4

 

Andrew trotted back to the kitchen, and I followed, leaving Geoff and Claude alone. My brother’s not the most tactful man in the world, and I didn’t want him upsetting Carrie unnecessarily. Not on top of everything else.

He pulled out a chair and straddled it, his arms crossed along its ladder-back. “Carrie, can I ask you a couple of questions?”

She sat with her elbows on the kitchen’s trestle table, her head in her hands. She looked up slowly. Scrubbing her palm across her face, she wiped away most of her tears.

“Carrie, tell Andrew what happened,” I said in what I hoped was an encouraging tone.

“I came downstairs this morning and…and…there was Claude on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. I…he…oh, mercy.” She sucked in a quivering breath. “I wasn’t sure what to do. I’ve never taken CPR. I should have, I know I should have, but Claude’s so vital and strong, I just never imagined…”

Rudely, the kettle’s whistle blared. I ripped the plug from the socket.

Andrew flashed me an annoyed look as the silence echoed through the stone-walled kitchen. Maybe, like me, the sudden stillness reminded him of the last time Claude was hurt. “Did Claude tell you Murdock knocked him down last night?”

Carrie’s eyes widened. “What? No. That man was here, in my house?”

Andrew inclined his head, yes. “So Claude didn’t tell you to keep an eye out for any of his concussion symptoms?”

“I always keep an eye on Claude, ever since his diagnosis. Geoff says Claude’s condition makes him fragile. He can’t afford another head injury, so I’ve been especially watchful. It drives Claude crazy.” Her face crumpled. “It drove …”

“So he was fine when you went to bed last night.”

“Yes. I went ahead upstairs, and he turned out the lights.”

“What time?”

“I don’t know. Eleven-thirty?”

“Claude joined you?”

Her cheeks flushed. “I fell asleep so fast. I was exhausted after the meeting last night. I’m really not sure.” Last night’s meeting of the Hum Harbour Daze festival Steering Committee, of which I am also a member, had dragged on until practically eleven.

Andrew turned to me. “You were at the same meeting, Gai. You can confirm Carrie was there?”

“Of course,” I said, surprised. “It was our second last meeting. Lasted from seven ‘til after ten-thirty. I still had a headache when I got up this morning.”

Andrew nodded. “OK, you got home before eleven. You went to bed. Hear anything unusual during the night?”

“I slept straight through until six-thirty this morning. That’s when I found Claude. I thought maybe he’d slipped on his way downstairs or something, so I tried doing CPR the best I could but…”

“You were doing fine,” I said. “It was just too late.”

Andrew’s eyes darkened sympathetically. “What time did Claude normally get up?”

“Five, when he was training.” A hint of a smile crossed her lips. “He was always training. He loved the games so much.”

The warble of the approaching ambulance’s siren drowned out whatever Andrew said next. “…will have to be checked by the medical examiner.” Andrew returned his chair to its place against the wall. “Gai, can you stay with her?”

“Of course.”

“Afterwards, Carrie, if you could have a look around the house, tell me if anything’s out of place.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Just need to make sure we don’t miss anything.”

Carrie dropped her chin into her hands. “Sure, whatever.”

I went back to making tea.

There was a fair bit of commotion as the emergency personnel removed Claude. I stayed with Carrie, like Andrew asked, and fed her tea and toast. She didn’t eat more than a bite, but the fussing gave me something to do. Carrie and I weren’t particularly close, and I didn’t want to impose on her grief. I didn’t want her to start screaming again, either, so I maintained a quiet presence, hoping it would be more conducive to calm than an overly sympathetic one.

The grandfather clock beside the dish dresser slowly ticked off the minutes.

In time, Andrew reappeared in the kitchen doorway and asked Carrie to join him. “I know this is hard,” he said. “But if you could stroll through the house and the shop, see if there’s anything disturbed or missing.”

“You think Claude caught a burglar in the act?”

“Anything’s possible,” he said. “Just want you to tell me what you see.”

I followed Carrie and Andrew on their tour through the old house. I was curious. Hunter Hall always reminded me of a mausoleum. Probably because of the tombstones arrayed in the front parlor, the showroom of Hunter Monuments. As I surveyed the house, however, with its dark paneled walls, heavy brocade drapes, and blackened Jacobean antiques, I gained a new appreciation for the word creepy. Carrie’s whimsical folk art collection did nothing to lighten the ambiance. In fact, I thought it made it worse.

The back hallway seemed enormous without Claude, and the carpeted stairs were so steep I could barely make out the top.

“What do you see?” Andrew asked Carrie. “Anything unusual?”

She squeezed her face between her hands and looked around. “The carpet?”

“What about the carpet?”

“That step near the top. The runner looks loose.”

I saw nothing significant, but Andrew climbed the stairs to check. Second from the top he stooped and picked up a slim, brass rod. “Hmm.”

“What is it?” Carrie asked.

“Carpet rod’s just lying here. Runner’s not clamped down.”

Now that Claude had been transferred to the ambulance and taken away, Geoff reappeared. He draped his arm over my shoulders, and I leaned into him, hoping his body heat would stop my shivers. “You think Claude slipped on the loose rug?”

“We’ll wait and see what the medical examiner says.” Andrew carried the slim brass rod down the stairs. “In the meantime, Carrie, I’ll have an officer come by and take some pictures. OK? What else?”

She glanced around. “Nothing really.”

Geoff said, “That candlestick on the hall table was at the top of the stairs when I was here last night.”

I studied the item in question, part of Carrie’s folk-art collection. It looked kind of like a totem pole made up completely of frogs, and it stood almost half a meter high. What was it with people and their frogs?

Carrie picked up the candlestick, a smile almost lifting the corners of her mouth. “Claude always says you stop seeing things around you when they’re always the same. So we play this game where he’s forever moving my frogs.” She set it down, her fingers lingering over the candlestick’s colorful surface. “He’s right, you know. I usually keep the pair on the table at the top of the stairs.”

“They were up top when I used the bathroom last night,” said Geoff. “Where’s the second one?”

Carrie spun in a slow circle. “It has to be here somewhere. I just have to look until I find it.”

Andrew examined the one candlestick without touching it. “We’ll bag this, check it for prints.”

She did the face squeeze thing again. “I’m sure mine and Claude’s will be all over it.”

Andrew waved away her concern with a flip of his notepad. “I’m interested in other prints. We’ll take yours for elimination purposes, though.”

“Do you see anything else out of place?” I asked.

She wandered into her living room/great room. One entire end of the room was fireplace. You could have held a dance in it. There were twin horsehair sofas, four winged-back chairs, a pair of squat, black side-tables, and a museum’s worth of folk art frogs. Frogs on the tables. Frogs on the mantle. Frogs on the walls. They came in every color, size, and style. If only Ash could have seen them.

Carrie scanned the room, and I heard her counting under her breath. I guessed she was counting frogs. She reached one hundred and seven and stopped. Her lips pursed, she started again while we watched in fascination.

The second time Carrie reached a hundred and seven, she grabbed Andrew’s arm for support. “I’ve been robbed!” She started shrieking all over again.