Shipwreck

  MAUREEN JENNINGS

  Shipwreck

  Grass Roots Press

  Copyright © 2010 Maureen Jennings

  First published in 2010 by Grass Roots Press

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  The Good Reads series is funded in part by the Government of Canada’s Office of Literacy and Essential Skills.

  Grass Roots Press also gratefully acknowledges the financial support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Government of Alberta through the Alberta Foundation for the Arts.

  Grass Roots Press would also like to thank ABC Life Literacy Canada for their support. Good Reads® is used under licence from ABC Life Literacy Canada.

  (A Detective Murdoch mystery)

  (Good reads series)

  Print ISBN: 978-1-926583-26-6

  ePub ISBN: 978-1-926583-52-5

  Distributed to libraries and educational and community organizations by

  Grass Roots Press

  www.grassrootsbooks.net

  Distributed to retail outlets by

  HarperCollins Canada Ltd.

  www.harpercollins.ca

  For Iden Ford, as ever, and for Yannick Bisson, who is such a wonderful Murdoch

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Bill Murdoch had retired from the police department almost a year earlier, but he wasn’t enjoying himself. His wife, Julie, had died just before he was to retire, and he was still grieving for her. They had all sorts of plans to travel abroad. He’d even agreed to take a cruise to Alaska. Now, with her gone, he had no desire to go anywhere.

  Julie’s death was so sudden. It had happened one week before Christmas. Like many long-married couples, they had their routines. He would get up at six, shower, and have his coffee and bran cereal. When he heard Julie stir, he always made a fresh pot of tea and put in some bread to toast. That particular morning, he didn’t hear her. She had complained of being out of sorts the night before, and he thought she might be sleeping in.

  He never liked to leave without a kiss, so he went upstairs. When he was partway up, he heard an awful thump. He raced the rest of the way to the bedroom. He found her lying half out of bed, her head touching the floor. He rushed over, but he’d seen death before. He knew that she was already dead. It turned out that a clot of blood had gone to her heart, and it had killed her instantly.

  He had spent the next months in a state of shock. The police chief suggested that he retire, as he was so close to retirement anyway. So he did, but he only found himself walking from room to room in the house, feeling lost and alone. He and Julie had lived there for over thirty years. He’d lost his purpose. His friends did their best, but nothing could replace his wife. He stopped answering the phone and refused all invitations. Bill was the kind of man who didn’t share his feelings easily.

  He and Julie had one daughter, Wendy, who had a child. Amy was six years old, the only grandchild, and she was the apple of Bill’s eye. She was the one person he didn’t cut out of his life after Julie died. He would have liked to have seen more of Wendy, but she was always busy. She was a single mom. She and Keith, her husband, had parted ways about two years before. Wendy was a producer in a film company, and she worked long hours. She had to juggle the duties of her work and the duties of being a mom.

  Chapter Two

  After Julie’s death, Bill’s doctor had talked Bill into joining a grief support group. Nice bunch of people, as it turned out. Ten, all told. Only two of them were widowers, men who had lost their wives. The rest were women, mothers and wives for the most part. The leader of the group was a lively young woman named Karen. She was kind, but she refused to let the group members live within their misery for long.

  “Life is precious,” she said. “We can’t waste it. Those we have loved wouldn’t want us to.”

  Bill challenged her when she said that. “You are too young to understand real loss.”

  “That’s not true,” she said. “When I was twelve years old, my entire family was killed. My mother and father and my two sisters. They were coming to see me perform in a school concert. A drunk driver side-swiped them. All of them were killed instantly.”

  “I’m so sorry, Karen,” said Bill. “Forgive me for my comment. I didn’t know. You seem so cheerful all the time.”

  “Oh, I still cry on a regular basis. But as I said, we owe it to those who loved us to keep living as well as we can.”

  Bill knew she was right about that. Julie’s zest for life had kept him going through many a dark period. She was like one of those trees with deep roots. No matter how hard the wind blew, she just bent and swayed with its force. She didn’t break. That’s why her death was so shocking. He’d never dreamed she would be the one to go first.

  Karen told all the group members to buy notebooks. She asked them to start writing down what they remembered about the person they had lost. It was a healing exercise, she said. Bill had doubts at first, but again, she was right. He found he enjoyed writing. All sorts of memories came back to him about the long life he and Julie had had together. The group members shared their writing every week, and those Friday afternoons were the best he’d had for a long time.

  At the end of the grief support course, Karen took Bill aside. “Don’t stop writing, Bill,” she said. “You should write down all your family memories. They are a wonderful gift to leave to your daughter and grandchild.”

  “I’m not sure how interested my daughter, Wendy, is.”

  “I bet she will be interested once you show your stories to her.”

  “Where would I start?”

  “Go back as far as you like. You told us that all the men in your family have been police officers, right back to your great-grandfather. Why do you think he chose to join the police force?”

  “Good question. The pay was poor and the hours were long. But something made him stick it out, and he became a detective. I have a photograph of him from 1895. He looks like a good person.”

  “Wow,” said Karen. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot you could write about.”

  “Well... I don’t know.... ”

  “Come on, Bill. It would be a good exercise for you.”

  So Bill started to write, and he found that his great-grandfather’s story came quite easily to him. He enjoyed trying to get into the heart and mind of his ancestor.

  He told Wendy what he’d written. She said she wanted to read it, but as yet, she hadn’t found time.

  Chapter Three

  The evening was cold and wet. Sleet was slamming against the windows. Bill felt miserable. Tomorrow would be the first anniversary of Julie’s death, and he dreaded spending Christmas without her. He warmed up a frozen pasta dinner from the supermarket. He thought about writing some more, but he couldn’t settle into it. The hockey game was due to come on in a minute. If the Maple Leafs won, watching the game would be even better for his mood than writing.

  The phone rang. He answered it.

  “Hi, Dad, it’s me.”

  Bill groaned to himself. He loved Wendy, but he knew from experience that when she called on a Saturday evening, she wanted something. He was
right.

  “Dad, I hate to ask you this on such short notice, but my babysitter has let me down. She broke her ankle at the skating rink. She’s in the hospital.”

  “Well, that’s a good excuse,” said Bill. “Let me guess. You want me to babysit?”

  “Oh, Dad, will you? I’d cancel going out, but it’s a special office party, and I really shouldn’t miss it.”

  Normally, Bill was only too happy to be with his granddaughter, but tonight the hockey game was a special one. He didn’t really want to go out in this miserable weather, either.

  “I don’t suppose Keith could do it, for once? He is Amy’s father, after all.”

  There was a little silence on the other end of the line.

  “In fact, it’s Keith’s office party I’m going to,” Wendy said.

  Another silence. “You didn’t tell me you were getting back together.”

  “I’m not really sure we are, that’s why. We’re trying to start all over again. Just go on some dates. That sort of thing. Besides, I didn’t tell you because I know how you feel about him.”

  “Hey, Wendy. It’s your life. I’m not the one he cheated on. I’m not the one who was dumped without notice. That was you, my girl. But maybe you can forgive him for that. And for being an empty-headed, self-centred idiot who’s only interested in getting rich fast. If you can forgive all that, you deserve angel’s wings.”

  “Dad. Please. Keith has changed. He’s been thinking about things. He says he misses Amy and me.”

  “Really? You could have fooled me. I thought he forgot her last birthday.”

  Wendy sighed. “He’s changed, Dad. He really has. And he is the father of your granddaughter. Surely that counts for something?”

  “Amy is the only reason I haven’t slugged the guy.”

  In the background, Bill heard the sound of a doorbell ringing.

  “That’s Keith now,” Wendy said. “Dad, will you do this for me? You know how much Amy loves you.”

  “I was planning to come over tomorrow.”

  “I can’t get anybody else on such short notice,” Wendy said. “You can stay overnight and spend the day with her tomorrow. She’s still not feeling quite herself since she got the chicken pox. She will be thrilled to see you.”

  “I was planning to work on the story I told you about.”

  “Bring it with you. You could read it to her. She’d like that.”

  “It’s not a kid’s story,” Bill said.

  “You can skip over the parts she might not understand.” Wendy sighed. “Please, Dad. I’m really stuck. When Amy falls asleep, you can work here. You can use my computer if you like.”

  “No, I’m still at the pen and ink stage.”

  “Seriously, Dad, I’m really stuck.”

  “Okay, okay. You’ve got to give me a half-hour to get my things together. Maybe Keith could wait in the car.”

  “Dad. For goodness’ sake! I’ll see you in half an hour, then.”

  She hung up with a slam.

  Bill felt bad. He didn’t want her to feel torn between her father and her ex-husband. However, he really couldn’t stand his former son-in-law. He hoped Wendy would see the light soon.

  Chapter Four

  When Bill got to Wendy’s house, she already had her coat on. Keith was nowhere to be seen. Wendy gave her dad a peck on the cheek.

  “Thanks, Dad. Amy is all ready for bed. She’s in her PJs. We won’t be late.”

  “Wendy, I’m sorry for sounding hard-hearted. I just want the best for you.”

  “I know you do, Dad.”

  Wendy smiled. But she seemed sad. Then she picked up her purse and gloves, blew him a kiss, and left.

  Bill went upstairs to Amy’s room. She was in bed, looking at one of her picture books. She looked thinner since having chicken pox. There were still scabs on her face and arms.

  “Granddad! Mommy said you were coming. Oh, goodie!”

  He walked over to the bed and gave her a kiss. She seemed a little hot to him. Her cat, a black and white ball of fluff, glanced at him and meowed. Bill ruffled its hair.

  “Hiya, Boots. Catch any mice today?”

  The cat started to clean its paws and refused to answer.

  “How are you feeling, sweetheart?” Bill asked Amy.

  “I’m still itchy, but Mommy says I can go back to school next week.” She looked up at him. “What do you want to do tonight, Granddad?”

  “What do you want to do, Amy?”

  “Hmm. My eyes are tired, so no TV. I think I’d like a story.”

  “Sure thing. What would you like to hear?”

  “Mommy said you are writing down your memories. I’d like to hear them.”

  “They’re not exactly memories, Amy, just stories I’m writing about the family. I wasn’t even born when my story took place.”

  She looked puzzled. At six years old, Amy was still trying to make sense of life. She found it hard to understand how somebody who was here, now, hadn’t always been alive.

  “What’s the story called?”

  “Shipwreck.”

  “And what’s it about?”

  “It’s about the early life of my great-grandfather, William Murdoch.”

  “That’s the same name as you, except you’re called Bill instead of William.”

  “That’s right. The name William is passed down through the family.”

  “Why wasn’t I named William?”

  “It’s a boy’s name.”

  “No, it’s not. There’s a girl in my class named Billie.”

  “You’re named after the first William’s wife. Her name was Amy.”

  His granddaughter wrinkled up her forehead. “We’re learning this sort of thing in class. Making a family tree. You are my grandfather.” She started to count on her fingers. “That means your great-grandfather would be my great-great-great-grandfather. And his wife, Amy, would be my great-great-great-grandmother. Three greats.” She beamed.

  “Well done, Amy, well done. You’re right. The first William Murdoch was born in 1861. About 150 years ago.”

  “He must have been very old when he died.”

  Bill decided to let that pass. He could understand her point of view.

  She thought for a moment. “Was he a policeman?”

  “Yes, he was. He was a detective.”

  “Like you were?” Amy asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Cool. None of the other kids at school have grandfathers who were detectives. Did you catch bad men who killed people?”

  “Yes, I did,” replied Bill.

  “Lots?”

  “Should have been more, but yes, I caught lots.”

  “Did you see dead people, with their blood and guts hanging out?” Amy asked.

  Bill made a mental note to talk to Wendy about the kind of television programs Amy was watching.

  “No, no guts.”

  She looked disappointed. “Any dead people?”

  “Yes, some.”

  She scratched at a chicken pox scab. “Did you have chicken pox when you were a kid, Granddad?”

  “I sure did.”

  “Did I get it from you, then?”

  “No, of course not. You don’t catch chicken pox from somebody who used to have it. You catch it from somebody who has it now.”

  “Like Sammy Dutton, in my class. He came to school with spots all over him. They were even in his hair. Miss Dillon had a fit and sent him right home. She asked him why he’d come to school when he was so sick. You know what he said, Granddad?”

  “What?”

  “He said his mom hadn’t noticed his spots, and it was much nicer to be at school. Do you call them pox?”

  “Yes, you can do that. Or spots. Sorry about Sammy.”

  “He smells bad sometimes. Sophie sits behind him. She told the teacher. Miss Dillon said that was because he didn’t have a mommy or daddy who could take care of him the way our mommies and daddies do.” Amy looked into her grandfather’s eye
s. “Why can’t she, Granddad? Why can’t Sammy’s mommy look after him?”

  Bill stroked her hair. “I don’t know the answer to that, sweetheart. Sometimes life wears people down.”

  She wriggled away from him. “Sophie says that Sammy’s mommy doesn’t have a husband. Not even one who lives somewhere else, like my daddy. She says Sammy’s mommy is very young.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Okay, little monkey. It’s getting late. Are you sure you want to hear a story now?”

  Amy, who had been leaning against her grandfather’s arm, sat up straight.

  “I’m very sure. Why did the first William Murdoch become a detective?”

  “That is what I’m going to tell you, if I ever get a chance. I think you could say that he became a detective because of a shipwreck.”

  A sudden gust of wind threw pellets of snow against the window. Outside, the wind shook the trees. The branches scratched at the glass, as if they wanted to come in.

  Amy snuggled further down under her covers.

  “Daddy stayed over last night. It was too cold for him to go to his own house.”

  Bill raised his eyebrows. “I see.”

  “It’s nice when Daddy stays over,” said Amy. “Mommy smiles more. She says he is coming back to live here.”

  “Oh, is he?” So much for Wendy and Keith going out on test dates. She hadn’t mentioned this earlier.

  “That means I won’t have to sleep at his house anymore,” continued Amy. “I don’t like that because I have to leave Boots here. Daddy sneezes when Boots is around. He said that’s why he had to go and live in his own house.” Amy frowned. “Is that true, Granddad? I hope he won’t make Boots live somewhere else.”

  Bill scratched the cat’s head. “Let’s not worry about that now. Are you ready for the story?”