Murder in Hum Harbour

by Jayne E. Self

  I followed Lori into the kitchen and plunked myself into the closest chair. Like the rest of the house, the kitchen walls were covered with Lori’s framed awards: piano, athletics, academic scholarships. Her dad displayed Lori’s most prestigious trophies at the Bait ’n Tackle.

  I propped my elbows on the table and rested my chin on my hands. A sweet smelling bowl of over-ripe apples and bananas sat in the center of the table. I stared at the tiny darting flies they’d attracted, pricked by some niggling thought at the back of my mind. I sighed. The connection would come.

  Lori filled the kettle for tea.

  “We’re having leftover stew. That OK with you?”

  “Whatever,” I answered. I doubted I’d eat more than a bite or two.

  Once the kettle and leftovers were on the stove, Lori drew out the chair beside me.

  “OK, Gailynn, what gives?”

  “Andrew just took Sasha in for questioning.”

  “Questioning? About what?”

  “Doc. I guess Sasha delivered a gift basket for Doc before he set sail and somehow she must have lost an earring while she was on the Medical Convention.”

  Lori nodded. “That explains why Andrew wanted to see my pair.”

  “Did you show him?”

  She pulled an apple from the bowl and began polishing it against her jeans. Her bandages rasped against the denim. “No, actually. Mine are somewhere in one of my boxes. I haven’t bothered unpacking them. What with Geoff Grant buying Doc’s practice out from under me, I’ll have to move somewhere at the end of the summer. Much as I love helping Dad, I need a job that pays real money. Anyway, I offered to go through the boxes but Andrew said not to bother. As long as I had two earrings that was all that mattered.”

  “Yeah, that’s what Sasha said, too. As long as Andrew could see two earrings that was all that mattered. Then she asked for one of mine.”

  “I don’t see what the problem is. So what if she lost her earring on Doc’s boat. Lots of people climb on and off his boat every day. Who cares?”

  I frowned. Lori brushed aside Sasha’s request as though totally irrelevant. I thought being asked to lie was a big deal. Did that make me naïve?

  “I guess Andrew’s trying to figure out who saw Doc last,” I said.

  “That’s what he told me.”

  The kettle whistled and setting aside her apple, Lori made our tea.

  “Andrew and Geoff think Doc’s death is suspicious.”

  “Andrew told me that, too.”

  “What do you think?” I asked.

  Lori clunked two mugs on the table. “I don’t think what I think matters. Andrew’s going to be looking for a motive and you have to admit Sasha has a good one.”

  “Her pregnancy?”

  Lori nodded sadly. “Doc didn’t have the skill to handle a high-risk pregnancy like Sasha’s. She should never have left her OB in Halifax.”

  “But he told her it was safe to come home.”

  “Obviously he assumed she had access to a competent physician.”

  “Doc was competent.”

  Lori gave me that look, the one that means, ‘you poor sucker’. “I know you’ve always been loyal to Doc, but honestly, Gailynn, by the end, his drinking was taking its toll. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Doc had insisted on a hysterectomy, too. Now that would have cinched the whole disaster.”

  I chewed my cheek. Doc had scheduled Sasha for the procedure until Geoff unexpectedly turned up and cancelled the whole thing.

  “That would’ve been bad,” I had to agree. “Still, what’s the chance of her ever having a baby now?”

  Lori’s dismissive shrug said it all. “I bet that’s one of the reasons Geoff pushed Sasha and Sam to launch that malpractice suit.”

  “That wasn’t Geoff’s idea.”

  “Are you sure? I mean, who had the most to gain by the lawsuit?”

  “I think Sam hopes for enough money to try the fertility clinic again.”

  “Well, yeah, but Geoff gets something out of it, too.”

  I looked at my friend in confusion.

  “Haven’t you wondered why he picked now to move home? I mean, sure it’s fortunate for Sasha to have him back, but why now?”

  I stared into my tea. I’d never told Lori how I’d opened my big mouth and, in a fit of remorse, confessed to Sash that Doc was drunk the night of her miscarriage.

  “What are you getting at?”

  “Well, consider this. Sasha calls her brother and tells him what happened to her. Geoff says wait a minute, Sasha, that doesn’t sound right. I think you should consult a lawyer.”

  “So?”

  “Don’t you see? He pushed them into the lawsuit knowing full well Doc would be forced to retire.”

  “So?”

  She pushed her chair back in exasperation. “Are you really that slow, Gai? He wanted to come home. He needed a job. He got one. I bet he wrote to Doc and offered to run interference if Doc sold him the practice.”

  “He was a missionary, Lori. You’re accusing a missionary of blackmail.”

  She shrugged. “If the shoe fits.”

  Her words unsettled me. Lori had never been big into religion, as she put it, so I usually took her anti-Christian quips with a grain of salt. But she had a point. It wouldn’t be the first time a fellow believer chose a shortcut to serving God. I mean, did I honestly know what prompted Geoff to turn his back on what he’d once considered God’s call in his life? I didn’t know a lot about his years in Africa. Despite what he said at church, I doubted every day was filled with singing kids.

  What if the fine lines around his eyes weren’t from laughing or squinting in the sun? What if they indicated something darker? What if Africa had warped him? What if he was willing to do anything to get away from it?

  “Go through Doc’s old correspondence,” Lori said, pulling me back to the present. “He should have kept a file of all that stuff. Check it out.”

  There it was again. Go through Doc’s files. I’m not the kind of person who sees messages from God under every rock but this was twice someone had suggested I search Doc’s records. Maybe I should take the hint. Except, of course, tonight was out because I couldn’t get at the files, thanks to our carpet cleaner.

  Lori took the pot off the stove and ladled healthy portions onto two plates. She brought them to the table while I grabbed cutlery.

  “Isn’t your dad having supper with us?”

  “He’s already eaten.” She opened the cupboard door for me to see their blue recycling bin overflowing with empty whiskey bottles. “Honestly, Gailynn, I am at my wit’s end.”

  “He drank all that?”

  She nodded. “With the closure of the fish plant, business at the Bait ’n Tackle is way down. Doc and the guys convinced Dad a golf course was a sure moneymaker. It would solve all Dad’s financial problems. So he went and invested Mom’s life insurance money in that stupid golf course. Hum Harbour Holes, even its name is ludicrous. Who is going to take a golf course named Hum Harbour Holes seriously?”

  “All of the money?”

  She nodded again. “He actually thought he could make enough fast money to buy me Doc’s medical practice.” I knew from her tone she was quoting her father. “Instead he’s lost his retirement fund and I’m refinishing that rotten old boat so we can give harbor tours. Tell me the truth here, Gai, who would pay to ride a lobster boat around Hum Harbour? Even if there was some magical golf course dragging in the masses?”

  “The Holes are definitely cancelled?”

  “Well who’s going to pay for it? Doc’s dead. No doubt his money will be tied up in probate for years. Dad’s tapped out. And I heard Mike tell Ross you can’t get water from a stone. So he’s obviously not going to save the project.”

  “But I thought they’d all signed some kind of contract that guaranteed their investment if one of them died.”

  “I have student loans coming due. I’m in the hole big time, Gailynn, with no way out.” Lori was
evidently too focused on her own situation to hear my question.

  “Everyone says there’s a doctor shortage. Can’t you get a job in Antigonish or New Glasgow?”

  “You need money to buy into a practice, Gailynn.”

  “Maybe Geoff could hire you, part time, I mean. That would bring in some income.”

  Lori’s eyes flashed. “Don’t think for one minute I would even go crawling to Geoffrey Grant. That was supposed to be my practice and I won’t give that thief the satisfaction of begging for crumbs.”

  I picked up my fork. Lori’s determination to vilify Geoff was getting on my nerves. He was a nice man. He was Sasha’s brother. He hadn’t come home to Hum Harbour to sue Doc or ruin Lori’s life. Those were simply unfortunate by-products of his return.

  “I need to find another way to provide for Dad and me,” Lori said.

  And she would. Nothing kept Lori down for long.

  Poking absently at the stew on my plate, I thought through our conversation. Despite Lori’s comment that Sasha’s behavior was no big deal, I felt concerned. Sasha was an honest, God-fearing woman who did not make a habit of tricking police officers. Grabbing my earring was out of character for Sasha. Lying to Andrew was unbelievable. She’d never behaved like that before. Was it guilt or the personality changes that went with her depression?

  I swallowed the stew without tasting it.

  I refused to believe Sasha had anything to do with Doc’s demise. Which meant someone else did. Who? And why?

  Taking Sam’s malpractice suit out of the mix brought me back to Hum Harbour Holes as the most likely motive. Three men each lost a quarter of a million dollars, thanks to Doc. Which of the three might commit murder?

  Bud Fisher, Lori’s dad? Mike Johnson, Mimi’s husband? Or Ross Murray?

  I decided to start with Ross simply because I liked him least.

  12

  It’s all very well and good to say I’d start with Ross Murray, but by ten o’clock the next morning I still hadn’t figured out how. Nor had I gotten an answer the thousand times I phoned the S’s.

  You may not have noticed, but in Hum Harbour there’s this odd pattern of couples hitching up alphabetically, at least the ones with lasting relationships. I don’t know if it’s somehow connected to the double H’s in the town’s name, but people around here actually buy into the silly superstition. Not me, of course, but others do.

  Anyway, I kept calling Sam and Sasha, hoping to find out what happened after Andrew dragged them off to the police station.

  Geoff and I rearranged the waiting room furniture after his clinic-opening prayer and although chicken pox still dominated business, the panicked rush seemed to be over. The day proceeded at a comfortable pace.

  I used every quiet moment to sift through Doc’s old files. It was a slow process. Ellen Fisher had been meticulous and over the years she had catalogued and filed every scrap of paper that passed over Doc’s desk. Problem was, for some reason she hadn’t differentiated between patient files and general business. I’d have to search every single folder in the cabinets!

  By lunchtime, I’d checked through half of one drawer. At that rate, with four drawers per cabinet and eight cabinets in the room I’d be through Doc’s files in twenty-four workdays or, roughly translated, one month. I needed a better system.

  Geoff interrupted my search around the time I made that amazing deduction, and told me he was closing shop for the morning. Patients were gone.

  “Scoot over to McKenna’s and check on Sasha, will you please?” he asked. “I’m worried about her. And while you’re there, why not order flowers for Doc’s funeral? Whatever you think would be suitable from the clinic.”

  Apparently, one of his patients reported the service was set for Saturday.

  ****

  McKenna’s was crowded and everyone knew about Sasha’s excitement. Trips to the cop shop for questioning did not go unnoticed in our town. And like me, everyone would come to the flower shop to see Sasha for themselves. Funeral flowers were simply the excuse we used to legitimize our visits.

  Rickie Murray was first in line. She stood with her elbows resting against the glass showcase while she studied the imported crystal vases within.

  Behind her, Vi Murray huffed impatiently. “They’re funeral flowers, for pity’s sake. Just pick something and let the rest of us have our turn.”

  Rickie is the third Mrs. Ross Murray, and anytime she and Vi, the second Mrs. Ross Murray, are within a hundred meters of each other sparks fly. Vi’s dubbed their altercations The Murray Feud. According to Vi, feuding is a respected Scottish tradition, like caber tossing.

  There’s a considerable age gap between Ross and Rickie Murray. She recently turned twenty-five while Ross Murray is Doc’s age. In fact, Ross’s first wife was Doc’s sister, Marjorie.

  Marjorie divorced Ross when she caught him in a compromising position with his then secretary, Vi Hicks. Marjorie left Hum Harbour the day she signed the divorce papers. She’s never been back, although perhaps she’d relent and attend Doc’s funeral.

  Vi was fifteen years younger than Marjorie and she stayed married to Ross a whole six months longer than her predecessor. She also produced one offspring, which Marjorie didn’t manage either. Vi still lives in Hum Harbour. She spreads her alimony money around town like a gardener spreads manure, and everyone knows the way the wind blows when Vi’s around. I think she enjoys raising a stink and embarrassing Ross as much as possible.

  Rickie, the latest Mrs. Murray, was a casino cocktail waitress when she and Ross met. It was love at first sight. Ross fell in love with Rickie’s exceptional twenty-two year old body and Rickie fell for his exceptional bank balance.

  Rickie now cruises Hum Harbour in her sassy black MX-5 Miata, decked out in designer clothes, loud jewelry, and expensive dental work. She wears those invisible braces that I am told cost twice as much as the train-track variety.

  That Ross’s newest wife wears braces gives Vi endless fodder for making a stink. In fact, in the last three years there’s not been a single public event that hasn’t degenerated into a mud-slinging extravaganza. This morning at the flower shop proved no exception.

  Rickie pointed to the largest cut crystal vase. “What do you think, Sasha? One large arrangement or two smaller ones. You know, for each side of the casket.”

  Sasha looked at me helplessly. I could tell from the desperate ache in her eyes she was in no condition to decide anything for anyone.

  Meanwhile, Vi peered over Rickie’s shoulder. Her gaze zeroed in on the humungous rock on Rickie’s finger like a Scud missile on a target

  “When did you get that?” She said loud enough for all to hear.

  Rickie casually extended her hand and studied the effect. “You mean this itty bitty little thing? Why, I really can’t recall exactly when Ross bought it. He is sooo sweet. He’s forever giving me pretty things.” She drew out her vowels like a Mississippi Madame, which sounded absolutely ridiculous combined with her Cape Breton twang.

  “Is that why he’s refusing to send Ross Junior to camp this summer? Because he’s buying you costume jewelry?”

  Every summer RJ attended Campe Le Merr, an exclusive children’s camp in Quebec.

  Rickie spun around, bumping Vi back with her curvaceous—Vi claims enhanced—bosom.

  Vi’s eyes now latched onto the enormous gem resting in Rickie’s cleavage. It matched Rickie’s ring, and her earrings, which I spotted as her hair settled.

  Vi grabbed the necklace and ripped it right off.

  Rickie screamed as her hands flew to her throat. I could see the red streak where the gold chain etched her skin before it snapped.

  “Give that back,” she cried. “It’s mine!”

  “Not any more. Ross’s obligations to our son supersede any arrangement he has with you. If he won’t willingly fulfill his commitments to Ross Junior, I’ll do it for him.” Vi stuffed the gem into her purse. “Tell your husband I’m taking it to a pawn shop. If he wa
nts it back he can get it there.”

  Rickie watched helplessly as the doors slammed behind Vi. “It is not costume jewelry,” she declared, though of course Vi didn’t respond. Glancing around the room, Rickie flipped back her hair to show off the ear baubles. “Ross insisted I have it for my birthday. But I swear I didn’t know little Ross Junior was going to miss camp on account of me.”

  I couldn’t help being curious. “What are you going to do?”

  “Well, I don’t rightly know. Normally I’d chase down that evil woman and take back what’s mine. But if it’s for Ross Junior…” Rickie ran her French manicured fingertip along the edge of the counter. “I always wanted to go to camp when I was a little girl but we never had enough money. I’d hate for Ross Junior to end up the way I did now that things are…tight for Ross Senior.”

  “Tight?” I asked in an equally conspiratorial tone.

  “I really shouldn’t say.”

  Rickie tapped the showcase glass, indicating a medium sized vase. “Two dozen white orchids please, in that vase, please.” Then to me, “Unless you think one of your blown glass vases would look better?”

  Rickie had never been inside Dunmaglass. I didn’t realize she knew anything about my stock. “Why don’t you stop by and see for yourself,” I said.

  “Before Saturday?” Rickie asked.

  I admit it. I felt sorry for Rickie Murray. I couldn’t imagine being married to anyone as old as Ross. She must be lonely for someone closer to her own age to talk to. I could be that someone. And besides, maybe Rickie was the answer to my dilemma, my way to find out about Ross. What had she meant when she said things were tight right now?

  “Why don’t you stop by tonight. You could shop and we could talk without anyone interrupting us. In fact, I’ll put on some tea. Or do you prefer coffee?”

  Rickie’s eyes widened. “Why, tea would be just perfect.” She purred the R. “Seven?”