Cat Among the Fishes

by Louise Clark

  “Maybe,” Patterson said. She didn’t look convinced that her niece and nephew were likely to reach this level or, indeed, that it was a worthy of aspiring to.

  In fact, when Christy examined her face more closely, there was a bleakness to her expression that suggested a very gloomy state of mind. That wasn’t surprising, given Heather’s admission about the prescription sleeping meds. What was surprising was that when Christy looked around, she couldn’t see any of Patterson’s family at the exhibit. “I don’t see Haley and Dylan. I would have thought they’d enjoy the sculptures as much as Noelle is.”

  “We came the other day,” Patterson said. “I’m on my own tonight.”

  “Oh,” Christy said.

  Patterson slanted her a long look, clearly deciding how much to say. “I needed time to think and I couldn’t do it with Heather constantly going on. She gets the kids all wound up and even though they have no idea why, they’re on edge, too.”

  “Ah,” Christy said. “Heather’s sleeping medication.”

  Patterson turned to face her directly. “You know?”

  “We overheard,” Christy said apologetically.

  Patterson turned away to stare at the remarkably evocative horse sculpture again. “Hell. Probably half the campground knows.”

  “Are you going to tell Woodgate?”

  Still staring at the statue, Patterson’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “I’ll have to eventually, but not yet. When he learns Adam had access to the kind of prescription meds that were used to drug Higginson, he’ll forget about the other suspects and focus on Adam exclusively.” Her voice hardened. “When I gift him with Heather’s idiotic admission, I also want a solid piece of evidence that will draw suspicion away from Adam and force Woodgate to keep the investigation open. I don’t have that yet, so I’m holding off.”

  “I may have something you can use. A couple of somethings in fact.”

  Patterson cut her gaze from the horse to Christy, eyebrows raised. “Is that so? Do tell.”

  A family came over to view the horse sculpture. Patterson and Christy moved on to the next exhibit, which happened to be a rather demonic looking Neptune figure, his trident raised high above an innocently frolicking dolphin. Although it was created in hard packed sand, there was an ominous message in the image that resonated with Christy.

  “I’ll start with Norman Laing. Roy wrote one of his contacts in the environmental movement to ask him what he knew about Progressive Fish Farms and their application for a new installation in Loyal Scotsman’s Bay. Apparently, Laing has developed a more environmentally friendly way of raising farmed salmon in open net farms.”

  “I knew that,” Patterson said. There was an edge of impatience in her voice, but her expression was impassive. “Adam says it’s only marginally safer and won’t do much to minimize the damage to the wild fish stocks.”

  “Did you know Laing patented his method and licensed it exclusively to Progressive for all their new installations?”

  “I didn’t know that,” Patterson said. She waved her hand dismissively. “There’s no motive to murder Higginson there, though. In fact, there’s good reason to keep him alive.”

  “What if Higginson decided the new process was too expensive? Or too experimental? What if Laing found out Higginson was using the new process to secure the license for Progressive so no other companies could access it, but had no intention of applying it when the Loyal Scotsman installation was actually built? What would that do to Laing’s reputation? If the company that had championed his work abandoned it on the verge of implementation he’d be a laughingstock.”

  Patterson blinked a couple of times, then she grinned. “I like the way your mind works, Mrs. Jamieson. Okay, you said you had a couple of somethings. What’s the other?”

  Christy drew a deep breath. “According to Roy’s friend, Higginson has a bad reputation and is known to indulge in underhanded practices.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Patterson said. “Both Greg and Adam described him as manipulative and a bully during high school.”

  The family that had chased them away from the rearing horse now advanced to the Neptune sculpture. Patterson and Christy moved on too, this time to a series of jack-in-the-boxes, the clown figures rising from perfectly square bases, their grotesquely shaped features a sand colored monotone, but evocative of the traditional dead white face paint and bright red lips.

  Staring at the sculpture, Christy said, “Not my favorite.”

  Patterson laughed. “Nor mine. Does Roy’s friend have anything more?”

  Christy nodded. “Carter, that’s the friend, said Higginson was also involved in political payoffs.”

  “Carter? Carter Chapman?”

  Christy nodded.

  “Why am I not surprised?” Patterson muttered.

  Christy’s lips quirked up into a small smile. Carter Chapman’s organization was well known for its disruptive demonstrations and sit-ins. Carter Chapman himself was considered a thorn in the side of law enforcement and was not a favorite. “Apparently, Carter’s group has been investigating Higginson for sometime and they have a lot of dirt on him. Not enough to take to the police, but enough to know they’ll find gold eventually, if they keep digging.”

  Patterson was silent for a moment, thinking. “What kind of payoffs are we talking about?”

  “They believe Higginson was breaking the political contribution laws that put a ceiling on how much an individual can contribute to a political party or politician. It looks like he was running one of those scams where employees of a company send donations to targeted politicians and are then reimbursed by their employer.”

  Patterson groaned. “In other words, it’s complicated.”

  Christy hesitated, then nodded.

  They moved on to the next display before the family pushed them forward. The new sculpture was a fanciful castle, with curtain walls and turrets at either end. A princess with billowing skirts and long, thick hair waved from the top of one.

  “My niece was very taken with this sculpture. After we came she spent a whole day trying to recreate it and blubbered all over Heather when she couldn’t.” Patterson shook her head. “Heather told her that every sandcastle she builds is as good as this one. Keep trying, she said. I love your sandcastles.”

  “She does strive to be encouraging,” Christy said, aiming for tactful.

  Patterson snorted. “Yeah, right.” Then she sighed. “Woodgate doesn’t like complicated. He’s known all the players in this little drama for years. Since they were all in high school, in fact. For him, Higginson was a local boy made good.”

  “As are all of the suspects, including Adam,” Christy pointed out.

  “Sure, but they weren’t murdered.” Patterson rubbed the scar on her cheek, then shot Christy a sideways look. “I went to see Woodgate this afternoon, to tell him what Mrs. Bunch told us about Higginson and Rhonda Hicks. I asked him to investigate Hicks, but he refused.”

  “Why?” Christy demanded, surprised the inspector wouldn’t at least consider the possibility.

  “He said he knew Hicks and Higginson dated in high school, but they split long ago. Hicks, he said, is a good councilor who works hard for her community and has a great husband and lovely kids. She wouldn’t be part of any kind of backroom relationship with Higginson and he doesn’t think Higginson would be involved in something like that either.”

  Christy raised her brows. “Are you sure Woodgate is really a detective? He doesn’t seem to have a very enquiring kind of mind.”

  Patterson laughed, but her amusement was momentary. “I don’t think he gets a lot of complicated murder cases like this one,” she said, as she shrugged. “His attitude is typical of small-town policing. He knows the players and he’s already formed opinions before he even starts collecting evidence.”

  “I suppose,” Christy said. “But if he knows all the people involved, wouldn’t he consider that information from Mrs. Bunch was relevant?”

&nbs
p; “Sadly, no. In fact, he told me not to pay too much attention to anything the woman said.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s always been overprotective about her son, Corey, and critical of his friends. Since Corey ran with Higginson’s crowd, he figures that when Bunch saw Higginson and Hicks together she jumped to the wrong conclusion.”

  “So he thinks there was nothing romantic or flirtatious about the conversation,” Christy said. “And that Higginson wasn’t pressuring Hicks to vote his way by threatening to tell all.”

  “Bingo.” Patterson nodded. “Now, if he won’t believe Higginson could blackmail Hicks, he’ll never accept that Higginson was running a political contributions scam and targeting upstanding people like the local mayor and a councilor.”

  “Carter Chapman isn’t local and he isn’t a woman Woodgate has known for years,” Christy said.

  “No, he’s a known agitator with a reputation for doing pretty much anything to get his message across.” Patterson drew a deep breath, apparently struggling with herself. “It’s worth a shot, I suppose. I should talk to Chapman myself. Do you think Roy would give me his contact info?”

  “I can ask him,” Christy said. “Quinn and Sledge and Tamara and I are going to Long Beach, but I’ll get Roy on to it before we leave.”

  Her brows raised, Patterson asked, “The others are staying behind?”

  “Yeah. It’s supposed to be an opportunity for us to explore the other side of the Island, but Sledge admits to having been several times and I know Quinn has too. That means it’s just Tamara and me who are the newbies.” She shrugged. “I guess Roy and Ellen and Trevor thought we wouldn’t go if the guys didn’t come too.”

  “Hmmm,” Patterson said. Her tone was skeptical and her expression disbelieving.

  Christy laughed. “Yeah. Roy’s plotting something. I’m okay with it though. I’d like to see Long Beach.”

  Patterson smiled at that, then said briskly, “Look, thanks for this info. I don’t know if it will help, but it gives me something to work on and if it pans out, it may be enough to deflect Woodgate from Adam.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “Yeah. I’ll need it.”

  Chapter 17

  Ellen scraped scrambled eggs, cooked with jalapeño peppers and Havarti cheese, into a large bowl. She handed the bowl to Trevor to place in the middle of the picnic table as she loaded bacon onto a large plate. Trevor took that too, and put it beside the bowl.

  Breakfast was a little earlier than usual this morning, because Christy, Quinn, Sledge, and Tamara were driving to Long Beach that day. Christy had been up for an hour, and had already dressed in a pair of summer slacks with a paper bag waist with matching tie belt, and a sleeveless silk blouse that matched the slacks. She’d packed the night before, so she was ready to go—a good thing because Noelle was still asleep as she slipped out for coffee and breakfast.

  Quinn was also dressed for the day, in navy blue slacks and a collared, front button shirt. He’d rolled the sleeves to his elbows and left the top couple of buttons undone. It added a casualness to his appearance that Christy found very sexy. She wondered if he’d chosen the look deliberately and if he had, which woman—her or Tamara—he wanted to attract. The thought made her edgy, so she reached for the bowl of eggs and focused instead on breakfast.

  Tamara took a piece of the toast Ellen had grilled on the camp stove and put it on her plate. Like Sledge who was staring groggily into his coffee mug, she was still in her sleeping clothes. She picked up the bowl of eggs as the cat leapt down from his perch on the top of the van.

  The eggs look good. Why aren’t there any in the cat’s dish?

  Ellen cleared her throat. “There are jalapeños in the eggs.”

  “I like jalapeños,” Tamara said, scooping eggs onto her toast. She didn’t bother to reach for the bacon.

  Bummer.

  The cat hopped up onto the picnic bench and sat in his tidy way. He fixed an unblinking stare on Roy, who had a plate full of bacon as well as eggs. Roy patted Stormy on the head. The cat reached up and batted his arm.

  Sledge snorted. “If looks could kill.”

  The cat is hungry.

  Roy fed the cat bits of bacon. He didn’t seem to notice when Tamara sent her frown his way.

  Christy swallowed some eggs, the jalapeños burning the back of her throat as they went down. It was a good thing Stormy hadn’t sampled them.

  Roy dusted his hands together in a gesture of finality and said, “No more bacon.”

  Fine. Make me eat canned cat food. But Stormy hopped down from the bench and sauntered over to the van with his tail raised high. He leapt up onto the hood, then up to his tent where his bowls were located.

  Christy resisted the urge to laugh and instead settled down to finish her breakfast.

  The road trip to Long Beach began an hour later than scheduled.

  It started with a polite wrangle of who got shotgun, since Sledge was firmly in the driver’s seat. Would it be the traditional, man-man, or should they pair up? Roy had sorted that one out by simply escorting Christy to the passenger side and opening the door for her. That put Quinn in the back seat with Tamara.

  A few hours later, he stood with his hands wrapped around the rail of the deck that opened off his room at the Long Beach Headland Hotel. He stared out at a glorious panorama of broad golden sand beach, frothing waves, and deep blue summer sky.

  He knew what his father was up to. Roy had decided it was time for his son to figure out who he wanted to be paired with and this trip to Long Beach was a way of allowing all four of the young people to spend some time together.

  And work out their differences. The words went unsaid, but that was the subtext Quinn read into the excursion. Toss the four of them together for two days and nights and see what came of it. That was why Roy hadn’t mentioned the visit until just before departure, even though to get a reservation at the Headland Hotel at the height of the summer season meant he had to have booked it about the same time as he booked the campground.

  Quinn knew his father was still hopeful that he and Christy would mend their differences and that he thought Tamara was the wrong woman for his son. Quinn wasn’t prepared to let his father make his decisions for him. He had his own timeline and his own agenda.

  So here they were. The Long Beach Headland Hotel had a worldwide reputation for quiet luxury, utter discretion, and the privacy to enjoy the beautiful beaches that spread out around it. Located on a rocky promontory between the expansive Long Beach National Park to the south and a private beach that graced a much smaller cove to the north, the hotel was famous for its views, fabulous cuisine, and friendly service.

  They’d arrived about fifteen minutes ago. The reservation was in Christy’s name and the assistant manager who checked them in clearly knew the Jamieson name and all it implied. Christy had picked up on the woman’s deference and assumed her Jamieson princess manner—quiet, assured, and pleasant, without being overly friendly. Tamara had watched with raised eyebrows, while Sledge had leaned against the front desk and surveyed the lobby.

  They’d been assigned this private cottage, screened from the rest of the grounds by a stand of salmonberry and salal bushes. There were four en suite bedrooms, plus a sitting room. The deck on which he was standing wrapped around the cottage, with access from each of the bedrooms, as well as the sitting room.

  The door to the room beside his opened and Tamara came out to stand with him. “It’s a pretty view, isn’t it?” she said.

  Gorgeous, glorious, magnificent, all of these could be used to describe the vision of gleaming gold sand that extended for miles, the deep blue of the mid-summer sky, the white froth of breakers on dark ocean—but pretty? No, pretty didn’t come close.

  Before he could answer, Christy’s door opened and she emerged on the deck dressed in her bathing suit and the soft cotton wrap she wore to go down to the beach. “Isn’t this wonderful?” she asked, gesturing to the view and meaning
the location. “I’ve never been on this side of the Island before.” She laughed. “I had no idea I’d be so moved by these beautiful beaches. Sledge and I are going for a swim before dinner. Would you like to come?”

  He loved seeing Christy this excited, full of the joy of exploration, energized by their location, anxious to experience everything, now. He found himself smiling in response. Agreement hovered on his tongue.

  “The woman who checked us in said there was a rip tide and that we should be cautious in the water,” Tamara said.

  Unlike the shallow beach at ClanRanald, which looked out onto the Strait of Georgia, and was buffered by the Gulf Islands and mainland British Columbia beyond, Long Beach faced the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean. The water was icy, the breakers large enough to make the area a surfers destination.

  “Of course,” Christy said. She didn’t sound in the least bit worried about undertow, rip tides, or any other water related problems. “We probably won’t go out very far. The waves are so big we’ll get wet pretty quickly.”

  “Thanks,” Tamara said. “But I think I’d rather go for a walk.”

  Which meant he’d be going for a walk too instead of going down to the beach.

  Christy took that as a given, which annoyed him, though it shouldn’t have.

  “Okay. We’ll see you later then. Shall we meet here and go to dinner together?”

  “Sure,” he said quickly, determined this time not to let Tamara direct events.

  Christy flashed him a smile full of that enthusiastic joy and disappeared back into her room. Moments later he heard the main door to the cottage close, then her voice mixed with Sledge’s as they headed off. It sounded like they were talking about the murder. They took the zigzag path that led down from the headland to the beach below. They were walking fast, clearly anxious to get to the water. Christy laughed at something Sledge said and then they were lost from sight.