by Mary Daheim
“Coz knew,” Renie said, removing lids and filling up her plate.
Brewster gazed curiously at Judith. “How did you figure that out, Mrs. Flynn?”
“His speech,” Judith replied. “He used the phrase ‘in the hospital’ instead of ‘in hospital.’ And he never said ‘eh?’ Those were giveaways.”
Brewster actually chuckled. “You’re a canny one, Mrs. Flynn. Did you also know that George Barnes wasn’t his real name?”
“I didn’t,” Judith admitted. “What was it?”
“Barnard Georges.” He paused. “He was born and raised in Big Stove, Nebraska. I only found that out this morning. Quite a coincidence, eh?”
Judith noticed the irony in Brewster’s tone. “No relation to the Stokes family, I assume?”
“There is, in fact,” the sergeant replied. “Mrs. Cornelius Stokes was Delia Georges before she married. A cousin, whose immediate family didn’t get along with Barnes’s branch. There had been a quarrel over property ownership years ago.”
Judith hadn’t yet uncovered her own breakfast, but Renie was wolfing down hers. That didn’t prevent her from speaking up. “Did the Thokth folkth know about Barnth before dey got here?” she asked with her mouth full.
Brewster shook his head. “They had no idea. Neither did he, until they arrived. In fact, if he had known who they were, he probably wouldn’t have allowed them to camp on his property. When he figured it out, I suspect he tried some kind of con to extort a large sum of money before they left Banff.”
Judith almost dropped the spoon she’d used to add sugar to her coffee. “The knives in poor Codger’s back!” she cried. “I’ll bet Barnes wanted to make the old man’s death look like murder! That explains why the family kept moving the body. They were afraid Barnes might actually succeed in framing them as killers.”
Brewster nodded. “Mr. and Mrs. Stokes really are simple farmers. They’d never traveled much before and certainly not to Canada. Mr. Stokes’s sister, Mrs. Odell, and her husband are more sophisticated. But they hadn’t seen the rest of her relatives in a very long time except for her brother Cornelius and his wife, who’d met them in Lincoln once or twice. The Odells didn’t know what to believe about their relatives, especially the plan to honor the head of the family’s peculiar request about being sent down the Bow on a bier.”
“But they were serious about it,” Judith said. She looked at the Mountie. “You told me such a stunt was against the law. Will there be charges?”
Brewster shook his head. “We can’t prove they did it. No one has discovered a body along the river. There’s a lot of wilderness in the area that doesn’t have easy access.”
“Yes,” Judith said thoughtfully. “And John Smith? Will he recover from the attack?”
“He may,” the sergeant said. “The doctor I spoke with thought he must have a very rugged constitution to reach such an advanced age. He told one of the orderlies that he was a hundred and two.”
Renie laughed. “He almost looked it. But we saw him eat. He’s got a good appetite. Did you ever find out his real name or why or how he got here in the first place?”
“He refused to tell us,” Brewster replied, looking bemused. “But Barnes insisted his victim was part of the Stokes entourage. We hoped we could get confirmation from the family, but they’d already left. We’ll go through channels to figure it all out.”
Judith considered telling him that they could ask Trixie. But the RCMP would figure that out for themselves when she showed up at the old man’s bedside. “Who’ll run the motels with Barnes under arrest?”
“Ms. Barnes, his sister. She’s not under arrest. Yet.” Brewster took a final sip of coffee and stood up. His gaze took in the packed luggage. “You are leaving today, eh?”
“Yes,” Judith replied, noticing he looked faintly relieved. “Our husbands are picking us up in a couple of hours. So the Stokeses were allowed to leave?”
Brewster shrugged. “We were on shaky ground to ask them to stay in the first place. They’re American citizens and our guests. Banff, after all, depends in large part on tourism.” His eyes glinted a bit. “You understand that as well, eh, Mrs. Flynn?” Seeing that Judith did, he tipped his regulation hat and was gone.
By a little before ten, Judith and Renie had headed for the lobby, checked out, and proceeded to the entrance near the porte cochere. They already had asked the nearby BP station to bring a gas refill. The SUV had been brought around to the porte cochere and they had stowed their luggage and their purchases inside.
It was another gorgeous summer morning in Banff. The thick stands of tall evergreens, the majestic, craggy mountains, the blue ripples of the Bow River, and the snug little town with its hint of Bavaria had won Judith’s heart.
“I almost hate to leave,” she said softly. “It’s even better the second or third time around.”
“It is,” Renie agreed. “Banff has to be one of the most beautiful settings I’ve ever seen.”
“Maybe we can come back again someday.” Judith sounded wistful.
She’d barely uttered the words when Snapper’s pickup with its logo of a big fish came into view. “Here come Joe and Bill,” Renie said. “Maybe we can make Revelstoke by late afternoon.”
The husbands climbed out of the truck while Snapper started to unload their gear along with a large chest that no doubt held some of their most recent catches. The rest of the fish would have been sent to the local cannery back home that Joe had spoken of. The husbands and their wives reunited halfway between the pickup and the hotel.
“Hey,” Joe said, after soundly kissing Judith, “you look terrific! You and Renie must have gotten to really relax on this trip.”
Judith caught her cousin’s eye as Bill seemed reluctant to let go of his wife. “We did. I even took a nap yesterday.” It was true, though she wouldn’t admit it had been in the evening before almost getting killed.
Joe’s green eyes—magic eyes, Judith had always called them—studied her face. “Seriously, you weren’t too bored?”
“Of course not!” Judith exclaimed with a big smile. “Would I lie to you?”
“Well . . .” He turned serious. “No, I don’t think you ever have. But how would I know?”
Judith shrugged. “I guess you wouldn’t.”
Snapper had finished his task and joined the foursome. “These two are some pretty fine fishermen,” he declared. “You ladies ought to be proud of them. You’re going to have some tasty meals when you get back home, eh?” He turned to Joe and Bill, shaking their hands.
“Our pleasure,” Joe said. “Thanks again.”
“Mine as well,” Snapper assured them, and started back to his pickup. “See you next year, eh?”
Judith and Renie stared at each other. Then they glared at Joe and Bill.
“He’s kidding,” Joe finally said, with a grin that looked a bit forced.
“Right,” Bill agreed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Canadian humor, eh?”
The cousins weren’t laughing. But once they were in the SUV and on the road, their mood improved. Judith finally got to the point at which she could ask Joe if he and Bill were serious about a repeat next summer.
Joe, who was at the wheel, shrugged. “Snapper tried to talk us into it, so we told him we’d think about it. When you’re there on the river and the fish are biting, you really get stoked. But you and Renie had fun, right?”
“Yes,” Judith replied. “In fact, you could say we got Stoked, too.”
Joe nodded and smiled. Judith smiled back. There were some things that husbands never needed to know.
About the Author
MARY RICHARDSON DAHEIM is a Seattle native with a communications degree from the University of Washington. Realizing at an early age that getting published in books with real covers might elude her for years, she worked on daily newspapers and in public relations to help avoid her creditors. She lives in her hometown in a century-old house not unlike Hillside Manor, except for the body co
unt. Daheim is also the author of the Alpine mystery series. She is the mother of three daughters and has three grandchildren.
www.marydaheimauthor.com
www.facebook.com/mary.daheim
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Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
a case of bier. Copyright © 2019 by Mary Daheim. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
first edition
Cover design by Richard L. Aquan
Cover illustration © Bill Mayer
Digital Edition FEBRUARY 2019 ISBN: 978-0-06-266383-2
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-266381-8
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