Murder in Hum Harbour Read online

  “How about another slice of pie?” I asked, prying Doc’s empty plate from his hand. I refilled it, whether he wanted the second piece or not.

  “You made a commitment. You can’t just waltz out of Hum Harbour as if nothing matters,” Mike said.

  Doc shrugged, and the way Bud’s face twisted I thought he might take a swing at him.

  Ross grabbed Bud’s arm before I could react.

  “Doc obviously doesn’t care a twit what happens to us and our money,” Ross said. “But a missionary and a golf course? That’s plain stupid. The guy’d probably want to shut the place on Sundays. No way to run a business.”

  Bud and Mike grunted, and I wondered if Geoff Grant was as narrow minded as they thought. I mean missionaries are known for their God-focus, and Geoff did start every clinic day with prayer.

  From his spot against the far wall, Geoff glanced up. His gaze found mine and he nodded.

  I swallowed.

  “We need a way to guarantee the money,” Mike said. “Hum Harbour Holes is too important to let die.”

  But Doc was already threading his way through the crowd, apparently dismissing Hum Harbour Holes and his former partners from his mind. I still held his pie.

  “Got any idea how to do that?” I asked Mike.

  He, Ross and Bud Fisher turned slowly to me. “Gailynn,” they said, raising their glasses in unison. Their pointedly blank expressions left me uncertain.

  “My Lori Girl’s lookin’ for you,” said Bud.

  “Yeah, Mimi’s trying to get your attention,” said Mike.

  I could see neither.

  “Whatever you come up with, don’t you dare ruin Doc’s party,” I warned. “Tonight’s important, too.”

  All three tapped their foreheads with the traditional scout’s honor salute. “We won’t,” they promised.

  Believing them honest, trustworthy men, I left them discussing how they might save their golf course, and I sailed after Doc with his second slice of pie.

  Now, three days later as I pushed open the Hubris Heron’s blue door, I reflected on the unnerving tension I’d experienced Friday night, realizing it wasn’t sadness. It was apprehension.

  5

  The Hubris Heron’s décor is largely defined by its space. Since the old stone building is long and narrow there are cozy booths against the north wall, tables down the middle and the counter along the other side. The booths and tables are portable—hence the sardine crowd of Friday night—the counter is not.

  Mimi has a loyal clientele. I noted the regulars as I poured two mugs of coffee, one for me and one for Lori. I plunked our drinks on the one vacant table and sank into my chair.

  Reverend Innes inclined his head in greeting, too busy wolfing down Mimi’s daily special to say hello. Conversations wafted around me. I expected the usual mix of weather, politics and fishing, but today everyone was talking about Doc. I should have known.

  “Hey, Gailynn, I heard you found the old geezer.” That was from my oldest brother, Sam, who has no tact. He runs Dad’s fishing boat now that Dad’s retired. He makes a pretty good living.

  Sam and his wife, Sasha, bought a big century home on the hill, planning to fill it with kids. After ten years of marriage, they’re still childless. I love Sasha like a sister and her heartbreak is my heartbreak.

  I glared at Sam over the rim of my mug. “Doc is not a geezer. Don’t you have any respect for the dead?”

  Reverend Innes, his mouth full of Mimi’s succulent biscuit, nodded.

  Sam ignored us both. “I thought he’d live forever. You know, permanently pickled?”

  “Give the girl a break,” said Mike. He sat across from Sam, which meant I couldn’t see him.

  Everyone loves Mike. He’s a man’s man, the original tool guy. He drives a souped-up pick-up that every male in town drools over, if my brothers are any indication, and he tends to disappear for days at a time. No one knows why, but since it doesn’t appear to stress Mimi, it doesn’t stress me, although I do wonder how he runs a successful hardware store that way.

  “I heard her hull’d been ripped wide open,” Mike said. “She’d a sunk to the bottom if she hadn’t been tossed on the rocks.”

  “I heard he’d been shot by some of them dope dealers who keep smuggling stuff in from South America.” Bud Fisher slid a metal flask from his jacket pocket and, when Reverend Innes wasn’t looking, liberally poured its contents into his coffee. No one commented.

  Lori knocked on the front window before stepping inside.

  Her dad grinned proudly—he did that whenever Lori was near—and shouted his usual greeting. “Hey, Lori Girl.”

  She heyed him back and settled into the chair opposite me. Flipping her hair free from her cap, she tossed the hat toward the coat hook. It landed perfectly and she winked at her dad.

  “I taught her everything she knows,” Bud said. Bud said that every time Lori threw a ringer, which was every time she tossed her hat.

  I returned to the subject we’d been discussing. “Doc was not shot. Andrew thinks it was an accident.”

  “Andrew ought to know,” Reverend Innes said.

  Bud sipped his coffee. “Bad luck for you, MacDonald. How’re you gonna get paid for that lawsuit you started?” He elbowed Sam in the ribs.

  Sam didn’t seem to notice the poke. “I dunno. Maybe his estate’ll still cover that sort of thing. Or his insurance. Didn’t you tell me, Gailynn, Doc paid malpractice insurance?”

  I considered socking him. I felt guilty enough about Sam and Sasha’s lawsuit as it was. Sam broadcasting my involvement felt like coals of shame heaped on my head. “I would never tell you anything that personal about Doc’s business. I only might have said all doctors pay malpractice insurance.”

  “Yeah, well, close enough.”

  Bud snagged a biscuit from the basket on the table. “You’re gonna have to stand in line, MacDonald. Mike and me claim first dibs on any money the Doc left. Ain’t that right, Mike?”

  “Eh?”

  “The Holes,” said Bud. “Maybe it can still go ahead. This town sure needs it.”

  “I dunno. Maybe Doc pulling out like that was a sign a golf course in Hum Harbour’s a bad idea,” said Sam.

  “Yeah? Then why did God strike him dead for turnin’ his back on his friends?”

  “God did not strike Doc dead. It was an accident. Don’t you listen?” I demanded.

  Sam looked at Reverend Innes. “Since when did accidents stop being a sign of God’s providence?”

  “Since forever,” I answered on the reverend’s behalf.

  My brother grunted. “I’m only repeatin’ what I hear other people say.”

  Lori stirred sugar into her coffee. She now had two bandage-wrapped fingers. “Sam MacDonald, you’re worse than an old woman.”

  Mimi bustled out of the kitchen carrying bowls of steaming chowder. “Why don’t you fellas be quiet and eat your lunch?” she said, setting the soup on our table.

  “Otherwise, I’m going to give the last two slices of my key lime pie to these girls.”

  Sam immediately began mopping his plate with his biscuit. Beside him, Bud did the same. Reverend Innes, who’d spent more time eating than talking, held out his empty plate.

  Mike grabbed Mimi’s apron ties, reeling her in. “Ah, honey, you know the last piece is always for me.”

  “Yes I do.” She smiled sweetly and slipped out of his grip. Ignoring the mile high pie under the glass dome on the counter, she retrieved an especially succulent looking slice from the cooler and presented it to Mike. She winked at Reverend Innes. “I’ll get you a piece in a moment, Reverend.”

  I wasn’t interested in pie. All this talk about lawsuits and Hum Harbour Holes made me uncomfortably aware of how fortuitous Doc’s accidental death was. I needed a dessert-free brain so I could think. I had serious questions about whether Doc’s demise had been an accident at all.

  6

  My afternoon interview with my brother the cop proved b
rief. Rose McKenna had already filled out the report’s identifying information; all she needed to add was my driver’s license number. Then I dictated my statement to Andrew. He wanted facts, none of the mood stuff, like the creepy sense of foreboding in the pit of my stomach when I awoke this morning, or the way the hairs on the back of my neck quivered when the mist parted and I first spied the Medical Convention marooned on the rocks.

  Despite the apparent speed of the process, it was close to four before I closed the police station door and started home.

  Although Andrew insisted I was overreacting, my thoughts kept going back to Friday night when Ross, Mike, and Bud shooed me away so they could talk in private. According to what I’d already overheard, Doc’s investment in Hum Harbour Holes would’ve been guaranteed if he died before fulfilling his financial commitment. The estate would cover his quarter million. Did that still apply if Doc had already activated his escape clause and backed out of the deal?

  To me it sounded logical that Doc’s estate would be off the hook, but logic was never my strong suit—ask either of my brothers. Who could I ask about this?

  My first choice, Dad, was away with Mom. They’d flown to Vancouver Island for Mom’s cousin’s daughter’s wedding. My brothers, Sam and Andrew, would never stoop to answer even if I asked them, and I could hardly go to Mimi. She knew as much about contracts and escape clauses as she knew about recipes and plants, but how do you say, “Excuse me, is your husband capable of murder if the price is right?” and not get the door slammed in your face? Same with Lori. How could I trouble her, especially considering how worried she was about her dad?

  There was the lawyer who did the paperwork when I bought Dunmaglass, but he charged minimum twenty bucks for every phone call and seventy-five for an office visit. How badly did I want my question answered?

  That’s as far as I’d thought when Geoff Grant caught up with me.

  Geoff left Hum Harbour when I was thirteen and apart from a few brief sightings when he visited during university holidays, I’d not seen him until three weeks ago. While in Africa he mailed home the odd black and white photos his sister posted on the church bulletin board—a vaguely familiar white man lost among dozens of dark-faced kids. He looked very different in color.

  His light brown hair, no longer buzzed to oblivion, was just long enough to seem permanently disheveled by the wind. His features were still sharp. Mom said he needed fattening but I found his square jaw and strong nose rather attractive. And when he smiled at me, which he was doing, the crevice-like lines in his cheeks dimpled flirtatiously. Geoff’s eyes were striking. They were deep set, heavily lashed and the blue-green of glacial ice lit from within.

  This morning, he’d wrapped a wooly scarf, which just happened to be the exact same blue as his eyes, around his neck and turned up the collar of his winter jacket. He looked half frozen and intolerably handsome. I tried to ignore my stomach’s response.

  As a doctor, Geoff would surely understand the intricacies of the law and he had no personal stake in Doc’s death. He was just the man I wanted to see. I gave him my friendliest smile.

  “How did your interview go?” he asked, his smile widening.

  “I don’t think you could technically call it an interview,” I said and picked up the pace lest he think I was staring.

  “OK, how did your not-technically-an-interview go?”

  “Fine. Andrew has no imagination.”

  He nodded in apparent agreement. “I doubt imagination’s a highly prized commodity in police circles. Do you want me to talk to him about something?”

  “Not Andrew, no. I need you to answer a question for me, though.”

  With the afternoon wind blowing off the water and snatching away our words he leaned closer. “Fire away.”

  I sucked in my breath. “Hypothetically speaking,” I began, “what if a certain person, well several certain persons, signed a document agreeing to contribute financially to a certain project and one of those certain people changed their mind and cancelled their part in that agreement. Would that person’s estate still be obligated to fulfill their agreement once that certain person died, especially if that certain person died under questionable circumstances?”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I see why you don’t want to ask your brother.”

  “But can you answer my question?”

  “I’m not even sure what your question is.”

  So I started again. “If certain people signed a certain document that said they all agreed to pay X number of dollars— “

  Geoff pulled me against his chest.

  For a split second I was totally, mindlessly, blissfully, engulfed in his wonderful scent. Kind of like sinking into the bottomless ocean, but not nearly as terrifying. Then Billy Johnson flashed by and Geoff set me aside. Billy constantly rides his skateboard down Hum Harbour’s steepest hills at near-death speeds. Distracted by Geoff Grant’s company and my muddled thoughts, I’d forgotten how dangerous Hum Harbour could be.

  Geoff led me to the edge of the road and checked me for bruises. Of course, there were none, but I liked the way concern deepened the clefts in his cheeks, so I encourage him to take his time.

  “I assume you were referring to Hum Harbour Holes,” he said, bringing me back to the subject at hand.

  “You know about the golf course?”

  “Gailynn, everyone in town knows about it and has three opinions apiece.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He shrugged. “Just a comment on life in Hum Harbour. Are you asking me if Doc died under questionable circumstances? Or are you asking if his estate still has to pay what he agreed to pay?”

  “Do they have to pay?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Why not? I almost shouted. His handsome edge had worn off, and I no longer felt breathless, just annoyed. “It can’t be that complicated. Either the document is binding or it’s not.”

  “Why don’t you ask someone else who signed the document?”

  My jaw dropped. “Because what if they killed Doc to guarantee his money?”

  It was Geoff’s turn to do the jaw drop. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I heard Mike, Ross and Bud at Doc’s retirement party and they were trying to come up with a plan to make sure Doc honored his investment in the Holes.”

  “And now you think the three of them put their heads together and decided murder was a plausible solution.” He said it as though I was out of my tree.

  “You tell me. Was Doc murdered?”

  “Is that what this is about?” He stuffed fists into his coat pockets, looking equally annoyed, although I couldn’t see why he should be. “You want to know what the coroner found during the autopsy.”

  “No I don’t. Well, yes I do want to know, but that’s not what this is all about.”

  He studied me, his annoyance apparently replaced by curiosity. “You seriously think one of these men whom you’ve known all your life is capable of murder?”

  Put that way, the answer was no, so I dodged his question. “Does that mean the coroner proved Doc was murdered?”

  “He hasn’t proven anything.”

  I chewed the inside of my cheek. “Then he hasn’t proven Doc’s death was natural causes, either?”

  “It may be natural causes if Doc died of a heart attack or stroke, depending on what caused his heart attack or stroke.”

  “But you don’t know?”

  “Not yet.”

  We fell back into step as I thought that through. “If the bump on his head caused his fatal heart attack or stroke, then it’s not natural?”

  Geoff had his hand on my elbow, guiding me. Perhaps he thought Billy would return. “No. That’s death by misadventure.”

  “And if someone caused Doc to fall and get bashed in the head?”

  “If that were the case, and if Andrew and the police could prove it, that would be murder.”

  “A lot of if’s.”

  He nod
ded. “A lot of if’s.”

  “What if you were the one who signed a paper guaranteeing you’d pay Ross and his crew a quarter million dollars and you changed your mind and then you turned up dead a couple days later? Wouldn’t you think that was suspicious? Or want others to think it was?”

  “Of course I would. But I’d want the police asking questions, not you.”

  “What’s so wrong with me?” I pushed his hand away. This was so typical. No one thought I could figure my way out of a wet paper bag, let alone put two and two together and get four.

  Rising on tiptoes, I looked him straight in the eyes. “I would be every bit as capable of solving your murder as my brother the cop.” I poked his broad chest for effect. “Just because I don’t understand contracts like the one Doc and the guys signed does not mean I don’t understand human nature. I’ve lived in this town my whole life and I know every single person who lives here. I know their strengths and I know their weaknesses, and just because I’m related to half of them does not mean I’m incapable of seeing their flaws.”

  Murder in Hum Harbour

  He held up his hands. “Whoa.”

  But I was on a roll. “I’ll tell you what I think. I think there’s something fishy going on and Doc’s death was too convenient to be natural causes. I think one of those men, or all of them, figured they were going to make sure Doc paid his part of the golf course just like he promised. And I think they did something. I don’t know what they did but they did something that made Doc have that heart attack or stroke. And while the coroner is dragging his heels trying to figure out what it was they did that made Doc die, I’m going to figure out who it was!”

  He took a few moments to answer. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Who asked you?”

  “You did when you asked me if I thought Doc’s contract was binding.” He gently took my fisted hands off my hips and held them until I calmed. “If, and I say if with a great deal of reservation, if one or all three of those men were involved in a conspiracy to kill Doc Campbell, they are not the kind of people you think they are. They’re dangerous. And dangerous men, when threatened with exposure, do bad things to the people who threaten them.”