He shook his head. “I can’t run anymore, Ginny.”
“Of course you can. If you don’t, Jim and I will have sacrificed our freedom for nothing.”
He reached out and caught her by the wrists. “I’m sorry, Ginny. I can’t run anymore.”
“Why not?” she demanded.
“It’s my leg. I think it’s infected.”
Ginny caught her breath, stopped in mid rant, her mouth hanging open. She dropped to the floor, tearing her eyes from his face and focusing instead on his foot.
“Jim, get the lights, please.”
He had beaten her to it, pulling a standing lamp over and turning it on. She was carefully unlacing Charlie’s boot. She eased it off his foot, then did the same with the sock.
He was right. There were red streaks running out the bottom of the cast toward his toes and his foot was swollen and hot.
“That cast has to come off,” Jim said. “And we need blood cultures and IV antibiotics.” Ginny saw him catch Charlie’s eye. “You were right to come in. If you’d stayed out in the snow another twenty-four hours it might have killed you.”
Charlie nodded. “That’s what I was thinking.”
Ginny looked at Jim. “Do you have any idea where the clinic is?”
“No.”
She got to her feet and headed for her backpack, pulling the now useless ‘all clear’ flag out and tossing it aside, hunting for Gordon’s phone. She found it, reinserted the battery, and turned it on.
“Mom? It’s Ginny.”
“Ginny? What time is it?”
“The middle of the night. I need your help, please.”
“Of course.”
“Call Himself. Go over if you have to. Get him out of bed and on the phone.”
“To you or to Jim?”
“Either, but fast.” She read out the number of Gordon’s phone.
“I’ll get right on it.”
The connection went dead and Ginny hung up. She hoped this wouldn’t take very long. Every minute put Charlie in more danger. She felt horrible about yelling at him. She turned to him and started to apologize. “Charlie, I’m sorry—” The phone went off.
“Ginny?” It was a sleepy Himself.
“I’m sorry to wake you, but we need your help and it won’t wait.”
“How canna help?”
“Tell me who is safe to talk to up here and how to reach him.”
“What do ye need lass?”
“Access to medical care. Now.”
“Auch aye. Gi’e me a minute.”
Ginny waited impatiently. She turned to find the eyes of both men on her.
“Ian Somerled.” Himself read her the number. “Ye’ll call back, lass?”
“As soon as I can.”
Ginny broke the connection and dialed again. Dr. Somerled answered on the second ring.
“I’m so sorry to get you out of bed, but Angus Mackenzie said we could call on you.”
“Yes. How may I help?”
“We have a possible case of blood poisoning post broken bone.”
“Where are you?”
“At the Halifax Homestead, in the guest quarters.”
“I’ll meet you in the Great Hall in fifteen minutes.”
“Thank you!”
Ginny hung up the phone and relayed the message.
Jim raised an eyebrow. “Fifteen minutes? He must have been still up and dressed.” He swung toward Charlie. “We need to get you downstairs, and as quietly as possible.”
“What’s the point?” Charlie asked. “She already knows I’m here.”
“Plausible deniability,” Ginny said. “She left us alone together. That was on purpose. As long as we’re the only ones who know, she can control the situation.”
Jim nodded, sliding his arm under Charlie’s, and helping him to his feet. “Let’s go.”
Ginny held the door for them then moved swiftly to follow, grabbing coats, phones, and her backpack. They entered the Great Hall to find Dr. Somerled already there.
* * *
Saturday Wee Small Hours
Halifax Homestead
The fire had burned down. It gave off a red glow that offered not much in the way of light, but quite a lot of heat. Dr. Somerled took a quick look at Charlie’s foot then nodded to Jim.
“Let’s put him in my car. You can follow me.”
The two men maneuvered Charlie into the back seat of a car parked beside Ginny’s rental, then she and Jim followed their guide out the front gate.
They drove northeast along NS 102. The evergreens threw moving shadows across the road and they almost missed following Dr. Somerled into a corridor hidden among the trees.
They drove another five minutes, then pulled through a gate, across a parking lot, and came to rest in front of a brightly lit building. Someone with a wheelchair threw the door open and came out to help get Charlie out of the car.
Ginny followed the men and the wheelchair inside. The lobby housed the security office, open and apparently expecting them.
“This way.” Dr. Somerled motioned toward the back, then led them through a series of offices to an elevator. “I phoned ahead. The crew should be setting up.”
“You keep someone here all the time?” Jim asked.
“We have to. It’s too far out of Halifax to ask people to come in quickly. So we take turns. In the summer we hike and fish. In winter we sleep, read, knit.”
They piled into the elevator and started down.
“I thought Nova Scotia was nothing but bedrock,” Ginny said.
Dr. Somerled nodded. That’s mostly true. This started out as a stone quarry, then old Tam Craig discovered gold in the slag.”
“Gold?”
He nodded. “It’s one of the ways we pay the bills.”
“You have your own gold mine!” Jim whistled.
Dr. Somerled laughed. “Yes, but don’t tell anyone. When we took the site over, it was being used as a garbage dump.”
The doors on the elevator opened to reveal the most impressive facility Ginny had seen yet. Not only did everything sparkle in the overhead lights, but there was evidence of full computer sensor integration. They were being scanned.
They put Charlie in a treatment room and got to work, a half dozen helpers materializing out of nowhere.
Dr. Somerled nodded at one of the women. “My wife, Kathy.” She smiled, but did not break stride.
Ginny knew enough to step out of the way and watch. Just as they had done in Albany, the team had Charlie stripped and draped in no time flat. Ginny watched him run his hand over the sleeve of the gown.
“Are you cold?” she asked him.
He grinned. “No. The gown’s heated!”
They slid an intravenous catheter into place and drew blood before starting fluids and hanging the first dose of antibiotics. Dr. Somerled explained as they went.
“We’ll begin with broad spectrum coverage, but switch to biologics as soon as the DNA analysis is complete.”
“Biologics,” Jim said.
Dr. Somerled nodded. “And stem cells, which we’ll use to knit his bone. Which leads us to imaging.” He pulled a mechanical arm around and over the bed. “Do any of you have metal on you?”
Both Jim and Ginny shook their heads, but Charlie looked puzzled.
“What kind of metal?”
“Any kind. The machine is a very powerful magnet and it will attract metal to it forcefully.”
“Then you’d better put this somewhere safe.” He pulled the sgian dubh out of the top of his sock and handed it to the closest attendant, a pert blonde whose eyes grew big at the sight of the knife.
“Is this the one ye used?” she asked.
Charlie looked at her in surprise. “Used for what?”
“Tae cut that boy free from the whale.”
He nodded. “What do you know about that?”
She looked up from the knife. “Auch, man! Do ye not know yer a hero?” She smiled at him, then suddenly blush
ed and hurried away to put the knife out of reach of the magnet. Charlie’s eyes followed her out of the room.
Ginny and Jim waited until Dr. Somerled decided they had caught the infection in time, then headed back to the Homestead to find out what Detective Tran had decided to do with them.
* * *
Chapter 54
Saturday Morning
Halifax Homestead
Ginny looked up as Detective Tran entered the room, spotted them, and approached their table. The detective handed her a set of papers. “Read that, please.”
No one spoke as Ginny read through the document.
It was her, Ginny’s, account of what had happened to Charlie, cleaned up and put in legal form. It started with a summary of how she and Jim had arranged to go on vacation after her shocking discovery of a body in the Viking long ship, how Charlie had arranged to ride along, and how Himself had authorized the two of them to escort Charlie on his trip, since he was still, officially, in the Laird’s custody.
It culminated with her testimony that Charles Monroe had gone overboard in the Bay of Fundy to save a young man’s life, his actions caught on camera and witnessed by the world.
“Is that statement accurate?” Detective Tran asked her.
Ginny looked Detective Tran in the eye and nodded. “It is.” Not complete, but accurate, as far as it went.
“Would you sign it, please?” She held out a pen.
Ginny took the pen and signed her name.
Detective Tran then turned to Jim, handing him a similar sheaf of papers.
Ginny waited in silence while he read it through.
“Is that statement accurate?”
“It is.” He picked up the pen and signed where indicated.
“Thank you.” Detective Tran gathered up her papers, placed them in a satchel, put the satchel on the table, then folded her hands on it.
Ginny swallowed hard. “What happens now?”
“I am going back to Texas to file these and recommend the case be closed.”
Ginny licked dry lips. “Why?”
Detective Tran met her eyes. “Charles Monroe is missing and presumed dead.”
Ginny nodded.
“He was never arrested and never charged.” The detective’s eyebrows drew together. “I have no jurisdiction in Canada. Even if I knew he is alive at this moment and in hiding and where, I could not pursue that lead myself.”
Ginny found her stomach churning.
“The evidence against him is thin and circumstantial and he has an alibi. That makes this a ‘misdemeanor murder’.”
“A what?”
“A situation in which a person is suspected of murder, but there is not enough evidence to convict him in court. Such a person often gets off without punishment, an outcome you have prevented.”
Detective Tran was silent for a long moment. “Do you believe in divine retribution, Miss Forbes?”
Ginny nodded.
Detective Tran spoke slowly, her eyes on her folded hands. “In my culture, it is a concept considered without merit since the time of Confucius, and yet, the ancient tales are there. They describe powers greater than man that take punishment for an evil deed into their own hands.”
She looked up. “In your culture, too, the ancient gods dispensed vengeance according to their own code of ethics.” She tapped the satchel with her forefinger. “Charles Monroe sacrificed his life to save that boy. It is rough justice, but fair.”
“And us?” Ginny could hardly get the words out.
“According to these sworn statements, you had no knowledge of Mr. Monroe’s actions. Furthermore, he was not a fleeing felon. Therefore, I have no grounds on which to charge you with anything.”
She stood up and gathered her possessions, then looked from one to the other, her eyes settling at last on Ginny. “I was granted leave to come to Canada on the condition that I accept the role of liaison between the Dallas Police Department and the Loch Lonach community. You will be seeing more of me.”
Jim had risen when Detective Tran did. Ginny saw him bite his lip, then bow. Detective Tran smiled, ever so slightly, then matched his courtesy, turned and left.
* * *
Saturday Morning
Halifax Homestead
Jim drew a shaking hand across his brow, then collected Ginny, and steered her upstairs to his room. When they were inside, he crossed to his luggage, reached in, and pulled out his bottle of single malt.
“Is that the antifreeze?”
“Yes.” He poured them both a wee dram and handed one of the glasses to her.
Ginny shivered. “I feel as if she’ll be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life.”
Jim nodded. “She certainly has us over a barrel. What do you suppose she has in mind?”
“Not prison. Not at this time, anyway.”
Jim sighed. “I guess we have to be thankful for that.”
“Does she know where Charlie is?”
“She may suspect, but I think she doesn’t want to know. She didn’t ask. Which means that—officially—Charlie is dead. So,” Jim lifted his glass, “here’s to the memory of a very brave man, Charles Monroe. May he rest in peace.”
* * *
Saturday Morning
Halifax Homestead
Ginny had gone back to her own room to get cleaned up and changed for the day. Jim had done the same and was now stretched out on his bed, thinking about the trip, and about her.
From the first, he’d been able to imagine her wrangling children and dealing with the day-to-day stressors of raising a family. Caring for him, too, soothing his fevered brow, cooking for him, rubbing his tired shoulders.
Now, for the first time, he could picture her holding down the fort when he was away on business. Or listening to him as he worked through a problem, offering insight and making suggestions, supporting him in his decisions or holding his feet to the fire to make a better man of him.
He finished his drink and set the glass aside, then rubbed his face with his hands. He couldn’t help feeling a nervous sort of letdown. Detective Tran owned their souls, but they knew something about her, too. She couldn’t turn them in without risking they would report her for her own version of selective record keeping. She, too, was now an accessory after the fact in the death of that drunk driver.
Liaison to the clan! Because of Charlie’s act of vengeance. It would be an uneasy alliance at best, on both sides, and what Himself was going to say when he heard about it Jim had no way of knowing.
Something he’d read once floated into his mind. “A noble friend is the best gift and a noble enemy the next best.” Tran could go either way, but Jim had to admit that, on the whole, he’d rather have her as a friend. Someone like that could be very useful to the clan. Very useful indeed.
* * *
Chapter 55
Saturday Late Morning
Halifax Homestead
Ginny looked down at Jim’s sleeping form. His hair was tousled, the curls making him look younger than he really was. She hated to wake him, but she was on a tight timetable. If he was going to go with her, he had to come now. She reached out and brushed a lock of hair away from his eyes.
“Jim?”
He stirred, then stretched, then opened his eyes.
“Hello.” He smiled up at her.
“I have to drive into Digby,” she said, “to return the rent car, then take the ferry over to New Brunswick and retrieve the hatchback, then drive back to Halifax. Do you want to come?”
“Now?”
“Yes. The ferry leaves at four.”
He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her off her feet onto the bed beside him. “That’s better.”
She laughed. “You can sweep me off my feet later. There’s no time right now.”
“Tomorrow. We can do that tomorrow.”
“I’m already in penalty mode. I was only supposed to drive to Halifax, not search all over Nova Scotia for Charlie.” She extricated herself f
rom his embrace. “You don’t have to come. I can do it by myself.”
He sat up and looked at her. “I know you can, but I don’t want to let you out of my sight. The last time I did that, you disappeared.”
“Then get your shoes on and let’s go.”
He rubbed his face. “We have two borrowed cars.”
“Three.”
He nodded. “I mean, once you return the rented sedan, we’ll still have a car each. The hatchback has to be returned to Albany and the SUV to Charlottesville.”
She cocked her head to one side. “Where are you going with this?”
“I told you, I don’t want to let you out of my sight. Also, I want to see Charlie again and you need to do some genealogy, to satisfy the curious back home.”
Ginny sighed. “That’s true. I’ll need photographic evidence of our vacation.”
He stood up and stretched. “I’ll bet we can find someone willing to ferry the hatchback to Albany, then fly home, at our expense, of course. Let’s get the rent car taken care of today and plan to take the ferry across to St. John tomorrow. We can spend the night there, then head for Albany the next day.”
“Sounds like a plan. If we hurry, we can visit a couple of the local cemeteries before the light fails.” Ginny turned to go, but he reached out and caught her hand.
“Wait, I have something for you.” He pulled her across to his suitcase, fished out a manila envelope, and handed it to her with a flourish.
Ginny looked inside. “My talisman! I was beginning to think I’d never see it again.” She slipped it over her head, then found Jim touching it, looking closely at it.
“When you told me about this thing, I didn’t believe you.” He looked up and caught her eye. “I think I’ve changed my mind.”
* * *
Saturday Late Morning
Halifax Homestead / NS 101
Mrs. Robertson smiled at them. “That sounds like a good idea. The weatherman says no snow this afternoon. Will you be back in time for dinner?”
Jim nodded emphatically. “Yes, followed by curling up in front of the fireplace.” He smiled at Ginny. “Also, we were wondering if we can engage the services of a driver, to take the hatchback from St. John to Albany. Would that be possible?”
Mrs. Robertson nodded. “We can do that.”
Viking Vengeance Page 34
