“Saw her home? You said you weren’t out that night. She never mentioned it.”
“I wasn’t. I was up in the cupola at the top of the dome. I saw her home from there.”
There was something about the way he squinted. She flipped through her notebook to the calendar. Held it up. “What’s this?”
He had no idea. Shook his head.
“How well do you see?”
Leone was looking down on the shore. He squinted into the night through his blur of poor vision. He had tried glasses, but reeled back as if struck, the first time he looked through the lenses. Ugly, stark, too much definition. He went back to his half-seen world. That night, he’d been watching the blur of her make her way home, but she wasn’t going home.
“You saw Alyssa.”
“Alyssa, of course. I watched her all the way home. Watched over her.” It was a little white lie. He had watched over her. Just not from the dome.
Jamieson looked up from her notes. She’d written: “Protective of Alyssa.” A clue?
“And when she was home?”
“Watched the lights go on downstairs, then off. Then upstairs – on and off.”
“Why such concern?”
“I just wanted to make sure she was safe.”
Or safely out of the way, so you could kill Lord?
“What was your relationship with Lord?”
Silence.
“You can tell me, or I can find out.”
“The relationship? Over. It was over.”
“It certainly is now.”
Jamieson had Leone lift the axe. He did so with ease.
He could have used it, thought Jamieson.
“I will have to speak to Mr. Bullock, you know.”
Leone shrugged. “Of course. I can’t stop you, but you may be disappointed. Am I free to leave?”
“Just rub your hands through your hair, and let me get your fingerprints. Then you’re free to go, for now.”
Olive MacLean and Gladys Fraser would not be budged.
The ceilidh must go on.
Olive sat, her mouth set in a tight line, refusing to speak a word. Gladys standing was not much taller than Olive sitting, but she was a solid wall of stubbornness. She stood, immovable, her arms crossed and balanced on her formidable bosom, her chin thrust forward.
“The ceilidh will go on.” Her face was set, lips pursed, eyes squinting. The look, so successful in forcing others to back down, unnerved even Jamieson.
“I’m sorry.” When had she ever apologized before? To someone like this? Over such a trivial matter?
Trivial to Jamieson, maybe, but not to Gladys, in her official capacity as President of Institute. And on a personal level, Gladys desperately needed something to take her mind off the loss of Jim MacAdam.
“Why, we often have people coming all the way from Nova Scotia.”
Jamieson doubted anyone would cross the causeway. Her latest report from Murdo was that it was still impassable, the surf crashing up and over the roadbed in the wake of the storm. Their police cruiser was a pathetic sight, its nose still firmly attached to the dung heap, the rest of it sinking deeper into the wet, red clay. The access lane, where Nathan would have to go to pull it out, looked more like a river than a farm road.
The weather had improved, but didn’t clear right out, as Olive’s husband Harold had predicted. That didn’t surprise anyone. There were still grim black clouds scudding across the sky and rain showers spitting down. The odd shaft of sunlight knifed through the clouds. The wind had backed off, but there were still strong gusts and what Harold called a “fair breeze” – a breeze that would blow the clothes at a right angle on clotheslines, should anybody hang them out.
It wasn’t a good day for laundry, but no one was going to miss the ceilidh, not anyone who could walk, and some who couldn’t. No one, certainly not Gladys Fraser, would think of cancelling it, murder or not. Next to the Christmas concert, the Labour Day weekend ceilidh was the social event of the year. It couldn’t go on with a cot on the stage where the musicians would play, or one down on the floor where people would dance.
“No. I’m afraid you’ll have to find somewheres else to carry on your police business. It can’t be here. Not tonight. We depend on these events to keep the roof over our heads.”
The roof had been replaced and paid for two years before. It was a steel roof. It wasn’t going anywhere. Jamieson supposed she could press her point, but it would make for ill will in the community. She needed good will, so she struck a deal. The ceilidh could go ahead, but she was to be introduced to everyone who came to the Hall and allowed to question anyone she hadn’t spoken to already.
Unconventional. But what about this case so far had been conventional?
Olive and Gladys looked at each other. Tried not to smile. For Gladys, that was easy.
“All right.” Her lips were tight, but there was a mean smile in her eyes.
Murdo had been knocking on doors, arranging interview times for anyone who was a suspect or possible witness. Anyone who had been at or near the shore, or knew someone who had, was at the top of the list. He’d arranged interviews well into the evening, knowing how Jamieson operated – and then had to rearrange them all when he’d reported back to her and she’d told him about the ceilidh.
“Just bump them until tomorrow.” She indicated a number of names low down on his list.
“I’m not sure who will come on a Sunday.” He shook his head. “Folk around here won’t take kindly to police interference on the Lord’s Day.”
“Jesus,” she said.
“Exactly,” he said.
“Well, do what you can. I may be meeting all of them tonight anyway. They say the whole village will be at the ceilidh.”
Murdo smiled as he left, thinking of April. April would be there.
Jamieson, meantime, was thinking about the confidence Leone had whispered in her ear. Was it true? And, if true, what did it mean? It explained the body double. But did it make Ed a killer? It made it unlikely, but she’d have to meet the man to know. He could be an accessory, or even the mastermind. Was there a reason for Leone to protect Ed, beyond what he’d told her? Did Ed need protecting? What motive did either of them have? She was determined to speak to Ed, whatever obstacles Leone put in her way. He and Leone, Alyssa and Suki, were her most likely suspects. She would speak to the rest of the villagers to find out what they’d seen or heard.
Ed Bullock, too. Maybe it wasn’t about what he’d done, but what he’d seen, heard, or knew. She had to get up to the dome. She’d have to stop Murdo, get him to drop her off there. She grabbed her crutches and pulled herself up, but before she was halfway across the room, she saw the cruiser pulling out of the parking lot.
Damn. She threw the crutches down, then had to hop around, trying to pick them up, glad that no one could see her looking like an idiot.
But Moira saw, from her dining room window directly opposite the Hall’s window. She smirked and hugged Jamieson’s private moment.
“You make a great alibi for her.”
Hy and Ian were on the phone. She hadn’t had a chance to tell Ian about the ring yet. He’d been telling her about his interview with Jamieson and now they were arguing about Suki. Hy thought it was unlikely Suki had killed Lord, especially with the new evidence she now had, the ring on her hand. She knew she was being petulant, acting like a child, but she couldn’t help herself. She’d pushed Ian into defending Suki.
“You make alibi sound like an excuse – suspicious, somehow.”
“I think it is.”
“Do you think I’m lying, covering for her?”
She didn’t think that. No, she didn’t believe Ian would lie to her about something so serious.
“No. I just think she might have arrived later – or slipped out during the night.” Ian, once
asleep, could not be woken.
“Hy – we hardly slept a wink.”
“Spare me the details.” It was suspicious, Suki coming for Ian after all these years, at such a convenient time for her.
“Where is she now?”
“She’s having a shower.” She was having a very long shower. Using all the hot water, Ian thought meanly.
Hy could hear the hiss of the water down the phone line. She said nothing.
“Can I see you – alone?” he asked.
At last. Maybe he was seeing sense.
Moira couldn’t stay away. She was torturing herself over what was going on between Ian and Suki, but she just had to see if there were really something between them, or if Suki was just a guest, a guest with no manners, prancing around half-naked.
It would also give her a chance to test her new look on Ian.
Moira had baked some blueberry muffins. She didn’t know that Ian was tiring of them, but didn’t dare say.
She knocked on the door. She usually walked in without knocking, but Moira didn’t want to while Suki was there. She didn’t want to see anything she shouldn’t see.
“Gotta go. Talk to you later,” said Ian, hanging up, without saying when and how he and Hy could meet. He had no idea how he would wriggle away from Suki.
He was almost relieved to see Moira at the door.
“Um, delicious,” he said, but he didn’t grab one. He took the plate and put it on the kitchen counter.
He looked at Moira. Was there something different about her?
Suki knew what it was when she sauntered downstairs. Moiras’s poorly applied mascara was smudged and made her look a bit like a raccoon.
Her blush was uneven on her cheeks.
She obviously needed more lessons. Suki took Moira in hand.
“Let’s go to your place,” she suggested. “For some girl talk.”
Moira blushed redder than her blusher. No one had ever invited her for “girl talk” before.
Suki turned to Ian.
“I’ll be a while,” she said.
“Take your time.”
Suki paused at the door. Did he sound eager for her to go?
As soon as she had gone, Ian called Hy.
“Come over,” he said. “She’s gone.”
Was that relief in his voice?
“Her jewellery box was on the floor, jewels scattered everywhere. Annabelle thought it was the cat, but I’m not so sure.”
“Who would have done that, if not the cat?”
They were sitting at Ian’s kitchen table, drinking coffee.
“I don’t know. Alyssa herself? Suki?”
He groaned. “Let’s not go there.”
“You have to admit it’s strange her turning up now…and then this happens.”
There was a long pause.
“I have thought about it, but whatever reason she’s here, I don’t believe she’s a killer.”
“If she’s not the killer, she’s part of the reason. There’s no love lost between her and Alyssa.”
“When is there between wife number one and two?”
“The point is,” said Hy, “Alyssa had no strong reaction to the jewellery box being upset. Just said she’d have to check if anything was missing. And this was.” She held out her hand to Ian, and wiggled her little finger.
“That’s hers? What are you doing with it?”
“I found it.”
“Found it?”
“Yup.”
“And didn’t put it back?”
“I didn’t find it in the box or in the room.”
He looked puzzled.
“I found it on the shore.”
“The shore?”
Hy was having fun, playing it out.
“Beside Lord’s body.”
She was gratified by the look on his face.
“Do you think Alyssa killed him?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think she could do it, but the ring says she was there.”
“Or someone was. Someone who could’ve put it there. Who?”
“That’s what I plan to find out.”
“Aren’t you going to give it to Jamieson?”
“No. First I’m going to wear it at the ceilidh.”
“Be careful, Hy.”
“What’s to worry about? The room will be packed.”
Ian groaned. He hadn’t been planning to go, because it meant he’d have to accompany Suki. The idea embarrassed him. But now that Hy might be in danger, he’d have to go to back her up.
Step by painful step, Jamieson had inched her way to the dome, propelled by a sense that she shouldn’t be blinded by Bullock’s social or medical status. She became better at manoeuvring the crutches, so that by the time she arrived, she was quite expert, moving freely and quickly.
It wasn’t so easy to knock on the door. She needn’t have bothered. Leone had been watching her from the cupola as she struggled up the cape.
He let her in. “So soon?”
“No point in waiting.” She looked beyond him into the room, barbells stacked in the back – real or fake weights? In front of them, Big Ed sat playing solitaire. He was sitting, but he stood up and came with a confident stride towards her, hand extended. She was surprised, because of what Leone had whispered to her at the Hall: “He has no legs and his mind is going.” Could that be the reason for the body double? The world had been told Ed was fit and whole. It was the cornerstone of his fitness empire. If people found out he was missing parts…
“Welcome.” Big Ed flashed a smile, his tooth with the diamonds sparkling at her. She had no idea of the effort it took him. The flash of the diamonds made what was actually a grimace look like a smile. They shook hands.
“Please, sit,” he said. He sat himself with a deep sigh. Jamieson remained standing. She meant to maintain a position of control, even though the crutches made her look and feel vulnerable. Her underarms and shoulder muscles were pulsing with pain.
She didn’t know where to begin. Ed Bullock. Order of Canada. She mustn’t be dazzled by the wealth, the legend, the tooth. But how could she frame her questions so as not to offend him?
“We’re tracking everyone’s movements on the night of Lord’s murder. Finding out if anyone might have seen something, however insignificant, that might provide a clue to who killed Lance Lord and Jim MacAdam.”
“Yes…” Not quite a question, but drawn out, with an upward inflection. Like he didn’t know what she was asking. As if he had nothing to offer.
“We…I…thought perhaps you could shed some light on it.”
Big Ed’s eyes glazed over.
“Perhaps you could tell me the nature of your relationship with Lance Lord.”
He began to mumble softly. Jamieson couldn’t make it out. Soft and hissy. Alyssa? Had he said Alyssa?
“Mr. Bullock…I don’t understand…”
“I’m sorry.” The eyes were clear now, no longer glazed over. “What were we talking about?”
“Lance Lord.”
“Oh yes. Lord.”
“Your body double.”
“Yes. Don’t know why. Nothing wrong with my body.” He slapped his chest. “These media things. Hard to understand.”
“Was it a secret? Did he threaten to tell it?”
Ed frowned. So did Leone. And it was he who replied.
“He did.”
“Had he threatened – recently – to expose you?”
Ed looked confused. He began to fiddle with the top button of his shirt, counting silently each time he flicked it. She’d lost him again.
“I know what you’re thinking,” said Leone, “But I can tell you that’s not why Lord died. Ed didn’t care about the land. I didn’t either. I cared about the betrayal.”
&
nbsp; “Enough to kill him?”
“No. Not that much. Lord died for another reason.”
“Which was?”
“I can’t say.”
“You don’t know?”
“I can’t say.”
“I’ll leave you some time to think about it. Perhaps you’ll find you can say.”
Leone’s eyelids drooped, shading his eyes.
“I don’t think so.”
“Well perhaps Mr. Bullock will be better equipped to speak for himself the next time.”
Leone’s lids lifted. His eyes were sad.
“I doubt that, too.”
“I’m interested to know something about your system. Your claims…”
“Please. Not claims.”
“All right. Mind Over Muscle. How does it work?”
“Come. I will show you.”
Jamieson felt the same spark of sexual energy all women felt when Leone touched them. Even though she was a Mountie, he placed a hand on her arm, and steered her to the back of the circular room where the barbells were stacked.
His touch was charged, the hand warm, almost hot, on her arm. He sat her down on a leather bench under the weights. He took her hand and strapped it in. Then the other. She didn’t like it. Tried to pull out. He strapped her feet in, making her wince when he tightened the strap around her injured ankle. She began to wish she hadn’t agreed to this. But had she? No.
“So you will be safe,” he said. He turned on the power, and a steel rod with massive weights on either end eased down, coming at her. She didn’t feel safe.
“How is it safe?” Her voice rose.
He watched, a gleam in his eyes as the weights descended. A foot from her. Why had she agreed to this? Just above her and still coming down. Six inches. Sweat broke out under her arms and on her forehead. Only six inches more. Her stomach rebelled, churning with fear. Three inches. Two. She tried to pull away. The leather straps bit into her. One. The weights stopped moving.
“So you won’t try to get up and hurt yourself with the weights.”
Jamieson felt sweat trickle down her back. Not from exertion. Sheer fear.
A clunk. Grinding. And the weights began moving up again.
“Now imagine. Imagine you are lifting them. You are not yet. This is just to train your mind to take over from the motor. Slowly. Don’t skip a moment. Follow through.” The weights glided up. Jamieson couldn’t imagine a thing, except how she would get out.
Mind Over Mussels Page 19
