It was three days after the break-in at the Museum of Lost Creatures when Carys got a call from a Sergeant Norris of the Royal Newfoundland Constabulary.
“I heard you had some odd antique stuff stolen on your patch,” he said. “We had a very similar theft a few weeks back at a small antique store near Witless Bay, called ‘What the Tide Brought In.’”
“Oh? What was taken?”
“Only two things. The preserved pelt of a sea mink —”
“A sea mink?”
“Yeah. Like a sea otter, but extinct. The thieves also took a hundred-year-old women’s dress hat, very fancy. Lots of doodads on the brim — flowers and angels and whatnot.”
Artist: Robin Clugston
“Why would anybody want to steal an old hat?”
“Well… that kind of hat is extinct, too.” He chuckled.
“Thank you, Sergeant. Can you send me some photos of the stolen items?”
“Sending right now. Think these two thefts are connected?”
“That’s my feeling. Let’s keep each other posted.”
Carys rang off, puzzled. She could understand why somebody would want to steal the relics of extinct animals — museums and private collectors might pay well for them. But why steal an old hat and a feather duster?
She was looking over the photos sent by Sergeant Norris when her cell phone buzzed.
“My egg is safe!” Kenny Swale announced.
“What?”
“My great auk egg. The thief sent it back by Canada Post!”
When Carys arrived at the museum an hour later, Kenny was in the middle of preparing for his anniversary party the next day. He ushered Carys inside and produced a cardboard shipping carton. Inside, nestled in bubble wrap, was the egg— creamy white and decorated with dark squiggles like bits of static electricity.
“Um… there was a note along with it,” said Kenny, looking uncomfortable
Artist: Robin Clugston
He handed Carys a piece of paper that bore a single hand-written sentence: “This egg is fake!” The last word was underlined twice in red pen.
“Fake?” she said, looking up.
Kenny coloured. “Honestly, Carys, I didn’t know that. I bought it from a guy I trust like my own brother.”
“Who?”
“Our mayor, Mac Jensen. I mean, old Mac wouldn’t try to cheat me.”
Carys preferred to keep an open mind on that point. Rumour had it that Mac the Untamed had been involved in shady real estate schemes for years, though nothing had ever been proven.
“Okay,” she said, “at least we’ve learned that the thief is expert enough to tell the real thing from a good fake. And that reminds me — did you find a photo of your stuffed great auk?”
“Right here,” he said, laying out several photos on the desk.
Carys studied them closely. One was of the auk itself inside a glass case; the other was a shot of the wooden pedestal on which the auk stood. She could see a plate on the pedestal but couldn’t read the writing on it.
“What does this say?” she asked..
Kenny looked over her shoulder. “That’s the name of the taxidermist, William Lamb. He was quite famous in the 1850s and 60s.”
That name chimed in Cary’s mind, and brushing open her phone, she found the photo of the stolen sea mink pelt. It bore a label on the inside; and zooming in, she read, “William Lamb.”
“This is interesting,” she said.
“What?”
“There was a sea mink pelt stolen in Witless Bay recently. It was also preserved by this William Lamb.”
“A sea mink pelt? Wow, I’d love to have one of those.”
“What do you know about William Lamb, Kenny?”
Kenny shrugged. “A 19th-century taxidermist who lived in this area. But you know who you should talk to? Mayor Mac Jensen. You know he wrote a book on Fundy history — or at least, hired someone to write it. He’ll be there at the anniversary party tomorrow. You’re coming, right?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” said Carys.
Artist: Robin Clugston
*****
At the anniversary party for the museum, people chatted and played beach volleyball and ate hotdogs and asked Carys if she’d nabbed any criminal masterminds lately. She enjoyed it thoroughly. She especially liked playing “Lawn Dolphins,” a game for kids organized by a young woman named Ysabeau, a PhD student in marine biology. Ysabeau (the kids called her “Bo”) had scattered a bunch of items on the museum lawn — paperbacks, tennis balls, bubble gum, energy bars — and then the participants had to collect as many things as they could while holding their breath. As she explained to Carys, the kids had to be efficient with their stored breath, just like dolphins in their search for food.
It was late in the afternoon, as festivities were drawing to a close, when Carys spotted the mayor, Mac the Untamed, helping himself to one of the last hotdogs. She figured she should grab him now while he wasn’t schmoozing.
“Our new constable!” said Mac expansively, when Carys introduced herself. “Welcome, Carys.” He was a large shambling man in a captain’s hat, green polka-dotted shorts and a T-shirt that bore a quote from Henry David Thoreau: “It is a fine art, to saunter.”
Artist: Robin Clugston
“Kenny said you might be able to tell me something about William Lamb,” said Carys. “You being a local historian and everything.”
“Of course. Yes, William Lamb, the famous taxidermist. Why do you want to know about him?”
“Well, I’m investigating some thefts of William Lamb’s work. A sea mink pelt was stolen from Witless Bay, and you already know about the stuffed great auk that was taken from Kenny’s museum here.”
“Yes, yes, terrible.” Mac the Untamed was eying the overloaded hot dog in his hand but refrained from taking a bite. “Well, William Lamb. He had quite a life before he settled down to taxidermy. He spent ten years as a sailor, and there’s an old story that when he retired from seafaring life, he took along with him a treasure map. But apparently he died before he could pursue the treasure. Of course, a lot of people have tried to find the map, with no success.”
“Interesting. Have you tried, Mr. Jensen?”
He gave a lazy smile. “Oh, I have no time for treasure-hunting, Carys. Public service takes up my entire life.”
Carys was tempted to ask if that public service included selling fake great auk eggs, but she just said, “I don’t suppose William Lamb has any descendants left in the area?”
“There’s only one descendant I know of, in St. John — old Clint Clinton. Nice enough guy, but a real save-the-whales type. ”
“Would you have his contact info?”
“I’ll forward you his email.” He turned to look out over the sea. “The old Lamb home is still standing, by the way — barely. You should take a look at it. You can walk to it from here, straight up the beach.”
“Maybe I’ll do that now.” She still had a few hours of daylight left. “Thanks, Mr. Jensen.”
“Call me Mac, please. You know, I admire the heck out of all our first responders. My door is always open.”
Now, finally, he figured he was allowed to tackle his hot dog.
Carys began walking the darkened sand at the water’s edge, smelling the sea air and the kelp. The sea came in leisurely, peaceably, strewing its soft sibilants in the sand. A small shore bird, all gangly yellow legs and beak, skittered ahead of her. She thought of the dreams she’d had over the past few nights, of a lifeless, empty sea. They seemed particularly vivid at high tide. She remembered reading that people in Calgary could get migraine headaches because of the chinook, the warm wind from the mountains; was she too being affected by elemental rhythms, by a restless sea that could actually touch her sleeping mind if it moved high enough inland?
Just then, she spied Ysabeau, the young woman who had organized the “Lawn Dolphins” game. The latter held a green garbage bag and was scouring the beach for trash left over from the party.
Oddly, Carys’s first thought was to tell the woman about her dreams and ask her opinion of them; but after a bit of small talk, she decided just to ask about the sea mink.
“Yes, Neogale macrodon, “ said Ysabeau. She was a small blonde woman, sunny and soft of face, but with hardened, competent hands — she clearly liked outdoor work. “It’s a close relative of the American mink, and its pelt was very valuable. It was hunted to extinction by humans.”
“Like the great auk.”
Ysabeau nodded and stood looking out to sea for a moment. “It’s the odd animals that stretch our minds, isn’t it?” she said. “The great auk, the sea mink…they were characters. ”
“Are you studying any characters for your PhD?”
“Yes, humpback and right whales. Wonderful characters.”
They talked a bit more, and Carys learned that Ysabeau was doing her PhD at Memorial University in St. John’s, Newfoundland and Labrador.
“So you’re not far from Witless Bay,” said Carys.
“That’s my site for studying humpback whales.”
“I wonder… Maybe you could be my investigator in place.”
“Pardon?”
“Sorry, I was just thinking out loud, although…”
And then, because she was starting to feel alone in this investigation, Carys explained.
Nature Canada and other environmental groups have identified Witless Bay, Newfoundland and Labrador, as one of four priority marine areas needing protection. Find out how you can help protect these and other ocean sites by becoming a Nature Canada Ocean Defender!
Special thanks to Ottawa artist Robin Clugston for illustrating this original Nature Canada eco-mystery.
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