyway, that went on for a
while. I stopped listening.
Cold in Canada ~ Chapter Three
37
Did your mom become careless with it after it turned out to
be a fake? asks Harry. Just leave it out? That sort of thing?
Jett looks at his watch and shakes his head.
Nope. Mom always kept it locked up when she wasn't
wearing it. Listen, I've got an appointment at the museum this
morning, he says, standing up. Do you guys want to come
along? You could look around the museum and we could
hangout together after.
We go back to our rooms and get our winter coats.
Jett meets us in the parking lot, standing by a rusty old station
wagon with Ontario license plates, which he proudly announces
is his car since stepping out on his own. Apparently he drove this
junkyard escapee all the way out here.
Like Vera's car, it doesn't do heat and I'm shivering in the
backseat all the way to the Royal Tyrrell Museum.
Jett parks the car and we get out. The wind blasts us. I'm not
used to this kind of wind that whips across open ground.
The museum blends in with the badlands around it, being a
sand-coloured low-rise building with only windows and white
trim to set it apart. We hurry past some dinosaur models and into
the foyer.
Jett grins at us.
Entrance fees will be paid for by mother, I presume?
Harry nods, reaching into a back pocket for his wallet.
Good, says Jett. Look around. Take advantage of it.
Because afterward we are going to have a serious conversation
about how you can still believe in God after a visit to a place like
this.
Harry shakes his head. He's also grinning as he passes his
credit card to a girl sitting at the front desk and signals that he's
paying for me and him.
Jett gives his name to the girl and she consults a piece of paper
and says he's expected. He heads off, without paying an entrance
fee, telling us we'll meet back here in an hour.
Doesn't it bother you that Jett seems hostile to God? I ask,
as soon as we're into the museum. It's probably the first real
question I've asked him. I'd like to pretend I'm asking for the
sake of the case, but it's really a question about Harry.
Not really, says Harry consulting a museum map and then
looking around. Let's do the Dinosaur Hall first. He leads us
38
into a room that is dark and full of dinosaur skeletons with
painted backdrops of a rocky landscape and live dinosaurs.
People aren't won to Christ by arguments, he says. They're
won to him by love.
I look around to make sure nobody is within hearing distance.
But we're the only ones in the large room.
When I see all this, I see God's creation, says Harry, waving
his hand at the dinosaur bones. Jett looks around and sees
evolution. But the world doesn't need more arguments. I'm not
going to sit and argue with Jett, although I enjoy talking with him
about things. But I won't try to convince him that evolution is all
wrong and he has to turn to God or go to hell. Jett needs a
friend. Most people need a friend.
I don't need a friend, I say grimly. It just pops out.
Harry grins down at me.
I know.
I don't know how to take that, so I pretend to be reading one
of the boards in front of the dinosaurs. But all the stuff about the
Cretaceous period doesn't go in. In fact, I have a feeling this
whole dinosaur thing is going to be a waste for me. Harry and I
wander around. He reads the boards in front of the skeletons.
He's probably taking it all in.
When we're done with the dinosaurs, we move onto the
Extreme Theropods Gallery. More skeletons, more information
to read. Then it's a walk through the Ice Ages and the Time
Tunnel. Harry reads from the guide that he picked up at the front
desk. There are a whole bunch of red display cases with fossil-
looking things in them. We stop at each one.
We have ten minutes before meeting back with Jett. I'd like to
sit on a bench but Harry suggests a stroll through the Cretaceous
Garden before heading back.
The lobby is filling up now. School children are milling around
and coats are being hung up while school teachers try to get their
groups organized.
Harry gives them a general smile while we wait for Jett. That's
just the kind of goofy guy he is. General benevolence for all
mankind. Personally, I'm thankful that we did our tour before the
hordes arrived.
Unfortunately, we're standing at the starting point of a tour. A
few senior citizens and one university student are standing in
39
front of a lady in a white dress and blue blazer with a dinosaur on
it.
Dinosaur hunting started here in the Red River Valley over a
hundred years ago when a young geologist with the Geological
Survey of Canada, Joseph P. Tyrrell, discovered a partial skull of
a dinosaur, later named Albertasaurus Sarcophagus. This
happened about five kilometres from here in the valley of
Kneehills Creek.
Harry is actually listening to this.
Today we'll be passing through not just thousands of years of
history, but millions of years of history.
Thank God I'll be missing that.
You'll be seeing one of the finest collections of dinosaur
bones in the world. Dinosaur skeletons from Alberta can also be
found in . . . She starts listing off a whole bunch of museums.
Harry nudges me when she says the Royal Ontario Museum in
Toronto.
Thankfully the tour gets going and they move on.
Imagine, says Harry. The American Museum of Natural
History in New York has bones from here! And the British
Museum in London! Makes me proud to be a Canadian.
Honestly, the things he says. I really don't even know how to
reply.
Then Jett's back and he and Harry are talking.
Jett leads us to the cafeteria for an early lunch. I'm glad to find
out that they have complete meals. Our dinner last night was
cookies and our breakfast was danish. I'm actually ready for
something healthy.
Harry and Jett order hamburgers and fries. I have a salad and
fries.
When we sit down at one of the tables, Jett enthusiastically
tells us all about the dig he'll be funding. It'll be about two
hundred kilometres from here, in an area that hasn't been overly-
explored.
Of course, everything around here has been done at least
once, says Jett, emptying a packet of vinegar on his fries. But
the last time they had a good look around this spot was about 75
years ago, according to the records here. So there'll be new
technology and new methods of extraction.
40
Harry asks all the right questions about the dig and seems
genuinely interested in the answers. Me, I don't know what's so
exciting about shovels and picks and tents. Harry is asking about
the type of computers they'll have and what kind of programs
they have nowadays to analyze data. None of it has anything to
do with our real mission, the missing necklace. Why aren't we
asking Jett questions about that?
What about your mom? I blurt out. I'm finished my food.
I'm bored out of my mind. Harry and Jett are on their second
coffees and the schoolchildren are now filling up the cafeteria
and eating out of their bagged lunches.
Jett smiles.
Yeah, my mom. You'll have to tell her I'm here. I'll send her a
postcard. No worries.
Yeah, that's cool, I say. I want to talk about the necklace.
Will it be OK? asks Harry.
Yeah, says Jett. I knew they'd lock me up in my room if I
told them I was coming out here. But now that I'm here they
really can't do anything about it. I was just holding on until I had
my money. Now it's all out here with me and they can't get at it.
Not under your mattress, I hope, says Harry.
Jett shakes his head.
Bank account. Canadian Western Bank.
You mean, your parents would have held you prisoner? I
say.
Jett laughs.
No, they're not quite that bad. But they would have done
everything they could to try to persuade me not to launch on the
crazy career of dinosaur-bones hunter. Dad wanted me in the
navy.
We have a navy? I ask.
Apparently, says Jett nodding.
You had a grandfather in the navy? says Harry.
Well, my great-grandfather was a British Admiral in the
glorious days of George V and Edward VIII. Guarding Empire
and all that. He went all over the world and ended up in Halifax
when he retired. Anyway, his son was in the navy and his
daughter's son. That would be my father, of course. So it was my
turn and I definitely let the family down but I wasn't going to join
the navy just because everyone else did.
41
What does our navy do, anyhow? I ask.
I imagine they patrol the coasts, says Jett, not sounding too
interested.
I decide I'll let Harry interrogate Jett. He's really not warming
up to me. I'll have to ask Harry who George V and Edward VIII
were. I've never heard of them.
Any ideas about your mom's stolen necklace?
Finally, he's asking questions.
They were talking about it while I was planning my big
escape. So I didn't really pay much attention. Besides, I knew it
was fake.
Did your mom always know it was a fake? asks Harry.
No, I don't think she did. My impression is they found out
recently. That's what my parents were fighting about. In fact,
when I was a kid, my mom would wear it on special occasions
and I asked her once if all those diamonds were real. She said yes,
of course. I told her she looked like a queen.
That's how I described it to Meg, says Harry. Something a
queen would wear.
Jett nods.
If I were you, says Jett. I'd pursue the whole thing from the
perspective of the necklace itself. It's a family heirloom. Mom
thought the jewels were real. She found out they weren't. What's
the deal?
Harry nods.
That's a good idea. Of course, I can't really talk it over directly
with your mom since she probably thinks that no one knows its
a fake.
True, says Jett. But you could go at it a different way. You
could read my grandmother's diaries.
Your grandmother's diaries?
Yes, nods Jett. Her lawyer gave them to me because I'm her
heir. She might have said something about it since the necklace
was hers to begin with.
So the necklace came from your father's side of the family?
Yep, says Jett. Dad's an only child. If he'd had a sister, she
would have gotten it. He didn't, so Mom got it. The strange thing
is, I never got the sense that Grandma liked the thing. She told
me once she rarely wore it and was glad to move it along.
42
Do you have your grandmother's diaries with you? asks
Harry.
There were a lot of them. I just brought the bare minimum to
Drumheller. What I did was I donated the diaries to The Royal
Nova Scotia Historical Society. That's where Grandma lived. I
thought they'd be interested in them.
The Royal Nova Scotia Historical Society? I say. I take it
that's in Nova Scotia?
Jett nods.
Yep. I mailed them myself. Halifax, actually. Grandma was a
member of the historical society. I went to some of their
meetings. They get together once a month and talk about
historical things. They serve cookies after the meetings. That's
what I remember most.
I guess they won't want to mail them back, I say, not
interested in cookies.
Jett grins.
Probably not. You'll have to go there.

Chapter Four

hen we get back to the motel, Harry and Jett phone
Mrs. Shanklin.
She's so happy to hear from Jett that it's more of a
postscript to the conversation that we're off to Halifax. After Jett
finishes assuring his mom that he's alive and well and happy, he
goes online with his laptop to get the phone number for The
Royal Nova Scotia Historical Society. When he calls them, he
speaks with the assurance of a man with money. Bottom line is,
they'll be happy to receive us and let us read the diaries. Jett
donated some money along with the diaries so that explains why
we have no problem.
Jett scribbles a name, an address and a phone number on a
piece of paper and hands it to Harry. By now, Harry is online at
Air Canada again. A flight from Calgary to Halifax is leaving early
the next morning.
Come on, buddy, Jett says. Want to go back to my room?
We can order room service for dinner and drink coffee and talk
all night. I'll drive you to Calgary in the morning. I need to go to
the University of Calgary bookstore anyhow.
The invitation to come back to his room is clearly not for me.
W
44
Harry gives me an apologetic look and I try to convey to him
with my smile that I'm not really hurt. The last thing I want to
listen to is a long, tedious talk where Harry and Jett debate
whether or not God exists.
I spend the evening watching TV with a hamburger from
room service.
Harry has kindly arranged for a 4 a.m. wake-up call. I curse and
consider rolling over and going back to sleep when it comes but
am glad I didn't when he's knocking on the door at 4:30. We
have a 7:12 flight out of Calgary and Harry, apparently, is one of
those people who doesnt like to take a chance that we might be
late.
Breakfast is drive-thru at McDonald's in some small town
halfway between Drumheller and Calgary.
Harry and Jett aren't talking much. I guess they're all talked
out. So we mostly listen to the radio. At least its not country-
and-western. Jett has his radio tuned to an easy listening station
out of Calgary, and I would never admit it to anyone, but the hits
of the 60's, 70's and 80's are kind of soothing for the early
morning and the endless scenery.
Jett just drops us off rather than pay any parking, but he and
Harry give each other bear hugs and promise to email each other.
Jett has the audacity to say to Harry that if the private
investigation career doesn't work out, he's welcome to join Jett's
excavation team.
Then Harry's gallantly lugging my heavy suitcase as we check
in along with all the other business people heading to Halifax.
(The only exception being a mother with three small and active
children. I have a horrible moment imagining that they are going
to be Harry's do-gooder project for this flight, but am relieved to
overhear that they'll be in the first row of the plane while Harry
and I have seats halfway back and over the wing.
Do you think the weather will be nicer in Halifax? I ask
when we're finally strapped into our seats and waiting for take-
off. Again, I'm by the window and he's in the middle.
I dunno, says Harry. To my horror, he turns to the person
sitting in the aisle seat, a man in his fifties wearing a grey suit and
reading a Calgary Herald. Do you know what the weather is like
in Halifax in the winter?
The man grunts and puts down his paper.
Cold in Canada ~ Chapter Four
45
Better than Calgary, that's for sure. But cold.
Is Halifax your home?
Where does he get his nerve? I'm expecting the man to tell him
to mind his own business. But the man is looking at him with
interest.
Yes, it is. But I do a lot of work in Calgary. Young man,
would you consider working in sales?
Harry takes this very seriously.
Well, actually I have a job. This is my associate, Meg
Carmichael, and we're private investigators.
The man laughs.
You two? he says. Really?
Harry nods.
We're on a case right now. Obviously I can't give you the
details, but we're investigating some stolen jewellery.
Really? The man is impressed. Well, I'll say this, son. You
have the personality for sales. You should seriously consider it
and I'd be happy to have you working for me.
Unbelievable. Is Harry going to move through Canada
charming everyone and being offered jobs? It's too much.
I really appreciate it, says Harry. I've actually dedicated my
life to God and he's blessed me with a desire to reach out to
people.
Well, son, I think you have a natural talent for relating to
people and that you'd be crazy to waste it on God.
The man exhales and rubs his forehead. Harry isn't offended
though. By now we're going down the runway and our take-off
momentarily disrupts the conversation. But when we're in the air
and the flight attendants are distributing hot coffees and bagels
the man starts up again.
I shouldn't have said that about God, he says. It's not that I
really care about God, it's just that I shouldn't have belittled your
faith.
I sip my coffee and don't say anything. I was kind of thinking
that if the old guy was such a people-person himself, why did he
slip up with that God comment?
I understand, says Harry. And I think you do care about
God. You're just mad at him.
Both me and the old guy are startled.
46
Yeah, says the man, sounding tired. I guess I am. And I
guess it ticked me off that you're going to go around doing things
on his behalf when you could be doing things for yourself.
At this point, I'm thinking Harry should just shut up and we'll
sit in silence for the next four hours. Maybe the guy can go back
to his newspaper and we can all pretend this never happened.
I have a feeling it's a long story, says Harry. And one you
don't really want to tell.
You've got that right, son, says the man.
But at the same time, I think you want to believe in God and
that you've found that living for yourself is a dead-end road.
Son, you have definitely got a way of summing things up. I'll
be honest with you. I'm a bit jealous of your faith.
I know, says Harry. I can tell you miss your faith. And
you're mad because life has been hard enough that you lost it
along the way. And you're mad at God for letting it all happen.
The man is looking at Harry with amazement.
Do you have a crystal ball underneath that purple scarf of
yours?
Yes, Harry is still wearing his purple scarf despite that every
other civilized person has stored all of their winter paraphernalia
in the overhead compartments.
No, says Harry. I can just tell.
The man doesn't seem to want to talk, but he doesn't seem
mad either. He and Harry drink their coffees in an understanding
silence. The man returns to his newspaper, but he occasionally
mentions something to Harry and they talk about how the
Calgary Flames are doing or whether Ottawa will send more
troops to Afghanistan. Then the man folds the paper over and
works on the crossword, occasionally asking Harry for input.
Harry is lousy at crosswords and some of his dumb suggestions
make the man laugh, but it's a friendly laughter.
Well, son, says the man, when we've touched down at the
Halifax Stanfield International Airport. I'm going to think about
what you've said. I'm glad we met.
I'm glad too, says Harry, shaking his hand. God bless you,
sir.
The man gives him a little smile before moving down the aisle
toward the exit.
47
Again, I regret my large suitcase as we wait for it at the luggage
carousel, but Harry shows no impatience and soon we're in the
Arrivals lounge, looking at a map on the wall, and trying to figure
out where to go from here. According to the map, we're in
Enfield, just outside of Halifax.
I think we should get a taxi and go straight to the Historical
Society, Harry finally says.
What time is it? I ask, looking at my watch. It must be
late.
I dunno. And we crossed a few time zones, says Harry. The
main thing, though, is to check in and say we've arrived and then
find a motel within walking distance.
I can't think of a better plan so we go out into the cold but
thankfully, the taxis are close and are warm as soon as we get in.
For a change, Harry is in the backseat with me and he hands the
piece of paper with the address of The Royal Nova Scotia
Historical Society on it to the driver who seems to know what to
do with it.
As it turns out, it's a home address. We're surprised and
hesitant to just go up to the door and knock but the driver says,
It's the address on the paper.
So, once again, we're out in the cold. Harry pays the driver and
we are left standing in a driveway with my large suitcase sitting in
the snow.
We go up to the door, fully expecting that the inhabitants of
the house will tell us to go away, but the door is opened by a
smiling, middle-aged woman who says right away, You're the
ones Jett told me about, aren't you? She introduces herself as
Madeleine and tells us to come on in, including my suitcase.
Did you have a nice flight? she asks. Let's see, Jett called
from Drumheller, didn't he?
We nod. We're taking off our boots and coats and Madeleine
signals for us to follow her down the wood-panelled hallway into
a bright and cheerful kitchen. French windows look out onto a
long lawn that ends with a harbour. It's a spectacular view, even
with all the snow to diminish any colour. Madeleine is a
pleasantly large woman, wearing a homey ski sweater and jeans,
with a wavy grey bob. She tells us to sit down at the round
wooden table and she puts the kettle on the stove-top before
joining us.
48
Now, she says. Jett doesn't know it, but we don't actually
have the facilities to store archives. We don't even have an
official building. The Royal Nova Scotia Historical Society meets
once a month in different places and we have a speaker and we
discuss historical matters. But we don't have our own private
collection of historical materials.
So then, what's happened to Jett's grandmother's diaries? I
ask. Now that we're out in the real world and away from Harry's
personal friends, I feel free to take over this case.
Thankfully for you guys, I still have them. But I was going to
give them to the Council of Nova Scotia Archives. That's
generally what we do when anything comes our way.
The kettle is whistling and Madeleine gets up to make a pot of
tea.
Now, I understand you folks would like to read the diaries?
We both nod.
That shouldn't be a problem, says Madeleine bringing the
teapot over to the table and getting some mugs out of a
cupboard. I can arrange to be here during the day, for the next
little while.
I hope we won't be bothering you, says Harry.
Not at all, says Madeleine, pouring some milk into a little
jug. I actually wanted to read the diaries before I turned them
over to Nova Scotia Archives. So this will give me the push I
needed. Mrs. Shanklin never told me any great details about her
life but I gather her family has been here for a while and that her
father, her brother and her husband served in the Royal Navy.
Yes, Harry nods. Their family is very nautical. Except for
Jett.
If he's in Drumheller, he loves ancient history, says
Madeleine, smiling. I'm sure his grandmother wouldn't have
minded. She adored him. She was so proud of him and just loved
it when he'd spend the summers with her.
Harry nods.
Every summer, pretty much, I think.
Madeleine nods.
We would see him then, yes. When he was really little, he
would always be carrying a dinosaur model. So it doesn't surprise
me that he ended up loving dinosaur fossils.
49
Once again, Harry has hijacked this case and Madeleine is
talking to him instead of me.
You must see a lot of amazing ships from here, says Harry,
looking out the window at the harbour.
Oh yes, says Madeleine. It's wonderful in the summer. I
only visited Mrs. Shanklin's house once, but it was bigger than
this one and right on the harbour too. Now, where will you be
staying while you're in Halifax?
Can you recommend a place nearby? asks Harry.
Madeleine nods.
There's a wonderful bed-and-breakfast just three houses
down from here. It's a grand old Victorian home owned by a
friend of mine. Most of her guests are in the summer. So she
would have no problem fitting you in.
Madeleine gets on the phone and calls her friend and we have
two rooms booked for however long it takes to read the diaries.
Annie will give you breakfast every morning, she says when
she hangs up. If you pitch in a bit, I can take care of your lunch.
For dinner, you'll have to take a little hike along this road and
you'll come to a lovely restaurant on the harbour, fish-and-chips,
that sort of thing. Anything else, you'll have to grab a cab. We're
a bit isolated in this part of the harbour.
That sounds great, says Harry, standing up.
Madeleine shows us to the door and says to come back
tomorrow, anytime after 9.
The road doesn't have a sidewalk but no cars pass as we head
down the road to Annie's Bed-and-Breakfast.
Annie is waiting for us. Like Madeleine, she's middle-aged and
grey-haired. She has more of a bohemian look to her though a
long floral dress, lots of beads, and her hair is pulled back in a
braid. We're led up a long staircase to the third floor of the
house. Annie says her best two rooms are up there. It's the view,
she explains.
Harry is shown into a large blue room that reminds me of Jett's
back in Toronto, very nautical. Mine is more Victorian, with
florals and lace. Annie doesn't hang around. She tells us she's a
painter and she's in the middle of a big project. She breezily says
to give her a shout if we need anything. (I think we would literally
have to shout since she doesn't tell us where she's going to be.)
As she's going back down the stairs, she calls over her shoulder
50
that breakfast is at 8 and she'll give us a knock on the door if
we're not up by then.
What do you think? says Harry, who has tossed his knapsack
on his bed and joined me in my room. Rest or look around?
Eat, I say.
I agree, says Harry. We'd better check out that fish-and-
chips place.
Out in the cold again. We head down the road, past
Madeleine's. She said it was a bit of a hike and that's putting it
mildly. We're about ready to turn around and go back when we
see the sign for Mike's Fish-and-Chips, still in the far distance.
We trudge on.
Oh well, says Harry, when we are finally inside and at a small
table by the window. Even he can't think of anything to say
beyond that, we're so pooped.
What time is it? I ask. I mean, is this lunch or dinner?
I have no idea, says Harry, glancing at his watch. I'm still
on Calgary time. I figure the next time we'll know what time it is,
it'll be Annie calling us to breakfast.
I look at the menu.
I think I'll order lunch and dinner, I say.
Harry laughs.
Good idea. And tomorrow I'm going to ask Madeleine if
there's a Tim Hortons close by. There's got to be a Tim Hortons
closer than this.
We both order the Surf 'n Turf special, sipping on hot tea to
warm up while we wait and digging in when it comes.
Dessert? asks Harry, when our plates are both empty.
Let's get it to go, I say.
You're right. I'll be hungry again after the hike back.
We order apple pie to go and it comes to us in a Styrofoam
container.
We have another tea before bundling up again. The winter sun
is low on the horizon. Mike (if that's his name) has provided us
with a brown paper bag for the pieces of pie we're carrying back.
With the sun dropping, the temperature has dropped too. No
sidewalk also means that we're walking along in snowdrifts.
We get back to the bed-and-breakfast and go straight up to our
rooms. Harry suggests we have the pie in his room since it's
bigger. The house is warm but we're still pretty chilled from the
51
walk. There's a kettle on the dresser, along with a selection of
teas. Harry fills up the kettle and asks me what kind of tea I'd like
to try. Blackberry. Lemon Honey. Chai. Raspberry. Apples and
Spice. Everything but plain old-fashioned black tea.
Lemon Honey, I say, flopping down in one of the wicker
chairs that faces the large window. I've never had so much tea in
my life.
Wonder how long it will take us to go through the diaries? I
say when we're both eating the pie and drinking the tea.
I was wondering the same thing, nods Harry. Thankfully
Mike has included plastic forks, though the two pieces are in the
same Styrofoam container, which generates a certain intimacy as
we eat out of it. I try not to think about it.
Are you a fast reader? I ask.
Yeah, I like to read. But I'm thinking we should tell
Madeleine that we're looking for info about a necklace. That way,
if there's anything we miss, she might pick up on it.
Good idea, I say, adding some more sugar to my mug.
After the pie, I stand up and tell Harry that I think I'll just
make it an early night.
He smiles pleasantly and says that's a good idea.
But the truth is, it's all getting to me. The sun has gone down.
There's only a lamp on in the room. The setting is, I hate to say
it, romantic. And there's Harry.
I can no longer refer to him in my mind as the idiot. He's a
complete sap, of course. And he's a huge embarrassment when
he talks about God. But he's always taking care of things. He
lugged that huge suitcase of mine up the stairs without a
complaint. He pays for everything. (I know Mrs. Shanklin will
reimburse him. But he just does it automatically. It's like . . . it's
like . . . he's taking care of things. I want to say, it's like he's
taking care of me. But I won't let myself. He's taking care of
things.)
I don't want to think about it anymore. I just want to lie down
and sleep. Tomorrow, we start on the diaries.
52

Chapter Five

ell, her diary starts off good. She's just turned 16 and
she's in love with a prince.
We're back in Madeleine's kitchen and I have the
first diary. Madeleine has them all in the box that Jett sent them
in. Madeleine's like me. She likes to start at the beginning. So she
tells me to read the first one and then she'll start in on it.
Harry's going to skim through them looking for info about the
necklace. He says he'll start with the last one and go backwards.
Except that he has to go through all of them to see which one is
the last one. Madeleine only figured out which one was the first
one.
Before coming to Madeleine's, we had our breakfast at Annie's.
Both of us packed it away, eggs, bacon, potatoes, two pieces of
toast, coffee and juice. Neither of us wants another long hike
back to Mike's so we're going to aim for a late lunch at
Madeleine's which will hopefully get us through the rest of the
day. Harry said at breakfast that there are a lot of people in the
world who survive on one bowl of rice a day. Then he told me all
about the early Christians and how poor they were. But even
then, they would share their food with the less fortunate. The
food was portioned out, which meant that on some days a family
W
54
would eat and some days they wouldn't, just so the food could go
around. Then I told him to shut up.
Oh, read it out loud, Meg, says Madeleine. I can't wait until
you're done. I love a good romance!
August 5, 1919, I read. I just turned 16 and I am in love. Today I
met the man I will marry. His name is Edward and he is the Prince of
Wales. I met him because Father is Captain of the H.M.S. Renown, the
ship that is taking him to Canada. Mother, Bob and I were there to see
Father off. Father introduced me and Bob to the Prince.
I look up.
Who's this Prince? I ask.
That would be Edward, the Prince of Wales, says Madeleine,
settling down in the wooden chair beside me with a mug of tea.
I return to the diary.
I curtsied and said 'How do you do?' while Bob gave a little bow. He
was ever so nice to us. And he's ever so handsome and smart looking! I wish
I had a photo of him for my room.
How romantic! says Madeleine. If that's 1919, then Edward
would be about, let's see, 25-years-old.
Who was he? I ask.
He was the son of the King, King George V and his wife,
Queen Mary. He would be the current Queen's uncle.
Oh, I say, trying to sort this all out in my mind.
Back to the diary.
Her next entry isn't until September 15, 1919, I say. She
says, Everybody is terrified of the Bolsheviks taking over England. Father
has told Mother that he is investing our money in Canada to keep it out of
Bolsheviks hands if England ever falls. If England falls! Father says it will
be like the French Revolution and the Russian Revolution where all the
aristocrats had to flee or get killed. That's one of the things he's doing in
Canada right now. I heard Mother telling Aunt Bethie about it. Aunt
Bethie is horrified at the thought of losing us. Father is buying an estate for
us in Canada, Nova Scotia, I think. Also, an estate in Toronto. He says
the Bolshies won't make it to Canada. America won't let them.
Ah, yes, says Madeleine. The Russian Revolution had
happened in 1917.
So that would be the Communists? I say.
Yes. It created quite a stir at the time. Some people thought
that the workers of the world would all rise up and overturn their
governments, particularly in places where there was a monarchy.
Cold in Canada ~ Chapter Five
55
That would make sense, says Harry. Monarchies have big
expensive palaces and that would be irritating to people who
were hungry.
You're so right, says Madeleine. More people were hungry
then too. And the working conditions were often poor. Unions
have made some big improvements for the working man since
then.
Did they have Employment Insurance then? asks Harry.
He asks the strangest questions.
Yes, it was only a few years old at the time and I wouldn't be
surprised if the whole fear of revolution wasn't the reason why
Britain started it.
She doesn't write very often, I say. Her next entry is in
November. Bob is finally old enough to go into the Navy. Father couldn't
be more proud. But I think Mother is relieved that the war is already over.
Bob assures me that as the younger sister of a naval officer, I'll get to meet a
lot of dashing young men. I didn't tell him that I am already in love.
Edward is the only one for me.
Madeleine smiles.
We often forget that people like Mrs. Shanklin were young
once. So romantic, isn't it?
I agree and continue reading.
December 13, 1919 Father is back from Canada. He says that
Canada was in a hysterical state over the Prince. He was well-received by all
the people. Huge crowds came out to catch a glimpse of him. Father says that
Edward bought a ranch in Canada. When I marry Edward, I expect we
will live there. Father says Canada is a nice place to live.
His ranch was near Calgary, says Madeleine.
Really? I say, putting the diary down for a moment. We
were just there!
There was some talk that he might end up living there, says
Madeleine. He never did. But he did visit frequently. It was a
real working ranch although the Prince had very little to do with
it. Later, I think he tried drilling for oil but that was
unsuccessful.
Harry is skimming one of the diaries. He went back in 1924.
Mrs Shanklin writes that he was on his way back from the States
where he had been staying on Long Island and stirring things up
in New York. The stories are scandalous. Continual parties. The papers
56
are full of it. If he's not at a party, he's going to the races or dashing around
in a motor boat.
Yes, the Prince of Wales was quite the carefree bachelor,
says Madeleine. He was the celebrity of his day. There were
Hollywood actors back then too, but the Prince had the
advantage of being royalty.
The diary starts to become a daily habit for Mrs. Shanklin. She
talks about her friends and the boys they like, though no one
compares to Edward. There's nothing to actually read out loud,
but it is interesting to know that people haven't changed much in
90 years. Madeleine finishes her tea and putters around the
kitchen.
What sort of things do you kids eat for lunch? she asks after
a while.
I look up, surprised. It's already 11:30. I'm nearly finished the
first diary. There's no mention of a necklace, but she talks a lot
about her father and how he's almost never home, but when he is
home he's telling her how she should dress and who she should
be friends with. She's telling him she wants to be a nurse and he's
telling her that she's going to get married and that he has the
right man picked out for her!
Sandwiches are fine, says Harry.
Great, says Madeleine. Turkey or roast beef?
By the time the sandwiches are made, I'm done the first diary
and ready for the second.
I've already, been through that one, says Harry after lunch.
No necklace.
Wouldn't hurt for me to go through it too, I say. You may
have missed something. The truth is, I want to keep reading.
Sure, says Harry agreeably.
Madeleine tidies up the kitchen and then sits down to start the
first diary.
I'm in 1924 now. Mrs. Shanklin is 21 and has actually won the
battle with her father to go to nursing school. The deciding factor
was that the man that her father had wanted her to marry had
gone off to Beijing to fight in some civil war in China.
Nursing school wasn't easy, but she was enjoying the
independence of learning new things. She was still at home and
her father still treated her like a child when he was at home, but
she and her mother got along fine. There was a doctor at the
57
hospital that she found attractive. But Edward was still her true
love; although she candidly admitted it was highly unlikely that he
would marry a nurse when he could have a European princess.
The sun is going down when I finish the second diary.
Well, says Harry, standing up. I hope we haven't overstayed
our welcome.
Not at all, says Madeleine, looking at the clock on the wall.
I still have an hour until my hubby gets home.
You didn't ask about the Tim Hortons, I say accusingly,
when we're back out on the street and heading for Annie's.
I didn't want to put her out, says Harry. Then she'd know
we're desperate and feel obligated to drive us somewhere. Let's
just order a pizza.
I don't know why I didn't think of that, I say.
We shake the snow off our boots and head up to our room.
There's no telephone in either of our rooms, but Harry actually
has a cell phone in his knapsack. He comes back to report that he
called the generic number for Pizza Pizza and placed an order for
a large pepperoni.
I like beef and pineapple, I say. Then I feel like a rotter. But
I like pepperoni too.
Do you play cards? asks Harry, sitting down on my bed.
He's holding a pack of cards.
Cards?
Yeah. Rummy? Crazy 8's? Go Fish?
Well, my dad and I played War when I was little.
I'll teach you Rummy. It's really fun.
Harry is arranging all of this on my bed. My only choice is to
sit on the other end and go along with it.
We're halfway through the game when Annie calls up that our
pizza is here. Harry dashes down to get it and we play cards while
we eat.
It turns out I'm pretty good at Rummy. Unless Harry just lets
me win. Either way, it's fun. But I wouldn't admit it to anyone.

Do we have an allowance for doing tourist things? I ask the
next morning on the short walk between Annie and Madeleine's.
Harry smiles.
No, I think we'd have to do that on our own money. Why?
Do you want to see Halifax?
58
I dunno, I say. I don't even know what there is to see in
Halifax.
Madeleine greets us with a smile, her mug of tea in her hand.
Hello duckies, she says. Come on in! It's a cold one today!
We take off our winter gear and head for the warm kitchen.
I'll let you guys get to it, she says. I'm baking today. There's
a monthly meeting of the Historical Society tonight. Would you
guys like to come?
Sure! says Harry, for both of us. Maybe it's the aroma
coming from the oven that makes him so enthusiastic. Whatever
the meeting is going to be about, the snacks will be good.
Is the meeting going to be here? I ask.
Oh, dearie me, no. It'll be at the Public Archives of Nova
Scotia. We'll be going right into Halifax. Have you visited Halifax
before?
No, says Harry. But Meg was just commenting on the way
over how nice it would be to see some of it.
I give him a look even though it's more-or-less true.
Madeleine is pulling open the door of her oven to take a peek
inside.
Well, you'll get to see a good bit of it. Though I think it's
much better in the summer. In any case, you'll get a decent look
at Dalhousie University. Lots of architecture from the pre-
Victorian days when they were inspired by the Greeks. Simple
and solid.
She has pulled out a tray of fresh cookies from the oven and is
now directing her attention to a large mixing bowl with icing.
The diaries are on the table and I pick up the third one. Harry
goes to one of the last ones.
We read until Harry interrupts the silence.
I've looked over the last five years of her life and she doesn't
even mention the necklace.
Well, that would make sense, I say. By then, she's probably
given in to Jett's mom.
Good point.
I wonder how old she was when she got the necklace. I say.
She's about 25 now and she hasn't said a thing about it. Do you
think it belonged to her mom?
It's more of a rhetorical question since Harry doesn't know
anymore than I do. At least we're on equal ground now.
59
I gather this necklace is important, says Madeleine, who has
now finished with her baking and is making us some sandwiches
for lunch. Roast beef today.
Yes, says Harry. Did you ever see Mrs. Shanklin wear a
diamond necklace? I've only seen it a few times, but it's the sort
of thing you notice. I think there are three clusters of diamonds,
in addition to the whole chain being diamonds.
Mrs. Shanklin never wore anything like that, Madeleine says.
She was always tastefully dressed. I never had any doubt that her
jewellery was real. But it was simple. You know, a gold watch, a
gold chain with a simple pendant, that sort of thing.
We put away the diaries to eat the sandwiches.
What's the meeting about tonight? asks Harry, helping
himself to some iced tea in a jug.
Pirates and Privateers in Mahone Bay, says Madeleine. We
have a special speaker. He'll mention the usual story about the
Teazer, I'm sure, but then he'll go deeper.
The Teazer? says Harry.
I take it they don't teach the story in the Ontario schools,
then? says Madeleine. Well, it's something we re-enact here
every summer. The Young Teazer was an American ship that got
chased into Mahone Bay by the British in the War of 1812. She
was a privateer ship that used to harass the English ships and do
all sorts of things to irritate them. Once she escaped by hiding in
the harbour and putting up the British colours. The British had
several warships out looking for her and eventually they cornered
her. But rather than surrender, she blew herself up.
Sounds like Master and Commander, Harry says. I can imagine
Jack Aubrey taking her on.
Madeleine nods.
We're all pretty big fans of Patrick O'Brian's novels around
here, she says. The days of tall ships may have been hard for
the sailors, but they were certainly picturesque.
In the afternoon I make it up to 1933 in the diaries. Mrs.
Shanklin isn't even Mrs. Shanklin yet. She has had some romantic
encounters with doctors in the hospital she's working at. But
none of them are a Mr. Shanklin and she sounds too busy to
settle down anyhow.
Occasionally, she talks about what's going on in the news. She
mentions what's happening in Germany. They have Adolf Hitler
60
and some people in England think he's doing a lot of good for
Germany. Some people even want to see similar changes in
England. America's Great Depression is affecting England and
people want someone to come along and change things. But the
hospital is keeping her life stable and her Father continues with
his career in the Royal Navy.
Harry reads about Mrs. Shanklin's more recent life. He tells me
there's definitely a Mr. Shanklin. His diaries cover the time when
he died. She spends a lot of pages missing him and feeling lonely.
Harry doesn't read any of it out loud. That's just how he is. He
probably feels like her grief isn't our business. The only thing he
mentions is that he died in his 60's, of complications from his
World War II wounds. Mrs. Shanklin feels like she could have
done something to help him and wonders whether she did
something wrong when she was nursing him. So now we know
how they met.
I doubt she did anything wrong, says Madeleine. He lived a
long life after the war. But it's a shame because Mrs. Shanklin was
in her early 90's when she died. So she had a large part of her life
without him.
Was she in good health? asks Harry.
Oh yes. She was quite lively for her age. In fact, the week
before she died she was at one of the historical society meetings.
She walked with a cane, but beyond that, she didn't need any
help.
Since we're going to the meeting with her, Madeleine invites us
to stay for dinner with her and her hubby.
Madeleine works on mashed potatoes and corn and then when
her husband comes home, she fries up some steaks. He's a
contractor and has obviously had a hard day though he's nice
enough to us. But he doesn't seem the slightest bit interested in
history. Harry helps Madeleine with the dishes and then we
bundle up and head out into the night air, all carrying platters of
cookies.
If I thought I was going to get a good look at Halifax, it
doesn't happen. Snow starts to fall and it's dark already.
The Public Archives of Nova Scotia is at University and
Robie, Madeleine says. She points out some of the university
buildings, but mostly she has to concentrate on her driving.
61
I can tell as soon as we enter the meeting room that this place
is not my style.
Everyone is over 80. OK. Maybe not 80. Definitely over 50.
Harry, nerd that he is, doesn't seem to notice this. Once the
cookies are on a table at the back, Madeleine takes him and
introduces him to the oldest member of the society. She's a small,
frail lady, already sitting down. Harry sits down in a plastic chair
beside her and immediately starts talking. Reluctantly, I sit down
beside him. Madeleine is busy running around talking to people.
I guess Mrs. Shanklin's diary is on his mind, because somehow
(I'm not really paying attention) they end up talking about that
Prince of Wales, Edward, and his visit to Canada.
Oh, yes! the lady beams. What wonderful times those were!
I was so young at the time, but my older sister and my mother
and I all went into Toronto to see the Prince. We had a farm just
outside of Toronto, you see. I moved here when I got married.
Harry is nodding, like it's so fascinating.
The Prince was shaking so many hands they said he had to
switch from his right hand to his left hand. Of course, we were
too far back to shake his hand. But everyone was so excited. And
Edward was so handsome! Oh, everyone was in love with him in
those days.
The lady's eyes are sparkling and for one moment, she doesn't
look so old anymore.
They even built a gate for him, you know. The Princes' Gate.
It was built for him and his brother, George, a little later on.
I'm from Toronto, says Harry. Is the gate still there?
Are you from Toronto, dear? Then you must know it.
Actually, I don't think I do. Where is it?
It's one of the entrances into the CNE.
The Canadian National Exhibition.
Oh! says Harry. Now I know it! I didn't realize it was the
Princes' Gate. I thought it was the Prin-cess gate.
No, says the lady, shaking her head vigorously. The Princes'
Gate. For Edward and George.
I'm so glad we got that sorted out.
Madeleine goes to the front and everyone starts to sit down.
They do some business stuff first, make a few announcements,
and then Madeleine introduces the speaker. He's a professor
from the Dalhousie University, tweedy jacket, grey hair, and
62
glasses, everything you'd expect a history teacher to be. Like
Madeleine said, he's going to talk about pirates and privateers in
Mahone Bay.
Madeleine was right about that Teazer story. He tells it first,
and he's a pretty good storyteller. In fact, his whole talk is
entertaining. It's like watching a movie the way he describes
things and he's got some good adventure stories. But then
afterward, he says they can ask him questions and that's when I
nearly die of boredom.
I decide no one will miss me if I go to the bathroom so I get
up and go out into the hallway.
The light in the hallway is dim. We're the only people in the
building that night, I think. I wander down a hallway looking for
the ladies bathroom and am startled when a security guard comes
around the corner.
But he's young and gives me a big smile.
Lost? he says.
He looks pretty hot in his uniform. Probably a university
student. Unlike Harry, he looks like he could come out on top in
a fight.
Uh, yeah, I say. I'm just looking for the bathroom. Actually,
I'm just sort of stretching my legs.
You're not with that history group, are you? he says. He's
just standing there, grinning at me.
Uh, yeah. Kind of.
You into history?
No, I say. Not at all. It wasn't my idea to come. Long
story.
I like long stories, he says. Boy, that's a clich. But I don't
mind.
And I've got lots of time, he says.
It's totally unprofessional, but I end up telling him the story of
my life, including the case we're on.
He's impressed that I'm doing something. Says, he's never met
a girl like me.
I want to be a cop too, he says. This job is just to get me
through school.
For one moment, I have a doubt. Is he saying this to impress
me, or does he really want to be a cop? Then I decide I'm crazy.
He's the man from my fantasies.
63
So, this guy, Harry, Craig says. (That's his name, Craig.)
You like him, or something?
No, no, I say. Not at all. He's got connections, that's all.
Yeah, you need those in your line of work.
We've been wandering up and down the hallways. I'm starting
to feel edgy though, like maybe I'd better get back to that
meeting.
Listen, Im going to head back, I say.
Yeah, sure, he says. But how long are you going to be in
Halifax? I'd really like to see you again.
I don't know if my legs are going to be able to hold me up.
I dunno, I say. Depends on how long it takes us to go
through those diaries.
Well, read slowly, he says, giving me one of his grins.
We're heading back to the meeting hall and in the distance I
can see the light coming from the room and I can hear the
people talking. Questions and answers must be over because it's a
lot of talk, the kind when everyone is doing it all at once.
When I get to the door, I peek around the corner. Everyone is
eating Madeleine's cookies and drinking coffee.
Hey, you think you could grab me a couple? says Craig.
I don't know what Madeleine would say, but I hurry in, take
some cookies and try to get back into the hallway without being
noticed.
That the guy you were telling me about? asks Craig, a cookie
in his mouth. From where we are, we can see some of the
meeting room.
Yeah, I say. Harry is sitting talking to an older man. They
seem to be enjoying themselves.
What a loser, says Craig, putting another cookie in his
mouth.
I look into the room. Harry is a nerd. I know that already. But
I'm not sure if I think he's a loser. In any case, it just sounds a
little harsh coming from Craig.
Listen, says Craig, finishing the last cookie. I got to get
back to my station. I work with this old guy, total jerk. If I'm not
back from my rounds in twenty minutes, he's all uptight. So
could you do me a favour? Craig pulls a small notebook and a
pencil stub out his breast pocket. Call me, OK? Let's do
something before you leave Halifax.
64
Yeah, sure, I say. It's scary and exciting at the same time.
How am I going to do this? What will Harry say when I
announce I've met this guy and I'm going to go out with him?
Don't waste your time with him, says Craig, jerking his head
toward Harry and giving me a final grin. Then he's off down the
hallway. I'm looking at his back. The guy is hot. But I've got a lot
to think about.

Chapter Six

can barely concentrate at breakfast the next day.
I've pulled out Craig's number and looked at it so many
times since last night. But now we have to go to Madeleine's
and when am I going to get a chance to use it?
Harry and Madeleine go on and on about the talk last night.
Pirates and privateers. I can't even follow what they're saying. I
pick up the next diary. I'm reading the same line over and over
again.
Finally, my mind is able to take it in. This diary starts in 1934.
The first line is, Everyone is talking about Mrs. Simpson.
Who is Mrs. Simpson? I don't remember any Mrs. Simpson.
Why are they all talking about her? When will I call Craig? He's
so hot.
I look over at Harry who has now settled down a bit and is
reading a diary.
He looks so delicate compared to Craig.
But he's not really. I hold the diary up so it looks like I'm
reading, but I'm trying to look at Harry. He's pretty filled out.
Kind of pale though. Craig had a tan even though its the
beginning of winter.
I
66
I never thought I'd see my dream man come to life like that.
Of course, it wasn't a cop uniform, it was a security guard
uniform. I can't imagine Harry in a security guard uniform.
I try to read the diary.
She and Edward are always together, even though Mr. Simpson is
always nearby. Mr. Simpson is not a rich man, but Mrs. Simpson is
suddenly wearing all sorts of new glamorous clothing and expensive jewels.
But Father says it can't last. Edward can't marry a divorced woman. So
maybe there's hope for me after all!
Edward. Why does that name sound familiar?
But there was something about Craig that made me nervous. I
don't like to admit it. But it's the truth. He made me feel edgy.
Harry on the other hand . . . No, I won't go there.
June 2, 1934 I don't follow politics but Father is back from three
months at sea and he's reading all the newspapers Mother saved him. They
seem to be all about the Fascists. They're called the Blackshirts by the
newspapers. Apparently, they are what is going to save us from Bolshevism.
Father says that when he was in Germany he saw the same thing. Lots of
young men in dark shirts parading around, holding rallies and waving
banners. They talk about ending poverty too. So nobody needs to go to the
Left if they want to do that sort of thing.
I read it all over again and try to focus.
Hey! This is kind of interesting! I say. Harry and Madeleine
both look up from their diaries. I read them what I've read so far.
Yes, agrees Madeleine. It is interesting.
I didn't realize the Fascists had anything to do with England,
says Harry.
I dont know much about it either, admits Madeleine. What
else does it say there?
June 15, 1934 Father was so interested in all the news about the
Fascists that he attended one of their rallies at the Olympia. A lot of people
turned out, he reports. Naturally, he wouldn't let me go. Said, as usual,
women shouldn't involve themselves with politics. Heard him tell Mother that
things had gotten a bit out of hand. Some people who tried to interrupt the
main speaker were roughed up by some of the loyal supporters.
Wow, says Harry. That sounds like Nazi Germany.
It does, doesn't it? says Madeleine. But the Olympia is
definitely in London. Anything else there about the Fascists?
Cold in Canada ~ Chapter Six
67
Let's see . . . I say, skimming. No, seems to be about stuff
at the hospital. I'll let you know when I come across anything
interesting.
Mrs. Shanklin talks a lot about a new wing for maternity
patients. She enjoys being with the mothers and the babies.
I don't feel right asking Madeleine if I can use her phone and
using Harrys cell phone is out of the question.
But with Annie, it's different. We're paying customers so I
should be allowed to use the phone. And if I wait till Harry's in
his room, then I can do it without him knowing.
Mrs. Shanklin mentions the Fascists again in 1935. I read it out
loud to Harry and Madeleine.
Father says with 2 million people out of work in Britain, the country
will have to turn Fascist to save itself. Edward, our future king, agrees.
Either that or the Bolsheviks will move in. The only thing Father doesn't
like about the Fascists are their black shirts. The Fascists all wear black
shirts and strut around when on parade. Some people at the hospital find it
alarming. It is rather. They all look smart, but in a sinister kind of way.
Still, it's better than the unemployed rabble just hanging about. Mr.
Winston Churchill doesn't agree though. He is constantly speaking out about
the Fascist menace and how it must be stopped not only here, but in
Germany as well. Honestly, to hear him talk you'd think we should start
mobilizing our troops.
Smart, but in a sinister way. For a really, really brief moment, I
can imagine Craig in one of those black shirts. And he would
probably look hot. But that's stupid. Craig's not a Fascist.
That's really interesting that her father would support the
Fascists, says Harry. I don't really think of naval officers as
being like that.
I think you have to consider the times, says Madeleine. The
big fear at the time was that there would be a worker's revolution.
Anyone with money was willing to stand behind anything that
would protect them from the Left. And the Fascists were
definitely on the Right.
I had no idea that England was worried about things like
that.
If they had it in England, they probably had it here in Canada
too, says Madeleine. I'll admit, I don't know much about it. I'll
have to read up on it.
68
Hey, I say, to Madeleine. I think you're right. Listen to this.
It's a few weeks later. Everyone is saying that Mr. Hitler will save us
from the Bolsheviks and that with him between us and the Russians,
England will not have to fight Russia. Father says Hitler has abolished all
trade unions and made a one-party state, so there's no dissent there anymore.
Not like here in England where Labour is constantly heckling the Tories
and a strike could bring the whole country to a standstill.
Madeleine nods.
It gives us a good idea of how people were thinking at the
time.
Madeleine gets up and starts on lunch. Today it's pasta. After
lunch, I finish up 1935.
1936 starts off with the death of a king. It sounds important
enough to read out loud.
January 21, 1936 There's a horrible stillness in the air. The morning
papers announced that our dear King George V died just before midnight.
We are all terribly sad. He was a dutiful king, so dignified. The Prince of
Wales will be quite different, of course. We all fervently hope he will carry on
with the same dignity and make England proud.
So when she talks about the Prince of Wales, I say, she's
talking about that guy Edward?
Madeleine nods.
Same one. Of course, he's not so young anymore. He's about
40 now. But he's still dashing.
So he's going to become King, says Harry. But who's the
Queen?
That's a good question, says Madeleine. Because there is no
queen. Edward has had many women in his life, but never one he
could marry. A lot of this came out later. He had many women
friends who were married. But for some reason, he never fell in
love with a nice single girl. At least, not one that his parents
approved of. Ideally, he would have gotten married to someone
from the nobility, a Duke's daughter, or something along those
lines. And there were plenty of European princesses to choose
from. But when Edward became King, he was still single.
Mrs. Shanklin must be getting pretty old too, I say. And
she's not married yet.
I noticed that, says Madeleine. But it sounds like they met
during the war. It must be early on in the war because we know
she had a child.
69
Jett's father, says Harry nodding.
I read the next entry out loud.
January 28, 1936 King George has been lying in state all week. Today
he was taken for burial at Windsor. Mother and I stood in the silent crowds.
Edward led the procession with his brothers and other family close behind.
Our dear Queen Mother Mary held up with such dignity. She has always
been an inspiration to put duty ahead of personal interests.
I keep reading. I had been expecting Mrs. Shanklin to fall in
love with a doctor. Apart from her father and her brother, Bob,
they're the only men in her life. I can't believe she's gone on for
this long without having anyone.
Is that what I want? No men in my life?
I sneak a peek at Harry.
Well, he's definitely a man. But he's not my man. Craig is my
kind of man. And I will phone him tonight. Yes, I decide. I will
definitely phone him tonight.
Here's some more Fascist stuff, I say. It's March 1936.
Father attended a Fascist rally at the Royal Albert Hall. I think he was
expecting it to be more dignified. I overheard him tell Mother it was a lot of
rabble making a lot of noise. He says he hopes the German Fascists aren't so
brutish. Father's impression of Germany (shared by our new King, he says)
is that the Germans are industrious and orderly and disciplined. Everything
that Father admires.
So King Edward really liked Germany? says Harry.
Actually, it makes sense, says Madeleine. As the King, he
would definitely appreciate a strong man like Hitler standing
between him and Bolshevik Russia. The noble families of Britain
wouldn't regard Bolshevism with favour but with fear.
I think I'm starting to get it, says Harry. It's a whole
different perspective of Hitler. We always hear how he was a
really evil man. And I just sort of thought that everyone knew
that right from the start.
From this diary, it sounds like it was very gradual, says
Madeleine. And Hitler didn't just come to power and start
setting up concentration camps. I know this much about him, a
lot of Germans liked what he did for the country. He got things
working again. It was the 1930's and the economy was in bad
shape. People were out of work and it was a depressing time. A
strong man like Hitler was appealing.
70
I've heard that Hitler didn't drink and didn't smoke and that
he banned pornography, says Harry. So the Christians probably
stood behind him.
Definitely, says Madeleine. That's one of the funny things
about history. Nobody knows where it's heading. But we look
back on it and think it was so obvious. But it wasn't at the time.
I think it's starting to go bad now, I say. Listen to this. It's
June now. Rather alarming events today. The black-shirts were out
marching in the streets. They were followed by many Londoners. There must
have been at least three thousand people in the streets. They were carrying
banners that said rather ugly things about the Jews and they were chanting,
The Yids, the Yids. We've got to get rid of the Yids. Quite dreadful. It
made me think of Nellie Cohen, the head nurse, at the hospital. A dear
lady. Working longer hours than any of us. I hope she didn't hear about this.
It would be so unsettling.
So anti-Semitism started to become a Fascist tenant at this
point, says Harry.
It sounds like it, agrees Madeleine. But there weren't a lot
of Jews in England. There were way more in Germany and
Eastern Europe, which is where the persecution really took off.
Oh, I get it, says Harry. The more there were, the worse it
was.
Something like that, says Madeleine. The Jews weren't a
large visible minority in England. They blended in and were very
English. The Jews in Europe, however, often had their own
neighbourhoods and were a very distinctive people. Some people
were jealous of their success. Others were just swept away by the
fear of anything that's different.
Different. That's what Harry is, different. But I feel safe with
him. But that doesn't make sense because he and I are so
different. Craig and I are the same. That's why I should be with
Craig. It's obvious.
Here's more, I say. Still in June, end of June though. There is
much talk about the goings-on in Germany. Mr. Hitler seems to be violating
all the rules made for Germany after the Great War. Everyone agrees on
that. What they don't agree on is, who is Mr. Hitlers enemy? Everyone
hopes it's the Russians. In any case, Edward is king now. He is friends with
Hitler and will keep us out of a war. England and Germany will sign an
agreement and then fight the real enemy, the Russians. (That's what Father
says.)
71
Why didn't King Edward keep them out of the war? asks
Harry.
He wasn't king long enough to do much about the war, says
Madeleine.
You mean he died?
Madeleine shakes her head.
He had personal reasons . . .
I think I might have found something, I interrupt. About
the King, I mean. This is in September now. September 12, 1936
Father and Mother talking in the parlour when I came home from the
hospital. Apparently the King has not given up his friendship with Mrs.
Simpson. Of course, she's well known in society and always wears the most
expensive clothing. She has a simple but elegant look about her. Her jewels
are exquisite. The topic of her jewels comes up all the time when Ellie and I
have our tea at the hospital. Most people don't know anything about Wallis
Simpson, of course, so Ellie and I are careful not to spread it about. With
her father in government, she hears more about it than even I do.
But Father was telling Mother how sick of it all he is. He says that if the
King continues to give his mistress (at this, Mother gasped) such extravagant
jewels the working men will revolt. One of her necklaces could feed two
families for a year. Father says if they get as fed up as him and rise up in
anger, the Bolsheviks will move in and take over.
Wow, says Harry. And I thought the royals were only
causing scandals now.
Madeleine smiles.
The royals have been causing scandals as long as there have
been royals. The press just makes us more aware of it now.
Who is this Mrs. Simpson? I ask.
Mrs. Wallis Simpson was an American. Attractive, but older.
She'd been married and divorced and was married to a Mr.
Simpson when she met the prince. He fell in love with her.
I guess she wasn't considered a suitable match for a king,
says Harry.
That's an understatement, says Madeleine. He did a good
job of keeping her secret, but everyone in his circle knew about
her, of course. It sounds like Mrs. Shanklin's father had friends
who knew the royals. Anything more about the whole thing in
there, Meg?
Yes, September 16, 1936 Ellie made a good point at tea break today.
She said that we need not worry about the Bolsheviks here in England. Our
72
King will do anything to keep them out. (We were discussing Mrs. Simpson's
jewels again and I remarked how one pair of her earrings would take care of
a Welsh coal mining family for a year. I'm starting to sound like Father.)
Ellie was pointing out that his Uncle Nicholas and the whole family were
murdered by the Bolsheviks. So Edward will sign any agreement with
Germany to keep that from happening here. Besides, Edward has German
blood in him. He has so many friends and relations in Germany that a war
is too unlikely to worry about.
Who was his Uncle Nicholas? I ask.
The last Tsar of Russia, says Madeleine. The royal families
of Europe were all related to one another, so it was quite a shock
to them when the Tsar and his family were killed during the
Russian Revolution.
Was the King of England really German? asks Harry.
He had German blood in him, certainly, says Madeleine.
You see, Queen Victoria and her husband were both German,
believe it or not. We tend to think of the British as being, well,
British. But there are a lot of nationalities put together to make
up the British nation.
Harry diligently reads through his diaries. I don't know how he
does it, going through Mrs. Shanklin's life backwards. I can barely
keep my mind on it going forwards.
But I've got Craig to think about.
On the walk back to Annie's I say, You know, I don't think
we're really getting anywhere with this. She's a nurse. Her father's
in the navy. But she doesn't mention jewellery. Maybe she has the
necklace. Maybe it's her mother's. Maybe she's never going to
mention it and then what will we do? We have no leads.
Harry's hand brushes my arm. He's wearing gloves and I'm in a
thick coat, but I can still gather that the gesture is to comfort me.
I just take things one day at a time, he says. In my
devotions this morning I read about how Jesus only wants us to
think about one day at a time. You see, Meg, God is taking care
of our future . . .
Harry, I don't want to hear about your devotions. Do you
understand that we have to do this? We do. Not God. Maybe
there isn't even a God. Maybe there is a God, but how do you
know he cares about what we're doing? What proof do you have,
Harry?
73
My proof is that I have a relationship with him, says Harry,
as we go up Annie's driveway. It's as real as the relationship I
have with you.
Now I really know I'm going to call Craig. Why did I ever have
a momentary, extremely momentary, twinge of affection for this
guy? He's out of his mind.
Pizza? asks Harry, when we've shaken off the snow and are
back in my room.
Yeah, I say. Hey! How 'bout I call for it? I'm thinking I
can then sneak in a call to Craig.
Do you know where we are? asks Harry.
I am totally embarrassed to realize that I have no idea where
we are so I therefore would not be able to do a simple thing like
order a pizza.
Uh, you go ahead and order it, I say.
I'll sneak that call in later. But I have to know where the phone
is first.
As soon as Harry is in his room, I hurry down the stairs and
take a quick look around. The phone is in the kitchen. Funny
how I never noticed that at breakfast. I was too busy being
distracted. I dash back upstairs to my room.
My opportunity to call Craig comes sooner than I expect since
when Harry returns, he announces he's going to take a quick
shower.
As soon as the bathroom door shuts, I am down the stairs and
with trembling hands, dialling the number on the paper. Annie is
nowhere in sight. Not that it matters. The call isn't long-distance.
I don't know why I have to be sneaky about this. I'm completely
allowed to have a social life.
The phone is ringing and I almost feel sick.
Then there's a click and a machine comes on. I recognize
Craig's voice although he just says, Not here, leave a message.
I hang up.
I don't know why. I should have left a message. He could have
just been in the bathroom. Annie's number is right on the phone.
I could have given that.
He's at work.
Like a dope, I realize this just when I'm about to go back
upstairs. He works nights. If I want to talk to him, I'm going to
have to get a hold of him during the day. Damn.
74
I stay standing in the kitchen thinking about this.
Call back? Leave a message? What to say? What if I say
something stupid and then its permanently on his answering
machine? No. Its better to talk in person. But when?
I head back upstairs trying to think this one through.
Harry is coming out of the bathroom. He's quick. He's running
his fingers through his damp hair and only has a towel wrapped
around his waist. He looks startled. I guess he was expecting me
to be in my room.
Uh, sorry, I say, even though I haven't seen anything major.
Did the pizza come this soon? he asks.
Uh, no, I say, trying to think fast to explain why I was
downstairs. Just thought I heard a noise. False alarm.
I go into my room and fall on my bed.
Why am I lying to him?
Why do I find it so hard to just say, look, I met this guy last
night. Really hot. He asked me to call him.
Am I afraid of hurting Harry?
No way. That's like thinking that maybe he likes me, or
something.
Harry could have as many girls as he wants.
OK, that's hard to admit, but it's the truth. And it's even more
reinforced by the sight of him in a towel. He's not some puny
wimp. He's tall, well-built and pretty damn cute.
But that's the thing. He's cute when I want tough. At least,
that's what I've wanted up till now.
But maybe Harry isn't even an option . . .
I don't want to admit it, but maybe Harry wouldn't even go for
someone like me. My mom convinced me not to cut off all my
long red hair. So that's one thing going for me . . .
Shut up! Too much thinking! Can't do anything about it
anyhow. Craig's at work. I have no way of talking to him right
now. I'll try to figure out something tomorrow. Find a way to use
Madeleine's phone. Make up a story about meeting someone at
the historical meeting. But that would be the truth. I did meet
someone at the historical meeting. So why am I feeling like I have
to lie? Oh, here we go again.
Shut up!
Thankfully Harry is soon knocking at my door, dressed this
time, with a pizza and a pack of cards. This time we play Go
75
Fish, and it's so goofy and so childish but for some reason, I
don't mind.

Some detective I am. The next day at Madeleine's, I pretty
much have to read everything all over again. My mind was so
distracted yesterday. But I refuse to let it happen again today. I
still have to think of a way to call Craig, but I've got to focus on
this case. Otherwise Harry will read faster than me, find some
info about the necklace and solve this case before I do.
Almost immediately after reviewing yesterdays stuff, I'm into
something worth reading out loud.
Listen, I say. It's interesting. It's that Mrs. Simpson again
and I'm in November 1936 It seems that everyone in the world knows
what's going on with our King except for us here in Britain. Father is
outraged. He just got back from New York where the papers are full of
stories about King Edward and Mrs. Simpson. All out in the open! And to
think that Ellie and I discuss it all (what little we know!) in hushed tones
on our tea break. Of course, Father didn't bring any of the papers back with
him. Wouldn't that have been a scoop! Father says the King has the British
newspapermen in his back pocket and that makes us no better than a
totalitarian regime.
It took me two hours of talking and plying him with tea and scones just to
drag out the following news:
The King and Wallis appear together all the time. (Of course, they must
be appearing together in places where I and most of Britain are not at because
most of us don't know this. Presumably we are talking about private dinners
and that sort of thing.)
When the King took his summer holidays, Mrs. Simpson accompanied
him on his yacht. They were seen walking hand-in-hand while in Europe.
Do you know how this whole story ends? Harry asks
Madeleine.
I do, she says grinning. And I'm not going to spoil it for
you. Mrs. Shanklin is doing a good job of telling the story.
Anything else about Edward there?
Well, on Tuesday November 16, 1936 she writes about King
Edward doing a tour of South Wales. He tours the mining towns
and everywhere he goes they cheer for him. When he sees how
squalid it is there, he says over and over, 'Something must be
done.'
76
I wonder if she was there to see it, or if her Father told her
about it? says Madeleine.
Yeah, she doesn't say. Oh, but wait, here's more about the
king. November 28, 1936 Father and Mother talking in sombre tones.
They still think I'm a child and talk quietly so I won't overhear. Honestly!
Father says the prime minister was at Buckingham Palace, talking with
Edward for nearly two hours. If he doesn't give up Mrs. Simpson, the prime
minister and his government will resign. The Labour Party has promised
that they won't form a new government either. No government! Imagine! All
for a woman. It's like living in the days of Helen of Troy.
I look up.
That's pretty serious, isn't it? I say. I didn't know
governments care about things like that.
In Britain it was important, says Madeleine. The monarch is
the head of the Church of England, as well as the symbolic head
of the nation. So a divorced American woman at the King's side
wouldn't be acceptable.
Her next entry is December 3, 1936, I say. She says, The
newspapers have gotten a hold of the whole story and the headlines are The
King and Mrs. Simpson. Father says that now that it's all out in the open,
the whole show is over. No more quiet persuasion. The King will have to
make a decision. God help our King! God help England!
Keep going, says Madeleine. This is fascinating!
December 4, 1936 Mrs. Simpson has fled the country. Someone told
Father she's gone to France. There are loads of people outside of Buckingham
Palace singing For He's a Jolly Good Fellow and calling out for King
Edward. People are marching around with banners of support.
I didn't know any of this, says Madeleine.
December 5, 1936 Crowds out in the streets at all hours. They're out in
front of the Palace, outside the Prime Minister's, outsider of Westminster.
They wave banners and call out for the King. I'd be out there myself but
Father has absolutely forbid it.
He's deeply concerned. Word is, the Fascists here are making the most of
it. Some of the banners say, 'Abdication means revolution.' No one knows
whether the King is going to marry Mrs. Simpson, but if he does, the
government will completely collapse in protest. Father says the Fascists are
not going to miss this opportunity, should it present itself. They will move
right in and start running things to save the country. Father says they don't
care whether the King stays on the throne and marries Mrs. Simpson. The
main thing is that he's supportive of them. I made the mistake of pointing
77
out to Father that he's always favoured the Fascists over the Communists.
He looked at me and said that it would be the end of democracy in Britain
and that it goes without saying that democracy is superior to all else.
Harry and Madeleine are just listening, so I keep reading.
December 6, 1936 No one knows what to do. There are still people out
in the streets. Some people are driving around in their cars waving signs.
They have megaphones and they call out, Stand by the King! Father is
convinced that they're Fascists. (Not because the message to stand by the
King is sinister in any way. What concerns him is how organized they are,
rather than just spontaneous outbursts of affection for our King.) Mr.
Winston Churchill is calling on the government to show patience and to give
the King time. The government wants the King to abdicate. How dreadful!
Some newspapers want the King to abdicate too. Others beg him to stay and
to reconsider his relationship with Mrs. Simpson.
I suppose I could marry him, if they wanted. Just to save the nation. Ha!
We all smile.
December 7, 1936
Despite the cold and rain, people are out in the streets again. They're
singing God save the King in front of the palace. The more politically-
minded are outside of Downing Street hoping for some news from our
government. (While we still have one!)
December 8, 1936
Mrs. Wallis Simpson has issued a statement to the press. She says she
has no wish to hurt or damage the King or the throne. The papers say she has
offered to withdraw from the whole thing.
December 10, 1936 It started over a woman, but Father says it could
ruin the country. The Labour party is calling for a republic! Abolish the
monarchy! Can you imagine! Some of the people in the Labour Party are
now saying that if the government resigns in protest, they'll step in to start the
whole process of making this country a republic.
Fascists one day. Republicans the next. Some people calling for the King
to stay. Some people calling for the King to go. It could all lead to civil war,
Father says. I can't describe Father's state of mind. He keeps saying that at
least he has his properties in Canada. Of course, the King has his ranch in
Canada. Maybe we'll all end up there together!
How come I've never heard about any of this? asks Harry.
We studied World War II and the events that led up to it, but
this story was never mentioned.
I think it was all forgotten once the war ended. Maybe there
was even some embarrassment. Keep in mind, once the war was
78
over, the pro-German people had seen how evil Hitler turned out
to be. And when Hitler turned on Russia and invaded her, Britain
and Russia ended up fighting on the same side.
So the war really shook things up, says Harry. What
happens next?
December 11, 1936 I can hardly write. We've just been listening to the
wireless. I'm still weeping. Our King has abdicated. He spoke with such
sadness, but such resolution. The gist of it was that this was the first chance
he had had to address us. He turned the crown over to his brother, the Duke
of York. He didn't dwell on the reasons for giving up the throne but said
that he had tried to serve the Empire for 25 years and could no longer carry
the heavy burden of responsibility without the help and support of the woman
he loves. (Mother and I just fell to pieces at that point. Father stayed stern
throughout.)
He said he alone had made the decision but that his family supported him.
He has full confidence that his brother will be able to take his place and the
Empire will carry on uninterrupted. Regarding his brother he said that he
has one matchless blessing, enjoyed by so many of the people but not bestowed
on him, a happy home with his wife and children. (Mother and I fell apart
again.)
He thanked everyone for their kindness and said that he would always
follow the fortunes of the British and Empire with profound interest. (This
sounds as if he will probably live outside of our Empire in some kind of self-
imposed exile. How sad.)
He concluded with some fine-sounding words about our new King and how
he wishes happiness and prosperity for all. God Save the King!
Oh, I tell you, mother and I were just sobbing at that point. Father said,
Hmmph.
Well, I hope that's the end of all that talk about Fascists and Republics
and civil wars. It's all a bit much.
Wow, says Madeleine. I don't think I've ever heard about
Edward's abdication from the perspective of the people listening
to the broadcast. It was a very emotional time, wasn't it?
We nod. There's still more to read though.
December 12, 1936 Apparently some people are still worried that there
might be a Fascist uprising. Last night, according to Father (who went to his
club despite sternly warning me not to go out into the streets!) there were
policemen out and about among the crowds, keeping order. The Fascists were
out in their black-shirts but nothing seems to have come of it.
79
It was obviously a very critical time in English history, says
Madeleine.
And that seems to be it, I say. I turn a page in the diary,
looking for anything about Edward. By the end of December,
Edward is living in Switzerland. Everyone says he will marry Mrs.
Simpson when her divorce comes through. And then they will return to
England.
I look up from the diary.
Did they? I ask.
Madeleine shook her head, getting up to put the kettle on the
oven.
He never returned to England to live. It was tragic, really. His
family never accepted him after that. He did marry Wallis and to
put it bluntly, they hated her.
Wow, I say. Of course, none of this helps us with the
necklace.
But it's interesting history, says Madeleine, getting her teapot
off a shelf.
My mind wanders now that I'm back to reading about people
at the hospital. Mrs. Shanklin likes most of the people she works
with but is having problems with a doctor who has come from
Germany. He's Jewish and he's really difficult to work with. But
the rumours around the hospital are that the National Socialists,
that's Hitler's party, have confiscated his house in Germany and
that his wife is still back there.
I start thinking about that phone call to Craig. Now's the time.
Madeleine is working on some sandwiches for lunch. Harry is
reading one of the diaries. There's a phone right in the kitchen. I
could just get up and casually ask Madeleine if I could use it, tell
her I met someone at the historical meeting. No big deal.
Except that I can't do it.
Not in front of them, anyhow.
But then, I'd have to ask about using a phone in another room.
That would be kind of weird.
I'm barely reading the diary anymore.
On May 12, 1937, George VI has his coronation, but I figure
Madeleine knows all about it so I don't bother passing it on.
The diaries are put away while we have lunch.
80
Time is running out. I have to call him in the afternoon.
Otherwise, he'll be at work. Something Harry says gets my
attention.
Meg is my inspiration, he's saying to Madeleine. When I
met her, I was so impressed at how she knew what she wanted.
My eyes widen.
We wouldn't be here if it weren't for her, he says, smiling at
me.
And it's a sincere smile.
And that's when I get it. All along I've been thinking that he's
just putting on a Christian show for people, pretending to be
interested in them. But that's not what it is. Harry really likes
people. And he really likes me.
Of course, that's no big deal. He's as nice to me as he is to
everyone.
Craig was nice to me too. I have no way of knowing whether
he's nice to everyone. Would I want him to be nice to everyone?
Sounds like you make a good team, says Madeleine, looking
at me.
Yeah, we do, I say, giving Harry my best smile.
We do.

The whole afternoon passes and I have no way of making that
phone call.
Mrs. Shanklin's diaries tell us that on June 3, 1937, Edward and
Wallis got married in Tours, France with no members of the
Royal Family present, although thousands of sightseers lined the
streets to watch as the guests went from the hotel up to the
chateau where the wedding was being held.
In the middle of October 1937, Edward did a ten-day tour of
Germany despite reports about Nazi brutalities.
Mrs. Shanklin said at the same time, Father says we'll probably be
going to Canada if war breaks out. He seems to forget that I'm a grown
woman.
In my distracted state-of-mind, I manage to make it through all
of 1938. But that's probably because there weren't too many
entries and it was all hospital stuff with just a bit of the outside
world. Two more German doctors arrived. More stories about
how Germany was being nasty to its Jews. Some of the Jews were
going to America. A lot went to Palestine.
81
I'm getting tired of pizza, says Harry, when we're back at
Annie's and sitting on my bed. You?
I nod.
Do you like Chinese?
Sure, I say. As long as we get some sweet-and-sour chicken
balls.
Oh, I know. Me too, says Harry standing up. I'll check
Annies phone book and find a restaurant that delivers.
I lie on my bed when he's gone. The piece of paper with the
phone number comes out of my pocket.
Of course, by now he's at work. Should I leave a message? I
could leave Annie's number. But then he'd call me when I'm at
Madeleine's. I can't leave Madeleine's number. I don't even know
Madeleine's number.
Do I even want to call Craig?
Of course I do. Why did that thought pop into my head?
Harry returns to find me stretched out on my bed.
Tired? he asks, smiling from the doorway.
A little bit, I say. How long do you think we're going to be
here?
I roll over onto my side so I'm facing him.
I dunno. Depends on how long it takes us to go through the
diaries. She's in her 50's now for me. How 'bout for you?
I guess she's in her 30's, I say.
Shouldn't be too much longer, he says. You'll do another
ten years and I'll do another ten years and we'll be done.
If I get a hold of Craig, will I even have time to do anything
with him? I sigh and fall on my back again.
You OK? asks Harry. He comes into the room and sits at
the foot of my bed.
Yeah, I say. Just a lot on my mind.
Harry kind of gives my hand a squeeze. I expect him to say
something irritatingly sympathetic, but he doesn't.
Do you ever, you know, worry about stuff? I ask.
I used to, he says. I used to worry a lot. I never knew what
to do. And I never really liked what I was doing anyhow.
I know, I know, I say. And then you found God and now
you don't worry anymore.
Harry shrugs.
82
Sort of. Meeting you was an answer to prayer because it gave
me something to do. I believe that God can do things for people,
but I know most people don't want him in their lives.
I want to plan my own life, I say. I don't even know if there
is a God. How do you even know theres a God?
Harry takes a deep breath.
I could give you all sorts of reasons why God exists. You
know, all the stuff about life on earth being so complex and the
flaws in the theory of evolution and all that. But for me that's not
really the way to know.
What do you mean? I ask.
I know because I talk to God and he gives me a peace. It's
like I totally know he's there and that he's heard me.
But Harry . . . I struggle to sit up. I'm feeling stupid lying on
my back looking up at him. Don't you worry that you're going
to miss out on a lot of fun? You know, all the rules and stuff?
Thou shalt not do this and thou shalt not do that.
I'm having fun right now, says Harry, grinning.
No you're not, I say. We're working.
And I'm having fun.
You're crazy.
For one insane moment, I want him to say something like,
And you can be crazy too. Just let me lead you in this prayer of
salvation and then we'll be on the same side . . .
That's the problem. We're not on the same side. He's got this
God and I don't. And I remember what he said about not being
able to be partners because of something in the Bible. I forget
how it went, but the bottom line is, there's always going to be this
distance. He's nice and he will always be nice. But we're never
really going to go very far with it.
That's it. I've made up my mind. I'm calling Craig.
I've got a phone call to make, I say, getting up.
You need to call home? he asks. You can use my cell phone
. . .
Oh no! I say. Its actually a local call. Ill just make it in the
kitchen.
If Harry thinks its strange that I know someone in Halifax, he
doesnt pry.
Oh, sure, he says, standing up with me. See you for dinner
then?
83
I nod and head out of the room and down the stairs. I'm just
going to do it. I'm going to leave a message and I'm going to
explain everything. I'm at Madeleine's all day but maybe he can
call me from work . . . ?
I dial the number and the phone is ringing. I'm all psyched for
the machine.
Craig answers.
He mutters a hi.
Oh, hi! I say, trying to recover. This is Meg.
There's a pause.
We met at the historical society.
Oh that's right! The girl in the hall.
That's me.
There's a pause.
I hope I didn't wake you, I say.
Uh, that's OK. I was gonna get up soon. Got a later shift
tonight. I'll be there till the morning. Usually I'm home by 2.
Two in the morning?
Yeah. I work with this old guy. Total loser. He's usually there
till about 5. He doesn't have a life.
He doesn't mind long hours, eh?
Yeah, but he's got some surgery thing. So he's not going to be
there tonight. Hey! He sounds like he just had an idea.
Yeah?
Do you wanna come and keep me company tonight? You
know . . .
Wow.
Wouldn't you get into trouble?
No, it's just me and the old guy for that building. And he's
not going to be there. So no one would know. Just you and me . .
.
Can I do this? I guess I could get a taxi. I would be up all
night. I'd be tired tomorrow.
Yeah, but . . .
It's Harry I'm thinking about, but Craig thinks I might need
more persuading.
Come on! I promise. It'll be a good time!
A good time hanging out in a dark building.
The doorbell rings.
84
For a moment I think I'm going to have to get it, but Harry
comes hurrying down the stairs and I can hear the Chinese food
arriving.
Uh, Craig?
Yeah. You got someone coming over there, or something?
No, just dinner. Listen, thanks but I don't think I can make
it.
Oh, come on! It'd be fun!
But he doesn't sound too upset.
Yeah, I just don't think I can work it in. Sorry.
He hangs up before I do.
I meet Harry in the hallway holding the large brown paper bag.
Finished your call? he asks.
Yeah, I say, looking down at the piece of paper with Craig's
number, still in my hand. I crumple it up and toss it into Annie's
recycling bin.

Chapter Seven

'm up to 1939 in the diary.
Madeleine wants me to read everything to her since she
says that's the year that World War II started.
The Fascists are out in the streets saying Hitler doesn't want war with
England. The rest of England isn't so sure. Our new Queen is splendid. So
pretty and cheerful. But Father says there are still people talking about
Edward coming back with his Wallis and becoming King again. They say
it's the only way to save England from war with Germany. Such talk!
Someone at Father's club (he won't say who, of course) even said that if
Germany invades, they'll put Edward back on the throne!
Who's the new Queen? I ask.
Do you remember the Queen Mother? asks Madeleine.
Yeah, she was really old, I say.
Madeleine smiles.
She wasn't old then, of course. And the people really loved
her. She was always popular, even as she got older.
So she never knew she was going to be Queen? says Harry.
That's right. She married Edward's younger brother, George.
And they didn't know that they would end up as King and
Queen. George was a shy man with a stutter and some people say
I
86
that he could have never been King without the support of his
wife.
I keep reading out loud.
Father says the danger to England now is that the Fascists will take
over. Father has had such a complete change of heart regarding the Fascists.
He says that however terrifying a prospect Bolshevism is, the Fascists are
worse. They're out every Sunday now, with their parades and their loud
speeches. Father has forbidden me to go anywhere near the East End now.
There are constant outbreaks of violence between the black-shirts and the
police. So dreadful. Any Jew who has the misfortune to be passing by is
treated abominably. We've treated some of them in the hospital. The wounds
are dreadful. One man had bruises all over his face and probable permanent
damage to his kidneys. Another woman was abused in ways I can't even
bring myself to put on paper. We are thoroughly disgusted. There are even
cases of people who just look Jewish being attacked. These black-shirts and
their followers are barbarians.
I can't believe this is happening in London! I say. It sounds
like Nazi Germany!
Madeleine nods.
The Nazi-spirit spilled over into other countries. There was
even a bit of it here in Canada. It wasn't until Hitler began his
military activities that some of it tapered off. Then it became
clear that Hitler had to be stopped, not imitated.
She doesn't write for a while. The next entry is in March.
Father has put his foot down and said Mother and I are going to Canada.
Bob is very excited. He says finally there will be a war and he'll get to see
some action now that Mr. Hitler has invaded Czechoslovakia. I was going to
put my foot down just as firmly and say I would not be leaving England just
at a time when they would need nurses the most, except that I read an advert
in The Times calling for nurses at the Royal Halifax Naval Hospital. So
maybe there's a way to keep Father happy and still be part of what may
come.
Ahh, says Madeleine. So that's how she ended up here.
I guess she didn't have much time for her diary, I say. The
next entry isn't until July. Father would disown me if he knew what I did
tonight. I was on my way home from the hospital and I really should have
just kept on going, but there was such a crowd heading for Earls Court and
for once I wanted to see something first-hand. It was too late when I realized
that I was in the middle of a Fascist rally! The crowds just swept me inside
and I was too nervous to turn around and try to fight my way out. I've never
Cold in Canada ~ Chapter Seven
87
seen so many black shirts strutting about! There must have been about
20,000 people there, including the Fascists. They had banners all over the
place saying, 'Mind Britain's Business.' I really didn't know what they
meant until the head black-shirt himself gave a big long speech about Britain
staying out of Germany's business and that Germany wasn't our enemy and
we should just ignore the events in Europe.
The gist of it was that Hitler doesn't want to take over the world. If he
did, he would be mad. And since he's not mad, he's not intending to take
over the world.
He said some dreadful things about the Jews. And the crowd roared its
approval. Such cheering! I've never been to such an event! But it wasn't nice.
It was all very dark, literally and figuratively. I kept thinking about Dr.
Rosenburg at the hospital. We all know he's Jewish. And he's such a gentle,
nice man. Never an unkind word to anyone. I would hate to think what that
mob would have done to him, just knowing he was Jewish.
Madeleine shakes her head.
August 16, 1939 A letter from the Halifax Naval Hospital! They're
taking me on! Father said, 'Good for them' in his gruff way. I imagine he
would have taken me by force if I had refused to go with Mother to Canada.
Only 2 weeks till we leave! So much packing! I'm afraid you won't be
hearing from me for the next little while.
The Halifax Naval Hospital, says Madeleine. I wonder if
she means the hospital at the Canadian Forces Base? But she's
speaking more to herself.
September 3, 1939 Oh to have to break my silence with such dreadful
news! The Captain just came up to Mother and told her quietly. The rest
will hear it at dinner. Britain is at war. Hitler invaded Poland two days ago,
but of course, we were at sea and the Captain kept it quiet. He has his
orders to return with his ship to London as soon as we dock in Halifax. He
talked to Mother for a lengthy time. He is such an old and dear friend of
Father's that I think it was a comfort to talk to someone as sympathetic as
Mother.
I fear I'll be arriving just in time at the naval hospital.
So, says Harry. This is the beginning of World War II?
Madeleine nods.
September 15, 1939 No time to write since the last entry! Too busy
trying to settle in and we've already received our first casualties from the
German U-Boats. The captain of the ship is relatively young. (OK, he's my
age. I still think of myself as young!) His name is James Shanklin . . .
We all look at each other and grin.
88
Finally! says Madeleine.
His name is James Shanklin and he's in bad shape, but he stays so
cheerful despite his pain. He knows of Father, of course. I think everyone
knows of Father! He had 153 men on his ship and thankfully they all
survived the attack! They had just nearly made it to Halifax so we were able
to help them almost immediately. Unfortunately, there are about five men in
critical care. James asks about them every day so I try to know as much as I
can about each of them and their conditions.
It's the classic war love story, says Madeleine. Dashing
officer falls in love with tender nurse.
I look down at the diary.
Something's wrong here, I say. We were in 1939, right?
Madeleine and Harry nod.
The next entry isn't until July 1940. How did I miss almost a
whole year?
Madeleine looks over my shoulder.
There's no break in the diary. She must have just been too
busy to write. The German U-boats did a lot of damage in the
Atlantic and Halifax probably handled a huge number of the
injured.
Doesn't sound like much fun, I say. Listen to this. July 15,
1940 Our hearts break for England! We hear how every night there is terror
from the sky as Nazi planes roll overhead, dropping their destruction. It is
not a war on soldiers, but a war on civilians. To crush the spirit of the
British people and weaken them for the invasion to come. God keep England
strong in her greatest trial!
I look at Harry. I guess it's because of the God bit. Funny to
think that Mrs. Shanklin believed in God. I wonder if she was
like Harry, all sure of it.
July 18, 1940 The invasion of England is so imminent that all the talk
here is how if the fight is to continue, England's finest will have to fall back
to Canada and continue from here. Oh, I can hardly believe it all! Has the
world gone mad? We all wonder when the Americans will step in to end this
madness. Will they wait till Hitler is on their doorstep?
I never knew there was a chance that World War II would
end up here, says Harry.
I know what you mean, says Madeleine. We hear about the
Canadian soldiers that went over to fight. But we hear less about
what would have happened if England had fallen to the Nazis.
August 2, 1940 Am married now! What!
89
We all look at each other in amazement.
How did that happen? says Madeleine.
I keep reading.
She explains, I say. I can hardly believe it, it all happened so
quickly! How it came about . . . Father was set to sail on Lady Somers for
Bermuda and then onto Nassau. Just before they set sail, his medical officer
developed a severe influenza and couldn't even get out of bed. I jokingly
volunteered to take his place, never expecting that Father would actually
accept. Furthermore, he commanded me to bring James along, saying that the
sea air would do him good.
We had hardly left Halifax when Father gruffly announced that as
Captain of the ship, he was fully qualified to marry us here and now.
Honeymoon would be thrown in at no extra cost.
James nearly leapt out of his chair. If I had any doubts about his love,
they were dispelled when he said, What a splendid idea! Father gave him a
grim talk about the duties and responsibilities of marriage. Furthermore, he
added, I would be quite penniless when Father passed on. Bob would inherit
the family money and property. James was quite cheerful about the whole
thing. Told Father he had quite enough money for the both of us and
anymore that would come along. (I blushed at this. Don't know why. I'm a
nurse, for goodness sake.)
And so here we are, all married and on our honeymoon! Won't Mother
have fits to have missed it all!
Of course, it's been a working holiday. I've had to bandage some wounds
and handle a nasty oil burn on the cook's arm, but Father promises a few
days to ourselves in the Bahamas when we arrive in Nassau and he has to
resupply and load all the cargo. There are other stops on the way, but too
short to go ashore.
That's such a romantic story! says Madeleine. I was thinking
her father didn't have much of a heart, but I like the old
gentleman, after all!
August 10, 1940 Still blissfully married. Too busy to write. Nursing
half the day. Other half of my time with James. Too lovely. Father has
passed on some exciting news. Our former King Edward and his wife,
Wallis, are in Bermuda. That's one of our stops. Maybe we'll get a glimpse
of them from the railings!
That's right! says Madeleine. I forget that Edward ended up
in the Caribbean. What else does it say, Meg?
August 15, 1940 Too unbelievable to be true!! Edward and Wallis are
aboard the ship!! They are heading for the Bahamas too. The Duke is to be
90
the next Governor there. They came aboard with much fanfare and luggage.
Apparently they had come directly from Lisbon and had some close calls in
Europe getting across borders as the Nazis advanced.
Have had a chance to hear the news from England. It's not good. Mr.
Hitler's bombs continue to drop on London and the coastal towns, doing
enormous damage. The devastation is, apparently, quite shocking. Dear
England is in all of our hearts and minds right now.
Perhaps we will see Edward and Wallis at dinner.
I look up.
That's pretty cool. Having the former king on the boat and
all.
Madeleine nods.
Does she get to see him up close?
August 16, 1940 Absolutely unbelievable! I had a long talk on the
deck tonight with Mrs. Simpson!! Her Edward was tired and went to bed
early, as had my James. James wouldn't admit it, but he was in a lot of pain.
I gave him a sleeping pill since that's all the man will accept for pain. When
he was sleeping, I went up on deck to enjoy the warm night air.
Mrs. Simpson was there, just leaning on a railing and looking very
serious. Lovely and elegant. So many jewels. Hair perfect despite the breeze.
But I certainly wasn't going to disturb her. Then she turned and smiled at me
and said, Mrs. Shanklin, wasn't it? And the next thing I knew, we were
talking. I think it was because we are both older and both newlyweds.
Somehow it sparked a connection.
I gather Edward is rather worn out from all the goings-on in Europe. She
says they've had to make a lot of serious decisions in the last few weeks and
it's all been rather trying. And then she smiled and asked me all about
James and our life and how long we'd known each other. I told her about my
nursing and tried to tell her the interesting parts since I imagine a woman
like her is easily bored having been around so many Great People. I
happened to mention that work at the hospital keeps me so busy that I'd
forgotten my own birthday. (I didn't mention that it was on my birthday 21
years ago that I first met her husband!) Then she did something rather
startling. She told me to wait by the railing for a minute or two. She had to
get something.
She came back with a blue velvet jewellery box and handed it to me.
For you, she said. A late birthday present.
I opened it and gasped.
I have never seen such a beautiful necklace.
Now it's our turn to gasp as we look at one another.
91
I've never seen such a beautiful necklace, I continue reading
quickly. (Except for maybe the necklace that Mrs. Simpson had worn that
night at dinner!) It was made up of about fifty diamonds, with three clusters
of three each in the front.
That's the one! says Harry, nodding.
Extraordinary in the moonlight. Sparkling.
I told her I couldn't possibly accept such a gift. She smiled and said that it
was a recent gift from a friend in Germany but Edward is jealous if she
wears anything that was given to her by another man.
So, of course, I accepted.
I don't know when I will be able to wear it. I'd have to have a new dress
first. And some new shoes. I'll probably have to wait till after the war. In the
meantime, I have it under my mattress. I'll give it to Father after we're
finished in the Bahamas. I think if I asked him to put it in the ship's safe
now he'd make me give it back!
August 17, 1940 Mrs. Simpson gave me and James a warm good-bye
and wished us all the best before she and Edward were carried away to their
new position as Governor of the Bahamas.
What a turnout! All of Nassau was waiting for them! And they were so
gracious, waving and greeting people like old friends. They were out on the
deck, bright and early, for our first glimpses of Nassau. It's a gorgeous sight.
White beaches and endless blue sky. Edward and Wallis were trying to
figure out which of the houses was Government House. Father kindly pointed
it out to them. Wallis turned to Edward and said it put her in mind of a
Southern plantation with its spacious verandas and jalousied windows. It's
all surrounded by palm trees. I'm sure they'll like it here. It's tropical and
civilized at the same time.
Anyway, that was our brush with royalty. Father tends to the ship while
James and I have a rented cottage on the beach. We're out on the sand all
day. I wade around a bit and catch glimpses of all sorts of colourful fish in
the water. It's a paradise here! And where we are is quite quiet. I rather
suspect that all the activity on the island will now centre on Government
House and its new Governor and His Lady!
What a honeymoon! says Madeleine. And I wonder what
Mr. Shanklin said when his lady appeared in the necklace!
That's all there is until December, I say. Then she says,
Everyone is talking about how wonderful the King and Queen are.
Buckingham Palace has been hit twice but they continue to live there. As
soon as the All-Clear sounds, they are out and about, visiting the people
most affected by the bombs. They're so marvellous and an inspiration to us
92
all. It's times like this I wish Father had let us stay. But then I think of our
little one on the way and perhaps it's for the best that we're here.
I look up.
She must be pregnant! I say.
Madeleine nods.
Might have happened on the honeymoon. People didn't use
birth control the way we do now.
It looks like she had barely anytime to write during the war, I
say. After this, there are just a lot of quick entries. Things like,
'Working 18 hours a day.' 'Terribly tired. Too tired to write.' 'Dreadful
day. Only 59 survivors out of a ship of 207 souls. We may lose some of them
too.' Oh, but wait . . . I quickly read. She took some time off
starting in the middle of May because she was expecting the
baby. On May 30, 1941 she writes, We now have a son, James Robert
Shanklin. We're calling him Robert, after his Uncle. We've sent a
photograph to his Uncle in the Navy and we expect it to be prominently
displayed!
Cute, says Madeleine, standing up. Do you guys want
leftovers for lunch? We had shepherd's pie last night and I've got
a lot left in the fridge.
Sure, says Harry.
That would be Jett's father, wouldn't it? I say to Harry.
He nods.
We've found out about the necklace. I guess we could stop
there. But after lunch, Madeleine tells us to carry on just in case it
gets mentioned again.
Let's see, I say, trying to figure out where I've left off.
June 23, 1941 Hitler has invaded Russia. Father says, Good Riddance
to them both. He hopes they destroy each other.
Madeleine laughs.
September 22, 1941 Everyone is breathing a sigh of relief on behalf of
England. Hitler won't invade now that the Channel is too choppy and too
foggy. They'll have till spring to prepare for whatever's to come.
Madeleine is pouring us an after-lunch coffee.
I don't get it, I say.
When autumn comes, the weather on the English Channel
becomes a lot more unpredictable, explains Madeleine. Hitler
would hardly be able to sustain an invasion when he couldn't be
sure of good weather.
93
I sip my coffee and read the rest of the diary to myself
although I mention that in 1942 she writes, Bob is so proud of his
little nephew. He's sent him the most darling gift a complete miniature
naval uniform. It will be a few years before he wears it but we have it hanging
in his closet. Bob says he had it made up in Hong Kong. It was so kind of
him to think of little Robert, even with the war on.
Well, that's it for me, says Harry, stretching and standing up
at around 4:00. Meg's gotten all the breaks with this one. Mrs.
Shanklin never seems to mention the necklace again. How many
diaries do we have to go?
Just two, I say.
Can we save that for tomorrow? Harry asks Madeleine.
Tomorrow is Saturday.
Of course, she says. My hubby will be home but he'll be
out snowmobiling and I'll be glad to have the company.
Are you sure? says Harry.
Absolutely, says Madeleine, escorting us to the hallway
where we put on our boots and coats. Just come a little later.
Maybe around 10. I like to have a sleep-in on the weekends.
We totally understand, says Harry, giving a little wave as we
head out.
It doesn't seem as cold out. Harry must notice too because he
suggests we walk to Mike's for dinner.
Sure, I say.
But as we're walking, the sun goes down and so does the
temperature. I have a hat and gloves but it's pretty bitter.
Mike's is still in the distance and I'm seriously wishing we were
already there.
Here, says Harry, suddenly.
He stops and unwinds his purple scarf.
Harry, I can't . . .
I'm not sure why I can't. There's nobody in sight to see me in
this crazy scarf and I'm miserably cold. Harry hands me the scarf
and I wrap it around my neck. It smells like him. It must be the
aftershave.
I look up at him. It's rotten to have been wearing a warm scarf
and then to give it up.
Thanks Harry, I say.
You're welcome, he says.
Let's take a cab back, I say.
94
Definitely, says Harry.

This time we eat the apple pie at Mike's and we linger over it,
enjoying the tea and the warmth of the restaurant.
I guess I could be with Craig right now.
Craig, who wouldn't be caught dead in a purple scarf. Craig,
who's just like me.
Except that he isn't. Because I have worn a purple scarf.
Harry tells me a bit about his family. His dad works long hours
but his mom is at home. I ask what she does at home. Like, does
she do housework? But they have maids for that kind of thing.
Mostly, she's just there. And sometimes she volunteers for things.
And sometimes there are ladies at the house. Organizing things.
Harry isn't even sure what things.
Then I tell him about our family. But he mostly knows
everything since I've already told him about Dad and Mom works
at Phillips.
So we talk a bit about the company picnics and share
memories. I always thought it was cool how everything was just
free and you could eat as much as you wanted. Mr. Phillips would
have an ice-cream truck there and there'd be a booth with
hamburgers and hotdogs and popcorn and chips and drinks. I'd
usually eat three times more than I wanted to.
Me too, says Harry smiling.
But why? All that stuff . . . I mean, it all belonged to you guys
. . .
Yeah, but we don't eat like that all the time. Mom makes us
eat salads. We have things like chicken salad for dinner with an
apple for dessert. Mom's always worried about Dad's health so
we're not allowed to eat ice cream in the house in case he sneaks
down at night and eats a whole tub of it.
I laugh.
Mom's not worried about her health, I say. But she's always
on a diet.
Yeah, I believe it. You guys look so alike.
We do? I practically drop my fork. But Mom's gorgeous. It
comes out before I can stop it.
Yeah. So? says Harry, filling up his mug with more tea. You
are too.
Wow.
95
Harry doesn't seem embarrassed by all this. But I feel like I'm
going to die right there on the spot. Harry looks around.
There's got to be a phonebook around here somewhere. Im
calling a cab. There's no way we're walking home in that.
Snow is coming down and it's heavy.
Harry gets up to call a cab then comes back to finish his tea.
While we're waiting for the cab I fill in the time by saying, So
we know about the necklace now.
Yeah, says Harry. And what a story, eh?
Really, I agree. But I don't know how it helps us. I mean,
it's a great story. A necklace belonging to a woman who married
an ex-king.
But the necklace didn't even come from the ex-king, says
Harry. It came from some admirer in Germany. Hey! There's
our cab!
We bundle up and head out.
The snow is coming down so heavy everything is just one big
white-out.
The cab goes slowly but we're back much sooner than if we
had walked. I notice that Harry gives the guy a $20 and doesn't
ask for change.
I'm seriously glad I didn't go with Craig's offer.

96

Chapter Eight

'm surprised that Harry isn't up for breakfast.
Is he still in bed? I ask Annie, who's fried me up two
eggs and some hash-browns, as well as a few sausages.
Oh no, dear, she says. Her hair is in two braids and she's
wearing a dress that is covered in colourful patches. On her feet
are moccasin slippers. He got up early, had a bowl of cereal, and
went out to shovel the driveway.
Shovel the driveway?!
We're paying guests, for crying out loud.
I told him I'd call him in when I'd made breakfast, says
Annie. She has more eggs and potatoes in the frying pan,
obviously for him.
I'll do it, I say, getting up.
I go to the hallway, slip on my boots and grab my coat off the
hook.
Harry! I call out, when I've stepped out onto the porch. The
snow is unbelievable. It's everywhere and from what I can tell, it
would be up to my thighs if I stepped in it. But Harry has most
of the driveway shovelled.
Harry Phillips! I shout. You are too good to be true!!
I
98
His reply is to lean down, pack a snowball and hurl it in my
direction.
Your breakfast is ready! I call out.
I'll be in soon, he says, returning to his shovelling.
I go back inside.
He'll be in soon, I say to Annie.
Annie turns the frying pan to low, pours herself a cup of
coffee and joins me at the table.
If I were you, she says. I wouldn't let that one get away.
Pardon? I say startled. I was just in the middle of swallowing
some potatoes.
That Harry of yours, she says, sipping her coffee.
Well, he's not really mine . . .
He's a treasure. Bet the girls are lined up for him.
I don't really know. That's his personal life . . .
He seems to be with you now, she says.
Well, yes. We work together.
Annie shrugs and butters herself some toast.
I know a good man when I see him, she says.
Yeah, I guess. I mean, Harry is a great guy. I look down at
my plate and try to focus.
The front door opens and in a minute we're joined by Harry.
Annie gets up to get him his plate of food and then she
disappears with her coffee and toast.
Harry is all rosy-cheeked and healthy-looking from his
exercise. He salts his eggs and puts some jam on the toast.
So . . . today's really the last day for us here, he says.
Yeah, I guess it is, I say, thinking about it. What next?
Hopefully we'll learn a little more. Either way, I think we
should go back to Toronto and report everything so far to Mrs.
Shanklin.
Yeah, I guess we owe her that. But just knowing the origin of
the necklace doesn't really help us figure out who would steal it.
I've been thinking the same thing, says Harry, putting some
ketchup on his potatoes. I thought Jett would be more helpful.
You know, that he'd have some suspicions.
Yeah, I say. It would have been nice if he'd said that his
mom had a new pool guy, or something. Do they have a pool?
No, says Harry. And people don't have pool guys visit in
the winter.
Cold in Canada ~ Chapter Eight
99
You know what I mean. A new cook who disappeared after a
week. That would have been helpful.
Not that reading the diaries was a bad idea, says Harry,
managing to eat and talk at the same time. It's just that Mrs.
Shanklin had already passed on when the necklace was stolen. So
she wouldn't exactly have anything to say about it in her diary.
We're just going to have to use our brains, I say.
I wait.
I look at him.
Aren't you going to say something about prayer? I ask.
Harry smiles.
Prayed about it this morning, of course. He's getting up to
put his empty plate in the sink. Do you want to know what I
prayed? I prayed that God would show us . . .
No, I don't want to know, Harry, I say, standing up.
Since Madeleine doesn't want us to come over early, we have a
whole hour to kill. I'm thinking maybe Annie will let me watch
some TV, but Harry is heading back to the door and putting on
his boots.
What are you doing? I say.
I asked Annie if I could use her shovel to do Madeleine's
driveway too, he says. He's bundling up.
Unbelievable.
Do you want to help? he asks.
No, not really.
Then I feel bad. Madeleine's been really good to us.
But maybe she doesn't need us to shovel her driveway, I
protest. She's got a husband for that.
He already left on his snowmobile, says Harry. I saw him
when I was out there.
Oh fine! I say. Sulkily, I put on my boots. A thought occurs
to me.
I don't have a shovel.
That's OK, says Harry, already heading out the door. Annie
has two.
Thankfully it's not a bitterly cold day.
I wouldn't admit it to anyone, but it's actually nice to be up and
out and in the fresh air. Of course, my arms start to ache after
about fifteen minutes. But I keep going to stay warm. In the end,
I do about a quarter of the driveway and Harry does the rest.
100
Madeleine is waiting for us with hot chocolate.
You two duckies! she says, as we come into her house.
What a wonderful winter surprise! That would have been me
out there if it weren't for you two!
When we're at her kitchen table, she hands us each a large mug
of hot chocolate loaded with mini marshmallows on top.
She and Harry talk about snowmobiling while we drink our
chocolate. Turns out Harry and his brother go snowmobiling
sometimes.
There are only two diaries left. Harry takes one, I take the
other.
In mine, the war is still on. So the entries are brief and
scrawled, as if she's too busy to write anything long.
Oh man, I say suddenly, making Harry look up from his
diary and Madeleine look up from the fridge that she's cleaning
out. This is really bad. It's 1944. She says, I can barely stand it. I
can barely write. Bob is dead. His ship was sunk by the U-boats. Too far
out in the ocean for anyone to help. Father is so distraught. Mother has
taken to her bed. It's just too, too . . . oh, words fail me at this time! At least
I have James to lean on. And little Robert to hold onto. He's such a darling.
His uncle was so proud of him. I weep when I look at my Robert. Of course,
I weep at pretty much everything now.
That's really sad, says Harry.
For a moment, we don't say anything. And then Harry thinks
of something.
But that would explain how she ended up with the entire
family fortune.
That's right! I say. She was really rich, wasn't she?
Yes, nods Madeleine. I never knew any of this, of course.
Mrs. Shanklin didn't tell us too much about herself. But we all
knew she was well-off.
I read to the end of my diary. But the necklace is not
mentioned.
It's Harry's diary that contains the final reference to it. It's a
few years after the war.
Wore the Duchess's necklace tonight, reads Harry. Would that be
the same necklace?
Yes, says Madeleine. The king and Mrs. Simpson were also
the Duke and Duchess of Windsor.
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I don't know what she means though, says Harry. Listen to
this. James still says the thing is tainted. But it's not like there's much I can
do about it. I'll probably just put it away in the deposit box. Still . . . I
remember it from better days.
Harry looks up from the diary.
And that's it. She never mentions it again.
Strange, says Madeleine, coming over to look at the diary, as
if to confirm what Harry's said. You kids have a bit of a mystery
here.
We sure do, says Harry looking at me. And I can tell what
he's thinking. We have no idea where the necklace is now. We've
just spent a week reading through these diaries and we're no
closer to catching a thief than before we got here.
You know, kids, says Madeleine, putting the diaries back in
their box. I've got a feeling about this. Can't really explain. But I
think I'm going to hold off on putting these in the archives until
you solve your mystery. Just in case you need to go through them
again.
I strongly doubt we'll want to go through the diaries all over
again, but Harry says it's a good idea.
Madeleine insists on making us lunch, even though we're all
done.
We have one more meal of sandwiches together around the
wooden table.
Madeleine is talking about how some of the things in Mrs.
Shanklin's diary would make a great presentation for the
historical society. She may get a professor from Dalhousie, an
expert in World War II, to look over the diaries.
Then we say our good-byes, and once again, emails are
exchanged and Harry promises Madeleine he'll stay in touch and
keep her updated about the mystery. She says she'll contact us if
she learns anything new.
OK, I say when we're out on the driveway. I have to admit,
it's easier to walk down a driveway that's been shovelled.
So true, says Harry.
But he sounds far away.
What is it, Harry? I say.
Well . . . the thing is, I was hoping we'd go home with
something more concrete. You know, a lead. But I have no idea
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what to do next. The only thing I can think of is to go back to
Mrs. Shanklin and tell her what we've done so far.
Yeah, I say. Just don't let on that we've hit a wall.
Annie doesn't have a computer and therefore we have no
internet access. So Harry phones up Air Canada and books us a
flight back to Toronto, leaving the next morning. Another early
morning flight. Harry pays our bill and tells Annie not to worry
about breakfast. She gives us hugs and a big smile and tells us it
was wonderful to meet us.
If it were left to me, I would have slept-in passed our flight,
but Harry knocks on my door at 5:30. He's had the foresight to
borrow an alarm clock from Annie. He's also had the foresight to
call the cab company, so there's a cab waiting for us in the
driveway at 6. In addition, Annie's been nice enough to leave us
paper bags with bagels and fruit which we eat at the airport after
we check in.
Surprisingly, there is no one for Harry to convert to
Christianity on the flight home. The seat beside him is empty.
Despite this, he doesn't slide over and sit by the aisle. He's right
beside me, in the middle seat, for the whole flight and our arms
keep bumping into each other.
The only notable (and hugely embarrassing) incident worth
mentioning is when some little old lady going down the aisle to
the bathroom smiles at us and makes a comment about
honeymooners.
Well, says Harry, smiling down at me, once we're back at the
Pearson International Airport in Toronto. Shall we give Mrs.
Shanklin a call and tell her we're on our way over?
Might as well get it over with, I say. But remember, don't
tell her we don't have any leads. Just make it sound like it's a
case-in-progress.
Harry actually suggests that we take the TTC, the Toronto
Transit Commission, instead of adding another cab ride to Mrs.
Shanklin's expenses. At least he carries my suitcase on the bus,
and then the subway, and then the bus again. A ride that would
have taken 35 minutes in a cab ends up being 2 hours. And then
we get to trudge through the snow down Harry's long street. He
drops my suitcase off at his place first and then we do the final
stretch up Mrs. Shanklin's long driveway.
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I can't wait to get home and take a hot bath. But at the same
time, I'm feeling a little edgy. Harry and I have been together
non-stop. I'm actually going to miss him.
That's so moronic. Why should I miss him?
Besides, we still have a case to solve. We're still going to have
to work together.
Once again, the maid answers the door and we're shown into
the grand room with the uncomfortable furniture.
Mrs. Shanklin comes in with a big smile on her face.
So how did you do in Halifax? she asks, holding out a hand
to Harry who gives it a warm shake.
Well, we read through all the diaries, says Harry, as he and
Mrs. Shanklin sit down together on a couch. This might be a
long story.
Oh good, says Mrs. Shanklin. I'll order us some tea. I love a
good story.
The maid is called and the message conveyed that we want tea.
Then Mrs. Shanklin tells Harry all the news about Jett.
He has an interview with a professor at the University of
Toronto. Apparently, U. of T. students are going to be included
on the summer dig in Alberta.
So the good news is we'll have him home for two weeks! He'll
be home for Christmas! she says, her face glowing. And you
must promise me you'll be here. I'm going to have a small party
to celebrate.
Harry promises.
Great, I think. For one thing, I don't know if I'm included. For
another, this really ties us down to Toronto for the next little
while.
The maid rolls a silver tray in.
It seems that tea in the Shanklin house doesn't just mean a pot
of tea. It includes sandwiches and some tarts, as well as a whole
plate of cookies. How rich people stay thin, I do not know.
Harry turns out to be a good storyteller. I can tell Mrs.
Shanklin enjoys hearing about the other Mrs. Shanklin, her
mother-in-law. The history part, the Fascists and the Bolsheviks
and all that, is sort of interesting to her but she really loves the
part about Edward and Mrs. Simpson. When Harry tells her that
her necklace belonged to Mrs. Simpson, she gasps and looks like
she's going to die of happiness.
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Oh, how wonderful! she says. This is such good news!
Robert's mother never told me any of this! Oh you are
wonderful!
I don't know why she's so happy. She's just found out the
necklace that was stolen from her is more valuable than she
realized.
I have to go get Robert! she says standing up. I can't wait to
tell him! And you stay right here! I want him to hear all about it
from you.
Being Sunday, I guess Mr. Shanklin is somewhere in the house
because Mrs. Shanklin is back with him in about five minutes.
Mr. Shanklin is a prosperous-looking older man with silver-
grey hair. He's wearing a golf-shirt and some khaki pants. He
looks embarrassed to be dragged into this.
Harry goes through the story for the second time.
Mr. Shanklin is really interested in the stuff about the Fascists
and the Bolsheviks. But Mrs. Shanklin is in a hurry to get to the
stuff about the king and Mrs. Simpson. When Harry talks about
the night on the boat in the Caribbean, she's practically bouncing
in her seat.
See, dear! See, dear! she says when Harry is all done. I told
you that necklace was special! Your Mr. Cohen can just go and
take a hike!
It's funny to hear a dignified woman like Mrs. Shanklin talk
about someone taking a hike.
Did you hear what he said, dear? says Mr. Shanklin. That
Simpson woman said that some man in Germany gave it to her.
Yes, says Mrs. Shanklin. So that proves it's ours! It was a
gift to her and she gave it to your mother!
Harry and I are looking at each other, completely confused.
A man from Germany? says Mr. Shanklin, staring at his wife.
Don't you get it, dear? The king and his Mrs. Simpson were
friends with Nazis. And the Nazis were in the habit of
confiscating Jewish property. Where do you think that German
man got the necklace from?
Mrs. Shanklin gasps.
Then it might be Mr. Cohen's grandmother's necklace?
It's a possibility, says Mr. Shanklin, standing up and heading
for the doorway. I'll ask him to show us the photo.
Mrs. Shanklin looks devastated.
105
I'm so sorry, says Harry, leaning forward. Did we do
something wrong?
Mrs. Shanklin shakes her head.
No. You did a fine job. It's just that you confirmed my worst
fear. The necklace was stolen.
There's a moment of silence.
Harry gets it before I do.
Ah, he says. You have the necklace, but you're afraid that it
was stolen at some point in its history?
Mrs. Shanklin nods.
My husband has a Jewish client who said the necklace
reminded him of one he had seen in the only surviving photo of
his German grandmother.
Oh dear, says Harry. And we proved that the necklace
originated from Germany.
Mrs. Shanklin nods.
But Jett was under the impression that it was a fake, says
Harry.
Why would he think that . . . ? Oh wait a minute, says Mrs.
Shanklin. I know why.
I'm still wrapping my brain around the idea that Mrs. Shanklin
has the necklace and that it isn't missing.
Mr. Cohen said an outrageous thing to me. He said that they
couldn't be the same, though, since mine was obviously fake and
his grandmother's was real. Mrs. Shanklin shakes her head at the
memory. I've had that necklace appraised in the past. It's real
and it's worth a fortune. I held my tongue while we were at the
restaurant, but when we got home I blew my top. I was so mad
that Mr. Cohen had called my necklace a fake. I guess Jett
overheard me going on about that.
Probably, agrees Harry.
It never occurred to me that the necklace might be Mr.
Cohen's grandmother's until I had given it some thought. I really
had no idea where the necklace had come from. Robert's mother
never told me. She gave it to me when I married Robert. But we
never discussed its provenance. And since she had just died, I
really couldn't do anything more about it.
All for a necklace, says Mr. Shanklin, coming back into the
room. God knows I'd be happy to buy another one. I just called
Levi. He wasn't there so I left a message for him to call me.
106
I have a bad feeling about this, says Mrs. Shanklin, shaking
her head. In fact, I've had a bad feeling about it ever since I
started thinking about it. The whole thing was so unsettling that I
dashed over to talk to your mother, Harry. I told her that I'd
found out the necklace might be stolen. And when you phoned
me up saying you'd like to investigate the whole thing, it was like
an answer from God.
Why do people have to reinforce Harry's kooky ideas that he's
an emissary of God?
Levi told me once that the Nazis had taken everything from
his family's estate in Germany in the 1930's, says Mr. Shanklin.
The family was fortunate in that they made it to Canada before
the Holocaust started, but they came here with a suitcase each
and just one photo album to remind them of their life in
Germany.
I'll be honest with you, says Mrs. Shanklin. I love that
necklace. My first thought was the insurance. If it were ever
stolen, the insurance company would investigate and they might
find out it belonged to this other family. I'm ashamed to say that
I told my husband we should just cancel the insurance since I
would never put a claim in if it were lost.
Jett's father rolls his eyes.
All for a necklace. I'd be happy to buy her another one, he
repeats. God knows, it means nothing to me. But now she's
never going to let it go. Now that she knows it belonged to a
Duchess.
Not just any Duchess, says Mrs. Shanklin. One that stole a
king's heart. The type of woman that a man would give up his
throne for . . .
Now, let's not get carried away, says Mr. Shanklin.

Chapter Nine

urns out I am invited to Jett's Welcome Home party.
A week has passed and Harry and I are back at Mrs.
Shanklin's. This time the room is filled with people. It's so
close to Christmas, there's a festive feeling. A giant Christmas
tree is in the front foyer.
Although Jett is the guest of honour, Mrs. Shanklin is dragging
Harry all around the room and introducing him to her friends.
I end up talking to Jett by the punch bowl.
So it all turned out? he says, grinning at me.
Yeah, I say. Thanks to you. That was a great idea, to read
the diaries.
Jett shrugs.
I knew my Grandma. I figured it was all in there. Now I feel
kind of bad that I just sent her diaries off like that without
reading them.
You shouldn't though! I say, turning to him. It's really
working out well! They would have never been published if we
had just read them here.
Yeah! says Jett. You're right! I never thought of that!
You see, Madeleine emailed us to let us know that a history
professor at Dalhousie wants to edit the diaries and publish
T
108
them. Mrs. Shanklin's family is thrilled. And that's how the
necklace problem is solved too.
Mrs. Shanklin and Mr. Cohen have agreed to donate the
necklace to the Maritime Museum of the Atlantic in Nova Scotia,
to boost interest in the diaries. Mrs. Shanklin loves the part of the
story about Mrs. Simpson and Mr. Cohen says it's important that
people understand more about the events leading up to World
War II. So I think everyone's happy about the way it turned out.
Looks like he's getting all the attention, I say, nodding
toward Harry. About five older women are all around him.
Jett laughs as he reaches for a mini meat pie.
I don't care. He can have it.
Things are going OK for you? I say.
Never better. It's great. I'm putting together a team of
university students for my dig. Getting it all organized. It's really
cool.
I'm glad, I say, sincerely. Hey! You don't think he's telling
them all about Jesus, do you?
Jett glances at Harry.
Nah. I doubt it. He's not pushy about his beliefs.
Before I can argue that one, Mrs. Shanklin comes over and
links one arm in Jett's and one arm in mine.
C'mon kids! she says. I have so many people for you to
meet!
I guess she's warming up to me.

Boy, we lucked out there, I say.
The party is winding down and Harry says he'll walk me to the
bus-stop. We're in the foyer by ourselves, putting on our boots.
All that time, we were talking about a stolen necklace and they
were thinking one thing and we were thinking another. Even
with Jett, he knew his parents still had the necklace but we never
connected. And we still solved the mystery. Seriously lucky.
Meg, it wasn't luck, says Harry bent over, lacing up his
boots.
Yes, I say emphatically, straightening up. It was.
The maid brings us our coats and Harry thanks her.
I would have thought that you would have seen the hand of
God in this, says Harry, as he helps me into my coat. We
weren't lucky. We were dumb.
Cold in Canada ~ Chapter Nine
109
You're speaking for yourself, Harry. We were not dumb. We
were just a little quick to jump to conclusions, that's all. We got
lucky though.
I'm zipping up.
Actually, Biblically speaking, we were foolish, says Harry,
putting on his bomber jacket. The Bible says to be slow to speak
but quick to listen. But that's OK because God also uses the
foolish to confound the mighty.
What does that mean, exactly? I look up at him. To confound
the mighty?
I can't find my gloves.
It means, we solved this case because of God's grace.
Harry . . . I say threateningly.
My gloves turn out to be in my left pocket.
Meg, says Harry earnestly.
Harry, you can't go around depending on God's grace. Life
doesn't work that way.
I'm staring him down now, which basically means I'm staring
up at him.
You'll just have to see it on our next case. God's grace will be
so obvious you won't be able to miss it.
Harry actually has the audacity to bop me on the nose before
wrapping his purple scarf around his neck and putting on his
ridiculous matching ear-muffs. Like an idiot, I blush.
Our next case?! He actually wants to do this again! I don't
know why this makes me feel momentarily dizzy. Light-headed,
even. Oh God, please don't tell me I'm in . . . No I won't say it. I
am not in love with Harry Phillips. He's just a partner. An
associate, really. Just a guy I work with.
That's something we need to talk about, I say, hoping I
sound serious and business-like as I put on my gloves. How are
we going to generate new customers?
New customers? says Harry, pulling his gloves out of his
pocket. That won't be a problem. At least three women today
asked me if we could investigate something for them.
Why do they talk to him and not me? Nobody asked me to
investigate anything for them.
Three? That's pretty good.
110
We shouldn't be surprised if God blesses us, says Harry.
This morning I read in my devotions, For you bless the righteous Oh
Yahweh. You cover him with favour as with a shield . . .
Please don't tell me about your devotions, Harry, I say,
turning up my collar. Don't tell me about your prayers.
But God is doing big things . . .
Don't tell me about what God is doing . . .
We head out the door and into the cold.

Tied up in Texas

112

Chapter One

K, up front, this is how it goes.
Harry Phillips and I are partners. Not partners
exactly, because he's all religious and there's something
in the Bible about believers and unbelievers not being joined
together. So, how it works is, we solve cases together and we split
the money.
Except that we haven't made any money yet.
We solved our first case, a stolen diamond necklace. That was
just to get us going and the lady was so grateful that she told all
her rich friends about how amazing we are and now we have
cases coming out of our ears.
OK, not exactly out of ears. Three. We have three cases. So
things are looking good.
And did I mention that Harry is one of those rich people? You
wouldn't know it to look at him. But he's the reason we got the
first case and I owe him big time for that. My dream is to be a
cop, the investigative kind, but since I live with my mom and
she's an administrative assistant to Harry's dad, we aren't rolling
in the dough and I don't have a chance of getting any further
education until I've made a bit of money first.
O
114
I'm Meg, by the way. Meg Carmichael. No hard feelings if you
haven't heard of me.
A word about Harry. He is such a goody-goody that he's an
embarrassment to have around. He had some kind of religious
experience a little while ago and now he's sure it's his mission in
life to spread God's love around wherever he goes. You'd have to
see him in action to believe it. But he's also really useful to have
around. Good at calling for cabs and calling out for pizza, that
sort of thing. But it's a wonder he can function in the real world
he's so holy-minded.
Still, he managed to work it so that we actually have three cases
to choose from. We'll take them all, of course. But today we're
deciding which one to concentrate on first.
I think this one can wait, says Harry.
We're at his kitchen table.
You've seen pictures of kitchens like the one in Harry's house.
Copper pots and pans hanging everywhere. Solid oak table
with matching chairs. Long marble counters. Espresso machine.
Cappuccino machine. Three different types of mixers.
In my house, Mom and I bump into each other when we're
both in the kitchen. Here, you'd need a megaphone to talk to the
cook.
That's another thing about this kitchen. It comes with a cook.
I think the cook still thinks of Harry as a little boy because
we're snacking on chocolate chip cookies and milk while we look
at the pieces of paper in front of us.
But it would be great to go to Edinburgh, I say. I'm sick of
winter. Do you think the weather's nice in Scotland?
I doubt it, says Harry. Besides, this is an old mystery.
Something about a ghost and his ancestors. It's not going
anywhere.
A ghost story? I say, incredulously. Someone wants us to
investigate a ghost story?
It's got a murder in it, says Harry. But it's about three
hundred years old.
Oh brother, I say, pushing that piece of paper away.
I look over longingly at the cappuccino machine. Do you
think your cook could make us a cappuccino?
Oh sure, says Harry, standing up. I can do that.
Harry's like that. Wouldn't want to bother the hired help.
Tied up in Texas ~ Chapter One
115
How about the one in Antarctica? I can't believe that we have
a chance to go to Antarctica!
No way, I say. Too cold. How 'bout Texas?
I pick up the paper for the case in Texas. Something about a
university student, Karen. Her mother says she's worried that
Karen's been recruited by CSIS, the Canadian Security
Intelligence Service, to spy on Americans.
Texas would be warm! I say.
No, says Harry, getting two mugs out of the cupboard. I
don't really want to do that one.
Harry? Are you crazy? I look at him. Did you see how
much this woman wants to pay us?
Yeah, I know, says Harry, having to walk a mile just to get to
the refrigerator for some milk. I know the family. I'd rather pass
on that one. Besides, it's not cold in Antarctica. It's winter here,
but it's summer there. You know, southern hemisphere and all
that . . .
I really have no desire to be a messenger service, I say. Why
can't she just send him something by UPS?
Harry gets some coffee beans out of another cupboard.
Because UPS doesn't go to Antarctica. Or maybe it does. I
really don't know. But it's more than that. Mrs. Shepherd is
worried about her son. His last letter was really strange.
Why doesn't she go herself?
She doesn't want to go and drag him home. He's 35-years-old,
has a PhD in zoology and working in Antarctica has been his
dream. She wants us to go, posing as research students, so we can
check it out and make sure he's OK.
I don't understand why anybody's going to just let us go to
Antarctica, I say. We don't know anything about zoology.
She's funding the whole thing, says Harry, putting a sugar
dish on the table. She can do whatever she wants.
What's with rich people funding things? I say.
On our last case, we interviewed another friend of Harry's who
was funding an expedition to dig for dinosaur bones in Alberta.
Some rich people like to do things like that, says Harry while
the machine makes our cappuccinos.
Fine, I say. We'll go to Antarctica. After Texas.
Meg . . . says Harry.
116
Harry, I say firmly. I want to go to Texas. I like cowboys.
I've never been to Texas and I've never met a cowboy.
And you won't meet one, says Harry, bringing our mugs to
the table. Karen is in east Texas. The cowboys are in west
Texas.
What do you know about it? I say, taking my first careful sip.
Karen is not working for CSIS, says Harry, adding some
sugar to his mug. I don't know why or how she's given her
mother that impression. But she is definitely not working for
CSIS.
How do you know? I say.
Harry sighs.
It's crazy, he says.
What's crazy is that her mother wants to pay us $2000 plus
expenses to investigate this, I say. If it's not true, like you say,
then we can investigate it in a day and turn around and come
home.
It wouldn't be that easy, says Harry. Karen wouldn't just
say, no, I'm not a spy. She's got some reason for giving her
mother the impression that she's been recruited by CSIS. So we
really would have to investigate and we'd have to do it with Karen
knowing that we're doing it.
So? I say.
The potential for complication is huge, says Harry.
I don't know what you're talking about, I say. We're
professionals. We handle complications.
Trust me on this one, Meg, says Harry.
I give him my best stare. What is it? What is it you aren't
telling me?
Harry looks like he's having a good think.
Karen is my ex-girlfriend, he says finally.
Holy cow! I say. Is that all?
Did he think I'd mind? That I'd be jealous, or something?
I just think life would be easier if I don't see her again.
Why, do Christian girls get really mad when you break up
with them? Does she have some kind of a grudge . . . ?
Karen's not Christian.
That's a bit strange. Harry's so into being a Christian I'm
surprised he dated someone who wasn't. But he answers my
unspoken question.
Tied up in Texas ~ Chapter One
117
I dated her in high school. Don't you remember her? Karen
Winters-Waterborn?
Harry, I didn't know any of your rich friends.
Apart from a hello in the hallway, Harry and I were in very
different groups in high school.
I don't think we should do it, says Harry.
His insistence that we don't do it is probably the reason I push
for it. If he starts making all the decisions at this point, the
partnership is sunk. He'll be running everything from now on
and I'll end up being no better than his administrative assistant.
(Not that Mom would have a problem with that. Maybe it's the
fact that Mom is Harry's father's administrative assistant that
makes me want to make this a completely equal arrangement.)
OK, Meg, says Harry, shrugging. Have it your way. It'll be
OK anyhow. I read this morning in Romans that God works
everything out to the good. I'll be interested to see what he does
with this.
Harry, we're going to work this out. Us! We'll be the ones
doing something with it!
Harry grins and it's his old grin. He seems to be coming out of
his slump.
I'd rather depend on God, thanks. He has the advantage of
being omnipotent, omniscient, and omnipresent.
I don't even know what those words mean. I hold up a
hand. And please don't tell me. When do you want to leave for
Texas?
118

Chapter Two

arry books us a non-stop flight from Toronto to Dallas.
I may not have a driver's license and I may not have a
credit card, but at least I have a passport. Mom and I
both needed one when we visited Dad in Reno.
Harry, of course, has had a passport since birth. The rich have
to be ready at any time to go skiing in Switzerland or snorkelling
in Australia, both of which Harry has done.
He mentions the bit about Australia when I complain that my
butt is getting tired. He says he felt the same way when he had to
spend 24-hours on a plane going to Australia. Switzerland comes
up when he tells me that his mother and brother have gone there
for two weeks. He was invited to go but had to turn it down due
to our investigation.
I don't mind though, he says. I've never really been into
skiing. Switzerland's beautiful though. I like Berne. But for skiing,
I'd be happy to just go to Quebec. My brother would ski down
the Matterhorn if he could.
Don't tell me you're scared, I say.
Not of skiing. But the avalanches in Switzerland are terrifying.
We were there one year when they had one. A whole bunch of
H
120
skiers just disappeared under the snow. They had rescue teams
out there for a week digging them out.
I guess I can't look down on him for not wanting to end up
underneath an avalanche.
The flight to Dallas is full and the line for the bathroom is
long. I decide to save myself a trip to the tiny bathroom and just
pull out my hairbrush to run it through my long red hair before
we land in Dallas. When that's done, I pull out my compact and
reapply my lipstick. Moronic, I know. I never wore lipstick
before but there's something about Harry that makes me want to
be presentable. At least I haven't turned into an idiot about my
clothing. Today I'm wearing a black sweater and some grey
combat pants. And I've learned from my last trip to just bring a
carry-on bag. No more waiting at luggage carousels.
So, I say, once my purse is back under my seat. What do we
know about Karen?
I'm hoping Harry won't go all sensitive on me.
She's a freshman at University of Texas at Tyler, says Harry
sounding reassuringly detached. She went down there in August
and seemed to be doing fine. But in her last phone call she said
she was being recruited by CSIS and seriously thinking of
accepting.
OK, so how do we know that's not true? I say.
Why would it be? says Harry. Why would CSIS recruit
some kid in college? Don't they do that sort of thing when you're
graduating, not when you've just arrived? And why the University
of Texas? Why not a Canadian university?
Maybe something's going on at the University of Texas, I
say. The obvious thing to do would be to recruit a Canadian to
investigate.
Harry shrugs.
Maybe.
We land at the Dallas / Fort Worth International Airport and
go through Customs. Then we're faced with having to find our
way out of the colossal airport and somehow make our way to
Tyler. From the map we buy at the airport, it looks about two
hours away.
We'll take a cab to the bus station, says Harry. And then
we'll catch a Greyhound from there.
Tied up in Texas ~ Chapter Two
121
Typical Harry. All expenses to be paid by the client and he
goes for the most economical way of traveling. The detectives on
television never take the bus.
The first thing that hits me about Dallas is how warm it is. It's
the middle of the day, the sun is shining, and I've got to take my
coat off.
Boy, I was an idiot to bring this, I say, as we put our carry-
on bags and coats in the trunk of the cab.
No, you'll still need it, says the cab driver to me before
shutting the trunk. It gets cold at night.
Dallas is a huge, spread-out city. The driver explains that it's
such a non-stop metropolis because it's attached to Fort Worth.
He asks us where we're heading and Harry tells him Tyler.
Oh, you'll like that, he says. You'll see a lot of the
countryside on your way there. And it's quite the little city once
you're there.
The Greyhound station is filled with fellow-travellers. A lot of
the men are wearing cowboy boots and there's a bit of a wild
west feeling about the place. A lot of denim and a lot of leather.
At first I think Harry will stick out like some wimp among these
urban cowboys, but then I really look at him.
He's wearing jeans and a leather jacket, and except for the fact
that he has hiking boots instead of cowboy boots, he blends in.
When some middle-aged guy with a long beard and an entirely
denim outfit looks me over, I'm glad I've got Harry to duck
behind.
We go up to the ticket booth and find out that a bus for Tyler
is boarding in 15 minutes.
Well, that worked out, says Harry, as we sit down on some
plastic chairs.
I suppose you think it's God working things out for us.
Actually, according to that schedule over there . . . Harry
nods with his head. There are four buses a day from Dallas to
Tyler. So it's not really a miracle. Do you want a sandwich for the
trip?
I say sure, and Harry leaves me to go over to a counter selling
food.
Uh, that seat's taken, I say, when a girl with long, stringy
brown hair sits down right beside me.
122
Oh, she says, sounding apathetic and sliding over a seat. Like
us, she's traveling light. Just a dirty army-green knapsack.
Harry is back with the sandwiches and two coffees.
Here you go, he says handing me mine.
Thanks, I say, carefully tearing a notch out of the lid to sip
on the coffee.
Harry glances at the girl beside him. She's staring straight
ahead without seeing anything.
You want a sandwich? he says to her.
It takes her a moment to realize he's talking to her.
No, she says, dully.
It's turkey, he says, holding it out to her.
Maybe she just doesn't want to argue about it because she
takes it. Silently Harry hands her his coffee. Then a voice in the
noisy background is announcing that our bus will be departing in
five minutes.
Harry stands up and slings his knapsack on his back as if it's
the most normal thing in the world to hand his lunch to a girl in
a bus station. Since we're one of the first on the bus we get our
pick of seats and Harry heads for the back.
Why didn't you just empty out your wallet and give it to her?
I ask, once we're sitting down.
I don't know why I find his little gesture irritating. Probably
because now I'm going to be eating and drinking while he sits
there with nothing.
Because I only have five dollars American in my wallet, he
says. And I spent most of it on the sandwiches and coffee. I'll
have to go to a bank in Tyler.
Of course, I can't sit and eat the sandwich all by myself so I
end up splitting it with Harry. We share the coffee too.
Once we're outside Dallas, the scenery is grassy with
wildflowers by the roadside.
Where are the ranches? I ask, looking around.
I told you, says Harry. That's west Texas. This is east
Texas.
How do you know these things? I demand.
Harry is quiet for a moment.
Because Karen and I were both going to go to the University
of Texas at Tyler. So I read a lot about it.
You were? Why?!
123
I dunno, says Harry. Just a crazy idea. Except that she
actually did it. The problem with me was that I didn't really know
what I wanted to do. And then I became a Christian and that put
some distance between us. I guess me becoming a Christian was
really the reason we broke up. So I didn't bother applying to the
university here. I was actually really surprised when her mom told
me she was here.
Oh, I say. I'm feeling kind of rotten. I'm sorry. I shouldn't
have dragged you here then . . .
Oh, don't worry about it, Meg, says Harry. It'll all work out.
I would have rather avoided it altogether, but now that we're here
I don't mind.
I want to ask him if he's looking forward to seeing Karen
again. Does he still like her? But then something Mom said
comes back to me. She said once, don't ask questions if you don't
want the answers. So I keep quiet and just look out the window.
Harry pulls out an mp3 player and offers to share the
headphones with me.
It's not Christian music, is it? I say.
Yeah, it is. But it's really good.
I'm not listening to hymns . . .
No, no, it's not like that. It's contemporary stuff.
I decline. I don't know why. Music is music. I never listen to
the words anyway. But now Harry's in his own world and I don't
want to bug him.
But when we pass a sign that says Tyler, 16 miles I ask him if
he has any idea where we should stay. He pulls the earphones off.
I checked online. The Super 8 Motel looks good. It's close to
the university. Not that it really matters. Karen has her own car.
OK, I say. Super 8 Motel, it is.
I try to ignore the twinge I feel at the thought of Harry's ex-
girlfriend and her car and all the possibilities that might open up.
Does she know we're coming?
I have no idea, says Harry, putting his mp3 player back into
his knapsack. I didn't tell her. But her mom might've. In any
case, I have her cell phone number.
Most of the people on the bus get off at Tyler.
Now what? I say, looking around, wishing I had my
sunglasses. It's such a hot, sunny day I can't believe it's January.
124
Let's get settled in at the motel, says Harry, heading for the
street where there are some cabs lined up.
Tyler's a fair-sized city. Our motel is located at a busy loop
where two highways meet. It's built up all around us. We'll have
no problem grabbing a fast food meal.
We head into the red brick main building to book some
rooms. We're given two adjoining room on the second story of
the long stretch of rooms behind the main building.
Should we get started right away or should we do some
sightseeing? says Harry once we've dropped our bags in our
rooms and are meeting in Harry's room. He's sitting on one bed
and I've flopped down on the other.
That is totally unlike Harry. Maybe he's stalling.
What kind of things are there to see? I ask. I'm a little
nervous about meeting Karen so maybe I'm stalling too.
According to the internet there's a lot of stuff in Tyler.
What kind of stuff?
There's a zoo around here somewhere, he says. And a rose
garden. Although, I don't know how well a rose garden does in
winter. There's the Tyler Museum of Art . . .
Do you like art? I say.
No, sighs Harry. Not really.
He rolls over and picks up the phone, at the same time, pulling
a piece of paper out of his pocket.
I have to use the motel phone, he explains to me, as he dials
the number. If I call with my cell phone shell have my number
stored on her phone.
This is fascinating that he doesnt want her to be able to
contact him.
Karen? he says. It's Harry. Harry Phillips.
I can hear a female squeal on the other end, then some talking.
No, no, I'm not in Toronto. I'm actually right here in Tyler.
Another squeal.
Sure, that'd be great. I'd love to see you. But I should warn
you . . .
Lots of talking on the other end.
Oh, she called. Good. I didn't want it to be a total surprise.
More talking.
Yeah . . . yeah, she's right here. Meg. He glances at me.
Yep. We're business associates. We work together.
125
I have no idea what's going on because Karen is doing most of
the talking. When Harry finally hangs up, all he's really said is that
we're at the Super 8 Motel and what room he's in.
She's on her way over, says Harry, putting down the phone
and looking concerned.
What's the matter?
Nothing, says Harry. It's just that this is going to be
awkward. I don't know how we're going to get a straight answer
out of her.
Maybe if we just hangout, we'll figure it out, I say.
That's what I'm worried about, says Harry. The hanging-
out part.
I don't know why but I get up and go to the mirror to make
sure my hair still looks good and that my lipstick is still on. I'll
give Harry credit, he does nothing to improve his outward
appearance. Doesn't even run his fingers through his hair.
And why would I give him credit for this?
It's because when Karen arrives and knocks at Harry's door
and he answers it, she's gorgeous. I observe this with chagrin.
She has long golden brown hair, perfect skin, not an ounce of
fat but filled out in all the right places. I remember her from high
school. I hated her.
Hi Harry! she says, giving him a full-body hug and kissing
him on the lips. He gives her an awkward pat on the back before
separating himself from her embrace. You are looking great!
She looks him up and down.
Thanks, he says, shutting the door and leading her to the
table with two chairs. But she reclines on the bed and glances
over at me on the other one. For a moment, she's making a
decision. And then it's done. She's decided to ignore me and
turns her attention entirely on Harry.
Want a coffee? asks Harry going over to the dresser where
there's a coffee-maker.
Sure, Harry.
She seems to really enjoy watching him.
Your mom's worried about you, you know, says Harry,
temporarily disappearing to get some water from the tap in the
bathroom before returning to pour it into the top of the coffee-
maker.
126
Is that why she sent you? asks Karen, watching him open
the packet of coffee grinds.
Uh-huh, says Harry.
And you came? She's pleased.
Sure, says Harry. Meg and I investigate things.
And now you're investigating me.
She laughs but Harry stays serious.
Is it true, Karen?
Is what true?
All the stuff you told your mother?
The coffee is brewing and he turns around, leaning on the
dresser, to look at her.
A lot of crazy stuff is happening at this place, says Karen. I
wish you were here, Harry.
You're not on anything, are you? he asks, actually sounding
concerned.
Oh c'mon, Harry. Drugs are for kids. We're past that now.
We're?
What kind of crazy stuff?
Big stuff, says Karen, crossing her legs and managing to look
like a goddess on a pastel bed-spread. She's wearing frayed jeans,
a tight almond-coloured designer t-shirt and cowboy boots.
Sleazy, but an expensive sleazy.
Karen, what have you gotten yourself into? asks Harry.
Nothing, she says. But it's an automatic reflex. Then she
glances at me.
The message is clear. She won't open up to Harry unless I'm
gone. It's the last thing I want to do, leave him alone with this
temptress. But I have to be professional about this and think of
the case.
I sit up.
Well, I say. I'm going to get a few things done in my
room.
I'm talking to Harry.
He looks pained but there's an understanding that passes
between us. We'll do what we have to do to get to the bottom of
this.
OK, says Harry.
I stroll over to the door.
127
Meet you later for dinner? I say, glancing back before
leaving.
Yeah, definitely, he says.
I shut the door behind me and am out in the late afternoon
sun.
Whew.
This is not going to be easy. Why didn't I listen to him? We
could have been on our way to Antarctica now.

128

Chapter Three

he hours til dinner are long.
I switch on the TV. Then I switch it off and get a
drinking glass from my bathroom. Yes, I am going to try
to listen in on the conversation next door. But the walls are either
too insulated or they're not talking very loud in there.
I switch on the TV again.
Oprah has a doctor on the show and they're chatting about
past-life regression. I'm totally not taking it in but I keep it on to
steady my nerves. Then I make myself a cup of coffee, which
definitely doesn't steady my nerves, but keeps me busy for a
while.
After Oprah, I switch around and find that I get free movies.
I'm just starting to get into one about a woman whose husband
died but she's getting all these messages from him so she doesn't
know what's going on. Then there's a knock at my door. I just
about trip running to answer it.
It's Harry. He walks straight in and collapses on my bed.
Are you OK? I ask, switching off the TV and hurrying over
to look at him.
He nods from his horizontal position.
Harry, what's the matter?
T
130
It's my faith, he says. It's never really been tested.
Yeah? So?
I sit down on the bed and wonder if I should hold his hand, or
something.
Now it's being tested.
Oh, for crying out loud . . .
But I shut up pretty quickly when I start to realize what this all
means.
Where's Karen? I say.
She left.
Oh. Did you find out anything?
No. She's going to drag this out for as long as she can. Mrs.
Winters-Waterborn is going to get full value for her money
because we might be here awhile.
Oh, hell, I say, biting my lip.
Exactly, says Harry. That's what I've been thinking about.
Hell.
Let's have dinner, I say, standing up.
One of us has to be practical.
Sure, says Harry, not sounding like he cares.
But he does get up and join me at the door. From there, we
can see in a few directions.
How bout Denny's? I say.
Fine.
We head out into the evening air.
Traffic is heavy and just getting across the road is enough to
get anyone's mind off of Karen.
For once, Harry isn't taking charge, so when we've been seated
I go ahead and order for both of us. Two turkey dinners. Two ice
teas.
So . . . I say cautiously. When do we see Karen again?
She's going to call, says Harry.
What if she doesn't?
She will.
The food arrives and Harry turns his attention to his turkey
dinner. It's such a big plate of food that neither of us feels like
dessert.
Want to watch a movie? I ask Harry once we're back at the
motel and standing outside my door.
He hesitates and then decides, No.
Tied up in Texas ~ Chapter Three
131
Early night?
Yeah, he says. He looks down at me, serious. And I need to
pray.

I don't know what effect Harry's prayers have on the next day,
but it's a gorgeous morning, sunny and warm.
A complimentary SuperStart breakfast comes with our rooms.
Harry knocks at my door and we head down the stairs and into
the main building.
Feeling better? I say, once we've sat down with our coffee
and croissants.
He nods.
The bottom line is, it's all in God's hands.
Usually at this point, I tell him to shut up. But I'm feeling like I
should be a little nicer to him since I dragged him to Texas to
face a man-eater.
OK, I say. So it's in God's hands. Should I ask God when
we're going to meet with Karen again?
He smiles.
No, you can ask me about that one. Karen called. She says
she's more than willing to cut classes and show us around Tyler
today.
So, that means, what? The zoo?
I doubt it. And I doubt it'll be the rose garden either.
Karen's car, no surprise, is a red convertible. She's pulling up
to one of the parking spaces below our room.
Hey Harry! she calls out, completely ignoring me.
Hey Karen, says Harry.
Jump in! she says.
Her arm is stretched out, indicating that the front seat is for
Harry. I could ride in the trunk for all she cares. But Harry is a
gentleman. He pulls back the front seat and actually gives me a
hand as I climb into the back. Karen looks annoyed.
Where're we going? says Harry.
Karen's actually a cautious driver. I'm surprised.
Shopping, she says. I need to look for clothes.
What? You mean you only have one closet full?
Not for me. Karen glances at Harry looking him up and
down. For you. You're dressed like a dweeb.
132
That's a really stupid comment. Harry does not look like a
dweeb. OK, OK, I'll be the first to admit that I've called Harry a
nerd on several occasions, but never because of his clothes.
Except for that crazy purple scarf. But he looks fine today. He's
wearing a navy blue sweater and jeans. Nothing flashy. But he's
not a flashy person.
Harry laughs.
Clothing doesn't matter to me anymore, he says.
Clothing should always matter, says Karen. She's wearing a
short black-and-white designer dress with a pair of white boots
that go all the way up to her thigh.
We're driving along a road of non-stop stores and car
dealerships. The stores are those big box kind, you know, home
interior stuff, women's clothing, Home Depot. Fast food places
are interspersed among them.
But our destination is a mall. Karen pulls into the parking lot
and since it's early in the day, there are plenty of spaces near the
stores. We park in front of Dillards.
Karen has the nerve to grab Harry's hand as we walk in the
parking lot toward the doors.
Once inside, Dillards, Karen makes a big deal out of looking
at the men's clothing. She holds some shirts up to Harry as if
checking for size, but Harry just laughs it off. So we end up out
in the mall. Karen leads us into a Bath and Body Works store and
picks out some shampoo and conditioner, along with various
sponges for exfoliating. Harry looks bored but she really drags it
out, looking over all the lotions and even having the nerve to
suggest I try a tonic for clearing up acne. I haven't had a zit since
I was 16.
Karen's got us right where she wants us. She's being co-
operative and getting to spend the whole day with Harry. But he
can't really start talking to her about being a CSIS agent while
she's looking over hand-lotions.
Let's have a coffee, I suggest, as we come out of the store.
Go ahead, says Karen.
I look helplessly at Harry. He gives me a tiny shrug.
Next, we are dragged into a little boutique. Karen tries on a
skin-tight western-style blouse and makes sure to ask Harry twice
if he likes it.
Yeah, sure, he says, both times.
133
We're having a Barn Dance in a few weeks, says Karen, as
she pays for the blouse. I hope you'll still be around for it,
Harry. You'd look pretty good in cowboy boots.
Harry's laugh is genuine.
I am definitely not a cowboy.
Why does everyone around here dress like they're in a
western? I ask. I thought you said there were no cowboys.
No ranches, says Harry. I dunno why they go around in
cowboy boots.
He and I grin at each other. It's a little moment of
understanding and it gives me strength for the irritation to come.
Victoria's Secret.
Yes, Karen leads us into Victoria's Secret.
For a moment, Harry looks embarrassed, but then I can
actually see him stiffen his jaw and resolve himself to the
situation. I notice he just keeps a neutral look on his face and his
eyes on Karen's back.
Karen picks things off the racks and holds them up. When she
asks Harry if he likes it, he just shrugs and says, Sure, it's fine.
She grabs a few things and says she'll try them on.
I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if she plans to model these
things for us. Harry must be thinking the same thing because he
announces that he's kind of hungry. We had a light breakfast and
he'd like to see if he can grab a hamburger somewhere.
The woman working in the Victoria's Secret actually jumps in
at this point to say there's a food court nearby.
I like food courts, I say.
I can tell, says Karen, glancing at me.
That's about the limit of what I can take. I can feel the rage
rising in me.
I'm about to let it rip and call her a bitch to her face. But then
I look up at Harry and something in his eyes calms me down.
I do something unbelievable. I laugh it off.
We'll meet you there, if you like, says Harry to Karen. He
turns and starts heading out of the store. I'm right behind him.
No, that's OK, says Karen, throwing her items over the
nearest rack. I could use a coffee.

So . . . says Harry conversationally.
134
Harry has a burger and fries. I'm beside him with a chicken
wrap. And Karen is across from him with a coffee.
What's all this about you and CSIS?
We don't have anyone sitting near us so he's talking in a regular
voice.
Yeah! she says, grinning at him. Unbelievable, eh?
Yeah, agrees Harry, putting three fries into his mouth. It is
unbelievable.
But it's true, Harry, says Karen.
Really? Harry raises his eyebrows. How did that happen?
Harry, Harry, Karen shakes her head. I can't tell you that.
Harry rolls his eyes.
Top secret, eh?
Karen decides she's told us enough.
Harry comes up with a great strategy after we finish our food.
He takes charge.
We spend a long time in a nature store. Harry checks out
telescopes, an ant farm and some kind of fossil-making kit. Then
it's onto a store that has the kind of clothing that looks like it
would be for a safari. Harry picks out some khaki pants with lots
of pockets. Karen telling him that he's the world's biggest loser
seems to cheer him up rather than discourage him.
Want some socks? he asks me.
We're at the cash register. A whole display of socks is within
reach.
Sure, I say.
Crazy, I know. But I'm going along with whatever Harry's
strategy for handling Karen is.
He walks over to the display, grabs a whole bunch of hiking
socks and throws them on top of the pants.
Can I interest you in some hats, sir? asks the man behind the
counter. He senses that he's got a live customer here.
Yeah, definitely! says Harry. We follow the man to the back
of the store where there's a whole wall of hats.
This is an Australian oilskin hat, says the man holding one
up. And this is more of a pith helmet. Here we have a Scala
straw hat . . .
Harry picks out one that looks like something Indiana Jones
would wear and puts it on right away. Karen tells him he looks
stupid and tells him to take it off.
135
I need a hat, says Harry, going back to the cash register. I'll
get sunburn.
Karen exhales her displeasure. I'm grinning inside.
Our next stop is a DVD store where Harry offers to buy The
Gospel of John for Karen. She glares at him.
How 'bout you? he asks, turning to me.
Uh, sure, I say, startled. I don't really want it, but I have to
go along with him.
He takes the DVD up to the cash and buys it for me. But I
notice he doesn't hand it to me. He just sticks it in the bag with
his pants and the socks.
I've had it, says Karen. She's annoyed. I've got to get back.
OK, says Harry. Mind dropping us off first?
Boy, he's good. He makes it sound as if it wasn't a certain thing
that we'd be all leaving together. Karen's not in control anymore.
Yeah, sure, she says, walking with determination. She's ready
to get out of here now.
The sun is high when we get outside and it's warmer than
before.
I love this! says Harry, looking up at the sky and taking a
deep breath.
What, you're into the weather now? says Karen, unlocking
the door to her car. I've barely had a chance to get my seat-belt
on before she's backing out of the spot.
The drive back to the Super 8 is notable for its lack of
conversation.
But when we're back in the motel parking lot, Karen turns to
Harry and says, I'm going to a party tonight. And there's a guy I
want you to meet.
Sure, says Harry, climbing out and pulling back the seat so I
can get out too. What time? We'll come.
You'll come, she says pointedly, glancing at him, not me.
Eight o'clock.
Meg and I will be ready, says Harry. We work together.
Fine! she snaps. But you're with me.
The tires of the car screech as she backs up.
Wow, I say, watching the convertible turn into traffic and
disappear down the road.
She wears me out, says Harry, heading up the stairs to our
rooms. I'm going to have a nap.
136
Back in my room, I decide I've got a problem. I need
something to wear to that party tonight. Harry can go dressed
whatever way he wants. But I'm going to have to wear something
amazing to compete with that man-trap. I don't kid myself that I
have what she's got, but a good outfit can go a long way in
making up for deficiencies.
I can't exactly go back to the mall. But there are clothing stores
within walking distance. I only have a hundred American in my
purse and it'll have to cover shoes too. I can skip jewellery.
Cautiously, I exit my room. I really don't want to explain this
to Harry.
But the curtains are shut as I pass by his room.
I'm doing this for the case, I tell myself.
Yeah, right.

Redheads are supposed to look good in green, the sales lady
told me.
I'm back in my room looking myself over in the mirror. I think
she might be right. I've never worn green before. At least, not for
a dress. Camouflage pants, yes. But not this kind of green. It's a
lighter olive green, a single shoulder strap, pleated top, with a
satin waistband. It's full length, but very clingy.
I was just going to go with my usual black when the sales lady
came up to me and said she had the perfect dress for someone
with my hair.
The selling point for me was that it was on sale for $50. Shoes
were a little harder for me to pick out since I hate anything
uncomfortable. Finally, we found some gold sandals with a low
heel. They took up the rest of my money.
There's a knock at my door.
It must be time for dinner already. No time to change out of
the dress.
Harry just stares at me, when I answer the door.
He follows me into the room, still staring.
OK, OK, I say. I know I look stupid. But I had to have
something for the party.
There's a pause.
You don't look stupid, says Harry.
Let me just get changed, I say. Then we can grab some
dinner.
137
I go into the bathroom and get back into my jeans and t-shirt.
It's probably cooler now, so when I'm out, I go over to my
knapsack and grab my black sweater from it.
Did you have a good rest? I ask Harry, who's sitting on my
bed.
Yeah, he says. Where do you want to eat?
Let's head out and see where we end up, I say.
I lock my door and we go out into the late afternoon.
What's a Jack in the Box? I ask, once we're out on the road
and looking around.
I dunno, says Harry. We can check it out.
Jack in the Box turns out to be fast food, but with some
different items. In addition to hamburgers and chicken burgers
and fish burgers, there's steak teriyaki and chicken teriyaki and
different kinds of grilled sandwiches. I think about that dress I'm
going to be wearing and have a salad and a mango-flavoured iced
tea. Harry has a steak sandwich and a raspberry-flavoured iced
tea.
As soon as we're done, I want to get back to the room to get
ready.
Harry says he'll be in his room and to knock on his door when
I'm done. I get the feeling he doesn't want to be alone when
Karen arrives.
I get back into the dress and sit on the bed to strap on the
shoes. I'm wishing I had perfume. Harry always smells nice. I
think it's his aftershave.
I've never figured out how to put my hair up in a way where it
will actually stay up, so all I do is run my brush through it. A bit
of lipstick and I'm done.
My purse totally does not go with the dress, so I leave it
behind, figuring Harry will have his wallet so I won't need
anything. But remembering what the cab-driver said, I grab my
coat, putting the room key into the pocket and buttoning it up.
It's 7:45 when I knock on his door. He opens it and looks
relieved to see me.
I sit down on one of the chairs. Harry's been reading his Bible.
He puts it away in his knapsack. Not surprisingly, he hasn't
changed his clothes. He's not going out of his way to be
attractive to Karen.
Is it cold out there? he asks.
138
Yeah, I say. A bit. I guess it'll get even colder later.
Probably.
There's a pause.
Meg?
Yeah?
I just want you to know you look really good.
I don't know what to say. I want to take it personally. But then
I think, maybe he's just saying that to be encouraging. He knows
what Karen's like.
Thanks, Harry, I say.
There's a knock at the door.
Our night's work has begun.

Chapter Four

t's a university party but it's not on campus. It's at the home
of one of the students who lives in Tyler.
And it's wild.
I went to a few parties in high school. There was the usual
drinking and dancing and making out. There were drugs too, but
always somewhere away from the main party. Maybe in a
bedroom or out in the backyard, or something.
With this one, it's all out in the open.
Just like old times, eh? yells Karen over the music, holding
onto Harry's arm as we go inside the house.
She was irritated at his clothing, but has generously forgiven
him. She's got on a little club dress. Silver grey with cut-out sides.
The sleeves are long and she seems to be relying on them for
warmth. God knows she must be feeling the night air she has so
much skin showing. Harry and I left our coats in her trunk, but
not before she gave me a good look all over and kind of sniffed.
Harry doesn't reply, but it could just be the music.
Karen wants to steer him right onto the dance floor, but Harry
hangs back.
Where's that guy we're supposed to meet? he yells.
Karen looks around.
I
140
Not here yet.
Before she can make another attempt to get him dancing,
Harry is moving through the crowd and to the relative quiet of
the kitchen. You can actually talk in there. All over the place are
bottles. Bottles of rum and vodka and tequila. I'm surprised when
Harry mixes us each a rum and Coke.
C'mon, Harry! says Karen, as soon as the drink's done.
It doesn't surprise me that she wants him dancing with her.
The people out there look more like they're having sex than
dancing.
But Harry's only halfway through his drink, and following his
example, I am also sipping slowly.
Hey Karen!
A tall filled-out man comes into the kitchen.
Hi Shep, says Karen, sounding slightly annoyed.
Who's this? asks Shep nodding to me and Harry. But mostly
he's looking at Harry.
Friend from Canada.
Really.
Shep doesn't sound interested. He's wearing jeans and a
football shirt. Looks very athletic. Acts like one of the cool
people.
Do you play football, Shep? I say.
Yeah, he says. But he's not looking at me. All he wants is
Karen.
Karen's the only girl I go out with who isn't a cheerleader, he
says.
Wow, he's a real winner.
Shep mixes up a tequila and rum and vodka and hands it to
Karen. Then he makes one for himself. Harry is still only halfway
through his drink.
Shep keeps talking, school stuff. And then he tells Karen she's
looking hot tonight.
She's starting to warm up to him. At least, she lets him lead her
out of the kitchen, no doubt, for some of that dirty dancing.
As soon as they're out of the kitchen, Harry gulps down his
drink and mixes himself another one.
Do you think anyone will show up tonight? I ask.
You mean, like an agent from CSIS? says Harry sarcastically.
We sit down in a couple of kitchen chairs.
Tied up in Texas ~ Chapter Four
141
Yeah, it does sound kind of silly, I say. We're just here
because she wants you.
Did you have a boyfriend in high school? he asks.
Uh, yeah, I say, looking down at my drink. Peter. Peter
Richmond. Did you know him?
No, says Harry. I didn't.
There had been nothing wrong with Peter. Dark hair, dark
eyes, slim, about my height. For about eight months we were
always together. I don't even really know why we broke up. We
didn't drift apart. He just stopped calling and I didn't push it. I
got over it by telling myself that I didn't want him anyhow. Not
tough enough. Too puny.
Did you sleep with him? he asks.
It's an abrupt and startling question. It's personal, of course.
For a second or two, I'm embarrassed. But then I think, why? Sex
is everywhere.
Yeah, I say. A few times.
Karen and I did it all the time, says Harry, finishing off his
drink. That's all we did.
Her reaches for a bottle of rum on the table. This time he
doesn't bother with the Coke.
We didn't even have much in common then.
Harry, you're drinking a bit too much.
It's OK, Meg, he says. I can handle it. I don't even get
hangovers. I had eighteen drinks at a party once. I drove home
and woke up still drunk the next day.
OK, fine, he's a big boy. At least he won't be driving home
tonight.
Then I think of Karen out there with the cocktail that Shep
made for her.
We're taking a cab back to the motel.
People are coming into the kitchen to mix themselves more
drinks. Harry has decided that he'll stop with an uneven five. I've
barely finished my first.
Well, we'd better check on her, he says, getting to his feet.
He's not slurring his words, but there's something slightly
different about him. He's a little more careless. At least I've kept
my head.
We push through the people back into the living room. The
noise is deafening.
142
I look around for Shep who's tall, expecting that if I can spot
him, Karen will be beside him. But she's not. Shep is now
dancing with a blonde in a tight-fitting red tank top and designer
jeans. Guess she's a cheerleader.
Harry grabs my arm and points. Karen is just going up the
stairs. Bad sign. It can only be worse up there.
She's with a man, but he's not a university student. Looks too
old. Is it actually possible she was right about a CSIS agent?
Harry is still holding onto my arm as we go upstairs. Must be
the rum.
Once we're on the second floor, it's anyone's guess. Bedroom
doors are shut. There are noises coming from the room right in
front of us. Something about the noises makes me sure that we
don't want to interrupt.
Harry drags me down the hall. He's spotted a door that's
slightly ajar. We're totally like Nancy Drew and Ned Nickerson
now, standing against the wall and peering into the room.
It's Karen.
I'm worried we might see her launching on some kind of
sexual escapade. But the man is just talking to her. He looks like
he's in his mid 30's. Dark curly hair. Tanned, no surprise with all
the sun here in Texas. He's not really dressed for this kind of
party. Just a casual white shirt and jeans. Karen is listening
carefully. She tries to ask a question but the man just puts a finger
on her lips to silence her. Interesting.
Then it's over. Whatever it is.
The rum must have turned Harry into some kind of a
superhero detective because he grabs me and hauls us both into a
bathroom. He doesn't have time to shut the door that we're
behind. Through the crack, we see the man go back down the
stairs. About thirty seconds later, Karen follows.
Harry turns to me.
We follow the guy, he says.
How are we going to find him? I ask.
But Harry is dashing down the stairs and into the main foyer.
Karen has already assimilated into the living room, but Harry
keeps on going, right out the front door.
His instinct is correct.
In the distance we see the man. The white shirt shows up in
the dark.
Tied up in Texas ~ Chapter Four
143
We'll freeze! I say.
Harry shakes his head.
We have time to grab our coats.
They're in the trunk . . .
I didn't lock it, says Harry. Just in case we didn't want to
stay.
I've had my doubts about Harry in the past, but he's proving
himself to be quite an impressive partner.
Karen's red convertible is easy to find. The coats are grabbed
practically as we run by it. The man is getting further and further
away.
He's hurrying, no doubt, to get in from the cold.
Where are we, anyhow? I ask.
Close to the university campus, he says. A lot of the people
who came to the party must have walked. There aren't enough
cars outside.
I'm seriously regretting the gold sandals with heels. Harry's
practically running. I wish I had my hiking boots.
But somehow we manage and even when the man turns a
corner, we keep up with him. Enough to know what house he
turns into. We keep walking, both noting that the number on the
house is 16. Then it's just a matter of continuing down the road
until we come to the street sign.
Well, I say, breathlessly. Guess we'd better go back and
check on Karen.
Why? says Harry grinning. I think we've done enough
detective work for one night.
That's surprising.
I stop. There's something I just have to get out of my system.
She's gorgeous, I say. Maybe you want to go back . . .
So? he interrupts me. You're gorgeous too. And we have a
job to do. Karen is part of my past.
He looks at me, like he's wanting me to get it.
And I do.
OK! I say grinning. The past is the past. We have a job to
do!

144

Chapter Five

t breakfast we discuss the next step.
Harry's right about hangovers. He doesn't have one. In
fact, he's cheerful.
Last night, we walked out to a main road and found a coffee
shop. From there we called ourselves a cab and had a coffee
while we waited for it to come. Harry reports that there was a
pounding on his door at about three in the morning, but his
lights were off and he didn't get up to answer it.
We have the advantage now, says Harry, biting into a
croissant. We can investigate that man. She doesn't know that
we know about him. We'll start by going on the internet and
finding out who he is.
We don't have a computer, I say.
No, he says, reaching for his orange juice. But we have
internet access in our room and I can do it on my cell-phone.
Honestly, I'm ashamed to admit it, but what would I do
without him?
Back in Harry's room, he does a reverse search, typing in the
address of the house and discovering that it belongs to an F.
Kirschbaum.
A
146
Now, he says, typing with his thumb. It's just a hunch, but
I'm going to go to the University of Texas at Tyler webpage and
see if they have anyone there named F. Kirschbaum.
It turns out that Frederich Kirschbaum is a professor in the
Political Science department.
Harry, you're amazing! But how do we know that he wasn't
just her professor, telling her she failed a test and has to make it
up . . .
I doubt a professor would show up at a Bacchanalian orgy
like that to announce that a student has to retake a test.
Something about the phrase Bacchanalian orgy makes me
smile, and then I laugh right out loud. And then Harry is
laughing. So it's a good moment. This is just what I need to
prepare me for the sight of the red convertible when we come
out of the main building.
Where were you? Karen demands, as soon as Harry is within
shouting distance.
Harry waits until we're a lot closer before he answers.
Got tired, he says. I couldn't wait all night for your friend
to show up.
Well, he did show up! And I would have introduced you if
you'd stuck around!
We know that's not true.
Really? says Harry, managing to convey in that one word
that he strongly doubted it.
He was there!
OK, Karen, whatever.
By now, we're on the second story and walking down the
outside corridor. Harry lets us all into his room.
Karen looks tired. No surprise if she was still up at 3 to pound
on Harry's door.
Well, says Harry, sitting down in a chair and kicking off his
boots. I'm going to go home and tell your mom you're looking
great and you're doing great.
Harry, says Karen, sitting down on the bed. I think I might
be in trouble here.
She sounds earnest. But Harry knows he can push it a little
further.
Yeah, says Harry. If you keep cutting classes to hang out at
the mall, you probably will end up in trouble.
Tied up in Texas ~ Chapter Five
147
This is serious.
Karen is leaning forward. I have no doubt that she is finally
being straight with us, but I can't help noticing that with the
particular t-shirt she's wearing, leaning forward allows Harry a
tantalizing view of what she's got. He's looking at her face
though.
Yeah, so?
But it's an invitation to keep talking.
It's like this, says Karen, looking down at her long
manicured nails. I met this guy . . .
OK. Harry's tone is slightly impatient, like go on . . .
He told me that I'm just the type of person they're looking
for.
That who are looking for?
I dunno. You know, important people. People who protect
the security of Canada.
Why are they protecting the security of Canada in Texas?
I have no idea! snaps Karen. They're not going to tell me,
you know!
Harry shrugs.
So . . . what did they want with you?
They wanted me to keep an eye on things. You know, they
said everyone's worried about terrorists these days. Apparently a
lot of terrorists come to Canada and try to sneak into the U.S . .
.
Harry rolls his eyes.
Harry! I'm serious!
But they're not. Karen! Don't you get it! Someone's playing
games with you! International terrorism? They're not going to
turn to you to help them! Besides, what do terrorists sneaking
into Canada have to do with you here in Texas?
I dunno! Karen sounds almost frantic. That's just what he
told me! He said that's the big picture. What he wants me to do
here is keep an eye on things. He says there are a lot of terrorists
in universities trying to recruit people and that I might be
targeted because I'm a Canadian.
I think she's telling the truth, but Harry's still playing it like he
thinks she's a bit crazy.
What? he says. They think that some Arab guy is going to
come up to you and ask you to marry him so that he can get into
148
Canada and then once he's in Canada he'll sneak back into the
States and blow something up?
No! Karen stands up. I don't know why I'm trying to talk
to you! They just told me to keep an eye on things. And deliver a
few messages for them.
Deliver a few messages? says Harry, incredulous. Why don't
they just use email like everyone else?
I dunno. I guess it's important stuff. I took an envelope to a
faculty member once, that's all. Karen sits back down on the
bed.
And what about last night? Did you get another message to
deliver? He's being sarcastic but he's getting the answers we
need.
No. He just told me that something big was happening and to
stay on my toes. They'd be contacting me soon.
The CSIS guy said that? says Harry.
Yeah.
So Frederich Kirschbaum is the CSIS guy. Harry glances at me.
I've been standing by the window the whole time.
I'm not kidding, Harry.
Where did you first meet this guy?
He came up to me in the library when I was studying.
Had you ever seen him before? Around the campus maybe?
Karen thinks.
I might've. I'm not really sure. She leans forward. More
cleavage. Oh, Harry! What am I gonna do?
Harry shrugs.
Doesn't sound too dangerous. Why not do it for your
country?
I dunno, says Karen looking down at her nails again. It's
kind of a drag. It was cool at first.
Karen, I don't think I can help you. I mean, what can I do?
Maybe you could hangout with me and when the guy shows
up next time, just tell him I want out.
Karen, you can tell him yourself!
Yeah, but what if he says no? What if I'm part of something
too big to get out of? What if they slit my throat . . . ?
If they tell you that you can't back out, then just tell them
you've already told a friend about it and that if anything happens
to you, he'll investigate it.
Tied up in Texas ~ Chapter Five
149
Really, Harry? You'd do that?
Of course.
So what are you going to tell my mom?
Whatever you want.
Karen shrugs.
Tell her I'm OK. Tell her whatever you want.
She stands up.
I gotta get back. I've got a science lab in half an hour.
OK, Karen, says Harry, standing up and walking her to the
door.
You gonna be here for a while?
Nah, you seem to be OK. I should probably get back and tell
your mom you're fine. She's really worried about you, you know.
Karen seems more concerned about Harry than her mother.
Will you keep in touch? she says.
There's a nanosecond pause. Harry's brain must be working
faster than a computer. He's a Christian now so he probably
doesn't want to lie. But he doesn't want to keep in touch.
For once, he has absolutely no inspiration. All he does is sigh.
And I think Karen gets it with that sigh. It's over.
Harry shuts the door and we both kind of relax.
You want to be alone? I ask him.
No, he says, going over to his coffee-maker. We have a lot
to talk about.
What do you mean?
Well, says Harry, as he starts to make us coffee. We're not
finished here.
But I thought you said we'd be going home and telling
Karen's mother . . .
No, that's just a way of ending it with Karen. We'll move to
another motel. But we've got to investigate this whole
Kirschbaum guy. Why would he go around telling college girls
that they're working for CSIS? And making them deliver
messages?
Maybe it's just a ploy, I say. He's older. He wants a way of
getting at the girls and making them depend on him, you know,
getting close to them . . .
Getting them into bed, you mean?
I nod.
150
I thought of that. But there are easier ways of doing it. Giving
them higher grades, stuff like that.
Is it possible it really is the Canadian Secret Service, or
whatever they call it?
If it is, God help us. Would you want Karen having anything
to do with the security of Canada?
We both laugh.
Anyway, says Harry. Since it's probably not CSIS, we
should try to find out who's behind it.
I hear you, I say. It could be quite sinister.
Or it could be quite harmless. Either way, I think we should
know before we head home.

Chapter Six

arry checks the check-out time on the back of the
bathroom door. It's 12:00. So we have plenty of time to
throw our things into our bags and go to the main
building to check-out. The concierge calls a cab for us.
Where to? says the driver when we're both settled into the
backseat.
We need to be as close as possible to the university, says
Harry.
How long you planning on staying? says the driver, pulling
out of the Super 8's driveway and into traffic.
I dunno, says Harry. A few days, a week.
That's too bad, says the man, signalling and making a lane
change.
Why?
Well, my wife and I live right next to the campus. Practically
on it. Our daughter is going to school there and we wanted to be
close to her. We rent rooms out by the month to the students.
We've got one free right now because one of the students
flunked out and is going home.
That sounds like exactly the right place for us to stay! I say
excitedly.
H
152
Harry nods.
I'd love to rent the room out to you kids but my wife says, by
the month only.
How much is it for a month? asks Harry.
$400. Just breakfast in the morning. Toast and coffee. But
you get a small fridge and a microwave and there's a strip mall
nearby that has everything you'd need.
Harry turns to me.
Each of our rooms was $50 at the Super 8. That's a $100 a
night. We could . . .
I know, I know, I nod. Let's do it!
We'll pay for a month, says Harry turning back to the driver.
We're not sure we'll stay the full month, but we'll pay it up
front.
The cab driver beams.
Wife can't complain about that. C'mon! I'll take you home!
We leave the busy main road and turn into a residential area.
The neighbourhood looks old. Chipped sidewalks. Huge shade
trees. Small aluminium-siding homes interspersed with newer and
larger brick ones.
The cabbie and his wife have one of the newer and larger brick
ones.
But there's a hitch.
The cab driver's wife. Mrs. Maine.
There's only one bed in that room, Jerry Maine! she says,
when we're in his entrance-way. She's middle-aged, hair up in a
bun, wearing a cotton dress with a dish-rag in her hand.
Oh, that's right! says the cabbie, like he had just plain
forgotten.
One student per room! she says, glaring at us.
I think we're done here but then Harry turns and looks at her.
You have a daughter here at the university, right?
She nods.
Not that it's any of your business.
Meg and I are investigating something that's going on at the
university. A young woman was targeted by a man claiming to be
a government agent.
Mrs. Maine's eyebrows go up.
Tied up in Texas ~ Chapter Six
153
And then somehow, thanks to Harry, we're all sitting around
the large rectangular table in the Maine's kitchen while he tells
Karen's story.
Well, my daughter would never go to a house party, says the
woman, ready to just dismiss the whole thing.
This young lady was first approached in the library. The man
only met with her at that house because he knew she would be
there and the large number of people would make a great cover.
You say you followed him after that? says Mr. Maine.
Yes, nods Harry. Then we looked up the owner of the
house and discovered it belongs to a faculty member.
Mrs. Maine gasps.
From that point forward, we're staying.
I get the room. We still have to pay the $400. But Harry's
being allowed to sleep on a couch in the cab driver's television
room.
Of course, he can't hangout there, so his knapsack is in my
room and we'll be spending our time there during the day.
Somehow, we'll have to talk to some of the students here,
says Harry. He's sitting on my bed while I'm on a chair that
belongs to a small desk in the corner. In the other corner is a bar
fridge with a tiny microwave on top. The only other thing in the
room is an empty closet.
You think they might know something?
Harry nods.
Actually, I say. What I was thinking was maybe I could
approach this Finkelstein guy . . .
Kirschbaum.
Right. And I could pretend that someone had told me that he
could get me working for CSIS.
I don't think they'd take you on. Too risky. They probably do
the choosing. But you said something interesting.
I did?
Yeah. The name is obviously Jewish. So we're not dealing
with an al-Qaeda branch.
I've heard about some tricks the Mossad plays where they
blow something up and then blame it on the Arabs.
154
Yeah, I guess they could do that here. Nowadays, anything
that blows up in the States could probably be blamed on the
Arabs.
Well . . . I glance at my watch. What do we do with the rest
of the day?
I was thinking that we should start with some of the other
Canadian students. Maybe they've had a similar experience.
How are we going to find any?
I dunno. We could start right here.
In this house?
Harry nods.
All the rooms on this floor are rented to students. Let's knock
on a door and see if anyone's willing to talk to us.
It's a bold plan but it's better than wandering around the
campus asking people if they're Canadian.
Nobody answers the first door.
The second door is answered by a girl with long blond hair and
a manner very similar to Karen's. Not surprisingly, she finds
Harry interesting.
Hi! he says. We just got here and I was wondering if you
could tell me a bit about the campus?
Sure, she says. Do you wanna come in?
She would obviously prefer to just have Harry in her room, but
sadly, has to tolerate my presence as well. I'm used to it.
I sit at her desk while she and Harry take the bed.
We introduce ourselves. Her name is Kelly.
Are you from Texas, Kelly? Harry asks her.
No, Louisiana. Shreveport.
Meg and I are Canadian, says Harry.
Canadian? Oh, you mean, like from Canada?
Exactly, says Harry. How he manages to not be sarcastic, I
don't know. Do you know if there are any other Canadians
here?
Kelly thinks.
I know one girl. Karen. I don't know her last name.
Karen Winters-Waterborn?
Yeah, I think so.
That does not surprise me.
I don't think I know anyone else though.
155
Hey! says Harry, as if an idea has just occurred to him. Do
you know Professor Kirschbaum?
Dr. Kirschbaum? Karen's face lights up with recognition.
Yeah! He's great! I have a class with him.
Has he ever talked to you outside of class?
No, he's too busy. If you want to talk to him, you have to see
his teaching assistant first.
I understand, says Harry, standing up.
No problem, she says, looking disappointed that he's
leaving.
I'll see you tomorrow at breakfast, then.
There's a pause. I can tell she totally doesn't do breakfast.
Yeah, definitely, she says.
She may change her habits while Harry's here.
I follow Harry out and Kelly almost closes the door on my
heels.
Harry knocks on the next door.
This time it's answered by a nerdy-looking guy around my
height, dark hair that needs a serious haircut, and glasses.
Yeah? he says, looking at us.
Harry does the routine of we've just arrived and we want to
know more about the campus.
The guy looks at us like we're crazy.
Why don't you just go to the University Center and pick up a
catalogue? Or go to the web-site? He starts to shut his door.
Wait! says Harry. We need your help.
The door stops closing but the guy is still looking suspicious.
I need to talk to a Canadian.
Why?
There's something going on that I need to figure out.
The guy is looking up at Harry. Something is passing between
them. The guy is wondering if Harry is being straight with him.
Then he glances at me. That seems to tip the scales in our favour.
I'm a Canadian, he says.
No way! says Harry. This is great!
Why? Why is it great?
Can we talk in your room? I say. It's not really something
to discuss in the hallway.
The guy kind of giggles.
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What? You guys think you're the X-Files, or something? You
even kind of look like them. Something creepy going on and
you're going to get to the bottom of it?
Actually, there might be, says Harry.
We've got the guy's interest. My guess is that in addition to the
X-Files, he's a big fan of Star Trek.
The guy's name is Peter and he says he's from Winnipeg. The
fact that we're from Toronto doesn't impress him but the fact
that a fellow Canadian has been approached by CSIS does.
No freakin' way! he says. Why didn't they contact me! I am
so willing to work for them! I'd be so good at it!
Well, I have my doubts that it's legitimate.
Peter sits down at his desk and waves for us to sit down on his
unmade bed. On one wall, he has a giant poster of Einstein. On
the other, a poster of the Canadian Rockies.
Ohhh! Peter gets it right away. And you want to talk to
other Canadians. See if it's happened to them?
Exactly.
Well it hasn't happened to me.
What about any of the other Canadians? Any ideas?
Peter shakes his head.
Haven't heard anything. My girlfriend, Susan, is from
Regina. He glances at his watch. I can call her. She's coming
out of her Advanced Patho class now.
Peter pulls a cell phone out of the desk drawer and makes a
call. He basically repeats everything we've said and the person on
the other end is so interested she says she's coming right over.
This turns Peter into a tornado.
We're knocked off his bed so that he can make it.
A comb comes out of the same drawer as the cell phone and
when he's done with his hair, a bottle of aftershave from the
other drawer is taken out and applied generously.
Susan arrives all excited.
She reports, very disappointed, that she has not been recruited
by CSIS. She's a slim girl, with stringy blonde hair and glasses,
and very much the right match for Peter. I have no doubt that
CSIS really missed out by not getting these two. They could
hunch together in some laboratory, looking at Anthrax particles
under a microscope and making all sorts of brilliant observations.
157
How 'bout any of the other Canadians? asks Harry. We're
back on the bed, with Susan perched on Peter's lap.
What other Canadians? says Peter. That's how Susan and I
got together. I don't even know any other Canadians.
Neither do I, says Susan. But I can ask around. I'm in the
Pines. Someone's got to have heard something.
University Pines Apartment, explains Peter.
Let's get some lunch, says Susan to Peter.
Well, says Harry, standing up. We'll let you get back to
things. Let us know if you hear anything. We're just three doors
down.
Will do, says Peter, giving him a tiny salute.
I'm hungry too, I say when we're back in my room.
Let's check out that little plaza down the road, says Harry,
glancing at the fridge. We can save money by just eating in the
room.
Typical Harry. All expenses paid and he wants to survive on
bologna sandwiches. But I don't argue. Investigative cops dont
live it up when it comes to food. Burgers on a stakeout.
Doughnuts and coffee for breakfast. That sort of thing.
You know, I say, reaching for my purse. That was amazing
luck. A Canadian, right here in this house!
That wasn't luck, Meg.
Please don't tell me it was an answer to prayer.
We're heading out into the hallway.
Didn't I say that on our next case God's grace would be so
obvious you wouldn't be able to miss it?
I wish you wouldn't attribute coincidences to God.
We're going down the stairs and out the front door.
That's the way God works. A believer knows it's God. An
unbeliever can just call it coincidence.
Then how on earth am I going to see God's grace? I say.
Aren't I just going to blow it off?
The sky is clear and the day is sunny. But there's coolness in
the air today.
When you start realizing how much God is helping us, then
you'll know that God is opening up your mind to an awareness of
. . .
Harry! For crying out loud.
It may take time, says Harry.
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There's no arguing with the guy. I seriously hope that he didn't
have some kind of delusional vision in the night, an angel
appearing and telling him that Meg Carmichael is going to
become a Christian, so just hang in there.
The little plaza at the end of the street has a laundromat, a
hair-styling salon, a pizza place (takeout and delivery only), a
weight loss clinic and a small grocery store.
We go through the sliding doors and into the grocery store.
Harry grabs a cart and starts putting things in. A bag of apples. A
couple of oranges. A bag of baby carrots. Some crackers. A block
of cheese.
Do Christians have to eat healthy foods? I ask, looking in
the cart.
No, he says, reaching for a bag of sugar doughnuts and a
tray of pecan tarts. On our way to the cashier he puts a bag of
potato chips and some Cheezies on top of everything.
I add a jug of bottled water and a two-litre bottle of Coke.
Harry says he loves Dr. Pepper and adds one of them to the cart
too.
We stagger home with our groceries.
I wish we had a TV, I say when we're back in my room
eating crackers and cheese and Dr. Pepper.
Harry takes that as an invitation to pull a pack of cards out of
his knapsack. We play three games of Rummy before I fall back
on the bed and groan.
Are we going to just sit here? I say.
What else can we do? says Harry. I think Peter and Susan
will do a better job than us.
Meanwhile, we'll die of boredom.
I guess we could go out somewhere, says Harry, putting
away the pack of cards. We just won't charge Mrs. Winters-
Waterborn for it.
Harry, I say, getting up and going to the closet where I've
hung my coat. If it was cool in the afternoon, it will be cooler in
the evening. How much money does Mrs. Winters-Waterborn
have?
Hmmm, says Harry, also reaching for his coat. I think they
own shares in petroleum.
I open my mouth but Harry continues.
And something to do with the CPR . . .
159
Canadian Pacific Railway.
And I've heard that he has investments in an airline. There's
something about a clothing company. Was it the Gap or was it
Old Navy? I can't remember.
I open my mouth again.
And a film company, Harry finishes off. Because Karen
used to meet all sorts of Hollywood stars when they came to
Toronto for the film festivals.
So, they're rich, I finally get to say.
Rich? We're heading out the door and back down the stairs.
They make my family look like hillbillies. Their Toronto home is
just one of their properties. They own half a Caribbean island.
An apartment in Manhattan. And another place in, Dubai, was it?
I forget.
Then do you think that it's just possible that Mrs. Winters-
Waterbottom . . .
Waterborn.
Whatever. I continue. . . . would notice if we spent $20 on a
movie or a couple of beers?
She wouldn't notice, but I would know.
Why? Is God watching you every minute of the day?
I hope so, says Harry.
I dont even care about this. Im happy to spend my own $20.
Its just become a matter of principle to argue with Harry.
We're heading back down the road. It's starting to get dark. We
pass the strip mall and keep going to the end where there is a
main road.
OK, says Harry, looking left and then right. Which way?
The road is busy with rush hour traffic. Either direction could
have possibilities. A lot of the restaurant parking lots are filling
up. The stores are still open but the car dealerships look like
they're winding down for the day.
I wish there was something obvious, like a movie theatre, to
make the decision which way to go easier. But it's the same either
way.
I could stand there paralysed for the next ten minutes but
Harry turns left and starts walking.
There are lots of upscale choices, but a few grungy ones too.
I'm afraid Harry's going to turn into one of the western bars or
160
pool halls and try to win people to Christ, but he chooses a small
bookstore caf at the end of a strip mall.
A soft bell rings when we enter. An older lady smiles at us
from behind the cash. Harry says hello.
This isn't a Christian bookstore, is it? I whisper to him.
He grins.
It could be. This is the Bible Belt.
But thank God, it's just a regular bookstore.
What do you like to read? he asks me.
I dunno, I shrug. I usually watch TV.
OK, then. What do you watch on TV?
Cop shows.
OK, says Harry, heading for one of the shelves. That
means Crime or Thriller.
He's going up and down the aisles until he finds what he
wants. He picks a paperback out. A thriller with a cop badge on
the front. He holds it up for me to look at.
Sure, I shrug.
Harry goes to the cashier and pays for the book. Then he sits
down at one of the small tables set up in the corner of the
bookstore by the front window. I join him. The same lady who
was at the cash register comes over and asks him what we'd like.
Two extra large coffees and a plate of biscotti, he says. Then
he opens the book and starts reading to me.
At first I feel about five years old. But he keeps reading and I
get into it.
It's pulp fiction at its best.
There's a cop killer on the loose and the head of the
department wants the guy caught. He puts his two best
investigators on the job, interestingly, a man and a woman.
Predictably there's tension between the two. You'd have to be an
imbecile not to know that they're going to end up falling wildly in
love with each other in the end.
By the time we've finished our large coffees and our plate of
biscotti, Harry has made it up to chapter five. It's black outside.
The clock on the wall says 8:55 and the woman tells us she's
closing in five minutes.
Not my usual way to spend an evening. But then Harry is not
your usual kind of guy.

Chapter Seven

eter gives us a little grin at breakfast the next morning.
Kelly is there, looking tired and staring at Harry. My
theory that this isn't her usual routine is confirmed when
Mrs. Maine raises her eyebrows and puts two more pieces of
bread in the toaster.
There are two other students around the large table in the
kitchen. One of them is a tall, blond guy who has a Calculus II
textbook propped on the table while he eats, obviously cramming
for a test. The other person is a girl with curly blonde hair and
wearing a cheerleader sweater. Shep's probably been out with her.
Harry makes light conversation. Says we've just arrived and
does anyone know some good places to hangout? Calculus II just
ignores him. Curly Blonde says there's an awesome club on some
street. Kelly says that one's for losers only and that everyone's
now going to . . . and she names another place. Then the two
girls spend the rest of the breakfast glaring at each other.
Peter follows us up the stairs and furtively tells us he's got
some info. He hurries us into his room.
Susan was asking around yesterday, he says, taking his usual
seat at the desk, leaving the (once again) unmade bed for us. We
found a Canadian but when Susan asked her if CSIS had ever
P
162
approached her she said no. So we'll keep asking. But there was
something interesting.
Uh-huh? says Harry, leaning forward.
There was an African girl in the same apartment. A
roommate. She heard Susan ask the question. She kind of gasped.
So Susan was asking her if she knew anything about it. At first
she didn't want to say. But Susan said it was really important.
Then the girl told her that an agent from her government had
approached her and asked her to work for them.
What sort of things?
Same as you said. Nothing big. She's delivered an envelope to
a faculty house on campus. But the guy told her to hang on,
something big was going to happen.
Wow, says Harry, looking at me. That's exactly what
happened to Karen.
So, it's not just CSIS, I say.
What African country? Harry asks Peter.
I have no idea, says Peter. I'll ask Susan.
Well that certainly broadens things, says Harry. It could be
a student from any country.
Susan said the same thing, says Peter, looking proud. From
now on, we approach any of the Internationals.
Harry nods.
What about you guys? says Peter.
We could do the same thing, says Harry. No one knows
we're not students. We could just go into the cafeteria or the
library . . .
You'd need a student card for the library, says Peter. You
know, they make you swipe it as you go through the turnstile.
Peter snaps his fingers.
I have a better idea. Go to the soccer fields. A lot of the
internationals play soccer. You're more likely to run into them
there than anywhere else.
Great idea! says Harry. Where are they?
The southeast corner of the campus. Just walk down Old
Omen Road, past the main entrance and you'll come to them.
Old Omen Road? That's . . . ?
You know the road that goes to the grocery store?
Yeah.
Tied up in Texas ~ Chapter Seven
163
Go in the opposite direction of the grocery store. You'll pass
a couple of side streets, and then you'll get to a main road. The
campus is right there. You'll be on Old Omen Road then.
Thanks!
Any other plans for today? asks Peter as we stand up.
Nope, though I'd love to take in one of Dr. Kirschbaum's
lectures, if I could. We're following a lead with him.
Oh you'd like him, says Peter. I've heard he's really good.
Catch you later! says Harry as we go out into the hallway.
We exit the house and follow Peter's directions. Sure enough,
we are soon walking along the outer perimeters of the campus. A
campus security car passes by but he has no reason not to think
we're just students out walking.
Peter's right.
The international students are out in the early morning
practising their soccer. I hear their laughter mixed with accented
English as we head around the soccer field to a small section of
bleachers. There are two fields but we pick the one where they
look more relaxed, as if they're just fooling around. The other
field has an informal but intense game going on.
When one of the guys comes over to the bleachers to relace
his shoes, Harry says hi.
Hi, says the guy, glancing at him briefly.
I'll get to the point, says Harry. I'm an investigator.
At first I think he's making this up. Then I remember. We are
investigators.
Yeah? The guy looks Mediterranean, maybe Cuban.
And we're on a case, continues Harry.
Yeah, so? He's done doing his laces and is now facing Harry
who has stood up.
Some students are being approached by their governments
and asked to do work for them.
What kind of work? Now the guy looks concerned.
Spy work.
I'm not going to do any spy work! says the guy. He's
seriously alarmed.
No! says Harry. I'm not asking you to do spy work! I'm
asking you if you know anyone who's been approached by their
government to do some kind of work for them.
The guy shakes his head emphatically and hurries away.
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Well that didn't go well.
I could have phrased it better, agrees Harry. But I think it'll
be OK.
He's right.
The guy has hurried out onto the field and is conferring with
one of his soccer mates. This guy also looks Cuban but is bigger
and scarier. But Harry's ready for him. When the guy starts
heading our way, Harry stands up and starts walking toward him.
His hand is out for a handshake. The guy ignores it.
You got problems with us? he asks. We haven't done
anything wrong. And we're in America now.
I know, says Harry.
The other soccer players are interested, though they're keeping
their distance.
Harry jerks his head in the direction of the other players who
have stopped scrimmaging and are just watching what's
unfolding.
Let's all talk, says Harry heading out to the centre of the
field. The large Cuban and I are following.
Hi guys! says Harry.
No one answers.
I'm here investigating something that's going on here at this
campus.
The guys just keep staring. There are about eight of them.
Some of the international students have been approached by
an agent of their government asking them to do some work for
them while they're here in America.
The guys look at one another. Mostly it's looks of disbelief.
The big Cuban tells Harry, Get off the field, we want to
play.
But one of the guys startles us all and says, That happened to
my girlfriend.
Everybody looks at him.
I'm from Puerto Rico, he says. So is Maria. Some guy came
up to her and asked her if she could do some work for
Borinquen while she's here.
Borinquen? says Harry.
That's what we call it, explains the guy. Nothing much at
first. I think she had to deliver an envelope to some faculty
member's house. She was told to keep her eyes open. And the
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last thing the guy said was that something big is going to happen.
She's scared. But she doesn't want to go to the police. They told
her not to go to the police.
That's exactly the sort of thing I'm talking about, says Harry,
nodding. Can you tell me a bit about your girlfriend?
She's really hot! calls out one of the soccer players and gets a
punch on the shoulder from the boyfriend.
What can I say? he says. She's a nice girl. We're going to get
married after school.
And live here in the States? asks Harry.
No. We'll go back to Borinquen. Her father has a big
plantation there. Dinero en abundancia. All the guys laugh.
Lots of money, he translates for us.
If you hear anything else . . . says Harry, pulling a small
notepad from his pocket, along with a pen. Call me at this
number. He scribbles a number down and tears the paper off
the pad.
The guy says, Sure. He sticks the number in the back pocket
of his shorts.
The soccer scrimmage starts up again and we head off the
field.
This is getting bigger than we thought, says Harry. We're
heading over to the other soccer field. I hate to admit it, but
Karen could be right.
There are no bleachers by this field so we sit down on the
grass near some bottles of water and sports drink.
This time around, we're not so successful. When the guys
come over to sit down and drink their water, none of them have
had any contact with government agents and they seem to think
that we are escapees from a lunatic asylum.
Enough detective work for today? I say as we're hurrying
away.
Something about this . . .
I want a hot coffee, I say. We had to sit and watch that
second game for about 45 minutes and the grass was damp.
Exactly what I was thinking! he says. Let's get a coffee!
Where? I say, looking around. Buildings everywhere. Which
one's the dining centre?
166
My guess is there, says Harry pointing to one particular
building. See how the main entrance more or less leads right to
it? Generally, that's where the centre of things is.
We pass a building that's clearly marked as an Athletic Center
and then after that, Harry's right. It's the student centre. We enter
into a wide, bright foyer and turn into the dining hall.
It's between meals and quiet, but you can still get a coffee or
grab a muffin.
A lot of students are seated at tables, books open, sipping a
coffee or a tea or bottled water while they study. A few of the
faculty are having some kind of a meeting at a corner table.
Harry surveys the room. I'm eyeing the coffee, he's eyeing a
tall, slim Asian girl at a table, working on a laptop. Before I can
say anything, he's heading for her and sitting down across from
her.
She looks up, startled.
Hi, says Harry. Can I talk to you?
Uh, sure, says the girl.
I'm an investigator, he says. And I need to ask you a few
questions.
She looks nervous.
Are you with campus security?
No, he says. But it relates to campus security.
I don't want to talk to you, she says, quickly returning to her
laptop.
My guess is that you've been told not to talk to anyone.
Please go away.
You've been approached by a government agent. . .
The girl gasps.
I've just been standing behind Harry, but now I sit down
across from the girl.
Please, I say, quickly, sensing that Harry's charm may not be
working. Something's going on here and we need to figure out
what. You're not the only one. And it's not on the level.
Whatever anyone's said to you, it's bull.
What do you mean? she says. She's looking at me, not Harry.
Finally I'm getting a chance to talk to someone.
You're not from Texas, are you? I say.
She shakes her head.
No, I'm from Hong Kong.
167
And recently someone approached you and asked you to
work for your government, just keep an eye on things, and maybe
deliver a few envelopes now and then.
The girl's eyes are wide.
You've probably been told recently that something big is
going to happen, or to be prepared, or something like that.
The girl nods.
But how did you know?
It's been happening to some other people, I say. It's
probably a bunch of crap and we're trying to figure out what's
really going on.
Oh my God, says the girl. She sounds terrified.
Harry pulls out the notebook and writes down his cell number.
I'm Harry, he says. This is Meg.
I'm Mae, says the girl.
You can call us anytime, day or night. OK? If the man
approaches you again, call, OK?
The man who contacted you, I say. Was he olive-skinned
with dark hair?
No, says Mae. He was Asian.
Well, that makes sense, says Harry. If he was posing as a
government agent.
Yeah, I say. I guess it's not just one person doing it.
Mae, if it is possible, looks even more scared than before.
Can I call campus security? she asks.
Of course, says Harry. You can call the police, if you want.
We started investigating this when a Canadian girl was
approached. But we have no problem with the police taking
over.
OK, says Mae, looking uncertain.
Harry seems like he's going to stand up but I want to ask a few
more questions.
Why did you come all the way to Texas? I say.
My father says I can get a good understanding of how
America works if I study here and that I will be working with
Americans so I should understand them.
Your dad has a business? I say.
Yes, Mae nods. We do much business with the Americans.
We used to do business with the British. My father went to
school in England.
168
I nod.
OK Mae, I say. Take it easy, OK? You're not alone. Don't
do anything crazy.
Yes, agrees Harry. If the guy wants to meet with you again,
make sure it's in a public place and if you know it's going to
happen ahead of time, give us a call, OK?
Mae nods.
We stand up and leave the dining hall without getting my
coffee.
You know, says Harry. Maybe we should talk to campus
security. This is getting serious and they need to know.
I think we can handle this ourselves, I say.
I don't want anyone to get hurt, insists Harry.
It's useless to argue with Harry when his Christian conscience
gets in the way.
Fine, whatever. But don't be surprised if they think you're
crazy.
Harry stops a couple of girls and asks them where campus
security is. They look at us strangely for not knowing but point
us in the direction that we came, Old Omen Road.
We go back down the road, checking every building, but none
of them seem to have anything to do with security. Then, when
we're past the campus, we come to a building on its own. It's
labelled University Service Centre and one of its occupants are
the campus police.
I almost don't want to go in. Let Harry go in alone and make a
fool of himself.
But then I'm glad I do go in because Harry's story is well-
received and taken seriously.
Believe it, or not, we've had interesting things like this happen
before, says the chief of the security staff, a tall slim older man
with grey hair and a police uniform. But never all at once.
That's what worries me, says Harry. How many other
people have been approached? We've just been blessed to find
the ones we did.
Needle in a haystack, agrees the officer.
Is it some kind of scheme to get them into bed? I ask, trying
to be part of this discussion.
The officer glances at me.
169
Could be. But there's something about it that doesn't feel
right. Could you tell me the whole story again? Don't leave out
any details. Anything and everything.
So Harry goes through it all again. And the officer takes a lot
of notes.
This time, he asks Harry for more details about Karen and his
relationship with her. Harry is candid. She's an ex-girlfriend. He
knows her well.
The officer asks questions about her family. Everything that
Karen said to her mother. Anything that Harry can remember.
It takes so long that another officer brings us in some coffee
and some sandwiches.
Then we talk about what's happened since we're here.
Describe the man you saw at the party.
Once again, Harry goes through the whole thing including how
we followed him and found out that he's Dr. Kirschbaum.
He's not. The officer shakes his head.
What? says Harry.
The officer gets up and goes to a bookshelf behind his desk.
He takes down a yearbook and turns to the faculty then shows
Harry and I a photo.
Was this the man you saw?
We both shake our heads.
The photo above the name F. Kirschbaum is of an extremely
thin man, glasses, completely bald.
I'll have to talk to Dr. Kirschbaum about this man, says the
officer, scribbling down some more notes.
So, the second girl was an African student. We'll have to find
out more about her. And the third girl was from Puerto Rico.
Tell me everything her boyfriend said.
Harry does and then we take turns telling him all about Mae.
I hope she talks to us, says the officer. I don't want her to
feel scared. If any of these people call you, I want you to call us
right away.
He hands us each a business card with his name and number
on it.
Will do.
No more investigating on your own, says the officer. We'll
work together on this, OK?
170
Of course, says Harry, putting the business card in his breast
pocket.
Thanks for coming in, says the officer, who according to the
card still in my hand, is Daniel Stewart. He shakes both our
hands before showing us to the door.
Congratulations, Harry, I say, once we're outside. I think he
actually believed you.
Harry gives me one of his grins.
Why not?
What now? I say.
Go back and see if Peter's around. Update him. He and Susan
are going to have to tell Officer Stewart everything they know.
I hope they don't mind.
I doubt it. Peter will probably enjoy it.
Per usual, Harry is correct.
Peter is studying in his room and is thrilled to be told that he
should go and tell Officer Stewart everything he knows. Soon he
has Susan on the cell phone and they're working it out when
they'll go to the University Service Center to make their full
report. Their only regret is that they don't have anything new to
report.
Don't worry, says Harry. Officer Stewart will make you go
through it all twice.
This cheers up Peter.
So what do you think he meant by no more investigating on
our own? I say, once we're back in my room and Harry is at the
desk while I'm flopped on the bed. Does that mean we pack our
bags and go home?
No, says Harry. I think it just means we report anything to
him right away.
Yeah, I say. I guess.
You don't sound too into it.
Well, it's just that we've gotten lucky, I say. Going into the
dining hall like that and going up to a girl that's been approached
by some government guy, well, it is like a needle in a haystack.
Actually, it's more like God directing our steps, say Harry.
How do you believe that? I say. What makes you think God
cares about this case? I'm the one who insisted we come here. If
it were up to you, we'd be in Antarctica now.
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And we'll still make it to Antarctica, says Harry. It's only,
what, January 7
th
? I'm going to call Mrs. Sheppard and tell her
we'll be going there sometime this month. She can tell me how
we go about arranging the trip.
How can you be so sure we'll be done here?
Because each girl was told the same thing. Something's going
to happen soon. Whatever this is about, we've come in at the tail-
end.
But what? I say. I sit up. What? Is it some international spy
ring? Or is it terrorist stuff? Like, maybe each girl will be asked to
deliver a suitcase to some place in the States and they'll have to
go by plane and then the plane will blow up.
I thought of that, says Harry. It could be something like
that.
He gets up and gets the Dr. Pepper out of the fridge. He takes
a swig and then passes it to me.
Well, shouldn't we be out there doing something?
At this point we can wait for a phone call, says Harry.
Either from the Puerto Rican guy or from Mae. I guess we
could go out and look for more people but I don't think we'd
learn anything more.
Yeah, I guess you're right, I say, handing the Dr. Pepper
back to him after taking a sip. I wish we had a television.
Harry grins and reaches into his knapsack on the desk.
The cop novel.
He reads two chapters and is halfway through the third when
there's a knock at the door.
172

Chapter Eight

t's Peter and Susan and they're excited.
We were just going to go to the USC but Susan got a
call!
From the African girl? Harry.
From her Canadian roommate, says Susan. Her name is
Shelly. The African girl's name is Tameeka. She's all freaked out.
The government guy approached her again and says she'll have to
go on a special mission. It's vital to the security of Botswana.
C'mon! says Harry. Let's get over to Officer Stewart! If it's
happened with her, it's going to happen to the others soon!
We all hurry out the door and practically jog down the road. At
least until Peter announces that he's going to die if he cant stop
to catch his breath. He's definitely not the athletic type.
By now, it's about four o'clock.
We get to the USC just as Officer Stewart is leaving, but when
he hears our news, he turns right back and waves for us to follow
him into his office.
That must be Tameeka Athan Botton, he says to Susan.
Susan nods.
I think her dad owns a diamond mine, or something?
I
174
Officer Stewart nods as he reaches for some kind of directory
from a pile of books on his desk.
She's gorgeous, Susan tells me. Her roommate told me that
her dad's English and her mom's African.
I nod politely.
Officer Stewart is making a phone call. Evidently it is to
Tameeka Athan Botton. He identifies himself with campus
security and tells her that he's concerned about her safety. He'll
be sending a security car over to pick her up. He warns her not to
go with anyone else in the meantime. He hits another button on
his phone and is telling dispatch to send a car out to the Pines.
Just as he's hanging up, Harry's phone rings.
It's the Puerto Rican guy. Miguel, as it turns out. Maria has just
been contacted by the government agent who has told her she'll
be going on a special mission. Officer Stewart grabs the phone
from Harry and tells Miguel the same thing. Stay there. Don't go
anywhere. Where are you? He's sending a campus security car
right away. Another car is dispatched.
As soon as he clicks the button to hang-up, it rings again.
It's Mae, she's frantic. Says she's been calling Harry but it was
busy. The government agent is going to meet with her tonight to
tell her about her mission. Officer Stewart goes through the drill
again and Mae is calmed down by the assurance that campus
security will look after her.
Now we're just waiting for one more call, says Officer
Stewart. From your friend, Karen.
Karen won't call me. She thinks I'm back in Canada.
Officer Stewart raises his eyebrows. He reaches for his
directory again.
What did you say her last name was again? Winters . . .
Winters-Waterborn.
Officer Stewart calls her dorm. She's not there but he leaves an
urgent message for her to call him back.
Harry reaches into a pocket for her cell phone number and
Officer Stewart tries that. But the phone is turned off.
It only takes a few minutes for Tameeka, Maria (and Miguel),
and Mae to all arrive in Officer Stewart's office.
They each have a story to tell but it's all, more-or-less, the
same one.
Tied up in Texas ~ Chapter Eight
175
It's Karen's story but with their own nationality substituted.
And from the description, each man is different though it's
possible the CSIS guy also played the role of the Puerto Rican.
Oh my God, says Officer Stewart, going pale. This is big.
I know what he means. Just one guy and he could turn out to
be a psycho pervert who should be locked up in a mental
institute. But this is a well-thought out plan involving more than
just one man.
So now Officer Stewart is phoning the local police.
And they're sending investigators over.
And we all have to tell our stories over again.
I'm a little embarrassed to be talking to real police
investigators. It's my dream to be one of them. But they're really
cool and professional and just ask a lot of questions.
They ask so many questions that Officer Stewart has to send
out for pizza for all of us. And call his wife and say he's going to
be very late.
Campus security is on full alert in case there are more girls
who have been contacted and told they are going to be sent on a
secret mission. Descriptions of the so-called government agents
are being distributed all over Texas. The girls are even helping
police artists make pictures of each guy.
You can go now, Officer Stewart says to me and Harry.
Peter and Susan were already sent home. Stick together. But I
don't think you're in any danger, otherwise I'd make you stay
somewhere here on campus. But keep me informed if you hear
anything, anything at all.
Have you heard from Karen? asks Harry.
Officer Stewart shakes his head.
So if you guys run across her, please escort her right back
here.
We will, says Harry. He's looking concerned.
Are you worried? I say, as we're heading back down the
road.
A little bit. But Karen's a real party girl. It's possible she just
went out clubbing.
How does she do it? Parties and school and all that.
She doesn't do well at school, says Harry. She just does
OK. She gets C's when she could get A's.
176
I guess when you have money you don't have to worry about
stuff like that.
Then I feel stupid. Harry's family has money.
But he's not offended. He looks preoccupied.
Are you worried? I ask again.
No, says Harry, honestly. I don't love Karen. So I'm not
out of my mind with fear, or anything. I'd be more worried if you
went missing.
Wow.
It's her mom I'm thinking of, he says.
Ahhh, I say, getting it. We were sent down here to make
sure she was OK and now maybe she isn't.
Exactly.
That is a problem.
It is, says Harry. So I think we'd better find her.
I agree, I say. But where do we start?
Her extension is 3214. I noticed when Officer Stewart called
her. So we have to get a directory and see where that is.
The dining hall?
He nods. We turn and walk back, passing the USC and
entering the campus through the main entrance. It's about 7:00
now and the dining hall is busy but with a winding-down feeling.
The food line has just closed but people are still talking and
finishing up and drinking coffee. We find a phone booth outside
of the entrance and start flipping through the directory, looking
at all the extensions.
Ah, here it is, says Harry. It's one of those Pine
apartments. He writes down the number of the building. We'll
just have to see if she's home.
But when we get there, a police car is already outside of the
building and we meet the two investigators who we talked to
back at USC. They're getting out and going into the building.
One of them recognizes us.
Worried about your friend? he asks Harry.
Harry nods.
We are too. Were going to talk to a roommate, try to get
some idea where she might be.
Can we come? I ask.
He shakes his head.
Wait here. And if there's anything we can tell you, we will.
177
There's a bench to sit on and it's gotten quite cool. Our coats
are back at the house. This wasn't a problem when we were
moving, but it is now that we're just sitting.
Harry puts his arm around me.
To stay warm, he explains.
Of course, I say. Harry the Noble. But I move in a little
closer.
I guess the investigators are as thorough with Karen's
roommate as they are with us because we wait a long time.
Finally they come out.
Can you tell us anything? asks Harry, as we stand up.
Wish I could, says the man who talked to us going in. But
the roommate didn't know much. Karen got a phone call, took it
in the hallway, and then disappeared.
So she's off on a secret mission? says Harry.
Unfortunately, that's a possibility, nods the man. They're
getting back in their car.
There might be other girls, says Harry, before they close the
door. You know, other girls might be disappearing tonight.
The man nods.
That's what we're going to look into now. Goodnight kids.
And the car door is shut in Harry's face.
I don't think they want our help, says Harry, staring at the
back of the car as it goes down the road.
Yep, I say. I get that impression too. How about we go
back to the room, eat sugar doughnuts and play Rummy?
Harry sighs.
It's about all we can do, I guess.

Breakfast is quiet.
Kelly has decided breakfast is not worth it and is not present.
Curly blonde cheerleader is text messaging throughout the meal.
Tall blond guy has a medical textbook today. Only Peter gives us
his little grin.
Afterward, we caucus in his bedroom.
I'm guessing there'll be some missing students today, he
says, shutting the door behind us. Susan's on it. She'll let us
know.
Yeah, I'd really like to know what's going on, says Harry
sitting on the messy bed, me next to him.
178
Any word about your friend, there, Karen?
As of last night, no. But I don't think anyone's going to be
consulting me and Meg anymore. We've done all we can for
them. Still, it wouldnt hurt to try to call her. But I dont want to
use my cell phone . . .
Hey! Why don't I try to call her? says Peter. He probably
thinks Harrys hesitation has something to do with money. See
if she's in her dorm?
Sure, says Harry telling him the number.
But Karen's phone is still turned off.
I guess it's official. She's missing.
It's so unreal, says Peter, leaning back in his chair. Sending
people on a spy mission. Do you think they're going to end up
blowing themselves up, or something?
Meg and I were wondering the same thing. Get them on a
plane, something like that.
Only thing is, says Peter. It's some kind of an international
outfit. And international consortiums don't usually do terrorist
things.
Yeah, agrees Harry.
I dont know where either of them picked up this little tidbit of
information.
There's silence.
I can't just sit here and do nothing, says Harry. The only
thing left to do is to talk to Dr. Kirschbaum. Try to find out who
that guy was who was at his house.
Peter nods.
You could head over to the campus. Go to his office.
You know where it is? says Harry.
Sure, I mean, I have general idea. He's PoliSci.
Peter has a class in half an hour so we head out together.
Probably there, he says pointing to one of the buildings
before giving us a little wave and heading off.
There's no receptionist in the foyer of the large building but
there is a directory and Dr. Kirschbaum's office is on the second
floor. We take the stairs and navigate down a hallway. The door
with his name is slightly ajar and there is someone else sitting at
Dr. Kirschbaum's desk, probably the student assistant, working
on papers.
179
What can I do for you? he asks, looking up, pushing his
glasses back up his nose.
Is Dr. Kirschbaum around? asks Harry.
Usually, but not today, says the young man.
Harry takes a risk.
Talking to the police, probably. He sits down on one of the
padded chairs along the back wall of the room.
Uh, that's right, says the young man, looking hesitant.
That's OK, Harry assures him. I know all about it. Meg and
I . . . I sit down beside him.
. . . we're the ones that got this whole investigation going. The
missing students and all.
Oh! says young man. So you know all about it!
Harry nods.
We're worried about Karen Winters-Waterborn, in particular.
She disappeared last night and her disappearance is connected
with Dr. Kirschbaum, of course.
It is? This is news to the young man.
Harry nods.
The guy posing as the CSIS agent was staying at Dr.
Kirschbaum's.
Harry's telling him way more than he already knows, but if the
guy knows anything, it's the only way to get him talking.
Oh, says the young man, thinking about this.
The guy who looked Mediterranean? says Harry. Olive-
complexion, dark hair, mid-thirties . . .
Professor Baruch from Tel Aviv University, nods the young
man. What's CSIS?
Canadian Security Intelligence Service, says Harry. Is your
computer on? he asks, nodding toward the monitor.
Yeah, says the young man.
May I? Harry comes around and starts typing and clicking.
He's online and looking up something.
I join him and see that he's at the Tel Aviv University site.
What did you say that guy's name was?
Uh, Baruch. David Baruch. Expert in Middle East relations . .
.
Harry has clicked on the faculty button and is typing in 'David
Baruch'. David Baruch is about sixty years old with silver hair.
180
It's not the same guy, says the young man, staring at the
screen.
No, it isn't, is it? agrees Harry. How did Dr. Kirschbaum
fall for this?
It was my fault, says the young man quietly. We received a
letter from him saying that he would be in Tyler and would Dr.
Kirschbaum like him to give a few lectures while he was in
town?
And Dr. Kirschbaum told you to set it all up . . . ?
The young man nods.
I never thought of looking him up at the Tel Aviv University.
The stationary looked official . . .
I can understand how it would happen, says Harry. Is the
so-called professor still staying with Dr. Kirschbaum?
The young man shakes his head.
He did a series of lectures and his last one was the day before
yesterday. As far as I know, he left yesterday.
I suddenly have a hunch.
Did you book him the plane ticket?
Yes, I did. When we first contacted him, he said he was in
New York. And that's where he wanted to return. It was a flight
to New York, last night, leaving out of Dallas.
Harry and I look at each other.
Do you think I should tell anyone about the fake Professor
Baruch? asks the nervous young man.
Sure, says Harry. But I'll be reporting back to campus
security and they'll probably contact you.
The young man nods and stands up as we prepare to leave.
I really wish I'd looked that guy up online.
It could have happened to anyone, says Harry. It was a
once-in-a-lifetime thing.
Yeah, I guess.
When we're back in the hallway we agree that our new
information definitely merits another visit to the USC building.
I don't know whether Officer Stewart is pleased or annoyed at
our detective work. He listens carefully and then tells us that he
knows most of that already from talking to Dr. Kirschbaum.
Apparently Dr. Kirschbaum became suspicious of the man when
he didn't display the intellectual calibre one would expect from a
university professor. His lectures were OK, but with those he
181
could have just been copying them from a book. It was his
conversations over breakfast and dinner that weren't well-
thought out. When Dr. Kirschbaum asked him questions about
Tel Aviv to further test him, the man obviously had never been
there.
But the information about the man's flight to New York
redeems us. That's totally new to Officer Stewart. The flight
arrangements were obviously strictly between the student
assistant and the bogus Professor Baruch.
Karen's probably with him, eh? says Harry.
Officer Stewart is already reaching for the phone but he nods.
Thanks, he says, while he starts pressing numbers on the
phone. Keep in touch, OK?
It's a dismissal. But on the upside, it's not a reprimand.
Well, what now? I say, when we're back on the street. We
can't exactly fly to New York.
Why not?
What do you mean? I turn to him.
We can do whatever we need to do to get Karen safely back
here. And I have a pretty good idea where she is in New York.
You do?
Harry nods.
Her family has an apartment there. There's a possibility that
she might be staying there. The fake CSIS guy might even be
there too.
My eyes widen.
Harry nods.
I think we should fly out of here as soon as we can.
When we get back, we tell Mrs. Maine that we still want our
room, but we might be gone for a few days. Not making toast for
us for the next few days doesn't seem to bother her. But she asks
us how our case is going. Harry gives her a brief update and
assures her that campus security and the police are handling a lot
of it now. Far from being encouraged, she's actually alarmed that
it's gotten serious enough to involve the police. I guess she's
thinking of her daughter. When she hears that we're going to
New York to rescue one of the girls, she just about faints.
So we'll have to get to Dallas right away, Harry concludes.
Mrs. Maine vigorously shakes her head.
Fly out of Tyler. My husband will drive you.
182
She hurries to the phone. Harry and I didn't even know there
was an airport in Tyler.
It takes us about five minutes to throw our things back in our
knapsacks. Mr. Maine takes a little longer, but he makes up for it
on the drive to the airport. His wife must have told him this is an
emergency.
He doesn't want to take money for the ride, but Harry insists.
Then we go through the sliding glass doors into the small
airport. All of the planes are smaller and the flights are to places
in Texas and Louisiana and Oklahoma. A flight to Dallas is
leaving in an hour and a half so we book ourselves two seats and
go into a little snack bar to kill time and have lunch.
Do you know where the apartment is? I ask while we eat our
tuna fish sandwiches and drink our coffee.
I was there once, he says.
A twinge of jealousy. I try to ignore it.
Nice place?
Oh yeah, some of those apartments have more floor space
than an average home. And you wouldnt believe the number of
celebrities that live in her apartment. Actors, writers, a fashion
designer, you know, New York people.
I nod.
Did you like New York?
It was OK, but I wouldn't want to live there. It has way more
crazy people there, you know, the kind that just come up and
start yelling at you for no reason.
I've always wanted to be a cop so New York is, like, my dream
city. The best cop shows are set in New York. I'm really excited
that we're going.
The flight from Tyler to Dallas is only about 20 minutes. And
then we're in the Dallas-Fort Worth airport, staring up at the
huge Departures board, looking for a flight to New York. One is
leaving in 27 minutes so we have to run and see if we can get on
it last minute.
We barely make it.
We're the last two passengers onto the plane before it taxis out
to the runway. This time, Harry is in the middle and I'm on the
aisle.
183
The person in the window seat is a dark-haired, sullen-looking
young man with an mp3 player and a leave-me-alone attitude.
Even Harry takes the hint and doesn't try to win him to Christ.
Harry offers to share his mp3 player with me, but I opt for the
in-flight music. I'd rather pay for the headphones than listen to
Harry's Christian music.
We get a full meal on this flight. While we eat, Harry scores big
for Christianity. He gets the sullen guy talking.
First, he asks him if he lives in New York.
The guy nods, but keeps his eyes on his food. Then Harry asks
him if he can recommend a seriously cheap place to stay while
we're there.
The guy laughs.
Good luck.
Yeah, I know, says Harry. I was hoping you might know
something because I have a feeling we're going to get ripped off.
You will, nods the guy, sounding normal now. The sullen
attitude is gone. How long you gonna be in New York?
Just a night, maybe two.
Yeah, you can't do much then. If you were going to be there
longer, you could stay in Jersey and take the train in. They have
some places out there you can rent a month at a time. Pretty
decent prices. My sister did that once when she was visiting my
mom.
Your mom's in New York?
The guy nods.
Dad's in Dallas. I go back and forth a lot. Why are you going
to New York?
Looking for a missing friend, says Harry. I think I know
where she might be, though. It's a long shot, but it's worth a try.
That's serious, says the guy, interested. She go missing in
Dallas?
Nope. University of Texas at Tyler.
Oh! says the guy. Is she the one I read about in the paper?
I don't think so, says Harry. Why? What's in the paper?
I don't have it anymore. I read it in Dallas. Some hotel heiress
has gone missing. At least, her dad thinks shes gone missing. He
called his daughter and she didn't answer her cell phone. Then he
called her dorm and she wasn't there. He got worried and called
184
campus security and they said they were working on it. And then
he hit the roof and called The Dallas Morning News.
Harry and I look at each other.
I wonder if it's related? says Harry. He turns back to the guy.
Was she an American?
No, the guy says. She was from India. Her father has hotels
all over Asia.
Definitely connected, says Harry.
You mean your missing girl and this one?
Harry nods.
The pattern's starting to become obvious. A female. An
international student. All from rich families.
It's a kidnapping! says the guy, excited.
We think so, I say, even though we hadn't really said so up
to this point. Besides, I have to say something.
Can I help? he says.
This takes us by surprise.
C'mon! the guy pleads. I can let you guys stay at my mom's
place! She won't care. She's never home. She's got some new
boyfriend and they're out all the time.
OK, says Harry. It's actually a good idea. We don't know
what we'll be up against. And I really don't know my way around
New York.
I do, the guy assures us.
We introduce ourselves. His name is Andy. He's 18-years-old
and plays lead guitar for a heavy-metal band. He asks Harry what
kind of music Harry likes.
Christian, says Harry.
I don't, I say quickly.
Cool, says Andy, but he's not talking to me. My sister's into
all that Jesus stuff. She got into it after our parents split up. She
gave me some CDs from Christian heavy metal bands. I really
like them. It sort of makes you think.
Harry nods.
Christian heavy metal? Unreal. Do Christians have their
tentacles on everything?
When we land at LaGuardia airport, I am so glad we have
Andy with us since he knows exactly where to go. The place is
huge. It's like an enormous mall of continual shops and services.
I wouldn't be surprised if there's a football stadium tucked away
185
somewhere. So many airlines fly out of LaGuardia that there are
people from all over the world milling around. But Andy leads us
through the crowds, down endless hallways of stores and
departure lounges, until finally we're in a large well-lit atrium
where we can exit and grab a cab.
New York City!
I've seen so many movies set in New York so the skyline is
familiar, but actually being on the ground is a different feeling.
My head is swivelling to take it all in.
Andy's mom lives in Manhattan. She was a supermodel until
she married Andy's father who has something to do with oil.
When they got divorced, she started seeing some doctor. Or
maybe it's a lawyer. Andy doesn't know and he doesn't care.
It's one of those apartments that have a doorman and you
can't just walk in, the guy has to recognize you. But he knows
Andy, so we go inside and take the elevator up to the 17
th
floor.
A maid answers the door. She welcomes Andy and says that
his mother is sleeping.
Sleeping? I say.
Yeah, says Andy. She's out all night. I might get to see her
while she's getting ready.
But the apartment seems to run itself fine without Andy's
mom.
There's a cook in the kitchen and after Andy tells him that he
has two friends with him, we go to Andy's room to figure out
what to do next.
I think the first thing we should do is see if she's at her
apartment, says Harry.
Where is it? says Andy.
Somewhere around here, I think. This is the Upper West
Side, right?
Andy nods.
We're at 80
th
. Between Amsterdam and Columbus.
She said Ben Stiller lived in the same apartment.
Oh yeah! says Andy. I know the one.
Ben Stiller? I say. Really?
Uh-huh, says Harry. And she says she saw Madonna at a
caf nearby.
Probably the Caf Alou, says Andy. That's the one in You've
Got Mail.
186
You mean with Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan? I ask. Who
else lives around here?
Lots of people, says Andy. Alec Baldwin. Jerry Seinfeld.
Mick Jagger. I've actually seen him. My mom knows Jerry Hall.
Oh, and Barbra Streisand. Our maid really likes her. She has all
her CDs.
Wow, I say.
My sister saw Demi Moore around here once. My sister only
stays here when she wants to go to the Lava Lounge at night. She
and mom don't really get along.
Do you know Karen's apartment number? I ask Harry.
Yeah, they're on the 18
th
floor. Turn left when you get off the
elevator. There are only two apartments on her floor.
But how are we going to get in? I say. We can't just buzz
her and say we're here.
Sure we can, says Harry.
Yes, it's true. I have a sinking feeling that Karen will be very
happy to see Harry again.
So why did she come here anyhow? says Andy.
Harry has to explain that all these girls were told that they were
on a secret spy mission.
Andy is incredulous.
And they believed it?
Harry shrugs, but he's grinning.
What? I demand. I suddenly feel the need to defend my
gender. It's not entirely unbelievable. And for all we know, some
of the rich guys were recruited too.
I doubt it, says Harry. And he and Andy grin at each other.
I come pretty close to hitting him.
I mean, c'mon Meg! What guy is going to fall for someone
telling him that CSIS wants to recruit him to deliver a few brown
paper envelopes?
Now I really do hit him.
But what's the point of telling them they're on a spy
mission? I say. If it's just a kidnapping?
I think it's genius, says Andy. Then they just go off willingly
on some screwy mission. No grabbing them and having to hide
them somewhere. They do their mission while their parents get
the ransom note. The money's paid and then they come back and
don't even know they were kidnapped until afterward. Andy
187
sounds so impressed that I wonder if he might attempt a similar
scheme himself.
Andy looks at his watch.
Cook makes dinner for seven. That gives us two hours.
C'mon! Let's go!
Unlike Texas, New York City is as cold as Toronto. We put on
our winter coats and go back down the elevator and out the door
into the slushy, chilly street. The sun's going down.
Is this neighbourhood safe at night? asks Harry.
Oh yeah, says Andy. Nothing ever happens here. The 20
th

precinct is just over on 82
nd
. And they patrol all the time so the
celebrities can all feel safe.
Karen's apartment is only five minutes away.
We tell the doorman that we're here to visit Karen Winters-
Waterborn and that we can just buzz her and let her know we're
here.
I'm sorry, says the man, politely, but firmly. No visitors.
No visitors for the whole apartment? I say.
He gives me a look of pity.
For the Winters-Waterborn apartment.
OK, says Harry. Thanks.
Is that all? I demand, as we're walking away. That's a big
lead! Something's going on! That means someone's there!
It could be her father for all I know, says Harry. But even
so, we'll have to think of a way to get in there.
My mom, says Andy. I'll talk to her. She knows so many
people, she's got to know somebody in that apartment. We'll get
in somehow.
And I'm going to call Officer Stewart, says Harry. I want to
update him and let him know there's a possibility that Karen is
here.
I sigh. As usual, there's nothing for me to do except go along
for the ride.
Once we're back at the apartment, Harry makes his call to
Texas while Andy goes off to see if his mom is awake.
We meet Andy's mom in the kitchen. She's seated at the long
counter, wearing a purple silk bathrobe and yawning while the
cook pours her a coffee. Even though she's about 40, she's slim
and attractive with long red hair. Right away she looks at me and
smiles.
188
Hi sweetie, she says. Are you Andy's girlfriend?
Uhhh . . . Andy is blushing. Yeah Mom, these are my
friends.
I guess he didn't tell her that we're just people he met on the
plane.
Nice to meet you, she says, yawning again before taking a sip
of coffee. Are you guys going out tonight?
I dunno, says Andy. We wanted to visit a friend in the
apartment where Ben Stiller lives, you know the one?
Sure, she nods. My lawyer lives there.
But the doorman won't let us in.
Why not?
Now, at this point, instinct would tell me that we should
probably make up a good story. But for some reason, Andy is like
Harry. He tells the truth. It must be that Christian sister of his.
He told us they don't want to be disturbed.
Then don't disturb them.
But we think the girl's been kidnapped.
Andy's mom raises her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. The cook
keeps working but he seems interested too.
Yeah? Why?
And then Harry is telling the whole story. More or less.
And Andy's mom is showing more interest in it, especially
when she finds out that the girl in question is Karen Winters-
Waterborn. Turns out, she knows her dad and also knows for
certain that he's in the Caribbean entertaining some big
Hollywood producer.
So he didn't leave the message, says Andy. See, Mom?
We've got to do something!
Yeah, I guess we should, says Andy's mom, but not with any
great urgency. What should we do, Armande? This is directed
to the cook.
Call the police, ma'am, says Armande. He is working on our
dinner which looks quite elaborate. He's putting together plates
that look as if we're in a fancy restaurant.
I know what I'll do, says Andy's mom. I'll call my lawyer.
He can look into it. And then he can call the police. She reaches
for a cell phone on the counter and is soon talking to a man that
she calls, Darling and is telling him that there's an abducted girl
in his apartment building, the Winters-Waterborn apartment, and
189
from the sounds of it, he's so confused, she just hands the phone
to Harry. Harry goes through the whole spiel again while Armand
lays our plates out on the table.
I think it's veal. And little round potatoes. And carrots served
in long slivers with some kind of almond sauce on top. I just
stare at my plate before I actually start to eat. Of course, Andy
and Harry, rich snots that they are, take it all for granted.
The lawyer decides that he is not going to go investigate the
Winters-Waterborn apartment all by himself. He doesn't sound
like he wants to face any kidnappers. That's when Andy grabs the
phone and says we'll be happy to come over there and do it with
him.
I'm thinking there's no way the lawyer is going to go for this.
He'll just call the police. But amazingly, there is a long pause
while Andy waits. And then the lawyer says, sure, come on over.
He'll tell the doorman to expect us.
Armande puts some dainty cookies and coffee down for us
and we hurriedly eat. In the meantime, Andy's mom says she has
to get dressed and disappears. Will she be coming too?
No, apparently not. She comes out dressed to kill in a long
cream cocktail dress with shimmery pink heels. She tells Andy to
Have fun and kisses him on the cheek, then heads out the
door.
My eyes are wide.
She's going to let you do this? She's not going to stick around
and make sure you're OK?
Andy shrugs.
Why do you think she and Dad split up? She's kind of
focused on herself.
Armande shows more concern. He tells Andy to be very
careful and to call the police the minute he knows it's dangerous.
Don't take any risks. Make the lawyer take the risks. That's what
he gets paid for.
And then we're off, down the elevator and out into the chilly
night air.
This time the doorman lets us in and tells us Mr. Kronenberg
is expecting us. Apartment 14B.
We take the elevator up and are greeted at the door by a
nervous Mr. Kronenberg.
190
I hope this isn't too . . . he says. He doesn't seem inclined to
finish the sentence. He's an older man wearing a light blue dress-
shirt and black slacks.
Oh, I think it's real, Andy assures him. I read about it in
The Dallas Morning News. There's something going on in Texas.
Heiresses are being abducted. They might be here now.
This does not cheer up Mr. Kronenberg one smidgeon.
Well, he says. We'll check it out and call the police. I don't
want to call the police until I know it's not some . . .
Again, the sentence remains unfinished.
We take the elevator up to Karen's floor.
Mr. Kronenberg cautiously steps off the elevator into the small
hallway. With just two apartments, its really more of a foyer. He
orders me to stay in the elevator pressing the 'Door open' button.
Mr. Kronenberg, Andy and Harry all move silently toward the
Winters-Waterborn apartment. It's almost comical. They're
tiptoeing and when they get to the door, Mr. Kronenberg puts
his ear to it and listens for a minute.
Nobody there, he announces, straightening up.
Let's just make sure, says Andy, pounding on the door.
Mr. Kronenberg looks horrified.
If nobody's there, it won't matter, explains Andy, pounding
some more. Hey! Open up in there!
Mr. Kronenberg looks like he's going to faint on the spot.
We know you're in there!
At this point, Mr. Kronenberg has had enough and is turning
back to the elevator. But before he can take a step, the door
swings open. In a blur, two pairs of hands yank Andy and Harry
into the apartment. Mr. Kronenberg is frozen to the spot. But
not for long. Two hands reach out for him and since he's not
right in the doorway, the person has to step out slightly.
The man shoves Mr. Kronenberg into the apartment. He looks
up and sees me in the elevator. I gasp. I really shouldnt be
surprised. He's the CSIS phoney. And he's coming right toward
me.

Chapter Nine

he door's not going to shut in time.
I'm frantically pressing the 'Door close' button but the
man is going to reach me in two steps. And all he'll have
to do is stick his foot in the door. That's all it will take to stop
this elevator from going anywhere.
I can't do a damn thing.
And that's when I do something completely out of character. I
pray. I actually pray out loud.
Oh God. Shut this door right now!
I only have time to see the frustration in the man's eyes as the
door shuts in his face.
It doesn't do anything to speed up the elevator, but I'm
frantically pressing the main floor button. Then a horrible
thought hits me. If I were the guy, I'd be dashing down the stairs
hoping to stop this elevator at the next floor. I may only be 3
seconds away from facing him again.
If it worked once, it can work twice.
Oh God! Don't let this elevator stop! Keep it going! Keep it
going!
T
192
And we make it to the bottom without stopping. That is, I
make it to the bottom without stopping. For a moment there, I
really felt like it was me and God in that elevator.
Convincing the doorman that there's a crisis in the Waters-
Winterborn apartment (yes, I'm so nervous I get the name
mixed-up) is a hurdle that I overcome with hysteria. I manage to
convey that Mr. Kronenberger (yes, I mess his name up too) is
also a prisoner in the aforementioned apartment. This seems to
be enough of an emergency for the doorman to call the police.
Remembering that Andy said that the police precinct is only
two blocks away, I'm not surprised that they arrive quickly. Even
so, that small break is enough for me to take a lot of deep breaths
and become more coherent. I let the two officers know the
immediate problem and then for anyone who's interested, I
elaborate on the background. The hostage situation is enough to
merit calling for back-up and soon the outside of the building is
swarming with cop cars. I'm living a cop show. Some
investigators, a man and a woman, take me aside in the lobby and
ask me to tell the whole story again. Once again, the whole story
is told. They're actually not as surprised as I would think. Officer
Stewart back in Texas has already called with his concerns and
now the two stories are put together.
But just getting the cops here doesn't solve everything.
Now it's a hostage situation. A negotiator arrives and calls up
to the apartment building. And the call is answered.
After a few minutes of talk, he gets off with a grim report.
Both Karen and the Indian girl are in the apartment. The
ransom messages have been sent out. They haven't been paid yet.
When they are, the girls will be released. But the kidnappers
weren't expecting to have a complicated departure from the
apartment building. So Andy, Harry and Mr. Kronenberg are
going to be their hostages until they can get to safety.
This is bigger than just the NYPD. It's an international
incident. The apartment has students from Canada and India
which means it involves different agencies. The lobby is filling up
with more and more people. I'm slouched in a corner on an
elegant couch, told to stay, but with nothing really to do. Except
for telling my story over and over to every new agent that shows
up.
Tied up in Texas ~ Chapter Nine
193
A reporter somehow gets in and tries to interview me but is
escorted out of the lobby by the doorman.
The main foyer is no longer a place for the residents to use. In
fact, the doorman has to call everyone and ask them if they can
evacuate the apartment due to a situation that is underway. That's
all he says, but his understated warning seems to alarm people
more than if he'd pulled the fire alarm. They're all hurrying down
the stairs and being escorted out the back way. Being rich, I guess
they'll find a hotel to stay in.
In the meantime, there are coffee and sandwiches being laid
out on a table. It looks like it's going to be a long night.

I snooze.
Yes, it's the biggest night of my life, being part of a real live
NYPD op, not to mention all the government agents, and I fall
asleep. But it's hot in there with all the people moving around
and no one needs me after I've told my story 57 times, so I fall
asleep.
When I wake-up, my first thought is Harry.
I was too busy to think about him before, but now it hits me
hard. Harry is in there and he's going to be a hostage. What if he
doesn't get out alive?
The main foyer is as busy as ever.
I look at my watch. It's 2:32 a.m. I get up and make myself a
coffee. I'm just finishing it when Andy's mom comes hurrying in.
She's managed to evade all of the guards set up to keep ordinary
folks out and she is permitted to stay when they find out who she
is.
She's breathless and horrified. She didn't go home to find
Andy missing. She was just on her way back from dinner with her
boyfriend when she saw all the commotion here and had a bad
feeling about it. I'm afraid I'm not much comfort to her when I
tell her what's going on.
She screams and covers her mouth at the same time. One of
the agents hurries over, a woman, and I tell her this is Andy's
mom. Andy's mom is gently escorted away and the way she's
carrying on I think they'll probably give her a sedative and make
her lie down somewhere.
Then something occurs to me that is almost enough to make
me hysterical and need to take a sedative.
194
Harry's up there in that apartment with Karen!
She's probably cuddling up to him for comfort. He's probably
telling her to look to Jesus for strength. Maybe he's leading her in
the sinner's prayer . . .
No! That would be too much!
Besides, if Harry tells Karen about Jesus, he'll tell everyone
about Jesus. Maybe he'll lead them all in the sinner's prayer . . .
Meg? Meg Carmichael? An attractive woman in her mid-
thirties wearing a beige winter coat comes and sits down beside
me. Turns out she's some Federal agent. CIA? I'm not really sure.
She says she's Amy Merckell and she knows I've told my story a
hundred times, but could I do it one more time for her?
Sure, I say. And launch on the whole thing. Except this time,
I actually start from the beginning. The real beginning. When
Harry and I met at the Phillips Christmas party and agreed to
investigate the stolen Shanklin diamond necklace.
I can skip ahead, if you want, I say. I mean to the part
where we went to Texas.
No, no, keep going, says Amy. It's good stuff for me to
know. You see, I'm handling the hostage end of things. And it
would help a lot if I knew what kind of guy Harry Phillips is.
So she gets the whole story. Of how we went to Drumheller
and then Halifax and how we solved a mystery without even
knowing it. I tell her all about Harry, even all his Christian faults,
and she smiles a lot. I conclude with my elevator story and how I
actually prayed and the door seemed to shut faster.
Harry's so Christian and he goes on and on about it, I guess it
affected me a bit.
That's a good thing though, she says, taking some notes.
I'm glad to hear that Harry has a strong faith. A strong faith can
make a difference in cases like these.
I think I know what you mean, I say. Harry won't fall apart.
But I am concerned about one thing . . . I hesitate.
Uh-huh? says Amy, encouraging me to go on.
It's Karen up there.
His ex-girlfriend?
I nod.
I saw a different side of him when he had to face her. It was
like, he thought it was some big test of his faith to face her
again.
195
Well, from what you've told me, I can understand that.
If she weren't there, I'd say he's rock solid. You can count on
him to hold it all together. But she's there. I can't really put my
finger on it and tell you exactly what I mean . . .
You don't have to, says Amy, reassuringly. The main thing
is that you've given me all the facts and we can take it from
here.
What's going to happen? I ask.
Well, from what I can tell, both the parents of the hostages
are paying the ransom. The ransoms aren't outrageous. Its really
just money from the bank. The kidnappers aren't expecting the
parents to mortgage all their assets to pay the ransom. And I
think we can be encouraged by that. It shows that they're not
ruthless and they're not unreasonable.
Yeah, that's a good thing, I say. But I wish I could do
something.
You can, says Amy, standing up.
What's that?
It sounds like you have God's attention. She winks. You
can pray.
Morning comes with very little change to the activity in the
foyer. But there is a notable event. One of the parents arrives. It's
the Indian girl's father, the one who contacted The Dallas
Morning News. After that, he got on a plane and took a direct
flight to LaGuardia.
Naturally, he wants to know everything that's going on. He has
paid the ransom and now he wants to see his daughter. They seat
him near me and soothingly tell him that he should see his
daughter soon. The other ransom is still in the process of being
paid, just because they had a hard time tracking the father down,
he turned out to be in the Caribbean.
That's Karen's father. How ironic considering all the activity is
centred on his apartment. I wonder if Karen's mother knows
what's going on and what she'll think of our detective services
after this.
It doesn't take long for me to find out.
Karen's mother arrives and makes a big stir. After all, she's the
owner of the apartment. She is as hysterical as Andy's mom was
and has to be calmed down before she can answer a boatload of
questions. I guess she can give them a good description of the
196
apartment and how it's all laid-out. The longer they keep her, the
more nervous I get. She's probably going to want to talk to me
after.
I've never actually met the woman but no doubt she has some
awareness of my existence. This is confirmed when one of the
investigators points in my direction.
She comes over to me with a real chip on her shoulder. She's a
tall, slim woman with grey hair swept back in an elegant bob. Her
eyes are red either from crying or from exhaustion.
Well? she demands. What happened? You were supposed
to protect my daughter and now she's gotten herself kidnapped!
There's only one thing to do.
Tell the whole story again, from the beginning.
The Indian father moves in closer when he gets a sense that
he's going to get a little more information. I'm not as good as
Harry when it comes to telling stories and this is not a
sympathetic audience, but I do my best. I keep out the parts
about Karen's sleazy life, though, of course, I have to mention
the party. But I fill it all in with so many details that when I'm
done, Karen's mother has to admit that we haven't exactly been
sitting on our hands.
In fact she gives me a little nod and says, Well, you did your
best. It means a lot coming from a woman whose daughter is
upstairs being held captive.
Did their best! says the Indian man. These kids should be
given a medal! They were on the job when the campus security
had no idea what was going on! And they tracked the girls to this
very apartment! I don't know about you, he says to Karen's
mom, but I would be out of my mind if I didn't know where my
daughter was!
Karen's mom nods.
My husband just paid the ransom, so we should be seeing our
children soon.
Now, let me get this straight, says the Indian man. Our
daughters will be free to go while the men, that Harry and Andy
and the lawyer, all have to stay as hostages?
Karen's mom nods.
That's what they told me.
She turns to me.
197
I'm sorry, dear, she says. I know you must be worried about
Harry. He's such a nice boy. I always liked him.
At this point, the police aren't exactly keeping us peripheral
people posted on all new developments, but I have my eye on the
negotiator. He's been on the phone a lot and he looks pretty
relaxed, in fact he looks downright cheerful.
We soon find out why.
The elevator door opens and the girls come tumbling out of it.
Karen's mom gasps and dashes over to her daughter. The
Indian man is crying.
The girls are also crying and they're getting hugs from some of
the people in the foyer, even the doorman who's been with us all
night.
But, no surprise, Harry, Andy and Mr. Kronenberg are all still
back in the apartment. The negotiator now has to get back on the
phone and once again, his face is serious.
The girls are interviewed. That takes up most of the morning.
Karen's mom sits by her for the interview and then kindly comes
over to report everything to me.
They were well-treated in the apartment, plenty of food and
pretty much left alone as long as they didn't try to escape. Four
men seem to have been in on it, all posing as government agents.
They're up in the apartment and they have guns, so it's unlikely
that Harry and Andy and Mr. Kronenberg are going to be able to
do anything heroic and capture them.
Karen comes over, joining me and her mother.
Hi, she says to me. She sounds almost human. Meg, right?
I nod.
Harry says you guys stuck around in Texas to make sure I was
OK.
Uh, yeah. We wanted to get to the bottom of it.
Karen's mom puts her arm around me and gives my shoulder a
squeeze. Now that Karen's safe, I think we may come out of this
OK, as long as Harry survives.
Well, anyway . . . says Karen. Thanks.
You're welcome, I say.
There's a pause. I fill in the silence with the only thing that's
really on my mind, at this point.
How's Harry?
Karen smiles.
198
Oh, he's got Jesus taking care of him. Are you a Christian
too?
I shake my head.
Well, he's all talking to Andy and they're all talking about how
Jesus is going to see them through. And it was making Mr.
Kronenberg really mad.
I smile.
Karen shakes her head at the memory.
And then when Harry realized he was bugging Mr.
Kronenberg, he started asking him about his Jewish faith. And
Mr. Kronenberg said he only stayed Jewish to go to the
synagogue and stay connected to clients. But he stopped
believing in God after the Holocaust.
So what did Harry say about that?
He asked him how old he was when the Holocaust happened
and Mr. Kronenberg said he was born five years after it. And
then Harry goes, was your family in Germany at the time? And
Mr. Kronenberg said no, they were all in America. So what?
Karen and I are both grinning.
So Harry says then, that Mr. Kronenberg is angry at God for
things that didn't even affect him. And Mr. Kronenberg is all red
and says that Harry's not a Jew, so he wouldn't understand. And
Harry says, no, he's not a Jew, but every day around the world,
Christians are being put in prison for their faith and that they've
been persecuted as much as any other people. But that didn't
make him give up on his faith.
Wow, I say.
And then Mr. Kronenberg got so mad that he stood up and I
thought he was going to strangle Harry. So one of the guys, the
one who told me he was with CSIS, had to stop him and he told
Mr. Kronenberg to go lie down. Sent him into the bedroom, as if
he were a little kid.
Karen and I are both laughing.
Yeah, Harry's a funny guy, says Karen. There's a pause and
then she concludes, But he's not my type.
Then a man comes over to tell Karen and her mom that they
can put them up in a hotel for the night before flying Karen back
to Texas the next day. But since it's actually Karen and her
mom's apartment up there, they're giving them the option of
staying around if they want.
199
Karen's mom stands up and says she doesn't care about the
apartment. Let her husband worry about that. She and Karen will
go to the hotel.
This invitation doesn't seem to include me though. I'm
thinking maybe I should go back to Andy's apartment. My stuff is
there and I'd really like to change my clothes.
After I get a hug from Karen's mom and even from Karen and
they all leave in a taxi, I go over to the front door where a new
doorman is on duty. (The old one is just sticking around, but he's
not on duty anymore.)
He looks at me.
Long red hair, he says, almost to himself.
I just stare at him.
Come with me, he says, leading me to a small concierge
station. From under it, he pulls out two knapsacks. Mine and
Harry's.
Thanks, I say, taking them. Uh, I guess this means I'm not
wanted by that lady . . .
Mrs. Haverston says that she would prefer you find another
place to stay.
Aaaahhh, I say. Evidently Andy's mom holds me and Harry
responsible for her son becoming a hostage. I return to my
corner with the two knapsacks.
I slide my knapsack under the couch and am trying to do the
same to Harry's but it's stuck.
I pull it out and try again. Still stuck.
It's a book in the outside pocket that's getting caught. Probably
that cop book. I wouldn't mind having some fiction to read to
kill the time until someone tells me what I can do.
But it's not the cop book. It's Harry's Bible.
I sigh and am about to put it back.
But then I think about Amy and how she jokingly said God's
listening to me right now.
OK, here goes . . . I say to myself, or God, if he's listening.
Please take care of Harry. Please keep him safe.
I'm going to just put the Bible away but then it occurs to me
that I've never ever actually opened a Bible. I have no idea what
kind of things are in it. I mean, obviously the Ten
Commandments and stuff about Jesus. But apart from that, I
have no idea why it's so thick.
200
I open it up somewhere in the middle.
If I'm expecting some kind of lightning bolt from heaven, it
doesn't happen. It's just words. My eye falls on something about
sing praises to Yahweh, oh you saints. I turn to another page and then
I see some words that Harry has underlined. Yahweh is a stronghold
for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble. And those who know your
name put their trust in you. I flip around some more. There are a lot
of passages underlined. Some of them are about trust and
Yahweh protecting the righteous.
If it's all true, then Harry has nothing to worry about.
I put the Bible away and this time I manage to get the
knapsack under the couch. I seriously wish I could take a shower.
I wonder if Harry is in the same predicament up in the
apartment. Maybe he's had a shower, is dressed in Mr. Winters-
Waterborn's clothing, has feasted on a champagne breakfast and
is now smoking an after-breakfast Cuban cigar. With that
thought, I curl up on the couch and fall asleep.

Meg! Meg! It's Amy. She's gently shaking me awake.
Oh, hi! I say, rubbing my eyes. Is everything OK? How's
Harry?
That's why I need to talk to you.
She's so serious, I'm alarmed.
Why? What's happened to Harry? Now I'm panicking.
He's fine, says Amy patting my knee. But you have a big
decision to make.
What is it? I ask.
The men upstairs are ready to move out. But there are four of
them and only three hostages. One of the men says that he
knows there's a red-headed girl down here.
I nod, thinking back to that elevator door closing.
They want us to send you up. Each man wants to have a
hostage . . .
As a shield, I say, getting it. Of course.
Now, you don't have to go, continues Amy. And we're not
asking you to go . . .
But I have to, I say. Those guys won't accept anyone but
me. They don't want you sending up a professional.
Amy nods.
But at the same time, we won't make you go, she says.
201
I stand up.
Harry and I got into this together. We'll get out of it
together.
Atta' girl! she says, standing up and giving me a big smile.
And don't be afraid, we'll be doing everything to keep you guys
safe. We'll let them get away if we have to and we'll catch up with
them later.
The negotiator glances at me as Amy leads me over to the
elevator door. He's still talking on the phone. I hear him say,
She's on her way up.
The elevator door opens up and Amy gives me a big hug.
Don't forget, she whispers. God's listening to you!
Then the elevator door shuts.
Maybe she was just saying it to be comforting but I do pray the
whole way up. I may even be doing it out loud. If I didn't, my
legs wouldn't be able to hold me up, I'm so scared.
Oh God! Help us! Help me! Help Harry! Help us get out of
here! Help!
That's pretty much all I have time for before the elevator has
reached the 18
th
floor and the door opens. The bogus CSIS guy is
there to yank me off the elevator. His gun is poised as if ready for
any tricks that the guys downstairs might have planned to play on
him. But it's just little old me and I'm hauled into the apartment.
Harry's there. In the hallway.
I see his face right away and the relief it gives me is incredible.
I practically fall into his arms and he holds onto me and gives me
a tight hug.
They're all there in the hallway, ready to go. They were just
waiting for me.
Behind Harry is an Indian-looking man. Andy has an Asian
man. Mr. Kronenberg, looking pale and angry, has a large black
man behind him. I'm obviously the CSIS guy's shield.
But before we go, he wants to know what the situation down
there is. I tell him the front foyer is full of people. The two girls
are long gone. Just the police and whoever else is running this op
are left.
What about the back?
I have no idea. I was never back there. The people in the
apartment went out the back. But I didn't see it.
The men confer.
202
They'll be expecting us to go out the back, says the black
man. I think we should go out the front. Really surprise them.
I agree, says CSIS.
The Asian man argues that then we'll be surrounded.
That's what we have these guys for, says CSIS, giving me a
shove. And we'll be moving fast.
I think it's better to go out down an alley, argues the Asian
guy.
Yeah, and then they pop up from the Dumpsters. No, says
CSIS. We go out the front. We take them by surprise and we get
out onto the street fast. They can't start shooting once we're out
on the street.
I have to admit, I agree with him. But I wonder where they
plan to go from here? Grab a cab? Take the subway? I get the
impression they were not expecting this situation. They were just
expecting to walk out of here like ordinary people when the job
was done.
Each man gets a rough grip on his hostage and we move out
together. Once in the foyer, they arrange themselves in a square,
covering each other's backs while we're on the outside. There are
two elevator doors in this apartment. CSIS gets us all into one
elevator and then goes back to hit a button for the other elevator.
When it comes, he presses a button and then ducks out. Smart. It
will make it to the bottom before us, open up and be a
distraction before we come out of the other elevator.
Harry is beside me and he looks down and gives me a grin. I
grin back. We're back together. A team.
When the elevator door opens, CSIS leads the square, which
means, I'm the first one out. And I have time to see the surprise
on everyone's face. I think they really were expecting an escape
down the stairs and out the back.
The crowd parts to let us through. We move too fast for much
thought, although, I notice that the doorman actually opens the
door for us. I guess it's his job no matter what the situation.
Then we're out into a Manhattan morning. It's cold but sunny
and busy. Extremely busy. Buses, taxis, cars, bicycles, people on
roller-blades, people on foot, strollers, hotdog stands,
newsstands. At first, no one pays attention to us. And then
people start noticing.
203
Is it a movie? I hear someone saying. Hey! They're filming a
movie!
Look! says another. It's Robert Pattinson! This must be
for Harry.
It's Daniel Radcliffe! screams someone else. That's definitely
for Andy.
This is an unexpected turn for the men.
Suddenly, we're surrounded by females wanting Harry and
Andy's autograph. And these women are aggressive. We're
completely closed in since Harry and Andy were on opposite
sides of the square. The guns don't frighten anyone. They just
look like movie props.
And the police are quick to take advantage of the situation.
They move in fast and disarm the men while they're still trying
to figure out what to do. I just about faint from relief.
Meanwhile, digital cameras are flashing and phones are clicking
as everyone takes photos. Harry and Andy are still the centre of
attention. Harry laughs. He can see that we're out of danger and
the laugh is pure relief. He grabs my hand and pulls me into the
centre of the mob, putting his arm around my shoulders.
Tomorrow the papers will report that Robert Pattinson has a
new girlfriend.
204

Chapter Ten

sn't God great? says Harry.
We're all tidied up and having coffee with Andy at the caf
where Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan were in You've Got Mail.
Yeah, man, says Andy enthusiastically. You said he'd
deliver us and he did! We were praying for a miracle, he says to
me. And it totally happened!
Our prayers made the difference, agrees Harry.
Has it ever occurred to you that it might have been my
prayers, I grumble. Then I realize my mistake.
Your prayers? For a moment, Harry is surprised. Then he
looks thrilled. That's great, Meg!
I roll my eyes.
I am sooo going to regret letting that one slip out.
Andy's mom still hasn't forgiven us but Andy is our lifelong
friend now. He says any time we're in Dallas or New York, look
him up and we'll have another adventure.
Karen is safely back in Texas, as is the other girl. Their parents
are actually letting them stay in America despite the kidnapping.
Harry and I have phoned home to let our parents know we're
OK. Amazingly, my mom and the Phillips hadn't heard anything
about a kidnapping ring, despite that one of the girls lived on
I
206
Harry's road and used to date him. We tell them not to worry
about it, everything's OK, and that we're off to Antarctica.
Yes! We're going to Antarctica!
Harry has it all arranged.
We're flying from New York to San Francisco and from there
to Ushuaia, Argentina. Then we'll charter a boat to Antarctica.
Apparently tourists do it all the time to see the whales and the
penguins.
Harry and Andy have a lot to talk about. They became pretty
good friends in the hostage crisis, so I let them talk while I
unwind a cinnamon bun and eat it slowly. Emails are exchanged
and Harry promises to let Andy know all about Antarctica.
Then Harry and I catch a cab to the Marriot Hotel near
LaGuardia, where we'll be leaving from tomorrow.
Hold on a sec, says Harry, when we're in the hallway and
going to part for our separate rooms. He goes into his room and
returns with his knapsack.
I almost forgot . . . he says, handing me two pairs of hiking
socks. These are yours, remember? You'll need them in
Antarctica.
Thanks Harry. I look down at them. They're actually a useful
present.
Do me a favour? he says.
Sure, Harry, anything.
Watch this.
He pulls The Gospel of John DVD out of his knapsack and hands
it to me. My first instinct is to protest and tell him no way. Then
I think of an excuse.
I can't watch a DVD, I say. We don't have a DVD player.
I'll have one sent to your room, he promises. They must
have them for business meetings.
I am so going to tell him that just because I prayed one little
prayer, OK, maybe two or three little prayers, that I'm not going
to start watching Jesus movies.
And then I think of all he's been through. And the fact that it's
all because of me. He wanted to go to Antarctica.
OK, Harry, I say, sighing.
He grins. He's really happy. In fact, he starts to whistle as he
heads back to his room.
I'm not going to become a Christian, I call out after him.
Tied up in Texas ~ Chapter Ten
207
I never said you were, he says, continuing to whistle, now in
front of his door.
That isn't a hymn, is it? I say.
No, he says. Well, not really.
What do you mean, not really?
It's an updated version of a hymn, he explains, continuing to
whistle.
Harry . . . I say threateningly, unlocking my door. No
hymns.
How would you know if it's a hymn? You don't even know
any hymns.
That's not the point. No hymns . . .
I go into my room and shut the door.

January 15, 2010
My Meg,
I'm so proud of you kid! I read about it all in the paper. You're
going to be a great cop! Wish I had some money to send so you
could go to college. Maybe next time . . . I'll win big soon. I
promise.
Love,
Dad

208

Alive in Antarctica

210

Chapter One

'm really looking forward to San Francisco. Cable cars. The
Golden Gate Bridge. Cool caf scene. But all Harry wants to
do is shop.
We just wrapped up a case in Texas that took us to New York
City. Now we're heading down to Antarctica and Harry says we
don't have nearly enough gear.
Mrs. Bella Shepherd from Toronto, Ontario (our home town)
is worried about her son, Dan, a 35-year-old zoologist who is
doing research on birds in Antarctica. The last letter she got from
him was seriously strange. She didn't elaborate to us, but she
wants us down there, posing as research students, to keep an eye
on him. Since she's funding this particular expedition, she's
managed to get us two spots at the Bellingshausen Station.
Canada doesn't have its own station in the Antarctic so that's why
her son is renting space in the Russian station. In the summer
months, there are usually 25 Russians there, although the station
can handle up to fifty.
I want to look around San Francisco but Harry says that no
serious research student shows up in Antarctica with just a
knapsack. Plus, we'll have to get books and try to read up on
birds of Antarctica before we arrive. Yay. Birds. Why birds?
I
212
Penguins, maybe. Penguins are cute. But at no point in my life
have I ever wanted to know anything about a giant Antarctica
petrel.
I have my doubts about our ability to pass for research
students, but Harry's all pumped up about this. He thinks
Antarctica will be the ultimate travel experience. (And believe me,
the guy has done some travelling.) He's talking about this being
our best adventure yet.
Our partnership-in-adventure is pretty recent. It's the end of
January now and we only got together in early December. But
since then, Harry Phillips and I have solved a case involving a
stolen necklace and a case involving university students being
recruited by government agents in Texas.
My name is Meg Carmichael and my dream is to be a cop, the
investigative kind. But since my Dad's only career is to gamble
his money away in Reno, I doubt I'll be getting any college
money from him. Mom's job working as an administrative
assistant for Harry's father is enough to pay for our mortgage and
the essentials so I'm not going to bug her for money.
Harry could be working for his Dad, but the boredom of a
desk job was enough to propel him into a partnership with me.
Well, not a partnership, exactly. Harry's this zealot Christian who
doesn't believe that Christians and non-Christians (such as
myself) should form partnerships. So we just split the profits and
call ourselves associates. But I will say this, we're starting to work
really well together.

So now we're in some kind of army surplus store looking at
stuff that would be great if we were going out into the woods in
the middle of winter and needed to survive with no amenities. It's
making me nervous.
I thought we're staying in a fully-equipped station, I say.
When are we going to need survival gear?
We have to be prepared for anything, including being
outside, says Harry, leading me over to some seriously rugged-
looking winter coats. He grabs a man's size small for me and a
large for himself.
Try these too, he says, tossing me a pair of matching pants. I
untie my hiking boots and put them on. I'm hot already.
Alive in Antarctica ~ Chapter One
213
And boots, says Harry looking down at mine on the floor.
We'll need winter ones.
I thought you said it was summer in Antarctica, I say.
Yeah, but summer can feel like winter.
What does winter feel like?
But Harry isn't listening. He's picking out long underwear for
us.
I try on a hat that covers my ears and most of my face. But it's
hard to know what to do with my long red hair.
Hey, Harry! I call out. He's looking at large duffle bags with
water-proof lining. Should I cut my hair? It's something I've
been thinking about for a while.
No! Of course not! He sounds genuinely surprised that I
would consider such a thing.
So I put the coat on without pulling out my hair and then put
on the hat. That works a bit better.
Once we've made all of our purchases (Mrs. Shepherd covers
our expenses) I think, OK, maybe now we can check out the
cable cars.
But Harry is dragging me and all our supplies to a nearby
bookstore and we're going through the Nature section. They
have two shelves devoted to birds, but it's mostly bird-watching
stuff. It's not looking good if we want to learn about the ones in
Antarctica. Then Harry snaps his fingers. We're in the wrong
section. He wanders up and down the aisles till we come to
books about Antarctica. There we find two thick books about the
wildlife in Antarctica, with several chapters on the birds.
That'll have to do, says Harry, straightening up. In case we'd
missed anything, he had been down on his knees examining
everything on the bottom shelf.
We could probably do a bit of reading while we go up to the
top of that big hill, I say. You know, the one where all the
cable cars go . . .
You can if you want, says Harry absently, carrying all of our
supplies in one hand and the two books in his other hand. He's
reading the back cover of one of them as he heads for the cash
register. But I'm going to have to concentrate if I'm going to
take all of this in.
I roll my eyes.
214
We'll be stuck in the Red Roof Inn, right by the airport,
drinking pots of coffee and studying about skuas and terns and
petrels.
So we call a cab from the bookstore and all I see of San
Francisco is what I can take in on the short drive back to the inn.
This really isnt the most picturesque part of San Francisco.
Harry dumps the big bag of winter gear into the corner and
gets the coffee-maker on the dresser going.
OK, says Harry, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.
Are we ready? He picks up the first book.
Can I be an expert in something else? I say. I know a lot of
things.
Anything that can be used in Antarctica?
Well, mostly I know about law enforcement . . . I grew up
on cop shows.
I don't think they have law enforcement in Antarctica, says
Harry.
Wow, I say. It's a real wild west then?
I would guess that everyone just follows the laws of their
individual countries. And if anything happens, their country
investigates.
So, if anything happens to us, who would investigate, Canada
or Russia?
I dunno, says Harry, absently. He has the first book open.
Penguins are birds, of course . . .
They are? I say, surprised.
Harry nods.
But Dan Shepherd isn't studying penguins. So we'll start with
the albatross. He begins to read. The albatross is the largest of
the living birds with wingspan averages ranging from 8 to 12 feet.
Sailors in the past reported seeing albatrosses that had wingspans
of 17 feet. These long wings enable the birds to stay in the air for
extended periods of time, as long as several hours. As seabirds,
albatrosses are generally found in the southern oceans and the
North Pacific. The types of albatrosses found in the Antarctic
region are the Black-browed albatross, the Grey-headed
albatross, the Light-mantled albatross, the Sooty albatross, and
the Wandering albatross . . .
Groaning inwardly, I get up off the bed to make myself a
coffee.
215
The coffee keeps me awake for the whole section about
albatrosses. But I actually drift off to sleep during the petrels.
I wake up when the book is being slammed shut near my ear. I
jump.
And we'll stop there, says Harry pleasantly, keeping a
straight face.
Great, I say recovering fast. Yes, that's a lot for one day.
San Francisco is known for its great night-life, but Harry says
he wants to have dinner in the restaurant on the premises and do
some more studying afterward. So I have no choice. I hardly
want to go and hangout in some jazz bar by myself.
We both order hamburgers and fries and Harry quizzes me on
what we've been reading while we eat.
Where are the nostrils of the albatross located?
Yes, I say.
Harry looks at me.
Sides of the bill, he says. Describe a snow petrel.
Yes, I say.
White all over, black beak. OK, how 'bout this? What do
prions typically eat?
Yes, I say.
Harry just stares at me.
I'm going to pretend that 'yes' is the only English word I
know, I explain, and that I'm a French student from Quebec.
How's your French?
Lousy, but who's going to know?
Dr. Dan Shepherd teaches at Laval University in Quebec.
OK, then . . . I resign myself. What were those questions
again?
Zooplankton, says Harry. Prions eat zooplankton.
Zooplankton, I say, nodding, as I read the dessert menu. I'm
debating on whether I want a sundae or a piece of the chocolate
cake.
But Harry doesn't give me a chance. He's paying the bill and
we're going back to his room and the books.
Let's switch on the TV, I suggest.
I can't concentrate with the television on, says Harry.
But Harry! I groan. This is sooooo boring!
But I have to do it! says Harry. I mean, it's easy for you!
You'll just go in there and Dr. Shepherd will be happy to have
216
someone nice to look at. Me! I have to impress him with what I
actually know!
I'm too flattered to argue with him any further.
OK, I say. How 'bout I test you?
I pick up the book.
The Imperial Shag is a type of . . . ?
Cormorant.
Colours?
Black and white.
Where are you likely to find one?
Ummm . . .
Rocky coasts and some large inland lakes, I say.
Rocky coasts. Large inland lakes. OK, go on.
Name the two types of diving petrels common to
Antarctica?
The common diving petrel and the . . . Harry is thinking.
The South Georgia diving petrel.
Great.
After a couple of hours, I try to convince Harry that he knows
way too much about the birds of Antarctica. We have to get up
early tomorrow for our flight to Ushuaia, Argentina.
I just hope that it's enough, says Harry.

The complimentary shuttle drives us to the San Francisco
International Airport, just three miles away.
It's our habit to travel light and avoid luggage carousels, but
our large duffel bag is not exactly a carry-on item. We check in
and then get a coffee and a bagel at one of the places in the food
court.
So what did you think of The Gospel of John?
A few days ago, Harry gave me a DVD called The Gospel of John.
He thinks by watching such things I will ask him to lead me in
some kind of prayer to become a Christian.
Yeah, I liked it, I say, biting into my bagel.
Harry looks pleased.
That guy who played Jesus, I continue. He was really hot.
Do you think Jesus was that hot?
This actually makes Harry laugh. Sometimes I worry that I
might annoy him. But so far I haven't crossed any lines.
217
I dunno. Women were always following him around. Maybe.
He reaches for a serviette to wipe some cream cheese off his
mouth.
Why did they follow him?
Really, I should shut up and not give Harry false hope, but I'm
curious.
Well, says Harry, thinking. I guess it was because he talked
to them.
He talked to them?
I dont think women were included in the religious
discussions in those days. But he would talk to them. He told one
woman that he was the messiah. She just came to get water from
the well and he was there and asked her for a drink. So they
started talking and she had some questions and he ended up
telling her he was the messiah.
Yeah, I remember that part in the movie, I say, taking a gulp
of my coffee. I think I know what you mean. He wasn't telling
the men stuff. They sort of had to figure it out. But he told her
who he was.
Exactly.
Yeah, I guess I liked that part. So . . . is that all they know
about Jesus? Just that stuff that was in the movie?
There are other Gospels and they have some stories that
aren't in John.
Do they have movies too?
Yep, says Harry. There's one movie that does the same
thing, but with the Gospel of Matthew. It's good too. I can get it
for you, if you want.
Yeah, I guess that'd be OK.
I don't know why I'm going along with this lunacy. I think it's
just a case of trying to take an interest in what gets Harry going.
After all, he was nice enough to buy a cop novel for me.
Now Harry has this habit of talking to people on planes, but
today he just wants to read the books. So, once we're seated on
our flight, me by the window, Harry in the middle and some
South American-looking guy on the aisle, Harry reads one book
while I flip through the other looking at the pictures. Then Harry
wants me to quiz him. I have to eat my lunch with a book
balanced on the tray.
218
It's a long flight with a stop in Buenos Aires to refuel and pick
up more passengers. The South American-looking man is
replaced by a very North American-looking man. He's tall, blond,
with glasses and the kind of outfit that goes along with adventure
heavy cotton shirt, one of those outdoor travel vests with loads
of pockets, khaki pants, and serious hiking boots.
He glances at the books on Harry's lap and immediately takes
an interest in us.
You're going there? he asks.
Harry nods.
We're heading for the Bellingshausen Station.
No way! says the man. The Russian station, eh? I'll just be
up the road from you. At the Chilean station. They call it the
Presidente Eduardo Frei Montalva Base. That's a mouthful, eh?
Turns out the man, his name is Ken Seaford, is a nature
photographer from Regina and he goes to Antarctica every
winter (summer in Antarctica, that is) if he can. When he finds
out we're Canadian, it's like we're old buddies.
Harry doesn't even have to tell him we're research students. He
just assumes that if we're looking at books about wildlife in
Antarctica and staying at a station, that we must have some good
reason for going there.
Have you chartered your boat, yet? he asks.
Our sponsor said that we should try to catch a supply ship . .
.
Forget about that! says Ken. Come with me! I've got a great
guy I go with every year, Eduardo. He gets me there every time
and for the best price in the whole port. Great little boat . . .
It's funny how these things are always happening to us. When
we flew to Alberta, we met Vera who volunteered to drive us to
Drumheller. When we were on our way to New York, we met
Andy who invited us back to his place. Now we have Ken taking
us along on his boat.
Harry would say it's because of this prayer he prayed, that God
would help him to meet people with needs. You see, Harry
considers himself an emissary of God. Doesn't go to church. Just
goes around being Mother Teresa to everyone. Now I guess God
has sent him Ken. Though from what I can tell, Ken has no
needs whatsoever. He has it all together.
219
Maybe God has sent Ken to help us. Harry is asking him all
sorts of questions about Antarctica. We discover that we'll be
staying at the station with the only real church, a permanently-
staffed Eastern Orthodox church called Trinity Church, 15
metres high, wooden, in the traditional Russian style, built on a
hill so that it can be seen from a distance. Even though Harry
doesn't go to church, he thinks this is great. They talk about day-
to-day life at the stations. Ken asks if our sponsor has arranged
for extra food and gear for our arrival.
I don't know, says Harry. This is a new thought.
See, these little places are self-contained, says Ken. I don't
go unless I have enough food for myself.
You're right, says Harry. We'll have to do that too.
Ken asks us about our particular expedition. Harry explains
that it's led by Dr. Dan Shepherd and it's an all-Canadian team,
studying birds in the Antarctic and doing a comparative study
with birds found in the Arctic regions of Canada.
Dr. Shepherd was in Nunavut, Arctic Bay I think, over the
winter, says Harry. He obviously knows more about it than me.
Oh that Dr. Shepherd! says Ken, looking thrilled. No way!
That's great! I was up there photographing his work for Macleans
this winter. He didn't tell me he'd be in Antarctica. He's not really
very talkative. But then you know that already.
Actually, we don't know him very well. We don't go to
Laval.
Maybe I can do a follow-up article, says Ken, more to
himself than to us.
He's not talkative? I say.
Ken shakes his head.
No. That man is completely in his own world and his world is
the world of birds. I don't think he pays attention to anything
that doesn't have wings.
Well, we won't have to worry then. Maybe Dr. Shepherd won't
even notice we're there.
Does he like to work alone? asks Harry. We're both probing.
Seeing if we'll be able to pull this off.
Ken nods.
It was pulling teeth to talk to him. My article was mostly
about the birds he was researching. I had to phone up Laval to
220
get any background on the man. I found out he was born in
Toronto . . .
Harry nods.
We know his mother.
Do you? says Ken, sounding interested. Maybe I can phone
her and get some background info for this article. God knows, I
won't get it from the man himself.
This could definitely work in our favour.
So, I say. Does that mean he doesn't have much to do with
the research students?
Ken laughs.
Only one of them. You'll be lucky if he says hello to you, he
says. 'Scuse me. He gets up and goes down the aisle to the
bathroom.
That's great! I say to Harry. Now we don't have to worry
about knowing anything about birds!
There's an upside to it, agrees Harry. But the downside is,
we're going to have a hard time figuring out what's wrong with
him. His mom is convinced that the last letter he wrote could
have come from a completely different person.
Maybe the Antarctic Postal Service got two letters mixed up,
I say. Maybe it did come from a different person.
I doubt it. His mom is worried that he's losing his mind in
Antarctica.
From what Ken says, I think he lost it before he got there.
Ken returns and Harry asks him more about Antarctica.
Well, this time of year is good for seeing the seal pups and
penguin chicks. Everyone likes the penguin chicks so I always get
photos of them. If you hang around until February and March,
you'll see more whales and the penguin fledglings.
What birds do you photograph there? ask Harry.
It's a good area for Blue-eyed Shags, Antarctic Terns and
Southern Giant Petrels. You'll see a lot of those.
Why do you stay at the Chilean station? asks Harry.
Great company, says Ken. They're a lot of fun.
What about the Russians?
Ken grins.
They work hard and play hard. Hope you can hold your
vodka. But their priest keeps them in line.
How cold will it be? I ask.
221
Warmer than anywhere else, says Ken. It'll be about 1
degree Celsius. February's the warmest month there. Even in
winter, which is August, this part of Antarctica only goes down
to -7 degrees Celsius. The Bellingshausen Station is quite a bit
more north than the other stations.
Then the pilot comes on to tell us we'll be landing in Ushuaia
in fifteen minutes. The weather is a balmy 17 degrees Celsius,
with temperatures of around 6 degrees Celsius at night.
Great! says Ken. I have to tell Eduardo I'm here, we have
to buy our supplies, but then we'll probably have a bit of time to
look around. It's a great tourist destination. A lot of people from
Buenos Aires come here.
What's the best place to stay in Ushuaia? asks Harry.
That's easy! says Ken. La Casa de Alba Bed and Breakfast.
$45 a night, great food, great people.
With Ken, the world is a great place.
When we disembark from the plane and clear customs, we all
have to wait for our luggage. Harry and I both have knapsacks,
plus the one big duffel bag.
Is that all you have? asks Ken, incredulously. For the two
of you?
We nod.
You need more supplies, he announces. He has two large
duffel bags as well as an industrial-looking suitcase for his camera
gear. He has to grab a cart for all of his stuff and we head out of
the airport.
I know right away we're in a different world. Even the airport
terminal is unusual. It's a triangular structure, for the most part
made of wood but with sections of glass panelling from floor to
ceiling.
Ushuaia is the first real foreign place I've been to. People of all
nationalities are milling around, although I hear a lot of Spanish
being spoken.
In the distance are mountains but everywhere, you can feel the
sea. It's just in the air. One of the airport's runways even goes
straight to the water's edge.
Ken hails a cab for us.
All of the gear manages to fit in the trunk. I hate to think what
kind of vehicle we're going to need when we buy even more
stuff.
222
Ken gives the cab-driver the address of the bed-and-breakfast.
It's not far away. Everything in Ushuaia seems close together.
Ken is obviously a regular at this bed-and-breakfast because
he's greeted like an old friend by the lady who runs it. He's given
his 'usual room' and thankfully there are two empty rooms for us
despite it being the peak of tourist season. Two families just left
the night before to start out on some biking tour of the area.
Then Ken is calling Eduardo and telling him he has two more
passengers and that we'll get all of our gear out to the pier
tomorrow morning if that works for him.
It looks like it's going to be go-go-go while we're in Ushuaia,
because we're back in the cab and down to some wholesale
supplier by the waterfront.
Again, it's a place that Ken is familiar with. The carts are huge
and everything comes in cases of 12 or more. We have our own
cart and Ken is tossing in canned foods, bags of rice, hot
chocolate, coffee, tea, pop, dried soup, oatmeal, even things like
blankets and extra underwear. (Oh yeah. I want to wear what
looks like men's briefs.)
He gives us a little talk on having layers of clothing rather than
just one bulky coat. That way you can strip down when you're
warm and layer up when you're cold. So that means more long
underwear going into the cart.
What about toiletries? asks Harry. Will they have soap
there?
Most stations are pretty good about that, says Ken.
Although I've never stayed at the Russian station. Wouldn't hurt
to have some. Why don't you just get some of this?
He holds up an all-purpose body gel that takes care of you,
your hair, as well as your clothes.
Is it toothpaste too? asks Harry looking at it.
No, unfortunately.
I have to think of female things and Harry and Ken pretend
not to notice when I toss a 12-pack of maxi pads into the cart.
Harry adds a whole packet of notebooks and a box of pens. I
guess we'll have to look like we're actually recording things.
What about water? I ask. Do we need bottled water?
Only if you like it. All the stations have freshwater. I'm not
sure how the Russians do it. They may melt the snow or they
223
may use desalination. In any case, you don't have to worry about
water.
Ken keeps going down the aisles and finding new things for us
to take. It's going to take two cabs to get all our gear down to the
waterfront. But for now, they have to be taken back to the bed-
and-breakfast.
Thankfully, the smiling owner has a storage room for all of our
stuff, so we won't have to be tripping over it in the night on our
way to the bathroom.
If it were up to Harry, he'd go straight to his room and study
his bird books. But Ken has plans for us. First, we look around.
Ushuaia is full of restaurants and souvenir shops.
This is the southernmost city in the world, he says, as we're
walking to the centre of town. They call this place the end of the
world.
Tourists are everywhere, out with their cameras or just strolling
along.
Is that actually the ocean over there? asks Harry, pointing to
where several cruise ships are lined up.
It's Beagle Channel. Once you get out of Beagle Channel you
get to where the Pacific and the Atlantic Oceans meet.
How would you get to Cape Horn from here?
Sail through Beagle Channel and through Tiarra del Fuego . .
.
What's Cape Horn? I say.
It's something that was in Master and Commander, says Harry.
Ken laughs.
It's an island actually. Yes, it's pretty famous in nautical
history. Tempestuous winds, strong currents, even icebergs. It
took a lot of skill, or a lot of luck, to navigate it. Ah, here we
are.
We've come to a small door in one of the rows of boutiques
and restaurants.
This is an English-style pub, says Harry when were inside.
How did it end up here?
Well, says Ken, choosing a small round table for us in the
back. You've got to remember, the Falklands are just across the
way from us. There are places around here where you can even
get scones and jam. I strongly recommend the fish-and-chips
here.
224
We all have pints of beer while we wait for our food.
Harry and Ken mostly talk about birds in Antarctica, so
hopefully he'll feel like that counts for studying.
When we go back outside, it's just as light as it was when we
came in, despite that it is now around 8:00.
Ken laughs at our surprise.
Dusk doesn't start here till well after 10, he says. When we
get to Antarctica, we'll have 24-hour days.
Ahhh, says Harry. I get it. It's summer in the southern
hemisphere and we're so far south.
Exactly, says Ken.
I guess that changes the meaning of the word nightlife here,
eh? I say.
Oh, you could keep busy, says Ken. They cater to the
tourists. But we'd better get back and get a decent night's sleep.
Big day tomorrow.

Chapter Two

t's funny to be loading our supplies into a small boat along
the same waterfront as gigantic cruise ships. It's not exactly a
rowboat, but there are definitely bigger boats going in the
same direction as us.
But ours looks rough and tough (kind of like my dream man!)
and I see even smaller sailboats loading up for the same journey.
In addition to our stuff, Eduardo is loading up everything he
needs for us and the crew.
His crew is made up of about five cheerful men who are
moving around the deck and carrying supplies down below.
Eduardo personally shows us down to our rooms. We each
have a tiny room with just a hammock and a small built-in closet.
I toss my knapsack into the closet where I also hang my new
thermal winter coat. The weather is balmy in Ushuaia but we're
warned that it will get chilly as we head south. Then I go onto the
deck where Ken and Harry are standing by the rail. Ken says we
don't want to miss the journey down Beagle Channel which will
take us out to the ocean. We'll be passing by a lot of islands and
there's a whole load of history in this area. The passage is named
for the ship that Charles Darwin sailed on as a young naturalist.
I
226
When I join Ken and Harry, they're talking about some place
called Drake Passage. Harry seems really excited that we'll be
crossing through the area where the Pacific and the Atlantic
meet. Ken says it's a great place to see whales and dolphins, as
well as some of those birds we're interested in, including
penguins.
Eduardo, overhearing this, starts talking to me and Harry. It'll
take 2 or 3 days to go through the Drake Passage, depending on
weather, so we'll have plenty of time to take it all in. By Day 4 we
should be moving through the South Shetland Islands. King
George Island is the largest of these islands, which is where the
Bellingshausen Station is located. He enthusiastically tells us we'll
be seeing Chinstrap Penguins, Adelie Penguins, Kelp Gulls,
Antarctic Terns, Southern Giant Petrels, Blue-eyed Cormorants .
. .
Maybe he can take our place at the station. He sounds like he
knows more about it than we do.
We don't cast-off till about lunchtime, so I'm really hungry
when the boat starts moving slowly out of the harbour. All hands
are on deck when we start out so I'm figuring it will be awhile
before a meal gets served. I'm wishing I had some of that
chocolate that we put in storage.
But I have to agree, once we start moving, the scenery is
magnificent.
If you like trees, there are plenty of those. If you like
mountains, the Beagle Channel has them. If you like islands
covered in birds, you can have those too. Harry is using his cell-
phone to snap photos. I take a few with him and he takes a few
with me. Then Ken, who has his camera out, takes photos of us
together. Maybe we'll show up in Macleans. Of course, the
caption will be Harry Phillips and Meg Carmichael, bird researchers,
instead of Harry Phillips and Meg Carmichael, private investigators.
I don't know whether it's a late lunch or an early dinner, but
we're called down to eat.
The cook is Argentinian and has made all of us a meal that is
heavy on the meat side. There's beef and lamb, both in an herb
sauce, plus a salad and some fried eggplant. Ken tells us that all
the fresh foods will be used at the beginning of the trip. It'll be
rice and beans for the trip back.
Alive in Antarctica ~ Chapter Two
227
There's wine with dinner and lots of hot coffee for dessert,
along with a pastry that looks like a wagon wheel on the outside.
Ken says they're called Alfajores Triples, on account of they have
three shortbread cookies with jam paste between each one, all
wrapped in a chocolate coating.
After dinner, it's back on the deck. I think it will be nice to
watch the sun go down and then I remember that we have
almost no night time here.
But Ken insists that even with it being light we should still get
a full night's sleep. Some people, he says, just go on and on as
long as there's light and then collapse.

Harry is taking photos up on the deck the next morning.
I greet him with a sleepy smile.
How'd you sleep? he asks me.
Lousy, I say. There was so much light I felt like I was trying
to sleep in the middle of the afternoon.
You had no problem sleeping in the afternoon when I was
reading to you, he points out.
Good point, I say. Next time I can't sleep, I'll get you to
read to me.
The cook calls us down for breakfast.
Ken is already seated around the small table in the galley
reading an old magazine and drinking a thick hot chocolate.
We all get hot chocolate for breakfast, plus there's a plate of
unusual-looking doughnuts.
Ken says they're called churros. They're called churros because
they're shaped like the horns of the Churro sheep. All the
Argentinian crew-members dip them into their hot drinks while
they eat them.
Harry and I give it a go and find it works very well.

Eduardo tells me after breakfast that he's put out some deck
chairs for me if I want. He's really sweet. He's very fatherly and
seems to take a special liking to me and Harry since it's our first
trip out. He tells me that I should look for seals today and keep
my eye out for cormorants. If I want a coffee, just go down to
the cook and ask him for one.
I take one of the deck chairs while Ken and Harry talk at the
railing.
228
I don't see any animals, but I'm drifting off so that that's no
surprise. The morning passes pleasantly and I almost feel awake
by the time the cook calls us down for lunch.
What are those? I cry out suddenly, just as we're about to go
down below. Behind us are some white birds, huge things, just
following along in the wake of the boat.
Albatrosses, says Ken. He looks at me strangely. You didn't
recognize them?
I realize my mistake. We're supposed to be bird experts.
Uh, it's just the first time I've seen one out in the wild, you
know, in its natural habitat . . .
But surely you were expecting to see them out here?
Yeah, of course.
But Ken is not convinced. Behind him, Harry is rolling his
eyes.
When we're seated in the galley, Ken pursues it.
OK kids, says Ken. What's going on? Why are you going to
Antarctica?
Harry shrugs.
Can you keep this confidential? he says to Ken.
Ken hesitates. He's a photo-journalist, after all.
Just tell me enough without giving away too much and then
I'll see.
We were sent out by Dr. Shepherd's mother, says Harry.
Dr. Shepherd's mother?
She's funding a ten-person expedition to study birds.
And she wants to make sure her money is being well-spent?
No lazing around, that sort of thing?
No, says Harry.
Lunch is a kind of meat-pie with salad on the side. There's
bottled water to drink. Wine if we want it.
OK, you've got me interested, says Ken. What's going on at
Bellingshausen?
Nothing, as far as we know, says Harry, honestly.
But Mrs. Shepherd doesn't think so, says Ken. Maybe shes
worried about her son . . . ?
Something like that, says Harry.
Hmmm. Ken thinks about this. OK, I think I get the
picture. You can't go there openly saying that you're checking on
Dr. Shepherd, so you have to pretend you're research students.
229
He looks at me.
My advice? Don't talk too much.
I want to tell him where to go, but Harry gives me a look that
says, don't worry about it.
Harry remains civil to Ken even though I have to resist the
urge to wallop him. But Harry's good that way. And he pumps
Ken. Now that our secret is out, he asks him all sorts of
questions about life in Antarctica, particularly at the stations.
Ken's glad to answer. In fact, his answers are so long that
they're still talking after lunch when we're back on the deck.
I sit down in the deck chair again, back to feeling dozy after
that lunch. But Ken and Harry just lean on the railing and talk
about all the goings-on at research stations. Lots of emotions in
close spaces. But everyone's professional about it. They have to
be. Most people are only there for the summer so they don't have
to put up with any irritation, or irritating person, for too long.
And most people are too busy to bicker with one another.
I mean, let's face it, says Ken. It costs a bloody fortune for
these expeditions and for a lot people, it's a once-in-a-lifetime
thing. They make the most of their time there.
What's the relationship between the tourists and the
researchers? asks Harry.
Next to nil. Some of the stations do permit visitors. Others
don't. In any case, visits are brief. At night, the tourists are back
on their cruise ships. During the day, they may come ashore to
swim in the hot springs or look at the penguins, but the tourists
get taken to the same places. The researchers usually work in the
areas where the tourists don't go.
Makes sense.
Ken excuses himself to go get his camera. He says there's a
chance we'll see whales today and even though most of the shots
are unimpressive, there's always the odd one that is amazing.
Harry comes to sit beside me in the other deck chair.
I lower my sunglasses.
I'm seriously sorry about the way it's turned out, I say.
Letting it slip that I don't know anything about birds.
Harry grins. Didn't I tell you? The guy never gets mad.
I feel better about it this way. I don't like to pretend that I'm
something else.
230
That's his Christian conscience. He doesn't even lie when
people ask him a straight question. As a private investigator, my
first instinct would be to lie my way out of a situation, but Harry
just comes out with the truth. The funny thing is, it always seems
to work out.
Something about the ocean and the islands makes it easy to
just sit and stare for long periods of time. Even Harry does it. I
guess he's not going to worry about being a bird expert anymore.
Ken stands by the railing, occasionally pointing things out to us.
Once, he sees some whales in the distance and draws our
attention to them. But they're not exactly leaping out of the water
or doing anything spectacular. Still, it's the first time I've seen a
whale.
They're huge if you ever see them up close, says Ken. It's
hard to capture it in a photo.
Dinner is a pizza loaded down with meat and vegetables.
I didn't know they eat pizza here, I say as we take our spots
in the galley.
Italian food is very popular in Argentina, says Ken, reaching
for a piece. This meal is served with a dark beer and dessert is
dulce de leche over fruit. Dulce de leche is a sweet caramel sauce.
Ken says it's an Argentinian tradition that's made of caramelized
milk and sugar.
Despite that it's still bright outside, the combination of good
food and fresh air makes me sleepy and I excuse myself after
dinner. When I lie down, I don't know whether it's just going to
be a nap or whether I'm going to sleep the whole night, but I fall
asleep within minutes.

I wake up in terror.
The whole boat is shaking. Up until now, things have been
calm, but now we're rocking all over the place. I dash down the
hallway, bumping into the walls as I go. When I get onto deck,
it's murky, almost dark. Bad sign. There isn't supposed to be
night the further south we go.
It's a storm.
Eduardo sees me and hurries over to tell me to go back down
to my cabin. He gives me a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
Everything is fine! he says.
But everything isn't fine.
231
I don't even know what time it is, but I pound on Harry's
door.
He answers after a minute or two. He looks sleepy.
How can you sleep? I demand. There's a storm out there!
Oh that's just the Cape, says Harry. It's pretty normal for
around here. Didn't you see Master and Commander?
I shake my head.
We're going to die! I say.
No, we're not. Here . . . he turns sideways a bit. Come in
here for a bit.
I squish into the small room.
We end up swinging together on the hammock. Harry reaches
for his knapsack and pulls out his Bible.
Harry, I really don't want you reading me a Bible story, I say.
Just one, he says, already flipping through the pages.
I'm going. I try to stand up but the whole boat suddenly tilts
and I'm back in the hammock with Harry, this time with a sore
hip from where I bumped into the wall.
Ah, here it is, says Harry. He begins reading. It was evening
and the disciples went down to the sea. They got into a boat and started
across the sea to Capernaum. By now it was dark and Jesus had not come to
them. The sea became rough because a strong wind started blowing . . .
Yeah, yeah, I say. I remember this from the movie.
In The Gospel of John there was this big storm and the disciples
were all terrified. Like me.
They had rowed three or four miles, when they looked and saw Jesus
walking on the sea and coming near the boat. And they were frightened. But
he said to them, 'It is I. Do not be afraid.' Then they were happy to take
him into the boat and immediately the boat landed at the place that they were
going.
I brace myself for a sermon.
But none comes. Harry just puts away the Bible and sits with
me while the boat rolls one way and then rolls another.
Well, I say, finally. I guess I'll try to get some sleep.
The nice thing about the hammocks is that they keep you
from moving around too much.
I know what he means. The hammock just sort of hangs
throughout it all. If we had wooden bunks we'd be rocking all
over the place.
232
This time when I'm back in my hammock and drifting off to
sleep, the image of Jesus walking across that stormy water keeps
coming back to me.
Hey! Like I said, the actor who played Jesus was hot!

The next morning you wouldn't even know that we'd had a
storm. Though Eduardo isn't around. He must be sleeping.
The cook gives us our hot chocolate and charros. This is our
third day on the ship and already things feel like a routine.
We go up on deck afterward.
Ken tells Harry stories about storms that were worse than the
one last night. This part of the ocean is known for its turbulence.
When Ken is finished telling stories about his personal
experiences, he digs into history to tell about more storms.
Apparently, whoever Drake is, he discovered this whole area
because of a storm.
Then mercifully, Ken is distracted by a whole bunch of whales.
He calls them a herd. They're still pretty far away but he has his
zoom lens.
Lunch is schnitzel and mashed potatoes. Another traditional
Argentinian meal, according to Ken.
Eduardo joins us on deck after lunch and says that tomorrow,
all going well, by the end of the day we should be in sight of the
Shetland Islands.
Ken disappears down below after lunch to do photo-journalist
stuff. With his laptop and his satellite connection, he's still in
contact with the outside world.
I could look at this scenery forever, says Harry as we recline
on the deck-chairs.
I'm bored, I say, honestly.
Want to keep reading that novel?
On our last case, we were reading a crime novel but we never
had time to finish it.
Sure, I say. I've stopped thinking it's goofy to read a book
out loud.
So Harry gets the book from down below and reads it out
loud, with a coffee-break halfway through, until dinner.
Dinner is pasta loaded up with tomato sauce. Another Italian
dish. Very popular in Argentina, says Ken, the expert.
233
Ken follows Eduardo up on deck after dinner. Eduardo has
spotted something called a smew on the water. It turns out to be
a white duck with black markings, including circles all around its
eyes. I've never seen anything like it. Of course, Harry and I are
supposed to be experts on this sort of thing.
We're also now in iceberg territory which adds a new
dimension to the landscape. Waves crashing against icebergs
provide a lot of activity to watch.
Ken is keeping his eyes open for humpback whales. He says
that nothing he's taken so far is brilliant but it's acceptable. He
tells us that in the afternoon he uploaded all of his photos to a
photo-share site online.
The albatrosses are still following in the wake of our boat.
When they swoop close, it's a little terrifying, their wingspan is so
wide.
Harry pulls out a pack of cards and he and I play Rummy until
we're tired.

Hot chocolate and charros again the next day. No complaints.
I've gotten used to this breakfast and I'll miss it.
Ken tells us that we'll probably be at the Bellingshausen
Station by tomorrow night.
Now, says Ken, pulling up another deck chair to join me and
Harry. Are you kids still going to try to pass yourselves off as
research students?
Well, that's what Mrs. Shepherd wanted us to do, says Harry.
The main thing is, she doesn't want her son to think she's spying
on him.
I can understand that, says Ken. But you didn't fool me and
you're not going to fool them, so we should think of a better
cover story for you guys.
But they already think that two research students are
coming.
Did you actually tell them what your area of expertise is?
Then make it something that is not their area of expertise.
How 'bout psychology? Life in closed spaces, that sort of thing?
That sounds good, I say.
In fact, continues Ken. We can make this honest. You can
write an article for me about your experiences and if it's good, I'll
234
include it with my work. Nothing special. Just a sidebar in the
main article.
That sounds great! I say. This is going to be so much easier
than pretending to know about birds.
But Dr. Shepherd is expecting two more research students,
says Harry. He'll be counting on us.
The only person he counts on is himself. Believe me, he's a
lone wolf. If I understand the situation correctly, he didn't
request two more researchers, his mom just finagled your way
onto the team.
That's true, says Harry. OK. It's a lot less deceptive to
approach it from the angle of psychology. In fact, that's why we
were sent. To see what psychological changes have taken place.
So that's settled. I just hope the Russians don't think we're
spying on them. We'll have to make it clear that we're only
interested in the Canadian team.
When lunch comes, it's something that tastes like chicken-fried
steak on a bun.
Ken says it's called milanesa. He gives us a little talk on the
beef industry in Argentina which is apparently very big. He says
grass-fed is the best, of course, and asks us if we've heard of
gauchos.
I'm assuming it's some kind of beef dish, but Harry nods and
says, Argentinian cowboys.
After lunch, Harry finishes up the cop novel.
Ken comes up on deck to tell us it's dinner and when he sees
us with the book, asks us if we like to read.
Sure, says Harry.
Do you have any books? he asks.
I have my Bible.
Ken just stares at him. I get the sense that like me, he's not a
Christian.
I've got a whole bunch of Robin Cook novels I'm done with,
if you want. Some of the bigger stations have libraries but the
Russian station is small and they may not stock English books.
Sure, I say. We'll take them.
I don't even know who Robin Cook is, but I'm starting to
form an impression that life at a research station can have some
long and boring hours if you don't have a whole lot to do.
235
Ken stops by his room and comes out with about eight
paperback books. It's not much of an exchange but Harry says he
can have our cop one, which he accepts.
Dinner is a thicker steak with a medley of vegetables and there
are apple pastries for dessert. Ken says the pastries are called
empanadas and that back in Argentina you can also get them
filled with meat or vegetables or cheese.
How does it work at a research station? I say. As far as
food goes? Is there a cook?
Depends on the station, shrugs Ken. In the smaller ones
people take turns. In the bigger ones they have a cook. The
Americans have cooks at McMurdo. It's a big operation there, a
small town really. They have about a thousand people there in
the summer, not just scientists, but support staff too. I've only
been there once. They had a bowling alley when I was there, but
I've heard since that the building it was in collapsed. It's quite a
bit more south, on Ross Island. More rugged conditions.
I'm not too pleased to hear that we take turns cooking. I've
never cooked anything in my life, unless peeling a wrapper off a
microwave dinner counts. Hopefully the Russians are very
possessive about their kitchen.
Harry and I play Crazy 8's on deck after dinner. Ken comes
along and asks if we like poker. Harry says he's played poker, but
I have to tell Ken that just learning Rummy was a big
accomplishment. Ken says I may learn a few more card games
than that in Antarctica.
Do they have TV there? I ask.
Oh, yeah, says Ken. McMurdo even has its own TV station.
They have a lot of old shows. I think the military has something
to do with it. But the Russians might have their own things to
watch. Every station has a TV and a DVD player. You can even
get the internet in Antarctica. Did you bring a laptop?
All I've got is my cell-phone. I can get internet with it, but my
batteries are dead. I have a charger. I hope it's compatible.
I have no idea what the Russians have there, says Ken.
Something tells me we'll be playing a lot of cards and reading a
lot of Robin Cook novels.
236

Chapter Three

en is the first to spot the Antarctic shore after lunch the
next day.
We are now moving among the icebergs. But in the
distance we can see a definite shoreline.
Almost there! Ken calls out to us. He has his camera out and
is snapping pictures of chinstrap penguins. Harry is wishing that
his phone didn't die, otherwise, he'd be taking pictures too.
Then Ken is going down below to call one of his friends in the
Chilean station, who promises he'll be there to pick him up.
Eduardo tells Harry and I that up ahead is called Collins
Harbour and that he'll have us there in two hours. I'm actually
feeling a bit nervous. We'll be meeting real scientists and I'm
starting to feel like a really dorky amateur.
For the last bit of our journey, we stay by the railings. The
closer we get, the better we can see the station we'll be staying at.
It's a series of buildings with red siding. They appear to be built
on pillars. There are large things that look like fuel tanks. Even
from here, I can see the church on the hill. Outside of the
buildings are several vehicles. From here, they actually look like
tanks. When I mention this to Ken, he says we'll see a lot more
K
238
strange vehicles in the Antarctic. They have to be pretty rugged
all-terrain vehicles to make it in this part of the world.
When we reach the shore, we're greeted not by the Russians,
but by Ken's Chilean associate, Juan. He's smiling and waving.
It takes us about half an hour to unload all of our gear.
Ken and Eduardo agree that Eduardo will be back for him in
six weeks, and if we want, we can hitch a ride too. So that's
settled. We have six weeks to solve a mystery.
Juan is driving a pickup truck that looks like the kind you'd see
on any road in North America except that its tires look like they
could be on a bulldozer.
I'll be just down the road if you need me! calls Ken, waving
at us as he climbs into the pickup truck. They've been nice
enough to help us get all of our gear right up to the station. But
they don't stick around to help us meet our fellow team
members. We watch them as they drive off down the rough road.
It seems kind of strange, but we go up some steps and knock
on the door.
A few minutes later, a young man with a long beard and
wearing an even longer black robe answers the door.
We're so startled that for the moment neither of us says
anything.
I am Father Kuznetsov, he says pleasantly.
Hi, says Harry, recovering. We're Harry Phillips and Meg
Carmichael. We're part of the Canadian expedition.
Ahh, he says. Come in. He moves out of the doorway to
let us by.
I hope we're expected, says Harry.
Yes, I do believe you are, says Father Kuznetsov. I will take
you to see Artyom.
Father Kuznetsov leads us through the station. The hallway
opens up into different rooms. Some of the doors are open and
we can see people gathered around tables, examining samples,
working on computers. One of them is Artyom, a man in his late
30's with light brown hair and glasses. He's dressed in a warm-
looking cream sweater and jeans. The room he's in is some sort
of a laboratory and he's looking into a microscope when Father
Kuznetsov gently knocks on the door.
Oh, hello! He looks surprised but his greeting is friendly.
Here already? You made good time.
Alive in Antarctica ~ Chapter Three
239
He comes over to shake our hands.
We introduce ourselves. Harry tells him that we have all sorts
of supplies outside that we should probably bring in, food and
stuff.
Oh, there was no need of that, says Artyom. But thank you
anyway.
He walks back down the hallway with us, grabbing a coat off a
rack by the door and coming outside with us. It feels like any
mild winter day in Canada. The sort of day where you can get
away with not wearing a hat.
Wow! he says looking at our supplies. You came prepared.
Well, we didn't want to be a burden, explains Harry. We
knew you weren't really expecting us when you stocked up for
the season.
Actually, we were expecting ten people from your
expedition, says Artyom, leaning down and picking up some
pop. We were surprised when only Dr. Shepherd showed up.
Only Dr. Shepherd showed up? Harry repeats. I'm equally
surprised.
Artyom nods, carrying the pop up the stairs and handing it to
Father Kuznetsov who is in the doorway. He returns down the
stairs for more.
And he's never here, continues Artyom. Always out
camping. He brought all his own supplies for that so we really
ended up with an abundance. You see, we were paid to have
eleven people here at the station for the summer.
He has passed some canned goods onto the Father who
disappears down the hall with it.
You are surprised by this? says Artyom, coming back down
the stairs and seeing our faces.
Very, nods Harry, picking up a 12-pack of hot chocolate
mix.
I grab my maxi pads, deciding that I don't want to embarrass
Artyom or Father Kuznetsov.
Well, you can still do a lot of research even with Dr.
Shepherd not here, says Artyom. We are small, but we have all
the facilities you would need.
That's great, says Harry going up the stairs. We'll be able to
keep ourselves busy.
240
I wonder how we're going to keep ourselves busy when the
person we came to watch isn't here.
But for now, we're busy bringing in all our supplies and being
shown to our rooms. The rooms are small, but friendly. Harry
and I both have bunk beds and two small writing desks. There is
a definite Russian feel to things. Here and there are photographs
of famous Russian leaders. My room has a large framed picture
of Red Square in Moscow. Harry has a similar picture, but of the
Kremlin. (He knew what it was, I didn't.)
Father Kuznetsov asks us if we attend church.
We'd like to while we're here, says Harry. I'm a Christian.
The Father looks pleased and proceeds to give us a tour of the
station. We've seen some of the research rooms. He shows us a
small dining room and the adjoining kitchen. There are two men
in the kitchen but they don't look like professional cooks. They
give us a smile.
Now, says Father Kuznetsov, you can have tea or coffee in
the dining area, whenever you like.
I noticed the beautiful samovar, says Harry.
Did you like that? Father Kuznetsov smiles. It was a gift.
These little touches make us feel that we are still connected to
home.
Then we are shown the lounge. There are several comfortable-
looking couches and chairs, as well as a whole bunch of wooden-
folding chairs up against the wall. Like Ken predicted, in one
corner there is a television and a VCR and a DVD player. But
except for an Arnold Schwarzenegger movie, everything's in
Russian. It's the same with a wooden bookshelf. All Russian.
Except for a copy of War and Peace in English.
Harry is thrilled.
I've always wanted to read this! he says. Now's my chance!
Is he crazy? The thing looks like it's two thousand pages long.
Ah, Tolstoy, says Father Kuznetsov, looking pleased. One
of my favourites.
Harry, as usual, is making a good impression while I am
making no impression.
Father Kuznetsov takes us back to our rooms and tells us
dinner will be in an hour or so. At that time he will introduce us
to the other people at the base.
241
As soon as Father Kuznetsov disappears, I am knocking on
Harry's door. I feel uncomfortable at the thought of the priest
knowing I'm visiting Harry in his room.
Come in! Harry calls out.
Unbelievably, he is lying on his top bunk and has already
started War and Peace.
Well! I say, walking straight up to him and looking him in
the face. What now?
We have an hour till dinner. I thought I'd read, says Harry.
Not that! I say impatiently. What about Dr. Shepherd? He's
not even here!
I know, says Harry, sitting up and dangling his legs over the
side of the bed. That certainly makes our job easier.
It makes our job harder! I say. What are we supposed to do?
Go out and find him?
No, says Harry, seriously. We can't. We don't have camping
gear. Even if we did, we don't know anything about survival in
Antarctica. We'd probably die. So we can't.
And what about the fact that there's no one else on this
Canadian expedition? I demand. Isn't that strange?
Yes, agrees Harry. It's very strange. His mother paid for a
ten-person expedition. No wonder they didn't need our
supplies.
I suppose you think that makes our life easier, I say
sarcastically.
It does, he says. Now no one cares why we're here.
Then what are we going to do? I demand.
As far as I can see, says Harry. There's only one thing to
do.
What's that?
Tell Father Kuznetsov everything.
What!
Harry nods.
He's a priest. His job is to keep an eye on people and look
after their well-being. He must have some idea of the state of Dr.
Shepherd's mind.
But shouldn't we keep this all confidential?
That's exactly why I'm going to talk to Father Kuznetsov,
says Harry, lying back down. Priests are good at keeping things
242
confidential. It's part of their job. They take confessions and all
sorts of things. People tell them their problems.
He's got War and Peace back up in front of his face.
I'm not going to talk to a priest, I say, turning to go.
I didn't expect you to, says Harry, from behind his book.
I'm going to.
And I'm not going to church, I say, now in the doorway.
I didn't expect you to, mumbles Harry. He's obviously
reading at this point.
I'm tempted to slam the door.

There are about 25 people at dinner.
Dinner is definitely not Argentinian cuisine anymore. We start
with cabbage soup, followed by perogies in sauce and finished
off with fruitcake and lots of tea from the samovar. Father
Kuznetsov introduces us to everyone.
We meet Vladimer, Dmitry, Viktor, Boris, Alexei, Vasily,
Andrei, Anatoly, Gregory, Yegor, Ivan, Igor, David, Daniil,
another Viktor, Alexander, Leo, Mikhail, Konstantin, Mark, Oleg
and Pavel. Of course, we already have met Artyom. There are
only two woman and they both look very serious. Rada and
Veronika. Rada is middle-aged, stout, with greying hair pulled up
into a braided bun. She looks friendlier than Veronika who is in
her 20's, with long dark hair and a pale thin face.
But only Father Kuznetsov and Artyom speak fluent English
so we're really not expected to interact with the Russians too
much. Although, when I get up to get some tea from the
samovar, one of the Viktors smiles and says to me, Hello! How
are you? It gives me the feeling that there is intent of goodwill.
Father Kuznetsov goes out to the church after dinner. Of
course, it's still completely light outside. I tell Harry he should go
talk to him. At this point, I don't really care what the plan is, so
long as we implement it soon.
Not now, says Harry. I don't want to bother him.
I guess church is considered sacred.
Fine, I say, annoyed. I'll be in my room if you need me.
At least I have all the Robin Cook novels.

There is some kind of sweetbread for breakfast, filled with
dried fruit and covered in icing. Very delicious. I'm on my second
243
piece when Harry and Father Kuznetsov stroll in. They are
talking and laughing and after helping themselves to tea and
bread, they come and sit with me.
So . . . says Artyom, also coming over to join us. He has
finished his breakfast already and remains standing. What do
you plan to do today? Can I help you get started in any way?
Did Dr. Shepherd leave any sort of notes for us? asks Harry.
That's smart. Maybe we'll be allowed to poke around his papers
so we can get some idea of whats been on his mind.
All of his personal effects are in his room, says Artyom. He
took the key with him. I have a master key, but I would prefer . .
.
I completely understand, says Harry. Meg and I will figure
out where to begin. Not a problem.
Your expedition fees cover the use of all our facilities, says
Artyom. Just let me know what you need and we will schedule
you in.
Thanks so much, I say.
Have a good one! says Artyom, giving us a nod before
heading out into the hallway.
Father Kuznetsov has already finished his first tea and goes up
to the samovar for a second one.
What happened to posing as psychology students? I hiss to
him. We should tell them what we are right up front!
That's exactly what I plan to do, says Harry. Tell them what
we are right up front. Since Dr. Shepherd isn't even here, I'm
dropping this whole charade. I think it's God's will. But first I
want to talk to Father Kuznetsov.
God's will?! What about my will . . . ? I'm saying when the
Father returns.
There are only five other people in the dining hall. Judging
from the rooms I passed in the hallway, most of the scientists are
already at work.
Well, my children, says Father Kuznetsov. Will you be OK
without Dr. Shepherd here to guide you?
I'm glad you asked, says Harry. Because, to be quite honest,
we're actually here to check up on Dr. Shepherd, not to assist
him.
244
The Father raises his eyebrows. But Harry starts at the
beginning, gives a little summary of our arrangement to solve
cases, then tells how Mrs. Shepherd is concerned about her son.
Father Kuznetsov is a good listener. It must be part of the job.
He nods a lot but he doesn't interrupt.
Thank you, he says. Yes, this is very interesting.
Do you think we should tell Artyom why we're really here?
asks Harry.
Yes, yes, nods Father Kuznetsov. He must know, of
course. But it is not necessary for anyone else to know. That
would not be fair to Dr. Shepherd.
I agree, says Harry.
I can tell you this, says Father Kuznetsov. Dr. Shepherd is
a very troubled man. It is natural that a man likes to work alone.
Clearly, that is his preference. But there was something on his
mind when he came here and he did not confide in us.
There were supposed to be ten other people with him, says
Harry. Students from the university that he teaches at.
Yes, nods Father Kuznetsov. That is what we expected.
When we inquired, he simply said they would not be arriving.
Father and Harry finish their breakfast and we learn that we
are expected to take our dishes right into the kitchen and put
them straight into the dishwasher. We didn't know that last night.
Father Kuznetsov suggests we continue our talk in the lounge.
There will be no one there at this hour.
I sit down on a soft chair while the Father and Harry take a
couch.
Now, says Father Kuznetsov. His mother simply received a
letter that didn't sound like her son and that concerned her?
Harry nods.
It is not much to go on, says the Father.
I think she was hoping we could keep an eye on him and
report back to her, says Harry. But now that's not open to us.
Does anyone know where Dr. Shepherd is camping?
For the sake of safety, he would have told Artyom the general
area he was heading. But I do not think you should consider
wandering around in unfamiliar territory to find him.
I'm just concerned that we'll be here six weeks and leave with
nothing to report.
245
Well, says the Father. It is true that his room is locked and
that he keeps his papers in there. But it is also true that before he
left he made a lot of notes in a book and then tossed the whole
thing into the waste basket. By this I mean, he had a notebook
and then he put everything that was in the notebook into his
laptop computer. I remember it clearly because he was typing in
this very room while I was here cleaning.
Cleaning? I say.
Oh yes, says the Father smiling. I do a lot of things around
here. We have no official cleaning staff so we all look after the
rooms we work in. I like to take care of these communal areas.
What happened to the notebook? asks Harry.
I emptied the garbage after he left the room, says Father
Kuznetsov. I put the notebook in the recycling bin. It should
still be there. Although I warn you, the bin is large. We do not
have a weekly garbage pickup. But that is good in this case, is it
not?
We agree.
Father Kuznetsov takes us out of the main station to a smaller
building. This building seems to hold tanks and other storage
items. In the corner is a giant plastic bin.
We drag over a rough wooden bench to get high enough to
reach into it.
It is a notebook with a black and white cover, says Father
Kuznetsov.
We dig around and it is Harry who finally finds it.
We take it back to the lounge.
This is a very rough notebook. It's the sort of thing a man
keeps in his pocket to scribble down ideas as they come to him.
The pages are so small they only have room for a sentence or
two.
We begin to read.
246

Chapter Four

arry holds it so we can all see the first page.
Birds of Antarctica show remarkable adaptability, rapidly
evolving to endure conditions not faced by most birds on earth.
Next page.
Rapid weather changes at the poles The stronger dinosaurs survived to
evolve into birds? Then spread out over the earth?
Dinosaurs evolving into birds? I say incredulously.
Harry nods.
It's a common evolutionary belief. Dr. Shepherd's interested
in birds so he probably believes they were once dinosaurs.
Harry turns.
Therefore the birds in the Arctic and the Antarctic are the closest to the
original dinosaurs?
That makes sense that he would tie his work in the Arctic
with his work here, says Harry.
Did Dr. Shepherd work in the Arctic? asks Father
Kuznetsov.
Harry nods.
I'm told he just came from there.
Next page.
Antarctica dinosaurs
H
248
On the page across from it is the following:
December 2004 Plant eater, Jurassic period,
Meat-eater, Cretaceous period
I know the Arctic has dinosaur remains. Does Antarctica
have dinosaur remains too? asks Harry, looking up.
Father Kuznetsov nods.
I believe so, yes. It seems that I heard that a duck-billed
dinosaur tooth was found on James Ross Island. That is probably
the meat-eater referred to.
5% of Antarctica open to exploration.
How come only 5% of Antarctica is open to exploration? I
ask. Is it illegal or something?
Father Kuznetsov smiles.
No, just difficult. The ice is thick. Only a certain amount of
land is exposed in the summer. One must work fast before the
winter. It is not easy here.
Likelihood of dinosaur graveyard.
Is it possible that's what he's looking for? asks Harry.
Quite possible, says Father Kuznetsov.
On the next page are some coordinates.
My guess is that is where you will find your doctor, says
Father Kuznetsov. But I still don't recommend you go out there
on your own.
The next page simply says, Mount Kirkpatrick.
Across from that is written, Cataclysmic event?
The final page says
Mother will hate this.

What do you know about Mount Kirkpatrick? Father
Kuznetsov asks Artyom at lunch. Artyom has just joined us and
the jottings in the notebook are fresh on our mind.
Very important place, says Artyom, right away. Fossils of
all sorts of mammals who lived in Antarctica when it was
warmer.
When it was warmer? I say. Antarctica was warm?
Yes, Artyom nods. There is evidence beneath the ice of
plants and animals. It was not always like this. Mount Kirkpatrick
even has the remains of a plant-eating dinosaur.
That's definitely the place then! says Harry.
Alive in Antarctica ~ Chapter Four
249
I am very confused, says Artyom, looking back and forth at
me and Harry, but with his eyes stopping on me. How is it you
do not know that Antarctica was once warm?
Ah, that is something they want to tell you, says Father
Kuznetsov.
Over some kind of purple soup (Father Kuznetsov says it's
called borscht) and dark rye bread, Harry tells our story.
Artyom is surprised at first, even a little angry. He doesn't
seem to like deception in any form. But Father Kuznetsov is
skilled at smoothing things over and soon Artyom is interested in
the whole case from the psychological angle.
For some reason, the doctor feels his mother will not approve
of his research, says Artyom, looking at the final page of the
notebook. And no doubt, this accounts for her sense that
something is wrong.
Sounds reasonable, I say. But what's there to disapprove
of?
I think I know what it might be, says Harry. Mrs. Shepherd
is an Anglican. As far as I know, she goes to church every week.
She thinks she's just funding an expedition to study birds. She
has no idea he's researching the connection between birds and
dinosaurs and trying to show that one evolved into the other.
Ah, I see what you mean, says Father Kuznetsov. She
wants her son to study God's creation. He wants to demonstrate
evolution.
Exactly.
We look at each other.
Seems like we solved the mystery. But what do we do now?

Artyom has decided that although we're not research students,
we're still full members of the station. And that means doing our
part to keep it clean and running. Father Kuznetsov is told to
give us jobs to do and Artyom says that in the evenings he will
instruct us.
Instruct us in what? I say, as Father Kuznetsov is handing
me a mop and telling me the kitchen floor needs cleaning.
Antarctica, says the Father smiling. He knows much. This
is his fourth season here and he is an oceanographer with an
interest in biology.
I groan.
250
Do you know how to cook? Father Kuznetsov asks me.
No, I say.
Ah, well. Food is very important here. We shall let you clean
instead of cook.
Lucky me.
Actually, Harry's the lucky one.
Father Kuznetsov is thrilled to find out that Harry's one of
those fanatical Christians that really believe in God and they put
on their coats to go out to the church. Supposedly to do some
cleaning and polishing. But they'll probably sit around talking
about obscure passages in the Bible.

We are in the Southern Ocean, says Artyom. He has me and
Harry in a small office covered in maps and charts. He is
standing behind the desk while Harry and I are sitting on two of
the fold-up wooden chairs from the lounge. Located right . . .
here. He points on a map.
Here we have two main water masses, surface shelf water and
circumpolar deep water.
I was following him with the Southern Ocean bit, but now he's
lost me.
The break between the two is abrupt.
He has encouraged us to interrupt with questions and Harry
does so now.
Since it's so expensive to do research in Antarctica, why is the
research in oceanography important here?
Very good question, says Artyom nodding.
I think he's enjoying this.
Here we have early indicators of global change. Not only can
we predict change in the rest of the world as a result of what is
happening here, but we are also the cause of some of that
change!
Harry nods. I think he actually understands it.
Artyom starts into something called ocean ventilation. Even
when he defines it and says things like to put it simply, I have
absolutely no clue as to what he's talking about. Thankfully Harry
is a model student, asking questions and looking interested.
After about an hour, Artyom says, We'll stop there and tells
us to come back tomorrow at the same time.
251
Harry says he's going back to his bunk to read more of War
and Peace. I say fine, I'm enjoying my Robin Cook novel. At least I
understand it.

Harry makes the most ridiculous announcement at breakfast.
You know we're going to have to go to Mount Kirkpatrick,
he says.
What?
Harry nods
We were paid a ridiculous amount of money to check on Dr.
Shepherd. And we have a pretty good idea of where he is, so we'll
have to go.
But we know what the problem is! I say.
This is such a horrifying idea that I've completely forgotten the
dark bread and cheese that is on the plate in front of me.
But we still have to talk to Dr. Shepherd, insists Harry. We
have to make sure he's OK!
What? You mean, just waltz out into the frozen Antarctic,
find him, ask him how he's doing and come home?
Something like that, yeah.
And I presume we would need supplies . . .
We have supplies, says Harry. Remember? A lot of
supplies.
What do we do? Just hike?
No, says Harry. I think I'll see if I can contact Ken. He
could probably hook us up with some expedition. It's a shot
anyway.
I'm seriously hoping that there's no way to get a hold of the
people in the Chilean station and that we'll be stuck here for six
weeks mopping floors and reading Robin Cook novels. It beats
an expedition into the freezing cold wasteland.
It'll be the greatest adventure of our lives . . . says Harry,
looking off into the distance.
Father Kuznetsov doesn't like the idea at all and says he'll only
let us go if we find a professional team that is going to Mount
Kirkpatrick. Otherwise, he will lock us in our rooms. I love this
man.
But Harry is not discouraged and dashes after Artyom to
inquire if we can reach the Chilean station.
Of course we can. Why should that surprise me?
252
So Harry is off down the hallway while I return to my room.
Ten minutes later he's knocking at my door.
God is good, Meg! he says as he bursts into my unlocked
room. No concern that I might be changing. I told Ken as much
as I felt I could, and he said that if we wanted, he could work
something out. He's never been to Mount Kirkpatrick but it's
sort of a legend.
Yay, I say. Won't it be fun to die on this wonderful
continent, on a legend no less?
We're not going to die, says Harry. We're going to live. But
that's beside the point. The main thing to understand is that it's
really no different from winter camping. Of course, we're
ridiculously under-equipped. So that's what Ken has to look into.
Getting the gear. We'll pay our share, of course.
Of course. I really couldn't care less who's paying.
We'll be fine Meg! It's summer here, remember?
But Artyom isn't so reassuring. He pokes his head in the door
to say that there is someone at the Chilean station who wants to
talk to Harry again.
I walk out with them and on the way down the hallway
Artyom says to me, Mount Kirkpatrick is very close to the
South Pole. So it is one of the coldest places on earth. Very
challenging to survive.
Great. We're going to die here.

Ken arrives in that crazy pickup truck in the afternoon. I've
spent a nervous morning in the kitchen cleaning things. Any
things. Any place where the two guys who are making lunch
aren't working. I just have a lot of nervous energy.
I can barely eat lunch even though Father Kuznetsov insists
that I try the blinis. They're like pancakes but instead of syrup,
they come with your choice of sour cream or jam. The Russians
put on the topping and then roll them up.
When Ken arrives, we talk in the lounge. He says that with
money, we can charter a plane that will take us to the McMurdo
Station. That's the big American one. From there, we're a lot
closer to Mount Kirkpatrick.
Now, here's where we're lucky, says Ken. I talked to
McMurdo. There's an expedition already at the mountain digging
for dinosaur fossils. About twenty people. Four people are at
253
McMurdo being treated for frostbite, so we can join the
expedition. The professor is thrilled to have some extra people
coming out. I really can't tell you how lucky we are!
Really lucky, I say sarcastically.
It's a lot colder there, says Ken, glancing at me. It's not like
here. There it can go down to -40 degrees Celsius. But at least the
sun is out all the time.
But aren't we going to need . . . ? I can't think of anything.
We'll bring food and supplies. Everything we bought at
Ushuaia, but the expedition will be equipped to handle us as far
as tents and other stuff go.
Ken goes off to socialize with some of the Russians who know
some broken English. Apparently the Russians like to trade
things and Ken has some things he wants to trade. I'm too numb
to care.
If we had to dig for dinosaur bones, I say to Harry. Why
couldn't we have done it in Drumheller?
I know! says Harry, grinning broadly. I've never seen him so
happy. Jett is going to be so jealous when he hears that we dug
for dinosaur bones in Antarctica!

It is a foggy chilly morning when we start out.
I don't know where the small plane came from. I don't really
care. Harry and Ken are busy loading supplies into some kind of
a cargo hold. In anticipation of temperatures of -40 degrees
Celsius I am wearing nearly every layer of clothing that I've
brought. And I'm feeling pretty warm.
Father Kuznetsov is standing beside me. He gives me a
reassuring hug and says he will be praying for us every day. I'm so
freaked out that I actually really appreciate that.
Artyom gives us a little wave from the doorway and then
disappears back to his duties. But Father Kuznetsov stays outside
until we are in the air and out of sight.
As the red-panelled buildings disappear in the morning mist, I
feel like I am leaving behind civilization and all that I know and
love.
But Harry and Ken are laughing and talking, completely
indifferent to the fact that we have abandoned all that is safe and
secure.
254
Ken is saying that it's a once-in-a-lifetime chance to be part of
this dinosaur fossil thing. And he's saying how much he
appreciates that Mrs. Shepherd is picking up the tab for it all
because this year, due to global recession, his budget was
drastically reduced.
It's a shame that we won't be actually climbing the mountain
though, says Ken. I've always gotten a kick out of mountain-
climbing. Have you ever been to Everest?
No, I learned how to climb on the Selkirks.
Oh, those are easy! says Ken. But I hear they're beautiful.
I'll have to do them sometime when the budget is tight.
Why are you talking about mountain-climbing? I demand.
Please don't tell me that we will actually be climbing any
mountains.
No, says Ken, grinning. They take all the fun out of it by
providing a helicopter to get to the camp.
Will we have a chance to stay at this McMurdo place? I say,
hopefully. It sounds very civilized.
No, says Ken, shaking his head. The chopper will take us
straight there.
I am greatly disappointed. I was hoping that maybe a storm
would blow in and we'd be forced to spend the next five and a
half weeks in a place abounding with American culture.
But all I get is a good view of the place when we fly over. I
can't even count the number of buildings down there. It really is
like a village.
As we come down lower, I can see what looks like hydro lines
and between the buildings are parking lots loaded with those
vehicles that almost look normal except for their crazy tires.
In the distance are mountains.
The minute we step out of the plane, I know it's different from
Bellingshausen. It's cold! I quickly start bundling up and snapping
all the buttons I unsnapped on the way here. Bellingshausen had
an almost balmy feeling about it, by comparison. I'm glad for the
crazy hat we bought back in San Francisco. I have it on along
with some gloves that are supposed to be good for -40 degrees
Celsius.
I look around. There are planes of all sizes here. It's an actual
airport on ice! There are people out and about wearing snug
255
looking bulky red coats and black snow pants. Their coats have
hoods which leave no skin exposed. All you can see are the eyes
and a lot of them are covered in sunglasses.
I look longingly at the largest of the buildings. But a bundled-
up man comes out of one of the buildings near the runway and
waves to us. He points to some helicopters off to the side and we
all have to start taking the cargo from the plane and transferring
it to one particular red helicopter. There's a lot of red here. I
guess it's easy to see in the snow.
Then we're in the air again.
I'm happy to report that thanks to our purchases in San
Francisco and Ushuaia, that I'm really not feeling the cold. But I
know one thing, I am not taking off any clothes until we get back
to civilization. I don't know how people bathe out here and I
don't really care.
The flight to Mount Kirkpatrick is scenic. Icy brilliance. I'm in
awe and terror to know I'm so close to the South Pole. Haven't
men died trying to get to the South Pole?
The helicopter is noisy so there isn't much talking. I want to
tell Harry that I see a whole bunch of penguins down there, but
then I see he's looking out the window too.
Up ahead and in the distance is the mountain. It's hard to
distinguish it from the rest of the landscape. There is so much
snow and ice and the cloudy sky seems to touch down to meet it
all.
To add to it, there's some kind of a snow squall when we reach
the base camp. All I can see is the vague outline of tents and
some of those bright coats. I never knew white could be so
murky.
Some people hurry over to welcome us and help us unload.
Underneath the layers, I can't even tell whether they're male or
female. But we must look the same to them. Our supplies are
carried off somewhere.
Then the helicopter pilot gives us a little wave and is off.
It occurs to me as he disappears into the white that I have no
idea when he'll be back for us.
Welcome to Beardmore base camp! says someone all
bundled up but with a masculine voice. You must be the people
for Professor Aldridge's team?
Ken nods.
256
I'll have to remember that in case I get lost. I'm with Professor
Aldridge's team. We're not the only group here. A ways off, there
are other tents and other teams.
Glad to have you here! calls the man over his shoulder as he
leads us to a group of tents and into the largest one, which is
actually a framed structure covered in what looks like some kind
of tarp. I'm thrilled to discover it's warm in here. There is some
kind of a heater on a stand in the corner and there are fold-up
chairs and card tables to sit at. One wall is covered in wooden
shelves and there are sturdy containers piled up in the corners.
We introduce ourselves. His name is Jim.
Coffee? he says. He's removing some of the layers on his
face and we see that he's a man in his twenties, with a full beard
and a round face.
We all gratefully accept.
Now, he says, as he pours some coffee from a Coleman
stove into three camping mugs. We have to decide what to do
with you guys.
We get our coffee and sit down. Jim joins us with a mug for
himself.
I'll get straight to the point. We have two spots open for
serious dinosaur bone hunting but one of you is going to have to
play cook's assistant here with me.
I will! I say quickly. It may only be a tent, but it's warm and
it's all I have of civilization right now.
Jim's eyes widen.
That was easy! he says. I was afraid that nobody would
want that one.
Harry is grinning.
You don't know Meg, he says. She's a servant at heart.
Jim looks at both of us and smiles.
I think there may be more to the story, but in any case, I'm
happy to have you with me Meg. I'll show you guys to your tents
and you can settle in. And then I'll pass you guys off to Professor
Aldridge. Jim glances at a complicated watch on his wrist. He
usually comes down off the mountain for his cup of tea around
now. Very British. Nothing interferes with tea.
We haul our gear to the tents assigned to us. I'm sharing with a
female researcher who is somewhere up higher in the snowy mist
right now. The tent is dry although not exactly warm. But Jim
257
assures me from the door of the tent that when I'm all zipped up
in the winter sleeping bag; it'll feel about 20 degrees Celsius.
I return to the dining tent.
Jim hands me a shiny shovel and a huge bucket and asks if I
can dig for some snow out back. Apparently, that's how they get
the drinking water. They melt snow. Turns out it takes a lot of
snow to fill a large kettle.
Professor Aldridge and most of his team arrive for tea.
He's an older man, grey hair and glasses, proper and a bit
aloof. There's no chance I'll ever get too close to him because his
students cluster around him and listen to everything he says with
great awe.
I like the man because he's brought real English biscuits on
this expedition. Jim has me arrange plates with gingersnaps and
cream-filled sandwich cookies to take to all the tables.
Harry and Ken get the place of honour today, seated right
across from the Professor. He asks them all sorts of questions.
There's no pretence that they're students studying dinosaur
bones. Ken says he's a photo-journalist. I'm sitting at a nearby
table with some tired students and hear the professor say, Fine,
just get the article approved by me first. Harry's story is more
interesting. When Professor Aldridge hears that he's come out
looking for Dr. Shepherd he asks a lot of questions. Harry is
discreet and just tells him that we were supposed to be part of
Dr. Shepherds expedition. But Professor Aldridge does a lot of
probing. What kind of research is Dr. Shepherd doing? How did
we get separated from the rest of the expedition? Do we have
any idea where Dr. Shepherd might be? Harry brings out the
coordinates we found in the notebook to answer the last
question.
Yes, says Professor Aldridge, putting on his glasses to read
them. That's where we are.
As far as Dr. Shepherds research goes, Ken fills the Professor
in on some of the work Dr. Shepherd did in the Arctic.
Ornithologists are often interested in dinosaurs, says
Professor Aldridge, nodding.
Because birds may have evolved from dinosaurs? says Harry.
The Professor nods.
258
As far as us finding Dr. Shepherd, Harry says wed just be
happy to connect with him. But well stay on with Professor
Aldridge for the season.
Fine, says the Professor. Put in a hard day's work for me
and I promise you that I'll do what I can to track down Dr.
Shepherd for you.
That's a fair deal, says Harry.
Harry and Ken get an opportunity to start doing hard labour
for Professor Aldridge right after tea.
Dress warm, he says curtly.
Thankfully, I don't have to worry about dressing too warm.
Jim has me stacking our supplies on one of the shelves. They'll
just join the communal supplies.
OK, says Jim. Tell me a bit about your cooking skills. Have
you ever cooked for large groups before?
No, I say.
Jim looks at me.
Have you ever cooked at all?
No, I say.
Jim throws his head back and laughs.
You really didn't want to go out there on that mountain, did
you?
Not really.
Jim shakes his head, still smiling.
The irony is, Professor Aldridge had about 200 applicants for
this expedition. He could only take along 20. But here you are.
Here I am, I agree.
We'll start with something easy, says Jim, going to one of the
shelves and taking down a huge container. Soup. Again, we'll
need snow. A lot of snow. Then we just add the soup mix.
There's nothing to it. Really, that's all I do. Lots of snow mixed
with powdered eggs. Lots of snow mixed with hot chocolate.
Lots of snow mixed with . . .
I get the idea. How 'bout I go get some snow?
Sure, says Jim, handing me the bucket. For the soup, we
need about five of these filled up.
I groan, but it's not one of deep despair. I'd ten times rather be
doing this then being out on that mountain. Did I say ten times?
I meant ten hundred times.
259
Once a big pot of soup is simmering, Jim and I sit down at one
of the tables.
So, Meg, he says conversationally. What's a girl like you
doing in a place like this?
I cant tell him much because I dont want to give it away that
we came out here to investigate Dr. Shepherd. So I basically say
that Harry and I have been traveling around Drumheller,
Texas, New York . . . and now Antarctica. It makes us sound like
were traveling together as a couple.
And what about you? I say quickly, before he can ask me
any questions. You don't mind being here in the kitchen rather
than out there?
Jim snorts.
Do you know the Bible story about Jacob and Esau? he asks.
No, I say. Harry's the Christian, not me.
Well, I like history and the Bible has a lot of history. There
were two brothers, Esau and Jacob. Esau liked to be in the
outdoors and to go hunting. Jacob liked to stay among the tents
and make soup.
We both laugh.
Turned out pretty good for Jacob, though, says Jim, standing
up to go check on the pot. He was the younger brother and his
lentil soup was so good that one day, when Esau returned from a
hunt, famished, he was willing to sell his birthright to Jacob for a
bowl of that soup.
Really? I say.
Jim nods.
Anyway, to answer your question. I'm Professor Aldridge's
assistant. But I hate to go out on any icy mountain and risk life
and limb for a dinosaur fossil. But let's keep that our little secret,
OK?
I nod.
When I'm not making tea and oatmeal and soup, he
continues. I do a lot of work in here for him. Type up reports,
that sort of thing. And when they do find something, there's a lot
of excitement in here, examining and measuring and sketching.
Then it has to be preserved to get it home in one piece.
Oh, I know all about that, I say.
That's right! he says. You've been to Drumheller, haven't
you? Now there's a place I wouldn't mind going! In any case, it
260
can get quite busy in here, so that's why I really need an
assistant.
How did your other assistant get frostbite? I ask, nervously.
Completely avoidable, says Jim. He took his gloves off
when he went out to get the snow.
OK, so I'll always wear gloves . . .
And then a snow squall blew up, continues Jim. And he got
a little disoriented. And he wandered in the wrong direction and
then ended up falling in a crevasse.
Dear God, I say.
And that's how the others got frostbite, says Jim. It took
eight hours to rescue him.
Is there any way I could avoid that?
Well, the last guy had a lot of machismo, said Jim. We have
a rope. He could have tied himself to the tent. There's no way he
would have gotten lost then. But you know, he wasn't going to
do something wimpy like that . . .
Where's the rope? I say, looking around.
Jim points to the shelf.
I nod.
Jim is looking at me, trying to suppress a smile.
My motto is stay alive, I explain.

Chapter Five

meet my roommate in our tent after the dinner of soup and
crackers.
Her name is Ellie. She greets me with a tired smile before
climbing into her sleeping bag, zipping herself up like a mummy
and falling asleep within minutes.
I'm not quite as tired as her but since Jim says he'll be waking
me up an hour before everyone else to help him get started with
breakfast, I figure sleep would be a good idea.
I barely talked to Harry and Ken at dinner. They came back all
breathless, but excited at the adventure of it all. I was too busy
cleaning up after dinner to really care.
Again, it's a little freaky to fall asleep in bright daylight and
wake-up in bright daylight. I hear a light whistle at the tent door
and whisper, I'm awake! I don't want to disturb Ellie.
The temperature inside my sleeping bag is pleasant. Coming
out of it is not.
Basic things like washing one's face and changing and peeing
are so much more complicated here. But I do manage to freshen
up a bit before going to the main tent.
Jim is a morning person. He whistles while he works.
My job, no surprise, is to go get snow.
I
262
I have no idea how to tie that rope around me in such a way
that it won't fall off and yet be easy to untie when I come back.
Jim finds it enormously funny showing me how to tie it around
my waist. He points out a metal loop I can fasten it to.
I have to wonder if Jim is just having a practical joke. Although
I go out the back entrance, a couple of people trip on my rope.
Then at breakfast, everyone is asking why the new girl is tied to a
rope.
Harry and Ken are in hysterics.
What? I demand, when I sit down to have breakfast with
them.
Meg? says Harry, almost unable to speak. Why did you
have that rope on you?
So I wouldn't get lost, I explain. That's what happened to
the last cook. He got lost in a snow squall and fell in a crevasse . .
.
Meg, there's not a snow squall in sight, says Harry.
He's right, of course. It's bitterly cold out there, but it's clear
and sunny.
I imagine snow squalls can be somewhat sudden, I say. I
don't really care. I'm keeping the rope and I'm staying alive.
Harry and Ken seem to find this philosophy amusing. They
bundle up after breakfast and follow the rest of the team outside.
Jim and I clean up and after that, I go out for more snow, with
my rope.
The snow is mostly for drinking. Jim says that for lunch we'll
open up the cans of ravioli that Harry and I brought with us
from Ushuaia.
Is there anything I can do from down here to try to locate Dr.
Shepherd? I ask when we're sitting down and having a
midmorning coffee.
Of course, he says. The other people here at the base camp
may have an idea of where he is. It's just too bad he's alone and
not part of an expedition.
Yeah, I guess one man could be anywhere.
Yes and he won't have support staff. But there's the off
chance someone might have seen him pass through.
I sure would like to casually announce to Harry that I know
where Dr. Shepherd is. But unfortunately, it is not meant to be. I
bundle up, and go around to the other expeditions, but none of
Alive in Antarctica ~ Chapter Five
263
them are aware of a man working alone anywhere on the
mountain.
I get back just in time to help Jim serve lunch. The others are
coming down from the mountain. Harry sees me stomping the
snow off my boots before going into the dining tent.
What? Did you actually leave the tent without your rope,
Meg?
Shut up, Harry, I say.
He and Ken grin at each other.
I'm too busy ladling ravioli into dishes to sit with them. With
the soup, there was so much we let them just help themselves.
But the ravioli is popular and there's only enough to have one
bowl each.
When the dining tent empties out again, Jim and I sit down
and have our lunch.
No luck? he says.
None, I say. No one's seen the guy.
There's a loud explosion and I jump. Jim just keeps eating.
What was that? I say.
They use explosives to get through the ice, says Jim. Then
they can go at it with their chisels. Sometimes they use
jackhammers. Whatever it takes.
Oh.
Anyway, we were supposed to meet up with Dr. Shepherd at
Bellingshausen, I say. Along with ten other people. The
Bellingshausen people said he showed up, but he was alone.
Minus his ten people?
I nod, absentmindedly.
Ten other people! I say. I have a flash of insight. I almost
drop my spoon. What an idiot!
Who? says Jim.
Me! I say. Ten other people! That's it!
What do you mean?
I've got his interest.
His ten people didn't go to Bellingshausen! They came
straight here! Who knows how it happened? Some kind of
muddle in the communication.
Ah, I get it! says Jim.
I nod.
264
I was going around asking everyone today if they knew of a
man working by himself. None of them did. I was probably in his
camp and I didn't even realize it!
Go on! Jim waves me away. Go do the rounds again!
I bundle up and go back out.
The first team has a man working in a tent while the others are
up on the hill. I ask him if he's heard of Dr. Dan Shepherd.
He smiles.
You, again, he says. Nope, sorry. Still can't help you.
Same story at the next camp. They have too many tents and
too many people anyhow.
The final camp is small. Just six sleeping tents and one bigger
one, but not as big as ours. I poke my head into their dining tent.
Hello, says the young woman I already talked to.
Sorry to bug you again, I say. But I should have mentioned
earlier that I'm looking for Dr. Dan Shepherd. Have you heard of
him?
Danny? she asks. Sure. He's the leader of this expedition.
Wow! I say. This is great!
Really? she says, curious.
Yeah, I say. I'm from Toronto and so is he. His mom told
me to stop by and say hi if I saw him. I got the impression he'd
be working alone though.
Nope, she says. Do you want some chai?
She introduces herself as Karma and she seems very New-Age.
Instead of a winter coat, she has layers and layers of sweaters, the
kind you can buy from those free-trade websites that specialize in
indigenous fashion.
We sit and drink chai, a milky spicy tea, until I say I have to get
back to my camp, but to pass on my best wishes to Dr.
Shepherd. Hopefully we'll be able to connect later.
I get back to our dining tent in time to be told to go haul in
about ten buckets of snow. But Jim is really happy for me, that I
solved the mystery of the missing Dr. Shepherd.
One up for you, eh? he says grinning. I think he understands
the tension between me and Harry.
The snow goes into a re-hydrated chili. It's not as good as the
kind you make at home, but the people on the mountain gobble
it up. I imagine they get pretty hungry out there.
265
Sooo, I say conversationally, as Jim and I sit down across
from Harry and Ken. Did you find Dr. Shepherd out there on
the mountain?
No, says Harry. We're so busy picking away at the ice, I
don't think we'd find him unless he jumped out at us. I guess
we're just going to have to rely on Professor Aldridge for that.
Or . . . I say, looking at my nails and trying to sound casual.
You can just rely on . . . me!
What! I love the look of surprise on Harry's face.
Yep, I say, still trying to sound casual. I found his camp
after lunch. He's got ten students with him . . .
So that's where the missing students were! says Harry.
Elementary, my dear Watson, I say, hoping that I get the
quote right. I've never actually read Sherlock Holmes. Harry says
that before he met me, when he had to work for his father's
company, he spent his days reading old mystery novels online.
Well, says Harry, standing up. What are we waiting for?
Let's get over there!
I turn to Jim.
Go on, kid, he says. I think I can manage cleanup without
you.
I lead Harry and Ken back to the tent with Karma and the
chai. Except that this time, there are ten more people. At one of
the tables is a man who can only be Dr. Dan Shepherd. He has a
full beard and is in his mid-thirties.
He looks up, sees us at the doorway and comes over.
Karma said a girl with long red hair was looking for me, he
says. But I'm sorry if I don't recognize you.
That's OK, I say. We know your mom, Harry and I.
Introductions are exchanged. Dr. Shepherd says to call him
Dan.
Ah, so you know Mom, he says, leading us back to a table.
I hope we're not betraying Mrs. Shepherd by saying this. But at
this point, we seem to have abandoned all charades.
What are you guys studying here? he asks.
Dinosaur bones, says Harry.
Dan laughs.
I know that!
Ken leans forward.
266
I met you while you were working in the Arctic. You
probably don't remember. I was just passing through.
Vaguely, says Dan, thinking back.
I was expecting him to be cold and distant, but everyone seems
to have been wrong about him. He's relaxed and willing to talk.
Is there a connection between your work here and your work
there? asks Ken.
That's right! Dan snaps his fingers. I remember you! You're
a journalist, aren't you?
Guilty as charged, says Ken.
Well, says Dan, leaning forward and sipping his coffee. As
it happens, I really don't mind. If you want to do an article, be my
guest.
Ken yanks a notebook out of one of his many pockets.
My interest is in dinosaur extinction, says Dan. In the mid
1980's, a palaeontologist discovered a substantial number of
dinosaur bones on the North Slope in Alaska. I was only a boy,
but I developed the theory that the dinosaurs of the Arctic must
have been a sturdier type of dinosaur, more adaptable, and that
they were probably the ones who had evolved into birds. I
thought at that time that it was possible there might be dinosaur
remains found in Antarctica too. And I turned out to be right.
He adds some more sugar from a paper packet to his coffee.
But as time went on, palaeontologists demonstrated that the
polar dinosaurs were no different from the dinosaurs in Alberta
and Montana. So I was forced to rethink my childhood theories.
Did you ever meet Jett Shanklin? I ask. They're so similar it's
scary.
Of course! he says, smiling. He's a great kid. He'll do well.
We both have the advantage of a bit of money in the family so
that we can follow our dreams. Of course, he has the advantage
that the money is his. Mine is actually my mother's so I have to
be careful that I don't offend her.
We nod.
I remember that Mrs. Shepherd is a friend of Mrs. Shanklin's
so it makes sense that Dan Shepherd is aware of Jett.
So you rethought your childhood theories? says Ken.
Dan nods.
With the discovery of polar dinosaurs, we now know that
dinosaurs lived on every continent. Of course, scientists have an
267
endless number of theories to explain their extinction. As a
young boy, I heard an interesting theory. That there was some
kind of spill over of icy cold water from the Arctic Ocean which
would have been isolated at the time. The water would have been
somewhere between fresh and saltwater and the contamination
could have started a series of events that led to the destruction of
first the plankton, which in turn effected the higher levels of life,
ultimately destroying the dinosaurs. I investigated the theory and
found flaws with it, but it got me thinking that maybe the answer
to dinosaur extinction could be found in the Polar Regions.
Is it? asks Ken.
At this point, I tend to think no, says Dan.
But you're still here, says Ken.
Dan shrugs.
It's a fascinating place. And it still may have answers. There
are two basic theories these days to explain dinosaur extinction.
One is the meteor theory.
We've all heard of that, says Ken, scribbling.
Antarctica is one of the places where they can pursue that
theory, says Dan. The presence of shocked quartz here and in
Australia suggests a meteor impact. They're doing work at
Bellingshausen regarding that and I wanted to stop there first and
see if they had come up with anything new.
Harry and I look at each other. That explains why just he went
there.
The second theory is that volcanic activity destroyed the
dinosaurs. Both theories are put in jeopardy by the presence of
polar dinosaurs.
Why is that? asks Ken.
Both of the theories involve a drop in temperature and an
absence of sunlight. The effect of freezing temperatures on cold-
blooded dinosaurs was the reason for their extinction.
I get it, says Harry. Polar dinosaurs prove that a dinosaur
can survive extreme cold and 24-hour darkness.
Exactly, says Dan.
I don't get it, I say. What do meteors and volcanoes have to
do with cold and darkness?
The ash and dust from a large meteor or severe volcanic
activity would block out the sunlight and result in a sudden drop
of temperature, explains Dan.
268
Oh, I say.
What about the fact that Antarctica was probably warmer at
one time? says Ken.
They really only think it was warmer by about ten degrees,
says Dan. It would still be some severe weather to endure.
So where does that leave you? asks Ken.
Dan nods.
The more I studied dinosaur extinction the more the whole
issue concerned me.
What do you mean?
There are dinosaur tracks all over the world, says Dan. And
the ones at extinction level are remarkably similar. They seem to
have run in herds in a straight direction. In other words, they
were running away from something.
OK, says Ken, writing furiously.
Under ordinary circumstances, the tendency of an animal is to
meander quite a bit. So these particular tracks represent a unique
event. There is an absence of young tracks which suggests the
young ones were simply left behind in the panic.
Could they have been running from a meteor or volcanic
lava? says Ken.
Perhaps, Dan shrugs. But I started to develop a different
theory. The tracks at extinction level were well-preserved. In
other words, they didn't get trampled over by other animals. They
didn't fade over time. They were preserved by the event itself. In
other words, rapid sedimentation.
Water? says Ken.
Dan nods.
There was another interesting feature about the tracks. They
tended to be on level ground. Ordinarily, you would expect
different levels of terrain. But the ground at extinction level
seemed to have been levelled by something before these animals
ran across it. A meteor or a volcano wouldn't fit with that. But
water would.
Harry's eyes widen.
Dan nods again.
You get what I'm driving at? he says. And finally, these
types of tracks were found all over the world which suggests a
global event.
Noah's flood, says Harry.
269
Exactly, says Dan. Except that I don't believe in the Bible. I
just looked at the facts and came up with what I thought was the
most reasonable explanation.
Dan takes a sip of coffee.
The fact that my theory coincides with a famous Bible story is
unfortunate. Particularly when it comes to Mother funding all
this. He waves his hand around.
Harry looks puzzled.
Your mom will be proud of you, won't she? he says. She's a
good Anglican . . .
Dan groans.
Mother! Dan says with feeling. She paid for my education,
my research in the Arctic and now my research in the Antarctic.
When she finds out what I've come to believe, she won't be
funding anything anymore.
Why?! says Harry.
She may be a good Anglican, says Dan. But this type of
theory is going to put me outside of the respectable scientific
community. They'll accuse me of being a Creation Scientist. It's
basically a death sentence for my career. Laval will let me go.
Unless I just drop the whole thing. But I don't want to drop the
whole thing. I think I'm onto something here . . .
Oh dear, says Harry, almost to himself. I know what hes
thinking. Mrs. Shepherd is paying for a full report about her son
and were going to have to give it.
Dan looks at him. Its a thoughtful look. I think its just
occurred to him that its a bit of a strange coincidence that Harry,
who lives on the same street as his mom, has shown up here at
the South Pole.
You werent sent by . . . ? he says to Harry. Dan shakes his
head like its not possible. You were sent by Mother to check on
me, werent you?
He looks at Harry and then at me. We dont have to say
anything. Its all over our faces.
Dan's eyes widen.
And you came all the way out here . . . ?
Harry nods.
Your last letter concerned her.
And she sent you all the way here . . . ?
Harry nods again.
270
Well, says Dan, sighing. I'm not surprised my last letter was
out-of-sorts. All I could think was, as soon as I publish anything,
my career is going to go down the toilet. That is, if I can get
anyone to publish my theory. They won't, of course. And then
my career is going to go down the toilet, anyhow.
Publish or die, agrees Ken.
So I'm really at a crossroads here, says Dan.
We sit there in sympathetic silence.
Listen, guys, says Dan. Tell Mom I'm fine. Tell her we'll
have a nice long talk when I get back.
OK, says Harry. We'll try to get the message out.
Can't you guys just pack it up and head home now that you've
found me? asks Dan.
I'm afraid we've committed the next five weeks to Professor
Aldridge.
Professor Aldridge, eh? So you're with his team?
Yes and we'll have to let him know we found you, says
Harry.
Give him my regards, says Dan standing up. Tell him I'll be
over there sometime to finish up our conversation.
Oh, you've met before? says Harry, as we all get to our feet.
Yes. He and I met when we first got here. In fact, we sat
around at this very table and talked about some of the same
things.
Harry and Ken look at each other.
We told Professor Aldridge we were looking for you, says
Harry. He said if we put in a hard day's work for him, he'd do
what he could to locate you.
Dan looks surprised and then he shakes his head.
Unbelievable, he says. It's started already.
What do you mean? asks Ken.
Well, the only thing Professor Aldridge knows about me is
that I have some ideas that don't line up with the conventional
theories of evolution. So you guys show up looking for me and
rather than have you exposed to my heresy, he pretends he
doesn't know I'm here. Unbelievable.
Isn't that going a little overboard, says Ken. His journalist
instinct is up. You guys are on the cutting edge of new ideas.
271
Why should a new idea or two be a problem? And why not
question the old ideas?
It would be nice if it worked that way, says Dan, walking us
to the flap of the tent. But institutes of higher learning tend to
be fiercely conservative when it comes to protecting long-
cherished beliefs. Volcanic extinction theory, fine. Global flood
theory, not fine. Problem is, it matches a story in the Bible.
It matches a universal legend, says Harry. Every culture has
a flood story in its mythology.
I know, I know, says Dan. But no self-respecting scientist is
going to give the Christians any ammunition.
He opens the tent flap for us and we're back out into the cold.
At least it's bright so we have no problem finding our way back
to camp.
I don't know whether that was an invitation to come back, or
not, says Harry, once we're halfway to our camp.
I'm going back, announces Ken. There's a story there.
If you write it, you could get yourself in the same boat as Dr.
Shepherd, says Harry. An outcast in your profession.
Not a chance, says Ken, confidently.
272

Chapter Six

he case is over and we have five weeks of hard labour left.
Harry and Ken don't seem to mind. Although they
stopped talking about this being the adventure of a
lifetime after the first day.
But Jim lets me read Robin Cook novels when I'm done with
my chores.
One day a whole horde of dinosaur bones are brought into
camp and everyone's all excited. Everyone except me. That
means Jim is hurrying around photographing them and
measuring them and packing them all up, so for two days I have
to do meals on my own.
I rely on the canned goods that we brought since it's a hassle
to have to go out and get loads and loads of the snow to hydrate
things. It's bad enough having to keep Professor Aldridge in tea.
But then the dinosaur bones are all safely packed away and we
get back to normal again. Of course, my definition of normal has
been radically altered by my experiences in Antarctica.
Harry gets a message out to Mrs. Shepherd via Ken's email.
She replies back right away saying how grateful she is to us.
The fact that we're staying on in Antarctica seems to raise her
T
274
estimate of us, rather than diminish it. Harry says that's what
happens when you're a child of God and even Ken snickers.
Ken goes back in the evenings to talk to Dan.
They've developed quite the partnership. Ken is determined to
get Dan's theories out there without killing either of their careers.
It's almost as if he wants to prove Dan wrong about his idea that
you aren't truly free to promote your ideas.
In the meantime, Professor Aldridge never mentions to us that
the man we're looking for is within shouting distance of our
camp.
Harry admits to me one evening when we're playing Rummy at
one of the tables in the dining tent, that it's not easy out on that
mountain, picking away at the ice.
It's the wind, he says. It really gets you up there. I'm
dressed for it, that's not the problem. But I still feel it and it goes
on and on and on.
But you did find some dinosaur bones, I say, adding a
Queen of Diamonds to one of the rows on the table.
It wasn't anywhere near me, says Harry, picking up a card,
glancing at it and discarding it. We're spread out up there. It's
like looking for a needle in a haystack so we don't just
concentrate on one area. We're in pairs all over the place.
It'd be nice if we go somewhere warm after this, I say,
picking up a card and adding it to my collection.
I'm glad you got this job, says Harry. I'd hate to think of
you out there all day in the cold.
That's so sweet of him.
But there are women out there, I say, discarding a card.
I know, says Harry. But they're here voluntarily. I really
dragged you into this one, didn't I?
I laugh.
Kind of like I dragged you into the last one.
Harry smiles.
Yeah, I know. Now we're even. From now on, only places we
both agree on.

Ken reports that Dan's team found some dinosaur bones too.
We're glad for him. Some people spend a season here and don't
find anything.
Alive in Antarctica ~ Chapter Six
275
You're a Christian, aren't you? says Ken turning to Harry.
He has his notebook out. What do you think about all of this?
Harry shrugs.
It doesn't surprise me that there would be evidence of a
global flood.
Is it essential to your faith?
Yes and no, says Harry. I believe the Bible is true, so I
expect that the evidence will be there.
And if it isn't? Ken persists.
My belief would tell me that it is there, says Harry. Even if
no one has discovered it.
Fanatic, says Ken grinning and writing something down in
his book. Too bad I like you.
But Dan is the exact opposite of me, says Harry. He's
found evidence but without any belief in the Bible.
Yeah, you guys are what I call foils, says Ken. I can contrast
you two.
You're writing about Harry? I say.
Ken nods.
There are a lot of ironies here. Harry is a Christian who
doesn't go to church and believes in the Bible. Dan's mother is a
Christian who goes to church but would rather not promote the
Bible.
We don't know that for sure, I say. Dan just thought that's
the way it would play out.
His worst fears have been confirmed. He decided to be
candid with her and told her the direction that his research was
taking him. She emailed him and told him how horrified she is
that he's promoting unorthodox ideas. She says it's a waste of his
education and a waste of his mind. He should just leave this
flood theory to the Christians and pursue real science.
Wow, I say.
Ken nods.
Furthermore, she's agreed to do an interview with me as soon
as we get back to Canada. There'll be a lot of sidebars in this
article, believe you me.
What about me? I ask. Can I do an article? A little sidebar
about life here in the kitchen?
Ken rolls his eyes.
276
My readers would be riveted.
Apparently his readers dont want to read about how my life at
the South Pole revolves around drinking coffee and reading
Robin Cook novels.

Unfortunately, the time on my hands results in me finishing all
the novels that Ken gave me. And we still have three and a half
weeks to go. But Jim says that there are plenty of novels in this
camp and if I venture out with mine, I'm sure to find people
willing to trade.
It's funny to think that in the most adventurous place on earth,
people spend their spare time reading thrillers.
After helping Jim clean up after breakfast, I head out of the
dining tent and into the bright snow with all my Robin Cook
novels stuck in various pockets. The pockets on this winter coat
are pretty impressive. They could substitute for a suitcase if you
needed them to.
At the first camp, the man tending the dining tent looks up
from his laptop and smiles at my request.
I brought some magazines I'm finished with, he says.
Mostly wildlife stuff. A lot of National Geographic.
I thank him politely but exit the tent with all my books still in
their pockets. National Geographic might be fine for Harry and
Ken, but I didn't come to Antarctica to learn anything. I want
books that will make me forget I'm here.
I decide to head over to Dan's camp. Maybe Karma likes
thrillers. In any case, I like the chai there.
Karma greets me like an old friend and we sit down and have
some of her latest batch of chai. She says this one is similar to the
kind made by the monks in Tibet. As long as it's hot and sweet
and milky I'm not fussy.
Robin Cook? she says. What does he write?
Medical thrillers, I say, pulling the books out of my pockets
and putting them on the table. Believe me, they're good.
I wouldn't mind learning something about medicine, says
Karma thoughtfully, picking up one and looking at it. Would
you be willing to trade for some Dan Brown and some Steve
Berry?
Absolutely, I say.
277
Karma goes over to a stainless-steel trunk and opens it up. She
counts out four Dan Brown novels and four Steve Berry ones.
There seems to be a full library in there. I express my envy.
Karma laughs as she brings the eight books back to the table.
They mostly belong to Danny, you know, Dan, she says. I
just keep mine in there because it's waterproof. His are really
weird stuff. Some of it is even . . . She lowers her voice.
Christian.
I roll my eyes as I take a sip of the chai.
I know all about that, I say. Honestly, it's amazing they can
function in the real world.
That's what I'm worried about, says Karma, looking down at
her mug. I've been with Danny for a while and he's a really great
guy. But this is going to totally mess things up.
I gather that there's more than just a student-teacher
relationship with these two.
But he's not Christian, or anything, I say, trying to console
her.
I know, she says. But with the stuff he's writing these days,
the only people who will publish it are the Christian journals.
Then the only people who will let him teach will be the Christian
universities. I don't know if I could cope.
It's a lot to think about, I say sympathetically.
The big thing is my parents, continues Karma. I totally
don't know what they would say about it.
They'd think you were with some kind of freak? I say.
Oh no! says Karma. It's worse than that. They are
Christians. They would think it's all God's will and that He's
using it to bring me and Dan to Jesus.
Oh I hear you! I say, shaking my head. Why do Christians
always think God is doing something?
I know. Karma nods. I have worked so hard to align myself
in harmony with the universe and now I'll be surrounded by
people who think that, zap! Miracle-time. Hallelujah!
Karma despondently drinks her chai.
It's taken me two years to get centred, she says. And to
learn to go with the flow of the universe's energy. Even here, I
can feel it. It blows down off the mountain and into the tent.
That's the wind, I think.
278
And I feel connected with the greater energy. Did you know
that some people think Antarctica was a base for
extraterrestrials?
I shake my head.
Of course, it's the most logical place, continues Karma.
Once it got buried in ice, it would hide all traces of their
existence. They don't want us relying on them. They want us to
make it on our own. When Danny said he was coming here to
this mountain, I knew it would be a place with a powerful aura.
It's the highest point in this area and it's so close to the South
Pole that I wouldn't be surprised if it had been a base for the
extraterrestrials.
Makes sense, I say. I don't know why I say it. Just to be
agreeable.
And now he has to come up with these crazy Christian ideas
and we'll never be allowed to come back here again!
I hear you, I say. But it's gotten a bit more feeble.
I glance at my watch. I've got to get back.
I thank Karma for the chai and the books and she says,
Anytime.
When I get back to our dining tent, Jim is all stirred up.
There you are! he says. Make lunch! Anything! They've
found something on the mountain and it's big!
The remains of an extraterrestrial? I say.
Jim looks at me like I've just confirmed his theory that I'm
crazy and then dashes off outside.

By big, he means a big bone.
Normally a bone would be photographed, measured and then
packed up to be studied back home. But something about this
one is different. A make-shift laboratory has been set up in the
corner of the dining tent at one of the tables. Just some
microscopes really. According to Ken, bigger expeditions have an
entire tent set up to examine things. But the smaller expeditions
can't afford to bring all their equipment into the field.
I honestly don't care.
With Jim constantly peering under microscopes and taking
notes, everything falls to me. I'm too busy to read The Da Vinci
Code. All I do is fill up buckets with snow and make oatmeal in
279
the mornings, soup for lunches and re-hydrated stews for
dinners. This continues for several days.
Most of the students are still out on the mountain but
sometimes Professor Aldridge stays back in the tent after tea.
Ken comes up to me after dinner one night and asks me what's
going on in that corner over there. Everyone's so hush-hush, he
hasn't been able to pick up anything.
I dunno, I say, a dishtowel in my hand as I dry the huge pot
that held our chicken stew. No one tells me anything.
Can't you hear what they're saying?
I have no clue what they're saying, I say, my arm having to
stretch to get to the bottom of the pot. They talk scientific. I
really don't follow it.
Harry comes over to see what's going on.
Meg could tell us what's going on over there if she would just
apply half a brain cell to it, says Ken.
Harry gives him a warning look.
OK, OK, I say, walking over to the corner and putting the
pot on a shelf. I come back and lowering my voice, I say, This
afternoon they were doing something to do with red blood cell
counts. All sorts of numbers. I'm not Mata Hari. I didn't write it
all down.
Red blood cell counts? says Ken, looking at Harry. We have
to speak quietly. There's still a team of people in the corner.
Dinosaur bones don't have red blood cell counts. They're too
old.
Harry looks thoughtful.
Some Christian scientists have said otherwise. I read about an
expedition to Alaska to the North Slope that some Christians
went on. They wanted to do their own study on the bones rather
than rely on the secular research.
Yeah, yeah, says Ken, impatiently. So?
So they brought back a lot of bones and found that they still
had red blood cells in them. That would suggest that dinosaurs
didnt go extinct millions of years ago. Maybe more like
thousands of years ago.
Ken's eyes widen.
Does Dan know about this?
I don't know, says Harry. It was in a Christian magazine.
Ken nods.
280
Just like he said. Only the Christians will publish things like
that. Anything that's anti-evolution gets buried.
This might get buried, says Harry nodding his head toward
the corner of the room.
Oh no it won't! says Ken, buttoning up and charging out
into the cold.
Harry looks at me apologetically and starts buttoning up too.
I'd better see what he's up to.
I shrug. I still have about thirty mugs to wash and all the tables
to scrub down. All I can think of is how I want to finish up and
go to bed.

Snow for coffee. Snow for oatmeal.
Breakfast is the hardest meal because it all has to be done so
early. At least with lunch, you have most of the morning to take
care of it.
I can tell Harry wants to talk to me as he passes through the
line, but there's just no time. No time for me, that is. The brown
sugar runs out and I have to open another huge bag and
distribute it into the smaller containers.
Ken is fidgety, I notice. He doesn't even look at me as he
comes up for more coffee.
Then they're all off and I can relax a bit. Jim and two of the
students are still in the corner. I have to keep the coffee going for
them.
There's a lot of serious talk among them. All for one bone.
I'm pooped and we still have three weeks to go. Two weeks
and six days, actually, although, one of the days will probably be
to travel back to Bellingshausen. So two weeks and five days of
hard labour. I will never, ever again complain about the quality of
the food anywhere, so long as I don't have to cook it.
Figuring that everyone must be getting sick of soup, I try to
put a little more creative effort into lunch. That is, I hunt around
the supplies and find a whole skid of corned beef. Combined
with some re-hydrated potatoes, I could make corned beef hash.
Before my dad went to Reno, I remember him making corned
beef hash for dinner sometimes. It was the only thing he knew
how to make and he did a great job of it. The secret, he said, was
ketchup. So I add a whole bottle of ketchup to the pot and I
must say, I'm gratified by the compliments I get.
281
Jim is finally done in the corner. The bone is being packed up
for further study back home.
Thank God!
I get some more snow for tea and for dinner, but Jim takes
over the rest of the kitchen again. I actually have an hour to
myself in the afternoon to start reading The Da Vinci Code. I
think, maybe this will be OK for the rest of our stay here. I may
actually survive.
But if that's my hope, it's shattered at dinner time.
282

Chapter Seven

inner is re-hydrated macaroni and cheese.
Jim complains that there's a bottle of ketchup
missing. He likes to have a bottle of ketchup when he
serves macaroni and cheese. I smile to myself. (Hey! I can't tell
him! It's a secret family recipe.)
I notice two interesting things at dinner.
Professor Aldridge isn't here.
Ken isn't here.
And then, just when most people have finished their bowls of
food, Professor Aldridge appears in the doorway of the tent,
looking like a thundercloud.
Where is it?! he roars.
We all look up, startled.
The bone! he says, as if we're all morons. Where's the
bone?!
Jim hurries forward. I have a sinking feeling I'll be cleaning up
on my own.
We packed it and put it in the storage trunk, he says.
Well, it's not there anymore, he says, glaring at Jim and then
glaring at the rest of us. His eyes end up on me and Harry.
D
284
Where's that other guy with you? he demands, coming over
to our table.
I am genuinely terrified.
The mild-mannered professor has turned into a reincarnation
of Thor, the god of thunder.
I don't know, says Harry.
I can't even speak.
Professor Aldridge just stares at us. And then he turns and
walks out of the tent.
Ken never does show up for dinner, but Harry says he did
come off the mountain. After that, he disappeared.
I can barely sleep that night.
What's going on?

Jim is seriously preoccupied at breakfast. I silently get the snow
and work on the coffee while he does some re-hydrated
scrambled eggs.
Harry and I sit alone. There is no Ken. There is a simmering
Professor Aldridge sitting alone with his tea.
Everyone speaks, if they speak at all, in quiet tones.
But the whole atmosphere changes when Dan Shepherd
appears in the doorway. He is carrying a long, well-wrapped
object. It's the bone!
He strides across the dining hall and carefully puts it on the
table in front of Professor Aldridge.
The Professor's eyes widen in rage and he's on his feet.
A well-meaning man brought this to me, says Dan mildly.
He thought it was something that I needed to know about. I
thanked him and told him that I prefer to examine my own
dinosaur bones.
You! . . . You! . . . Professor Aldridge looks like he might
burst something.
I assure you, says Dan, as he turns and heads back for the
door. I had nothing to do with it. I only found out about it
today.
I want to talk to this man! says Professor Aldridge. He was
in my camp, wasn't he? That reporter who showed up out of the
blue! Professor Aldridge pauses only to glare at us.
Alive in Antarctica ~ Chapter Seven
285
You can't, says Dan, now in the doorway. He left. Caught a
supply flight to McMurdo this morning. Said he had an article to
write.
Professor Aldridge's rage is complete. I've never seen someone
so mad. But Dan is gone. He's disappeared out into the bright
sun and the brilliant snow. Harry and I are the only ones he has
to vent his rage on.
Get out! he roars at us. Get out, you traitors!
Now, now, says Jim, soothingly as he hurries over. I don't
think Meg had anything to do with this. She's with me all the
time . . .
I don't care! screams the professor. They were with the
traitor! They must have had an idea of what was going on! He
turns back to us. Get out!
And so we do.
We have barely enough time to button up before we're out in
the snow. All by ourselves. In Antarctica.
Jim comes hurrying out of the tent. He hasn't even taken time
to zip up his coat. His hands are full.
I'm calling for a helicopter from McMurdo to pick you up,
he says breathlessly. He starts stuffing granola bars and bottles of
water into all my pockets. This should get you through until
you're settled somewhere. Make sure you grab all your gear. Just
wait for the helicopter. It won't be long.
He gives me a quick hug. He ignores Harry. I think he thinks
Harry was involved in all of this.
Good luck! he says, smiling at me before disappearing back
into the tent.
Well, I sigh. Maybe we'll live after all.
We trudge through the snow to our respective tents to get our
clothes. Mine was just in my knapsack. Harry has the duffle bag.
After that, we head over to where the helicopter first dropped
us off. Harry puts my knapsack into the duffle bag and we both
sit down on it.
We should be OK, says Harry. I was OK out on the
mountain all day.
In the distance, we can see Professor Aldridge's team heading
out for their day on the mountain.
We're within sight of Dan's camp too, but nobody invites us in
to wait in the dining tent.
286
I figure our reputation is shot there as well.
I do up some more buttons. Harry puts his arm around me. I
get a little closer. It's not for body heat. All of our body heat is
trapped inside our winter gear. But psychologically I feel warmer
when we're closer together.

The feeling that it's me and Harry versus the world continues
at McMurdo. We're not treated like honoured guests. We're taken
into a small building near the runway and interrogated. I think
the military has something to do with this place. It's all very
intimidating. They want to know how we got ourselves evicted
from the expedition.
Harry doesn't bother telling about Mrs. Shepherd. He just says
that we were travelling with a journalist and that the journalist
was guilty of stealing a dinosaur bone and that we were
considered guilty by association.
Why did he steal the dinosaur bone? asks the man, who
despite his bulky red coat gives the impression of being a four-
star general.
It had red blood cells in it, says Harry. He was concerned
that the information would be suppressed.
The man's eyebrows go up.
It would suggest that dinosaurs didn't die out as long ago as
people think, explains Harry. Red blood cells can only survive
for so long . . .
Yes, I know, says the man. What is it? Some kind of a
Christian expedition?
No, says Harry. As far as I know, there are no Christians
on that mountain.
The man shakes his head.
Well, what are we going to do with you two? he says. It'll
cost a bloody fortune to get you back home.
We don't have to go home, says Harry. We have two and a
half more weeks booked at the Bellingshausen Station.
Well, that's a relief, says the man. At least it's on this
continent.
So we're back on a small plane and by dinner we're eating in
the familiar dining room with all of the Russians.
Father Kuznetsov is thrilled to have us back, safe and sound.
Harry thanks him for his prayers. The Father says we will all go
287
out to the church after dinner and issue up a special prayer of
thanks for our safe return.
I'm so happy to be back in civilization that I don't even argue.
The weather is better here. The food is real. And best of all, I
don't have to cook it! I don't even have to go out and get snow
for them to melt.
We put our coats on after dinner and go out to the church on
the hill.
On the outside it is a complete replica of a Russian Orthodox
Church, just on a smaller scale.
The inside is an ornate wooden interior that could hold about
thirty people. There are colourful gold pictures of saints. A small
wooden bookshelf. A golden display stand with matching
communion cups. Father Kuznetsov has added some fancy extra
layers to his long black robe.
He lights some candles and says some things in Russian. Then
we all kneel down and Father Kuznetsov leads us in a prayer
from one of the books on the bookshelf.
I would have thought that Harry would consider it all very
medieval, but there's nothing about his attitude that suggests that
he's anything but completely supportive of Russian orthodoxy.
I'm so happy that night to be back in a real bed.
OK, a wooden bunk.
But to be able to have a shower with real running water and
then to come back and not have to zip myself up like a mummy .
. . well, I can't tell you, unless you've been there.

Artyom still maintains his stand that if we live at the station
we're going to have to work at the station. I don't mind. After
breakfast, I mop the whole station and then I even go into the
kitchen to see if they need help. Hey! I have kitchen experience
now! But they have it all under control.
I return to my room to get The Da Vinci Code.
Harry and Father Kuznetsov are in the lounge. Harry has
finished telling him the whole story and now they are discussing
the whole dinosaur extinction thing. Dinosaur bones. Red blood
cells. Evolution. Something about young earth and old earth. I'm
glad they have each other because there is no way I would want
to be discussing these things with Harry.
288
But Harry does tell me that Ken didn't pass through this way
on his way home.
I hope Eduardo is still coming! I say, alarmed.
Oh, I'm sure he is, says Harry. Ken probably grabbed a
flight from McMurdo. But he wouldn't have cancelled our way
out of here.
Why not? I say. He totally betrayed us! OK, OK. I know.
I sound just like Professor Aldridge.
I don't know, says Harry. I think he did the right thing.
He's a journalist and he wants to follow the story. Though I don't
think it was right to steal the dinosaur bone. But from our
perspective, he didn't betray us because he didn't owe us
anything.
I shrug. I don't really care. I never liked the man anyway. I
return to my book.
How does it work here at this station? Harry asks. Do faith
and science mix?
Father Kuznetsov shakes his head.
We are very good at separating the two. Every man has his
private faith but it is not likely to affect his work.
In North America, we mix the two even if we say we don't,
says Harry. Some Christians use science to prove the Bible. But
it works more the other way around. The non-Christians use
science to disprove the Bible. They may not do it consciously.
But the fact that they don't want to consider any theory that
might support the Bible shows how hostile they are to it.
Very interesting, says Father Kuznetsov. We have very
different histories, the West and the Russians. During the years
of Communism, faith lived on only in the hearts of people. There
was no outward show of it.
I think I understand, says Harry. And I think that kind of
faith is very strong.
And you, says Father Kuznetsov. Are you one to argue
about whether life evolved or whether life was created?
I like talking about it. But I don't think we should argue.
Father Kuznetsov nods.
You feel maybe, God is not present when we argue?
Exactly, says Harry.
289
It's impossible to read with these two men talking, but lunch is
called and we all head to the dining hall.
Artyom is eager to talk to Harry.
There's some kind of strange story going around that two
people got kicked out of an expedition on Mount Kirkpatrick.
He's suspicious since the people match our description.
So Harry gets to tell the story all over again. Why are we always
telling people our story? We must be very interesting people.
At first Artyom is shocked and horrified that he's harbouring
the infamous people who had to be helicoptered off of Mount
Kirkpatrick. But he softens up when he realizes that most of it
can be blamed on Ken.
Western journalist, he says, shaking his head. You should
avoid such people from now on.
He lets us know we'll be having our usual evening lecture in his
office after dinner.

The Antarctic Ocean, says Artyom, as if there was never a
break in our lectures. It is the youngest of all the oceans. When
you came here, you passed through Drake Passage, yes?
We nod.
At one time Antarctica and South America were attached.
This is the point at which they were joined. So Drake Passage is a
result of their separation. When they separated, the Antarctic
Circumpolar Current formed.
I was following him on the bit about Drake Passage, but he's
lost me with the Antarctic Circumpolar Current.
This is unfortunate because that is what his talk is about.
The final thing I hear before drifting off is that this
Circumpolar Current moves water around pretty quickly.
But then Artyom is looking at me with a grim expression.
Uh, I say sitting up. When did all this happen? I hope it
fits with what he's saying.
Thirty million years ago, says Artyom, still looking at me
with suspicion.
He speaks for about fifteen more minutes and then wraps it
up, escorting us out.
Harry says he's going to try to finish War and Peace in the next
couple of weeks. I say, fine. At least I got eight new novels out of
Mount Kirkpatrick.
290

I can't help but think our situation is a bit bizarre.
The case is wrapped up. We found Dan Shepherd. His mother
knows why he's acting strange. She's not happy but it's not our
fault and we came out of it OK.
But here we are, stuck in Antarctica.
Harry points out that Mrs. Shepherd has already paid for our
stay here so we might as well stick it out and go back with
Eduardo.
It's the adventure of a lifetime, he insists. He's back to that
now. He even goes out for a full week on a camping trip with
some of the scientists who are studying the penguins. They don't
speak English and he doesn't really know anything about
penguins but they're happy to have him along to help put up
tents and lug equipment.
When he returns he tells me it was like summer camping
compared to Mount Kirkpatrick. I finished four of the novels
while he was gone. He says it was incredible to see the penguins
up close.
I mean, you see them in the zoo and it's pretty cool, but this
was so real, Meg! he says while we're drinking tea in the dining
room and catching up. I have summarized my week in one
sentence. Harry takes a lot longer. At least I didn't have to endure
evening lectures with Artyom all week. One student isn't worthy
of his attention, I suppose.
Now we're down to a week left. Artyom is working us like
crazy. Guess he wants to make the most of us while he has us.
I'm cleaning out test-tubes and all sorts of laboratory things.
Harry splits his time between the church and the base. We really
only see each other at meals.
And then finally the day comes when Eduardo is supposed to
pick us up.
Father Kuznetsov tells us to just carry on with our business. A
trip out from Ushuaia can take any number of days depending on
the weather. But Artyom eases up on us and I have time to read
another novel and Harry finishes War and Peace, leaving it for
some other English-speaking traveller passing through
Bellingshausen Station.
Eduardo arrives a day late, which really isn't late in this part of
the world.
291
I can't believe we're going home! No more long underwear!
No more coats that button up to our eyeballs! Never again will I
eat re-hydrated food! When I get back to the real world Im
staying there.
But it's still kind of sad. We both hate saying good-bye to
Father Kuznetsov. We would have had a rough time without
him. He and Harry promise to pray for each other. Even Artyom
gives us each a quick hug and a little punch on the shoulder to
express his affection.
It's a lot easier getting on the boat than it was getting off. We
have no supplies. All our food ended up at Mount Kirkpatrick
and any remaining unopened toiletries are left at Bellingshausen.
Hope that scores some points with the females at the station.
Eleven packages of maxi-pads are in the storage room.
Then it's time to readjust to life on the boat. And the
Argentinian cuisine. Churros and hot chocolate for breakfast! I
read the last of my novels on deck while Harry spends long hours
talking to Eduardo. Eduardo, of course, wants to know what
happened to Ken. Long story. But there's plenty of time to tell it.
I'd love to see Ushuaia now and be real tourists, but Harry says
the case is over and we can't charge Mrs. Shepherd for anything
but the plane ticket home. Never mind that we made a small
fortune in fees. Harry says until it's in the bank he's not going to
spend it. So we don't even book ourselves into a hotel. After our
good-byes to Eduardo and the crew, we head straight for the
airport and book a flight back to North America. The next flight
out, a flight to Miami but with lots of stops on the way, including
Buenos Aires, leaves early the next morning. So we book it and
make ourselves cozy in a corner using the duffle bag to lean on.
We're vagabonds. But there are others like us scattered here and
there. It's just that kind of place.
292

Chapter Eight

'm bored out of my mind back home.
I actually miss the routine of Bellingshausen Station. No
blinis. No samovar. No Artyom and his comical lectures.
(Yes, my brain has rearranged my memories so that his dry
lectures are now comical.)
Harry feels the same way as I do. He even misses Mount
Kirkpatrick.
He's restless and stops by at my place a few mornings after we
get back.
This is the first time he's been to mine and my mom's
apartment. He has entire rooms in his home that are bigger than
this place, but he seems comfortable just sitting on one of our
shabby couches drinking hot chocolate and eating doughnuts.
(It's the closest we can get to charros.)
We've got Edinburgh in a few weeks, he says, optimistically.
Our next case is going to be to investigate a three- hundred
year-old murder! A ghost supposedly still haunts some castle over
there. The lady that hired us wants us to go investigate because
she and her husband are considering buying the place. Guess she
doesn't want to wake up in the night with something white
hovering over her.
I
294
Did you tell your parents all about Antarctica? I say.
Didn't have to. Mrs. Shepherd is all in a stew. Our whole
street is talking about it. One of the best minds at Laval and he
has to throw it away on some Bible theory.
But he doesn't even believe in the Bible, I say, leaning
forward for another doughnut.
I know, says Harry. It's insane. But I'll give him credit. Dan
isn't going to back down. He's pursuing the flood theory and if
that means he'll have to teach at a Christian university, so be it.
Poor Karma.
My dad thinks I had something to do with it, says Harry,
shaking his head. It took me about an hour to persuade him that
Dan is not becoming a Christian and that I had absolutely
nothing to do with his theory about a global flood.
I've been keeping my eyes on Macleans, I say. Looking for
Ken's article.
I doubt you'll see it, says Harry, dipping his doughnut into
his chocolate. You'd be better off checking out some of the
Christian magazines.
I wouldn't even know where to begin to find a Christian
magazine, I say, putting my empty mug down on the coffee
table.
That's easy, says Harry. There are a lot of Christian
bookstores in Toronto.
No, Harry, I say, holding up my hand. I don't want to
know.
One really close to here, actually, says Harry.
I wouldn't be caught dead in one, I say.
They have a lot of interesting stuff . . . continues Harry.
Only interesting to Christians, I say. And I'm not a
Christian.
Of course you aren't, says Harry.
Really . . . I insist. I admit, I may have said a prayer or two.
And I liked Father Kuznetsov. But I would never become one of
you guys.
I think our next case will be a real eye-opener for you, says
Harry. We'll see God's hand in everything we do. I'll be praying .
. .
Don't pray, Harry.
Alive in Antarctica ~ Chapter Eight
295
Really, I'll be praying, he insists.
Shut up, Harry.
296

Edgy in Edinburgh

298

Prologue

1710
Suryapur, India

he port was busy with activity. Tall ships lined the quay
and natives scurried around loading and unloading goods.
On one particular ship, bales of silk were being taken
down into the hold. James Henlock, standing on the quay,
watched with satisfaction.
These silks would be the talk of London. It was no wonder
that Suryapur was known as the City of Kubera, the God of
Wealth. And this shipload would surely make him wealthy. It's
true that Bombay was rapidly becoming the centre of British
activity in India, but James Henlock still preferred to do his
trading in Suryapur. It reminded him of older days, days of risk
and adventure when the Dutch were still the supreme traders in
the region.
But the East India Tea Company didn't need him anymore.
They were settled into the routine of dull respectability. Though
they had started with just spices and pepper, now they had a
monopoly over the tea, the opium, the silks and cottons, and the
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indigo-dyes as well. It was such an established institution now
that everyone just called it John Company.
Now he was an old man, going home. Going home to peace
and tranquillity in a ship whose cargo would secure his future
back in Scotland. Ah, Edinburgh! How long had it been since he
had seen his parents and his sister? He had been a young man
when he had left home. As a second son, he had expected to
inherit nothing. The family estate would go to his oldest brother,
Eoin. Except that his brother had died in 1709. His passion for
tracking the deer of Scotland had resulted in him contracting
pneumonia after a chilly all-day hunt in Dunkeld. Such a thing
would have never happened to James. In Edinburgh he didn't
like to go any further than the Lothians.
The news of his brother's death had taken nearly a year to
reach him here in India. He still couldn't believe he was the Laird
of Laircassle.
How wonderful it would be to go home!
Did Laircassle still have the same cook? He remembered many
winter afternoons by the fire in the kitchen, eating oatcakes while
Cook told him tales of the ghosts that had walked the lonely
Orkney Islands of his youth. And young James had believed
every one of his stories.
James Henlock didn't realize he had his own ghost aboard the
ship.

Chapter One

2010
Edinburgh, Scotland

am so into this place, I say, looking around.
Harry and I are on Princes Street in Edinburgh.
This place is happening. On one side of the street are
public gardens, on the other side all these amazing old buildings.
The young people hurrying along, going into stores and coming
out of cafs, have style. There's a coolness in the air and I love
the way the Scots male and female wear their winter scarves
casually tossed around their shoulders. Heavy sweaters and jeans
are all that's needed to keep out the chill. When you think of
Scotland, you think of plaid, but what I'm seeing in the shop
windows are a lot of blacks, greys, and browns. My favourite
colours. My long red hair is the only colour I need.
It's a misty spring morning in Scotland and Harry and I are
finally in a place that we can both agree on.
We're here because we're investigators. We've solved three
cases so far, so I think I can say that with a certain confidence.
I just got into this whole thing because I didn't have any
money for college. Dad's got a bit of a gambling problem. (OK,
I
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OK, he actually got on a plane and moved to Reno leaving Mom
and I behind in Toronto.) I want to be a cop, the investigative
kind, but with no college money, that may never happen. But as
it turns out, Harry and I are really good at doing this on our own.
Of course, Harry, fanatical Christian that he is, gives God all
the credit for our success. He seems to consider himself God's
agent on earth, going around helping people to choose the
correct devotional to read and telling them that their pain is really
God's way of talking to them, that sort of thing.
I'll say this for him though, at least he doesn't go to church. So
that's a good thing.
We're in Scotland to do a job for a family back in Toronto.
Their name is MacGrath, they're stinking' rich and they want to
get back to their Gaelic roots by purchasing a small castle just
outside of Edinburgh.
The only problem is, there's a ghost in the castle. Or so the
story goes. Since they don't want to wake up to the sound of
rattling chains in the night, they've sent us out to investigate.
Get this; the plan is for us to stay in Laircassle for a month. If
we don't see any ghosts, the MacGraths will buy the place. The
current owners have rented it to them and are thrilled that they're
considering purchasing the old place.
Am I nervous? Maybe a little. But Harry and I have survived
Antarctica together. We faced some seriously bad guys in New
York City. And on our first case, we solved it by sheer luck. So I
think we have some things going in our favour.

We're back to travelling light. Harry and I both just have our
knapsacks on our backs. The castle is supposed to be
modernized, although Mrs. MacGrath was somewhat vague on
that point. Harry says the Modern Age began right after the
Middle Ages so we really shouldn't expect too much.
Although we'd love to start exploring Edinburgh right away,
we have to get settled in at Laircassle. To get there we have to
take a short bus ride to the north end of Edinburgh. And that
means finding the bus station. But we're prepared. We have a
guidebook to the whole area and so we know that the bus station
seems to be next to something called St. James Centre.
I think we keep going down here and then turn onto St.
Andrew Street, says Harry examining the map of the Edinburgh
Edgy in Edinburgh ~ Chapter One
303
city core. From there, we get on the bus to Leith. Leith is
located right on the North Sea. So we'll get to see ships and
docks and maybe even a museum . . .
I keep walking. Harry's like that. He gets excited about the
strangest things. In fact, when I turn around, he's still standing
there with the guidebook open.
The Scottish National Portrait Gallery is around here
somewhere. It has Van Dyck, Gainsborough, Rodin . . .
I don't know any of those people, Harry, I say.
Then we could go to the National Gallery of Modern Art,
says Harry, turning a page. It has Matisse, Picasso, Dali . . .
Harry, we don't even like art, I say.
I know, says Harry, looking up. I'm not really into it when
we're at home. But here, it seems different. Europe always has
that effect on me. I want to go to museums and galleries and
cathedrals and castles. I don't really know why.
I'm sure a therapist would help you work that out, I say.
We cant do anything now, though, says Harry, catching up
with me. We have to find Laircassle, and then we'll be tourists
for the next month. All Mrs. MacGrath is worried about are the
nights. We can do whatever we want during the day. I, for one,
can't wait to go up to that castle there. Harry glances over to the
castle on the hill that sits above Edinburgh. No surprise, it's
called Edinburgh Castle.
We start walking again.
Why do ghosts only haunt things at night?
I think they haunt things during the day too, but people aren't
so worried about it then.
After a few wrong turns down side streets, we are at last
standing in line for the next bus to Leith. A kind older Scottish
lady had helped us get to the right spot, directing us to Leith
Walk and had also pointed out the nearby statue of Sherlock
Holmes. (Harry made me take a photo with his cell phone of him
by it.)
The bus ride is short but scenic. We're still in Edinburgh so
our head's are twisting and turning to take it all in, the old and
the new, the familiar and the unfamiliar. All around us, people are
talking English, but with their rich Scottish accents.
When we arrive in Leith, our heads keep swivelling. While
there are a lot of old buildings, it also has a lot of upscale recent
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development. Food won't be a problem. The cobbled street we're
standing on is full of restaurants and pubs.
I can't wait to check out the whole port, says Harry looking
longingly in the direction of the water. The guidebook says they
used to build ships here. Not anymore, though. But it's still a
busy port.
As if to illustrate his longing, he pulls out his cell phone and
takes a picture of the distant water.
Could you use that phone to call whoever we're supposed to
call and tell them we're here? I say.
Harry pulls a piece of paper out of one of the pockets of his
knapsack.
I think it's a real-estate agent, he says as he calls the number.
Harry identifies himself and tells whoever is on the other end
where we are.
When he ends the call he tells me we're only two blocks away
from the agency. With a bit of help from our guidebook, we
manage to arrive at a new and sparkling building that has all sorts
of businesses, including the real-estate agent that is handling
Laircassle.
We go through the glass doors and are greeted by a smiling
woman in her late 20's with long blonde hair, a woollen sweater
and an ankle-skimming tweedy skirt who says, You must be
Harry and Meg! She introduces herself as Shona Oliver.
I like that name, Shona, says Harry. Is it Gaelic?
Thank you, Harry. Yes, it means, God is gracious.
Really? That's great!
Are you a Christian, Harry?
Yes, I am. Are you?
Yes!
They look at each other with a smile and a kind of
understanding seems to pass between them.
Let me just grab my keys and I'll take you out to Laircassle,
she says, opening a drawer and hunting around. Then, after
locking up the front, she takes us out a back door to a tiny
alleyway. In the tiny alleyway is a tiny car. It's a good thing we
don't have any suitcases because they would have had to go on
the roof.
Now, I'm going to take you to Leith Manor first, she says to
us, once we're out of the alley and driving down the narrow road.
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I'm in the back with the knapsacks. Harry's in the passenger seat.
The reason is Leith Hall and Laircassle were both built around
the same time, 1600, or so. But when James Henlock died in
1711, Laircassle was allowed to run down. But I want to give you
an idea of its original state.
We move away from the centre of town and are in the
countryside.
This whole area is referred to as the Lothians. Now, I
understand that you're expected to stay at Laircassle for a month
and if it is to your liking, the MacGrath family will purchase it?
Harry nods.
They've sent the rent for the month, I hope.
Aye, that they have. But I should warn you, the place is only
modernized in a tiny section. In fact, just enough for a caretaker
to live in.
Don't the pipes freeze in winter? says Harry.
Aye, that they do. But the pipes haven't been modernized
since the days of James Henlock.
Why is that, exactly? asks Harry.
I'll be totally candid. After his death, it was said that his ghost
haunted the hallways and only his sister was willing to stay there
alone. After she died, there was no heir. I don't know the history
of the place from that point except that anyone who purchased
Laircassle tended not to live in it after they bought it.
The ghost of James Henlock?
Shona nods.
How did James Henlock die? Was he murdered?
That's what some people said. For the simple reason that
people who die in their sleep don't generally haunt houses. A
ghost is a person who has unfinished business.
Looking for justice?
Shona nods.
That sort of thing, yes.
Maybe if we can give James Henlock his justice, then he'll rest
in peace, says Harry.
Harry! I say, leaning forward. You don't really believe this,
do you?
Well . . . to quote Shakespeare, there are more things in
heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
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Shona smiles her appreciation at his literary knowledge. I'm
disgusted. Harry believes in ghosts. And this smiling Scotswoman
beside him seems to share his lunacy.
Now, here we are, says Shona, pulling over to the side of the
road. There are new homes on one side of the road, but on the
other side is a long green lawn. In the distance we can see a large
manor. Even from here you can tell that it is a solid stone home,
a mini-castle really, with turrets and long several-story windows.
Now this bonnie place is Leith Manor and as you can see, it is
well-kept, says Shona. It even has its own little kirk in the
back.
Kirk? says Harry.
Church, explains Shona. There is a kirk at Laircassle too
but it is probably so rundown you could mistake it for a
gardening shed. When you see Laircassle, I think you'll agree with
me that they were probably designed and built by the same
architect. I wanted you to see this first so that you would be
aware of the possibilities for Laircassle.
She starts the engine and we're back on the road. Our
destination is only ten minutes away.
I can see why Shona wanted to show us Leith Manor first. We
turn down a long driveway and can tell right away that this
property is neglected. Leith Manor had giant stone urns on either
side of the driveway entrance. Laircassle has a fallen tree off to
one side. Leith Manor had stones all the way down the driveway.
Laircassle might have had them at one time, but now it's dirt.
Leith Manor had an elegant smooth exterior. Laircassle looks
chipped, as if parts of it have fallen off.
Well, here we are, announces Shona. She's brave enough to
bring her little car right up to the front of the door. One of the
turrets on Laircassle looks wobbly, as if might fall on her car and
crush us all. But at least there's some gravel around the front of
the house. Unless it's just fallen masonry.
How do we get back to civilization? I ask, meaning
Edinburgh. I'm looking all around. The area around this property
is built up with subdivisions, but it doesn't have the feeling of
Edinburgh or even Leith. We didn't pass any restaurants or stores
between Leith Manor and Laircassle and to make me feel even
more isolated, the property itself is huge. Let's just say that if we
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see any ghosts in the night and start screaming our heads off, no
one will come to our rescue.
Not to worry, says Shona. A bus runs right by here which
will take you back to the centre of Leith and then from there, you
can catch the bus that will take you right into Edinburgh.
Theoretically, we are still in Edinburgh. For a while, Leith was its
own borough, but in 1920 we were joined into Edinburgh.
I guess around here that's recent history.
Aye, that it is, agrees Shona. Now, let's go have a look, shall
we?
She starts heading for one side of the house where there is a
modern-looking door. One of the keys in her purse opens the
lock and we're inside.
It's almost like being in a motel room, but a little more rustic.
There are two single beds with a dresser between them, a small
kitchen in the corner and a tiny bathroom that only has room for
a toilet and a shower, no sink.
Is there a regular caretaker? asks Harry. Are we taking his
room?
No, says Shona, shaking her head. He left a while back.
Saw the ghost, did he? says Harry.
Shona hesitates.
That's what he says. But he also had a bit of a gambling
problem and had to leave the area to avoid facing the people he
owed money to.
I hope that's not a bad omen. My dad has a bit of a gambling
problem.
Did he say he saw the ghost in here? asks Harry, putting his
knapsack on one of the beds.
Another hesitation.
Yes, I'm afraid so.
How do we get to the main house? I ask.
Shona opens a door. I thought it led to a closet, but now I can
see that it opens up to a foyer. A huge foyer. There's a murky
brown look to everything, probably because everything is
wooden and dusty. Shona shuts the door.
Now, there is nothing that is off-limits to you. Look the
house all over.
We will, says Harry.
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Myself, I'm starting to feel nervous. I don't mind telling you,
I'm majorly relieved that Harry and I will be sleeping in the same
room. And it has nothing to do with his good looks. If I'm going
to face a ghost, I don't want to do it alone.
Well, I should be getting back, says Shona, glancing at her
watch. I hate to leave you here without supplies. If you like, I
can come back later and take you to a market to do a little
shopping . . .
I'm sure we'll be fine, says Harry. He walks over to a phone
and picks it up. Great! This is working!
Shona nods.
We'll call for a taxi, explains Harry.
Are you sure? says Shona. She's at the doorway, but she's
hesitating.
Absolutely, says Harry. We're good at this sort of thing.
He gives me a grin.
Well, I'll be back tomorrow to show you around the place a
bit, if you like, says Shona.
Can I just ask you one question? says Harry.
Certainly.
Have you ever seen the ghost?
Shona shakes her head.
That's not to say I don't believe in it. But, no, I've never
encountered anything strange here. I don't mind admitting the
house is a bit spooky when you're all alone, but nothing
supernatural has ever happened.
Harry nods.
Shona gives us a final smile and is gone.
Spooky, I say, when the door is shut and we're alone. I sit
down on my bed. That's a good word for it.
But Harry's already on the phone calling information and
asking for a taxi to be sent out to Laircassle. Something the
person says on the other end makes him raise his eyebrows.
It's broad daylight! he says. But the other person is not
convinced.
Harry hangs up the phone and tells me that the taxi will pick
us up here, but we will have to meet it at the end of the driveway.
It will not drive up to the door.
No way! I say. They really believe this ghost stuff around
here, don't they?
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Harry nods.
We might as well start walking, he says. We'll be lucky if we
get to the end of the driveway by the time the taxi's here.
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Chapter Two

he taxi driver is incredulous that we are actually going to
stay in Laircassle for a whole month.
Don't ye know about the ghost? he asks.
He's driving us to the nearest grocery store.
We nod and explain that that's why we're there. To investigate
the ghost.
He's very interested to know that there is another potential
buyer for Laircassle, but he assures us that we will not last a
month there.
Do you know anyone who's seen the ghost? asks Harry,
leaning forward from the back seat.
Aye, man. That I do.
Would he talk to us?
Aye, I do believe he would. If you buy him a pint or two.
Harry nods.
The drive to the grocery store is short. It's not a huge store.
Shona described it best when she said 'market.' But while our
driver waits outside, we go in and discover it has everything we
need.
If I'm going to face a ghost, I want lots of comfort food.
Custard creams, lemon puffs, ginger crunch creams, digestive
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biscuits, shortbread and lots and lots of tea. To this, Harry adds
instant coffee, bread, bologna, mustard, cheese slices, 2 dozen
eggs, bags of chips ('crisps' they call them here), a few apples and
oranges just to prevent scurvy, and a big bottle of ginger ale. We
grab some milk and a bag of sugar for the tea and coffee. I love
the look of the British magazines at the checkout so I add some
of them to our supplies. Then we're set.
Our driver says we can put our purchases in the boot, which
turns out to be the trunk.
When we get back to Laircassle he says he would be happy to
be our taxi service for our stay here, so long as he never, ever has
to go down that driveway.
I'm thinking of all those groceries that we're going to have to
haul. But Harry agrees, especially since Lenny (that's his name)
agrees to take us to the pub some night to meet the man who has
seen the ghost.
Just out of curiosity, says Harry, as we're getting out. Why
don't you want to drive down there? I mean, it's daylight . . .
Doesn't matter, says Lenny, at least getting out to help us get
things out of the trunk, I mean boot. Just going on the property
puts you in danger of the ghost.
What do you mean? I say, now with two heavy bags in each
hand.
It's the whole spirit of the place, says Lenny vaguely, getting
back into his taxi. You know my number. Bye-bye.
What on earth? I say, looking at him drive away. I mean,
he's a grown man. We start walking down the driveway. I
admit. I'm a bit spooked. It's just the look of the place, all run
down. But I don't really believe in ghosts, do you?
Well, says Harry. I don't believe in them in the
conventional sense. But I do believe in a spirit world so I'm
willing to accept that supernatural events may be happening
here.
Supernatural events? I say.
Harry nods.
Things we don't understand, or things we can't see.
I suppose it's all in the Bible, I say, sarcastically.
Yes and no, says Harry, shifting some of the bags around.
He has the heavy milk. The Bible definitely indicates there are
angels and demons and beings that we can't see unless they show
Edgy in Edinburgh ~ Chapter Two
313
themselves to us. But it's surprising how little we know about
them.
So are you scared? I say.
I'm like you, I think it's spooky. I think it's possible we might
have to face something supernatural.
Holy cow, I say, shaking my head. We're halfway there now.
I'm glad I have on hiking boots. It would be a lot easier on me if
I knew you thought this was a whole lot of baloney.
Harry smiles.
Meg, that isn't logical. What if I say, I don't believe in ghosts,
that I don't believe in anything beyond this life? How is that
reassuring if it's not true?
Holy moley, I grumble to myself. It's not just Harry. The
handles of the plastic bags are digging into my hands. You don't
make it easy, do you?
On our last case, we were in Antarctica and the sun never set.
It was daylight for 24 hours because it's summer there now. I
wish that were the way it was here.
But even now, I can see the sun setting over the tree tops that
are around the perimeter of the estate. I know we can turn on all
the lights in our room, but somehow it's not the same.
When we finally make it back, Harry puts a battered old kettle
on the stove and makes us some tea. We slap together some
bologna sandwiches and finish off with almost the whole package
of ginger crunch creams.
Then there is the awkwardness of getting ready for bed.
We've never shared a room together before. Harry, being the
saint that he is, always booked us two rooms. I don't even know
if Harry wears pyjamas. Myself, I just have leggings and an
oversized t-shirt. Turns out Harry has plaid pyjama bottoms and
a white cotton t-shirt. We both take turns changing in the
bathroom and brushing our teeth and all that. Then we climb
into our respective beds.
Don't you say bedtime prayers, or something? I say.
Do you want me to? says Harry. I was just going to say
them in my head.
No, go ahead, I say. Don't let me interfere with your
routine.
I would tell no one this, but I kind of think if we're going to
sleep with a ghost maybe a bedtime prayer isn't such a bad idea.
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OK, says Harry yawning. Now we will lie down and sleep
in peace, for you alone make us to dwell in safety. Amen.
That's it? I demand, looking over at him.
I think it covers a lot of ground, says Harry, rolling over so
his back is to me. Apparently his prayer works because in a few
minutes I can actually hear steady breathing.
We turned the light off while we were both still awake. That
was OK while we were both awake. But now I'm lying flat on my
back, staring at the ceiling and the room is looking very shadowy.
Plus, there's that door. I lift my head up slightly to look at the
door that leads to the rest of the house.
Maybe I should turn a lamp on. I look around in the dark.
But there is no lamp. I don't remember seeing a lamp. There
was only the overhead light and if I switch that on, Harry will
wake up and know that I'm lying here petrified.
I would give anything, anything, to be able to go and climb into
bed with Harry. I just want to be next to him. Never mind that
he's attractive and tall and has that really easygoing grin . . . Never
mind that. I just want to be beside him. To feel him next to me.
And to be within grasp of him if I see anything.
And to add to my discomfort, I have to go to the bathroom. I
spent the evening drinking tea to comfort myself and now I'm
going to have to do the bravest thing I've ever done in my whole
life. I'm going to have to get up and go to the bathroom.
I think about putting my leg over the side of the bed. And I
can't do it.
The longer I lie there, the more I have to go. And the more
terrified I become.
I want to wake up Harry, but I can't wake him up to take me
to the bathroom. It would be ridiculous. We're equal in this
arrangement. I'm an investigator, for crying out loud. If I wake
him up and tell him I don't even have the guts to go to the
bathroom then I am not worthy of this whole arrangement Harry
and I have.
With that thought to propel me, I get up in the darkness and
grope for the bathroom.
I'm tough, I'm tough, I'm tough, I chant over and over to
myself as I go to the toilet, and as I go all the way back to my bed
in the blackness. I collapse and pull the sheets almost over my
head.
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Dear God. That's over.
The terror has worn me out. I fall asleep almost immediately.

We didn't see a ghost! I say, sitting straight up.
I know, says Harry, smiling at me from the stove where he's
making scrambled eggs and coffee.
I'm so relieved! I hop out of bed and come over to the stove. I
feel positively cheerful.
I help myself to coffee, getting the milk out of the fridge and
pouring it into the mug.
Harry puts some scrambled eggs and bread on plates and we
eat on our beds. There's no other place to sit.
What are we going to do today? I ask.
Maybe we should call Shona, says Harry, casually.
I look up sharply. I thought we were done with Shona.
Why? Hows she going to help? I say.
Stories, he says. He's just eating his scrambled eggs and
seems indifferent to the tone in my voice. Stories about the
ghost of Laircassle. Or at least, she could tell us where to look.
I'd like to know the whole history of this place.
I look down at my plate. Am I actually losing my appetite at
the thought of seeing Shona again? She's in her late 20's! Harry's
only 19. It's crazy. Or is it . . . ?
I'll call her, Harry says.
Yeah, I say. Call her. She's probably busy but maybe she
wouldn't mind pointing us in the right direction.
Harry nods.
After he's washed up his plate, he picks up the phone on the
dresser. I'm still working on my breakfast.
I'm surprised that she's at the office this early. I glance at my
watch. It's actually after 8. I didn't realize I'd had such a sleep-in.
And Shona does answer.
Harry identifies himself and there's friendly recognition on the
other end. A bit of small talk. Yes, we made it to the market OK.
Just having some coffee and breakfast. Nope, no sign of the
ghost. But we'd like to look into it further. Would there be any
records about the house that we could look at?
When he finally hangs up he says Shona recommends the local
library.
The local library? I say. That's her best suggestion?
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She figures there might be books about the ghost. It's a very
popular local story.
Where's the library?
I guess we'll be calling Lenny, says Harry, going through his
pockets for the taxi driver's number.
Lenny is more than happy to drive us to the Leith library. He
can pick us up at the end of the driveway in half an hour.
The Leith library is a small antiquated building near the water-
front. Being visitors, Lenny says we won't be able to take
anything out. If we don't find what we need, he can always take
us into Edinburgh proper.
Of course, if you're looking for stories of the ghost, you'll
find them in our library, says Lenny. The people of Edinburgh
have their own stories.
He says to call him when we're done.
We go up the stone steps and through the dark doors to find
ourselves in a small dim room. But there are plenty of
comfortable chairs and tables with reading lamps. The librarian
looks up and smiles as we enter but then returns to her work.
Harry, unlike most men, doesn't mind asking for help. He goes
right up to the front desk and tells the librarian that we're
researching the ghost of Laircassle. She looks interested.
But you're not from around here. Is it for a newspaper
article?
No, says Harry. We're staying there right now. A family in
Canada is considering buying it.
Really? says the librarian. And have you seen the ghost yet?
Everybody around here talks as if the thing exists. It would be
a lot more comforting if just one person would dismiss it as the
product of delusional minds.
No, says Harry. But we've only been there one night.
The librarian nods as she stands up.
There's some that see it, and some that do not. We do have
some books here, histories of the area. She leads us away from
the main desk through to the shelves and shelves of books. I'm
glad we asked her for help because even though everything is
labelled it would have taken us forever to figure out where to
find the local history. The librarian pulls out about five books
from various places and hands them to Harry.
317
If that isn't enough, I'll try to get something from the
microfiche, she says before returning to her desk.
Harry and I take the books to a table and start going through
them.
I reach for the book that looks the most interesting, the one
about local ghost stories. I'm such a hypocrite. Last night, I was
terrified of meeting one.
Harry is going through a book about old homes of Leith.
We read for a bit before Harry breaks the silence.
James Henlock was with the East India Company, he says.
This is just a summary, but basically, they were the ones who
traded teas and silks and spices. It says here that as time went on,
it evolved into something called Company Rule which then
turned into the British ruling over India.
So he spent most of his life in India?
Harry nods.
That's the strange part. He left home when he was about 20
and didn't come back till he was in his 60's. When he got home
he was dead within a year.
Well, he was old, I say.
Well, that's the strange part, says Harry. His doctor said
that he was in excellent health when he arrived home from India.
It goes on and on a bit about the effect of India on British health.
A lot of men came home sick and tired and recovering from
malaria. But James Henlock was not one of them.
Maybe it was the damp Scottish weather that killed him, I
say.
Could be, says Harry. But listen to this, the same doctor
who gave him a check-up when he returned home was shocked
when he saw his dead body. He said it was like seeing a totally
different man. He died of extreme exhaustion. His sister gave the
doctor permission to examine the dead body. The doctor said
that it was as if he had lived a life of hard labour. His hands were
calloused. His skin ragged. When he did an autopsy his organs
were severely strained.
That doesn't make sense considering that he probably didn't
do much when he got home.
Exactly, says Harry. They had servants. Once he got home,
he didn't have to do any physical labour. His sister said that he
had just started rapidly deteriorating to the point that he couldn't
318
get out of bed. The doctor said he had never seen anything like it.
It wasn't contagious and yet it completely ate away at him,
whatever it was.
That's weird.
Harry nods.
And then afterward the haunting started. James Henlock's
sister never actually experienced it. But other people who stayed
in the house did. They would run from the house screaming.
Pretty soon, his sister was left alone there. No servants would go
near the place. No friends would visit.
It's no wonder the place ran down.
Harry nods as he closes the book.
That's all it says about Laircassle in here.
I skim through my book. I had gotten sidetracked with a story
about some phantom ship that used to haunt the Leith harbour.
Ah, here we are, I say, reading. The Ghost of Laircassle.
Most locals say the ghost of Laircassle is James Henlock, second
son of a wealthy Leith family who went off to join the East India
Company in the 17
th
century. His elder brother died and he
returned home as Laird of Laircassle. In addition to his family
wealth waiting for him, he arrived home with a shipload of silk.
The unusual patterns were sought by all the fashionable people
of Edinburgh and the silks were sold as far away as London,
making James Henlock an even more wealthy man.
Unfortunately, he did not live long to enjoy it. His health rapidly
deteriorated and in 1711 he died of an unknown cause.
I look up.
That's it, I say.
Hmmm, says Harry. It says there that most locals say that
the ghost is James Henlock. I wonder what the others think.
But the other three books don't tell us anything new. When we
return the books to the librarian, Harry asks her if there is any
more information about the ghost itself. Is it indeed James
Henlock?
Aye, says the librarian. I've always been told it was. I didn't
realize there were others who thought differently. I've been
looking through the microfiche. I'm afraid there's very little
there.
Well, thanks anyway, says Harry as we turn and leave.
319
We're on the waterfront so we take a walk and look at the
boats. Most of them are small, personal crafts, many of them
brightly coloured, which contrasts with the stately stone buildings
that run along the road on the water. Harry snaps a few photos.
There are plenty of restaurants and cafs. Despite the chill, we
choose an outdoor seat in one of the cafs. We order tea and
sandwiches and watch the people passing by. A lot of them are
tourists like us, although some of them are business people on
their lunch.
Hey! It's Shona! says Harry, pointing. Shona is on the other
side of the road, right by the water, hurrying along. I'm seriously
hoping that she'll just give us a quick wave and keep on moving,
but she actually comes over and joins us at the table.
And how was the library? she asks. Did you find anything?
Harry summarizes what we learned about James Henlock while
Shona nods attentively.
A waitress comes and Shona orders a salad and some mineral
water.
She and Harry continue talking about the ghost.
Now that is a mystery, she says, when Harry tells her that
there are some people who don't think it's the ghost of James
Henlock. I've always understood it to be him.
What do people say they see? asks Harry.
Aye, that's a good question, says Shona, thinking. Her salad
and water arrive. To be honest, Harry, I never really asked
anyone.
Something to look into, I say to Harry. I wish he could see
how useless she is to us. Didn't Lenny say that we could meet
someone who'd seen the ghost?
Lenny? says Shona, managing to eat salad and not talk with
her mouth full.
Our taxi cab driver, says Harry. Did you know he won't
even come to the front door? We have to meet him out at the
end of the driveway.
Shona shakes her head.
I can call around and get someone better for you, she says.
We like Lenny, I say firmly. He's useful for this case.
After that, we don't talk much. Actually, I don't talk much.
Harry and Shona talk about the boats and how lovely everything
320
is. Harry asks Shona a bit about her business. She runs the real-
estate office on her own.
Thank God for mobile phones! she laughs. I'm out of my
office so much of the day that I don't know why I bother with
the rent.
Are all your places like Laircassle? asks Harry.
No, although some of them are as big, she says. But I have
a feeling I'll have Laircassle on my hands for quite some time.
We didn't see a ghost, Harry points out.
You may never see a ghost, says Shona, sipping her water.
Some folks don't. But if the MacGrath's do, that house will go
right back on the market.
Although she's dressed in a sturdy brown suit, her pale skin
and her long blonde hair make her look delicate, almost fragile. I
note with irritation that Harry is just staring at her.
When we had to hang out with his ex, Karen, he went out of
his way not to look at her.
Well, says Shona, smiling philosophically. One day at a
time. Speaking of which, tomorrow's my day off. Would you like
me to show you around a bit of Edinburgh?
That would be great! says Harry, immediately.
How about we do the Royal Mile? says Shona. It runs for a
mile between Holyrood and Edinburgh Castle. Then, if we still
have energy, we can look around the castle.
Why is it called the Royal Mile? asks Harry.
Because at one end is the castle and the other end is the
Queen's home while she is in Edinburgh, the Palace of Holyrood
House.
I can't wait to see both! says Harry.
It's the oldest part of the city, explains Shona. You see, the
Castle would have been built first and then everything around it.
Now it's full of restaurants and shops as well as all sorts of
historical houses and monuments. You can't come to Edinburgh
without walking the Royal Mile!
That settles it!
I feign a yawn.
I think I'll give it a miss, I say. I'd prefer to explore
Laircassle a little bit more.
I can't believe I just said that. Me! The one who was afraid to
go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. But I just can't
321
take it. I'm not going to spend a day with Shona leading us
around showing us all the historical buildings and Harry looking
all lovesick.
But Meg! says Harry. We don't have to get to it right away .
. .
Oh I know, I say airily. But what we read today got me
interested. I really want to investigate this thing. You go on
tomorrow, I'll be fine.
Are you sure? says Harry.
Really, Harry! I say, trying to sound offended. We're
adults!
I know, he says. But I hate to leave you alone . . .
I force a laugh.
I'm not afraid of this ghost, you know. I don't even believe it
exists.
Harry and Shona look at each other.
Perhaps some other time . . . says Shona.
No! I say talking only to Harry. I insist! You wanted to see
the castle and everything. I'll be fine.
Well, OK, says Harry, reluctantly, but he and Shona still go
ahead and make plans to get together the next day.
What have I done?
322

Chapter Three

ou can still come with us, says Harry, the next morning.
Nah, that's OK, I say. I'm terrified but there's no
way I'm letting Harry know.
We've spent another ghost-free night here. Last night I
stopped after one cup of tea and spent the whole night under my
covers.
We're in the middle of another breakfast of scrambled eggs
and Shona is expected to arrive in half an hour.
Well, if you feel creeped out, just take a walk, OK? You don't
have to stay in the house.
But Harry, I say. The whole point is to stay in the house. I
want to explore. If we're going to figure this out, we have to look
around this place.
But I wish you'd do it when I was here. The house could be
dangerous . . .
Harry, I'm sure there are no loose floor boards or anything
like that. And I'm absolutely certain there are no ghosts. This isn't
a movie, I'll be fine.
Brave words.
The minute Harry leaves I'll be back under my covers.
Y
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In fact, my legs can barely hold me up as I wave good-bye to
him and Shona from the doorway. I tell myself that the first thing
I'm going to do is go open that door to the main house. And I'm
going to look around. And when Harry comes back, I'm going to
tell him all the things I've discovered. Maybe I'll even have solved
the whole thing. I take a deep breath.
But I can't do it. I can't even walk over to that door. I manage
to make it to my bed and sit down.
I stare at the door. But even that makes me nervous. What if
the thing opens? Shona said people have seen the ghost in this
very room! Did it come through that door? Or did it come
through a wall? Or did it just appear?
Stop it! I tell myself.
I'm tough, I tell myself. I even say it out loud. But while it was
enough to get me through a trip to the bathroom it is not enough
to get me through that door.
This is crazy!
Maybe I could just stay in bed, or go for a walk, and then when
Harry gets back, tell him I looked the whole place over. But
somehow he would find out that I didn't and then I'd look like an
idiot.
So I just sit there and stare at the door. I don't know for how
long. I'm just sitting in this room. There's no ghost. Only me and
my fear.
An hour could have passed. I really have no awareness of time.
But I do know that Harry could come back and find me still
staring at that door if I don't do something.
And then a plan comes to me.
It's a crazy plan.
But it's worked in the past.
I could pray.
I've prayed before and it worked.
This time it's really important (actually, it was really important
last time too) but this time I have the luxury of time. I actually
get down on my knees by my bed, just like a little kid. And I say
it out loud.
Dear God, I'm scared and I have to look around this place. I
don't believe in ghosts but I'm too scared to do this. Please help
me not to be scared. I pause. Thank you.
I get up and I walk straight to the door and I open it.
Edgy in Edinburgh ~ Chapter Three
325
Let me just say at this point, it wasn't some lightning bolt from
heaven that took my fear away. It was more of a feeling of, let's
just do it! And I did.
And I found myself in an old English manor. Dark, because
the windows are grimy. Dusty, of course. Old. But not really
spooky.
I go forward.
I'm in a foyer. Wood-panelled. The main door is here. To the
left of the door is a large room with windows that go from the
floor to the ceiling. It looks brighter than the other rooms so I
head for it.
I don't know much about old homes, but I know this floor is
valuable. It's a rich and solid wood with a geometric pattern. I
can imagine that there must have been dancing in this room.
There's enough room for a full orchestra in here. Mentally, I label
this room the ballroom.
But the room is completely empty. It occurs to me that I
should go around taping the walls and seeing if there's a hollow
space behind any of the panels. You know, in case this is like a
Nancy Drew novel where someone is haunting the place for his
own reasons. I decide that any taping on the walls can be done
when Harry's with me.
Just do it!
The little voice isn't exactly my own but it comes from within.
And it gives me the strength to tackle some of the dimmer
rooms. The room across from the ballroom is the same size, but
more like a sitting room. There's no furniture, I can only
determine it by the way it has cheerful yellow walls and a white
Victorian-looking fireplace. Clearly, the place has been renovated
since the days of James Henlock and his sister, but not too
recently.
It takes a little more bravery to head down a hallway. The walls
are close together and there are little doorways that I don't bother
to check out. I keep walking until I come to a large kitchen. It has
a huge fireplace. I can imagine big pots of soup hanging over it.
For that matter, I can imagine them roasting a deer over it, it's
big enough.
The appliances in the kitchen are all antique. The refrigerator
looks more like an icebox. The oven looks like it requires
326
firewood. And the sink has water, but it's a pump, like the kind
you see in the books about the pioneers.
There's even a long and extremely heavy-looking table in one
corner.
I walk over to the door in the corner and open it to look out
onto a long stretch of grass with forest in the distance. When I
shut it and turn back I notice there's a small room that runs off
of the kitchen. It has dusty wooden shelves that are completely
empty. Probably the pantry.
As I peek in, astoundingly, I realize I'm not terrified. It's more
curiosity now.
I could give into the fear.
I could start thinking about what I'm doing and run screaming
back to my room and under the covers. But there's this calm. It's
like, I can go with the calm if I want to. Its my choice. I can keep
listening to the voice that says, just do it.
So I take a deep breath and go on.
Back down the hallway.
Now it's time for the main stairs that will take me to the
second floor.
I waver. I could stop here. I've done a lot. But I haven't really
learned anything.
Up I go. The floorboards creak, but they're as solid as the floor
in the ballroom.
If the house were furnished, it would take a lot longer to look
at. But each of the upstairs rooms is empty. All the doors are ajar.
And there's absolutely nothing left in any of them. No trunks.
No old bookshelves with a diary tucked away between the
volumes. Nothing hanging on the walls. Each room has a
fireplace but none of them have had a fire in them anytime
recently.
At any moment, I could panic. But every time that the terror
starts to assert itself, I take a deep breath and choose the calm
feeling.
Then I go back downstairs to my little room.
When Harry comes back, I'm eating lemon puffs, drinking tea
and reading an article about Princess Eugenie.
Oh, hi! I say casually, turning a page as he comes through
the door. How was your day?
Fine, he says, looking at me. How was yours?
327
OK, I shrug. Not that I can say I solved our mystery. I
close the magazine. I looked the place over. It's completely
empty. No clues left.
Harry shakes his head and sits down on his bed.
Meg, you're the bravest girl I know. I don't think I could have
even done that by myself.
I don't know what to say. Finally I settle on, So tell me about
this Royal Mile.
Lots of history, he says. Here, I bought you something.
He hands me a black woollen scarf, very long and with fringes.
Harry! I love it! I say, taking it and looking it over. It's
beautiful! It's so soft!
I hope you like it, says Harry.
I do! A thought occurs to me. Shona didn't pick this out,
did she?
Of course not, says Harry, going over to the fridge and
looking inside. She doesn't know you like I do. Are you
hungry?
A little bit, I say. Want a cookie?
Harry takes a lemon puff and joins me on the bed.
Shona wanted to go out for dinner, but I told her I wanted to
get back to you.
I never know what to say when he says things like that.
How about we have some Indian takeaway? says Harry.
Indian takeaway? I say.
Yes, Shona says we have to have Indian takeaway while we're
here.
Is that like Chinese takeout? I say.
Yeah, I think so, says Harry, picking up the phone. I'll call
information and see if there's one in Leith.
There is.
And Harry's on the phone ordering all sorts of things --
chicken vindaloo, papadoms, lamb tandoori, vegetable massala,
chicken taba . . . Shona must have recommended all of these
dishes. Since the takeaway doesn't deliver, we then have to call
Lenny to go get our dinner. This means, once again, were out at
the end of the driveway an hour later, shivering in the cool night
air waiting for the cab to come. At least I have my new scarf.
Lenny arrives and we pay him for the dinner and the cab fare.
328
Hey kids! he says. I can take you to the pub tomorrow
night for a real pub meal, if you want.
Great! says Harry. We'll see you then?
I'll honk when I'm ready, Lenny promises.
Our food is still hot by the time we've hiked back to our room.
And speaking of hot, this food is seriously spicy. Harry and I
finish off the entire 2 litre bottle of ginger ale while we eat it.
Well, that was good, says Harry leaning back. We've eaten till
we're stuffed but we still have loads of leftovers for the fridge.
There's no TV or radio in the room, so we do what we always
do when we're roughing it. We play cards till were tired and
bored. Harry suggests we explore the house together tomorrow.
There's respect in his voice. I'm an old pro.

I have to admit, it's easier to be brave when Harry's beside me.
But I still have that calm voice inside of me and whenever I start
to feel panicky, I concentrate on that peace.
We check out all the doors in the hallway of the main floor.
Just empty cupboards.
All Harry and I end up doing is confirming my findings.
There's absolutely nothing in this house. It's empty. No furniture.
No clues. No ghosts.
When we're back in the room we discuss this.
Obviously some people have seen things, says Harry. We'll
have to find out what it is they saw. Because we're just not seeing
it!
We even tried tapping on walls looking for hollow spots, but
nothing. In fact, we spent so much time in the house that it's
time to get ready for the pub. We're so dusty that we need
showers before we go anywhere civilized. The water pressure is
pretty low and the temperature doesn't go above warm but it
does the job. We're ready when we hear the honking at the end
of our driveway.
The sun is on its way down and I guess some people would say
this place is spooky, but I'm starting to like it. It's got
atmosphere. Even a bit of dignity. It needs some cleaning, a lot
of cleaning, but this wouldn't be a bad place to live . . .
I wonder if the MacGrath's will like it here.
Lenny is in awe of us. He can't believe that we just stroll down
the driveway without ghosts chasing at our heels.
329
That's nothing, says Harry as we get into the cab. This girl,
he jerks his thumb toward me, explored the whole place on her
own while I was visiting Edinburgh Castle.
Is this true, lassie? Lenny asks as he does a wild u-turn from
the gravel side back onto the main road.
Aye, it is, I say. Harry and I both snicker. There's nothing
there, Lenny. Just a lot of dust.
Nay, that's where you're wrong, girl! cries Lenny. You'll
meet Old Peter tonight. He'll set you straight! He's seen the ghost
of Laircassle. It will turn your blood cold. You won't be able to
sleep there again . . . He carries on like this for most of the
drive.
The pub is warm after the evening chill. Lenny is well-known
there and immediately introduces us as the kids staying at
Laircassle. I receive special attention when the folks are told that
I explored the place all by myself.
Well, it wasn't in the middle of the night, I say modestly.
This cements my reputation for being insanely brave and Harry
and I have people buying us pints all night. (It's a good thing
Harry can hold his alcohol. Me, I have to rely on sipping really
slowly.) Over fish-and-chips, we meet Old Peter. Everyone
gathers around our table to hear Old Peter's story.
Aye, he says, I've seen the ghost of Laircassle. He looks
about 102 and he smokes a pipe while he nods slowly. It was
when that American family wanted to buy it.
Fifty years back it was, wasn't it? someone called out.
Old Peter nods.
They hired me to fix the place up. Make it a little nicer before
they moved in. I was a handyman in those days. No doubt about
it, the house was spooky, but I'd seen the world and I wasn't
afraid. I shook hands with a Zulu warrior once.
Old Peter went out to South Africa when he was just a lad,
explains Larry. Wanted to find diamonds. Never did, of course.
Aye, those were some wild days, says Old Peter, shaking his
head. Wild indeed. It would take a lot to frighten me, the things
I've seen. But I tell ye this bairns, the ghost of Laircassle
frightened me. And I haven't gone back there since.
I feel amusement more than I do fear.
Tell us more, says Harry. What room were you in?
The grand ballroom, says Old Peter.
330
So I was right. It is a ballroom.
Just minding my business. Sure, the house was eerie. But I
was ignoring it. I had to kill a rabid dog with a knife once. I
wasn't afraid of a ghost. And then I heard it . . .
Everyone leans forward.
A wailing sound. A groan. It was as if a thousand souls were
moaning in agony.
There's a murmur in the pub. I'm sure they've all heard this a
hundred times before, but they seem to enjoy being terrified by
it.
Aye, Old Peter nods. You've heard that the hair on the
back of your neck stands on end when youre terrified? Well, it's
true. For the very hairs on the back of my head were straight out.
I was paralyzed. I could not move. And then . . . I saw . . . It.
The pub is quieter than the library was.
A face. More of an apparition, really, for it was not flesh and
bone. A face of agony. A face that had lived a thousand lives and
each of those lives was misery.
People in the pub have almost stopped breathing.
And that, says Old Peter, is when I ran. I ran from that
place and I have never returned. And I would not return for all
the gold in Africa, though Lord knows, I looked for gold in
Africa too.
Old Peter leans back in his seat and puffs on his pipe.
Someone calls for a refill for his empty glass. He thanks him with
a nod of his head.
Now we can get back to our fish-and-chips. Not that it wasn't
a riveting story. I'm just hoping that a miracle will happen and
we'll be able to make sense of it all.

What do you think? I say to Harry when we're back in our
room and finishing off the evening with a cup of tea.
I think that that really happened to him, says Harry. The tea
is partly to warm us up. There's a small heater in the corner but
no matter how we turn the dial, it doesn't seem to come on. At
least there are a lot of blankets on the beds. But I don't know
what it means.
Was the face of agony James Henlock?
It sounds like it. It fits with his death, the whole idea of his
body rapidly deteriorating. I get the idea his death was an agony.
331
We were told that we were going to investigate a murder. A
three-hundred year-old murder. So some people must think he
was murdered.
That would explain the ghost, agrees Harry. Ghosts are
usually associated with unfinished business.
Would solving his murder make the ghost go away? I ask.
It might.
Who was there to murder him?
Harry nods.
Good question. His only family was his sister. It couldn't
have been her because she was never bothered by the ghost.
And he had spent most of his life in India. So he wouldn't
have had too many enemies here, I say.
What we need to do is talk to a historian, says Harry.
Someone who has studied more things than just the books in
the library . . .
I know what you mean. There have to be stories that were
passed down by word of mouth that didn't make it into the
books . . .
That's a good idea! says Harry. I was just thinking of
official records. But we should go back to the pub and get more
people talking. Maybe somebody's grandmother knows
something. We'll interview as many people as we can. And I can
talk to Shona . . .
I make a face.
Harry looks at me, but he's grinning.
Why do I get the feeling you don't like Shona?
What's not to like about her? I say with sickening sincerity.
She's lovely.
That she is, agrees Harry.
And she's a Christian, I add. I can't help it.
Harry looks at me thoughtfully.
You know, he says. Just because she's a Christian doesn't
mean we're going to fall instantly in love and start procreating.
I turn bright red. I hate myself.
She's nice. She's pretty, Harry continues. But I really think
God has other plans for me.
He just keeps looking at me.
I have no idea what to say! And to make it worse, if it's
possible, I turn even redder.
332
So, says Harry, mercifully talking a sip from his mug of tea.
As I was saying, I think I'll talk to Shona and ask her if she
knows any local historian.
Good idea, I say, just barely managing to sound normal.

Chapter Four

ilsa MacNab is happy to talk to us.
She's in her 80's and has lived in Leith all her life. Her
university degree, earned late in life, came from the
University of Edinburgh, just down the road, as she puts it.
Shona hooked us up with her. They go to the same church.
She is delighted to hear that we are staying in Laircassle and
that we haven't seen the ghost.
And you won't, she promises us. People don't last for more
than a day there before seeing it. First night is the only night.
They never go back afterward.
That's good news. No one's mentioned that before.
Why do you think some people see it and some people
don't? Harry asks, leaning forward.
Ailsa MacNab lives on her own and has invited us to talk in
her apartment. So we're sitting in a tiny cozy living room with
floral couches and lots of crocheted doilies and wooden end
tables. The walls are covered with framed photos of people and
scenes in Scotland, even newspaper clippings. Ailsa MacNab has
had a full life, judging from her walls.
I'll be candid with you, says Ailsa, her eyes sparkling. It's
the nice folks who don't see the ghost.
A
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Really? we both say at the same time.
Ailsa nods.
Aye. It's the truth. I've never seen it myself.
We all laugh.
I would have said I never saw the ghost because I'm a
Christian, says Harry. He glances at me. But Meg isn't affected
by it and she's not a Christian.
Ailsa nods.
I know of a man who goes to church every week and thought
he had nothing to fear from Laircassle. But he came out of the
place babbling like a baby and had to be sedated by a doctor
before he calmed down.
Wow, says Harry.
Now, says Ailsa. That's not to say there isn't an element of
faith involved. I myself believe in a good God and that all souls
are equal in His sight. I went into the place feeling some
trepidation, but I spent an afternoon there and never saw
anything but the four dusty walls.
Why did you go? I ask.
I was a bit younger then, says Ailsa. In fact, I did a paper
on the place when I did my university training. I became a
historian after I raised my bairns. And I was drawn to the two
identical homes here.
Leith Manor and Laircassle, says Harry.
Ailsa nods.
Identical in every way, except one is well-kept and ghost free.
What I did was, I studied the complete structure of Leith Manor,
and then there was no getting around it, I had to look Laircassle
over too. No one would go with me. Even my bairns told me I
was crazy and should stay away from the place. I chose a bright
sunny day to go there. Ailsa laughs merrily. As if that would
make a difference to a ghost!
But nothing?
That's right, says Ailsa. Like you, I found nothing. Only a
lot of dust. God be good, I even had the courage to go down
into the cellar, but it was just dirt, entirely like the one at Leith
Manor. There would be an attic too, of course, but I never found
it.
Maybe that's what we should look for! I say, turning to
Harry. An attic!
Edgy in Edinburgh ~ Chapter Four
335
I never thought about that, says Harry nodding.
It's basic Nancy Drew, I say, grinning. The trunk in the
attic, that sort of thing.
Aye, says Ailsa nodding. She's clearly enjoying this
conversation. The old diaries of James Henlock himself?
You'll be the first to know if we find them, promises Harry.
We all laugh. It's a bit silly. But at least it's a next step.
We say bye to Ailsa, promising that we'll come see her again
before we leave Scotland.
Lenny drives us back to our driveway and we have a lunch of
cheese and bologna sandwiches before going through the door
into the main house and up to the second floor.
I guess an attic door has to be around here somewhere? I
say, looking up as we wander down the hallway.
Harry points. It was right there in front of us. An opening cut
into the ceiling at the end of the hallway. There's a tiny gold loop
to grasp onto, once you're up at ceiling level.
OK, we need a table or a ladder, even a chair, says Harry,
appraising it. He's tall so a chair would probably be enough. But
there isn't a chair in the whole house. We finally end up phoning
Lenny to ask him if he could buy us a ladder and we'll reimburse
him at the end of the driveway. When he hears that we'll be going
up into the attic he is both thrilled and terrified. He says he'll be
right over. We hike out to the end of the driveway and find
Lenny already there. He's brought his own personal ladder and
says we can use it on the condition that we come to the pub
tonight and tell everybody what we find up there.
What if we find just cobwebs? says Harry.
Lenny thinks.
Well, try to make it interesting. He says he'll see us tonight.
It's just a stepladder so it's not too heavy.
Soon we're back at the bottom of the attic door and Harry is
climbing up the ladder to pull it down. The thing hasn't been
touched for quite some time because as soon as it comes down
we are covered in dust and are coughing in a cloud.
We climb up the creaky steps. The attic has light from two
windows cut out on either side.
And I'm not scared. I'm excited. If the dust was that intense
then maybe no one's been up here in three hundred years.
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We'll have to be careful, says Harry when we're up there. I
don't know how solid these floorboards are.
I nod, as I look around. My eyes are adjusting to the dim
corners. At first I think the room is empty, like all the others. But
then I see that there are the occasional items. An old chair with a
broken seat. Someone probably intended to fix it and never got
around to it. Considering that most people didn't survive a day in
this place, maybe it was James Henlock's sister!
Something over here, says Harry.
It's a pile of old magazines. They're all from the year 1870. We
go through them carefully. They're all knitting or crocheting
magazines. Probably worth a lot on eBay though.
There are also some old picture frames nearby. No pictures
though. They're big enough that I can imagine them around
painted portraits of the members of the Henlock family.
We leave them and cover the whole attic. There's nothing else.
No trunk. No diaries. No clues.
I guess this place was cleaned up over the years, I say.
Probably by the people who never saw anything, says Harry.
People like us could be hired over the years to clean the place
up a bit. And then people who considered moving in probably
saw the ghost before they even had a chance to get their furniture
in the door.
People like us, I repeat. But what's so special about us?
I know, eh? he says. In this case, I'm glad you're not a
Christian because that helps us know that it's not a spiritual
warfare thing. See, I've heard that when you face an evil spirit, if
you're a Christian you can rebuke it in the name of Jesus.
That's Christian lingo, eh? I say.
Harry nods.
But this is different, says Harry. Only certain people see it.
And certain people don't.
I think I know what you mean, I say, taking one last look
around before we gingerly climb down the old steps. It's not a
case of everyone facing it and some people lick it and some
people don't.
Exactly.
We push the door back up and return to our room with the
stepladder. We thought we were dusty last night but now we just
337
look at each other and laugh. Our hair is grey with dust and there
are dust balls all over our clothing.
We shower and wait for the honk.
Lenny is greatly disappointed that we didn't see anything up
there but he does express his admiration for our bravery.
I wonder if we could jazz the story up a bit, he says as we
pull into a parking space in front of the pub.
Well, we could really go on and on about that broken chair, I
say sarcastically. And there's nothing scarier than old knitting
magazines.
Lenny gives me a bemused look.
But nobody in the pub minds that we didn't find anything in
the attic. They're just impressed that we went up there.
Old Peter isn't around tonight, but a younger man sits down
with us and introduces himself as Sean. He says for what it's
worth, his father did some caretaking work around the old
Laircassle place for a number of years. He even stayed in the
room we're in.
Never saw a thing, says Sean. Worked there sixteen years
until he passed on. Mum died, you see, and after that he was at a
loss as to what to do. So he took the job there.
It must have paid well, I say.
Aye, that it did, says Sean. But he didn't need the money.
There was only me and I was a grown man. He just gave the
money away. Kept enough for his keep and gave the rest to those
in need.
Aye! That I remember about your father, calls a man from
another table. Anyone with a need knew where to go for help.
Your father was a good man, Sean.
Sean nods his acknowledgment of this tribute to his father.
Have you been there yourself? I ask.
Sean laughs.
To Laircassle? Nay! I used to meet my father here for a drink
every night. I wouldn't go near the place!
Everyone who's listening laughs.
What about the stories that James Henlock was murdered?
says Harry. Any truth to that?
The owners of the pub, an older married couple, surprise us by
announcing that they're remotely related to the Henlocks. Not
through James since he didn't have any children. Nor did his
338
brother or sister. But the pub-owner is a descendant of James'
mother's cousin.
Does that mean you get the money if the place sells? asks
Harry.
Nay, the older man with the ruddy face shakes his head as
he polishes a glass with a towel. That house passed out of
Henlock hands and all those related when Bessie Henlock died.
An American family owns it now but seeing as they saw the
ghost, they're not interested in living there.
The whole family saw the ghost? I say.
Aye, nods the man. That they did. A father, a mother and a
lassie of about thirteen. Didn't last a night in the place until they
were flying down the driveway hollering about spooks and spirits.
The police had to come and someone had to be sent to retrieve
their clothing and what-nots. They were still in their night-wear.
Did the person who went back see the ghost? asks Harry.
The pub-owner thinks back and then appeals to the patrons of
the pub. A pub is almost like having someone over to drink beer
in your living room. Everyone here just calls out to one another
and treats each other like family.
It was old Bert that went back, says an elderly lady from the
corner. In those days, it was only Bert who could go into that
place.
That's right, nods the pub-owner. That was before Sean's
father. Sean's father was hired to look after the place by the
Americans, was he not?
Sean nods.
Bert was on the police force, explains the pub-owner. He's
passed on now. But he was the one sent in to retrieve what the
American's left behind. Lucky it was for him, that they had only
been sleeping on cots and that the rest of their furniture wasn't
due to arrive from America for another few days.
What was Bert like? I ask.
A family man. A good man. Quiet. Honest.
Everyone in the pub nods their agreement.
Harry steers the conversation back to the idea of who might
have murdered James Henlock.
Some people think he was murdered, nods the pub-owner.
The way we see it, though, says Harry. Who could have
wanted to murder him?
339
Aye, agrees the owner. It would have been different if he
had lived in these parts all his life and made enemies. I'll tell you
this, laddie, many people say the man was murdered, but not a
single blessed soul can come up with a name of a man who might
have done it.
Aye, that is true, calls out the elderly lady from the corner.
His only heir was his sister and by all accounts, she was a
quiet God-fearing woman who spent the rest of her days there
never seeing the ghost. She gained nothing by his death except
the loss of his company.
It's an old mystery, says Harry.
Aye, that it is, agrees the pub-owner.
And that seems to be the conclusion of the matter.
340

Chapter Five

'm getting the impression that this mystery really revolves
around the type of people who see the ghost and the type of
people who don't, I say.
I know, says Harry. But it still leaves a lot unexplained.
We're having fried egg and bologna sandwiches for breakfast.
After breakfast, we agree that we should visit Ailsa and tell her
about the attic.
Lenny drives us to her small apartment, or flat, as they call it
here.
Ailsa is interested in the knitting and crocheting magazines.
Although she's disappointed that we didn't find anything
significant, she's glad to know that the house has been looked
over thoroughly now.
But we don't know where to go from here, says Harry. We
agree with you. It seems that some nice people don't see the
ghost. But we can't get any further than that.
Have you been to the museum yet? asks Ailsa.
We shake our heads.
They might be able to help. It's mostly maritime items. But
they have items of local interest. They even have a sample of the
silk brought back by James Henlock on his final journey home.
I
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It's not out on display, but I've seen it in storage when I was
doing my paper on Laircassle.
We'll check it out, says Harry. Do we know much about
James Henlock's life out in India? Maybe he made some enemies
out there. The way he died makes me think he might have been
poisoned by some foreign substance that the doctor didn't
recognize.
That's a theory, says Ailsa nodding. Some sort of drug
found only in India, some sort of native plant perhaps.
Harry nods.
A former associate from India could have come and visited
and poisoned his food and no one would have known.
His sister would have suspected something though, I say.
And said something to the doctor.
Perhaps, says Ailsa. Or perhaps not. Not if the associate
came as a friend and the poison had a delayed effect.
Of course, without a diary of James or his sister to refer to,
it's entirely conjuncture, I say.
Based on what we know of James's symptoms, perhaps a
doctor could tell us what he thinks it might have been, says
Harry.
Ailsa leans forward, her eyes sparkling.
My son is a doctor. We'll talk to him!
She and Harry really like this theory.
We're invited to come back to Ailsa's for dinner.

Ailsa's son is a middle-aged, tired-looking family doctor. But
he has his mother's smile.
I never pass up a chance to eat Mother's cooking, he says.
Ailsa, despite her age, has made a feast of shepherd's pie, bean
salad and something called Piccalilli relish. It's delicious and we
concentrate entirely on the meal until afterward when there is a
pot of tea and lemon squares for dessert, which we have in the
living room.
Ah, yes, says Dr. MacNab, smiling. The Laircassle mystery.
My mother has been interested in that for years. And now you
brave people are taking it on.
It's easy to be brave when you don't see the ghost, dear, says
Ailsa, pouring her son some more tea.
Edgy in Edinburgh ~ Chapter Five
343
Aye, that it is, agrees Dr. MacNab. I'd prefer not to risk it.
But Mother says you want my professional opinion.
Harry nods.
The doctor who examined James Henlock said he died of
extreme exhaustion, as if he had lived a life of hard labour. His
hands were even calloused and the book said his skin was ragged.
When he did an autopsy the doctor found his organs were
severely strained.
Dr. MacNab thinks about this while he sips his tea.
If it were a case of organs appearing to be strained, I could
suggest something. The external conditions of his skin and hands
would suggest something else though. I can't think of anything
that would put the two together. Extreme exhaustion is a good
way of describing it. But, of course, am I to understand that the
doctor was baffled?
We nod.
So he had no reason to believe that James Henlock had
overexerted himself.
Exactly.
What about poison? says Ailsa eagerly.
Now Mother, you know that's not my area of expertise.
Because I think by poison you mean not just something common
like arsenic or cyanide?
Exactly, says Ailsa. Something from India, perhaps.
Something that the doctor at the time would not have been
familiar with.
Well, you have to think about this logically, says Dr.
MacNab. His eyes sparkle like his mother's. I could name you
any number of poisons today that could have had that effect on a
man. We have invented some nasty ways to kill people since the
first war. However, they were not in existence at the time of
James Henlock. If it were some unknown Indian poison, then it
is quite possible it is still unknown today, except in the remote
villages of the continent. In this case, you are dealing entirely
with an unknown.
I know, says Harry, nodding. It was a long shot. It would
be easier if we had the body and could do an autopsy on it.
Dr. MacNab nods.
Even then, if you are talking about some obscure Indian
potion, we would only be able to make an educated guess. But if
344
it happened today, you would be able to interview people. Who
had contact with the deceased? Who made him his meals? Did he
have any unusual guests or visitors? Knowing these things would
enable us to rule out certain things.
I'm afraid we're back to where we started, children, says
Ailsa.
You said that it would help to know who cooked his meals, I
say. Well, it would have been a cook since they were wealthy.
And his sister would have eaten the same things.
Most likely, agrees the doctor. So you can rule out anyone
putting poison into the communal pot. Unless you suspect the
sister, that is.
We don't, I say. She was never bothered by the ghost and
that would suggest that she hadn't done anything to contribute to
James Henlock's death.
The cook could still be a suspect if he prepared certain dishes
that only James Henlock liked, says Doctor MacNab.
But what would he gain? asks Harry.
Doctor MacNab shrugs.
Again, this is where it would be ideal to be there at the time.
Did James Henlock show improper attention to the cook's
daughter? Knowing the people at the time would give you a
better sense of motive.
So true, I say, sighing. It's hopeless, isn't it? They only solve
three-hundred year-old mysteries in books, don't they? I pour
myself some tea and reach for another lemon bar.
Why exactly are you staying at Laircassle? asks Dr. MacNab.
A Scottish family in Canada is considering buying it, says
Harry.
Dr. MacNab nods.
Aye, it would be a bargain indeed for the person who can live
there. Am I to understand they hired you to stay there to see if
you meet a ghost?
Harry nods.
But you haven't seen anything, he says, smiling. So you can
recommend it with good conscience.
I think we should solve the mystery first, says Harry. Maybe
they won't see the ghost, but what happens when they have
friends over from Canada and they run screaming out of the
house in the middle of the night?
Edgy in Edinburgh ~ Chapter Five
345
Dr. MacNab laughs.
Aye, I guess you have to consider all angles of it. And if there
is a ghost, solving the mystery might make it able to rest in peace.
But what makes you think there really is a ghost?
My first inclination when Mrs. MacGrath told me the story
was to think it was a prank, says Harry. But since the haunting
has gone on for three hundred years, I rule that out. We talked to
a man named Peter who saw the ghost and it definitely sounded
supernatural. I'd like to talk to more people. Just to compare the
stories.
The doctor nods.
I might be able to help you there, he says. There was an
article in the Scottish Medical Journal. Some young folks from
the university heard about the ghost and there was some kind of
a dare to spend the night in the house. You know how kids are
when they drink . . . ?
We nod.
The article interested me because of the four students who
were dared, three had to be hospitalized in order to recover from
their fright.
You didn't tell me this! says his mother.
It's recent, Mother, says Doctor MacNab. I only got this
Journal last week. I was interested in it from the medical angle.
The doctor said he had never seen people so scared in his life.
Their nervous systems simply couldn't handle what they saw.
What did they see? I ask.
The article didn't go into that, says the doctor. It was
strictly the medical physiology of it. Acute terror, that sort of
thing. We don't see it very often here because we don't have
situations to bring it on. But it happens in places where the
country is run by lawless soldiers. People have to face terrors
they don't up here. Soldiers breaking into their homes, that sort
of thing.
Did it give the names of the students? asks Harry.
The doctor shakes his head.
Only first names. But it did say they were all first-year
students and they were all doing Celtic studies.
It's a pretty big university, isn't it? says Harry.
Aye, that it is, nods Dr. MacNab.
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Harry and I look at each other. Up until now we've only talked
to older people. Now it's time to talk to some younger ones.

Chapter Six

e're on the bus that takes us to the centre of
Edinburgh. Harry has his guidebook out.
There are 13 000 students at the University of
Edinburgh, he announces.
Oh well, I say, watching the old buildings and the busy
streets. I like the tiny shops mixed with the modern department
stores.
Celtic studies, says Harry, closing the guidebook. At least
that's a start.
When we've disembarked from the bus, we try to use the
guidebook to navigate to the university. It doesn't help and we
end up stopping and asking someone who looks like a student
where the university is.
It's all around you, he says.
Ah, says Harry. Sort of mixed in with things?
What about Celtic studies? I say.
George Square, I think he says before hurrying off.
OK, I get it, says Harry, looking at his map again. Only the
individual buildings are labelled. The university must be all spread
out. That's Holyrood Park over there . . .
He's turning the guidebook all around.
W
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George Square, George Square . . .
Excuse me, I say to another student-looking person. She
doesn't seem to be in such a great hurry. We're looking for
George Square.
Unlike Shona, this girl has short red hair and looks very solid. I
like her.
You're here, she says, pointing to a spot on the map. And
you want to be here. She stabs another spot.
Thanks! I say. Impulsively, I decide to ask her if she knows
about the students who saw the Laircassle ghost.
I did hear something about that, she says, nodding. So
that's what you're looking for? Ghosts?
We were told that the people who saw the ghost were in
Celtic studies, I say.
Ah, she says. So that's why you want George Square. But
what you really want is to go here . . . She points to another spot
on the map, near George Square.
It's the caf where all the Celtic students hangout. Very
Gaelic. The woman there refuses to speak anything but. So they
all go there and try to outdo themselves by ordering croissants in
Gaelic. I only went there once, myself. Couldn't order a damn
thing. Had to point for everything.
We laugh.
Still, that's the place you want, says the girl. It's called
Binnie's. Don't ask me why.
We thank her and start following the map. Since her finger
covered a large area on the map, we have to ask two more people
en route how to get to Binnie's. Thankfully, the last person
actually points it out to us because the writing on the sign is
completely foreign to us and Binnie's is only written in tiny letters
on the door itself. Probably a concession to language laws.
Inside the caf is like being in a completely different world. No
one is speaking English. The signs are all in Gaelic.
Apart from that, it's cozy and friendly with round wooden
tables and matching chairs, shelves of jams and relishes and
boxes of tea. The counter is stocked with all sorts of sweets and
pies and sandwiches. Everyone is drinking coffee or pots of tea
but I can see what that girl meant. The chalkboard with the items
and prices is all in Gaelic. We're going to have to point to get
what want.
Edgy in Edinburgh ~ Chapter Six
349
This is confirmed when the lady behind the counter gives
Harry a blank look. He's ordered two pies and two coffees . . . in
English. She only responds when he points. Obviously it's a
matter of principle with her. I hope the students are a little more
lenient.
We take our food to a small corner table. Beside us, is a table
of laughing students, but all the jokes are in Gaelic.
Oh, what the hell, I say, leaning forward to talk to them. Per
favore. S'il vous plait?
They look at me like I'm crazy but at least they're listening.
We're looking for those guys who saw the Laircassle ghost.
Any idea where we might find them?
It's a mixed crowd, three guys and two girls. They start talking
in Gaelic to one another. Then one of them calls over to another
table and the two tables are now talking in Gaelic to one another.
Soon the whole caf is talking to one another, and looking at us.
Finally, a young man comes over and joins us.
He speaks in Gaelic.
Min fudlik, says Harry. Ma tuhkee Gaelic. Engleezi seulement.
I look at him.
Arabic and French, he explains.
We both laugh.
Even the young man laughs.
Can't talk English in this place, he whispers, looking around.
How 'bout we move on to a pub?
Harry and I gulp down our pies and our coffee and in five
minutes are back out on the street.
I'm Ciaran, he says. We introduce ourselves. He nods to a
pub on the other side of the road and we dash across.
We order a round of pints.
So you're interested in the Laircassle ghost? he says.
Harry nods.
We understand that some Celtic students here saw it.
Aye, he says. They did. One of them was my brother.
Really? we both say at the same time. Saying 'Really?' at the
same time is becoming a trademark of ours.
He nods.
But I don't think he'll want to speak to you about it. He's
pretty shook up still and it happened months ago. I don't think
he would have been able to carry on here if the doctor hadn't
350
given him some pills to settle his nerves. Why are you guys
interested?
We're staying there . . . Harry begins.
You are? Ciaran is incredulous. And you haven't seen it?
That's right, says Harry. Some people in Canada want to
buy it but they wanted us to stay there first.
They don't sound like decent people, then, says Ciaran,
shaking his head. Still, you haven't seen it?
From what we can tell, not everyone does.
That's true, nods Ciaran. Patrick didn't. He says he was
baffled when the others started screaming. Though at first, they
just turned white and looked like they would drop dead on the
spot. Patrick was looking all around, trying to figure it out but he
couldn't see a thing. When the others ran out screaming he just
went out with them because he didn't know what else to do.
What's Patrick like? I ask.
Irish, says Ciaran, as if that explains Patrick.
Is he nice? I ask.
Oh, yes. Not a care in the world. Always the first to buy you a
pint. Good fellow.
What did your brother say he saw? says Harry.
Well, it was hard to get him to talk about it. I only know
because my mother insisted on getting to the bottom of it. She
sat him down with a pot of tea and forced it out of him. He says
it was too horrible for words. Like something from another
world.
Ciaran shakes his head.
You should have heard my mother! She was saying all sorts of
prayers over him but nothing worked. Only the doctor's pills.
Did he say anything else? says Harry.
Ciaran thinks.
No, not really. Just kept saying how awful it was. Like from
another world. Mother was at her wit's end. She just kept praying
and he kept staring at the four walls saying how awful it was.
What about the others? I say. Did they say anything?
Ciaran nodded.
Only Eileen could really speak about it. Daniel Fraser said he
never wanted to talk about it again. But Eileen goes to a therapist
and the therapist put her under some kind of hypnosis. Normally
we wouldn't know anything about it but when my mother sets
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her mind on something, there's no stopping her. She talked to all
the kids. Interviewed them, really. She wanted to know exactly
what happened to Donnan. That's my brother, Donnan. She
treats him like he's still the baby of the family.
We nod.
Eileen was willing to talk to my mother although she was
pretty trembly about it. She says they were all standing in an
empty room. They had come into the house all scared, but it was
a giddy kind of scared. None of them really believed in the ghost,
but the place was still creepy. They picked a room that was
yellow . . .
I nod.
Sort of a large sitting room, I say. With a white fireplace?
Ciaran nods.
That's the one. They had brought some food and blankets in
their knapsacks and they were just starting to settle in when
Eileen says there was a noise. A sort of moaning. She said it was
like a cry of the heart. What was really terrifying about it was it
was like a mirror to her own heart, she said. You know when you
have these moments of feeling alone and feeling scared, maybe
they're memories from childhood, I don't know . . .
I think I know what you mean, says Harry. It's like when
we stop being busy and realize how truly alone we are.
Something like that, says Ciaran. And even worse, because
Eileen says it was the cry of a terrified child, a person completely
helpless and out of her mind with fear.
A female? I say. Is the ghost a female?
That's how Eileen described it. But she's a female, so maybe
she interpreted the ghost that way.
We heard that, except for Patrick, your brother and Daniel
and Eileen ended up in the hospital as a result.
That's right, nods Ciaran. Donnan couldn't even walk on
his own. The doctor says his nerves weren't functioning.
You mean, his legs were like jelly? I say.
Exactly, says Ciaran. He didn't even want to eat. They all
had IV tubes in them for about a week before they could start
eating again. Even then, Mother had to practically spoon-feed
Donnan. Ciaran shakes his head. I'm telling you, if it weren't
for those little blue pills of the doctor, he would just lie in bed all
day.
352
Did Eileen see anything? I ask.
Aye, she did, nods Ciaran. And the face seemed to match
the moan. It was the face of sorrow and suffering, but it was
more of an impression than it was an actual face. Eileen said it
could have been one face or it could have been hundreds. It was
as if she could see the soul of suffering.
Wow, I say, looking at Harry. It's really serious . . .
It's almost profound, says Harry, more to himself. As if it's
an insight into something . . .
I think I know what you mean, says Ciaran. Eileen's
therapist told her that she had seen something that went beyond
just a mere disgruntled spirit.
Was that supposed to be comforting? I say.
No, says Ciaran. But I think that somehow by
understanding it she's supposed to be able to learn to handle her
fear. I don't really go in for the therapy and all that. But I'll say
this, my mother's prayers haven't been having much effect
either.
By this time we're ready for another round of pints and Ciaran
says we should try the grub at this pub. Grub is food. And he
recommends the Forfar Bridies, which turns out to be pastries
filled with savoury beef and onion.
We pick up the tab for the pub meal and thank Ciaran.
Meeting him has saved us a lot of work. He wishes us all the best
with our investigation.
We meander through the streets, knowing we're sort of lost,
but as long as you can see the castle on the hill, you're never
really disoriented in Edinburgh.
Well, we got lucky finding Ciaran like that, I say, glancing in
the window of a sweets shop. They have candies here that I've
never seen in North America.
I don't think it was luck, says Harry.
I know, I know, I say. It's God's will. But I don't say it
with the hostility that I used to. Maybe if there really are ghosts
than maybe there's really a God. My limited experience would say
that he even answers prayers.
Harry nods.
I wonder if James Henlock believed in God, I say, stopping
in front of a bookstore window. It's interesting to look at the
book display. If we were in Canada, there would be biographies
353
about Canadian celebrities and politicians. Here it's British ones,
a lot of people I haven't even heard of.
That's a good question, says Harry. And how did India
affect him? Did he hold onto his British values or did he pick up
things from the culture there? We're both talking in front of the
window.
Why don't we go in? says Harry, as if he's suddenly had an
idea.
The front of the store looks narrow, but the store goes far
back and has a second story. We find out that the second story is
all used books, most of them older.
What are we looking for? I ask.
I dunno, says Harry, scanning the shelves. Most of these
second-hand books don't have jackets. Just the writing on the
spine. Maybe something about the East India Company.
Something about Laircassle. Anything that would take us back to
that time . . .
His eyes are going across and up and down the shelves and I
join him in the search for any little thing that could help us
understand James Henlock better.
354

Chapter Seven

e come out with two books, one about the history of
the East India Company, another about ghosts of
Scotland. Both are thick.
We were in the bookstore for so long that the sun is low in the
sky and it's time to head back to Leith and Laircassle.
Lenny isn't available to come get us when we call the taxi
company from a phone box in Leith. The dispatch sends out
another driver.
So you're the kids I've heard so much about! says the man
when he pulls up in front of the red phone booth. He looks like
he's in his early thirties, with messy red hair and a freckled face
underneath the beard and moustache.
Are you brave enough to drive us right to our front door?
says Harry, grinning as we climb in.
Aye! That I am! I'm not afraid of any ghost, says the man.
He tells us his name is Andrew and that he's just moved here
from up north. Thought Edinburgh might provide him with a
better chance of making a decent living.
We have ghosts up there too, you know, he says, talking
over his shoulder. But I think it's just a lot of feeble-minded
people who can't control their fears. I'm not saying I'd want to
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356
spend the night in a graveyard, mind ye, but I'm not afraid of old
houses . . .
Andrew goes on and on as we ride back to Laircassle.
He tells us about his brother back home who's happy to eat
oats for breakfast everyday and take care of their old mum.
Andrew shakes his head.
I'm for seeing the world, he says. Making my way.
Unlike Lenny, he turns down the driveway and parks right in
front of the main door.
Harry pays him but to our surprise, he gets out of the car with
us.
Don't mind if I have a look around, do you? he says.
The sun is almost down so I don't know what he expects to
see.
Could I just take a peek in the house? he asks. You know,
for bragging purposes down at the pub?
Harry looks uncomfortable.
I don't know, he says. Some people really do see
something. And what they see is pretty awful.
Have you kids seen anything? he asks.
No, says Harry, but I've got a really bad feeling . . .
Andrew is walking ahead of us.
. . . that you might, finishes Harry. But Andrew doesn't hear.
So this is your wee home? he says when Harry unlocks the
side door. And how would you get to the main house?
Right through this door, I say, opening it slightly.
But I have to admit, my heart is beating. I'm not afraid for
myself, but I'm nervous for Andrew.
Andrew steps into the foyer.
Harry puts our books down and is right behind him.
I'm right behind Harry.
Dear God, I say.
Harry turns and looks at me in surprise.
Do you see something? he says.
No, I say. Sometimes I pray, OK?
He nods and turns back to Andrew.
Andrew keeps walking across the foyer to the ballroom. With
the sun going down, it's only dimly lit. I'm used to the dusty old
place, but I don't know how Andrew can charge ahead like that.
He obviously doesn't believe in ghosts.
Edgy in Edinburgh ~ Chapter Seven
357
He's in the ballroom looking around. There's enough light
from the windows to see that there's nothing to look at.
Harry points this out to him.
Just an old house, says Harry. No big deal. C'mon! Let's
go!
We turn to go and are back in the foyer when we realize that
Andrew is not behind us.
Where is he? says Harry, sounding annoyed.
We go back to the ballroom to see Andrew standing exactly
where we left him, a look of white terror on his face.
Harry and I look around. Absolutely nothing has changed in
the room.
Oh my God! Andrew suddenly screams, covering his ears.
The look on his face is one of tortured pain. Make it stop! Make
it stop! I've never heard anything like it! He's sobbing and
screaming.
Harry and I are looking around in bewilderment. All we can
hear is Andrew screaming. But there is no sense of evil. No sense
of any presence. I feel as safe as I've ever been. Harry is the same.
He's as puzzled as me.
Andrew has collapsed on the floor. It's as if he has no strength.
C'mon, says Harry, trying to pull him up. But he can't.
Andrew wont stand. So Harry drags him along the floor.
Andrew's just gone all limp so it's like pulling a dead body.
Andrew's no better back in our room. He's lying on the
ground, moaning in terror. There's no relief for him here. He'd
be screaming if he had any energy left. I've never seen eyes so
wide with horror and fear.
We'd better get him outside, Harry decides.
I open the door and Harry hauls him out to the gravel.
It's only then that Andrew experiences some slight easing of
the terror. But he's completely unable to move on his own and
he's certainly not going to be able to drive away.
I'll call an ambulance, I say.
Andrew doesn't say anything to this. He's just whimpering to
himself.
Good idea, says Harry.
I go back inside and dial 911 and discover that it's not a
universal emergency number because nothing happens. So I dial
information who says to call 999.
358
I feel silly explaining that a man saw a ghost and seems to be
having a nervous breakdown but when I tell them that I'm at
Laircassle, they understand. I don't even have to give my address.
They're on their way, I say, going back outside and bringing
one of our blankets to cover the shivering Andrew.
The ambulance is brave enough to come down to the end of
the driveway. The police arrive shortly after and want to talk to
us.
Would you like to talk inside? Harry asks and then hesitates
when he realizes where that will take us.
Uhhh. The two officers look at one another. We can talk
out here, if you don't mind.
I think I'll just go get my scarf, I say. It's gotten cold. It
would be a lot more sensible to talk inside but I don't think we're
going to convince anyone of that.
Now, says the police officer, when I'm back. Tell us exactly
what happened.
We explain how Andrew was our taxi driver and wanted to
take a peek around the house. We were in one of the rooms
when he suddenly started screaming, Make it stop! Since we
couldn't see or hear anything, all we could do was get him out of
the house.
Not a thing? says one of the officers. You didn't see a flash
of light or any kind of movement?
No, says Harry.
And no noise whatsoever?
Only the noise Andrew was making, says Harry.
They look at me for confirmation. I nod.
It's similar to other people's experiences, says one of them.
Are you sure you want to stay here? says the other one,
looking apprehensively at the house.
Meg and I are fine here, says Harry, confidently.
I take my hat off to you two, says the first one.
Before they go, I point out to them that Andrew's taxi cab is
still here. So one of officers gets into the front seat and says he'll
return it to the cab company.
I doubt Andrew will be using it again soon.

Chapter Eight

fter finishing up a breakfast of cheese omelettes, we want
to go to the market. We're out of milk, eggs and cheese.
When we call Lenny he sounds hesitant about picking
us up. And when he does come, he's actually parked down the
road so that he's not in front of the house. It looks like the new
pattern is going to be a hike down the long driveway and then
another hike down the road. That'll be even more fun with
groceries.
Word is out all over town about Andrew.
He's in the hospital. His face is a blank mask although
occasionally he mutters to himself. He can't eat or drink except
intravenously. All his vital organs are functioning but he simply
has no ability to get out of bed on his own.
Lenny's determined it won't happen to him.
He drives us to the market and waits outside.
What shall we try today? says Harry, scanning the deli meat
section. Do you like turkey?
I nod, so Harry gets some turkey slices. We pick out some
more bread and eggs and milk. Ginger ale. I try some different
biscuits. Chocolate butter biscuits. Rich tea finger creams.
Something called Jaffa cakes.
A
360
Harry throws some ramen noodle soups into the cart. The
kind you just add hot water to. They call them Pot Noodle and
they have about ten different kinds.
When Lenny drops us off he invites us to the pub.
Everybody will want to talk to you tonight, he says. He has
parked us in front of the subdivision beside Laircassle. At least
ramen noodles are light.
Sounds ominous, I say. It wasn't our fault, you know. Harry
tried to warn him . . .
Oh no, says Lenny, reassuringly. No one's upset. We didn't
know Andrew well, you see. Folks will just be curious.
Lenny, I say. If you honk from here, we won't be able to
hear you.
Good point, says Lenny. I'll call first.
That leaves us all day to read the books we bought yesterday.
Harry says he'll take the one about the East India Company,
that is, if I don't mind.
Not at all, I say, turning to the index in the ghost book and
looking for Laircassle. It has three whole pages devoted to this
place. Pretty good considering how big Scotland is.
Do we have ghosts in Canada? I ask Harry.
I think so, says Harry, opening up his book. When my dad
was a boy he said he saw a ghost in the basement of William
Lyon Mackenzie's house.
Who's William Lyon Mackenzie? I ask.
Harry shakes his head, amused.
Did you sleep through Canadian history?
Of course.
William Lyon Mackenzie was the first mayor of Toronto. He
led a rebellion against the British in 1837. A really famous one
called the Upper Canada Rebellion.
Couldn't have been too famous, I mutter, turning to the
pages about Laircassle. You say your Dad saw this guy's ghost?
Yep, says Harry. He and a bunch of boys were looking into
the basement of his house. It's in downtown Toronto. I didn't get
the details but they saw something spooky that made them all run
away.
The guy was probably Scottish, I say. I mean, look at the
thickness of this book! Apparently the Scots like to haunt old
houses.
Edgy in Edinburgh ~ Chapter Eight
361
With a name like Mackenzie, he probably was, agrees Harry.
We read for a while until I break the silence.
Good book? I say.
Harry nods.
It's a fascinating time. British adventurers going off to make
their fortunes in India. Not that it was easy. They had to compete
with the Dutch who were already there. That's all I've read so
far.
I nod, as I'm skimming the pages for Laircassle. I had gotten a
wee bit distracted on my way to these pages some Scottish
womans ghost who gathered heather at night. The night before
she was supposed to get married, her fianc had been killed by an
English Marquess.
There's a sketch of Laircassle in better days. More like that first
place Shona showed us. It gives a history of the house starting
with it being built by the Henlock family in 1592.
1592! I say out loud, looking around. That's when this place
was built! How did they do it! This place is still standing!
I think stone is pretty durable, says Harry. They have all
these castles over here that are still standing too.
Yeah, I guess you're right.
The book says that the house had no history of the
supernatural until James Henlock returned home from India.
Starting with his mysterious death in 1711, the house has been a
source of supernatural activity ever since. Unlike the benevolent
ghosts of some Scottish homes, this one has consistently driven
people almost insane with fear. This ghost does not engage in
opening and closing doors or in rearranging furniture or any of
the other activities associated with ghostly behaviour. For those
who do not encounter the spirit, the house is as ordinary as any
house. No strange sounds in the night. No mysterious
occurrences. Thus far, nobody has been able to predict who will
be affected by the spirit and who will not.
I look up.
This book says that nobody can predict who will be affected
by the spirit, I say. But you had a feeling Andrew would.
Harry nods.
Yeah, I did. I couldn't really put my finger on it. But I
thought, he's probably going to see it.
362
I know what you mean, I say. When he said he wanted to
look around, I was terrified. Not for myself, but for him.
That's how I felt, agrees Harry.
Ailsa said nice people don't see it, I say. But I don't think
that's entirely true. I'm not a nice person, but I didn't see it. And I
can't say it was because I was fearless, I wasn't.
And Andrew had no fear, but he saw it, says Harry.
Exactly, I say. But you and I both had a feeling he'd see it.
I turn back to the book.
Over the years many people attempted to live in the house.
Interestingly, since James Henlock's sister died, no one has
actually been able to live in the house. Many people have
purchased the house only to experience the ghost on their first
day or night there. So the house ended up being taken care of by
hired help. Many of the hired help were also frightened away, but
the ones who weren't, were able to stay on for years without
experiencing any supernatural happenings.
All I've learned is that no one has lived in this place since
James Henlock's sister. Only caretakers.
That's interesting, says Harry, looking up from his book.
Because I imagine for a large house it's probably a real bargain.
Maybe we should buy it, I say absently. Then I blush.
Harry laughs.
Not a bad idea. But I don't think either of us really want to
settle down as Laird and Lady of the Manor.
Does he say these things to see my face go even more red?
I know, I say trying to sound normal. We've gotten pretty
good at investigating things.
Exactly! says Harry. I love this!
Me too, I say.
We smile at each other and then Harry goes back to the East
India Company and I go back to ghosts of Scotland, except that
I've already read about Laircassle and I don't really want to read
about more ghosts. As far as I'm concerned, we can just leave
this book for the next caretaker.
I wouldn't be able to read anyway. My mind is wandering.
Harry's right. I'm loving this too.
I've stopped thinking about being a cop. It's still there at the
back of my mind, but more like a memory. Going to college
363
doesn't seem so important now. We're getting good at this just by
doing it.
I'm doing what I want, what I've always wanted to do. I just
didn't do it the way I expected to.
An outrageous idea occurs to me.
Is it a miracle?
Harry is always saying that he's praying that I'll see the hand of
God in our cases. But maybe the hand of God is that I'm doing
what I've always wanted and it hasn't been with Dad's help, it's
been with God's help.
Crazy idea, I know. But we've been through enough crazy stuff
that it's been kind of changing how I look at things.
It's amazing how the things that we take for granted now
were so exotic then, says Harry, interrupting my thoughts.
These men are sailing in ships to the Indies to get things like
pepper and cinnamon.
Really? I say.
Harry nods.
And tea, says Harry. Isn't it strange to think that there was
a time when the English didn't drink tea?
I wonder what they had with their scones and jam?
Harry and I laugh.
It's interesting to read the whole evolution of the company.
They started off just doing business there and then to protect
their profits they got more involved with the politics of India. It
was called Company Rule. Then because it was important to
British interests in general, Britain took over entirely.
How could that happen? I say. I mean, there are American
companies in Canada but they don't end up taking over the
whole country.
Well, says Harry. Here it says that in 1647 they already had
23 factories in India. The factories ended up becoming walled
forts.
I guess it was all about protecting the money.
I think so, Harry nods. And it sounds like they made a lot
of it too. With the money they made in India, British men would
return home and buy up estates here in the UK. Because they
had a vested interest in the success of the company, some of
them got involved in the politics here in order to protect the
trade there.
364
I can see how that would just keep the whole thing going, I
say.
Harry nods.
And then the military got involved. Any time an independent
ruler protested at the British intrusion into India, the East India
Company actually had an army to fight him. Since India was
under a lot of different rulers, it was easy to make treaties with
them if they were co-operative or fight them if they weren't.
Some of the rulers put up a stiff fight and it says here that it
wasn't until 1799 that the Company had a solid hold on most of
India.
So everybody just settled down and lived with it after that? I
say.
They had an uprising in 1857. Pretty bloody. A lot of British
were killed. But the British government stepped in and
suppressed it. After that, it wasn't Company Rule anymore. It was
British Rule.
What did Gandhi have to do with it all? I ask.
Harry smiles.
He came about a hundred years later and led a peaceful
protest against the British. More of a stubborn resistance to
them. Hunger strikes. Refusing to co-operate with them, that sort
of thing. I didn't get that from the book though. I saw the movie.
He's the one who got the British out of India.
Why would peaceful protest work? I ask.
I think it's because it forced the British to beat people who
weren't fighting back. They just sat there and took it. And it made
the British feel like monsters.
Yeah, I guess it's a lot easier to fight people when they're
shooting at you. Makes you feel like they deserve it.
Exactly.
For lunch, we have Pot Noodle. Harry's is called Bombay Bad
Boy. Mine is Original Curry.
I guess there's a lot of Indian influence still here, says Harry
looking at our Pot Noodles.
I know what you mean, I say. Curry-flavoured noodles.
Indian takeaway. We don't have that in Canada. I mean, I've seen
Indian restaurants, but it's not like there's one in every town.
365
Harry spends the afternoon reading his book and telling me
interesting tidbits about life in the British Raj, as it was called. All
this is past James Henlock's time so he's just reading it for fun. I
play Solitaire on my bed while he talks.
It's so relaxing that I actually jump when the phone rings.
It's Lenny.
Time for the pub.
366

Chapter Nine

e're surrounded by people.
Everyone wants to know about Andrew. He's the
most recent person to see the ghost. No one seems to
know about the students from Edinburgh. I guess they never
passed through the pub on their way to or from Laircassle.
Andrew is still in the hospital. His doctor doesn't know what
to do with him. He seems to have lost the will to live and yet
everything about him functions. They figure the only thing to do
is send him home to the north and let his family nurse him back
to health. Staying here may only remind him of the horror of
Laircassle.
Harry has to tell the story of Andrew's excursion to Laircassle
every time someone new comes in. And he gets a fresh pint every
time he does.
No can understand how we can be so brave and stay there.
It's nothing, says Harry, shrugging. We haven't seen it. So
we probably won't. Everyone who does see it, sees it nearly right
away.
Aye! The lad's right, says Old Peter, who's there that night.
Not a single person who sees the ghost lasts for twelve hours in
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368
that place. If you can make it there for a day, you can make it for
the rest of your life. The bairns will be fine.
Have you considered visiting Andrew in the hospital? says
Harry to Old Peter. It might help.
Nay. Old Peter shakes his head. It would not help the man.
The ghost of Laircassle is something a man must face for
himself. I cannot explain it any better than this. It is a lonely
feeling, the ghost of Laircassle. A feeling of despair and isolation.
No person could bring ye comfort in such a situation. A man
must face it alone.
There's respectful silence.
It's like death, says Old Peter. No one can hold your hand
when ye pass over.
The sober moment in the pub is broken when someone else
comes in and wants to hear all about Andrew.

Harry's sleeping soundly in his bed.
I'm not surprised. All the beer the locals forced on him. He
practically fell asleep walking down the driveway.
I'm wide awake and staring at the ceiling.
This time I'm not afraid. And I've gone to the bathroom twice
without having to chant anything.
I just can't sleep.
It's that idea of being alone.
That seems to be what people are facing when they see the
ghost. Or part of it, anyhow. They're forced to deal with
something that we can ignore in everyday life.
I think that's why people are so quick to get into relationships,
even with people they don't love. I didn't really love my
boyfriend in high school but it was easier to be with him than to
be alone.
I look over at Harry. I think I actually love the guy. Is it love
when you know someone really well and still like being around
them? Because that's how I feel about Harry. I don't mind that he
prays. I don't mind that he'd rather read than watch TV. I don't
mind that he talks to strangers.
But then . . . there's what Old Peter said about death. No one
can hold your hand when ye pass over.
I love Harry, but it's not enough.
Edgy in Edinburgh ~ Chapter Nine
369
Andrew was a mess after facing that ghost. No one could get
through to him. And he was tough.
If I had gone through that, I would have been in the same
state and Harry wouldn't have been able to get through to me.
God knows why I haven't seen anything.
I certainly don't.
God know . . .
The phrase runs through my mind as I drift off to sleep.

Didn't Ailsa mention something about a museum? I say
from my bed where I'm eating breakfast.
We're having turkey omelettes.
I was thinking the same thing, says Harry, at the small
counter stirring sugar into his tea. It sounds interesting. I love
maritime stuff. I bet James Henlock sailed right here to Leith
when he came home.
With all his silk, I nod.
That's right, Harry says, as he comes to sit on his bed with
his breakfast. I almost forgot about that silk. Hopefully they'll
let us have a look at it.
I wonder if they have records of who arrived in Leith. You
know, passenger lists. I say. Maybe we could find something
from 1711 that tells us a gentleman from India arrived . . .
. . . carrying a strange vial of some unidentifiable liquid and
asking for directions to Laircassle, says Harry grinning.
I laugh.
Yeah, something like that.
Actually, its a good idea, says Harry. We could find out if
they kept records of the boats that arrived. If a boat came from
India that year it would at least open up the possibility of an old
associate showing up here.
Harry dials the number for the cab service and I'm relieved
when Lenny is available. I doubt the cab service will want to risk
another driver on us.
The Leith Museum is down by the harbour, one of the
buildings we passed that day we ate in the caf with Shona. It's
small so Lenny predicts we won't be there long but Harry says
we'll make a day of it and probably ring him up in the late
afternoon, if that works for him.
370
Aye, that it does, he says. But I hope you'll understand if
you have to wait a little while. With Andrew gone, I'm a lot
busier.
We're partly to blame for that so we really understand.
We go up the steps to the museum, through the wooden doors
and pay our admission at a small front desk manned by an older
lady.
The museum is small but has several stories with three or four
rooms in each one. The bottom floor is devoted to maritime
items. We wander around and look at a giant anchor, some
displays about life aboard a 16
th
century ship, a 17
th
century ship
and an 18
th
century ship. There's lots of paraphernalia related to
boats at the time of James Henlock, but nothing specific about
him or the East India Company.
The second floor has a room about Mary Queen of Scots. She
visited Leith in 1561. But that's too early on to be helpful.
Another room on the second floor is devoted to something
called The Siege of Leith. But since that happened in 1559, we
pass through that room quickly too.
The final room on the second floor is about how the American
navy tried to attack Leith during their War of Independence. Of
course, this is much later than James Henlock's life, but it's
interesting enough that we read all the displays.
The third and final floor is about Twentieth-century Leith. In a
display about trade, there's some information about India, but
nothing to help us. There's a room about Leith and its
relationship to Edinburgh and how the two merged in 1920.
I guess we'll have to talk to that lady about the silk, if we want
to see it, I say.
Harry nods.
Yes, let's see if we can talk to the curator.
The lady at the front desk is handling a large group of tourists
when we go back downstairs so we have to wait until she's done.
Harry introduces us and says that we're staying at Laircassle.
The woman's eyebrows go up.
We're trying to find out as much as we can about the life of
James Henlock.
You'll be wanting to talk to the curator then? she says.
Yes, that would be great.
The lady hurries down a hallway.
371
I almost said, Aye, that I do, says Harry.
We grin.
The lady returns with a middle-aged man wearing a tweed suit
and glasses. Our reputation has preceded us because he tells us
he's always been interested in local ghost stories. He introduces
himself as Dr. Ian Owen.
That's why we're staying there, says Harry. We want to
know more if we can.
But you haven't actually seen anything? says Dr. Owen.
No, we haven't, says Harry. Although a few days ago, we
had a visitor to the place who did see something.
Up go the lady's eyebrows again, but she has to handle a
museum visitor.
Dr. Owen invites us to a small staff room in the back of the
museum. There he offers us tea and biscuits which we accept
with gratitude. It's probably around lunchtime now.
In this business, we've found that in order to obtain
information, you usually have to dish out a lot first. So that's
what Harry does.
He tells the whole story, starting with the MacGraths and
ending with Andrew.
Dr. Owen listens with complete interest.
Very interesting, indeed! he says, when we're done. And I
commend you for your courage!
Thank you, sir, says Harry. But it's easy to be brave when
you haven't seen anything.
Nonetheless, I know folks who don't even like to drive by the
place. And I personally would not risk a visit to the house. But I
would love to know more about the place.
We think if we could learn more about James Henlock we
could learn more about this ghost, says Harry.
That's very logical, says Dr. Owen, nodding.
Do you have records from the time? I ask. Boats that
arrived here and all that?
No. Dr. Owen shakes his head. For that you would have to
go the National Archives of Scotland. We have no records here,
only artifacts. But I do believe we have a sample of the silk that
James Henlock brought back with him.
Ailsa MacNab mentioned that, says Harry.
Come, I'll show you, says Dr. Owen.
372
We quickly finish our tea and wash our hands and then follow
him into a large backroom with rows and rows of drawers. Not
ordinary drawers. But drawers that are wide and flat. He walks to
one in the corner and pulls it out.
The silk is preserved under a thin layer of glass.
The colours are remarkably bright considering how old the
sample is. It's a dark red silk with a black pattern. There are
flowers and diamonds and borders and it all sort of mixes
together into one harmonious whole.
Lovely, isn't it? says Dr. Owen.
It is, agrees Harry. It would all be done by hand, of
course?
In those days, yes.
We look at it respectfully and then Dr. Owen starts rolling it
back in the drawer.
Wait a sec, I say.
Dr. Owen pauses.
What's that there? I ask.
Where? says Dr. Owen.
I point.
Along the bottom is something that blends in with the pattern
but is definitely not part of it.
Dr. Owen adjusts his glasses and takes a closer look.
It looks like writing, he says. Hindi, maybe. I've never
noticed that before.
Do you understand it? says Harry.
No, India was never really my thing, says Dr. Owen. If it
were Pictish, I'd have no problem. I studied Pre-Indo European
languages.
Is it usual for there to be an inscription at the bottom of this
kind of silk?
Dr. Owen shakes his head.
It wasn't the type of thing you see, no. People used this silk
for their clothing or to decorate with. I'm sure they wouldn't have
wanted this inscription there. It could be the name of the
manufacturer, for all I know.
You mean the name of the factory where it was made? says
Harry.
It's too long for that, I say, looking down. Unless the
factory had a really long name.
373
It's quite beautiful, says Dr. Owen staring at the writing. It's
a lovely script. Almost musical.
Is there anyone who could read it for us? asks Harry.
Dr. Owen shakes his head.
Not that I know of. But I could call the University. Someone
there may be willing to help. If they were, would you like to come
back and find out what it says?
Sure, we both say.
We thank Dr. Owen for showing us the silk and we give him
our number at Laircassle, as well as the number of Harry's cell
phone. He shows us to the front door and we all shake hands
and say good-bye.
That's our last lead, says Harry, sighing.
The museum? I say.
Harry nods.
Well, there's the silk, I say.
Yeah, we'll see about that.
It's an aimless moment as we just stand there looking around.
Let's have lunch, says Harry. How 'bout fish-and-chips at a
pub?
Sounds good, I say.
We could stop into Shona's office and see if she wants to join
us.
He grins at the expression on my face and then I realize he's
joking.
We find a pub along the waterfront. Over lunch we talk about
the American Revolution. Neither of us knew it had made it this
far. Then we talk about when we were in Halifax and had learned
a bit about the British chasing an American privateer into
Mahone Bay. That's where the Young Teazer blew herself up
rather than be captured by the British.
That was around the time of the War of 1812, not the War of
Independence, but it's all sort of the same thing. And it makes
me feel like Harry and I have been through a lot together that we
can sit and reminisce about the past over lunch.

We've stalled.
We're both lounging around in our room the next day, literally
hanging upside down off our beds and wondering what to do
next. We could probably just sit around and play Rummy until
374
the month is up, but the mystery would be unsolved and it would
feel like a failure.
Isn't there supposed to be another building on this property?
I say, sitting up. I feel dizzy.
A kirk, says Harry, nodding, his head still upside down.
I wonder if it contains any clues. I say.
I imagine any old family Bibles have long since rotted away,
says Harry, sitting up. Still, it wouldn't hurt to look.
So a kirk is like a small church? I say, as I wrap my scarf
around my neck and we head outside.
In Drumheller, Alberta, we saw the world's smallest church.
I'm wondering how this will compare.
A chapel, I think, says Harry. We go around the side of the
house. I've already seen the back of the house through the
kitchen door, but we've never actually taken a walk around the
property.
The grass is overgrown but we can still see the remains of a
flower garden in the back. There are some stones laid-out, like a
patio, right behind the house. It must have been beautiful back
here when it was kept up.
It takes us awhile to figure out where the kirk is. We have to
walk along the entire length of the backyard until we come to the
forest.
We could get lost in here! I say, looking at it. The forest is
dense.
I know, says Harry. It's like Sherwood Forest, back here.
They could have gone boar-hunting and things like that. And you
always hear about fox-hunting over here.
You don't think there are wild animals back here? I say
nervously.
Meg Carmichael, says Harry, shaking his head and smiling.
Not afraid of the ghost of Laircassle. Afraid of seeing a fox.
I redeem myself by finding a little pathway, overgrown, but still
recognizable.
We follow it and sure enough, the kirk is in a little clearing.
This is really nice! I say, looking all around. The trees are so
old that they're high up. It blocks out a lot of the sun but it gives
a feeling of being in an enchanted place far away from
civilization.
375
The kirk is made of stone, so it's not as rundown as I would
have thought for something buried away in a forgotten forest.
The wooden door creaks when Harry pushes it open.
The forest is dim to begin with and the kirk is even darker
inside. There are small holes cut out of the walls for windows.
Did they even have glass in the 17
th
century or was it always open
like this?
Harry's walking ahead of me. If this place is so open to the
outside, I'm thinking some animal could be hiding in the corners.
From behind Harry, my eyes search each corner. But there isn't
anything animal-like. Just a lot of grime. Fungus? Mould? I'm not
really sure. It could be moss, for all I know.
There are stone benches instead of pews. I sit down on one.
It's cold and damp now but I imagine in the summer it's warmer
and dryer.
Harry walks up to examine something at the front. Just a
simple stand made of solid wood. If it weren't so solid, it
probably would have rotted away. Harry reports that there's
nothing on it anymore, though he figures it could have held a
Bible or a communion service.
He joins me on the bench.
Well, that's it, he says.
I wonder if the ghost ever comes out here. I say.
We'll never know, says Harry. And I'm not dragging anyone
out here to find out. I still feel bad about Andrew.
Yeah, I know what you mean, I say. It was entirely his fault
and if he'd just had a little scare it wouldn't have been so bad, but
. . .
I know, says Harry. He may never recover.
I don't think we could have stopped him, I say.
There's something so peaceful about the little kirk in the forest
that neither of us wants to go. I sit and think about Andrew, but
it's not Andrew I'm really thinking about. Why did he see it and I
didn't?
I find myself leaning against Harry and I notice he doesn't
move away. There are other benches in the kirk. We don't even
have to sit on the same one.
I'm out here in Scotland in the middle of the forest with Harry
Phillips, son of my mother's boss. Easily better looking than any
guy I could have dreamed of working with.
376
But it's not enough!
Like that voice in me that said Just do it! Now I have a voice
saying Its not enough!

Chapter Ten

don't know how long we sit in the kirk.
Harry seems to have a lot to think about too.
We return to our room and another meal of Pot Noodle.
Sweet and Spicy for both of us. I'm still chilled from the stone
bench and go into the bathroom for a warm shower.
When I come out, Harry has some news. Dr. Owen called.
He's contacted an expert on Indian languages who is willing to
come out and look at the silk inscription. He'll be stopping by the
museum at around 1:00 the next day.
So at least we have plans for the next day.
Harry returns to his East India Company book. I pick up one
of the magazines I bought at the market. It's mostly about
celebrities I don't know and I get bored quickly. I go through a
whole article about some British actress and her six adopted
children and by the end of it I have no idea what I just read.
I don't want to read the ghost book and I don't feel like
Solitaire.
Harry, do you have anything to read? I ask him.
He looks up.
I have my Bible, he says, half-joking.
I shrug.
I
378
Sure, I say. I'll look it over.
He looks surprised but he unzips the outside pocket of his
knapsack and tosses it over to me.
I'll give him credit. He doesn't go on and on about it.
He returns to his book and I pick up his Bible.
There's something kind of personal about looking at Harry's
Bible. He has some things underlined and even some
handwritten comments in the margins.
Where to start?
I guess I could just start at the beginning. That's what I would
do with anything else.
I open it up.
In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.
I guess I'm OK with that.
The earth was without form and void and darkness was over the face of
the deep water. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the
water.
Interesting. Again, no problem, really.
And God said, 'Let there be light' and there was light. And God saw
that the light was good.
That's kind of interesting.
I end up reading most of the first book, Genesis. It's not bad.
I've heard of Adam and Eve, but I didn't really know much about
them. Then there's all this stuff about a flood. That fits with what
Dan Shepherd was talking about when we were in Antarctica.
After that, it's all about this guy Abraham and all his kids and it's
really fascinating. God talks to him and he and his wife have a
baby even though they're really old. I could go on and on. Some
cities get destroyed. A guy named Joseph gets sold into slavery by
his own brothers. Now some woman is trying to seduce him.
Anyway, Harry's the one who says we should be thinking
about dinner.
Sure, I say, closing the Bible and handing it back to him.
You can borrow it anytime you want, he says. I guess he
can't resist.
Thanks Harry, I say.
Should we phone for pizza? he says. They'd probably
deliver. I hate to bug Lenny this late.
Good idea, I say. Maybe they'll even come to our door.
Edgy in Edinburgh ~ Chapter Ten
379
But as it turns out, they know all about Laircassle and don't
want anything to do with us until Harry says we'll wait for it at
the end of the driveway.
So we huddle together in the cool evening at the end of the
driveway, waiting for our pizza.
I start to laugh.
What? says Harry, looking down at me.
It's just the situation, I say. We're staying in a haunted
house. We can't get anyone to actually come to our door. So
we're out here shivering waiting for a pizza.
It strikes Harry as funny too and he starts laughing.
Maybe it's just the cold and the fact that we're already
shivering, but soon we're shaking with laughter. When the pizza
guy comes, he looks at us like we're lunatics (we are at the
moment), quickly gives us the pizza and accepts the money from
Harry without giving any change. He's out of there in about five
seconds.
That was a pretty generous tip, says Harry and we start
laughing again. By the time we get back to our room we're weak
from shivering and laughing.
We collapse on our beds and break into the pizza.
I have more fun with you than I've had with anybody else,
he says.
Really? I say, forgetting that my mouth is full.
He nods as he takes a huge bite out of his piece.
But you must have been with so many girls . . . I say.
It's not a statement of jealousy. I'm actually kind of bewildered.
He could be with anyone. And he's not with me, anyhow. We
just work together. For me to be jealous is irrational.
Harry shrugs.
But you tell me exactly what you're thinking, he say. Not all
girls do. Most just play games.
I think about this.
I guess I'm the only one who's ever told him to shut up.
Did you ever date a Christian girl? I ask. When you went to
church, I mean?
I did some things with the singles there, yeah, says Harry.
But I couldn't really get into it. It's like, I knew things could be
bigger and better but all they were really thinking about were the
380
same things everybody thinks about careers, boyfriends, and
girlfriends. They were just sticking God into it all.
What do you mean? I say.
Well, says Harry, thinking as he chews. They were using
God to make their dreams come true. They would pray about
their career and who they would marry. The guys would be
praying for a girlfriend and the girls would be praying for a
boyfriend. But when I became a Christian, I had this feeling that
none of that stuff mattered anymore. I don't pray about things
that I used to care about. I just pray every day that I'll be doing
exactly what God wants me to do.
That makes sense, I say, swallowing and nodding.
Does it? he says. Because I couldn't get anyone there to
understand it.
Well, I don't know much about it, I say. But it sounds right
to me. It's like this whole ghost thing. Some people don't see it
and some people do. There's no mixing the two. Either you're on
one side or you're on the other. Maybe it's like that with
Christians. You're either into God or you're either into doing
things yourself. But you shouldn't mix the two.
Harry nods emphatically.
That's how I felt. As a Christian, I didn't want to go back to
the world. I'd crossed over from that to a different place. I didn't
want to just Christianize my life and start praying about my
career.
Yeah, because then you'd still be doing what you want to do,
I say. You wanted to do what God wanted you to do.
Exactly, says Harry. You're the only person who really gets
it.
I shrug.
I just understand it because we've been hanging out. I can see
it in you.
Thanks Meg, he says.
I don't have to ask him what the thanks is for. I sort of know.
Understanding him is one thing. Having him know that I
understand him is another. I look at him now and it's hard not to
want to reach out to him and get closer.
But there's still that voice in me. It's not enough!

Edgy in Edinburgh ~ Chapter Ten
381
Lenny drives us to the museum the next morning. We sit and
drink tea with Dr. Owen until the expert from the University of
Edinburgh arrives. Then we all go into the backroom where the
drawer with the silk is opened once again.
Is it Hindi? Dr. Owen asks the tall, olive-skinned man. His
name is Dr. Gupta and although he speaks English with an
Edinburgh accent, it's obvious that he chose to study Indian
languages due to his ancestry.
Dr. Gupta shakes his head.
Middle Gujarati, actually.
He gives us the impression that we're crowding him so Dr.
Owen, Harry and I move back, more to the middle of the room.
Dr. Owen tells us how fortunate we are to have Dr. Gupta
here. Normally his schedule is too full for something like this, but
some seminar was postponed and that freed up his time today.
Dr. Gupta is muttering to himself and copying the inscription
down in a notebook. He works for about ten minutes while we
stand in respectful silence.
Then he turns around.
It seems to be a prayer, a curse really. A request for a curse,
actually.
We raise our eyebrows and look at one another.
It's not an unusual thing in the East, says Dr. Gupta. A
curse is taken seriously in the East.
Is it just a general curse? asks Dr. Owen.
No, not really, says Dr. Gupta. The curse is that the man
who buys the silk will suffer like the people who made it.
Wow! I say as Harry and look at each other. That would be
James Henlock!
There's more, says Dr. Gupta, looking at his notebook. The
curse continues. In fact, it's more of a prayer here. And the
prayer is that terror will come upon all who love money more
than human souls.
We take this in. It gives me a shiver down my arms.
That sounds exactly like what's happening at Laircassle! I
say.
I think so too! says Harry. In fact, that's the connection! It's
not about being nice! It's about money! The people who see the
ghost love money. The people, who don't see it, don't care about
money.
382
Dr. Owen is nodding.
Except that it's not really a ghost, I say. It's more of a
feeling of terror.
So what people see isn't the ghost of James Henlock! says
Harry excitedly. They're seeing the spirit that destroyed him!
And the people who continue to see it are the people who
love money more than other people!
It's all coming together.
I suppose so, says Dr. Gupta absently, going back to stare at
the silk.
Is it a prayer to Vishnu, or some Indian god of justice? asks
Harry.
No, says the man slowly, examining the silk with his
magnifying glass. It's not.
He continues to read the Gujarati along the border.
It's a prayer to the god of their oppressors. The God of the
Christians.

Chapter Eleven

or a moment we don't say anything.
Is it possible? I ask, turning to Harry. Could God do
that?
Harry looks stunned.
I don't know. God is a god of justice. I guess it is possible. It
must be since it's happening.
Dr. Gupta shakes his head.
A lot of superstition, I'm inclined to think. We people are
susceptible creatures. We hear a place is haunted and every noise
then startles us.
Harry and I don't say anything. The pieces of the puzzle have
all come together. People who love money see the spirits of the
people who were forced to make silk for the foreign trade. Who
knows what conditions they had to work in and how they were
exploited? Going by the experiences people have had in
Laircassle, it was a miserable life.
People who don't love money don't see anything because they
haven't been cursed.
Dr. Owen doesn't say anything. I think he believes the curse
but doesn't want to offend Dr. Gupta. In fact, he thanks him
profusely and together we all see him to the door of the museum.
F
384
We all thank him again there.
Well, kids, says Dr. Owen when Dr. Gupta is gone. I think
we solved the mystery of Laircassle.
It's a lot to think about, I say. It kind of leaves me feeling, I
dunno, serious about things. Human suffering. I mean, just for
some stupid silk . . .
Yes, agrees Dr. Owen. I have a lot to think about too.
We agree that we'll keep in touch and he promises to call us
before we leave and maybe we can have lunch and talk about this
some more.
I never really thought about it before, I say, when Harry and
I are outside and strolling along the waterfront. It's a vague
statement but Harry picks up on it.
About loving money, you mean?
I nod.
Funny that we would end up being the same on that. I mean,
you've got it, but you don't love it. I don't have it, but I don't
really care. All my life, all I've ever cared about is investigating
things, you know, being a cop, like those shows my dad and I
used to watch together. But I've never wanted to become a cop
to get rich.
Harry nods.
I know, he says. I have money so I think I go out of my
way not to spend it because I hate what money does to people.
But with you, if you had money, you'd just spend it and not
care.
I nod. That pretty much sums me up.
But I think my dad would see the ghost of Laircassle, I say,
thinking of him in Reno trying to win the big one.
Mine too, says Harry.
What about the MacGrath's?
I'm going to strongly recommend that the MacGrath's don't
buy Laircassle, says Harry.
They love money, eh?
Big time. Mr. MacGrath owns a clothing company. Does a lot
of outsourcing. Mexico, China . . . India.
Yikes.
No kidding. He wouldn't last a minute in that place.
I think that's the right decision, I say nodding.
We walk along in comfortable silence.

Jumpy in Jerusalem

386

Chapter One

arry is thrilled.
We're going to Jerusalem!
On our last case, we solved a three- hundred year-old
mystery involving a spirit in a manor in Edinburgh. Now we're
off to solve an even older mystery. A two-thousand year-old
mystery.
While Harry and I were in Leith, a part of northern Edinburgh,
we met Dr. Ian Owen. He was the curator of a small museum
and while we were there we got to know him well. With Harry
being a Christian, they talked a lot about God and Christianity.
Dr. Owen said that he'd be happy to believe in Jesus Christ if
only there was some really solid proof that he existed.
I was surprised.
I'm no Christian, but even I don't doubt the existence of Jesus
Christ. Isn't it pretty much basic history that a man named Jesus
was born in Bethlehem, went around telling everybody they
should love one another and then got crucified on a cross?
Apparently not.
Not if you're a real historian.
Dr. Owen explained to us that real historians doubt things that
the ordinary folks like Harry and I take for granted.
H
388
Harry said he'd be glad to go putter around the Holy Land and
look for proof that Jesus Christ used to live there. No charge.
Kind of like lawyers doing pro bono work.
The way it usually works is that our client pays a fee, plus our
expenses. But Dr. Owen is just a humble curator of a small
museum. Harry says that's OK. We've made a lot of money
already, we can certainly afford it.
He looked at me and I just shrugged.
Why not? I said.
No one else had hired us. I'd rather keep busy than just sit at
home in the tiny apartment that Mom and I share back in
Toronto.
Dr. Owen said that if we can find proof that Jesus Christ
existed, he'll create a whole room in the museum for it.
That's good enough for Harry.
Harry considers himself an agent of God on earth, daily
spreading God's love around to all he meets. Me, I have no
problem with Harry at this point. I'd go so far as to admit that I
even really like . . . OK, love . . . the guy, but I've got to get a few
things straight in my head. I'm not sure what though. That makes
it a little more complicated. Maybe that's why I'm doing
something that you would normally associate with Harry,
something that I've never done in my life. I'm talking to a
stranger on a plane . . .

So, that's how we ended up here, I say, finishing off.
It's a seriously long flight to Israel.
Harry says that we'll be landing at the Ben Gurion
International Airport, in Lod, which is 15 kilometres away from
Tel Aviv.
This flight is packed and I was really annoyed when we didn't
get seats together. Harry's about 15 rows behind me and all I can
really tell is that he seems to be babysitting one of some busy
mother's three small children. I guess he's an answer to her
prayer.
I'm talking to an older lady, Marilyn, who is going to Israel on
a pilgrimage. She just plans to go from place to place by bus and
pray where people like Jesus and Abraham prayed.
I told her that I've read Genesis so I know who Abraham is.
Jumpy in Jerusalem ~ Chapter One
389
She really seems interested in me so that's why I told her all
about Harry and I and how we have this arrangement to
investigate things together and how we've solved four cases so
far.
She nods a lot and doesn't look bored.
She has the aisle seat, I'm in the middle, and there is an
ancient-looking woman in the window seat. She's snoozed the
whole time and I don't think she's heard a thing I've said, even if
she understands English.
And you and Harry? she asks. How does that work?
Well, I say, taking a deep breath. That's where it's
complicated. We're close. But he's got his faith. And at first I
thought it was stupid.
Marilyn's really cool. She doesn't mind anything I say. She's
kind of like Harry that way.
But now you don't think so?
That's just it, I say. I don't even really remember why I was
hostile to it in the first place. Harry's a great guy.
You've been seeing Jesus in Harry and that's what's changed
you, explains Marilyn.
Really? I say. Is that it?
Marilyn nods.
The fact that you've become less hostile to him shows that
you're becoming a person of faith yourself.
But that's the thing, I say, turning to her. It's about me. I
don't want to just follow Harry's faith. I want to find my faith.
You're smart to know that, says Marilyn. In fact, that's
exactly what you have to do.
Do you think I'll find it in Jerusalem? I ask. I mean, isn't it,
like, a holy city?
Marilyn shakes her head.
I'm going there just to see it, but it's not really holy anymore.
It was when God lived there in the temple, but now he lives in
the hearts of his people. People like Harry back there.
I see what you mean, I say. But why do people still go?
Actually, I don't really care about that. Why are we going?
Only God really knows that, says Marilyn. I think he's been
with you two this whole time . . .
390
The flight attendant interrupts our talk. She's distributing
about our third meal aboard this plane. I really have no idea what
time it is anymore or whether we should be sleeping.
Marilyn? I say, when we're done with the crackers and
cheese and grapes. Everything is finger foods since 9/11.
Uh-huh?
I know this sounds crazy, I say, lowering my voice. But I
actually do want to become a Christian.
Marilyn looks surprised, but pleased.
I've been thinking a lot since Edinburgh and I feel like God's
been telling me stuff. Like that it's not enough to just love Harry,
I've got to love him. God, I mean.
Marilyn squeezes my hand.
I think you've got it exactly right, sweetie, she says.
But the thing is, I continue. I can't talk to Harry about it.
It's between me and God. So do you think you could tell me how
I should go about this? How do I become a Christian?
Well, says Marilyn. You just pray to God and ask him to
forgive your sins. Tell him you accept his son as your saviour and
that's about it. The Bible talks about getting baptized and
receiving the Holy Spirit, like Jesus did in the Jordan River, but
that would be a bit difficult here on the plane. You could do that
later.
The important thing is I'd be connected to God, right? I say.
Exactly, agrees Marilyn. And I think he's been connecting
with you all this time.
So I do it. I pray the prayer, I tell God I'm sorry about all the
sinning I've done. I ask to be forgiven and that Jesus will be my
saviour. And I tell him I'll get baptized as soon as I can. Amen.
Amen, says Marilyn while the lady beside us actually snores.
Now I just have to wait for the right moment to tell Harry.

Chapter Two

he right moment is not when we arrive in Lod.
The airport is pure confusion. And we don't even have
to go near the luggage carousel. But we do have to go
through Customs. There must be about sixty languages being
spoken all around us. Hebrew is the official language, but
according to Harry's guidebook, most Israeli officials speak
English.
But Harry decides that he's going to do it all in Hebrew. He
has a Hebrew phrasebook which he studied on the plane when
he wasn't babysitting.
The result is that when they ask us if we have anything to
declare, he says ken instead of lo, which is yes instead of no.
When that gets cleared up, he tells them nigmar li habenzim, that
he's run out of gasoline. It's quite bewildering to the female
customs officer, who asks him why he's run out of gasoline. (She
speaks in English.) This flusters Harry who replies, bakbuk lager
bevaasha. I'd like a lager please.
At this point, the customs officer is sizing him up. Is he being
insolent? Is he a lunatic? Or is he just seriously confused?
I step in at this point and say, we're from Canada, we have
nothing to declare and we're here to see the holy sites.
T
392
Our knapsacks are searched. The contents are found to be
harmless. The customs officer waves us through and Harry
thanks her by saying kama ze, how much is that?
Did you ever consider trying Arabic instead? I say.
We went to Marrakesh one winter so I already know a bit of
Arabic, says Harry. Someone told me Hebrew is similar. You
know, shalom, salaam, that sort of thing. I thought I'd pick it up
pretty quickly.
Normally I'd say something sarcastic, but I really want to tell
him about what happened to me on the plane.
Uh, Harry . . . ?
But he's not listening. He's charged ahead to secure us a cab.
Our destination is Jerusalem. Though Tel Aviv is closer, Harry
says there's no point in going there. It didnt exist before 1909
and therefore has nothing to do with the life of Jesus.
The cab is not to take us all the way to Jerusalem, only to the
nearest bus station.
But the middle-aged driver says, why do we need to go to the
bus station? He will take us wherever we need to go.
But we want to go to Jerusalem, says Harry. I'm glad he's not
doing this in Hebrew. We could end up in Saudi Arabia.
I take you to Jerusalem.
It's a long way, says Harry.
We take highway, says the driver. Highway 1. I can tell
he's going to win. Especially when he introduces himself as Isak
and starts telling us all about the area.
I Russian, he says. Lots of Russians here. Many work at the
airport.
Why did they come to Lod? Harry asks, sitting back and
resigning himself.
Lod very interesting, says Isak. Many interesting things.
Crusader church. Tomb of St. George. Many Christians come to
see. Are you Christian?
Harry doesn't notice when I nod too.
Who's St. George? I ask Harry.
He killed a dragon, says Isak. Very important. English saint.
But you are not interested in Lod. You go to Jerusalem.
Do you know Hebrew? Harry asks Isak.
Jumpy in Jerusalem ~ Chapter Two
393
Da, says Isak. I mean ken. Yes, I try to learn. Everyone
learn when they come here. My daughter born here. She speak
well.
Harry gives up on Hebrew for now and turns to a gigantic map
that came with his guidebook. He pulls it out and tries to figure
out where we are. It takes up most of the backseat.
I ignore the map in my face.
Up in front, Isak has switched on the radio to some kind of
Hebrew folk music.
Harry, I want to tell you something, I say.
Uh huh? he says. We're right here. He points. See, I think
this is the highway to Jerusalem.
I look at the map and then out the window.
Lod is a mix of ancient and modern. Most of the buildings are
new and white, some of them as high as eight stories. But some
of the buildings are white and decrepit, but with bright blue
doors and a certain panache amid the poverty.
Any place where there's a patch of grass there's usually a palm
tree.
I see Hebrew writing everywhere. That's what makes me feel
like I'm in a foreign country. That and the fact that there are
groups of soldiers here and there, male and female, standing
around with machine guns strapped to their backs.
Right, here we are, I say, turning back to Harry. Anyway, as
I was saying . . .
It's probably just easier to take a taxi, says Harry.
Harry, rich though he is, is always for doing things
economically. My inclination is to do things easily. But I think
we're sort of moving closer together in that. Or maybe I'm just
getting used to him.
Probably, I agree.
I have to decide where we're going to stay, says Harry,
folding up the map and putting it back in its pocket in the back
of the guidebook. Somewhere cheap.
The guidebook looks pretty battered.
Harry, I say, taking it from him and opening it up. This
guidebook is from 1982! Some of these places may not even be
here anymore!
The important things will be, says Harry, taking it back.
The Via Dolorosa hasn't changed much in two thousand years.
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Is that why you think we'll be able to find proof that Jesus
lived here?
Harry nods.
We're out of Lod now and on a highway like any other back
home. But there's still the Hebrew on the signs, plus Arabic and
English. The scenery is different from home too. Hilly and rocky.
If I ignore the cars zipping along beside me I can sort of imagine
a shepherd out with his sheep two thousand years ago. But what
if Jerusalem is like this? All built up with just a few hills leftover
in the distance? How could anything two thousand years old
survive in a modern nation?
Apparently it can.
Isak, who I thought wasn't listening to us, says, You want
place where Jesus lived?
Yes! says Harry leaning forward.
In Nazareth, says Isak, looking at us through the rear-view
mirror. They find house of Jewish family from Jesus time.
Really? says Harry.
Isak nods.
Very news. Very old. Maybe Jesus live there?
From that I gather the old house was found recently.
Is Nazareth close to Jerusalem? I ask.
No, yes. Isak sort of nods and shakes his head at the same
time. You go to Jerusalem or Nazareth?
We'll go to Jerusalem today, says Harry. Nazareth another
day.
Isak nods.
Harry is back to his guidebook, trying to figure out where we
should stay.
I decide to tell him I'm a Christian after he gets that all sorted
out. Besides, Isak is listening and it's kind of something I want to
tell Harry when we're alone.
It says here that the hotels in East Jerusalem are less
expensive, says Harry. We'll stay there.
But East Jerusalem in Arab, says Isak.
That's OK, says Harry absently, his eyes running down a list
of hotels.
I do not go there, announces Isak. Jerusalem, yes. Arab,
no.
This is news to us.
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OK, says Harry. That's fine. Jerusalem.
What else can he say?
Harry points to something in the guidebook. I lean over to
read it. He's found the section about Ben Gurion airport. It says
there's a bus running from the airport to Jerusalem every hour on
the hour.
Next time I'll read the guidebook on the plane, Harry says
rolling his eyes.
Still, having taken the more expensive option, we're in
Jerusalem in about an hour. I almost don't realize we're there.
The countryside was brief. We're passing a lot of settlements
made up of square white box homes. They just seem to go on
and on and they're all around Jerusalem so it's Isak that tells us
we're almost there.
That's the Old City, says Harry pointing to the slight hill. I
can see the famous Dome of the Rock. But Jerusalem has high-
rises like any other city, so it's hard to really distinguish the old
from the new at this distance. There are a lot of those white
buildings. Other buildings look Mediterranean with red-tiled
roofs. I can see church spires and towers. Some grey-domed
buildings.
There are cranes in the distance, suggesting more construction.
The ancient is being overwhelmed by the new.
Driving along beside us is an olive-green army truck filled with
soldiers in the back.
What's that over there? I point to a grey concrete wall that
runs the entire length of one side of Jerusalem, looking
completely out of place. It's not old. It's new construction and it's
about as ugly as anything I've ever seen back home. It's high
enough that if we were standing by it, we wouldn't be able to see
over it.
Barrier to keep Arabs out, says Isak.
Meg, don't you watch the news? says Harry. That's the wall
the Israelis put up to keep suicide bombers out of Israel.
Oh, I say. It sounds vaguely familiar.
I stare at the ugly grey wall.
I don't know what it is about it, but something makes me want
to be on the other side of it. To see why the Israelis would build
such a huge and ugly wall right down the side of a city like
Jerusalem.
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Something Marilyn said on the plane comes back to me.
Is the Jordan River on the other side of that wall? I ask Isak.
Jordan River? Yes.
Then that's where I want to go, I say, to him and to Harry.
But Meg, we wouldn't be in Jerusalem then, says Harry.
Because that's where we are now. Driving through crowded
streets. Among the buildings that we had seen from the distance.
And again, there are the soldiers with the machine guns on
their backs. They are on street corners, some milling around, any
place where there are crowds.
We're looking for Jesus, aren't we? I say.
Harry nods.
I should be looking all around me. There are stores and
restaurants and people, a complete mix of East and West and
everything in between. There's energy in the air. But I can't stop
looking at that grey wall.
I think Jesus might be on the other side.

Chapter Three

here have been a lot of times in this relationship where
I've asserted myself just to let Harry know he's not boss.
But this is not one of them.
The Jordan River is on the other side of that wall and that's
where I'm going. Marilyn said I had to get baptized and that's
where Jesus was baptized. So that's where I'm going.
But Jesus was baptized in the Jordan River, I say to Harry.
We're not going to find anything at the Jordan River, Meg,
says Harry. Everything is here in Jerusalem . . .
Fine, Harry, I say. Let's work it this way. I'll cover
whatever's on the other side of that wall and you cover
Jerusalem. Then we'll get back together and see what we came up
with.
We can't split up!
Why not?
I dunno! says Harry. It's dangerous.
Isak has been driving and watching us in the rear view mirror
at the same time.
Dangerous! he agrees. Arabs!
Harry, I say, ignoring Isak. We have faced bad guys in New
York City. We have camped out at the South Pole. We have
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398
faced a ghost in Edinburgh. Stop here, please, I say to Isak. I'm
pretty emotional. Isak is forced to pull over because I'm already
opening the door. I'm not afraid of Arabs! I get out of the cab
and nearly slam the cab door shut. Harry rolls down the window.
Meg, wait, get back in here . . .
Where do you want to meet? I say. I've got my knapsack on
my back. Some people are looking at me. I guess it was the
comment about not being afraid of Arabs. Not that there's an
Arab in sight. Everyone around here looks like they came from
somewhere in Europe.
I reach into the window of the cab and grab Harry's
guidebook, flipping it open to Jerusalem. Hotels. East Jerusalem.
There, I say, stabbing. The American Colony Hotel. We'll
meet there in a week.
And I'm off.
I don't know if Harry starts to come after me because I don't
look back. The crowds are thick; it's a noisy spring day. Everyone
seems to be out in the streets. By the time I'm a block away I
wouldn't be able to hear him anyhow.
But I'm not really looking around. My eyes are on that grey
wall.
I discover that getting to the wall is one thing. Getting across it
is another.
There's nothing in sight. Just this long, long wall.
People are passing by. There are stores and streets but life just
kind of ends at this wall. I stop a middle-aged lady and ask her
how to get across. She looks at me like I'm crazy. Why would I
want to get across? Then she mutters something and points. I
look in the direction she points but the wall just keeps on going.
Still, at least it's a direction.
I start walking.
Despite that I'm in civilization, I can't help but feel a little bit
like an explorer crossing a desert. I have sun block on, but I stop
in a little shop to buy a straw hat. I don't want to get sunstroke. I
haven't eaten since the plane, but all I am is thirsty. So I stop in
another shop and get some orange pop with Hebrew writing on
it, plus a large bottle of water for my knapsack. By the time I
come to a place to cross over to the other side, I feel like I've
walked the Sahara.
I find out that it's called a checkpoint.
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There are cars all lined up to cross this opening in the wall.
There's a high tower with an Israeli soldier and his machine
gun pointed down at everyone. Lots of people are on foot, like
me, standing in line under what looks like corrugated iron
awnings. It's not a neat line, but sort of a mess of people in
groups, some carrying bags and loads of goods. There are men
on the side with coolers selling drinks. Some people have
blankets laid out and there are bags of sunflower seeds or
oranges for sale. The line looks long and I'm hungry so I go over
and buy a couple of oranges and some of the sunflower seeds.
The older Arab man is kind to me, smiling. He says, Shukran.
Thank you? I say. He nods.
Shukran, I repeat.
My first Arab word.
I watch as the cars move slowly through the checkpoint. Israeli
soldiers with guns at their sides, look everything over. I notice
that they take more time when the car is full of young men. A
woman wearing a long black dress and a white hijab, with about
six children in the car moves through much faster.
Sometimes people have to get out of the car and one man is
even taken away. He has to sit down on the ground with a soldier
assigned to watch him. I don't know what happens because it's
my turn to show my passport and explain to the soldier why I'm
going into what he calls the West Bank.
Harry's always told the truth and it works for him, so I do the
same.
I'm going to the Jordan River, I say. To be baptized.
He looks at me.
Alone?
I nod.
I'm looking for Jesus, I explain.
He raises his eyebrows and shakes his head at the same time.
Not my problem, he mutters, waving me through.
And then I'm on the other side.
Right away, I see the difference.
The Israeli side is prosperous and things were a little old, but
they were moderately well-kept. I'm now on the side of poverty
and the first thing I notice is a field with an old baby carriage just
abandoned in it.
400
The same people who waited with me in line now hurry off
with purpose.
Some are climbing into taxis waiting on the other side. Others
just seem to know where to go as they spread out and disappear
down streets.
For a moment, I feel alone.
But then I remember Laircassle, and the people who saw the
spirit of Laircassle. They were the ones who were truly alone.
I take a deep breath and look up at the brilliant blue sky. The
sun is blinding but it's also warm. And I don't feel alone
anymore. Everybody in this country already thinks I'm a lunatic
so I just say my thoughts right out loud.
God, I'm here. Where should I go now?
Behind me, I hear laughter.
I turn.
It's a pleasant-looking man, maybe in his mid-thirties, and he's
heard what I said. But it's a friendly laughter.
Hello, he says with a heavy accent. I am sorry. I didn't
mean to laugh.
That's OK, I say.
Talking to God is normal, he says, now walking beside me.
I do it all the time. Not always out loud though.
He looks worn out but there is warmth in his eyes. Although
his skin is almost as pale as mine, his hair is dark and curly and he
has definite Arab features.
So you have no place to go?
Well, I say. I'm heading for the Jordan River. I just became
a Christian and I want to get baptized there.
When did you become a Christian? he asks. We are walking
along now, although I have no idea where we're going.
On the plane ride over. I say.
Really? But why were you coming here?
Well, it's like this . . . I start telling him about me and Harry.
How many times have I told this story? Except that each time
there's more to tell, so each time it's longer.
When I reach the point where we agree that we'll try to solve
the mystery of the stolen necklace, the man I'm walking with
interrupts me and introduces himself as Yusaf. He says he's a
Christian pastor with a small congregation in Bethlehem. He lives
with his sister and I'd be welcome to stay with them while I'm
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401
here. He's stopped at a bus-stop. The buildings around us are
dilapidated, but that doesn't diminish the activity. Lots of other
people are in line for the bus.
Sure! I say. If you don't mind?
Not at all, he says. Miriam will be glad to have the
company. But go on, your story is interesting.
I carry on and the bus comes when I'm telling him about me
and Harry in Texas.
With Yusaf asking questions, the story continues right on until
we get to Bethlehem. Everything around here is close together.
Is Bethlehem near the Jordan River? I ask, as we get off the
bus and I'm looking around.
Not really, says Yusaf. But we can go there if you like. Me
and Miriam and you.
Bethlehem is a mini Jerusalem. Lots of those white buildings
everywhere. Except that there are Arabs here. They all look busy
and harmless and I can't understand why the Israelis are scared of
them enough to build that wall.
This is where Jesus was born, isn't it? I say.
Isa, yes. Isa is the Arabic for Jesus.
We are walking down a residential street.
There is a church here. Built on the spot where he supposedly
entered the world. They have marked it with a silver star. Yusaf
laughs.
Is there any real proof of it? I say. I mean, him being born
here and all.
Not anything that would convince your Dr. Owen, says
Yusaf. Scholars say the Church of the Nativity is just an old
ancient shrine where Canaanites worshipped their gods.
Harry says that when a believer prays and his prayer is
answered, an unbeliever can just dismiss it as a coincidence. That
sounds like the same thing.
Yes, it is actually, says Yusaf. There is always another
explanation for things. When the Romans came to Bethlehem,
they built a temple to Adonis on top of the site where Isa was
born. Adonis was also said to have died and been reborn.
We are going up the steps of one particular three-story
building. Although the building is rundown, it has a simple
dignity, built with white stone that Yusaf says goes back to the
days of the Ottomans.
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Inside the building we go up a flight of stairs and Yusaf
unlocks one of the doors.
Marhaba! a female voice calls out, before appearing in a
doorway.
Miriam is a female version of her brother, but her hair is
longer. She looks startled but Yusaf is quick to explain that he
found me at a checkpoint talking to God and thought he should
offer me shelter.
Miriam is puzzled until Yusaf says, She has the most
interesting life I have ever heard. He says he has to take care of
some things and leaves us alone to get acquainted.
Miriam makes some peppermint tea and I end up telling my
story all over again.
I think she's actually relieved to know I've got Harry in my life.
I don't think she wants me interested in her brother. And once
she knows that's not going to happen, she warms right up and
says that, of course they will take me to the Jordan River and we
will talk about Jesus and we will pray together and look around
Bethlehem . . .
I think this is great, but as I see more of their apartment, I
realize that they're really poor. I don't want to impose on them.
But Miriam is already showing me to a bedroom. It's tiny and
has a cot and a little dresser. I say I don't want to take anyone's
room but she says it is there for visitors. With her brother being a
pastor, they often have people stay with them.
Our God provides, Meg, she says, smiling. And that's when
I know it's OK. They don't have a lot, but they have faith.

Chapter Four

or dinner we have pita bread, hummus and a spinach
yoghurt salad.
We sit around a small kitchen table.
Yusaf tells me about the Christians here in Bethlehem. Many
of them have been here for hundreds of years, maybe even right
back to the days of the early church. The Christians of the West
Bank have tended to live in Bethlehem and Nazareth, but hard
times have forced a lot of them to move from their ancient
homes.
Things are not good, not good, Yusaf shakes his head.
Yusaf used to have 300 people in his church, explains
Miriam. Now there are only 30 left.
Is that because of that wall? I ask.
Miriam nods.
Partly. Tourists don't come here anymore like they used to.
Many people in our church had little souvenir shops near the
Church of the Nativity. But now the tourists are scared to cross
the checkpoints and they hear the news that we have suicide
bombers and that we throw stones . . .
Meg wasn't afraid, says Yusaf.
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I don't watch the news, I explain. I don't really know much
about all of this . . .
With much knowledge there is much sorrow, says Miriam.
Suleiman said that. I think it is better not to know everything.
You have been a great encouragement to me, Meg, says
Yusaf. I know I found you praying, but what I didn't tell you
was that I had just said a prayer. I had to cross over to Jerusalem
to see a man who had lived here once. He had some business he
wanted me to do for him, but that is not the point. As I crossed
over the checkpoint, I prayed that God would give me a sign that
he was still here with me in this forgotten land. We are the
forgotten church, Meg. The Christians in the West send their
money to help the Jews rebuild Jerusalem but we live here,
occupied.
And forgotten, agrees Miriam, standing up to put the kettle
on.
But then, there you were, standing there praying out loud.
Yusaf smiles. It was all I needed to know that God hadn't
forgotten me. And that's all that matters.
That's how I feel, I say, leaning forward. I need to know
God is with me. I know he's with Harry. But I have to get to
know him myself.
That is wise, says Miriam, nodding as she puts coffee grinds
into a brass Arabic-style coffee-pot.
Tomorrow we will take you to the Jordan, Yusaf promises.
It has been a long time since I baptized anyone.

The cot is not the most comfortable bed I've slept in. But what
makes it hard to sleep is reliving the events of the day in my
mind.
I've realized to my horror that I have walked away from Harry.
I only have the money in my wallet. He's got the credit card. And
the plane tickets home. But despite the insanity of it, I seem to
have come out OK. I'm not sleeping in the streets and tomorrow
I'm going to be baptized in the Jordan River!
Breakfast is pita bread, some sliced tomatoes and some sliced
cucumbers, along with a milky cup of coffee.
This is really good, I say, between mouthfuls. Tomatoes in
Canada don't taste this good, and I never eat cucumbers but I
really like these ones.
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We have a little garden out back, says Miriam. I picked
them this morning.
That's what it is, I say, nodding. Who knows how old the
tomatoes are by the time I eat them at home?
Miriam says Yusaf had to go to see one of his church people
but will be back in time to catch the bus to Jericho.
You mean, like the place where the walls came down?
That's the one, says Miriam smiling. From there we will
take a taxi to a spot where you can go right into the river. Not
every spot is safe. Some parts are deep.
Miriam? I say. I'm thinking this is going to cost money and I
want to contribute some of what I've got in my wallet. You'll let
me pay for the taxi and stuff, right?
Miriam hesitates.
Yusaf won't, no, she says. It is a matter of honour to Arabs
to show their guests hospitality.
But I want to do something, I say. I'm a Christian now and
that makes us connected, right?
We're sisters now, Meg.
Then we're family and families help one another.
They do, agrees Miriam.
Then let me pay for . . .
Miriam shakes her head.
Yusaf will not permit it.
But Harry . . . I'm trying to put it into words. I think Harry
would want me to share our money with our brothers and sisters
here. And Yusaf said that the Christians in the West send all their
money to the Jews and forget about the people here.
Miriam smiles as she picks up my plate and takes it to the sink.
There are a lot of needs here, yes.
I go to my little room and get my knapsack. I bring it into the
kitchen and open it up. My wallet has two-hundred American
dollars in it. Harry gave it to me before we came and said we'd
exchange it in Jerusalem.
I hold onto ten dollars, just to get me back to the American
Colony Hotel, wherever that is. I give the rest to Miriam.
Meg, this is too much, she says, just standing there.
No it's not, I say, forcing her to take the money.
It's that voice inside of me again. The one that said, just do it!
And it's not enough. Now it's saying, give it all.
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I look at the last ten dollars in my hand. And I give that too.
I can't take this, says Miriam.
You have to, I say. You know how I told you all about the
Laircassle ghost and how God just gave me this calm feeling. I
could have panicked but every time I chose to be calm,
everything was OK?
She nods.
Well, that's what's happening to me now. I could panic. But
God's giving me a calm feeling and telling me to give it all.
Miriam sighs.
Well, I can't argue with God.
She gets an old tin down from the top shelf and rolls the
money up inside of it and puts it back up high.
Thank you, Meg, she says.
We hear Yusaf coming in the front door and Miriam quickly
removes an apron and hurries to get ready to go out.
I zip up my knapsack and return it to the little room.
OK! OK! Yusaf is calling out. Let's not miss our bus!
And he hustles us out of there with Miriam still slipping on a
shoe.
We hurry down the street back to the spot where Yusaf and I
got off the bus yesterday. This time we are on the other side of
the road and we barely get there in time because the bus is
coming down the road. Miriam is right. Yusaf pays for our tickets
without even looking at me.
The bus is crowded so Miriam and I sit together while Yusaf
joins an older woman loaded down with bags.
Uh, should I have brought a change of clothes? I say.
Miriam laughs.
I don't think Yusaf gave us enough time for that.
I guess I don't have to worry about pneumonia, I say. After
the spring chill of Edinburgh, I'm feeling the heat of the Middle
East. It's only April but with the intense sun it feels like a
summer day in Canada.
Not in Jericho, agrees Miriam. It is one of the hottest
places in Palestine. The archaeologists go there in the winter
months. It is too hot to work in the summer.
Did Jesus ever go to Jericho? I say.
He passed through there. It is close to where he was baptized.
Do you know the story of the tax collector, Zacchaeus?
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I shake my head.
He was a tax collector in Jericho. He was a short man and
when Isa was passing through he climbed a sycamore tree in
order to see over the crowds.
Jesus, I mean Isa, was pretty popular?
Miriam nods. A lot of people followed him or wanted to see
why people followed him. Zacchaeus wasn't considered a
righteous man but Isa looked up and told Zacchaeus that he
would eat at his place that night. Zacchaeus was very happy but
everybody grumbled that Isa was going to eat at the home of a
sinner.
Why did he?
When they were eating at his house, Zacchaeus said that he
would give half of his goods to the poor and pay back anyone he
had cheated, four times. And Isa said that salvation had come to
this house and that he had come to look for and to save the lost.
That's a good story, I say. I've only seen the movie The
Gospel of John. I guess Zacchaeus is in one of the other books.
Do you have a Bible?
Harry does. He'll let me read it when we get back together.
Most of the people on the bus get off at Jericho.
Yusaf is going to get a cab but I say, if the Jordan is close
maybe we could walk.
He hesitates.
We can do it, yes, but it is a long way.
I don't mind, I say.
I really don't want Yusaf having to pay for a cab ride. And
besides, I like walking.
Yusaf says fine, but that he's going to buy us some water. He
goes over to a road-side vendor and comes back with three large
bottles of water.
Let's go down this road, says Yusaf, pointing to a smaller,
dustier road than the main one. There is an Israeli checkpoint
down the other one.
Occasionally a car goes by and we have to move over to the
side, but the road is unpaved and anyone who values their car
wouldn't bring it down this rough track.
We pass other Arabs on the way. One of them even has a
donkey loaded with baskets.
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The closer we get to the Jordan, the greener things get. And
there are more trees. In the distance, I can even see the river.
But we have a ways to go and Yusaf makes us stop and drink
our water.
I'm sorry I made you walk so far, I say. I'm enjoying myself,
but I kind of dragged you guys along . . .
Yusaf laughs. He's a bit ahead of us but he turns to say, This
is an answer to prayer, Meg. To walk like this to the Jordan River,
to the spot where Isa was baptized . . . it makes my faith feel alive
again. Isa walked all over this country and sometimes I forget
that when I'm on the bus.
We used to have a car, says Miriam. But it just fell apart. At
the end of its life it was held together with string and chewing
gum!
I laugh.
But it is good for me to walk like this, Yusaf calls over his
shoulder. To remember that this was the only way for Isa to get
around too!
I'm glad he feels that way because we've got the long walk
back.
But the closer we get to the Jordan, the more I'm not thinking
about stuff like that.
When we get to the river, to the spot where Jesus was
baptized, I can tell there have been many more like me who have
come here. Little shelters have been built to protect people from
the sun while they wait. There are stone steps going down into
the water.
It looks like they can handle a lot of people, I say, as we stop
by the edge.
Whole bus loads come here sometimes, says Yusaf.
But today it's quiet.
I'm glad.
Not that I care about other people seeing me. It just feels more
real not having to get in a long line to be baptized.
Yusaf is slipping off his shoes and taking his wallet out of his
pocket. Miriam is kicking off her shoes.
We will go with you, yes? she says, smiling.
I nod.
I almost feel like I'm going to cry. This is really real. I was sort
of a Christian but now I'm going to be a real Christian. And the
409
funny thing is, I'm not doing this for Harry. Otherwise, I would
want him here. I'm glad he's far away because I know I'm doing
this for myself.
I unlace my boots and take off my socks and then down we all
go into the water.
Yusaf says a prayer in English. He thanks God for my faith
and for bringing Meg into his and Miriam's life as an
encouragement. He asks that my walk with God be blessed with
grace and favour. Then he asks that God fill me with his spirit,
the same spirit that was in his son. And then I'm dunked under
the water. For a moment I remember that scene in The Gospel of
John when Jesus, Isa, is coming out of the water, and I feel totally
connected, with God, with his son, with everything. And then
I'm up again, and we're laughing and Miriam gives me a hug.
We go back up on shore and try to dry off, as much as people
can without towels, and then it's shoes on for the long hike back.
By the time we get to Jericho, we're dry. Crumpled, but dry.
And starving.
Yusaf says we will have lunch in Jericho and leads us to one of
the, what he calls, garden restaurants. This is a farming area, I
realize, as we sit down under the shade of a large tree in one of
the restaurants with outdoor seating.
We will have a full mezze, he says. To celebrate!
So nice today, murmurs Miriam. In a month it will be too
hot to sit out here.
Mezze, as it turns out, is an Arabic spread of vegetables in the
form of salads, an assortment of dips and a pile of pita bread to
dip into them. There are also some stuffed pastries. Everything is
aromatic, loaded with herbs and spices. I would love it even if I
weren't famished.
When we're finished, Miriam takes my hand and we stroll
around Jericho a bit while Yusaf talks to the proprietor of the
restaurant who knew their father when he was alive. We walk
through the town itself and then Miriam shows me the famous
walls. It's really just a giant archaeological site for tourists to visit.
The walls don't even seem high because there has been so much
construction on top of it since the days of Joshua. You actually
end up looking down at them.
That is how it is here, says Miriam. New people come and
build on top of the old.
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So then, theoretically, there could be proof that Jesus lived
here? I say.
Mumkin, says Miriam. Possible.
That's my second Arabic word, mumkin.
We rejoin Yusaf and get into the line for the bus.
When we get back to their apartment, Miriam says I can stay
with them as long as I need to.
Thank you! I say. I have to meet Harry back in Jerusalem in
a week. Well, six days now.
Would you like to meet some of the Christians here? Yusaf
asks.
I'd love to! I say.
Good. We will do it tomorrow. They will enjoy meeting you.
It's been a long day and we all agree we're exhausted. Miriam
makes us some peppermint tea to finish the day off and then we
all go to bed.

Chapter Five

he first family Yusaf and Miriam take me to meet is
Mikhal, his wife, Hawwa, and their six children. Also
living with them is Hawwa's parents.
They have a three bedroom apartment.
Mikhal is a day-labourer in Jerusalem, which means that
sometimes he can get work on construction sites there. In better
times his family had a souvenir shop near Manger Square.
Mikhal's brother has moved to Kuwait where the work is more
steady. He and his family used to be part of Yusaf's church.
We drink tea and eat dates while Hawwa tells me about the
children. The older ones are at school today. The three youngest
are still at home. But she worries about their future. An educated
Arab in Palestine doesn't always get a job. So many young people
just give up and move to Amman or some of the other Arab
capitals.
We have families who have lived here since Roman times,
Mikhal says. But we cannot survive on air.
It's kind of depressing, but the kids are so cute. They giggle
and watch me. Two girls and a boy. The older girl rushes over to
me and whispers, I like your hair! And then she rushes back to
her mother.
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412
After a lot of smiling, the boy, who's the youngest, comes over
and sits on my lap. He has wavy black hair and dark eyes.
That gives the girls an excuse to be brave and they come over
to me. The older one asks if she can braid my hair.
I say, Sure.
Her mom tells her not to bother me, but I say it's fine, I don't
mind. So the girls braid my hair while the boy snuggles on my
lap.
The adults talk and seem to find comfort in just being able to
talk. We're there for about two hours and the kids and I are both
sad when we go.
I hug Hawwa and her children and she says she will pray for
me.
That makes me think. I can pray for them. And that will keep
us connected.
I'll pray for all of you too, I say sincerely.
You've just met a third of my congregation, says Yusaf when
we're out in the street again.
Our next stop is to visit with two carpenters, brothers, Yahya,
and Petra. They have a little workshop in the back of their small
house. Their elderly mother lives in the house and they look after
her.
We visit with the men. They use olive wood that is trimmed
from nearby trees and make small items. Things like jewellery
boxes, camels, crosses, Christmas tree ornaments, and nativity
sets.
Miriam suggests that she and I go visit with their mother,
Amala, in the house.
On our way from the workshop to the house Miriam tells me
that Yusaf helps Yahya and Petra sell their products on eBay.
They used to sell them in the souvenir store belonging to
Mikhal's family.
Amala is happy to see Miriam. She clasps her hands and kisses
her on both cheeks. Then she does the same to me when Miriam
tells her I'm a new believer from Canada.
She's very old, but urges us to come into the kitchen and she
makes us tea. Along with it, we have some almond cookies.
Amala is very happy to hear that I just got baptized in the
Jordan yesterday.
Jumpy in Jerusalem ~ Chapter Five
413
Mabrook! Mabrook! she says to me. It means congratulations,
Miriam tells me.
So that's my third Arabic word, mabrook.
Amala tells me about her life in Bethlehem. She has lived here
all her life. Her father was a caretaker in the Church of the
Nativity.
She speaks in Arabic so Miriam translates.
The Christian community used to be much bigger and it is still
special on December 25
th
when Christians come from all over the
world to celebrate the birth of Jesus.
But then the Christians go back home and the Christians of
Bethlehem are forgotten and left to live under the occupation of
the Israelis. Her boys have always stayed quiet and out of the way
of trouble. Amala says it's because she prays for them every day.
But she knows some mothers whose sons are in prison. Not
because they did anything. They were just in the wrong place at
the wrong time and the Israelis are quick to suspect any Arab if
there is the slightest suspicion he was part of an attack on Israel.
Amala shakes her head and continues to speak. Miriam
translates.
But God is still good. He takes care of me and my boys. Men
are bad. But no matter what, God is good.
We all nod.
Yusaf sticks his head through the door and calls out
Marhaba! That's hello, I think.
He comes in and gives Amala a gentle hug.
We say good-bye to Amala and she says to me, Allaah yubaarik
feeki. God bless you.
That's nice that they take care of their mom, I say to Yusaf
and Miriam when we're on the sidewalk.
They can't afford to get married, says Yusaf. He is carrying a
box full of olive wood products.
But we try to make sure that they can at least afford to eat,
says Miriam.
We walk back to the apartment and after a light meal of fried
eggplant in tomato sauce, Yusaf goes into the living room where
the box of olive wood products are. He has some orders from
eBay that he has to send. I ask him if I can help.
414
So we spend the rest of the day carefully wrapping the crosses
and the jewellery boxes. When we're done, Yusaf takes them to a
post office to mail.
It gets busier the closer we get to Christmas, says Miriam,
coming into the living room with a coffee for both of us.
Don't be surprised if you get an order from me, I say. Mom
and I just have a tree and some presents. We never talked about
Jesus, I mean Isa, growing up.
Is Harry's family Christian? asks Miriam.
No, I say. He's the only one.
Are there a lot of Christians in Canada?
I don't think so. I never heard much about Christians until I
met Harry. There are churches but I don't know who really goes
to them. It's not a big part of our culture. More people go to a
Tim Hortons on a Sunday than they do to a church.
Tim Hortons?
A doughnut shop, I say, smiling.
Ahhh, says Miriam, nodding. Pastries.
We both laugh.
I don't know why it's funny. It just is.

What's the American Colony Hotel? I ask, the next day at
breakfast. We're having some boiled eggs and some pita bread
and tea. I'm supposed to meet Harry there in four days.
Yusaf nods.
Interesting history. An American family, Christian, came to
live there during the time the Turks ruled Palestine.
A long time ago?
Yes and no, says Yusaf. Not ancient history. The Ottoman
Empire, the Turks, ruled for 400 years. They were defeated here
during World War I by the British and the Arabs. Then the
British ruled until the Israelis.
I didn't know any of this, I say. But then, I don't really
know much Canadian history either.
History is important around here, says Yusaf.
Miriam smiles and pours me some more tea.
I think that Meg is more of the type of person who lives now,
Yusaf.
In the moment, you mean? I say.
Miriam nods.
415
I saw how the children loved you. To enjoy time with
children and to be able to just live everyday as if it is a new day is
a blessing.
I agree, says Yusaf. It is something I forget. But the Bible
says Allah's mercies are new every morning. Something else Allah
is teaching me with Meg's visit.
I guess Allah is God, the way Isa is Jesus.
But Meg was asking about the American Colony Hotel,
Miriam reminds him.
Ah, that's right. The American family, Spafford was their
name. They had come here because they had suffered great loss
and wanted to be close to God. They lost their daughters in a
shipwreck and Mr. Spafford had lost all of his business in
America. I don't know much more than that. The tourists go
there because Mr. Spafford wrote a famous hymn, It Is Well
With My Soul.
I don't know it, I say.
You will still enjoying seeing the hotel. It was a palace
belonging to a Turkish pasha and his four wives.
Hellu kteer, says Miriam. Very beautiful.
Will I be able to meet more Christians today?
Tomorrow, says Yusaf. We have a little service here. We
cannot afford a building so this is our meeting hall too.
I will do some baking and cooking today, says Miriam. Do
you want to help?
Of course, I say.
Yusaf goes out.
Miriam is vague about what he does. But I get the impression
that some days he does construction work to make some extra
money.
All Miriam will say is, It is hard to get steady work under the
occupation.
Miriam takes me out with her to do some food shopping.
It's that wall, I say. I didn't notice it before but the grey
concrete wall runs right along the outskirts of Bethlehem.
Miriam nods.
That's what cuts us off from the world.
Miriam shows me the Church of the Nativity and Manger
Square. There is one tourist bus parked nearby. Miriam says it
used to be more like ten this time of year.
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Do you want to go in? she asks. I could wait here.
I hesitate.
Would it be proof that Jesus, I mean, Isa, was born here?
Miriam laughs.
No, not really.
Then I don't want to.
We keep walking. Even if there's no sign that says Isa was
here, the old stone walls and the narrow streets make it easy to
imagine that he was. Most Arabs are wearing Western clothing,
but there are still the older ones with the robes and the head-
coverings.
Then we're in a busy market area. There are big sacks of spices
and piles of vegetables. Miriam is selecting zucchini and eggplant
and pointing out all sorts of things to me, olives, dates, big piles
of Turkish Delight. Miriam selects some onions and some garlic,
as well as something she calls bulgar. It kind of looks like rice,
but Miriam says it is wheat and she will use it in a salad. That
reminds her to get some lemons and some olive oil.
Now that we're loaded down, we take a more direct route back
to the apartment.
We put the purchases inside and then go out back to the small
garden. The apartment has a communal courtyard and people are
free to have little plots to grow things. There are lots of them
back there. Miriam leads me to one that has cucumbers and
tomatoes and she picks what's ripe and passes it to me.
Back in the kitchen, Miriam gets me started on a tabbouleh
salad, using the bulgar, tomatoes, cucumbers, lemon juice and
olive oil.
She gets some flour and sugar out of a cupboard and starts on
some cookies. They are similar to North American ones except
that she puts more spices in them, things like cinnamon and
cardamom and even rose water.
Yusaf doesn't come back for lunch.
That means he found something, murmurs Miriam. But
that's all she says about it.
In the afternoon, we make a lot of pita bread. And then
Miriam shows me how to make hummus from scratch, with
chickpeas and olive oil and lemon juice. There's something called
tahini which is sesame seed paste. And then she shows me which
spices to put in, garlic, cumin, salt and pepper.
417
There, that's done, says Miriam, wiping her hands on her
apron. Now we have to think of dinner!
She shows me how to fry up the eggplant and the zucchini,
mixed with tomatoes and onions and garlic, plus the spices. It's
nearly done when Yusaf comes into the kitchen looking tired but
cheerful. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out some
money. Then he stretches up to get the tin on the top shelf.
When he sees the money in it, his eyebrows go up, but he doesn't
say anything. He just adds his money to the tin and closes it up
again.
We eat the vegetables with some of the pita bread we made.
Did you ladies keep busy? asks Yusaf.
I learned how to cook, I say.
Miriam looks at me with surprise.
You never cook at home?
No, I say. Mom and I survive on microwave dinners.
Well! says Miriam looking pleased. Now you will have some
new things to try on Harry, yes?
I turn bright red and they both laugh.
Yusaf is too tired to do anything but go straight to bed right
after dinner. I help Miriam clean up in the kitchen and then she
and I have a coffee in the living room.
She asks me lots of questions about life in Canada. And I find
out that she used to be engaged to marry a man, but he ended up
going to a university in America and not coming back.
He wanted me to live there, she says. And I almost went.
But somehow, I could not leave here. Because I knew if I did, I'd
never come back.
Are you sorry you stayed here? I ask.
Maybe sometimes. But I would have been sorrier to go. The
needs are great here. And Yusaf needs me. Also, I don't think I
could have really loved a man who could forget his home here.
I think I understand, I say.
Meg, can I ask you a question?
Of course.
It is personal.
I don't mind.
Miriam hesitates.
If Allah did not want you to be with Harry, would that be
OK with you?
418
I nod.
Are you sure?
I've known that ever since I met Harry. Harry's been like a
saint. It's like . . . it's like, he belongs to God.
Miriam nods.
It doesn't matter, I say. God has been talking to me. So
whether Harry and I end up together doesn't change that.
That is good, says Miriam, nodding. I just needed to know,
I guess, because we shared your baptism.
I understand, I say. And I'm glad I'm here.
I'm glad you're here too, Meg.

People start arriving at around ten o'clock.
Miriam says people will come and go all day. The Arab sense
of time is a little different than the Western sense of time. There's
no such thing as being late.
An older couple arrive first. Their names are Shamwil and
Rida. They are quiet and only speak Arabic. Miriam serves them
tea and Yusaf prays with them.
I help Miriam lay the food out on the table. She's added a
beautiful embroidered tablecloth to it which completely
transforms it from a kitchen table into something elegant.
Then Mikhal and his family arrive and it isn't quiet anymore.
Now there are six children. The younger kids rush over to me
because we're old friends. The three older children that I haven't
met are two boys and a girl. The two boys keep to themselves but
the older girl has heard all about my hair and wants to have a go
at braiding it. Their mom, Hawwa, tells them again not to bug me
and I tell her again that I don't mind.
The youngest girl has brought a picture Bible. She wants me to
read it to her, but of course, I don't read Arabic. But thankfully, I
have read Genesis and I've seen The Gospel of John, so I know
some of the stories and we look at the pictures. I point to Noah
and his ark and they say, Nuh. I guess that's Noah.
They tell me all the names of the animals in Arabic and I tell
them the names in English.
The adults do a lot of praying together. I've never been to
church so I don't really know how it's done, but this seems like a
lot of visiting and talking and praying. And eating. Miriam is busy
making tea and coffee. I would help her but the little girls all have
419
a portion of my hair that they're working on so I can't move. The
little boy is on my lap, just sucking his thumb and looking
around.
Other people come and go. There's a young couple. And an
older man. Amala and her sons. They all want to pray.
In fact, that's what seems most important to Hawwa too. Her
kids are bitterly disappointed when it's time to go. I can only
imagine what I look like with patches of my hair half-braided.
The younger kids all hug me and when Hawwa is hugging me,
she pulls back and looks into my eyes.
Please, pray for me and for my children, yes?
I promise that I will.
Then the apartment is quiet again and Miriam and I clean up
and put away the dishes. Miriam shakes out the tablecloth and
carefully folds it away for another week.
420

Chapter Six

iriam uses our remaining time together to teach me
Arabic cooking.
I learn how to make lentil soup. Then we take it over
to the one member of Yusaf's congregation who wasn't able to
make it out on Sunday. His name is Ayub and Miriam says no
one knows how old he is. His family were Bedouins but had to
settle down in one spot when their grazing land ended up inside
of Israel. He married a girl from Bethlehem and they had a
family, but his wife has passed on and his children are scattered
all over the Arab world.
Ayub is happy to have the soup. Miriam gives him a bowl and
then puts the rest in his tiny refrigerator. He doesn't even have a
kitchen. Just a cupboard and a refrigerator in the corner.
He only speaks Arabic so all I can say is Marhaba, to him.
Miriam teaches me to say good-bye, which is ma as-salaama,
literally, with peace.

Then the day comes when I'm supposed to meet Harry.
Yusaf and Miriam walk me to the bus stop. I guess by now
Yusaf knows I have no money because he pays my fare before
hopping back off the bus. Miriam hands me a bag of Arabic
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422
cookies and a bottle of water. I hug Miriam and shake Yusaf's
hand.
God bless you, Meg! Miriam calls out.
Allaah yubaarik feek! I call back, hoping I get it right. I must
because they're both smiling and waving.
And then they're out of sight and I'm on the road to Jerusalem.

Harry and I never set a time, which is good because it takes a
long time at the checkpoint. The bus stops and turns around, so
anyone who wants to cross over has to do it on foot. It's
sometime after lunch by the time I'm back in Israel. I've eaten all
of Miriam's cookies and drank half the water.
And there's still a long walk ahead of me.
I have to ask my way to the American Colony Hotel. Everyone
knows where it is, I'm just really good at taking wrong turns. I
actually end up wandering through the Old City. It's full of
narrow old roads and lots of shops with smiling Arabs. There are
tourists here. I guess because we're on the other side of that grey
wall. I walk right past the Dome of the Rock. Lots of Jews are
praying down in front of it, facing this big white stone wall.
Finally, I find a road out of the Old City and am back in the
modern section of Jerusalem. Another request for directions and
I find out the American Colony Hotel is nearby.
It looks just as ancient as some of the buildings in the Old
City. But everything is well kept and there are trees and bushes
and flowers in the front. It's clearly a luxury hotel judging by the
clientele that are going in and coming out.
I probably look pretty scruffy from my long walk. I wonder if
they'll even let me in the front door. I might have to join a street
vendor across the road and just wait for Harry from there.
Some people glance at me as I walk through the lobby. The
place has a look of eastern elegance to it. The floors are a tiled
stone, the ceiling is a painted antique wood and the furniture
looks solid and comfortable, especially after how long I've been
on my feet. There are large potted plants which give the whole
area a feeling of being an oasis. In one direction is a large
courtyard. From here it looks like it might be a restaurant.
I look around.
They probably won't let a dusty backpacker sit in their lobby
for long.
Jumpy in Jerusalem ~ Chapter Six
423
Meg!
Harry!
I run across the lobby and we hug.
I'm so relieved to see him. Part of me was afraid that maybe
we'd never reconnect again.
Look at you! he says, pulling back to stare down at me. Did
you walk here?!
I nod.
Part of the way, yeah.
You look like you need to rest, says Harry. He's let go of me,
as if he's remembered we're just business associates, nothing
more.
Yeah, I could sit down, I say.
He leads me to the inner courtyard of the hotel. It has so many
plants and small trees that it's a garden, really. Absolutely lovely.
Miriam was right. Hellu kteer.
They have tables scattered here and there where people are
drinking tea and eating sandwiches.
We sit down at an empty table for two and Harry orders the
afternoon tea.
So . . . I say. How did it go? Any luck?
All I found out is that the whole city was destroyed by the
Romans in 70 AD. And then they rebuilt it once they bulldozed
away all the rubble. Well, not bulldozed. They didn't have
bulldozers. Slave labour, I guess.
But there must be something left, I say.
Yeah, there was some pavement from the 1
st
century. It's
under a nunnery. A game scratched into the pavement by bored
Roman soldiers.
Well, that's something.
It has nothing to do with Jesus though. I talked to some
archaeologist guy staying here at the hotel. He said that Jesus was
a common name in the first century. So even if I find the name
scratched in the pavement somewhere, it doesn't mean much.
He's really discouraged. This is totally not the time to tell him
I've become a Christian.
How 'bout you? he says.
No, I shake my head. I talked to some Christians in
Bethlehem. But they don't even think the birth-site could be
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considered proof. Not the kind of proof that could persuade Dr.
Owen.
It's nice to be back together again but I've never seen Harry so
discouraged.
I dunno, Meg, he says, looking around the courtyard without
seeing it. I thought I could do this. I thought I could just come
over here and solve the greatest mystery of history. Did Jesus
exist? I mean, I didn't even think it was a mystery. I thought the
proof would be dripping off the walls.
Well, those walls around that Old City are pretty old, I say.
Our tea has arrived.
I eagerly reach for a sandwich.
But that's just it! says Harry, not even noticing the food.
They aren't! They were built at the time of Suleiman the
Magnificent. Jesus never even saw those walls!
Isa, I say, swallowing most of the finger sandwich in one
bite.
What?
Isa, I say. That's what the Arabs call him.
Harry slaps the table in frustration.
That's exactly what I mean! he says. We don't even have his
name right! That archaeologist I talked to said the Hebrew way of
saying his name is Yeshua and the Greek way is Yehsue. So he
never heard the name 'Jesus' in his whole life.
Why's he called Christ? I ask, biting into a cucumber
sandwich.
It just means Messiah. It wasn't even a name. We say Jesus
Christ. But it would be more accurate to say Jesus the Christ.
Oh, I get it, I say.
I'm looking over the tarts. I reach for one with kiwi.
I'm in the middle of it when I realize that Harry is staring at
me.
Do I have custard on my face? I say, quickly reaching for a
serviette.
No. I was just wondering if you're going to run off like that
again.
I swallow and shake my head.
Nope, I say, reaching for the teapot. One time thing.
The Jordan River was on the other side of that wall. But God
and I got that taken care of.
425
Good, says Harry. Because it wasn't very fun investigating
without you.
I nod.
I feel a bit guilty. I never missed Harry. I was too busy meeting
the Christians of Bethlehem.
Do you have a place to stay? I ask.
Yeah, here, says Harry.
Here? I say, looking around. It must have cost a bloody
fortune.
Harry shrugs.
Well, this is where you said you'd be, so this is where I stayed
until you showed up.
Wow.
I guess we have money in the bank. I never asked Harry for
my share. I never really cared. But after this is over I think I'll see
what I can do to help the Christians on the other side of that grey
wall.
That reminds me of something.
Wasn't there a first-century home in Nazareth?
Yeah, says Harry. But it's just any home. It doesn't have
'This is the home of Joseph and Mary, mother of Jesus' written
on the doorpost, or anything. I'm starting to think that all we can
really do is say that the events of the Bible are probable. The
archaeology shows that it's possible that Jesus lived but not that he
actually did.
Harry finally seems to notice that there's tea in front of him
and he starts eating.
Now that we're back together, we decide we'll move to some
place that's a bit cheaper.
We're on Nablus Road. Harry checks his guidebook and
discovers another place on Nablus Road that's about a third of
the price. It's called the Jerusalem Hotel. After the tea, Harry and
I go back to his room to get his knapsack.
My jaw drops when I see the room he's been staying in. The
floor is covered in what looks like Persian carpets. The ceiling is
gold and blue. The furniture is solid wood, including some
elegant octagonal inlaid mother-of-pearl tables tastefully placed
here and there. There are prints of old Jerusalem, framed in gold,
on the walls.
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Wow! Look at this place, I say, wandering through the
rooms, checking everything out.
Harry shrugs as he tosses a sweater into his knapsack and
grabs his Bible from one of the mother-of-pearl coffee tables.
It's not much fun alone, he says.
He slings his knapsack over his shoulder and we head back to
the lobby so he can check-out.
By the time we get to the Jerusalem Hotel, it's getting dark. It's
a lot like the American Colony Hotel, just on a smaller scale. It's
also a remodelled home with that look of eastern elegance. It has
the heavy wood furniture, high ceilings and stone walls. It even
has a garden caf.
Harry books us two rooms.
We're too full from tea to eat so we meet in Harry's room and
play some Rummy.
What should we do tomorrow? I say.
I dunno, says Harry. I feel better now that you're here. But
I have no idea how to go about this.
Well, don't people come here to walk the same streets that
Jesus walked? I say, putting down a three of hearts, a four of
hearts and a five of hearts. Then I discard a card. Harry adds a six
of hearts to my row.
Yeah, except that they're not the stones he walked on. I guess
we could do all the tourist stuff. The Via Dolorosa, the Holy
Sepulchre, that sort of thing.
That Dome of the Rock thing looks cool, I say.
Harry starts to laugh.
What? I say, looking up from my cards.
The Dome of the Rock has nothing to do with Jesus, he
says. It's the Muslim holy site.
I shrug and then I start to laugh.
Then we're both laughing.
It's good to be back together again.

Harry has his guidebook out, just to figure out where the Via
Dolorosa starts and finishes. The whole route is in the Old City
and it ends with the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, not surprising
since that's where Jesus was supposed to be crucified and buried.
Harry reports that there is an alternative crucifixion site called the
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Place of the Skull and an alternative burial site called the Garden
Tomb.
There are things called Stations of the Cross, fourteen of them,
where you're supposed to stop and stare at spots because
something important happened there. Harry reports this with
indifference since at this point he knows none of it really
happened on that exact spot.
It's OK because I just like looking around and enjoying the
people and the ambiance. The Arab shops are full of brass-ware
and leather goods and all sorts of gorgeous scarves and
tablecloths. I ask Harry for some money to buy a tablecloth for
my mother. It reminds me of Miriam's.
At some point I plan to tell Harry all about my adventures in
Bethlehem and how I was baptized in the Jordan, but the streets
are too busy. And then we get lost.
We're way off of the Via Dolorosa, although we're still
somewhere in the Old City.
This looks newer, I say, looking around. I realize there aren't
any Arabs around. But there are a lot of those kinds of Jews that
wear the black coats and have the curls over their ears, kind of
like Fiddler on the Roof.
Ahh, I don't really care, says Harry. He's been trying to
figure out where we are in the guidebook. This whole thing is
just a big tourist trap.
Emphatically, he tosses the guidebook into a nearby garbage
can.
I've never seen him like this.
He starts walking, his stride long, and I have to practically run
to keep up. Soon we're back in an Arab section. It's like the
market in Bethlehem. Lots of spices. Piles of fruits and
vegetables and rice and bulgar. Platters of Arab pastries. Little
coffee houses with a whole line of older men sitting outside
wearing traditional Arab robes and keffiyahs, but combined with
Western-style suit jackets.
I like it here, I say. I really want to take his hand, to comfort
him. I like the people here now. The ones who are right here.
Who cares about two thousand years ago? There are people here
now.
But you don't understand, Meg, says Harry, stopping.
You're not a Christian.
428
I open my mouth to protest.
You don't have to worry about this, Harry goes on. You
don't have to try to convince people that Jesus existed. If people
knew he existed, then they'd have to accept his message.
I think about this.
I'm not really sure that it's true.
Logically, if he did live two thousand years ago, then people
knew he existed then. But they still didn't accept his message.
But Harry's already striding down a narrow street.
I chase after him.
Wait, Harry!
He turns around.
Meg, this whole trip was a failure. And I'm sorry I dragged
you along. It was just a stupid attempt on my part to prove my
faith to someone. Now I see I can't. We've wasted time. We've
wasted money. And I'm sorry.
He turns and keeps going. I don't even think he knows where
he's going. But he's moving too fast for me to keep up. And soon
he just disappears. I round a corner and I have no idea which
narrow alleyway he went down.
I left Harry alone in Jerusalem. Now hes done it to me.

At least I have some money.
When I asked Harry for some money to buy the tablecloth, he
handed me a whole handful of Israeli shekels. I return to the
street that has the fruits and vegetables and buy myself some
oranges as well as some sunflower seeds. I figure I'll take them
back to my hotel room and wait for Harry like he waited for me.
I say Shukran when the guy selling the oranges and
sunflower seeds gives me some change.
He smiles and says Afwan. I guess that means, youre
welcome.
I wander the streets, just because I enjoy the ambiance. In fact,
the oranges and sunflower seeds never make it back to the
Jerusalem Hotel because I eat them on an old wooden bench. I
do a Harry and even offer some oranges and half the seeds to an
old man and a young boy with him, also sitting on the bench.
They accept and both give me a grin.
As-salaamu 'alaykum, the older man says to me.
I look puzzled.
429
The boy, who looks about eight years-old, says, Peace to you.
You say, wa 'alaykum as-salaam.
Ah, I get it.
Wa 'alaykum as-salaam, I say carefully.
The man nods and smiles.
How do I say, my name is . . . ? I ask the boy.
Ismee, says the boy.
Ismee Meg, I say.
Ismee Masun, says the boy.
Ismee Abdullah, says the older man. Tasharrafnaa.
Pleased to meet you, explains Masun.
Masun and I talk while we all eat the sunflower seeds.
Abdullah and Masun just spit the shells on the ground. I try to do
it a little more discreetly.
Masun goes to a school in the Old City. That's where he's
learned English. Someday he would like to see America.
I tell him I'm from Canada.
Canada nice too? he asks.
I nod.
But I like it here, I say, looking around. I really do.
Masun tells Abdullah what I've said and Abdullah nods in
agreement.
When I finally make it back to the Jerusalem Hotel, I find
Harry in his room, his Bible open on the bed.
There you are, he says. As if I was the one who took off!
Here I am, I agree, coming in and sitting down on one of
the chairs.
Let's just go back to Edinburgh tomorrow, he says. It's not
working out and I can't figure out how to make it work.
I nod.
I understand.
Are you hungry?
Not really. The oranges and the sunflower seeds, even
shared, were enough for me.
Neither am I.
Harry, should I leave you alone?
He nods.
Yeah, I think so. I'll call the airport and book something for
tomorrow, OK?
430
OK, I say, getting up and walking to the door. He follows
me.
Good night, Harry, I say as I open the door, and look back
at him.
Good night, Meg.
And he shuts the door in my face.

Chapter Seven

e're on standby at the Ben Gurion Airport.
Harry is determined that we're going to fly out of
here today.
This morning he called for a taxi that picked us up outside the
hotel and took us straight to the airport. Of course, we couldn't
find out how to take a bus from Jerusalem back to Lod because
his guidebook was in a trash can in the Old City.
The lady at the El Al counter says that we are not going to be
able to get a direct flight to London today. (We flew out of
London when we came here. El Al doesn't fly to Edinburgh) The
only way we can do it is to fly to Rome, have a stopover of four
hours and then catch another flight to London.
Rome! Harry snorts and turns to me. That's an even bigger
Christian tourist-trap than here!
The El Al lady's eyebrows grow up.
How 'bout a direct flight tomorrow? I ask her.
She nods.
I can do it. The flight is almost full, but I can fit you in.
Thanks, I say. Is that OK? I say to Harry.
Yeah, sure, says Harry, sounding indifferent.
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432
I get all the flight info and then Harry and I move away from
the El Al counter.
Tel Aviv! I say suddenly.
Tel Aviv? he says.
Yeah, I say. Didn't you tell me it's a new city? Why don't we
go there for the day? Everything's new so they won't be telling
you stuff about Jesus, right?
Harry nods.
This time we take a bus outside of the terminal and get off
right by the sea.
Tel Aviv is on the Mediterranean and everything seems to be
geared toward having fun. The beach is packed even though it
isn't even summer yet.
All along the beach are cafs and restaurants and nightclubs.
I don't see any Arabs here, I say looking around.
This is a Jewish city, says Harry.
Let's go swimming, I say. Normally I'm not really one for
swimming. For one thing, I have to think about things like
sunburn. And, I can't help but noticing that unlike me, everyone
on this beach is tanned.
In our underwear? says Harry, grimly.
No, silly, I say. We'll get some bathing suits. There are
stores everywhere.
OK, says Harry, sighing.
We cross the crowded street and go into a beach store. Harry
picks out some swimming trunks within five seconds. It takes me
a little longer to choose something. I grab a bottle of sun block as
well.
There are some large change rooms on the beach where we
can also put our knapsacks in a locker.
One thing that's really strange here is how men in swimming
trunks still have their machine guns slung across their backs.
Do you swim? Harry asks me as we walk barefoot across the
beach.
I'm lousy at it, I say. Doggy-paddle is about all I do. You?
Swimming lessons since I was five, he says.
Figures. But at least it doesn't look too deep, at least in the
shallow end.
Jumpy in Jerusalem ~ Chapter Seven
433
I sort of expect we'll splash around a bit. But Harry dives right
in and starts swimming out into the sea. There are other people
out there but there is no way I am going to get in over my head.
Is he doing this on purpose?
I have no choice but to splash around near the shore. I only go
in as far as my waist. Then I think this is ridiculous, wading
around by myself, and go sit on the sand to dry out.
While I'm squeezing the water out of my hair, two guys come
up to me. They're about my age. Just wearing swimming trunks.
Very tanned. Very good-looking.
Hi! says one of them as they sit on either side me. How are
you?
His accent is Israeli, but his English is good.
Fine, I say. How are you?
Fine, he says, grinning broadly.
The conversation momentarily lags.
Do you like Israel? ask the other guy.
Oh yes, I say. It's nice.
My answers are bordering on moronic, but they don't seem to
mind. If Harry were here, he could impress them with his
Hebrew. I don't even see him anymore.
Do you like the beach? asks the first guy.
Well, I don't swim and I burn easily. But it's still beautiful.
The two guys look at each other, over my head.
Uh, would you like to go for ice cream, or something, says
the first guy.
Something in me would love to go off with them and just have
a blast. Harry's in such a mood with his crisis of faith and it
wasn't very friendly of him to swim off into the deep sea
knowing full well that I can't swim.
But then I remember something.
I'm a Christian now!
It has nothing to do with Harry! I'm pretty sure these guys
aren't Christian.
I really should stay here, I say. Im sorry.
Oh come on! says the other one, giving me a gentle punch
on the arm. We'll show you Tel Aviv! It's fun!
They grin at me. They're both really hot. Another time and it
would have been a seriously tempting offer. But I think of Yusaf
434
and Miriam and all the people I met in Bethlehem and I just
shake my head.
Sorry, I say. I'm with someone.
They shrug.
Too bad, says the first one. And they stand up and brush the
sand off.
And that's that.
The funny thing is, when I said I was with someone, I wasn't
talking about Harry. I just know God wouldn't want me
wandering off with these two guys.
Harry's back in about ten minutes, dripping in front of me.
He flops down beside me.
You weren't lonely, he says.
I look at him.
Was he watching me from somewhere out in the sea?
Yeah, I say. The natives are friendly.
There's a pause.
I told them I was with someone, I say.
This seems to be a good time to tell him about my new faith
and all I did in Bethlehem.
But then Harry says, Thanks Meg.
He lies back in the sand and closes his eyes.
I sigh.
Maybe on the plane.

We're miles apart on the plane.
We spent the night in separate rooms in a Tel Aviv hotel on
the beach. We had dinner in a waterfront restaurant that had live
music and dancing. Not really the type of place to quietly tell
Harry about my new thing with God.
Now we're on a direct flight to London and since the plane
was filled and we arrived at the airport a little later than usual,
we're not together.
No one around me wants to talk and from what I can tell, no
one around Harry wants to talk to him. Too bad we're not
together because I really want to talk to him.
I give up all hope of telling him I'm a Christian for the next
five hours and just rely on the in-flight movie to get me through.
Although I do say some prayers in my head for the people of
Bethlehem.
Jumpy in Jerusalem ~ Chapter Seven
435
I actually consider getting up and walking the entire length of
the plane to ask Harry for his Bible. But I figure, at this point in
his life, he may need it more than me.
There'll be time to talk at the airport in London.

But there's only an hour and twenty minutes between our two
flights. We had been told that we'd have a three-hour stay in
London, but some kind of delay refuelling in Rome (yes, Harry
got to pass through Rome after all) ended up shortening that
stay. And since we have to pass through Customs and check-in at
another airline, my plan to tell Harry that I'm Christian over a
real cup of English tea falls to pieces.
But at least we get to sit together.
But all Harry talks about is this being our first failed case.
I don't really agree with him. Sure, we didn't come home with a
piece of ancient tile that says 'Jesus was here' but we saw a part of
the world that's important to our faith and we met a lot of
people. Correction, I met a lot of people. Maybe if Harry had met
some Christians, he wouldn't be feeling so discouraged.
I take a deep breath.
It's time to tell him.
The pilot comes on to say that we'll be landing in Edinburgh in
ten minutes. The weather is rainy, but a warm 22 degrees Celsius.
And the flight attendant comes around to collect our plastic
cups.
We land and are able to go straight out of the airport since we
already went through Customs in London.
Sure enough, it's a bit drizzly.
But we're old pros in Edinburgh. We take a bus to the centre
of town and then straight to the stop to wait for the one that will
take us to Leith.
Arriving in Leith, we head for the waterfront and to the small
museum where Dr. Owen is the curator.
Despite that it was only a drizzle, we're pretty wet when we
arrive in the foyer. I miss the Palestinian sun that could dry our
clothing on a walk back to the bus.
436

Chapter Eight

e tell the lady at the front desk that we're here to see
Dr. Owen. She goes back down the hallway and
returns with him.
Well, look at you! he says, smiling. What a surprise! Back so
soon? But you're soaked through!
He leads us back down the hallway where there's a little
employees' lounge and a warm pot of tea.
Once he has filled our mugs, he sits down with us and asks us
how it went in the Holy Land.
Not good, says Harry. We didn't find anything, I'm afraid.
I didn't think you would, says Dr. Owen. It was a pretty
ambitious plan.
I realize that now, says Harry. I don't think half of the
places they take the tourists to are authentic. How could they be?
The Romans ploughed the whole city of Jerusalem over and built
Aelia Capitolina over it.
That's true, agrees Dr. Owen. There's really no proof that
Jesus walked on this earth.
They discuss Harry's conversation with the archaeologist who
was staying at the American Colony Hotel. Turns out the man is
famous in certain circles. He's actually found things that are now
W
438
in the British Museum. He's very skeptical about the Bible
although he admits that some of the stories are at least possible
and the locations are more-or-less correct, particularly once you
get outside of Jerusalem.
Harry and Dr. Owen talk about how you can't prove anything
just because it's possible. Harry says something about there not
being anything to disprove the existence of Jesus, but that's really
all he can say.
There's really no proof that Jesus walked on this earth,
repeats Dr. Owen, taking a sip from his mug.
That sinks in for me.
But it's not true!
Me! I say suddenly.
They both look at me, startled.
Me! I'm the proof!
What do you mean? says Dr. Owen. He and Harry are just
staring at me. They don't get it.
I became a Christian! I say. I've been trying to tell you this
whole trip, Harry! I was baptized in the Jordan River!
Harry is speechless.
And I'm the proof! I have Jesus right in me. I'm a different
person. Yusaf, he's a pastor in Bethlehem, he and his sister
Miriam baptized me and Yusaf prayed that I'd have God's spirit
in me.
You got baptized in the Jordan? says Harry.
Yes, I say. I know Jesus! Just like you do, Harry. Don't you
see? We don't need some kind of a birth certificate, or
something, to prove that Jesus existed. All of us Christians are
the proof that he existed!
But Dr. Owen shakes his head.
I think Harry is still taking it in that I'm a Christian now.
That might be proof for you, but it's not proof for me, says
Dr. Owen.
Good thing we were doing this pro bono then, I say.
Dr. Owen smiles. It's kind of a sad smile though. I think he
may really have wanted us to find something so he could have a
reason to believe.
I spent a whole week living with the Christians in
Bethlehem, I say to Harry. Life is really hard for them there.
Jumpy in Jerusalem ~ Chapter Eight
439
But they have faith. And I think their faith is the proof we were
looking for.
That's it, Meg! says Harry. You're right, of course.
I can tell it's all making sense to him now.
But Dr. Owen just keeps shaking his head.
Oh well.
Maybe a piece of tile with the name of Jesus on it wouldn't
have done it anyhow. Didn't that archaeologist tell Harry that
there were a lot of people with the same name back then? I get
the idea that God didn't expect Christians to believe in his son
because of the overwhelming archaeological evidence.
Harry's a new person.
He's cheered right up.
I was never down to begin with, but even I'm feeling lighter
and like life is better. Not Dr. Owen though. We just finish our
tea and he walks us to the door. Not much to say at this point,
but he courteously shakes our hands and thanks us so much for
giving it a go and he wishes us all the best.
We open the door and discover that the drizzle has stopped
and the sun is shining. I guess God does stuff like that
sometimes.
We cross the road and look out at the water. There's really only
one thing left to talk about.
I guess this means we can be partners now, I say, turning to
Harry.
Harry's grin is wider than I've ever seen it.
That's right! We can!
Partners, then? I say, holding out my hand.
Harry shakes it, but then he doesn't let it go.
He holds onto my hand while we walk along the waterfront.
We're going to make a great team.

The End

Other novels by Jennifer L Armstrong

The society for the betterment of mankind
Revolution in C Minor
Pink gin
Somewhere between Longview and Miami
Last king of Damascus

The Kent famil y adventures

The Treasure of Tadmor
The Strange sketch of Sutton
The Hunt for the cave of Moravia
The Search for the sword of Goliath
The Buried gold of Shechem
The Cache of Baghdad
The Walls of Jerusalem
The Missionarys Diary

Non-fiction by Jennifer L. Armstrong

Dreaming in Arabic (A non-fiction narrative)

The Unlikely Association of Meg & Harry

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