38

 

Ten a.m. Three dozen men, women, and kids, including one-armed Sam, stood around the tent in the wet mowed grass. It had stopped raining. A tiny streak of blue sky peeked through the clouds. I took that as a sign of God’s blessing.

Raoul LeClerc rubbed his hands together in anticipation. He’d explained the process. We all had our jobs. So on the count of three, we were going to hoist three sides of the tent until the pooled water ran off.

One, two, three.

It weighed a ton, and I didn’t mean that figuratively, but, according to Sam’s shouted progress reports, it was working. Once the water’d drained into the ground we assembled tent poles. Raoul sketched a rough diagram showing us what went where. He’d apparently spent two summers in college working for a party rental company, so tents were second nature to him.

We arranged the poles around the tent and prepared the ropes and pegs. When Danny-Boy Murdock jumped out of the car, we cheered. Danny-Boy was Raoul’s secret weapon. He figured any man who tossed telephone poles for fun, should be able to erect the tent’s center pole no problem.

Raoul ran through the instructions one last time. “If the tent was dry this would be easy.” Yeah, right. “Wet canvas is heavier, but the job is the same. We have canvas lifters. We have pole lifters. We have tent peggers. Everyone ready?”

We all shouted, “Ready!”

“Lift!”

I slipped on the wet grass, struggled to my feet, and lifted with all my might. Danny-Boy ran from one tent pole lifter to the next, helping each straighten and stabilize their pole, while the peggers pegged the ropes. Then, like a man about to bear the weight of the world on his shoulders, he waddled, stoop-backed under the big top, and hoisted the center pole.

What a thing to behold. Danny-Boy groaning and straining under the weight of the canvas, as he raised the center pole. He lifted the massive metal mast until it was vertical.

Raoul slid a weight-bearing cement block underneath—without it, the pole would have sunk deep into the wet ground. Raoul slapped Danny-Boy on the back.

I rushed forward to give my own thanks.

“You have no idea how much I appreciate what you’ve done for us.”

Danny-Boy’s already large grin widened as others playfully punched his shoulder, pumped his arm, squeezed his hand.

“You’ve saved the day!” said one.

“You’ve saved the whole festival!” said another.

Several men hoisted Danny-Boy onto their shoulders and marched him around the tent. Ross Murray appeared beside me. “Well, Gai, looks like you came through after all.”

“Thanks.”

“Hey, don’t thank me. I still think it was a mistake to ditch old Danny-Boy as parade marshal. You’re just lucky the man doesn’t hold a grudge.”

Raoul took Ross’s place when he stamped off to join the hail Danny-Boy parade. “Danny Murdock does not hold a grudge?”

“That’s how I’d have described Wee Claude. But Danny-Boy? If he turns out to be the killer, I’d say he’s taken grudge-holding to a whole new level.”

“If he is the killer.”

We watched Danny-Boy soak up the adulation. “Are you going to tell me what you suspect?”

He smiled. “Not without proof.”

I shook his hand. “Well, thanks for saving the tent. I know this had nothing to do with your investigation.”

He winked. “Your mama bribed me with a peach pie of my very own. How could I resist?”

There were still issues to be resolved, like setting up tables, stringing lights, and directing the set-up of portable toilets. All the while the folded checklist I’d gotten from Carrie felt stiff in my back pocket. In the midst of the business, I noticed Danny-Boy being loaded into the police cruiser with Andrew and Raoul, and later, a tow truck hauled away Danny-Boy’s car.

Was that how LeClerc planned to get his proof?

There was a part of me—deep down inside where I was trying to ignore it—that said no. Danny-Boy was not our man. Which was a problem, because if Danny-Boy wasn’t the killer, and Josh wasn’t the killer, that left the mysterious Black Hair. Whoever he was.

And if not Black Hair? I couldn’t suppress the shiver, as I watched the people working around me. Was it one of them?

Sam snapped his fingers in front of my face. “Earth to Gai?”

I pushed his hand away.

“Did you hear what I said? I need someone to help with the fireworks.”

Besides overseeing the lobster boat races, Sam always launched Hum Harbour Daze opening with night fireworks from his boat. It was a magnificent show. The brilliant explosions reflected in the harbor, doubling their fiery splendor. It was, without a doubt, my favorite part of the whole weekend.

He had a point. I couldn’t envision him standing on the lobster boat’s roof, launching exploding rockets with one good arm, while the boat bounced and bobbed beneath his feet. Every time I tried, I saw him pitching head first into the sea.

I studied my brother thoughtfully. Sam wasn’t the kind of man who gave in easily. If he was requesting help, it meant he really needed help. “Is one person going to be enough?”

“It’s not hard work, Gai. Even you could do what needs to be done.”

“Me?” I laughed. “On a boat?”

“OK, not you, but anyone with sea legs. All they need are two hands, and a good sense of balance.”

“Do you care how old he is?”

“As long as he can follow directions. Got someone in mind?”

“Maybe.”

I was thinking of Josh, and I knew where I’d find him. At Dunmaglass, of course.

 

****

 

As I rounded the corner onto Main Street, I spotted a man standing on the sidewalk across from Dunmaglass. He seemed to be watching the Hubris Heron—Geoff’s upstairs windows, actually—as he slowly smoked a cigarette. Despite the ball cap pulled low over his eyes, I recognized him immediately. Black Hair.

I ducked back behind the corner, flattened myself against the wall. Why was he watching Geoff’s apartment? What should I do? Walk up and say hi? For whatever reason, he turned tail and ran the moment he saw Geoff and me at the jewelers. What were the chances he’d stick around long enough to talk to me?

I peeked again; he was still there. I pulled out my cell phone.

Ash picked up after one ring, and I cut through her pleasant ‘good morning, Dunmaglass’ spiel. “Is Josh with you?”

“Gai?”

Peering around the building, I said, “Listen, and don’t interrupt. See that guy across the street?”

Silence.

“Ash, did you hear me?”

“You said not to interrupt.”

“You can still answer!”

“Then, yeah, I see him.”

“Get Josh to go talk to him.”

“How do you know Josh is here?”

“He can talk about anything. I don’t care. But get him to find out the guy’s name.”

“That’s something, not anything.”

“Ash! He’s leaving!”

“What do you want Josh to do? Follow the guy?” She said it like it was a joke.

“Yes! Follow him, and find out who he is, and where he goes.”

“Seriously?”

“Ash, hurry! The guy’s about to disappear.”

A second later Josh flew out the door, ran half a block, and braked before shifting to a nonchalant pace. In a moment, he and Black Hair were around the corner and out of sight.

Should I interrupt Andrew and tell him what was afoot?

The dispatcher answered my call.

“I’m assuming Andrew and Raoul, ah, Inspector LeClerc, are interviewing Danny-Boy. You don’t have to answer that, Rose, but could you take them this message, please?” I paused, imagining her grabbing the pink message pad and a pen. “Black-haired man spotted outside Dunmaglass. Josh Pry in pursuit.”

“Do you want to wait for an answer?”

“I’m pretty sure I know what it would be.” I could almost see her move to disconnect. “Wait! Tell Andrew to call me back if we should discontinue the tail. OK? And wait! Tell him I’m checking Dunmaglass’s video surveillance. I may have the guy’s picture.”

“The black-haired man?”

“Yeah. Got all that?”

“Ten-four.”

My fancy surveillance system had failed me when the rock throwers broke the shop’s window because the vandals had stayed beyond the camera’s range. Hopefully, their newly adjusted angle would be enough to catch Black-Hair posing on the sidewalk. Without stopping to greet Ash, I dashed straight through the shop and upstairs to my spare room/office. The security system was set up so that, with the click of my mouse, I could watch the pictures stored on a special computer. I pulled up a chair, switched on the monitor, and hit rewind—which I knew wasn’t the appropriate techie terminology. Sheba made herself at home on my lap.

I didn’t have to go back very far. With time stamped snaps taken every ten seconds, several showed the back of his head, two of his profile, and one blurred shot of his face, probably as he was turning to leave. Considering the price I’d paid for this system, they could have installed a camera with a better shutter speed. I’d talk to the company about that.

I printed 8x10 copies of each snap, and tucked them into a folder. Since there was still no word from Andrew, or LeClerc—busy interrogating Danny-Boy, no doubt—I decided to deliver the pictures to the police station myself.

Ash waylaid me, cell phone to her ear. “Josh’s followed the guy to the curling rink. He’s sitting in his pickup drinking a can of pop. What do you want Josh to do?”

“Wander over and say hi, maybe? If they’re at the curling rink, there’s lots of stuff going on. Tell Josh to get him talking so we can find out the guy’s name.”

Ash relayed my instructions.

“What’s his license plate?” I scribbled it on the folder, another bit of the puzzle for Andrew and LeClerc.

Just in case, I also grabbed a plastic bag from under the counter—the kind with a zip. I sometimes used them when I packaged earrings. As I hoped, I found the discarded cigarette butt where Black Hair had been standing. I popped it into the bag. Now we had Black Hair’s DNA.

 

****

 

I wasn’t sure Andrew and LeClerc were as impressed with my initiative as I’d expected. I waved at Andrew, who glared at me through the open door of his office.

Danny-Boy, his back to me, occupied the chair facing Andrew’s desk.

LeClerc sat behind Andrew’s desk, and my brother half-perched on the desk’s corner.

“What’s it been, a half-hour?” I asked Rose.

“You know you’ll get me in trouble with the boss if I answer that.”

I had a somewhat deserved reputation for interfering, and Andrew’d warned everyone who worked at the police station that I was not, under any circumstances, allowed beyond the entrance.

I rested my elbows on the counter. “Well, I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t ask.”

“Where’s that man of yours?”

“Geoff?” I hadn’t seen him or thought of him in—I checked my watch—one hour and thirty-four minutes. “He’s helping me with Hum Harbour Daze.”

“The guys giving you a hard time?”

“How did you know?”

She smiled benevolently. “Honey, your heart was in the right place when you offered to help Carrie Hunter out this year…”

“But?”

“It’s a job that needs a stronger hand.”

“What’s wrong with my hands?”

She reached across and squeezed one. “Not a thing. I’m just glad that man of yours is lending you his.”

I pulled the checklist out of my back pocket.

Geoff had taken responsibility for a couple of the pages. Well, actually, the committee members were still responsible, but he was surreptitiously confirming that they were indeed doing the things required. Geoff was better at surreptitious than I was. I headed back to the curling club, Hum Harbour Daze central, to see how other activities were developing.