Massacre Island

By Bill Boudreau

The disappearance of teenager Lisa Surette from Fishermen's Island stirs the peaceful town of Olsegon.

Olsegon folks and Lisa's parents blame the mysterious man who lives on Massacre Island, near Fishermen's Island. Mark Snipe, sheriff, not convinced, but pressured by townsfolks and mayor, agrees to seek out the hermit.

Reported by fishermen, the mystery man disappears on sight. No one knows where he came from.

As a War II German prisoner in Europe, trauma flashbacks still haunt Mark Snipe.

On Massacre Island, the sheriff leads four men up a cliff, in a forest, to an embedded marsh, sea cove, into caves where the team discovers skeletons, hieroglyphics, artifacts, and how the mystery man came to be.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bill Boudreau
• Release date: Mar 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215184370

Bill Boudreau

Bill Boudreau is a French Acadian, born and raised in the small fishing village of Wedgeport, Nova Scotia, Canada. He’s a graduate of the Montreal Technical Institute and earned an MBA from Oklahoma City university. He’s retired from a long career in Computer Software/Engineering and management. His self-published writings books include poetry, fiction, creative-nonfiction, allegory, and passages of his personal life, in addition to publishing books for numerous other authors. Accompanied with guitar, he has written and performed French and English ballads and love songs. His website is: www.billboudreau.com

Book preview

Chapter 1, Lisa Surette Disappeared

Mark Snipe hooked his narrow-brimmed beige hat on the rack to the left of his office chair. He sat down, tapped, and emptied the dry tobacco from his pipe in the ashtray. Pulled a pouch from his breast pocket and crossed his feet on the desk. His finger stuffed fresh tobacco in the pipe cup. He lit a match, sucked the flame, and blew a stream of aromatic smoke in the air.

He had enjoyed his lunch at White’s Café, next door. Owner and cook, Rose White’s homemade clam chowder and bread came close to his deceased mother’s food. Amber Lavin served him. They had agreed to go to Usket that evening for dinner and a movie.

The fog lifted early that July Thursday, and he anticipated a dull, muggy afternoon. He could drive to the docks and check if anyone trapped and tried to smuggle illegal lobsters.

The phone rang.

Hello. Mark Snipe... Be right over.

Mark dashed out. Come in Cy’s office, he said as he swung around the secretary, Louise’s desk, and in five steps, he stood in front of the mayor.

What’s the matter? Cy Good, elbows sprawled on his writing pad, pen in one hand, looked up.

Louise Spread, the two men’s office help, eyed the sheriff.

Robert Surette’s daughter, Lisa, has disappeared from Fishermen’s Island.

What do you mean disappeared? the mayor straightened his upper body.

He can’t find her. He dropped her there yesterday on his way to the herring grounds. He was to pick her up today on his way back. She stayed in his shanty overnight.

By herself? How old is she? the mayor leaned back in his chair.

Guess so. Seventeen, I think.

Yes, seventeen. Hope she’s all right, Louise said.

I’m sure there’s an explanation. The sheriff puffed on his pipe.

Is she a good kid? Cy Good bend forward, dropped his arms on the desk pad.

Louise interrupted. Very responsible. Just graduated from high school. Top grades, I hear. The men looked at her. She’s going to college to study marine biology, Louise added.

The sheriff pulled his pipe out of his mouth. I’m on my way to the dock. I’ll call for help first.

Mark strode back to his office. He called Tall Dan, his retired predecessor and backup deputy. The Royal Canadian Mounted Police’s office in Usket said they would send an officer, right away.

The sheriff hurried down the steps and scooted to Rose White’s door, swatted at mosquitoes, and knocked.

Well, Mark, come on in. What brings you here? Rose pushed the screen door open.

Want to talk to Amber. He took his hat off.

She’s in the café. Rose went to the passageway that joined the kitchen to the café and called her.

Amber, I’ll be late tonight. He told them about Lisa Surette. Have to go on the island.

Amber put her hand on her chin. She’s such a sweet girl.

See you when I get back. Mark left.

He headed south. In the recent months, he saw Amber relaxed, optimistic, and in a mood, he had not seen in a long time. He felt good about it. She recovered well from the rescue of her 14-month old boy, Rusty, in less than three days, twelve months ago. Then last April came her divorce from Les Green. Her mother’s sister, Etta, a spinster, welcomed Amber, Rusty, and Vincent to live with her. Mark still felt some guilt for the pregnancy that interrupted Amber’s twelfth grade. Damn war!

He turned right, wheeled the truck down toward the dock, and drove by Andrew Cottreau’s Boat Shop. He waved at Andrew who was eyeing his new boat in the front of the large open door. His son Joe on top of the almost finished hull, swung a hammer and looked up. Another son Israel caulked the underside.

It was low tide. The warm sun agitated the decayed fish gut on the plankton, tainted the air, and assaulted Mark’s nostrils.

The herring factory, largest structure at Doucette’s Wharf, processed erring filets. The air shimmered and carried the scent of decomposed intestines, heads, fins, tail piled on the sea-exposed flat. Hundreds of seagulls clacked, some hovered, more dotted the waste mount and squabbled over the tastiest pieces.

Five boats flanked the pier pillars on the north edge. Three thirty-five-footers snuggled the other side. Atlantic tide, near ebb low with sea bottom exposed, and plankton sandwiched the channel that snaked out from the wharf’s end. Two anchored vessels floated in the poled sea artery to the open sea.

On land, George LeBlanc and Elie Louis scraped barnacles and old paint from the underside of their rigs.

The sheriff parked his truck at the edge of the receded water, to the right of the dock.

Hello, Mark.

George, scraper in hand, stood, grabbed the beak of his cap, and wiped sweat off his forehead.

Hi.

Elie passed a hand over a spot he’d smoothed. What do you think happened to Lisa? He looked at Mark.

Don’t know. We’re going to the island now.

Tall Dan drove in and parked his truck next to Mark’s.

The Mountie not here yet? Dan spoke through the cab window. He stepped out.

See him coming. The sheriff pointed his pipe.

The officer parked the cruiser on the other side of the shored boats. A baby-faced young man swiveled out. A trim, uniformed RCMP marched toward Mark and Dan. His stiff-brimmed hat that tipped forward laced on the back of his skull and hung tight against his short brown hair. He wore a wide belt, holster on his right. A leather strap ran over his shoulder and hooked his belt in the back against a well-pressed light brown shirt. Shined boots snuggled his calves up to below the kneecaps. Pants bulged away from his thighs, sideways, a yellow stripe on the edges. A neat-knotted tie tucked inside his shirt two buttons down from the neck.

The youth’s image and age flashed a time when Mark entered the war that inaugurated him to horrors of combat on the shores of France.

Who’s this one, Dan mumbled at Mark. Never seen him before, have you?

No.

Just a kid.

The officer introduced himself. I’m Bobby Smart. Have we got a plan?

What do you mean? Mark tucked his pipe in his breast pocket.

Tall Dan remained silent, eyed the RCMP who said, We need to know what we’re going to do.

We’re going on the island and look for Lisa Surette. The sheriff turned to the parents, coming from the dock.

Got a boat? Bobby Smart tried to get Mark’s attention.

Yeah. The girl’s father’s.

Mark, we’ve got to go find Lisa. Marie, Lisa’s mother, touched his arm.

Let’s go, quick! The boat’s ready, Robert, Lisa’s father said. Low tide. We’ll have to go around Massacre Island. Robert scanned the bay.

They stepped on the wharf and headed toward the end where Robert’s rig floated, moored.

Mrs. Surette, we’ll find your daughter, officer Smart said. You’ve heard the saying ‘the Royal Canadian Mounted Police always gets his man.’

Marie frowned and from the corner of her eyes looked at the young man. What do you mean?

What time did you drop Lisa on the island yesterday, Robert? Mark said before the RCMP had a chance to respond.

Two o’clock. She had everything she needed in the shanty. Food. Water. She is very familiar with the place. We’ve taken her there since she was a little girl. She wanted to examine sea life. She’s been accepted to study marine biology.

I heard. The sheriff pulled downward on the rim of his hat.

One winter, when I was cook for Robert and his crew, Mrs. Surette said, before Lisa started school, she stayed there with me. She loved the island.

Are there any holes? Bobby Smart looked at the mother. She could have fallen into. Could she have slipped off the dock?

Unlikely, the father answered.

What time did you tell her you’d pick her up today, Robert? Mark waved at a fisherman in a boat, engine box opened.

Between ten and ten-thirty this morning on my way in to unload my catch. I scanned the shore in front of the shanties. Went in the woods a ways. Shouted. Then I decided to come and get help. Go around the island. Deeper into the woods.

Could she have rowed across the channel to Massacre Island? Did she have access to a dory? Tall Dan asked.

Yeah, have one there. Still shored.

At the end of the dock, they descended the ladder built between barnacled poles and stepped in the boat.

Robert opened the engine bulkhead, reached in, pulled away, and closed the cover. We’re ready.

Have you been on the sea before? Tall Dan eyed Bobby Smart.

Nope.

There’ll be swells as we go around Massacre Island. Think you’ll be all right?

Mark looked at Dan and grinned.

I can take it! Bobby Smart cocked his head. I have a strong stomach.

Mark and Dan sat on the stern looking at the young officer who leaned against the right side staring at the channel across the bay toward Comeau’s Point He seemed puzzled at worm-diggers on the plankton near the edge of the marsh.

Mrs. Surette stood by her husband at the