A Hole In One

by Judy Penz Sheluk

  Arabella shook her head. “I had no idea. But if it’s so difficult to earn a living, why do it?”

  “Most authors have a day job, if they’re lucky the job has something to do with writing, like teaching creative writing at a local college. But ask any of them and they’ll tell you they can’t imagine doing anything else but write—just like you can’t imagine doing anything else but running the Glass Dolphin, even though the Antiques Roadshow moments are few and far between.”

  “But you don’t have a day job. At least…” Arabella blushed. She was getting way too personal.

  Hudson smiled. “People think that my Lakeside house is a result of my book sales, and I let them believe it. Perpetuating the myth promotes the whole successful author persona, which in turn generates book sales. The truth is I won some money playing Lotto Max. Not a million dollars or anything, but enough to buy the house, with a little bit left over. I live a simple life, so it works for me.”

  Hudson took a sip of his beer. “I’m not sure why I’m telling you this. No one knows, not even Luke, and we’ve been friends for years. There’s just something about you that fills me with the need to tell the truth.”

  Arabella smiled. “My motto is ‘authenticity matters.’ Maybe you’re picking up the vibe. It gets me in trouble sometimes.”

  “Is that so?”

  Hudson leaned over and kissed her softly, first on the forehead, and then gently on the lips, his hands gently cradling her face. Arabella felt herself respond, then noticed Betsy out of the corner of her eye. She was trying to hide it, but there was a definite smirk on her face. She pulled away only to see Shuggie St. Pierre sitting at the bar, grinning like a fool. Damn it. He was bound to say something to Levon. She didn’t need this complication in her life right now.

  “We should probably order coffee. Or something.”

  “I’d like an order of ‘or something’ to go,” Hudson said, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “But coffee will be fine until we get to know one another a bit better.”

  True to his word, Hudson walked her home, having first arranged for a taxi to pick him up there in an hour’s time. Arabella felt an irrational tug of disappointment. She didn’t sleep with guys on the first date, or the second one for that matter, and this hadn’t even been a date. Sex with Levon had completely messed with her psyche.

  They waited on her front porch, reminding Arabella of her days as a pimply-faced adolescent. She could almost imagine her father lurking behind the curtains to see what the boy was going to do next. After an inner debate, she invited Hudson in, but she knew she’d left it too long to come across as sincere. To her relief, he declined, with the proviso that they have dinner together the following week. She accepted, feeling ridiculously happy at the thought.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” Hudson said as the cab pulled up. He kissed her goodnight, a soft brush on the lips that hinted of things to come and made her knees go weak. She went inside, chiding herself for reading too much into the evening. At this rate, she was going to have to give up alcohol.

  29

  Luke dropped Emily off at one o’clock Sunday afternoon, an hour after the Glass Dolphin opened. It was completely out of character for her to be late for anything, let alone work, but she’d been reluctant to leave what had been the perfect date. Luke, it seemed, had felt the same way, insisting on taking her to breakfast at the Sunrise Café. They’d lingered over tea and French toast sprinkled with cinnamon sugar and made small talk, comfortable in the space they’d created together.

  Arabella didn’t comment on her tardiness, for which Emily was thankful. It also made her feel bad about teasing her friend about her night with Levon. She wondered if they would ever get back together. The timing always seemed to be off for one of them. Still, if it was meant to be…

  “I need you to call Trent Norland,” Arabella said, dragging Emily back to the present. “The hole in one insurance guy?”

  Arabella forced back a snotty comment. “Why is it everyone always refers to Trent Norland that way? Surely by now everyone knows who he is. He even sat with us at the clubhouse.”

  “Give me one good reason why I should call him when Luke is handling the administrative side of things, including letting us know that we haven’t been entitled to a refund.”

  “Because he went to Hudson’s book signing, and Hudson thought Trent had come there to tell him something, but for whatever reason, he decided not to and left. Remember? Hudson talked about it last night.”

  Emily felt herself blush. In truth, she had no recollection of the conversation. “Are you saying Trent might have information about Marc Larroquette?”

  “I have no idea, but I think it’s a lead worth following up. For one thing, it’s possible he saw Marc’s murderer without realizing it. After all, he would have been at the third hole setting up before the first team of players came out. Since you’re the one who dealt with him on behalf of the Glass Dolphin, it would make sense that you would be the one to give him a call.”

  Emily nodded. “Okay, I can do that, but not today. The office won’t be open on a Sunday.” Besides, all she wanted to do was bask in the afterglow of Luke Surmanski. Everything else was just noise.

  Once the afterglow wore off, reality set in for Emily. What if her loser radar was leading her astray? She’d felt the same way about Kevin and Johnny Porter, and look where those relationships had gotten her. The more she replayed last evening in her mind, the more she second-guessed herself. For one, there was the way Luke had seemed almost obsessed with what Emily knew about Levon’s father.

  “Not much,” she’d told him, sipping wine on his dock and admiring the way the stars reflected and glittered on Lake Miakoda.

  Luke wouldn’t let it go. “But you must know something, right?”

  She’d sat up straighter then, a warning bell going off in her wine-fogged head. “Why are you so interested?”

  “I rented a houseboat to him. I was there when we found him dead on the golf course. Murdered, no less. Forgive me if I’m naturally curious about who he was and what he was doing here.”

  Emily had bought his explanation at the time. She’d even apologized—blaming her past life as a journalist and for her suspicious nature—and allowed herself to be scooped up into Luke’s arms.

  Before she knew it, she was telling Luke everything, right down to how Levon blamed his father for his mother’s suicide. He’d listened intently, stroking her hair, but never interrupting. At the time, she’d felt comforted. She was also drunk, and the combination of the two dulled her senses to the point that she divulged information about Levon’s past, like it was something she had every right to share.

  It wasn’t until Emily sobered up that she realized she had no right telling Levon’s story. Replaying last night’s events also got her thinking about Luke’s involvement in the whole sordid mess.

  Was it really standard operating procedure to rent a houseboat without photo ID and a credit card imprint? Sure, Marc Larroquette had paid cash but even so…

  She rubbed her temples to fight off the headache she knew was coming. Somewhere down the line, she’d have to fess up to Arabella.

  She wasn’t looking forward to it.

  30

  Monday morning’s drive to Heidi’s house in Thornbury was uneventful. Arabella and Emily stopped briefly at the local orchard market en route. They were surprised at the size of the market, as well as the delectable selection of locally grown, farmed, and baked goods. Even though they were tempted to buy more, they resisted, keeping their purchases to a traditional apple pie to take to Heidi’s, and a Thornbury pie—a blend of mixed berries and apples—to take home.

  Heidi’s place turned out to be a small log cabin with a wraparound porch. A bed of hostas and colorful perennials lined the driveway and surrounded a large, lush vegetable garden, the tomatoes, beans, and peppers hanging like jewels waiting to be picked. Arabella caught a glimpse of the sparkling blue water of Georgian Bay at
the back of the property. Or was that considered the front? She always got confused at what was what when it came to places on the water.

  Heidi came out to greet them. She wore a purple tie-dyed shirt, circa 1969, a knee-length denim skirt, and leather flip flops. Arabella handed her the apple pie and waved away Heidi’s half-hearted offer of payment.

  The cabin door opened and a middle-aged man walked out. He wore jeans, running shoes, and a tee shirt depicting a bear chasing the stick figure of a man on a bicycle, the words “Meals on Wheels” above it. His hair was black and slicked back, his sideburns nineteen-seventies wide. This was Walker Lawrence.

  Heidi didn’t introduce him, and he didn’t bother to introduce himself. Instead he said, “I think we’ve got some business to discuss, in more ways than one. But first we eat, and then we look at what Heidi has for sale. After that, we’ll talk about the man you knew as Marc Larroquette.” They went into the cabin. The inside walls had been left natural, the logs chinked with mortar, the perfect complement to the wide-plank hardwood floors.

  “Reclaimed logs from the Ottawa River,” Heidi said, noticing Arabella’s interest. “The reason the wood is perfectly preserved is because there is no oxygen or sunlight at the bottom of the river, the factors that cause wood to break down and rot. Gorgeous, isn’t it?”

  Arabella had to admit the floor was gorgeous. In fact, she wanted to pack her bags and move in. The cabin was perfectly staged: mission oak chairs with well-worn burgundy leather upholstery, a roll-top desk, and a pine harvest table with bench seating. Tapestries, needlework, and quilts hung on the walls. Wooden shelves held an assortment of carved decoys and Black Forest woodcarvings. Cast iron pots and pans hung from the kitchen ceiling. An old-fashioned black cook stove doubled as oven, range, and heat source. There wasn’t a glass dish or vase to be seen.

  “I know, it’s a lot different than what I sell at the antiques mall,” Heidi said. “The Depression glass, the Transferware—those things are just business to me. These are the things I have chosen to live with. Until now, none of it has been for sale.”

  “Why now? Are you planning to move?” Emily asked, and Arabella wanted to kick her.

  Sometimes you had to bide your time, not act like an investigative reporter.

  Heidi glanced over at Walker and smiled. “Something like that. There are only a couple of pieces I can’t bear to part with.” She walked over to one of the shelves and selected a small Black Forest carving of a bear. “My late husband gave me this on our fifth anniversary. That’s the wood anniversary, if you’re into things like that. He was. The rest of the Black Forest carvings hold no special meaning, those are for sale.”

  “What about the quilts and tapestries?” Arabella asked.

  “All for sale, although I don’t expect the quilts will have much value beyond decorative. Most of them were made by a local quilter’s group, of which I am a member. Projects to keep us busy in the winter. Most of us gave up skiing a few years ago.”

  Arabella went over to an alphabet needlepoint sampler. It was what was referred to as a schoolgirl sampler, with the name “Anna, Thornbury,” and the date “1887” carefully stitched underneath the A to Z block letters.

  “I didn’t realize Thornbury had been established in 1887.”

  “Actually, the Township of Thornbury was incorporated in 1833,” Walker said, “although the town’s first business, a milling operation, wasn’t started until 1855. By 1857, a stroll through town would have taken you past a general store, a blacksmith forge, cooper and fanning mill shops, grist mills and sawmills, and a post office. And by 1887, the population would have been over twelve hundred people, with many businesses, churches, manufacturing facilities, and banks.”

  Heidi said, “What makes this sampler truly special is that in 1887 the businessmen of Thornbury, believing themselves to be unfairly taxed, petitioned for independence from the Town of Collingwood, and the Township of Thornbury became of the Town of Thornbury. When our Anna stitched this sampler, local history was being made.”

  “I knew it was special,” Arabella said, “I just didn’t realize how special.”

  “You have a good eye,” Heidi said. “Unfortunately, it’s not for sale either.” Arabella hazarded a guess. “Another anniversary?”

  Heidi nodded. “Our thirteenth, the textile anniversary. We were married on Friday the thirteenth, which made everything about it seem magical. Unfortunately, it was our last anniversary. Danny died in a boating accident shortly after.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It was a long time ago.”

  “I’ve been trying to buy that sampler for years,” Walker said in an obvious attempt to steer the conversation back to antiques. “It’s a wonderful example of Canadian folk art.”

  “Maybe I’ll leave it to you in my will,” Heidi said, “along with the Billy Ellis Canvasback decoy you’ve been coveting forever. But enough about what’s not for sale. It’s time you take a look around and see if there’s anything you want to buy. Walker will stay with you. He knows as much as I do or more about everything in here. I’ll pop the lasagna in the oven on very low—that’ll give you ninety minutes—and then go outside to sit on the porch. I never could stand watching people go through my stuff, even after all those years of being a dealer.”

  Arabella understood. She sometimes felt the same way. She waited until Heidi was back outside before making her rounds. She didn’t know much about decoys, except that there continued to be a decent market for them. Walker, however, proved to be extremely knowledgeable. She was just about to ask him a question when Emily spoke up.

  “How long has she got?”

  “A few months, perhaps,” Walker said. “I wondered if you’d figure it out.”

  “It wasn’t just that she’s selling everything,” Emily said. “She seemed to tire just in the short time we were here. Her clothes are loose, as if she’s recently lost weight. Her skin color is grayish. The talk of her will confirmed what I’d already been thinking.”

  Walker said, “She has no living relatives. Her biggest fear is that her things will be sold at the local auction for a song, with a bunch of city people reaping the rewards. When the two of you came to her booth on Friday, Heidi took it as an omen. She still remembers starting out, and Arabella reminded her of herself, twenty years back. So come on, let’s see what you can buy. No reasonable offer refused, and some unreasonable offers might even be considered.”

  “Why don’t we start a pile, and you can discuss the pricing with Heidi?” Arabella said.

  That agreed upon, Arabella and Emily selected a half dozen decoys, four needlepoint samplers, two Black Forest carvings—one of a St. Bernard and one of a deer—and several quilts. The quilts would fit in with the Glass Dolphin’s new local arts and crafts corner, and pay homage to a wonderful woman. Thornbury wasn’t exactly local, but it was local enough.

  Once they’d made their final decision, Walker went out to confer with Heidi. Truth be told, Arabella wanted everything in the cabin that was for sale, but as it was, they would almost certainly have to leave some of the things they had chosen behind. She knew Emily was thinking the same thing. Their line of credit was always an option, but they didn’t like to use it. That was for emergencies. Like if they couldn’t come up with the rent.

  Walker was back less than ten minutes later, just as the oven buzzer went off. He pulled on a pair of oven mitts and took the lasagna out to cool before turning to the two women.

  “How’s three hundred dollars sound?”

  “It’s not nearly enough,” Arabella said. “I know Heidi wants to sell everything, but if we paid three hundred dollars, we’d be no better than the city folks at auction.”

  “You’re right, which is why Heidi said you could have the lot for two hundred dollars if you said as much.”

  “I don’t understand. You’re lowering the price by a hundred dollars?”

  “Uh-huh. Heidi said if you wanted to negotiate, I had to take a few th
ings out of the pile. If you wanted to pay more, then you were the honest businesswomen she thought you were.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” Arabella said. “Neither do I,” said Emily.

  “Just say thank you and pay it forward one day when you’re able to.”

  “We’ll do that,” Arabella said, and started to cry. Walker put his arms around her and held her close. When she finally lifted her head off his shoulder, she noticed that Emily had gone outside to sit with Heidi. The two of them were holding hands.

  31

  There was no talk of business, death, or dying over lunch. The vegetable lasagna was incredible, filled with zucchini, red and yellow bell peppers, and topped with homemade tomato sauce and cheddar cheese from the local dairy. “Most people use mozzarella,” Heidi said, “but I find cheddar so much more flavorful.”

  They all agreed it was delicious, as were the freshly baked rolls, garden salad with fresh herb vinaigrette, and the apple pie, which lived up to expectations and then some. Despite that, it was clear Heidi had run out of energy. She apologized and said she needed to take a nap. “But don’t let me stop you. Go on out to the back porch with Walker. It faces Georgian Bay, and the view is nothing short of spectacular. There’s freshly squeezed lemonade in the fridge, as well as beer, water, and soft drinks.”