Meg Harris Mysteries 7-Book Bundle. R.J. Harlick

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Meg Harris Mysteries 7-Book Bundle - R.J. Harlick A Meg Harris Mystery

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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.

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