Death of a Highland Heavyweight Read online

  “I hope we haven’t kept you waiting,” I said, knowing we had given Josh a mere twenty minutes to get home, shower, change, and drive the quarter mile to Ash’s house.

  She smoothed her strawberry blonde hair, evidently unaware of the state of her t-shirt. “Josh just g-got here,” she said.

  Geoff squeezed in between the two, wriggling his hips back and forth to create enough space to sit. “And I understand you have something to tell us.” He fixed Josh with his most impenetrable stare.

  I know I can never resist it.

  Josh poked at the do-rag he wore over cornrows. His headgear had caused quite a stir when he first donned it.

  “That kid’s wearing a hairnet!” was the most common comment. A few thought it marked Josh as the local drug dealer—cheap advertising. They worried that once the police figured this out, Josh would get arrested and his dad would lose a good fishing hand. I even heard one lady suggest the kindest thing would be for the community to chip in and help his parents pay for therapy. A boy with that serious a case of germaphobia needed professional help.

  According to Ash, though, the do-rag was simply a step in Josh’s continuing research into his African-Canadian heritage.

  Personally, I was surprised to learn do-rags were traditional for anyone but gangbangers, but what could I say? Apparently, my ancestors painted themselves blue.

  Judging by the way Josh now plucked at the thin fabric as we awaited his answer, his headgear had become uncomfortably tight. “Ash’s like, ‘You have to tell.’” He ran his gaze across the three of us. “But I’m like, who’s gonna care? They’re just kitchen frogs.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  He’d worked his index finger under the mesh and scratched his scalp. “My mom made herself one in ceramics class. She took this night school course, you know? Cost her, like, five bucks for the greenware and firing.”

  Ash folded her arms across her chest. “Did you give me her f-frog, too?”

  “Babe, I did it for you.”

  “For me?” Ash thrust out her lower lip, and Josh’s shoulders curled inward. Surely a murderer couldn’t be so easily rebuked.

  “You want me to give ‘em back?”

  Geoff asked, “What do you think?”

  Forget kitchen frogs, I was more concerned with the bigger picture. “Did you take any frogs from Hunter Hall?”

  “Are you kidding? That place gives me the creeps.” He said it with such conviction, I believed him. It gave me the creeps, too.

  12

  Tide was low and the moon was high by the time Geoff and I ambled hand-in-hand along the shore. Soft, lapping waves whispered across the gravel. I found a couple of pieces of white sea glass—white reflects moonlight better than colored glass, which looks pebble black at night.

  Geoff’s thoughts seemed far away, but I was glad to finally have him to myself.

  “Are you still thinking about Josh?”

  He glanced at me, as though surprised to find me attached to his hand. “Not really.”

  I tried to look encouraging and waited for him to elaborate.

  “Not at all, actually.” He stooped to pick up a stone and tossed it into the water. “I can’t get Claude out of my mind.”

  I slid my arms around his waist and hugged him tight. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I’m not so sure. Ever since Danny-Boy Murdock lost control of his hammer and whacked Claude in the head, I’d been telling Claude to be careful. He couldn’t afford another serious head injury.”

  “But you yourself said this bump wasn’t serious.”

  “Obviously I was wrong. Either I misdiagnosed Claude’s initial injury, which was worse than I thought, and I should have insisted he quit competition immediately. Or that silly tussle with Murdock and the bump Claude got when he fell was worse than I thought, and I should have insisted he go to Emergency and get checked by a specialist.”

  “Claude was a big boy. If he refused to follow your expert medical advice there was nothing you could do.”

  He rested his cheek against the top of my head. “Then why do I feel so guilty?”

  “Because you are a wonderful, loving man who cares about people. And besides, there’s still the question about whether or not Claude took that tumble under his own steam.”

  Geoff pulled away. “Don’t.”

  “He could have slipped on that loose stair runner. He was unsteady on his feet, sometimes.”

  “Which I should have taken into consideration.”

  “But it’s also possible someone sneaked into the house after you left and whacked Claude over the head while stealing Carrie’s frogs. Maybe the guy I saw hanging around outside Hunter Hall.”

  “Gai, didn’t you learn anything the last time you decided someone had been murdered?”

  “After what happened to Doc, we both know we can’t dismiss the possibility of foul play without at least considering it.”

  “Yes, we can.” He took me by the shoulders, bent his face level with mine. “I’ve already told you, I won’t have you storming around town upsetting everyone with some wild hypothesis about what happened.”

  “Some wild hypothesis?” I choked on the words. How could Geoff show such limited appreciation of how much I’d matured since he’d come into my life? The way he dismissed the wisdom I’d gained since my last murder investigation ignited my indignation.

  Fists on hips, nose to nose, we faced each other, unmindful of the shifting tide advancing toward our feet.

  “I would never do such a thing!”

  “Yes, you would. You like the idea that someone pushed Claude down the stairs. It excites you.”

  “How could you think that?”

  “I just have to look at you—the way your eyes shine whenever the idea of a crime pops into your head.”

  I stepped back a pace. “How do you know what pops into my head?”

  “You aren’t that complicated.”

  He might have meant that as a positive trait, but I sure didn’t take it that way. My face burned with fury at being dismissed as, as…”Simple minded? Are you saying I’m simple minded?”

  His jaw dropped open.

  “Because I’ll have you know I am not simple. I am complicated. And multifaceted. And unique. And… complicated.”

  “Gai—”

  “And I am not some sadistic weirdo who gets off on other peoples’ misery.”

  “I didn’t say—”

  “And furthermore—” I suddenly noticed the water licking at my ankles, and heart thundering, I leaped up the beach faster than a sand flea on speed. “I was only trying to make you feel better because whatever happened to Claude was not your fault!”

  “Gai—”

  “But far be it from me, a simple medical receptionist, to suggest I might know better than the mighty doctor whether or not he’s to blame for someone dying on his watch.”

  He caught my elbow, but I shook off his hand.

  “Go ahead and blame yourself if it makes you feel better.” I marched towards the wharf. “I sure won’t stop you!”

  I don’t know what he did after that.

  OK. Technically, I do.

  13

  Less than thirty minutes later Geoff stood on my back deck, flowers in hand, knocking on the frame of the open sliding door. My outside light wasn’t on, but I could see him, his head bowed humbly, in the pool of living room light that spread across the deck.

  I left him there for a quarter of a heartbeat—I didn’t want to seem too eager to forgive him—before inviting him inside.

  He held out the splendid bouquet that had adorned his dinner table. “I’m sorry.”

  I flew into his arms, burying my tear-stained face against his chest. “So. Am. I.”

  He held me tight as the moisture from the dripping flower stems soaked through my shirt. Pleasantly refreshed, at first, I eventually pulled free and found a vase. I set the flowers in the middle of my table and thanked Geoff appropriately.


  It was a silly argument anyway, which didn’t deserve that second run through after the afternoon’s set-to. I changed into a dry top, and we settled on the couch.

  One of the things I enjoyed about my apartment was its privacy. The only entrances were through the shop and the tiny bridge Geoff made between his deck and mine. If I didn’t want company I could pretty much guarantee no company.

  Geoff, of course, was the exception. He was always welcome.

  He and I snuggled and kissed and briefly discussed whether he’d prefer white gold or yellow for his wedding band. All very delightful, really, until the tiny hairs on my arms began to prickle. And not in a good way.

  I opened my eyes and shifted so I could peer over his shoulder. From that position, I could see the darkness of my unlit deck. (We’d dimmed my apartment lights for a more romantic atmosphere, leaving no excess light flowing from the living room.)

  Two faces—one pale, the other so dark all I could make out were the teeth—pressed against my sliding glass door. I almost had a heart attack.

  Geoff reacted instantly. Perhaps having someone shriek in your ear does that to you.

  He sprang to his feet, vaulted the coffee table, and flung the glass door wide.

  The prowlers stood with mouths gaping. I guess they hadn’t expected my reaction, either.

  “What in creation do you think you’re doing?!” Geoff bellowed as he hauled Josh inside by his t-shirt. Ash, her arm wrapped tight around Josh’s waist, staggered in with him.

  They sputtered in unison.

  “How did you get up there in the first place?” I wanted to know.

  Josh regained his composure first. “Easy. We sneaked up the back stairs at the Heron, through Geoff’s place to the back deck, and across to yours.”

  “You broke into Geoff’s apartment?”

  Ash’s eyes widened innocently. “We d-didn’t break in. The door was open. We called, but you guys didn’t answer so we came here.”

  “Cool bridge,” said Josh.

  “Thanks,” said Geoff.

  “Don’t change the subject. You can’t just let yourself into someone’s house when they’re not home, even if the door’s unlocked.”

  No one in Hum Harbour locked their doors. People came and went as they pleased. Need a cup of sugar? Ask your neighbor. Your neighbor’s not home? Help yourself. They won’t mind. It was the basic neighbors’ code in these parts. We all knew it. And we all knew that it was the scare, not the crime, that made me react so strongly. Maybe crime wasn’t the right word.

  “Now that you’re here,” I said. “What do you want?”

  Ash elbowed Josh in the ribs. “Josh has something to say.”

  Geoff and I turned on him—perhaps I should rephrase. We turned to him.

  “Ash says I have to tell you I was outside Hunter Hall the other night. You know, when everything happened.”

  “The night Claude died?”

  Geoff stiffened. “You saw what happened?”

  Josh looked to Ash for support. “Sorta. I mean, I was there, and I saw you, like, talking with Claude.” He stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his low-slung jeans, perhaps to keep himself from nervously scratching his head. “And I saw Danny-Boy Murdock bust in and leave again.”

  “What were you doing there?” Geoff asked.

  Josh’s hands reappeared. He held them up I-surrender style. “I just happened by.”

  “And hung around for a bit.”

  “Yeah, well, I heard shouting and I’m, like, maybe I should hang around in case someone needs me.” He apparently considered that a reasonable explanation.

  “So while all this shouting was happening, you hung out where, exactly?”

  “Ah…” I could see the wheels in his head trying to turn. “On the sidewalk?”

  Hunter Hall was built right smack-dab up to the sidewalk, but I wasn’t sure you could hear what was happening in the middle of the house—no matter how loud it got.

  My dearest Geoff, who always gives everyone the benefit of the doubt, said, “I don’t think you’re being entirely truthful with us.”

  Josh’s face looked as forlorn as Caber’s. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me, but Ash was like, ‘of course they will. They’re Christians. They have to believe what we say.’”

  “Only if it’s true,” said Geoff.

  “Well it is. I went to help, but you didn’t need me, so then I left.”

  “What time did you leave?” I asked.

  “I don’t wear a watch, but,” he rushed on before I could accuse him of making excuses, “I followed Danny-Boy out to make sure he didn’t circle back.”

  “While you were doing that, did you happen to notice anyone else, or see anything suspicious?”

  Josh scratched under his do-rag. “Like what?”

  “Someone standing across the street?”

  He studied the ceiling. Maybe he was replaying the evening in his head. Maybe he was trying to come up with a plausible answer, though I had no idea why he’d lie. Unless, of course, he’d been lying all along.

  “I didn’t see nobody but me and Danny-Boy.”

  “Thank you for your honesty,” said Geoff.

  Honesty, shmonesty. How could he believe Josh? Why didn’t I?

  14

  I let Ash and Josh out the official way, through the downstairs door, and double locked it after them.

  Geoff departed via our deck bridge.

  Sheba was out prowling for the night, so I locked my sliding glass door, too. I didn’t normally lock it, but tonight I was feeling vulnerable, and the security of a locked door went a long way to quelling my uneasiness.

  The air was heavy. I left my window wide open, floral curtains drawn back in case a breeze erupted during the night—it usually did—and then stretched out on top of my covers.

  The last two days had been distressing, and although I was super-tired, I couldn’t stop my brain from spinning. I relived every detail from the moment I heard Carrie scream, trying to make sense of something that made no sense at all.

  Who would wish Claude Oui harm? I knew there was that feud between Wee Claude and Danny-Boy, but it was just a publicity stunt. Wasn’t it? He hadn’t really meant to hurt Claude the day his hammer flew out of control and clobbered Claude. It had been a dreadful accident. Hadn’t it?

  As for Josh and his thieving ways—they were equally innocent, weren’t they? Just a teenaged boy’s misguided attempt to romance the girl of his dreams. Though I had to admit he was pretty good at creeping up undetected. He was pretty good at lying, too. Was he telling the truth when he said he’d followed Danny-Boy to make sure he didn’t double back? Come to think of it, we never asked Josh if he doubled back, himself.

  The breeze arrived, caressing my skin, reminding me of another’s caresses.

  Was Geoff right? Did I secretly yearn for the excitement of another murder investigation?

  OK, according to him it wasn’t secret. But was he right? Did I long for the thrill of another murder in our sleepy little village—like some kind of warped change-of-pace? Was I really that insensitive? Tears ran down the side of my face into my ear.

  Claude. Poor Claude. Who could do such a thing? Poor Carrie. What was she going to do, alone in that great big house?

  What if one day I woke up and found Geoff dead at the bottom of the stairs? What would I do? My tears flowed harder, and I curled into a ball around my pillow.

  By morning, I was in a different frame of mind.

  ****

  Everything irked me. Sheba, stinking of rotten fish guts, had apparently passed the entire night in a garbage bin. My apartment was a mess. I’d bedded down for the night without my usual straightening-up nightcap. Filling my coffee pot and setting the timer was perhaps the most important part of that nightly routine, and I’d neglected that, too. Geoff’s flowers hung over the side of the vase like a limp curtain. And, to top it off, I was out of conditioner.

  I stood in the shower, soapy sud
s in my eyes, and roared like a lion. Geoff said my hazel eyes reminded him of the cubs in Somalia—although I’m not sure whether he actually saw lions in Somalia or somewhere else while he was in Africa.

  My morning plan was to head for work early enough to stop by Andrew’s and get the heads-up on the Claude Oui investigation. I did not want the police entertaining any hint that Geoff was in any way responsible for Claude’s death. He had done all due diligence as Claude’s doctor, and if Claude was too macho to tell Carrie he’d banged his head again…besides, what kind of man left a loose carpet rod on the stairs? An accident waiting to happen and, again, not Geoff’s fault.

  In the process of talking things through with Andrew, I’d include what I knew about fast-fingered Josh. Investigating my last murder, I learned the hard way the consequences of trying to handle things on my own. Claude’s death was a police matter. I had to leave it with them, and if Josh was involved, even coincidentally, it would be wrong for me to hide that information from Andrew.

  Before facing my brother, though, I needed coffee.

  Geoff always had a fresh pot brewing. He was leaning against the counter, reading his morning paper when I tapped on his kitchen window.

  “Have mercy on a coffee-less soul?” I asked when he looked up in surprise. “I forgot to fill my pot before I went to bed.”

  He clicked his tongue in compassion as I let myself in. “Disastrous state of affairs.” Taking a clean mug from the dish rack in his sink, he filled it with his extra strong blend, leaving enough room for milk and sugar.

  “I was hoping to see Andrew before we opened the clinic,” I said. “See if he has any news.”

  “There won’t be anything yet. You know how notoriously long it takes for any reports to come in.”

  “But maybe he’s found something in the evidence they took away.”

  He studied me over the rim of his mug. “I thought you were going to leave the investigation to the police?”

  “Andrew needs to know about Josh—what he said about following Danny-Boy after his argument with Claude.”