Black Water

by Rosemary McCracken

  Celia went to open it. Two men in leather jackets pushed her aside and barged into the house. One of them was Nuala’s dancing partner at the Legion, the guy with the tattoos and the leather vest.

  “You.” He jabbed a finger in my direction. “Got somethin’ to say to you.”

  Celia went over to Tommy, who was working on a jigsaw puzzle at the table. She stood behind him, her hands on his shoulders.

  My heart was thudding in my chest, but I lifted my chin and walked over to the biker. I looked him in the eyes. “Say it.”

  “We know what yer up to,” his buddy, a man with a squashed nose, put in. “Yer tryin’ to horn in on the dykes’ business. Well, we’re not havin’ it.”

  “No, siree,” Leather Vest said. “If anyone’s goin’ to be distributin’ for Al and Ruby, it’s us.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Celia move toward the telephone on the sideboard. The guy with the squashed nose had been watching her too. He crossed the room in a few strides and grabbed her arm as she was about to reach for the phone.

  “Leave that alone.” He gave her a push that sent her stumbling across the room.

  “You have no right to be here!” she cried.

  “Calm down, little lady,” Squashed Nose said with a leer on his face.

  Leather Vest turned back to me. “We seen you out there,” he said. “And we seen you and Al Barker at the Winigami today.”

  If he was watching the Winigami’s parking lot, he must have seen me talking to Foster as well. I was about to ask whether he thought I was a police informant, but I realized the less I said the better. Then I saw Squashed Nose look at Tommy, and my heart turned to ice.

  Leather Vest put a hand on the door. “Don’t make us come out here again. Someone might get hurt.”

  His eyes swept the ground floor of the house and lingered on Farah, who was cowering on the sofa.

  “Hey!” Squashed Nose inclined his head toward Tommy. “The kid.”

  Leather Vest went over to Tommy. “Which one of these bro?ladies?is your mom?” He put a finger under Tommy’s chin and tilted his face upwards.

  Tommy stared at him, his mouth open.

  “None of them, eh? Then no one will care if we take you with us.”

  “No!” I ran over to Tommy. I put an arm around him and glared at Leather Vest. The air bristled between us.

  The biker’s face crinkled into an ugly smile. “C’mon, Weasel,” he said to the other man and turned toward the door.

  As soon as they’d left the house, Celia flew across the room and locked the door. I went to the window and watched the men climb into a gray panel van.

  “Are they bad guys?”

  I looked down to see Tommy peering out the window beside me, a mixture of terror and delight on his face. I ran a hand through his hair. “I think we can call them that.”

  “Will they come back?”

  I picked him up and held him close. “I hope not.”

  “Hey!” Celia held out her arms. “Come here.”

  I moved toward her and beckoned Farah to join us. She got up from the sofa and crossed the room.

  Celia put her arms around Farah and Tommy and me. “That was just bluster,” she said. “We are not going to let them scare us.”

  We huddled together for a good minute, then I felt Farah shiver beside me. “Guy with ugly nose,” she said. “I see that face at window Saturday night.”

  I broke away from the group. “We’d better get the police over here. There must be tire marks outside.”

  Foster answered on the second ring, and I told him about our visitors. And that Farah had recognized one of them.

  “Paul Campbell told me they’ve been around here for a few weeks,” I added. I didn’t say what had brought them to the area.

  “One vehicle?”

  “Yes. A gray van.”

  “I’ll send forensics over.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  It was nearly one in the morning when the forensics team finished up. I went straight to bed, but I tossed and turned and wondered when we could expect another visit from the bikers. Would they be back for Tommy? I finally fell asleep only to be jolted awake by the alarm clock.

  In the shower, a new worry surfaced. Would Farah stay with us? If she returned to Toronto, who would look after Tommy?

  But Farah seemed quite willing to hold the fort while Celia and I were at work that day. “Kerry, he come over this morning,” she said at breakfast.

  I nodded, grateful for our neighbor’s attentions. I knew he wasn’t going to get much painting done in the next little while.

  Farah took Tommy upstairs to get dressed. I lingered over my coffee and watched Celia arrange the contents of her backpack at the table. There was an ugly bruise on her right arm where the biker had grabbed her.

  “Does your arm hurt?” I asked.

  She scowled and shook her head. “The teen group wants to put on a play later this spring. I’ll run some ideas by them this afternoon.”

  “You’ve done this before?”

  “I taught high school drama for a couple of years and I mounted all the school’s productions. That was an all-girls’ school, so this show should be much easier. The girls won’t have to play male parts.”

  She looked thoughtful as I refilled our mugs. “I put the condoms out on Saturday.”

  That got my attention.

  “I had them in a basket on the stage, and I told the kids to help themselves. I went over to the rectory for ten minutes, and the basket was empty when I got back.”

  I chuckled and wondered whether the birthrate in the Glencoe Highlands would be down the following year.

  I had another business lunch that day. When I returned to the branch, I found Gavin Ridout waiting for me. I hung up my coat and waved him into my office.

  Then I went to check in with the others. I found Soupy and Nuala laughing in her office. “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “I was telling Nuala about our cover of ‘Mustang Sally’,” Soupy said. “Played it for the first time on Saturday night.”

  “I don’t remember that,” I said.

  “We opened the last set with it. You and Nuala had left by then.”

  Back in my office, I closed the door. “Shouldn’t you be in the classroom today?” I asked Gavin.

  “I called in sick yesterday morning and drove back up here. There were a couple of things I needed to attend to. I didn’t get them all done so I called in sick again today.”

  “You stayed at your cottage?”

  “No, my place isn’t winterized. I stayed at the Winigami.”

  I settled behind my desk. “So what can I do for you?”

  He took the chair across from me. “I want to run something by you. Is there anything investors can do to prevent financial types from stealing their money?”

  I’m always taken aback by this kind of question, although it’s one that people in my line of work are sometimes asked. “The best safeguard is to become an educated investor,” I said. “And keep an eye on your quarterly or monthly statements. If there’s activity in your account you didn’t authorize, you’ve got a problem that needs addressing.”

  I looked at him closely. “Has something happened?”

  He ran a hand through his short red hair. “Someone I know—knew—had a problem.”

  His use of the past tense raised a red flag. It was just a hunch but… “It’s Pearl Critchley you’re talking about.”

  “Yes. She lost about $50,000.”

  “And Lyle knew about it?”

  “Yes. After she died, he took a close look at her financial statements. He told me when he stopped by my home before Christmas. The investment firm eventually repaid the money to Pearl’s account, but it seemed a matter of family pride for Lyle to get to the bottom of it.”

  Was this why Lyle contacted Jamie? “What company was Pearl invested with?”

  “Optimum Capital.”

  I wasn’t surprised. “Did L
yle say who she worked with?”

  “No, and I didn’t think to ask. But since he…died, I’ve been wondering about it.”

  “The money that was missing from Pearl’s account wasn’t an isolated case,” I said. “A number of other Optimum clients fell short. The police made an arrest, but the stolen money hasn’t been recovered. There’s a cool million still out there. Did Lyle mention that?”

  “No, he just told me about Pearl’s loss.”

  “The week Lyle was killed he sent a letter to my daughter’s friend and asked her for help. Exactly what kind of help we don’t know, but Jamie Collins is a lawyer who’s made a name for herself representing small investors.”

  “Jamie Collins. That wouldn’t be Jennifer Collins, the woman the police are looking for?”

  “It is. We have to tell them about this.”

  I turned to the phone on my desk and punched in Foster’s number. He didn’t answer. “Pat Tierney here,” I said when I got his voice mail. “I have something for you. Give me a call at Norris Cassidy’s Braeloch branch.”

  “What now?” Gavin asked.

  “I’ll try Optimum in Lindsay.”

  When I reached the Lindsay branch, I asked who the manager was. I was told it was Christine Ritter, and that she was out of the office for the day.

  “Pat, Inspector Foster for you on line two,” Ivy said over the intercom.

  I thanked the Optimum receptionist and hung up. There was no point in asking who Pearl’s advisor was. I knew she wouldn’t tell me. I hit the button on my phone for line two.

  “What have you got?” Foster asked.

  I told him about Pearl’s missing money, and that Lyle had been talking to Gavin about it before Christmas. Then I put Gavin on the line. He spoke to Foster for a few minutes, then returned the phone to me.

  “Can you find out who Pearl worked with at Optimum?” Foster asked.

  “They won’t tell me. Client confidentiality,” I said. “But you’re a police officer in charge of a murder investigation. They’ll tell you. Ask for Christine Ritter, the branch manager. She’ll be there in morning.”

  I paused for a few seconds. “Lyle might have been on to something new. Ask Christine if he contacted her recently.”

  “Right,” Foster said and hung up.

  Gavin and I stared at each other for several moments. I was the first to speak. “If you thought there was a connection between Pearl’s missing money and Lyle’s murder, why didn’t you go to the police?”

  His eyes opened wide. “I…I thought I’d run it by you first. You’re a financial advisor so you’d know how to proceed.”

  “Well, we’ve told the police. Now I’d like to know who Pearl’s advisor was. Inspector Foster will find out in the morning, but I don’t think he’ll share that information with us.”

  The advisor’s name would be on Pearl’s account statements. It crossed my mind to look for them at Lyle’s house, then I remembered the empty drawers in his filing cabinet.

  “Did Pearl have a lawyer?” I asked Gavin.

  His face brightened. “Jerry Muloney, my buddy from high school. Pearl told me he drew up her will. She liked to give business to her former students.”

  “He probably knows the name of her financial advisor. Would he tell you?”

  He slid the phone across the desk. “Only one way to find out.”

  While Gavin made his call, I went out to the kitchen to stretch my legs. When I returned with two bottles of Evian water, Gavin had a grin on his face. “Ken Burrows,” he said. “Burrows was Pearl’s advisor. Heard of him?”

  “He’s the guy who’s in jail. The case against him seemed airtight.”

  Gavin slumped in his chair. “And I thought I could help.”

  “You have helped. Burrows was arrested months ago, but Lyle was only recently looking into the case. He must have come across something else.”

  I studied Gavin’s face. Did he know more than he was telling me? “I heard you were at Al and Ruby’s place yesterday.”

  He looked startled. “I went over there, yes.”

  “Were you looking for Jamie?”

  “No, I wasn’t. The only thing I knew about her then was what I’d heard on the news. Is she staying out there?”

  I ignored his question. “What were you doing over there?”

  He leaned back in his chair and pressed his fingers on his temples. “I brought those women some trouble.”

  I waited for him to say more.

  “It’s a bit of a story,” he said slowly. “When school ended last June, I treated myself to a wine-tasting holiday in California. Ten of us spent a week at a small resort in the Napa Valley. We had wine-tasting dinners, tours of wineries, cooking classes. Over the week, we got to know one another fairly well.”

  I smiled encouragingly, but I wondered where Al and Ruby fit into this. I couldn’t picture them discussing the merits of a Californian Sauvignon Blanc over an Italian Pinot Grigio.

  “I was the only Canadian in the group, and I bragged about this part of the world. About its unspoiled beauty and about some of the colorful characters around here. And I told them about the grow-op that everyone in this area seems to have a stake in. It seemed like a good story at the time.”

  He closed his eyes. “And now those bikers are here.”

  “What makes you think something you said in California brought them here?”

  He cleared his throat. “That wine holiday was for gay men. I had a fling that week, although nothing came of it. He lives in Florida. With his long-time partner, I found out later. I also learned that he sometimes walks on the wild side.”

  He paused for a few moments and went on. “A couple of months ago, I got a phone call from someone who asked about the grow-op.”

  “The guy you had the fling with?”

  “I’m not sure. It didn’t sound like him. When I wouldn’t give any names, he threatened to out me to the school board.”

  “They can’t fire you for being gay. That would be against our human rights charter,” I said. But it was exactly the kind of discrimination I was afraid Tracy would come up against.

  “No, but they can make my life a living hell. So I panicked. I’ve been pretty low-key about my orientation. You tend to be in a place like Lindsay. I save that part of my life for vacations.”

  I felt proud of Tracy for standing up for who she was.

  “So you told this caller about the grow-op,” I said.

  “I told him it was near Braeloch. And…I gave him Al and Ruby’s names. On Friday, I heard they were being harassed by bikers.”

  “It may have nothing to do with your caller.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “So you went over to Al and Ruby’s place.”

  “To apologize, whatever. Though I can’t undo what I did.”

  “And Al greeted you with her rifle.”

  He smiled wryly. “They don’t seem to want visitors.”

  I walked him to the front door. I was on my way back to my office when Nuala came into the hall. “I overheard Ivy telling you the detective was on the line,” she said. “What did he want?”

  “We know what Lyle was looking into before he died.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  I was drifting out of a dream about bikers and ballet dancers when I heard a car start up outside my bedroom window the next morning. I turned on the bedside light. Six o’clock. Then I remembered that Celia planned to leave early to visit a sick parishioner. I snuggled under the covers for another hour of shut-eye.

  Tommy was in high spirits at breakfast. He’d had a great time on the snowmobile the day before. “I’m going out with Kerry tomorrow,” he said.

  “Kerry, he visit art dealer in Toronto today,” Farah told me. “He come back tomorrow morning.”

  I scanned her face for a sign that she wouldn’t stay in the house alone with Tommy. But she continued to turn the pages of her fashion magazine, apparently absorbed by the photos of models in haute
couture.

  I was halfway through my second piece of toast when she raised her eyes from the magazine. “I look at Kerry’s house when he is out with Tommy. His mother, she have many clothes. Beautiful clothes,” she added wistfully.

  I was stunned by her brazenness, but I had to bite back a smile at her assumption that Wendy was Kerry’s mother. “Did Kerry show you his paintings?” I asked.

  “Yes.” She puckered her mouth into a moue of distaste. “He do paintings on third floor. Terrible mess up there—paint cans, other stuff. And many paintings he don’t finish.”

  “It takes time to finish a painting.”

  She looked at me, apparently digesting that piece of information.

  At five to nine, I put on my coat and boots, and stepped out into a spring day. Sun filtered through a light cloud cover, and a mild breeze caressed my face. I loosened the scarf around my neck. Only a few patches of snow remained on the driveway and a large puddle had formed at the base of the eaves trough’s downspout. The next cold snap would turn the driveway beside the house into a skating rink.

  I got into the Volvo and turned the key in the ignition. The engine refused to turn over, and I heard that ominous, grating sound. But I knew that the battery couldn’t be frozen because it was the mildest day since I’d arrived in the Glencoe Highlands.

  I headed into the house to call the Volvo’s roadside assistance service. When I picked up the receiver, the line was dead.

  Panic rose in my throat. The car was out of commission and so was the phone. And our closest neighbor was on the road to Toronto.

  Farah looked at me inquiringly when I put the receiver down.

  “Car won’t start,” I said. “Did Kerry say when he planned to leave this morning?”

  “Early, he say.”

  “Maybe he hasn’t gone yet. I’ll go over there.”

  She opened her mouth to say something, but I beat her to it. “Stay here with Tommy.”

  Outside, I walked around the house and saw the telephone wire dangling in the air, cut at the point where it fed into the house. Fear oozed from my pores like sweat from a sick person. Someone had gone to considerable trouble to make sure I stayed at home.