“She was sitting with her sister, Savannah, and I guess that was Jackie with her, my niece. I thought she moved out west.”
“Did you see Elsie leave?”
“No.”
“Any idea why she would leave early?”
“Not really. No reason for me to know.” Margaret paused. “Maybe to check up on Todd.”
“What do you mean?”
“He keeps the store open until closing time no matter what. So I suppose he was still counting cash or something.”
“So, she might have been heading there?”
Margaret shrugged.
Yeah, except Elsie went the other way toward the beach. Was she meeting someone? Gibson wondered.
“What were you doing all that time?” he asked.
“I was helping Felton. Getting the guys beer and stuff.”
“Did you see anybody?” He turned to Felton.
“Too busy with the fireworks.”
“Who were the men helping you?” Gibson asked.
“Some friends.” He glared at the detective and gave Eckhart a sideways glance, admiring her good looks like most men did. Gibson waited.
“A guy I met at the bar a few years ago. And his son.” He coughed into his handkerchief again and cleared his throat. “They live in a trailer park by the canal.”
“Could we have names?”
Eckhart poised her hand over the notepad and wrote down the info.
“What about the store? Will they close it?” Margaret asked.
“For now, I’m sure,” Gibson said and pulled at his sweat drenched collar.
“It’s muggy enough to rain. I can feel it coming,” Margaret said, nodding with authority.
Eckhart sat quietly.
“Okay. Thanks for your time.”
“All right, officer.”
Felton ignored them.
The detectives headed down the hallway, Margaret pursuing close behind.
Gibson cast a backward look as they drove off. Ominous clouds shoved each other in the northeastern sky. They tumbled into larger foreboding masses as they raced across the lake on a wind Gibson couldn’t feel.
“Yikes. We’re in for trouble.”
Chapter 7
“What should we do?” Jackie asked.
“We better go see how Todd and Savannah are doing,” David answered.
The tires hummed along the sticky tarmac, changing to a low purr when they hit the metal grid of the bridge. Jackie looked down the canal and gathered in a breath. A familiar friend in this hostile world. The essence of earthy loam from the lushness all around seeped into the car vents. A reminder of long summer days and wasted youth. She lowered her eyes and inclined her head backward.
Jacobs Landing. No light glowed from within. It appeared deserted, shutters sealed to life. Flowers in the terracotta pots were limp beyond promise. David felt as wilted as the flowers. He was feeling the soaring temperatures more than his wife. They trudged down the narrow stone pathway, holding hands tightly. The one-storey house had a gabled roof and dark wood-framed windows. The porch had little embellishment except for the intricate wrought-iron railing. He knocked, paused and waited for a response, and tapped again. Savannah swung open the door. A huge yawn, splotchy skin and bloodshot eyes suggested sleep deprivation. She tugged at her greasy hair.
“Is Todd awake?” David asked.
“He’s in the kitchen. Better come in.”
Heat punched them from behind, trying to invade the house. Savannah crossed her arms over her chest as if a chill had hit her. David hastened to the rear of the house, leaving the women standing in the foyer.
“Let’s go to the beach,” Jackie said.
“I guess,” Savannah answered.
They ambled down the dusty lane, Grandma’s home on the right, the Underwood family residence on the left. A long tract of meadow grasses played in the faint breeze as they lumbered along. Past the fields, Felton’s place came into view. Below the bluff across the street, barely visible stood a house tucked behind a row of trees and native shrubbery. The neighbourhood bogeyman lived there—Mr. Hugh Tatlow. Jackie had seen him the other day, and he had looked the same as she had remembered him—a giant guy with black eyes and a piercing glare. Creepy. As a kid, she had invariably eluded his property and ran like hell if she encountered him.
Savannah faltered on the beach landing, inhaled a breath and risked the first step. She skirted the depression at the bottom. The coast swept away into the distance, fading at a curve. As if drawn by a magnet, the girls wended their way to the lake, hot sand shifting under their feet. The water was chilly in contrast. Savannah wiggled her toes as the silvery bubbling crests curled past her naked limbs to strike the shoreline with softness. Overhead the sunlight pulsed down from a pastel blue sky. The seagulls screamed and whirled gracefully with the thermals.
They found a shaded patch against the dunes where timbers had sailed in from winter storms. The driftwood bleached by the summer rays sat pale in their current home until the next squall reclaimed them. Jackie pushed backward into an arched hollow on an auspicious log. She passed her fingers over the ridges that swirled along its surface. She was undecided what to say to her grieving companion. Savannah remained quietly beside her. The melody of the wash licking the sand made it tough for Jackie to hold her eyes open. The sun stabbed a tunnel through the shivering leaves and touched down on Savannah’s fiery red hair. The same ruby hue as Elsie’s locks. Jackie’s moan of sadness was not lost upon her friend.
The restless night had weighed on Jackie’s resilience, and she nodded off. The squealing of gulls startled her from her nap. Savannah was gone. She felt alone. A sharp wind sent goosebumps along her arms. She glanced up at the black clouds hurrying in and sprawling across the sky. A brilliant force of lightning shocked her to her feet. A boom made her jump. The squall unleashed itself, lashing the top of the water, hurling spray into the air. Drops of rain changed into casks as she tripped up the stairs. Each lightning crack and rumble of thunder sounding closer. When she reached the landing, a flash lit up all around. The detonation came moments afterward. Jackie rushed forward from peril straight into the arms of a stranger. She hollered, wrenching herself loose from his powerful grasp. Black evil eyes glared at Jackie, making her run as fast as she could. She careened down the lane, tears cascading down her cheeks. A hand captured her. She screeched wildly, and whirled round to face her fear.
* * *
Todd had gone back to bed, so David wandered outside to the store. He stood on the stoop with a lit smoke, staring at the gathering storm. The sky had dimmed, but the heat hadn’t let up. The clouds bunched together closer, blacker and steeper. A spark of lightning split the sky, and a deafening boom crackled overhead. He butted out his fag and decided to look for the girls. As he headed down the roadway more forks of lightning and thunder rolled over him. The clouds broke free and dumped rain onto his hurrying figure. An Expedition whipped out of Grandma’s driveway almost colliding into him. He continued moving quicker, his limbs working overtime until he spotted Jackie. She was running blindly down the lane with her eyes lowered. He grabbed at her arm to slow her down. She struggled to get away.
“It’s me.”
She looked up and fell into his body.
“Mr. Tatlow. He tried to…”
“It’s okay. Let’s get out of this downpour,” David assured her.
Chapter 8
“Who’s next on our list?” Gibson studied the list. His finger paused at Mrs. Mary Cunningham. “We’ll visit Grandma. If it’s at all like my family, people will just show up. Maybe Gregory is there.”
Grandma’s home was adjacent to the roadway. The two-storey white building had an expansive wraparound veranda on both levels. It was the perfect grandchild playground. Lots of space to run and bike. Apple trees, their gnarled branches weighted with fruit spurs, peppered the grassland on the right. Jacobs Landing stood out across the field. The hedge on the left blocked out Felton’s dwellin
g.
There were rose beds here and there about the house and along the driveway. Lavender and marigolds weaved in with the shrubs. Katherine would treasure this, Gibson thought. He shut his eyes for a flash and sighed. Grandma rested in a rocker by the front door, hands on lap, gazing at the darkness rolling in. Bobby pins, stuck in randomly, barely kept the puffs of silvery hair in control. Her skin was weathered and wrinkly.
“Good afternoon,” Gibson said as he walked to the porch.
“Are you the detectives?”
“Yes. May we ask a few questions?”
“What a dreadful affair. Poor Elsie.”
Eckhart picked a basket weave chair opposite the elderly woman and sat. Gibson leaned on the railing and crossed his arms.
“Would you like some water? Not as good as Felton’s. But it’s icy.” The rocker groaned as she broke its motion with feet stuck on the ground. She reached for the glass beside her.
He shook his head and smirked at the dig directed at Felton and his well water.
“Did you notice anything at the party? Anybody follow Elsie out or anything?” Gibson asked, figuring Grandma didn’t miss much.
“I’m not so young anymore. I went home before the fireworks started. I really can’t help you.” Her head had bobbed up and down as she listened, her mouth twisted into a frown.
A pickup ripped into the entrance and came to a halt with a skid in the dirt. It was a classic 1950s Chevrolet, a no-expense-spared restoration with an awesome turquoise paint job that popped.
“There’s B… Anatoe,” Grandma said. She had almost called him by his nickname, Blinkers, but thought better of it.
A long-limbed man in his early thirties hopped out and walked by the Expedition, glancing at the official logo on the door. A crooked smile quickly flashed and retired. He sauntered up to the stoop and set a foot on the lower tread. Grease stained his coveralls and encrusted his palms. He stood as tall as Gibson. He had beefy square shoulders and a tense square jaw with earthy brown eyes, a spark of soul showing and a wariness hiding behind. He was a dead ringer for the lady Gibson had known so well long ago. Gibson looked at the ground and rubbed at his face.
“Just checking up on you,” Anatoe said and smiled at Gran. Not his grandmother, but it felt like it.
“I’m fine. These are the police.”
“Hey.” He remained on the bottom step and placed his hands on his hips.
“I understand you run a repair shop,” Gibson said.
“Yeah.” His eye ticked ever so slightly.
“Nice truck. Did you fix it up yourself?”
“Yeah.” Anatoe stared at Eckhart.
“Someone murdered Elsie,” Grandma blurted out. Anatoe took his gaze from the inspector and looked at Grandma instead.
“Huh. I thought she tumbled down the stairs.” His glance bounced toward Gibson.
“I’m afraid it wasn’t an accident. Did you see anything?” Gibson said.
“What? I don’t know anything.”
A flash ripped in the eastern sky. A crack in the air followed closely. The thunder rolled across the blue-steel grey expanse like a non-stop train. Gibson raised his gaze to black clouds sweeping in quickly. The next strike of lightening hit moments afterward. Another explosion sounded near to where they stood, the rumbling echoing off the lake.
“What about the fight?”
“It was nothing. That was just some jerks being nasty to Elsie. I tried to straighten them out. She didn’t deserve that.”
“Where did you go after that?”
“I went over to the fireworks pit. Then I grabbed a beer from the house.”
“Did anyone see you in your wanderings?” Gibson asked.
“I don’t know. They were all busy getting things set up.”
“David saw you arguing with Elsie on the landing.”
“That’s ridiculous. Wasn’t me. He’s mistaken me for someone else,” Anatoe said.
Gibson hoped that was true. Besides, David didn’t seem clear about what he saw. He took a photo of the ring out of his pocket and handed it over. “Are you part of this fraternity?”
“Yeah, Alpha Zee.”
“Where’s your ring?” Gibson rubbed at his finger.
“I gave it to a lady last year.” He grimaced. “Never got it back after we split.”
“Who are the members?”
“Just a few guys from Grimsby.”
“Have names for us?”
“Sure. No problem,” Anatoe said.
Eckhart wrote as he called out the individuals.
“Anything else you can add?”
He shrugged a shoulder.
The next brilliant zigzag of light crashed down by the shore almost simultaneously with a crackle of thunder. A patter of raindrops fell and then lashed down in torrential sheets. Anatoe bounded up the stairs to avoid getting drenched. Gibson moved away from the railing. Tree boughs swayed and groaned in the sudden gale.
“Thanks for your help.” Gibson shot a glance toward Eckhart. He bounded off the porch and made a mad dash for the truck.
“Let’s hunt down Felton’s firework buddies,” Gibson said.
“Okay.” Eckhart drew her pad from a pocket and flipped through it, searching for an address. She tapped the page. “They live by the canal. On this side. I know the place.”
He nodded.
“Should we grab a quick bite before we go?”
“Good idea.”
As Eckhart turned into the first market she encountered, the rain stopped as quickly as it had started. That was pretty typical for this part of the world in the summer.
There were plenty of bins of fresh local fruits and vegetables. Looked promising. They grabbed a couple of cold drinks and sandwiches from the cooler. Gibson bit down on his tuna sandwich and stopped mid chomp. It hadn’t been his first choice of fillings, but there hadn’t been much selection. He swung to his partner and saw she had the same look on her face. He tossed most of his lunch into a bin just outside the entrance of the store.
“Yuck. Definitely not the Mansion Pub,” he spat.
“Touché.” She followed suit and pitched her sandwich in the garbage.
They headed to a service road that ran parallel to the canal. A wire fence circled the trailer park. Eckhart drove down the muddy track between rows of mobile homes. The truck bounced in the wide ruts. They discovered the place they were seeking at the top of the second row, just as Felton described it. A hoarder’s paradise. Junk filled the meager lot in front: a sink, some irrigation pipe and a jumble of tangled metal. An old fridge stood vacant at the side of the mobile home, accompanied by a rusted-out water tank. A tarp attached to the flimsy aluminium wall flapped in the breeze. The whole yard looked like a fire risk. He glanced at the neighbour’s garden. It was respectable, even had a wooden tub of geraniums.
Gibson had run both their names through the system with the equipment in the Expedition. The father was clean, but the kid had a possession charge from three years ago. It didn’t matter anymore though, because weed was now legal in Canada. He thought he’d never see the day. He shook his head.
The structure rattled when Gibson tapped on the door.
“Yeah, what do you want?”
“It’s the police.”
May as well keep it simple. A chair scraped along the floor, and heavy footsteps caused the trailer to shake. An old man in a greasy plaid shirt with jeans that hung below his waistline stood in the entrance. He hiked them up, hauling on the frayed belt.
“Nothing to say to the police,” the old man said.
“Don’t worry. We just want to ask a few questions about the fireworks.”
“At Felton’s house?”
“Yes.”
Some banging reverberated from the back.
“Is that your son?”
“Get over here,” the old man whooped. A scruffy looking individual came around the corner and froze when he spotted the detectives.
“What?” the kid snappe
d, jutting out his jaw.
“They want to know about the fireworks.”
“What about them?” The kid forced his lips together into a scowl, and made an offensive gesture with his yellowed fingers, gunk under his broken nails.
“You were both helping?”
The old man nodded. The kid lowered his angry eyebrows.
“Who was there besides Felton?”
“Margaret. She served us cold beers,” the old man replied. Not quite as belligerent as his offspring.
“That’s right,” the kid said. The tone of his voice revealing his dislike of cops.
“Did Felton leave the site at all?”
“Just to take a piss,” the kid said, laughing so hard he doubled over at his own joke, almost pissing his own pants with the effort.
“Did you see anybody else?”
“Anatoe came round. Said hi and went in the house for a beer. He never came back. Then we lit the fireworks. That’s it.”
“I’m kind of busy. Can I go now?” the kid asked.
“Thanks for your cooperation.”
The kid spat on the ground and stalked off. The old man offered a half-hearted shrug.
They hopped into the truck. Eckhart steered through the park, dodging children playing in the muck. She pulled into a narrow path off the main road, the bumper pushing through the unmown grass. Gibson had a pretty good idea where she was headed.
“Have you been here before?” she asked and pulled to a stop in a small clearing overlooking the canal.
“Yes. It’s been quite a while.”
Eckhart stepped out and leaned on the hood. Gibson got out and stood in front of her. He brushed her hair back from her shoulders and nuzzled her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her perfume. The kiss was hot, fiery and passionate. He could feel the beating of her heart against his chest. He stopped and looked into her eyes. Their fingers grazed as he moved away. He knew it was just a matter of time before it happened, but not today. She stayed where she was for a moment, turning to look at him through the windshield. Then she returned to the chill of the truck and started up the engine.
“That rain sure cooled things down.” Eckhart sucked her lips in.
“Yeah.” That was a clever reply, Gibson thought. His mind was doing flip flops.
STORM ROLL: a Canadian murder mystery series Page 23
