25

 

Love was a strange thing. Knowing you were unconditionally cared for could be as intoxicating as any drug. Sometimes it calmed your soul, leaving you floating in the inexpressible peace. At other times, it excited. The unlimited possibilities of life pulsed through your mind and stirred your body. You were loved.

My heart hammering with anticipation as I imagined my future with Geoff. I couldn’t sleep.

I read for a while. I vacuumed. I scrubbed the bathroom sink. I knelt beside my bed and prayed. In the end, I got dressed and went back to the beach. When all else failed, the rhythm of the sea always soothed me.

Flashlight in hand, I wandered along the shore looking for glass and humming. Humming soothed me, too. I got as far as the end of the beach and the rocks Geoff and I had climbed earlier and turned back. As I passed Hunter Hall, I happened to look up. It was the middle of the night; I expected the house to be in darkness and Carrie sound asleep. That’s probably why I hadn’t bothered looking when I walked past it the first time.

But the house wasn’t dark and Carrie, very definitely, was not asleep.

She and the black haired man I’d caught wandering her house looking for a bathroom stood in her kitchen. They seemed to be arguing. He waved his hands; she stood rigid, arms folded tight across her chest. He reached toward her, and though I was too far away to see for certain, it looked like he grabbed her necklace—the one Claude had given her—and yanked it from her neck. Carrie’s hands flew to her throat then she covered her face as though she was crying. After a moment, the man put his arms around her and patted her back.

How should I interpret what I’d just seen? Obviously, Carrie knew Black Hair well enough to allow him into her home. And accept his embrace. Who was he? What were they arguing about? Why did he grab her necklace?

I went home, but I still couldn’t sleep.

 

****

 

The clinic was closed Mondays. Even though Geoff was Hum Harbour’s sole doctor, there really wasn’t enough business to keep him going five days a week. So he did things like visit area nursing homes and make the odd house call. Yes. He made house calls. When he was doing those, he didn’t need my services. Such was the case that particular Monday morning, and I decided to take advantage of the freedom by doing a little sleuthing on my own.

I didn’t tell Geoff what I had in mind. I didn’t consult Andrew. I knew what both would say. But seriously, I had no intention of doing anything questionable. Searching Ash’s frog collection had convinced me Josh was innocent of burgling Hunter Hall and bludgeoning Claude. Time to turn my attention to another possibility.

I determinedly pushed the scene between Carrie and Black Hair from my mind. I needed to think long and hard about what I’d witnessed and instead opted to investigate Mom’s theory. Did Danny-Boy harbor unreciprocated feelings for Carrie Hunter-Oui?

Maybe being torn between three men—her beloved Claude, Black Hair (whom I was not thinking about), and Danny-Boy—explained Carrie’s contentious attitude the previous night. The idea sure made me feel contentious, and I wasn’t even involved.

After my morning beach walk and before I began sleuthing, I reviewed the receipts for last week’s sales at Dunmaglass. As I’d expected, the shop did very well with Claude’s funeral patrons.

Sheba made herself comfortable on my lap. For a very large cat she could curl into a very compact ball, and for some unknown reason, she seemed to enjoy it when I rested my laptop on top of her. Maybe she liked the warmth? Anyway, that’s what I did. The Internet and the modern preoccupation with sharing useless information had turned everybody’s life into an open book. I Googled Danny-Boy Murdock, accessing pages of hits; no matter how boring, I read each one.

Among fan-favorite details like his height, weight, eye color, and marital status, I learned Danny-Boy was thirty-six. He’d attended St. Francis Xavier University in Antigonish on an athletic scholarship during the same time as Carrie and Claude. He didn’t complete his degree.

I searched photos from the university’s archives, cross referencing Danny-Boy, Carrie, and Claude and found two grainy shots. The first depicted a group of toga-clad students crammed into a very small room—looked like a closet really—with a punctured beer keg. Froth and liquid spurted from the keg like a geyser. Claude tipped his face heavenward, trying to catch the stream. Most of the others in the closet seemed to be laughing uproariously. Carrie’s wet hair and toga clung to her body as she watched Claude with enraptured delight. Danny-Boy watched Carrie.

In the second photo, taken at an X-Men’s football game, Claude was once again the central figure, once again surrounded by a laughing crowd, once again the focus of Carrie’s rapt attention. Danny-Boy Murdock stood to the side. He wore a mud stained football uniform and a caustic frown.

Most current references and photos of Danny-Boy, the highland heavyweight contender, were of little help. A couple of speculative mentions of Danny-Boy as Wee Claude’s successor as Highland Brewery’s new spokesman. Nothing definitive. And a few dozen articles referring to the hammer-throwing incident that almost ended Wee Claude’s career. They depicted Danny-Boy as sincerely distraught about the accident. One included a snapshot of Claude, this time on a stretcher about to be loaded into an ambulance, tearful Carrie holding his hand, and Danny-Boy watching from the sidelines. Of course, the caption writer credited the anguished expression on Danny-Boy’s face as for wounded Claude. I, however, thought distressed Danny-Boy was looking at Carrie—but maybe that was just me. And hardly conclusive.

Looking at a woman, no matter how suggestive your expression, did not make you guilty of jealousy-fuelled homicide.

I logged off and went next door to the Hubris Heron and my cousin Mimi. As owner/manager of Hum Harbour’s most popular eating establishment, she was privy to all sorts of gossip. Surely she’d know something—if there was something to know.

Mimi was in the kitchen wearing a turquoise apron emblazoned with a hideous orange lobster. She scooted around the room so fast you’d’ve thought she had on rollerblades.

First came the mandatory hug, then taste testing the chowder simmering on the stove. Then I was free to plunge into my reason for coming.

“The other day Mom said she thought maybe Danny-Boy Murdock was still carrying a flame for Carrie Hunter.”

“Still?” asked Mimi. “You mean he was before?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I came to you.”

She had some kind of herb or spice in her hands. Rubbing it back and forth between her palms, she rained rust-colored flecks into the chowder. She stirred. “Well, I suppose he’s always been attentive to her, now that I think about it.”

I helped myself to an oatcake. “In what way?”

Mimi returned to the dough she’d been kneading. “I’m remembering her father’s funeral. How Danny hovered out of reach but always within earshot. Phyllis, of course, always treated Danny-Boy like a surrogate for his father. You knew she and Big-Dan were an item back in the stone age?”

“I can’t believe she’s only a couple of years older than Mom.”

“A lot of health issues over the years.”

I knew that, of course. She’d been Doc Campbell’s patient until she’d moved into the Inverness Arms and transferred to an Antigonish doctor.

“So you think it’s possible?”

Mimi scooted back to the soup and stirred. “Sure. I guess. All things are possible.”

“But is it likely?”

She fixed me with a penetrating stare. “Why do you want to know?”

“I’ve been helping Carrie out a bit, and frankly, I feel like I’m getting caught in the middle of something.”

“Well, her husband just died.”

I made a face. “Besides that. Danny-Boy keeps trying to insert himself into Carrie’s life. He says he wants to simplify things for her. Claude was his friend. He wants to honor their friendship by assuming Claude’s responsibilities, like becoming Hum Harbour Daze parade marshal. Maybe he means well. But maybe he’s trying to take advantage of the situation for his own benefit.”

“But you’re not sure.”

“Geoff’s suspicious, but…”

“But?” She waved her hand, encouraging me to finish the sentence.

“Claude wasn’t. He welcomed Danny-Boy into his house. He shook his hand. He treated Danny-Boy like…a friend.”

“Maybe Danny-Boy was pulling the wool over his eyes, too.”

“You think so?”

“I always say go with your gut.”

“My gut?” I’d never heard her say that.

“What’s your gut telling you?”

I sniffed. The delicious fragrance of seafood chowder, rising bread dough, and fresh baked oatcakes made my stomach grumble. “My gut says I’m hungry.”

She laughed. “Grab a bowl, and taste drive the chowder. Enough curry?”

Mimi put curry in chowder? Not the info I’d come looking for, but it was interesting.

 

****

 

I’d arranged to meet Geoff at three at Piteaux Jewelers in Antigonish. We were going to pick out his wedding ring. Mine was already purchased—an etched gold band the jeweler had designed to go with my diamond, which had been Geoff’s mom’s diamond before it was mine.

According to my watch, I had two hours to fill. I decided, since I was on a roll with this Danny-Boy thing, that I might as well head into town early and see what I could find out about Danny-Boy there. I didn’t have a specific plan on how.

The sun hung in a cloudless sky. I cranked down all four car windows, and let the wind tangle my hair as I drove along the twisty coastal road. I passed two new house constructions along the way. Cute little bungalows with wide windows and ample yard space. Geoff and I’d never discussed where we were going to live once we were married. Not in his apartment above the Hubris Heron, surely. It suited his non-materialistic sensibilities but, from my point of view, it left a lot to be desired. Nor was my place over Dunmaglass exactly made for family life. That’s assuming we planned to start a family straight away. We hadn’t talked a lot about that, either.

I rounded a sharp bend, where the mountainside pressed smack up against the road’s shoulder on one side and a pond—swamp really—languished on the other. Standing with his back to the rock face, and his thumb in the air, was Josh Pry. Why wasn’t he out on the boat with his dad? I slammed on the brakes, shifted into reverse, and backed up until I was beside him.

He rested his hands on the car’s roof and poked his head in the open passenger side window. “Hey, Gai, am I glad to see you. Can I bum a ride into town?”

“You’re not out fishing?”

“Give me a ride, and I’ll, like, tell all.”

I invited him to climb in, enjoying a sense of serendipity as he buckled up. Josh liked to skulk around. Maybe he knew something about Danny-Boy.

Bing! Light bulb moment.

What if, on his last night, Claude confronted Danny-Boy about his misplaced interest in Carrie? Claude was a gentle man but, if his relationship with Carrie was threatened, or if he at least thought it was threatened, or, better yet, if Carrie had told Claude about Danny-Boy’s unwanted attentions...

I smiled at Josh and locked the car doors before pulling back onto the road.