Murder on the Thirteenth Read Free Page B

all clear. Let’s go home.”

Chapter Three
    A lthough the war was far from over, there was a hint of optimism in the air. The Russians were demanding the surrender of the encircled 6th German Army at Stalingrad; Rommel’s forces were retreating into Libya; RAF Bomber command had carried out devastating raids on German-held cities and, in the Pacific, US Marines were well into their retaking of Guadalcanal. All this, coupled with the thousands of miles Fort York was from the actual fighting, lent less urgency to the ARP meeting on the following Saturday.
    Tretheway and his staff had spent two days going over and evaluating Fort York’s first full-scale blackout. In general, it was considered a success. There had been no serious injuries or major foul-ups. The population of Fort York, influenced by the sobering thought that one day this might not be a practice, entered the exercise in the proper spirit.
    On the Friday, Tretheway received a call from Police Chief Zulp.
    â€œTretheway.”
    â€œSir.” Tretheway recognized the low, gravelly voice of his superior.
    â€œGood job. Well done.”
    â€œThank you, sir.”
    â€œHear it went well.”
    â€œPretty good.”
    â€œNo problems. No lights. Except that one.”
    â€œSir?”
    â€œThe marsh. The light on the ice.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œYou looked into it?”
    â€œYes, we…”
    â€œGas.”
    â€œPardon?”
    â€œGas,” Zulp repeated. “Marsh gas. St. Elmo’s Fire. Wouldn’t make too much of it.”
    â€œRight.” Tretheway paused. “We’re having a meeting Saturday night of the west-end Wardens. Just to sort things out.”
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œAt our place. Addie thought we could combine business with a little pleasure.”
    â€œGood thinking. Take people’s minds off the war. Nazis. Rationing. Marsh gas. Sorry I can’t make it. Me and the Missus have tickets to something.”
    Tretheway smiled.
    â€œGive my best to Addie.”
    â€œYes sir.” Tretheway hung up.
    Adelaide Tretheway was only slightly smaller but much prettier than her brother. She’d quit England in the early twenties to follow him across the ocean to Canada. They had settled in Fort York, a mid-sized industrial city at the western end of Lake Ontario. With a small inheritance she shared with Tretheway, Addie bought a large, rambling three-storey house in the west end close to Fort York University and turned it into a respectable boarding house. Most of her tenants were Arts or Theology students. Her star boarder, of course, was Jake. Tretheway had his own private large room and oversize bathroom facilities on the second floor.
    The Tretheways’ Saturday night euchre parties had grown in popularity over the years, with good reason. This Saturday the aroma of Addie’s freshly baked breadwas the first thing that attacked the senses. An applewood fire crackled in the fireplace. On its hearth, Fat Rollo, Addie’s longhair black cat, lay noisily purring beside Fred, the neighbor’s misnamed twelve-year-old female labrador. The disciplined conversation of students hummed against the background of music from “Your Hit Parade.”
    As usual, Addie had made platesfiil of sandwiches to go with the pop and beer cooling in the two ice boxes. Tretheway’s special Molson’s Blue quarts were cooling on the back verandah. Jake, Addie and Beezul, with the help of Bartholomew Gum, set up the card tables and chairs around the irregularly shaped common room next to the kitchen. A large four-by-eight-foot blackboard rested on an easel beside the head table. On it, Gum had drawn, crudely but clearly, a map of the west end of Fort York and Coote’s Paradise showing all the blocks the Wardens patrolled on Wednesday evening.
    Bartholomew Gum was an old friend of the Tretheways; he had grown up with Jake and shared in some of their adventures. Since the age