Cat Among the Fishes

by Louise Clark

  There were nods and murmurs of agreement.

  “A grievous crime was committed,” Kelloway intoned, still aiming for judicial.

  Roy snorted. “Get real! One dead fish, so what? Higginson will perpetrate a worse crime on the environment if he gets his license for his offshore fish farm. He’ll be killing thousands of wild fish with his sea lice and disease!”

  That pulled Higginson’s attention away from Quinn and on to Roy. “Lies! The contemptible calumny of a left wing agitator!”

  Roy grinned at him, showing his teeth in a fiendish way. His eyes glittered with the fight and the fun of it.

  Everyone waited for one of the Armstrong men to throw a punch and blast this contest wide open. Instead, Ellen Jamieson marched up. The crowd parted to let her through.

  “You, ” she said. Her brows were raised and there was a particularly cold expression in her eyes. “The large man in the ill-fitting suit.”

  Up on the boardwalk, Christy chuckled.

  Noelle whispered, “What’s Aunt Ellen doing, Mom?”

  “She’s about to take the fish farm brute down,” Christy whispered back. She hugged Noelle. “Let’s listen to the fun and then we’ll go, okay?”

  Noelle nodded.

  Apparently bewildered, Higginson was looking around for the man Ellen described. Finally, he blinked and said, “Are you talking to me?”

  “I see no one else wearing clothes designed for a man two sizes smaller,” she retorted. He purpled, but she didn’t provide him time to respond. “You and your…” She waved a hand toward Mayor Kelloway. “Toady, pretend to be responsible adults. You are not. Responsible adults teach young children who misbehave not to do so again by explaining the transgression. They do not abuse them for what was done in error and cannot be changed. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  She paused for a second to look around at the crowd, which was listening avidly to her. “The good people who came to your talk are ashamed of you.” She waved her hand. “Look, you can see it in their faces.” She narrowed her eyes and her voice dripped with condescension and contempt. “You encouraged them to come today to convince them that your fish farm will be a benefit to their community. How can that be, with a person of your character at the helm?”

  Someone in the audience began to laugh. Another shouted, “Well said, lady!”

  A vein throbbed in Higginson’s forehead. It looked as if it was about to burst.

  Ellen turned away with a disdainful flick of her shoulder.

  “Wammo,” Christy said. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s go rescue Daddy from under the van and get out of here.”

  Somewhat restored to her usual buoyancy, Noelle said, “Okay, Mom,” and headed for the stairs.

  Quinn was still up close and personal with Higginson. Patterson was beside them, containing the situation, but it seemed Ellen’s final shot had done its work. Roy helped by vigorously encouraging the audience to call it a day. People started to drift away, heading for the parking lot.

  Higginson watched his crowd dissipate. He shot a furious look at Quinn, then pushed past Patterson, storming back to the demonstration building with Mayor Kelloway in tow.

  Chad Davis, an observer of the altercation, turned and followed him inside.

  As Christy came up to them, Patterson said to Ellen, “Well done, Ms. Jamieson.” She cast a long look at the building and sighed. “I assume my brother-in-law is still inside arguing with Norman Laing, but I think my husband is somewhere in this crowd. I’ll have to find him.” She moved off.

  Christy smiled at the rest. “Thanks for standing up for us. I’m taking Noelle into Nanaimo for an ice cream. Anyone want to come with us?”

  “We’ll come,” Ellen said, indicating herself and Trevor, who had followed her into the fray.

  Quinn looked down at his wet clothes. “I’ll head back to the camp. I need to dry off.”

  “Is there enough room in the car for me?” Sledge asked.

  “And me,” Tamara said, coming up from the edge of the crowd where she’d hovered during the confrontation.

  Unwilling to get involved on one side or the other, Christy thought, rather uncharitably.

  Roy nodded. “We’ll take Stormy back with us, too.”

  They all trooped back to the now mostly empty parking lot. The cat crouched under the van. Beside him was the tail of the fish, the only evidence it had ever existed or that he’d captured it and almost started a brawl as a result.

  That was fun. The cat slid out from under in that sinuous way cats have.

  “In your opinion only,” Christy said tartly. “You’re going back to camp with Roy and Quinn.”

  Why can’t I go with you?

  “Because I’m taking Noelle for ice cream in Nanaimo.”

  I like ice cream. Hey! I’m a Jamieson. Ice cream is in my blood.

  “But not in Stormy’s.” Christy glanced back at the others, who were milling around Quinn’s car. She didn’t want Tamara to hear her holding a conversation with a cat.

  She scooped up Stormy and went over to the other car, where she handed him to Sledge. “We’ll see you in an hour or so.”

  “Take your time,” Roy said cheerfully. “We’ll be waiting.”

  Chapter 5

  The next morning the sky was clear when Christy emerged from the tent she shared with Noelle. She yawned and stretched.

  It was just after seven o’clock and she’d left her daughter sleeping. Though Noelle was usually up early, a late evening around the campfire, combined with a busy, active day and the constant fresh air meant her schedule was a bit off. Christy smiled to herself. All told, Noelle was enjoying her first camping experience, despite the nastiness at the fish farm site.

  Sighing, she wandered over to the picnic table where Roy was sitting with his laptop open, typing energetically. Quinn was drinking a coffee and reading his e-mail on his cell phone. No one else was up yet.

  He indicated the French press set by the camp stove. “Coffee’s fresh. Help yourself.”

  All the comforts of home, Christy thought. Ellen had been right to insist they bring the French press. First thing in the morning brewed coffee was so much more satisfying than the instant her parents had always used when they camped. She thanked Quinn and poured herself a cup, then sat down beside Roy, leaned her elbows on the table, closed her eyes, and sipped. Heaven.

  “How’s Noelle?” Quinn asked.

  She set down her cup. “Fine, I think. We did some window-shopping in the mall while we ate our ice cream.” They found a Jamieson Ice Cream storefront in the mall and bought their ice cream cones there, which Noelle saw as an added treat. Their relationship with the family ice cream company might be arms-length, but Noelle clearly identified with the business that bore her name. That was thanks to her Aunt Ellen, Christy thought, more than to her father. “Once we’d finished the cones we poked into a few stores she was interested in. I bought her some new flip flops for the beach and a towel with tigers on it.” Noelle had done a little skip when they found the tiger towel. She loved items adorned with big cats.

  “Nothing like a little commercial therapy to perk up the spirits,” Roy said. He was dressed in his cargo shorts and a T-shirt and his hair was still neatly tied into a queue at the back, not yet disturbed by absentminded combing with his fingers. Though his gaze was focused on his laptop screen and his fingers were moving on the keyboard, he was clearly following the conversation, so he wasn’t too deeply involved in what he was writing. Yet.

  Quinn shot Christy an amused, conspiratorial look so much like the ones they’d often shared before their breakup that her heart squeezed and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. He looked so good sitting there wearing jeans and a casual, button front shirt, his dark hair falling on his forehead in a way that made her want to run her fingers through it. She had to put a mental break on her thoughts and tell herself to be sensible.

  They were friends.

  Of course he’d send her a look like that. He kn
ew she thought his father was wonderful, even though she saw him with all his faults as Quinn did. They shared that, and they were friends. That was it. Nothing more.

  Don’t read anything into it, she told herself.

  She wished she could. Instead, she sipped coffee and smiled back in a vague way.

  Trevor ambled over from his site across the road. He was dressed for the day in chinos and a golf shirt, though he looked half-asleep too. It reminded Christy she was still in her sleep shorts and yesterday’s T-shirt.

  He sat down at the table. “Sledge is still asleep.”

  She held up the French press and he nodded. She poured him a mug and handed it to him. After a few sips he seemed more wide-awake. “Ellen was great yesterday, wasn’t she?”

  Quinn glanced up from his e-mails. “Where did that guy get off badgering Noelle?” He didn’t wait for an argument. He knew no one was going to give him one. “I wish Patterson hadn’t pushed her way between us. I would’ve enjoyed punching him.”

  Roy shot his son a thoughtful look. Trevor said gloomily, “If you had, he probably would have sued you for assault. Guys like him always use the system to cover their bad behavior.”

  Curious, Christy asked, “What do you mean, ‘guys like him?’”

  Trevor waved his coffee cup. “The MLA, the one Higginson and his tame academic were trying to impress? Ellen and I had a conversation with him while the rest of you were diving into the giant swimming pool and irritating the fish.”

  Roy snorted. Trevor grinned. “Once he found out he was my provincial rep, he became very chatty. He told us he was from this area and knew Higginson as a kid. Apparently, Higginson was a bully then and pretty much everyone lived in fear of him. I suspect he’s still a bully and he doesn’t particularly like it when people fight back.”

  Quinn dropped his phone onto the table. “You could be right. Even though Patterson got him to stand down, he was still pretty steamed.”

  Tamara emerged from her small pup tent, set up beside Roy and Quinn’s larger one. Like Christy, she yawned and stretched as she emerged. The movement pulled the T-shirt she was wearing tight across her breasts. Christy had a rush of relief that Quinn’s back was toward her, then told herself that was a nasty, jealous little feeling she shouldn’t be having. Moments later she decided to own it. She cared about Quinn and she wanted him back. She didn’t have to like that he was interested in someone else.

  She held up the French press. “Morning, Tamara. Coffee?”

  Quinn shifted on the picnic table’s bench seat to look behind him, then smiled when he saw Tamara.

  Tamara smiled back. They looked like a couple and Christy had to duck her head and pretend she was focused on pouring the last of the coffee into a cup for Tamara.

  Tamara sat on the bench beside Quinn and sipped her coffee. Trevor continued the conversation as if nothing had happened. Which of course, it hadn’t, Christy thought. Or at least it hadn’t for Trevor.

  “When Ellen and I were talking to him, Davis, the MLA, said he was going to join the crowd and see what he could do to calm things down, but he didn’t get involved.”

  “Patterson seemed to think her brother-in-law, Adam, had remained inside to argue with Normal Laing, the other academic,” Christy said. “Maybe your MLA thought his talents were more necessary there and was choosing his battles.”

  “Could be,” Trevor said.

  Quinn made a rude sound in his throat. “Or maybe he was just afraid of Higginson and didn’t want to get involved.”

  Trevor cocked an eyebrow. “Once afraid of the bully, always afraid?”

  Quinn nodded. “Something like that.”

  “We’re talking about the meeting yesterday?” Tamara asked. After Quinn nodded she said thoughtfully, “When we got to the parking lot and the rest of you were coaxing the cat out from under the van, I happened to look back at the building. Higginson and that other fellow—the mayor?” The others nodded. “They were going inside when the woman who was the local councilor—I forget her name.”

  “Rhonda Hicks,” Roy said from behind his computer screen.

  Tamara looked startled. Clearly, she hadn’t realized he was part of the conversation. Quinn smiled faintly and Christy laughed. Tamara frowned at them both before she continued. “Rhonda Hicks was standing with her hands on her hips. She looked annoyed. Suddenly, she nodded to herself and marched over to the building. The last time I saw her she was going inside.”

  “Sounds like your MLA had his hands full, Three,” Roy said, typing furiously.

  “Speaking of the cat,” Christy said. “Is he still asleep?”

  “Up and long gone,” Roy said. “He’s out hunting mice, I suspect.”

  Christy sighed. “I hope he doesn’t bring any back to camp to eat.”

  Tamara’s eyes brightened. “Does he do that often?”

  “He’s been known to,” Christy said, thinking about the day she’d been sitting on her front porch feeling blue when the cat had brought a dead mouse to cheer her up. Or so Frank said. Fortunately, Frank had convinced Stormy to take the body away and dispose of it.

  “We went for a walk last night,” Roy said. “Took the long way round to the wash house. We saw Patterson and her husband, but that old lady who was at the meeting wasn’t at her campsite.”

  “Maybe she went for some shopping therapy, too, and added in a dinner out,” Christy said.

  “Could be.” Roy didn’t sound or look impressed with this suggestion, but then he was still focused on his screen, so it was hard to tell.

  The sky was beginning to brighten and more campers were moving about the area. It was still early, however, so the sound of an engine and car tires crunching on the dirt road was loud in the morning quiet. They all perked up, rubbernecking to see what vehicle was passing so early. Even Roy looked up from his screen.

  It was a dark sedan. It drove slowly past, the occupants clearly searching for a specific campsite and evidently not finding it. They all stared as it drove by.

  “I wonder what’s up,” Quinn said.

  Tamara frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Two guys in a dark sedan?” Trevor said. “Looked like the cops to me.”

  Quinn nodded.

  The sounds of the car diminished as it rounded the bend in the road, becoming louder as it neared the double campsite on the other side of the curve. Then it stopped.

  They all looked at each other. Quinn raised his brows. “Sounds like Patterson and her family have visitors.”

  The slam of car doors was followed by voices. The words were indistinct, then they heard a new voice. It was still thick with sleep, but quite clear. “I’m Adam Farnsworth. What do you want to talk to me about?”

  More mumbles, apparently from the occupants of the dark sedan, then a gasp from a female voice and Adam Farnsworth saying, “That’s awful. What happened?”

  Frustratingly, there were more mumbles, then Farnsworth said, “You can ask me any questions you want.”

  Stormy burst from the trees at that point, Frank broadcasting loudly. Higginson, the fish farm guy, is dead. The cops think Farnsworth’s involved. We’ve got another murder to solve!

  Christy’s immediate reaction was to say, “No we don’t!” loudly and with as much force as she could put into her voice. But Tamara was sitting opposite her, completely unaware the cat she was trying to coax over to her for a pat had been spying on their camping neighbors and had only come back to share a juicy piece of gossip.

  It was a good thing Tamara was looking down at the ground, twiddling her fingers and focused on attracting the cat, because Roy had stopped typing and looked up from his computer screen, his face a mask of shock. Trevor froze in the act of sipping his coffee, his cup hovering inches from his lips. His mouth and eyes had opened in surprise and his eyebrows were arched up toward his hair. If Tamara had been looking at them the moment Frank spoke, she’d be asking what was up.

  She might not be aware something had happened, bu
t Quinn was. His brows met in a frown as he glanced at each of them. Christy jerked her head in the direction of the greenbelt between the two campsites and raised her brows.

  Quinn’s frown deepened. “I wonder what the cops want with Farnsworth.”

  Tamara gave up her futile effort to coax Stormy to her and straightened. She smiled at Quinn. “Surely it’s none of our business.”

  Of course it’s our business! The cat hopped up on the table and sidled over to Christy. He butted her hand, almost spilling her coffee. Tell her to go. She’s a drag.

  Christy put her cup down as Adam Farnsworth’s voice said, “Why don’t we go down to the amphitheater? There’s not likely to be anyone there at this time of day. That should give us the privacy we need.”

  The amphitheater? Where’s that?

  Christy picked up the cat. “The amphitheater is at the other end of the campground, isn’t it? Looks like the cops and Adam will drive over.” She made a show of rubbing and stroking Stormy, but in reality she was making sure Frank didn’t do anything stupid, like try to chase the cop car.

  There was the sound of car doors slamming, then an engine revved and tires crunched over the dirt road, moving slowly away. In the silence that followed, they heard Hayley Farnsworth’s high, piping voice say, “Why did Daddy go off with those men?”

  There was a pause, then her mom, Heather, said, “It’s business, sweetie. He’ll be back soon.” She sounded strained.

  Hayley apparently didn’t notice. “I’m hungry!” she announced. “When’s breakfast?”

  The conversation in the next campsite went back to normal. Christy let the cat go, and Ellen emerged from her tent, dressed in expensive slacks and a silk blouse. She joined the rest at the picnic table, choosing a spot near Trevor, who had, fortunately, regained his composure.

  “That was an interesting development,” she said. “I wonder why the police think Adam Farnsworth is a potential suspect.”

  Tamara cocked her head thoughtfully. Christy stood hastily and said, “Are you ready for coffee, Ellen? I’ll brew a new pot. It will take a few minutes.”