by Grace York
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 h
elp themselves to all their meals and snacks except 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.
"Morning," said Layla, putting the kettle on. "Who wants tea?"
"Good morning. Why don't you make a pot," said Addison.
"Good idea. Morning, Mrs Jones."
Mrs Jones greeted Layla and offered her sympathies all over again, and Addison's mind once again turned to Patrick. So young, and with so much to live for. What could have possibly driven him to take his own life?
"It doesn't make any sense," said Layla, and Addison knew she, too, was thinking of Patrick. It was going to be tough to get the household through the coming days and weeks.
"I know," said Addison. "I don't think we should try and make sense of it. Suicide is not something those left behind can ever easily explain."
Layla scooped tea leaves into the tea pot, then tossed the scoop back into the tin. She sighed and braced herself with both hands on the bench. "What do we do, then? I'm lost all over again, Addison."
Addison wiped her hands on her apron and guided Layla to the stool next to Mrs Jones. "I'll finish the tea," she said.
Mrs Jones put a comforting arm around Layla while Addison tried to think of something helpful to say. She came up empty, but it didn't seem to matter. Layla hadn't really wanted an answer.
The rest of the household drifted in and out of the kitchen, fetching tea and coffee and breakfast items. Ivy took a cup of tea back to her room. Adam made himself a coffee and stayed in the kitchen, eying the blueberry muffins Addison pulled from the oven.
"You can have one," Addison said. "Just give them five minutes to cool."
"Thanks," said Adam. "What are you going to do today?"
"I was going to do some grocery shopping in Riverwood," she replied. "We're getting low on a few things. But it can wait, given the circumstances. I think I'd better stick around here and keep an eye on the girls. They were both pretty shaken up."
Adam nodded. "Yes, they were. Do you want me to go and get the groceries?"
"I could go with you," Layla suggested.
Addison managed half a smile. "Yes, thank you both. That would be a big help. Do you think you could drop these off to Hazel's on your way?" she asked, indicating the finished scones and muffins.
"No problem," said Adam. He reached for a muffin. "Better do some quality control first."
He was halfway through the muffin when Amelie appeared in the kitchen. Her eyes were red from crying.
Addison gave her a hug. "Have you been up all night?" she asked gently.
Amelie nodded. "Yes. I just can't understand it. I know we only met a few months ago, but I thought we were friends. Good friends. Maybe even more than that. I don't know why he couldn't talk to me about whatever was bothering him."
"Try not to let it worry you too much," said Addison, although it felt like a lame thing to say. "Can I get you a cup of tea?"
"Yes, please."
"Do you know anything about Patrick's family?" Adam asked.
Addison poured Amelie a cup of tea and put it in front of her. She wrapped both hands around the cup. "All he told me was they don't speak anymore. I don't know if that meant brothers or sisters, or parents, or both. He didn't want to talk about it, and it didn't seem to matter much at the time."
"The police should be able to locate them," said Addison. She wondered whether his estrangement from his family could have something to do with his death. She was going to ask Amelie more questions, but the poor girl was clearly still traumatised. "Why don't you go back to bed," Addison suggested. "I've got some sleeping tablets from the chemist, I could give you one of those if you like. You should try and get some rest."
Amelie nodded and was about to speak when Addison's phone rang. She checked the display – Detective Wilcox.
"I'd better get that," she said, picking up the phone and swiping it to answer. "Hello?"
"Mrs Lake, it's Detective Wilcox. There's been a development. I need to come and re-interview everyone who was present at the time of Patrick Wilde's death."
"What do you mean, a development?" Addison's eyebrows were raised. All eyes in the kitchen were upon her.
"The autopsy was carried out this morning. Patrick Wilde did not commit suicide."
"Then what…" Addison felt her legs go weak. "Oh, my goodness. You mean…"
"I'm afraid so. He was murdered."
5
By the time Wilcox and Short arrived, Addison had sent Layla to deliver the baked goods to Hazel's cafe and gathered everyone else around the great-room dining table. Ivy, Adam, and Amelie were all there. Ivy had called her brother Dan to come back, and Detective Wilcox had asked Jason and Louie to join them at the beach house. Addison laid the table with the extra scones she'd made this morning, but no-one was hungry.
"Thank you all for coming," said Wilcox after he and Short took seats at the head of the table. His white shirt showed small patches of sweat under the arms, and Addison thought he looked very uncomfortable. She couldn't believe this was the second murder he was investigating in the three months she'd been in Getaway Bay.
"Are you certain Patrick was murdered?" asked Amelie. She'd launched into a fresh bout of tears and anguished screaming when Addison had told the group why Wilcox was coming back so soon. Her eyes were still red now, her pale skin blotched and angry.
"We are," said Wilcox. "I'm sorry I can't give you any more details than that," he added, when Amelie opened her mouth again. She swallowed whatever it was she was going to say.
"The time of death has been narrowed to somewhere between four and five pm yesterday," said Short. She always looked and sounded so official. Addison wondered if she ever really clocked off duty. "We need to ascertain exactly where each of you were for that period of time. Addison – let's start with you."
"I was in the kitchen cooking dinner for the most part," Addison replied as Short began to take notes. "I was making a casserole, and I wan
ted to get it in the oven before I joined the group for drinks on the verandah."
"Were drinks on the verandah a regular thing?" asked Wilcox.
"Oh, yes." Addison explained how the group had taken to gathering each afternoon before dinner to unwind and discuss their day's work.
"So you were in the kitchen for the whole hour?" Short asked Addison.
"Yes. Actually, no. Jason called me out the front for a few minutes to discuss his progress on the landscaping out there. That might have been during that time?" Addison looked to Jason for confirmation.
"I think it was just after four when I asked you to take a look out the front," said Jason. "It would have been only about ten minutes, though. Then you said you had to get back in to the kitchen."
Short continued scribbling in her notebook. "You were in the kitchen for most of the hour, except for approximately ten minutes when you were out in the front yard of the house."
"That's correct."
Short turned to Jason. "And you were in the front yard the whole time?"
Jason nodded. "I wanted to get the flower bed in front of the verandah finished. I was out there from three o'clock until Ivy started screaming. Except for when I stuck my head in the front door to call Addison out."
"What about you?" Short asked Louie.
"I was out the back," said the tradesman. "We pulled all the rotted wood out of the shed earlier this week, and I was replacing it with new boards. I had my headphones in, I didn't hear anything. I came inside after it was all over and everyone was here at the table."
"You didn't come into the house between four and five o'clock?"
"No, Ma'am."
Addison noticed Short's eyes narrow at being called 'Ma'am'. She wondered why Short was taking the lead with the questioning, and Wilcox was sitting back. She figured he must be observing everyone, and it was only then that it occurred to her that they were all suspects in Patrick's murder.