“You’re right. We can’t proceed any further without hard evidence,” Louise mused, her eyes narrowing. “That has to be our next step.”
Margaret resisted the urge to grab Louise by the lapels of her grey suit jacket to try to shake some sense into her. “Listen to me, Miss Marple! There is no next step! You’re losing it. You’re starting to believe we’re involved in this.”
The phone interrupted shrilly before Louise could respond. Margaret picked up the receiver and barked, “Yes?”
An unfamiliar woman’s voice said, “Would Louise Gagnon happen to be there?”
“Just a minute.” Margaret thrust the receiver at Louise. “It’s for you. Someone’s looking to hire a detective.”
Louise made a face at her and took the phone. “Hello? Oh, Candice, hi. How are you? What? Oh no! I’ll be right over.” She hung up and said, “Vincent is sick.”
Margaret’s anger drained away instantly. “Oh, no. Is it serious?”
“I don’t know. She said he’s been throwing up. I have to get him to a vet.”
“I’ll go with you.”
Minutes later they were pulling up in front of Bubbles. Louise practically flew from the car as she raced into the lobby. Margaret followed closely, feeling a touch of worry for the small canine in spite of herself.
“Where is he?” Louise demanded.
Behind the counter, Candice put one gel-tipped nail to her lips in a warning gesture and, with a glance over her shoulder, whispered, “I had to leave him in your room. I don’t want the boss to know.”
Louise barrelled down the hallway, fumbled with the door key, and finally burst into her tiny room.
“Vince, sweetie, where are you?” A whining sound emerged from the bathroom where they found Vince, curled up on a bed of towels, in the bathtub. “Vince! Oh, honey, how are you?”
Louise scooped up the uncharacteristically lethargic Vince and cradled him, crooning over him. His head flopped on her hand and he licked her weakly. “Poor baby, Mommy’s here. We’re gonna look after you. Why would Candice leave you in the bathtub?”
“Easier to clean up afterward,” Margaret guessed. “I’ll look in the phone book for a vet.”
After a few calls, they found a clinic that agreed to look at Vince immediately. They bundled the dog in clean towels and headed out, Louise driving while Margaret held Vince on her lap, petting him and fervently hoping he wouldn’t throw up on her nice, but still-waterlogged dress.
When they arrived, Louise and Vince were quickly ushered into an examining room while Margaret waited outside, with nothing to do but read the posters on the wall promoting the importance of preventing parvovirus and gum disease in pets. She was relieved to finally find a magazine under a small table and tried to occupy herself by reading an article about the importance of brushing your dog’s teeth daily. She tried to imagine what it would be like to hold Vince down while attempting to brush his tiny incisors. Her vision ended with Vince lunging at her and sinking those incisors into her hand, so she shook off that idea. Maybe a Labrador retriever on Valium would be tolerant of someone poking around in his mouth, but she was pretty sure that Vince would see it as a violation of his personal space.
Eventually Louise emerged from the examining room alone, looking teary-eyed.
“What’s wrong? What did the doctor say?” Margaret demanded.
“She’s not sure. She wants to keep him overnight for observation, and run some tests tomorrow. Poor Vince. He’s never been away from me overnight. I don’t know how he’ll cope.”
“I’m sure they’ll be very good to him,” Margaret said soothingly. “Look, it’s almost five-thirty. Why don’t we go for supper and try to relax? It’s been quite a day.”
“Okay,” Louise said without enthusiasm.
“What about Chinese?” Margaret suggested. Chinese food was Louise’s favourite.
“That sounds good,” Louise voice brightened slightly.
Margaret reflected on the cheering effects of food as they perused their menus at the Dragon Room. Louise was studying the decorative columns with the intent interest of an explorer reading a map. Thankfully the worry over Vince had distracted Louise from her obsession with playing amateur detective. Margaret felt a rush of gratitude to the little dog, followed by a pang of guilt for having such thoughts.
“Hey, you two! Fancy meeting you here,” Eina’s voice broke in on their separate thoughts. Eina and her long-suffering husband, Roger, had just entered the restaurant and spotted them.
“Hi, yourself. What a coincidence. Come join us, or is this a romantic evening?”
Eina snorted. “As if. We’d love to join you, wouldn’t we, Roger? She pulled up a chair from a neighbouring table and sat next to Margaret. Roger had no option but to seat himself across the table from her, next to Louise.
“So are you having fun living it up in the big city? Getting into any trouble?” Eina asked, shrugging off her light cardigan and hanging it on the back of her chair.
“If we were, we’d know better than to tell you,” Margaret rejoined, jokingly. Then she sobered. “Actually, Vince is at the vet’s right now.”
“Oh no! What happened?”
Louise dabbed at her nose with a tissue. “We don’t know yet. The vet wants to run some tests on him. He’s been lethargic and throwing up.” Her eyes filled with tears and she stopped talking.
Margaret stepped in and tried to be reassuring. “It may not be anything serious. Sometimes dogs get the flu, just like people, and get over it in a couple of days.”
“Why don’t the two of you move in with us while you’re waiting?” Eina suggested. “There’s no point in sitting around a hotel room waiting for a call from the vet.”
“Oh, no, we couldn’t impose—” Margaret began, but Louise interrupted, “Oh, that would be great, Eina! We accept, don’t we, Margaret?”
“Well, if Roger doesn’t mind,” Margaret said reluctantly, thinking about her comfortable room at the Harbourview.
“Roger doesn’t mind,” said Eina firmly.
Margaret looked over at Roger, whose expression remained stoic and unreadable.
“That’s wonderful,” said Louise. “We may as well stay at our hotels tonight. The rooms are already paid for. First thing in the morning, I’ll call the vet and change my contact information. Does everyone like Moo Goo Guy Pan?”
The next morning Louise and Margaret discussed their plans for the day over breakfast.
“Dr. Lai wants to keep Vince for a few days of observation and testing,” Louise said, “but she says he seems a little brighter today. I want to pop in and check up on him before we go to Eina’s.”
“Good idea.” Margaret speared a forkful of thin, eggy pancake covered with strawberry sauce and ate it appreciatively.
“Louise, I’ve been thinking,” she began.
“It’s never too late to start.” Louise was clearly regaining her good humour.
“Never mind the smart remarks. I was thinking that if we’re going to be in town for the next few days, maybe I could borrow your car and try to locate Tom Derosier.”
“What do you mean, ‘Try to locate?’ Don’t you have an address for him?”
“Not exactly. At this time of year he usually lives out at his camp which doesn’t have a phone. But I was hoping I could find him if I drove out to Walmer Lake.”
Louise bent down to retrieve the paper napkin that had slid onto the floor. “Sure, I don’t see why not. I’ll just be spending time with Eina, and she has a car if we need to drive somewhere.”
“Great. You’re a pal.” Margaret felt a thrill of excitement at the prospect of a drive in the country to meet her hero, alone, away from Louise’s preoccupation with the mysterious murder. This was her kind of adventure! She was anxious to get started, but found herself delayed by the need to check out of the Harbourview and move her luggage into Eina’s basement family room. Then Eina insisted that she eat some lunch before setting out. Margaret tried to prot
est, but Eina pointed out that it was a long drive, and there were no restaurants anywhere near Walmer Lake.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Eina asked with her usual lack of tact. “Maybe I should get Roger to drive you out there. It’s easy to get lost on those country roads.”
“Absolutely not. I’m sure Roger has better things to do than chauffeur me around,” Margaret said. This was one trip she wanted to make on her own.
As soon as lunch was over and the dishwasher loaded, she changed into her favourite summer capris and a white cotton sweater. She accentuated her outfit with earrings she had bought at a craft store, hoping they gave her an artsy, original look. She applied just a touch of makeup, but not enough to invite any teasing comments from Eina or Louise.
Slipping a CD of Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons into the player, she sped down the highway, feeling a rush of anticipation and excitement that she told herself came from being on a road trip. The weather was perfect for driving and the scenery was peaceful. Ditches and fields were liberally spread with daisies, goldenrod, black-eyed Susans and fire weed. Occasionally, she spotted houses squatting far back from the road. From time to time she would spot horses standing behind sagging wire fence, their coats gleaming in the sun.
As she continued north, the fields grew smaller and more overgrown. Houses here were more shielded from view by the tamaracks, birches, and poplars crowding out the grassy spaces. Jutting rocks and rolling hills replaced the flat plains. The countryside grew more rugged and bushy. She was definitely entering lake country.
Sure enough, the first tantalizing glimpse of sparkling blue water materialized as she rounded the next corner. According to the map Roger had sketched for her, this wasn’t yet Walmer Lake, but the first in a chain of small lakes, each surrounded by cottages paired with matching saunas lining the shores. In a region with such a dense Finnish population, it was unthinkable to own what was known locally as a camp without building a sauna for bathing. In fact, the saunas were often constructed first, before the cottages.
Any artist would find plenty of inspiration in this cottage country. The clean blue hue of the water contrasted with the snow-white cast of the birch trees. Kids stood at the ends of docks shrieking as they plunged into the water, revelling in the brief summer that seemed to be sandwiched between the long winters of the north. If it were possible to bottle the aroma of wood smoke rising from the campfires and sauna chimneys, Margaret thought it could keep her happy all year-round. She personally suspected that heaven was less like the city with golden streets described in Revelation, and more like an endless summer day on a freshwater lake.
Just past the first lake was where she’d find the camper’s store and gas station, as indicated by a small square on Roger’s map. Maybe if she brought an offering of braided Finnish coffee bread it would sweeten the request she was planning to make of Tom Derosier. Glancing at the fuel gauge, she noticed that the tank was getting low. In her excitement and desire to leave, she had completely forgotten to take care of the minor detail of filling up the car before she left the city. She pulled up in front of a pair of faded gas pumps, discovering that the price was 7¢ per litre higher than in town. She decided to put in $10 worth, just enough to get her out and back to the city, where she could fill up more cheaply.
When she went inside to pay, she also spent a few moments looking around, past the bulletin board covered in pictures of lost pets and boats for sale, to the bread and staples section at the back of the store. She was in luck. The pastries were fresh, evidence that the delivery truck had arrived recently. There were Sally Anne’s, persians, rusks, and pulla—the rich cardamom bread found in almost every Finn household. She picked up a couple of loaves of pulla, along with some soft havarti cheese from the dairy section, then added a newspaper and some diet pop to her pile.
After paying for her purchases and exchanging a few pleasantries with the elderly store owner, she was on her way again, humming along to the music of Vivaldi.
Continuing to follow Roger’s hand-drawn map, she turned left at the next intersection and continued west. She hadn’t travelled for more than ten minutes when she heard the engine of Louise’s little Mazda sputter. Despite having her foot pressed down on the accelerator, the car began to decelerate.
“Don’t do this to me!” she whispered, feeling a cold fist of panic clench in her stomach. Of all the places to have car trouble, a camp road was on her least-preferred list.
As though in answer to her whispered prayer, the car rallied and began to pick up speed again, humming along happily and Margaret sat back, beginning to breathe normally again. She was dismayed when, five minutes later, the car shuddered and coughed. “No, no, no, keep going, keep going,” she moaned. Why hadn’t she listened to Louise’s nagging about buying a cell phone?
The engine hesitated a few times before finally levelling out again. Margaret considered her options. She could turn around and return to the camper’s store where she could phone Roger for help. But, according to the map, she was only another twenty minutes away from Walmer Lake. Having already come this close to meeting her idol, she hated the thought of quitting now. Who knew when she would get another chance to meet Tom Derosier?
Gripping the steering wheel more tightly, as though willing the car to keep running, she continued, determined to make it or let the car die trying. What she would do if it did die, she didn’t know. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” she muttered through gritted teeth, but the cliché didn’t provide much comfort. It failed to address the situation of those who ventured and lost.
After several more white-knuckle episodes when the car came to a near-stall before rallying again, Margaret spotted a weathered, hand-painted sign that read Walmer Lake posted at the crest of a hill, pointing to a narrow dirt road off to the right.
Hallelujah, she thought. Her sombre mood quickly returned as a slight sputter of the engine reminded her that she still had car problems to deal with. One thing at a time. She drove cautiously down the bumpy road, looking for the small signs on the side of the road that would indicate family names of camp owners. She passed a number of driveways, some marked, some unmarked—all were partially obscured by the overgrowth. She followed the road downhill and around a bend that paralleled the curve of the lake shore. The car coughed again and shook fiercely, sending loose stones skidding out from under the tires. Margaret alternately cursed the car and prayed that it would keep going. As she drove, she glimpsed both elegant, newer cottages displaying expensive boats and smaller log structures that obviously hadn’t changed in fifty years. She saw many whimsical name signs with four-leaf-clovers, blue jays, and cartoon characters, but none that read “Derosier.”
Suddenly, the car gave a final sputter, shuddered, and died.
“No,” said Margaret pleadingly. “Don’t do this.” But the car didn’t listen to her prayers this time and refused to respond despite her many attempts to start it up again.
Margaret sat still in her seat, gripping a steering wheel that no longer directed any sort of forward motion, considering her options. She could either remain in the car until rescued by a passer-by, or she could start walking and try to recruit some help from a nearby resident. She got out and began walking toward the next camp road. It featured a Lab X-ing sign nailed to a birch tree with no other identifying name. That wasn’t unusual; not every camper wanted to be found by neighbours and distant relatives or, in this case, strangers with car trouble.
Well she was here and she needed help. Her sandals crunched on the gravel as she strode along the narrow driveway, stepping carefully as it sloped downhill. The owner of this lot obviously had no interest in cutting back the overgrowth, she noticed, trying to avoid getting caught on the many branches reaching out from the surrounding bush. At the bottom of the hill, the road curved to the right and up a gentle rise where a cedar log cabin overlooked the lake. A sauna sat nestled closer to the shoreline and gentle clouds of wood smoke puffed upward out of a small t
in chimney. A pickup truck, none too clean, was parked behind the cabin.
Margaret’s mood was heightened by these signs of life. Her mood plummeted again, however, when she reached the cabin and received no response to her knock.
“Hello?” she called, but only a chipmunk responded, chittering in rage at her intrusion. Surreptitiously peeking through the front window, she saw only the usual beat-up camp furniture and a bush jacket hanging on a peg by the door, but no one was visible inside. The strong aroma of coffee still lingered in the air, though, indicating that the owner couldn’t be too far away. She walked down to the sauna and called, “Hello?” again. Silence. That was as far as she was prepared to investigate. The last thing she wanted to do was to walk in on some stranger enjoying a sauna.
She strolled to the end of the dock and sat down, removing her sandals and rolling up her pant legs so that she could dangle her feet in the water. Just as her toes touched the refreshing water, a red canoe came around the bend, a golden Labrador retriever sitting in the bow, and a man in a Tilley hat paddling from the stern. They were headed straight toward her. The dog stood up in the canoe and began barking. Embarrassed, Margaret scrambled to her feet and picked up her sandals. As the canoe glided closer toward the dock, she didn’t know whether to feel delighted or mortified as she recognized the man steering the canoe as Tom Derosier.
Chapter Eight
Face-to-face with her idol, Margaret tried to picture what he must see: a trespasser and/or nuisance with more gall than Adam. She tried frantically to think of something she could do or say to soften the poor impression she must be making.
“Hi,” she said with an apologetic smile. “I saw your truck in the driveway and your sauna lit, and figured you couldn’t be too far away. I thought I’d sit and wait for you.”
“Do I know you?” he asked, politely enough, but cautious.
“No, no, we’ve never met. It’s just that my car broke down near your turnoff, and I hoped that you might be home and able to help me out.”
The Serenity Stone Murder Page 9
