Death of a Highland Heavyweight Page 15

  Fifteen, maybe twenty feet from shore, something red bucked in the water. It surfaced, seemed to roll over, and disappeared. It didn’t look solid, like a buoy. It looked like fabric, swelling, shrinking back against whatever it covered.

  What it covered looked like a shoulder.

  I stood. It, he, whatever was out there, rolled closer, before dipping beneath the water again.

  I’d been sitting here wondering if Josh might do something destructive and now it looked as if someone had.

  I spun around, looking for anyone who could help. Twice I’d almost drowned. I knew how deadly the sea could be. Nothing, nothing was more terrifying than the ocean. It closed over your head, dragging you down to where there was no air, no breath, no light. I retched.

  I watched the red.

  Someone needed to wade into that churning swell, and pull whatever…whoever that was, to shore.

  “Help!” I ran in a circle. “Help! Someone help me!”

  No one came.

  God, you have to send help. I stumbled toward the water’s edge, but when the breaking wave clawed up the beach, I scurried back in terror. The red sank from view.

  I spun again, my eyes aching to find someone, anyone, who would run into the water and save the red.

  But there was no one. Only me.

  Lord have mercy, I had no choice.

  “Help me,” I shouted at God. I coughed up bile as I put one foot after the other and forced myself into the swell.

  It sucked the ground from beneath my feet and shoved me back. The red reappeared and sank. I stumbled further into the water. Within feet, I was past my waist, the waves slamming my chest, soaking my face.

  I screamed at God. I reached. I strained. My fingers touched fabric, and I grabbed.

  I fought my way back to shore, and the red came with me. Willingly.

  I lost my footing and almost washed back into the harbor. But the wave receded, and it wasn’t that deep after all.

  The next wave slammed against the back of my head. On hands and knees, I crawled up the sloping beach, dragging the red behind me, until both of us were safe from being sucked back to sea.

  That’s when I rolled over and saw the entire red for the first time.

  It wasn’t a body. It was a sack.

  33

  Geoff found me huddled against my log, sopping wet, shivering. I’d made no attempt to open the red sack.

  He hunkered down and gathered me into his arms. Slowly his heat penetrated my fright, and the shivering subsided.

  “What were you thinking?” he asked. Geoff knew how I felt about water. Aquaphobia, he called it, though I’m not sure my cowardice deserved a clinical designation.

  “I thought it was Josh.”

  I felt him look around. “The sack?”

  “It’s red.”

  “And you thought…oh, Gai.” He hugged me tighter. “That’s the bravest thing I’ve ever known anyone to do.”

  “It’s not Josh.”

  “No, sweetheart, it’s not Josh. He’s at my apartment, with Ash. She’s trying to convince him to tell Andrew what he saw the other night.”

  “What did he see?”

  “I have no idea. I don’t think Ash does, either. She just knows if they’re going to have any kind of a future, he has to take responsibility for his actions.”

  “Isn’t that what Claude always said? There’s no forgiveness until we take responsibility for our sins?”

  He kissed my soggy hair. “Are you ready to go home?”

  I crawled out of his lap. My clothes clung to me like second skin. I plucked at my t-shirt.

  “Come on.” Taking my hand he pulled me to my feet. “No one will see you.”

  I slid under his waiting arm. “Don’t forget the sack. I almost died for that thing.” He didn’t contradict me, though I’m sure he thought I was being melodramatic, and hoisted the sack over his shoulder.

  Geoff waited while I showered and changed, then we crossed the bridge to his place. He left the red sack on his terrace and slid open his door for me to enter first. Ash and Josh were still there. They sat at opposite ends of the couch, and judging by their mutinous expressions, I’d say they’d been arguing.

  “He refuses,” said Ash.

  Josh stuck out his chin. “I’m not sticking my neck in a noose.”

  “It’s not a noose if you’re t-telling the truth.”

  “You think I’m lying?”

  Obviously, they’d resolved nothing, but at least they were talking—well, shouting—and Josh wasn’t out doing worse.

  Geoff offered me the recliner and pulled up a kitchen chair for himself. “I may have something that will tip the scales.”

  “How?” asked Ash.

  Josh watched Geoff. Suspiciously?

  “Gai rescued something from the harbor. Thought you might like to see it.” Without waiting for their answer—Josh and Ash exchanged glances, hers curious, his worried?—Geoff retrieved the red sack from outside.

  He dropped it on the coffee table, unconcerned with the wet stain it would leave.

  Now that I was no longer in a panic and could think and see rationally, I could tell this was not and should never have been mistaken for a person. It was a faded Montreal Canadiens pillowcase, mostly red, with the distinctive blue and white logo. When I’d dragged it up the beach, I was pretty sure the end had been securely knotted. It wasn’t now. Geoff must have opened it while I showered.

  Seeing the soggy pillowcase, Josh began scratching his head.

  Ash gave me the raised eyebrow.

  “Would you like to see what’s inside?” asked Geoff.

  She scooted toward the middle of the couch and leaned forward.

  Josh pressed himself as far away as possible without falling on the floor.

  My own curiosity intensified by his response to the pillowcase, I knelt beside the coffee table, eager for the big reveal.

  Indulging the drama of the moment, Geoff slowly reached into the pillowcase. His arm disappeared up to his elbow. The fabric quivered. He lifted out the first object and placed it carefully on the table.

  It was one of Carrie’s frogs. I’d have staked my life on it.

  Geoff reached into the pillowcase and brought out a second and a third, until the pillowcase was empty, and a row of frog figurines stretched the length of the coffee table.

  We all stared at them.

  “Are those…?” Ash looked at me.

  “Carrie’s? Yep.”

  Tentatively, fingers extended, Ash caressed the largest figurine—a crowned frog standing on his back legs as he, lips puckered, strained towards, well, presumably the princess. “It’s b-beautiful,” she whispered. Her face glowing with awe, she crouched beside the table and studied each one. Except for the frog prince, she didn’t touch any.

  Josh seemed unable to drag his gaze from Ash’s rapt face.

  “Oh, Josh.” She turned to him, her eyes filled with tears. “You d-did this for me?” She threw herself into his arms, and they spilled onto the floor. He laughed. She cried.

  Geoff and I looked at each other.

  “We need to notify police that Carrie’s stolen figurines have been retrieved,” Geoff said. “I’m not sure they’ll be able to get fingerprints off of them, apart from ours. They’ve been soaking in sea water for days. And the pillowcase is old. It could have come from anywhere.”

  Josh extricated himself from Ash. “You think?”

  Geoff said, “I think you have a couple of different options. Gai and I can show these to Andrew. Gai found the pillowcase. Not knowing what was inside we opened it. This is what we discovered.”

  “All true,” I said.

  “Or we could tell Andrew and LeClerc the extended version.”

  “The extended version?” I imagined Josh paled when he said that.

  “We keep with the original story I just said, but you’re going to add your confession.”

  “My confession?” Josh’s Adam’s apple bobbed i
n his throat.

  “That you took these figurines from Hunter Hall and, having realized the error of your ways, you are overcome by remorse for the additional pain you’ve caused Carrie on top of the death of her husband. So you threw them away. But now that they’re back, you want to return them to her in good faith.”

  “Give ‘em back?”

  “They’re going back either way. One way gets you off the hook and makes you look good in Ash’s eyes. The other way leaves a lot of unanswered questions that aren’t good for you.”

  “But they’re gonna think I murdered Claude.”

  “Did you?”

  Josh recoiled. “No!”

  I wasn’t being fooled a second time. “You lied before. Why should we believe you now? Why should Andrew?”

  “I was scared. I lied because I knew what everybody’d think.”

  Hands on my hips, I narrowed the space between us. “And now we’re thinking it. You robbed Hunter Hall. You killed Claude to cover it up.”

  “So I lied.” Panic made his voice shrill. “That doesn’t mean I killed him!”

  “And I don’t see the alleged murder weapon.” Geoff’s observation gave me pause.

  The assorted frogs on the coffee table did not include the totem-like candlestick.

  Geoff continued. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Josh, but if you were the killer, I’d expect the murder weapon to be tucked into this pillowcase with the other frogs. You wouldn’t think to dispose of it separately.”

  Josh nodded.

  “So which will it be? Option one, or option two?”

  Ash clasped his hand in both of hers and gazed imploringly into his eyes.

  Who can resist young love? Josh’s shoulders curled inward. “Call the cops.”

  34

  Call the cops.

  When you call the police you expect them to come running. After all, they are committed to serve and protect. You assume they’d do it immediately.

  According to dispatch, however, Andrew and LeClerc were off tracking down some case-breaking lead and would get back to us when they returned. Hopefully tonight.

  Geoff was reluctant to let Josh out of his sight while we waited. He thought the kid might chicken out on confessing and run, so he ordered pizza for us to share, and when it was ready I scooted downstairs to the Heron to pick it up. No need to pay delivery costs.

  Geoff hung up the phone when I returned with supper. “Inverness Arms,” he said. Someone had needed a medication change; fortunately, the job could be done over the phone.

  We sat around Geoff’s outdoor table—the inside one isn’t big enough for four people—and gorged ourselves on seafood pizza and talked about Hum Harbour Daze. More specifically, how I’d ended up as the festival’s troubleshooter when I had no idea what I was doing.

  Josh said he knew someone who knew someone who worked for a guy who knew someone who’d rented a giant tent for some outdoor mattress event—truck loads of mismatched mattresses on sale cheap—earlier in the summer. A few text messages later, I had a name and a phone number. I excused myself and called the mattress guy.

  Mattress Guy told me he’d borrowed it from a buddy who, years before, had bought one for his daughter’s wedding reception. The father-of-the-bride, when I called him, said he stored the disassembled tent in an old fish factory.

  “I’ve promised it to a buddy for this weekend, but after that it’s all yours.”

  “But I need it this weekend.”

  “Real sorry, missy, but this weekend’s already spoken for. Where’d you say you were from?”

  I couldn’t hold back my sigh. Here came the traditional who-are-you-related-to conversation. “Hum Harbour.”

  “I don’t know what Sam MacDonald wanted my tent for, but he’s from Hum Harbour, ain’t he? Maybe you can work out something with him.”

  “Sam?” My brother?

  “Said he needed it for that big festival you got going. I come every year, you know. Love them lobster boat races. I never won, but always give it a shot. This year, though. I think I’ve got a good chance this year. My son-in-law’s designed this new engine boost system…”

  By the time I got back to the table, the pizza was gone and Geoff had pulled out Scrabble.

  Andrew and Inspector LeClerc arrived as I was about to add “un” to “requited” for a big one-hundred-six points. It would have put me out front and possibly marked the first time I’d ever beaten Geoff at Scrabble. So much for that.

  The two were filthy. I poured them glasses of iced water while they took turns in the bathroom trying to clean up.

  “Are we allowed to ask what you’ve been doing?”

  “You may ask,” said LeClerc after draining his glass. He spotted the frogs displayed on the coffee table and muttered something in French that sounded a lot like a swear word.

  “Are these what I think they are?”

  “If you think they’re Carrie’s missing frogs.”

  “Where did they come from?”

  Josh gripped Ash’s hand as he faced the inspector. “Gai found them washed up on the beach.” OK, sorta true. “But they got there because I’d chucked them off the end of the wharf.”

  “When did you do that?”

  “Saturday night. Right after I found Claude lying in the middle of the floor in his front hall.”

  Geoff shifted. That wasn’t what he’d directed Josh to say.

  “He had fallen?” asked LeClerc.

  “I dunno if he fell or not.”

  “Did you try helping him?”

  Josh’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “I touched him, if that’s what you mean.”

  “How did you touch him?”

  Geoff cleared his throat. “Look, I know you guys want answers, but this is not the statement Josh intended to make, and I’m going to suggest he stop answering until he calls his Dad and a lawyer.”

  LeClerc shrugged. “This is his right, of course, but we are just talking. No one is accusing him of anything.”

  Josh glanced between the two, panic registering in his face. “But you said if I told the truth—”

  Geoff held up his hand. “I did. Telling the truth is always the best thing to do. But in light of what you just said—”

  While Geoff talked, Ash pressed against Josh’s side and whispered, “You really touched his body?”

  “—I think it would be wisest for you to have an advocate with you while you tell the truth.”

  “But I can’t afford no lawyer.”

  “I can” said Geoff. “Call your dad, and I’ll call my lawyer, and when they’re both here, you can tell Andrew and Inspector LeClerc everything you saw and heard.”

  Josh’s dad arrived within minutes, his pajamas visible beneath his clothes. He seemed anxious for Josh to tell police everything he knew. “He doesn’t need a lawyer. He’s not being charged. No one’s read him his rights, have they?”

  Geoff herded Josh and Mr. Pry into the kitchen. “This isn’t an American TV show. Our police don’t adhere to American laws.”

  Mr. Pry sniffed derisively. “We still got laws here in Canada.”

  “But they’re different. I personally do not know how they differ. I just know they do.”

  Mr. Pry looked at his son. Like Josh, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbed whenever he swallowed, which he was doing often.

  “Do you want to risk Josh’s situation getting more complicated than it already is?” asked Geoff.

  “This is my boy’s life we’re talking about.”

  “Then wait for the lawyer. He left Antigonish the same time you left your house.”

  Mr. Pry checked his watch. “He sure better be on his way like you said, ‘cause I think holding out only makes Josh look more guilty.” He saw me hovering in the doorway, trying to be a wall between them and the two cops in the living room.

  “Geoff’s a wise man, Mr. Pry. If he thinks it’s in Josh’s best interest to wait, then I can’t see what harm it will do.”

  “Maybe
we should wait for Josh’s lawyer at the station,” said LeClerc.

  I tried to picture Andrew, Inspector LeClerc, Josh, Mr. Pry, and a lawyer, all squeezed into the tiny office at Hum Harbour’s police station. Sardines in a can had more leg room. “Couldn’t you talk here?”

  “There is more space,” said Andrew.

  I said, “Ash and I’ll leave. And when the lawyer arrives, Geoff can come over to my place, too. That way you’ll have as much privacy as you would at the station but more room to breathe.”

  LeClerc hesitated. “MacDonald, you will take notes?”

  Andrew produced a notepad and a pen. “Whatever you need.”

  “Then it is settled. Ladies…”

  35

  Ash and I watched an old, made-for-TV movie about a man-eating snake. Geoff arrived around the time the shirtless hero rescued the scantily-dressed heroine for the first time. By the end of the flick, he’d saved her a dozen times more. Then came the news, with the usual wars, earthquakes, and crime sprees. That American jewel thief was still at large, but our frog thief seemed to be flying under the radar.

  We didn’t talk. We just stared at the TV and wondered what was happening at Geoff’s.

  Andrew saved us from the late night talk shows when he tapped on the sliding door and let himself in. Wanting inside for the night, Sheba squeezed through with him.

  “We’re done,” he said to Geoff. “You can go home now.”

  “And?” said Ash.

  “And what?” Sometimes Andrew could be so obtuse.

  “Josh? What’s h-happened to Josh? Where is he?”

  “On his way home with his dad, I expect. Unless they’re detouring for a donut on the way.”

  “Home.” Her eyes overflowed with tears as she sprang from the chair to hug Andrew.

  He gave her a cousinly back pat. “What did I do?” he mouthed.

  “You saved her man from incarceration.”

  “Long as Carrie’s happy with her frogs back, and doesn’t press charges.”

  Geoff heaved himself from the couch. “Then you don’t think he had anything to do with Claude’s death?”

  “Like you said to LeClerc, if the kid was gonna toss the murder weapon, he’d toss it with the rest of the stuff he lifted.”