CHAPTER FIFTEEN
On Wednesday morning Kala left Dawn sleeping and took the canoe into the bay as the sun began to rise. Taiku lay at her feet, head resting on the gunnel to catch the breeze. The three of them had gotten in a late-day paddle the afternoon before when she returned from the Eglans’ place, and she and Dawn had played Scrabble after supper. They turned in early, but she’d heard Dawn in the kitchen at 2:00 a.m. Another restless night. It would do her good to sleep in.
The air was cool and a white mist hung over the water so that sounds were muffled and the feeling was like being inside a globe of cotton batting. Even as she let the canoe drift, the sun began burning off the fog and warmed the dampness on her face. The pink and rose colours reflecting off the water faded. A lone loon called its haunting song near an outcropping of rocks farther down the shoreline, the sound echoing off the rock walls. She paddled toward the point using smooth, even J strokes. Dawn had progressed the few times they were out and their paddles had found a rhythm. Kala was eager to take her on a river run and would talk to Shane about one that wouldn’t be too taxing. They’d work up to the rapids.
She expected a visit from Clark, and he arrived as she was finishing her second cup of chamomile tea in the main lodge. Shane had outdone himself this morning with thick French toast, blackberries, raspberries, whipped cream, and maple syrup with a side of bacon and sausage. She’d briefly thought about ordering seconds when asking for a plate to bring to Dawn.
Clark went into the kitchen and returned with a cup of coffee. “Smells so good in there,” he said as he sat across from her. “Like cocoa and cinnamon and bacon grease. I hope you don’t mind meeting here while I eat. I missed breakfast. Shane said he’d give me Dawn’s meal and cook up a new one for her.”
“No problem.”
“How’d you do with Rachel’s room?”
“She had a thing for music heartthrobs and romance novels. I’d say she was a typical boy-crazy teenager although she seemed more experienced than her parents appear to realize.”
“What makes you say that?”
“She kept a book of poetry that she wrote over the past few years. The poems got progressively more physical- and love-themed this summer. She was either having sex with someone or had one terrific imagination.”
“Do you have the notebook?”
“It’s locked in my truck.”
“Good. I’ll give it a read, too.”
They stopped talking as Shane crossed the room with Clark’s food. He set down the plate and refilled his coffee mug. “Should I start Dawn’s breakfast now, Kala?” he asked.
“Wait twenty minutes and that’ll give Clark a chance to eat.”
“You got it.” He whistled as he walked back into the kitchen, letting the door swing shut behind him.
“Rachel spent a lot of time here,” Kala said. “I wonder if one of the men was meeting up with her.”
“Neal Lorring and Shane Patterson are married. Who are the others?”
“There are two Hydro workers named Ian Kruger and Blaine Rogers who’re here for the summer, and an older retired photographer, Thomas Faraday.” Kala paused. “But we can’t assume her killer … and/or lover if there was one … came from the lodge. She had that boyfriend in town, and of course there are other men living in Searchmont whom we don’t know.”
“Are you good to come with me to interview those six people from town who were here for supper on her last shift?”
“I am after I get Dawn’s breakfast to her.”
Clark cut through the whipped cream and French toast. Before he took his first bite he said, “Then looks like we have an interesting day ahead.”
Darryl Kelly’s mother sent them down to the beach where they found him fishing off the end of the dock. He tossed a lit cigarette into the water at their approach.
“Your mom said we’d find you here,” called Clark from the shore. “Do you mind coming over for a chat?”
Darryl shrugged but set down his rod and joined them on the scrubby piece of land where Clark had parked his police cruiser. He looked better than in his photo — his spiky was gelled hair longer now and he was sporting new wire-rimmed glasses that suited his face. He’d filled in from the time the photo was taken, although he was still on the skinny side. “You’re here about Rachel,” he said. “I can’t believe somebody would do that to her.”
“We’re sorry to have to talk to you about her death.” He nodded in Kala’s direction. “I’m Officer Harrison from the Sault detachment and this is Officer Stonechild, who’s helping me find out what happened to Rachel. I know it’s not an easy time for you, Darryl. You were dating her, I understand.”
Darryl hung his head and kicked at a clump of soil. “We hung out more than anything.”
“What kinds of things would you do?”
“Ride our bikes. Go fishing. Swim in the river. Help out with the little kids at church.” His voice petered away. “There’s not much to do in this town.”
“No, I imagine not. When’s the last time you saw her?”
“Sunday morning at church. She was with her mother at the front but I was late and sat in the back pew.”
“Did you talk to her after the service?”
“We went downstairs before the sermon started to help with the younger kids, so yeah, we talked about what we were going to do with them. She was in with the toddlers and I had the six-to-eight-year-olds. I asked if she wanted to hang out afterward, but she said she was busy.”
“Do you know doing what?”
“No. I left before her and never saw her again.”
Kala caught his eye. “It doesn’t sound as if she was into being a couple.”
He shrugged and pulled a face. “Maybe not.”
“Had you ever been serious … or physical?”
“For a while. We kissed and stuff but she said it didn’t interest her this summer.”
“What’s ‘and stuff,’ exactly?”
His face reddened and he dropped his head again. “You know.”
“Intercourse?”
“I guess, yeah, but only a couple of times. She wasn’t into it.”
“But you were.”
Eyes defiant. “I guess I’m normal, ’cause I liked it.”
Clark looked at Kala and nodded. He waited a beat. “How did you feel when Rachel stopped wanting to be with you?”
“I dunno.”
“Were you upset? Angry?”
“No.”
Clark tilted his head from side to side as if thinking this over. “I would have been if I were you.”
Darryl’s shoulders pushed back, tight as drums. “A bit, maybe.”
“Did you try to get her to go out with you again?” asked Kala.
“She told me to stop texting so I stopped.” He kicked harder at the dirt. “I wouldn’t hurt her.”
“So you didn’t see her Saturday night at all?”
“No.”
“Where were you?”
“Home.”
“All night?”
“Yes. My parents were home, too.”
“This your car over on the side of the road?” Clark pointed to a rusty silver Honda Civic.
“Yeah.”
“Mind if we have a look?”
“If you want.”
Darryl stayed where he was while they walked over and looked in the windows. “We have to go carefully,” said Kala, meeting Clark behind the trunk. “He wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave the murder weapon covered in blood in plain view.”
“Yeah, that’d be way too easy.”
“We don’t have enough for a search warrant either if his alibi checks out, which I’m betting it will.” She glanced back at Darryl. He was watching them and his shoulders were slumped forward. No longer worried.
“I guess we can speak with his mom on our way to talk to the others.”
“May as well cross the t.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Janet Kelly supported Darr
yl’s story as expected, effectively making a search warrant request dead in the water unless they found evidence to contradict the alibi.
“It’s highly probable that Darryl could have slipped out for an hour without his parents knowing. He must have been bothering Rachel if you read into her asking him to stop texting. He might have been stalking her.” Stonechild buckled up her seat belt and stared at the Kelly house through dark sunglasses.
Clark agreed with her but knew they needed more than a gut feeling. “The Bococks live on the way to the church. Why don’t we stop in and have a chat with Phil?”
“He was Rachel’s English teacher.” Stonechild appeared to be organizing the suspects in her mind.
“Greta taught her gym in grade nine and ten but not this year.” He smiled at the look she shot him. “I had the team at HQ check into Rachel’s background and do up some profiles of people who were at the restaurant the last night she worked there. I’ve printed them off for you since I’m not sure about the security of email.”
“Which I might not get at the lodge anyway.”
“That’s right.” He turned his head and pointed. “The info’s in that blue file in the back seat. Sorry I didn’t give it to you earlier. Slipped my mind, to be honest.”
She reached around and took the folder without saying anything. She wasn’t the kind of person who’d say his memory lapse didn’t matter. The social niceties weren’t her forte, as he recalled.
The Bococks had a small white home with a detached garage on a large property on Finn Road. A blanket of coniferous trees sloped upwards from the back of the house and clumps of pine ended at the road. The neighbour’s house was visible across the road with rolling hills rising behind.
“Nice spot,” said Clark pulling into the Bocock driveway behind a black Ford truck. He leaned into the front windshield and craned his neck skyward. “Those trees go on forever.”
Phil greeted them on the front steps holding a full cup of coffee. He made eye contact as he shook each of their hands and invited them inside. The house had maple floors and red-pine wainscotting in every room. Phil poured them coffees while they took seats in front of a wood stove in the front living room. Someone had knocked out the wall separating this room from the kitchen and put in a wide island. The kitchen cupboards were made of the same red pine. Clark was too aware of Stonechild next to him, her black eyes observant, filing away details he was likely missing.
Phil handed them cups and sat down after returning to the kitchen to get his. “I wish Greta could join us but she’s driven to the high school. She works with the girls’ basketball team even during the summer. Now I assume you’re here to talk about poor Rachel.” Phil was the kind of man who’d be featured in a beer commercial. Six foot and solidly built with a boyish grin and straight brown hair that flopped over one dark-blue eye. He was not the English teacher Clark had conjured up in his mind before their arrival. No ascot or velvet reading jacket in sight.
“Was she a good student?” Clark asked.
“Rachel was a brilliant English student. I was encouraging her to go into a creative writing course at university or college, she was that good.”
Stonechild straightened next to him on the couch. “Did you mentor her after school?”
Phil’s gaze adjusted slightly to focus on her face. “Rachel wrote poetry and we’d meet to talk about it, so I suppose yes, I was a mentor of sorts.”
Clark waited to make sure Stonechild didn’t have a follow-up question before asking, “You and Greta were at Pine Hollow Lodge for supper the last shift Rachel worked there. Can you tell us what you remember about that night?”
Phil’s eyes remained on Stonechild. “We arrived at the same time as Judd Neilson, the town reeve, and his wife, Elena; and Father Alec Vila and his sister, Sara, who was visiting from Sudbury. We decided on the spur of the moment to sit together for supper. I only spoke with Rachel briefly when Greta was freshening up in the washroom. I asked her how the writing was progressing and she said that she’d have some new poems to show me once school started. She was excited about them. She waited on you and your daughter, as I recall, Officer Stonechild.”
“Did you notice anyone acting oddly, or possibly paying attention to Rachel more than normal, or doing something out of the ordinary?” Clark asked. The question came out awkwardly and he inwardly groaned with Stonechild sitting silently next to him. She always had that effect on him. He felt this unsettling need to win her approval and he wasn’t sure where that came from.
Phil had a half smile on his face, adding to Clark’s discomfort. “I’m not convinced anyone was paying her more attention than warranted. We had a lively philosophical discussion at our table about the meaning of life and the existence of God, and after too much wine Greta promised Father Vila that we’d attend a church service. I’m a firm agnostic and believe she returned to being one as well once she sobered up on the drive home.”
“Did Rachel interact with anybody else that you saw?”
“The kitchen staff. She chatted with the other customers.” Phil opened his hands and shrugged. “I can’t say that I noticed anything unusual, nor did I sense any tensions or animosity. I’m sorry, Officer. I haven’t anything much to offer and truly wish I could help you. Rachel was a special girl and we’re going to miss her.”
Clark began to rise but relaxed into the seat cushion when Stonechild started talking again. “Did you and your wife go straight home from the restaurant?”
“We did.” He hesitated. “I dropped Greta off at her mother’s for a visit and I continued on home.”
“So Greta was with her mother and you … were alone?”
“You make it sound so suspicious, but yes, I was alone until Greta made it home a few hours later. I’d planned to pick her up, but her mother loaned her a car, which was not unusual. Greta then drove over in the morning to help her mother with chores. She’s had MS for several years and has difficulty.”
“That should do it for now.” Stonechild snapped her notebook shut and stood abruptly. She left the room while Clark thanked Phil for his time and worked on a more graceful exit. Stonechild was sitting in the passenger seat checking her phone when he reached his cruiser.
“Did I miss something in there?” he asked as he buckled his seat belt.
“Why do you ask that?” Stonechild lifted her eyes and shifted in the seat to face him.
“You darted out of the house as if somebody lit a fire under your feet.”
“He was done giving us anything. We need to dig elsewhere to confirm that his relationship with Rachel was platonic.”
Clark turned his face sideways to look at her, his hand on the ignition key. “Are we going to suspect every man in her life of sleeping with her, married or no?”
Stonechild smiled. “I’d say that’s a given. Where to next?”
“Reeve Neilson lives a street over. We may as well find out if he and Rachel were doing the dirty behind Elena’s back.”
“Now you’re getting into the swing of it. We won’t stop suspecting everyone until we find out who was having sex with Rachel and who had the most to lose.”
“If she was having an affair. Remember, we have no proof except the poems, which could have been totally fabricated from her imagination.”
“She’d experienced what she was writing — I’d bet my life on it. The depth of emotion is too intense.” She pulled out her notepad and flipped through a few pages, then recited:
“I yearn to feel the touch of your skin
against my thighs
our bodies one for this eternal moment
my lips pressed soft
as butterfly wings
against your neck.”
Stonechild’s eyes flashed as she snapped her notepad shut and tucked it back inside her jacket. “These are not the words of a sixteen-year-old girl daydreaming. The more times I read her poetry the more convinced I am that she lived this. Think about it, Harrison. The summer job had her out from unde
r her mother’s smothering watch and she was finally able to spread her wings. Somebody took advantage.” Stonechild turned away from him and put on her sunglasses, her mouth set in a stubborn line. “And we can’t forget that she upset somebody enough that they took a tire iron to the back of her head. That kind of emotion can’t be faked either.”
“I’m not disagreeing, but remember Stonechild, she was having sex with Darryl Kelly. She might have taken those first fumbling, unsatisfying efforts and used them as a launching-off point for her fertile imagination. She liked to read romance fiction. You said so yourself.”
“Good to question, Harrison, but I think you should trust me on this one.” She turned her head and gave him a quick half smile before looking back out the window.
He was silent as he pulled into the Neilsons’ driveway, preparing himself to question the reeve. The house wasn’t much bigger than the Bococks’ but was in a more prime location with the grassy yard angling down to the water. Judd and Elena were both home and they settled into the back sunroom with a fresh pot of coffee and homemade cheese scones. Stonechild hadn’t touched her coffee at the Bococks but she accepted another cup.
“Yes, we were at the restaurant that night,” said Judd. “We left before the other people at our table because the sitter phoned that Robby was sick.”
A boy picked that moment to walk into the room from the kitchen holding a Popsicle. He looked to be about four, but scrawny with a milky complexion. He had the same fair colouring and wide blue eyes as his mom.
“Come in, Robby,” said Elena, holding out her hand toward him. She kept talking. “Judd drove Robby to the hospital in the Soo and stayed with him overnight. I was here with our twins. Cameron had a tummy ache and he was up half the night. Our punishment for going on a date.” She smiled at Judd.
Robby backed into the kitchen and the television soon blared from wherever he’d disappeared to. Elena sighed. “Robby has cystic fibrosis and is going through a difficult patch.”
Closing Time Page 10