STORM ROLL: a Canadian murder mystery series

by KATHY GARTHWAITE

  “No kids from your first marriage?”

  Gibson shook his head.

  “Sorry. I can’t help myself. My wife tells me that I grill everybody I meet. That’s why I don’t have any friends.” He laughed. “I hope you can get along with my inspector. Have fun with it.” He headed for the door, letting in a whoosh of hot air.

  Eckhart glanced sideways at Gibson and licked her lips.

  “You bet. I’ll do my best to be of service,” Gibson said to the retreating superintendent.

  “Shall we do a tour?” Eckhart asked.

  Gibson lowered his head and exhaled loudly.

  “You’re hungry?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 2

  The muggy heat persisted even as the light faded, turning blue skies to black. Rivers of fiery sparks streamed across the canvas of midnight. Each explosive crack drew a new pattern into the sky, releasing fingers of vivid colour. Brilliant trails swept to the horizon and disappeared. The drama concluded with a progression of snaps and booms. They burst into silvers and reds, celebrating Canada Day. The revelers cheered as the flashes whipped across the heavens for the final hurrah, leaving smoke to linger.

  “How about a stroll on the beach?” David Hunter asked as he seized his wife’s hand.

  “Sure,” Jackie answered.

  They walked in silence toward the lake, the mere hint of a breeze—almost as warm as the night air—giving no relief as it brushed their sunburned faces. The moonlight paled against the wealth of stars above, and the lone light in the distance was a beacon for the shore below. An occasional tweet from the shrubbery along the shoulder of the lonely lane, and the far-off timbre of waves lapping the shoreline were muted sounds in the background.

  A cry chopped the stillness into tiny pieces of fear. David and Jackie came to a standstill on the landing.

  “Look out!” Gregory Cunningham screamed as he staggered up the rickety stairs. He howled as his foot caught on a jagged board, and his knee struck a stray nail on the top step. He scrambled up quickly, knocking Jackie against the post. David stood in his way, but Gregory jammed him with an elbow to move.

  “Elsie’s dead.”

  Jackie drew in her breath.

  “What are you talking about? Slow down.” David snatched the young man’s wrist. The stickiness was warm.

  “At the bottom. I don’t know.” Gregory squirmed in David’s grip. “Let me go.” He wrenched himself free and sprinted off into the dimness, a faint shape in the dusk as he slipped away.

  “Gregory!” Jackie shouted. “Where are you going?” With clenched teeth, she held back a scream latched deep in her throat. Her pulse throbbed with a fuzzy pitch in her ears. She hung onto the railing, her brain spinning and the lightness in her limbs threatening to let her down.

  “Are you okay?” David asked.

  She nodded.

  “Stay here!” The tremor in David’s voice bordered on panic. He fought it and plunged into the dark abyss where some kind of terror waited.

  Jackie remained paralyzed. David’s hurried footfalls vibrated on the waterlogged wood and echoed against the dunes. Then nothing but a deathly silence, punctuated by her stifled sobs, filled the empty night; her body quivering like a lost kitten in the rain. A scraping sound from the nearby bushes was all it took to send her flying down the stairs just moments after David had taken the leap into the unknown. She careened off the bottom step and landed on the soft sand next to him. At their feet lay their friend, Elsie Webber. Her long, loose skirt billowed out, revealing flabby thighs and stiff sandals. Her curly ruby locks that had tumbled around her satin complexion that same afternoon, were now matted in a brew of blood and grime. David dropped to his knees and hovered his palm over the figure. He gulped and stretched his fingers to her neck.

  “Shit. There’s no pulse.” He yanked his hand aside as if he had touched a pot of boiling water.

  “Did she fall?” Jackie’s thoughts swirled like a black mist at the edges of her mind.

  “How would I know?” His voice hit a shrill note that skipped across the lake.

  Jackie had a sudden urge to flee. She flinched at a sound in the undergrowth, but it was only restless birds fighting for the best roost.

  David fell back on his calves and pulled out his cell. His trembling fingers loosened, sending the phone into the sand. He scooped it up and dialed 911.

  “There’s been an accident on Lawsons Lane. On the beach.”

  He hung up and stared at his wife.

  “Do we have to stay here?” she asked.

  “No. We’ll wait on the landing.”

  Jackie took a last look at her friend as she trudged up the wooden slats. She wiped away the surge of tears and put on a brave face, waiting for the ambulance, hoping. The sirens ripped through the night, fading in and out at each bend of the road. A dozen headlights swarmed at the top of the street, bearing down on them, and pressing into the darkness. Invariably, the noise and lights attracted a mob. David blocked the entrance, holding them into submission with a low-pitched hiss.

  “Back off.”

  They pushed against David. More partygoers from the fireworks display arrived like slow drops of water from a leaky faucet, seeking a morbid distraction. The air was charged with a palpable murmur as rumours whizzed in a rage of wildfires, skipping from mouth to ear to the husband—Todd, who pounded down the narrow lane, barging through a flash of selfies, his blood ablaze. He hurtled through obstacles in his path, crashing into David’s feeble barrier and barreling past him. The steps rattled with the force of his hammering feet as he plunged to his destiny. David pitched into the void right behind him. A penetrating shriek resonated all around.

  An unmarked vehicle pulled up to the landing and DC Cooper jumped out. He ran down the steps and returned within a few minutes as emergency vehicles crammed into the narrow space. Another sound made Jackie turn to face Savannah Jacobs, Elsie’s sister, who had staggered to a halt, panting from a hard run to reach the waterfront. Jackie reached out too late and watched as her friend fell into a heap in the dirt. The last thing she heard was the officer shouting into his cell phone.

  “Where the hell is Inspector Eckhart? We have a homicide.”

  * * *

  The light faded quickly into a dusk that still held onto the heat as Eckhart drove down the service roads to Port Dalhousie. She parked on a side street, and she and Gibson headed down an alleyway covered with cobblestone. An oversized banana plant stood at the entrance of a seafood restaurant tucked in at the rear. The double oak doors were carved with whales. Large brass handles resembling mermaids carried the theme. In the foyer, several ficus plants in giant pots shielded the tables from the reservation desk. A girl dressed in white slacks and a bright tunic stamped with seahorses greeted them with a preppy smile. They followed her up a short flight of steps to a smaller room. Voices babbled happily and laughter filled the room. They relaxed on wooden chairs, knees touching under the wobbly table. A red and white checkerboard tablecloth placed diagonally hung almost to the floor. One lit candle in a glass jar and a single rose in a slim vase set the atmosphere.

  “What do you think?” Eckhart asked.

  “Charming.”

  “Best fish tacos ever.” She glimpsed up at him and smiled. “This side of the Rockies.”

  “Is that right?” He felt the warmth of her body across the table.

  The waiter came and went unnoticed, leaving behind a platter of food. Eckhart munched on a crisp taco; sauce dripped from the side of her mouth. She dabbed her lips with a napkin.

  “It’s good,” Gibson said as he bit into a nacho. His cell chirped again. He looked at the screen and shut it off.

  “Nothing important?” She put her phone on vibrate and stuck it in her purse. “Me neither.”

  Gibson smiled his quirky smile and took another bite.

  “What now? Can I entice you to my place for a nightcap?” Eckhart asked after the table was c
leared and they were ready to leave.

  A burst of light lit up the skies over the lake. They both looked up as the colours trickled through the blackness.

  “I forgot it was a holiday,” Gibson said.

  “Well?” Her blue eyes sparkled.

  “It’s been a long day for me. I should get some sleep.” He hesitated about taking the first dip in the pool.

  “Okay.” She pushed her lips into an exaggerated pout.

  Gibson waited on the sidewalk for his cab and watched wistfully as Eckhart drove off. Within a half an hour, he was settled in his room on Lakeshore Road, resting into the comfy mattress, his pillow fluffed up and a big lump of guilt in his gut. He looked at his phone and saw that he had missed three calls and a couple of texts from Katherine. He thought about what he had done in the past and wondered if he was destined to repeat his behaviour. And yes, here he was in the Western Motel thinking about Eckhart, not his wife. Perspiration gathered on his brow when a picture of Katherine entered his mind. What am I doing? He brushed at his forehead to remove the moisture. Or possibly his shame? He twirled his wedding band around his finger several times before he took it off and placed it on the night table. The roar of cars on the busy street bombarded the motel sliding door, slipping through the small fissures, adding to the white noise from the air conditioning and lulled him to sleep.

  Chapter 3

  A glimmer of light snuck through a crack in the drawn shades. Eckhart heard a buzzing sound and saw her purse jumping madly on the night table. She reached over a glass to snag the cell when her hand knocked the remote to the floor with a crash, sailing it across the room. The volume button caught the side of an armchair, and an automobile chase down the streets of San Francisco blasted from the television.

  “Ah, shit. Go figure.” She slid off the bed and jammed at the toggle, prepared to hurl it out the window. Silence, at last.

  “Eckhart.”

  “There’s been a murder,” Cooper said.

  “Where?”

  “Lawsons Lane.”

  “I’m on my way.” She hung up and dialed the inspector.

  “Gibson.”

  “It’s me. There’s been a murder.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll come get you.”

  “Okay. I’m at Just Roasted Cafe. Do you know the coffee shop on Lakeshore?”

  “Yeah. Won’t be long.”

  Eckhart stepped outside to a white light that washed the sky of its blue. Dawn had abandoned its coolness to the sustained warmth from the day before. A blistering sun beat down without mercy. Birds holed up in still foliage sounded random trills in revolt. She fired up the truck praying the vents would bring relief from the stifling air. Her sunglasses dropped to the floor as she wrestled with the overhead compartment. She picked them up. One of the lenses had cracked.

  “Shit. It’s going to be one of those days.” She tossed the sunglasses into the centre console.

  Her skin glistened, and the nape of her neck was already damp. She mopped at a bead of perspiration on her forehead and headed out of Port Dalhousie. The waterfront neighborhood was undergoing rapid gentrification. Fifties houses fought in a battle with new multi-storey condominiums. Vivid greens, pinks and yellows splashed storefront buildings. Developers were the big winners.

  Eckhart zipped across the bridge that spanned Martindale Pond. The powder-blue water paralleled the colourless sky. Since 1903 the Royal Canadian Henley Regatta had called this pond their home. She had enjoyed viewing the race, and the rowers’ muscular calves and sculpted arms. She pulled around the intersection and hopped the curb. Gibson darted out of the café and jumped into the passenger seat.

  “What a nightmare.” She leaned in and whiffed a scent of musk aftershave.

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know yet. I just got the call.”

  “When did it happen?”

  “It was last night. I didn’t have my phone on.” Her sultry gaze flitted to Gibson and down to his hand, a white mark where his ring should have been.

  He looked away from the subtlety of her remark, a blush rising behind his collar.

  Bright sunlight reflected off the road, causing a feathery haze that wavered in her eyes. Eckhart drove down Lakeshore Road through the suburbs to a vertical-lift bridge over the Welland Canal. The man-made forty-three-kilometre shipping lane traversed the Niagara Peninsula from Port Weller to Port Colborne connecting Lakes Ontario and Erie. It was a bypass of the Falls providing ships passage through the Great Lakes system by its eight locks. Gibson gazed down the canal as they passed over, the tires singing on the crisscross steel grate. A black bow rose high in the air, giving the sense it would spill onto the roadway. He cringed at its colossal size. In the other direction, a ribbon of water glimmered in the sunlight along the flat landscape.

  Eckhart proceeded on past the East-West Road, flying by a few vineyards and fire lanes. The Expedition bounded over the uneven roads without any problems. As she rounded the next corner, the Jacobs Landing sign cropped up in the distance. The yellow and red board was pinned to a steel pole adjacent to the street. In the bottom right-hand corner, it read ‘Since 1945’. She turned left onto Lawsons Lane and sped toward the waterfront.

  DC Jones leaned on a post wiping the glow from his brow with his shirttail, although fresh beads developed immediately. He stabbed out his tongue and panted. Eckhart spun to a stop metres away, corkscrewing dust into his face.

  “Sorry,” she shouted and lifted her hands in surrender. A smirk pulled up a lip at the corner.

  Jones shrugged it off, brushing at his pants. Gibson stepped out into the absolute heat. A light burst of refreshing air surged past him off the lake below, not salty like his beloved Pacific Ocean, but cooling.

  “That’s better,” he said.

  “Yes, sir. It’s a bit of relief,” Jones agreed.

  Eckhart dipped her chin and accompanied Gibson down the shaky stairs. The detectives leaped off the final step. Yellow tape surrounded an indentation in the dark-stained sand. Cooper hunkered in the shade of shrubbery against the bank. He scrambled over to stand with the bosses. The scorched sand shimmered silvery diamonds. Gibson placed his hand on his forehead to ward off the glare and gazed across the wind-ruffled water, keeping his face up to detect the puffs of air. It was a wrestle between the sunlight and the breeze. He longed for the balmy temperate weather of the coast. Here it was thirty-three degrees and climbing. He wiped his brow again.

  “So, what happened here?” Eckhart asked.

  “There was a firework display on the property at the top of the stairs. On the left. A couple came down after the party for a stroll on the beach.” He looked at his notes. “The guy phoned it in, but he wasn’t the person who found the body. That was a Gregory Cunningham.”

  “Who is the victim?”

  “Elsie Webber. She runs the store at Jacobs Landing along with her husband, Todd.” He pressed his lips together.

  “Anything else you can tell us?”

  He shook his head.

  “Okay. We’ll head over to the morgue.” She could sense that Cooper wanted to ask her something by the way he was fidgeting. She wasn’t going to tell him why her cellphone wasn’t on.

  “Should Jones and I head back to the station? There’s nothing left for us to do here. All the evidence was taken to the lab.”

  “Has Todd been notified?”

  “Yeah. He was here last night.”

  “Here. Like at the party?”

  “No. On the beach.”

  She nodded and turned to walk away.

  The cooling breeze had died. The buzz of flies around the blood in the sand grew louder.

  Chapter 4

  A lazy breeze fluttered the curtains, and a spicy fragrance of the honeysuckle on the trellis drifted in through the open window. David rubbed his tired eyes and raked his fingers through his unruly hair. The sun had barely risen. He sat on the edge of the couch, elbows on his thighs, hands held in pra
yer at his mouth. The flaming sphere breached the horizon and shattered the blues of the night. Streaks of sunlight zinged through the glass. The brilliance clawed at his face, his eyelids flickered. Not a cloud in the sky to check it. He pulled himself up and trotted across the scarred wooden floor, arms crisscrossed over his barrel of a trunk.

  An indistinct movement and the hint of a squeak made Jackie stir from an edgy rest. She opened her eyes lethargically inhaling the dread of the night before. A flat but regular breathing emanated from the bed where Savannah took cover under a scattering of sheets. Her cheeks puffed with each rise and fall of her rib cage. Jackie let the blanket she had clung onto for security all night slide to the ground. One final look and she tiptoed out of the bedroom.

  “Hi.” She stretched her arms to shake off the tiredness that lingered.

  “Should we go?” David looked down at his dusty toes. He uncrossed his arms and reached for her arm, stopping midway. “Are you all right?”

  What a dumb question. None of them were okay. They gathered their meagre belongings and stepped out the door, the heat forcing into them like an unwanted visitor.

  “Uber?”

  “Let’s hope so. We should have driven ourselves.”

  David dialed from his phone app. He crossed his fingers. Thank goodness someone answered. They waited fifteen minutes in the shade of the store veranda, one that may never open again. A white Acura SUV glided into the parking lot. A youthful fellow rolled down the window.

  “Hi, hop in.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Where to?”

  “Denver Court. Do you know it?”

  “Yup.” The driver glanced in the rear. “I heard about the murder on the radio this morning. An acquaintance of yours?”

  “Yeah,” Jackie answered, her swollen eyes testament to her grief.

  The driver was stunned at her reply and remained quiet. He managed a U-turn in the lane and veered right at the stop sign heading toward town.

  Jackie glanced over to David, but he was slumped back into his seat with his eyes closed. She looked out the window. They pushed past Grantham Avenue with a mall on three of its corners and took a left on Niagara Road with its row of plane trees, a memorial to the First World War veterans. They sailed by a neighbourhood of deep-rooted money, estates that had passed down to an insolent generation. Tall stone screens and black iron fences hid lush lawns and massive mansions. A line of trees overhung the road making a tunnel of coolness. The leaves swooshed with a wisp of air. Almost home. They rounded the last intersection to the familiar dwelling. The Uber guy dropped them off unceremoniously and reeled out of the cul-de-sac to his next client. They slogged up the driveway. Jackie’s mom stared through the screen, a somber expression on her face. Death lurked around the corner.