Black Cat Blues

by Jo-Ann Carson

  “When we post on the internet aren’t we providing the Rat with information too?” The question came from the back. Hard to tell who had said it.

  A murmur of voices swept the room.

  “Well,” said the young man. “We could make the site available only to people who live here.” After watching everyone nod their approval, he added, “But who’s to say it’s not one of us?

  A cool silence sliced through the room with the sharp edge of a guillotine blade.

  “I think we’re better off leaving it available to everyone,” said Hunter. “We need to keep our communication clear and open. There’s no harm in the Rat knowing we’re on patrol. Each pair could do their search in a different way, not detailed on-line, so there’d be no way of predicting where they will be. And on top of that, we’ll all be watching. Let’s get this thing going. We’ll all feel safer.” Everyone nodded and the meeting was over. A good number of the group headed over to the bar across the street.

  Maggy wanted to get out as quickly as she could. She needed air and was in no mood for small chat. Who would have thought they’d have a website to track this guy? But it made sense.

  She’d joined this peaceful community because it was, well, peaceful, and now they were dealing with a murder and sabotage. Was she in some way responsible for the change?

  Hunter, busy talking to people, caught her eye and lifted a finger, indicating he’d only be a minute and wanted to talk to her. Not wanting to talk to him she slipped out, noting his look of disappointment as she closed the door. There’s not enough time in life to please everyone.

  ***

  Back in her float home she decided she had to figure things out. Looking at her guitar case in the corner of the room, her heart did that rapid “pulsing thing” it always did when she thought about music. It would be so nice to spend the evening singing her songs. Just singing . . . becoming one with the music. But that wasn’t going to happen.

  The troubles at the dock worried her, no doubt about that. But the murders held her by the throat. Until she knew who was behind them she couldn’t rest. She needed answers.

  Grabbing a bunch of empty junk-mail envelopes from her recycling bin and a pen she sat down at her kitchen table, determined to sort through the mess. She wrote a question on the back of each envelope. Envelope One: Who killed Jimmy? Two: Why kill Jimmy? Three: Who killed Edgar? Four: Why kill Edgar? Five: Where on Gabriola Island is Brother XII’s gold? Six: Edgar’s grandmother’s journal?

  The process of distilling her worries into six questions calmed her.

  There was a familiar knock on the door and Mei entered. “I thought you could use some company.” Her black hair was pulled into a side braid, revealing her beautiful face, which looked drawn from a long day.

  Maggy hugged her. “I’m trying to solve a couple murders. Want to help?” She smirked.

  “Sure. Bring it on.”

  Maggy showed her the six envelopes.

  “What can we do with question number one?” asked Mei.

  “One: Who killed Jimmy?” She put the pen in her mouth. “The way I see it the suspect list could include…” She started writing and said the names out loud: “One: Clarence, Two: Edgar, Three: the Decourcey Island fisherman, Four: the third Black Cat partner…”

  “Or,” added Mei, “Five: an unknown stranger”

  “Yes. There’s always him.”

  Mei brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face. “Do you really think the old rocker Clarence could kill someone?”

  “I don’t think he has it in him. He was mad at the guy, but I don’t think he could commit murder. Nah. The guy’s a pussycat with a bark.”

  Mei nodded. “What about Edgar?”

  “I don’t know much about the guy, but I don’t think he’s the murdering type.”

  “Okay, but you might have to re-think those two later, even if you don’t want to. No one is above suspicion on the back of junk-mail envelopes.”

  They laughed and Mei gave her lopsided smile. “I’ll make some tea. Read to me as you write.”

  “Question Two: Why kill Jimmy? One: money ( the Black Cat Blues real estate deal). I told you about that remember. Two: money (Brother XII’s gold – worth at least a couple million now) and your favorite Three: unknown. How does that sound?”

  “Could be more reasons.” Mei plugged in the kettle.

  “Yeah, but I didn’t know Jimmy. To me, he was just a handsome man who’d been hanging out at the bar lately, and then a dying man in the alley. He could have a closet full of people who wanted to kill him for all sorts of reasons. I can get Logan to help me later on this one.”

  Mei poured the water into the tea pot. “Logical. But I’m not sure that thinking logical works when you’re chasing a murderer. It’s such a passionate and illogical crime.”

  “I don’t need philosophy right now. Question Three,” Maggy continued, “Who killed Edgar? Suspect list: One: the first murderer, Two: someone else after Brother XII’s gold and Three: an unknown person. That’s all I can think of.”

  Without talking Mei placed the tea pot on the table and then the cups. Her mouth twisted a little as she poured the tea and the pungent smell of Bengal spice filled the room. “I don’t know enough about Edgar to know all the possible suspects. He could have a deranged former girlfriend who wants to cut off his balls for all I know.”

  Maggy nodded and picked up her tea cup. “There are so many unknown factors.”

  Mei took a sip of the sweet tea. “But then the fact that both men were murdered with a marlin spike would seem to indicate it was the same murderer. Don’t you think?”

  “Okay, Watson. The marlin spike should lead us somewhere.”

  “What about Clarence?” Mei asked.

  “Nah, I can’t put him on this list unless there’s some connection between them that I don’t know.”

  “Okay, next.”

  Maggy scribbled on the fourth envelope an old hydro bill. “Question Four: Why kill Edgar? One: money—Brother XII’s gold, Two: reputation—did someone in Edgar’s family not want Rita’s secret life as Brother XII’s sex slave revealed?”

  “I like that one.”

  Maggy laughed. “Seriously, there could be siblings or cousins that wanted to shut Edgar up.Three: the Decourcy island fisherman; and your favorite, which I’ll call the Watson choice Four: an unknown person.”

  “Edgar.” Mei sipped her tea. “It’s hard to figure out who’d want to murder him when we know so little about the man.”

  Maggy smiled. “Okay, envelope five: Where on Gabriola Island is the gold buried? Not a clue, but the answer could be in Rita’s journal.”

  “Rita’s journal. I bet it’s spicy.”

  Maggy laughed. “She was a virgin, how spicy can it be?”

  “Brother XII with his ability to control people, the sex secrets he learned in the orient, the sex slaves, the whips—come on, it could be quite the read.”

  “Do you think she’d write about all that?”

  “Women like to journal. Now and back then. I think we could learn a thing or two.” Mei lifted her brows.

  “Seriously.” Maggy tilted her head. Could the whole mess come down to pillow secrets? “Pillow talk and lovers secrets. Maybe Great Granny Whitley’s journal holds the last clue.”

  “Hey, I still think it’s worth a read for the juicy stuff. Do you think she wore a corset? It must have really slowed down foreplay.”

  Maggy thumped a rhythm with her pen on the table. “If I sweet-talked Peterson he might let me see it.”

  “You’re talking about the guy who talked about Martian genitalia.”

  “Yeah, I know. I told him about the journal Edgar thought would lead him to gold, but I’m not sure he believes it exists. He does this funny thing with his face every time I say Brother XII’s name. Kind of like a wince with a cherry on top.” She sipped her tea. It tasted heavenly. Tea made by someone else always did.

  “But it could hold the final ans
wers. And does the murderer know this too? Oooh, don’t like that thought.” Mei’s black eyes shone.

  “Hell,” Maggy said, “I don’t like any of these thoughts.”

  Her stomach twisted. There had to be something in the journal that would help. Something felt wrong. Grabbing the table to steady herself she looked up at Mei and waited for the darkness to subside. But it didn’t. She began to shake. And then it was over.

  “Oh, you’ve got a bad feeling again,” said Mei.

  “I don’t want it.” What’s with these weird premonitions? She looked at her pages. Paper with scribbles. Some help they were.

  Someone knocking on her door startled her. She looked at her clock: midnight. Who could that be?

  31

  Rita’s Journal

  Nanaimo, April 26, 1933

  have come back to Nanaimo to witness another trial. This one was before the Chief Justice, Aulay M. Morrison. Mary Connally and Alfred Barley have charged Brother XII and Madame Zee with misusing their money. Everyone in town wanted to see him and his famous mistress with the whip. But the famous couple have disappeared. Some say they made the perfect get away. Will the trial proceeded without them?

  I did not think things could get worse, but when Brother XII and Madame Zee came back from England conditions in our spiritual community fell apart. The two of them were angry, downright cruel all the time. Everyone fought over money. No one blindly agreed with Brother XII anymore. He had gone too far. I was too sad to write about it.

  Scandalous stories have spread about that bitch Madame Zee hurting people. I was ready to leave again two days ago. I had heard enough of the dark rumors, had enough of living under the terror reigned on us from that woman from hell.

  Brother XII reassured me things would get better. He took me to our spot near the Garry oak trees and we made wild passionate love, made even hotter, knowing that we were doing it behind the witch’s back.

  But the next day things in our community were the same. Conditions are appalling. People are bullied and hit for not working hard enough, and food is becoming scarce. Whatever happened to the thousands of dollars I gave the brother?

  Finally, the anger in our group boiled into two law suits.

  The courtroom was full. Rumors about Brother XII’s hidden gold and wild sex life drew crowds eager for salacious details. They said he’d driven female slaves to madness. And death was delivered by Madame Zee.

  I had noticed a couple of young women missing, but the group has become so fragmented I assumed they left on their own accord. It is hard to tell what is true and what is not. I’d like to think those rumors were wrong. But I am no longer sure of anything. Maybe it’s time to face the fact that I’ve been duped.

  It was a long hearing. Member after member of our Aquarian Foundation came forward and told their personal story about cruelty and deprivation on the islands. They talked about his use of black magic and sorcery. They detailed how he fortified the islands. They even dared to speak about his buried and cursed gold. Wild stories were told about strange invocations the brother used, from the ruins of Egypt. The crowd fed on the details, like hungry sharks from hell.

  I said nothing, could say nothing. If I am to go home to my family I cannot have my name in court records about the brother. If I am to stay, I cannot be seen as a traitor.

  It was not easy for those who spoke up. I admire their courage and tenacity. Before the hearing no one other than the two claimants from the Foundation wanted to talk. I could not blame the others.

  At the first trial several men were knocked out by Brother XII’s black magic spells. I now truly believe it was his spells. The man is powerful and dangerous.

  When the second trial started Bob England, the man accusing him of wrong doing vanished without a trace. No one has heard from him.

  And we have been struggling under threats and cruelty for months. We are a peaceful group of people now terrified by our prophet and that bitch with the whip. Many fear that Brother XII can reach us with his spells and curses wherever we are and strike us dead. I don’t want to believe he would ever hurt me.

  As I said, no one was willing to talk. But when Bruce McKelvie the managing editor of the Victoria newspaper, The Colonist spoke with the group everything changed. He gained their confidence and trust. He made them believe they were safe from the brother.

  McKelvie, I am told, gathered the group together and told them that about a magic stronger than Brother XII’s. The local First Nation magic, he explained, came to this land first and so, he said, it was stronger. They listened to him.

  Some trembled with fear, so he gave them further reassurance. He showed them a Haida ornament, said it belonged to a famous Haida medicine woman and as long as we had it near no power under heaven could hurt us. The Haida are well known and respected First Nations people who live on islands to the north. They were famous warriors. Everyone knows their magic is strong.

  The group looked at it. It was a stone labret, a lip ornament worn by the holy woman. The newspaper reporter claimed it had power and they believed in it.

  When it came time to speak in court, every member of that group went into the witness stand and told their part of the story, holding the Haida ornament of power for protection. I was proud of what they were doing, proud of their courage to stand up for themselves.

  Still I remained silent. I have my future, and now the future of the baby growing inside me, to think about.

  It was a long and emotional hearing, but Mary Connolly was awarded twenty-six thousand dollars for money she had advanced the Foundation, ten thousand dollars in damages and four hundred acres on Valdes Island. Barley who was with Brother XII from the beginning, was awarded fourteen thousand dollars.

  Outside the courthouse, Mary told me she’d give all the money back to Brother XII if he’d just be his old self. I know what she means. I believed in him and his vision, but everything has gone wrong since Madame Zee got her claws into him.

  ***

  I can’t go back to my island home. The men burned all the buildings and the Lady Royal our sailboat has been sunk in the harbor. Nobody knows where Brother XII is. There literally isn’t anything to go back to. I will go forward in my life and raise our love child.

  I’ve heard people are looking for his gold, but they will never find it.

  Luckily, I didn’t give all my money to Brother XII. I can see this is the end of the Aquarian Foundation. I’ll have to make amends with my family in Vancouver. They will be angry, but they are good people and will take me back. I’ll make up some excuse for my absence and marry that old fuddy-duddy Franklyn Whitley. He is a drinking friend of my father’s, so Papa will like that.

  But when I turn the lights off at night, I’ll always remember being in the arms of Brother XII. And when I look into my first born’s eyes, I will know that they are the descendent of a messiah.

  32

  Music gives a soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to the imagination and life to everything. Plato.

  Hunter entered the houseboat and joined the women. Shit, Mei’s here. Can’t I ever get Maggy alone? Maggy looked like hell. Her blond curls were a tussled mess. A pen stuck out above her ear. Her eyes bloodshot looked up at him and then glanced away. That mixed feeling of deep attraction and then rejection hit him in the solar plexus, or maybe a bit lower.

  Mei stood up. “I have to be going.” She hugged Maggy and whispered something in her ear the way women do. As she headed for the door she nodded to Hunter.

  When the door closed behind her, Hunter asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “What isn’t?” Maggy muttered.

  Without thinking, he strode over to her and pulled her out of her chair and into his arms. He wanted to hold her tight enough that all the sorrows of her life would be washed away. Maggy may be the strongest woman he’d ever met, and he admired the hell out of her, but life kept throwing crap at her.

  She took in the hug for only a minute. Long enough for him
to smell the vanilla scented shampoo in her hair and feel her large, firm breasts press into his body.

  Maggy pushed him away gently. “I keep getting weird feelings.”

  “Weird?”

  “Like a cold hand is gripping my neck and trying to choke me.” Her face paled.

  “Maggy. You’ve been through a lot.”

  “Who hasn’t?”

  “Not everyone finds two murder victims at their feet.” He reached out to touch her hair, but she moved back.

  A small smile appeared on her perfect lips.

  “My grandmother was psychic,” she continued. “I’m not, but I do get ‘feelings’ now and then. Like déjà vu kind of experiences. Not many, and not often. Until now. They’re coming on strong and hard and I hate it.”

  He nodded.

  “I’m getting more. They’re dark and scary, like shadows of nightmares, and I’m awake.” She paused and pushed her hair back. “I wouldn’t mind knowing the winning numbers of the next lottery, but this seeing ability’s not like that. I’m getting messages about murder.”

  Maggy a seer? Yeah, it fit.

  “Just a minute ago,” Maggy continued. “Just before you knocked I felt like . . . “ She stopped suddenly as if robbed of her words. “Like I was dying inside.”

  “Maggy. You could do with a good night’s sleep. I’ll stay here, on your couch. I’ll protect you. You won’t have to worry about anything. Take some aspirin and sleep it out. It’ll do you good.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  Hunter stepped closer to her and put his hands on her shoulders. “I believe you. My great-grandmother had the sight, or at least that’s what she called it. People used to visit her in her tiny village on the cliffs in Ireland and ask her about their future. She was born in the caul, she explained to me, and she had the sight from birth. I’ve watched her through the years. I know there are things that happen in this world that are not seen by everyone.

  “Did the sight scare her?”

  “At first, maybe. I don’t know. She was comfortable with it by the time I came along. She called it a curse and a gift and took care to protect it. The family took care to protect her.”