LITMIR.BIZ

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mother insisted there wasn’t a woman on this earth who was good enough for me, who could replace her ...”

      Dani fiddled with her pinecone. “Mr. King, you promised to tell us about the murder, and now it’s real important ’cause we think another murder might have already happened. Yesterday Gertrude Owens, an Ottawa city councillor, died, and she was going to vote against selling Windsor Park in Ottawa.”

      King’s eyes lit up. “Ah, strange, especially that we should be talking here at the very place where the first murder was committed.” He poked a pile of leaves with his walking stick. “Two deaths, seemingly unrelated, except that both victims had the deciding vote concerning the sale of land to developers. To some these two deaths might seem coincidental, but we in the spirit world know that such apparent coincidences often mask a design or purpose far from coincidental.”

      “Both of the murdered people had deciding votes on the sale of land?” Dani cried.

      “Yes, indeed,” King said, a little annoyed at the interruption. “The man murdered at Kingsmere that I spoke of earlier was a fellow named Guy Williams, who was on the National Capital Commission’s board of directors. He intended to vote against selling a large parcel of land adjacent to Kingsmere and just outside Gatineau Park.”

      “More townhouses!” Caitlin yelped.

      King scowled, then let a slight smile curl his lips. “Indubitably. No foul play has been suspected in either death. But, mark my words, both were murdered by the same despicable hand — a hand that offered a cup of tea last Friday evening to Mr. Williams, the better to enjoy the wondrous late-night air of this estate. Each victim, I am certain, was killed by a slow-acting poison concealed in an offered refreshment. To the unwary, a heart attack would seem to be the culprit.”

      “But who was the killer?” Dani asked, her eyes wide.

      King sighed. “Alas, I never got a good look at the villain.” Caitlin frowned. “But how did you know who the murdered man was?”

      “I recognized his face in the newspaper the next day when it was reported that Mr. Guy Williams died of an apparent heart attack while driving his automobile late Friday night.”

      The girls looked across the water, half expecting to glimpse an unsettling image or two, then glanced away, afraid to see or hear anything more. A sudden wind carried a swirl of blood-coloured leaves from the spot of the murder up and away across Kingsmere Lake.

      King broke the long silence as the girls shivered. “This view of my beloved lake, like those who accepted death disguised in a drink, has been poisoned forever.”

       6

       The Three Musketeers

      “Poisoned?” Dani repeated for the zillionth time.

      King, Dani, and Caitlin were back in the tearoom, where the girls were enjoying another helping of pumpkin pie.

      “Mr. King,” Dani said, “this stuff’s real interesting. I mean sad and kind of interesting. And I guess you know we like mysteries, but Councillor Owens is already dead, the vote for the sale of Windsor Park has already happened, and now you tell us a guy named Williams is dead, too, and that some land next to Kingsmere’s about to be gobbled up by townhouses. What the heck can we do about all of that?”

      “We are only twelve, you know,” Caitlin added.

      King nodded sagely. “What to do, yes. What can anyone do? No one to ask advice from, confide in all these years ...”

      “It’s okay,” Caitlin said soothingly. “We can listen and you can confide in us.”

      “We do have some detective experience, Mr. King,” Dani assured him. “And with your help, who knows, maybe we can be like the three musketeers and solve these murders.”

      King wiped his moist eyes and cleared his throat. “Yes, that’s right, the three of us ... musketeers. Oh, girls, you have no idea how much that thought warms my cold heart.”

      “Did you say musketeers or mouseketeers?” Caitlin asked.

      Dani rolled her eyes. “Musketeers are from the old days, like when Mr. King was young.”

      “Yes, well, indeed when I was young, I was best friends and shared living quarters with Bert Harper and Henry Burbidge, and together we fashioned ourselves as three musketeers, though not quite the original authentic version of that great French novelist Alexandre Dumas. But, oh, my, we were inseparable and it was a wonderful time. In fact, it was with Bert that I first discovered Kingsmere so long ago. Bert and I were young, full of ambition, and we saw ourselves as men of destiny but, alas, it didn’t last. I looked up to Bert, yes, even envied his confidence, his decisiveness. He seemed indestructible, and so it was an utter shock when we learned he had drowned.”

      “Drowned?” the girls echoed.

      “Yes,” King said quietly. “He drowned in the Ottawa River in 1901 selflessly trying to save Bessie Blair who had fallen through thin ice during a skating party. She was the daughter of the minister of railways and canals.”

      “That’s terrible!” Caitlin said through a well-chewed braid.

      King furiously rubbed his hands together as if he intended to start a fire in his palms. “Yes, my best true friend, my hero, acted without a thought for his own safety and tried to save Bessie’s life but, sadly, they both perished.” King looked across the room as if he could see all the way to the Ottawa River, then mumbled, “‘If I lose myself, I save myself.’”

      “Huh?” both girls said. “I’m quoting from the inscription on dear Bert’s statue near Parliament Hill, attesting to his gallant courage in the face of adversity. His will to act was a quality that unfortunately I always lacked.”

      “What do you mean, Mr. King?” Dani asked.

      “I dithered and delayed and as such managed to become Canada’s longest-serving prime minister. I couldn’t lose myself and therefore didn’t save myself.”

      “Until now,” Dani said decisively.

      “Pardon me?” King asked, confused and blinking.

      Caitlin spat out her braid and said with excitement, “Yeah, Mr. King, ’cause now you have us and together we’re three musketeers. Isn’t that right, Dani?”

      “Absolutely.” Dani turned and nodded at her friend. “Together, somehow, we can all act.”

      “The three musketeers,” Mr. King muttered. Then he straightened himself, rising to his full height, which wasn’t much. “My dear friends, would you do me the honour of calling me Rex?”

      “Hey, Rex, just like a dog,” Caitlin burbled with excitement, then looked embarrassed.

      “I should be so honoured to be compared to the noble dog, but I got the nickname in university,” King said, chuckling. “You see, rex is Latin for king.”

      “It still sounds like a dog’s name to me,” Caitlin said. “What do you think, Pat?” She bent down to pet King’s phantom pooch.

      As she stroked the air, a voice suddenly said, “Hey, Caitlin, what are you doing?”

      Both girls jumped.

      “I was practising petting Nicki,” Caitlin said hurriedly to John, Dani’s dad, who had appeared in the tearoom seemingly out of nowhere.

      “‘Cause he likes to be petted in a certain way,” Dani added unconvincingly.

      “Huh?” John said with true confusion. “You could pet Nicki with a ten-foot pole and he wouldn’t know the difference between that and a trained dog massage therapist.”

      “Huh?” Dani and Caitlin said with even truer confusion.

      “Doesn’t matter,” John said. “But what does matter is that I’ve found the old O’Neill Farm,

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