STORM ROLL: a Canadian murder mystery series

by KATHY GARTHWAITE

  “What the hell do you want with us already? Haven’t you done enough?” Felton yelled.

  “We have nothing more to say.” Margaret pushed the flimsy door open and stepped out. “I have my family back.” She stood with hands on hips, chin jutted out.

  Her husband shoved his face into the mesh, looking surly. He stared hard at the inspector and then narrowed his eyes. “That’s all that matters. So leave us alone.”

  Gibson backed up, almost tripping on the top stair. “We don’t mean to bother you. Just checking out beach accesses.”

  Felton cleared his throat, sending him into a coughing fit. He pulled out his dirty handkerchief and spat. Margaret glared at him. He waved a hand in dismissal. “Fill your boots,” he said to Gibson. “There’s a path in the corner.”

  “Thanks.” Gibson thought of something else and looked back. “Does everybody here know about the footpath?”

  “I guess.” He shrugged and hobbled out of sight. A scuffling sound drifted out of the doorway. Felton struggling with his lame leg?

  Gibson bounded away before Margaret yammered more crap. He hurried round the house to the rear, Eckhart rushing along beside him. They passed the fireworks pit. Gibson stopped and turned in a circle with his eyes scanning the yard. From here, he couldn’t see the front lawn where the partygoers had hung out. His thoughts raced. They continued and found the path. Not hidden, as Mr. Tatlow’s was. It was steeper though. They scampered to the top. Grasses covered most of the area but gave a clear view over the lake. They slipped down the other side.

  “That was a challenge,” Eckhart said.

  Gibson looked back up. They plodded through the sand, dodging the mass of logs piled at the bottom of the dunes. It took only minutes to get to the stairs and the crime scene.

  “Oh boy.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Anybody could have come over that bluff and...” He drew his mouth into a straight line and bit his lip. “Damn.” There were several people without an alibi.

  “Crap.” Her scrunched-up face showed the frustration.

  They trudged up the stairs and spun left to retrieve the truck. Gibson turned to see Margaret standing on the veranda, staring them off the property as they crept out of the driveway. Eckhart drove slower up the lane, leaving the dust in its place. At the stop sign, she waited for the traffic to go barrelling through. Gibson’s gaze swung over to Jacobs Landing. Someone had covered the windows with graffiti. He lowered his head and groaned.

  “What?”

  He pointed to the store.

  “Oh shit. That’s a lousy thing to do,” she said. “Where to now?”

  Gibson pulled his cell from his back pocket, struggling against his seatbelt. He threw Eckhart an odd smile. She glanced at his tight jeans and smiled in return.

  He dialed Abigail, Jackie’s mom. It rang several times before she answered, wheezing down the line. “Sorry, I was downstairs.”

  “We’ve been trying to reach Jackie. She doesn’t answer her cell. Does she have a home phone?”

  “Yes, but she flew back to see her dad. He’s in hospital.”

  “I see. Maybe give me her number again.”

  It was the same number. After Gibson rang off, he tried to call Jackie again. She answered right away.

  “We have some questions for you. Could we pick you up?” he asked.

  “Just a sec.”

  He heard some commotion in the background and waited. Jackie came back on the line. “I’ll come over to the office if that is okay. How about in a half hour?”

  “That would be good.”

  He gave her directions and disconnected the call before she could change her mind.

  “Jackie is meeting us at the office.”

  “Sounds good.” Eckhart drove down the road at a quick pace, then stomped on the accelerator when they approached the canal. The truck leaped over the metal grating. The ship on Gibson’s side was scary large, right in his face.

  “What the hell?” He plunged back into the bucket seat, snagging the handhold.

  Sirens sounded behind them and lights flashed. The road barrier slammed into place. Gibson turned in his chair and watched the bridge lift into the sky.

  “We nearly got trapped.” Her shriek was boisterous and throaty. The growl of the engine eased as she braked to a cruising speed. Gibson wilted into the leather and tuned in to the tires singing on the country road. Eckhart fiddled with the radio, deciding on soft rock. She headed along Lakeshore Road into Port Dalhousie, past her apartment, and came to a halt at the station. “How is Jackie getting here?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  A Lincoln Continental pulled in beside them. The blue paint revealed a mention of wine in the brilliant sunlight like a buried jewel. Classy.

  “Wow. Didn’t think Mr. Cunningham would let anyone drive it,” Eckhart remarked.

  Jackie exited the car, sandaled feet with pastel pink toenails touching the ground first. Long bronze legs followed. She glanced at the detectives. The sun sparked her green eyes, yielding a deep shade of forest, playing tricks with the daylight just as the Lincoln had.

  “Hi.”

  “Thanks for coming,” Gibson said.

  Eckhart unlocked the entry with her card key and advanced inside to silence. She walked through the empty detective agency, heels clicking on the tile, and opened the door to her office. It wasn’t a huge room, but it was comfortable. Gibson followed her, Jackie tagging in his wake. Eckhart leaned against the window frame, gesturing with her hand. Gibson stepped up to the desk and pointed to the single chair in front. Jackie sat balanced on the rim of the cushion, legs crossed and fingers interlaced over one knee. He established his elbows on the oak surface, hands touching palm to palm in prayer poise and leaned forward. Eckhart turned and peered out the window, engaged by the slight summer wind catching the foliage of the maples. It fashioned a sequence of brightness and shadow on the lawn.

  “In case you haven’t heard, Gregory has been released. He is no longer a suspect,” Gibson said. He detected a muted raise of Jackie’s eyebrows and continued, “You were at the store that morning.”

  “I wanted to say hi to Savannah, but she wasn’t there,” Jackie answered.

  “But you spoke to Elsie.”

  Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her lips trembled.

  Gibson nodded and got down to business. “What time did you get there?”

  “Late in the afternoon. We had just flown in from Victoria.”

  “You and David.”

  “Yes, but David waited in the car for me.”

  “So, tell me what happened when you went in.”

  “I went to the counter where Elsie was sitting,” Jackie started, letting out a huge sigh. “She was leaning over a newspaper, the daily, and didn’t notice me arrive at first. We hugged, and then I sat on a stool across from her.”

  “What happened next?”

  “We chatted.”

  “About what?”

  “She was ranting about Gregory getting parole. But I already knew that,” Jackie said.

  “From whom?”

  “My mom had told me. Gregory and I kind of grew up together. In the summer, I went to my grandma’s place next door.”

  “What else did you talk about?”

  “Well, Elsie does ramble on, so I sort of zoned out. She gossips a lot, and I was thinking about other stuff. You know, my dad being sick. Anyway, I heard her say ‘like father, like son’.”

  Gibson leaned in further. “Who was she talking about?”

  Jackie shrugged.

  “Do you think she was still talking about Gregory?” he pressed on.

  “I suppose she could have been. Maybe Felton got into trouble too when he was young. Although I don’t believe Gregory did what they said. It doesn’t sit right with me.”

  “Did Elsie say anything else?”

  “Something about the beach,” Jackie stopped. “No, it was not at the beach. Yeah, that’s what she said. It
was not at the beach. Whatever that means? Maybe she was talking about the fireworks that evening being at Felton’s place, not on the beach. I’m sorry. It could have been anything. Then I heard a box or something tumble to the floor at the front of the store and a loud bang of a door at the back. And if that didn’t startle me enough, that creepy Mr. Tatlow showed up. His piercing eyes gave me nightmares when I was a kid. Still do.” She blasted out a gigantic breath.

  Something niggled. Gibson couldn’t quite place it, like a word on the tip of your tongue, and you couldn’t spit it out. So he let it pass.

  “Did anyone else come in after that?”

  “A few people that I didn’t know. A young girl getting smokes. Some kids were hanging out by the magazines.” Jackie’s olive skin had paled. She wiped stray tears away from her eyes. “Sorry. It’s just my friend and my dad.”

  “Don’t be sorry.”

  “Family is so important. It’s easy to forget,” Jackie said. Her emerald eyes turned a wild green like an ocean in a tempest.

  Gibson glanced down and thought about his family. A clamor in the corridor broke the spell. A door slammed and the clomping of boots on the hard floors echoed into the office. He didn’t raise his head at the sound of approaching footsteps.

  Cooper rolled up to the doorway. “Hey. Coffee anybody?” He stopped. “Oops. Didn’t realize you had someone here.” He withdrew into the corridor.

  “It’s okay. No coffee for me,” Gibson shouted after him. He had already had his fill for the day and didn’t need another jolt to his frazzled nerves. He stared at the ladies. “Yes, no?”

  Eckhart brandished her hand in a big no.

  “No.” Jackie jumped out of her chair. “Are we done?”

  “Yes. Thanks for your help. Are you okay?” His smoky eyes presented the unease he felt.

  “I’m fine. I hope you get the killer. Elsie didn’t deserve...”

  Jackie struggled to stem the downhill plunge. The sadness robbed her of the person she had formerly been. She chewed her lip, keeping in the deluge of tears that had been menacing since she landed in town. Gibson moved from behind the desk and placed his arm around her shoulders. He escorted her across the central foyer and released the door. A sultry breeze swirled in.

  “Another heatwave is growing.”

  “I think you’re right.” Some colour flooded into her honey brown complexion.

  “Take care,” Gibson said.

  Jackie climbed into the Lincoln and fired up the big V8. She hustled down the lane like there was no tomorrow. Maybe there wasn’t for her. Her eyes welled up. No one to witness her pain streaming down her cheeks now.

  Eckhart swung back to the window, her gaze concentrated on the maples again. Gibson entered, the prance lost in his stride. He perched in the lone chair Jackie had occupied.

  “We need to talk to David. He had a front-row seat of everyone coming and going from the store. Although I’m not sure where this is going yet.” Gibson rang the number that Jackie had given him. He shook his head and left a message.

  “Why don’t people answer their cell phones?” Eckhart asked.

  “There’s something, however,” Gibson mused.

  “What?”

  “So much death on Lawsons Lane.”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s just an idea. We should check it out.” His gaze darkened, and he looked out the window. They remained in silence for a few minutes. Gibson stood up and went to the doorway. He called out, “Cooper. Get in here.”

  The DC scooted down the corridor almost knocking Gibson flat. “Oops.”

  Gibson clapped him on the upper arm and winked. “I have a project for you.”

  Cooper’s face lit up.

  “Jones can lend a hand.”

  “Okay.” Cooper waited.

  “Katie Underwood. The child that drowned at the beach on Lawsons Lane—”

  “Yeah,” Cooper interrupted.

  Gibson tightened his eyes. “Hold on. Could you locate her file? You may have to dig around. It was years ago.”

  “How does any of that tally into this?” Eckhart asked, her pouting lips pink and full.

  “Not really sure. Probably doesn’t. But it bothers me when more than one suspicious death happens on a street. Especially when they all know each other.”

  “I guess,” Eckhart said.

  Cooper bounced on his feet, swinging from side to side as if he was expecting a gun to signal the launch of a marathon. He didn’t barge in again, but compressed his lips together.

  “Okay, Cooper. Maybe the superintendent can confirm where the files are. Who knows if they are digital or paper?” Gibson stopped. “Come to think about it. There was another death. Two actually.”

  “What are you talking about?” Eckhart exclaimed.

  “Mr. Tatlow. His wife and child died? Who knows? Are the deaths connected?”

  “That’s stretching it, don’t you think?” she asked, giving him a funny look.

  “Maybe.” Gibson shrugged and turned to Cooper. “Any questions?”

  “No.” The DC sprung off the balls of his feet and sprinted to his partner’s office. His voice reverberated around the building.

  “What a case,” Eckhart said.

  “If nothing else, it will be good practice for them,” Gibson replied and glanced out the window.

  Chapter 17

  The sun had barely risen and was already chasing the coolness of the night away. Gibson walked down the street with his head bowed, feeling thwarted. A trill of a lone bird made him glance upward. The feathered lover sat on the rim of a hanging basket calling for its mate. Maybe there was a nest concealed in the flowers. The blossoms reminded him of his home on the island. Spring in Victoria brought the robins, the rufous hummingbirds and 1,600 flower baskets suspended from the lampposts. Hence the city’s nickname—City of Gardens. He dragged his heels on a pavement that would be scorched by noon. The café was packed this morning, a sign of a hectic weekend ahead. He grabbed a coffee and moved outside to wait for his ride. The Expedition crept stealthily around the corner and bolted the curb. He hopped into the truck and slumped into the seat. Eckhart glimpsed over, humming faintly and tapping the steering wheel.

  “Cooper called. He has some info for us.”

  “Already.”

  “He’s a keeper.” Her voice was bubbly.

  It was a twelve-minute drive to the office. Gibson watched the endless expanse of flatness. His hometown comprised of mountains, infinite ocean and forest. He gazed into the distance with a vague longing. The truck jerked to a halt.

  “Sorry.” Her eyes crinkled, deepening the creases in the corners.

  The large steel door lurched open as they approached the station. Cooper’s towering figure was straight and proud, holding up a binder for them to see. A pleasant glow flushed his cheeks. Then his hand dropped to his side along with his grin, thinking maybe he had jumped the gun.

  “I found the info, but I’m not sure it’ll help,” Cooper said as his posture sagged.

  “Let’s see.” Gibson reached out for the folder.

  They strode inside, barring the surging heat out.

  A girl bounded into the foyer from the lunchroom, headphones hooked over her ears and a ponytail swaying with her gait. Her complexion was flawless, like many young women who stayed out of the sun. She wore Bermuda shorts with a tight T-shirt and red running shoes that squealed on the tile when she stopped abruptly.

  “Oh, hello. I’m Daisy. The receptionist.”

  She grinned and scrutinized Gibson’s lean frame, his un-bleached sandy hair, a mere hint of grey, and smoky eyes.

  “Gibson. Pleased to meet you.”

  The phone sounded from somewhere above. Daisy pressed a button on her headset with neatly trimmed nails and returned to her post at the receptionist counter. “Niagara Task Force.”

  Gibson looked around the entrance hall for Cooper, but he had disappeared. Eckhart motioned to the offices at the end of the corridor. The
DC was behind his desk, waving them in. They sat in straight-backed chairs with cushioned seats. Gibson placed the folder on the top and flipped it open. Eckhart leaned in to steal a peek. He nudged it over so they could both read. It didn’t take long. There were only six pages.

  “This is the entire inquiry?” Gibson was hoping he didn’t sound condescending.

  “I’m afraid so.” Cooper coughed to clear his throat. “The detectives on the Katie Underwood case never suspected foul play. It was declared an accidental drowning right from the start.”

  He drummed his palm on the file.

  “The girls were on the beach and left their bikes on the landing as they usually did. Savannah and Jackie left for lunch. Katie stayed to inspect a frog or something. That’s not definite. They were just scared kids. Not really sure what was going on, I suspect. Anyway, her mom got concerned when Katie didn’t appear by one o’clock, more than an hour past lunchtime. Mrs. Underwood phoned over to the store, but her daughter wasn’t there. Then she went hunting down the street for Katie and found her bike at the top of the stairs. She figured Katie was on the beach and had headed down to the shore. But there was no trace of her anywhere. After a few hours, Mrs. Underwood realized Katie was gone.”

  Cooper hesitated and blew out air. He had pretty well recited the article verbatim.

  “That’s when she called the police. The search and rescue team dragged the bay for her body, but there are undertows here and there. In the end, the detectives figured she just went out too far and got caught in an undertow.” Cooper trailed his finger down the final sheet. “There’s a description of her garments. Blue shorts, white and blue striped top, and sandals.”

  “Did you ring the lead detective?” Gibson tapped the folder.

  “Harry something. I forget. Anyway, he died a few years ago. Heart attack,” Cooper answered.

  “Nothing else?”