Murder on the Mountaintop Leads the Way

By Carol Baum

When Dr. Jessica Shepard,

an obsessive immunologist in career transition, is summoned by a mysterious correspondence from her former mentor, she’s intrigued. Brilliant microbiologist Dr. Kevin Grant wants to meet her atop Montreal’s famous Mount Royal. She has no way of suspecting that the proposed meeting will hurl her into a vortex of brutal murder, professional competitiveness, and medical malfeasance.

Jessica is introduced to a colorful cast of characters including an enigmatic hotel concierge, a wellness physician with a taste for luxury, and even a psychic. With the help of a determined Canadian narcotics detective, she goes undercover and embarks on an investigative journey that will lead her to the truth as well as to her own burgeoning self-discovery and emotional fulfillment.

Having to travel through the sophisticated Canadian city of Montreal and visit many of its landmarks, including the famous “Underground City,” Jessica uncovers the more dangerous side of Montreal’s seemingly placid locales to solve the mystery of Kevin Grant’s urgent summons. The question is, can this attractive immunologist use her scientifically honed didactic reasoning to solve the mystery before it’s too late?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Dec 17, 2018
• ISBN: 9781480871182

Book preview

2

Le Plan de la Ville

The sun was streaming through the curtains when Jessica awoke the next morning. Its rays cast large streaks of light that flooded the darkened room. She had slept through the night without awakening. Now she felt refreshed, the fatigue from yesterday’s long drive dissipated. She threw back the covers of the bed that she had managed to pull over herself during the night. As the fog of sleep lifted, she remembered where she was. She looked around the hotel room and knew that today was the day she had anticipated with as much curiosity as unease. She was to meet Kevin Grant at the Chateau at the top of Mount Royal, as she had promised herself she would.

She had placed her suitcase by the window the night before and now got out of bed and went over to it, hurling it up onto the luggage stand. She opened the lid and searched through her belongings, looking for the sturdy hiking shoes and workout clothes she had packed at home. She remembered the receptionist’s advice to wear comfortable clothes and shoes for the climb, and she had no intention of doing otherwise. She had packed them at the bottom of the suitcase, and while hunting for them, she saw the multiple pockets within the suitcase and remembered the items she had packed inside them. Opening one of the inner pockets, she pulled out and then tossed onto the bed a toiletry case and a drawstring bag. After a moment of hesitation, she went over to the bed and gathered up the drawstring bag and opened it. Inside was a piece of needlepoint that she examined carefully. It was half completed but had been done well. The stitches were neat, but the subject was surprising for that level of expertise. It was clearly going to be a cartoonish rendering of a puppy wearing reading glasses with round lenses and holding a book in his paws. She had done the needlepoint herself as a type of therapy. She had read how needlepoint had a soothing effect, with its rhythmic in-and-out motion of the needle through the canvas. She had wanted to portray a dog in its most nonthreatening form. It had been her latest attempt to conquer her fear. She thought back to the young boy with the Pekingese she had encountered yesterday in the elevator and realized if this was going to help, it hadn’t yet.

You don’t look so tough, big guy, she said, looking closely at the needlepoint. Too bad it wasn’t you in the elevator yesterday.

She put the needlepoint back in its pouch and tossed it onto the bed again. Maybe she would have time to work on it later. She then found the clothes she intended to wear that day to climb Mount Royal. She went over to the windows to draw the curtains fully open and look at the view that she hadn’t yet seen.

Once the curtains were drawn, the morning was as bright and clear as she could have hoped for. The sky was a cerulean blue, with large cumulus clouds that looked like pieces of floating cotton. They were scudding across the sky, but there was no threat of them growing into stormy thunderheads by any means. Beneath the clouds, Mount Royal was framed by the sky above and the city below. The igneous rock of the volcanic mountain with its forested covering seemed to take on a purplish color as the sun glistened against its range.

Jessica opened the compact guidebook she had taken with her and which she had placed on the nightstand the day before. Looking carefully through the book, she turned the pages until she found the section she was looking for.

It described Mount Royal as west of downtown Montreal. Surrounded by a park with walking trails and stairs up the mountain, it had a semicircular plaza and the Chateau overlooking the city.

Jessica placed the guidebook back on the nightstand. The digital clock read 9:05 a.m. She had slept much later than usual, but she still had a great deal of time before she was to meet Kevin Grant at the belvedere. She figured the climb wouldn’t take her more than an hour. She needed to do something to keep her occupied until four o’clock that afternoon. She couldn’t stop thinking about the meeting and why he could only confide in her. She would need to take her mind off of it. Her needlepoint definitely wouldn’t do it. She needed to do something active.

She decided she would calm her anxiousness over the meeting by walking around the city before going up to the summit. It would also give her a chance to stretch her legs before climbing to the top of the mountain after the long car trip the day before.

Jessica dressed quickly, pulling on her workout clothes. She left the room, pressed the elevator button, and made a silent prayer that the barking Pekingese was not inside when the door opened. To her relief, no dog was inside. In fact, the elevator car was empty. Thank you, she said to herself as the car descended to the lobby. On her way out of the hotel, she noticed the concierge and receptionist who had checked her in the day before were back at their respective stations. They still seemed to be eyeing each other antagonistically as before.

Outside the hotel, Jessica consulted the local city street map she had taken the day before. She thought she would head toward Place Jacques Cartier. The guidebook had described it as a teeming square with street artists, restaurants, and kiosks near the Old Port. She thought the nearby river air would be refreshing against the heat of the day. She walked briskly to diffuse some of her nervous energy, also wanting to be sure she would not lose track of time, to make sure she would make it back in time for the rendezvous with Kevin Grant. She headed down Rue Sainte Catherine, taking the thoroughfare through Old Montreal. It was a long, busy street with shops and restaurants on either side. Walking down the street, she couldn’t help but be caught up in the flow of humanity streaming about her.

Rue Sainte Catherine was filled with people at that time of day. Jessica remembered that the street ran parallel to the bulk of Montreal’s Underground City of interconnected office tower basements and shopping complexes. She wondered if beneath the hot pavement the underground passage was even more crowded with businesspeople, shoppers, and tourists seeking air conditioning to avoid the heat of the sun. She walked down the street, occasionally looking in store windows but mainly looking around her. Whenever Jessica was in a foreign city, she liked to get the lay of the land by walking about it. She liked to look at the architecture and listen to the sounds of conversation of the people in the street. She would look at the windows of the stores, restaurants, and office buildings. Today as she did this, she was aware that her anticipation of her meeting with Kevin Grant was never far from her thoughts. She tried to put the meeting out of her head and just concentrate on the sights and sounds around her.

As Jessica continued to walk down the street, she realized that she was more on edge than she should be, even with the thought of her upcoming meeting topmost in her thoughts. She just couldn’t help but feel that she was being followed; she just felt it and was convinced that she was right. She tried to figure out if any of the faces of the people in the street looked vaguely familiar or if she had seen them in more than one location. She had watched enough movies and television shows to know what she had to do.

She stopped in front of the glass window of a boutique to take a moment to notice if anyone around her seemed to be lingering near her. The boutique was in an old Parisian-style building made of limestone bricks. The sign above the antiqued wooden door of the boutique said Lunettes du Soleil. Trying to look as casual as she could, she looked through the window at the display cases inside the boutique. The cases were filled with designer sunglasses, and on top of them were pictures of the sunglasses worn by stylish young men and women, who looked as though they didn’t have a care in the world.

Jessica could not help but notice her own reflection in comparison to those of the people in the pictures. She could see that she looked strained and anxious. Her exercise outfit looked out of place compared with the more formal clothing of the passersby.

Suddenly she realized that someone was talking to her in French. Excusez-moi, a tall, distinguished man in a tan suit said to her. She turned back from the window to see who had spoken to her, while also not wanting to see her reflection looking that way. In doing so, she bumped into the man, who was now close beside her. She looked directly into his face. He looked slightly startled by the direct gaze she cast his way as she apologized. He was as sturdy in build as he was tall, with sandy-brown hair and dark-brown eyes. She left him looking after her as she continued down the street. Scolding herself for her awkwardness, she proceeded on her way.

Jessica reached the Place Jacques Cartier and stopped short, struck by the scene around her. The vibe of the square was more European than North American. It looked like a marketplace in Montmartre. The broad divided street sloped sharply downhill toward the waterfront. There were rows of stalls selling souvenirs, and restaurants on both sides of the street surrounding a huge open plaza filled with people milling about. It was the perfect place to watch the world go by, she thought. It was also an excellent spot to push to the back of her mind her rendezvous with Kevin. A central monument pierced the sky as its tall, narrow column shot up through the fresh, clean air, capped by the figure of Admiral Horatio Nelson on the top.

There were shops selling poutine, the starchy local concoction, a mix of french fries, cheese curds, and gravy. There were stands selling ice cream and waffles. The waffles weren’t the crispy versions she was familiar with from home but were soft, spongy concoctions covered with any number of delectably sweet choices. On one end of the square, kiosks were arranged all in a line. One young man was starting his day by raising the covering of his stall. As she approached him, she could see it was filled with pictures of local scenes, some from current times and some from the past. Again, she was caught by the sensation of being transported to Paris and particularly to Montmartre. The street artist smiled at her as she passed by, encouraging her to stop and look at what he had to offer, despite just opening his shop. She lingered for a few minutes, studying the pictures, glad to have something to distract her from her worries about what Kevin Grant needed to discuss so urgently only with her. Reluctantly she moved on, stopping before another kiosk with old, grainy photographs of what the square and the Old Port of Montreal looked like in the late nineteenth century. The basic space looked the same, but so much else had changed within it with the passage of