Death of a Highland Heavyweight Read online

  Was that how LeClerc planned to get his proof?

  There was a part of me—deep down inside where I was trying to ignore it—that said no. Danny-Boy was not our man. Which was a problem, because if Danny-Boy wasn’t the killer, and Josh wasn’t the killer, that left the mysterious Black Hair. Whoever he was.

  And if not Black Hair? I couldn’t suppress the shiver, as I watched the people working around me. Was it one of them?

  Sam snapped his fingers in front of my face. “Earth to Gai?”

  I pushed his hand away.

  “Did you hear what I said? I need someone to help with the fireworks.”

  Besides overseeing the lobster boat races, Sam always launched Hum Harbour Daze opening with night fireworks from his boat. It was a magnificent show. The brilliant explosions reflected in the harbor, doubling their fiery splendor. It was, without a doubt, my favorite part of the whole weekend.

  He had a point. I couldn’t envision him standing on the lobster boat’s roof, launching exploding rockets with one good arm, while the boat bounced and bobbed beneath his feet. Every time I tried, I saw him pitching head first into the sea.

  I studied my brother thoughtfully. Sam wasn’t the kind of man who gave in easily. If he was requesting help, it meant he really needed help. “Is one person going to be enough?”

  “It’s not hard work, Gai. Even you could do what needs to be done.”

  “Me?” I laughed. “On a boat?”

  “OK, not you, but anyone with sea legs. All they need are two hands, and a good sense of balance.”

  “Do you care how old he is?”

  “As long as he can follow directions. Got someone in mind?”

  “Maybe.”

  I was thinking of Josh, and I knew where I’d find him. At Dunmaglass, of course.

  ****

  As I rounded the corner onto Main Street, I spotted a man standing on the sidewalk across from Dunmaglass. He seemed to be watching the Hubris Heron—Geoff’s upstairs windows, actually—as he slowly smoked a cigarette. Despite the ball cap pulled low over his eyes, I recognized him immediately. Black Hair.

  I ducked back behind the corner, flattened myself against the wall. Why was he watching Geoff’s apartment? What should I do? Walk up and say hi? For whatever reason, he turned tail and ran the moment he saw Geoff and me at the jewelers. What were the chances he’d stick around long enough to talk to me?

  I peeked again; he was still there. I pulled out my cell phone.

  Ash picked up after one ring, and I cut through her pleasant ‘good morning, Dunmaglass’ spiel. “Is Josh with you?”

  “Gai?”

  Peering around the building, I said, “Listen, and don’t interrupt. See that guy across the street?”

  Silence.

  “Ash, did you hear me?”

  “You said not to interrupt.”

  “You can still answer!”

  “Then, yeah, I see him.”

  “Get Josh to go talk to him.”

  “How do you know Josh is here?”

  “He can talk about anything. I don’t care. But get him to find out the guy’s name.”

  “That’s something, not anything.”

  “Ash! He’s leaving!”

  “What do you want Josh to do? Follow the guy?” She said it like it was a joke.

  “Yes! Follow him, and find out who he is, and where he goes.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Ash, hurry! The guy’s about to disappear.”

  A second later Josh flew out the door, ran half a block, and braked before shifting to a nonchalant pace. In a moment, he and Black Hair were around the corner and out of sight.

  Should I interrupt Andrew and tell him what was afoot?

  The dispatcher answered my call.

  “I’m assuming Andrew and Raoul, ah, Inspector LeClerc, are interviewing Danny-Boy. You don’t have to answer that, Rose, but could you take them this message, please?” I paused, imagining her grabbing the pink message pad and a pen. “Black-haired man spotted outside Dunmaglass. Josh Pry in pursuit.”

  “Do you want to wait for an answer?”

  “I’m pretty sure I know what it would be.” I could almost see her move to disconnect. “Wait! Tell Andrew to call me back if we should discontinue the tail. OK? And wait! Tell him I’m checking Dunmaglass’s video surveillance. I may have the guy’s picture.”

  “The black-haired man?”

  “Yeah. Got all that?”

  “Ten-four.”

  My fancy surveillance system had failed me when the rock throwers broke the shop’s window because the vandals had stayed beyond the camera’s range. Hopefully, their newly adjusted angle would be enough to catch Black-Hair posing on the sidewalk. Without stopping to greet Ash, I dashed straight through the shop and upstairs to my spare room/office. The security system was set up so that, with the click of my mouse, I could watch the pictures stored on a special computer. I pulled up a chair, switched on the monitor, and hit rewind—which I knew wasn’t the appropriate techie terminology. Sheba made herself at home on my lap.

  I didn’t have to go back very far. With time stamped snaps taken every ten seconds, several showed the back of his head, two of his profile, and one blurred shot of his face, probably as he was turning to leave. Considering the price I’d paid for this system, they could have installed a camera with a better shutter speed. I’d talk to the company about that.

  I printed 8x10 copies of each snap, and tucked them into a folder. Since there was still no word from Andrew, or LeClerc—busy interrogating Danny-Boy, no doubt—I decided to deliver the pictures to the police station myself.

  Ash waylaid me, cell phone to her ear. “Josh’s followed the guy to the curling rink. He’s sitting in his pickup drinking a can of pop. What do you want Josh to do?”

  “Wander over and say hi, maybe? If they’re at the curling rink, there’s lots of stuff going on. Tell Josh to get him talking so we can find out the guy’s name.”

  Ash relayed my instructions.

  “What’s his license plate?” I scribbled it on the folder, another bit of the puzzle for Andrew and LeClerc.

  Just in case, I also grabbed a plastic bag from under the counter—the kind with a zip. I sometimes used them when I packaged earrings. As I hoped, I found the discarded cigarette butt where Black Hair had been standing. I popped it into the bag. Now we had Black Hair’s DNA.

  ****

  I wasn’t sure Andrew and LeClerc were as impressed with my initiative as I’d expected. I waved at Andrew, who glared at me through the open door of his office.

  Danny-Boy, his back to me, occupied the chair facing Andrew’s desk.

  LeClerc sat behind Andrew’s desk, and my brother half-perched on the desk’s corner.

  “What’s it been, a half-hour?” I asked Rose.

  “You know you’ll get me in trouble with the boss if I answer that.”

  I had a somewhat deserved reputation for interfering, and Andrew’d warned everyone who worked at the police station that I was not, under any circumstances, allowed beyond the entrance.

  I rested my elbows on the counter. “Well, I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t ask.”

  “Where’s that man of yours?”

  “Geoff?” I hadn’t seen him or thought of him in—I checked my watch—one hour and thirty-four minutes. “He’s helping me with Hum Harbour Daze.”

  “The guys giving you a hard time?”

  “How did you know?”

  She smiled benevolently. “Honey, your heart was in the right place when you offered to help Carrie Hunter out this year…”

  “But?”

  “It’s a job that needs a stronger hand.”

  “What’s wrong with my hands?”

  She reached across and squeezed one. “Not a thing. I’m just glad that man of yours is lending you his.”

  I pulled the checklist out of my back pocket.

  Geoff had taken responsibility for a couple of the pages. Well, actu
ally, the committee members were still responsible, but he was surreptitiously confirming that they were indeed doing the things required. Geoff was better at surreptitious than I was. I headed back to the curling club, Hum Harbour Daze central, to see how other activities were developing.

  39

  Sam, his left arm still in the sling, was awkwardly assembling the sign-in booth for the lobster boat races. I started toward him, knowing my help was better than no help, and remembered another job he might appreciate more. Finding him a helper for the fireworks.

  Josh leaned against the curling club’s wall, sucking lime green slushy up a straw, as he ogled a cluster of giggling girls. Their uber-tight shorts drew more eyes than his.

  Black Hair and his pickup were nowhere to be seen.

  I shouted Josh’s name several times before getting his attention and waved him over.

  “You just missed him,” Josh said.

  “What did you find out?”

  Geoff sneaked up behind me and covered my eyes. I knew it was him, of course. I always knew when Geoff was near. But I played along, feeling his hands, making ridiculous guesses like, “Brad, is that you?” Meaning Brad Pitt.

  He ignored that. “What are you two up to?”

  “Gai had me follow some guy to find out his name.”

  “What guy? What name?”

  “Black Hair. He was watching your apartment.”

  Geoff’s eyes became distant. “My place? You’re sure? Why would he do that?”

  I didn’t know, and I didn’t like it. “I caught him on Dunmaglass’s security. Dropped his picture and his cigarette butt at the police station. Josh got his license number. I gave them that, too. The rest is up to Andrew and LeClerc.”

  “You’re determined to find out who he is.”

  “He’s suspicious. Creeping around, watching people—what if he’s who I saw watching Hunter Hall during the storm? What if he’s Claude’s killer?”

  “Slow down.”

  I couldn’t. I was on a roll. “We know Josh didn’t do it. I have the sinking feeling Danny-Boy isn’t guilty, either. Which means Claude’s killer is still at large. And there is no denying Black Hair is mighty suspicious.”

  Geoff shook his head when I said the sinking feeling. He was not happy with my attitude. “So Black Hair’s your next candidate?”

  “Doesn’t it scare you that he’s watching people?” I glanced around making sure no one else was close enough to hear. “I think I may know who he is.”

  “Who?” asked Josh.

  “The jewel thief they keeping talking about in the news.”

  When Geoff pinched the bridge of his nose like that, I knew he was trying to give me the benefit of the doubt. And not laugh. “In Hum Harbour?”

  “What better place to lay low? He decided to attend Claude’s funeral because there wasn’t much else to do, and while he was there, he spotted Carrie’s necklace.”

  “Claude was already dead by then. Kind of late to murder him, don’t you think?”

  “OK Mr. Wise-Guy, when do you think he stole Carrie’s necklace?”

  “Someone stole Carrie’s fancy necklace?” Josh interrupted.

  Geoff said, “Apart from a minor detail like, a jewel thief wouldn’t need Mr. Piteaux to appraise Carrie’s necklace, who would ever come to Hum Harbour if they weren’t related to someone here?”

  “But if he was here lying low and just happened to see Carrie and her necklace?”

  He looked at me.

  “He could’ve sneaked into Hunter Hall to steal it, but Claude caught him, so he clobbered Claude with the closest thing on hand, Carrie’s frog candlestick.”

  “Then he hung around town long enough to switch her necklace with a duplicate he had made. No wait, he had to’ve had the duplicate on hand when he broke in, otherwise she’d have alerted police that it was missing, too.”

  I flipped my ponytail over my shoulder.

  “Then he went into her house again and confronted her with his crime, ripping the fake necklace from her neck.”

  “You’ve made your point,” I said testily. “If Black Hair swapped Carrie’s real necklace with a fake he’d never have hung around.”

  Josh noisily drained his slushie. “What if he broke into Hunter Hall planning to steal the real one, but when he saw it was fake he, like, hung around, for a second chance to search the house.” He tossed his empty into a nearby trash can. “Wait a minute. Did you say it’s fake?”

  “Except, he searched the house during Claude’s reception. He still didn’t find the real one, and that’s why he came back a third time and argued with Carrie.”

  “What about Claude?”

  “It was like I said, Claude caught him the first time he broke in, so he bonked Claude, never thinking he’d killed him, and escaped to try again.”

  “It fits,” said Josh.

  Geoff shook his head. “I don’t believe this.”

  “It makes perfect sense—except for why he was watching you. We need to talk to Andrew about that.”

  “No,” Geoff said.

  “If Claude’s killer is spying on you—”

  “You’re way off base, Gai. Give it a rest.” The warning in his eyes silenced any further argument.

  I turned my back on Geoff, who obviously did not appreciate my genius, and changed the subject. “Josh, how would you like to help Sam with the fireworks tomorrow night?”

  “Are you, like, serious?”

  “I’m always, like, serious.”

  “Like,” said Geoff, “a word used to introduce a simile, the comparison to two different things.”

  I said to Josh, “There’s Sam. Run over and see what he needs you to do.”

  Geoff dropped his arm around my shoulders. “One of these days people are going to believe you mean the outrageous things you say.”

  “You don’t?”

  “Believe that guy you call Black Hair is a murderer and jewel thief? Not in the slightest.”

  40

  I stomped off. How could Geoff give my theories such little credence? Someone had killed Claude. Someone had stolen Carrie’s necklace. Why not Black Hair? He was suspicious; no one could deny that.

  People were everywhere. News of the mega-tent had spread, and it seemed like half of Hum Harbour had come to see it. I pulled out my job list, letting folks bump and jostle me as I checked for what to do next. It was hard to concentrate and not just because of the crowd. My discussion with Geoff was still running through my mind. Had I missed the mark in this murder investigation?

  I stuffed my list back into my jeans pocket. No. It had to be Black Hair. There was no one else to suspect. By now, Andrew should know who he was. I turned, ready to hunt down my brother and demand to know what he’d uncovered, and walked right into Danny-Boy Murdock. He was free. His deodorant had died, and by his thin-lipped scowl, I could tell he wasn’t happy.

  “I suppose I have you to thank for that?”

  I tried backing out of whiff range. “For what?”

  He wrapped his beefy fingers around my upper arm and hauled me behind the Bait ‘n Tackle. Behind the Bait ‘n Tackle stank of dead fish, which was even worse than eau de Danny-Boy.

  I tried shaking off his hand. “You have no right to manhandle me!”

  “Afraid I’ll do to you what I did to Claude?”

  “You wouldn’t hit a woman. Would you?”

  He released me. “Because of you, half this town wants to crown me king, and the other half vilifies me.”

  “I’ve got nothing to do with either.”

  “Sure you do. Think I don’t know that little tent raising gimmick was your idea?”

  “It wasn’t.”

  “Or telling your brother and that RCMP guy how I went back to Claude’s house that night, to get him to stick up for me with Highland Breweries.”

  “I never.”

  “Then who did?”

  I held up my hands to show my innocence.

  “You need to learn h
ow to mind your own business and leave well enough alone.”

  “Claude Oui is dead. How is that well enough?” I demanded.

  “For one, now Carrie’s free of Claude the fraud.”

  “What do you mean, Claude the fraud?”

  “It’s like I told your brother and that RCMP guy. Everyone thinks Claude was some born-again hero. Teaching Sunday school. Visiting old ladies. Giving away his money. Moving to Africa to save orphans. None of it was for real.”

  An angry horsefly buzzed around my ears. “You think he was pretending?”

  “You better believe it. He was an alky. And I told your brother and that RCMP guy so it’s on record.”

  “Claude didn’t drink.”

  “Not in front of people. But when I went back that second time, he could hardly stand up straight. Staggering, slurring his words. Couldn’t even handle the lights in the hallway. Had them all turned off, but one.”

  “He wasn’t drinking, you idiot. He had a medical condition. He was staggering because some moron knocked him down earlier in the evening; the same moron who hit him with a flying hammer!”

  “That was an accident. How many times do I have to tell people I didn’t mean to hit anyone with that hammer!” The horsefly landed on his forearm.

  “But you did punch him that night.”

  He smashed the fly and flicked away the bits of debris. “I never said I was a saint.”

  “That punch you gave Claude, on top of the flying hammer hit, makes you the number one suspect—until the coroner says otherwise.”

  He puffed out his chest. “If I’d killed Claude Oui don’t you think your brother’d be dragging me off in chains right about now?”

  I tried analyzing Claude’s murder the way Andrew might.

  Claude died because someone hit him in the head with a frog candlestick. Danny-Boy’s punch might have left him susceptible to that fatal blow, but since Danny-Boy used his fist, not the candlestick…