'Good morning, Mike. Can I assume no vengeful spirits of Lake Nepeakea trashed my car in the night?'
'You can.'
'Good. Good. Oh, by the way,' — his smile could have sold attitude to Americans — 'I've used all the hot water.'
'I guess it's true what they say about so many of our boys in blue.'
'And what's that?' Celluci growled, fortified by two cups of coffee made only slightly bitter by the burned carafe.
'Well, you know, Mike.' Grinning broadly, the developer mimed tipping a bottle to his lips. 'I mean, if you can drink that vile brew, you've certainly got a drinking problem.' Laughing at his own joke, he headed for the door.
To begin with, they're not your boys in blue and then, you can just fucking well drop dead. You try dealing with the world we deal with for a while, asshole, it'll chew you up and spit you out . But although his fist closed around his mug tightly enough for it to creak, all he said was, 'Where are you going?'
'Didn't I tell you? I've got to see a lawyer in Bigwood today. Yes, I know what you're going to say, Mike; it's Sunday. But since this is the last time I'll be out here for a few weeks, the local legal beagle can see me when I'm available. Just a few loose ends about that nasty business with the surveyor.' He paused, with his hand on the door, voice and manner stripped of all pretensions. 'I told them to be sure and finish that part of the shoreline before they quit for the day. I know I'm not, but I feel responsible for that poor woman's death and I only wish there was something I could do to make up for it. You can't make up for someone dying though, can you, Mike?'
Celluci growled something non-committal. Right at the moment, the last thing he wanted was to think of Stuart Gordon as a decent human being.
'I might not be back until after dark but hey, that's when the spirit's likely to appear so you won't need me until then. Right, Mike?' Turning towards the screen where the black flies had settled, waiting for their breakfast to emerge, he shook his head. 'The first thing I'm going to do when all this is settled is drain every stream these little bloodsuckers breed in.'
The water levels in the swamp had dropped in the two weeks since the death of the surveyor. Drenched in the bug spray he'd found under the sink, Celluci followed the path made by the searchers, treading carefully on the higher hummocks no matter how solid the ground looked. When he reached the remains of the police tape, he squatted and peered down into the water. He didn't expect to find anything, but after Stuart's confession he felt he had to come.
About two inches deep, it was surprisingly clear.
'No reason for it to be muddy now, there's nothing stirring it'
Something metallic glinted in the mud.
Gripping the marsh grass on his hummock with one hand, he reached out with the other and managed to get thumb and forefinger around the protruding piece of
'Stainless-steel measuring tape?'
It was probably a remnant of the dead surveyor's equipment. One end of the six-inch piece had been cleanly broken but the other end, the end that had been down in the mud, looked as though it had been dissolved.
When Anne Kellough had thrown the acid on Stuart's car, they'd been imitating the spirit of Lake Nepeakea.
Celluci inhaled deeply and spat a mouthful of suicidal black flies out into the swamp. 'I think it's time to talk to Mary Joseph.'
'Can't you feel it?'
Enjoying the first decent cup of coffee he'd had in days, Celluci walked to the edge of the porch and stared out at the lake. Unlike most of Dulvie, separated from the water by the road, Mary Joseph's house was right on the shore. 'I can feel something,' he admitted.
'You can feel the spirit of the lake, angered by this man from the city. Another cookie?'
'No, thank you.' He'd had one and it was without question the worst cookie he'd ever eaten. 'Tell me about the spirit of the lake, Ms Joseph. Have you seen it?'
'Oh, yes. Well, not exactly it, but I've seen the wake of its passing.' She gestured out towards the water but, at the moment, the lake was perfectly calm. 'Most water has a protective spirit, you know. Wells and springs, lakes and rivers, it's why we throw coins into fountains, so that the spirits will exchange them for luck. Kelpies, selkies, mermaids, Jenny Greenteeth, Peg Powler, the Fideal all water spirits.'
'And one of them, is that what's out there?' Somehow he couldn't reconcile mermaids to that toothed trunk snaking out of the water.
'Oh, no, our water spirit is a new world water spirit. The Cree called it a mantouche surely you recognize the similarity to the word Manitou or Great Spirit? Only the deepest lakes with the best fishing had them. They protected the lakes and the area around the lakes and, in return'
'Were revered?'
'Well, no actually. They were left strictly alone.'
'You told the paper that the spirit had manifested twice before?'
'Twice that we know of,' she corrected. 'The first recorded manifestation occurred in 1762 and was included in the notes on native spirituality that one of the exploring Jesuits sent back to France.'
Product of a Catholic school education, Celluci wasn't entirely certain the involvement of the Jesuits added credibility. 'What happened?'
'It was spring. A pair of white trappers had been at the lake all winter, slaughtering the animals around it. Animals under the lake's protection. According to the surviving trapper, his partner was coming out of high-water
