Murder in Hum Harbour Read online

  Geoff checked which way Mike headed while I broke into the facilities.

  “He’s going back the way we came. Probably heading home,” Geoff said when I came out. “Shall we follow or dig that box up for ourselves.”

  “Dig, of course.”

  Geoff used a fallen tree limb for a shovel and dug till he hit the box.

  I held my breath, watching as Geoff mimicked Mike, lifting the box out, brushing it clean. What was inside? Drugs? Stolen jewelry? Pornographic photos? I mean, what did men hide in metal boxes in the woods?

  Geoff flipped up the lid and we peered inside.

  We exchanged confused glances.

  There was a small, coiled note book and a Nova Scotia souvenir key chain. I’d seen a dozen such key chains beside the check out at Hum Harbour Hardware. Inside the note book were lists of dates, times and signatures. Mike Johnson was the last.

  We sank back on our heels.

  “That’s not what I expected,” said Geoff.

  “Me either. What do you think it means?”

  “I have no idea, but whatever this is, it doesn’t look illegal. I think we’re safe asking Mike up front.” Geoff returned the note book to the box and reburied it.

  ****

  The direct route home took about a quarter of the time. We drove straight to Mike’s house and found his truck parked in the driveway. We pulled in behind him, effectively cutting off his escape. That was when we admitted the awkwardness of our plan. How did we uncover what Mike had been up to without confessing we’d spent the afternoon following him half way across the province— slight exaggeration.

  I suppose you could say luck was on our side and we were saved the decision. Mike ambled around the side of the house, a coil of electric cable in hand, and grinned when he saw us.

  “Was that fun?”

  I tried to look innocent. “What do you mean?”

  “Gailynn, you are one awful liar. But you’re even worse at spying.”

  “Spying?”

  He turned to Geoff. “She talk you into it? ’Cause I gotta say, if you’re gonna make a habit of tailing people you need a better car. That old rattle trap is so noisy I could hear you behind me even when I couldn’t see you.”

  “You knew we were there?”

  “From the moment we turned out of town. At first I thought ‘Hey what a coincindink, Gailynn and Geoff behind me.’ But then you did that corny thing pretendin’ you had a flat. You had my full attention then.”

  “Is that why you led us half way to Kalamazoo and back?”

  “Yep.” He looked pleased as punch.

  “Was the digging part of your ploy, too?”

  “Nah. That was the whole point of the adventure, least until you two made it even more fun.”

  “What was your original intention?” Geoff spoke for the first time.

  Mike shook his head. “I dunno if I should tell you. I mean, then I might have to kill you ’cause you know too much.”

  20

  The blood drained to my toes.

  Mike grabbed my elbow. “Hang on there, girl. It was just a joke, a bad one, maybe, but just a joke.”

  Geoff pointedly removed Mike’s hands from my person and led me to the front step. “Maybe you better explain,” he said to Mike as I sank to my seat.

  Mike scrubbed his hand across his chin. “Don’t tell Mimi.”

  “Why not?”

  “’Cause she’s already got a head of steam up about how much I spent on my new GPS. And I told her I sent it back. If she finds out I kept the thing…”

  “What’s that got to do with today?”

  He looked both ways. “I belong to this geocaching club. Call ourselves The Fellowship.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s kinda like a car rally combined with a treasure hunt except there’s no time limit,” he said. “We connect through the Internet. Some geocaching groups are open to anyone but we’re closed—with passwords, code names, that kinda thing—‘cause of the size of our prizes.”

  “That key ring was a prize? It’s not much.”

  “We’re starting a new game. Last prize was a month long Mediterranean cruise. And the one before that was a quarter of a million bucks.”

  “How do you win?” Geoff asked.

  “The fellowship leader buries a prize and posts the GPS coordinates on our website and we hunt for it. When we find the prize we sign in the book and exchange it with something slightly bigger.”

  “You left a five buck key chain.”

  “Yeah, and I got a two buck souvenir lapel pin.”

  “How does that turn into a Mediterranean cruise?”

  “The cache I opened holds the coordinates for the next cache. It’ll have a bigger prize. It goes up from there.”

  “There were a lot of signatures ahead of you,” said Geoff.

  “Yeah, I’m behind on this run.”

  “Mimi doesn’t mind?”

  “That I run all over the country? Nah. She hates how much I spend on the game, though.” He frowned. “I’d about drained the kids’ university fund when I won the big one. The quarter mill I mentioned? I invested that it in Hum Harbour Holes, thinking I could cover the loss and make enough on top to keep me going” He shrugged. “Guess not, huh.”

  I stared at him. “Why didn’t you just put the money back into the kids’ savings?”

  “Lookin’ back that woulda been a better idea but at the time I thought the golf course was a guaranteed investment.”

  “And now you’ve lost what you put into the golf course, too.”

  “I’m still optimistic. Ross’ll come through with enough to cover Doc’s part. You’ll see.”

  From what I now knew about Ross Murray’s finances that seemed unlikely.

  “So you’re not worried?” I asked.

  “Concerned? Maybe. Worried? No way.”

  “What if someone told you Ross was broke?”

  Mike looked me over. “Lookit, Gailynn, it’s nothing personal, but I’d take what that someone says with a grain of salt. Know what I mean?”

  I bristled. “No, I don’t know what you mean.”

  He scratched his chin. “I know you like to think you know what everyone’s up to, but this wouldn’t be the first time you got things a little wrong. Remember that time you ran home screamin’ Sam had murdered a vagrant? It turned out he’d been target practicing with your dad’s BB gun and shot old lady McGuire’s scarecrow.”

  I felt myself blush. “I was nine and I’d just learned the word vagrant,” I explained to Geoff. To Mike, I said, “The thing crumpled and fell like a real dead person. What was I supposed to think?”

  “Then there was the time you called the cops on Toby Pry.”

  “I saw someone break into his place.”

  “Yeah, but turned out Toby’d forgot his key and was sneakin’ in the back window before his mama realized he’d snuck out.”

  “Your point is?”

  “You’ve got some imagination, girl. If people took half your stories seriously we’d never leave our homes.”

  “I’m not that bad.”

  “There are people who think you are.”

  Mike had effectively changed the subject from Doc, Ross and Hum Harbour Holes, to me and my reputation for getting carried away. What if Geoff concluded I was a scatterbrained idiot and stopped helping me investigate Doc’s death?

  “I’m older now,” I told Mike. “I don’t fly off the handle over every little thing I see or hear.”

  He snorted. “Right. And that’s why you had Geoff here wasting his afternoon following me when he coulda been doin’ something constructive, like fixin’ his apartment.”

  Geoff really hadn’t seemed to mind. I glanced sideways, saw the way he shook his head ever so slightly.

  At that, Mike threw back his head and hooted with laughter. “Bless my soul. Is that what a fella’s gotta do to get a girl these days?”

  I looked from Mike to Geoff. My confusion turned to
surprise, then embarrassment, as I realized what the two were talking about.

  I focused on Geoff. “Are you saying you don’t actually care that someone in Hum Harbour murdered Doc? You’re just pretending to be concerned? What do I look like, an idiot?” I asked, my anger spiraling.

  If I admitted the truth to myself, I didn’t for one minute think Geoff Grant could be sincerely interested in me as a woman. I wasn’t smart enough or accomplished enough to attract a man like him, which, I suddenly realized, was exactly what I wanted to do.

  “Now what will you do? Go laughing to Andrew? Or did Andrew put you up to this in the first place? Did he tell you to keep an eye on me so I didn’t mess up his investigation?” I sprang to my feet, both humiliated and insulted. “If that’s what this afternoon was about you can just forget it. I’m going home. You,” I jabbed my finger at Geoff, “you can go somewhere else.”

  I stomped away.

  ****

  I stopped at home long enough to grab my gathering bag and I fled to the shore. Sheba was nowhere in sight but I didn’t worry. Probably waiting for tuna on Geoff’s deck, traitorous cat. I stormed along the beach, ignoring whatever treasures might be underfoot. I ranted aloud all the way to the point, confident God could filter my words and pick out the salient points. Like, When I asked You to deal with my feelings for Geoff You were supposed to take them away. Not make them worse! Is this Your idea of a joke? And, why am I always such an idiot? Lord, I go to church. I read my Bible. I pray. How come You’re not making me a calm, logical human being? Isn’t that the plan? You’re supposed to be all-powerful. What’s the problem here?

  The sun slid into the sea in a blaze of color but I didn’t much care. I kept marching until I’d burned away my fury and shame. Unfortunately, there was no sign of any of the changes I was demanding. I guess I should’ve at least been thankful God didn’t choose to answer me the way He answered Job.

  Or maybe He did.

  It was pitch-black dark by the time I got home. I let myself in the back door and climbed the stairs to my apartment.

  No sign of Sheba, but I wasn’t concerned. I filled the kettle and pulled a frozen dinner entree out of the freezer before I finally slid open my patio doors. I knew Geoff was home because the lights from his apartment shone onto his terrace.

  “Hey Sheba, hungry?”

  Something shuffled behind the giant flowerpot in the corner so I flipped on the deck light and called her again.

  “Sheba?”

  Being as I live across the street from a vacant fish plant I am aware that certain—shall we say uninvited?—vermin stroll through the neighborhood from time to time. My cat’s a pretty good rat catcher but there is always the possibility she might miss a particularly intrusive rodent. The odd noise behind the planter suggested such a possibility so I proceeded with caution, tossing a cat toy into the corner.

  The moan that followed chilled the fine hairs on the back of my neck.

  “Sheba?” Huffing, puffing, I dragged the planter far enough out to get behind it.

  Sheba crouched in the corner. She smelled like she’d rolled in fish guts. Her black fur was matted, her eyes glazed and dull. She tried to stand.

  “Baby, what have you done?”

  I dashed inside and grabbed a bath towel but when I tried to wrap her in it, she slithered bonelessly out of my grasp.

  “Geoff!” My holler brought him running.

  He vaulted the railing dividing our decks.

  “What’s wrong with her? Why isn’t she moving?” My voice shook.

  He ran his hand over her limp body. “Let’s get her to the clinic. The vet’s too far.”

  “Too far? What do you mean too far?”

  He scooped her up and gently laid Sheba in my arms. “Meet me downstairs at the car. We’ll drive.”

  “To the clinic? What’s wrong with her? Geoff, tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I’m not sure,” he said over his shoulder. “I have my stethoscope and things at the clinic.”

  “Stethoscope? Is there something wrong with her heart?”

  “Stop asking questions and let’s go.” He sprinted back into his apartment, slamming the sliding glass door.

  My heart in my throat, I hurried downstairs. Geoff held the car door for me and once Sheba and I were inside he jumped in the driver’s side. With a spit of gravel, he peeled out of the parking space behind the Hubris Heron. The clinic is two blocks away, a three minute walk or a thirty second drive. We were there in twenty. I followed Geoff into the examination room while he flicked on lights and grabbed a bunch of stuff.

  “Put her on the exam table,” was the only thing he said.

  Geoff laid the stethoscope over her heart and listened. He placed it on her tummy and listened. He lifted her limbs and stretched them out. When he let go she just lay there limp as a dead jellyfish. He filled a syringe from a vial of clear liquid and gave Sheba a shot in the scruff of her neck. He went back to listening.

  “What are you doing? What’s wrong with her?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “But you gave her something. What did you give her?”

  “Atropine.”

  “What’s that for? Why isn’t she moving?”

  He held up his hand for me to hush. I held my breath.

  “Better.”

  “What’s better? Why do you keep doing that?” I meant shift the stethoscope here and there over her ribs and belly. He felt her ears. He wrapped the towel back around her, tucking in her limp arms and legs as though she were a baby.

  “Let’s go.”

  “What? Go? What are we doing?”

  “Taking Sheba to the vet. She’ll make it now.”

  I was in a daze. I had no idea what had just happened or why Geoff had done what he’d done but I clung to his words like a barnacle to a stone. She’d make it now.

  We drove to the all night emergency vet clinic in Antigonish, sat there half the night waiting for the vet’s verdict. She’d appear every now and then ask me a question and disappear again. Geoff held my hand through it all and when the vet finally announced Sheba was in stable condition and would probably make it, the dam holding back my tears ruptured.

  Geoff hugged me close while I cried, and I heard the vet tell him he’d saved Sheba’s life. Without the atropine to jumpstart Sheba’s autonomic system, she’d never have made it to Antigonish.

  “We’ll keep Sheba until we’re sure the poison’s cleared her system and there are no residual effects but I think her prognosis is good,” she said. “If she was a smaller cat I don’t think we’d have been able to pull her through. Whatever they gave her was meant to be lethal.”

  I pulled myself free from Geoff’s embrace. “You mean someone poisoned her?”

  She nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

  I looked at Geoff in horror, realizing he’d already figured that out. Sheba had been poisoned. Like Doc.

  Geoff drove us home around the time the sun was lightening the eastern edge of the sky, told me not to worry about work. There were only a couple of scheduled appointments; he could manage on his own. I didn’t argue. I was drained. Now that I knew Sheba’d be all right it was like I’d nothing left inside to hold me upright. I practically crawled up my back stairs and collapsed on my bed. Dragging my comforter over me, I curled into a ball.

  Someone poisoned Sheba.

  Who would do such a thing? She was normally such a finicky cat, trusting no one except me and maybe Geoff. Who could get close enough to dose her? Who had access to her food? I was the only one who ever fed her, except for Geoff. If he hadn’t been there to help, she would have died. But Geoff knew exactly what to do, fortunately.

  If I hadn’t been so upset and stayed so late on the beach I would have been home sooner. Maybe before she reached that near-death state and then I would have been able to get help in lots of time. The vet said the poison, whatever it was, would have killed a smaller cat.

  I shivered. Maybe the poisoner hadn’
t miscalculated at all. Maybe he only wanted Sheba sick. Obviously, he knew Geoff was right next-door and would come to my aid. Geoff would know what to do.

  In fact, Geoff even knew how to save Sheba when the poisoning went too far.

  I stared at the ceiling while dawn crept into my room. I could hear voices down at the wharf as the men prepared to sail out for another day of fishing.

  I thanked the Lord Geoff knew exactly what to do to save my Sheba.

  My eyelids finally began to droop. Geoff knew what to do, Geoff knew what to do, ran through my mind like a hypnotic chant. I drifted asleep.

  21

  The phone roused me mid-day, the vet calling to say they wanted to keep Sheba another twenty-four hours to properly rehydrate her. I could pick my cat up Saturday. I felt edgy despite six hours sleep. I’d spent most of the time dreaming, or at least that’s what it felt like, and my last thoughts had colored them, painting a collage of Geoff and Doc and Sheba, all wearing violet sea glass earrings. I didn’t remember any more than that, but my knotted stomach assured me whatever else happened in my dreams it wasn’t good.

  Murder in Hum Harbour

  Since I don’t have a car I decided to scoot over to the wharf to ask Lori if she could drive me into town before Doc’s funeral. At least that was my intention. However, when I went to let myself out of the house I noticed something unexpected. My back door was unlocked. Obviously, I’d forgotten to lock up behind me when I got home last night. I was somewhat distracted after all. I felt my coat pockets for my keys and, wouldn’t you know it, they weren’t there. After some frantic searching I located them upstairs on the key hook beside my fridge.

  This, unfortunately, meant I hadn’t locked the door when Geoff took Sheba and I to the vet either. Dunmaglass had been open all night.

  I raced downstairs so fast I missed the bottom two steps. Grabbing the stair rail was all that kept me from spilling onto my nose. And a good thing, too, because when I saw the shattered glass strewn across the shop’s floor I almost collapsed.