“You’ll shoot me eventually. You might as well do it now.” Brisbois smiled. “But you’d like a hostage, a little insurance in case you run into a problem.”
Thomas dropped the rope. He put the gun aside, walked over to the body, grabbed it by the feet and dropped it across Brisbois’ legs. “That should keep you in place.” He picked up the gun and left, locking the door.
Gregoire’s eyes were round as he told Creighton what had happened. “I opened it to do the filleting. The fish is full of diamonds.”
Creighton grabbed his arm. “Stop waving that knife around.” He removed the knife from Gregoire’s hand, placed it on the counter. “Where did you get that thing?”
“From the freezer. From Mr. Thomas’ cooler. I borrowed it because Mr. Sawchuck’s fish was no good.”
“Where are the rest of the fish?” He paused, swore under his breath. “Brisbois took them.” He turned to Margaret. “Where?”
“To Mr. Thomas.”
“I know. But, where?”
“Lloyd took him to the train. But later, he saw him getting into a boat at the marina. He said it was an inboard. The Gimme.”
Miss Miller snapped her fingers. “That’s it.”
Everyone turned toward her.
“It’s not The Gimme. It’s The Gemini. Remember that boat we saw at the marina, Edward? It explains everything… And those tight ears!”
“Maybe you could explain everything to me,” said Creighton.
“That day in Middleton, Aunt Pearl thought she had seen Garrett Thomas. But he was at the inn when we got back.” Miss Miller clapped her hands in triumph. “That’s how he was able to get away with everything. Being in two places at the same time. Fishing while Conway and Leslie were being murdered. On the stage all the time at Music Hall while Brisbois was being attacked. Gemini means twins. There were two of them. Isn’t that clever?”
Creighton didn’t wait to hear the end of her sentence. He was on his way to the phone.
Brisbois wriggled his fingers, trying to reach the keys to his handcuffs. If he could stand on his head, if he didn’t have Thomas’ one hundred and seventy pounds flattening his knees. If the smooth soles of his shoes could find a grip on the polished wood. He knew if he worked long enough he could free his feet, then if he tipped to one side, the keys would slide from his pocket. If he had time. He smiled, then his body tightened in a spasm of laughter. He wasn’t the bravest guy in the world; his audacity was more a matter of style. Fools rush in where angels fear to tread, his boss would say. So he wasn’t brave; he also didn’t panic easily. He wondered if he could stall Thomas — whichever one he was. The guy didn’t seem to be the sort who needed to boast. This Thomas seemed to be the kind who would, when the time came, walk through the door, and shoot him between the eyes without a word.
He raised his brows. Now, maybe that was an idea.
“Creighton thinks he’ll make a quick run across the lake, abandon the boat, and try to escape overland. Perhaps steal a car.”
“Why would he do that?” Aunt Pearl slurred as she hoisted a martini. “I’d boot it down the lake until I spotted the first decent-looking boat. Something that said speed. One occupant. Nothing too threatening.” She tapped an ash over the railing.
The principals had gathered on the veranda. Rudley stood, arms folded over the railing, staring toward the dock.
“I’d put out a distress signal,” Pearl went on. “Then I’d board the boat, overpower the occupant, dump him into the lake. By the time the police figured out what had happened, I’d be halfway to Mexico.”
“You’ve been watching too many reruns of Magnum, P.I.,” Tim said.
“Do you think Brisbois is in trouble?”
“He could be,” said Rudley.
“Creighton will take care of him,” Margaret said.
“Creighton couldn’t find an oil slick in a snowstorm,” Rudley said.
“Be nice, Rudley.”
“I don’t think much of Brisbois, Margaret, but I wouldn’t want to see anything happen to him.” He sighed. “I imagine he’s all right. He should be able to handle a dandy like Thomas.”
“He may have murdered two men, Rudley.”
“Mr. Rudley,” said Miss Miller. “I’d like to take out a motor boat. Mr. Simpson and I have decided to go fishing.”
“Of course.” Rudley continued to stare at the dock. “Lloyd will set you up.” He turned and said rather mournfully, “Lloyd.”
“Yes’m?”
“Would you help Miss Miller with a motor boat?”
“Yes’m.”
Miller grabbed Simpson by the arm. “Come on, Edward.”
Simpson let Miss Miller help him down off the veranda.
“It’s a bit frightening, walking down steps on these things.” He indicated the crutches.
“You’re doing splendidly, Edward.”
Lloyd pointed out a sleek craft. “You’ll want this one.” He grinned. “It’s got the biggest engine.”
“Can you handle a craft like that, Elizabeth?”
“Of course. I was a Girl Scout. I can handle everything.”
“You start it like this,” said Lloyd, making a jerking motion with his hand. “And that thing there, you turn it which way and that to get to where you’re going.”
“Don’t worry, Lloyd.”
“No, ma’am.”
“Now, if you will steady the boat while I help Mr. Simpson on board.”
“You shouldn’t get the cast wet.”
“Yes, Lloyd.”
“The life jackets are in that bag under the back seat.”
“Thank you, Lloyd.”
Miss Miller hopped on board and started the engine with a flick of the wrist.
“Well, this seems all right, Elizabeth,” Simpson said as they eased away from the dock. “But you’ve forgot the fishing rods.”
“I have a plan,” she said.
Brisbois grunted as he inched toward the door, hitching Garrett Thomas’ body ahead of him. He heard the heavy throb of the motor. Ned had turned left when he pulled away from the dock. He imagined Creighton and Ruskay shooting the breeze on the veranda at the Pleasant while he passed before their eyes, hog-tied, and laughed until his belly cramped. Thomas jiggled over his knees.
Simpson sat forward. “I don’t like your plan, Elizabeth.”
“What harm could it do?”
“It could get us killed.”
“Nonsense. All we’re doing is puttering down the lake, looking for The Gemini. If we spot the police boats, we’ll know they’ve got the situation in hand and turn away. If we spot The Gemini first, we’ll simply keep it under surveillance and notify the police at the nearest opportunity.”
“If he’s the one, he’s quite capable of killing us.”
“He wouldn’t murder us in the middle of the lake with cottages all around.”
“They look rather far away to me.”
“Everything on the water looks further away, Edward.”
He looked back at the inn. It looked very small indeed. “I hope you don’t plan to get in the middle of anything, Elizabeth.”
“I want to see what’s going on. If in the process of finding out what’s going on I can help the police, I will.”
“The issue is probably moot. I imagine Brisbois has already apprehended Thomas.”
“He didn’t know about the diamonds, Edward. He probably threw the fish at him and left to check on some trace evidence or follow some other fruitless lead.”
“You’re sure we won’t be in danger.”
She patted his hand. “Edward, would I do anything to put you in danger?”
Creighton had alerted Inspector Mallen, who commenced to mobilize his patrol boats and notify his colleagues in neighbouring jurisdictions. He then called for a patrol car to take him to headquarters.
“Leave it to Brisbois to end up in a mess like this,” the inspector sergeant said when Creighton appeared in the doorway. “Or wherever in hell he is
. For all we know, he went to pick up his dry cleaning and is home having supper with his wife.”
“He hasn’t contacted his wife, sir.”
“I don’t know how he could end up in trouble. He went to drop off some fish. He didn’t know the damned things were stuffed with diamonds. Why in hell wouldn’t Thomas just say thanks and quietly slip away?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Well, damn him. If he’s goofing off somewhere. If we find him at Tim’s, having an iced cappuccino…”
“He wouldn’t do that, sir. Granted, he’s apt to wander, but he would have got back to me by now. He knew I was waiting to hear from him.”
The inspector sergeant sank into his chair. “You’re right.” He sprang up and went to the wall map. “One of our boats is here.” He indicated the narrow channel where the lake met the river. “If The Gemini is headed in that direction, he’ll run right into our boys — or girls, or both.” He hastened on. “If he’s gone the other way, it’s going to be harder to spot him with all those inlets and islands. We’ll have the plane up there before the hour’s out. We’ve got the pontoon and helicopter. We’ve got cars stationed on the shore roads if he decides to put in along that way. We’ve got a bulletin out on the airways to alert the folks who live in the area.”
“I’d like to get a lift on that pontoon, Inspector Sergeant.”
“No. I want you here with me. I need you to work the phones. Find out more about Thomas and where he might make a run for.”
Creighton was silent.
“He’s probably at the dry cleaners,” Mallen said.
Brisbois was sweating. He was a foot from the door now, twisting. He had succeeded in dumping Thomas’ body ahead of him and was busy packing him against the door like a draft doggie. It was a tough chance, he thought, but a chance. He sat back, bent his knees and heaved with all his might. Stood up. Got a better look at the door. It was locked from the outside. Double tumbler. No way to latch it from the inside.
“I guess I’ll have to rely on you, chum,” he told the body.
Miss Miller seized the binoculars. “Edward, it’s The Gemini.”
“We should have brought a cellular phone.”
“I don’t think they have such technological marvels at the Pleasant,” Miss Miller murmured. She scanned the horizon. “Do you see those buoys, Edward?”
“I do.”
“We’re going to herd The Gemini toward them.”
“How?”
“I’m going to cut an erratic path across his bow.”
Simpson blanched. “Won’t he run over us?”
“Not immediately.” She slapped Simpson on the knee to get his attention. “Listen, Edward, I’m going to cut some fancy figures. I want you to take out that bag with the lifejackets and gesture wildly.”
“You want me to wave that bag?”
“Yes. We’ll pretend we think he’s left something behind. We’re being good Samaritans. It will confuse him at least. He’ll think I’m demented.”
Simpson gave her a meaningful look.
“All he’ll want to do is get rid of us. He’ll let us come alongside. I’ll toss the bag to him but I’ll toss it short. Then I’ll jump in, grab the bag, and hand it up. He’ll come to the side to take it from me. Then…”
Simpson cleared his throat. “Elizabeth, I forbid you to do this.”
“Nonsense, it will be fun.”
“It’s bloody dangerous.”
“No, it’s not.”
“He may be a murderer.”
“True. If he isn’t, no harm done. I’ll apologize and say how silly I am, that Tiffany found the bag while she was cleaning up his room, and we assumed it belonged to him. If he is the murderer…”
“Elizabeth, if you board that boat you could be in mortal danger.”
“I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”
“We should return to the inn.”
“Don’t be a wet blanket, Edward.” Miss Miller swung the outboard around smartly and roared across the channel at the approaching boat.
Ned Thomas slowed as the motor boat veered into his path. He saw the slender, ginger-haired woman at the helm and the young man with the leg cast. Obviously, Miss Miller was ignorant of nautical conventions. He leaned on his horn to no avail. She dashed back across the bow, forcing him starboard. He glanced at the shoal markers.
Now what? The man was smiling and hailing him, waving a bag. The outboard ripped closer, did a neat turn, and came alongside. The woman was shouting while the man continued to gesture at the bag. She was asking him to stop. He eased the throttle. Better to find out what she wanted and put under way again.
She was smiling.
“Mr. Thomas, you forgot something.” She took the bag from Simpson and held it out. “Tiffany found it in the back of your closet while she was cleaning up.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll toss it up.”
He nodded and leaned toward the rail.
She tossed the bag. It fell short.
“I’ll get it,” she sang out.
To his astonishment, she pulled off her vest, kicked off her shoes, and dove in.
He walked along the rail to meet her as she surfaced, mustering his most pleasant voice. “I hope you’re all right. So much trouble.”
She beamed up at him, a madcap mermaid, perfectly at home in the water. She rescued the bag, swam toward the boat, and held it up. His fingertips brushed the bag. The next thing he knew, he was cartwheeling toward the water. He came up, gasping for air. He looked around, saw the glint of an oar in the setting sun, just before it connected with his head.
Miss Miller rescued the inert form and towed him toward the boat. “Nice shot, Edward.”
“I hope he’s guilty of something, Elizabeth.”
Chapter Sixteen
“It was a dangerous thing to do, Miss Miller.”
“That’s what made it so exciting, Detective.”
“Are you sure you’re a librarian?”
“University of Western Ontario. With honours, of course.”
“Of course.” Brisbois smiled. “There’s a good chance I owe my life to you and Simpson.”
“I can’t take much credit. It was Elizabeth’s doing mainly.”
They were in the dining room at the Pleasant. Miss Miller folded her arms on the table and leaned forward. “Are you going to tell us the whole story, Detective?”
Brisbois shrugged. “We’ve found out quite a bit about the Thomas brothers since Ned’s arrest.” He filled Miss Miller and Mr. Simpson in on the Thomas brothers’ links to Frank and Joe Conway. “The boys didn’t start out with a criminal career in mind,” he continued. “Garrett went to law school. Ned studied acting.”
“Was he any good?”
“It would seem he was good enough to fool us. But not good enough for the kind of career he wanted. He did some community theatre, a few walk-on parts off-Broadway.”
“In other words, he shouldn’t have quit his day job.”
“Oh, I don’t think he had any ambition for a day job.” Brisbois fingered his Rothman’s. “He and Garrett apparently had a good life as youngsters. I don’t think Ned ever expected he would have to work for a living.”
“I take it he was wrong.”
“Yes.” Brisbois leaned back in his chair. “Their father was a businessman. Quite successful at one time. But the business went downhill in later years. When he died, there was just enough money to maintain the mother’s lifestyle.”
“The boys were going to have to work.”
Brisbois nodded. “Right, and they weren’t too keen on that. But they had an ace in the hole. An insurance policy. The father had established one for each of the boys. The mother kept up the payments.”
“And to cash in, one of them had to die.”
“That was the only way. I imagine they chose Ned because he was somewhat useless. He’d never held a job. The prospect he ever would was slim. I guess you know how that went down.”
“They faked Ned’s death and he disappeared.”
“Yes, the assumption is the Thomas brothers used their mob connections. Maybe pulled in one of Uncle Charlie’s favours. The mob probably bumped off some drifter, stuffed him into Ned’s car, and made sure it caught fire as it rolled down the embankment.”
“So much for CSI.”
“The body was pretty thoroughly charred. And it was a long time ago.”
“What about dental records?”
“The Thomas boys had pretty good teeth. There wasn’t enough of a dental record to make an ID. No x-rays. No fillings. A couple of brief notes about losing baby teeth.”
“So what happened to Ned?” Miss Miller asked as Brisbois hesitated.
“He bought a new identity. Neil Rooks. Apparently, he went out west. His driver’s licence was issued in California. I guess he spent the last years living a comfortable but unproductive life.”
“But he couldn’t get the insurance money.”
“Garrett paid Ned his share in cash installments over the years. I’m sure he was leery of attracting attention by withdrawing a large lump sum from his accounts. Then Garrett ran into financial problems. His wife fell ill. By the time she died, he had spent most of his money and the rest of Ned’s on her medical care. That’s about the only thing Ned’s forthcoming about — Garrett cheated him.”
“So he killed him.”
Brisbois nodded.
“It’s hard to imagine a man killing his twin brother,” Simpson said.
“Yes, but I suppose he felt short-changed. Garrett spent his insurance money, and my guess is he was probably planning to cheat him out of his share of the diamonds.”
Miss Miller considered this. “You still don’t know whether it was Garrett or Ned who killed Conway and Leslie.”
“Oh, it was Ned,” Brisbois said without hesitation. “He had motive; he had opportunity. He was the man Jason Turner saw coming out of Leslie’s cottage. And guess what we found in his shaving kit?”
Miss Miller tilted her head.
“A bottle of Appsley’s Spice. Mrs. Rudley knows her colognes.”
“I’m not sure if your evidence would stand up in front of a jury, Detective.”
Brisbois smiled. “Well, Miss Miller, we also found some rather damning trace evidence on his clothing. A few hairs. Some carpet fibres. I guess he figured if he wasn’t drenched in blood he’d be home free.”
Pleasantly Dead Page 17
