Death of a Highland Heavyweight Page 16

  “You told LeClerc that?” I slipped appreciative arms around Geoff’s waist.

  “It’s a moot point, anyway,” said Andrew. “We found the missing frog candlestick earlier this evening, and it wasn’t anywhere near the beach.”

  “Where was it?”

  “Sorry.” Andrew grinned, knowing unsatisfied curiosity would keep me awake half the night. “Police business.”

  I whacked him with a throw pillow. That was what they were called.

  He pitched it back. There was some lighthearted banter. Andrew offered to drive Ash home, and they left.

  Geoff departed soon after.

  I stood in the middle of the living room, suddenly too weary to move. My arms felt like they weighed a million pounds. Such relief. Josh would be OK.

  But Claude’s killer was still out there.

  I forced myself to check the door locks and turn out the lights. Didn’t even bother to pull on pajamas before I fell into bed and sleep.

  In the middle of the night, I woke up.

  Carrie’s necklace!

  I scrambled out of bed, and dumped my laundry basket on the floor. My jeans were still clammy wet, but the little velvet bag was safe in the pocket.

  Thank you, Lord.

  I set Carrie’s emerald and diamond necklace on my dresser and crawled back into bed. This time I did don my jammies first.

  ****

  I didn’t get around to examining Carrie’s necklace until the clinic closed and I slipped home for a late afternoon lunch.

  I sat with my tuna sandwich, Carrie’s beautiful necklace, and a jewelry supply catalogue spread across the table in front of me. Sheba also sat on the table waiting for loose bits to fall from my sandwich. She knew there were always some.

  I’d quickly realized repairing the necklace’s broken clasp—an elegant European style popular in high end pieces—was beyond my skill set. Replacing it might be my only solution. I elbowed Sheba aside, and flipped pages, looking for a duplicate clasp to order. Problem was, my catalogues didn’t offer anything comparable.

  I called Mr. Piteaux for advice.

  “If you must know,” he said in his distinctive nasal. “I originally sold the necklace to Mr. Oui, so yes, I am quite familiar with the clasp. I may have something that will help.”

  “If I brought it to you this afternoon?”

  “This afternoon? Excellent. I’ll have everything ready. If the problem is what I think, I can replace the clasp while you wait.”

  I hesitated. “This is rather embarrassing, but I suspect Carrie asked me to repair the clasp because she can’t really afford to replace it right now. Not on top of Claude’s funeral expenses.” The bill for her mom’s residence flashed through my mind, too. “I was hoping perhaps you could just show me?”

  Mr. Piteaux cleared his throat. “Say no more. The replacement will be my gift. I’ve been hoping for an opportunity to express my condolences. Perhaps this will help in some small way.”

  I thanked Mr. Piteaux for his graciousness and prepared a to-do list for my trip into town. While at work, I remembered that I’d left the seven page checklist Carrie gave me on the beach. I called, and she emailed me a second copy. That list I divided, and printed off. Then I emailed each Steering Committee member the section of the checklist that applied to them. They were now responsible to make sure every item on their list was looked after. I would not be doing the job for them.

  I got some immediate, panicked replies, but I stood firm. I was not going to usurp their responsibilities, or the credit they deserved. The ‘not taking the credit’ part went over so well, I decided to give each person a recognition award. They could set it on their mantle, hang it on their wall, stuff it in their bathroom closet. It didn’t matter to me what they did with it, as long as they realized their hard work was appreciated.

  I found a certificate template online, and printed them on parchment samples I had at home—I planned doing our wedding invitations the same way. I’d buy mats, and fancy frames for the certificates, ribbons, gift wrap and matching thank-you cards while in town. There were things on the checklist that fell under my purview. With Hum Harbour Daze only two sleeps away, I would get those items, too.

  Meanwhile, I still needed to confirm whether the tent Sam found was for his purposes—did the lobster boat races need a giant tent?—or mine. I meant Reverend Innes’s.

  Ash was back working at Dunmaglass. Geoff was updating patient charts. I had the entire afternoon to run errands.

  First, I stopped at Piteaux Jewelers and left the necklace with Mr. Piteaux. Then I power shopped through the mall, hitting a couple of other downtown stores to round out the trip.

  Mr. Piteaux was waiting for me by the time I returned. His face wore a very distressed expression, and I felt my heart sink. “You couldn’t fix it,” I said.

  “Oh no, I fixed it. It was really a very simple procedure.” He spread the necklace on a black velvet cloth. The emerald and diamonds shimmered with blinding beauty. The new clasp looked perfect.

  I stroked it with a cautious finger. Carrie’s necklace was, without doubt, the most expensive piece of jewelry I’d ever touched. I felt honored, and way out of my class at the same time.

  Mr. Piteaux continued to frown.

  “Is something wrong with it?”

  “I am uncomfortable asking, but you’re sure this is the necklace Carrie gave you? The same one Claude purchased here?”

  I yanked back my hand. “It’s the one she gave me. And I know she wears it all the time.” I flashed back to the moment I bumped it off her bedside table. “Except when she’s sleeping. So it must be the necklace Claude gave her. She never lets anyone else near it. “

  No, that wasn’t true. The image of Black Hair yanking it from her throat filled my mind. “Why do you ask?”

  “As I said, I find this is quite uncomfortable, but this is not the necklace I sold Claude Oui.”

  How could that be? Carrie wore it everywhere. She and Claude would’ve known, immediately, if it wasn’t the same necklace he’d given her. Wouldn’t they?

  “Then whose necklace is it?”

  “This may still be Carrie Hunter’s necklace.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He patted the piece sadly, as I imagine he’d pat a troublesome child. “This is a reproduction.”

  “It’s fake?” I fell back a step. “Do you think she knows?”

  “There’s more. A gentleman came in the other day, and asked me to appraise this necklace.”

  “Who? What did he look like? This exact one? You’re sure?”

  He chuckled at my string of questions. “The man didn’t give me his name, and I had no cause to demand identification because, as I told him, this is an exquisite looking piece, but the stones are man-made.”

  “Do you remember what he looked like?”

  Mr. Piteaux fidgeted with the necklace. “Jewelry I remember, faces, not so much, I’m afraid. He wasn’t from around here. Does that help?”

  Not really. “Do you suppose Carrie knows the stones are fake?”

  “I couldn’t say.”

  I swallowed. Could Black Hair be this mystery man? Was he checking out Carrie’s necklace when he came to see Mr. Piteaux, but changed his mind when he saw Geoff and me? Did that mean he recognized us? “What should I do?”

  “At this point, since no crime’s been reported, no fraud committed, you’ve nothing to tell your brother.” Like everyone else in these parts, he knew Andrew was a cop. “And there’s always the possibility that Carrie already knows.”

  “She knows?”

  “Haven’t you wondered why she brought the broken necklace to you, not me?”

  “I thought it was because she was busy and their finances were tight.”

  “Equally plausible reasons for committing the switch herself.”

  I stared at the necklace, repulsed by its counterfeit glitter. “I have to give it back to her.”

  “Of course.” He carefully
coiled the necklace, and slid it into the velvet bag I’d brought it in.

  “I’ll pay for the clasp myself.”

  “The necklace’s being a reproduction is of no consequence to our little transaction. I promised to replace the clasp as my gift to Mrs. Oui. I’m a man of my word.”

  I opened my purse, and Mr. Piteaux dropped in the necklace bag. “Have you any advice?”

  He folded the velvet display cloth in thirds and rolled it up like a scroll. “Pray?”

  I did that all the way home. Then I found Geoff.

  36

  The breeze from the harbor gently flapped the fringe on Geoff’s patio umbrella. He pinched the bridge of his nose as I spilled everything. Geoff agreed that Black Hair’s aborted visit to Piteaux’s now made sense. He must have known we knew Carrie, and he didn’t want us seeing him with her necklace.

  “Well?” I asked. “What should I do?”

  “I think you need to return the necklace to Carrie.”

  “And say what?”

  He thought for a moment. “Say that you couldn’t repair the clasp yourself, so you took it to Mr. Piteaux, and he fixed it.”

  I felt relieved. “All true.”

  “You considered lying?”

  “I considered keeping my mouth shut. I don’t want to upset Carrie. If I tell her the necklace she loves is a fake…”

  “It’s her husband she loves. The necklace is just a token.”

  I spun my glass of iced tea, watching the ice cubes swirl in the mini-vortex I’d created. “But if he gave her a fake token, doesn’t that imply his affection was fake, too?”

  “Mr. Piteaux said the necklace Claude purchased was real. Therefore, the switch happened sometime in the intervening years.”

  “But does she need to know about it right now? Why not let things settle down, first?”

  He took a long drink from his glass. “How long do you suppose that will take?”

  I tugged my ponytail. “At least until after the weekend and Hum Harbour Daze.”

  “So you plan to hide the truth for five days.”

  “Should I wait longer before telling her? What if, as Mr. Piteaux suggested, she already knows?”

  “I’ll admit that’s an interesting theory. But, from our point of view, does it matter? If Carrie or Claude created a duplicate for her to wear in public, it was their choice. Even if they cashed in the real thing and commissioned the replica so no one would find out, that’s still their prerogative. Of course, if one of them made the switch without informing the other, that’d be an awfully hurtful lie. But unless one of them made a fraudulent insurance claim, still not a crime.”

  “Which I don’t think Carrie is doing. It’s just, after seeing Black Hair rip the necklace from her throat—”

  Geoff held up his hand. “You need to tell Andrew.”

  “We don’t even know who Black Hair is.”

  “He’s someone she knows well enough to let into her house at night.”

  “And hug.” Considering Carrie’s prickly personality, I couldn’t imagine her list of huggable men was very long.

  “LeClerc asked if you knew anything about her personal life.”

  “I don’t, except for this.”

  “You need to tell them about the necklace, too, since it was somehow involved in their argument.”

  “Before or after I give it back to Carrie?”

  Geoff glanced along the curve of the shore toward Hunter Hall. “She’s out in her garden with Caber. Why don’t we go and see her first. Maybe simply mentioning Mr. Piteaux will spark a reaction.”

  Spark. A word that would take on a whole new connotation before the week was over.

  ****

  Carrie’d abandoned gardening by the time we arrived. She was lounging on a patio chaise, sipping a slender glass of something pale, a decorative slice of lemon on the rim. Sunglasses hid her eyes. Her gardening gloves and trowel lay on the flagstone beside her chair.

  “Would you like something cold?” She waved her glass as we pulled up matching patio chairs. “You know where things are, Gailynn. Help yourself.”

  I felt like the hired help. “Thanks, but no, we’re fine. I brought back your necklace.”

  She sat up. “You fixed it? You’re a lifesaver.”

  I passed her the velvet bag.

  She opened the drawstring, spilled the necklace onto her palm, flicked the clasp with her fingertip. “Looks great—like new.” When she put it on, the emerald glittered unnaturally bright against her skin. “I felt naked without it. I can’t thank you enough.” She resumed her reclining position.

  “You’re welcome,” I said. “But it’s actually Mr. Piteaux you should thank.”

  “Oh?” Did I imagine her smile chilled?

  “I couldn’t repair the clasp, and I didn’t have a suitable replacement, so I called Mr. Piteaux for help. Apparently, he sold the original necklace to Claude.”

  She lifted her sunglasses. “The original necklace?”

  “Sorry, I meant originally sold the necklace.”

  Her sunglasses dropped back into place.

  “So he very graciously replaced the clasp free of charge.”

  “That was kind.”

  “I dropped the necklace off, ran some errands, and by the time I came back he had the clasp replaced, and the necklace cleaned.”

  She nodded.

  “I don’t suppose he could help himself. He’s rather paternal about his jewelry.”

  “Paternal?” she repeated.

  “Caring. Protective. Maybe paternal’s the wrong word.”

  “I think it’s the right choice,” said Geoff.

  Carrie pressed her hand over the emerald, but said nothing.

  I knew Geoff thought we should tell Carrie that her necklace was a fake, but he was leaving the revelation to me. And I wasn’t feeling revealing. Instead, I filled the awkward silence by talking to Caber.

  “How are the Hum Harbour Daze preparations coming?” she asked eventually.

  “I think they’re going well. I’ve given everyone their section of the final checklist you gave me.”

  “You have to look after those things yourself, Gailynn.”

  I smiled. “I’m confident the different committee members can handle their own responsibilities.”

  “You seriously expect someone like your brother—no offence intended, but Sam is a bit lackadaisical—to care about the kind of details that need to be looked after?”

  I stiffened defensively. My brother, Sam, might not rise to the Hunters’ standards of what made a man successful, but he knew fishing boats and engines. What more did he need to run boat races? “Actually, I do.”

  “Then you’ll be sadly disappointed.”

  “You would never have given Gai your job, if you really believed that,” said Geoff.

  Carrie scrutinized him over the top of her sunglasses.

  “From what I hear, you’ve been in charge of Hum Harbour Daze since your father passed away. And his father organized the festival before him.”

  “Your point?”

  “Putting Gai in charge was your idea. And when Hum Harbour Daze is over you can take credit for making a good decision.”

  She pushed her glasses back up her nose. I’m not sure she was convinced. Who knew? Maybe that was the point. When it bombed this year I would be blamed, and people would beg her to reclaim the chairmanship next year when, once again, she was better able to focus on the job.

  Geoff held out his hand to me. “We’re off. Gai and I have an appointment with Andrew and Inspector LeClerc.”

  We did?

  “They wanted to talk to us about someone who’s been lurking around town.”

  They did?

  “I don’t suppose you’ve noticed anyone you don’t recognize?”

  Carrie sipped her drink. Apparently not.

  ****

  I didn’t expect to meet my brother immediately, but that’s exactly what Geoff had in mind. Pulling out his phone
, he texted Andrew as we left Hunter Hall.

  Andrew responded.

  We took the shortest route to the police station—straight up Blair Street. It had been suggested Blair should be turned into a bobsled run during the winter and a mountain bike trail in summer. Personally, I thought the slope was too steep for safety.

  Despite regularly walking up and down Hum Harbour’s mountain-like streets, I was short of breath when we reached the police station. Jogging to keep up with Geoff’s long strides might have contributed.

  Andrew and LeClerc sat on opposite ends of Andrew’s desk, feet propped on the desktop, eating pizza from a Hubris Heron take-out box.

  Geoff helped himself to a slice without asking.

  “So what’s the deal?” asked Andrew.

  “This is my idea,” Geoff said. “Got that?”

  Andrew flicked a stray pepperoni from his tie, leaving a greasy residue, and LeClerc handed him a paper napkin. “You have something for us?”

  “Has anyone reported seeing a stranger hanging around town recently?”

  LeClerc grinned. “Is this little village so quiet, you alert police every time a stranger passes through?”

  Andrew licked the napkin and dabbed at his tie. “We’re pretty much off the beaten track. People come to eat at the Heron, or a stray tourist might drop by Gai’s shop, but normally, folks are in and out of town within an hour or two. Tops.”

  “Does that mean you know who he is?” I asked.

  “Who who is?”

  “Black Hair, the guy who’s been around since Claude died. I saw him the first time parked outside the curling club during the Steering Committee’s meeting.”

  LeClerc frowned. “Steering Committee?” Perhaps not a familiar term.

  “I’ll explain later,” said Andrew. “What day was that?”

  I rewound a calendar in my head. “Pretty sure it was the Thursday after Claude died, but before the memorial.”

  “What was this man doing that you remember him so well?” asked LeClerc. “No wait, you remember him because he was a stranger.”

  “Yes, there’s that. But it was really his hair that caught my attention.”