“So what did you want to talk to me about?”
From a distance, a couple of people shouted something at Danny-Boy. He let out a deep breath, waved, and shouted something back. It only took a moment, but the exchange seemed enough to defuse Danny-Boy’s temper.
“I wanted to say thanks for the tent thing this morning.” His words were stilted, but the sentiment sounded surprisingly sincere. “Despite our differences, that was a stand up thing you did, giving me the chance to help out.”
His thanks knocked me off guard. I managed an, “Oh?”
“Someone took a picture on their phone—me lifting the tent’s center pole—and posted it online.”
“Really?”
“I got a call from some guy at Highland Breweries. They want to talk to me. Maybe they’re going to reconsider the endorsement.”
What could I say? “Congratulations.”
Danny-Boy lifted me off my feet in a bone crushing embrace. “I don’t care what other people say, Gai, you’re my kinda girl.”
Geoff materialized at the perfect moment and tapped Danny-Boy’s shoulder. He released me.
Fortunately, Geoff caught me before I hit the ground. “Just as long as we’re clear: she might be your kind of girl, but she is, in fact, my girl. And I don’t share.”
Danny-Boy whacked Geoff’s back, a blow so powerful it radiated through Geoff and rattled my teeth. “Good one! But thanks, I like my women bigger, stronger, and quieter.”
“Then I guess Gai really isn’t your type.”
Danny-Boy winked at me. “But if she ever decides to turn you down, I could adapt.”
I regarded him darkly. I disliked men who changed their affections more often than they changed their socks. “I thought you were in love with Carrie Hunter?”
Danny-Boy threw back his head and bellowed with laughter. He was still laughing when, ten minutes later, he climbed into the passenger seat of Ross Murray’s pickup, and they drove away.
****
Geoff and I walked to the ball field at the end of Main Street. The midway always set up there. Every year the local ball association complained about the arrangement. Midway patrons trampled the grass to death, and if it happened to rain during Hum Harbour Daze, the mucky fields were ruined for the rest of the season. But there was nowhere else big enough and flat enough to accommodate the midway.
If the midway was going to open on time, the rides had to be ready for the next day’s safety inspection. So the crew was busy unloading and assembling brightly painted bumper cars, merry-go-round ponies, spinning tea cups, and, of course, the Ferris wheel. Everyone’s favorite. If you were lucky enough to stop at the top of the wheel’s circle, you could see every roof in town. And on a windy day, the ride took on a whole new dimension.
“What if Black Hair is actually one of the midway’s front men?” asked Geoff, proving I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t get murder off of their mind.
“A front man?”
“Someone who goes in ahead of the midway to make sure everything’s ready for their arrival.”
“Then wouldn’t I have heard from him?”
“If he’s used to dealing with Carrie, she might’ve decided it was easier to look after the arrangements herself than to explain everything to you, since you don’t plan to stay on as Hum Harbour Daze’s chair.”
“By this time next year, I’ll be much too busy managing a husband and a home to be involved with Hum Harbour Daze.”
Geoff bent for a quick kiss. “Managing your husband, you say?”
I returned it, not caring what the midway folk thought.
“If you’re right and Black Hair is part of the midway, he should be here. Somewhere,” I said when I could breathe again. “But I don’t see him. Do you?”
I saw plenty of muscle-bound guys with long hair and tattoos working up a sweat in the sun, but Black Hair was nowhere.
“Maybe, if we showed his picture around?”
“I think we’re too late.” Geoff pointed to my brother, who was moving from one cluster of workers to the next, flashing what I assumed was the picture I’d downloaded. By the way the carni-men kept shaking their heads, it looked like Black Hair was a total stranger.
Andrew approached us last of all. “The inspector wanted me to check with these guys, to see if they recognized Gai’s mystery man.”
“Did you really expect they would?” I asked.
Geoff smiled down at me. “She thinks he’s the jewel thief who’s been on the news lately.”
Andrew snorted. “Seriously?”
“Have you got a better idea?”
“I sure don’t have a worse one.” Andrew held up his hands.
“I admit my theory has a few flaws—”
“You think?”
“But until we can find Black Hair and question him about his involvement with Carrie, and why he switched out her necklace, and why he’s spying on Geoff, I don’t see how we can eliminate him from the suspect pool.”
“We? Spying on you?”
Geoff didn’t look as concerned as he should. “She caught the guy staring at the Hubris Heron. “
“Not the Heron. Your apartment above the Heron.”
Andrew made a time-out T with his hands. “This guy was watching Geoff’s place? I thought your security camera caught him casually walking by your shop.”
“Gai’s afraid the guy’s escalating from jewel thief to mass murderer.”
“Stop talking about me like I’m not here. And I never said that.”
“But you’re worried,” said Geoff.
“I love you. Of course, I’m worried. And I expect Andrew to keep you safe until they prove one way or the other who Black Hair is.”
“If there’s any credence to your cockamamie theories, and the guy is the killer, you put yourself, and anyone you con into your little scheme,”—he was looking at Geoff—”in harm’s way.”
“Like Josh?” said Geoff.
“You got Josh Pry involved?” Andrew’s face was changing from red to purple.
I twisted my ponytail around my hand. “Can we change the subject?”
Andrew sighed. “What do you want to know?”
“What makes you think—?”
“Because you don’t give up that easily. You just come at it from different directions until you get what you want. So spit it out. What do you want?”
“Well,”--I swept my hair over my squared shoulder-- “I was wondering where you found the murder weapon and if you’ve identified any fingerprints on it. Besides the expected ones.”
He pursed his lips as he considered the ramifications of answering.
Geoff and I exchanged a meaningful look. Andrew was actually considering this?
41
“You know I can’t tell you anything that might endanger the investigation,” Andrew said. “But I don’t think this will. We found it buried in Carrie’s garden. She’d been transplanting her flowers, and I guess the killer saw an easy way to dispose of the candlestick. He hid it under her plants.”
I pondered the logic in that. “And fingerprints?”
“Only Carrie’s and Claude’s. The killer must have worn gloves.”
“As any self-respecting jewel thief would,” I said.
Andrew groaned in exasperation. “Can’t you do something with her?” he asked Geoff. “I tell you, the sooner you marry this woman and knock some sense into her scrambled brain—”
“Knock sense?” I felt my blood pressure soaring. “Scrambled brain?”
Andrew stared at Geoff. “This is your idea of a life partner?” Again, he threw his hands in the air. “I’m outta here.”
****
I felt Geoff watching me, probably concerned about how I’d react to Andrew’s criticism. I chose to elevate myself above my normal reactionary reaction, and said instead, “Obviously Black Hair’s not the midway’s front man, or the guys here would have recognized him.”
“That doesn’t make him an internati
onal jewel thief.”
“But if he was just a regular guy, shouldn’t Andrew have been able to trace his license number? Do you think he stole his truck, too?”
Geoff caught my hand and started walking. Attached as we were, I was forced to trot along beside him.
“He’ll find Black Hair’s name.”
“And in the meantime?”
“Don’t you have things that need doing?” He pulled out the list Carrie’d made. “I could use some help checking on everyone.”
“The point of the list was so we wouldn’t have to check.”
“And it was a good idea. I’m just not sure it’s works.”
****
By 7:30 Thursday night, we had achieved the miraculous state of being ready—almost. The carnival rides and midway attractions awaited inspection. The farmers’ market/crafters’ tent was ready for vendors. The main stage looked splendid with its fresh coat of paint. Over the winter, some kids had vandalized the shed where it was stored and spray painted the thing with purple and green profanities. Despite my passion for all things purple, I recognized this wasn’t an acceptable quality for a stage. It took six gallons of black paint to eliminate all trace of cuss words. Hopefully, it would dry by morning.
The Hum Harbour Daze parade route was adorned with silkscreened banners on every second lamp post. The parade judges’ grandstand, an elevated platform erected in front of Hum Harbour Hardware, had a newly-installed spindle railing to keep the judges and local radio personalities, from tumbling into the crowd if they became overwhelmed with enthusiasm. This had never happened, but there was always a chance the floats and marching pipe bands could inspire delirium.
The Lobster Boat Race Headquarters hut, with this year’s newly-designed sign, looked great. The new trophy would stay in Dunmaglass’s front window until it was time for the presentation. There was no way we were risking anything happening to the spectacular glass sculpture.
The only thing left to do, as far as I knew, was Sam’s dry run. He wanted Josh to set off a couple of fireworks to make sure the two of them knew how to work together. Seemed like a sensible idea to me, too.
The sun had dipped behind the hills, so the worst of the day’s heat was gone. From our vantage point on Geoff’s deck, we watched assorted comings and goings. Neither of us had seen or heard from Andrew for hours. We had no idea where the murder investigation stood.
“Do you suppose Carrie’ll make an appearance—double check that we’ve done all we’re supposed to do before tomorrow?” We sat side-by-side in his lawn chairs, feet on the deck rail, eating take-out.
Geoff bit into his hamburger before answering. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she locked her doors, pulled the curtains, and didn’t resurface until after the whole thing was over.”
I dragged an ooy-gooey fry from my poutine. “Yeah. I’m just not sure how healthy that’d be.”
Geoff quirked his eyebrow. Apparently poutine—French fries smothered in gravy and cheese curds—and discussions of health, didn’t fit together in his mind.
I could see Hunter Hall from where I sat. It looked dark and still, but I was pretty sure I could identify the man walking along the beach in front of the hall. I pointed. “Isn’t that−?”
Geoff leaned forward. “Black Hair? I have no idea.”
“Then why did you say it was Black Hair?”
“I just guessed that’s who you thought it was.”
The man on the beach was getting closer.
“Well, is it?”
Geoff took another bite. “Maybe.”
I set my unfinished poutine on the table. “Then let’s go talk to him.”
“Gai, we can’t go around confronting random people just because you think…”
I didn’t hear the end. I was already down the stairs, and jogging toward the shore. Tide was high, leaving a thin strip of beach. It was easy to block the man’s path. Harder to know what to do next.
I opted for the friendly maritimer approach, held out my hand, and introduced myself. “New in these parts?”
He took a long draw from the cigarette between his tobacco-stained thumb and index finger. “I’ve been around.”
I tried blinding him with my most irresistible smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”
He flicked the cigarette stub into the water “I didn’t give it.”
I smiled all the brighter. “Have we met before? Were you at Claude Oui’s funeral, maybe?”
“It was a memorial service, not a funeral.”
“Yes, well—”
Black Hair’s features were stone-like. If ever a man looked capable of murder. “Even in death, he denies his family.” He ground out the words in guttural tones.
Gravel crunched as Geoff jogged up behind me.
Black Hair nodded, acknowledging his arrival. “I’ve been looking for you,” he said. The more he spoke, the more I noted his accent. A lot like Inspector LeClerc’s, except his French intonations were more familiar.
Geoff extended his hand around me. “Geoff Grant. Local doctor. Your brother’s friend.”
Brother’s friend? I looked at Geoff.
“How did you know me?” asked Black Hair.
“It’s not hard,” said Geoff. “You and Claude look a lot alike, actually. And you sound the same.”
They did? I studied Black Hair more closely. He and Claude did share the same shaped eyes, though Claude’s were perpetually filled with laughter, not suspicion. And their noses? Claude’s had been broken a few times, but there was a certain resemblance. “You’re Claude’s brother?”
“One brother. Edouard.”
Geoff smiled at him. “I’m glad you were able to come. I wish you’d identified yourself at the service. Claude was loved around here. People would’ve wanted to talk to you. Offer their condolences.”
“I did not come to Hum Harbour for sympathy.”
I felt my pulse quicken. “Then why did you come?”
“Because my brother sent for me.”
Geoff’s brows furrowed in a puzzled V. “I’m surprised he didn’t mention you were coming to me.”
Black Hair—Edouard—dug the toe of his work boot into the beach stones. “I was angry. I did not want to see him. Then I did, but I came too late.”
“So you weren’t here the night Claude died?” I thought I asked it innocently.
Geoff apparently felt otherwise, because he stepped on my toe. Hard.
Edouard’s nostrils flared. I’d seen Claude do that when he was perturbed. “Like the police, you think I could murder my own brother?” Edouard asked.
So, Andrew’d already spoken with him. “Is that what they said?”
“I have proof I was at home. Here.” He pulled out his cell phone, and showed us a time-stamped photo of Edouard standing behind a dark-haired girl as she blew out her birthday candles. “My daughter, Chantelle.”
I counted eight candles. “She’s lovely.”
“She has cerebral palsy.”
I handed back the phone. Since Sam and Sasha had adopted Mara, with all of her special needs, I’d become familiar with the extra burdens and strains provincial heath care didn’t always address. “That must be hard.”
“Especially for my wife.”
Geoff placed a reassuring hand on Edouard’s shoulder.
Edoaurd didn’t shrug it off. “Somehow, Claude heard about us and contacted me. He wanted to help us, he said. I said we did not need his help. It was a lie. He understood. And in the end, I came with my hat in my hand. But he was already dead.”
The pain in his voice was unmistakable. I blinked back tears. “Won’t Carrie help?”
He spat on the ground. “She lives in a mansion and says she has nothing.”
A few hundred feet away, Hunter Hall was smothered in gloom, still no lights on. I could understand Edouard’s frustration. From the outside, it did look like Carrie was swimming in wealth.
“Is that why you argued with her?”
His nostrils flared again. “I should have gone straight home when she refused to help us. But what do I say to Chantelle? To Mary? How do I say there’s no miracle to help us?” Edouard shielded a disposable lighter with his cupped hands as he lit another cigarette.
Obviously this man was not the international jewel thief I’d imagined. Jewel thieves didn’t beg rich relatives for help. And since he wasn’t locked up somewhere, Andrew must have confirmed Edouard’s alibi for the time of Claude’s murder.
Once again, I was wrong. I tried not to look too crestfallen. “Where’ve you been staying?”
Edouard seemed surprised by my question. “I sleep in my truck.”
“And have you eaten?” asked Geoff.
“Not hungry.”
He patted Edouard’s shoulder—he’s a very touchy person, my Geoff. “Come on. We’ll feed you, anyway. And tonight you’re sleeping on my futon. No more cramped pickup.”
The two of them headed out, and I followed with shorter strides. I watched the way Geoff leaned close, listening attentively. If I knew my Geoff, which I did, he was already figuring out ways to help Edouard’s family.
I picked up a piece of green sea glass and tucked it into my jeans pocket. Waves lapped the shore in a steady rhythm. It’d soon be dark. Sam’s boat pulled away from the wharf. I watched it drone its way to the middle of the harbor and lay anchor. The running lights switched off, leaving the bobbing lobster boat almost invisible. Sam and Josh had flashlights, though, ethereal little dots of lights that seemed to dance in midair. Less ethereal were Sam’s shouted orders.
Years ago, Sam had created this brace kind-of apparatus that he bolted to the boat cabin’s roof. It ensured the rockets were aimed in the right direction while he lit the fuses.
Silhouetted in Sam’s flashlight beam, I could see Josh on the cabin roof. He teetered and knelt, presumably maneuvering the fireworks into place for launch.
“OK, light it. Light it!” Sam’s voice carried across the water.
“What’s going on?” Carrie Hunter’s question made me jump.
I was so fixed on Sam, Josh, and the boat that I hadn’t noticed her creeping up in the darkness.
Death of a Highland Heavyweight Page 19