“I—I learn things at the clinic,” I said quietly. “But I would never tell anyone. Honest. Especially not Lori.”
Bud’s eyes narrowed to slits.
I leaned closer despite his atrociously foul breath. This was between Bud and me. No one else would hear. “I promise I will never tell Lori.”
Bud’s face went white, then red then purple, as though he was about to explode. He grabbed me by the neck, saying words only fishermen knew, and shook.
I thought I was dead.
But as suddenly as he grabbed me, his fingers opened and he shoved me away.
I stumbled backwards, arms flailing, and flew over the wharf’s raised cement edge.
31
The water slammed my ears. It rushed up my nose. It surged through my clothes. It closed over my head, sucking me downwards into its oily, icy abyss. My hair slithered around my face like Medusa’s snakes. My sodden shoes dragged me deeper. My bursting lungs screamed for release. I closed my eyes as the blackness swallowed me whole.
I heard another explosion. Hands grabbed me. Arms held me. Legs kicked, moving me up, up, up until I broke the surface and blessed, frigid air filled my face. Gasping, sobbing, I sucked it in.
“Breathe, Gailynn, breathe.” Lori bobbed in the water with me. One arm firmly around my ribs, she wiped my hair from my eyes. “You’re OK, Gai. I have you.”
I threw my arms around her neck and almost drowned us again.
Lori wriggled free, grabbed the back of my jacket and gave me a sharp jerk. “I have you, Gai, but you have to let me tow you to the boat. OK?”
She slid her arm around my neck, keeping my chin out of the water, and I gripped that arm with all my might.
“OK, OK.”
Lori towed me to the Lori-Girl. A rope ladder bumped against the boat’s side and she hiked me out of the water enough to grab it. I pulled myself up, tumbled over the boat’s gunwale onto its deck and lay on my side, curled into a fetal position. Breathing was all I could manage.
Things on the deck seemed oddly distorted, as though I saw them through a wobbly telescope and I tried making sense of boxes, paint cans, apple cores, an empty bottle of Arran Island Malt Whiskey and coiled rope.
“Here, Gai, sit up and let’s get you out of that wet coat.”
Lori, also soaked, dragged me into a sitting position and tried peeling my jacket from me. It didn’t come off. I guess the seawater had glued my clothes together and she couldn’t remove the outer layer without the shirt and sweater underneath.
We were both shivering, our teeth rattling noisily.
“Stand up,” she ordered. “I can’t do this unless you stand up.”
So I did. Shaking, totally discombobulated, I staggered to my feet on the boat’s shifting deck. As it lurched and I stumbled, reality hit me like another slam into icy water.
I was on a boat.
Lori recognized my terror a split second after I did. She tried to catch me before I threw myself back into the ocean in my panic to get off the boat, but I batted her hands away.
“Let me go.” I heard my voice rising. “Let me go!”
She stepped back in surrender.
I scrambled over the Lori-Girl’s side, my numb fingers clinging to the sanded wood rail. Keith and Tom Gunn reached for me, dropping me onto my feet on the wharf. I could have kissed the scarred cement. I could have kissed Keith and Tom until I realized the two were laughing at me.
“Kinda early in the year for swimmin’, ain’t it Gailynn?”
I unclamped my fingers from each man’s shirtsleeves. With the greatest effort I had ever exerted for any cause, I lifted my chin. “I thought it was time.”
They hugged their bellies and chortled like idiots. You’d think I’d just said the funniest thing in the universe.
“What’s so funny?” asked Sam, drawn to the sound of their laughter.
“Gailynn, here,” said Tom. “She’s finally gone decided she’s gonna take up swimmin’.”
Teeth chattering, face burning, I squared my shoulders and marched away, but the squish-squish of each step only made them laugh harder.
Lori ran to catch up with me and we met Geoff hustling down his back stairs, blankets in hand.
“I saw,” was all he said as he handed Lori one blanket and wrapped the second around me.
I folded into his welcome arms, pressing my face against his chest. I felt his cheek against my wet hair and his breath, oh so warm against my scalp. I tied to act brave, but I don’t think my hiccoughing breaths fooled him.
“Dad threw her into the water. I don’t know what’s got into him.” Lori’s chattering teeth punctuated each word. “He’s so unpredictable these days he scares me.”
“We need to get the two of you inside and out of those wet clothes. Gailynn, where’s your key?” Geoff drew me back far enough to ask.
My fingers couldn’t manage my zippered pocket so he opened it for me.
He let us in the back door of Dunmaglass. “Take her upstairs and get yourselves warm. I’ll be right back.”
With a kiss to my nose he left us to fend for ourselves. I didn’t know what he was off to do and frankly, at that moment, I didn’t care.
Lori half pushed me up the stairs to my apartment. She set the shower on full and shoved me in, clothes and all.
“Don’t come out until you stop shivering,” she ordered. “There will be dry clothes waiting.”
“What about you?” I asked from behind the shower’s sliding glass door.
“I’ll borrow some sweats and change in your bedroom. I’m not as cold as you. I’ll be fine.”
Then Lori left me too, and I was alone with the hot water and steam, and fear.
Phobias are an odd thing. No matter how logical or matter-of-fact you pretend to be they sneak up on you and before you realize it, you’re in full panic mode. There’s no escape, no way around, you have to pass though them. Something I’d learned as a kid wriggled its way through my memory. A Bible verse my old Sunday school teacher made me memorize, what was it?
When you pass through the waters I shall be with you and through the rivers they won’t overtake you.
I repeated it out loud, surprisingly calmed by the promise, now that I was safe in my shower. If only I’d had the presence of mind to remember it while I was drowning.
I’d been so sure I was going to die.
When I was a kid, I went out on the boat with Dad and Sam. I wasn’t paying attention. I wasn’t doing what I was told, and somehow my foot got tangled in the cable that winds through the edge of the net. Don’t ask me how. To this day Dad still can’t figure it out. But when the weighted net went over the edge into the ocean, I went with it.
Dad dove in and cut me free but by the time he got me back into the boat, I was basically dead. Sam says Dad did mouth-to-mouth on me for half an hour before I started breathing on my own again. Sam says he’s never seen Dad that scared before or since. But me, I get that scared every time I think of climbing aboard a boat. Every time I see one bob on the water, I feel that rope tighten around my ankles and my feet yank out from under me. Every time I think of even wading into the sea I feel the weight of the waves over my head and the tug of the nets dragging me to the bottom.
Would I ever stop shivering?
Layer by layer, the hot water penetrated deeper. I slowly peeled off my clothes. I soaped and lathered and scrubbed away every trace of sea. The grunge from my hair, the stench from my skin, the chill from my bones. I even brushed my teeth in the shower. Finally my tremors stopped.
Had I really passed through the waters? I wiped the fog from the mirror and stared at my reflection. I was alive. I sat on the edge of the tub, unable to find words enough to thank God for sending Lori to save me.
True to her promise she’d left a neat pile of dry duds for me on the bathroom counter. I toweled off, pulled on the fuzzy jammies and housecoat, and blow-dried my hair. When I came out of the bathroom, I found Geoff and Lori sitting in my living room drinking tea. Her ri
ght hand was freshly bandaged, she wore my faded navy sweats, but otherwise she looked no worse for the icy swim.
Geoff jumped to his feet immediately. He felt my forehead, smoothed my hair over my shoulders. “Woman, I’ve never been so scared in my entire life.” He hugged me tight and it felt so good I could have stayed in his arms forever. But he pushed me away. “I want you to take these tablets, drink this tea and tuck yourself into bed for the night. Understand?”
“I’m OK. Really.”
Neither he, nor Lori for that matter, looked convinced.
“There are two doctors giving you this order, Gailynn,” he said. “And Lori’s going to spend the night on your couch to make sure you obey.”
I sighed and swallowed Geoff’s tablets with sips of sickly sweet tea. “What did you put in this?”
“Sugar. You were shivering so badly I was afraid you were going into shock.” He kept stroking my hair.
“Well, I’m OK, now,” I told him again. “You and Lori don’t have to mother me.”
“I told you she’d be ornery,” Lori said.
“Lori stays,” Geoff said to me.
The mug in my hand wasn’t too steady and tea slopped over the rim onto the floor.
“See?” He took it from me. “Now, to bed with you. Lori will lock the door behind me and then come and say goodnight. By then you should be tucked into bed with the covers up to your chin. Understand?”
I didn’t argue, which meant he was right. I did need to rest. “I’m sorry about supper,” I said.
Deep lines bracketed his mouth. “Just promise me you’ll be here to do it tomorrow.” He cupped my cheeks with his hands.
Too muddled to decipher his mood, I closed my eyes. The warmth of his palms against my skin comforted me. “I promise.”
That’s the last I remember until the inevitable nightmare woke me up. I found Sheba asleep on my chest. No doubt her bulk against my ribs triggered the dream. I stroked her silky fur, drawing reassurance. I was alive. As I drifted back to sleep I heard Lori moving about in the other room.
****
Saturday’s fiasco left me frightened and bewildered. My best friend’s father had tried to kill me. Setting aside his grief over his wife’s passing, and his penchant for overindulging, I was inclined to think his reaction still somewhat extreme since all I’d done was imply I knew he wasn’t Lori’s biological father. In fact, come to think of it, if I remembered correctly I hadn’t even said that much. I’d simply whispered I knew his secret. In a shamefully tactless way that breached every ethical boundary Geoff had tried to drum into my thick head, I’ll admit, but certainly no bald-faced declaration. My comment was inappropriate, rude, obnoxious, highly improper, but worth killing over? I thought not.
Yet that’s what Bud had tried to do—strangle and drown me.
Lori had headed home once she was sure I’d survived the night. I was disappointed I’d missed Geoff singing at church, but glad in a way. I didn’t think I could face people after yesterday.
Wow, was it really only yesterday I accused Mimi of murdering Doc?
I let Sheba out, pulled on my freshly washed jacket over my sweater and jeans—I guess Lori did my laundry while I slept—and went for a walk alone. I did not go to the beach. Instead, I strode straight up McCormick Street to Murray, and out of town towards the cemetery. In the midst of yesterday’s drama I’d missed saying good-bye to Doc. I thought now would be a fine time to do so.
My grief felt heavier than ever. It pressed down on me, like the horrible weight of the sea closing over my head.
I prayed as I walked. And as I prayed, I realized the burden I felt was shame, not grief. Shame for the way I was treating the people I loved. I’d been spying on them, calculating their every word and action as a motive for murder. What right did I have to judge my neighbors? Was that why Geoff had looked so weary last night?
He saw. That’s what he’d said when he rushed down with the blanket. He saw me talking to Bud. No doubt he believed he saw me breach the clinic’s patient confidentiality rule, breaking my promise that I could be trusted. It would be useless to try to convince him I hadn’t actually told Bud anything. Bud’s reaction contradicted any denial I could make.
And in all honesty, I couldn’t claim innocence. I had bent Geoff’s rule. It was Bud’s hands on my neck that kept me from smashing it completely.
Lord, forgive me.
The burden eased a little.
It was wrong to say anything to Bud. Whatever happened between Doc Campbell and Ellen Fisher all those years ago had no bearing on what was going on now. I needed to get a grip on myself. I needed to leave the past to the past.
Lori’s parentage had nothing to do with Doc’s murder so I would just forget the whole sordid thing.
My steps slowed as I neared the cemetery. Then why did Bud Fisher want me dead?
Only one reason presented itself. Bud found out about Ellen and Doc’s affair and murdered Doc in a jealous drunken rage.
Except, why now? If Doc and Ellen had their fling twenty-five years ago, why get upset now? Ellen made a deathbed confession? Was that how Bud found out about Lori? Or maybe Doc and Ellen’s affair never actually ended. Bud put it together at Ellen’s funeral. I’d told Geoff there was no way Lori’s mom had fooled around on her husband but really, what did I know? Maybe I’d grown so accustomed to her adultery I never saw a thing.
I mulled over the possibility. On the one hand was Bud’s increased drinking since Ellen’s death. On the other hand…what? Lori was living breathing proof Ellen Fisher fooled around on her husband, but if no one suspected her why would Ellen confess? Scratch that. Reverend Innes always says guilt weighs especially heavy when you’re dying. I tried to picture Ellen and Doc at the clinic, the way they related, the way they looked at each other, the way they both looked at Lori.
Did Doc look at Lori like an adoring father? Like Bud did?
Maybe Doc didn’t know about Lori anymore than Bud knew about Doc. I shook my head. I was making things up.
I stopped beside Doc’s grave. Fake green carpet covered the mounded dirt. Several wreaths and bouquets rested where the tombstone would eventually stand.
“Did you know, Doc?”
Naturally, he didn’t answer.
If Bud Fisher discovered his wife had been unfaithful and if he realized the daughter he adored was not his own, and if he learned the man who’d cuckolded him was the same man who backed out of Hum Harbour Holes, causing him to lose all the money he’d invested so he could buy his beloved daughter a medical practice, could Bud become angry enough to retaliate? I felt Bud’s hands around my neck.
The problem was Doc’s murder was not a momentary act of fury. It was premeditated.
When Bud grabbed me, his anger flamed then died. I’d seen it wash from his eyes the instant before he pushed me away. The part where I almost drowned was more my doing than Bud’s. If I’d kept my footing or kept my head, I would have managed just fine. It was my personal phobia that turned the dunking into a nightmare.
But just because that one time Bud’s anger cooled as fast as it blazed, didn’t mean he was incapable of the slow burning kind, given the right circumstances. Like when he was drunk. I wrapped my arms around my waist trying to rekindle the warmth I felt when Geoff was near. I was very thankful Geoff did not imbibe.
I found myself staring at the stone bench where Geoff and I’d sat and talked and I remembered Bud Fisher driving along the cemetery’s back access road. I’d assumed he was visiting Ellen’s grave and thought no more of the event. But now I remembered Bud throwing something out of his truck window as he drove along.
I left Doc and went searching.
It took a while, but I finally found an empty whiskey bottle in the tall grass at the edge of the cemetery. It was an empty bottle of Canadian Club and it got me thinking.
31
Andrew’s crime scene people had taken lots of photos of Doc’s boat before they collected and catalogued everythin
g in sight and I assumed Andrew had those photos or at least a list of what had been found. I wanted to see that list.
Like Bud Fisher, Doc was a finicky drinker. Bud drank Canadian Club and Doc drank Arran Island Scotch Whiskey, a single malt he had the local liquor store stock especially for him. I knew this because Doc sometimes had me pick up his bottle when he was running behind schedule. I wasn’t sure how many others knew of Doc’s preference.
It was about a mile from the cemetery to the cop shop and I hoofed it purposefully. With each step, I grew more certain that Doc’s liquor was the clue that would lead us to his murderer. Hadn’t Andrew said the poison was wood alcohol? What better way to administer poison than hide it in Doc’s liquor.
A cloud bank was collecting in the eastern sky but the May sun still shone brightly overhead. I unbuttoned my jacket, letting the wind cool my neck and lift my hair. Sundays are a quiet day in Hum Harbour. We’re a traditional community, where people set aside their work for the Sabbath. Despite recent Sunday shopping laws, most stores are closed and the Hubris Heron only serves a light brunch to the après-church crowd.
Murder in Hum Harbour
The cop shop’s also on weekend detail. Rose McKenna has her weekends off and Kenny Stewart, a local college student, fills in as dispatcher. Kenny wants to be a cop like Andrew and he’s a little hyper about protocol. I wasn’t sure whether Andrew would be in his office and I knew Kenny would refuse me entry if he wasn’t. Kenny Stewart is a formidable challenge.
I fluffed my hair and moistened my lips before pushing open the police station door. “Hey, Kenny, how’s it going?”
“Ms. MacDonald, hello.”
Kenny called everyone by their formal name when he worked. Any other time he’d have said, “Hey, Gai.”
“Andrew in?”
Kenny checked the log. He could have just turned his head and looked.
“Not at the moment. He shouldn’t be long.”
“Oh yeah? I’ll wait in his office, then.” I rounded the counter but Kenny zoomed into position, barring my way.
Murder in Hum Harbour Page 18
