Читать книгу Meg Harris Mysteries 7-Book Bundle - R.J. Harlick - Страница 20

Eric shoved a mug against my lips. “Meg, for god’s sake, drink it.”

I clamped my mouth shut, grunted “No!” and jerked my head away. “I’m not drinking any more of that shit.”

“Well, at least you’re talking in intelligible sentences,” Eric replied.

My head swirled. “I’m going to be sick.” And I vomited into the bucket Eric shoved under my chin. “God, I feel awful.”

“I’m sure you do.”

I opened my eyes. Eric’s concerned face swam into view. I snapped them shut. “I’m going to be sick again,” I said, and retched once more into the bucket. Mortified, I wished I could disappear into the bucket myself.

I felt my body warm to the weight of his hand on my shoulder. I opened my eyes. His face didn’t swim any more. “I’m okay now.” He left his hand for a second longer on my shoulder, then he took the bucket away.

“What happened?” I looked around, amazed to see the morning sun streaming through the kitchen window. It was the next day.

“Isn’t it obvious? You passed out.” Eric held up an empty vodka bottle. “Do you remember how full it was?”

I lied. “I think there was only about a third left.” It was more like three-quarters. No wonder I’d passed out.

“Meg, when are you going to stop fooling yourself and face up to the fact you have a drinking problem?”

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered. I didn’t have a problem. I could stop any time I wanted.

“How did you get in here?” I asked to change the subject.

“Through your unlocked door.”

I swore. I’d been too drunk to lock the doors. Would’ve served me right if the guy in yellow had walked in.

“Meg, you can’t keep avoiding it. The sooner you face up to it, the sooner you’ll get cured.”

“Look, Eric, I really appreciate your being here. But I’m sure you’ve got better things to do, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone.” I got up from the kitchen chair and would have fallen, if Eric hadn’t been standing next to me. “Whoops . . . guess I’m still a bit dizzy.”

Eric sat me back down into the chair like I was some kind of a china doll and passed me the mug of coffee. “Here, drink more of this, and take these.” He passed me a couple of Tylenol. “Some food will help. I’ll make you breakfast.”

With two hands, I raised the trembling mug to my lips. The warm liquid felt good. My head pounded.

I set the mug down and watched Eric move around with the ease of someone very familiar with the workings of a kitchen. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

Eric threw some chopped dill into a bowl of eggs, smiled and said, “Just one of my many talents.” He whisked them into a fluffy golden liquid and poured the mixture into a sizzling pan. He shook the pan back and forth over the burner. “Want some cheese with your omelet?”

“Sounds good.” I tried to sound cheerful but felt more like burying myself six feet under. “Look, I’m sorry to put you through this. It’s not very pleasant.”

“Meg, you aren’t the first drunk I’ve dealt with, and you certainly won’t be the last.”

He called me a drunk. Is that what he thought of me? I took a gulp of hot coffee and almost burnt my mouth.

“You usually seem to know your limit, Meg. What got you going this time?” He placed the perfect omelet on the table in front of me and sat down. Today, with his thick black hair tied behind his head in a ponytail, his face appeared more open and, I suddenly realized, more careworn. Obviously, he had more important problems on his mind than my piddling ones. “Something’s bothering you, Meg. I think it’s been a worry for some time. Tell me, if it will help.”

I took a bite of omelet. “Delicious.” I took another bite. I’d never told him about Gareth.

Eric drank his coffee in silence. I patted Sergei and looked out the window then turned back to Eric. His soft grey eyes were still focused on me. My arm throbbed, but I tried not to rub it. He smiled with a twisted smile that seemed to say, “Take your time. I’ll be here when you need me.”

I hesitated, then blurted out, “My ex is coming tomorrow.”

He raised his eyebrows in question. “Tell me about him.” And I did.

At the end he said, “I think you should call and tell him not to come.”

“I can’t. I need to see him. I need to firmly close the door and lock it.”

“Do you want me to be with you?”

I looked at his sympathetic but strongly masculine face, and thought not. “Thanks, I appreciate the offer, but I need to deal with Gareth on my own.”

“Everything’s okay, Meg. You can stop rubbing your arm.”

I looked down at my hand moving slowly back and forth. I hadn’t even realized I was doing it.

“Don’t worry, Meg, I’ll make sure nothing happens.” Eric placed his hand gently over my hand and held it tight.

For a long moment, I sat absorbing the comforting warmth, then pulled my hand free. I didn’t want this. I didn’t need it. Not now.

Eric gave me a searching glance, then nodded his head as if to say, “I’ll go your speed,” and got up to retrieve the coffee pot. He filled my mug and poured himself some.

“Did the police come by yesterday?” he asked.

I searched through yesterday’s fog, but couldn’t remember. What if they had come? “Why do you ask?”

“I want to know what they said to you about Marie.”

I took a deep sip of coffee. “Nothing.”

Eric stared at me, his expression signalling that he didn’t believe me.

“Okay, okay. I don’t remember. I was too damn drunk. Is that what you want to hear?”

I jumped out of my chair and stomped to the fridge to get Sergei’s food. I’d probably forgotten about him, too. Although, judging by his non-committal state on the floor, I’d say I did manage to do at least that much.

“You’re lucky. They probably didn’t have the time before they went into the bush to get Tommy and Marie,” Eric said.

“Oh, dear, that means they’ll arrest Marie.”

“If they find her. Turns out she wasn’t at Louis’s camp.”

“But . . . she left a note saying she was going there.”

“The police think she ran away. They’re searching the woods around the camp as we speak.”

“Why? She has no reason to run away from the police. And with Tommy by her side, even less reason.”

“I know it doesn’t make sense. I tried to tell the police as much, but that damn LaFramboise is so focused on her being Louis’s killer that he’s convinced she’s trying to evade capture.”

“Come on, Eric. Do you believe she killed Louis?”

Eric got up from his chair and walked over to the window. He stood, his back to me, facing the distant shore of Whispers Island. “It doesn’t matter what I think.”

He continued looking out towards the island, then he turned around. “What matters is the evidence points in that direction. The bracelet, her being seen with Louis before he died and, of course, the fact she’s missing.”

“Maybe the killer shot her at the same time and hid her body. Anyone think of that?”

“Yeah, I had Decontie search the grounds around their place. He found nothing. Want some more coffee?” Without waiting for an answer, he returned to the table with the coffee pot in hand.

“Eric, can’t we assume that whoever killed Louis used a truck to dump those logs on top of his body? If so, then Marie couldn’t have done it. She doesn’t drive.”

“I had the same question. But that SQ SOB brushed it off by saying under stress anyone can do anything.”

“Where’s the damn truck, then? Find the truck, and you’ve found the murderer.”

“Yeah, that’s the most damning piece of evidence. The police found Louis’s pickup near the start of the trail to his camp. Still had some logs in the back, and worst of all, Marie’s fingerprints were all over it.”

“What would they expect? She’s in the damn thing as much as Louis,” I said in exasperation.

“I know it’s hard to accept. We all like Marie and have certainly sympathized with her over the years. But it’s not the first time one of my people has retaliated when pushed to the wall by an abusive relationship, and I know it won’t be the last.”

I sat back down on the chair feeling very deflated. If Eric was thinking Marie could have done it, what about others? “Is that what most people in the reserve think?”

Eric nodded.

I persisted. “But Louis wasn’t exactly your upstanding citizen. There’s got to be someone else who wanted him dead more than Marie?”

“Although quick with his fists, Louis was basically harmless. No one took him seriously,” Eric replied.

“Like Charlie Cardinal?”

“Meg, one thing you should realize. This isn’t the city. The only crime that ever happens around here is domestic. My people are basically good. They just sometimes have problems dealing with the tough conditions they live in.”

Maybe Eric was right. He knew his people. I didn’t. Still, he could also be too close to his people. Maybe his judgment in this instance was blinded by his desire to protect them. Maybe there really was a bad apple in the reserve.

“What’s Tommy saying?” I asked.

“Not much, he’s as shocked as the rest of us.”

“What happens if the police don’t find her? Can she survive for long alone in the bush?”

“For a while. My guess is she has Louis’s missing rifle, so she can hunt for food. Don’t worry, Meg, I’ll make sure Marie is okay.”

I started to ask how, but from the shuttered look on Eric’s face, I knew he wouldn’t answer. I got up to make more coffee.

We continued talking as the sun gradually filled the kitchen with healing warmth, while the pounding in my head slowly diminished to a dull ache. Eric, whose dirt threshold was obviously lower than mine, insisted on doing not only the breakfast dishes, but also the food-encrusted stack from the last few days. Embarrassed by my lax housekeeping habits, I insisted on doing what I thought was the worst job, the wash-up.

After he left, I went to bed. I figured an hour’s sleep would completely cure me, then I’d be fit to face Tommy with some as yet unanswered questions.

A couple of hours later, feeling somewhat more human, I turned my truck into the Whiteduck drive. Marie’s home looked as dismal as ever. The only brightness was the yellow security tape fluttering from several trees. I tried not to visualize Louis’s battered body as I drove past the firewood now neatly stacked at the side of the drive. At least the flies had gone.

My knock rang hollowly through the dark and silent shack. I knocked again and finally saw Tommy’s dishevelled figure approaching through the door’s tiny window. He was clad only in an old pair of jeans. Glowering at me, he opened the door a crack.

“What do you want?” he said rubbing his eyes.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you, but I want to know about your mother. And, Tommy, I’m sorry about your father.”

He pushed his thick black hair from his forehead and replied, “Yeah, well . . . it had to happen sometime, too bad this way.”

“You know the police think your mother did it.”

“I don’t know what to think.”

We stared uncertainly at each other until I asked, “Do you mind if I come in?”

Tommy looked back into the room, then opened the door a fraction wider. “Excuse the mess, I had some visitors.”

I pushed it open and followed him into the room.

He was right. It was worse than the mess that was growing exponentially at my place. Clothes and newspapers were strewn across the floor. The chesterfield, pushed onto its back, revealed a split in the underside where the stuffing squeezed out. Empty beer bottles littered the Arborite table.

“Wow, some party,” I said.

Tommy glared at me. “Party? I wish. Nope, someone broke in while I was gone.”

With my eye on the beer bottles, I decided not to challenge him and instead asked “Anything taken?”

“So far the only thing I’ve discovered is a broken window out back. I haven’t had a chance to check if anything was stolen. Though I did notice my great-grandparents’ picture is gone from top the TV. But it’s probably just buried somewhere under this mess.”

“What did the police say?”

“Nothing. I’m not going to involve them.”

“But don’t you want to find out who did it?”

“I’m sure it’s just kids from the rez high on something looking for a thrill. Who else would be dumb enough to think there was something worth stealing from this hole?”

He did have a point.

Now that I was face-to-face with Tommy, I hesitated asking my question. I wasn’t sure what his reaction would be, and of course, I could be completely wrong. But Eric’s protective stance towards his people had started me wondering, and I wanted more than Eric’s non-committal “don’t worry” to satisfy myself that Marie was safe.

I drew a deep breath and asked, “Tommy, I know Marie wasn’t at your father’s hunting camp when the police arrived, but was she there when you arrived?”

His body tensed. “Are you saying I lied to the police?”

“I think you would to protect your mother.”

He relaxed. “You’re right, I would. The old man had it coming. But—” He stopped, looked me directly in the eye and said, “She was not at the camp, and as far as I could tell, had never been there.”

“Why are the police searching the area, then?”

“That’s their prerogative.”

“Why would she leave the note and then not go?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Must have changed her mind.”

“Where would she go then?”

“How should I know?”

“Don’t you care about your mother?

He shot me a look of blazing blue. “For Chrissake’s, get off my back.”

Tommy walked through the mess to the front door and opened it.

But I didn’t budge. I’d failed Marie twice before. I wasn’t going to fail her again. “Tommy, I won’t leave until you satisfy me that she’s okay. I promise I won’t tell the police. I only want to know that someone is looking after her. I don’t care whether it’s you or someone else in the reserve. I just want to know she’s safe.”

“You think someone’s hiding her? No way. But even if someone was, it’s none of your business, okay?”

“Damn right it’s my business. She’s my friend, and I want to help.”

He stood stone-faced at the door. He didn’t intend to give any indication that I was on the right track. And if he were anything like his mother, he wouldn’t budge, no matter how hard I pressed him. So I started picking my way over the clothes lying in my path to the door and promptly stubbed my toe on something very hard and unyielding hidden under a ragged lumberman’s jacket. Annoyed, I flung the jacket away.

“Whose is this? Yours?” I gasped, suddenly alert. I tapped my foot against the red tackle box last seen in the boat belonging to the guy in yellow.

“Papa’s. Who the hell cares?”

“Does he own a yellow jacket?”

“How should I know. I’m not his keeper.”

“Marie’s an elder, isn’t she? Would she give her eagle feather to Louis?”

“Not a chance. She uses it only for ceremonies. What the hell you asking all these questions for?”

“Could you please check to see if the feather is where she normally keeps it?”

He gave me a suspicious scowl, then grudgingly headed to a back room and returned within seconds. “No, it’s not there. What’s this all about?”

“I’m not sure. Would your father have taken the feather?”

“I doubt it. He doesn’t believe in Indian hocus-pocus, as he calls it. What’s so important about Mooti’s feather?”

I told him about Whispers Island and the feather. I finished by asking if he thought his father could have pushed the tree over the cliff.

Tommy shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose if he were drunk, maybe. But what’s this got to do with Mooti?”

“Nothing, I hope. Do you know of any reason why your father would be on Whispers Island?”

He gave me a hooded look, then quickly transferred his gaze to the view out the window.

Wondering what Tommy was hiding, I tried a possibility. “Could he have been working for CanacGold?”

“Papa work for someone? That’s a joke.”

Perhaps there was another reason. “Do you know anything about the two Algonquins buried on Whispers Island?”

He continued to look out the window. Finally, he said, “Ancestors.”

“Ancestors, yes but whose?”

“How should I know?”

And remembering Marie’s mention of ancestors the day the planes came, I asked, “Does your mother know?”

“What’s with you? All these damn questions. You never stop. Leave us alone, okay?” Tommy wheeled around and stalked to the back of the house.

I stood for a few seconds longer, wondering what nerve I’d hit, and if it was the same nerve I’d struck with Marie.

As I drove away, I felt more confusion than anger. Despite Tommy’s non-answers, I was fairly certain he had hidden Marie away in a safe place deep within the bush, well out of reach of police searchlights and sniffing dogs.

But was running in her best interests? If she had killed Louis, she had had every right. A good lawyer—and I’d make sure she had one—should be able to successfully argue self-defense. In fact I was surprised Tommy, fresh out of law school, hadn’t thought of this. Surely it would be better for her to go through the short-lived agony of a trial than to be on the run for the rest of her life.

Tommy had definitely made it clear that it had nothing to do with me. As far as he was concerned, my only role was to keep my mouth shut. As much as I disliked the position to which I was relegated, it was probably for the best. Better to let Tommy and his people look out for Marie. They knew what they were doing. I didn’t.

I turned into my driveway and thought about Louis being the guy in yellow. It didn’t compute. Although I might not have been all smiles towards him, it was hardly a reason to attack me. And I agreed with Tommy, he wasn’t the kind of guy CanacGold would hire to protect their interests. Besides, it looked as if Charlie had taken on that job.

Unless the attack was related to the crosses. When Marie had feared that the men from the planes would anger the ancestors, I’d assumed she meant Anishinabeg ancestors in general. Now with Tommy’s angry reaction to my question I was wondering if Two Face Sky and Summer Wind weren’t in fact her relatives. Maybe Louis was only trying to prevent me from disturbing sacred ground. But what a way to do it. A simple yell would’ve worked just as well.

The smaller footprints I’d seen on the beach could have been made by someone Marie’s size. Though I doubted short, wiry Louis had made the other much larger tracks. They were more Tommy’s size. But he was away when those footprints were left in the sand. At least, that’s what he’d told me.

I was so caught up in my thoughts that I failed to notice the car parked in my driveway until I found myself swerving to avoid its gleaming bumper. A newly minted black Porsche, the kind of car that shouldn’t be driven within a hundred miles of these dirt roads.