The Serenity Stone Murder

by Marianne Jones

  “Whatever happened to the days of peering out your windows to spy on your neighbours?” said Margaret. “Is that tradition gone too? Kind of makes you lose faith in human nature.”

  Eina fixed her with a “we-are-not-amused” look, knowing that Margaret was poking fun at her.

  “This is not something to joke about, Margaret. This is an awful thing. It makes me feel terrible to think that guests in my home are being sent notes like this. It might be dangerous!”

  “Don’t pay any attention to Margaret, Eina. She uses humour as a cover when she’s feeling uncomfortable.” Louise said wryly.

  Margaret shot a surprised glance at Louise. Once again her friend had displayed startling insight.

  “What are we going to do about this?” Eina said, pacing around in agitation, much the same way Margaret had been a moment before. “Should we call the police?”

  “Oh, let’s not overreact!” Margaret said. “No crime has been committed. We’d just look ridiculous.”

  “Well, we can’t just do nothing!”

  “Why not?”

  Eina looked at her in disbelief. Sitting down again, she said, “Because it might be dangerous.”

  “Oh, I doubt that very much. Someone’s trying to scare us, that’s all.”

  “Well, they’ve succeeded—at least where I’m concerned.” Eina looked so worried that Margaret felt touched. An idea suddenly struck her.

  “If it makes you feel any better, I can call Jim Wibowski.”

  “Jim who?” Louise and Eina looked at her, confused.

  “Remember that nice retired OPP officer who gave me a lift home from Tom Derosier’s camp? He gave me his card in case I ever needed to call.”

  “Oh, really! And you never said a word! What exactly did the two of you talk about on the drive home, anyway?” The worried expressions on Eina’s and Louise’s faces vanished. They both leaned toward Margaret excitedly, waiting for her response.

  Margaret rolled her eyes.

  “Basically, he scolded me like I was a little kid. He was of the opinion that Louise and I should not be playing amateur detective—that we might get ourselves into trouble. And he gave me his card just in case he was right and we found ourselves needing help. I hate to call him and let him tell me he told me so.”

  “Do it anyway,” pleaded Eina. “I know I won’t be able to sleep unless you do.”

  Margaret reached over and squeezed Eina’s hand.

  “For you, anything. I’ll swallow my pride and let him know his predictions were correct.”

  Eina squeezed back.

  “Thank you.”

  “And wear something nice,” Louise said. “I’ll lend you my good earrings.”

  “Louise,” Margaret cried in exasperation. “This is not a date!”

  Louise just looked at her with that knowing expression on her face that Margaret always found exasperating.

  “You never know,” she said.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jim seemed pleased to hear from Margaret. He readily agreed to meet up with her, and suggested meeting for coffee at the Starbucks in the local Chapters book store.

  When Margaret arrived, stepping through the double glass doors and breathing in the heady scent of coffee, she discovered that Jim was already waiting for her. His burly frame immediately caught her eye, as he stood and waved to her, having claimed some very comfortable-looking armchairs next to an unlit fireplace. She waved back, really happy now that she had taken Louise’s advice to wear her most flattering green blouse. Even if this meeting was strictly business, it had been a long time since Margaret had been out for coffee with a man.

  “So, you managed to nab the best spot,” she said, smiling as she approached.

  “Yes, there was a couple sitting here, but I just flashed them my badge and told them to move along,” he said, smirking.

  Margaret laughed. She remembered how he had regaled her and Tom Derosier with his storytelling humour earlier that week at Tom’s camp.

  “If you wait here and guard these hard-won seats for us, I’ll get us some coffee,” he said. “Or do you prefer a specialty drink? I don’t know a latte from a cappuccino, but I know a lot of people like those fancy coffees.”

  “I just like my coffee straight, the way God intended,” she said, making herself comfortable in the plush armchair.

  “My kind of woman,” he said approvingly, and went to stand in line at the coffee bar.

  Margaret sat back in the chair and looked around. The fireplace wasn’t on, of course, but this was obviously still the favourite spot for tired shoppers taking a break. Above the high mantle hung a large abstract print in cheerful bistro colours of red, gold, and cappuccino that went so well with the mellow, jazz music playing on the sound system. Between the two armchairs a round table sat, just big enough for two coffees and dessert.

  As her glance moved around the cafe, she saw a wide variety of people either engrossed in their laptops or engaged in conversation. One large woman, sporting blonde braids resembling those that might belong to a Swedish masseuse, strode out to the parking lot, clutching her paper cup of coffee. Another stylish young woman, dressed in a short dress and tall heels with an oversized bag slung over her shoulder, browsed through the travel magazines. Margaret gazed at the painful-looking shoes, half in wonder and half in envy. It was hard to believe that there had been a time when she had been able to walk around all day in similar shoes. True, she had felt the pain by the end of the day, but that had seemed a minor price to pay at the time.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” Jimmy said, arriving with two desserts balanced on top of two coffee mugs.

  Margaret didn’t feel much like sharing her ruminations about age and sensible shoes.

  “I was just enjoying the music,” she said.

  He nodded with enthusiasm as he arranged the coffee and plates of blueberry crumble on the table.

  “That’s Flamenco Caravan,” he said. “They’re a local group, or were, until the lead guitarist moved back to Chile. Pretty terrific, eh?”

  “They really are. World class,” she said, and meant it. The fusion of flamenco guitar and jazz with a sultry female vocalist was irresistible, like coffee and brandy.

  “You’d be surprised how many world-class musicians we have here in our neck of the woods,” Jimmy said. “But you didn’t call me to discuss music. And as much as I would love to believe you suggested this get-together because of my innate charm and good looks, I have a feeling there’s more to it than that. Have you and your friend been ignoring my advice and getting into trouble with the wrong people?”

  “No to the first part . . . and yes to the second,” she replied, hesitantly, embarrassed that he had been right. “We’ve been staying out of trouble, but apparently we’ve ticked someone off.”

  Margaret handed him the letter. She watched his eyes scan the brief note. His jovial expression grew dark as he read it.

  “When did you get this?” he demanded.

  “This afternoon.” She filled him in on the events that had occurred since she had last seen him Tuesday evening, trying to make sure she didn’t leave anything out that might be relevant.

  “Hmm,” he said, when she had finished. “It’s unfortunate your friend Eina is willing to share information so freely.”

  “That’s one way of putting it,” she said. “Do you think that Mary wrote that note?”

  “It’s definitely a possibility.”

  “Well, is there something we should do?” She looked at him, feeling a certain amount of growing alarm, as she remembered Eina’s speculation about Mary’s past in Timmins.

  “Like what?” He sat back in the worn plush armchair and fixed her with a steady gaze.

  “Well, I don’t know.” Margaret felt flustered. “Notify Father Brian? Maybe he could give her a gentle warning or something?”

  He leaned forward to pick up his coffee mug and take a sip, then leaned back again. Margaret found his apparent calm annoying. />
  “In the first place,” he said, “we don’t know for sure that it was Mary.”

  “But you said—”

  “I said it was a possibility. Maybe even a strong possibility. But that’s not proof. In the second place, she would probably deny writing it. And maybe she’d be telling the truth.”

  “But couldn’t someone at least investigate?” Margaret felt the same helpless frustration she had felt as a child when trying to reason with her parents.

  “Not likely.”

  “But sending threatening letters is a crime, isn’t it?”

  “Actually, there is no threat in this letter. Telling people to mind their own business might be rude, but it’s not against the law. I seem to remember telling you something along those lines the other night.” His brown eyes had a teasing glint that Margaret did not appreciate under the circumstances.

  “Are you saying that I shouldn’t be concerned about this?” she asked, a trifle coldly.

  He leaned forward and was serious again.

  “I’m not saying that. I am concerned, and I will make some unofficial inquiries about this Mary person. I think you and your friend should watch your backs. And maybe talking to the minister would be a good idea. He might have some good advice or insight to shed on the matter. Or he might have some influence over Mary, if she is the person who wrote the letter. But receiving an anonymous nasty note isn’t something that warrants a full-blown police investigation.”

  Margaret digested his words. She was disappointed, but saw his logic.

  “I’m sorry. I guess you were hoping for more from me,” he said.

  “No, I see your point,” she said. “It’s just that it’s a bit unnerving. I never got a quasi-threatening letter before. Even if there’s no actual threat, there’s sort of an implied one.”

  “Well, that’s what the letter-writer wants you to think. But people who write anonymous letters are usually cowardly. They rely on bluster and intimidation. Just remember that.”

  She knew he was trying to be reassuring and, as she started to feel a bit calmer, realized it was working.

  “I feel a little silly now, bothering you with this,” she said, with a sheepish, but relieved, grin.

  He leaned toward her and engulfed her in a warm smile.

  “In the first place,” he said, “you’re not bothering me. It’s a pleasure to see you. And in the second place, I told you to call me if you had any concerns, right?”

  “Yes, you did,” she said, returning his smile. “Thank you for that.”

  “My pleasure. By the way, how long are you planning to be in town?”

  She was startled by the question.

  “Well, we haven’t decided, but I guess we’ve accomplished everything we came for. We’ll probably head back to Jackpine on Monday or Tuesday.”

  “Oh. That soon.”

  Was it her imagination, or did he look disappointed?

  “Well, that would probably fix any concerns you have about the note. Whoever sent it isn’t likely to follow you to Jackpine.” He drained the rest of his coffee and set the mug down on the little table.

  “Good point.”

  She set her own cup down and stood.

  “What’s the rush? We could have another coffee,” he said, looking reluctant to end the conversation.

  She smiled.

  “Thanks. I should probably get back. But I appreciate this. I feel much better already.”

  That was true, she thought, as she drove back to Eina’s house. Talking to Jimmy had been reassuring. The note had given her such an ugly feeling, which, of course, had been its intent. But, as Jimmy had pointed out, there was no actual threat in the words, or any reason to panic.

  Still, maybe it was time for them to return to Jackpine. They had done everything they came to town to do, and there was no real reason to stick around any longer.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Eina was adamant.

  “You can’t leave until you’ve talked to Father Brian,” she insisted, as they sat in her cozy living room, where Margaret had just summed up her conversation with Jim. She had left out any mention of Mary, but Eina continued, “He needs to know the whole story.”

  “Whole story?”

  Margaret looked daggers at Louise, who yelped and admitted, “She wormed it out of me!”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” barked Eina. “I knew you two were hiding something. I could tell by the look on your faces there was something you weren’t saying.”

  “But we don’t really know anything,” Margaret protested. “We can’t go around accusing anyone or raising suspicions about people.”

  Eina was unconvinced.

  “Father Brian really needs to know if someone in his congregation—someone who works for him—is a loose cannon,” she insisted.

  “But we don’t even know if this is from Mary! I don’t want to go around making false accusations.”

  “So don’t. Just tell him what happened and let him decide how to deal with it.” Seeing the hesitant look on Margaret’s face, Eina said, “Look, Margaret, this is not the same as repeating idle gossip. Writing anonymous letters containing veiled threats is serious. It’s not the same as squabbling over who leads the women’s committee, or whether the youth leader should be taking the young people to a Christian rock concert or not.”

  Margaret realized that Eina had a point.

  “But he’ll be much too busy with the church centennial this weekend,” she pointed out. “He won’t have any time to see us.”

  “One way to find out,” Eina said, jumping to her feet, immediately heading to the kitchen for the phone.

  Margaret looked over at Louise, who was twisting one of her grey curls around her forefinger, one of her nervous habits.

  “If this hasn’t been one of the weirdest weeks of my life, just shoot me,” Margaret commented. “The sooner we get back home to Jackpine and back to normal, the better.”

  “I suppose. But you have to admit, it’s been exciting,” Louise said. “Anyway, I don’t want to leave without saying goodbye to Candice. She’s been such a dear. I don’t know what Vince and I would have done without her.”

  Hearing his name, Vince, who was snoozing at her feet, wagged his tail and raised his head. Louise patted him in an distracted way.

  “Okay, he can squeeze you in at ten tomorrow morning,” Eina announced, returning from the kitchen with a triumphant look in her eyes. “I told him it was urgent.”

  “I don’t know if that’s strictly true,” Margaret said. She had a heightened appreciation for Father Brian’s patience. Dealing with people with strong personalities, like Mary Carlisle and Eina, as well as all of the conflicts between Thomas and Tina, must surely qualify him for sainthood.

  “The sooner it’s dealt with, the better,” Eina responded briskly. “I don’t particularly want my house burned down.”

  “Eina!” Louise protested, looking distressed. “Don’t even think something like that!”

  “Something like what?” Roger asked, walking in the front door.

  “Where were you?” Eina demanded.

  “Over at Ken’s. I brought his power sander back.”

  “For two hours?”

  “Well, he wanted to show me his new plasma TV. Anyway, what is it you’re not supposed to be thinking?”

  “Hurry up and shower,” Eina said. “The celebration dinner at the church starts in forty-five minutes. I’ll tell you all about it on the way. You gals are coming with us, right?”

  “Thank you, but I think we’ll pass this time,” Margaret said. “Louise wants to connect with her friend Candice before we leave. Anyway, the less we show our faces around the church, the sooner things will settle down, hopefully.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel unwelcome at St. Stephen’s, or afraid to be there.”

  “Not at all. But we could use some quiet time right about now.” Margaret looked at Louise, who nodded agreement.

  Eina seemed
disinclined to argue.

  “Makes sense. Things have been a little intense lately. Well, if you’re okay with that . . .”

  “Absolutely. You and Roger go ahead and get yourselves ready. And have fun tonight. Try to forget everything else.” Louise tried to reassure her.

  Eina herded Roger out. He was muttering, “Why am I always the last to know what’s going on around here?” as they headed down the hallway.

  Margaret turned to Louise.

  “I hope I wasn’t speaking out of turn. If you actually want to go to the dinner at St. Stephen’s . . .”

  Louise shook her head.

  “No, I’d like to give Candice a call and see if she’s free. If she is, you’re welcome to join us.”

  “Thanks, but I wouldn’t mind having a quiet evening to myself. We’ve had a lot of excitement over the past few days, and I think I need some time to absorb it all.”

  As it turned out, Candice had no other plans and was delighted to hear from Louise. They made plans to go for dinner at a lovely restaurant called Bistro North and Margaret retreated to her room to lie down while Louise showered and dressed.

  Rest eluded Margaret. Her body continued to complain about her hike up Mount McKay, while her mind proceeded to chatter on about the note, and Jimmy, Mary, and her appointment the next day with Father Brian.

  Could Mary really be capable of violence? If the rumour about her in Timmins was true, could that mean she that she was the one who had picked up the serenity rock, striking Doug Whalen with enough force to kill him? Mary was in good enough shape physically. On the other hand, what would have been the point? If the casino was really intent on buying the garden property, the loss of its manager shouldn’t alter their plans. But was Mary capable of rational thought? If she viewed Doug Whalen as the enemy of the man she was obsessed with, who knew what she might do? And if that were true, horrible as that thought was, what might Mary do to Louise and Margaret if she continued to feel threatened by their curiosity?

  “Eina, why do you always have to shoot your mouth off?” she muttered.

  Half an hour later, Louise had left to meet Candice and the house was quiet, but Margaret felt more antsy than ever. She threw off the blue and white striped coverlet and stood up.