Judith Bowen - The Doctor's Daughter

“Really!” Virginia was genuinely pleased. “Anybody I know?”

“Nope. Babe from Clearwater. In B.C. On the Yellowhead.” Johnny frowned, chewed a mouthful of peanuts and swallowed again. “Hey—you hungry?” He offered her the open bag. She shook her head.

“So, got any kids?”

“Nah. Marriage went belly-up a few years back. She couldn’t handle the life-style, know what I mean?”

That didn’t surprise her. What woman could?

“Worked a few jobs here and there, tried to stay straight. Sawmills, oil rigs, drove truck for a while. Harper’s Transport out of Olds.” He glanced at her. “Nothing that amounted to much. Spent a little time in the clink—I already mentioned that, huh?” Virginia had the distinct impression he’d spent more than a little time in jail, and maybe that had been the part of the life-style his wife couldn’t handle. “What about you?”

“Oh, this and that. I was down East for a few years. I’m going to law school up in Edmonton now, second year—”

“No kidding! So you can put guys like me behind bars, eh?”

“I guess so.” She smiled. It was hard to stay mad at Johnny. She remembered that about him. He could always make her laugh, even during the worst times. Firmly she reminded herself that this was different. This was serious. Mr. Gibbon had no doubt freed himself and called the Mounties. Any minute now they’d hear a police siren and they’d be pulled over and Johnny’d be arrested and that would be the end of it.

Suddenly Johnny slowed the Jeep and they lurched off the road, which had been gravel for the past several miles, onto a rutted lane that wasn’t much more than a grassy track. The vehicle heaved and bounced, engine growling.

Virginia held tight to the armrest. She didn’t like this. She didn’t like it one bit. At least the road they’d been on was public; there’d been a chance of flagging down another car, if she’d had the opportunity. But what could she do out here in some shack in the bush? Somehow, though, she didn’t think Johnny was a walker. Too lazy. The cabin he’d mentioned couldn’t be too far and she figured it had to be on some sort of road.

She was wrong.

They came to a stop in the middle of a clearing with a faint turnaround. There were tiny spring flowers and grasses growing in the tracks, indicating it hadn’t been used for a while.

“What are we stopping for?” she asked, on the off chance this wasn’t what she thought it was—their destination.

“We’re here, babe. This is old-fashioned cabin country. You take the cash bag and I’ll grab that duffel in the back. I’m banking on my buddy keeping the joint stocked. Otherwise it’s pepperoni and peanuts or, if the lady prefers, peanuts and pepperoni.” He laughed, as though it was a tremendous joke.

Reluctantly Virginia took the canvas bag. She didn’t know what else to do. She was stuck out here now. She had to put her faith in Johnny’s good nature. Surely he’d drive her back to civilization, or at least to the road, once they’d talked.

She shivered, realizing no one knew where she was. No one even knew she was in Bragg Creek, except Mary Prescott, and Mary was in France right now. Virginia had planned to call her parents and tell them about her summer job and the place she’d found to stay, but she hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

No one would miss her. Not until she didn’t show up at the Banff Springs Hotel next Monday for her new job. It was a horrible feeling.

She walked beside Johnny through the clearing and over a small grassy knoll, through sparse groupings of birch and poplar and mountain ash. A few conifers, spruce and pine, were interspersed with the deciduous trees. It was a lovely time of year. Somewhere in the distance she could hear the sound of water flowing. Snowmelt? Elbow Falls was somewhere up here. Were they near it?

The cabin was surprisingly comfortable, despite its remote location. It consisted of two rooms, a tiny bedroom with a sagging double bed and a larger main room combining small kitchen, dining nook and living room. A large iron woodstove stood in the center of the main room. Seasoned firewood was split and piled to the eaves outside the weathered wooden door. The walls were log and the roof was rusted tin. The place had a certain charm.

“You’ve been here before?” she asked Johnny as he threw the duffel bag onto the old-fashioned sofa draped in a granny-square afghan on one side of the living room. She wrinkled her nose at the musty smell in the air. Mice, definitely.

“Couple times. Buddy of mine owns it. Fishing cabin.” Johnny yanked open a window a few inches, then went to the cupboards. He whistled with satisfaction. “Man, ain’t we lucky? Everything a guy could want,” he said, holding up some soup mixes and other dehydrated-food packages in one hand and a large bottle of rye whiskey in the other. “Good thing we had a mild winter or this woulda froze—and that woulda been a darn shame.”

Whiskey. Virginia had a sinking feeling in the pit of her belly. Johnny had always been a boozer. She’d forgotten that about him. In fact, it struck her that perhaps he’d already been drinking. The Jeep, she recalled, had smelled faintly of old booze, along with cigarette smoke and damp canvas. Maybe to get his nerve up for the robbery. Suddenly this no longer felt like a lark—not that it ever really had. She wanted to go home.

“When are you taking me back, Johnny?” she asked nonchalantly, trying a smile. She had the feeling it wouldn’t be a good idea to get into an argument with him out here. Not until she knew exactly where she stood.

“Oh, hell, Ginny,” he said sharply, unscrewing the cap on the whiskey and splashing several inches into a water glass. “What’s your rush? It’s party time. Hell, I haven’t seen you in six years and now you can’t spend a couple hours with an old buddy? What’s the matter? The doctor’s daughter too good for old Johnny Gagnon now?” He held up the glass in a mock toast and smiled, but his smile didn’t quite match the look in his eyes. Virginia felt a tiny shiver run over her flesh.

“I guess you’re right,” she said lightly. “Well, I’ll start a fire.” Why not play Girl Guide? Maybe Johnny wasn’t welcome in this cabin, and someone would come to investigate the smoke. It was as likely as not that the “buddy” who owned the place was like the buddy who’d lent him the Jeep—a flgment of Johnny’s wishful thinking.

Virginia found some old newspapers on a rickety table in the bedroom, yellowed and dated the previous fall. Did that mean the owner hadn’t been back since?

She crumpled up a few sheets and poked them into the stove. Johnny slouched on the sagging sofa, whiskey in his hand, watching her every move. She opened the door to get some firewood.

“Don’t go anywhere, eh, babe?” he called out. There was no mistaking the warning in his voice, and Virginia shivered again. She looked out the door into the deep, quiet afternoon woods. She had no idea where she was. What were the chances of her running out of here, away from Johnny? Not great. She’d play for a little more time; maybe he’d get drunk and fall asleep.

“I’m just getting some wood for the fire,” she said. She stepped off the stoop and ambled casually toward a large stump that had obviously been used for splitting wood. Dry chips lay all about the ground. Virginia bent to pick up a handful—starter for the fire. As she did so, she glanced toward the cabin. Johnny was watching her through the small window. So much for making a run for it.

Why did he want her? Surely not as a real hostage. That was crazy, just something he’d made up on the spur of the moment. Virginia carried in the chips, along with a few sticks of the firewood. She’d go along with him and stay as determinedly cheerful as possible. Any chance she had to run, she’d take it.

The fire caught immediately, and soon a welcome warmth penetrated the cabin, warming the chill, dank air and even driving off the mousy smell she’d noticed when she’d first walked in.

“Soup and crackers?” she asked Johnny, checking out the cupboard contents herself. “I didn’t have any breakfast or lunch.”

“That’s more like it, babe. Make yourself useful. Sure, put on some soup. Throw in some of that beef jerky.” Johnny grinned and raised his half-empty glass to her. He’d already refilled it once. “Let’s party!”

Virginia didn’t reply to that. She filled a pot of water from the outdoor hand pump, letting the rusty water seep into the ground until it ran clear. A squirrel scolded her from a nearby jack pine. In other circumstances, this could be quite pleasant.

The soup was good and filling, especially simmered with a handful of the jerky. Something new, she thought, almost smiling—cream of jerky soup. The crackers were stale, but she felt better after she’d eaten. Johnny was drinking too much and mumbling to himself. She ignored him. All she could hope was that he’d pass out.

When she’d cleaned up the dishes and pot she’d used for the soup, Virginia pawed through a stack of magazines and newspapers she’d discovered in a corner of the bedroom. She found an old Reader’s Digest magazine and curled up on the rickety armchair to read and pass the time. He was definitely incapable of driving anywhere now. Johnny had progressed from mumbling to singing to himself on the sofa, a third—or was it a fourth?—tumbler of whiskey in his hand.

Oddly, she didn’t feel threatened. She knew her captor too well. He was the same old Johnny. Impulsive, headstrong, a joker... He was too badly organized to carry off anything complicated or serious. Virginia had no doubt he’d be back in jail within days. And not for the last time either.

A sudden groan and then snoring from the direction of the sofa alerted Virginia to the fact that she’d finally had some luck. He’d fallen asleep. Or passed out. Now she could sneak out and find her way back to the main road—there was still an hour or two of daylight—hitch a ride to town and put as many miles between herself and her captor as possible. If she could avoid it, she wouldn’t go to the cops. Let them catch him themselves; it wasn’t as though anyone had been hurt in the robbery, including her.

Virginia got to her feet and walked quietly to the door, one eye on the snoring Johnny Gagnon. He’d knocked over his glass when he’d fallen asleep and the pungent fumes of twelve-year-old whiskey filled the room.

The key! It was missing. Virginia clenched her jaw in surprise and shock. Damn him. He wasn’t as disorganized as she’d assumed. There’d only been an old-fashioned latch on the outside when they’d arrived, but she’d noticed an ancient skeleton key stuck in the rusted lock from the inside when she’d gone out to get the firewood earlier. That skeleton key was gone. She glanced toward Johnny, her lips compressed in annoyance. No doubt the missing key was in his pocket.

Then she realized he hadn’t taken the gun out of his jacket pocket and his jacket was hanging over the back of the sofa. She tiptoed toward it Shuddering, she touched the icy-cold steel of the gun. She withdrew it, then panicked. It was a lot heavier than she’d thought it would be. What was she going to do with it? She didn’t know; she just didn’t want a weapon like that available to a man as drunk as Johnny. She looked around the small cabin. There weren’t many hiding places. In the end she put it in the crisper of the old icebox, which hadn’t been used for months. Johnny wasn’t the type to rummage around for vegetables, anyway.

After that she searched through the cupboard and found a couple of packages of noodles and mix, which she decided to make for an evening meal. The discovery that Johnny had locked her in was a shock. She was stuck until tomorrow now. It would be dark soon, and even if she got out, she didn’t think she’d be able to find her way to the road at night It wasn’t as though the Powderface Trail got a lot of traffic even in the daytime.