“Trial run,” I explained. “Josh Pry’s helping Sam with the fireworks this year, and they’re working out the kinks in their system.”
I could make out her pursed-lipped frown.
“Is there a problem?” I asked.
“Josh Pry’s not the most reliable boy, now is he?” she said. “I know your brother’s convinced he had nothing to do with Claude’s death, but he did steal from my home.”
“And he returned everything.”
“Except my candlestick.”
“You mean the murder weapon?”
Josh lit the fuse, and, like a damp sparkler, it fizzled into nothing.
“Light it again,” shouted Sam. His voice sounded further away. Maybe the boat was rotating. I couldn’t really see.
“Yes, the murder weapon!” said Carrie.
“That’s because it wasn’t with the frogs Josh took. The real killer buried it.”
Spark.
“That’s it!” shouted Sam. The fuse must have caught.
“Buried it where?” asked Carrie.
The tell-tale whine filled the night as the rocket shot skyward. I tried to track it. “Buried what?”
“My candlestick! The murder weapon! What do you think we’re talking about?”
High above the harbor the rocket exploded into a red fireball of shimmering light. It sprayed scarlet stars across the sky, their splendid reflection mirrored in the water. The ones that fell to earth sizzled like bacon on a skillet.
I clapped—couldn’t help myself.
Sam and Josh hooted in delight.
“Now we’ll try the double,” shouted Sam. He usually shot two rockets at a time—with fuses of varied lengths—so the display was almost constant.
“Like, for real?” Josh sounded thrilled at the prospect.
“I think they’re doing well,” I said. “Remember how long it took Sam to get the hang of it when he first started doing the fireworks?”
“I don’t care about fireworks,” said Carrie. “I care about who killed my husband!”
I stared out at the dark harbor, watching for the next rocket flares.
“Well, it wasn’t Josh Pry, or Danny-Boy, or your brother-in-law, Edouard. Frankly, I’ve run out of suspects.”
In all honesty, I couldn’t be sure exactly what happened next—I mean it all happened so fast. There was crashing and splashing and shouting and swearing. The whine of dual-fired rockets and their flash as they shot across the surface of the water.
Straight at us.
42
I shoved Carrie down and landed heavily on top of her. The rockets’ explosion sounded like it was right above us.
Carrie heaved me off and rose to her knees.
I stumbled to my feet. My ears rang, and I felt off balance, as though I was listing to port.
To our left, people were waving their arms and running behind the Bait ‘n Tackle. Judging by the rising glow, the old lobster traps stacked up for the Guy Fawkes bonfire were ablaze.
“Get the fire department!” I didn’t know if anyone heard me shouting.
I know Carrie wasn’t paying attention. Slack-jawed, she stared at Hunter Hall.
I turned.
While one rocket had ignited the Bait ‘n Tackle fire, the second had crashed just behind her house. Carrie’s compost pile was on fire.
She took off running; I followed as fast as my shorter legs would go.
We both knew Hum Harbour’s volunteer fire department was small. There was no way they could deal with the Bait ‘n Tackle’s fire, which potentially threatened downtown Hum Harbour, and Carrie’s, as well.
By the time I reached her yard, she’d already vaulted her retaining wall and sprinted across the lawn. She emerged from the darkness dragging her garden hose and a rake.
Carrie’s compost wasn’t as dry as old lobster traps, more smoke than flame, but the fire had already spread to nearby bushes. Hunter Hall was the last house on the street. It backed onto brush. If that caught, the whole hillside could go up.
The warbling siren confirmed the fire truck raced to the Bait ‘n Tackle, leaving us on our own.
While Carrie hosed down the bushes, I made an emergency call to Geoff on my cell. Then I grabbed the rake.
The compost smoke made it hard to work. My eyes burned as I shoveled and flipped the decaying garden weeds. I kept to the task, even after Geoff and Edouard appeared, grabbed an ax and shears from Carrie’s garden shed, and hacked the adjoining brush before it caught fire, too.
In time, I recognized Andrew’s voice, LeClerc, Josh and Sam. Even with one arm, Sam was stronger than most men with two. He dragged dead limbs out of the way.
We killed it. Every last smoldering bit of brush and garden debris, extinguished. As we stood, exultant, wet, black and exhausted, and surveyed the devastation of Carrie’s once beautiful garden, a giggle bubbled in my throat. Hysteria, no doubt, but I couldn’t quell it. It spread faster than the now-dead flames. In a moment, we were all laughing.
Carrie’s laughter didn’t last long.
She spotted Josh among our ranks and zeroed in.
None of us noticed her shovel.
“This is your fault!” Her voice was hoarse; we were all hoarse from breathing in the smoke.
“I didn’t mean to,” Josh choked on his words.
Standing beside him, Sam laid his one good hand on Josh. “I shoulda been paying closer attention, kid. I just never thought.”
“Well, you should have thought!”
The flashing lights from the other end of town, reflected in the smoke-filled sky, and Carrie’s garden throbbed with the alternating light and shadow. Against that strobing backdrop, her soot-covered body, even her hair bristled with pent up emotion.
“Look what you’ve done!” she accused.
Sam, by contrast, was a solid, immovable wall. “Now just a minute, here. It was an accident. The kid never meant for anything to catch fire.”
“The kid never meant? Is that what I’m supposed to tell Claude?”
“Claude?” I looked at her closely. Were her eyes even focusing? “What’s this got to do with Claude?”
She pointed a wavering finger at Josh. “I was going to let this kid off the hook for burgling my home because it was just a matter of time until police realized he’d killed my Claude.”
Josh’s mouth dropped open. “No, I never!”
“Just a matter of time until police found the candlestick he used to kill my husband.”
Josh dragged his arm across his face. “I never!”
“And buried it under my daylilies.”
He slipped out from under Sam’s hand, backing away from Carrie. “You’re lying! Andrew and that inspector know I had nothin’ to do with Claude dying.”
“And now you’ve tried to burn down Hunter Hall!” Carrie swung the shovel.
Metal connected with Josh’s skull—a resounding clunk. He lunged sideways and crumpled.
She raised the shovel again.
Being the closest person, I jumped on her back, wrapped my arms around her upper body, and hung on tight.
“Argh!” She sounded like the Hulk, when his eyes bugged out and his muscles bulged before he burst into that giant green monster.
I hung on to her as tight as a limpet to a stone. Digging my knees into her ribs, strengthening my grip around her arms, I screamed my loudest, “Geooooff!”
Carrie flipped me onto the ground. Her weight on top of me whooshed the air out of my lungs. Before the world went black, I managed to wrap my legs around her waist and wheeze one last, “Geoff.”
43
“Gai?” Geoff brushed my hair from my face. “Are you OK?”
I relaxed against his shoulder. Josh, Sam, Andrew, LeClerc—Raoul—Edouard, and Carrie, stared down at us. Carrie, I noted, stood with hands behind her back, as if she were handcuffed.
I wiggled my nose and toes to see if everything worked. “Seem OK. Have I been out long?”
Andrew checked
his watch. “Half a minute, give or take.”
I sat up. The world tipped a bit, and then righted itself. I stood. “What did I miss?”
Carrie shook herself, maybe hoping she’d shake off the cuffs. “This is outrageous! Josh Pry kills my husband, and practically burns down the town, and I get arrested?!”
Josh sputtered, “I never killed—”
LeClerc placed his hand on Josh’s shoulder. “We know, kid. We know.”
“Then why does she keep saying I did?” His smoke-rasped voice cracked with indignation.
Andrew gave Carrie a gentle tug. “Let’s go.”
I grabbed at her cuffed hand. “Wait. I need to know something.”
They stopped, and I scooted in front of them.
“How did you know the candlestick was buried under your daylilies?”
“I didn’t.” Carrie tried stepping around me, but Andrew held her firm.
“I heard you,” I said. “So did everyone else. You accused Josh of burying the candlestick under your daylilies.”
“Then I must have seen the inspector dig it out.”
“No,” said Geoff. He sounded thoughtful. “You were in Antigonish visiting your mother when Andrew and Inspector LeClerc uncovered the murder weapon.”
“I couldn’t have been. You have it wrong.”
Geoff shook his head. “No, I don’t. I took a call from the Inverness Arms, and they mentioned how glad your mom was to see you—the first time since Claude’s memorial.”
Andrew and LeClerc exchanged a meaning-filled look. Obviously, they, too, knew Carrie wasn’t at home while they dug.
“So how could you know the candlestick was under the lilies, if you didn’t put it there?” I said.
Carrie’s features hardened. No other way to describe it. And I recognized the look because it’s the same one Sheba got when she was cornered by a large, scary dog. Then Carrie’s face went blank.
My own heart constricted with cold realization. “You did it, didn’t you?” I said. “You killed Claude.”
Apparently not wanting this conversation to happen here or now, Andrew propelled Carrie toward the house.
“Why?” I followed them. “Why’d you do it?”
On her other side, Inspector LeClerc said, “Carrie Hunter-Oui, you are charged with assault and murder. Do you understand? You have the right to retain and instruct counsel without delay.”
Carrie glanced over her shoulder at me. “Do you want to know why?”
“We do not need to know why,” said LeClerc. “We have proof. That is enough.”
She looked down her nose. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
The vein along the side of his temple pulsed. “If you need to unburden yourself, you can tell us when we get to the station.”
She shook her head. “If I’m to confess, it will be to the person of my choice.”
“That is not how it works,” said LeClerc. “And we do not need your confession.”
Andrew dropped his voice so I could barely hear. “Wouldn’t hurt to have her confession on record. She’s willing to talk; shouldn’t we let her?”
“By the time we find whoever it is—who does she even want to confess to?” the inspector asked.
While they debated I confronted Carrie because, face it, I was curious even if they weren’t. “Who do you want?”
A slow, rather disconcerting smile spread across Carrie’s face. “You.”
****
Carrie refused to have her lawyer present. She refused to talk with Andrew and LeClerc in the room. They could listen outside the door and record everything she said—I’m sure they would have done that anyway—and she would sign the transcript when we were done.
Andrew and LeClerc gave me a pre-interview pep-talk with a list of things they wanted to know. Why Carrie’d decided to confess to me, and not them, wasn’t among their questions. Apparently, they saw it as a power play, her latest attempt to control the situation. I saw it as a last attempt to control me. I just didn’t understand why she got such a kick out of it.
Carrie and I sat on opposite sides of Andrew’s desk. We had a thermos of take-out coffee—a zillion times better than the office brew—and a box of donut holes.
Carrie filled a mug for herself. She didn’t offer to fill mine. “You ask me questions, and I’ll answer. How does that sound?”
Absurdly simple. “Fine.” I poured my own and added powdered creamer and sugar. Lots of sugar. “The first thing I want to know is why?”
“Not how? Or when?”
“I know how. You clobbered him with the candlestick.”
“Actually, I pushed him down the stairs, first.”
I stared at her.
“Then I ran down the stairs to see if he was all right. He was barely conscious, and suddenly, it came to me like an inspiration from heaven. Bing! A light bulb moment. I saw the candlestick on the hall table. I picked it up and…wham! I couldn’t believe how simple it was.”
“But why?”
“I realized right away that the police would suspect me. Don’t they always suspect the spouse? So I buried the candlestick in the garden where I was sure no one would think to look. And then I spent a few minutes fixing the scene.”
“By doing what?”
“I unfastened the stair runner to make it look like Claude slipped. I needed pliers, but it wasn’t hard. Then I went to bed.”
I gaped at her “You could sleep with your husband lying dead on the floor downstairs?”
“That was part of my plan. I know you comb the beach every morning. So I set my alarm to make sure I was up, and I waited for you.”
“For me?”
She nodded smugly. “When I saw you go past the house, I flipped Claude onto his back—it’s surprisingly difficult to roll that much dead weight—and started yelling. When I saw you run up the lawn, I started CPR.”
My coffee was sickly sweet. My mouth was sour. “You wanted me as a witness?”
Carrie poked through the box of donut holes. “I knew once you were involved that you wouldn’t be able to resist interfering in the police investigation.”
“You targeted me?”
“You have a reputation, Gailynn. I simply used it to my advantage. Then I sat back, and watched you spin your wheels, chasing down false leads.” She laughed. “Josh Pry was the best one.”
“You targeted him, too?”
“It wasn’t until your brother went through the house, and I discovered I’d been robbed. It was so perfect! I really should thank the kid.”
“You mean you didn’t know your frogs were missing?”
She brushed her donut-sugared fingers on her soot-stained pant leg. “I’d planned to report my necklace stolen. But, I think the whole frog thief angle, the way you ran with that, was so much better.”
I ground my teeth. Were Andrew and LeClerc sitting outside the office listening to this?
“And Danny, of course. His ridiculous temper tantrum about losing the Highland Brewery endorsement. Believe me, I could give that man a lesson or two on how to have a real tantrum.” Her jaw hardened. “When Claude came home and told me he’d reneged on his contract with Highland Breweries, and that they were suing—suing us!”
“It made you angry?”
“Angry? Furious!” She closed her eyes, took a deep, quivering breath, and continued. “We really couldn’t afford a lawsuit, you know. The monument business isn’t doing well. No one wants to drive all the way out to Hum Harbour to order their monuments anymore.”
“And the toy store?”
She wagged her head from side to side, as though weighing her answer. “Christmas sales have been pretty solid. But with the world economy these days, importing from Germany’s getting more and more expensive. My markup’s making the toys prohibitive. So, truth is, I’m not doing that great. We needed Claude’s income.”
“Didn’t he understand that?”
She huffed. “I don’t know what was worse—his volatility after his hea
d injury, or the idealism after his conversion. I guess it doesn’t matter. They both made him unbearable to live with.”
Wee Claude, the gentle giant, unbearable? I must have looked incredulous.
“Maybe you wouldn’t find him unbearable. But to me, living with a man who’s more interested in what God wants than what I want, that’s unbearable.”
“So you killed him for becoming Christian?”
“Don’t be daft, Gailynn. I’m not a religious bigot.”
Just a murderer. I pressed my fingers against my temples, hoping to alleviate a blossoming headache. “You still haven’t explained why you did it.”
Carrie leaned back in her chair, seemingly more relaxed that was humanly possible under the circumstances, and smiled. “I know. Ask me another question.”
I counted off on my fingers. She’d talked about Josh. She’d talked about Danny. What was left? “Tell me about Edouard.”
“Claude’s long-lost brother? Now that was another surprise, him turning up at Claude’s memorial service like that. And saying Claude had sent for him. Can you believe the nerve?”
“You mean he was lying?”
“I thought so, at first. But after he came by, and we talked…his claim that Claude promised him money was so preposterous, I knew it had to be true. It was so like Claude, those last few months, to give away everything we had. I had to stop him, you know.”
Was that why?
“He’d never told me about his family—apart from them disowning him. And I did wonder if any would turn up after Claude died. You know how crumbs bring out cockroaches.”
“Carrie!”
“I’m just saying I expected a beggar or two to materialize.”
“How can you say things like that?”
“After Edouard came by, I decided to track Claude’s family. I discovered there really was a brother with a handicapped daughter. And according to Claude’s journal, they’d corresponded. Claude felt guilty for losing contact with all the Ouis and wanted to help. Not just Edouard. He wanted to help them all!”
“And you were opposed.”
“Hey, when we had enough money to spread around, I was all for spreading. But once he decided to quit competing, dump his endorsements, and fly off to Africa to save starving orphans, the money just wasn’t there. And I have my mom to look after.”
Death of a Highland Heavyweight Page 20