Raven Lake
A Pat Tierney Mystery – Book 3
Rosemary McCracken
Copyright © 2016, 2018 Rosemary McCracken.
All Rights Reserved.
SECOND EDITION
Smashwords Edition ISBN: 978-1-77242-095-1
Cover design by Ryan Doan
Carrick Publishing
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. And any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead (or in any other form), business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Praise for Raven Lake
Dedication
Begin Reading: Prologue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Praise for Raven Lake
“When a rug-wrapped human body is found in a storage locker, Pat Tierney is dragged into the murky waters of ancient jealousies, financial chicanery, property rental scams and family betrayals. Watching Rosemary McCracken’s smart, cool protagonist explore the depths of the mystery and swim for the surface will keep your nerves taut and your heart pounding. Don’t miss Raven Lake!”—Gail Bowen, author of the Joanne Kilbourn Shreve mystery series
“Pat Tierney has become one of my favorite characters. She and her family feel like friends. In Raven Lake, Rosemary McCracken weaves an intricate story that will keep you guessing until the satisfying ending. All of her characterizations are totally believable. As usual, the rural Ontario setting is pitch-perfect.”—Maureen Jennings, author of the Detective Murdoch mystery series.
“Raven Lake is a beautifully written, heartfelt story. Rosemary McCracken weaves a compelling mystery, taking readers hostage till the action-packed conclusion.”—Rick Mofina, bestselling author of Free Fall
“On the cusp of an exciting new turn in her life, Pat Tierney is looking forward to an idyllic summer at the cottage. Until, that is, the body of a woman is found under strange circumstances. As the mystery deepens, Pat discovers that the friendliness of neighbors and colleagues is only skin deep, and that people harbor frightening secrets. Raven Lake kept me reading long into the night.”—D.J. McIntosh, Globe and Mail bestselling author of the Mesopotamian Antiquities Trilogy
“Pat Tierney’s latest adventure is a gripping read from start to finish. I couldn’t put it down. Pat is an engaging heroine I’d love to have as a friend: she’s warm, ethical and fearless.”—M.H. Callway, award-winning author of Windigo Fire
“Pat Tierney is a crackerjack financial planner, a woman of dignity and responsibility, but she can’t help meddling when criminal activity passes her way. In Raven Lake, the third and most dense Tierney book, set in Ontario cottage country, Tierney deals with a couple of murders, a cottage rental scam and, coincidentally, her own unmarried 18-year-old daughter’s pregnancy. Suspects in all the cases are thick on the ground—except for the pregnancy, which presents problems of a different sort—and Tierney remains calm in the face of the multiple puzzles and some dim-witted OPP interference. More than ever, Tierney is developing into the kind of sleuth who’ll be welcome on return visits.”—Jack Batten, Toronto Star
For Ed Piwowarczyk, as always
PROLOGUE
“This locker could make one of you a millionaire,” said the barrel-bellied man in the floral shirt. The metal door of the storage locker clanked as he rolled it up.
“So could the lottery ticket in my wallet,” Jock muttered as he swatted at the blackflies that hovered around his head. He slapped at his neck. “Damn bugs!”
“Suck it up, big guy.” Crystal swept her mane of wavy red hair back from her face. “If I can take the bugs, you can too.”
The man in the floral shirt raised the sound level on the microphone. “Jewelry, works of art, old coins. Everyone gets a quick look-see. Line up behind me and walk past the door. But don’t step inside, or you’re outta here.”
Jock and Crystal joined about forty people filing past a storage unit the size of a small bedroom. It held a jumble of furniture—a battered rocking chair, a trunk, a headboard, a night table and an assortment of lamps. Wooden crates and plastic containers were stacked along the sides of the locker and its back walls. A rolled-up rug, tied with rope, lay on the floor.
“Nothin’ in there but crap.” A man with a gray ponytail turned and pushed his way out of the crowd. “Not for me.”
“I think he’s right,” Jock said to Crystal. “Looks like they cleared out Grandma’s house. There’s no market for lace doilies and crocheted afghans. Smells funny in there, too.”
“Quiet!” Crystal elbowed him in the ribs, then lowered her voice. “Farms, country homes, that’s where you find great antiques.”
Jock scowled at her. “We wasted two hours driving up here.”
“There could be possibilities if the price is right. See those big crates in the back? Someone took the trouble to protect whatever’s in them.” She glanced around the crowd. “These hicks wouldn’t know an antique from—”
A squawk from the microphone brought their attention back to the man in the floral shirt. “Okay. You’ve all had a look. Let’s get the show rollin’.”
Crystal surveyed her rivals and sniffed in disdain.
“Who’ll give me one hundred? I’m bid one fifty…I’m bid two hundred…” The auctioneer fielded bids in rapid succession. “I’m bid eight twenty-five…I’m bid eight fifty. Eight fifty going once…”
“Nine hundred!” Crystal cried.
Jock grabbed her arm. “Are you crazy, Crystal?”
She shook off his hand, keeping her eyes on the man in the floral shirt.
“Do I hear nine twenty-five?” the auctioneer asked. The other bidders shook their heads.
“Nine hundred going once, nine hundred going twice…sold! To the redhead in the green dress.”
Inside the locker, Crystal stared in dismay at the crates that she and Jock had unpacked. “Damn! Christmas decorations. Old photos…”
“Tried to tell you, but you had to rush in.” Jock looked down at a crate at his feet. “Doilies, I bet, in this mystery box.”
Crystal glared at him as he pried open the lid with a crowbar. Her face brightened as she surveyed the contents. “This is more like it. Old comic books. Could be worth something.”
“Grandma, the nerd. Who knew?”
“More likely her nerd son back in the sixties.” She looked around the locker. “Let’s check out this rug.”
Jock grunted as he dragged the rug to the entrance. “Man, it’s heavy. Feels like there’s something in here.”
He cut the rope and unfurled the rug. The lifeless body of a white-haired woman in a yellow top and blue trousers tumbled out.
Crystal gasped and held a hand to her mouth.
“Now who’d go and clear out Grandma with her furniture?” Jock asked.
CHAPTER ONE
Mist rose from the water as my canoe glided across Black Bear Lake. I glanced at my watch. I had less than thirty minutes to cross the chain of lakes between Black Bear and the town of Braeloch, or I would be late for our morning meeting. I
dipped my paddle into the water, but a noise pulled me off the lake.
I opened one eye. The clock on my bedside table told me it was six thirty. I heard the sound again. The sound of retching in the bathroom across the hall.
I was out of bed in a flash. In the room beside mine, Tommy, my eight-year-old, was sound asleep. That meant…
“Laura?” I tapped on the bathroom door. “Are you okay?”
I’d picked up Laura and Tommy when the bus from Toronto pulled into Braeloch the previous afternoon. Tommy and Maxie, our golden retriever, had a rapturous reunion, but Laura was subdued, which I put down to exhaustion after her final exams. She planned to spend a week at the lake before starting her summer job. Tommy would be with me for most of the summer.
The bathroom door opened. Laura stood barefoot in a pink nightshirt, clutching a towel. Her gray eyes met mine.
My head began to spin.
“Mom.” She wiped her mouth with the towel. “They say morning sickness ends after three months so I should be over it soon.”
For a few moments, I didn’t know what to think, what to feel. I stood there, staring at her. This couldn’t be happening. Not Laura, my little girl.
Then anger erupted. “How could you have been so stupid?”
I grabbed Laura’s bathrobe from her room. “We need to talk.” I handed her the robe and led the way downstairs.
She perched on a stool at the kitchen counter. I busied myself making cocoa, my mind in overdrive.
I set two mugs on the counter and called up the platitude my mother had used on me. “I’m disappointed in you.”
“Sorry I don’t measure up.” She looked at me defiantly. “Before you go any further, I want you to know that I’m having this baby.”
“And Kyle?” I assumed her boyfriend, Kyle Shingler, was the father.
“Kyle wants the baby. He wants to get married.” She stared at her mug.
“Married?” I said.
“Don’t worry, Mom. I already told him—marriage, no way.”
Finally, some common sense, I thought a shotgun wedding would have only complicated this situation. But what a situation.
“I can’t believe you could’ve been be so stupid.”
She set her chin stubbornly and stared at me.
“I am so…disappointed.” I didn’t know what else to say.
She gave a small shrug.
“When are you due?” I asked.
“Late December. A Christmas baby.”
How cute. “Laura, you are eighteen years old with no job skills. Do you have any idea—?”
Tommy burst into the kitchen with Maxie. “What are we doing today?” he wanted to know.
I put my arm around him. “Get dressed, both of you. Laura, you can take Tommy out in the motorboat after breakfast.”
I tossed her a key. “The Hyundai I rented is yours while you’re here.”
I centered myself behind the steering wheel of my Volvo and let Schubert’s Serenade wash over me. It wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened. Laura was healthy and… Damn! I gripped the steering wheels until my knuckles turned white. “How could she have been so stupid?”
I adjusted the rearview mirror and caught a glimpse of myself in it. Blond hair, in its new pixie style, capped a face that was a mask of worry: downturned mouth, troubled green eyes, and forehead creased with worry lines. Smile, I told myself.
Yeah.
I tried to focus on the hours ahead of me. I had two more days at the helm of Norris Cassidy’s Braeloch branch. I needed to update my client accounts so I could turn them over to my replacement on Monday. I would stay on for another two weeks to ease him into the job. Then, at the age of forty-eight, my career at Norris Cassidy would be over. I planned to open my own financial planning practice in Toronto in the fall, but I was taking the summer off.
For the past several months, I had lived in Norris Cassidy’s executive vacation home on Black Bear Lake. It was booked for vacations throughout July and August, so I’d rented a small cottage on the other side of the lake for the summer. I planned to move into it in a few days.
I’d been looking forward to some serious downtime—reading novels and paddling a rented canoe. But after the bombshell Laura had delivered, I knew my summer would be anything but restful.
CHAPTER TWO
My computer was booting up when Paul Campbell—known as Soupy around the township—came into my office. A sour expression distorted his handsome face. “Tomorrow’s your last day in charge, Pat.”
I gave him a sunny smile. “So it is.”
Our junior advisor had been miffed when I took over as interim branch manager three months before. Soupy had assumed he’d be given the top job after the former manager was arrested for fraud. I’d told him he needed more experience, but that his time would come.
He hadn’t taken it well when Nate Johnston was hired as branch manager. Nate had twelve years’ experience in investment management, and he’d spent the past five of them at a rival firm in Toronto.
“A city guy running this branch?” Soupy had said when Nate’s appointment was announced. “Most of our clients know me. They’re friends of my folks, and I went to school with their kids.”
“You know this community, and that certainly counts for a lot,” I’d told him, “but our clients want experienced money managers.”
Now, six weeks later, Soupy still wasn’t happy about Nate’s appointment, but it was about time that he got over it. “Nate starts on Monday,” I said. “I’m having a barbecue next Friday evening to welcome him. I’ve invited some of our top clients. You’ll be there, of course.”
Soupy scowled. “Mara works Friday nights.”
Mara Nowak, Soupy’s fiancée, was the host of The Highlands Tonight, the evening news program on ELK TV. But it was Soupy, with or without Mara, who I wanted at the party.
“You won’t have to get your own dinner that night,” I said. “Come by around seven. Casual dress.”
Soupy shrugged and moved toward the office door. Then he turned to face me. “I hear Nate has rented a cottage near you on Black Bear.”
I’d sent Nate an email when his appointment was announced. I’d welcomed him, and I gave him the names of two realtors in the area and a home rental agency. He’d thanked me, but I hadn’t heard anything more from him.
“He’s rented the place for the summer.” Soupy flashed a wicked grin. “He doesn’t think he’ll pass his probation period.”
I wondered what had happened to the easygoing Soupy Campbell.
Around two that afternoon, Bruce Stohl blew into the branch without stopping at Ivy Barker’s reception desk. “Mom’s missing,” he blurted out at my office door. His face was pale and his eyes were filled with worry.
“Missing?” Vi Stohl had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease several years before. She lived at Highland Ridge, a long-term care facility on the outskirts of Braeloch. “Since when?”
“Yesterday.” He sank into the chair across from me. “Highland Ridge arranged a day trip for some of the more mobile residents. A picnic lunch at the conservation park.”
“She went missing at the park?”
“No, she was on the bus on the return trip. One of the care workers who went on the outing said Mom was sitting beside another woman from her floor. The bus got back to Highland Ridge just after four and everyone got off. Then Mom seems to have vanished into thin air.”
I pictured a throng of elderly men and women shuffling off the bus and into the building with the help of canes, walkers and care workers. Where could Vi have gone?
“They didn’t miss her until an hour later when one of the staff went to her room to take her to dinner.” He slumped down in the chair, his head bent. He looked utterly dejected.
When I’d met Bruce that winter, he had been a troubled man with a drinking problem. He’d had a breakdown a few years before, left his job as an associate professor at a university in Western Canada, and was doing maintena
nce work at a Braeloch church. When his father died in a fire, I thought it would send him on a downward spiral, but it had turned out to be a new beginning.
He took over his father’s job as publisher and editor of The Highland Times. “I have no journalism background,” he’d told me, “but if I could write a doctoral thesis on Nietzsche, I think I can turn out a newspaper every week.”
I’d had my doubts. But the newspaper continued to publish, and Bruce seemed to enjoy his work.
The man who now sat across from me wore a checked shirt and a new pair of Levis. His salt-and-pepper hair had been trimmed, and he no longer sported a week’s growth of stubble on his face. But he looked as forlorn as I’d ever seen him.
“I assume the police have been told,” I said.
“Highland Ridge notified them right away. They spoke to me last night, asked me who Mom knew in the township and where she might have gone.”
My heart went out to him. “Bruce, there’s nothing you can do. They’ll find her.”
He blinked back tears.
“Chin up, okay?”
He gave me a weak smile.
“Have you decided on that property you were looking at?” I asked.
Bruce and his father, Ted Stohl, had had a troubled relationship, and he didn’t want to live in the house in Braeloch that he had inherited from him. He’d been staying at the Dominion Hotel for the past few months, looking at real estate in the township in his spare time. He had recently set his sights on a cabin on a lake not far from Braeloch. Ted’s life insurance would provide him with a substantial down payment.
I saw a flicker of interest in his eyes. “I want to buy it.”
“Make an offer before someone grabs it.”
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