Death of a Highland Heavyweight Page 9

  Geoff sat on the deck, back against the building’s stone wall. Caber huddled between his legs, howling his little heart out, while Geoff rubbed his ears. It wasn’t calming him, of course. And sitting there with his eyes closed and the dog’s deafening howls ringing in his ears, he wasn’t aware that I was there watching tears run down his stubbled cheeks.

  I hesitated, not sure whether to sneak away and let them grieve in private or offer comfort neither probably wanted.

  Without opening his eyes Geoff said, “It’s OK.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He held out his hand, and I hurried to accept it. I plunked down beside him, my head against his shoulder, and cradled his hand in both of mine. Acknowledging my presence, Caber rested his chin on Geoff’s thigh, finally quiet.

  “I guess it’s a good thing you’re my only neighbor,” Geoff said. Downtown Hum Harbour, with its drafty old stone buildings overlooking the wharf, was not prime residential territory.

  “I see why Carrie can’t sleep once he gets started.”

  Geoff caressed Caber’s long ear. “Didn’t he howl when you were there?”

  “He snored and hogged the bed. Does that count?”

  “I guess he likes you.”

  “Or, maybe he only howls with folks he’s comfortable with.”

  A quiet chuckle shook Geoff’s shoulders. “Aren’t I lucky?”

  I could see the red rims of Caber’s eyes as he gazed up at Geoff. Grief and hope, as though he half-expected Geoff to transform into his beloved master. Wouldn’t that have been a great trick? An instant answer to all his sorrows.

  “I called the cops,” Geoff said. “I thought about it when we came in. About Murdock driving home in the fog after drinking who knows how much. I did nothing for Claude, and look how that ended up.”

  Danny-Boy would not appreciate Geoff’s concern, we both knew that, but I was glad Geoff had made the call. “Did you hear anything back?”

  “No. And I don’t expect to.”

  Silence. I didn’t know what time it was. No moon or stars. No ripples from the shifting tide. No pre-dawn birds. Not even a car engine in the distance.

  It was over a year since Geoff had returned from Somalia, and, for the most part, he’d easily slipped back into Hum Harbour’s quiet routines. But there were times when his experiences returned to haunt him. Sometimes he let me join him. As if by holding my hand, he could keep the most unpleasant memories at bay. When he was quiet, like he was now, I knew he was losing the battle.

  I patted Caber’s head, suddenly wishing he’d fill the vacuum with another mournful howl. Bring Geoff back to the present. He didn’t. Instead, Caber angled his head until he could lick between my fingers. I pulled away from his tickling tongue.

  Geoff pressed his lips against my hair. “You don’t have to stay with me. I’ll be OK.”

  I knew he would. Geoff’s belief in God’s gracious plan had survived tests I couldn’t begin to grasp and his faith had come out stronger, more unshakable than mine would ever be. That was a big part of what had attracted me to Geoff in the first place. His good looks made him seem unattainable, but his wounded heart, his unflagging belief that God could heal it, and his willingness to trust me with his pain, made him irresistible. I loved Geoff before I ever recognized it. And the depth and fierceness of that love sometimes startled me.

  “Tell me about Claude,” I said. Perhaps sharing his memories might help.

  “You don’t want to hear all that.”

  I snuggled against his side, making myself comfortable. “Sure I do. I want to hear about every moment you can remember.”

  He could remember a lot. I’d not realized how close Geoff and Claude had become. Men like my father and brothers tended to maintain their men-friendships on a camaraderie kind of level—shared work, shared antics. They didn’t discuss their dreams, goals, hurts, or theology—at least not that I was aware of. But Geoff and Claude did. Geoff was a mentor to Claude. He taught Claude how to pray, confess, and discern God’s voice. He taught him to obey God’s lead and expect God’s healing.

  “Claude had a falling out with his family before he met Carrie. And he never told her about them. Or them about her, for that matter. The two parts of his life were completely separate. Like the Christian part and the athletic part.”

  Caber’s back leg twitched, and Geoff stilled it with the gentle weight of his hand.

  “The idea that God wants to be part of our whole life, not just our Sunday mornings, excited Claude. And I think it frightened him, too, though he never admitted that.” Geoff smiled. “You should have seen the way he squirmed before he told Highland Breweries he wanted out of their endorsement contract. I made up an errand so he wouldn’t be alone on the trip to Halifax. But I knew he was fretting by the way he kept pulling at his shirt front. He did that whenever he was nervous. You could tell, before any competition, how confident he felt by how much he adjusted his shirt.”

  “Did everyone know that?”

  “Anyone with two eyes would pick it up soon enough. Murdock used it against him, until I told Claude he was telegraphing his tension to the other competitors.” He shook his head. “I should have kept my mouth shut.”

  “If it gave the others an unfair advantage over Claude…”

  “Well, Highland Breweries didn’t need to know Claude was nervous about cancelling his endorsement. We prayed before he went into the meeting, and when he came out, he climbed into the car and sat there grinning like a hyena with a water buffalo. ‘You were right,’ he said. ‘I told them the endorsement conflicted with my new commitment to God, and I had to follow my conscience. I even quoted that passage—you know the one where Peter says, ‘You yourselves judge what is right in God’s sight—to obey you or to obey God.’ And, what could they say?’”

  “We’ll sue?” I suggested.

  Geoff chuckled under his breath. “Yep. That was it. But he was so happy. So proud of standing up for what he believed, that they could have drained him of every penny he’d ever earned, and he would have thanked them for the opportunity to stand firm.”

  I pictured Claude’s face and the way it shone whenever he had a chance to talk about Jesus and forgiveness and his new life in Christ. I’d never seen anyone so luminous. I knew that was a strange word to describe a person’s face, but I suspected it’s what the Old Testament Israelis thought about Moses whenever he stepped out of the tabernacle tent, his face glowing so bright they begged him to cover up.

  Geoff’s back deck faced east. The first glow of dawn crept above the watery horizon, lightening the indigo sky. Morning birds celebrated the coming sunrise with song.

  Geoff stretched, and I sensed a subtle shift in his mood, as well as his body. The initial ripping of loss had passed. His friend was gone, but Geoff could still remember Claude’s faith. And with each remembering, with each telling, the celebration of Claude’s faith would grow.

  Geoff was healing. Again.

  He made me go home to bed, to catch an hour or two of sleep before I had to begin the day.

  A little stiff, a lot weary, I did as he suggested. But in the back of my mind I was once again thinking about Claude’s other legacies: his grieving wife, his closest rival, and the silly Hum Harbour Daze parade, which threatened to bring the two face to face.

  21

  My morning, which arrived within the hour, was promised to my mother. After I checked my emails and informed everyone that the nomination process was inconclusive, I showered, dressed, and headed home for breakfast. I love living above Dunmaglass, but the house I grew up in would always be home.

  Mom was up to her elbows in soapy water, cleaning the dishes from Dad’s breakfast. It might be Saturday, but as usual, he was off fishing by sunrise. She glanced over her shoulder, greeting me with a smile.

  “You’re early.”

  “Am I?” The old wall clock said seven-thirty. Like everything else about my mom’s kitchen, it had been there as long as I could remember. “I cou
ldn’t sleep, so I figured I might as well get up.”

  “I assumed you’d be exhausted after Claude’s memorial service.”

  “And helping Carrie,” I added, in case she’d forgotten. “I am exhausted, so please, where’s the coffee?”

  “I intended to put on a fresh pot. Can you wait that long, or do you want instant?”

  Instant was good enough. I plugged in the kettle and ladled coffee crystals into a mug still hot from the sink.

  “I have a problem that needs your wisdom,” I said as the kettle slowly warmed. “You’ve had lots of experiences with schoolyard feuds.”

  Mom was, after all, a retired teacher.

  “It’s been a while, but I suppose, like most things, it’s a skill that comes back to you.” She stripped off her rubber gloves. “Who’s feuding now?”

  “It hasn’t exactly happened yet. I’m hoping you can help me preempt the battle.”

  She plunked the cast iron skillet on the stove, turned on the element, and added six strips of bacon. Soon they were sizzling cheerfully.

  “Carrie asked me to chair the Hum Harbour Daze Committee’s last meeting, which didn’t go well. We have to pick a replacement for Claude for the parade marshal, and no one could agree, so I sorta made an executive decision. We’d each nominate someone, and whoever got the most nominations would be parade marshal—assuming they agreed to it when I asked them.”

  She forked the bacon to the edge of the skillet, and added two eggs. “No one came out ahead?”

  I stared impatiently at the kettle, desperate for just enough boiled water to make my coffee. “Everyone nominated the same person.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “They nominated Danny-Boy Murdock, the one person Carrie will refuse to accept.”

  My mother nodded sagely.

  “I don’t get it. I mean, I know she thinks he clobbered Claude on purpose that one time, but even if it was intentional, nothing was ever proved. He was never charged. And like it or not, in most people’s eyes, he’s Claude’s successor. Who can blame the other committee members for nominating him?”

  Mom poked the egg yolks with a fork and flipped them, flooding the kitchen with mouthwatering aroma. I took a plate from the draining rack, and held it while she transferred my breakfast from the pan to the plate. Still no whistle from the kettle.

  “Is there something else going on that I don’t know about?”

  Mom joined me at the table. “Nothing that time shouldn’t have healed long ago.”

  My fork stalled half way to my mouth.

  “There was a time when Dan Murdock paid favor to Carrie Hunter.”

  I gaped.

  “Their parents were friends—the Hunters and the Murdocks—and they endorsed the union.”

  “You make it sound like a business merger.”

  “I’m sure that’s not how they saw it. Still, they sent Carrie to St. FX”—Saint Francis Xavier University in Antigonish—”no doubt hoping she’d be thrown into social events with young Dan. He was a good looking boy, promising student, star of the football team. They probably hoped nature would run its course, and by graduation they’d have the son-in-law of their choice.”

  “Except she met Claude Oui.”

  “Hmmm. He came from Cheticamp.”

  Cheticamp was a small fishing village on Cape Breton.

  “Oldest in a large family. Poor, like most fishing families in those days.” Mom chewed the inside of her cheek. “We were lucky. I had a good teaching job, so the lean times were never too lean for you kids. But the Ouis had eleven mouths to feed. A university education was out of reach. Besides, I’m sure Claude’s father needed his help fishing.”

  My oldest brother, Sam, fished with our father, allowing Andrew the luxury of entering the police force, and me—well, women do fish, but my terror of water ruled it out as a career path. I guess that’s partly why I became a medical receptionist on dry land.

  “Claude was bright, determined. He earned enough scholarships to pay his way. If I’m not mistaken, he ended up with a degree in Commerce.”

  “And Carrie.”

  “And her, too.” Mom smiled.

  “And her folks?”

  “Not impressed with the French boy from Cheticamp. But they loved Carrie to distraction, and if Claude was her choice, they were prepared to accept him.”

  “How did Dan Murdock feel?”

  “You know, I was never sure Dan would have fallen in with their parents’ plan in the long run. And to be honest, from my point of view, Carrie made the better choice.”

  Mom loved Claude. She’d often comment how, when he accompanied Carrie to the Inverness Arms where her Mom lived, he’d leave the women chatting, and visit other folks—the ones who had no one. He’d listen to their stories, never talking about himself or his accomplishments. He’d hold a hand, or give a hug.

  “Where was Claude’s family during his memorial service?”

  “I wondered that, myself” said Mom. “Maybe they didn’t appreciate Claude leaving home.”

  “But to carry a grudge that long?”

  “Feelings run deep, Gai.” Mom patted my hand, and changed the subject. “That nice Inspector came for supper last night.”

  I assumed she meant Inspector LeClerc. “Shouldn’t he have been investigating Claude’s memorial?”

  “He had to eat. “ She chuckled. “But he asked me the strangest thing—at least I thought it was strange in light of that ridiculous conversation we had the other day—about someone stealing kitchen frogs.”

  “It wasn’t ridiculous.”

  “That’s my point. Raoul—”

  “Who’s Raoul?”

  “Raoul LeClerc. He seems to think there’s some merit to your theory.”

  “You see.” I savored the last bite of egg.

  “Andrew, of course, likes to play the Devil’s Advocate.”

  “I told him he needs to talk to Ash.”

  “About her frogs?”

  “And her boyfriend. Josh has been pinching kitchen frogs for her. She wants to return yours, by the way.”

  “I should say!”

  I dragged a piece of toast across my plate, soaking up the last traces of egg yolk, and popped it into my mouth. “It doesn’t help me decide what to do about the parade marshal thing.”

  “What does Geoff say?”

  “Claude was his friend.”

  “He feels caught in the middle?”

  “I think so. I haven’t asked.” I pushed away my plate. “I wish I could just push Hum Harbour Daze back a month, and give everyone a chance to grieve. Maybe, by then, the decision would be easier.”

  The kettle finally reached a boil, and mom poured hot water into my mug. “How do you think Carrie will react if you choose Dan Murdock?”

  “She’ll go ballistic. And I don’t want to be anywhere near her when she does.”

  “Do the committee members know who they each nominated?”

  “They might, depending on how much they talk to each other.”

  “So you couldn’t announce that your own candidate won?”

  “I don’t have a candidate.”

  “You could come up with one.”

  “What good would that do? My one vote against all the others?”

  She sighed. She did that whenever she was growing exasperated with me. “Does the parade need a parade marshal?”

  “It has always had one.” In Hum Harbour, always was reason enough for anything.

  “Have you prayed about it?”

  I squirmed. A panicked help counted, didn’t it?

  Mom rested her elbows on the table, and her chin on her cupped hands. “When do you have to decide by?”

  I copied her stance. “Soon.”

  “Then talk it through with Geoff. He’s wise. He’ll have a good sense of what Claude would have wanted to happen.”

  I felt the weight lift from my shoulders. “What Claude would want. That’s a great way to frame it for
Carrie.” I scooted around the table, and hugged my mother. “You’re brilliant. I knew you’d know what to do.”

  She looked a little bemused, but she hugged me back. “If that’s settled, can we talk about bridesmaid dresses?”

  “I thought we’d already found one we liked.”

  She carried my dishes to the sink before I had a chance to grab them. “That was just the beginning. Now we have to draft patterns, choose colors, find fabrics—”

  In other words, a shopping trip to Antigonish. Not what I had in mind for the rest of my day.

  22

  “Did you get a chance to stop by the jeweler?” Geoff asked that evening. He was leaning over my shoulder, reading the email I’d prepared for all Hum Harbour Daze Steering Committee members outlining our dilemma. I couldn’t put it off any longer.

  I shifted my laptop and patted the couch beside me. Sheba sprang from the floor, to the coffee table, to the vacant spot on the couch.

  “You know what shopping with Mom is like. Every possible sale has to be checked just in case there’s something for the wedding. It’s getting way out of hand.”

  “Then tell her.”

  “I try. Not that it does any good.”

  “Do you want me to talk to her?” Geoff settled beside me, relocating Sheba to his lap.

  “It’ll be OK.”

  “You just said—”

  I leaned against his shoulder. “The truth is, as long as she keeps things the right color, I’ll survive. Besides, I can probably talk her out of a lot of the extravagances given the time frame we’re working with.”

  “Unlike your committee.”

  “What am I going to do? I have to get this parade marshal business settled.”

  “I think that’s a good start.” Geoff read my email aloud. “The committee members have unanimously nominated Danny-Boy Murdock to replace Claude Oui as parade marshal. In light of our committee chair Carrie Hunter’s previously expressed concerns, I am personally uncertain how to proceed. I fear that contacting Mr. Murdock will ignite a confrontation. Things will be said, feelings hurt, bridges burned—perhaps never to be rebuilt. I am not convinced this needs to happen. Is there nothing we, as a committee, can do to head this off before it’s too late?”