by Lila K Bell
It couldn’t be much past noon, but the lights had turned on along the marina, my only guide across the rough, uncooperative water.
Roger groaned again and rolled his head across the deck. I wished I’d hit him a little bit harder. This would be much more challenging if he were conscious to fight me on it.
The boat lurched, the nose dropped, and everything on deck rolled toward the front. I grabbed Roger by the collar of his shirt and dragged him toward the spot where the railing had broken beneath me.
The water was dark, the lightning was forking across the sky, but what other choice did I have? With a deep breath, I jumped into the lake and took Roger with me.
The cold water woke him up with a gasp, and he struggled to free himself from my grip, kicking his legs and thrashing. My arms were tucked under his, keeping me safe from his flying hands, but my muscles, already strained from my previous swim, were tiring. The cold and my earlier panic made every kick that much harder, and I kept craning my head to gauge how far we were from shore.
A loud crack of thunder sounded overhead, and Roger shouted along with it. When the bolt of lightning struck down — appearing too close for my liking — it was my turn to groan.
My lungs were on fire, and I was sure I was going to be sick, but I pushed on with no help from Roger. He shouted for me to let him go, to let him drown, but I ignored his begging. I couldn’t stand to listen to him. Not when we were so close to safety.
More lights reflected on the water up ahead, red and blue flashing in my periphery. At first I thought the marina had been hit by lightning and gone up in flames, but another glance showed they came from the emergency vehicles lined up on the shore close to the docks.
As we got closer, I made out shouting voices, and flashlight beams cut through the blanket of rain. A splash sounded beside me, and when I turned my head, a flood of relief passed through me at the sight of a red and white flotation device. Releasing Roger with one hand, I grabbed on to it, sliding it beneath us to let the dryer folks on land pull us in.
A few minutes later, rough and efficient hands grabbed Roger away from me and hauled me up after him. I landed on the dock, my sides aching with each gasping breath, and sat up to find out who had come for us.
A sharp laugh slipped through my lips when Sam Robinson knelt in front of me, his blond hair plastered to his head, his blue eyes filled with concern.
Roger stood behind him, fighting against the two officers who had him in custody. He was wobbly on his feet and a dark smear of blood dripped over his brow, but his voice was strong as he screamed at them not to bother, that he just wanted to go back to his boat.
“I beg you,” he said. “Just let me go. I won’t hurt anyone else. I don’t want to be here. Just let me go!”
They had to half-carry him away from the marina toward the cars waiting in the parking lot.
A woman stood in the middle of the chaos, the collar of her long coat turned up around her ears, a black umbrella keeping off the worst of the rain.
Another fork of lightning cut through the sky, lighting up what remained of The Beagle where it sadly listed along the surface of the water.
“He did it,” I said to Sam. “He didn’t mean to, but he killed Barnaby Coleman.”
Sam shook his head. “What are you even doing here, Fi?”
I gave him the best smile I could muster, though my face had gone tingly with cold. “Clearly I’m doing your job for you. You owe me one.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “We’ll see about that. Come on, let’s get you warmed up.”
He helped me to my feet. Despite my shaking legs, the sour taste of lake water in my mouth, and my aching head, my smile never faded.
I’d done it. No matter what came next, I’d caught the man who’d murdered Barnaby Coleman.
After this, everything could go back to normal. I was sure of it.
17
By the time I got home so many hours later, I felt like something Charles had chewed on, dropped in a puddle, grabbed again, thrashed around, then left forgotten in the mud.
And that was just from my time with Detective Curtis.
She wasn’t what I’d expected of Brookside’s police detective. Tall, slim, with smooth brown hair that fell to her shoulders, a nice suit that wasn’t designer but still chosen by someone with an eye for fashion, and a mind as sharp as flint. More than once she’d tried to slip me up about what I’d been doing in Barnaby Coleman’s house, and if I hadn’t been braced for the questions and practiced my version of the story until I almost believed it, I would have stumbled.
Oh, she’d started innocently enough. “Little late for a run, isn’t it? You don’t prefer running in your own neighbourhood? Do you usually wear black when you go for a night run? That’s not safe, you know.” But every once and again, she’d dart in a few knives. “Was it the masked man you saw who turned on the office light?”
She almost got me with that one. I’d opened my mouth to correct her that the office light hadn’t been on when I remembered I wouldn’t have known that if I’d only gone as far as the kitchen as I’d claimed, so in a quick side-step I told her I hadn’t known the light was on at all, and we’d carried on.
She was also confused by all the action I described passing through Coleman’s front door when the neighbours hadn’t noticed any foot traffic. I kicked myself for not having thought of the Nosy Parkers who might be able to discredit me, but explained that I hadn’t lingered on the front step once I noticed the front door was open. They must have missed me. The hazard of wearing black for a night run.
I suspected Curtis doubted my story by the end, but she had no evidence against me — I actually hadn’t taken anything; something that continued to amaze me — and I’d managed to track down Coleman’s murderer, which obviously irritated her but left her without much ground to stand on. She’d let me go with a warning look, which I’d returned with a bright smile, but before I’d had time to walk away, she’d stopped me with, “About that dog…”
Roger had confessed, for which I was proud of him. As soon as he realized his plan of permanent escape had been lost, he’d opted for accountability. I hoped it alleviated some of the weight on his conscience and he found a way to move on. Maybe one day I’d even find a way to get his book back to him.
That would be a question for later. For tonight, I just wanted to shower, get into bed, and sleep.
But when I passed by the living room, I found Gramps still awake, working on a crossword puzzle under the dim light of the fashionable-but-less-than-practical table lamp.
“What are you still doing downstairs?” I asked.
Normally when he had the house to himself, Gramps preferred to spend his evening in his rooms. He said they felt less empty and he could dance to his music without the neighbours watching.
“Waiting for you, chickadee,” he said, setting his crossword aside. “I was worried when you didn’t come home for dinner.” He adjusted the glasses on his nose and gave me a once over. “And maybe I was right to be. What on earth happened to you? Limbering up for the Polar Swim?”
I dropped into a chair, not even thinking that I might stain the upholstery until I squelched against the seat. Ah well. It was too late to bother getting up.
“I had a bit of an adventure this evening. By pure happenstance, I figured out who killed Barnaby Coleman, and we ended up taking an afternoon dip in Lake Ontario. Then I had to go with him to the police station and give my statement. It was… quite the experience. Have you met Angela Curtis? She’s a pitbull.”
Gramp’s lips curled with a hint of a smile. “So I’ve heard. She happens to be the daughter of Isabel Grant.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Your old flame?”
“Bah,” said Gramps, waving his hand in dismissal. “Ancient history. But if she resembles her mother at all, she won’t let anything go until you give in and confess.”
I shrugged. “I’m not worried. I told her the truth, and now she can slot another cas
e into the solved pile, with full credit. I think it worked out for everyone.”
“Then I’m glad.” Gramps leaned forward and rested his hand over mine. “You’ve been distant the last week. Hyper-focused, distracted. It worried me until I saw you were enjoying yourself, which is all that matters to me. I think it’s about time you found a new hobby. As long as you stay safe.”
“Safety might be in question for the next little bit,” I said.
“Oh?” Concern crossed Gramps’s face.
“Charles,” I said. “It looks like no one’s claiming him, so if you know anyone who wants to keep a year-old beagle…”
I allowed the sentence to trail off. When Curtis had stopped me, she’d passed along all the paperwork and documentation they’d found in Coleman’s office. Vaccination dates, registration, vet details. It was all in my satchel, ready to be passed on to whoever wanted to give Charles a good home.
I took them out of my bag and handed them to Gramps.
He stared at me.
“Your mother would never allow it,” he said.
I shrugged. “She might if we stand against her. Besides, according to his documentation, he’s a purebred. We could spin it that it’ll give her something else to brag about. Maybe we tell her he’s won a ribbon or two in his time.”
His face lit up. “That might just work. Thanks, chickadee. You’ve given your old grandfather something to smile about.” He eased to his feet and kissed the top of my head. “I’m glad everything worked out today. I’m proud of you, and I’m sure your parents would be, too, if they knew.” I gave him a disbelieving look and he shrugged, as though wishing his words carried more weight. “Now go get out of those wet clothes and get some sleep. You’ve earned the rest.”
He shuffled out of the room, and I stayed put, too tired to think about standing up and climbing the stairs. Only when I had trouble keeping my eyes open did I decide it was worth the effort. The last thing I wanted was my mother coming home to find water-stained me draped over her favourite sofa.
As I headed upstairs, I thought about what Gramps had said, about me being more distracted and happier than usual.
I passed through my bedroom into the sitting room and pulled open the door that led to my secret library. My books were all there, lined up against the wall and waiting for me to add to the collection, but to my great shock, I didn’t even have an idea as to which title I wanted to target next.
In fact, since I’d found Barnaby Coleman dead on the floor, I hadn’t had a single desire to break into a house and steal anything. The excitement of following clues and tracking down a killer had been more than enough to keep my idle hands busy, and while I may have fudged a law once or twice, I hadn’t really broken one. And that hadn’t mattered. I’d always thought it was the criminality of stealing books that gave me such a rush, along with the satisfaction of having the prize in my hand, but it turned out the fun was in the chase.
The revelation nearly took my legs out from under me. I drooped against the wall and braced my shoulder against the door jamb to hold myself up.
Who was I if not the Midnight Minstrel? Or was the face of the Minstrel changing into something new?
The future suddenly didn’t seem as clear cut as it always had, but it didn’t frighten me. If anything, my heart gave a little flutter, and as I ran my fingers over the spines of my treasures, I wondered what different adventures might await me.
***
I tried to sleep, but should have known it wouldn’t be as easy as closing my eyes and allowing dreams to find me. Not after everything I’d been through over the last twelve hours.
I’d almost died for goodness’ sake. If the railing around the side of the boat hadn’t been rotted through, I could have broken a bone or hit my head and not been able to swim to safety. Or if I hadn’t been so quick on my toes in the cabin, Roger might have bludgeoned me with that statue. Or if I hadn’t been in peak physical condition with years of swim meets and so many hours a week at the gym , I never would have made it back to shore with Roger safely cradled in my arms.
Lesson learned: no matter where the future took me, I’d keep my work-out schedule just as it was.
After tossing and turning for an hour, I rolled out of bed and went to the closet. My favourite jeans and jacket were toast, so I pulled out my second best pair of black denims with a simple purple T-shirt and pulled my gray cargo jacket on over top. There was no need for sneaking around this evening. I wasn’t planning on getting into trouble — I just needed a drink.
The house was quiet when I went downstairs, and I wondered if my parents had come home yet. Just another night out for them, leaving them oblivious to the affairs of their own daughter. I wondered what my mother would say about today’s escapades — “Fifi, you didn’t. How am I going to explain to the Ladies’ League that my daughter was caught chasing after a murderer?” — or how my father would react — “I have a promotion coming up, Fiona. That sort of behaviour won’t help me get ahead in my career.”
I rolled my eyes. Maybe when I was younger I might have wished they showed more of an interest in my life, but now that I was all grown up, their indifference was a blessing. As long as I had Gramps, I didn’t need anyone else.
Mercy’s engine started with a gentle roar, and as I drove through the neighbourhood, I appreciated the freedom of being out after dark without worrying that anyone peering through their windows might notice me. It had been so long since I’d engaged in any nighttime activities that weren’t illegal I’d forgotten what it felt like.
For tonight, the Midnight Minstrel was on vacation, and I was just another bored rich girl looking for a thrill at Brookside’s sketchy tavern.
After a few detours to take advantage of the clear skies, I pulled Mercy up beside Bessie and couldn’t help but smile at the difference between the two. The two faces of my life, the two sides I would never be able to give up entirely. But just for tonight, I was all right with both masks being out in the open.
Still smiling, I headed inside and greeted all the Jewels where they stood around the juke box.
“Don’t you look cheery this evening,” Pearl said, flashing me a wink. She was dressed in a tight white dress that flaunted her gorgeous caramel-hued skin and night-black eyes. “You getting some much-needed attention, Fi?”
“Only the right kind, Pearl,” I said. “I don’t have time for anything else.”
She threw back her head and laughed, exposing bright white teeth. “That’s my girl.”
I weaved through the tables, full of men and women working deals or gambling their futures away. I avoided the spilled drinks and the patrons passed out across the tabletops. The bar was full of raucous laughter and beat-heavy music, and I allowed it all to wash over me.
This was life. Not the silence of a Society dinner, the photos of which would shine in stoic black-and-white glory on page five in tomorrow’s paper, but the noise, the chaos, the messiness of the Trove. Nothing in this world was black or white, it was all varying shades of grey, and I was happy that I seemed to have found my place in it. Even if it was changing.
“Whiskey straight,” I said to Troy as I came up to the bar. “I’m in a mood to celebrate.”
He saluted me and went to pour while I searched for a single empty stool. Every one was taken, but in my search, I spotted a familiar, though surprising, face.
Heading down to the end of the bar, I leaned against the bar top and followed Ryan’s gaze toward the television. It was wrestling tonight, which held my attention for all of thirty seconds before it returned to Ryan.
“What brings you here on a Friday night?” I asked. “I didn’t think you drank on weekends, for whatever mysterious reason.”
He grinned at me, the corners of his grey eyes crinkling. “I like to keep you on your toes.”
I crossed my arms and leaned my side against the bar. “I guess I should be happy you managed to avoid the cops the other night. I did, too, by the way. In case you were wor
ried. After leaving me stranded.”
His smile widened. “Hey, I know you like the rush of uncertainty. I was making sure your evening ended on a good note.”
I snorted.
“Any luck with your murder investigation, Officer Gates?” he asked.
“As a matter of fact, yes,” I said. “I took the information we found and went back to Fraser in the morning. He gave me something we missed, a letter written by Coleman’s best friend. Turns out Roger did kill him. Coleman laughing at him for having been fooled so easily was the straw that broke the bewhiskered old man’s back. Sad really.”
Troy set down my drink, and I raised it in a toast of thanks before knocking it back. He was there with the bottle to refill it.
“I heard he turned himself in,” he said.
“In a manner of speaking.”
Curtis had asked me if I wanted to be mentioned in the events around Roger’s arrest, and I’d politely, but oh-so-quickly, asked to be left out. I hadn’t done what I had for credit — I’d done it to avoid having my own crimes dug up.
But just because I didn’t want my name in the news didn’t mean my friends shouldn’t know, or be proud and just a little amazed.
So I told them the full story, about being pushed off the boat and the fight afterward. I told them how Roger had planned to kill himself rather than go to the police, but I’d managed to get him there anyway.
“A right Justice Warrior,” Ryan said, his eyes sparkling with amusement. I wasn’t sure what he found so funny, but didn’t expect him to explain it. He was a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma, this man, but I would allow him his secrets. Goodness knows, he’d allowed me enough of mine.
And despite any laughter he enjoyed at my expense, I was grateful to have him in my life. Running into him at the Trove were high points of my week, and while it might never progress beyond a drink, a chat, and maybe the occasional B&E, I was happy with that.