Killer Cables

by Reagan Davis

  The first people I encounter are Mrs. Pearson and her son, Craig.

  We greet each other and exchange compliments about how dapper we all look. Then Mrs. Pearson sees someone else she knows and rushes off, leaving Craig and I on our own.

  “It’s nice to see you again,” I say. “I’m sorry we haven’t gotten together.”

  “It’s OK,” Craig replies, “we’re both busy people.”

  “Busy, and not quite ready to hang out with anyone as more than friends,” I explain.

  He nods. “I understand.”

  That wasn’t as bad as I’d imagined it. Actually, I feel relieved now that it’s done.

  “See that lady over there with the dog?” he asks, nodding toward PC Amy Andrews and Tundra. “Do you know her? Is she single?”

  Well, at least he’s not heartbroken and wallowing in self-pity because I just want to be friends.

  “Uh-huh.” I nod. “Would you like an introduction?”

  “That would be awesome, Megan, thanks.”

  He straightens his suit and tie, pats his hair into place, and we make our way over to Amy and Tundra.

  Tundra is wearing a white shirt collar with a black bowtie, and he’s the most dignified and handsome dog I’ve ever seen.

  We loiter nearby while Amy finishes speaking with a lady I recognize. She’s one of the volunteers from the Animal Centre.

  “Hi, Amy,” I say as the lady she was speaking with walks away.

  “Hi, Megan,” she smiles, showing us her dimples.

  “Amy Andrews…” I gesture to Craig. “This is Craig Pearson. Craig is a dedicated physician with a great bedside manner. He’s also a keen dog walker.”

  “It’s true,” Craig interjects. “I love dogs.”

  “Craig Pearson, this is Amy Andrews.” I gesture to Amy. “In addition to being one of Harmony Lake’s finest, Amy organized the silent auction portion of tonight’s fundraiser and probably knows where the best donations are hidden.”

  “You’re a doctor?” Amy asks him. “The local antique store, Old School, donated a gift certificate, and as part of their display, they brought a vintage 1957 copy of The Physician’s Desk Reference.”

  “Really? I’d love to see it,” Craig says.

  “Let’s go!”

  The three of them walk away, and my work here is done. I hear someone golf-clapping behind me and turn around.

  “Nicely done,” Eric says.

  “Thank you,” I say. “They make a cute couple. I hope they enjoy each other’s company.”

  We wander the room, moving in the general direction of the bar and stopping to mingle every few feet. When we get to the bar, I order a glass of champagne, and Eric orders a ginger ale.

  We notice Anne-Marie Sweeney volunteering at one of the fundraising tables, so we go over to say hi and check out her exhibit.

  “Hi Anne-Marie! Have you had many players?” I ask, gesturing to the game wheel she’s spinning.

  “It’s been steady,” she says, “but I think the Champagne Toonie Roll is the most popular attraction tonight.”

  She points to a game a few stations down from hers, and I make a mental note to check it out next.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you if Connie texted you the shopping list you dropped at Pharmer’s Market the other day?” I ask.

  “She did!” She touches my arm. “Thank you for noticing that and picking it up. It saved us from making a second trip to Harmony Hills to pick up the things we’d have forgotten the first time.”

  We laugh.

  Eric excuses himself to speak with someone, and I tell Anne-Marie how amazing she was with Mr. Willows the other night when he had his episode.

  “Thank you,” she says modestly. “It’s all in a day’s work for a nurse.”

  “Well, it’s not all in a day’s work for a yarn store owner,” I say. “Not only did you help Mr. Willows through his episode, you helped the rest of us through it too. We wouldn’t have known the best way to help him. Thank goodness you were there and knew exactly what to do.”

  We agree that it’s great news he didn’t have a heart attack. She admits she suspected at the time that he was having a panic attack and hopes it’s nothing more serious.

  The game wheel she’s spinning looks like one of those wheels on TV a game show, except instead of the wedges having dollar values or prizes, each wedge features a pet currently available for adoption at the AC. You place a bet on which animal the wheel will land on, and if the wheel stops on the animal you chose, you win a donated prize. If it lands on a different animal, you walk away with the satisfaction of contributing to a worthy cause.

  I take ten dollars from my wallet and let it ride on a Rottweiler mix named Purl. Any dog named after a knitting stitch is a sure bet in my opinion. Anne-Marie spins the wheel, but it doesn't land on Purl. Oh well, it was fun to play, and I’m happy to support a great cause.

  Anne-Marie has another customer, so I move along to investigate the Champagne Toonie Roll game she mentioned.

  Bottles of champagne are set up like bowling pins at the end of a long table. The player rolls a toonie—a two-dollar coin—on its edge, toward the champagne bottles. If the toonie hits one of the bottles before toppling over, you win that bottle of champagne. If not, Animal Centre keeps the toonie.

  I hand the volunteer behind the counter ten dollars, and he hands me five toonies.

  None of my toonies come close to touching a bottle of champagne, but it was fun trying.

  “Nice try, Meg.”

  I turn to see Adam standing by the table with Dr. White. Are they here together? They make a striking couple.

  “Hi Adam.”

  We hug and exchange a double-cheek kiss.

  “It’s nice to see you again, Dr. White,” I say, extending my hand hoping she’ll shake it, but aware that she might not.

  I basically accused her of murder a few days ago, after all, and I’m sure she hasn’t forgotten. Graciously, she accepts my hand and we shake.

  “It’s nice to see you again, Megan, please call me Val.” She seems sincere.

  “Thank you, Val,” I say. “Listen, about our conversation the other day at the AC…”

  She puts her hand up with her palm facing me to stop me from talking and shakes her head.

  “It’s forgotten,” she says. “Laura’s murder has shocked all of us. She’s lucky to have friends and family who are so concerned about getting to the bottom of what happened to her.”

  Before I can respond, an older, distinguished-looking gentleman taps her on the shoulder. She turns around, and he moves in close to her and says something in her ear. She turns back to me and, with her right index finger in the air, looks from me to Adam.

  “Will you please excuse me? I need to see to something,” she says.

  Then she walks away with the older man, leaving Adam and I on our own.

  Adam and I exchange compliments about how well be both clean up. After commenting on each other’s empty glass, we decide to meander toward the bar for refills.

  Eric catches up with us on the way, and we make small talk about which games we’ve tried and what items we might bid on at the silent auction. I haven’t been to the silent auction yet, so I decide that’ll be my next stop after the bar.

  While Adam and I refill our drinks, Amy Andrews, Tundra, and Craig, approach us and start talking to Eric. He and Amy are talking about work-related stuff, so I gravitate toward Adam, and we wander toward the silent auction tables.

  “So,” he says, “you’re here with Eric.”

  It was a statement of fact, not a question, but I nod anyway.

  “Are you two seeing each other?” he asks.

  “Not really,” I shrug.

  “Are you here with Dr. White, I mean Val?” I ask.

  “No.” He shakes his head. “Tonight is the first time we’ve met face to face. We’ve spoken on the phone in my capacity as Laura’s executor. She’s seems nice.”

  “Maybe you sho
uld ask her out,” I suggest.

  “Maybe you should ask Eric out,” he counters.

  Touché.

  We’re roaming from one silent auction item to the next when we encounter Phillip roaming in the opposite direction.

  While Phillip and Adam are talking and getting caught up, my attention wanders. I scan the room taking in all the people, displays, and decorations. My gaze stops when I see April and Tamara. They’re standing by the samples of pet treats they donated to the silent auction, and they both look stunning. They look like someone shook an issue of Vogue magazine, and they fell out from between the pages. I guess when one of you looks like Heidi Klum, and the other one looks like Halle Berry to start with, and you actually make an effort, you look like you got lost on your way to a runway fashion show in Paris.

  I catch Tamara’s eye, smile, and wave. She smiles and waves back, but she and April seem to be in a deep discussion with the older gentleman who approached Dr. White earlier. Who is he? He looks vaguely familiar, but I don’t know him. I don’t want to interrupt, and I stay put with Adam and Phillip.

  In between smiling and nodding, but not truly listening to Adam and Phillip’s conversation, I keep glancing over at April, Tamara, and the mystery man. He appears keenly interested in their pet treats, and… did he just eat a dog treat? Are my eyes playing tricks on me? I mean, they smell yummy, but I wouldn’t eat one. I’m sure he’s chewing.

  Adam and Phillip’s conversation has turned to politics, which is my cue to wander away and leave them to it.

  I drift along from one silent auction item to the next, looking at the most recent bid for each item, and who’s been bidding on what.

  I notice Brian Sweeney has bid on both a year’s supply of doughnuts from Glazed and Confused and weekday lift passes for the remainder of the season from the Rise and Glide Ski Resort. Time hasn’t done any favours for his penmanship. I notice his handwriting looks more like chicken scratch than the beautiful calligraphic handwriting on the love letters Glenda and I found under Laura’s bed.

  Maybe he has everyday handwriting, the writing I see on the auction bid sheets, and love letter handwriting on the letters to Laura.

  When I get to the year’s supply of pet treats, delivered fresh weekly that Tamara and April donated, they’re still deep in conversation with the mystery man, and the three of them move aside when I approach their bid sheet. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but it looks like they’re in the midst of an intense discussion, and now the mystery man is sniffing one of the treats. I bid on the dog treats and move along, knowing April will tell me all about it later tonight, or tomorrow.

  When I look back, Dr. White has joined them, and the older pet-treat-eating-and-sniffing man is talking to all three of them.

  I bid on a gold necklace donated by Charmed & Dangerous, the local jeweller, and return the pen to the pen holder next to the bid sheet.

  “Hey, stranger!” Eric says.

  “You’re back,” I exclaim. “Any exciting developments?”

  “Not really,” he says. “I’m sorry I keep getting intercepted and leaving you alone.”

  I make a sweeping motion with my hand to wave away his comment.

  “This is a work event for you, I know that,” I say.

  “It’s also the first time I’ve seen most of my colleagues outside of work,” he says. “Whenever I’m trying to make my way back to you, I get stopped two or three times by a cop who wants to introduce me to their spouse, or partner, or date.”

  “That pretty much sums up living in this town,” I say. “Whatever you’re doing, wherever you’re going someone will stop you to talk, gossip or catch up. It's a locational hazard.”

  I just made that up, locational hazard.

  “Well, I’m happy I’m meeting people and that the locals are socializing with me. But it would be nice to do something together. Just you and me. Maybe somewhere everyone doesn’t want to stop and talk, and there isn’t a murder investigation that keeps pulling me away,” he suggests, smiling.

  “Maybe,” I say.

  At the end of the silent auction items, there’s a table with a memorial for Laura. It’s a tasteful display and a popular one. There are quite a few visitors milling around it.

  Eric and I look at the huge photo collage Glenda made. There is a second collage next to it made by the staff and volunteers at the AC, featuring photos of Laura in her element with the animals, the staff, and volunteers.

  I sign Laura’s condolence book, then scan the signatures before mine to see who else has signed. I notice Anne-Marie’s signature near the top of the page, and something about her handwriting is oddly familiar and makes me feel...unsettled. A knot forms in my stomach. I stare at her entry, purse my lips and tilt my head, trying to figure out what it is about her entry in the condolence book that’s unsettling.

  Chapter 20

  “You OK?” Eric asks.

  “Uh-huh,” I reply. “I’m fine.”

  I pull the Sweeney’s shopping list from my wallet, then scroll through the photos on my phone until I get to the ones I took at Laura’s house the morning she died.

  First, I compare the photo of the envelope on Laura’s kitchen table with the sticky note saying, I believe this belongs to you! to the shopping list. Then I study her condolence book entry, which reads, Taken too soon, you still belong here with us.

  The word belong in the condolence entry, and the word belongs on the sticky note both have a unique letter g. That same unique letter g is repeated on her shopping list. Hmmm.

  I move aside and hand Eric the pen, so he can sign the condolence book.

  “Ooofff,” I utter when I’m bumped from behind.

  “Megan, I’m sorry! I didn’t see you there,” Brian Sweeney says, grabbing my arm to steady me.

  I assure him I’m fine, and he turns back to Glenda, Connie, and Archie. He’s pointing and blurting out random letters. I stuff my phone and Anne-Marie’s shopping list back into my purse and turn to face them and listen in.

  “A!” Brian exclaims, jabbing his index finger into the air. “B! O! AB!” He jabs his finger in a different direction each time he shouts out a different letter. Connie, Glenda, and Archie are laughing in near hysterics as he does this.

  Connie catches her breath and wipes tears of laughter from her eyes.

  “Hello, my dear, you look beautiful,” she says as she hugs me, still laughing intermittently at whatever it was Brian was doing.

  “Thank you,” I say, “so do you.”

  She’s still smiling, and her face is red from laughing so hard.

  It’s nice to see Glenda and Brian laughing together and getting along. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Archie lift his leg and rotate it, then put it back on the floor and gyrate his hips as he speaks to Eric. I’m guessing Eric asked Archie how his hip is doing and is now listening to the long version of the answer.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask Connie.

  “Laura and Glenda’s mother, Laura, took great pride in knowing the blood type of everyone in town thanks to her work with the Red Cross as a blood drive organizer,” Connie explains loud enough for me to hear over Brian and Glenda’s laughter. “Sometimes people would test her to see if she could really remember everybody’s blood type, and she often referred to her friends by their blood type instead of their name.”

  “She always called my mum and dad, AB and B, even though their names were Lily and Ernest, for example,” Brian interjects.

  “Oh,” I say, “I get it.”

  I don’t think it’s as hilarious as they do, but I guess you had to be there.

  The four of them laugh loudly again, and I laugh too, even though I don’t think it’s as funny as they do, because it’s impossible not to laugh when surrounded by so much genuine laughter. It’s contagious. Eric joins me, and he laughs too.

  “Why are we laughing?” he asks.

  “Because they are?” I shrug, giggling.

  We move along to look at the
yearbooks on display next to Laura’s memorial. The yearbook from the year Connie graduated is on top. Carefully turning the pages, I stop to look at Connie’s graduation photo and marvel at how young she was.

  Harmony Lake is a small town, and it was even smaller back then, before they built the highway through the mountains, linking us to Harmony Hills and the city. Their graduating class was small. Instead of small thumbnail photos of each graduate, like you see in most yearbooks, their yearbook features only eight graduates per two-page spread, four on the left side and four on the right. In this copy of the yearbook, each graduate handwrote a message underneath their grad photo.

  The handwritten message under Connie’s photo says, If you follow your dreams, you are capable of anything. Her handwriting was the same fifty years ago, as it is today.

  I notice most of the graduates have beautiful, cursive handwriting. What Glenda said about people back in the day having lovely penmanship must be true.

  I turn the page, and Brian Sweeney stares back at me from his grad photo. The handwritten message under his photo is scrawled in writing that resembles his handwriting on the bid sheets more than it resembles the beautiful handwriting on the love letters under Laura’s bed.

  I randomly pick up another yearbook from the pile. This one is from twenty-seven years before Connie and Brian graduated.

  I gently leaf through the pages of the old book, stopping when I see a familiar face smiling back at me. I recognize this face from the photos under Laura’s bed; it’s Glen, Laura and Glenda’s dad. I look at the handwritten message under his yearbook photo and recognize his beautiful, calligraphic handwriting immediately.