10

 

I am a medical receptionist. I say this with pride, the way Evie Carnahan declares, “I am a librarian” to Rick O’Connell, in the movie, The Mummy. I also have long, black hair, but that’s where the likeness ends. Her eyes are green, mine are hazel. She’s tall—five-seven—I’m small in comparison—five-four on a good day. She has a delightful British accent, and I speak plain, old, Canadian.

We do share another important thing, though. We both have amazingly handsome sidekicks who help us solve mysteries.

My comrade-in-arms is the breathtakingly dashing Dr. Geoffrey Grant, my employer and fiancé. He took over Doc Campbell’s practice last spring when Doc retired. Within days, Doc was dead—murdered—and Geoff and I were determined to catch his killer. OK, I was determined to catch the killer, and Geoff was determined to keep me out of trouble. His task proved harder than mine, though not as heartbreaking. You see, Doc’s murderer was my life-long best friend.

I had no idea how to cope with the devastating discovery, but after five years as a missionary in Somalia, Geoff was well versed in coping with loss. He understood, he listened, he held me when I cried, and it seemed only natural to fall in love with him. Unavoidable, really. And I am so thankful God could bring something this good out of a situation that was that bad.

When I arrived at the clinic, it was regular Wednesday busy, which meant steady, but not frenetic. Geoff and I worked well together and had achieved a kind of rapport I never managed with his predecessor, Doc Campbell. We understood how each other’s minds worked and could anticipate what the other wanted, or needed, in order to do our jobs well.

So, by four-thirty I was closing the file on the day’s last patient and sending the required billing statement off to Nova Scotia Health for payment.

Geoff leaned against the doorframe, watching me log off the computer. “Got dinner plans?” he asked. We often shared meals.

“I promised Ash I’d talk to Josh once he got back.”

“That’s not until sunset.” When the boats came in.

“So, dinner at your place or mine?” I asked.

“Why don’t I cook? I bet you’re worn a little thin after last night with Carrie Hunter.”

He had no idea.

“We’ll eat at six. Gives us time to hit the beach before you go.”

Morning and night, I walked the beach scavenging for sea glass. I wasn’t always successful, but I loved the routine. I followed Geoff out of the clinic, and after he locked the door, we walked home.

Hum Harbour is a small fishing village along the rugged shores of Cape George, Nova Scotia. Its four main streets parallel the shoreline’s curve, each one riding higher up the steep hillside. Water Street, with the wharf, fish plant, and Bait ‘N Tackle, was closest to the harbor. Main Street, where I live, housed the business section. The clinic was on Pictou Street, and uppermost, Murray Street, connected to the highway.

Geoff lived next door to Dunmaglass, in the apartment above my cousin’s Hubris Heron Seafood Café.

“I saw your broken windows this morning,” he said as Dunmaglass came into view.

“Did you hear any commotion last night? Ash said it was probably kids, but I’m worried.”

“That you’ll have another break-in?”

I shoved the unpleasant suggestion to the back of my mind. “Have you seen anyone lurking around?”

Geoff draped his arm across my shoulders. “You’re letting your imagination run away with you, Gai. Don’t let Claude’s accident spook you.”

“How can you be so sure it was an accident?”

“Gai.”

“Hear me out. Carrie’s robbed. Claude’s killed. My windows are broken. There was someone watching Hunter Hall last night. Don’t you find all that suspicious?”

His arm stiffened when I mentioned the late-night watcher. “Could you see who it was?”

“The street lights were out in the storm. But what if it was the thief? Or the murderer? What if they’re one and the same?”

The clefts in his cheeks deepened when he pressed his lips together. Usually that meant he was struggling to find the right words. Right now, his right words would be telling me to drop the whole thing.

I didn’t want to hear that.

Geoff surprised me, though. “If you know something you need to tell Andrew.”

Not before I’d made sure my suspicions had merit. “But what if I’m wrong? You know how I get carried away.” We stopped in front of Dunmaglass. Clear window glass replaced the duct tape and cardboard squares. Not the warped antique glass that used to fill the panes, but a definite improvement on the duct tape.

Geoff cupped my face between his hands and kissed me soundly. “Then promise me you’ll leave this to Andrew.” He looked so earnest and concerned; I wondered if he’d include my promise to confront Josh about stealing among the things I should leave to Andrew.

“Does that include me talking to the frog thief?”

“Do you know who your frog thief is?”

“I think so. Maybe. Probably. Yes.”

“You’d already decided to confront him yourself?”

“We could go together, if you want. We’d just talk to him.”

“Gai.”

“Is there any harm in that?”

“Tonight, I suppose?” Geoff, always two steps ahead of me, realized I was talking about my impending chat with Josh. “You were going to do it without me.”

“I don’t need your permission to talk to people, you know.”

Geoff peered into my eyes, as if trying to see through to my brain, and decipher what was in there. “You should. Especially if you’re going to start accusing them of murder.”

I pulled away. “What do you think I am? Some brainless ninny who flies off half-cocked every time I turn around?” I poked his chest for emphasis.

“I’m not the one who sees a murderer under every bush.”

“And you think I do?”

“Don’t you?”

“Kitchen frogs. All I’m going to talk about is kitchen frogs!” I flung open the door to Dunmaglass, almost knocking the bell off its hinge. “If the topic of murder comes up, trust me, I won’t be the one to blame.”

“It won’t be anyone else.”

Angered by his lack of trust, too stubborn to admit Geoff might be right, I stomped through to my apartment.

As usual, Sheba sat in the middle of the table, waiting for supper. My moods didn’t bother her. As long as she had her kibble, I could rant and rave to my heart’s content.

Which I did.