The Stalker Read online

  GAIL ANDERSON-DARGATZ

  The Stalker

  Grass Roots Press

  Copyright © 2010 Gail Anderson-Dargatz

  First published in 2010 by Grass Roots Press

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  The Good Reads series is funded in part by the Government of Canada’s Office of Literacy and Essential Skills.

  Grass Roots Press also gratefully acknowledges the financial support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Government of Alberta through the Alberta Foundation for the Arts.

  Grass Roots Press would also like to thank ABC Life Literacy Canada for their support. Good Reads® is used under licence from ABC Life Literacy Canada.

  (Good reads series)

  Print ISBN: 978-1-926583-29-7

  ePub ISBN: 978-1-926583-48-8

  Distributed to libraries and

  educational and community

  organizations by

  Grass Roots Press

  www.grassrootsbooks.net

  Distributed to retail outlets by

  HarperCollins Canada Ltd.

  www.harpercollins.ca

  For Irene Anderson

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  The stalker phoned me for the first time early on a Saturday morning. The ringing of my cell phone woke me. I grabbed the phone from the nightstand and flipped it open.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Mike,” the guy on the other end said. He sounded like one of those space aliens from the TV show Stargate SG-1, the ones with glowing eyes. The caller’s strange, deep voice told me that he had voice-changing software on his phone, but I felt sure I was talking to a man.

  “Nice day for a little kayak trip, eh?” he said. “But I wouldn’t go out if I were you.”

  “Who is this?”

  The guy hung up. I checked the list of callers on my phone, but there was no caller ID. No name, no number.

  “Nut case,” I said aloud. “Thanks for waking me up.” Then I glanced at the clock. Five-thirty. I had to get up anyway.

  I run sea kayak tours. My staff and I guide tourists as they paddle my boats around the many islands along the coast of Vancouver Island. I have ten kayaks, each paddled by one person.

  The summer when I got that weird phone call, I had three employees. They only worked for me during the spring and summer, in the tourist season. Jason led the one-day kayak tours around the local bay. I took clients on weekend or week-long wilderness adventures. Each of us had an assistant guide. This person helped with the tour and also had first aid training.

  On the longer trips, my assistant guide was also a cook. Without those great meals, the tourists simply wouldn’t come back. Sara had been my cook and assistant for five years, ever since I started my business. But Sara’s husband didn’t like her being away so much in the summer. So, to make him happy, she told me she would work only the one-day tours with Jason. That’s when I hired Liz to cook and be my assistant guide on those longer trips.

  The morning I got that phone call, Liz had been working for me for about a month. She was a great cook and easy to get along with. I liked her. But that was it. I never got involved with the women who worked for me. That would just be asking for trouble.

  Still, no one can blame a guy for looking. And Liz was a pleasure to look at. She was fit from so much kayaking, and she rode her bicycle almost all year. She was a natural beauty.

  My business is very small. I attract most of my clients with my website and by word of mouth, and my kitchen is my office. At six-thirty that morning, I looked up from my coffee, and there Liz was, framed by the window of my kitchen door. She usually kept her long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. But not this morning. Her hair was loose around her shoulders. She wore a pink tank top, one of those tight ones with skinny straps, and no bra underneath.

  “Hello, Mike,” she said when I opened the door.

  “Liz! What are you doing here? I thought we were supposed to meet at the marina.”

  I never meet clients at my house. Instead, I load enough kayaks for the trip on my trailer, hitch it to my truck, and drive to the town marina. I meet my clients there, and then we drive together to the starting point for the tour. The marina is a natural place to meet because it’s the only real tourist attraction in this town.

  “So far, you’ve been late for every one of our trips,” Liz said. “I stand there waiting with the clients, making up excuses for you.” She twirled her hair with one finger and grinned. “I thought I would make sure you were on time for a change.”

  “This is the west coast,” I said. “No one is ever on time.”

  Liz stepped inside carrying her “dry bag.” This waterproof bag held the change of clothes she’d need if she got wet. Her “dry suit,” her waterproof pants and shirt, were slung over one arm. We would both put on these dry suits when we reached our launching place. We had to keep warm and dry as we paddled along the coast. The kayaks sat so low in the water that we often got splashed by waves or spray from the paddles. Storms often hit without much warning, too.

  Liz lived just down the road from me. That’s how I’d ended up hiring her. I had met her at the mailboxes on the corner. She was looking for work just when Sara said she wanted to switch to the one-day tours. Even better, Liz was a trained cook. In fact, she had owned her own café in Port Alberni until the economy tanked.

  “Need help loading?” Liz asked. She pointed at my Ford pickup.

  I shook my head. “No. We’re all set to go.”

  I had already loaded the truck with the food and gear for that weekend’s tour, and the kayaks were on the trailer. Our group would fit into the pickup’s crew cab. There would be only four of us on this trip: me, Liz, and two guys from Vancouver. Their company developed computer programs that made maps. In short, the clients were a couple of computer geeks.

  I hadn’t talked to either of them yet. All I knew were their names: Gerald Williams and Sam Andrews. A secretary had booked their tour. She told me that their boss had decided to send them on this trip. They didn’t get along, and their dislike of each other was bad for business. The boss hoped they would get to know each other better on the kayak tour. He thought a “bonding experience” would stop their arguing.

  “Are you ready for this?” Liz asked. I had told her what we were getting into.

  “No,” I said. Fortunately, the trip wasn’t one of my week-long tours. I just had to get through today, and we would head home Sunday afternoon. Besides, the company that had sent these two clients my way had paid me very well. I had explained that I charged per person. Taking only two people out for the weekend wasn’t cost effective. The company had agreed to pay the bill for the eight-person tour I usually ran.

  “What’s with the tank top?” I asked Liz. “I haven’t seen you dress like that before.”

  She looked down. “You don’t like it?”

  I shrugged. “You don’t strike me as a tank top kind of gal.”

  I felt sorry as soon as the words came out of my mouth. The tank top did suit her. I couldn’t keep my eyes off it, or her. That was the problem.

  Liz, hurt, turned away. “Can I use your washroom to change my shirt before we h
ead out?” she said quietly.

  “Sure.”

  She carried her dry bag into the washroom. I took a sip from my coffee and tried to come up with some way to say I was sorry without making things worse. Then my cell phone rang. I pulled it from my pocket and answered it.

  “Liz is there, isn’t she?” The caller was the man with the space-alien voice who had woken me up an hour before. He knew who Liz was, and he had to be close, watching my house. I pulled back the kitchen curtain to look out the window. The street was quiet. Most folks were still sleeping on this Saturday morning.

  “Where are you?” I said. “How did you get this number?” Not even my mother had my cell phone number. She called me on my home phone. I had given my cell phone number to my employees and to my clients, but not to anyone else. I hadn’t even listed it on my company’s website.

  “I know she’s there,” the voice said. “I saw her go inside.”

  “Who is this?” I said.

  “I’m watching you,” the guy said. “Stay home.”

  Chapter Two

  Liz and I met our tour group down at the marina. Artists’ studios, cafés, and a fish and chips shop lined the waterfront. Fishermen’s boats were tied up along the docks beside the tourists’ sailboats and motorboats. Across the inlet, mist drifted down the rocky cliffs. The scene was postcard perfect.

  Jason was already there, as we had arranged. He sat at a table outside the donut shop with a balding man and a middle-aged woman. Jason would drive with us out to the launch site, and then he would drive my truck back to town. The next day, he would pick us up farther along the coast. That way, the clients didn’t have to paddle back.

  “You’re late,” Jason said as Liz and I reached his table. Other than the strange fact that he was always on time, he was a real west-coast guy. He wore sandals year round, though in the winter he wore wool socks with them. When he wasn’t guiding kayak tours for me, he played his guitar at the marina. He set his open guitar case on the sidewalk beside him, and tourists threw money into it. Busking paid well for him because he was a talented musician.

  I ignored him and held out my hand to the man seated next to him. “I’m Mike, your guide for the weekend. And this is our other guide, and your chef, Liz.”

  The man stood and took Liz’s hand first. He actually kissed it. “A real pleasure to meet you,” he said. Then he went on holding her hand as he gazed into her eyes. Liz pulled her hand away and laughed nervously.

  “I’ve never had a man kiss my hand before,” she said.

  “Yeah, he’s a real charmer,” said the woman seated beside him. Her sour face showed that she believed otherwise.

  “Gerald Williams,” the man said when he shook my hand. “I’m so looking forward to this.” He had a thick, lisping, upper-crust English accent. In fact, his accent was so pronounced that I wondered if he was faking it.

  “Have you just recently moved to Canada?” I asked him.

  “Hell, no,” the woman said. “He’s lived in Vancouver for twenty-five years. The accent comes and goes, depending on who he’s trying to impress.”

  I assumed by the way she talked about Gerald that this woman was his wife. I guessed she was here to see him off, but he hadn’t introduced her. That seemed odd. Also, I caught her checking me out in a way most wives wouldn’t, at least not in front of their husbands. She looked at me so long that I wondered for a moment if there was something wrong with my face or hair.

  I took a quick look at my reflection in the donut shop window. Everything seemed in order. Sara had told me I had “rugged good looks.” I guess she was right. I have a strong nose and a square jaw. I only shave every couple of days, so I often have a chin full of stubble, as I did this day. One of the benefits of running a kayak tour business is that I stay fit. My high school buddies had already started to grow beer-bellies, but I had gained nothing but muscle.

  “Are we still waiting for our other guest?” I asked Jason.

  “I am your other guest,” the woman said. She held out her hand. “Samantha Andrews.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Samantha.” I said. “When the secretary told me your company would send two computer experts and their names were Gerald and Sam —”

  “I know,” she said. “You assumed we were both men. Surprise, surprise.”

  “You don’t have to make a federal case out of it,” Gerald told her. “He made an honest mistake.”

  I felt an instant dislike for Gerald, so I hated to agree with him. But almost anyone would think at first that someone named “Sam” was a man. Samantha was right about one thing, though. Gerald’s heavy English accent did come and go. I noticed only a hint of it when he talked to her.

  “Men always underestimate what women can do,” she said. “They hear the title ‘doctor’ or ‘computer programmer,’ and they assume the person must be a man.”

  “Oh, here we go,” said Gerald. “Another lecture from Sam.”

  “That’s Samantha to you,” she said. Samantha turned away and drank coffee from one of the donut shop’s mugs. Her short hair was carefully styled and stiff with hairspray. She wore a dry suit that she had obviously bought especially for this trip. The plastic loop that once held the price tag was still on her sleeve.

  Gerald hadn’t bought his coffee here at the donut shop. His throw-away cup and his box of donuts came from Tim Hortons. He held up his coffee when he saw me glance at it. “Will there be a Tim Hortons anywhere along our route?” he asked.

  Jason snorted out a laugh.

  “No,” I said. “I’m afraid not.”

  “No coffee shops of any kind,” said Jason. “No nothing, for miles and miles.”

  Jason was right. We were about to kayak along some of Vancouver Island’s most rugged and isolated shores. We likely wouldn’t see another soul for the two days.

  “I wish I’d known,” Gerald said. “I would have brought a thermos.”

  “I’ll make you coffee,” said Liz.

  “That’s reassuring,” said Samantha. “I suppose we’ll all sit around a fire and drink it out of tin cups. Are we going to sing camp songs, too?” Samantha clearly did not want to be there.

  “Oh, give it up,” said Gerald. “What could be more fun that wandering the Canadian wilderness in a canoe?”

  “Kayak,” Samantha said, correcting him.

  “Kayak, canoe,” Gerald said. “What’s the difference? A boat is a boat.”

  “Actually, there are quite a few differences between a kayak and a canoe,” I said. “For one thing, the paddler of a canoe either sits on a seat or kneels. When you go out today in your kayak, you’ll sit with your legs stretched out in front of you. Also, you’ll use a kayak paddle that has a blade on each end. In other words, you’ll use both ends of your paddle to move the kayak along, first one end and then the other. Canoe paddles have a handgrip at one end and a blade at the other.”

  “Oh, look, look!” Gerald cried. I doubt he’d taken in a word I said. He waved at a totem pole down by the waterfront. “I love this stuf,” he said. “Here, take a picture of me beside it, will you?” He handed his camera to me and trotted over to the totem pole, expecting me to follow. “I’ve got a collection of Indian baskets and cutting tools at home,” he said. “I try to pick up something every time I leave the city.”

  I did take my clients to ancient First Nations sites. I had planned to show Gerald and Samantha a burial site in a cave that day. But removing anything from these sites was against the law. I knew right then that Gerald would cause me a whole lot of trouble.

  Chapter Three

  As I handed Gerald his camera back, who should drive into the parking lot but Sara. She had two kayaks and her gear in the back of her pickup. Now that she worked on the one-day trips with Jason instead of coming on the longer trips with me, I was surprised to see her.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked her. “This is your day off.”

  “You’re not planning to come with us, are you?” Liz nodded at the kay
aks in Sara’s truck.

  “Oh, no,” said Sara. “Dave and I are going out for an hour or two later.”

  “Is Dave with you?” I asked Sara. The rising sun hit the windshield of her truck, so I couldn’t see whether her husband was there or not. I hoped he wasn’t. He was jealous, even though nothing had ever gone on between Sara and me. Sara and Dave had argued before nearly every one of the tours she and I had taken together. He didn’t want her to go. Dave said Sara gave me way more time than she gave him during the summer, and he was right. Every year, we spent several weeks together, guiding tours. Now, of course, all that had changed.

  Sara shook her head. “He’s still in bed, sleeping. I’ll pick him up later.”

  “And get changed, I expect,” said Liz. She nodded at Sara’s short dress and then glanced at me. Clearly, she still felt hurt by the comment I had made about her tank top that morning.

  Sara glanced down at her dress but said nothing. The two women eyed each other for a moment.

  Sara looked good that morning. Her blond hair was loose around her shoulders. She wore plenty of makeup, which she never did when she helped me with kayak tours. And her swingy little summer dress showed a whole lot of thigh. I had never seen her in a dress before.

  I introduced her to our clients. “This is Sara, one of our guides,” I said. “Sara, this is Gerald and Samantha.”

  “Call me Sam,” said Samantha. “All my friends do.”

  Gerald rolled his eyes.

  “Sam it is,” I said.

  After Sara had greeted them, both Gerald and Sam started text messaging, typing on their phones with their thumbs. I had the feeling that neither of them would be much fun.

  Jason finished loading the clients’ gear into my truck and joined us. “Just can’t stay away from us, eh?” he said to Sara.

  Sara shrugged. “I guess I miss going out there with you,” she said. As she spoke, she looked at me and not at Jason. “Anyway, what is a kayak tour without these?” She handed me a plastic bag full of her wonderful oatmeal raisin cookies. They were still warm and smelled of cinnamon. She had brought along a bag of these cookies on nearly every tour we did together.