Following him into the kitchen area her mind struggled like a sumo wrestler with that door. Logan pulled out the sailing charts and unfurled them on the wooden table. He opened the piece of paper Jimmy hid under the Ouija board and placed it on top. “Here’s our clue.”
22
Rita’s Journal
Vancouver, November 22, 1928
Scandals keep piling up all around us like nasty weeds, choking us to death. Last month Brother XII stood trial in Nanaimo charged with stealing the Aquarian Foundation money. Now they are charging him with a long list of evils.
You would not believe what they are saying.
Rumors spread that when he brought in the new sailboat last week she was filled with opium, and that he sold the drugs to make money. They also say he has been having his way with many women and not always with their consent. They say he doesn’t care how young they are. Why would he be with other women, young or old, when he has me? I think people make up stories because they are jealous of him. He is our spiritual guide and I will not believe the wicked tales.
I came here to Vancouver at the beginning of the week to watch his second trial. The judge’s name is Aulay M. Morrison. It has only been one month since his last trial, but the charges have piled up, because of those wicked rumors and lies.
At the first trial he was charged with stealing money from our group. This time he is charged with rape, assault, perjury, opium smuggling and sexual abuse of a ten year-old girl. Lies! All lies!!!
It is ridiculous. But not everyone hates him. Brother XII has his supporters. A surprise witness, Mary Connally, traveled all the way from Reno, Nevada, to speak in Brother XII’s defense. I am not sure I like that woman.
The attorney general asked that the charges against Brother XII be moved to the next session because the principal witness for the prosecution, our former dear friend, Robert England hadn’t shown up. He disappeared. No one knows where he is. How silly is that? Make all these accusations about brother and then vanish. I used to like Robert, but not anymore. He has turned out to be an evil, malicious man.
England’s disappearance, of course, started more rumors, vicious rumors. People even accused brother of murdering him. They talked as if he has henchmen at his beck and call. They say he gave them a death warrant for Robert. Imagine.
The case was postponed to the next day. Robert England still did not show up, so the case was dropped, and my Eddie is a free man again.
I wonder what happened to Robert. I always thought him a good man, and a strong supporter of our cause. Peculiar—that he should choose now to run away. I think his conscience got the better of him and rather than stand up in front of a court filled with people and say the truth—that Brother XII is a good leader and had done nothing wrong,—he chose to run away like a coward and hide his shamed face, and his lies. I bet the ancient spirits are not happy with him. I fear for his life
Tomorrow, our group will be going over to Decourcy Island, just off the big island. Mary Connally has generously donated the money we need to purchase land there for our new community. Brother XII says it is like paradise, even more beautiful than Cedar by the Sea.
But late tonight, I will have my lover all to myself. He promised me a walk on the beach, and I know what that means.
You may wonder, dear diary, how I can still be interested in a man who has been charged with rape, and sex with children. Children! But they were lies spread by people who want to bring him down. The spirits warn us about such people. They want to stop our righteous crusade and they will do anything to get in our way. They are evil people who want the world to fall into chaos.
I cannot say I like the way Mrs. Connally ogles him. But she is a dear, sweet old lady to me, at least twenty years my senior. He’s nice to her, but I am sure she does not get the attention I get. I am even more sure she does not know how to please him the way I do. The brother has taught me so many things, earthly things.
Still, I have to admit, dear diary, it bothers me when women hover around him. I can almost see them drool when he speaks. He is not a particularly handsome man but he has his charms.
23
Music is the soundtrack of your life. Dick Clark
“I’ve got to find Jimmy’s murderer,” Logan said. His eyes darkened with pain, anger and—something else. That something else worried her.
The secret message sure didn’t look like a treasure map, or a note left by a leader of black magic. In no way did it have the majesty of a legend-making relic. It was just a scrap of paper. It looked like a note kids might pass at school, revealing who kissed Bobby behind the tree in the school yard.
Logan’s face paled and he looked lost in a place she could only imagine, populated with grief and thoughts of revenge. He paced the room twice, like a caged animal. Frustration mixed with anger hung on him like a sour cologne.
“I have to find his murderer.”
“We will.”
“Maggy?” He stopped in front of her. “I’m not a violent man, but I have to find Jimmy’s murderer.” He paused and rubbed his chin, darkened with morning whiskers. “The treasure will lead me to him.”
She looked over at the paper. “What’s it say?”
“Two words: Gabriola Island.”
“That’s it?”
He nodded.
“Why did you bring all the charts?”
He rubbed his chin; his face had regained some color. “Sailors never go anywhere without charts. I thought they might help. And it wasn’t like I had time to be picky.”
“Jimmy died for two words?” It was hard to believe.
Logan nodded.
“Two.”
“Life makes no sense.”
“Death never does,” she said.
He winced. “I’ve never heard of anyone looking on Gabriola for the gold. Have you?”
“No, but it’s close to Decourcy Island where Brother XII spent most of his time; no more than a stone’s throw away at low tide. She visualized the geography in her mind. “A good friend’s family has a cabin on Gabe and I’ve spent some time there.”
“I’ve sailed in the area, but I’ve never been on the land.”
“On a stormy day when we were shut in the cabin, I read about Gabriola’s history. The power went out. By candlelight the stories of Brother XII read better.” She laughed. “But his link with Gabriola is really weak. The Gabriolans were a small, spread out community of farmers when Brother XII established his commune. I don’t think they would have wanted anything to do with the likes of him. Although one or two of them might have taken supplies over to him. “
Logan studied the chart while he listened. “He would have to have been careful to go around the currents of the treacherous Gabriola Passage. It has a tidal current that runs up to nine knots. It’s destroyed a lot of boats, and killed more than a few men.”
She shrugged. “I never sailed there, but I have heard of that passage.”
He looked at the paper as if a larger message hid beneath it in invisible ink. “The islands are close. On a good tide, Brother XII could have used one of his boats to take the gold over there and hide it.”
“He had lots of boats and knew the coast well from the time he worked the merchant boats in the area,” she added.
“You think someone would have noticed.”
She nodded. “Maybe not. The population on Gabriola being so small at that time, it’s conceivable that he came and went without anyone seeing him.”
He pounded his fist on the table, shaking the charts. “I think we have a lead.”
“Uh.” How could she phrase it?
“What?”
“I’m no chart reader, but I know the island is ten miles long. So that’s not much of a lead.”
“Good enough to kill for.” He straightened his body and looked down on her. “Twice.”
She ran a hand through her hair. Murder. How did she get caught up in all of this?
“You okay?” he asked, reaching out to
steady her.
“Not really,” she admitted feeling her cheeks redden. “This PTSD is hell, but the medics said it will pass.”
Logan put his hands on his hips. “I’m going to go over the charts for Gabriola. I’ve sailed near it several times and docked at Silva and Degnan Bays. I’ll look over the coastline for all the places where it’s easy to land a boat—big or small. When I’ve that figured that out, I’ll try to narrow the list down to ones those that would also be good places to bury gold.”
Edgar’s face flashed in her mind. “He knew something,” she said.
“Who?”
“Edgar knew something else. That’s why he was killed. It makes sense.”
“So you think he had another clue?”
“Yes.” She closed her eyes and tried to remember everything he said to her in the library. “He told me that he had some details about where it was hidden, but he didn’t . . . “ She squeezed her eyes together trying to remember as much of their time closed, as she could, not just what he said, but what he didn’t say, what she sensed—anything.
“Why did he hire Jimmy, if he knew where the gold was?”
Maggy opened her eyes. “He didn’t know. He had some vague details about the location. He gave some of them to Jimmy, and I assume the same ones to the Decourcy fisherman. He wanted them to find a location on the coast that fit the description. But I think . . . “ She took a deep breath. “No, I’m sure he held back information from them. He wasn’t a trusting man.”
Logan crossed his arms. “Like two steps north of the palm tree?”
“Yes,” she said. “Exactly that. It made sense. He wanted the men he hired to find the general location and he held on to the last specific details they needed to get the treasure for themselves.”
“So where can we find those details?”
She released her breath slowly. “In his great-grandmother Rita’s journal.”
“I wonder if the police have it.”
“Maybe, but . . . “ She lost her thought. Her head felt heavy, her shoulders ached and her eyes burned. “Logan, I’d like to help you, but I can’t keep this up.” She touched his hand and he looked into her eyes. “I have day jobs. Mrs. Randolph, a sweet little old lady with arthritis in her ankles, counts on me to walk her dog, and after that I’ll be needed to do a shift at the dental office. I gotta work. People are counting on me and I need the money.”
He pulled her close, warming her insides as well as outsides. “The gold’s been buried for over a century. It can wait. Do you want to crash here for a couple hours?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“No.” Pushing herself away she said, “I’m heading home.” It was the hardest thing she’d done that night. “Alone.”
“If we find the gold, we’ll find the murderer,” he said.
24
Music happens to be an art form that transcends language. Herbie Hancock
Being at the dentist felt good. That’s how screwed up Maggy’s life had become. She never liked being there. Who would? She had become a dental assistant to please her mother initially, and stayed on to pay the bills. Adriano had thought it a respectable job. But it wasn’t an occupation of her choosing. She liked the helping people part, but it didn’t feed her creative impulses.
Maggy completed her assigned chart work, lined up shiny instruments on the dentist tray and smiled at everyone. But in her head, she sang the blues. Routines, wonderfully mundane tasks, helped her relax. She hadn’t realized how screwed up her breathing had become until now.
Her mind kept going back to Jimmy and the alley. She should scrub something, anything, to keep her mind occupied. As if trying to figure out two murders wasn’t enough. Her jaw clenched at the thought. A little disinfectant would do the trick.
And what was she doing with Logan? He was so not her type. Yet their chemistry rocked. No denying that. Was it an opposites-attract thing, or an emotional reaction to being around dead bodies? She grinned. Did she have some sort of quirky PTSD thing mixed with her starving libido.
I seriously need to get a grip. If it was the opposites thing, it wouldn’t last, and she, Rose Magnolia Malone, would move on.
Then why was her hand shaking? Grabbing a disinfected wipe from the counter she reached up and rubbed the TV screen. And what about Hunter? She couldn’t lose his friendship, or whatever they had. She scrubbed harder. The look on his face when he found her with Logan spoke volumes. He liked her too. Get a grip, Maggy, your love life is not important right now. At least she was safe at work. The world outside the office may be filled with danger and confusion, but no one would reach her here.
The dentist, Doc Hetherington, was a bitch on heels who kept her staff under her thumb. Maggy didn’t like the view from under anyone’s thumb. The woman relished making others fear her. A tall, fierce-looking woman with angular features and a cold heart, she drove Maggy crazy. Still, she needed this job.
A half hour ago when Maggy entered the office, Doc Heatherington greeted her with a death stare. Maggy checked her hair. Her braids contained her curls. Everything seemed in place. Checked her blouse. It was tucked into her business pants and there was no toilet paper attached to her butt. What was she missing? “Good morning,” she had said.
“Late night?”
Maggy took a deep breath. “Yes.” She exhaled slowly with an assistant smile frozen in place. “Nothing a cup of coffee won’t fix.”
The dentist tilted her head to the right on her long, crane neck. “You’re sure about that?”
“Yes,” Maggy wondered if that were the right answer. Are peons supposed to be sure about anything in the presence of their master? An ache started between her eyes.
The receptionist saved her, calling the dentist to take a telephone call. Maggy settled into her routine. Her shoulders dropped an inch. She cleaned the already clean TV monitor.
The dentist reappeared, followed by a man in his nineties. Everyone smiled politely and the procedures began.
Over his body Heatherington eyed her every few moments. Maggy’s mouth tasted mucky, like coffee and a late night. What’s with the H lady? Could someone seriously be fired for bags under their eyes?
Or had she read about the Black Cat murder, and made a connection? She’d made it clear she didn’t approve of Maggy moonlighting. Did she know something? Better check the papers and ask the receptionist at break.
Maggy chatted away to the gentleman, as they prepared to give him a root canal. She poured every ounce of charm she possessed into the conversation. He talked about his latest interest, the flight pattern of migrating mallard ducks. She talked about her yellow rubber ducky at home. They both laughed. The procedure went well.
After the man left, Dr. Heatherington snapped off her gloves and turned to face her. “Keep it up and you may keep your job.”
***
Maggy didn’t have a lot of rules, but those she had, she never broke. Near the top of the list was: never hurt a friend and, if you do, make it up to them. The hurt in Hunter’s eyes last night gnawed at her. They had never been a real item, but she couldn’t deny the chemistry between them.
She dialed his cell number. “I’m on my morning break and I thought I’d call.” She made her voice sound casual.
“There’s not much to say, is there?” The harshness of Hunter’s words was softened by the honeysuckle warmth of his voice. Her throat went dry. Why couldn’t she make herself immune to him? From the moment she met him, she had tried to ignore her attraction to him. It would make life so much easier. This crush thing between them, or whatever it was, had gone on for months.
“Hunter . . .”
“Maggy?”
His voice held a special music for her—always had. On the surface its familiarity held a sweet comfort like a soft quilt wrapped around her on a cold, winter night, and, below that, it rumbled with a raw sensuality that pulled her, like a lover’s touch. Hot. Hun
ter was so hot. Damn hot. Her mind drifted and came back. He had made it clear that he was interested in her, and she had made it clear that she wasn’t ready for a relationship.
“It’s complicated,” she said, drumming her fingers on the cold, plastic tablecloth.
“Everything that matters in life is,” he said. “I got a charter leaving in a few minutes.”
Silence.
“Logan is Jimmy Daniels brother. The guy I found dead in the alley.”
Silence. She couldn’t even hear him breath.
“He came to the club and . . .”
“Maggy, you don’t owe me an explanation.” He paused. “And, I really don’t need the details.”
“I know, but . . . ” If only he hadn’t walked in on her half naked with another man.
“But?”
“You matter to me. I don’t want what’s going on between me and Logan to change that.”
Hunter groaned. “Nice to know you care. But I don’t want leftovers.”
Maggy felt her face flush with heat. “Hell, Hunter, I wish I knew what was going on. I’m up to my nose in murder, someone’s lighting the docks on fire, I haven’t had sex for six months—my life is in chaos.”
“Maggy, your life is chaos.”
She stopped drumming. He had a point. “Well, it’s worse than usual this week.”
He laughed. “Six months, eh?”
In the five minutes she had left, she told him about the Emerald Empress and the weirdness she experienced in Logan’s boat.
“And that brings us back to sex,” Hunter said.
“Gotta go,” she said.
25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Black Cat Blues Page 10
