Bodies and Sole (16 page)

Chapter Thirty

Moira wouldn't speak. She was struck dumb by being ques
tioned by Jamieson in an official capacity. She didn't know what she should say – about Vera, about Hy, about the lime Jello.

“So nothing unusual?” Jamieson closed her notebook.

Moira shook her head.

“I haven't seen any of them.”

“Them?”

“She calls them her boys.” Moira wanted to offer up something to Jamieson. She was also hoping that, given a little tidbit, Jamieson would leave. Her stomach was giving her trouble again, and she didn't want to bring that up with the police.

Next, Jamieson dropped in on Vera Gloom. She lunged right in when Vera came to the door.

“There's some wild talk going around the neighbourhood.” Jamieson's tone was apologetic.

“Yes?” Vera's eyebrows darted upward. She frowned.

“I'd just like to be able to set the record straight.”

“What record?”

“People are talking of…of…bodies in your upstairs rooms.”

Vera smiled her Vera smile, nasty and dismissive.

“Yes, I have three lifelike bodily representations here. Works of art. My former husbands.”

“Works of art and former husbands? Both?”

“Yes. Preserved in plastic. Perfectly legal, I assure you. The bodies were used in medical programs for study of the heart, the brain and musculature. When they were finished with them, what was I to do? None will fit in a standard coffin, they can't be cremated, so I have kept them at home. They want for nothing.”

They want for nothing. Odd.

Vera did not offer to show Jamieson the bodies, and Jamieson didn't ask. It was unusual, weird, creepy, but not, so far as she could tell, illegal.

And that's what she told Hy who'd been spying on her from Ian's, and came out just as Jamieson returned to the police house.

“So I've been over and it appears to be all above board.”

“Did you see Cyril?”

“He was sleeping.”

“Did you see them?”

“No. She didn't offer and I didn't ask.”

“Did she say they were preserved for medical purposes?”

“Yes.”

“At the time. But here they are, not serving any medical purpose.”

“I don't think there are any laws against what she's doing. I think it's perfectly legal. For one thing, they crossed the border.”

“How do you know?”

“Frank. He helped unload them when they arrived.”

“So you did go to see Moira? What did she say?”

“Very little. I didn't like to press. She looked quite ill.”

If you only knew, thought Hy.

“Okay, it may be legal, but it's weird. What makes it weirder is the husbands. Three of them dead, in mighty quick succession I would say. All in their eighties and she just scraping sixty.”

Jamieson shrugged.

That wasn't a crime either.

Was it?

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“Poison?” Moira had felt the effects, but she still didn't get it. “But I made it myself, out of sealed boxes.”

“And the water?”

“The water? Out of the well, of course. There was bottled water in the fridge, but that was for her. For drinking.”

“We need a sample of that well water.”

“Easy enough,” said Hy. “Moira, when you go there tomorrow, bring some water back.”

It sounded easy enough, but it didn't turn out that way.

Vera chose that day not to take a nap, and to busy herself around the kitchen, so that she was always there when Moira came in, hoping to get a water sample. She had no idea how much was needed, but assumed the more the better. She had a jam jar in her apron pocket, but it was hard to conceal – especially when she dropped a spoon, leaned down to pick it up, and the jar fell out. Vera whipped around when she heard it clatter to the floor.

She said nothing. Just raised an eyebrow. High.

Moira stared at the jar. Paralyzed.

“Yours?” Vera's eyebrow was stuck on high.

Moira nodded, mute. Still paralyzed.

“Well, pick it up.” Vera said nothing more for several moments. Moira hoped the incident was ended.

“You were looking, perhaps, for a sample of my water?”

Moira flushed bright red.

“No. Of course not.”

“Of course not.” The eyebrow was down, the mouth had settled into a grim line. “Then what?”

“Some Jello. I just wanted to take home some Jello.”

Vera marched over to the cupboard, and swung the doors open.

“Help yourself.” She tossed out a few boxes in Moira's direction. Moira fumbled to catch them and dropped the jar again.

Contempt sketched across Vera's face.

Moira left that day with some boxes of lime Jello, but no water.

She saw Hy's bicycle outside Ian's, so she stopped in. Finn was there, too.

“Give me that anyway.” Finn inspected the box Moira handed him, flipping it over on all sides and fingering the seams. It appeared to be factory sealed. Still –

“You never know.” He slipped the box into his knapsack. Moira left.

“We'll have to get some water from the well.” Hy looked at Finn and Ian.

“Tonight.”

“Are you nuts?” Ian thought he'd done his bit with the search of the house.

“Well, that lets you out on the clandestine bit. Finn, are you in?”

“Wouldn't miss it.”

“What about Dot?”

“She won't want to be left out. She could be our eyes and ears.”

“The lookout.”

“I'll go ask her.”

Finn always grabbed any chance to see Dot, thought Hy. He'd have moved in with her by now if Gus had allowed it.

When the door closed behind him, Hy turned to Ian.

“You have to divert Jamieson.”

“Why?

“Because she has a clear view of the house. She could see us.”

“No, I mean, why me? Why not Finn?”

Even though Ian now knew Finn was Hy's brother, a fine thread of jealousy still ran through him. Jealousy of anyone who could divert her attention. Even of Dot.

“Because he's already going to the well. And because, if you invite Jamieson over, she'll come.”

“Invite her over? Couldn't I just drop in on her?”

“That wouldn't stop her looking out her window.”

“Invite her over – why? What for?”

Exasperating. The word might have been coined for him.

“I don't know…your forensics course…”

“It's over.” He looked glum.

“She aced it,” Hy guessed, correctly.

His frown deepened.

“You didn't.”

“Not quite.” He ran a hand through the rapidly disappearing hair on the top of his head. Perplexed. How had Jamieson scored better than he had? They had done everything together.

“Invite her for dinner then.”

He looked appalled. Because the idea excited him more than he liked to admit. Because he didn't know what he'd cook. Because he didn't know what he'd say. Do.

Dinner with Jamieson. What would it be like? Business – or pleasure? He flushed to the roots of his fast disappearing hair.

Hy noticed. How could she not? She knew Ian was sweet on Jamieson. It didn't bother her. She couldn't see it going anywhere. It was the hair. Raven black. And the porcelain skin, of course. Who wouldn't be attracted? But Jamieson…and Ian…in a clinch? Hy smiled at the image.

“But what would I…? I can't…”

“Finn will cook the meal. Here. In advance. All you'll have to do is warm it up.” Hy gave him a mischievous look. “And her. If you can.”

“But I have to invite her in the first place. What if she doesn't come?”

“Oh, she'll come.”

Ian might not know what the forensic course and Jamieson's regular morning visits were all about. Jamieson might not even know herself. But Hy did.

“She'll come,” she repeated, with added conviction. “Piece of cake.”

“Can I email?” Ian had been stewing over how he would invite Jamieson, and had just brightened at the thought that he could do it online.

“No. Phone. For one thing, you know her Internet sucks. Isn't that why she's here all the time? She might not get your message, and then where will we be?”

“Okay. Okay.” He still looked glum. Then he brightened.

“What's for supper?”

“No idea. Probably something Italian. That's Finn's specialty.”

Hy was so caught up in the plan to get a sample of Vera's well water, all thoughts of the mystery skull were swept from her mind and she didn't tell Ian about it as she normally would have.

When Hy left, Ian's brow furrowed at the prospect of the task ahead – phoning Jamieson. He looked over at Jasmine, sleeping, her parrot beak tucked into her wing. Too bad she couldn't carry on the conversation for him.

It was a conversation that didn't turn out to be the “piece of cake” Hy had predicted. In spite of Hy's certainty that Jamieson would jump at an invitation from Ian, it took some persuasion.

When he phoned, Jamieson was thinking about the skull. She had left it at Gus's. She didn't really know what to do with it. Take it back to the police house? And when it was at the police house? What then?

Finn had clinched it by offering to have a more professional look at it, though he warned his resources were limited.

In a way, Jamieson had brought the skull home with her. It might be sitting on that doily at Macks', but it was very much on Jamieson's mind. Another murder at her door. Granted, an old murder, probably dating back to before she was born, certainly before she became a police constable. Still, a murder that might be solved.

So, when Ian phoned, and made his request, her thoughts were far away.
How long had it been rolling around on the shore? Was that a gunshot wound? Had there been a murder at sea?

“What?” she said in answer to his invitation. She hadn't heard a word. She couldn't have processed it if she had. He asked again. This time she heard the words, but she didn't understand what he was saying.
Had he said, “Come to dinner”?

Surely not.

But he had. And, in an agony of self-doubt, he repeated it one more time.

“Dinner?” she responded finally.

Roger Murray. Could it be Roger Murray? Could an old skull, knocking about the shore for half a century, be identified as easily as that? By the untrained eye of Gus Mack?

“Yes. Dinner.” He almost stuttered, this had become so difficult.

And what of the tooth?

“Oh…well…uh…when?”

The missing gold tooth. A motive for murder?

“Tonight.” He tried to keep the exasperation out of his tone, but it was as if she wasn't listening to him, was somewhere else, thinking about something else.

That was true, but Jamieson dragged herself enough into the moment to find Ian's invitation didn't have the ring of truth to it, to her practiced ear.

Why was Ian now inviting her to dinner? Could there be a reason behind it, an ulterior motive?

“That's a nice invitation, but I had planned to review the forensics course.” She'd actually been planning to see if she could get into Wally Fraser's shed, but that wasn't any of Ian's business.

“Review the forensics course? We could do that together. Over dinner.”

“Some things are best done alone,” she said. “Without sauce on the course material.”

“Then do that another night, but come here tonight.” Was there a desperate edge to his voice? There was, and she picked up on it.

“Couldn't dinner hold until another night?”

“But it's all made – ”

All made? Before the invitation was issued. Made by Ian? Not known for his cooking? It had now become interesting to Jamieson because it was so suspicious.

Roger Murray
. She wrote it down on her desk calendar.
Oliver Crane. Wally Fraser.
She made a note of them, too. As if she would forget.

“So, tonight?” She jumped up, drawn suddenly into Ian's world, and walked with the phone to the bathroom. Looked in the mirror. She'd need a shower to lift her straight black hair and give it some fullness. She'd need drying time. People ate at four in The Shores.

“When tonight?” Already she had pulled off a sock with one hand, clasping the phone with the other.

“I thought eight o'clock.” Ian had heard interest spark in Jamieson's voice. He felt on surer ground now.

Plenty of time.
She stopped hopping around as she yanked off the second sock.

“Alright,” she said.

A real dinnertime. Not The Shores standard of four. Interesting. What would they eat? What would they talk about?

What would they do?

“See you then, then.” Ian was positively cheery, although, once off the phone, he began to immediately worry where supper was.

Jamieson was preparing for a shower and what she had already begun to think of as her date with Ian, but her thoughts had turned back to Roger Murray. Roger Murray and Orwell Crane, and her mind had begun exploring Wally Fraser's shed.

Chapter Thirty-One

When Hy got back to Macks', Dot announced that the mission
she and Finn had dubbed “waterfall” couldn't take place until midnight.

“Why midnight?” Hy asked.

“Isn't that the official time for clandestine events?” Finn grinned, as he sped out the door, Ian's dinner in hand. He'd made a big vegetarian lasagna.

“Moonset,” said Dot, who had a mind for these things.
“Darkest. Best take no chances.”

“True,” Hy nodded. “The well is fairly close to the house and we won't have any cover there.”

She and Dot sat down to eat the lasagna Finn had left them. When they finished, she looked at her watch. Eight o'clock. Maybe Jamieson wouldn't be there yet. She should phone Ian and warn him he was going to have to play host for a while.

Jamieson arrived promptly, her porcelain skin flushed a
flattering pink by the cool night air – and something else? Anticipation? That was certainly in her eyes. The aroma of a fine Italian meal filled her nostrils. Ian? Cooking this? For her?

Jamieson was just about to say something.

Ian's cell phone rang, playing “She Blinded Me With Science.”

He snatched it up, grateful for the distraction. He had been at a loss for words and had no idea Jamieson had been prepared to fill the gap.

He looked at the screen.

Hy. Rescue? Complication?

“Yup,” he said.

“Is she there?”

He crushed the phone against his ear, turned his back on Jamieson and walked a few steps out of the kitchen so she wouldn't overhear.

“Yes.”

“You're going to have to keep her there for a few hours.”

“A few…how many?”

“Four.”

“Four?” Ian forgot to keep his voice down, and Jamieson could hear him clearly.

Four what?
she wondered.

“At least.”

“That's a long time.”

Four. Four hours. What's this about?

“Well, the moon's still lighting the sky. We have to wait until it sets. It'll be midnight or later before we can do it.”

Ian groaned.

“What will we do?”

“I don't care. Kiss her if you have to.”

He turned back toward Jamieson. She had slipped out of her jacket. She usually wore no-wrinkle shirts or sweaters. She was wearing a silk blouse. Static made it cling to her.

“Okay. Bye.” He put the phone down and watched Jamieson pulling the clinging blouse away from her skin.

This might not be too bad, after all.

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Dead clever.

They were dressed all in black. Hy. Finn. And Dot. Moving as quietly as they could in the night. Trying not to brush against the rose bushes that were everywhere.

There was one light on – in a room on the second floor. Otherwise the house was in darkness. The one light, though, was disturbing. It made Dot hang back.

Hy grabbed her arm and pulled her forward.

“We'll see her before she'll ever see us,” she whispered.

Hy led the way. She knew exactly where the well was. So did everybody at The Shores. Everyone in the village knew where everyone's well was, and a lot more besides.

Even though Hy knew where it was, the well pipe was hard to locate in the dark, and she tripped over it, landing in an ungainly position, with arms and legs in all the wrong places.

The light in the house went out. It was then they realized it had been providing the only illumination they had to see and remove the well pipe cover.

Hy found the first nut by feel, and, by trial and error, selected the right fit in her wrench set. She tried to budge the nut. Not a chance. She was glad Finn was there to do it. But they didn't come easy. One down. Three to go.

The light went back on in the house.

The meal, dripping with cheese and fresh tomato sauce, was delicious.

“Absolutely delicious,” Jamieson said, not for the first time.

“Mmmm…” Ian grunted, his mouth still full.

“And you made it yourself?”

“Mmmm…,” He grunted, the full extent of his conversation at the moment. She didn't believe him. For one thing, the dish was from Hy's set. Not that Hy could have cooked it either. Maybe could have, but highly unlikely that she would have. Hy hated to cook. She'd have to have an ulterior motive to do so.

Ulterior. Motive. Just why am I here?

“Who called you earlier? Was it Hy?”

Ian pointed to his full mouth as an excuse for not responding. Jamieson persisted, like a dentist trying to make a patient speak with a mouth wide open and full of instruments.

“What was that about four hours? What's going on? What's she up to?”

Ian turned bright red. He felt the heat in his cheeks. Jamieson didn't miss it. She'd taken courses in body language.

“Four hours. I've been here over two. Are you supposed to keep me here another two hours? For what? What is going on?”

“No, no, no, nothing like that. We'd been arguing about moonrises and sets, that's all. She thought she'd found the answer. I'm not sure.”

Jamieson wasn't sure either, but she went along with it, for now. She was certain that Ian was supposed to keep her there, for some reason, for four hours. She was just as sure that Hy was involved, quite likely masterminding the operation, whatever it was. Nothing to do with the skull, she assumed. Maybe more of that nonsense about Mrs. Gloom and her dead husbands.

Relax and enjoy the evening.

A nasty streak in Jamieson spoke:
McAllister shouldn't mind if I borrow her boyfriend for the evening.

She knew that Ian was interested – slightly – in her, at least he liked her hair, her skin. Both were better than good. She sometimes felt Ian wanted to reach out and smooth down her hair, or stroke her cheek.

When they had finished the meal, and Ian had chucked the dishes in a sink already brimming with dirty dishes, such a moment came.

They were sitting on the couch, quite close, and he reached over and touched her hair.

“So lovely,” he said, then dropped his hand and took a sip of the wine that had flowed into their cups all evening.

And he's in his, she thought.
His cups. Don't take it seriously.
He was clearly attracted to her, but she knew his obsession was Hy.
This could get messy.

She was completely unprepared for his next move. He undid the clasp that held her hair back in a long black ponytail. It fell forward in a curtain obscuring her face. With one finger, he slipped it back over her shoulder.

Jasmine screeched. She didn't like any woman, except Hy, getting close to Ian.

Ian appeared ready to ignore the bird, and leaned forward, about to plant a kiss on Jamieson's smooth white cheek.

She held up a hand and pushed him back.

“Don't do that.”
So much for borrowing the boyfriend.

Jasmine's screeches, which had spiraled upward and filled the air with a sound as piercing as a smoke alarm, ebbed off.

“Kiss you? I thought you would like it.”

“Not like that, I don't.”
He wasn't trying to kiss her. He was stalling for time.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean. Not like that. Not unless you mean it.” Four hours, she was thinking. It was a set-up.

“I did mean it.”

“I don't think so, and when you think about it, you won't think so either. So, don't do it unless you mean it…”

Ian was confused. Truth was, he didn't know whether he had meant it or not. It was a nice thought, but Jamieson wasn't Hy.

Hy was the elephant in the room, thought Jamieson. And there was another animal species keeping her and Ian apart. The parrot.

Jamieson bet that Hy had counted on Jasmine to guard her ground.

A figure came to the window.

The three shrank down, trying to be invisible behind the rose bushes. They hardly dared breathe. Hy was getting pins and needles in her left foot and right hand, where she put the pressure to hold her steady.

The figure – Vera it must be – closed the curtain and the light went out again.

The three relaxed.

The light went on.

Tense.

Off.

Relax.

“Jesus.” Hy slumped onto the ground. “Will she make up her mind?”

It took a long time to get the nuts and bolts undone and the cap off the well pipe. They had a long coil of rope with a jar attached to it to lower into the water.

Finn eased it down silently.

Down.

Down.

Down.

The rope uncoiled quickly. There were only a few loops left, and still the jar was going down, with no sound of water.

Down.

Down.

Down.

Down to the last loop. They tensed.

Splash.
It hit water, with just a few inches left.

Finn hauled it up carefully, so as not to spill the contents. He handed the jar to Hy, and began to screw the nuts back in place.

“Damn,” he said, his hand searching in the grass.

“I've lost the last one. I should have put them in my pocket. They were right here on the ground.” He continued feeling around. Hy and Dot joined him, but had no luck.

“Leave it,” said Hy, finally. “No one will notice. Or if they do, they won't suspect.”

They were so anxious to get away, it was hard not to run. But they took it slowly, quietly, Finn holding the precious jar of water. Hy didn't trust herself with it. Nor would Finn and Dot have, had they known how clumsy she was.

“Nearly four hours now.” Jamieson looked at her watch. “Can you tell me yet what this is all about? Why you're meant to keep me here?”

Ian was flustered. It was clear Jamieson knew it was a ploy, just not what it was about. He couldn't tell her and betray Hy, but he felt bad about concealing the truth from Jamieson.

“Well…,” he said, and that's the only clue he would give. He'd said the word. He'd been honest. If she didn't pick up on it…

She didn't, but she decided to toss him a bone. A skull. See if he knew. Maybe create trouble of her own.

“Is it something to do with the skull?”

He looked genuinely shocked.

“The skull? What skull?”

He clearly didn't know about it. McAllister hadn't told him. Strange. It must mean she was too occupied with something else, whatever it was she was up to tonight, to keep him in the loop. She had a sudden, panicked thought.

Was McAllister raiding Wally Fraser's shed?

Jamieson was tempted to leave and go check, then thought better of it. The shed was close to the Frasers' house and Wally spent most of his evenings out there, smoking. McAllister wouldn't have been able to sneak in. Jamieson relaxed.

Or did it have something to do with her obsession with the Sullivan house?

She told Ian about the skull. They spent the rest of the evening talking about it, tying the limited amount they knew about forensics to what Finn had said, anxious to find out what more he might have discovered.

Jamieson had allowed herself a few hours of private life, a few hours with a borrowed man, but the conversation had made her itchy to be back on duty. Besides, any involvement with Ian was bound to be unsatisfactory. McAllister would always stand between them.

Jamieson looked at the digital clock on the coffee table.

“Looks like our four hours are up.”

Ian was surprised. The past hour had flown by like ten minutes.

He smiled and helped her up off the couch, gripping her hand in his, their eyes meeting in a companionable warmth. It had turned out to be a good evening.

Her hair was still loose, shining in the lamplight, swaying in a curtain across her back. She pulled it back and clasped it, her breasts outlined by the silk blouse.

Ian had to turn away, because he liked what he saw way too much.

He walked Jamieson to the door and began to open it, when he spied three people coming down Shipwreck Hill.

Finn. Hy. Dot.

Jamieson had turned to say good night. Ian shut the door quickly and he lied.

“I do mean it this time,” he said. He grabbed Jamieson by the shoulders, pulled her close and kissed her – just as the trio was going by.

Long and deep, he kissed Jamieson. He had to give them time. Time to get past the door. Time to get down the hill. Time to turn the corner and be out of sight. He didn't know how much time that actually was. His brain was trying to follow their footsteps, to estimate, but he got lost in the kiss.

Sank deep in it.

He enjoyed it.

So did she.

Hy did not, when she saw it through the window.

Backfire. Big backfire.

Because when Hy was out of sight and Ian no longer had to kiss Jamieson to distract her, he kissed her again.

And again.

The skies opened. Thunder rolled up the shore. Rain drilled down on the three dressed in black as they ran for shelter, Finn hugging a jar of liquid death to his chest; Hy nourishing a small hurt in hers.

Every contact leaves a trace.