by Grace York
Amelie burst into tears.
Ivy was crying hysterically by the broken door.
Addison and Jason stared at each other wide-eyed before Addison snapped into gear.
"Don't touch anything else," she said. "Everyone downstairs. I'll call the police."
Jason helped her to round them up and guide them toward the stairs. When they were all seated at the new dining table in the great room, Addison fetched her mobile phone from the kitchen and called Detective Sergeant Issac Wilcox. She quickly explained the situation to Getaway Bay's only detective.
"He's on his way," she said after ending the call and taking a seat at the head of the table. "Can you tell us what happened, Ivy?"
Ivy had calmed somewhat, her brother's arms around her. She raised her head slightly and nodded.
"I… I knocked on his door but there was no answer. So I went through my room and out onto the balcony to look in that way. I figured he must have been engrossed in his work or something. But I looked through his balcony door and I saw…" Ivy buried her face in Dan's chest again.
"You couldn't get in through the balcony door?" Addison asked. Ivy and Patrick occupied the two rooms on the first floor of the house overlooking the beach. Both had French doors that opened onto a small, shared balcony.
"No," said Ivy, wiping her nose with a tissue. "It was locked. So I went back around to his bedroom door, but that was locked too. Then you all came, and Dan broke in and…"
"Shh," said Dan, holding her tight.
"What's going on?" said a voice from the door leading into the kitchen. Addison turned to find Louie standing there. "I heard screaming. Is everything okay?"
"No, it's not okay," said Amelie, bursting into tears. "Patrick is…"
"It looks like Patrick has taken his own life," said Jason. "You'd better sit down. The police are on their way."
Louie opened his mouth, but no words came out. He closed it again and took a seat at the end of the table beside Amelie.
Louie Liu had been working out the back of the beach house for the past week, and Addison had found him quiet but polite and competent. This must be quite a shock to him, too.
"Why would Patrick do something like this," Amelie asked. "It doesn't make any sense. He was excited this week. Said he was working on something big. I thought he must have got past the writer's block he'd been dealing with lately."
"He was blocked?" asked Adam.
Amelie nodded. "He hadn't written anything for months. When we saw Addison's ad for the beach house he said it might help to come here. I thought it had. Only two weeks here and he was working again."
Everyone went quiet, and Addison thought back to the day Patrick and Amelie had arrived. She remembered Patrick saying something about finding it difficult to get working on a new project, and hoping the fresh sea air of Getaway Bay would help. When she'd shown him the available rooms he'd chosen the one at the front with the verandah so he could open the balcony doors and enjoy the sea breeze while he worked.
Amelie had taken the room above his on the second floor because it had more space for her to paint until the studio out in the backyard was finished.
Addison didn't know what to do. She sat at the table with the others and tried to think, the past six weeks since Olivia had left for university all blurring together in one long stream of thoughts. Burying Layla's sister, Jenna, then their father only a week later. Jason finishing the interior of the beach house. Advertising the rooms, welcoming the guests. Getting to know the guests, even coming to regard them as friends.
And now one of them was dead.
"What's happened?" Layla had returned home and interrupted Addison's thoughts. She'd never been more glad to see her cousin.
"It's Patrick," said Addison, standing to wrap Layla in a hug. They'd embraced many times over the last couple of months, but it was usually Addison comforting Layla. Now Addison needed the support. She realised she might be in shock, and felt her legs start to give way.
Layla guided Addison back to her seat, and Adam and Jason moved along so Layla could sit next to her.
"What's happened?" Layla asked again, looking from one face to the next.
Adam was the one to explain, and Addison listened as he gently filled Layla in. By the time he was finished, Layla was crying too.
"But I just spoke to him this morning. He can't be… oh, Addison. This is unbelievable. Poor Patrick!"
"We're waiting for the police to arrive," said Dan. He was still holding his sister, but Ivy's sobs had receded. Amelie was staring blankly at the table, while Adam fiddled with the label on an empty beer bottle. Jason and Louie sat quietly at the end of the table. Louie cleaned dirt from under his fingernails.
Addison took a deep breath and pulled herself together. This was her house, her home, and these people were all her guests. An unthinkable tragedy had occurred, one they would all struggle to understand in the coming days and weeks. But it wouldn't do for her to fall apart. In the little time they'd been here she'd come to think of the people around this table as family.
And right now, her family needed her.
3
Detective Sergeant Isaac Wilcox was joined by two uniformed officers when he arrived at the beach house ten minutes after Addison's call. Senior Constable Short, who was actually quite tall, had worked with Wilcox when he'd investigated Jenna's death. Addison had seen her a number of times in town since then, and learned that her first name was Kendall. The other officer, a male, Addison had never met. He was a few centimetres shorter than Short, and stocky where she was slim.
Wilcox was his usual imposing self. Addison stepped aside to let his large frame through the door, and the others followed.
"Thanks for coming," she said when she and the three police officers stood in the great room. The rest of the household were still seated at the dining table.
"Of course," said Wilcox. "This is Constable Diaz, he's just joined us. You know Senior Constable Short."
Addison nodded. "Patrick… he's upstairs. First floor, second door on the left."
Wilcox sent Diaz and Short up to Patrick's room, while he approached the beach house's occupants gathered around the table.
"Who found the body?" he asked.
"I did," said Ivy. She took him through what she'd told everyone else minutes ago.
"So both doors to his room were locked?"
"Yes," said Ivy.
"I had to break one down," added Dan. "Sorry," he said to Addison.
She waved a hand at him; a broken door was the least of her worries.
"I'll be able to fix it," said Jason.
"Hold off on that until I say so," said Wilcox.
"Of course." Jason turned to Addison. "Do you want me to stick around for a while?"
"No, I'm sure you and Louie don't need to be here," she said.
The two tradesmen stood to leave, but Wilcox held up a hand. "I'll need statements from both of you before you go please." They took their seats again.
"All right," said Wilcox. "I'm going to go take a look, then I'll be back down and we'll start taking your statements. The pathologist is on her way, but it could be a couple of hours. She's coming up from Brisbane."
He headed up the stairs, leaving Addison and the rest of them again staring at each other around the table. Addison watched Adam peel the label clean off the beer bottle he'd been fiddling with. She decided they could all do with a drink.
"Layla, can you give me a hand?" she asked, and they went out to get the glasses and the bottle of wine from the verandah. Then Addison got three beers from the fridge and put them on the table in front of Adam, Jason, and Louie.
Everyone sipped in silence, and Addison wondered what else she could do. What were you supposed to do at a time like this? She remembered back two years ago, when her husband Rob had passed away. He'd been diagnosed with cancer eight weeks prior to his death. It wasn't long, but at least it gave them a chance to say goodbye.
Patrick hadn't given anyone
that chance.
Addison had no personal experience with suicide. As a homicide detective, Rob had seen his fair share of people who'd taken their own lives, but he'd never burdened Addison with the horror of his work.
What made Patrick do this? He'd seemed so happy here. He was still young, not yet forty. He'd had a number of books published, one of which had been very successful. She knew he'd been struggling of late to live up to the expectations following that book, but like Amelie had said, he seemed to have turned a corner this last week.
Perhaps they'd misinterpreted. Perhaps he hadn't turned a corner in his work at all. Perhaps he'd resigned himself to this darker fate.
Would they ever really know?
Wilcox and Short descended the stairs.
"We need to take your statements," said Wilcox. He tipped his head in Jason's direction. "We'll start with you."
Jason stood as Wilcox addressed Addison. "Is there somewhere private we can use?"
"My office is just through there," Addison replied. The office wasn't much larger than a cupboard, but once Jason had fixed it up he'd managed to fit in a desk and two chairs. It was all Addison needed.
Wilcox, Short, and Jason entered the office and shut the door. Over the next hour Wilcox and Short took statements from all the witnesses to Patrick's untimely death. Jason and Louie left after their interviews. Addison pulled the casserole out of the oven and served it up, but no-one was very hungry. Adam and Amelie picked at their plates before retiring to their rooms.
Dan made a call to his wife, who was staying with the children at a motel on the Gold Coast overnight. Then he asked Ivy if she was going to be okay.
"I can stay if you want," he said to his sister. "I'm sure Addison wouldn't mind me bunking on the floor of your room."
"I think I've got a blow-up mattress somewhere," said Addison. She was concerned about Ivy as well. The poor girl had suffered such a shock, finding Patrick like that.
"No, it's okay. Don't fuss. I'll be fine," Ivy assured them.
Dan glanced at Addison, eyebrows raised.
"I'll take care of her," Addison assured him.
"Thank you," he said. He squeezed Ivy's hands. "I'll be back first thing in the morning to check on you."
After he left, Ivy also retired to her room, leaving Addison and Layla to deal with the police and the pathologist. They were all still in Patrick's room.
"He was so young," said Layla. They were in the kitchen, and Addison put the kettle on. She covered the remains of the casserole with foil and put it in the fridge.
"I think he was about thirty-eight or thirty-nine," said Addison. "Yes, far too young."
"What are you going to do?" Layla asked.
"What do you mean?"
Layla lowered her voice. "With his room. You can't rent it out now that somebody died in there."
"Layla! How can you even think about that right now?"
Layla shrugged. "It's something you have to think about eventually."
Addison shook her head at her cousin, but she had to admit the thought had crossed her mind.
It was after midnight by the time the police and the pathologist had left with the body and Addison was tucked up in her bed. There wasn't a chance of sleep, though. Way too many thoughts rushed through her mind.
She pulled her notebook out of her bedside drawer and started writing those thoughts down. If she could get them out of her head, maybe she'd have a chance at sleep.
She thought back to the day two weeks ago when Patrick and Amelie had arrived at the beach house. They'd called only the day before, and had come straight down the coast from Bundaberg when Addison had confirmed she had two rooms available.
Part of the appeal of the beach house to artists was the cost of board, which Addison was able to keep affordable in return for help around the house. Amelie had already proven to be a big help in the kitchen, and Patrick had volunteered to help out with gardening and lawn mowing once Jason and Louie had finished the landscaping. Now he'd never get the chance.
Addison reflected on how her young housemates had all become close over the last few weeks. Patrick and Ivy were of a similar age, Amelie seemed a few years younger, and Adam was the youngest having not yet reached thirty. But they were all talented, creative people who seemed to bond very well.
They all loved Layla, too. Layla and Amelie had spent quite a few evenings discussing their painting. Amelie was looking forward to Layla's gallery being rebuilt almost as much as Layla was. And they were both excited about the studio Jason and Louie were fixing up in the beach house's backyard.
Patrick, Adam, and Ivy were all writers. As far as Addison could tell Patrick had had a number of novels published, but it was the latest one that won awards and acclaim. It was published five years ago and, by his own admission, Patrick had been struggling to write the next book.
Was that why he took his own life? Addison had dabbled in writing stories herself over the years, but nothing she'd ever shared with anyone else. Certainly nothing she'd deemed fit to publish. She had no idea what sort of pressure Patrick was under to produce another award-winning book. Maybe it had been enough to break him.
Addison turned her thoughts to the other two writers under her roof. Adam had a bold and brash side to him, which came with youth, but he was also a sensitive soul. He'd been asking Patrick to take a look at his work, but Patrick had resisted. He'd said he was too busy, but Addison had got the feeling that was an excuse.
Addison didn't know much about Ivy's work. She knew she didn't have anything published yet, but she seemed to throw herself into her work every day like the others. Addison often overheard conversations of word counts and character analysis among the three writers.
It had been such a lovely four weeks having all these exciting young people brighten up her home. Addison couldn't believe how quickly it had all come crashing down.
Poor Patrick. What could have caused him to take such a devastating step?
4
Addison managed to drift off to sleep somewhere in the early hours. She woke to her alarm at six, her head feeling as heavy as if she'd polished off a bottle of wine. She hadn't. In fact, she couldn't remember doing such a thing since she was in her mid-thirties, which was twenty years ago now. A glass or two of wine after a hard day was her limit these days, as it had been last night.
Yesterday had been a particularly hard day.
The sight of Patrick hanging from the wardrobe door in his bedroom was something Addison feared she'd never be able to forget. She felt the loss of the young man all over again this morning as she pulled herself out of bed and into the shower.
The kitchen was eerily quiet. Amelie was usually up by now; an early riser, she'd taken to having her breakfast before everyone else and then helping Addison with the morning's baking. But this morning she was nowhere to be seen, and Addison didn't blame her. She'd have stayed in bed herself, but she'd made a commitment to Hazel to bake for her cafe in town.
When Addison had arrived in Getaway Bay in January she'd quickly discovered that Hazel's cafe, which had the best coffee in town, also had the worst baked goods. Hazel's regular baker had moved to Brisbane, and she'd been struggling to make pastries and sweet treats herself. Addison had always had a talent for baking, so once she'd decided not to run the beach house as a full bed and breakfast, she'd offered to bake a few treats for Hazel's cafe every morning.
Hazel, fully aware of her own limitations in that department, had been overjoyed. It didn't take long before the two of them became firm friends. Addison had always been an early riser, so she didn't mind getting up every morning and getting a few batches of scones or muffins or other delights into the oven. And the boarders certainly didn't mind either. Addison made sure there was always enough to leave something sweet out for her guests when they ventured into the kitchen.
Instead of having to wait on bed and breakfast guests, Addison had decided that her boarders could help themselves to all their meals and snacks ex
cept dinner. She loved cooking for people, so she was happy to provide an evening meal where they could all come together and chat about their day and enjoy a good feed. But the rest of the day they could look after themselves – they were all grown-ups, after all. It was a system that seemed to suit everyone.
Addison decided Hazel could have a batch of scones and some blueberry muffins today. She thought it best to keep things simple, especially as she would be baking on her own this morning. She searched the fridge for ingredients, preheated the oven, and was just looking for her favourite mixing bowl when she heard a soft tap on the back door.
Addison wasn't surprised to see Mrs Jones from next-door peering through the window.
"Come in," she said, opening the door for the elderly lady. Mrs Jones was seventy-five, as she'd proudly told her neighbour not long after they'd met, but she was as sprightly as a sixty-year-old. There was a gate in between the backyards of the beach house and Mrs Jones's cottage, apparently a legacy from when the properties had both been owned by the same family. Jason had put a new hinge on the gate and fixed it so that Mrs Jones could visit without going all the way around the front way. The elderly neighbour had since become a regular visitor to Addison's kitchen, something Addison didn't mind one bit.
"My dear, how are you coping?" asked Mrs Jones as she settled herself on one of the kitchen stools.
"It's been quite a shock," said Addison. "I still can't believe it. I'm in a bit of a daze this morning, to be honest."
"That's understandable. Can I help you with anything?" Mrs Jones surveyed the ingredients spread all over the bench.
"No, that's okay. I think baking will help take my mind off it. Besides, it's just muffins and scones. You can sit there and talk to me if you like. That will help enough."
Mrs Jones nodded and launched into a story about her sister in Brisbane and all her cats. Apparently, Mrs Jones's sister took in every stray cat in the neighbourhood, whether the cat wanted to be taken in or not. Addison enjoyed the story, and before she knew it the scones were in the oven and Layla had appeared at the bottom of the kitchen stairs.