sudden chill went up my spine. “Did you see who it was?”
He shook his head sadly.
“Too bad. I guess he was after that money you found.”
“Yeah, the money . . . I found it hidden in the outhouse. It was inside the hole, on a small shelf Papa must’ve built years ago. Funny I never noticed it before. Maybe this was where Papa hid his hooch from Mooti.” Tommy chuckled quietly. “It was a lot too, at least twenty bundles of new twenties. Wonder where Papa got money like that?”
“I think the money was payment from CanacGold for the gold discovery on Whispers Island.”
“No shit. After all the years he’d tried prospecting, he actually found something.”
Yeah, rather convenient, I thought to myself. I wondered what prompted him to prospect on Whispers Island after so many years of living almost next to it.
Wincing, Tommy reached for his glass of water with the straw which I held to his lips. When he’d finished, he said, “Police haven’t told me whether the money’s still where I dropped it.”
“Sorry, most of it’s gone, but hopefully when the police catch your gunman, they’ll find the rest of it. Gareth said Louis had a partner. Any idea who that could be?”
“Papa, a partner, as in business partner? You’ve got to be kidding. He didn’t trust anybody, not even his own kin.”
In case Gareth was lying, I decided to ask. “Could it have been Charlie Cardinal?”
“No way. Charlie wouldn’t give Papa the time of day. Too caught up in his noble Algonquin heritage. Thought non-status half-breeds like Papa were dirt.”
Tommy closed his eyes and lay quiet. Realizing I’d stayed far too long, I hastily wished him well and left. Outside, the rain had fortunately diminished to a Scotch mist, which would make the long drive home a lot easier.
As I drove away from the hospital, I started worrying over the implications of Tommy’s evidence. It seemed unlikely that there was more than one attacker wearing yellow. So the man who’d shot Tommy and probably killed his parents and the man who’d tried to kill me on Whispers Island and vandalized my home were no doubt one and the same.
But his motive for going after both of us eluded me. There was no common thread other than it probably had something to do with the gold. Moreover, while I was sure Charlie, under direction from Gareth, had broken into my home and was a good candidate for tree pusher, I found it difficult to believe that he would kill Marie, a person he’d cared for like a sister.
FORTY
When I arrived home, I found a Priority Post envelope sandwiched between the screen door and the front door. Mother had actually come through. She’d even had the smarts to courier the information. If her message about finding William Watson was accurate, this should finally lead me to the real owner of Whispers Island.
I immediately opened the package and extracted a small envelope, only to discover Mother had securely enclosed it with layers of scotch tape. I hastened to the kitchen for a knife, slid it through the thick tape, opened the envelope and pulled out two pieces of folded paper. They appeared to be letters written on tissue-thin paper.
I was in the process of unfolding one of them when the doorbell rang. With the letters firmly clenched in my hand, I opened the front door. My heart stopped when I saw Gareth encased in dripping yellow.
“What are you doing here?” I gasped, shoving the letters deep into my jeans’ pocket. I narrowed the opening of the door. “You’re supposed to be with the police.”
“Police?”
“Yeah, didn’t they find you at the hospital?”
“I didn’t go. Got tied up. Besides, why would they want me?”
Annoyed by his continuing pretense of innocence, I just glared back at him.
“Christ, you told them about the bracelet. I told you I had nothing to do with the shooting.”
“Why did you run away then?” I locked the screen door in his face.
“Let me in, Megs,” Gareth said through the screen. “I came to warn you that you might be in some kind of danger.”
“My only danger is from you,” I replied.
“I’m serious. I did some sniffing around after our little fracas this morning and discovered a few things I don’t like. I think you should get away from here until things settle down.”
“You must think I’m really stupid to believe anything you say.”
“I’m telling the truth. Things have gone further than I wanted them to.”
“Yeah, like me refusing to do your bidding.”
His face reddened with anger. “Forget it,” he said. “Just don’t blame me when you get hurt.” He turned on his heels and left.
I watched him get into his car. He’d lied to me one too many times. No way it could be a real threat. He didn’t care what happened to me. He only cared about protecting his own hide. Besides, why would this mysterious partner—if that’s who it was—be after me? No, in all probability, it was a ploy to get me away from my property, so the bastard could resume the search for whatever it was he’d sent Charlie after in the first place.
Then I saw Gareth’s last glance as he drove away and almost changed my mind. For an eye-blink, a sincere concern looked back at me from the man I had once loved, then it vanished into the careless indifference that had become Gareth. I stood for a while longer, wondering what to do, leave or stay, but remained undecided. At least, I could keep him occupied with LaFramboise. I placed a call to the SQ to let them know that Gareth was still in the area.
Afterwards, I returned to the two letters in my pocket. Both were written over eighty years ago, and both were addressed to Grandpa Harris.
The first was from Aunt Aggie; a long letter written in the thin, spidery handwriting I’d come to know well. Dated June 4, 1915, it confirmed what I’d already learned from her diary, her marriage to Baron Johann von Wichtenstein. And like her diary, she was bubbling over with happiness and looking forward to her new life with the man of her dreams.
As I reached the end of the long letter, I wondered why Mother had found it important, for it provided no additional information beyond what I already knew. Discouraged, I was about to set it aside when I realized that more writing covered the back of the last page.
P.S. John, I almost forgot to tell you what my new name will be. As much as you teased me about joining the high and mighty, you won’t be able to call me the Baroness von Wichtenstein. Rather you will just have to settle for plain old boring Mrs. William Watson.
Father advises, and Johann agrees, that until the war is over, he should not use his very German name. So he has settled on Watson. Heaven knows how he came up with that. He says it was the name of a character in some English novel his nanny read to him as a boy. And William is the English version of one of his names.
It seemed
