Cat Among the Fishes

by Louise Clark

  Patterson’s brows snapped together in a frown. “He actually threatened her with exposure of their personal relationship?”

  The woman sighed. “Oh, yes. So disappointing. But then Shane was always that kind of boy. He’d rather intimidate and dominate than be open and friendly.”

  They reached Patterson’s double site and Sheila indicated the site opposite. “My stop.”

  Patterson smiled in a perfunctory way that indicated her mind was elsewhere. “Mine as well. Thank you for the information, Mrs. Bunch.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to make trouble for anyone, but I can’t believe Adam would be responsible for killing another human being, even one as nasty as Shane Higginson. If my observation helps clear him, I’ll be happy. Good day to you both.” She turned into her campsite.

  Patterson stood staring after her for a moment. “Interesting. I’d better go talk to Greg and Adam and find out more about Rhonda Hicks and Shane Higginson.”

  Christy lifted a hand in farewell and continued walking, deep in thought. Yesterday, she and the others had speculated Hicks and Higginson might have rekindled their old high school romance, but they’d dismissed the idea. Were they wrong?

  She rounded the curve, coming up toward her own site. It was impossible to tell without knowing the people better. She reached her campsite and turned into it. She saw Quinn had the camp stove going and was boiling water. He was wearing a fresh T-shirt and a pair of jean shorts that showed off his long legs. Christy allowed herself a moment to enjoy before he noticed her.

  He looked up and smiled. “Morning. I was just making coffee.”

  She smiled back. “I could use a cup.” She opened the plastic tub that held the cups and pulled out two, then she settled onto the bench.

  The water boiled. Quinn poured it into the French press to brew, then sat down opposite her. “I think we’re the only ones up.”

  Christy nodded. She cast him a cautious look, not sure whether he would be willing to talk about the murder, or not, given Tamara’s reluctance and downright disapproval. Then she shrugged mentally. Too bad if Tamara objected. Christy was interested and she figured Quinn would be too.

  “I walked back from the washroom with Patterson and a woman called Mrs. Bunch.”

  Quinn cocked his head. He frowned a little in a thoughtful way, then said, “Dad mentioned her. She’s in the site across from Patterson’s, right?”

  Christy nodded. “She was talking about Shane Higginson and Rhonda Hicks, who were high school friends of her son.”

  “Rhonda Hicks, the regional councilor we talked to at the grocery store?”

  Christy nodded. “This Bunch woman seems to know all the suspects.”

  Quinn shot her an amused look. “Any insights?”

  Christy wrinkled her nose. “Only that Higginson and Hicks dated in high school and now they were back together having a fling.”

  “Really?” Quinn said, frowning. “She didn’t seem the type.” He pushed the plunger down in the French press, trapping the grounds and leaving the coffee ready to be drunk. He poured for Christy and himself.

  She took a sip before she said, “No, and when we talked to her in the grocery story she did say there was nothing between them.”

  “In fact, she made a point of saying she was happy in her marriage,” Quinn said.

  Christy drank more coffee. “Sheila Bunch also said Higginson threatened to expose the relationship, to both her husband and to her constituents, if she didn’t vote for his fish farm to go forward.”

  Quinn’s brows flew up. “How did this woman overhear all this? A threat like that is something you’re more likely to make in private.”

  Christy nodded slowly. “Yeah, that’s what I thought, but Mrs. Bunch said he made it at the info session before the talks began.”

  He shook his head. “Really? In the middle of a crowded room?” Then he laughed. “Did she recognize you as one of the people who created the scene at the fish tank?”

  “If she did, she didn’t say anything.”

  “Are you sure she was even there?” he asked, amused.

  Christy shot him a dubious look. “Pretty sure. Didn’t Roy mention something about seeing the woman from the site across from Patterson’s? That’s Mrs. Bunch.”

  “Maybe she was just being polite then.”

  Christy sighed. “Probably. She seemed to be the starchy type. She disapproved of Hicks and Higginson flirting.”

  “There you are then.” He picked up the French press and offered to refill Christy’s cup.

  She nodded.

  As he poured, she gave herself a mental shake. Patterson had been part of the conversation and she was planning to investigate. Christy didn’t need to worry about how accurate the information was. She drank more coffee. “It looks like we’ll have another beautiful day for the beach.”

  Quinn glanced at his watch. “It’ll be low tide by the time we’re all up and finished breakfast.”

  On the good side, that meant the beach would be clear for most of the day and there would be an abundance of the little tidal pools Stormy loved to play in, and where Noelle delighted in creating sandcastles. On the bad side, if they set up their towels and umbrella near one of the pools, it would take forever to get down to the actual water.

  Such a tough life, Christy reflected with an internal laugh, and thoughts of Mrs. Bunch and her information disappeared in a discussion of activities for the day.

  It was Sledge’s turn to cook that evening and he did it in fine Sledge style. He went out for groceries and came back with takeout.

  He wasn’t alone in his shopping excursion. He’d convinced Tamara to go with him—so she could choose the vegetables, he’d said when they set out. Although they’d all assumed he was talking about raw vegetables—including Tamara, Christy thought, looking at her disapproving expression—apparently, he had the cooked variety in mind.

  Between them they brought back a huge number of plastic carry bags, which slowly emerged from the car and were transported to the table. Christy and Noelle pitched in and started unpacking the bags. Christy quickly realized that Sledge had decided on Chinese food for their meal and, from the number of containers, he must have ordered one of every item on the menu. Luckily, each container was carefully labeled.

  Noelle was goggle-eyed at the amount and variety. “Wow, Mom. Look at this. Chicken and green beans with black bean sauce, satay beef, gai lan with beef. What’s that?”

  Christy peered at the container, looking for clues. “I don’t know. We’ll have to test it to find out.”

  “Cool. Beef with broccoli. Ugh.”

  Christy laughed. Tamara deposited another two white plastic bags on the table and said, “Broccoli is good for you.”

  Noelle blinked and her animated expression smoothed into polite blankness. “I guess so.”

  “It tastes good too,” Tamara said, smiling in an encouraging way, as if this could somehow make a nine-year-old relish her broccoli.

  “I don’t like it,” Noelle said, “even though Mom makes me eat it.”

  “Does she?” Tamara looked at Christy in surprise. Her tone was disbelieving.

  Enough was enough. “She does,” Christy said. An annoyed and mischievous impulse made her add, “Once a week I insist Noelle eat fresh, wholesome food. The rest of the time, of course, we eat processed, high salt, high sugar packaged goods or fat laden takeout from fast food outlets.” She smiled sweetly as she spoke and looked Tamara directly in the eye.

  Behind her she heard Ellen snort.

  Tamara must have realized she’d overstepped, because she reddened and muttered, “Sorry,” before she scurried back to the car for another load.

  Sledge arrived with another couple of bags. He shook his head and winked at Christy. “She means well.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  Roy, who had been sitting with Quinn on camping chairs, wandered over. He studied the spread with disapproval. “Takeout is not camping.”r />
  Sledge nodded agreeably. “Nope, but camping is our holiday and holidays are about treats, and takeout is a treat. So we’re having takeout tonight.”

  Tamara arrived with more bags. “This is the last of them,” she said. She looked apologetically at Roy. “I tried to get him to grocery shop, but he wouldn’t. He got it into his head that takeout would be a nice surprise and I couldn’t convince him otherwise.”

  “Stubborn to a fault,” Trevor said, from his seat beside Ellen.

  By this time Quinn had joined them. “Look at this spread.” He went over to the big plastic bin that held their plates and cutlery and started to unpack them. “I’m famished. I don’t know why, since we spent the day doing not much of anything on the beach, but still, I’m ready to eat.”

  They finished unpacking the containers, put serving spoons in each, and everyone gathered round to help themselves.

  “Anybody ever been to Long Beach, over on the other side of the Island?” Roy asked.

  He was dipping a chunk of egg roll into plum sauce as he spoke. His expression was innocent, but Christy noticed his eyes were bright with mischief. She immediately wondered what was going on.

  “There’s a lovely inn on one of the smaller beaches, just outside the National Park,” Ellen said. She’d foregone the egg rolls and was eating some of the beef and broccoli. “I’ve stayed there several times. The view is spectacular, of course, and the accommodations are excellent. The restaurant has the most wonderful chef. I’ve enjoyed each of my visits.”

  Christy looked a question at Quinn, who raised his brows and shook his head.

  Sledge said, “I think I know the inn you’re talking about. I’ve been a few times, too. Nice place.”

  Tamara finished up her egg roll and added rice to her plate. “I’ve seen pictures of Long Beach National Park, but I’ve never been. It looks lovely.”

  Roy nodded. “That stretch along the west coast of Vancouver Island is beautiful and relatively untouched.” His eyes lit with inner fire. “That’s because we fought to save the old growth forest in the islands off the coast, and were successful.”

  Not the point, old man. Stormy hopped up onto Christy’s lap. Any shrimps for the Cat?

  Ellen cleared her throat, and Trevor laughed. “We’ve been plotting, the four of us—”

  “Trevor,” Ellen said, and shot him a pointed look.

  Trevor looked abashed, then gestured to Noelle, who was chowing down on egg rolls and ignoring the broccoli and beef, which Tamara had pointedly passed to her. “The four of us decided that you…” He indicated Quinn, Christy, Tamara, and Sledge, “…should take a couple of days away and see the other side of the Island.”

  “So we booked you rooms in the Long Beach Headland Hotel for a couple of nights.”

  Quinn was still frowning. He clearly suspected there was an underlying reason behind the gift. Christy, on the other hand, was touched, and excited as well. “Thank you, Roy, Trevor, Ellen, and…” She gave her daughter a big smile. “Noelle. But why not all of us?”

  “We’ve all been to Long Beach,” Trevor said.

  It was Christy’s turn to raise her brows. “Noelle hasn’t.”

  The cat put his paws on the table and stretched his body to get a better view of what was there. Nor have I. We’ll go as a family sometime. The shrimps are in front of you, old man. Pass them along.

  “Those shrimps are in Szechuan sauce, aren’t they, Roy?” Christy asked.

  Roy nodded. “Yup and they’re super hot and spicy.” His eyes twinkled. “Want to try some?”

  “Better not,” Christy said.

  “Don’t worry about me not going, Mom. Aunt Ellen, Roy, and Mr. Three are going to take me mini golfing one day, and then to the butterfly reserve another.”

  “Don’t forget the rescued animals refuge,” Roy said.

  Noelle nodded. “See? We have lots to do.”

  “I’ll take the shrimps if Christy doesn’t want any,” Sledge said, reaching for the container. He spooned himself a hefty portion. “I like the road to Long Beach. Lots of twists and turns. I’ll drive.”

  “How long will it take to get there?” Tamara asked, which launched a discussion of road conditions, traffic, and speed limits. The consensus was three hours at most. That was followed by a debate about when to leave. They were deep into that when loud voices coming from the adjoining campsite alerted them that something was up.

  “Are you serious?” That was Detective Patterson’s voice and it was raised and very unhappy.

  A lower female voice with something of a whine to it spoke. It was Heather Farnsworth. “I didn’t look. Why would I look? Who counts the number of pills in a bottle when they get a prescription refilled?”

  Christy shot a frowning look at the others. The cat scrambled off her lap, then trotted across the campsite and disappeared into the trees.

  “How many pills are missing?” Patterson demanded.

  “Almost half the bottle,” Heather said. She sounded guilty, and sulky with it.

  “This isn’t good news for Adam Farnsworth,” Trevor said in a low voice.

  Patterson apparently agreed with him. “Do you realize what this means, Heather? Shane Higginson was drugged with the same prescription sleeping pills you use. You’re telling me you came away with what should’ve been a full bottle of pills, but now half are gone. That means it’s possible your pills were used to drug him before he was killed.”

  “Maybe the pharmacist shorted me when I renewed the prescription. I did it at the last moment, the day before we left.”

  “If pharmacists short the prescribed amount, they tell you. Did your pharmacist say anything about only giving you half the prescription when you picked it up?”

  Heather sniffed. “I didn’t pick it up, Adam did, on his way home from work.”

  Patterson drew a deep breath. “Okay, Adam’s still down at the beach with Greg and the kids. We’ll go now and ask him.”

  Heather sniffed again. “What if Adam says he was given the full prescription?”

  “Then Inspector Woodgate will have an even stronger reason to suspect him than he already has.” Patterson’s voice was flat, but there was an underlying layer of fear.

  “Adam isn’t guilty of anything!” Heather cried.

  There was the sound of footsteps, one set hasty, the other slower.

  “I didn’t say he was.” Patterson’s voice was muted as if she was moving away from the campsite. “But Woodgate can say your lack of pills is proof Adam used them to drug Higginson. And that implies premeditation, which pushes the charge up to murder.”

  “No!” Even though the two women were moving away, Christy could hear Heather’s anguished wail.

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to anything,” Patterson snapped.

  Stormy wended his way back through the trees and hopped up onto Christy’s lap. They’ve gone down to the beach. Are we going to follow?

  “Nope,” Roy said.

  “Heather Farnsworth’s admission puts Patterson in a bad position,” Trevor said. His plate was full of honey garlic pork and he scooped up a forkful.

  Why?

  He pointed the fork, still full of pork, at Christy. “She may be on vacation, and her jurisdiction may be in Vancouver, not here, but she’s an officer of the law. If she doesn’t tell Woodgate about her sister-in-law’s missing pills, she’s withholding evidence. But, if she tells him, she’s implicating her brother-in-law.” Trevor shrugged. “Duty or family. A tough decision.”

  Quinn straightened, then let his fork drop with an audible clank onto his plate.

  What if she just lets Woodgate find out by himself? Or not?

  “Same problem,” Trevor said. “She knows now. If she doesn’t tell him, she’s withholding evidence.”

  “Dad,” said Sledge.

  Trevor blinked and put his fork down. He shot a worried look at Tamara.

  She glanced around the table. “Who were you talking to?”

 
“All of us,” Roy said. He speared a Szechuan shrimp with his fork and waved it for emphasis. “I know you don’t like discussing the murder, Tamara, but this is an important development. If Adam is the only one of the suspects with access to sleeping pills, it confirms Woodgate’s assumptions.”

  “Which makes this evidence critical,” Trevor said grimly. “Let’s hope that the pharmacist shorted the order. Otherwise, Detective Patterson has a tough decision to make and Adam Farnsworth could be in a load of trouble.”

  Chapter 16

  “It’s amazing what people can do with a little motivation and a lot of determination.”

  Christy looked away from the nine-foot high sand sculpture of a rearing horse, its flying mane etched out and distinctive, front legs pawing the air. She knew the voice—it was Patterson’s—and when she turned she saw that the detective was standing beside her contemplating the enormous sculpture.

  Christy laughed. “Your niece and nephew certainly have the determination and motivation. Maybe someday we’ll be standing in front of one of their statues.”

  They were at the annual Central Island Sandcastle Exhibition. Sand sculpture artists from all around the world participated, and the resulting carvings were works of art. Transitory works of art, but finely crafted nonetheless.

  When they finished Sledge’s takeout dinner early, the group had decided to spend the long summer evening at the exhibit. After entering the grounds, they’d all split up, viewing the entries at their own pace. Noelle was in seventh heaven, rushing from one statue to the next, goggling at the evidence of what talent, a lot of practice, and even more dedication could achieve. She bounced from one adult to another and appeared to be having a great time.

  A couple of minutes ago she’d been with Christy, but she’d left to join Ellen in contemplation of a seven-foot long salmon, its back curved upward, its body etched with symbols. Ellen currently had custody of the tote carrying Stormy and the cat’s head and shoulders were poking out of the bag. She was pointing at the statue and Christy could see her mouth moving. Probably explaining the indigenous symbols, Christy thought, though she wasn’t sure if Ellen was discussing them with Noelle or Frank. Probably both.