Ignoring him, Eina said to the others, “You might want to grab a sweater. It does cool off at the waterfront in the evening. We’ll bring some lawn chairs and we should probably head out right away if we want a good spot.”
Chapter Eleven
Eina’s prediction, as usual, was accurate. The parking spaces at the marina were filling up rapidly, and they had to park the car close to the old railway station and walk from there, carrying their lawn chairs and jackets as they joined the growing crowd. No one objected, since it was a pleasant evening for a stroll, but Eina was hoping to secure a spot with an unobstructed view of the band.
They finally found a spot, nestled among all the other arrivals, and quickly set up in one of the loosely forming rows near the front.
“Does anyone want something to drink?” Eina asked. “There are a bunch of concessions over there.” She waved toward the curb where crafters and snack vendors had set up.
“For crying out loud, Eina, we just ate,” Roger said.
“Well, the music hasn’t started yet. I wouldn’t mind taking a look at the crafts,” Louise said.
Roger opted to stay and “guard the stuff”—meaning the lawn chairs and jackets—while the three women went over to inspect the tables of handmade jewellery and quilted bags. At a safe distance from the tables, two young men were playing three-way Frisbee with a border collie. Further down, a dad was helping his young son learn to fly a kite. The three ladies had just begun watching a busker start a juggling act when a familiar voice rang out.
“Louise? How’s Vince?”
“Candice!” cried Louise happily.
Candice certainly looked different from the last time Margaret had seen her. She was dressed casually in jeans, Reeboks, and a navy hoodie. Margaret wouldn’t have recognized her as the heavily made-up woman in the short skirt and shorter top at Bubbles.
Candice came over and embraced Louise. “I’ve been so worried about the little guy.”
“He’s getting better,” said Louise. “I should be able to pick him up soon. You remember Margaret?”
Candice held out her hand and shook Margaret’s firmly. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“You too,” Margaret said. “Are you here by yourself?”
“Yes. It’s just me. I like to come here and listen to the music.”
“Why don’t you join us, then? We’re up there, close to the front.”
“Great. I’ll just grab my chair.”
Candice brought her canvas sling chair up and squeezed in between Eina and Louise just as the sounds of bass and electric guitars tuning up evolved into an answering squeal of an amplifier, signalling that the entertainment was about to start. The MC introduced Slap Johnson and the Trowellers, a popular local blues band. The crowd welcomed the band with enthusiastic applause and whoops as the five musicians plunged into the opening bars of Any Old Fool Will Do.
“Wow, that was amazing,” Louise said, once the group left the stage.
“Yeah, the talent in this town is impressive,” Roger commented.
“It’s a jazz group next,” Eina said. “Mood Indigo. They’re good, too. They play all the standards.”
As the evening light paled over Lake Superior, the aromas of caramel corn mixed with coffee drifted over from the concession stands. Joggers and people walking their dogs moved along the walkway as it wound along the rocky shore. As the four-piece group opened with Ain’t Misbehavin’, the crowd signalled their approval with spontaneous applause. Several couples moved to the small dance space in front of the stage and began to foxtrot.
“The ballroom crowd,” Eina said in a confidential voice, nodding in the direction of the dancers. “They come to all these events.” They all watched as the dancers went through their steps. As the first song ended, and the musicians segued into All of Me, Eina jumped to her feet. “Come on, Roger,” she said. “We might as well get our money’s worth out of our lessons.”
Pretending to groan in reluctance, Roger took her hand and proceeded to surprise Louise and Margaret with his dancing finesse, gliding Eina across the small patch of concrete dance floor.
“Wow, look at them,” Margaret said. “Who would have guessed?”
“Roger is full of surprises,” Louise commented. “That looks like so much fun.”
As more couples began to join the dancers, Margaret’s mind drifted to memories of dancing with Neil. It felt like those happy times had occurred a lifetime ago. She felt a pang of heartache. Sometimes she could forget, briefly, how much she missed her husband, but the sight of the happy couples dancing brought back the loneliness. Pretending to rummage for something in her bag, she blinked back tears.
“Candice—is that Charlisse?” Louise’s voice startled Margaret from her sombre mood.
Margaret’s head snapped up. Peering at the dancers, she noticed a new couple among the dancers. The man was unfamiliar, but where had she seen that woman before? She was good-looking, dressed in a short, floating summer dress that showed off her long legs to good advantage. It was the asymmetrical brown hair with dramatic red and blonde streaks that reminded Margaret where she had seen her before. The funeral! She recalled the poisonous glance Mrs. Whalen had cast toward the grief-stricken woman with the streaked hair.
“Yeah, it is,” Candice said, keeping her voice low. “And that’s Peter Greaves she’s with.”
“Who?”
“The assistant manager from the casino. That guy I told you about. They look like they’re not feeling any pain.”
They do look a little unsteady on their feet, Margaret thought, although it didn’t seem to stop them from spinning around the dance floor recklessly, laughing as they bumped into the other couples. The song ended, and Roger and Eina returned, hand in hand.
“You two looked good up there,” Louise remarked. “Don’t stop now.”
“Oh, we’ll go up again later,” Eina said. “It’s getting a little crowded. That one couple is hard to work around. I wonder what they have in their water bottles.”
“Eina!” Louise tried to sound disapproving, but the effect was ruined by her fit of giggles.
“Speaking of which,” Roger said, “I’m going to get some water. Can I get anybody else something to drink?”
Louise, Candice, and Margaret declined, but Eina said, “I’ll come with you.”
Watching the two of them stroll off together, holding hands, Louise said, “I guess it’s true what they say about dancing.”
Candice’s attention was focused on Charlisse, clinging to her dance partner. She was frowning slightly, as though deep in thought. When the next song ended, and Charlisse and Greaves began to walk back into the crowd, Candice jumped to her feet and moved toward them. Louise and Margaret watched as she spoke with them, gesturing and glancing around nervously. But there was nothing nervous about Charlisse’s response. Her shrill voice cut defiantly through the chatter of the crowd.
“Discreet? Why? I’m glad the little cockroach is dead, and I don’t care who knows it!”
Surrounding conversations hushed. Heads swivelled in Charlisse’s direction. Some people laughed nervously, others looked shocked. Greaves recovered himself sufficiently to put his arm around Charlisse’s shoulders as he led her away. Candice stood, momentarily frozen to the spot, then walked quickly back to Margaret and Louise. Her face was scarlet and her lips were tight.
Margaret was at a loss for words. Louise tried to smooth the tension over. “Well, that was what I’d call an uncomfortable moment,” she said, with an awkward attempt at a laugh.
Candice said nothing. Louise made another attempt to be soothing.
“I’m sure she didn’t really mean it,” she said.
“Oh, I’m sure she did,” Candice snapped.
There seemed to be nothing further to say. After a few more strained moments passed, Margaret stood. “Well, I think I could use a walk. I’m getting stiff from sitting,” she announced.
“I’ll come with you,” Louise said with obvious relief.
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Candice said nothing, so they left her sitting and scowling, lost in whatever thoughts were occupying her.
“Well, that was weird,” Margaret commented. They walked briskly along the footpath that lined the shore, shifting occasionally to the edge as they were passed by the occasional jogger. The light slanted over the lake’s far horizon, and a light breeze began to stir their hair.
“It’s starting to get chilly,” Louise remarked.
“Maybe it’s time we packed it in,” Margaret agreed. “I kind of think the party’s over, anyway, at least as far as Candice is concerned.”
“It was a bit strange the way she was acting around Charlisse and that Greaves fellow, almost as if she were nervous about the situation.”
“Maybe she just didn’t want her friend drawing negative attention to herself,” suggested Margaret.
“Maybe. Is that Roger and Eina over there?” Louise waved and the couple waved back.
“Let’s catch up with them and see if they’re ready to head back.”
Eina and Roger, still holding hands and looking happy, had no objection to calling it an evening. When they got back to their seats and told Candice, she simply nodded. She still appeared distracted. Many people in the crowd apparently had the same idea, now that the light was fading and the evening was growing chilly. The diehards pulled sweaters out of their bags, and settled in to stay to the last chord.
Quiet blanketed the four friends as they walked back to the car. Eina and Roger were savouring the contentment of a pleasant end to a lovely summer day. Louise was lost in her own private thoughts. Margaret was wondering about the strange scene they had witnessed between Candice and her friends. It was natural that Candice would feel awkward for her friend, Charlisse, but the intensity of her reaction seemed to suggest something more than embarrassment.
When they got back to the house, everyone headed to bed. But despite her fatigue from the busy day and fresh air, Margaret tossed and turned for a long time in the family room. Full of caffeine from her afternoon visit to the coffee shop, her brain was teased by the events of the day. She kept thinking about Charlisse’s words at the park and Candice’s reaction.
Then, as her thoughts switched gears, she giggled, picturing the scene in the church basement, with Thomas Greenfield blushing at Mary Carlisle’s declaration. Gradually, her thoughts wandered over to the Global Village and its impending closure. The coffee shop was such a good idea that it seemed a bit odd for the owner to move it just as business was starting to take off. But then, many business owners got carried away when they began to taste success. There was nothing wrong with that, she supposed, assuming that Connie Whalen knew what she was doing.
And the garden stone—that was, as Eina said, an odd choice for a murder weapon. Was it possible that Thomas had something to do with the murder? He was, as Roger said, in good shape for his age. Years of gardening could do that. And he did have a bit of a temper and a cause he was passionate about. Still . . .
Was it outlandish to imagine that there was a message in using a stone with the word “serenity” on it? Was Thomas, or someone else, saying that they would defend the serenity of the church garden against the machinations of the casino? Some elusive thought still niggled at the back of her mind. Was she overlooking something? In any case, serenity was not something the church congregation was likely to be experiencing in the weeks to come.
Chapter Twelve
The reunion between Vince and Louise was a happy one. When Dr. Lai’s assistant led Vince into the waiting room, Louise rushed to his side, although the canine trotted in more jauntily, as though returning from vacation. He allowed Louise to scoop him up in her arms, even condescending to give her cheek a brief lick. Apparently his ordeal had been much harder on Louise than on him.
“Ms. Gagnon?” Dr. Lai, a petite young woman, wearing a lab coat over her tailored trousers, addressed Louise.
“Yes. Hello, Dr. Lai. Thank you so much for taking care of Vince.”
“No problem. I just wanted to ask you what you normally feed him.”
Margaret listened, with interest, to Louise’s answer. “Regular dog food, Dr. Lai. I mean, not regular of course. The good brands.”
“And you don’t feed him anything else? No table scraps, for example?”
“Oh no, no table scraps,” Louise said, shaking her head and looking angelic.
“Well, maybe not table scraps,” Margaret interrupted sweetly. “But he does get a lot of treats.”
“Doggie treats? Milk Bones and such?” the veterinarian nodded.
“No, I meant more along the line of Cracker Jacks and candy,” Margaret said, ignoring Louise’s glare.
“Cracker Jacks?” Dr. Lai looked horrified.
“Oh, I may have given him a few to nibble on once,” Louise said hurriedly.
“Oh, more than once,” Margaret said. “I’m sure he gets treats quite often. Even every day.”
“Really?” Dr. Lai turned a laser stare toward Louise, who began to stammer.
“Well, just small treats. He loves his little treats. And, after all, we all enjoy our treats, don’t we?”
Dr. Lai sighed, as though she’d had this conversation with many a dog owner before. “Vince is a small dog, with a delicate digestive tract. He’s also not a young dog, so his digestion can’t handle things as well as they used to. Unless you plan to bring him in frequently with digestive upsets, I’d recommend that you stick to high-quality dog food. If you want to reward him with treats, rawhide chews and special dog candies are excellent. Here is a pamphlet listing the brands that are good for older dogs.” She handed the pamphlet to Louise with a weary expression that said she realized her lecture was falling on deaf ears.
As they headed out to the car, where Eina was waiting, Louise turned to Margaret in indignation. “I can’t believe you ratted me out like that!”
“It was good for you, not to mention Vince. You’re in denial. You’re going to do that poor dog harm if you keep feeding him junk.”
“Oh rubbish. That’s just veterinary talk. There’s nothing wrong with a few treats.”
“So why was he sick, then?” Margaret held the back door open for Louise so that she could slide in with Vince in her arms.
“He got a bug. It happens.”
“What are you two on about now?” Eina said, turning around to pet Vince, whose tail went ecstatic. With the sudden and arbitrary preferences of all animals, Vince had decided that he adored Eina more than the common run of human beings.
“Oh, Margaret thinks she’s an expert on animals now,” Louise said sulkily, cradling Vince in the back.
“Never mind. I’m sorry I asked. Listen, it’s been a strange week. Not quite the holiday you had in mind. But our church kicks off its Centennial Celebration tonight. We have special events going on all weekend. Why don’t you stick around for a bit? There’ll be a photography display going back to the early days. You might find that interesting, Louise.”
“It sounds like fun. If you’re sure we wouldn’t be overstaying our welcome,” Louise said, brightening up immediately.
“Are you kidding? This is fun. Like a slumber party that keeps going. What do you think, Margaret? Are you in a big hurry to get back to Jackpine?”
“I don’t have any pressing commitments.”
“All right then.”
Later that day, Margaret wondered more than a few times if Eina had an ulterior motive in asking them to stay on for St. Stephen’s Centennial. As they pulled up in her driveway after retrieving Vince from the vet, Eina casually mentioned that she had committed to baking ten dozen squares for the weekend and could use a helping hand or two. She put Margaret to work chopping maraschino cherries and marshmallows into tiny sticky pieces that clung to the knife, making the job slow going and frustrating.
“Who invented marshmallows anyway?” she wondered. “They have no nutritional value. Kid’s food. Why couldn’t she make something easy, like banana bread? I notice she’s no
t chopping anything that fights back.”
Eina looked quite happy as she supervised and gave orders, measuring dry ingredients, while she had Louise grease pans and wash the dirty bowls and beaters. “Isn’t teamwork great?” she said, as they paused for a coffee break after putting a fresh batch of squares into the oven.
Her stove was old, with a small oven, so baking the goodies took most of the day. By the time the last pan came out, fragrant with the combined aroma of vanilla and brown sugar, Louise and Margaret were so tired that the idea of attending the evening celebration didn’t sound quite as appealing as it had that morning. Nevertheless, after a quick shower and supper of leftover pizza, they headed out to St. Luke’s with their tins and Tupperware filled with goodies.
They arrived at six-thirty, half an hour before the doors opened to the general public. Two older ladies were already hard at work in the kitchen, setting up the large coffee pots, buttering scones and Finn coffee bread, and setting dainties onto the church’s “good” plates.
“Let me introduce you two,” said Eina, plunking down her cake tins. “Miriam, Mary, these are my friends from Jackpine, Margaret Brodie and Louise Gagnon. They came into town for the conference last weekend and have stayed on for a visit.”
“Welcome, welcome,” said Miriam, looking up from her buttering to flash them a smile. “So you’ve been here for all the excitement, then?”
“Excitement?” Louise looked confused for just a second. “Oh, you mean the murder?”
“Oh, yes, that’s been occupying a lot of their time this week,” Eina said, indicating Louise and Margaret. “They’ve been sleuthing around all over town, trying to solve the mystery.”
“Hardly!” Margaret protested, embarrassed. Eina sometimes did volunteer more information than strictly necessary.
Eina waved at her dismissively. Turning back to the others she said, “They even went to Whalen’s funeral to look for clues!”
“Eina!” Margaret bristled.
Before Eina could say any more, Margaret turned to Mary Carlisle and extended her hand.
The Serenity Stone Murder Page 13