I took charge when we were inside. I made sure the front and kitchen doors were locked. In the living room, I closed the drapes over the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on the lights of Braeloch. Then I opened a few windows. The house had that musty odor buildings get when they’ve been shut up.
I found a box of herbal tea in the kitchen. The kettle hadn’t been packed and there were still a few mugs in a cupboard, so I brewed some tea. We sat sipping our drinks at the kitchen table for a while, not saying anything. Then I took the guest bedroom across the hall from the living room. Bruce bunked down on a living room sofa.
I had trouble falling asleep. My mind was buzzing with thoughts of Frances and Riza. I had finally drifted off when voices jolted me awake.
“I thought I’d find you here,” I heard Frances say. “Where’s Tierney?”
“Pat’s with a friend,” Bruce said. “Why don’t you put the gun down?”
“Not on your life.” She gave a wicked laugh.
I was glad I’d left my car down the hill. I needed to keep out of sight.
The streetlight outside bathed my room in a half-light. I eased myself out of bed and pulled on the clothes I’d arrived in.
“You hightailed it out of your place,” Frances said, “but you never thought that I’d look for you here.”
Bruce made no reply.
I straightened the bedcovers, slid my carryall and my handbag under the bed, and gently opened the closet. Empty. I knew it wouldn’t be much of a hiding place if Frances went on the prowl. I hovered near the door and listened to the conversation in the living room.
“I figured you’d come here,” Frances said. “To Ted’s place, the home of the man who never wanted you.”
She was hitting below the belt, bringing up the tortured relationship that had dragged Bruce down for years.
“He shaped your life,” she went on. “Gave you his name and an education you wouldn’t have had if you’d been raised by your real parents. You tried hard to please him but you never could. Now he’s dead and you’re still begging for his approval. Running his newspaper. Staying in his home.”
I wanted to charge into the living room and throttle her. But I remained quiet and thought about how to get us out of there.
“The detective showed Daniel an email that Wilf sent you,” Frances said. “You tipped them off.”
“Not me. The cops took Wilf’s computer from the newsroom. His home computer too, his wife said. They must have gone through his email.”
Bruce sounded defiant, not scared.
“The fool. He was going to write an article about Spadina Pharmaceuticals.”
“It wasn’t something we would run in The Times,” Bruce said. “Wilf would’ve known that. He’d worked at the newspaper for years.”
“You expect me to believe that was the end of it?”
“It certainly was. We have crackpots calling us every day with harebrained ideas. If we took them seriously, we’d never get the paper out.”
Bruce was holding his own with Frances.
I slipped over to the closet and grabbed the metal pole that served as a clothing rack. It fit into supports on the walls and came away easily. Couldn’t compete with Frances’s gun but it was the best I could do.
“It goes back a long way, doesn’t it?” Bruce said. “Back to the money Mom was blamed for taking at the bank. No, back even farther. Back to Daniel’s friendship with Mom when they were kids.”
“Vi Stohl, the mouse who squeaked.” Frances’s voice was scathing. “It was so easy to set her up at the bank.”
“Daniel didn’t know that you and Mom worked at the same place?”
“No. I wasn’t about to tell him and she never did.”
“You took the money and made it look like Mom did it,” Bruce said. “You hated anyone coming between you and Daniel, so you framed her for a criminal offense.”
“I couldn’t resist giving her some grief,” she shot back. “I made Daniel what he is today. Me, not Vi. Forty years ago, I talked him into making a pitch for The Wonders Around Us. His career took off with that kids’ show. And I was behind him every step of the way.”
“You’re a real piece of work, Frances. But your scheme at the bank didn’t put an end to his friendship with Mom.”
“They had lunch in the city every December,” she said. “Then he started visiting her up here.”
“She had dementia, that was why she was living at Highland Ridge. Mom was no threat to you.”
“I assumed she was ill, like my friend Lorraine who lives there,” Frances said, “but I didn’t know she’d lost her marbles until I heard it on the news. One day I was visiting Lorraine and I saw Vi in the hall. She recognized me. ‘Fran,’ she said, ‘you took the money.’ ”
My grandmother, who had suffered from Alzheimer’s Disease, had similar flashes of lucidity. Very few and far between.
“And you panicked,” Bruce said.
“I did not panic.”
“If she told Daniel what you did at the bank—”
“I couldn’t let that happen.”
Frances killed Vi!
“You knew the layout of Highland Ridge. You lured her into the garden when she got off the bus. You got her into your van in the parking lot and you strangled her.”
I heard a gunshot and the sound of something shattering.
“Sit down and don’t move. The next one will be for you.”
“You put her in a storage locker.” His voice broke in the middle of the sentence.
“I don’t know how she got into that locker. I rolled her up in a carpet I had in the van and tied rope around it. I was going to take it into the woods and let wild animals deal with it.”
“You psycho,” Bruce said.
“Daniel was coming up from Toronto that afternoon,” she continued, “and I was meeting his bus. He would have put his luggage in the back of our van. He would have seen the carpet, he might have looked closely at it. So I decided I’d take him out to the lake and come back for the carpet later.”
“Where did you leave the carpet?” Bruce asked.
“On the miniature golf course beside the storage business.”
And Riza found it when she cut across the golf course.
“You went back for it?” Bruce asked.
“Just before it got dark but it was gone. I heard on the news the next day that it had been found in a storage locker.”
I was horrified by Frances’s story. And I knew the only reason she was confiding in Bruce was because she was about to kill him.
I slipped off my shoes and went over to the bedroom door with the metal pole in my hands. I assumed that Bruce was still on the living room sofa but where was Frances in the room?
I slipped out of the bedroom and crossed the hall. A large mirror hung on the hall wall, facing the archway into the living room. In the mirror, I saw Frances standing behind the armchair, her back to the archway. I tightened my grip on the pole and raised it to my shoulder like a baseball bat. As I stepped into the archway, the wooden floor creaked.
“What was that?” Frances asked.
“Just the house,” Bruce said. “The sounds old houses make.”
“This place isn’t that old. Twenty years, maybe.” She paused. “Hmm, I wonder…”
She turned to face me and smiled. She held a gun in her right hand.
I sprang at her, swinging the pole.
Bruce yelled, “No!” He jumped off the sofa and tossed an ashtray at Frances. She ducked, spun toward him and fired. He fell to the floor, clutching his left leg.
As she turned toward me, I hit her right shoulder with the pole. She stumbled backward and fired as she fell. The shot hit the ceiling.
I brought the pole down on her left shoulder as she staggered up. She got off another shot, this time hitting the floor. I stepped back and struck her right arm as hard as I could. She screamed in pain. The gun fell from her hand and clattered across the floor. She dropped to h
er knees.
I kicked the gun toward Bruce. He picked it up and trained it on Frances. He clutched his leg with his other hand. He looked up at me and attempted to smile. “Just a flesh wound.”
I handed him a cushion, which he pressed to his thigh. “Your cell,” I said.
While Bruce kept the gun pointed at Frances, I dialed 911 and asked for an ambulance. Then I called Foster and told him where we were.
Frances whimpered on the floor. “What about me?” she asked. “I’m seriously hurt.”
I ignored her and took the gun from Bruce. “Can you get over to the sofa?” I asked him. “Stretch out your leg on it.”
“There’s less blood now,” he said as he limped to the sofa, holding the pillow to his thigh. “Bullet just grazed it.”
I sat on the other end of the sofa and we looked down at Frances. “Wilf was going to blow the whistle on The Green Funds,” I said.
She remained silent.
“He told you what he’d heard about Spadina Pharmaceuticals,” I went on.
“I told him not to bother Daniel. I said I’d deal with it,” Frances said.
“Daniel didn’t know the company was mistreating animals?”
“He had no idea.”
“A few weeks later, Wilf said he’d write an article about it unless Daniel stopped the TV endorsements. You had to shut Wilf down.”
A muscle on the side of Frances’s face twitched but she didn’t reply.
“You didn’t want to lose the endorsement money,” Bruce said.
Frances’s eyes flickered. “The money goes to a good cause.”
“The Daniel Laughton Foundation,” I said. “Promoting clean energy and protecting Canada’s ecosystems.”
“That’s where it goes,” Frances said.
“But it wasn’t just about money,” I said. “It was about Daniel’s image. Daniel Laughton, Canada’s national treasure.”
“An image you worked so hard to create,” Bruce said.
“A lot of people, all the climate-change deniers, would love to see Daniel brought down,” Frances said. “I couldn’t let that happen.”
Banging sounded on the front door. I handed Bruce the gun and went over to it.
“Police,” Bouchard shouted on the other side. “Open up.”
I let Foster, Bouchard and two paramedics into the house.
“Officers, arrest Pat Tierney,” Frances cried. “She assaulted me.”
Foster went over to Bruce. “A gun, Mr. Stohl?”
“It’s her gun.” I waved in Frances’s direction. “It was safer in Bruce’s hands.”
“Give it here.” Foster removed a paper bag from his jacket pocket and held it open. Bruce dropped the gun into the bag. Foster handed the bag to Bouchard.
The paramedics moved Bruce onto a stretcher.
Foster looked at Frances, then at me. “Well, Ms. Tierney?” he said. “Care to fill me in?”
“Frances broke in here an hour ago,” I said. “She wanted a word with Bruce. At gunpoint.”
“That’s a lie,” she said. “I came here to talk to Bruce. You crept up and whacked me with a piece of metal.”
“Frances picked the lock on the door,” Bruce said from the stretcher. “I woke up and found her standing over me with a gun.”
“I knocked on the door and you invited me in,” she said.
“Like hell, I did,” Bruce said as the paramedics wheeled him out.
“Frances killed Vi Stohl,” I said. “Wilf Mathers, too.”
“More lies,” Frances cried. “Officers, she’s making all this up.”
Foster took a pair of plastic handcuffs from another pocket. “I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of it.”
Frances eyed the cuffs and folded her hands together on her chest. “Please, not those. She hurt my arms.”
“Hold out your hands, Mrs. Laughton,” Foster said.
“You’ll want to check out the gun,” I said to him. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the bullet that killed Wilf Mathers was fired from it.”
“You’d think we’d never heard of ballistics,” he muttered.
He fastened the cuffs on Frances’s wrists. Bouchard pulled her to her feet and they marched her to the door. She didn’t seem to be badly hurt.
Not that I cared.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Etta James’ “At Last” floated through the room, and couples got up from their tables and headed for the dance floor. Lainey came over from the head table and sat down with Bruce and me.
“Am I glad this wedding is nearly over,” she said. “I’ve been almost as jittery as my son.”
“The past few weeks have been a wild ride,” I said, but I wasn’t talking about wedding preparations.
Lainey smiled ruefully. “I’ve been so caught up with the wedding that I’ve had blinkers on for everything else. Who would have thought it was Frances Laughton who killed Vi and Wilf? The wife of the famous environmentalist.”
“Poor Daniel,” Bruce said. “I went over to see him this week in my new canoe.”
“How is he holding up?” I asked.
“He feels terrible about the murders. And he can’t understand why Frances killed Mom, that she was jealous of her.” Bruce paused. “He’s talking about setting up a scholarship in Mom’s name.”
I chuckled. “Frances will love that. Are Daniel’s endorsements still running on TV?”
“He had them pulled,” he said.
“A cottager on Raven Lake was behind the rental frauds,” Lainey said. “Soupy told us she’s related to the new manager at the Norris Cassidy branch.”
“Nate Johnston,” I said. “His wife is Riza Santos’s niece.”
Sergeant Bouchard returned to our table with his arm around Crystal King.
“Roger, any developments on this Riza Santos?” Lainey asked Bouchard as he sat down. “I heard you don’t know where she is.”
Bouchard adjusted his tie. “We haven’t found her yet but we will.”
“How long has she been gone?” Crystal asked.
“A week,” I said.
“She could still be around here.” Lainey’s eyes were as round as saucers. “That’s scary.”
She turned to me again. “Are you back at the cottage you rented on Black Bear?”
“I found another place.” I wasn’t as confident as Bouchard that Riza would be caught. In case she wanted to settle the score with me, I’d taken another of the Dawsons’ rental cottages, this one on Paradise Lake. I had spent enough time on Raven Lake.
“I’m back at my cabin,” Bruce said. “Riza won’t keep me out of my home.”
“Was Riza behind the scams in Muskoka and Georgian Bay?” I asked Bouchard.
“We’re looking into it,” was all he would say.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” The disc jockey’s voice filled the room. “Let’s hear it from the Highlands’ very own High Lonesome Wailers.”
“Everyone up to dance,” Mara called out.
With roll of drums, the Wailers launched into Bob Marley’s “One Love,” with Soupy and Mara doing the vocals. Soupy seemed to be having a grand time. I figured his jitters had ended now that the wedding ceremony was over.
Burt came over to the table and led Lainey onto the dance floor.
Bruce held out a hand to me. “Like to dance?”
“Your leg’s okay?”
“Fit as a fiddle.”
We joined the throng of people bopping and swaying on the floor. I doubled over with laughter when Bruce tried out some reggae moves.
We were still laughing as we made our way back to the table. The band moved into its version of “Hound Dog.” Soupy was no match for Elvis but he tried to compensate with the sheer energy of his performance. Lainey and Burt joined us at the table, and we all watched as Bouchard and Crystal cut up the floor.
They returned to the table when the number ended. “Whew!” Bouchard said, wiping his face with a checked handkerchief. “I’ll sit the next one out.”
Bruce stood and gave her a small bow. Crystal tucked her arm into his and off they went.
“How are the Gibsons?” Lainey asked Bouchard. “Any renters come by since Riza’s been on the run?”
“Chuck and Gracie are in Toronto,” Bouchard said.
“Toronto?” Lainey asked.
“One of the wire services picked up The Times’ article about the rental frauds, and it ran in the Toronto papers,” I said. “The Gibsons’ daughter saw it and talked her parents into putting their place on the market. They’re staying with her until it sells.”
“That sounds like a smart move,” Lainey said. “They were terrified out there.”
I nodded. “It had become too much for them. They were going to sell next spring but they wanted one more summer at the lake.”
“Some summer it’s been for them,” she said.
Burt and Bouchard headed for the bar, leaving me alone with Lainey. “Soupy seems in fine form,” I said. “His nerves have calmed down?”
“He was jittery as a coffee addict for weeks,” she said. “But he finally seemed to settle down a few days ago. After the big announcement.”
“Announcement?”
“He and Mara are going to be parents in December. He kind of freaked at the idea of getting hitched and becoming a dad as well. But he’s cool with it now.”
I gave her a wink. “High time they got married.”
“You bet it is. Burt and I have known Mara for years, she’s like one of our daughters. Another grandkid will be the cherry on top of the sundae.”
It was after 1 a.m. when Bruce and I left the hotel. “I’m keeping you from a nightcap with Crystal,” I said as the Chevy sped through the summer night.
“Crystal is Bouchard’s date tonight.” He turned his head to flash me a grin. “But, hey, I may call her next week.”
“How did she hook up with Bouchard?”
“She went to him about finding the furniture that Frank had in the locker. There wasn’t much he could do about that but it got them acquainted.”
I thought of something that had been niggling my mind for the past week. “How did Frances know where your cabin was?”
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