The Body in the Beach House

by Grace York

  "Well I'm not being left out," said Ivy. "What about you, Amelie?"

  Amelie shook her head and shoved her hands in her pockets. "I can't. Not yet."

  "You stay here with me, dear," said Mrs Jones. "I'm not climbing up all those stairs. We'll scrape the plates and find some scraps for Bella and Charlie."

  "All right then," said Addison, feeling like she was about to lead an expedition. "Let's do it."

  10

  Addison almost lost her nerve when they reached Patrick's door. She couldn't help but replay the scene over in her mind – Ivy screaming, frantically turning the doorknob; Dan breaking down the door, finding Patrick's body. It was all there, front and centre. She suppressed a shudder.

  The door was pulled closed, but the broken doorknob and splintered wood remained. Adam pushed on the door and it opened easily. He gave the others a tentative look before entering the room. Addison and Ivy followed, Layla stayed in the doorway.

  "I guess it's okay to touch stuff now," said Adam, running a finger through the black dust that coated just about every surface of the room. "They've obviously done all their checks for fingerprints."

  "Even so, let's not spread that stuff all over the house," said Layla. "When do you think they'll let us clean up?" she asked Addison.

  "I don't know. But I need to call Wilcox about that key, so I'll ask him," she replied.

  "What key?" asked Ivy.

  "There's a master key somewhere that fits all the rooms. I forgot to tell him about it."

  "What do you mean, somewhere?" asked Adam. "You don't know where it is?"

  "Not exactly." Addison didn't like the way the two of them stared at her. "Well I haven't had to use it, have I? You all have your own keys, and I trust you. It's only really in case someone loses their key, or there's an emergency."

  "Like yesterday?" said Ivy.

  "Ah, yeah."

  Adam turned to face the wardrobe. "Shall I?" he asked.

  "Open it," said Addison.

  He did, and Addison saw that Wilcox was right. There was enough space in there for a small person, but it would be a tight fit.

  "I don't know," said Ivy. "It would have been difficult to fit oneself in there and hide while the rest of us discovered the body."

  "Not to mention gruesome," Layla added. She had a clear view from the doorway. "To climb in there and shut the door while Patrick's body was hanging from the same door? You'd have to be especially callous."

  "Well, he did just murder someone," said Adam. "I think it's safe to say whoever did this was pretty callous." He bent down to take a close look at the space.

  Addison peered over his shoulder. She could see Patrick's shoes lined up in the bottom of the wardrobe. They didn't seem disturbed.

  "I think they would have made more mess than this," she said. "I mean, if there was someone hiding in here they'd need to have been crouching down, and they would have trampled over all these shoes. There's no evidence of that. Plus, if it was Louie, he would have left in a hurry to come downstairs and join us all in the dining room. He wouldn't have had time to straighten up first."

  "So we're back to an intruder, maybe?" said Ivy.

  "Maybe," said Addison, although she wasn't convinced about that either. "But how would an intruder have picked exactly the right time to come in, get upstairs without anyone seeing, and either get out again unseen before you discovered Patrick's body, or hide in here until after we left?"

  Ivy, Adam, and Layla all stared blankly at her. They weren't getting any answers up here, just asking more questions. And it was getting uncomfortable.

  "Let's go back down and find Mrs Jones and Amelie," said Addison. "I've got an apple crumble I can put in the oven."

  The mention of dessert got everyone moving.

  Back in the kitchen Mrs Jones and Amelie had managed to clean up after dinner and stack the dishwasher. Amelie was wiping down the bench when they trooped back in.

  "Well?" she asked.

  "It's possible," said Addison. "But so are a lot of things. I don't think we should talk about it anymore."

  "Yes," agreed Ivy. "We really should leave it up to the police. They'll find some evidence or something, I'm sure."

  Addison set the oven to heat, then retrieved the apple crumble she'd made yesterday from the fridge. It seemed so long ago now. She'd made it to have for dessert last night, but after Patrick's death no-one had even been interested in dinner. It needed using, though, and they could all do with something to lift their spirits.

  "Who would like coffee?" asked Layla, as she fired up the coffee machine. Hands went up, some opted for tea, and Layla set about her task. Mrs Jones helped, Addison put the apple crumble in the oven to heat through, and soon the six of them were settled around the smaller table in the kitchen with steaming mugs and plates of the sweet dessert.

  Charlie and Bella came charging through the doggy door when they smelled the food, and for a moment the group were entertained by their antics. But it wasn't long before the mood turned sombre again.

  "My money's still on the contractor," said Adam.

  "Do we have to discuss this?" asked Addison. She cast a nervous glance toward Amelie.

  "I think we do," he said. "If there's a murderer amongst us, I for one would like to know. Wouldn't you?"

  It was a good point, Addison had to admit.

  "What about Jason?" Ivy asked. "He was out the front working, but he was right underneath the balcony. No-one could see him for most of that hour. He could have come inside and up the front staircase, snuck into Patrick's room…" She didn't finish the thought. She didn't need to.

  "No," said Addison. "Jason isn't a killer. What possible motive could he have, anyway? He barely knew Patrick. Plus, there's no way he would fit in that wardrobe. He's too big. So how did he get out of the locked room?"

  No-one had an answer for that.

  "Well they're the only two outsiders who had the opportunity," said Adam.

  "I know Jason, and I'll vouch for him," said Addison. "There's no way it was him."

  "And Louie?" asked Adam. "Can you vouch for him?"

  Addison shook her head. "Jason hired him. I trust Jason, though. He would have checked Louie out before bringing him into my home. Surely." Wouldn't he? Louie was looking more and more suspicious by the minute.

  "He's not from around here," said Mrs Jones. "I've never seen him before he started working on the beach house."

  "He's from Riverwood, I believe," said Addison. "I got the impression Jason knew him, though. He's worked with him before."

  "Maybe you should ask Jason what he knows about him," said Ivy.

  "Yes, maybe. I'll do that tomorrow. But I don't understand what possible motive he could have."

  "What motive could anyone have?" said Amelie. She had both hands wrapped around her coffee mug.

  "Someone must have a motive," said Ivy. "I mean, it happened, didn't it? Patrick is dead, and the police say it wasn't suicide. That means someone had a motive to kill him. How much do we really know about him?"

  "Enough to know he was a decent person," said Amelie. Addison caught the hint of a snarl on her lips, and realised for the first time that Amelie, quiet as she was, might have a nasty side.

  "I'm not so sure about that," said Ivy, who had missed Amelie's flash of anger.

  "What do you mean?" asked Addison.

  "I don't want to speak ill of the dead…"

  "Spit it out," said Amelie.

  "Well… he was pretty rude to Adam, for starters." Ivy raised her eyebrows in Adam's direction.

  Adam shrugged. "I'm used to it."

  "What happened?" asked Addison.

  "I asked him a few times to read some of what I was working on. Not the whole manuscript, of course. Just a couple of chapters. To see if I was on the right track."

  "And did he?" asked Addison.

  Adam shook his head. "No. He kept saying he was too busy. Which is why I thought it odd when you said he was blocked."

 
"He was blocked when we first came here two weeks ago," said Amelie. "But then he got writing again."

  "So he said," said Ivy. "Are you sure he was telling the truth?"

  "Why would he lie about that?"

  Ivy pushed her plate of apple crumble aside. "I'm sorry, Addison. This smells delicious, but I'm not hungry."

  "I'll take it," said Adam. He swapped his empty plate for her full one without further discussion.

  "Why would Patrick lie about what he was writing?" Amelie asked Ivy again.

  "I have no idea. I just…"

  "You spent a bit of time with him over the last week," said Addison. "Did he tell you what he was working on?"

  Ivy shook her head. "No. But I didn't ask. We talked about other things."

  "What other things?"

  "Other writers, books in general. The state of the publishing industry. That sort of thing."

  "And how did he seem to you?" asked Addison.

  "To be honest? Like he was hiding something. I think something was troubling Patrick, although he wouldn't tell me what it was." She turned to Amelie. "Did Patrick do drugs? Was he on any medication?"

  "Not that I'm aware of. Why?"

  Ivy took a sip from her tea cup, and placed it gently back on its saucer. "I don't know. A couple of times he seemed… different. Almost as if he were high."

  11

  Amelie was in the kitchen finishing off a bowl of cereal when Addison came down on Saturday morning. It was still early, none of the rest of the household were up, but there was baking to be done. She'd promised Hazel a batch of cinnamon scrolls this weekend, in addition to the usual assortment of scones and muffins.

  "Good morning, Amelie," said Addison, putting on a wide smile. She hoped her resident painter was slightly happier today. The fact that she was up early this morning was a good sign.

  "Good morning. I thought you could use a hand today. Sorry I didn't get up to help yesterday."

  "That's completely understandable. I would have stayed in bed myself yesterday, except for not wanting to let Hazel down. She's been such a good friend since I arrived in Getaway Bay."

  Amelie finished her last mouthful of cereal and put the bowl in the dishwasher. "Everyone here does seem very kind," she said. "I'd love to stay here."

  "You're welcome in this house for as long as you want," said Addison. "That's the point of the beach house. I don't want anyone to leave quickly. And besides, I haven't seen any of your work yet. How is your beach scene coming along?"

  "It's nearly ready, actually. I… I wasn't able to concentrate yesterday. But maybe I'll get back to it today. After we've done the baking, of course. Plus, I'd like to go for a run."

  Amelie was by far the most sporty of Addison's house guests. After helping Addison with the morning's baking, she usually set off for a run along the beach. She'd enquired about joining a gym, but the closest one was in Riverwood. As she didn't have a car, she'd decided to just stick to her beach runs for the time being.

  "It's a beautiful day to get out and about," said Addison. This was encouraging. She'd dreaded the thought of Amelie spending days or weeks moping about the beach house. She was entitled to grieve, of course. They all were. But Addison had been around enough grief after the loss of her husband two years ago, and then her cousin Jenna and Uncle Dennis earlier this year. She didn't think she'd cope well with more sadness surrounding her.

  "What are we making today?" asked Amelie. Addison told her what they'd be baking as she went through the fridge and pantry retrieving ingredients. Soon they were underway, happily measuring and mixing and taking their minds off things. Well, for about fifteen minutes, before Amelie brought up the subject of Patrick's death again.

  "Patrick wasn't doing drugs," she said. "I don't believe a word Ivy says." After Ivy had dropped her bombshell last night, Addison had quickly put an end to the discussion. It was late, and as much as she wanted to find out who killed Patrick and why, she couldn't afford for her boarders to start arguing. Friction in the house was the last thing they all needed.

  "Let's not get into all that now," said Addison. "If there were drugs in Patrick's system, I'm sure the pathologist would have found something. That's for the police to deal with, not us."

  "Yeah, okay. But I don't like Ivy saying things like that about Patrick. He's not here to defend himself."

  "I know." Addison tried to distract her with the muffin mix. It was short-lived.

  "I overheard Patrick arguing with Adam, you know."

  "Oh? When was that?" As much as she wanted to keep things light and happy, Addison had to admit she was curious.

  "A couple of days before he died. Adam was pushing him to look at his manuscript, like he said last night. Patrick had tried to be polite about it, but Adam wasn't taking no for an answer. So Patrick got angry."

  "Was that something that happened a lot? Patrick getting angry?"

  "Not a lot, no. But then I only knew him three months. I do know he could snap if he was pushed hard enough."

  "And Adam pushed hard enough?" asked Addison.

  Amelie nodded. "I think so. I was in my room above Patrick's, but my window was open and so were the doors to his room. The argument got quite heated."

  "In what way?" Addison didn't like the sound of this. She'd known Adam for a month now, he'd been the first boarder to answer her advertisement. He was a good young man, for the most part, but he could be brash and unreasonable when he wanted. He certainly had a way of pushing people's buttons.

  "Adam accused Patrick of being too much of a big-shot, said he should be willing to help out a struggling fellow writer. Patrick told him to back off. I think there may have been some pushing and shoving."

  "Was this on Tuesday?" Addison asked. Now that she thought about it, she had sensed some tension between Patrick and Adam on Tuesday night.

  "Yes. I tried to ask Patrick about it, but he shut me out. He went straight to his room after dinner."

  Addison cracked an egg into her mixing bowl. "I remember that. He said he had a headache."

  "I think Adam was his headache."

  Amelie passed Addison the mixture of warm milk, yeast, and sugar she'd prepared, and Addison poured it into the bowl. Her mind wasn't on the job, though, and she slopped some of it onto the counter. It dribbled down the cupboard doors and onto the floor.

  "Oh, shoot, look what I've done."

  "I've got it," said Amelie, already pulling a couple of sheets of paper towel off the roll. She cleaned up the mess while Addison poured some extra milk into the bowl, hoping she hadn't well and truly stuffed up the recipe.

  Addison finished mixing the dough for the cinnamon scrolls and turned it out onto the counter. As she kneaded, she thought over what Amelie had just said. She knew Adam had been keen to get Patrick's opinion of his work, that had been no secret in the house. She also knew that Patrick had resisted, and she understood why. It was all very well asking someone for feedback, but you had to be prepared to receive it. And she had the feeling Patrick would be the kind of writer who would be completely honest.

  No-one likes receiving negative feedback, and no-one particularly likes giving it, either. In a professional setting amongst peers it was a necessary part of improving one's craft, of course. But when you lived in the same house, things could get tricky. Addison was sure Patrick was resisting Adam's requests because he didn't want things to get awkward between them if Adam's work had not been something Patrick thought highly of.

  But it sounded like Adam was having trouble taking no for an answer. Was their disagreement truly about Patrick's refusal to read Adam's work? Or was there more to it?

  "You're going to overdo that," said Amelie, bringing Addison out of her reflection.

  "Oh, you're right. Sorry, I was miles away then."

  "That's okay. You were thinking about Patrick and Adam, weren't you?"

  "Yes."

  "Me too. Adam seems like a nice young man, but…"

  "But he has a bit too much bravad
o about him at times," Addison finished for her.

  Amelie nodded. "You don't think he could have been the one to hurt Patrick, do you?"

  Addison was about to say no, but she couldn't quite get there. Adam was in the house at the time, and Wilcox had been pretty clear that everyone was a suspect until they could be ruled out. Someone killed Patrick, and Addison realised she hadn't known any of these people for long enough to be able to rule them out.

  "I don't know," was all she could say. She focused her attention back to the task at hand. She finished kneading the dough for the scrolls and put it aside to rise, then started gathering the ingredients for scones.

  "I think I'll go for my run now," said Amelie. She'd already put a batch of orange and poppyseed muffins in the oven, and set up another tray of chocolate chip ready to go.

  "Thanks for your help this morning," said Addison. "And try and get this business out of your head. We'll all go crazy trying to figure it out. Let's leave it to the police."

  Amelie nodded as she pulled off her apron, but Addison knew neither of them were going take her advice.

  12

  The next hour for Addison passed by in relative peace. She made the batch of scones first, and then the cinnamon scrolls. When the last tray of treats was in the oven she made herself a coffee and plucked one of Amelie's orange and poppyseed muffins from the cooling tray. She broke off a piece and smiled as the steam rose from the fluffy middle of the cake.

  She settled herself at the table with the delicious muffin, her coffee, and her mobile phone. It was past eight o'clock; Detective Wilcox should be up by now. She found his number in her phone and placed the call.

  "Wilcox," he said gruffly. Someone hadn't had his morning coffee yet.

  "Good morning, Detective," said Addison brightly, before confessing about the existence of a master key to all the bedrooms in the beach house.

  "And where is this master key kept?" Wilcox asked.

  "Well, that's the thing. I can't remember. I know I put it in a safe place, but…"

  "But you can't remember where that safe place is." Wilcox sighed.