“Thrilling,” I said. “How did he do it?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but I believe he slowly rotated the stage, including the pillars and the curtains.”

  “Clever.”

  “It’s mainly a distraction, which is the essence of most magic tricks. Look here at this big bright ball of whatever I’m using to distract you so that you can’t see my other hand manipulating your world over here in the corner.”

  “But you still haven’t told me Jason’s secret.”

  He hesitated. “Do you really think that they’ve arrested the wrong person?”

  My mind returned to the previous day when I had dashed to Vancouver to interview Frederic Stern. I had been so sure it was him, but then…I didn’t know what to believe anymore.

  “What’s the secret, Scott?”

  “Jason has a daughter. She lives with her mother in Vegas. He didn’t want to scare Rosalie off, so he didn’t say anything about the girl when they first met. And then, before he knew it, it was too late to say anything without looking like a lying bastard. He would lose Rosalie and—”

  “The nice house in the Hollywood Hills with the plunge pool and the sports car.”

  Scott nodded. “The gossip was that he bought the mother off. He pays handsomely for her and the girl’s upkeep, and she keeps her mouth shut.”

  “Until Rosalie decided to quit acting and retire to Wynter Island. Which meant his cash cow would no longer be producing any milk.”

  “Yes, and what about those monthly payments? If he couldn’t pay her anymore, would the mother talk?”

  “And if she talked,” I continued, “Rosalie would drop him faster than a hot potato. So he had to find a way to either keep the mother quiet or— "

  “Get Rosalie out of the picture.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  For the rest of the day, I mulled over what Scott had said. It was still rumbling around in the back of my mind when I returned to the station the following morning. I turned on the space heater to warm up the office and sat in one of the comfy armchairs. Jupiter settled on another, the padded arm height perfect for resting his chin on.

  So, my hunt for Rosalie’s killer had brought me a complete 360-degree back to Jason again. Money. It was always about the money. Or power. Some combination of the two. What was it Vera had said weeks ago? That the theatricality of the murder meant there must be great passion involved? She was wrong. No passion here. Just a desperate need for money so that he could keep his boat of lies afloat.

  “So now, what do I do, Jupe?” I murmured.

  Jupiter’s head lifted from the armrest, tilting sharply to one side to see if my words included those oh-so-important phrases, walk or treat. As they did not, he lowered his head and closed his eyes again.

  I couldn’t go and speak to Ian. He would still be in Vancouver for several more days, meeting with Frederic Stern’s lawyer and then visiting his family. I could go to the RCMP detachment and speak to whoever was on duty. Either Lesley or Stewart. And tell them what? That a bit of showbiz gossip that neither Scott nor I could prove meant Jason was the killer? No, that didn’t make much sense.

  Perhaps there was someone else I should talk to.

  I grabbed my bag and a coat, Jupiter leaping hopefully off the chair. “C’mon, Jupe. We need to go talk to Shea. If there’s a chance this might prove Selesia’s innocence, she needs to hear it.”

  I jumped in the station truck and headed out of the parking lot, pointing south towards the Wynter Island Public Library. As I pulled to a stop at Rte.97, I heard the discordant wa-wa of an ambulance siren. But not just one. There were several, and they sounded like they were coming from different parts of the island.

  “I wonder if there’s been an accident, Jupiter?”

  A flash of red and white light zipped past me as an ambulance sped north on Rte. 97.

  “Yikes. That’s the Harrow Village ambulance. Something bad must have happened.”

  I pulled out onto the road, turning left toward the village. The sound of ambulance sirens screeched into silence. That meant the distance from where the ambulance had passed me to the accident site wasn’t that great. Perhaps somewhere in Lettuceville?

  We were almost at the library when I saw Shea’s familiar Blue Highlander pull out of the gravel parking lot. Her tires skidded on the small stones as she put her foot down on the accelerator, kicking up a cloud of gravel and dust behind her. She passed me, her face pale with shock, her eyes not even registering my presence. I pulled to the side of the road, watching in my rearview mirror as she disappeared down Rte. 97.

  Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

  I did a quick U-turn in the direction Shea had gone. It didn’t take long to find where she had been headed.

  The Legion sits at the end of Harrow Town, off Rte. 97, just as you head into the agricultural area of the island called Lettuceville. Its squat white building was usually quiet during the day. But not today. Both RCMP cruisers were in the lot, along with a gaggle of ambulances. Shea’s Highlander and Dougie’s tree service truck were also in the parking lot.

  Cars had pulled off to the side of Rte. 97, locals getting out to find out what was going on. Dougie stood at the entrance to the lot, blocking everyone from entering.

  I pulled in behind one of the cars and jumped out onto the tarmac.

  “You stay here, Jupe,” I said before running up to the crowd gathering around Dougie.

  “What the hell, Dougie? My God. I never thought I’d hear of something like that happening here on Wynter,” an older man in a thick flannel shirt and work pants said as I pushed toward the front. “It’s a sad day, that’s for sure.”

  “Dougie!” I shouted, drawing everyone’s attention to me. “What’s going on?”

  His pale face, so white that the thin framework of green-blue veins across his forehead was visible, turned anguished eyes to me.

  “Kate.” He stopped, and for a moment, I thought he might start to cry. “There’s been a shooting at the Legion.”

  “A what?”

  I couldn’t believe it. A shooting here on Wynter Island? Shootings happened in big cities, not tiny pieces of rock floating in the Pacific!

  “Yes,” he nodded. “I was here doing some tree trimming for Harald and Kurt. I didn’t even see the kid arrive. He must have come on foot.”

  “What kid?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t recognize him. He’s a teenager, not a local.”

  “I bet he’s with that American sailboat,” a middle-aged woman said. “Peter at the marina was telling me about them.”

  “Who are they?” the man in the flannel shirt asked.

  “I’m not sure. They’re from the States. Seattle or something.”

  “Not great weather for a sailing holiday,” a voice added from the back of the crowd.

  “No. The father told Peter he would be the only one leaving the boat. Peter said he saw a woman and a young man, but neither came ashore. Looked a little fishy to him.”

  “What happened, Dougie?” I asked.

  “I had just gotten the loppers out of the truck when I heard a gunshot from inside the Legion. I ran over and looked in the front window. I saw,” Dougie’s hand vibrated as he raised it in the air, one finger extended beside his skull, “a kid holding a gun to Kurt’s head. Harald was trying to talk to him.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I called 911. They put me right through to Lesley. She said that I wasn’t to do anything. Just stay put where I was.” He paused, his eyes looking sightlessly past me. “She was here within minutes and tried to sneak inside. The kid must have seen her coming because he shot just as she entered the door. He turned the gun back to Kurt’s head and—”

  “And what?” I whispered, afraid to say the words aloud.

  “Harald threw himself toward the kid. He shot Harald and then raced out the back door.”

  The deep-throated whoosh-whoosh of a helicopter blade cutting through the air silenced all of us. The white med-flight helicopter with red and blue accents appeared over the trees, hovering above us like an omen of bad things to come. They didn’t call in the med-flight unless someone was critical. We watched in silence as they lowered down into the parking lot. As soon as the propeller blades had slowed, two paramedics jumped out; one racing inside the building, while the second brought supplies from the back.

  I could see movement inside the Legion, but we were too far away to see anything clearly. We waited, afraid to say anything and break the fragile silence that had settled over us.

  Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.

  I repeated The Lord’s Prayer in my head. I’m not religious, but I found comfort in saying those long-ago memorized words.

  Stewart appeared at the front door, holding it open with one hand as a red blanketed basket-style stretcher was carried through. I couldn’t tell who it was. Shea stood there, gripping the patient’s hand. It must be Lesley. It was impossible to tell what her condition was. The paramedics loaded the stretcher into the helicopter, leaving Shea waiting outside.

  Shea! Look at me! Look at me! I silently shouted, willing her to turn her head in my direction. Please, please, look over here!

  I pushed past Dougie so she could see me better, the sudden movement catching her attention. I raised my hands over my head and framed my fingers into a heart. I wasn’t sure if she understood what I was trying to say. A paramedic took her left hand to help her step into the helicopter. She paused and looked directly at me, her right hand resting over her own heart before she disappeared inside.

  She saw me. She knows. No matter what happens, she knows I’m here.

  The pilot slammed the doors closed and returned to the cockpit as a tear trickled down my cheek.

  “But what about Harald?” Someone asked.

  As the copter rose vertically and swept off to the west, I realized the obvious: the med flight could take only one patient.

  That meant that either Harald was less critical than Shea, or he was.…

  But there was sudden movement as Stewart came outside to hold the door open again. This time the patient was on a hospital-style gurney. Kurt stood beside the stretcher.

  It must be Harald! He survived! Thank God!

  Not only had he survived, but his condition must be stable enough for a boat transport to the local Saanich hospital.

  Our motley group waited as they loaded him into the ambulance along with Kurt. The ambulance pulled out of the parking lot, pausing beside us before turning right onto Rte. 97. I found myself next to the glass windows at the back door. I pressed my hand against one and saw a hand hover over mine from inside. It was Kurt.

  The ambulance turned onto Rte. 97, leaving us behind as it disappeared toward Harrow Village.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Rather than return to the station, I pointed the truck north toward the Reserve.

  “Jupiter, I need to tell Sam what’s happened,” I said.

  Jupiter gave me the stink-eye.

  “Yes, I know. Jo-jo will be there. You will survive.” I came to a stop at the crossroad just past Lettuceville. “I also need to talk to Sam about … well, everything.”

  A shooting on Wynter Island. It was so ridiculous I had to keep repeating it to myself to make it real. And Lesley. Getting the med-flight meant she was in bad shape, but how bad? Survivable bad or…

  I couldn’t go there. Shea would not be able to recover from something like that. First Selesia and then Lesley…

  “I’ve got to go and talk to Sam about Selesia, Jupe. Selesia and everything else that has happened during this shit storm of a summer.”

  I turned into the Reserve, noticing a new truck parked in Selesia’s driveway. It must be Rick’s. He was staying there with the boys while Selesia was in custody.

  As it had started raining by the time I reached Sam’s bungalow, Jupiter and I dashed to the front door. I knocked twice and waited. There was no sound besides the excited dance of Jo-jo’s nails on the linoleum floor of the front hall. I knocked louder. Jo-jo began to whine softly on the other side of the door.

  I glanced behind me. Sam’s black Honda was sitting in the driveway. He must be there.

  I knocked once again as Jo-jo snuffled along the base of the door. No Sam.

  Where is he? His car’s here, Jo-jo is here. Even if he’s having a nap, he would have heard me banging on the door. Could there be something wrong?

  I reached forward and twisted the door knob. It swiveled smoothly in my palm. I pushed it open.

  “Jo-jo, stay put.” I blocked her with my leg from rushing out the door as I stepped in with Jupiter and snicked the door shut behind me.

  She spun around in paroxysms of happiness at our arrival.

  “Yes, Jo-jo. Hello.” I bent down to quickly ruffle her fur before standing back up. “Where’s your master, hmm? Has something happened, Jo-jo? Is there something wrong?”

  If there was, you couldn’t tell from Jo-jo’s joy toward her old BFF, Jupiter. She swarmed over him, smelling and licking with lusty abandon. Jupiter shot me a look that said many unspeakable things in dog-speak.

  “You’re fine, Jupe. I’ve got bigger problems to deal with.”

  “Sam? Are you here?” I called out. “It’s Kate.”

  A loud thump came from the area that I assumed was his bedroom. “Sam? Is that you? Is everything okay?”

  I headed down the hall towards the closed door. Why wasn’t he answering me? Had he had a stroke or something? Or was it possible that someone else was in there? Had the shooter taken Sam hostage?

  I was almost at the door when it suddenly opened. Just visible through the overcast morning light streaming through the bedroom window, Sam and Gwen stood, their naked bodies hastily covered with a couple of rumpled bed sheets.

  Oh my God.

  “Kate,” Sam said rather breathlessly and then stopped, unable to say anything further.

  I couldn’t blame him. After all, what could you say in a situation like this?

  “I’m so sorry,” I stuttered, hurriedly backing up. My foot connected with Jupiter behind me, and I stumbled, half falling to the ground.

  Sam instinctively leaned forward to help me, allowing his bedsheet to gape open in a dangerous manner.

  “Sam,” Gwen muttered, pulling him back to her with the edge of the sheet. “Be careful.”

  I stood back up, leaning my burning face against the wall. “I saw that the car and Jo-jo were here,” I said to the wall, “and when you didn’t come to the door, I thought you might have had a stroke or something,” I rambled on in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “It’s alright, Kate,” Sam said.

  “Yes, Kate,” Gwen continued. “I hate to break it to you, but senior citizens have a sex life, too.”

  Sam’s shoulders began to shake, and a deep chuckle burst from his mouth. Gwen began to laugh, too, her mouth splitting open as the laughter built until she was struggling to stay upright. I joined in until the three of us were almost hysterical with laughter.

  “Gwen, watch your sheet,” I managed to get out as our laughter subsided.

  She pulled it closer to her chin.

  Sam smiled. “Take the dogs into the kitchen, Kate, and put the kettle on. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  When they entered the kitchen, I poured the freshly boiled water into an old teapot.

  “That was quite the wake-up call,” Sam said as he grabbed the milk from the fridge and placed it with three mugs on the table.

  I placed the teapot down on the table and sat down. “For both of us, Sam,” I replied, pouring the steaming amber liquid into everyone’s mugs.

  “Hopefully, you’re not too shocked, Kate,” Gwen murmured and took a tentative sip from her mug.

  “After what Sam said in this kitchen before they hauled him off to jail, not really.” I stirred some milk and sugar into my tea. “Now that I’ve had some time to think about it, it’s quite sweet.”

  “Sweet?” Sam grimaced, “I never thought my sex life would ever be considered ‘sweet.’”

  “She’s not trying to dent your manhood, Sam. She meant romantic.”

  “Yes, you’re right, Gwen. It’s romantic.”

  Sam shrugged. “Romantic I can live with.”

  “How long has this,” I pointed to the two of them, “been going on?”

  Sam glanced toward Gwen with such adoration in his eyes that I felt my heart squeeze painfully with the sheer beauty of it. “All our lives, wouldn’t you say, Gwennie?”

  “Gwennie? Did you say, Gwennie?” I repeated.

  “Yes, that’s what I used to call her when we were young,” Sam retorted.

  “Should I start calling you Gwennie now?” I asked jokingly.

  Gwen’s expression gave me an immediate answer to that. “No, I don’t think so. I’m not even sure how I feel about Sam using it. It’s been such a long time since anyone called me Gwennie. But yes, on some level, Sam and I have been together our whole lives.” She reached across to grip his hand on the table. “But what brought you over here, Kate? It’s pretty early for a social call, isn’t it?”

  “Oh my God! How could I have forgotten? There’s been a shooting at the Legion.”

  Sam’s mug clattered back onto the tabletop. “What? I thought I heard sirens. A shooting! Is everyone okay?”

  “No, both Lesley and Harald were shot.”

  “Oh my God, no,” Gwen whispered. “Shea? Does she know?”

  I nodded. “Yes, she went on the med-flight helicopter with Lesley to Victoria. Harald is stable enough to be transported via the ambulance zodiac.”

  “What on earth happened?” Gwen asked.

  “We’re not sure. It looks like some teenager tried to rob the Legion. Not a local, maybe someone off a sailboat. He shot Lesley as she tried to sneak in, and then, " I hesitated, “he looked like he was going to shoot Kurt in the head.”