A dark figure trudged up the road from the direction of the marina, and in a moment Jaymie identified the figure as Will Lindsay. “Hi, Will!” she called out.
“Oh, hi, Jaymie,” he said. He looked down in the dumps, his boots scuffing along the gravel road like he didn’t have the energy to lift his feet.
“How’s it going?” she asked. “You all right?”
“I’m just tired,” he said, approaching her porch.
Hoppy jumped down from the chair and wriggled toward Will. The marina owner sat down on the bottom step and took Hoppy up on his lap. The little dog licked his chin and panted happily.
“On your way home?”
He scruffed Hoppy under the chin, and said, “What? Oh, no, that’s in the opposite direction. I’m actually on my way to see Garnet. I’m hoping he’ll back off a bit on the marina deal. I don’t want Evelyn and Sammy to rush into selling their share.”
“Is Garnet pressuring you to get them to sell?” she asked, alarmed.
He shrugged and looked down at Hoppy. “It depends on what you call pressure, I guess. I really like the guy, but I just don’t know how to tell him to lay off.”
“I don’t know if either of them will be home right now, but if they are, why don’t you try talking to Ruby about it?”
He stilled and cocked his head to one side. “That’s a good idea, actually.” He touched Hoppy’s wet nose and smiled. “That’s a great idea. I never did understand what Urban had against her. She’s such a nice woman. But he said she was not who she seemed.”
Something Valetta said teased the back of Jaymie’s brain, something about Garnet and Ruby. What was it? She couldn’t remember; she’d have to ask her friend. “What did he mean by that?”
“I don’t know. I guess we’ll never know now, right?” He put Hoppy gently on the porch, and stood, stretching. “Thanks for the chat, Jaymie. I’ll see if I can get Ruby on my side.”
“Good idea. Try not to worry, Will; you’re doing the right thing.”
“That’s what Robin says. Evelyn and Sammy might need that income in a few years, if he’s going to start a landscape business.”
He trudged off into the darkness, and Jaymie pondered his problem. How much did she really know about Garnet Redmond? She spent very little time on the island, as a rule, generally making flying visits to clean the place, and make sure it was ready for guests, a few hours each time. But with the plumbing woes she had spent a lot more time in contact with the Redmonds in the last week or so. They both seemed very nice to her, but how would Garnet be if he was crossed? He had certainly cleaned Urban’s clock for what he said about Ruby, hadn’t he?
She just couldn’t believe Garnet would kill the man, though, and leave him in their own shared back area. That made not one speck of sense. Unless Garnet was counting on everyone thinking that way. It would take a particular kind of cool courage to be bold and leave the body right on your own property, to deflect suspicion in a kind of reverse psychology way. Having watched him sail, Jaymie knew Garnet was indeed decisive and bold.
Okay, so it could be Garnet. She had to admit it was possible. But to play devil’s advocate, if not him, who? Who killed Urban Dobrinskie in her backyard? She squinted into the gathering gloom. Or . . . wait . . . Did someone kill Urban Dobrinskie in her backyard?
The more she thought about it, the more it felt like a staged set. The body in the mud. The “murder weapon”—the vintage ice pick—placed under the body. Whatever it was in the trees that made Hoppy go nuts that night. And the voice, saying, “Get off my property.” All had been designed to point toward Garnet Redmond.
But some stuff didn’t fit. The items that had been stolen from the work site; what were they again? Boots. Wheelbarrow. The drill bit . . . though that may have been a coincidence and perhaps was just lost in the muck by a careless workman.
The wheelbarrow.
Hoppy, after investigating the perimeter of the steps and sniffing out any messages he may have missed, begged to come back up on the comfy chair, and Jaymie picked him up, scratching behind his ears.
The wheelbarrow.
Of course! She held her breath, close to a breakthrough. If Urban was killed elsewhere and his body moved, it would need to be carried in something, and what was more useful to move a heavy object than a wheelbarrow? It was a tool in the staging of the “murder” scene!
One detail—one pointed, particular detail—came back to her in that moment. She could picture the boots Urban had been wearing, deep-treaded boots common to many men; the treads had been clogged, but not with mud, as they would have been if he had walked across her work site. The treads were clogged by fine-grained sand. That was the final detail that proved her theory, that he had been killed elsewhere, was accurate. She had no doubt that she was late to that conclusion, though. The police would already know that.
So . . . sand. How would the treads of his boots get clogged with sand? If it was fine dry sand, it would have just fallen out of the treads, so it was damp sand, like that found on a beach, or down by the river’s edge. There was only one spot on the island that had that particular area of damp sand, and that was down by the Ice House.
She heard a noise on the road, and Will Lindsay trudged along, head down, back toward the marina.
“Hey, Will, what did they say? Did you talk to Ruby?”
“Neither of them was home,” he said, strolling up the walk to her step again, and putting one foot up on the bottom step. “They’re probably both at the restaurant until closing.”
“I thought they might be. Are you going to go down there to talk to them?”
“The restaurant’s not a good place to talk about this. And I’m so tired,” he said, scrubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “I think I’ll just leave it until tomorrow morning.”
Realizing she didn’t know much about Will Lindsay’s private life, she asked, “Do you ever go to the Ice House?”
“My wife, Barb, doesn’t like going out much,” he said. “She’s a good cook. We eat at home most nights.”
“Is she a local?”
“Yup. We met in high school. We split up for a while, but we got back together again and got married.”
“Does she like the marina business?”
“Hates it! She’d be happy if I sold it and got a regular nine-to-five job. Says she doesn’t see me enough.”
What about the night of the murder, Jaymie wondered. He and Urban were business partners; could he have gotten sick of Urban’s behavior and wanted him out of the way? She examined what she could see of his face in the shadowy evening gloom. The porch light cast a faint glow, but not enough to see his eyes. “I guess you work late a lot?”
“I try not to, but when you’re in the leisure business, you have to stick around if the customers want you, you know? But boaters don’t stay out late, so I’m always home by eight or so, regular as clockwork . . . dinner at eight thirty, TV, then lights out. Barb says she can’t sleep unless I’m snoring beside her.”
Jaymie sighed. The police had probably already established where he was, given he was Urban’s business partner. “Is everything going all right with the marina? At least you’re starting work on the dredging. I heard that Urban was not willing to go ahead with that.”
He frowned. “Who told you that?”
“I don’t remember. Why? Isn’t it true?”
“Uh-uh. He was just careful is all, making sure we took it step by step. I didn’t blame him. It’s a big financial commitment. And you really have to have all your T’s crossed and your I’s dotted, when it comes to the environmental agencies. We’re right on schedule with how he wanted to handle it.”
He frowned and looked down at his feet, scuffing his boot on the bottom step. “I miss the old asshole, pardon my French.” He cleared his throat and looked up, with a quirky grin on his shadowed face. �
��He’d hate even thinking that Garnet was going to buy out his share. Another reason I guess I’m a little wary of selling out. I gotta go. I called Barb and told her I’d be a little late, but I don’t want to keep dinner waiting. It’s nachos night!”
After another hour on the porch, Jaymie headed to bed and slept soundly.
The next morning, Jaymie called Daniel and gave him the measurements for the sod. He said he’d call his supplier.
“Do you want me to come over and have a look at the area?”
“Would you?” Jaymie said. “I looked out there this morning, and I’m a little overwhelmed. It just seems like so much work. Sammy is due here in a half hour.”
“I’ll catch the next ferry,” he said.
Jaymie then called her dad, but he was already golfing with Roger Collins and Grant Watson, the Leightons’ next-door neighbor. “Have him call me when he gets home, Mom,” Jaymie said.
“So, have you talked to that woman yet, about the family dinner at the cottage?” her mother said.
Jaymie hesitated, but ultimately, her mom needed to know. “Dinner out here is a go,” she said. “You’re pleased with that, right?”
“How did you manage that?”
“Uh, well . . . I gave her menu control, and she offered to cook, too. I figured, with all you and I have on our plates, that would work out for everyone.”
“Well, okay,” she said, doubt in her tone. She sighed. “At least we can do dinner at Rose Tree Cottage.”
“How is Anna doing?” Jaymie said, not ashamed to change the subject while she was ahead.
“She wasn’t feeling well this morning. Her cousin is coming in on the Greyhound this afternoon, and I said I’d watch the bed-and-breakfast and babysit Tabby while she goes to pick her up in Wolverhampton.”
“I’m sorry this has ended up on your shoulders, Mom. I really didn’t think the plumbing thing at the cottage would be such a big deal.”
“It’s okay, honey. I feel for Anna. I remember how I was when I was pregnant with you . . . sick as a dog!”
Reminded of all her mother’s sterling qualities, among them a generosity of spirit when someone was ailing or troubled, Jaymie said, “I’m so happy you and Dad are here, Mom. Really.”
There was a pause, and her mother said, “Have you heard from Becca? She called me last night. I think we might be hearing an announcement at the family dinner.”
Jaymie strolled out to the front porch to wait for Sammy. “She and Kevin are getting serious real fast. I just hope she knows what she’s doing.”
“So how about you? I may not care for his mother, but Daniel seems like a really nice young man.”
“We’re giving it a little while, Mom. I’m just over Joel, and I need to take my time.”
“Joel was never good enough for you. I always knew that.”
“Funny, last summer you were saying the same things about him you’re now saying about Daniel.”
There was a chuckle at the other end of the line. “I guess that’s true. But I want grandchildren, darn it! And you’re my only hope.”
Great. So nice to be the only hope for a future generation of Leighton progeny. “I have to go, Mom. Tell Dad to give me a call. If I don’t answer, it’s because I’m up to my knees in mud.” She looked up at the lowering sky. “I sure hope it doesn’t rain.”
As she clicked the off button on the cordless handset, Zack Christian jogged past, then backed up and stopped, his breathing barely faster than normal. She sat down on the top step.
“How are you doing?” he asked, strolling toward the steps.
“Good, I guess.” She thought about what Valetta had said, to for once just talk to him about other things than the crime du jour. “It must be a little strange, adjusting to life in Queensville after the big city. How long have you been here?”
“Since March.” He stretched and flexed his shoulders. “It is different, but I like it.”
“Do you have any family nearby?” She realized she knew virtually nothing about him, whether he had family or not.
“My folks live in Montana.”
“Is that where you’re from?” She could totally picture him in western gear and on a horse.
“Actually, I lived most of my life in Chicago, but my folks moved to my grandparents’ ranch in Montana when they retired. Granddad needed help running the place.”
“Do you ever go there?”
He frowned, his brow furrowed. “What’s up, Jaymie?” he asked, wiping his forehead on the edge of his T-shirt. “Why all the questions?”
So maybe Valetta was wrong? He seemed uneasy with the personal touch. “Just trying to keep my mind off things.” She took a deep breath, and said, “Zack, I’ve been thinking a lot, and I’m wondering if you guys have considered that Urban wasn’t killed in my backyard, but was moved there. Maybe with the stolen wheelbarrow?”
He didn’t say a word, just stared with his eyebrows arched.
“Okay, so that is what you’re thinking. That means he was killed somewhere else and brought to my backyard. There was sand clogged in his boot treads, so that means the riverbank, and I’m thinking the only patch nearby is down by the Ice House restaurant.”
“That’s not the only spot on the island with that kind of sand,” he said, then grimaced. “Forget I said that.”
Jaymie thought for a long minute and said, slowly, “It is the only spot on the American side, but there’s the marina on the Canadian side of the island, and it has the same kind of sand.” She frowned. “But the Canadian side? Why would . . . Wait! Urban was born in Poland and emigrated to Canada; that’s what his wife said. So he likely still has Canadian citizenship. And, in fact, their backyard is probably one of those that lie on the border! He could just cut through, and there wouldn’t even be any record of him crossing the border.”
Zack looked conflicted, but then said, “Look, I shouldn’t be saying anything at all, but sometimes a local perspective is helpful to me.”
“That’s what I’ve told you many times,” Jaymie said, with a smug smile.
“You’re really irritating sometimes, you know that?” He glared at her in mock ferocity. “Anyway, we’re still investigating everyone involved. I can’t comment, of course. But I can ask you questions.”
“Haven’t you already done that? A thousand or so of them?”
“But these questions may be more interesting to you. Like . . . do you know any reason why Urban Dobrinskie would be poking around the marina on the Canadian side of the island late at night?”
She stared at him. “No. Not offhand.” But she sure would be pondering that now.
“I’ve heard that he had a girlfriend. Do you know who she was?”
Darn. Slowly, reluctantly, she said, “Brock Nibley said that he had heard Ruby was involved with Urban, but that’s ridiculous.” She paused. “I also heard that Urban’s wife would follow him. Maybe she knows who he was involved with.”
Just then, Sammy came down the road on his bike and skidded to a halt. He eyed Zack, his expression somber.
“Hey, Sam,” the detective said. “How are you and your mom doing?”
“You were at our place yesterday, so you know how we’re doing.” Sammy cast Jaymie a suspicious look.
“Jaymie and I are friends, Sam. I just stopped on my way around the island.”
Jaymie cast the detective a surprised look. They were friends? Hmm. They’d had dinner together, so she supposed they could call themselves that.
“Yeah, well, maybe you should try a little harder to find out who killed my dad, instead of hanging out talking to girls.” He flung his bike to one side and stomped along the walkway toward the backyard, disappearing past the line of young trees that topped the lane, the same one damaged by the police excavator.
“Wow,” Jaymie said, watching him go. “Poor kid!
He’s here to do some landscaping for me. I guess I’ve underestimated how losing his dad is affecting him. I hope he’s going to be okay.”
Zack shook his head. “Maybe he didn’t realize himself how much he’d miss his dad until it was too late. Gotta go. Bye, Jaymie.”
Fifteen
SHE STOOD STARING after Zack as he returned to the road and jogged away, his athlete’s tread pounding out a steady rhythm in the quiet morning. He disappeared down around the bend, heading toward the marina. He’d take the loop, which wreathed the point of the island, rising up to a cliff, where one house sat in solitary splendor, then down back to the heart of the island. Or maybe he’d go through the marina and take the stairs that rose from it to the road above, as some energetic joggers did.
She stared off down the road, her gaze unfocused as she pondered his words. What did he mean, “until it was too late”? Did he think Sammy might have killed his father? She had considered the kid as a suspect; it wouldn’t be the first patricide she’d heard of. Or maybe Zack just meant it the way everyone did when they said something like that, that you never knew what you had until it was gone.
One thing had become clear to her over the past few days . . . Whoever killed Urban Dobrinskie was not a stranger, not to the island, and not to herself. He or she had stolen the wheelbarrow the night before the murder; that indicated planning, and that he or she was likely present on the island as someone who owned or rented a home, not someone who went back and forth from the mainland. They then killed Urban, probably with the ice pick from the Ice House restaurant, and brought the body from the riverside area of the Canadian side of the island or the US side to her backyard, dumped it, then created the scene that implicated Garnet or Ruby Redmond. That person then managed to take the wheelbarrow away, dump it in the river and get away. Not the perfect crime, but proving to be tougher to solve than it had first looked. The cops hadn’t made an arrest yet, but that didn’t necessarily mean they were stumped. For all she knew they could have a theory and be watching someone, ready to pounce.
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