“There we are. I’ve got you now. Let’s get you out of the water,” she panted. We shifted Tremaine’s body between us and staggered out onto the shore. We laid him face-up on the ground, the woman kneeling beside him while I shuddered nearby.
“Is he still b-breathing?” I cried.
She laid her ear to his chest and looked up into his face. Watching him for a few long seconds, she tilted his head back, pinched his nostrils shut, covered his mouth with her own, and gave him two quick breaths. She watched for movement in his chest, and then gave him another two breaths. His chest began to heave, and she leaned back while he coughed and sputtered up a lung-full of river.
“Very good,” she said, turning him onto his side and cradling his head from the stones. “Better out than in, eh young man? What’s his name?”
“Charles Tremaine. I’m Anna Nolan,” I said, hugging myself for warmth.
“Frieda Kuntz. Now that we’re sure he’s breathing, let’s get him to my house and warm him up. You could do with some dry clothes and warming up yourself, Anna,” she said, eying me as another convulsion wracked my body. “It’s not very far – my house is right up the road there. Help me to lift him.”
We flipped Tremaine onto his back, where he lay gasping and panting. Taking his arms, we hauled him to his feet and began dragging him up the road to the house. We didn’t talk much, saving our breath for our exertions except when Frieda asked where Tremaine had gone into the water and how long he’d been in it. I guessed maybe six minutes.
“Six minutes! He must be a tenacious soul, to be in that freezing water and still alive after six minutes. Good for you, Charlie. Come on, Anna. Not much farther. You can see my house through the trees over there.”
She jerked her head to the left, and I saw a timber A-frame through the brush. We dragged Tremaine up the drive past a little red Volkswagen Beetle. A dog barked frantically inside the cabin as we staggered up the wooden stairs onto the porch.
“Quiet, Schultzie, stop that barking!” she shouted as he threw himself against the back of the door. “These are friends. Get back,” she commanded. Frieda wedged Tremaine against the wall with her hip and flung the door open. A large German shepherd jumped up at her waist, nearly knocking her over.
“Down, Schultzie, get down! Go lie on your bed. Go!” The dog slunk away as we hauled Tremaine through the door, Frieda kicking it shut behind us. We lugged him to a wooden chair beside her dining table and lowered him onto it.
“Anna, hold onto him. Don’t let him fall off. We’ve got to get these wet clothes off him. I’m going to fetch some towels and blankets for the two of you. I’ll be right back.” She hurried across the room as I turned to Tremaine.
He lay in the chair with his head lolling back and his arms hanging down, hands almost touching the floor. With my whole body shaking, I tried to loosen the tie at the base of his throat. The knot was beyond me, so I stripped off his sopping wet jacket and began unbuttoning his shirt. I was aware of Frieda bustling around behind me.
“You’re doing fine, Anna,” she called. “Get his shirt off. I’m going to start a fire in the grate and push the bed over to it. I’ll be right there to help you.”
I managed to unbutton the sleeves at his wrists. “I-I can’t get his tie undone, Frieda, and I c-can’t get his shirt off,” I said.
I heard her mutter something as she rushed past me into the kitchen. She hurried back clasping a very efficient-looking carving knife in her hand and a bundle of towels under her arm. I got out of the way as she dropped the towels onto the floor and knelt beside him. Carefully inserting the blade between Tremaine’s tie and his throat, Frieda sliced through the fabric.
“There you go,” she said, pulling the rest of the tie through his shirt collar and flinging it onto the floor before she rushed off again. I bent over Tremaine, grabbed either side of his shirt, and pulled it back over his shoulders and down his arms, dropping it onto the floor. Grabbing a towel, I rubbed his upper body briskly, trying to warm him and get his blood circulating again. The skin on his torso was white with fine golden hair, muscle and bone etched beneath. I knelt before him, picked up a dry towel, and leaned his smooth chest against my face, reaching around to dry his back. I could hear a fire crackling in the grate and Frieda muttering as she shoved the bed towards the hearth on a round area carpet. She manoeuvred it into place with a series of grunts and glanced over to see how I was doing. Scooping up a pile of blankets from the bed, she hurried back to us.
“Good, Anna, you’ve got the job half done. Time for you to get out of those wet clothes yourself. Take some of these towels, and when you’re dry, wrap up in a blanket. Then come back and help me with Charlie.”
Shivering, I stumbled over to the fire, standing as close as I could while stripping off my clothes and dropping them in a soggy pile on the floor. I was too miserable to feel self-conscious about my nudity, and Tremaine’s eyes were closed, anyway. That worried me. Had he slipped into a coma? I wrapped a blanket around myself, tied a knot under my arms, and stumbled back to help.
Frieda had removed Tremaine’s shoes and socks and was wrapping him in a blanket. She tied a stout knot over his shoulders, the blanket covering him like a toga.
“Just in time,” she said. “Help me get his pants off.” We stood him up between us and I held him while she tied a towel sarong-style around his hips before taking off the rest of his dripping clothes. I gazed down at his bare feet and thought that they looked awfully vulnerable without his oxfords.
“Good, now let’s put him to bed,” she said. I wrapped my arms around his chest, she grabbed his knees, and we carried him over to the bed, heaving him onto the side closest to the fire. Frieda had already turned down the bedclothes, and we pulled blankets and a duvet over him before tucking a pillow under his head.
“Very good,” she said, “now you get in, too.”
“Wha-at?” I stammered.
“Get in the bed with him. We’ve got to warm both of you up. I’ll call 911 and tell them what happened. I know it will take them a little while – this place can be tricky to find. I’m going to get a hot water bottle for his feet, and once the two of you are tucked in, I’ll drive up the road and watch for them.” I hovered beside the bed. “Now don’t get prudish on me, Anna. For pity’s sake, you’ve already seen most of him, and it’s not like he’s going to force himself on you. Go on, get in the bed!”
“Yes ma’am,” I said, grabbing the bed clothes and crawling in beside him. I was exhausted and still bitterly cold still myself, and it felt heavenly to get beneath all those covers. Frieda nodded and went off to make the call. I could hear her giving instructions as I turned my head to look at Tremaine. His face was as white and lifeless as marble. I reached under the covers and found an icy hand, chafing it between my own for a few seconds. Then I slid an arm under his shoulders and pulled him closer, dragging his head across the pillow. His breathing seemed a little slow, and I tried to stop shaking long enough to monitor it. It was definitely sluggish, which frightened me. I pressed against him and lay my head on his shoulder.
Frieda hurried back with a hot water bottle wrapped in a hand towel, and came around the bed beside the fire. She smiled at me before slipping the bottle under the blankets beneath Tremaine’s feet. Mine lay on top of his and I could feel the heat surge up from the bottle, making me shiver.
“I’ve got an idea,” Frieda said. “Schultzie, come.” The furry brown and black dog lumbered quickly to the bed.
“Up, Schultzie,” Frieda said, patting the foot of the bed. The animal sprang up and settled across our feet. “He’s warmed my feet on many a cold night, that’s for sure,” she said while studying Tremaine’s face. “I think Charlie’s colour is improving, Anna. Keep cuddling him, and I’ll come back with help as soon as I can.” Before she could turn away, however, I reached out from under the bedclothes to take her hand.
“Frieda, you saved both our lives today. I don’t know how to thank you enough.”
Frieda left the house, slamming the door behind her. Schultzie lifted his head and listened as she crossed the porch and descended to the drive. A minute later, her car started up and she drove away. The dog laid his head back down, closed his eyes, and sighed. The room was quiet except for an occasional pop and sizzle from the fire. Lying cocooned in the blankets with Tremaine, I began to feel drowsy.
A tremor ran through his body, and I was instantly alert again. I peered at his face and waited. After a little while, he started shaking. He drew in a shuddering breath, released it, and opened his eyes
“Thank God,” I said softly. Tremaine turned his head on the pillow to face me, and smiled.
“You saved my life,” he said in a weak, raspy voice.
“Yes, Frieda and I both did.”
“Thank you,” he murmured, his eyelids drooping.
“You’re welcome. It was my p-pleasure,” I said, my teeth chattering.
Tremaine started laughing. His body shook with cold and laughter until his eyes streamed with tears. I started laughing, too, and we clung to each other and laughed like a couple of loons until Frieda returned with the paramedics.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The EMS workers were very efficient as they checked us out. They decided that I would be alright, but started an intravenous drip on Tremaine before carrying him off to the hospital. I heard that the Emergency Room doctor discovered a lot of bruising from the battering he had taken in the river, but, thankfully, there were no broken bones. They kept him in overnight for observation, and released him the next day to one of his RCMP colleagues.
Frieda drove me to my car after everyone left her place. I promised to come back for a visit, and drove home feeling pretty weak. I called Ben’s cell and left a message asking him to call me back, then crawled into bed.
I slept most of the afternoon with my own dog draped across my feet. When I woke up around supper time, I had about enough energy to feed Wendy and open a can of soup for myself. Poor Wendy; when I went back to my room, she couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t getting a walk and paced around the floor for a few minutes before joining me on the bed. I slept heavily – my body must have been recuperating from the day’s panic and the freezing river water – and felt okay when I got up early the next morning. I had some business to attend to with Amy.
When she answered her door around 9 AM, the expression of relief and guilt mingling in her face convinced me that I had been right to suspect her. She dragged me inside and began apologizing before I had a chance to say anything.
“I’m so sorry, Anna, I didn’t mean to get you into trouble, but I was so worried after you phoned. I thought about what to do for awhile, and then I ended up calling Tremaine. I told him that I was afraid something bad might happen to you at Jessie’s cabin. He sounded upset, particularly when I told him that it had been about thirty minutes since you called. Did he find you?”
“Yes, Tremaine found me and a whole lot more trouble than he had expected, I dare say.” I told Amy the whole story. She gasped when I described how Tremaine had fallen into the river and how Frieda and I had rescued him.
“Anna, you saved his life,” she said.
“Well, yes, I guess I did, but let’s not forget that I was the reason he fell into the river in the first place.”
“Still, you’re so brave. I’m not sure I would have gone into the water after him. I can’t even swim.”
“Believe me, neither one of us did any swimming in that water.”
“So, I guess that gets you off the hook.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well for pity’s sake, you saved his life. Tremaine can’t possibly arrest you for murdering Jack now, can he?”
“I don’t think the one precludes the other, but I guess it helps.”
“I should think so. Hmm. Tell me something, Anna. What did Tremaine look like without his clothes?”
I laughed. “Count on you to ask me that.”
She smiled back at me from where she lay curled up in the corner of her couch. Her living room decor was as she had described it: floral chintzes in pinks and greens with lots of throw pillows. “Don’t tell me that you haven’t noticed how good-looking he is,” she prompted.
“Well, that hasn’t exactly been my major preoccupation with Tremaine, but since you mention it, he is handsome, with and without his clothes. After all, he’s young and in good shape.”
“He’s not all that young, is he?”
“Pretty young. He’s only thirty-one.”
“Thirty-one definitely makes him a grown man, Anna. You’re not that much older than he is.”
“Nine years.”
Amy snorted. “Don’t tell me that you’ve never looked at a younger man.”
“Looked, admired, but never seriously considered dating one. Or anyone else, for the past few years.”
Amy wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “I wasn’t talking about dating him, Anna. For goodness sake, look at you. You’re blushing.”
I got up from the couch and headed for the front door. “Never mind all that nonsense. I’m going now.”
Amy trailed behind me. “I don’t know, Anna. It sounds like you two got awfully cozy in that bed yesterday. He’s handsome, smart, charming, and he’s got that cute British accent. I wish that I could have been the one under the covers with him.” She grinned and I shook my head at her.
“You’re beyond saving, Amy. Listen, call me if you hear anything interesting about Jessie Wick, will you?”
The smile vanished from her face. “Anna Nolan, you don’t have any sense.”
It was my turn to grin as I saluted her. “Bye Amy – see you at the movies.”
“Bye Anna. And for goodness sake, stay out of trouble!”
Chapter Twenty-Four
I thought that Tremaine might drop by or call me after we had shared such a harrowing experience together, but he didn’t. When I still hadn’t heard from him three days later, I felt a little hurt. He had seemed so grateful that I had saved his life. Didn’t that deserve flowers or something? And what about the time we had shared in bed? Didn’t he realize that our relationship had changed? Wasn’t he going to do something about it?
I kept up a grumbling interior monologue for most of the day before giving myself a swift mental kick. How could I think such preposterous things? There was never going to be anything between Tremaine and me. Damn that Amy and her suggestions. I bet she had dalliances with younger men all the time, but she was a whole lot sexier and more enticing than I. And, judging by her fling with Jack, promiscuous.
It was time to put all this nonsense about Tremaine out of my head and start concentrating on work again. And it was time to stop worrying about the murder investigation, too. What more could I do? Nothing, until we got the test results back from the O’Cleary barn and from Ben’s car. Besides, I hadn’t accomplished anything in my investigations. Amy was too sweet and too dumb to have done murdered Jack, Connie and Karen had a foolproof alibi, and trying to find out more about Jessie Wick had almost got Tremaine and me killed. Enough already.
I came home from work Tuesday night ready for leftovers and a long after-dinner walk with Wendy when she greeted me at the front door, clearly upset. She whined, ran to the back of the house, and barked. I put my stuff down and followed her into the kitchen, doing a double-take when I looked out onto the deck. Someone wearing a black cowboy hat was lying on my recliner. Whoever it was had his back to me. All I could see was the hat sticking over the back of the chair. My backyard was enclosed by a six-foot tall, Wendy-proof fence, and the only way into it was through the kitchen or a padlocked gate. So how had the intruder gotten onto my deck?
Wendy clawed at the door, but I didn’t w
ant her making things worse by attacking whoever it was out there. I slid the door open just far enough to slip through before closing it in her face. Wendy whimpered on the other side.
“Hello?” I said, inching closer to the chair. The cowboy hat swivelled, and a woman wearing big navy sunglasses smiled up at me.
“Well, you’re finally home, Anna. How was the traffic leaving Calgary?
“I beg your pardon?” I said. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”
The woman took off her cowboy hat and dropped it on the deck, freeing a cascade of blue-black hair that tumbled down her back. She removed the sunglasses, too, in case I hadn’t recognized the trademark hair. It was Jessie Wick.
“We’ve never been formally introduced, Anna. Jessie Wick,” she said, holding out her hand. I shook it and took a wary step backwards.
“How’d you get into my backyard, Jessie?” I asked.
“I’m a stunt woman, Anna. How hard would it be for me to get over the fence?” She swung her legs off the chair and stood in one fluid movement. She was dressed all in black in form-fitting jeans and a silk shirt except for an ornate silver and turquoise belt buckle at her waist. Standing next to her, I saw that she had me by three or four inches and about twenty pounds of muscle. She advanced toward me and I backed up until I was pressed against the sliding door, Wendy whining and scratching on the other side. I took comfort in the knowledge that I could let her out if I didn’t like the way things were going.
“Your dog’s pretty excited. I guess she doesn’t like strangers,” Jessie said, standing too close to me. “Hi, puppy,” she said, tapping on the glass with her fingernails, inducing a paroxysm of barking from Wendy.
“What can I do for you, Jessie?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. Amy was right; Jessie was a lot more intimidating than Karen and Connie. It was like the difference between a Labrador and a Rottweiler. Jessie smiled, but there was no friendliness in her eyes.
Framed For Murder (An Anna Nolan Mystery) Page 19