Murder in Hum Harbour Read online

  8

  “Not an accident?” repeated Andrew.

  “You understand this is only my opinion and not the official findings of the coroner.”

  “Will his findings confirm your opinion?” Andrew asked.

  Geoff nodded. “I believe they will but it’ll take time. According to the coroner, the provincial lab is overworked and understaffed. It’ll take days, maybe weeks, before they get to the samples he sent today.”

  “Does Andrew have to wait for those results before he can investigate?” I asked Geoff.

  Andrew stuffed the earring bag back into his pocket. “Don’t intend to sit on my hands and let evidence slip through my fingers,” he said. “What have you got for me?”

  “As you remember, when we initially examined Doc the coroner said the contusion on Doc’s head may have rendered him unconscious, but it wasn’t fatal. It was possible that Doc aspirated some of the sea water on the deck, in which case, his official C.O.D., uh, cause of death,” he explained, no doubt for my benefit, “would be drowning. Whether or not we found fluid in his bronchi or lungs would confirm our hypothesis.”

  “And?” Andrew and I said in unison.

  “I believe Doc’s stomach contents may lead us to another conclusion.”

  Andrew flipped open his note pad expectantly. “I’m standin’ here with bated breath, Geoff. What did you find?”

  “Questions.”

  “What kind of questions?”

  “There was blood in Doc’s stomach. We sent samples of stomach contents for toxicology but who knows when they’ll have their analysis completed.”

  “Doc probably had an ulcer. No surprise there, he was a weekend alcoholic,” said Andrew.

  “Except I don’t think the bleeding was a result of an ulcer.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you want a technical analysis of the condition of his stomach lining or the shorter layman’s version?”

  “Shorter’ll do.”

  “Long term bleeding from an ulcer leaves a variety of signs, depending on where the ulcer is located, its size and of course, how long the patient suffered from the ulcer. An ulcer is a fairly localized phenomenon. The patient might have more than one ulcer but the entire lining of his stomach or duodenum—that’s the small intestines—isn’t affected. You with me so far?”

  Andrew nodded. “This is the short version?”

  “You need to know about ulcers to understand why I’m concerned about the frank, uh, fresh blood in Doc’s stomach. You see, although Doc’s stomach indicates a history of ulcers—there were several scars and a current blossoming ulceration he was no doubt taking medication for—his entire stomach lining was damaged.”

  “So?”

  “Something damaged it.”

  “Can you be a little more specific?”

  “Unfortunately, no, not until those lab results come back.”

  “Ah, come on. You must have some idea, otherwise you wouldn’t have mentioned it. What do you think? Cancer? New strain of the stomach flu? Ebola? Gimme a hint, a guess even.”

  “Poison.”

  Andrew sank onto the couch. “Poison? Who would want to poison Doc?”

  “I don’t know, but I think your job is to find out.”

  “What kind of poison?”

  “I don’t know that, either. Maybe the lab will be able to isolate it.”

  “Maybe?”

  “Hopefully? Look, Andrew, the lab screens for whatever it’s asked to screen for. There is no all inclusive lab test that can identify every poison known to man. They can check for obvious poisons like cyanide, strychnine—”

  “Alcohol,” I inserted. “Maybe he just drank too much too fast.”

  “Unlikely for an alcoholic. His tolerance level would be much higher than yours or mine, and unless Andrew found a dozen empties hidden somewhere on board?”

  “Nope. Only one empty twenty-sixer stuck underneath him.”

  “Then he didn’t drink himself to death.”

  “Had he eaten anything?”

  “There was a fruit and cheese basket in the cabin. Looked like some of the cheese had been eaten,” said Andrew.

  “And grapes, judging from stomach contents.”

  “A fruit basket?” I guess that explained the apple core.

  “Someone probably gave it to him as a bon-voyage present.”

  “What if they poisoned the stuff in the basket?” I suggested.

  “Again, that depends on what they identify at the lab.”

  Andrew pushed himself to his feet. “Guess I better get that basket sent in, too.”

  “Not a bad idea.”

  “Ever had to do anything like this in Africa?”

  “Only once. Usually the deaths I dealt with were pretty straightforward. TB, malaria, AIDS.”

  “What was the one time?” I couldn’t help asking.

  “A woman murdered her rival using poison made from Cinchona bark. Horrible way to die.”

  “You think someone poisoned Doc with this Cinchona bark?” The possibility sounded far-fetched to me.

  “No, it just reminded me of the case, raised a couple of red flags for me.”

  ****

  By the time Geoff and Andrew left it was pouring rain and I had no desire to search Doc’s files. Instead, I crawled into bed.

  My bedroom faces Main Street. The Victorian style lamp posts that lit Main flooded my room with their brooding glow and I left my curtains open. Rain pelted the windowpane. Writhing purple shadows twisted across my walls and ceiling. A block away, the sea roared louder than a thousand herds of Geoff’s African lions. I dragged the blankets up to my chin.

  I’d promised Andrew I’d find the earring’s bill of sale by tomorrow. It didn’t exist, though, and now I had to come up with a believable excuse for stonewalling my brother.

  Part of the challenge of making seaglass jewelry was finding pieces with the same shape. I know some people manufacture seaglass artificially. They cut colored glass into whatever shape they want and polish it in a stone tumbler. Or they anchor mesh bags full of glass in the surf. But my glass is completely natural and any matching is by God’s grace, straight and simple.

  Over the years, I had unearthed six identical crescents of violet glass. I crafted those six pieces into the earrings that Sasha, Lori and I now owned. Before tucking myself into bed, I checked my jewelry case. My set was safe.

  First thing in the morning, before I told my brother, I would visit both friends and discretely inquire about theirs.

  ****

  Naturally, things didn’t work the way I intended.

  Andrew’s police cruiser was outside Dunmaglass when I came downstairs next morning. I was earlier than usual because I planned to pop in at Lori’s on my way to the clinic. Seeing Andrew leaning against the car door sipping his morning cup of take-out coffee, I considered ducking out the back. However, when he smiled and waved, I could hardly turn and run.

  I fiddled with the door while I composed my face.

  “You’re up early,” he said. “Big day ahead?”

  “Nothing special,” I answered. “And you? You don’t usually drop by this early.”

  “As I recall, last night you promised to find me a bill of sale for those earrings.” He held out his hand. “I’ve come to collect.”

  Andrew’s empty hand waited.

  “I wasn’t completely honest with you last night,” I said, bracing myself. “I never really technically sold the earrings.”

  “They were stolen?”

  “I, uh, gave them away.”

  He shrugged. “That’ll make them simple enough to trace. Who’d you give them to?”

  “Two people, actually, three if you count my pair. I made them as friendship gifts. I have one set. Lori has the second pair and Sasha has the third.”

  Andrew pushed back his hat and scratched his head. “Where’s yours?”

  I thought the silver and violet crescents dangling from my ears would hav
e been more obvious. “Are you sure you’re ready for the RCMP?”

  Andrew turned my chin, giving himself a better view of my earrings. “OK, you have yours. I’ll check out Sasha and Lori.”

  “Why don’t you let me talk to them? I mean, I could find what you want to know a lot more discreetly than you could.”

  “Gailynn, this is an official police investigation. I don’t need to be discreet.”

  “But these are our friends. Family. You do need to be sensitive. Sasha’s been so miserable lately. I won’t have you barging in accusing her of who only knows what.”

  “Bet Doc’s demise perked her up. Kind of like God’s doing payback on her behalf, don’t you think?”

  I glared at my brother. “God does not do payback, Andrew.”

  His right hand swept into the air as though raising an imaginary sword in battle. “Remember our Sunday school lessons? Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord.”

  Marjorie Murray, our old Sunday school teacher, came instantly to mind. I could still see her standing on the chair in the church basement, brandishing her cardboard flaming sword. I might not remember the lesson, but that image had a big impact and Andrew often delighted in rekindling the memory.

  He sheathed his pretend sword. “Stay out of it, Gailynn. Don’t interfere with my witnesses.”

  I tugged at my hair. “I have a right to talk to my friends.”

  “Don’t have the right to interfere in a police investigation, though. I could charge you with obstruction of justice.”

  I held up my hands. “Fine. Talk to Sasha. See for yourself she has nothing to do with Doc’s death. But, if you make her cry, Andrew, so help me I will be all over you like the rot on Fisher’s lobster boat.”

  “Speaking of which, maybe I’ll head over to Fisher’s and talk to Lori first. She won’t cry if I ask her anything.”

  I reached for the car door. “I’ll come with you.”

  “Not a chance, little sister.” He grasped my shoulders and spun me around. “Go to Doc’s clinic and do your job while I do mine.”

  My composure snapped. I hadn’t slept well and I’d already drank three cups of coffee to combat the weariness. “Stop pushing me around,” I said and punched him hard. “And it’s not Doc’s clinic anymore.”

  Andrew’s brows pulled together as he considered me. He absently rubbed his chest. “Thought you liked Geoff.”

  “Well I don’t. I wish he stayed in Africa where he belonged. Doc would still be alive if he hadn’t come home and messed everything up.”

  “You can’t be serious?”

  “Why not?” I wasn’t, but that didn’t stop me suggesting it. If Andrew could go after my friends, I was going after his.

  He stood with fists on his hips. “Give me one good reason why Geoff Grant would bump off Doc.”

  I couldn’t, and Andrew knew it. “Fine, but you haven’t got any reason for suspecting Sasha and Lori either.”

  “Who says they’re suspects? Gailynn, I am just trying to trace an earring. That’s it. End of story. So, get off your high horse, and like I said before, go to work.”

  I gasped when I checked my watch: three minutes to nine. Arguing with Andrew cost me my chance to warn my friends. “Now I’m late for work,” I said. “Satisfied?”

  “Oh yeah, I live to interfere in your life. The goal of my day.” Andrew climbed back into his car, slamming the door so hard the windows rattled, and drove off in a puff of exhaust.

  I hiked my bag onto my shoulder and ran.

  9

  Chicken pox was on the loose in Hum Harbour and business at the clinic was hectic. I had a headache by the time I locked the door for lunch at two-thirty, an hour and a half later than usual. I nabbed some pain killers from the medicine cabinet and popped my salad out of the fridge.

  By now, Andrew had talked to Lori and Sasha. How did it go? I tried to imagine why either of my friends might board the Medical Convention.

  Lori’s mom had worked for Doc since before Lori was born. Growing up, Lori went to my house or the clinic every day after school. That was thirteen years worth of after-schools spent at the clinic. Lori knew Doc well. It would be perfectly reasonable for Lori to stop by the Medical Convention. And perhaps her earring got knocked off when she hugged him good-bye. Yes, that was how her earring ended up on Doc’s boat.

  It was Lori’s earring, and there was no sinister mystery about how it got there.

  I didn’t entertain the possibility the earring might be Sasha’s. Too many complications, too many problems, if Sasha was onboard Doc’s boat. No, I told myself emphatically, there was no need to explore the bad blood between Sasha and Doc, because Sasha wasn’t involved.

  But what if I was wrong? Jabbing my salad with my fork made me think of Andrew poking Sasha with his insensitive questions. Would she be OK? Maybe I should drop by the shop and check, just to be sure. I mean, it’s not like I’d miss anything exciting if I dumped my lunch. So I did.

  “Back in a minute,” I shouted to Geoff and high tailed it out the door before Andrew’s warning to stay out of things made me re-think my visit.

  Sasha worked at McKenna’s Flowers, which was attached to McKenna’s Funeral Home. Some think a florist and funeral home are an odd combination but I think it’s a rather smart move on the McKennas’ part. I mean, where do you see flower arrangements most often? I suppose some brides might consider purchasing their wedding bouquets from a mortuary a bad omen but, hey, this is the twenty-first century.

  That Tuesday afternoon I found my sister-in-law alone in the shop. She looked paler than usual and the dark smudges under her eyes made them seen as large and as deep as the sea.

  I hugged her tight. Despite the thick fairisle sweater she wore, Sasha felt bonier than a lobster trap. “Can we talk?” I asked.

  “Come into the back with me while I make up this basket.”

  I followed Sasha into the room behind the glass flower cooler. I loved sneaking back here because I love the blend of fragrances, roses, carnations, gardenias. A luxurious gift basket of imported chocolate and something satiny sat ready for delivery. Sasha pulled a ceramic dish from the shelf and began filling it with the different plants waiting on her worktable. I watched her hands. They trembled ever so slightly.

  “Has Andrew been by, by any chance?”

  “Oh, were you looking for him?” She tried to sound casual but she wasn’t fooling me.

  “Apparently he found one of our violet earrings on the Medical Convention and he’s trying to figure out which one of us it belongs to.”

  “Why would it matter?”

  “He’s probably trying to find the last person to see Doc alive.”

  “Well I already told him it couldn’t have been me.”

  “He was here, then?”

  Sasha surveyed her work and nervously twiddled her silver earring. She did that when she was unhappy. Lately it seemed she did it all the time. Things were not running smoothly between Sasha and my brother Sam.

  She removed two of the plants. “Doc’s dead. It’s unfortunate, but I don’t see what I have to do with it.”

  “You and Sam are, or were, suing Doc for malpractice. Maybe Andrew thought you talked to him one last time.”

  “Well I didn’t. What would be the point? It’s not like talking could undo what happened to me.”

  “I know and I’m sorry. Whenever I think about what happened I feel so responsible.”

  “How are you responsible for me losing our baby?”

  “If I hadn’t called Doc back that day, if I’d just minded my own business and let you go into Emergency in Antigonish, another doctor would’ve looked after you. You would’ve had better care.”

  Sasha was tiny, with a slender heart shaped face that always looked sad. At that moment, the misery in her face almost broke my heart. “Sam wasn’t there to help me know what to do, so I asked you to call Doc, remember? I insisted. If it’s anyone’s fault it’s mine.”

  “But you didn’t kno
w how drunk Doc was.”

  “Did you?”

  “Well, no, but it was a Friday afternoon. I should have guessed.”

  “Look, Gailynn, it’s over. There is no going back, so why go on about it?”

  She sounded so weary. Because I insisted on calling Doc, and he mucked up her treatment when he did arrive, she lost the baby she and Sam had tried so hard to conceive. The small fortune they’d spent on that fertility clinic in Halifax was gone, leaving them with no savings for a second try. But instead of blaming those of us responsible for her loss, like me, Sasha turned her grief back on herself. She was drowning in despair and there seemed to be nothing I could do to help her.

  Miserable, I changed the subject. “So you told Andrew you weren’t on the boat?”

  Sasha reworked the arrangement she was creating. “I couldn’t lie.” She dug into the dirt with her fingertips, wedging an African violet into place. “Ross Murray ordered a basket delivered to the Medical Convention. He knew Doc said no retirement gifts but he wanted Doc to have something as a bon voyage. So I made that up and delivered it Friday afternoon.”

  “Andrew asked if you were wearing your violet earrings?”

  “I can’t remember what earrings I put in this morning let alone what I wore five days ago.” Her voice slid higher.

  “As long as you can produce both earrings it really won’t matter.”

  “What if I can’t? Andrew gave me until tonight to find them. He said if I can’t show him my earrings by then, he could get a search warrant and go through our whole house.” Sasha sounded close to tears. “He can’t go through our house, Gailynn.”

  I hugged her again. “Don’t you worry. You’ll find those earrings at home where they belong. I promise.”

  “What if I borrow yours? I could show him yours and say they were mine and he would go away and leave me alone.”

  I pulled back. She wouldn’t lie to Andrew but she was OK with tricking him? “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “He won’t know.” She looked hopeful, maybe even desperate. “And it’d be just for tonight. I’ll give them back tomorrow, once Andrew sees them.”

  “I don’t think its right. What if he found out and charged us with something.”