“Did you see Elsie there? See her leave? Anything you noticed would be helpful.”
“She was sitting with Jackie and Savannah, but she left before the fireworks started. That’s pretty well all I know.”
“What about you?” Gibson turned to her husband.
“She left right after the scuffle.” He stirred his drink with a celery stick.
“What scuffle?” Gibson glanced at Eckhart. She shrugged.
“One of the young fellows from out of town and Anatoe.”
“That’s Jackie’s second cousin removed. From Grimsby,” Abigail added.
“He lives here now, dear.”
“I know that. He has a garage. He fixes cars. Where is it again?” She peered at her husband.
“Down Niagara Street, close to town. Called Sinclair Motors.”
“Anatoe Sinclair?” Gibson hazarded a wild guess. It was a name he knew from a long time ago. He looked down at the carpet and rubbed at his temple. The murder had happened before he had gotten a chance to find the person he was looking for—Cecilia Sinclair. Had it just fallen into his lap? Could he be that lucky? And what the hell did second cousin removed mean? That was Greek to him. But it was some kind of relative. It didn’t matter.
“It was no biggy, just a boys-will-be-boys thing,” Jonnie said.
“Oh, really? Who says that anymore? And not only that, but what about the name calling? Razing Elsie about her weight.” She shook her head in disgust. “They’re animals. The lot. That’s what happens when you’re brought up by a single mom.”
“That’s enough.” Her husband spoke sharply.
Gibson glanced up somewhat surprised.
“Well, I don’t admire any of them.” She thumped her hand on the arm of the couch in finality and clamped her mouth shut, not wishing to get into a sparring match with her ill husband.
Gibson had stopped listening. Single mom. Yeah, it just fell into his lap—Cecilia. Had to be. His mind was going in a few directions at once. The bang brought him back to the room, and he stared into Abigail’s eyes. They were a sepia brown with a ring of gold inside her iris that added a depth to her untold stories—if looks could kill. And she had just given him an unexpected tip-off to his own quandary. He heaved a sigh so deeply he thought everyone would question him, but nobody was paying any attention.
“Anything else you could tell us?” Gibson asked as if he was still in the moment.
“I don’t think so.” She shrugged.
Jonnie took another sip, but didn’t say anything. It looked like tomato juice, but now Gibson figured it was mixed with beer.
A noise at the door alerted them to the arrival of the kids.
“Inspector, what are you doing here?” David asked. He stood at the top of the stairs.
“Hello, Mr. Hunter. I’m helping with the new Task Force. This is Inspector Eckhart.”
Gibson felt a presence behind him and swung around. Jackie stood in the doorway of the back door. Her eyes scanned the room and met his smoky grey eyes.
“Hello, Jackie.”
“Hi. This is weird.” She gave a quick bark of laughter.
They both entered the room and took seats by the fireplace.
“As I said to David, I’m on a special assignment. Nice to see you.” Then he got down to business.
“Let’s start at the fireworks and work our way from there. Tell me what you know. Go ahead, David.”
“Well, I was sitting with Jackie, Savannah and Elsie. Some guy came over, but Elsie told him to take a hike. There was a small scuffle at the far end of the field that didn’t amount to anything.” David paused. “A little later, some guys were calling Elsie names again. You know, fat jokes. I think she was embarrassed because she left shortly after.” A blonde lock of hair slipped over his right eye. He nudged it back.
Gibson waited.
“When I went out to the road to stretch my legs, I heard some yelling down by the landing. Two people. One of them was Elsie for sure.”
Gibson leaned into David.
“Who was with her?”
“I can’t be certain, but I think it was the guy that does that thing with his eye. The one that Elsie had already yelled at. It was dark. There aren’t any street lights on the lane.”
“That’s my cousin, Anatoe,” Jackie said. “I didn’t see him talking to Elsie. Where was that?”
“At the fireworks. You were too busy talking to Savannah. Anyway, I’m not sure it was him or not. I couldn’t actually see his face.” He hesitated. “But it was the way he moved that made me think it was him.”
Gibson stole a peek at Eckhart.
“What were they quarreling about?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but I think it was something about Savannah.” He shrugged. “Next thing they were both gone.”
Gibson thought it sounded like Anatoe was being a nuisance. Or was he more than just a pest? A killer? If it was Anatoe at all.
“Give me a rundown on what you saw Jackie.”
“Wait.”
Gibson looked over to David.
“There was someone else there.”
“Who?” Gibson leaned in further.
“Mr. Tatlow. I’ve seen him once before. You know the creepy guy?” David hadn’t wanted to say anything because Jackie and her friends kept saying he was a monster from way back when. That might make Tatlow a target. They might railroad the guy and he wasn’t even sure it was him. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I knew it.”
“It’s okay. We’ll check it out.” He saw Eckhart doodling in her notebook. Probably a couple of giant question marks. “What about you, Jackie?”
“I didn’t notice anything except Elsie leaving. I hadn’t seen Savannah for years, so I was wrapped up in all the gossip.” She paused. “The news.” She shrugged in apology.
“Now, let’s move on. How did you happen to be on the beach?” He turned back to David.
“We actually never made it to the beach. Well we did, but not like you think.” He stopped, his tongue tied into a knot. “Let me start from the beginning. Jackie and I were headed for the beach, but Gregory came tearing up the stairs. He said Elsie was dead and just ran off. We tried to stop him. Jackie and I went down to see…” David stopped.
“It’s all right. I know, it’s hard.”
“I saw Elsie face down in the sand. All I could do was stare. Her body didn’t look right. I knew she was dead even before I checked her pulse. Then I called 911.”
Jackie’s bronze skin had a pale hue to it as if she was going to faint.
“I understand that Todd showed up. What happened?” Gibson hoped he would get some clarity about what the husband had done down on the beach.
“We were waiting on the landing. Todd ran down to the beach, so I ran after him. He didn’t touch anything. I’ll swear to that. I knew that would be important. You know, from the last time…”
“Go on.”
“Then the cops came. They asked a bunch of questions and we left.”
It was good that Todd hadn’t touched anything, Gibson thought. Not while David was there anyway. This could be crucial later when they got the print off the rock. He glanced over to Eckhart and saw her scribbling in the notebook. Yeah, she’d got that written down.
“Savannah was there too,” Jackie said, “but she didn’t go down to the beach.”
“So the four of you went to Todd’s house after. Is that correct?”
“Yeah. Jackie and I stayed the night. To make sure Todd and Savannah would be okay.” He shook his head. “That’s a joke.”
“Thanks for your help. Call if you remember anything else. No matter how small it may seem. You’ve been through this before, so you know.”
David nodded that he understood, although his complexion had turned almost as white as his wife’s.
“Sorry for your loss, Jackie. I know you have been friends for a long time.”
“Thanks.” Her voice cracked.
“We’
ll see ourselves out.” Gibson stood up and motioned to his partner.
“Take care.” Eckhart shoved her notebook into a pocket and also stood.
Abigail walked them out.
“You’ll find out who did this?”
“We’re trying our best.”
“Thanks.” Her lashes were laden with moisture.
“They didn’t have anything to do with the murder,” Eckhart said as they walked to the truck.
“No.”
As they were walking down the drive, Gibson glanced backwards. Abigail waved from the bay window. Eckhart drove down the street and cleared the corner.
“Okay. How about a nightcap tonight?” She ran her tongue over her plump lips.
His smoky eyes followed the movement.
“Sure.”
Eckhart bit her lip and a sudden pink blushed her cheeks. She smiled in that way that he had seen in a movie—shy and demure.
Gazing straight ahead, Gibson wasn’t sure which direction they were going, but soon they passed his motel room. The small bridge to Port Dalhousie came up next. It was a beautiful spot where the lake could be seen when looking down almost any street. Eckhart took a few side roads and then finally pulled into a paved driveway quite near to the water.
The upscale Brownstone townhouse was an end unit of six. They headed up a flight of stone steps to a crimson door with hanging baskets on either side in front of side glass panels. The foyer was minimalist with a long teak table along one wall. A huge mirror in a thin pewter frame was centred on top. The hardwood floors started at the front door and covered every square inch, all in a deep chocolate hue. From where Gibson stood, he could look into the living room and out the large windows to the lake in the north. The open concept kitchen was over to the right. The bedrooms were hidden down another long hallway on the left.
“Wow. That’s a nice view.”
“Isn’t it though?” Eckhart took his hand and led him to the couch. “Have a seat while I get us a drink. A nice pinot gris from the peninsula?”
“That sounds perfect.” Gibson sat facing the vista and wondered if he was ready to take the dip into the unknown. The couch was soft under his fingertips—exquisite buttercup yellow leather. Several creamy coloured armchairs faced a gas fireplace with a small flat screen above. There were a few original oil paintings hanging on one of the lengthy walls—red, blues and yellow in an abstract style. A scattering of oriental rugs broke up the dark of the hardwood and gave the space a comfy feeling. He stood up and walked to the window, looking down into the yard. The garden was tame with climbing roses at the back fence and an assortment of shrubs.
“Do you like?” Eckhart whispered in his ear.
Gibson turned around and stood inches from her, his primal desire stirred. He drew her into him and kissed her full on, open-mouthed, her lips trembling under his. The world fell away. They pulled apart and stared at each other—pale smoke to deep ocean blue.
“I should go.” The water was too hot.
Chapter 6
The air had grown even heavier with a stifling humidity. Gibson breathed in deeply, sniffing the heady essence of rain. A stony grey belt on the horizon marred the velvet sky. A lazy breeze dragged the clouds across the lake.
The café was full today. A couple stood up to leave, so Gibson snagged their place by the window. He had an hour to burn and ordered breakfast. A large woman swept by and jarred the table. The scalding coffee spilt over his hand. He yanked aside, holding his cell in the air. The liquid rolled along the surface and dripped to the floor just missing his pant leg. She looked at him with disdain and nudged her course down the aisle. He scooted out of the way as the waitress mopped the puddle.
“Sorry.”
“No problem. Wasn’t your fault.” She moved away, staring down the plump older woman.
Gibson eased back into his chair, simmering over his actions the day before. Why hadn’t he called Katherine last night? She needed to know he was ensnared in a homicide case. Was he entangled in more? He rocked his skull, rattled his brain. What was going on with him? His glance darted to the other patrons as if they knew his inner turmoil. Had he cheated on her yet? Not really. It was just a kiss. He placed his fingers to his mouth. Well, not just a kiss. It was passionate. When he had leaned into her body, it had the perfect blend of serenity and tension. He couldn’t phone Katherine. His voice would give him away. He looked at his cell and cheated again, in a different way. He sent her a text and shut down his phone.
The SUV snuck around the corner and sidled up to the curb. Eckhart’s gaze through the plate-glass window was subtle, her eyebrows narrowed. He flipped a coin on the table for a tip and walked out the door.
“Hi. Have a nice sleep?” Her sultry voice caressed his face.
“Feels like rain is coming.” He skirted the question because all he had dreamt about was her.
“I think you’re right,” she said.
“Okay. The first house nearest the beach landing is Felton and Margaret Cunningham’s place. Felton is Jonnie’s older brother. Jackie’s uncle. That’s where the fireworks and party were anyway.”
He took a quick glance at his notes.
“The house on the left coming up the steps. That’s the same address as Gregory. Must be their son,” he continued.
“That’s handy.”
* * *
Felton’s lot was five acres of flat pasture. At the rear, a section of native plants severed his land from the neighbours. The left boundary rose into a bank that dropped down to the shore below. A tall hedge on the right closed off access to the house next door, except for a tiny hidden opening that someone could scoot through, if they knew it was there. The Expedition ground to a standstill in the driveway sending dust into the air. A newly painted hut near the road sported a fresh roof. Farther along, the open gate of the potting shed showed neatly stacked tools and a bench. The gardens appeared tended with an exceptionally nice exhibit of dahlias.
The two-storey clapboard house seemed tired compared to the outbuildings with its peeling paint of a nondescript shade, perhaps a blue. A traditional veranda with rustic wooden scrolling stretched across the full facade. The steps leading up were broad and welcoming. Two wicker armchairs with floral cushions hugged a wrought-iron table. A mug stood empty on its glass surface. Someone had tossed a pair of well-worn garden gloves and a straw hat onto an ottoman.
Down at the far end of the porch, a swing bench hung from a thick, rusted chain. A hedgehog boot scraper waited by the screen entry. Margaret stood in the doorway, an amiable smile on her fat face, the dark mole on her snout quite prominent. Her Brillo Pad hair was mousy brown overgrown with grey. Dingy sweatpants smeared with soil on the thighs were pulled up over her ample belly. The gingham blouse was a pinpoint of colour in her shabby appearance, like a blossom in a weed patch.
“You must be the detectives?”
He looked up. Really. How do they always know? He looked back at the logo on the passenger door. Right, it was an official vehicle. Not like his at home where he drove incognito in his own truck.
“Inspector Gibson.” He pointed to his partner. “Inspector Eckhart.”
“Come in. Are you thirsty? I have fresh lemonade.”
“That sounds good. Thank you.” Gibson wiped his brow. “I haven’t been in this kind of hot weather for a while.”
“Oh?”
“I live in BC now. Just helping set up the Task Force here.”
“That’s nice.”
They followed Margaret to the rear of the house, her clogs clomping on the tired pine floor in the hallway. Bright light slanted through the windows into the kitchen. The enormous room boasted appliances from the forties. Or where they retro? No. He noticed several chips on the edge of the cooker. Definitely old. He perched on a wooden stool and grappled to get comfortable, launching a dart over to Eckhart. She concealed her face to cut off a laugh and alighted on the only cushioned chair around the table. Margaret poured two generous glasses.
“Good stuff.” The drink ran down his parched throat smoothly and soothed his fiery mouth.
“It’s the well water,” Margaret said.
“Honestly. No water line down this road?”
“There is, but we prefer the pure taste.” She hesitated and peered toward the hallway. “Right, Felton?”
“Yeah, yeah.” A thin rack of a man hobbled into the gallery and rested at the head of the table, scraping his chair all along the linoleum. He inhaled a quick snort of air with a load of phlegm that sent him into a barking cough. It shifted into a fit of wheezing and hacking. He pulled out a handkerchief and spat. A small puff of smoke came out of his mouth. He rolled his tongue, sticking it out as if he was struggling to dislodge an object trapped in his teeth. The stench of burnt tobacco permeated the room.
Eckhart wiggled her nose.
“Felton, this is Gibson and Eckhart from the police.”
Close enough Gibson thought.
“We have a few questions.”
“About the accident? We don’t know anything about that,” Felton said.
“It wasn’t an accident. Someone murdered Elsie,” Gibson said.
“What! I thought it was an accident,” Margaret shouted and plopped down into a chair.
Felton grabbed a cigarette.
“Outside with that, Felton.”
“Ah, never mind.” He sat back, crossed his arms and grunted.
“Who was at your party?”
“Lots of people. Anatoe and his Grimsby friends. Felton’s younger brother from town with his troop.”
“That’s Jackie’s dad, right?” Cunningham. He got the connection.
“Yeah.”
“What about Gregory? He found the body.”
“I didn’t see him or his bike,” Margaret answered. Her eyes had narrowed, the pleasantness in her voice knocked down to toleration. “He’s a good boy. He put a new roof on the pumphouse at the front. And he’s painting the house for us.”
“Is he around now? We need to speak to him as well.” Gibson had only seen one car out front, but he had to ask anyway.
“No. He went out early this morning.” Her eyes changed into slits.
“Did you see Elsie?”
STORM ROLL: a Canadian murder mystery series Page 22