Ghost Writer(11)

Chapter Nine ~ Calm Before the Storm



“It's the HMCS Nottawasaga,” said Gravell appearing suddenly beside me.

I nearly jumped out of my skin. “Shit!”

He laughed. “Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. Still feeling sick?”

“Much better, actually.”

“Still mad at me?”

“No. I realized that you were just putting on a show because I was at risk of falling in love with you and that would have been hard to have explained to the wife.”

He squinted at me, trying to determine if I was serious. “You're teasing me.”

“A bit,” I said. Not entirely, I thought.

Remember this, gentlemen, there is something very sexy about a man who wraps a woman in a warm blanket when it's needed, and holds the bucket if that's what's required.



The Nottawasaga followed us, gradually closing the gap. According to Gravell, we were about eighteen hours from our destination. That meant that I had to finish my last two pre-dive interviews tout de suite.

Dora was ready for the cameras and went first. I asked the usual establishing questions then gave her the question she needed to steal the show. “You have no family involved. You’re not even a United State citizen, so what drew you to this mystery?”

“That’s a good question.” Well, of course it was, she came up with it. “I feel that my formative years were shaped by the Space Race and the Cold War. As a Canadian, it confused me that one country, the United States, could be reaching for the stars with one hand, and reaching for the Armageddon with the other. It was my first indication that we all have a sinner and a saint within us, whether we are a person, a business, or a country.”

She leaned forward and spoke to the camera as if she could see her audience beyond the lens. “I thoroughly believe that everyone is capable of committing theft and murder under the right circumstances. They might choose not to. They might resist their behavioural imperative, but it is there nonetheless.”

“So you think a crime has been committed?”

She sat back. “Absolutely! If nothing else, there are members of our governments who have hidden the truth. The families of the lost crewmen deserve answers.”

“What about the argument that national security is involved?”

Dora dismissed the suggestion with a wave. “All the more reason to investigate. As I have often argued, transparency of process does not need to include the revelation of all secrets whether they are personal or national.”

She was on her soap box now.

“An investigation could have been made and the public could have seen the process, if not all the particulars. Yet, as we now know, there was no real examination of the incident.” Dora lowered her voice dramatically. “Consider, if we find out that those men died over the period of weeks, long after they were reported missing, the absence of an investigation could amount to negligent manslaughter.”



Gravell hung around for Dora’s interview, but was strangely absent when it came time for his. I had to get help from Franchot to make him sit in front of the camera.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle,” I said.

Franchot chuckled.

Gravell gave him what Grandma Allard called the evil eye. It was gone when he turned back to me. “Whenever you’re ready, Madame Kirby.”

I eased him into the interview by asking him about Sea Cadets and how that influenced his career choice. It worked like a charm. I thought my next question would be equally relaxed. “How long have you sailed with the émil Gagnan ?”

There was a slight hesitation. “Not long. I’m filling in for the Skipper’s regular first mate.”

That was a surprise. There were photos of the crew working on other jobs in the wardroom. I hadn’t seen Gravell in any of them, but I assumed that was because he was taking the photos. My family photos have a similar absence of me since I was old enough to own a camera.

That pretty much ended the interview. I asked more questions, but Gravell didn’t have an opinion about the wreck. He had no vested interest. This was just a job for him. When I remarked that he seemed to have developed a good working relationship with the Skipper, he said was that he was good at getting along with people.

I tried a different tactic. “What kind of work do you usually do?”

“Whatever is needed—and I am needed elsewhere.”



That night, I dreamed of the station again. This didn't surprise me. All my life, whenever something big was looming on my horizon, I would dream about it the night before. I rehearsed exams, job interviews, even giving birth although the last one had little bearing on reality.

I knew my husband was going to leave me three nights before he took me out to an expensive dinner and had the talk. Of course, in that instance, there had been signs, not ones I wanted to acknowledge, but signs nonetheless. In my dreams, my mother, who had died a few years before, told me Will was seeing someone else and hadn’t she warned me about him in the first place?

The station dreams felt more like my pre-birth dreams, filled with anticipatory anxiety. There was a lot of blood in those dreams too.

I had a repeat of the first dream, woke up, walked around a bit, and went back to sleep only to have it repeat again. When I saw which way the dream was going, I decided I needed to wake up. Usually I can do this when I know I'm dreaming. This time, it was like waking up and discovering that reality was scarier than the dream.