you," I kidded, then came to the point. "Listen, can you throw some clothes on and come down to the station? You know where it is."
"I ought to. You locked me up in it once." She laughed. "You want me to pay for my keep now?"
"Yes, this drowning is getting complicated. I need somebody to answer the phone while I play cops and bad guys. Can you help me?"
"Sure will. Be there in ten," she said, and added the typical actor's afterthought. "It'll give me a chance to practice my accents."
I hung up, grinning. What Murphy's Harbour would think when the phone was answered by an East Indian, a Mexican, an Irishwoman, or a Cockney, I didn't know. But Fred has a good mind, and she wouldn't play games with the facts.
It took only a few minutes for her to arrive, and I used the time well. I rang the lodge and asked who had been using their johnboat around four o'clock. They told me it was the owner, a guy in his fifties, straight as an arrow, to my knowledge. He had gone to the dump on his own. Right now he was in town at the hardware store, but he would call when he came back.
The other two boats were harder to trace. I called both locks and gave a description of the pair of them to the keepers, asking them to detain any boat of that description and call me, then rang Walter Puckrin at the marina and picked his brains. He knew the sailboat. It belonged to a Toronto schoolteacher and his wife. They stayed at the cottage up above the narrows. They had no phone, and I decided to call on them later. The cruiser might be any of a dozen he could think of or a stranger passing through our stretch of the waterway. He would make a list of the locals and leave it for me.
Then Fred arrived, wearing a peasant blouse and a light skirt that swirled when she walked. She came over and kissed me. I wasn't in a mood for kissing, but she compensated for that and told me gravely I was going to have to work on my pucker. Then she got down to business, and I explained what messages I was expecting and how to reach me on the radio. She did a nice Katharine Hepburn good-bye, and I took Sam out to the car. First I would drop the boy's film in at Carl's and wait while he developed it. Then I would visit the Spensers and try to find out more about the mysterious David whose picture had been in their son's pocket.
As I reached the car, I heard the whooping and revving of the gang of bikers speeding up past the station, filling the whole road as they roared by me. At the back of the procession there was a General Motors van with two people in it, a man and a woman. I thought they were visitors or thrill seekers following the bikers for the excitement. Then the driver turned his head my way, and I recognized him as the head of the gang.
I may have been overly cautious, but I've always found it pays to be prepared for trouble, so I went back into the station and told Fred to call the OPP and let them know the bikers were in town. And while I was there I unlocked the station shotgun and propped it under the counter beside her. She laughed, but I told her, "Just don't use it on any little old ladies. In the meantime, it gives you firepower if they decide to hoorah the place."
She slipped into a southern-belle accent. "Whah, Mistah Bennett, Ah'll take good care. Y'hear?"
I rolled my eyes up, and she laughed and punched me in the arm, but not hard. Then I kissed her on the nose and left.
Chapter Six
The bikers had stopped at the government beer and liquor store in town. Murphy's Harbour is small enough that we don't rate separate outlets for each, like you find in the cities, so the gang didn't have to stop twice to fill their van with wine and beer.
They put in three dozen bottles of white wine and a dozen two-fours of Molson Export. It was a heroic amount of booze for fifteen people, but at least they hadn't included any hard liquor. That probably meant they intended to party, maybe doing a little grass along with their wine, but not to
"I ought to. You locked me up in it once." She laughed. "You want me to pay for my keep now?"
"Yes, this drowning is getting complicated. I need somebody to answer the phone while I play cops and bad guys. Can you help me?"
"Sure will. Be there in ten," she said, and added the typical actor's afterthought. "It'll give me a chance to practice my accents."
I hung up, grinning. What Murphy's Harbour would think when the phone was answered by an East Indian, a Mexican, an Irishwoman, or a Cockney, I didn't know. But Fred has a good mind, and she wouldn't play games with the facts.
It took only a few minutes for her to arrive, and I used the time well. I rang the lodge and asked who had been using their johnboat around four o'clock. They told me it was the owner, a guy in his fifties, straight as an arrow, to my knowledge. He had gone to the dump on his own. Right now he was in town at the hardware store, but he would call when he came back.
The other two boats were harder to trace. I called both locks and gave a description of the pair of them to the keepers, asking them to detain any boat of that description and call me, then rang Walter Puckrin at the marina and picked his brains. He knew the sailboat. It belonged to a Toronto schoolteacher and his wife. They stayed at the cottage up above the narrows. They had no phone, and I decided to call on them later. The cruiser might be any of a dozen he could think of or a stranger passing through our stretch of the waterway. He would make a list of the locals and leave it for me.
Then Fred arrived, wearing a peasant blouse and a light skirt that swirled when she walked. She came over and kissed me. I wasn't in a mood for kissing, but she compensated for that and told me gravely I was going to have to work on my pucker. Then she got down to business, and I explained what messages I was expecting and how to reach me on the radio. She did a nice Katharine Hepburn good-bye, and I took Sam out to the car. First I would drop the boy's film in at Carl's and wait while he developed it. Then I would visit the Spensers and try to find out more about the mysterious David whose picture had been in their son's pocket.
As I reached the car, I heard the whooping and revving of the gang of bikers speeding up past the station, filling the whole road as they roared by me. At the back of the procession there was a General Motors van with two people in it, a man and a woman. I thought they were visitors or thrill seekers following the bikers for the excitement. Then the driver turned his head my way, and I recognized him as the head of the gang.
I may have been overly cautious, but I've always found it pays to be prepared for trouble, so I went back into the station and told Fred to call the OPP and let them know the bikers were in town. And while I was there I unlocked the station shotgun and propped it under the counter beside her. She laughed, but I told her, "Just don't use it on any little old ladies. In the meantime, it gives you firepower if they decide to hoorah the place."
She slipped into a southern-belle accent. "Whah, Mistah Bennett, Ah'll take good care. Y'hear?"
I rolled my eyes up, and she laughed and punched me in the arm, but not hard. Then I kissed her on the nose and left.
Chapter Six
The bikers had stopped at the government beer and liquor store in town. Murphy's Harbour is small enough that we don't rate separate outlets for each, like you find in the cities, so the gang didn't have to stop twice to fill their van with wine and beer.
They put in three dozen bottles of white wine and a dozen two-fours of Molson Export. It was a heroic amount of booze for fifteen people, but at least they hadn't included any hard liquor. That probably meant they intended to party, maybe doing a little grass along with their wine, but not to
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