Going Out With a Bang

by Joan Boswell

  GOING OUT WITH A

  BANG

  by

  The Ladies’ Killing Circle

  GOING OUT WITH A

  BANG

  A Crime and

  Mystery Collection

  by the Ladies’ Killing Circle

  edited by

  Joan Boswell

  Linda Wiken

  Barbara Fradkin

  Text © 2008 by the Ladies’ Killing Circle

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, digital, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior consent of the publisher.

  Cover art: Christopher Chuckry, design by Vasiliki Lenis / Emma Dolan

  We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts for our publishing program.

  We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP) for our publishing activities.

  RendezVous Crime

  an imprint of Napoleon & Company

  Toronto, Ontario, Canada

  www.napoleonandcompany.com

  Printed in Canada.

  12 11 10 09 08 5 4 3 2 1

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Going out with a bang : a crime and mystery collection / the Ladies’ Killing Circle ; Joan Boswell, editor.

  ISBN 978-1-894917-73-5

  1. Detective and mystery stories, Canadian (English). 2. Canadian fiction (English)--Women authors. 3. Canadian fiction (English)--21st century. I. Boswell, Joan II. Ladies’ Killing Circle

  PS8323.D4G63 2008 C813'.0872089287 C2008-905617-5

  Table of Contents

  Bang the Drum Loudly for Me

  Pat Wilson

  Opera Lover

  Joy Hewitt Mann

  For the Sake of Francine

  Sandra Beswetherick

  The Robber

  Joy Hewitt Mann

  The Thrill of the Chase

  Mary Keenan

  Cobwebs

  Lorie Lee Steiner

  By the Book

  Joy Hewitt Mann

  Courting Frank

  Susan C. Gates

  Listening In

  Liz Palmer

  The Porsche

  Joan Boswell

  Eve Gets Even

  Joy Hewitt Mann

  The Dog at Balmy Beach

  Madeleine Harris-Callway

  Mad Scientist

  Linda Hall

  Bad Chef

  Joy Hewitt Mann

  Decked

  Lou Allin

  P(oisoned) M(y) S(pouse)

  Joy Hewitt Mann

  The Good Lie

  Sandy Conrad

  Going Out With a Bank

  Mary Jane Maffini

  A Priest, a Cop and an Undertaker Walk into a Hunt Camp

  Vicki Cameron

  Piece and Quiet

  Joy Hewitt Mann

  Hostile Takeover

  Sue Pike

  Thinking Inside the Box

  Kris Wood

  A Really Good Day

  Nancy McQueen

  Dead Against Telling

  Linda Wiken

  Chocolate to Die For

  Joy Hewitt Mann

  Payback

  Jean Rae Baxter

  The Silencer

  Joy Hewitt Mann

  A Three-Splash Day

  Barbara Fradkin

  When the Whistle Blows

  Coleen Steele

  Bang the Drum Loudly for Me

  Pat Wilson

  When The Creator sent the eagle flying up from the eastern mists and across the great water, Silent Woman, who used to be Lily Underhill, knew that she would be all right.

  Lily had no idea how long she’d been on the island. Three, four weeks, maybe more. At first, waiting for help to come, she hadn’t bothered to keep track of time. When it became obvious that no one was looking for her, she’d lost several days to despair and fear. From that point on, the days just seemed to run into one another.

  Silent Woman didn’t like to remember those first days on the island, when Lily Underhill had screamed and cried and torn out her hair. Lily had been weak and would have died on the island, all according to the plan. But Silent Woman had saved her—Silent Woman, pushed away and forgotten, long hidden in the far recesses of Lily Underhill’s mind. Silent Woman, who unlike Lily Underhill, could hear the voices of The Ancestors in the still air.

  The first time she heard them, Lily thought she was losing her mind.

  “You’re wet and cold. You need to make a fire, little one. You can do it. Remember how I taught you?”

  Lily knew the voice. It was her father’s, now long gone, whether dead or not she didn’t know. In her mother’s house, no one ever spoke of Robert Francis. When her mother left the little house on the edge of the big lake and took Lily back to the city, Robert Francis didn’t follow. Instead, he headed west, then north. The last Lily heard, he lived in Yellowknife, but that was many years ago. He must be dead by now, she thought. And yet, his voice in her ears sounded as young and strong as when he’d spoken to her that day in the woods.

  As if a curtain had risen on a darkened stage, Lily was back in her old life, the life that she had long forgotten. She and her father were tramping along a forest path, picking up the catch from the rabbit snares. Although the sun looked bright and warm, the temperature chilled Lily’s ears and toes, so Daddy had decided to light a small fire while they ate the lunch that Mummy had packed for them. He’d showed Lily how to gather the birch bark curls, the bits of dried moss, then he’d showed her the magic trick, taking a small prism from his pocket and catching the light of the sun until a small wisp of smoke trailed up into the still air. “I should be able to rub two sticks together,” he’d said with a loud laugh, although Lily didn’t know why that was funny, “but I’m a modern Indian, so I use this.”

  In a flash, Silent Woman had realized that Lily Underhill’s watch had an intact glass front, just as good as a prism. It seemed like no time at all until Silent Woman sat warming her toes before a blazing fire, chewing a wad of hardened spruce sap to ease the pangs in her stomach. The biting resin flavour tasted familiar, even after so many years. She could hear the Ancestors in Grammy’s voice telling her how to pick the tender dandelion greens and where to find leeks, mushrooms and purslane in the scruffy woods of the island. “Mijjit,” said Grammy. “Eat, child. The Creator has provided these good things for you.”

  Silent Woman heard Uncle George’s voice reminding her of the mussels that had been around the big lake. Silent Woman now walked to the shore of the island and there found an abundance of mussels clinging to the wet rocks uncovered by the receding tide.

  “You must look for stones,” said Uncle George. “They are called ‘grandfathers’. Look for flat ones.”

  Just as Uncle George told her, Silent Woman piled the grandfathers on the fire and roasted the mussels on them until the black shells split open and gave up their juicy treasures.

  When the skies darkened in the east and a cold wind blew across the gathering waves, the air thickening with the coming storm, Daddy helped Silent Woman build a small shelter. “We will build you an apsi’kan,” he told her, “just like the playhouse I built for you in the woods behind our house in Whycocomagh.”

  As the days passed, soft mornings giving way to long summer evenings, warm rain dropping slow upon the pine boughs, with bright starry nights and flashes of heat lightning out across the waters, Lily Underhill began to fade until she became less than a shadow in the back of Silent Woman’s thoughts.

  A few times as Silent Woman sat on t
he beach looking out at the vast expanse of the sea, she would see a boat far out, its masts just visible on the horizon. Then Lily Underhill would stir again, rushing to pile dry boughs on the fire, sending up great billows of smoke into the clear salty air. Nothing ever came of these efforts. He had chosen this spot well, knowing that few boats navigated in these waters, and only the occasional fisherman or kayaker paddled among the myriad of off-shore islands. So far, none had.

  Silent Woman snorted in disgust when her memories strayed to that awful day. Foolish Lily Underhill. Weak and foolish, trusting a kesnoqwat, a liar, a cheat, a dog. Even now, when she slept, Silent Woman would feel Lily Underhill stir and moan with memories of Kelsey Borden. Despite all he had done to her, Lily’s body still yearned for him, betraying the anger that Silent Woman kept stoked hot within her heart.

  How could a weakling such as Lily Underhill be so powerful in her world, the owner of a multinational trading company worth many millions of dollars? Silent Woman felt a faint pride in the fact that a brat from Whycocomagh had gone so far, although no one else knew about the brat. They only knew the Lily Underhill of the city, the woman who went to private schools and to university in Boston. They did not know about Robert Francis, the man called Wood Walker by his people, or the little house in Wycocomagh. Lily might have sprung up full grown in the big city house near the park for all anyone knew.

  When Lily’s mother left Wycocomagh to go back to her family, a battery of lawyers made sure that not one of Robert Francis’s people ever saw Lily again.

  Silent Woman smiled at these thoughts. The Ancestors were more powerful than any lawyers. They could not be stopped by pieces of paper. They spoke to their children when they wished. The Creator saw to that.

  “Hi ya hi di ho.” Silent Woman chanted the words under her breath, her hand beating the drum rhythm on the hard ground. Grammy had taught Lily the song so long ago, and now, it waited to be sung again. “Hi ya hi di ho ho ho.”

  Oh, yes, Lily Underhill, so smart and powerful. “Hi ya hi di ho.” Yet, she did not see into the blackness of Kelsey Borden’s heart. “Hi ya hi ya hi di ho.” Silent Woman’s hand beat harder on the earth. “Hi ya hi di ho ho ho. Hi ya hi ya ho.” Stupid Lily Underhill. Marrying a man who only wanted what Lily had worked so hard for.

  Silent Woman felt a dampness on her hand. Looking down, she saw blood and realized that she had been pounding so hard on the earth that she had broken the skin.

  She hated it when Lily’s memories surfaced with such power, overshadowing her sense of well-being. Silent Woman tried but couldn’t keep the memory words from echoing in her brain.

  “C’mon, Lily. You need to slow down. How’re we going to make that baby you want if you keep up this pace? Let’s take some time off, get away somewhere, just the two of us. How about we take Wind Catcher out for a nice cruise along the coast? I know it’s early in the season, but the weather is warm enough. We’ll turn off the cell phones and forget about the e-mail and be real people for a change. It’ll be good for us.” His voice felt warm on her ear, and Lily pressed against the length of his body stretched against hers. She had to admit, it sounded enticing. And it wasn’t as if she didn’t have good, competent people working for her. The company would be fine without her for a week or two. Besides, she was tired. The latest merger had taken a lot out of her. Then there was the baby thing. She and Kelsey had been trying for the last year, but so far nothing had happened. Maybe getting away would be the answer to that, too.

  The thought of a week on the boat alone with Kelsey had clinched the deal. She loved sailing with him. He was a good sailor—competent, smart and sea savvy. It had taken him many months to convince Lily, neither a good swimmer nor a strong sailor, to go out on Wind Catcher with him, but once she had, Lily had enjoyed every moment on the boat. She smiled at the thought of the starry nights on deck, the soft rocking of the boat on the gentle swells and the musical chink-chink of the breeze in the rigging overhead. Perfect baby-making ingredients, she thought.

  Their favourite passage headed south, along the coast towards Peggy’s Cove and Lunenburg. It was a familiar run for them, and Lily liked watching for the leading lights and landmarks along the shore. This time, Kelsey wanted to head in the opposite direction, following the Eastern Shore towards Cape Breton. The weather reports for the coming days didn’t look good, but he assured her they wouldn’t do any bad-weather sailing.

  “There are lots of nice spots we can moor in if need be. We’ll just batten down and enjoy ourselves.”

  They’d made good time up past Musquodoboit Harbour, Owls Head and the long finger of Ship Harbour, an easy run with the wind blowing from the south west. The first night, they’d found a calm mooring in Tangier Harbour, just off of Webb’s Point. During the night, the wind had backed to the east, and the next morning they woke to dark and lowering skies, a mean chop on the water and a cold biting wind.

  “Let’s stay here,” she said after they finished their breakfast of hot coffee and rolls. “It’s not as if we’re on some kind of timetable.” Kelsey ignored her and continued to make ready the sails. At ten in the morning, they navigated the choppy waters of the harbour and headed into the wind past the lea of Taylor Head and out to the open ocean.

  By noon, the wind blew hard and fresh in the rigging. Kelsey reefed down the main sail and put up a storm jib. Lily could barely see three feet beyond the boat as the waves continued to pile up around them and the spray blew across the cockpit like a wet sheet whipping in the wind.

  Lily begged him to stop, to run before the wind into a safe harbour, but he continued to battle each tack, his face set and determined. She began to plead, to cajole, even to demand, but some uncaring demon had taken over her husband. She sat huddled in the corner of the deck, her misery compounded by the growing nausea brought on by the violent pitching of Wind Catcher.

  At three in the afternoon, Kelsey had turned around, picked Lily up and thrown her overboard.

  Silent Woman stirred and shook her head from side to side, faster and faster, as if she could jar the memories loose. I will not think these thoughts. I will not, she muttered under her breath. It was over and done with. Kaquiq. Ended. No one cared about Lily Underhill now. No one was looking for her, if indeed, they had ever looked for her. Who knew what stories Kelsey Borden had told? Who knew where he had sent them to search? Not here. Not to this place, thought Silent Woman.

  Luck, not skill nor strength, had saved Lily. Her life jacket had kept her afloat long enough to be thrown up on the little beach of the island. Odds were that she should have been battered to death by the storm waves surging against the huge rocks that faced the sea on most of the scattered islands, or else washed out far from land, where she would perish from the prolonged exposure to the cold waters of the North Atlantic. The Creator saved Lily Underhill, thought Silent Woman, so that I might live.

  Time passed slowly on the island. Silent Woman watched tepgunset, the moon, make her passage across the sky, three times growing fat, and three times becoming thin. She felt the days grow shorter and the nights cooler. Soon, Mother Earth would settle for her winter slumber, and Silent Woman had much to do. The Ancestors would help her prepare for the long dark days ahead. They would show her how to smoke the mussels, how to make her hut warm and sound for winter, how to bank up sand and moss around the base and stuff the cracks with seaweed. She had driftwood to pile, bark and dried moss to gather, nuts to collect and berries to dry. Soon, the autumn gales would come and after them, the snow. Yes, she thought, there is much to do.

  Silent Woman set about these tasks with grim determination. The Ancestors spoke to her, guiding her, teaching her, helping her. Their voices formed familiar litanies in her head, while Lily Underhill faded out like smoke.

  One warm day, Silent Woman sat on the shore looking out to the sea, enjoying the feeling of the autumn sun on her face. A movement on the water at the far point of the island, out past the rock cliffs, caught her eye. It was a lone kayaker pad
dling through the calm water. Silent Woman’s breath caught in her throat as she moved into the shadow of the tall pine tree where she could watch him as he paddled towards the small sandy beach.

  The kayak slid onto the beach, and the man clambered out. He walked across the sand to the beaten path to the clearing. Silent Woman trailed him in the shadows. The kayaker stood over Silent Woman’s fire pit, then looked towards her hut. Silent Woman held herself still.

  “Hello,” he called. “Anybody here?”

  For the first time in weeks, Silent Woman felt Lily stir. She was trying to call out. Silent Woman clamped down on her jaw, hard.

  The man disappeared inside Silent Woman’s hut.

  Silent Woman shrank back into the darkest shade. A faint trembling began at the back of her neck and continued down her spine to her knees.

  The man reappeared, a puzzled look on his face. “Hellooo,” he called again. He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hellooo. Is there anybody here?”

  Silent Woman felt her mouth working. “Please,” whispered Lily Underhill. “Please.”

  Silent Woman moved a step away from the clearing. “Please,” begged Lily. Silent Woman pressed her hand against her mouth, stifling any sound. All this time, all this effort—the hut, the food, the piled wood, the good feeling of power and control, the comfort of the Ancestors’ voices—and Lily wanted to let it all go. For what? A life filled with stress and anxiety? For money? For Kelsey Borden?

  No, thought Silent Woman. I will not let you do this, Lily Underhill. Silent Woman closed her eyes, willing Lily Underhill to go back deep inside where she belonged. But Lily would not go.

  “Let me loose,” Lily insisted. “Let me loose. You know I can’t live here for the winter. You know I won’t survive. I will die, and so will you.”

  Silent Woman let out a long, slow breath. The winter to come had been worrying her brain with thoughts of the black nights, the deep cold of the snow, the island surrounded by shifting sea ice. The Ancestors had lived through such winters, snug in their furs and blankets, warmed before the fire pit, filled with deer meat and bannock. But Silent Woman had no furs, no blankets, no meat or bread. She might survive, but Lily Underhill would not.