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The third day of the search went much like the ones preceding it. Winnie and Harriet met with George Rowe, Larry Dickson, Mark Robinson and of course Shannon Fraser.
“There’s no way Tom is in the water,” Mark insisted. “The man is too good a swimmer and a canoeist for him to have fallen out of his canoe. I say we should concentrate on combing the bush, if he was disoriented for some reason he may have wandered farther into the woods than we thought.”
Rowe and Dickson agreed. Fraser pointed across the water where the Blecher’s motor launch was putting along the shoreline far up the shore from where the canoe was found. “Looks like someone don’t agree,” he commented.
“They’d be a lot more help looking in the bush.” Winnie shoved her hands on her hips and glared at the departing boat.
“At least they’re helping,” Harriet attempted to cool Winnie’s temper.
“Are they?” She continued to glower down the lake.
“We’re wasting time.” Mark pulled out a rough map of the area and spread it out on a rock. “Here’s where we looked already.” He pointed to an area crosshatched with pencil marks. “George, you take this bit. Larry, you try here, and I’ll go up this way a bit.” The ranger pointed out the places on his map.
“What about us?” Harriet broke in.
Mark regarded her solemnly for moment and then flicked his gaze toward Winnie. “Why don’t you two go over the shoreline again directly opposite where the canoe was found, and maybe up the lake a ways.” He folded the map and indicated to Harriet he wanted to speak with her alone.
“Winnie, could you go and fetch some lunch for us from the lodge. I’m sure Annie can supply some bread and cheese.” Harriet nodded at her friend.
With reluctant feet and a few backward glances Winnie hurried up the path to the lodge.
“What is it, Mark?” Harriet moved closer to the ranger.
“I’m beginning to worry that something bad has happened to Tom and if we do find him I’d rather the Trainor woman wasn’t there. I still don’t believe he’s in the lake, but something is certainly wrong, or Tom would have found a way to send some sort of signal so we could locate him.”
Harriet nodded. “I’ve had the same thought myself.” She hesitated and caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “Do you think his disappearance might have something to do with the bootlegging operation that’s going on around here?”
“Why would you think that?” Mark’s reply was guarded, eyebrows raised in surprise.
“Just something Tom said in passing,” Harriet hedged, unsure of how much to reveal. What if the ranger was part of the gang?
“What did he tell you?” Mark lowered his voice.
“Nothing much. Just he had some suspicions and was going to speak with you about them. Did Tom ever bring up his suspicions to you?” Harriet watched the man’s expression carefully but saw only confusion.
“No, any time I’ve seen Tom lately Shan has been with him or within hearing distance. I don’t imagine he would bring up anything sensitive unless he was sure of not being overheard.” Robinson frowned. “I would dearly love to know what it was he thought he knew.”
“I got the lunch,” Winnie joined them, somewhat breathless from her hurry. “What are you talking about?” She glanced from Mark to Harriet.
“I was just showing Harriet where I thought you should search today.” He indicated the area of the shoreline on his map.
“We’ve already looked there,” she protested.
“Yes, but maybe one or the other of us have missed something, some small clue that might give us an idea of where else to look,” Harriet said.
“I suppose that could be true. Women tend to pay more attention to little details than men do, if I do say so myself,” Winnie agreed.
“I’ll be on my way then.” Mark folded his map and tucked it in a pocket. “If you find anything at all give a shout or hit the water with a paddle. The sound will carry far in the bush.”
“We’ll meet back here at sunset,” Harriet said.
“We have to find him today. It’s been too long. I’m really scared and starting to think Tom’s never coming back.” Winnie gasped and grabbed Harriet’s hand. “You don’t think he set this all up do you? Maybe he doesn’t really want to marry me or take care of me and the baby. Maybe he just up and ran off...” Unshed tears shone in her eyes.
“Do you honestly think Tom would do that? It would be one thing if he just disappeared, but to leave his canoe floating like that. I can’t imagine he would put his friends through all of this worry, and he would know we’d keep searching for him until we found something. Tom wouldn’t do that to us,” Harriet assured her.
“What if there’s nothing to find?” Winnie’s voice broke on her sobs.
“There is something and we will find it eventually,” Harriet said fiercely. “I’m going to search now, standing here speculating isn’t doing anyone any good. Are you coming?” She picked up the knapsack with the lunch and turned toward the trail that would take her to the area she wished to search.
After a pause Winnie followed her with much sniffing, coughing, and the occasional sob. The sun was high overhead, and the heat beat down even through the canopy of leaves overhead when Harriet called a stop for lunch.
“Here, you need to eat.” She handed bread and cheese to Winnie.
“I’m not hungry. I can’t eat or I’ll just throw it up,” Winnie protested.
“You need to eat, not just for you but for the baby,” she insisted, pressing the food into her hand.
Winnie took the offering and nibbled on the cheese, a single tear tracking down her cheek.
Harriet repacked the knapsack with any refuse and led the way along the route she’d chosen. Her eyes scanned the bushes which crowded the shore and sometimes impeded their passage, alert for any sign of footprints, disturbed soil or indication that a person had passed this way recently. The biting insects swarmed when the undergrowth was disturbed which did nothing to improve her mood. Honestly, if Winnie doesn’t stop whinging soon I’ll drown her myself. Harriet tamped down the uncharitable thought and pushed on. The sun was dipping low through the trees across the lake and sending red-gold lights dancing on the waves that ruffled the lake when Harriet called a halt.
“I think this is the extent of the area Mark asked up to search.” She tipped her head toward the angle of the sun. “If we want to make it back to the lodge before dark we need to turn around now. Otherwise, they’ll be sending a search party out for us.”
Winnie nodded without speaking, shoulders slumped in defeat. “We’re never going to find him.”
“Something has to turn up.” She stopped speaking at the sound of a motor chugging down the lake. “Even if the worst happened and Tom ended up in the water like the Blechers seem to think,” she held up a hand to stop Winnie’s denial, “even if, the lake is shallow near the islands, only about thirty feet in depth and the water is warm this time of year.” She swallowed hard before continuing. “Even if the worst has happened, the body would have come to the surface by now...”
“I suppose you’re right, but I just can’t think straight right now. I can’t imagine never seeing him again...I just can’t” Winnie set off at a quick pace and Harriet hurried to keep up with her.
The search parties were gathered on the landing when the two women emerged from the bush trail. Harriet caught Mark’s eye and shook her head; he grimaced and shook his head as well. Winnie stopped before they reached the dock.
“I’m going home, back to the cottage. I need to be alone right now.” With lowered head she hurried away from the group, tripping now and then on a loose stone or root.
Harriet joined the men and listened to them report on their search. The Blecher motor launch bumped into the dock where Bessie held it steady with her hand.
“Nothing,” Martin Jr. reported. “We’re headed home now for some supper.”
Bessie shoved the boat away from the dock and Martin steered toward their cottage.
“Don’t know why they insist on looking in the lake, not a chance Tom would end up drowned,” Mark said watching the wake of the departing boat lap at the pilings.
“Until tomorrow then?” Harriet said, “Meet here as usual?”
Mark nodded and then gathering dispersed.
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The eleventh of July was clear and hot. Harriet tramped through the bush solo, Winnie having cried off accompanying her on account of feeling ill. It was almost easier to be on her own with no constant complaints or whinging, although she could understand Winnie’s unease. Seeking higher ground and hopefully a clearing where the sun could get through and discourage some of the flies, Harriet hiked up the ridge. Grasping the slender trunk of a sapling to aid her tired legs she hauled herself the last few feet and then turned to look down on the lake. She shaded her eyes when she caught the flash of sunlight on the wake of a boat and wished she’d thought to bring a spyglass with her. The boat moving across the water was the Blechers as no one else had a motor launch, the middle area was empty of cargo, but something was making a large wake behind the boat although they appeared to be travelling fairly slow. “What is that?” she muttered. Holding the tree for support she leaned forward as if that small amount of distance would make it clearer. “They’re dragging something behind them, but what and why would they do that? It’s not a log, it’s not riding high enough in the water for that, and why would they drag a log anyway?” Harriet blinked and narrowed her eyes to cut the glare of the sunlight dancing on the waves. The boat disappeared between the two Wapomeo islands and was lost to her view. “Well, wasn’t that strange?” she whispered. “I wonder what on earth they’re up to now. It must be something to do with the bootlegging business. I must find an opportunity to speak with Mark about it.”
The Blechers appeared on the other side of the islands, coming a bit closer to where she stood. There didn’t appear to be anything behind the boat now and in her opinion the wake was much less than it was earlier. She shook her head; it must have just been a shadow on the water or a trick of the light bouncing off the wake of the boat. “Maybe you just don’t like them or trust them and you’re being paranoid,” Harriet chided herself.
Finding a convenient rock in the sunlight she ate her lunch and then struck off to continue her search. She returned to the lodge with a heavy heart. The longer they went without finding any sign of the missing man, the more she was sure there was something terribly wrong. From the glum look of the other searchers, the feeling was mutual.
“Has anyone notified his family in Owen Sound?” Harriet asked.
“Sent a telegram to the family. I believe his brother may come out and join the search,” Mark said.
“Never pleasant to get the news a family member is missing,” Harriet commented. “I’m exhausted. A bit of supper and then I’m for my bed.” She nodded in farewell to the men and took the path to the lodge.
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The search continued with Harriet losing hope with each day that passed. Even Mark Robinson was less certain that Tom would be found alive and well. How long could an injured man survive in the rough without any aid? Harriet wondered. Tom hadn’t started a fire, or the searchers would have seen it or at least smelled the smoke. Her gut clenched while she struggled not to accept what was becoming more apparently inevitable. Winnie had taken to her cottage the last few days refusing to see anyone, so Harriet visited her every evening to relay the failure of the searchers.
July 16th brought an end to the waiting and speculation. Harriet beached the canoe and took the path toward the lodge. Shouts of excitement echoed across the lake making her turn and shade her eyes.
“I wonder if that’s good news or bad?” she muttered. “After all this time I can only imagine it can’t be good, but maybe there will finally be some answers.” Returning to her canoe, she shoved it into deeper water and paddled toward Little Wapomeo which was where the voices seemed to be emerging from. Ten minutes later she rounded the end of the island and let the canoe drift forward.
A man she didn’t know was standing on a rocky point of the island shouting across to a canoe being paddled by George Rowe and Larry Dixson. Harriet dipped her paddle and then let the momentum carry her closer.
“To your left! Can you see it?” The man pointed to something in the lake.
Harriet craned her neck but could make out nothing in the dark water on the far side of the other canoe. She stroked the paddle through the water and moved closer to the man on the island.
“Son of a bitch,” George Rowe’s voice sounded choked and thin.
“Oh my God!” Dickson poked at something in the water.
“What is it?” The man on the island yelled across.
“It’s a body. Looks like Tom’s shirt,” Rowe called.
“Oh my,” Harriet gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, no.” She paddled to the edge of the island and stepped out of the canoe. “Hello. I’m a friend of Tom Thomson, I’ve been helping with the search since he disappeared.” After securing the canoe, she offered the man her hand. “Harriet Agnes St. George.
“Dr. Goldwin Howland, Miss St. George. It’s a pity to meet you under these unfortunate circumstances.”
“Yes, this is most distressing.” Her gaze was fixed on the two men in the canoe.
“Can you drag the body to the island?” Howland called.
“Working on it,” Dickson grunted out the words.
With a minimum of splashing, soon the bow of the canoe faced toward Harriet and the two men bent to their paddles. Her stomach clenched at the sight of something bobbing behind them. Oh, Tom. What happened to you? I’ll never believe you just drowned by accident. Another thought crossed her mind almost before she finished her first. Or were you hurt before you ended up in the water? Harriet shoved her hands in her pockets to hide the trembling. Maybe it’s not Tom. It could be someone else, lots of men wear plaid shirts.
The canoe came alongside the shoreline and Rowe threw the end of a line to Dr. Howland. “I don’t think you want to haul him out of the water just now, but tie that off so he don’t go drifting off.”
“Best thing to do is get Mark Robinson out here. He can make the official identification, and he’ll know who to call,” Dickson said, his face pale and set.
“Yes, yes. Of course. Get whoever you think is the right authority out here as soon as possible.” Howland pulled the bloated form into somewhat shallower water and tied the line off to a sturdy pine tree. He turned to Harriet. “Are you quite all right, miss? I gather you were acquainted with Mr. Thomson.”
“Yes. He is...was...a friend. We painted together. Oh, how awful for him to end this way.”
“Should you return to the lodge now? It’s not necessary for you to remain here.” Howland gestured in the direction of the long, white two story building, out of sight behind the bulk of the island.
“No. I’ll stay, at least until Mark gets here.” She glanced at the pale figure moving slightly as the lake breathed against it. “It’s just so hard to believe. Tom was a strong swimmer and an excellent man on the water and in the bush. I just can’t imagine what could have happened.”
“Can I offer you a cup of coffee? Or under the circumstances would you like something a bit stronger? I have the makings in the cottage.”
“Coffee would be wonderful. I don’t drink spirits.” Harriet nodded and forced herself to look anywhere but at the body.
“Will you come up to the cottage?”
She hesitated before pushing her shoulders back and taking a deep breath. “I would prefer to stay here, if it’s no trouble. I know it must seem silly to you, but I don’t want to leave Tom alone.”
“As you wish. If you’re sure you’ll be fine on your own for a few minutes, I will go up and bring the coffee back shortly.”
“Yes, thank you. It is most kind of you. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your kindness.” She glanced away across the lake. “I imagine Mark will come quickly once he hears the news.”
“Let us hope so.”
Dr. Howland took the path up to the cottage, leaving Harriet alone perched on a boulder by the water’s edge.
“Oh, Tom. Whatever am I going to tell Winnie, how am I to tell her? What happened to you?” she whispered.
Dr. Howland returned with two tin cups of coffee in hand. He gave one to Harriet and stood sipping the other. Presently, the murmur of voices and splash of paddles alerted them to a party approaching the island. Howland went to the shore and waved when the canoe appeared around the island. George Rowe and Mark Robinson beached the canoe a distance from where the body was tethered. Robinson strode toward them.
“Park Ranger Mark Robinson,” he offered his hand, “and who do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
“Doctor Goldwin Howland, we met briefly, I believe, when I arrived by train.” He shook the proffered hand. “I’m renting the cottage from Taylor Stratton for the week.”
Robinson nodded, then noticed Harriet standing behind the doctor. “Miss St. George. I’m surprised to see you here.”
“I was out on the lake when I heard people shouting, so I paddled over...and well then...I just couldn’t go away. Such a terrible ending.”
Mark’s gaze fell on the rope tied to the pine tree, his throat working as he swallowed. “George said he was sure they found Tom’s body, but I suppose we need to make it official.” He turned to the doctor. “How did you find the body?”
“In actual fact, I didn’t find it per se. I was down by the lake watching two men going by in a canoe, when I noticed something bob up to the surface of the water. It looked odd and seemed too big to be a fish surfacing to feed. Wrong time of day for that as well. I called out to the men and asked them to go and investigate what it was. They called back it was a dead body, so I asked them if they could tow it to the island. One of the men said they thought it was the man who has been missing for over a week. They got a line on it...him...brought it here where I tied the line to that tree, then they went to get you.” He raised both hands in a helpless gesture. “That’s all I know.”
“Where did the body surface? How far away from here?”
Howland squinted at the lake, then turned to Rowe. “You can most likely answer that question better than I.”
Rowe stepped nearer the two men. “It was about the same distance from the shore as to the island. Lord God, it’s only a short ways from where he set out last week. We should have found him long before this if he was in the lake the whole time.” Rowe shook his head and looked anywhere but at the body.
“Well, I guess we should get this over with.” Mark wiped his nose on the back of his hand. He moved toward the pine tree, followed by Dr. Howland.
Harriet hung back, clutching the now cold cup of coffee in nerveless fingers. George Rowe stood with her, reluctant to be in close proximity to the bloated corpse. Robinson and Howland gripped the line and hauled the corpse to the shallow water at the shore.
“Give us a hand, would you,” Mark called to Rowe.
“Yeah, sure.” Rowe went to join them in turning the body onto its back.
Harriet ventured nearer, one part of her not wanting to see the wreck of her friend and the other half needing to see in order to make sense of the reality. Tom was dead.
Dr. Howland, assisted by Mark Robinson and occasionally by Rowe, examined the body as best as he could under the circumstances. Harriet stood near memorizing every word.
Knee deep in water, Howland began his assessment. “Miss St. George, would you be so kind as to record my findings please. There is pencil and notebook on the table in the cottage.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Harriet turned to go and collect the items.
“I’ll go and get them for you,” George Rowe offered, clearly anxious to put distance between himself and the noxious corpse.
“If you like.” Harriet sat down on the nearby boulder and took a steadying breath. “Who else knows about this?” she asked Mark.
“I didn’t speak to anyone, but Fraser may have overheard Rowe yelling for me.” He shrugged.
“No one has told Winnie Trainor then?”
“Not that I know of, but if Fraser did hear something you can be sure the news will spread like wildfire.”
“Here you go.” George Rowe thrust a notebook and pencil into Harriet’s hands, effectively ending the conversation with Mark. He then retreated a fair distance from the field of operation.
“Ready to begin?” Dr. Howland glanced over his shoulder at Harriet.
“As I’ll ever be.” She got to her feet and stood on the bit of coarse sand behind the doctor and Mark.
He cleared his throat and bent over the body. “July sixteenth in this year of our Lord nineteen-seventeen. Victim is identified as Tom Thomson by Park Ranger Mark Robinson. Body appears to have been in the water for a number of days. There is marked swelling about the head with a four inch long bruise over the left temple. No other bruising apparent on the body that I can ascertain. Decomposition and putrefaction has set in with blisters on the limbs visible. On examination, air was observed issuing from the lungs and blood was noted coming from left ear. There is a quantity of fishing line wrapped around the left ankle, the end broken off. No other fishing gear present. Victim’s watch stopped at one-oh-five p.m.” Howland straightened up wiping his hands on his pants. “That’s all I can do under the circumstances.”
“I have it all recorded.” Harriet closed the notebook.
“What should we do with him?” Mark asked, looking down at his friend.
“There’s nowhere to store him. The decomposition is fairly well advanced. I would suggest the body be buried with all possible haste.” Dr. Howland stepped out of the water and took the notebook and pencil Harriet offered him.
Robinson frowned. “I don’t rightly know if we should move him. I need to notify the family that he’s been found and get instructions from them what they wish us to do with the body. For now, he stays where he is.”
“Goerge, let’s head back to the lodge so I can notify the Thomsons in Owen Sound.” Mark got into the canoe followed by Rowe and the two men set off across the lake.
“I should go and inform Winnie,” Harriet said. “Are you comfortable staying here to guard the body.”
“Yes, yes. I’ll be fine. It’s not like he’s going anywhere.” Howland’s face twisted in a grim semblance of a smile.
“One would hope not,” Harriet rejoined him. “Then I’ll go now and break the sad news to Winnie.” She untied her canoe and paddled away from the gruesome item bobbing in the shallow water. As she paddled her fingers dipped into the lake water. How could his body have stayed submerged in such warm water. I remember Mark telling someone the lake is shallow between the islands and the shore, only thirty feet deep, if I remember correctly. I suppose he would have sunk immediately after drowning, if he really did drown, but then the body would have bloated with gasses, like that cow that got caught in the pond at home, and it would have come to the surface long before today. Tom, what in heaven’s name happened to you?
The canoe bumped against the Trainor dock and Harriet made it fast to one of the cleats. “Winnie! Are you here?” She climbed out onto the dock. “Winnie!”
“Who is it? Oh, Harriet, it’s you. Have you news? Is Tom back?” Winnie hurried from the cottage wiping her hands on an apron.
Harriet swallowed hard and blinked. “There is news.” She took Winnie’s hands when she joined her and led her off the dock. “George Rowe and Larry Dickson found Tom this morning—”
“Where is he? I have to go to him.” Winnie pulled her hands loose, looking about with wild eyes.
“Wait, there’s more. You need to listen to me.”
“What then?” Winnie shoved her hands on her hips. “Hurry, Tom must be half starved, how badly is he hurt? I need to be there for him. Has anyone told his family?” The words poured out of her.
“Slow down. Slow down, take a breath. Listen to me. Here sit down a minute.” She dragged the other woman to a nearby stump and pushed her down on it. “Let me finish. They found Tom in the lake near Little Wapomeo...Winnie he wasn’t alive when they found him. I’m so sorry.”
“What do you mean? You aren’t saying Tom drowned are you? That’s impossible, you know he’s such a strong swimmer.” Winnie surged to her feet. “Why are you lying to me, Harriet? If this is your idea of a joke it isn’t funny.”
“No, it’s not a joke. I happened to be paddling by when they found Tom. There’s a Doctor Howland renting the Stratton cottage, he’s the one who saw something in the water and asked Rowe and Dickson to investigate.”
Winnie collapsed back onto the stump, shock and disbelief rendering her almost expressionless. “Then what?”
“Are you sure you want to hear this?”
Winnie nodded. “I have to. It just doesn’t seem real.”
Harriet shrugged and swallowed, attempting to push the image of Tom’s face from her mind. “The two of them towed Tom over to the island, then one of them went to get Mark Robinson as the local authority in the Park. Mark identified Tom and Doctor Howland made an initial examination. Mark has gone to the lodge to send a message to Tom’s family in Owen Sound.”
“Where’s Tom then?” Winnie started to get to her feet, but her face paled alarmingly before she subsided back onto the stump.
“Still by the island. The doctor is guarding the body.”
“How does he look? I need to see him. Can you take me there?”
“Honestly, Winnie. I don’t think you want to see him the way he is. Better to wait until Mark gets instructions from the family and they get him out of the water.”
“Oh my God, my God. What am I going to do?” Winnie dropped her face into her hands. “What about the baby?”
Harriet knelt beside her. “I don’t know, my dear. But I’m sure you will figure it out in time. Perhaps you could go visit your relatives in the States until the child is born and then come back. With or without the child as you choose.”
“That could work, but oh, I just can’t think of that right now.” She gripped Harriet’s hands. “You’re a good friend.” Winnie scrambled to her feet and swayed so Harriet was forced to steady her.
“Why don’t you go lie down? Is your father home or away?”
“I believe he’s gone over to the lodge. Mother is still in Hunstville, I’m sure Father will let her know.” Her voice was expressionless and blank.
“He’ll have heard the news then. I’m sure he’ll be back soon. Please do go and lie down.”
“Yes, I believe I will.” Harriet followed her to the cottage door. “They never approved of Tom, my parents. I imagine they’ll be somewhat relieved he’s gone...” Winnie’s voice trailed off as she stepped inside.
“Dear God,” Harriet muttered returning to her canoe and setting out for the lodge.
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Chaos reigned when Harriet approached the lodge door. The Frasers were in Annie’s tiny office engaged in what appeared to be a heated, anxious conversation with Martin Blecher Sr. The scene set off alarm bells in Harriet’s mind. Mark Robinson was trying to maintain some semblance of order but was not having much luck. A crowd of locals milled about; hushed voices occasionally punctuated by louder exclamations of disbelief. She saw Winnie’s father in the group.
“Have the Thomsons been informed?” Harriet drew Mark aside.
He nodded.
“Did they give any instructions on what to do with Tom?” Harriet asked.
“Nothing that I’ve seen. I can wait until tomorrow morning but if we haven’t heard anything concrete by then, well then, we’ll have to make do the best we can.”
“I can’t imagine they won’t respond swiftly.” Harriet patted his arm and went in search of some coffee to calm her jangled nerves. Her steps slowed as she neared the huddle inside the office. The voices of the occupants were strained, and she caught Tom’s name on Blecher Sr.’s tongue.
“He didn’t have anything to do with it, I tell you,” Blecher Sr. hissed.
“You better hope not,” Annie hissed in return. “There’ll be hell to pay if there’s any evidence the death wasn’t an accident.”
“Tom just angered too many people, people with a lot to lose. The man should have kept his nose out of other peoples’ business,” Shan growled.
“Hush up. Someone might hear you and get the wrong idea,” Annie whispered, but her harsh voice carried to where Harriet stood in the shadows.
“I admit Martin has a bit of a temper and Thomson’s manner provokes him, but he’d never go hunt the man down and attack him,” Blecher Sr. attempted to sound convinced, but Harriet heard the undertone of uncertainty in his voice.
“The last thing we need is anyone looking into our activities here. The operation is too successful. I have no intention of losing that income.” Shan loomed over the American-German. “It was bad enough that U.S. War Department man coming up here earlier in the year. We almost missed making a delivery because of him.”
“Ja, Ja. That was bad. But we managed and no one was the wiser.”
Shannon glanced toward the door. “I need to go talk with Robinson. See what information I can squeeze out of him.”
Harriet slipped out of the shadow and hurried up the stairs. Near the top, she gripped the handrail as a wave of dizziness washed over her. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and waited for it to pass. Harriet had never fainted, and she wasn’t about to start now. Her gut told her there was more going on than was apparent. Even though Dr. Howland proclaimed that Tom died by misadventure—what a stupid word—why not just say accident—Harriet could not reconcile that with what she knew of Tom Thomson. Suspicions stirred in her mind and couldn’t be put to rest. It’s all linked to that bootlegging scheme. I know it. What did Tom find out that was important enough to kill him in order to be sure he remained silent on the matter? The thought made her stomach roil. The bruise on his temple...if Tom was already unconscious or not breathing when he went into the water, that would explain a lot of things... dead people don’t bleed and there was no water in his lungs, so he couldn’t have drowned. Father would be pleased to know I learned something from him. An ironic grin twisted her mouth. Her gaze fell on the spare paddle leaning in the corner of her room...the edge of the paddle, if you hit someone with that narrow edge, it would leave a mark much like the one she’d seen on Tom’s temple. Oh dear God, I’m sure Tom was murdered. Maybe, or maybe not, on purpose. Harriet moved to the window and gazed out toward the two islands across the lake painted with the reflection of the sky. “I promise you Tom, I’ll find out what happened, and if someone did murder you I’ll figure out who it was and make sure they pay.” Her fingers whitened where they gripped the windowsill. “And I’m fairly sure I know where to start.”