The Body in the Beach House

by Grace York

  "Jenna," said Addison, although she was quite sure Eleanor Moffett knew Jenna's name perfectly well.

  "That's right. Jenna. Poor lass. And now this young man. I've read his book, you know. It was very good. Do you know whether he'd written the next one? Maybe it will get published posthumously, and he'll be even more famous."

  "Sorry to disappoint you, Eleanor. There wasn't another book as far as I know."

  Eleanor shook her head, as if this news was even more devastating than Patrick's death. "Oh well. Maybe his family will take over the series then. Or another writer. Like that Robert Ludlum fellow. Someone else is writing his books now, aren't they?"

  "I wouldn't know." Addison drained her coffee and stood. "It's been lovely chatting, but I must get back."

  "You've got another young man there, haven't you? Another writer? Maybe he can take over this Wilde fellow's books. It was very good, that one I read. Be a shame to leave it at just one."

  "Goodbye, Eleanor," said Addison. She fished her keys out of her bag and was in the Rav 4 before Eleanor could protest. Addison didn't like to speak ill of anyone, but Eleanor Moffett tried her patience sometimes. No wonder Mrs Jones did her best to steer clear of her these days.

  The old gossip did remind Addison of something she'd meant to follow up, though. Patrick's family. The idea that Patrick had stolen thousands of dollars of his parents' life savings didn't gel with the man she'd met two weeks ago. As she drove home to the beach house, she tried to come up with a way to get Isaac to give her the details for Patrick's sisters.

  She'd like to have a chat with them.

  19

  Back at the beach house the media contingent seemed to have grown, if anything. Didn't these people have anything better to do with their Sunday afternoon? Addison wondered whether any of them had rolled up their trousers and snuck off to the beach while waiting for something to happen.

  Adam was in the kitchen making himself a sandwich when Addison came in. Charlie bowled through the dog door and jumped up to greet her, and she bent down to give the little dog a cuddle. She was glad Olivia had talked her into keeping him.

  "I took him for a walk," said Adam. "Kept him off the beach, though. Those reporters are a bit full-on, aren't they?"

  "Did they ask you any questions?"

  "They tried. We ignored them, didn't we, Charlie?"

  Addison hung her keys on the hook and sat at the kitchen table. "Can you come and sit for a minute, Adam?" she said. "I'd like to talk to you."

  Adam shrugged, grabbed his sandwich and a plate, and joined her at the table. "What's up?"

  "I'm sorry you have to go through all this," she began. "The police, the media, the whole thing."

  "It's a crappy situation for all of us," said Adam. "But it's not your fault. You don't need to apologise. I just wish they'd hurry up and find out who did it. I can see it's really hard on you, too."

  "It is," Addison agreed. She wasn't sure how to broach the subject of his arrest. She decided to just come straight out with it. "Adam – Detective Wilcox said there was some trouble in your past. It's what he came to speak to you about yesterday morning. Do you feel comfortable talking to me about it?"

  Adam took a bite of his sandwich, eyes downcast. He took a long time to answer.

  "It's not my proudest moment," he eventually said.

  "No, I got that impression. We all make mistakes. But it would help me out a lot if you could tell me about it."

  Adam nodded. "I guess I owe you that much. It was a bar fight. There was this guy, he was talking to a girl, and it looked to me like she didn't want anything to do with him. I asked him to leave her alone, but he refused. She told me not to bother, but he kept going and she looked scared. It wasn't right."

  "So you stepped in?"

  "Yeah. I hit him. I was nineteen, my mates were all there, I was full of bravado. I wasn't interested in the girl, just wanted to make sure she was safe from him. But I could have handled it way better. Anyway, it turned into a big fight, and the guy ended up in hospital. It was pretty serious."

  "Was he okay?"

  "Eventually, yeah. But they charged me with attempted murder. My dad got me a good lawyer, who argued with the police, and it was all over in a couple of days. The guy woke up and immediately dropped the charges." Adam picked up the sandwich, then put it down again without taking a bite. "I got the feeling he didn't want anything to do with the police, for whatever reason. I didn't care, I just wanted to put it behind me. Taught me a pretty good lesson, though."

  "I'll bet it did," said Addison. "Has anything like that ever happened again?"

  Adam shook his head. "Not a chance. I've kept my fists to myself ever since. It's not worth it. If that guy had died…"

  Addison believed him. Telling the story had brought it all up again, and she could see how upset it made him. She noticed a slight tremor in his hands to go with the fear in his eyes. It must have been a close call.

  "Thanks for being honest with me," she said.

  "You've been really good to me, Addison. It's hard to make a living as a writer. Not to mention the difficulties of having something like this follow me around. You opening your home to people like me, giving us an affordable and fun place to live, it's amazing. I should have been honest with you from the start."

  "It's all in the past, Adam. There was no reason for you to bring it up. Not until Patrick…"

  He straightened his back. "I promise I had nothing to do with Patrick's death."

  "I believe you," said Addison.

  "What do you think it has to do with his computer?"

  Addison shrugged. "Detective Wilcox seems to think there must have been something incriminating on there," she said.

  "Did they find anything before it was stolen? I mean, they had it for two days, right?"

  "Apparently Senior Constable Short went through it but couldn't find anything of relevance to the case. It was due to be sent to Brisbane tomorrow for a more sophisticated analysis."

  Adam finished his sandwich. "Which they won't get to do now. Gees, I wonder what was on it? Or how did whoever killed him know there was even something on it?"

  "It just gets more complicated," said Addison. She stood and went to the fridge. She hadn't eaten all day, and Adam's sandwich had looked good. It was closer to dinner time than lunch, but she was suddenly hungry. Half a sandwich might hold her over.

  "Do you know where Amelie was going last night?" Adam asked.

  Addison turned back to look at him. "What do you mean? When?"

  "After we all went to bed. I heard her moving about in her room, then her door opened. It creaks, and I recognised the noise. Then a few minutes later I looked out the front window and she was heading off toward the road."

  "I didn't hear anything," said Addison. "I must have been asleep. Do you know what time it was?"

  "Around midnight."

  "Did you ask her about it?"

  Adam shook his head. "She scares me a little, to be honest. I told your detective friend, though. I figured he could ask her." He put his plate in the dishwasher. "I'm going to try and get some more work done before dinner. Do you need any help here?"

  "No thank you, Adam. Layla offered to make dinner tonight. I'm just going to make myself a snack, then maybe have a rest. You go and get stuck into your work."

  "Okay. See you later." Adam turned and jogged up the stairs, leaving Addison to wonder where Amelie had gone off to at midnight last night.

  20

  Addison was just sitting down with her snack when Ivy came home. "Hi," she said, between mouthfuls of sandwich. "Oh, Ivy, I need to talk to you before you go to your room."

  "Okay." Ivy took a seat at the table opposite Addison.

  "The police came after you left this morning," said Addison. She explained the break-in at the station, and how the police had a warrant to search the beach house. "I'm sorry, but I had no choice but to let them into your room. I tried to call, but you didn't answer your phone."

/>   "That's okay," said Ivy. "I have nothing to hide. They didn't take anything though, did they?"

  "Not that I'm aware of. They would have said if they'd taken your computer or anything, I'm sure."

  "Oh I had my laptop with me. Sorry I didn't answer your call. I was playing with the kids, and then time just got away."

  "No problem. Did you have a nice day?"

  Ivy's face lit up as she spoke of the fun she'd had with her brother's family. She obviously enjoyed spending time with them. It was lovely to see. Addison wondered why she didn't have any children of her own. She'd blurted the question out before she had chance to stop herself.

  "I wasn't able," Ivy said softly, her face darkening.

  "I'm sorry, it's none of my business," said Addison.

  "No, that's okay. I don't mind talking about it. I was married once. We tried to have children, but it didn't happen. In the end we found out it was my fault. He didn't stay long after that. I didn't blame him; he wanted a family, and I couldn't give him one."

  "Oh, Ivy. I'm so sorry."

  Ivy took a deep breath. "It was a long time ago. I've moved on. My stories are my babies now. And I just adore Dan's two, when I get the chance to see them."

  Addison reached for Ivy's hand and gave it a squeeze. "It's good to have family."

  "Oh, hey, speaking of family, Annette said something today that made me think. We were talking about Patrick, of course, and she asked whether he might have had any obsessive fans. I didn't know, he didn't mention any to me. But I thought it was a good point. We never really ruled out the possibility of an intruder, did we?"

  "No we didn't," said Addison. "Detective Wilcox said it was unlikely, but not impossible."

  "Do you know whether Patrick had any fans hanging around? You know, the type that might get a little too close?"

  Addison tried to think. It was a good point, actually. She wondered why she hadn't thought of it herself. Patrick was a reasonably famous author, at least here in Australia. Mrs Moffett seemed to be big fan. What Ivy was suggesting was certainly possible.

  "I don't recall him mentioning any, but then he might not have known. It's worth looking into."

  "Yes, I thought so too. Maybe you can mention the idea to Detective Wilcox. That might fit with the laptop being stolen, too. Maybe there were some emails or messages they didn't want the police to find."

  Addison nodded. "I need to call him, so I'll ask him about it. Thanks."

  "It was Annette's idea." Ivy stood. "I'm going to have a shower before dinner."

  "Okay. See you later."

  Ivy left, and Addison gave the crazed fan idea some more thought. Maybe Patrick's killer wasn't one of her boarders or Louie, after all.

  If it was an intruder they'd have to have come in the back way, through the kitchen, and up the stairs during the ten minutes Addison was out in the front garden with Jason.

  She stood and looked out the back window. The half-finished studio was on the left, where Louie had supposedly been working. In the middle of the garden was the temporary barbecue area they'd set up. And on the right was a clump of trees and shrubs Jason planned to remove to make way for a vegetable garden.

  Could an intruder have snuck into her back garden, waited behind the trees for the right moment, and entered the kitchen?

  As she stared at the trees and shrubs Addison saw movement. She held her breath, then relaxed when she saw Charlie and Bella emerge from the undergrowth. They must have been over in Mrs Jones's yard.

  Addison let out a little gasp as she realised what that meant. The gate between her yard and Mrs Jones's was open, as they often left it. It was how the dogs came and went, and how Mrs Jones was able to come over and join her in the kitchen.

  It could be how an intruder managed to get into the house without being seen.

  Addison fished in her pocket for her mobile phone and called Isaac.

  "Detective Sergeant Wilcox speaking," he answered.

  "It's me, Addison. Do you have a minute?"

  "Not really. We've got a… I'm just on my way out of the station. Can it wait?"

  "I guess so." Addison didn't want to rush the conversation. She knew what Isaac thought of the intruder theory, and she wanted to explain it properly. It could wait until he was finished doing whatever he was doing.

  She remembered something else she was going to ask him, though. "Could you give me the contact details for Patrick's sisters? I have all his things, and I thought it would be easier if I just sent them rather than bothering going through you."

  There was silence for a moment, before he agreed. "I suppose that would make things a little easier on us. I'll get Diaz to text you. I really have to go, Addison. I'll call you later."

  Addison said goodbye and ended the call. She wondered where he was rushing off to, and her mind started whirling with a dozen thoughts all at once. She barely noticed when Layla came into the kitchen.

  "Thought I'd better get a start on dinner," said Layla, before she stopped and stared at Addison. "Is something wrong? You look confused."

  Addison shook her head and checked the clock on the wall; it was almost five. The day had certainly flown by.

  "Sorry, a couple of things on my mind."

  "Anything I can help with?"

  "Maybe," said Addison. She explained Ivy's sister-in-law's idea about an obsessed fan, her own theory about the possibility of an intruder coming through the garden, and Wilcox's rush to get somewhere meaning she couldn't tell him about either of them.

  "Well that would mean it wasn't one of us," said Layla. "I mean one of the boarders. I know it wasn't you or I."

  "I think that's why I like the idea. I still can't get my head around Patrick's killer being one of the boarders. Or Louie, for that matter."

  "Or Dan."

  "Yes, or Dan," said Addison. "I keep forgetting he was here as well."

  Layla stood looking out the window to the back garden. "I guess it's possible," she said. "I mean, they could have come in through Mrs Jones's property, waited behind the trees there for you to leave the kitchen, and then made their move. But what about Louie? Wasn't he in the back garden?"

  "He said he was inside the studio most of the time. They could have got by him."

  "True. So how do we find out whether Patrick had any crazy stalker fans?" asked Layla.

  Addison was about to say she had no idea when her mobile phone beeped with a message. It was Constable Diaz with the details for Patrick's sisters.

  "This might help," she said with a smile.

  21

  Addison made the call while Layla pottered around in the kitchen preparing dinner. She was making a simple pesto pasta, and didn't need any help.

  "Hello? Marilyn speaking."

  Addison introduced herself to Patrick's eldest sister. She'd found out from Short that Marilyn lived in Sydney with her husband and three children, and hadn't seen Patrick for almost fifteen years. She had, however, spoken to him a few times on the phone and followed his writing career.

  "Patrick was staying in the boarding house I run for artists and writers," Addison explained.

  "Yes, I've seen pictures on the news. I was going to call you, actually…"

  "Oh? Can I help you with something?"

  Addison heard Marilyn's sigh down the phone. "I was wondering how he was doing. You know… was he well? Before he died? Was he happy?"

  Addison smiled, and hoped it came through in her voice. "I only knew him for two weeks, but yes, he seemed happy. He'd been struggling to get going on his new book, but he seemed to enjoy the fresh air and sea breeze here. He made some friends, too. I think he was happy."

  "That's good then," said Marilyn.

  "Is it true you haven't seen him for many years?"

  "Yes, it's true. My husband, well, and my sister, really, both of them thought it best we cut ties with Patrick. They never forgave him for the money. They didn't believe his story, you see. They think Patrick stole all our parents' money."

/>   "And you don't?"

  "Oh, I agreed with them at first. The story was too fanciful. A con-artist, he said. Some woman he'd taken up with. I don't know, none of us ever met her. He said her name was Emma. Anyway, he went on about how he'd loved her and she'd tricked him, told him about some investment that was guaranteed to double his money. Barry and Anita – my husband and sister – they didn't believe he could fall for something so obvious."

  "But you think he could have?"

  "The more I thought about it, the more inclined I was to believe him. He was naive, my brother. And he persisted with the story. Plus, he never seemed to have any money. So maybe it was true. I guess now we'll never know."

  Addison felt sorry for Patrick. If it was true, and his family didn't believe him, what a double blow.

  "Anyway, I'm sure you weren't calling to speak about that business from the past," said Marilyn.

  "No, you're right. I wanted to organise to have Patrick's things sent to you. The police have his computer and all of his work, but his clothes and a few personal belongings are here. Would you like me to send them down to you?"

  "There really is no need," said Marilyn. "I'd like his work, of course. There'll be people who'll want to get their hands on any unfinished pieces he may have, and I want to make sure that is done properly. But I have no interest in clothing or other unimportant items."

  "There are a few books, a couple of old diaries," said Addison. "Are you sure?"

  "I'll leave it up to you, dear. If you think there's anything important there, by all means send it down. But don't waste your postage on clothes and the like. Donate it to a charity shop up there, if you don't mind."

  "Okay," said Addison. "I'm really sorry for your loss," she added.

  "I lost Patrick fifteen years ago, dear."

  Addison wasn't sure what to say to that, but she needed to ask one more question.

  "Marilyn, the police said you followed Patrick's career a little. Do you happen to know whether he had any… how do I put this… overly dedicated fans?"