 |
| Image: ChatGPT |
I said I wouldn't share any of
Dark Water on my blog. I lied.
Last week, before heading on vacation, I re-read what I had already written of my murder mystery, with the hope of feeling inspired enough to break through my writer's block, or at the very least, see if the story was any good.
I've already provided a synopsis of the story—something that I could see on the inside jacket that hooks a reader. But I didn't want to start posting the actual content of the novel, as it's a who-dunnit and I don't want to spoil it for anyone who will hopefully want to buy the book when I eventually get it published.
However, the first chapter only sets up the mystery. And most of it is isolated from the rest of the story.
When I first started thinking about trying my hand at crime fiction, I started with a body being discovered in the Rideau River. I wanted the story to be set in Ottawa, to make this a true Canadian murder mystery.
I decided that kayakers would discover the body and I based those characters closely on DW and myself. For anybody who knows us or has followed this blog, you'll be able to easily see us.
Write what you know, as they say.
So here's my rough draft of Chapter 1 of Dark Water. Enjoy. And this will absolutely be the only part of the story that I'll be sharing.
Friday
The first perfect day in nearly two weeks. The water surface of the Rideau River was calm, though the river’s current, below, was not. The heavy rains that welcomed April had added to the already heavy melt of March snow and the runoff raised water levels and increased the flow of this waterway. Though the canal system, which extended from the Ottawa River and made its way down to Kingston and the eastern end of Lake Ontario, was not yet ready for larger boats, it was certainly set for kayaks.
And Lynne and Greg Simpson were itching to get their new kayaks into the water.
During the COVID-19 pandemic, kayaks had been their lifeline. After a month of being limited to their home, with minimal contact to the outside world, Lynne and Greg were going stir crazy. They went for walks around the neighbourhood, to get fresh air and exercise, and they would have one or two friends join them, keeping the socially accepted two-metre distance, but they needed more activity.
Lynne had recently come into some inheritance money, after her father had passed away, and she made the decision to purchase kayaks. She and Greg had considered acquiring some, years earlier, had even test-paddled several makes and models on a pond to the south of the Carp airport, which was just west of Ottawa. The test paddling had been provided by an outdoors store, which had several steel freight containers that had been converted into canoe and kayak storage lockers. But the Simpsons never committed, having preferred travelling to extravagant expenses on water craft that they weren’t sure that they’d get full use of.
And so, kayaks were allocated to the back burner.
One morning, in April of 2020, however, Lynne had made an executive decision while she and her husband were still in bed. “We’re getting kayaks,” she declared, as Greg slowly awoke. Lynne was always the first to open her eyes and she patiently waited for her husband while browsing on her iPad.
“Oh, aye?” said Greg, his Scottish tongue sang. “Just like that?”
“I’ve been looking online. We both liked the touring kayaks that we tested before.”
“Sure, but that was years ago.”
“Yeah, and what’s changed? Look here,” she urged, holding up her tablet with a page from Frontenac Outfitters, an outdoor-adventure store that was located north of Kingston. “These are Delta kayaks, made in British Columbia. Highly rated.”
Greg perused the stats, looked at the images on the screen.
“Fifteen-hundred dollars apiece!” Greg let out a low whistle.
“Worth it,” said Lynne. “I need to get out. Walking isn’t enough.”
“It’s almost cycling season.”
“Cycling isn’t enough. And besides, you’re a lone wolf. You like going on long rides on your own. We would kayak together.”
It was true. Greg would often get on his road bike with only a vague idea of where he wanted to go. Maybe, just to Manotick and back. The small village, less than 10 kilometres south from their Barrhaven home, was a popular route for trips that were shorter than an hour. There were bakeries and coffee shops, where he’d stop for a treat before returning home.
But more often than not, Greg would reach Manotick and keep going. Sometimes, he would head east, to Greely, and then turn south, to Osgoode, before heading west, to North Gower, and then north again, toward home. If he was feeling particularly energetic, he’d head all the way to Kemptville, or even Merrickville, before turning back.
One thing was for certain: Greg liked to cycle solo. He wanted to keep his own pace, wanted to slip on his Bluetooth headphones and play his music–not too loud to drown out vehicles that approached him from behind, but loud enough to make any conversation impossible.
It was Lynne who called him the ‘lone wolf,’ but she was right. For his rides, Greg wanted no company.
“Look,” Lynne said, pointing out two of the Delta kayaks. One was 12 feet in length; the other, another 10 inches longer. “They only have one 12-foot kayak left in stock. I would want that one.”
“It’s yellow,” said Greg. “You’re fine with the colour?”
“It’s a nice yellow. They call it ‘Saffron.’”
Greg eyed the longer craft. “They have two of these left in stock.”
“And look, one of them is also saffron. We could have matching kayaks.”
“I prefer the red one,” said Greg. “You know that’s my favourite colour.”
“It says here that they’ll deliver them for twenty dollars.”
“Doesn’t seem like that would even cover the cost of gas.”
The kayaks arrived a week later. While they waited, the Simpsons watched paddling techniques on YouTube. They went through a checklist of equipment they’d need: a rooftop carrier for the car; paddles; throw lines; a bilge pump for expelling excess water that could get into the cockpit; and covers for the cockpits.
Masked up and adhering to social-distancing rules, the couple went into a local sporting-goods store, made sure that they had everything they needed for when the kayaks arrived and the weather allowed for them to get on the water.
Lynne was right. Being on the water was liberating. Paddling on local lakes and rivers was their zen. They packed cameras and binoculars, became novice birders, spying all sorts of avian wildlife, listening to the myriad songs along the waterways.
A phone app listened and identified the birds.
For years, Lynne and Greg looked forward to kayaking season. They’d pack the storage compartments with camping gear and paddle to the interior of provincial parks. It renewed and strengthened their love of the outdoors, allowed them to forget about the hectic, fast-paced life of weekdays.
They challenged themselves, paddling on the busy and sometimes swift current of the St. Lawrence Seaway, exploring the Thousand Islands. They paddled large lakes, sometimes battling strong winds that produced white caps on the water. And while their Delta kayaks handled these challenges fairly well, the Simpsons eventually determined that they needed more than their crafts could deliver.
“We need 14-foot boats,” Lynne declared at the end of the previous season. “We also need either a skeg or a rudder.” As with their earlier purchase, Lynne was prepared, showing Frontenac Outfitters’ Web site once again. “They’re taking pre-orders for next year’s models, offering the same price as this year.”
“I’d like to actually try one before I commit,” said Greg, but already, he knew that they needed longer kayaks. They had dreams of paddling the fjord of the Saguenay River, northeast of Québec City. The prospect of moving along the waterway, sharing space with beluga whales, was a huge draw, and their kayaks could benefit from the control of a rudder. Greg didn’t like the idea of a skeg–a fin that could pop out from a slit along the keel. They had friends with kayaks that used skegs, and a couple of times, a pebble or mud from the shore would get in the recess, and would prevent the skeg from dropping all the way, or worse: not coming down at all. With a rudder, pedals inside the cockpit would allow the kayak to compensate, should wind try to push the stern sideways. “And I suppose it would be fine to pre-order. That way, there’s no risk of them running out.”
In 2020, when their kayaks were delivered, the Simpsons learned that they had taken the last kayaks, that other shoppers had the same idea of getting on the water to beat the confinement of the pandemic, and that the demand outweighed the supply. “Delta says they have no idea when they’ll have more stock. They’re in shutdown mode, too,” said the Frontenac rep who delivered the Simpson’s kayaks.
A decision was made to take the long drive on the Thanksgiving long weekend. The shop was located on the edge of Frontenac Provincial Park and backed onto Pearkes Lake. Lynne tried both the skeg and rudder models, whereas Greg was only keen on the rudder version.
The sales representative was helpful, setting a kayak on grass and letting Greg and Lynne try sitting in it, getting the overall feel. She then sent the couple down a path toward Pearkes Lake, telling them that she’ll follow, with two models in a pickup truck. The Simpsons had brought their own life vests and paddles so that they would be set up with familiar equipment. Once set in the water–Greg in a ruddered Delta and Lynne in the boat with the skeg–the salesperson let them putter at leisure, letting the two know that she’d be back at the shop for when they were finished testing.
“Just leave the kayaks on the grass near the dock,” she said as she turned away.
Back at the shop, Greg said, “We’ll take two, with rudders.” Lynne was comfortable in both models but didn’t care for the cord mechanism of the boat with the skeg. Also, the recess in the aft storage compartment might mean that she’d have to strategically place any camping gear that she’d want to carry there.
*
Nearly six months later, the Simpsons made the return trip to Frontenac Outfitters to collect their new kayaks. The shop would not be delivering them, this time. The pandemic was all but over and the cheap delivery fee was a one-time incentive.
It was a new season, new crafts, new colours. Lynne had decided on a bright green that Delta called ‘Lime’: Greg, Azure Blue. And now, with ice-out conditions, the two were eager to take their boats on a maiden trip.
They wanted to stay close to home. This would just be a test run to reacquaint themselves with paddling techniques and to become comfortable in the new configuration. They took the short drive to the Chapman Mills Conservation area, some 10 minutes away from their Barrhaven home.
Driving along Fallowfield Road, their eyes couldn’t help but turn to the farmer’s field. It hadn’t even been a week since that airplane had crashed, and investigators were still on site. The tragedy was all that occupied local news outlets, and while the reporters and cameras were no longer preoccupied by the crash site, there were still some curious spectators who would pull onto the shoulder of the surrounding roads to observe and say a little prayer for the victims.
“Those poor, poor people,” said Lynne, in a near-whisper and almost to herself, as Greg drove past.
“At least the rain has stopped and given the field a chance to absorb some of the water,” said Greg. “It’ll help the investigators examine all the pieces. They’ll be moving them to a Transport Canada facility soon, I imagine.”
“At least they’ve recovered the flight data and cockpit recordings,” added Lynne. “Something must have gone wrong with the plane.”
“Aye, true.”
Though it was too early for the Chapman Mills Conservation Area to have its dock deployed out into the Rideau River, there was a gentle slope nearby where the Simpsons could step into the water. Neither Lynne nor Greg relished doing so, as it was still only late April and the water was ice-cold. With a late melt of snow and the heavy rains of the previous weeks, the river was higher than usual and the current was more noticeable. Not enough for the Simpsons to be concerned; in fact, it gave them a good opportunity to test the rudders on the vessels. And though the current could be detected, it wasn’t particularly swift. Just enough to slow the kayaks, should Greg and Lynne be moving upstream and stop paddling.
The plan for this short outing was to head upstream, past the Vimy Memorial Bridge, which linked Barrhaven to Riverside South, and reach the Long Island lockstation, on the northern end of Manotick, before heading back. It was only a few kilometres, each way, but it would give them a satisfying taste of the new boats. They also expected the Rideau to get a bit turbulent as they reached the smaller Jock River, near the basin of the locks. Every year, the runoff at the intersection was strong, and this spring was going to be even more swift, with the added rains.
The air was crisp at this time of morning but the sun was doing its best to change that. Wisps of fog rose from the water but quickly dissipated as the sunlight touched it. Because the trees were bare, the footpath for the conservation area was clearly visible. The National Capital Commission, which saw to the care of the trail, had finished their renovations the previous fall, finally completing a wooden bridge that linked the trail to an outcrop of ground that extended into the river like a tongue. Across the Rideau, the children’s play area of Claudette Cain Park stood on higher ground. And more than a half-kilometre away, the three white metal arches of the Vimy Memorial Bridge seemed even brighter with the sun lighting them up.
Already, the rudders came into use. Though Lynne and Greg figured that they wouldn’t need them 99 percent of the time, the current in the middle of the river was just strong enough to try to turn the stern the wrong way.
“I’m loving the rudder already,” said Lynne, as she pulled the lever and flipped the rudder into the water, using the pedals to make a slight correction.
“I’m glad we had the forethought to unhook the rudders before we set out,” added Greg.
“I’m still mentally adjusting to looking ahead and seeing green, instead of yellow.”
“Don’t you mean saffron?”
“How do you like the blue of yours?” laughed Lynne.
“It seems brighter than the red. I’m glad I’m wearing sunglasses.” Indeed, facing toward the rising sun was making him squint, even with shades over his eyes.
A suction cup was attached to the cover of the kayak’s day pod, a small, circular hatch for a compartment where Greg usually stored snacks for a day’s paddle and other things that he felt he would need to access quickly. The suction cup housed an attachment for a GoPro mount, but Greg had a 360-degree video camera attached, instead. Over the years, Greg had wanted to capture aspects of their paddles, to make videos that they could watch and enjoy later. He had considered creating his own kayaking YouTube channel but had never found the confidence to share the videos with the general public. When the Simpsons kayaked with their paddling friends, who he dubbed Paddlefolk, they would gather after Greg had compiled his video footage and relive the experience.
As soon as he was comfortable in the kayak and ready to paddle in earnest, Greg pressed the record button on the camera. “Hey, folks, it’s the Simpsons… .” He paused, mentally thinking of the opening theme to the similarly named, long-running cartoon. Every video that Greg had created included a clip of the opening notes of The Simpsons, with the title emerging from clouds, and as soon as the title was sung, the clip would end and the video would resume with Greg. “No, not those Simpsons, it’s Lynne and Greg. It’s a new season of paddling and we’re on our maiden voyage in our new Delta kayaks. We’re just taking a short outing, on the Rideau River, starting at Chapman Mills Conservation Area and ending at the base of the Long Island Locks. We’ll be paddling under the Vimy Memorial Bridge and checking out the tail end of the Jock River, which should be racing into the Rideau. We can’t wait!”
He pressed the button on the camera again, ending the recording. He would resume recording as they approached the bridge or if anything else caught his attention along the way. The greatest advantage of a 360-degree camera was that Greg didn’t have to point it towards his subject. With two extra-wide lenses mounted on opposite sides of the housing, the camera caught literally everything. The camera captured two files and the processing software would seamlessly stitch the footage together during editing. Greg could focus the view wherever he wanted, later. This, he felt, gave him the freedom to push one button and forget about the camera, let him just concentrate on paddling, and enjoy the scenery around him.
The mist on the water was lighter in the shade of the approaching bridge, and Greg pressed the button to resume recording. He didn’t provide any narrative but simply let the camera take everything in. After a few more seconds, he stopped recording. He had learned over the years that several short clips were more pleasing to the eye than one long clip that didn’t forward the story.
“Look over there,” Lynne called out, pointing toward the eastern side of the river, about 50 metres downstream, between the Simpsons and the bridge. “Is that a beaver?”
Greg followed Lynne’s line from her finger and saw a small shadow raised above the water line. The sunlight made a silhouette that provided little detail from the distance that the kayakers were from the object.
“It’s possible,” said Greg, “but it’s not moving very fast. Whatever it is, it’s floating, not swimming.” He pressed the record button again and started paddling toward whatever was moving downstream.
Greg was sceptical of anything that he couldn’t clearly identify from his kayak. In their first season, while paddling along the Tay River, near the Eastern Ontario town of Perth, Greg thought he saw a beaver near some lily pads and bullrushes, but as he approached it, he discovered that it was simply the stumpy end of a log that was sticking above the surface. And though this object on the Rideau was moving, he still had his doubts.
He turned his attention to the lens of his camera that was facing him. “Lynne has spotted something up ahead, just visible above the river’s surface. Is it some creature? Let’s find out.” In his mind the video footage would then point past the bow, which was on a direct course toward the shadowy object.
As he drew closer, he saw dark fur. It was definitely the head of a creature, but seemed slightly large for a beaver. There was also something trailing behind. Was it a dead animal? Each stroke of his paddle brought Greg closer and more detail was showing itself. It was a creature, he was sure of it. But with no motion beyond what the river was providing, he was sure that it was dead.
Trailing behind the head–he was sure it was a head–Greg saw non-organic material. Some sort of fabric, he was sure of it. It was dark but he expected that almost any water-soaked material would be darkened. Was it a jacket? Greg was now within 10 metres of the creature when he realized that the fur was hair. Long hair. Just below the water’s surface, Greg could make out arms, outstretched, legs trailing behind.
“Lynney,” Greg called behind him, his voice quivering, the power and confidence it had almost always carried, faltering, “stay back. Grab your phone. Call 9-1-1.” He let the camera continue to record, though he knew this would not be a video that he would be watching later, in the comfort of his home.
