“Have you heard anything about bikers?”
“Yup.” She paused. “Those girls may be in big trouble.”
At Black Bear Lake, we found Kyle and Tommy playing Concentration. Kyle had the telephone receiver to his ear.
Maxie took one look at Cleo’s carrier cage and started barking.
I handed the cage to Celia and grabbed Maxie’s collar. Celia took the cat upstairs.
“Where’s Laura?” I asked Tommy and Lyle.
“In her room,” Tommy said.
Kyle held the telephone out to me. “My mom. She wants to talk to you.”
Yvonne Shingler thanked me for inviting Kyle to spend the rest of the week with us. I didn’t tell her the invitation hadn’t come from me.
I went up to Laura’s room where she was sprawled on the double bed and closed the door behind me. “This room is out of bounds to Kyle,” I said. “He’ll take Tommy’s room, and Tommy will sleep in the twin bed next to mine.”
“Devon sleeps with you when he visits.”
“When you have your own home, Laura, you can do as you like. Right now, I’m the one who pays the bills, so you’ll follow my rules. If you don’t like it, Kyle can get in his mother’s car and drive back to Toronto.”
She stared at me, poker-faced.
I paused at the door. “I know you and Kyle set this up behind my back.”
She pulled a pillow over her head.
“Sister Celia said Kyle can use the snowmobile,” I said. “He can take Tommy out on it tomorrow while you drive into town and work on your paper in the library.”
I heard a groan from under the pillow.
After dinner, Kerry and I raced back to Braeloch in his Jeep. Nuala gave her presentation to an audience of twenty-six in the branch’s small basement auditorium. From my seat at the back, I spotted Greg Nowak and Lainey Campbell.
Nuala was an impressive speaker. She was clear, concise and persuasive. There were plenty of questions after she’d finished, and she answered them all. Then we chatted with our guests over coffee and cake.
“That went very well,” I told her as people left the building.
“You think so?” she asked.
“Your talk was great.”
She lowered her eyes, but she couldn’t hide the pleasure that blossomed on her face.
“And we had a terrific turnout for a winter evening,” I added. “I’d have been thrilled if we’d got fifteen people. And they all seemed interested in what we can do for them.”
“You bet,” Soupy said. “I’d be surprised if tonight doesn’t bring in a dozen new clients.”
The front door opened and Greg Nowak hurried back in. “Forgot to give you these, son.” He handed Soupy a parcel.
“Tickets to our gig at the Legion on Sunday night,” Soupy said to Nuala and me. “You have to come out and hear us.”
“The missus and me enjoyed your talk,” Greg said to Nuala. “Gave us plenty to think about.”
“I can’t take you on as my clients,” Soupy said, “but Nuala would be happy to.”
She smiled and handed Greg a card.
He saluted us, and Soupy walked him to the door.
“Let’s call it a day,” I said to Nuala. She was staring at Kerry who was seated in front of the gas fireplace.
“Kerry,” I said, “come meet our team.”
Nuala’s eyebrows nearly hit her hairline. Soupy joined us as Kerry came over.
I saw Nuala take in Kerry’s wavy brown hair, his black leather sports jacket and his designer jeans. She appraised me as I made the introductions.
I suppressed a chuckle. She thought he was my guy, and I didn’t try to set her straight.
“Shall we be off?” I asked him.
He gave me a wink and took my arm.
I grinned at him. He knew exactly what Nuala had been thinking.
Kerry opened the front door with a grand sweep. I smiled at him, then turned around. “You’ll be okay tomorrow, Nuala?” I asked. Soupy and I planned to attend Lyle’s funeral in the morning.
She gave me thin smile. “I can manage on my own for a few hours.”
“So?” Kerry said when we were in his Jeep.
“So what?”
He turned the key in the ignition. Then he sat back in his seat while the engine warmed. “Nuala was sizing us up.”
“She assumes we’re a couple,” I said breezily. “And that surprises her because you’re…younger.”
“Hey, I like older women.”
I laughed but I felt uneasy. “Nuala doesn’t know you’re spoken for.”
“I don’t ask Wendy what she’s up to in the city.” He slipped a CD into the player. “And she doesn’t ask how I spend my time up here.”
To change the subject, I blurted out the first thing that came into my mind. “I hear there’s a grow-op around here.”
He adjusted the volume. “I can get you some weed.”
“No, thanks. Somebody mentioned a grow-op, and I just wondered how they operate.”
He grinned. “Thinking of getting into the business? Well, those plants need plenty of UV light and grow farms are usually traced by their high hydro bills. You might want to use generators.”
Al and Ruby’s place was out in the middle of nowhere, with no neighbors to hear the generators. I pictured the forest behind the house and barn. The grow houses were probably in a clearing in the trees.
“You’re sure I can’t get you some weed?” Kerry asked as we pulled out of the parking lot.
“Thanks, but no.” I slid down in the passenger seat and turned my attention to The Tragically Hip on the sound system.
I found Kyle stretched out on a sofa, headphones over his ears and Cleo curled up on his chest. Maxie was nowhere to be seen.
“Pat, come up here,” Celia called from upstairs.
On the second floor, Laura’s door was closed. Behind it, Maxie barked a greeting.
Celia sat at her desk, her laptop open in front of her. “Monsignor Frank McCann will be coming in from Peterborough for the funeral. But I’m not sure about the music I’ve chosen. I have no idea what Lyle liked so I kept to the old standards.”
“Best to err on the side of caution,” I said. “I’m impressed that Lyle’s send-off will be presided over by a monsignor.”
“Lyle would have been tickled pink.”
“How’s the eulogy coming?” I asked.
“It’ll be short.” She chewed the end of her pen. “I’ve found someone to give another reading. One of our sisters runs a group home in Lindsay. I called her, and it turns out that Pearl Critchley was her high school English teacher. Pearl stayed in touch with many of her students. Doreen gave me the number of a Gavin Ridout, who had been close to Pearl.”
I held up a hand. “Don’t tell me. Gavin will be at the funeral tomorrow.”
She grinned. “He’ll give the first reading.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Church of Jesus of the Highlands was jam-packed, but there wasn’t a handkerchief in sight. The people seated around me were bright-eyed and alert. They clearly anticipated that something out of the ordinary would happen at a murder victim’s funeral.
The only flowers in the church were three white roses that Celia had placed in a vase on the altar. The absence of flowers spoke volumes about a man who had lived most of his life in that community.
Gavin and Lainey gave the two Bible readings. A man in his early forties with cropped red hair, Gavin was a powerful speaker, and his mellifluous voice captured the beauty of the Old Testament passage. Lainey wasn’t the orator that Gavin was, but her reading from the Acts of the Apostles came straight from the heart. At one point, her voice broke and she paused for a few moments to compose herself. Finally, I thought, someone was mourning Lyle.
Monsignor Frank kept his homily short and focused on Lyle’s work at the church. “After he lost Edna, Lyle found consolation in the work he did here. And now that he’s in heaven, he wants you to continue it.”
The woman in front of me turned to the man beside her. “That old fart cared more about keepin’ the church clean than the folks who came here to worship.”
Celia’s eulogy was a brief summary of Lyle’s life, peppered with stories about his fondness for Hockey Night in Canada and his love of dancing. “Let’s think of Lyle jiving up in heaven with St. Peter on drums,” she concluded.
Monsignor Frank scowled at her as she returned to her pew.
After the final blessing, he sprinkled holy water on the casket, Then he walked around it, swinging the incense censer. When the casket was perfumed to his satisfaction, he gestured to someone at the back of the church, and an accordion wailed the opening bars of “Amazing Grace.” The accordion player, in a red-plaid lumber jacket, walked down the center aisle, the music swelling in volume as he approached the altar. He stopped in front of the casket, and waited for Monsignor Frank and the altar servers to put on their coats and jackets over their robes. When they were assembled in front of the pallbearers, he led the procession up the aisle and out the front door.
Snow had begun to fall. Mara Nowak and her crew filmed the procession as it proceeded down the ramps and around the church to the cemetery at the back of the property. I watched from the church steps for a few minutes, then made my way to the cemetery.
Blankets of plastic grass covered the ground around the grave that Lyle would share with Edna. Monsignor Frank recited a prayer, and the casket was lowered into the earth.
“May his soul, and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God rest in peace. Amen,” the monsignor said and gave the casket a final splash of holy water.
Celia handed a small clod of earth to Gavin. He tossed it into the grave.
Bruce pushed his way through the crowd. I saw Ted, who stood with Bea at the edge of the group, start to go after him, but Bea placed a restraining hand on his arm.
Bruce strode up to the grave and pitched a rock the size of a baseball into it. It landed on the casket with a thud.
The crowd gasped. “Is this customary at Catholic funerals?” a woman asked behind me.
Celia appeared beside Bruce and whispered something to him. She turned to the crowd. “You are all invited for sandwiches and coffee in the rectory.” She beckoned to me.
I hurried over and took Bruce’s arm.
“World’s a better place since Lyle Critchley left it,” he muttered.
I smelled whiskey on his breath.
Celia took his other arm. He tried to pull away but we held his arms. Suddenly he deflated, and we frog-marched him across the cemetery.
“I thought it would be nicer to get together in the rectory than in the church basement,” Celia chattered as we steered Bruce through the cemetery gate. “Father Brisebois will have conniptions when he hears about it.”
“I cleaned the chimney,” Bruce said.
She patted his arm. “You did a fine job. Now we can light a fire in the fireplace.”
Inside the rectory, the double doors on the right side of the hall stood open in welcome. Celia steered Bruce through the doorway and over to a table laden with sandwiches and two large metal urns.
“Sherry, here’s your first customer,” Celia said to the busty platinum blonde behind the table. “Bruce will have a mug of coffee. Black. And some sandwiches.”
Sherry glared at Bruce. “You’re supposed to be helping me.” She poured coffee into a mug and slapped two egg-salad sandwiches on a paper plate.
Celia added a few more sandwiches to the plate and picked up the mug. “Bruce needs to rest for a bit.”
I took the plate, and followed her and Bruce into the hall. We were at the foot of the stairs when the front door opened, and Soupy and Lainey Campbell came in.
“That was a lovely reading you gave, Lainey,” Celia said. “Thank you.”
“This is Lainey’s son, Paul Campbell,” I said. “He’s an advisor at our branch. Sister Celia de Franco.”
“Most folks call me Soupy.” He smiled at his mother. “Except Mom.”
“Oh, call him Soupy if you like.” Lainey shook her head. “Don’t know why I bothered giving him a good saint’s name.”
She put an arm around Bruce. “You okay, dear?”
He ducked his head and mumbled something I couldn’t make out.
“Bruce will rest upstairs for a while,” Celia said.
“Why don’t I take that mug, Sister? You get back to the reception.” Lainey slipped off her coat and gave it to her son. She took the coffee mug from Celia.
“Give me the sandwiches,” Lainey said to me. “Bruce don’t need two of us to tuck him in.”
“Stay in your room till the reception is over,” Celia told Bruce. “Out of harm’s way.”
I handed the plate to Lainey, and she followed Bruce up the stairs.
“I hope he stays upstairs till he sobers up,” Celia said. “I don’t want him playing the fool again in front of Monsignor Frank.”
She opened the door to her office. “Put your mother’s coat in here, Soupy. And would you take coats from people as they come in? Pile them on the sofa and the chairs in here. On the desk if you need to.”
Back in the reception room, Sherry poured me a coffee. “Heard Bruce threw a rock into Lyle’s grave.” Her blue eyes twinkled with amusement.
I smiled but kept my mouth shut.
“Can’t say I blame him. Shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but Lyle was the devil to work with. Everything had to be done his way. And his attitude to women…” She groaned. “I didn’t know Edna well, but she struck me as the timid kind of woman you’d expect a man like Lyle would be married to.”
Sherry’s tight sweater and the mass of platinum hair piled on top of her head told me that Lyle wouldn’t have suffered her presence in silence.
She looked at me with new interest. “You run that investment place in town.”
“I’m just helping out till the branch gets up and running. Nuala Larkin is the manager.”
“Nuala Larkin? Name sounds familiar.”
“She just moved to Braeloch.”
Celia joined us. “Sherry knows everyone around here.”
Gavin came in and looked around the room. Celia and I went up to him. “You did a great job with that reading,” she told him.
“This is Gavin Ridout from Lindsay,” she said to me.
I smiled at him. “You’re Pearl Critchley’s friend.”
His face lit up. “Did you know Pearl?”
“No, I’m new to the area.”
“Pat runs the Norris Cassidy branch that just opened,” Celia said.
“I’m just here for the start-up,” I said. “Nuala Larkin is the manager.”
“Nuala Larkin. She ever live in Lindsay?” Gavin asked.
“She was an investment advisor at Optimum there.”
“I’ve heard of her. Lindsay is a small place, although not as small as Braeloch.” He paused for a moment or two. “Pearl was my high school English teacher. She helped me through a rough patch when I was teenager. Encouraged me to stay in school and now I teach high school myself.”
“Gavin told me that Lyle was devoted to Pearl,” Celia said. “He was her mainstay when she took sick.”
The smile left his face. “We lost her last summer.”
Ted came in and whispered something to Celia.
“Upstairs,” she said. “He’s resting.”
“I’ll get him some sandwiches.” Ted headed for Sherry’s table, and Celia followed him.
Bea came over to us. “Where’s Ted going?”
“To check on his son,” I said.
A frown crossed her face. “Ah, Bruce.”
I’d just introduced Bea to Gavin when Lainey entered the room. Her face was pale, and she looked troubled. She saw us and came over.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
She shook her head. “It can’t be.”
“Hello, Lainey,” Gavin said.
Lainey’s face bro
ke into a smile. “Gavin’s my summer neighbor at Three Hills Lake,” she said. “Pearl often visited his cottage.”
“I talked Lyle into buying those lots at the lake,” Gavin said, “but he hadn’t got around to building.”
“He was trying to stop our Internet tower,” Lainey said.
“He thought it would spoil the rural charm,” Gavin said.
Lainey snorted.
Bea looked up at Gavin. “Did you see the window behind the altar?” she asked him.
He stared at her, clearly puzzled by her question.
“Stained glass,” she said. “I donated it in memory of my Floyd. He was the sacristan before Lyle.”
She looked as if she was about to cry. “Lyle didn’t want the window put in,” she said. “He wanted the church kept simple.”
Lainey put an arm around Bea. “It’s a lovely window, dear.”
Bea smiled at her gratefully. “There you are, Ted,” she said, as Ted joined us. “I need to sit down.”
He helped her to an armchair by the window. Lainey and Gavin went over to the refreshment table.
I saw Celia greet Monsignor Frank as he entered the room. She took him over to Sherry, who handed him a plate of sandwiches. I joined them and helped myself to a sandwich.
“This is Pat Tierney,” Celia said to the monsignor. “Monsignor Frank McCann.”
He acknowledged me with a nod of his head. “Quite a spread you’ve put on,” he said to Celia. It sounded like an accusation.
“Lyle was our sacristan. He gave a lot of time to this parish.”
Monsignor Frank picked up a tuna sandwich and looked at it thoughtfully. “I visited Father Brisebois in the hospital yesterday. He wonders how you’re getting on.”
Celia lifted her chin and looked him in the eye. “Very well.”
He pursed his lips. “That incident at the cemetery. What was that about?”
“Bruce Stohl is a troubled man with a drinking problem.”
The monsignor was shaking his head when Soupy came over. “Where’s Bruce?” he asked Celia.
“Resting upstairs.”
“Okay if I look in on him?”
She nodded, and Soupy left the room.
Black Water Page 11
