29

 

Danny-Boy’s car disappeared around the corner, spewing gravel in its wake.

I said, “I’d better warn Carrie.”

“It might be wiser to call your brother.”

“And sic the cops on Danny-Boy for the second time in less than a week?” I fished in my purse for my cell phone and punched in Carrie’s number.

“Maybe if I’d called Andrew the other night, after he punched Claude, he wouldn’t have gone back later.”

I touched his arm. “Josh said Claude was fine.”

“Sure, when Danny-Boy arrived. But did he say anything about Claude’s condition after Danny-Boy left the second time?”

Carrie wasn’t picking up. “Josh said they parted amicably. Do you think she’s at her mom’s?”

“Could be. Josh said amicably?”

“That’s my version of what he said. Point is, Danny-Boy and Wee Claude were still on pleasant speaking terms.” I left Carrie a message. If she was visiting her mom, she’d get it when she got home. Maybe I should go by her house and make sure.

Geoff leaned against the wall. Arms folded across his chest, eyes closed, he let out a long breath. The lines bracketing his mouth slowly faded. He had such a lovely face—rugged, strong nosed. With his eyes closed, his eyelashes formed star-like points against his cheeks. It gave an unexpected softness to a man who seemed carved in sun-dried wood. God had searched the whole world to answer my prayers for a marriage-partner and brought this amazing man back into my life. I’d never imagined Geoff Grant could be God’s choice for me.

I was so grateful he was.

Without opening his eyes, Geoff drew me close.

I rested my head against his chest and listened to the steady rhythm of his heart. Little by little my own slowed until it matched his. I love you, I sighed inwardly. I love you so much.

“Maybe you two should get a room.” Ash’s sarcasm obliterated my romantic mood. “There’s a phone call for you,” she continued. “And a bunch of messages from your Harbour Daze committee people.”

“Now what?”

Once again, my hope for quiet time with God disappeared before it even had a chance. As for running by Carrie’s, Geoff agreed to do a quick drive-by to ensure all was well at Hunter Hall, while I answered the phone.

The call was Mom. She’d made an extra-large batch of potato salad and wanted to know if Geoff and I’d like to come for supper. I said sure. Geoff loved Mom’s invitations and accepted even when I was otherwise occupied. Which I was not. The waiting messages Ash warned me about could wait a little longer.

Consider my surprise when, fifteen minutes later, we strolled into Mom’s kitchen and found Andrew and Inspector LeClerc sitting at the table snapping the tops off green beans. They tossed the beheaded veggies into a giant bowl—it was almost full—and the unwanted bits into a smaller one.

Mom lifted a bubbling, golden-crusted pie from the oven. Peach pie, if my scent-detector was working properly.

Geoff smacked his lips. “I claim the pie. What’s everyone else going to eat?”

Mom considered it her life’s mission to fatten Geoff. He was too thin, she’d said so many times I suspected Geoff half believed her. He was not too thin, of course. He was perfect. He’d be perfect after she fattened him up, too.

I smiled as he and Mom danced around the kitchen, Geoff trying to snatch a pie while she pretended to fend him off.

A frown dipped the corners of Inspector LeClerc’s mouth. “She promised this pie to me,” he said. “I may have to arrest you if you insist on commandeering what is rightfully mine.”

Mom’s cheeks pinked with pleasure. “Boys, boys,” she used her best school teacher voice, “there’s more than enough for everyone.” Two other pies cooled on the rack.

Andrew, Geoff, and LeClerc exchanged greedy glances, obviously disputing the ‘more than enough’ part of her comment. It looked like I would have to fight for my fair share tonight.

Mom dumped the beans into a pot, rinsed them, and set the pot on the burner. “Tell your sister what you told me,” she said.

I looked at Andrew, the only person with a sister in the room.

“This isn’t the time.”

“Fiddlesticks. Your father will come barging in here at any moment. You want to discuss this during supper?”

“Mom.”

“Listen to your mama,” said LeClerc. I wasn’t sure if he agreed with Mom or was lobbying for a larger share of pie.

She wiped her hands on her apron. “Raoul agrees with me.”

“Perhaps Gai-Lynn has insights.” His accent gave my name an exotic lilt. “She knows the woman well. No?”

Andrew hushed me with his glare. “She barely knows the Hunters. It’s pointless pumping Gai for information, or insights.”

“She has spent two nights caring for Madame Oui—or Hunter, as you call her.”

Mom nodded. “And we both know Gailynn’s propensity for snooping.”

“Gee, thanks, Mom.” I began setting the table.

Andrew faced LeClerc with earnest eyes. “Raoul. Inspector. You don’t know my sister. If you give Gai even the slightest hint of what you’re after, she will take that and run with it. She’ll pry. She’ll accuse. She’ll manufacture evidence.”

“I do not manufacture evidence! OK, maybe I’ve been known to misinterpret what I’ve heard. Or get carried away with a theory. I won’t deny that in the past I have stuck my nose where it’s not appreciated. But I learned my lesson. I’ve changed.” I turned to Geoff for support.

“Gai is under the impression that Danny-Boy Murdock harbors unreciprocated affection for Carrie,” Geoff said.

I slapped down cutlery beside each plate.

Andrew’s lips moved as he silently beseeched the ceiling for wisdom, while LeClerc studied me through clear, perhaps even shrewd, eyes. He was, after all, an RCMP inspector.

“Is this so, Gai-Lynn?”

I offered him a tentative smile. Answering the question would prove Andrew’s point, not mine. “It’s a theory I’ve been working on. This morning I checked some old photos from the university, the local papers, that kind of thing, and I mean, I understand this is all open for interpretation, and my interpretations could be wrong. They’ve been wrong before. But I’ve found several pictures—well, maybe three isn’t exactly several—where it looks to me like Danny-Boy’s fixated on Carrie, while everyone else in the picture is looking at Claude. Claude was very charismatic, in the secular sense of the word.” I glanced at Andrew, Mom, and Geoff.

“So, you suggest Danny-Boy Murdock had another reason for wanting Claude Oui out of the running.” LeClerc appeared to consider my theory. “I will need to see these pictures. Get them from your sister,” he told Andrew. “We will look at them tonight.”

Dad arrived, and the discussion was abandoned.

Geoff headed out as soon as he’d eaten dessert. He had a church committee meeting for something or other. Inspector LeClerc, Raoul, as he insisted we call him, left at the same time. He had paperwork to do. I planned to help Mom with the dishes, but Andrew pulled me aside before I’d finished clearing the table and led me out to the driveway.

“OK, here’s the deal. We walk to your place, you give me the pictures, and then you’re out of it. Understand?”

“I’m trying.” I quickened my pace to match his strides. “I can’t help it, though, if I hear something or see something that makes me wonder. I can’t just turn off my brain—no matter what you think.”

“I’m not saying turn off your brain. Sometimes it works.”

I almost tripped over his backhanded compliment.

“Telling me about Josh, that was good. And, if your hunch about Danny-Boy holds water, we’ll call that good brain-work too.”

“If?”

“Not convinced his rivalry with Wee Claude was anything more than hoopla. Athletes do it all the time. Gets the fans worked up.”

“Mom said Carrie and Danny-Boy were an item a long time ago.”

“Ancient history.” He held up his hand. “But I’ll look into it.”

I found myself standing taller, hearing Andrew actually consider one of my theories. “But what should I do about Danny-Boy? He keeps popping up, wanting me to intervene. He wants to see Carrie, even though I know she doesn’t want to see him. I’m turning into a buffer between the two, and I don’t want to be.”

“Then don’t.”

I grabbed his arm, making his slow down and look at me. “How do I avoid it?”

“Wash your hands of the two.”

“And leave Carrie alone? She has no one other than her cranky old mom in Antigonish. Can you imagine? Carrie and I may not be kindred spirits, but I can’t just walk away. Not while she’s grieving. Besides, what if Danny-Boy is Claude’s killer? You expect me to stand back and let him have at her?”

“It’s not like you could stop him.”

“So what are you saying I should do?”

He scratched his head, as if this was a real puzzler. “Call me? Look, Carrie’s a big girl. Sounds harsh, but you don’t want to turn into her crutch.”

“Someone broke into her house, stole her frogs, and killed her husband. If you don’t want me involved, find out who did all that. Then she won’t need a crutch.”

Andrew’s spine straightened, a sign our companionable chat was over. “You know I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation.”

I threw up my hands. “Then what were we just doing?”

“That, sister-dear, was me, cop”—he did finger quotations when he said cop—”telling you, civilian,”—again with the finger quotes—”to keep your nose out of official police business.”

We’d reached Dunmaglass. I let us in, and Andrew followed me upstairs to my little office. I hated giving him the satisfaction of stepping back from the investigation, but I hadn’t much choice. To do otherwise, was me being a nosy, meddlesome snoop. And at twenty-five, I was too young to be a meddlesome snoop. In a way, I even felt relieved. Once I finished my Hum Harbour Daze responsibilities, I’d be back on track with work, jewelry making, and wedding plans.

With that in mind, I printed off the three photos I’d found online, handed them to Andrew, and bid silent farewell to my sleuthing days. The shore and a quiet, celebratory walk beckoned.

Wind pleated the harbor as I wandered slowly down the curve of shore. The beach was a mix of sand and smooth tumbled stones, and at this time of day, when the sun had disappeared behind the hills, the harbor, the beach, the surrounding slopes, were a shadowless grey. Colored glass was impossible to spot. Which didn’t matter. After the tumultuous day, I was searching the shore for peace, not bits of sea-tumbled glass.

I wiped everything from my mind. Murder—gone. Frog thief—gone. Andrew, Carrie, Danny-Boy—gone. Even Geoff—gone. Sort of. The soothing rumble of the waves. The familiar smells of salt water and cut wood of the lumber yard. The rhythm of my breaths, the crunch of my footsteps.

I listened for the Still Small Voice of Peace.

I heard His sigh.

I was content.

Then I remembered that late night argument between Carrie and Black Hair, which I’d forgotten to mention to Andrew.