Death of a Highland Heavyweight Read online

  “Maybe Danny-Boy was pulling the wool over his eyes, too.”

  “You think so?”

  “I always say go with your gut.”

  “My gut?” I’d never heard her say that.

  “What’s your gut telling you?”

  I sniffed. The delicious fragrance of seafood chowder, rising bread dough, and fresh baked oatcakes made my stomach grumble. “My gut says I’m hungry.”

  She laughed. “Grab a bowl, and taste drive the chowder. Enough curry?”

  Mimi put curry in chowder? Not the info I’d come looking for, but it was interesting.

  ****

  I’d arranged to meet Geoff at three at Piteaux Jewelers in Antigonish. We were going to pick out his wedding ring. Mine was already purchased—an etched gold band the jeweler had designed to go with my diamond, which had been Geoff’s mom’s diamond before it was mine.

  According to my watch, I had two hours to fill. I decided, since I was on a roll with this Danny-Boy thing, that I might as well head into town early and see what I could find out about Danny-Boy there. I didn’t have a specific plan on how.

  The sun hung in a cloudless sky. I cranked down all four car windows, and let the wind tangle my hair as I drove along the twisty coastal road. I passed two new house constructions along the way. Cute little bungalows with wide windows and ample yard space. Geoff and I’d never discussed where we were going to live once we were married. Not in his apartment above the Hubris Heron, surely. It suited his non-materialistic sensibilities but, from my point of view, it left a lot to be desired. Nor was my place over Dunmaglass exactly made for family life. That’s assuming we planned to start a family straight away. We hadn’t talked a lot about that, either.

  I rounded a sharp bend, where the mountainside pressed smack up against the road’s shoulder on one side and a pond—swamp really—languished on the other. Standing with his back to the rock face, and his thumb in the air, was Josh Pry. Why wasn’t he out on the boat with his dad? I slammed on the brakes, shifted into reverse, and backed up until I was beside him.

  He rested his hands on the car’s roof and poked his head in the open passenger side window. “Hey, Gai, am I glad to see you. Can I bum a ride into town?”

  “You’re not out fishing?”

  “Give me a ride, and I’ll, like, tell all.”

  I invited him to climb in, enjoying a sense of serendipity as he buckled up. Josh liked to skulk around. Maybe he knew something about Danny-Boy.

  Bing! Light bulb moment.

  What if, on his last night, Claude confronted Danny-Boy about his misplaced interest in Carrie? Claude was a gentle man but, if his relationship with Carrie was threatened, or if he at least thought it was threatened, or, better yet, if Carrie had told Claude about Danny-Boy’s unwanted attentions...

  I smiled at Josh and locked the car doors before pulling back onto the road.

  26

  Josh’s reason for being stranded at the side of the road? He was on his way to get a part for his dad’s boat engine when his car broke down. He couldn’t afford a tow, so he’d started to walk. I’d been so lost in thoughts about my future with Geoff, I hadn’t even noticed his abandoned vehicle, which is amazing since Josh drove a fire-engine red hearse from the 1960s. No one should ever miss it.

  I kept my eyes on the speedometer, making sure I stayed under the speed limit, to prolong the time I had with Josh. “You know the night you saw Danny-Boy at Hunter Hall? Did you happen to overhear anything he and Claude said?”

  “I already told your brother I didn’t hear nothing.”

  I flashed him what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “I know Andrew can be kind of intimidating when he’s in full cop-mode. When he gets like that with me, I can hardly remember my own name, let alone something I half heard days before. I just thought maybe, now that you’ve had time for stuff to percolate, you might remember something. Not the exact words, but maybe the gist of a conversation. Or their tone of voice?”

  I felt Josh’s gaze slide over me, then away. “It’s complicated.”

  “Whatever’s said in my car stays in my car.” I wasn’t sure if that convinced him, or just gave him the needed excuse to vent.

  “See, if I did hear something it’d mean I was, like, someplace I was maybe not supposed to be. You know?”

  “But could you say what you heard? Or what you saw? When you were where you weren’t supposed to be?”

  He turned sly. “Anything in it for me?”

  “Even if what you told Andrew is true, and you didn’t help yourself to Carrie Hunter’s frogs, you did steal from other people. Do Ash’s parents know about that?” I checked the rear-view mirror. I counted five cars behind me. If I went much slower, I’d start a riot. “So what did you hear?”

  “They were, like, ‘How did you get them to reconsider?’ And, ‘Nothing’s definite. It’s in your camp now.’”

  That sounded like they’d been discussing the Highland Brewery’s endorsement. “They weren’t talking about Carrie?”

  “Why would they talk about her?”

  I glared at Josh. “Because Claude found out about her and Danny-Boy.”

  “Carrie and Danny-Boy? That’s twisted.”

  “That’s all you’ve got? Claude and Danny-Boy discussing what? Beer?”

  “What did you expect?”

  “I don’t know. Something incriminating.”

  A pickup, three cars back, pulled into the oncoming lane, and floored it. As the he drew alongside, another vehicle sped around the curve toward him.

  I hit the brake. The guy coming towards us swerved onto the gravel shoulder. The pickup cut in front of me, barely missing my front bumper. The car behind me blasted his horn, and its driver flashed a middle finger salute. I saw it in my rear view mirror.

  Josh gripped the dashboard. “Idiot!”

  “You OK?”

  He pried his fingers from the padded plastic, and slowly eased back in his seat. “No thanks to that idiot.”

  “Life’s full of the unexpected.” I sounded much calmer than my white-knuckled hands suggested. “You never know what’s coming around the corner.”

  “Like what happened to Claude? You going to start preaching?”

  “Do you need preaching?”

  “Nope. I know what you’re gonna say, anyway. I’ve been to church.”

  “Then you know what you’ve been doing is wrong.”

  “No one cares about kitchen frogs.”

  “Ash does. Isn’t that why you’ve been stealing them for her?”

  “So?”

  I held up my left hand so he could see my engagement ring. “See that? It belonged to Geoff’s Mom. It’s second hand, so it didn’t cost him anything to buy it. The value of this gift isn’t about how much it cost. The value is in the love it represents. Stealing second hand kitchen frogs and giving them to your girlfriend, doesn’t say love. It says you don’t care one bit about her. It says you’re cheap and inconsiderate and untrustworthy.”

  His face folded into a scowl.

  “Are you cheap and inconsiderate and untrustworthy?”

  He stared out his window.

  “Is that what you want Ash to think about you?”

  “No.”

  “Then do the right thing. Give back the frogs. Tell Andrew what you saw and overheard the night Claude died. Be the kind of man Ash always thought you were.”

  ****

  I parked on Main Street, and fed nickels into the meter, my mind still on the conversation with Josh. Maybe he’d take what I said to heart, and do the right thing. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Either way, it sounded like my theory that Danny-Boy carried a torch for Carrie Hunter needed a little more verification before I could claim it had any relevance in Claude’s untimely death.

  I had no idea where I’d find that verification.

  Why had I decided to walk south along the shore past Hunter Hall the morning Claude died? If I’d gone the other way, I never would have heard Carrie screa
m. I never would have run into her house, never would have offered to help, or agreed to chair that stupid Steering Committee meeting. Instead I’d be happily planning my wedding and hypothesizing about missing kitchen frogs. I would be totally unaware that Ash’s boyfriend was a thief. That Hunter Hall groaned during thunder storms. That Caber Oui desperately loved his master, or that Danny-Boy harbored inappropriate feelings for another man’s wife. Like David, Bathsheba, and poor Uriah. And look where that led.

  No, if I’d simply walked the other way, I wouldn’t be caught in this web of mistrust and doubt. I wouldn’t be reading hidden meaning into fifteen-year-old photos. And I wouldn’t be imagining that someone I knew was a killer.

  I’d been here before and, despite what Geoff said about murder making my eyes shine, I did not like it. I liked quiet. I liked uneventful. I liked normal.

  Or was I just lying to myself?

  27

  I spent the next hour perusing the archives at the local newspaper. I was looking for anything sensational or incriminating about Danny-Boy. The Casket’s archives only went back a few years, so there was nothing about his university career. Archived photos focused on his recent athletic activities as a highland heavyweight contender. There were, of course, several articles about the Wee Claude incident, but they didn’t tell me anything I hadn’t already read on the Internet. And one small article, a four-liner tucked on the bottom of a page thirteen, commented on a court appearance for drunk driving charges. That was five years ago.

  Nothing about his social life, though. Nothing to suggest a penchant for murder.

  Disappointed, I gave up my search. It was time to meet Geoff and pick out his wedding ring. That, at least, lifted my spirits.

  ****

  The buzzer sounded softly as Geoff and I entered Piteaux Jewelers. A waist-high display counter ran the length of one wall, a floor to ceiling showcase along the opposite. The carpeted space between was narrower than a grocer’s aisle. Piteaux’s was a family run business, and our Mr. Piteaux, busily setting maroon-velvet ring trays on the glass-topped counter, was a third generation jeweler. We were a little late for our appointment which, apparently, was not a problem. Or maybe he was just glad we’d finally made it after three cancellations.

  “Your men’s wedding bands are quite varied these days.” Mr. Piteaux’s voice had an abrasive nasal tone, as if his sinuses and adenoids were perpetually inflamed. It always made me wince.

  “You have your yellow gold band, your white gold, and your platinum. There’s your plain, your etched, and your embellished. If there’s a style you favor, but you’re not taken with the metal or gem stone, we can always customize.”

  Geoff nodded, his gaze focused on the trays of rings.

  “The wedding’s next May, am I right? That gives us lots of time.” Mr. Piteaux smiled at both of us although, as I said, Geoff was too busy staring at all the rings to notice. “Do you have any specific preferences or requirements? Are you wanting to match Gailynn’s ring? These days your young couples like their matched sets.”

  “No,” said Geoff, unable to drag his gaze from the selection. “I need something plain and durable.”

  Mr. Piteaux pushed his specs up his nose. “Excellent. An excellent start. Color preference?”

  Geoff shook his head. “I have no idea. Should it be the same as Gai’s?”

  “If that’s what you want. Why not try one on, see what you both think.” Mr. Piteaux picked out a gold band and, taking Geoff’s hand, slid the ring onto Geoff’s third finger.

  It looked awful. Geoff’s skin was perpetually tanned—the result of his time in Africa—and in summer, he tanned even darker. The yellow gold made his hand look jaundiced.

  Geoff glanced at me, and we both shook our heads. Not yellow gold.

  “Excellent,” agreed Mr. Piteaux. “Let’s try the white.”

  Better, but all the rings Geoff tried looked incongruent with his long-fingered hands.

  That left the platinum rings which, frankly, were beyond our predetermined price range. Well, my predetermined price range, since I was the one paying for Geoff’s ring. But, considering my recent conversation with Josh, I wasn’t about to scrimp. I watched Geoff model the platinum rings, holding out his hand, this way and that for the three of us to see.

  That’s what we were doing when the electronic buzzer hummed, and the shop door swept open.

  Black Hair—whom I’d been intentionally trying not to think about—stepped in with a whoosh of hot air, took one look at me standing there with my mouth hanging open, and whooshed out.

  I could’ve been wrong, of course. I mean, maybe he’d entered the jewelry store by mistake. Maybe, he wanted personal time with Mr. Piteaux and didn’t appreciate sharing the jeweler’s attention.

  I stepped closer to Geoff, and safety. Neither he nor Mr. Piteaux seemed to find Black Hair’s hasty exit concerning. But they didn’t know what I knew about him.

  “What do you think of this one?” Geoff asked.

  He wore a piece of pipe on his finger. That’s what it looked like—a centimeter-wide slice of unpolished pipe. A piece of copper plumbing would have looked more elegant. And yet, it was perfect. The width, the simplicity, the overwhelming masculinity. I could tell by the way he stretched and fisted his fingers, that he liked it, too.

  “I think that’s the one,” I said.

  “Excellent,” said Mr. Piteaux.

  Geoff slid the ring back onto the tray, and I fished in my purse for my credit card. For the first time in my life, I was about to bump my limit.

  28

  We drove home in separate cars, Geoff first, me following. With my brain in semi-automatic mode, I paid more attention to my thoughts than the road.

  What had Black Hair wanted at Piteaux’s? When we left, I hadn’t noticed him lurking nearby, waiting to see Mr. Piteaux in private. Would he go back to the jeweler’s now that we were gone? Why was he avoiding us? Because it sure felt like he was avoiding us. Had he seen me that night, standing on the beach in the dark? Surely not. Maybe he remembered me from the reception at Carrie’s. But why would that disturb him?

  Thoughts of Carrie led to thoughts of Steering Committees, parade marshals, and Danny-Boy. Although the committee had no real obligation to tell Danny-Boy their decision about the parade marshal, he needed to be told. I thought I’d volunteer Ross Murray for the task. Ross was heavy-set and well respected—two qualities Danny-Boy understood.

  But there were other issues I needed to deal with.

  I needed to think through my conversation with Josh and figure out whether I should wait for him, or tell Andrew that Josh might be holding out on some important information. In a strange way, I felt a need to protect Josh. Why? If the kid was breaking into houses and stealing stuff, it was only a matter of time until he started doing worse. Maybe he was already doing worse.

  “Lord,” I said aloud, “we need some time together for You to sort my thoughts. When I get home, could we have an hour, just You and me, some place quiet?”

  Hum Harbour just ahead, I flicked on my turn signal. Far below, the dark blue sea looked smooth as pressed satin, a sign the afternoon winds hadn’t picked up. I’d been driving in the shade with my windows rolled down, enjoying the pleasant warmth. As I left the highway and emerged into sunshine, it was as if someone flipped the thermostat’s switch. Instant hot. I pushed my hair off my neck, glad that home and Geoff were less than a minute away.

  Unfortunately, so was Danny-Boy. He was waiting when we entered the shop’s back door, practically filling Dunmaglass’s cramped back room. He shouldn’t have been there. Customers weren’t allowed past the front showroom.

  “How could you do that?” He glowered down on me, crowding me, backing me out of my own building.

  Geoff inserted himself into the crevice between us. Putting his hand on Murdock’s broad chest, he pushed hard. “Back off.”

  Murdock sneered at Geoff’s hand as though it was no more threatening than a housef
ly, but complied. “I want an explanation.”

  “For what?” Geoff asked.

  “I heard you’re leaving Wee Claude’s position as parade marshal empty.”

  Who told him? I peered around Geoff. “It was the committee’s decision. We felt it expressed respect.”

  “Respect for whom?”

  “Claude. Carrie.” I cleared my throat, wishing my voice didn’t sound so thin. “The committee felt—”

  “I talked to every member of the Steering Committee and everyone agreed I was the best choice for replacement.”

  “Yes, if we needed a replacement.” I nervously ducked behind Geoff, peeked around his other side. “But they decided instead to leave the position vacant this year.”

  “You mean to tell me Carrie Hunter’s all right with breaking a two-hundred-year-old tradition?”

  I didn’t think it helpful to correct his miscount. “She was moved by the Steering Committee’s decision.”

  Huffing angrily, Murdock plowed his fist into the rough wall. He left skin and blood on the stone. “Every time, every time I think I’m gonna get a break, it happens again!”

  “What happens?”

  “He’s dead, and he’s still doing it!”

  “Doing what?”

  “Wrecking my life! I thought I had the championship in the bag after Wee’s accident. But no. A couple weeks and the guy’s back competing, more determined than ever.”

  “Some people didn’t think it was an accident,” I said, ready to duck back behind Geoff.

  He sucked on his bloody knuckles, making an apparent effort to control his temper. “How many times do I have to say that I liked the guy? Sure his conversion gig wore a little thin after a while, but I honestly liked him. Everybody did. So why would I hurt him?”

  We didn’t say anything.

  “There’s no percentage in it. I’d get kicked out of competition myself.”

  I inched around Geoff. “I’m sorry about the parade, really I am.”