Raven Lake

by Rosemary McCracken

  The last thing I wanted to do was play buffer between Nate and Soupy, although it looked like that was what they needed.

  “It’s been wonderful having you here, Pat,” Ivy put in.

  “I don’t know why you’re leaving Norris Cassidy, Pat,” Soupy said.

  If I’d I stayed, I would have been the one he was bucking.

  “Our company is an industry leader,” Soupy added.

  “Pat has her own plans,” Keith said tersely.

  I took my cue from Nate, and smiled at the people around the table. Then I reached for my glass and downed the wine in it.

  “I hear you have a place on Black Bear Lake,” I said to Nate when the others had turned their attention to their lobster bisque. “We’ll be neighbors.”

  “We’ve rented a cottage until Labor Day,” he said. “That will give my wife a chance to look for a house. We’d like to be settled in before winter.”

  “Winter comes early around these parts,” Soupy said.

  I flashed him a killer look. Nate picked up his knife, and calmly buttered the roll on his plate.

  “Don’t mind Soupy,” Ivy said. “He’s got the jitters with his wedding comin’ up. Three more weeks till you tie the knot, eh Soup?”

  “Three weeks this coming Saturday. The party will be in this room.” Soupy waved a hand to indicate the dining room where we were having lunch.

  “Eleanor and I will be here,” Keith said. “Wouldn’t miss it, son.”

  I’d been looking forward to Soupy and Mara’s wedding. Now, I wasn’t sure I wanted to go.

  Keith said goodbye to us in the Winigami parking lot. He shook my hand and gave me a brief nod. “All the best, Pat.” Then he walked toward his car.

  I watched his retreating back and sighed. Twenty years at Norris Cassidy, and all I got was a hot turkey sandwich and a handshake.

  Back at the branch, I joined Nate in his office. He grinned as I sat down on the other side of his oversized desk. “An interesting lunch,” he said.

  I gave a mirthless laugh. “Keith is behind you, and that’s all that counts.”

  “And Soupy?”

  I chose my words carefully. “Soupy is green, and he’s ambitious.”

  “A dangerous combination.”

  I looked at Nate with new respect. “He expected to be made branch manager after Nuala Larkin…” I wasn’t sure whether he knew about our former manager’s get-rich-quick scheme.

  “Was arrested,” he said. “Quite a character, wasn’t she?”

  I nodded. “Soupy didn’t get her job. He needs more experience, and not just in investing.”

  “Looks like he’s out to get me.”

  “It’s not you. He wasn’t happy when I became interim manager. I didn’t let him get away with anything, and he came around. I suggest you do the same.”

  Nate ran his hands over the big desk. “Do you mind if I switch desks with you?” he asked. “This monstrosity makes me feel like I’m a mile away from the person I’m talking to.”

  “Not a great way to work with clients,” I said. “Sure, make the switch. I’ll be at a funeral tomorrow morning so that would be a good time to do it.”

  We went over one of the accounts I was transferring to him. I was on my way back to my office when Detective Inspector Foster strode down the hall.

  “A word, Ms. Tierney.”

  I stood aside to let him into my office and closed the door. We had met three months before when he was investigating a murder in the township. We’d locked horns several times, but by the end of the investigation we were on fairly good terms. But the look in his eyes now told me that I’d crossed another line.

  He refused to take the seat I offered him. “You’re meddling,” he said. Behind folds of skin, his gray eyes bored into me like flint.

  “How am I meddling?”

  “You asked Noreen Andrews at Glencoe Self-Storage for information that is pivotal to our murder investigation. You did the same with Bill Vasey at Monarch Realties.”

  “Bruce Stohl is my friend,” I said. “You’ve been treating him like a murder suspect.”

  “Vi Stohl wasn’t his mother.”

  “But she raised him,” I said. “She was the only mother Bruce ever knew, and he’s shattered by her death.”

  “Because of her, he never knew his real family.”

  I was taken aback. “You’re saying Bruce had it in for Vi because of something she did more than forty years ago? I don’t think he’s given his real family much thought. I’m certain he didn’t kill Vi and—”

  “You’re trying to find out who did. Stop it, Ms. Tierney. Look after your clients’ investments.”

  I had a question to ask him. “Other than Bruce, there are seventeen people who have cards to the gate at Glencoe Self-Storage. Have you talked to them? Whoever got into the yard on Wednesday night had a functional keycard.”

  Foster impaled me with a look. “Leave this investigation to us.”

  I also wanted to know where I could find Frank Prentice’s mother. But the expression on Foster’s face told me to save my breath. He left the office, slamming the door behind him.

  I pulled a telephone book out of my desk drawer. The Glencoe Highlands directory listed the residents and businesses in area, but there were no listings for Bracebridge. Although it was less than an hour’s drive from Braeloch, Bracebridge was in another township, which had its own phone directory.

  I called up Canada 411 on my computer. The online phone directory listed five Prentices in Bracebridge—Frank Prentice on Falcon Avenue, Alicia Prentice on Whyte Road, and another three who were listed only by their initials, none of them an E.

  I made a printout of these names and numbers, and slipped it into the desk drawer. Then I punched in the number at Black Bear Lake.

  “I’m about to leave the office,” I told Laura when she answered. “Make a salad and take a casserole out of the freezer.”

  “Kyle is here,” she said.

  “What does he want?”

  “To see me.”

  I wondered what else was on his agenda. I wasn’t up for an evening of arguments.

  “I’ll be there in half an hour,” I said.

  The doors to Soupy and Nate’s offices were closed, but Ivy was still at her desk. “Everyone else gone?” I asked her.

  “Just the two us here, Pat.”

  “You’ll lock up?”

  “You bet.”

  I bought a loaf of bread and a bag of bagels at the bakery on Main Street. I was heading back to the branch for my car when I saw Bruce leave Morrison Funeral Home. I waved and crossed the street.

  His face was drawn and there were dark circles under his eyes. I wondered if he was hitting the bottle.

  “Everything set for tomorrow?” I asked.

  He nodded mutely.

  “Come out to the lake with me. We’ll have dinner, and I’ll drive you back to the hotel.”

  “Not tonight. I’d like to turn in early and be at Morrison’s at eight tomorrow.”

  Vi’s service was at ten. He wanted to say his goodbyes but for two hours?

  “What are you doing about dinner?” I asked.

  “Joe’s.”

  I walked down Main Street with him. I’d told Laura I’d be home in thirty minutes, but I didn’t care if I was late. I opened the door to Joe’s Diner and led the way to my favorite booth.

  Sue came over to us, concern written on her face. I smiled at her and asked for a coffee. Bruce ordered a burger and fries.

  We sat in silence for a minute or two after Sue left the table. I could only imagine what was going through Bruce’s mind.

  “I don’t know if anyone will be at the service tomorrow,” he finally said. “Mom and Ted lived in Toronto for years. When they returned, she went straight into Highland Ridge.”

  “People will come.” I’d attended a funeral in Braeloch a few months before. The deceased had been a reclusive old man, but there was standing room only at the church. Like
Vi, he’d been a murder victim.

  Bruce looked at me hopefully. “I want to give her a good send-off. Andy Morrison suggested ordering plenty of sandwiches and pastries for the reception.”

  “Good idea. There’ll be lots of people there. How are you doing?”

  “Okay,” he mumbled. “The police come by the newsroom every day with more questions. More of the same questions, that is.”

  I hoped he wouldn’t collapse under their fire.

  “Have you talked to the psychologist you were seeing?”

  “No time.” He croaked the words out.

  “The property you’re interested in…have you made an offer?”

  “No.”

  “Go for it. There’s no one living there, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then you can move in. Start fixing it up.”

  A spark flickered in his eyes.

  “It’ll be gone if you wait. Arrange for a building inspection. If it passes, make an offer.”

  His shoulders slumped.

  “Like me to take a look at the property?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “Tomorrow, after the funeral.” I smiled at him. “Vi would want you to have a home of your own.”

  Laura and Kyle said little during dinner. I talked about our move to the cottage I’d rented, and what Laura and Tommy could do help. I wasn’t sure how long Kyle would be staying, so I didn’t include him. I hoped he’d head back to Toronto in the morning.

  Halfway through dessert, Laura pleaded a headache and went up to her room. Tommy took Maxie down to the lake, and Kyle helped me clean up.

  “Laura’s not taking this seriously,” Kyle said as he stacked the dishwasher. “We’ve got a baby coming. We should get married.”

  I looked into his troubled brown eyes and warmed to him. I had blamed him for getting Laura pregnant, even though my head told me she’d been a more-than-willing participant. But now I saw that he wanted to shoulder his responsibilities. He wanted to do what he thought was right.

  “What do your parents think?”

  “They said we should have waited till we’d finished school and had jobs. But they’re excited about the baby. They wanted to have three or four children, and I was all they got. They want me and Laura to get married.”

  “That’s a big step to take.”

  He slammed the dishwasher door shut and swept his shoulder-length brown hair back from his face. “And having a baby isn’t? Bringing a child into the world seems to me to be the biggest step ever. You’re responsible for that little guy for the next, what, eighteen years?”

  “Longer than that,” I said. “But you can be responsible parents without being married. I’d say your first priority is to get a good education so you can support your child. Laura will be at university next year too.”

  His face was troubled. “Do you think she…she doesn’t want me?”

  That was why he wanted to get married. He thought marriage would cement their relationship. He was naïve, but I felt his pain.

  “Laura doesn’t know what she wants right now,” I said, “other than the baby she’s carrying. That’s what she’s focused on. She’s afraid to make any more changes in her life.”

  As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew I’d hit the nail on the head. Laura’s world had changed dramatically, and she was afraid of everything that lay ahead of her. Kyle had to stop pushing her.

  “But what about me?” His worried eyes searched my face. “Does she want me, Mrs. T?”

  I gave him a hug. “I’m counting on you to be strong, Kyle. Try to understand where Laura is at right now. Be there for her, but don’t push her.”

  I held him at arm’s length and locked eyes with him. “Whatever happens between you and my daughter, you are the father of this child. Laura wants you to be part of his—or her—life.”

  Laura and Kyle had the best intentions of being good parents, but they would need help for a few years, maybe for several. And I was one of the people they would count on.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I spent an hour with Nate the next morning. I liked his questions. He wanted to know everything I could tell him about the Glencoe Highlands, and how Norris Cassidy could serve its residents.

  At nine forty-five, I headed across the street to Morrison Funeral Home. The chapel was packed. My friend, Sister Celia de Franco, waved at me from the second row where she had saved me a seat. Laura was seated beside her. I raised my eyebrows, and Laura gave me a sunny smile. “Needed a change of scene,” she said.

  “Tommy?” I asked.

  “Tommy and Kyle went fishing in the motorboat. Kyle brought rods and tackle from the city.

  When Tommy had asked about fishing the previous day, Laura told him she would rather watch paint dry. Getting him a fishing rod had been on the top of my to-do list.

  I turned to Celia, who’d driven down from North Bay where she was a chaplain at the psychiatric hospital. She and Bruce had worked at Braeloch’s Catholic church that winter, and she had kept in touch with him after she left town. “Another murder in God’s country,” she whispered after we’d exchanged hugs.

  We sat quietly for a few minutes contemplating the marble urn and the framed photo of Vi on a table at the front of the room. The photographer had caught her at a happy moment, her face lit up with a smile. She looked to be in her early forties in the picture.

  I glanced around the chapel. The only people I could think of who might have wanted to harm Vi were Bruce’s biological parents but they were both dead.

  A silver-haired woman dressed in a long black skirt and a white blouse, sat down at the electric organ. To her right were two straight-backed chairs, an acoustic guitar leaning against one, and two microphones on stands. She frowned at the setup before launching into Bach’s “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring.”

  “She’s not used to sharing the spotlight,” I murmured.

  Celia flashed me a grin.

  When the hymn ended, a side door opened, and Soupy and Mara Nowak stepped out. They were both dressed in black.

  Celia groaned. “The High Lonesome Wailers? Here?”

  The Wailers, Soupy’s band, played everything from Bob Marley to Hank Williams at dances, benefits and stag parties. But I’d never heard of them playing at a funeral.

  There was a low buzz in the chapel as Soupy and Mara sat and adjusted their microphones. Soupy strummed his guitar as Mara launched into Vera Lynn’s wartime hit “We’ll Meet Again.” The congregation was silent at first, then began to hum along with her.

  “Hardly a dry eye in the house,” Celia said as the final notes died down.

  Bruce entered by the side door, accompanied by a fair-haired man I recognized as Andy Morrison, the funeral director’s son. Bruce wore the dark gray suit he’d bought for Ted’s funeral. His face was haggard, and I saw him take a deep breath as he looked at the large crowd. He walked slowly over to the table that held the urn and the photograph, and placed a white rose in front of Vi’s photo. Then he took a seat in the front row.

  Andy went up to the podium, gave a brief summary of Vi’s life, and called up Lainey Campbell. Soupy’s mother had been Vi’s close friend when they were young, and she shared a few stories about Vi as a teenager. “After high school, Vi took a job at the Highlands Savings Bank here in Braeloch,” she said. “Not long after that, she met Ted Stohl, a rookie reporter at The Highland Times. They were married the next summer.”

  Lainey faltered and looked down at her notes. She may have been thinking about the early years of the Stohls’ marriage and their infant son. I was relieved when she lifted her head and went on.

  “When I heard that Vi and Ted were returning to Braeloch, I looked forward to seeing my friend again.” Her voice caught. “Sadly, it wasn’t the reunion I’d hoped it would be. Vi had retreated into her own world, and we never caught up with each other. But I’ll always treasure my memories of my girlhood friend.”

  Lainey’s husband, B
urt, was up next. Like his wife, he’d gone to school with Vi. “In Grade 8, Vi and I were neck-and-neck contenders in Glencoe Highlands Spells, the township’s big spelling bee. The winner went on to the provincial contest, and I was hell-bent on representing the Highlands in Toronto that year. But pretty little Vi pulled the rug from under me with the word chameleon—I forgot the h. After that, I always called her Chameleon. It was my way of reminding her that she was a champ.”

  Several people around us chuckled. “I’m next,” Celia whispered and glanced at the sheet of paper she held. “Oh, dear.”

  Before I could see what had upset her, she was called to the podium.

  “A reading from the book of Ecclesiastes.” Celia cleared her throat and continued. “There is an appointed time for everything, a time for every affair under the heavens. A time to be born, a time to die…”

  I noted the similarity to the lyrics of “Turn! Turn! Turn!”. I hadn’t realized the golden oldie had been adapted from Scripture.

  After the reading, Celia spoke of Vi’s devotion to Bruce, followed by a prayer for the repose of her soul.

  “O God, who hast commanded us to honor our father and our mother, in Thy mercy have pity on the soul of this mother, Violet, forgive her her trespasses, and when his hour comes, have her son, Bruce, reunited with her in the joy of everlasting brightness. Through Christ our Lord, Amen.”

  “What a choice,” Celia whispered when she returned to her seat. “‘Forgive her her trespasses?’ We’re commemorating Vi here, not recounting her sins. What’s wrong with Psalm 23?”

  “Which one is that?” I asked.

  “You know, ‘The Lord is my shepherd…’”

  “It was Bruce’s choice,” I said. “Let it go.”

  Andy returned to the podium. “Bruce invites you for refreshments in our lounge upstairs. But before we leave the chapel, here’s Soupy and Mara with one of Vi’s favorite songs, ‘Amazing Grace’.”

  Celia smiled. “That’s more like it.”

  As the hymn ended, an attendant opened the double doors at the back of the chapel and the organist struck up “Over the Rainbow.”