The Whole, Entire, Complete Truth Read online

  THE WHOLE, ENTIRE,

  COMPLETE TRUTH

  For Mike, Natasha, and Jacob Pattison,

  who spend a lot of time without me

  so that I can write.

  THE WHOLE,

  ENTIRE,

  COMPLETE

  TRUTH

  Caroline Rennie Pattison

  Copyright © Caroline Rennie Pattison, 2006

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

  transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise

  (except for brief passages for purposes of review) without the prior permission of Dundurn Press.

  Permission to photocopy should be requested from Access Copyright.

  Editor: Barry Jowett

  Copy-Editor: Andrea Waters

  Design: Jennifer Scott

  Printer: Webcom

  National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data

  Pattison, Caroline Rennie

  The whole, entire, complete truth / Caroline Rennie Pattison.

  ISBN-10: 1-55002-583-X

  ISBN-13: 978-1-55002-583-5

  I. Title.

  PS8631.A84W46 2005 jC813'.6 C2005-903980-9

  1 2 3 4 5 10 09 08 07 06

  We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council

  for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada

  through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program and The Association for the

  Export of Canadian Books, and the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Book Publishers

  Tax Credit program, and the Ontario Media Development Corporation.

  Care has been taken to trace the ownership of copyright material used in this book. The author and

  the publisher welcome any information enabling them to rectify any references or credit in subsequent editions.

  J. Kirk Howard, President

  Printed and bound in Canada.

  Printed on recycled paper.

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  for

  My Dad

  by

  Sarah Martin

  You wanted to know how I got mixed up in your investigation, Dad, and how I got Roy and Mindi involved, so here it is. In black and white, exactly like you ordered at the police station ... a detailed recounting of everything that led up to the night when everything went wrong. Just like a real detective’s report.

  As you read this, please remember you wanted to know all this stuff and I’ve already served my time by writing it. So, please don’t get angry with me all over again. I did just what you asked: I wrote about everything.

  (So if you find it a bit boring at times, don’t blame me! My life’s not that exciting.)

  THE BEGINNING

  DATE: THURSDAY, AUGUST 30

  LOCATION: SOMEWHERE DEEP IN

  THE MUSKOKA STICKS

  “We couldn’t have moved out further into the boonies if we tried!” I scowled, my bike trailing behind my brother’s.

  Roy pulled his bike up into a wheelie, showing off as usual. “Stop complaining, Sarah. You haven’t even given this place a chance. You just have to learn to make your own fun!”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, right, this is fun — biking with you.”

  I was miserable. Living in the country was even worse than I had imagined. No matter where you looked, there were trees and rocks and more trees and rocks. I didn’t even know where the nearest mall was. Make our own fun? What a laugh. I couldn’t even relax and ride my bike. There were so many potholes and pebbles on our rundown road, I had to concentrate just to keep my balance.

  The sun was getting low in the sky, darkening the woods on either side of us. There were no street lights to turn on and light our way. It felt a bit creepy. We’d only lived here a couple of weeks and I wasn’t used to country living yet. The city streets were still my familiar territory. My eyes darted back and forth from the road to the forest.

  “You know, Roy ...” I yelled up at him.

  “Yo!”

  “There could be anything in this bush, watching us.”

  “Don’t try to freak me out, Sarah, it won’t work,” was his reply.

  “I’m serious,” I protested. “Just think about it. What would we do if a moose or some other animal hiding back in there suddenly charged us? Let’s face it, we’re helpless out here, all alone. Sitting ducks.”

  “You mean biking ducks.” Roy snorted. He slowed down a little, and I caught up to him.

  “Is big brave Sarah getting scared?” he asked me with mock concern. He did that funny thing with his eyebrows, making them go up and down really fast. What a goof. “Do you want your big strong brother to protect you from the scary wild animals?”

  “As if.” I gave him my best glare. “I’m not scared. I just think it’s pretty dark in those trees. You can’t see a thing in there. Anybody ... or anything ... could be in there watching us, right this minute, and we’d never know it — unless they wanted us to.”

  Roy’s eyes grew to the size of golf balls. He let go of his handlebars and put his hands to his face, framing his gaping mouth.

  “You’re right, Sarah. I think I see something now! Oh my gosh! It’s a big, scary raccoon! Pedal for your life! Aaaaaahhhh!”

  Roy pumped the pedals of his bike hard and careened down the road at top speed, leaving me far behind, surrounded by the ever darkening woods. I watched him go. Trust Roy to leave me all alone in this hostile country environment. To my disgust, I wasn’t kidding about being nervous. Give me the city streets anytime over trees. Besides, I heard raccoons can be ferocious. No kidding. I went back from looking at the road under my wheels to looking at the trees on either side of me, absently wishing I didn’t have an idiot for a brother.

  “Hey! There’s a house up here, Sarah!” yelled Roy. He stopped his bike and cupped his hands to his mouth. Looking skywards, he announced, “Houston! We have signs of civilization.”

  I smiled in spite of myself and picked up speed. Another house, finally. This I had to see. I stopped beside Roy. Sure enough, set way back in the bush, quite a distance from the road, was an actual house!

  From what we could see through the trees that lined the long driveway, it looked as though the house had seen better days. I’d like to say that it looked like the beautiful old-fashioned farmhouses you see on Christmas cards — minus the snow, of course — but I’d be lying. Truthfully, it looked like a strong wind could knock it over.

  “There you go. We have neighbours after all. Are you happy now?” Roy asked.

  “Yeah, gee whiz, neighbours you have to ride ten hours on a bike to get to,” I said with a sniff. “It doesn’t even look like anybody lives here.”

  “There’s a mailbox.”

  Sure enough, there was. I examined it, feeling annoyed that Roy had noticed it before I had. I like to think of myself as the observant one. The detective. Like you, Dad. Unlike the house, the mailbox looked brand new. The gleaming wood had blue jays and sunflowers painted on it. It was pretty, in a Sticksville sort of way. The name Braemarie was displayed on the nameplate.

  “Brand new mailbox, yucky old
house,” I commented.

  Roy shrugged. “Ya gotta start somewhere.”

  I gazed through the trees. Maybe it was the spiffy mailbox or maybe it was just boredom, but for whatever reason, I had to get a closer look at that house. I wrestled my bike through the thick trees behind the mailbox and leaned it behind a particularly large one. My hope was that it would be hidden from the road.

  “Sarah, what are you doing?” Roy asked.

  “I’m going to get a closer look.”

  “A closer look? You can’t do that. It’s called trespassing. That’s against the law. You could get arrested.”

  I crossed the driveway and started picking my way through the bush towards the house.

  “Stop! C’mon, Sarah. You can’t do this!”

  He whined a whole lot more until finally I couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Roy, would you just shut up!” I whisper-yelled over my shoulder. “All I want to do is see the house up close. I’m not planning to rob the place or anything. How chicken are you, anyway?”

  I kept walking. Roy doesn’t realize it, but the more he tries to talk me out of something, the more I want to do it. He sighed and grunted as he hid his bike behind the mailbox with mine and caught up to me. Together we made our way through the trees towards the old house. It was the first excitement I’d had since being forced to move here. Pathetic? I know.

  As we neared the house, we stayed in the cover of the trees and skirted around the driveway, which curved to the right. This led us to the far right of the farmhouse. Tall, thick, wild raspberry bushes bordered that side of the yard. I knew they were raspberry bushes because our house had them too. My mom had already threatened a family day of raspberry picking next summer. Yuck.

  We crouched behind the raspberry bushes. The house was set in a huge clearing. It looked better close up, and there were obvious signs that renovations were going on. A brand new front porch was partially built; its wood looked raw and bright against the dull brown bricks of the house. The roof’s new shingles were bright red. The house was a two-storey, like ours, and had a little rickety balcony coming off a door on the second floor.

  I could hear faint whinnies and grunts coming from behind the house. Roy reluctantly followed me while, crouched over, I made my way along the raspberry bushes to get closer to those sounds. Two other buildings sat behind the house. The closer one was wooden and rectangular with two large doors that had been left propped open; the sounds came from inside. I’m not such a city slicker that I didn’t recognize it as a horse stable. After all, I have seen pictures of such things. The second one was a large old barn. It was across the field from the stable, at the far edge of the clearing. Dirt tire tracks in the grass forked off the bend in the driveway and led up to it.

  “This place is huge,” I whispered.

  Roy tugged at my arm. “Okay, you’ve seen the house up close now. Happy? It’s a farmhouse. There’s nothing special about it. We need to go home before it gets dark.” He turned to go.

  “Wait a minute,” I whispered. “Someone’s coming, get down.”

  We crouched down so low behind the bushes that our chins rested on the cool earth. I peeked through tiny gaps between the prickly branches in front of me and found I had a fairly decent view of the stable. I ignored Roy, who was practically having a heart attack right beside me.

  A tall man with arms the size of tree trunks appeared at the stable doors. He was pushing a wheelbarrow piled high with the stinkiest, lumpiest stuff I’d ever smelled. A shovel had been stabbed into the heart of it.

  Roy’s face drained of colour as the man steered the wheelbarrow directly toward the raspberry bushes where we hid. My heart pounded so hard I was sure it was like a beacon, leading the man straight to us. Once he discovered us, he’d reach for his shovel and chase us off his property as if we were rabid dogs.

  The big man grunted to a stop on his side of the raspberry bushes, but rather than chase us with his shovel, he simply threw it to the ground. Then he tilted up the arms of the wheelbarrow to dump out the stinky contents. Manure. He tossed it from side to side as it slid down and out of the wheelbarrow. It flew everywhere, right through our bushy cover. We were pelted with bits of the smelly stuff, and at one point a huge chunk of it bounced right off Roy’s left cheek.

  When the wheelbarrow was empty, the man picked up the shovel and began spreading the manure and mixing it into the soil. Roy and I stayed as still as statues. I’m pretty sure we weren’t even breathing. All that man had to do was go up on his tiptoes, lean over just a little bit, and peek over the top of those bushes and he’d see us — crouched on our hands and knees, spotted all over with chunks of things previously digested by animals. Talk about scary — and disgusting.

  Finally he was done. He turned his wheelbarrow and headed back toward the stable. We weren’t discovered after all. I pried my fingers off Roy’s arm and started to breathe again.

  “When we get out of here, I’m going to kill you,” croaked Roy, wiping his face. Apparently, that piece of manure hadn’t bounced off his cheek as I thought; it had stuck there. Dirt attracts dirt, I guess. I couldn’t help it; I pressed my smelly hands over my mouth to smother hysterical giggles.

  “Shhh! He’s back,” said Roy. He bit down on his lower lip, turning it white. I stopped giggling.

  We peered once again through the gaps between branches. The man was standing in front of the open stable doors. He checked his watch and tilted his head skywards then cupped his large hands to his mouth.

  “Mindi!” he bellowed into the darkening air. The silence afterward was deafening; even the crickets were stilled. I held my breath, afraid to make a sound. Finally, a slight figure on horseback emerged from a trail in the woods to the left of a large fenced field.

  “Coming, Colin,” called a girl’s voice. The crickets resumed their chirping. I began to breathe again.

  The man stood with his arms crossed and watched her swift approach. I felt Roy’s hand squeeze my shoulder as the horse trotted towards the waiting man. The girl’s bronze hair bounced in time to the horse’s gait.

  “Hold on there, Mindi,” the man ordered when it appeared that she was going to trot right by him and head straight into the stable. His voice was deep and authoritative. With a slight frown, the girl pulled her horse to a stop.

  “I thought our deal for today was that you could ride the horses after you cleaned the stalls,” he said, arms still crossed.

  Mindi’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh, I forgot ... well, I can do it now ....”

  “Don’t bother. I’ve already done it,” he sighed. He looked toward the house and frowned.

  “Sorry, Colin. I just thought I should exercise Candy before it got too dark.”

  “And that would normally work, but as I told you earlier, I’m expecting business guests tonight. You and your mother need to head home before they get here, and now you’ve made everything run late.” The man scowled and scratched his short blond hair. “Let’s go. Your mother’s waiting for you.” He jerked his head towards the house.

  She jumped down from the horse and together they walked toward the stable doors, Mindi leading the horse.

  “You haven’t also forgotten that the old barn is out of bounds, have you?” asked the man.

  “No, I never go near the barn,” was her earnest reply.

  Their voices faded as they entered the stable. Roy and I were alone once again.

  “C’mon, let’s get out of here!” Roy whispered. He grabbed my hand and pulled me all the way back to our bikes.

  I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to keep listening to Mindi and Colin talk. I felt as though I had been watching a play and only the first scene was over. I had to see more.

  On our bikes once again, Roy sped home without a backward glance. I, on the other hand, couldn’t stop looking.

  So, Dad, now you know how it all began. It was very innocent, wouldn’t you say? How were we to know that a simple bike ride one evening would eventually
land us at the police station? Who could know that Mindi was destined to become my closest friend?

  THE DAY I MET MINDI

  DATE: TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 4

  LOCATION: SCHOOL

  My first day of school was awful. I had been looking forward to starting high school in Mississauga with my friends. It was going to be exciting. Instead, I was here, all alone, in Sticksville. Totally not-exciting. Not to mention that I’m at a critical age when social acceptance and healthy peer group belonging are the major determinants for positive life choices and development. (I read that in a magazine.) What kind of parents would drag their perfectly happy child away from her life and her friends and force her to go to a brand new school among strangers at this critical time in her life?

  Oh yeah ... mine.

  First impressions? Not good. The high school in our little town was tiny by Mississauga standards. And the kids! I’d never had so many people staring at me and whispering in my entire life. It was even worse than when I had toilet paper stuck to my shoe for an entire song during my grade eight graduation dance! I was either a celebrity or a freak show to them, I couldn’t tell. I figured it must be pretty boring here in Sticksville if a new kid at school could cause such a stir.

  Things started looking up a little when I discovered that Mindi, the girl on horseback, was in my homeroom class. At least it was a familiar face — to me, that is. It wasn’t as if I had an instant pal or anything. And she definitely wasn’t in the market for new friends, like I was. In fact, as I walked into homeroom that first morning, she was giggling with a couple of girls at the back of the room. I felt a stab of envy; in Mississauga, I would be giggling with friends, too.

  Sad to say but the highlight of my day — which, by the way, turned out to also be the only time someone actually talked to me — was this stupid icebreaker game that the teacher made us play. You know, the kind that’s supposed to make everybody feel warm and cozy. The class was paired up and we interviewed each other. Then we introduced our partners to the rest of the students, describing all we had learned. Talk about putting new students through torture on their first day of school.