LITMIR.BIZ

      I had lied to Jenny. I wasn’t late for work. My father didn’t expect me at the carpentry shop this morning. I had stayed away with his permission.

      “I can manage without you tomorrow,” he had told me the previous night, “though it will be difficult. You’ve become a fine craftsman, and many of my customers now ask for you when they need a carpentry job done. But on the anniversary of your friend’s death you should spend time mourning him. Go to the graveyard and honour his memory.”

      It was hard to believe a year had passed since Dr. John Wilkinson had died. I had always called him “J.B.,” not “doctor” or “Mr. Wilkinson,” and for a short time I had been his apprentice. And, like Bridget, I had also been his friend.

      I missed him greatly, so much so that at times I thought I heard his voice, or saw him going by on the street or leaning out the window of the stagecoach. Once I ran after a man, shouting, “J.B., it is you!” The stranger turned, puzzled. I muttered some excuse, my face red with embarrassment, my eyes prickling with unshed tears.

      His grave was marked only by a simple wooden cross. Less than an hour earlier I had knelt beside it, shivering in the bitter cold. “I miss you, my friend,” I said. “I miss you, J.B.”

      I had planned on going to the Wake Up Jake restaurant to have something to eat before heading to work, but now I wasn’t hungry. Perhaps Pa would close the shop for a while and come eat with me later when my appetite returned. Of course, Pa didn’t like eating in restaurants. He said it was foolish to spend good money on food that could be brought from home for much less cost. So maybe I would eat alone. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t hungry.

      My father glanced up when I came into the carpentry shop, but he didn’t say anything. I began to explain about the murder, but he already knew.

      “I heard,” he said. “But you have work to do. We’ll talk later.” Our carpentry shop was only a short distance from Ah Mow’s restaurant, and gossip travelled quickly through Barkerville’s streets.

      I added wood to the stove and placed a pot of glue on top of it. A rocking chair, a fine piece from England, lay dismantled on my work bench. The dry air of Cariboo country had shrunk the glue holding the chair together, turning it into a dry powder that no longer kept the rocker intact. I had promised the chair’s owner that it would be as good as new by tomorrow, and now would have to work quickly to keep my promise.

      It was nearly lunchtime when a knock on the door startled us both. Pa called, “Come in.”

      Chief Constable Lindsay blew into the shop. “It’s bitter for so early in November,” he said, wrestling to close the door against a gust of icy wind. “The winter may be a long and harsh one.”

      My mother maintained that all winters in Barkerville were long and harsh. Many miners and storekeepers left the Cariboo for the milder climate of the coastal areas, but my family stayed winter after winter, struggling to keep the path to the outhouse cleared of snow, waking several times during the night to stoke the wood stove, braving the ice-covered road on every journey to town.

      Most of the time I liked being in Barkerville through the winter. Even though many of the stores were closed and shuttered tightly, the homes and businesses that remained open were always decorated for the Christmas season. In December lamps glowed softly against evergreens wreathed around windows, and lace tablecloths and silver candlesticks graced tables. If the weather wasn’t too bitter, the Cariboo Glee Club would go carolling. There would be sleigh rides, with warm drinks, good food, and dancing afterward. Since so few people stayed in town, those that remained grew closer in friendship. There were many dinner parties, dances, and literary evenings to while away the long, dark winter nights.

      Like us, the chief constable spent the winter in the gold fields, for crime is no respecter of seasons.

      “What’s happened?” I asked. “Has Mr. Tremblay been arrested?”

      “Unfortunately I did have to arrest him, Ted, though it doesn’t seem right. He’s an upstanding member of our community, and it’s a shame that he’ll be locked away. However, we’ll do our best to keep him comfortable. I had a new mattress brought to the jail, and my wife, a fine cook as you may know, will prepare his meals herself.”

      “But if he killed Ah Mow–”

      “If—and that remains to be seen—he did, it’s obvious it was self-defence, Ted. You know how those Celestials like to fight, though it’s usually among themselves.”

      I frowned. “There was no weapon near Ah Mow’s body, no knife or gun lying beside him. I don’t believe he attacked Mr. Tremblay. How could it be self-defence?”

      “The jury will decide that, Ted. Don’t worry your young head with those details. Perhaps we’ll learn more at the inquest.”

      “The inquest? What’s that?”

      “The coroner—Dr. Bell—has examined the body, and now he’ll tell a jury how Ah Mow died. Those who witnessed the murder, if anyone did, will say what they saw. The jury will decide if the death was accidental or not.”

      “I see.”

      “If the coroner’s jury finds that Ah Mow met his death at the hands of a person or persons unknown, then we must have a trial and Mr. Tremblay will be subjected to further indignities.”

      “But if he killed Ah Mow—”

      “It’s early days to be deciding that, Ted. First the inquest. Come along.”

      “Me?”

      “Of course you. That’s why I’m here. I came to ask your father if we could borrow you. Your testimony may be needed. You were there only moments after Ah Mow died.”

      “I was,” I said, remembering fresh blood steaming in the cold. Suddenly I felt hot, and I moved toward the door, opening it and standing in the rush of fresh air that swept into the room.

      “What are you thinking of, Ted?” The chief constable moved closer to the stove. “Shut that door, please. I’ve only recently escaped from the bitter cold and must soon return to it. Just as I’m beginning to thaw my frozen fingers, you fling the door wide and invite winter back in. What’s the matter with you?”

      Slowly I closed the door, then turned to face him. “I saw nothing that many others didn’t also see. There’s no need for me to go to the inquest, is there?”

      The chief constable laughed. “Many of the Chinese say they saw everything. But to get any sense out of those heathens—well, it will be as much as we can do to get a straight story.

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