Murder in Hum Harbour Page 9

  “I’ve never heard Mimi complain.”

  “It’s a pattern.”

  “I suppose.” I thought of Ross Murray. If he’d stayed home and played ball with his son, I wouldn’t be meeting the third Mrs. Murray after dinner.

  “I learned to watch patterns of behavior in the camp. Sometimes that was the only warning you got.”

  “Warning of what?”

  “Why do you really think Sam was angry with you this afternoon? It wasn’t just Sam being a bully, Gailynn.”

  “Then what?”

  “While I was away, Sasha wrote every week. She spent most of her letters talking about you, not her husband.” When I didn’t answer he continued, “Their marriage is in serious trouble.”

  I stared at my dinner. Serious trouble? I knew Sasha was upset about not having babies, and Mimi’d told me Sam and Sasha argued from time to time, but I’d never considered it serious trouble. I should have, though. What kind of friend misses something that important?

  “What’s you’re brother hiding?” Geoff asked.

  I straightened. “Hiding? What makes you think my brother is hiding anything?”

  “Like I said, I watch patterns.”

  I love my family, my community, and I pride myself in knowing everything that happens in my town—although it seemed I might be wrong about that. “What do you think Sam’s hiding?” I asked, my ire rising.

  “I don’t know. But he had as much reason to want Doc dead as my sister might. More, if he’s feeling guilty for deserting her.”

  “He did not desert her. He was just—missing in action.”

  “As long as he keeps drinking he’ll stay missing in action.”

  Stephanie moseyed over and refilled Geoff’s coffee cup. “Dessert?”

  “Nothing, thank you,” Geoff answered.

  She departed without looking at me.

  I stabbed my last scallop and scrubbed it into the tartar sauce. It was cold and tasted like day old newsprint. I wanted to spit it out, but I chewed and chewed and forced it down. I couldn’t swallow the irritation seething inside me, though.

  On top of everything else riling me, that sassy little sixteen-year-old was flirting with Geoff right under my nose. How dare she? And the only reason he ignored her was because he was too busy trying to frame my brother with Doc’s murder…Well, maybe that was too strong, but he was throwing doubt on my brother’s good name, implicating him in Doc’s death. A few hours ago, I’d been ready to believe the same or worse of Sam, which only infuriated me more.

  “Gailynn, are you all right?”

  I glared at him. “Did you invite me to dinner so you could accuse my brother of who only knows what?”

  He pulled back. Apparently that wasn’t the answer he expected. “I invited you to dinner so we could get to know each other better.”

  “While a sixteen-year-old fawns over you?”

  “What? Stephie? She’s not fawning over me.”

  “Then what do you call it?”

  He stared at me in obvious confusion, and I glared back, furious with myself for acting like a jealous fishwife. I couldn’t believe I was acting like this. What right did I have to be jealous about anything in Geoff Grant’s life?

  He wanted to know me better well: here I was, Gailynn the idiot who constantly embarrassed herself by jumping to conclusions about everyone and everything.

  My whole life my brothers have been telling me to mind my own business for this very reason. But I never listen. I just rush from one humiliation to another.

  I hung my head. What must Geoff Grant think of me now? I wanted to discover what he was really like, deep inside. Instead, I’d proven beyond a shadow of doubt that I was the last person he should trust. Maybe that was also why Sasha never told me she and Sam were having marriage trouble. What had Geoff said about loose words and calamitous consequences?

  “I’m sorry. Sometimes I overreact.”

  “You don’t need to apologize, Gailynn.”

  “Yes I do. That was uncalled for.”

  “Yeah.” A smile tugged the corner of his mouth and I found myself grinning back, my anger replaced by that now familiar stomach flip.

  “What time did you say you were meeting Rickie Murray?”

  18

  Good question. What time was I meeting Rickie?

  I checked my watch. When I first accepted Geoff’s dinner invitation, I’d mentioned my seven o’clock appointment. Little did I imagine I’d be this reluctant to leave.

  “Shall we do this again tomorrow?” Geoff asked.

  “Walk and dinner you mean?”

  He leaned back, his head resting against the booth’s padded back, and smiled at me as though there was nothing on earth he’d rather do than sit there smiling at me. Which was ridiculous, especially after the way I’d just behaved.

  “Walk and dinner.”

  Like every other suggestion he made, I agreed.

  ****

  Rickie Murray’s Miata was already parked in front of Dunmaglass when I left the Hubris Heron. She climbed out of the driver’s side wearing spiky-healed leather boots, slinky jeans and a faux-fur trimmed, short celadon green leather jacket. Her pale blonde hair framed her face in perfectly sculpted layers, tres chic.

  I wore thread-bare jeans, hiking boots and a water proof hooded jacket over the orange cable knit sweater Mom knitted me for Christmas three years ago, tres ordinaire.

  She gushed a thousand thank-yous in her fake southern drawl as I ushered her into Dunmaglass.

  Now I’ll admit I’m partial, it is my shop after all, but whenever I step over the threshold and throw on the lights, I catch my breath. It was extremely gratifying to see my place had the same effect on Rickie.

  The door closed behind us with its little bell chiming and Rickie sniffed the air. I perfume Dunmaglass with a subtle pot pourri, nothing brash like a candle shop, just a hint of spice. Dunmaglass is atmospheric, scarlet and amber glass, polished oak showcases and rough stone walls. I like to think stepping into Dunmaglass is like stepping into a mystery. Everyone knows about Brigadoon. Someday Dunmaglass will conjure equally mystical wonder.

  At the moment the shop opened Saturdays and weeknights by appointments only. Come summer, I’d opened six days a week. Doc always employed summer hours at the clinic so I was able to open Dunmaglass from noon until nine every day—except Sunday, of course.

  This year I anticipated an even busier summer than usual. Dunmaglass had been accepted into the Nova Scotia Tourism’s booklet that features the best shops and studios in the province. I wasn’t sure how I’d juggle the two jobs, but it would work out somehow.

  Besides my seaglass jewelry, Dunmaglass features work by two internationally reputed glass artisans, Helena and Halbert Borgdenburger. They live up Murray’s Mountain.

  Helena creates stained glass. Three years ago, I commissioned an original panel for Dunmaglass and when Helena saw her piece displayed in my large front window she asked if she could hang three other panels inside the shop. Helena’s art resembles gothic windows. They fit my space perfectly and she sold all three that first summer. Next summer, same thing.

  I now had three new ones hanging from the open rafters. With the light positioned behind each panel, they virtually glowed. Made me think of Rohan in Tolkien’s middle earth.

  Halbert, Helena’s husband, creates blown glass masterpieces. Apparently glass blowing is a family tradition. I had four of Halbert’s vases displayed on tall oak pedestals around the shop. They were also lit for glorious effect.

  Compared to Helena and Halbert’s art, I admit my jewelry is less grand. But I’ve arranged it on pierced black velvet and once again, light does the trick. Each piece of seaglass shines from within and the gold or sterling silver settings glisten magically, too.

  Rickie wandered the shop, trailing her fingertip along the edge of each pedestal or showcase.

  “Gailynn, these are sooo awesome I cannot begin to choose.”

  “Are you still t
hinking of one of Halbert’s vases for your flowers?” Halbert’s vases were works of art, sculptures worthy of a museum or art gallery.

  “I had hoped,” she said. “But now that I see them for myself… Do you think it would be in poor taste if I put the flowers in one of these vases and then asked for it back when the funeral is over?”

  Yes. I didn’t say that, though. Instead, “Doc has no family, except his sister Marjorie. She, being Ross’s first wife, might make it a little awkward. What does Ross say?”

  “Ross?” She put her hand to her heart. “My goodness, Gailynn, I would never ask Ross something like that. Why, the dear man would positively expire on the spot if he even saw the price on one of these itty bitty things.”

  “They are pricey,” I admitted, “but Halbert Borgdenburger’s work will only appreciate in value. They’re an investment. Ross understands the importance of a good investment.” What a perfect segue into my questions about Hum Harbour Holes. I could have kissed Rickie for making it so easy.

  “Investment is rather a dirty word around our house, right now,” she said.

  Like I said, so easy. “Hum Harbour Holes, you mean?”

  She waved that aside. “Every time I go shopping I tell Ross it’s an investment. See these boots?” Graceful as a dancer, she swung her foot high and held it there while I appreciated the obvious elegance of her footwear. “Jimmy Choo. What could be a better investment than that?” She lowered her leg.

  “Hum Harbour Holes?”

  Rickie looked at me like my head was screwed on crooked. “The golf course? I don’t think so. I heard Ross say—well, never mind what Ross said. It really wasn’t important.”

  “Are you sure? Ross, Bud and Mike sank a lot of money into Hum Harbour Holes.”

  “Sank is right. Oh, don’t tell anyone I said that. If Ross finds out I was talking about his investments he will be sooo annoyed with me.”

  My ears perked. “Is there a problem?”

  “Besides Vi constantly picking on poor Ross and demanding more money, you mean?”

  “Sure, besides that.”

  She waved her perfectly manicured hands in the air. “Ross told me he cut her off because she’s never satisfied. Never has been. No matter what he does it’s not enough. And then today I hear about little RJ. Do you think she just said that to make me feel guilty?”

  “You mean about Ross Junior not going to camp this summer?”

  “Yes. Because I haven’t told Ross she stole my necklace to pay for little RJ’s camp. He would be so humiliated if anyone guessed.”

  “Guessed?”

  “I heard about what’s happened to Sasha.”

  I wasn’t sure what that had to do with Ross’s humiliating secret but I leaned closer.

  “Everyone in town is talking and they are all saying poor Sasha couldn’t possibly be responsible for what happened to Doc.”

  “No she couldn’t,” I agreed.

  “She is sooo blessed. She has one itty bitty problem and everyone is there in a heartbeat to help her. Even her handsome brother flies all the way home from Africa and gives up on being a missionary so he can be here for her when she needs him. I wish I had the kind of friends and family Sasha has.”

  She asked to see a set of eighteen carat gold and amber seaglass earrings in the case. “I try, truly I do, but people in Hum Harbour have a hard time accepting anyone new.” She held them up. “Vi doesn’t help.”

  “I think most people turn a deaf ear when Vi starts ranting.”

  “You do?”

  She looked so shy and hopeful I felt sorry for her.

  “Are things really that tight for Ross?”

  Rickie asked to see another necklace. “Can I tell you something, Gailynn? Will you promise to never tell another soul?”

  I felt like a heel but I nodded.

  “Things aren’t going well for Ross. Selling Murray Enterprises was supposed to help, but it hasn’t. And now that Doc backed out of Ross’s silly little golf course agreement, well, Ross is nigh unto beside himself with upset.”

  ‘Nigh unto beside himself?’ Where did she get this stuff? “Did you ever see their agreement, Rickie?”

  “The papers? Sure. But I didn’t understand what it was all about. I’ve only seen legal papers once before in my entire life, and that was when Ross asked me to marry him. Not that it will matter.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Ross doesn’t have his fortune anymore.”

  16

  By the time Rickie left she’d taken one vase on approval—I agreed to take it back if Ross hit the roof—two pair of earrings, a bracelet and an anklet, all with eighteen carat gold settings and chains, and my self-respect. I felt like an absolute creep. Somewhere along the way, Rickie interpreted my invitation to Dunmaglass as an overture of friendship. She was so desperate for a companion of her own age she’d misread my interest and told me things she had no right sharing. That I’d discovered Rickie to be a backwater kid like me who just wanted to be liked, only made me feel worse for wheedling those confidences out of her.

  On top of that, Rickie didn’t know any more about Ross’s commitment to Hum Harbour Holes than I did.

  So I gave her a deal on the jewelry and promised to make her another pair of earrings, whatever color she liked, as a gift. And I invited her upstairs for tea and a George Clooney movie, which we thoroughly enjoyed, and I also invited her to join Lori, Sasha and me next time we had a girls’ night out.

  By the end of the evening, I guess we really were building that friendship she coveted. As they say, sometimes God does move in mysterious ways.

  ****

  Sheba and I were combing the beach by first light the next morning. Salty mist fogged the air and I zipped my jacket up to my chin to keep out the damp. My eyes focused on the ground but my thoughts and prayers ping-ponged inside my head. My concerns weighed so heavy that no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t seem to still my mind.

  Lord, I know I’ve asked this so many times already, but please help Sam and Sasha. Bring them peace and healing. And don’t forget Lori and her dad. They need you so much, too, Lord. How can I show Lori your love and forgiveness are real?

  I scooped up a chunk of blue glass the exact shade of Geoff’s eyes and held it up to the light. The thought of Geoff was enough to start my heart step-dancing against my ribs.

  Then there’s Geoff, Lord. What am I supposed to do with all these mixed up feelings he’s causing?

  I tramped on.

  And Rickie, I know I invited her over last night to milk her about Ross, but You had something bigger in mind. Can I really be her friend and still suspect her husband of murder?

  I was determined to find out who was responsible for Doc’s death and Ross Murray, it seemed to me, was angling for position as my number one suspect. According to Rickie, the wealthiest man in Hum Harbour was wealthy no longer. Was that simply the way rich people talked or did Ross need Hum Harbour Holes to succeed as much as Bud Fisher?

  Thoughts of Ross reminded me of Geoff’s comment about how the men of Hum Harbour disappear every now and then. Geoff had a point. Where did these men go? What were they doing? Were their disappearances connected?

  Although I told Geoff that Doc never sailed further than Port Hawkesbury, I didn’t actually know that for a fact. True, he often weighed anchor in the coves near Hum Harbour, but there could be times he went further afield. How would I know?

  And even if Doc was always aboard the Medical Convention drinking himself into oblivion, was Ross always off gambling? I knew he met Rickie at a casino, at least that’s what Vi told everyone. Maybe Vi made it up so no one would like Rickie.

  Consider also Mike Johnson. Just because Mimi never complained when Mike ran off, didn’t mean Mike wasn’t up to something nefarious.

  Doc, Ross and Mike, three out of the four Hum Harbour Holes investors. What if they were all up to something nefarious together? What if they silenced Doc to prevent their secret from leaking
out?

  I froze in my steps. Was that possible?

  Sheba and I reached the spot where Doc’s boat ran aground. The Medical Convention was gone, with nothing left to mark the spot except a streamer of crime scene tape still tied to a tree. It lifted and snapped in the wind.

  Murder in Hum Harbour

  I saw movement among those trees and since I was directly below Ross Murray’s property I called out, “Hello,” in case it was Rickie.

  Instead, Ross emerged from the trees. “Gailynn, you’re out bright and early,” he said.

  As I’ve said before, Ross and Doc were contemporaries, but the two couldn’t have been more different. While Doc had been tall and lean, Ross is short and stout. His shirt buttons strain over his belly, and I doubt if Rickie could reach her arms all the way around the man’s middle. Doc’s thick hair was steely gray and his eyebrows starkly black, while Ross’s bushy blonde brows accentuated the artificial brunet of his comb-over. Doc’s chin was dimpled; Ross’s double. In essence, Doc was handsome and Ross is not.

  “Rickie brought home a vase from your shop,” he said. “Thinks we should put orchids in it for Doc’s funeral. I said it was too showy but Rickie thinks a man’s friends should be honored extravagantly.”

  “I told her she could return it if you thought it too expensive.”

  “She tell you it was too expensive?”

  I toed the rock nervously. I’d learned a little of Ross’s situation last night. Could I find out more? Dare I ask? “Perhaps I misunderstood what she meant.”

  He looked peeved. “Because if she did, she was wrong.”

  “Of course,” I said in a tone that meant I didn’t believe a word of it.

  “You being sly with me, young lady?”

  “No sir. I’m just concerned.”

  “What are you concerned about?”

  “I’m concerned about what will happen to you and Rickie if Hum Harbour Holes doesn’t pull though.”

  “What makes you think it won’t?”