by Wendy Heuvel
The bells hanging above the store door rang as two older ladies entered.
“Hello!” Cassie waved. “Nice to see you this morning.”
“You too, dear.” The one with a purplish hair colour answered.
The larger, more robust of the two approached the cash counter. “Is that cat of yours here today?”
“She sure is.” Cassie put down her duster and went behind the cash area to grab Pumpkin from her sleeping box and set her on top of the counter.
“Rowr?” Pumpkin looked at the lady and immediately rubbed against her outstretched hand.
“Come see the kitty, Ethel.”
The purple-haired lady approached the counter, and her eyes opened wide. “Woah. She’s one big kitty.”
“More to love, that’s what I always say,” the robust woman said.
“You would say that, Jean.”
Cassie chuckled and returned to her dusting, leaving the two ladies to pet Pumpkin and browse the store.
Moments later, the bell rang again as Grams arrived. “Jean! How are you, my friend?” She gave the large woman a hug.
Of course, Grams knew her. Grams knew everyone in Banford. Which is one of the reasons she wanted to stay on working at the store after she’d sold the building to Cassie. She loved people and wanted to continue seeing and visiting with them.
Speaking of which, Cassie had people of her own to see. And listen to. Even though Grams hadn’t taken her coat off yet, Cassie grabbed her own down-filled jacket and put it on.
As she walked by Grams, Jean and Ethel, she waved. “Hi, Grams. I have an errand to run. I’ll be about an hour. Do you mind?”
“Of course, dear. You go right ahead.” She gave her best smile, which lit up her grey eyes and, along with her spiky grey hairstyle, made her look twenty years younger.
Cassie skipped out and made her way down the street to the Banford Municipal Offices. The police satellite office was attached to the side of the building complex.
She checked her phone to see it was already ten minutes past eleven. Cassie assumed Wayne Howard should be arriving about now. Did people actually arrive late to interviews at the police station? She didn’t think so. Picking up the pace, she scurried down the street.
As she rounded the bend and the police office came into view, a tall man in a business suit and a long, black overcoat closed the door of his fancy Lexus. He had white hair, combed neatly to the side, and a neatly trimmed beard covered his pointed chin. Cassie guessed him to be in his seventies. It must be Wayne Howard.
Sure enough, he entered the police building. Cassie slowed her pace, allowing time for Brent to invite the man into his office. A few minutes later, she quietly opened the door and carefully pulled it shut behind her.
She grinned. Her timing had been perfect. The three sat in Brent’s office, with the door left ajar. When she took a seat in the farthest chair, she had an excellent view of the back of Wayne’s head and part of his face. He wouldn’t see her unless he turned around.
And she could hear them perfectly.
“Of course,” Wayne said. “No problem at all. Could you tell me what this is about?”
Cassie heard Brent clear his throat. “You own the mansion on Elm Street?”
Wayne nodded. “Oh. I see. I bet it’s a real eyesore by now. Am I violating by-laws?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. When’s the last time you were there?”
“It’s been... years.”
“How many years?”
“I haven’t been there since I left in sixty-eight.”
“May I ask why you left?”
Wayne gulped. “I, uh...” He forced out a sigh. “I left my wife. I walked out and never looked back.”
“And what did she do after that?”
“I’m really not sure. I heard rumours she left, too. But I decided to leave the house as it was, so it was there for her if she ever changed her mind and wanted to go back.”
Cassie heard tapping. Brent must have been bouncing his pen on the desk.
“You never spoke to her again?”
“No, I...” Wayne ran his hand through his hair, messing it up. “Why are you asking me these questions? What’s going on?”
“I think you need to be a little more forthcoming with your answers. There’s more to your story, and we need you to tell it.”
“Why? What happened?”
“Is this your wife?”
Wayne grabbed a picture from Brent’s outstretched hand. He lowered his head and stared at the photo a moment before responding. “Yes. That’s Marilyn.”
“We found Marilyn hanging from a noose in the attic. The coroner confirmed this morning it was her.”
“What?” The picture slid from Wayne’s hand and fell to his lap. “When? How long?”
“It appears she was wearing the same dress as in that photo, so probably since 1968.”
Wayne picked it up again and stared at it. “Marilyn... my dear Marilyn...” He sniffed.
Cassie put her hand on her heart. The poor man. Maybe he hadn’t done it.
“Why did you leave, Wayne? What was the fight about?” Brent continued.
Wayne rubbed his forehead and then ran his hand over his face to wipe away a tear. “All right, all right.” He continued to stare at the photo as he spoke. “She’d had an affair.” He sobbed. “I found out, and we had a huge fight. I was devastated. We were newly married—only three years. She was the world to me, but I was often gone for work. I wasn’t there when she needed me.”
Cassie shook her head. An affair? That added a whole other level to the story. The rumours hadn’t mentioned an affair.
“Then what happened?” Brent continued.
“I packed a suitcase and left. I didn’t mean to stay away for long. I’d only intended to think for a few days. But the more I thought about it, the more furious I became. One day turned into two, then three, and before I knew it, a couple of weeks had flown by.”
“So, you were very angry with Marilyn.”
“No, not at her. At the man she’d had an affair with. He must have known she was married. How could he do that to another man’s wife?”
“You weren’t mad at Marilyn herself?”
Wayne shook his head. “Not for long, anyway. Like I said, I wasn’t there for her when she needed me. She wasn’t to blame. Not really. She was young and impressionable. The man took advantage of her.”
Cassie wrinkled her brows. If he loved her so much, why hadn’t he made time for her?
Brent pressed on. “Who was the man she had an affair with?”
“I... I don’t know. I never found out.”
“And why didn’t you ever go back?”
He shrugged. “I blamed myself for the affair. I was embarrassed and ashamed that my wife had to turn elsewhere for comfort.”
“And when did you realize she wasn’t at the house, either? Don’t tell me it was through a rumour. Tell me the truth.”
“A couple months later. A friend of mine called to tell me. I figured she’d go back, eventually. I wanted her to... to have the house. So, I kept making the tax payments.”
Brent’s chair scraped across the floor. “You’re telling me that you’ve been paying the taxes on the place since 1968, and you’ve never returned?”
Keyboard keys clicked.
“Yup,” Lexy piped up. “Taxes have been paid in full every year.”
Cassie smiled. Lexy had worked in the municipal office before she started working full-time for Brent. She must still have access to those records.
“Look.” Wayne placed his hand on the desk. “I know it sounds strange. But Marilyn was the love of my life. The whole affair was not only embarrassing but devastating. I never dated another woman after that. I’ve been alone since then, and I’ve worked crazy hours to compensate by building a business. The money for the taxes was trivial. In fact, I haven’t even thought about it for years and years. My accountant takes care of it for me. Though I’ve thou
ght of Marilyn most every day.”
Brent and Lexy remained silent. Cassie knew this was probably Brent’s way of getting the suspect to confess more.
“I never should’ve left.” Wayne buried his head in his hands. “Or at least, I should’ve returned the next day. I regret it. I’ve regretted it every day of my life. But as the years passed, it became harder and harder to ever go back, and I didn’t know where to look even if I’d wanted to find her. By the time I figured out she was probably never going back to the house either, I didn’t want to deal with it anymore. I knew I wouldn’t be able to bear seeing the place.”
He grabbed the photo from the desk and cradled it in his hand. “And all this time. She was there.” He sobbed. “Oh, Marilyn. I’m so sorry!”
“What are you sorry about, exactly?” Brent asked.
“That I left her. I was shattered by what happened, but obviously, she was even more hurt than I. How could she have? How could...” Another sob. “All these years, and it never occurred to me she’d ended her own life.”
“Oh, did I say that?”
“What do you mean?” Wayne looked up.
“I never said she ended her own life, Wayne. Marilyn was murdered.”
Wayne’s mouth hung agape as he slowly placed the photo back on the desk a second time. “Mur... murdered? But you said—”
“I said she was hanging from a noose—which she was. But someone murdered her before they hung her there.”
“And you think... you think... I?”
“I haven’t said what I think. I’m just asking questions right now.”
Wayne sniffed again and wiped tears from his face.
“Let me get you some tissue.” Brent’s chair scraped across the floor again.
“I’ll get it. I’ll get it!” Lexy squeaked.
But it was too late. Brent opened the door, headed to the counter, and looked up. He froze when he saw Cassie sitting there.
She gulped and offered an apologetic smile. “Uh... hi?”
Chapter 8
“What are you doing here?” Brent whispered. “Or do I even need to ask?”
Cassie shrugged. “I came by to see how the investigation’s going.”
Brent placed his hands flat on the counter and took a deep breath. “How convenient of you to come by at exactly the time of my interview with the victim’s husband.”
“Oh? Is that who you’re in there with?”
“As if you didn’t know.”
Cassie gave a sheepish grin. “Sorry.”
“If you and Lexy keep pushing the boundaries like this, her job could be on the line. And so could mine.”
“Please don’t do anything rash. It’s not Lexy’s fault. I can’t help myself. I want justice for that poor woman.”
“I understand that.” Brent’s shoulders relaxed. “I do, too. But there are ethical ways to go about it. I’d love your help on this. You’re an intelligent woman. But please, don’t force me to compromise my position, or Lexy’s.”
Cassie’s cheeks warmed. She was a Christian. She was supposed to be a moral example to others, not be criticized for lack of ethics. “I’m truly sorry. It won’t happen again.” She stood and made her way to the door.
“Cassie,” Brent called.
She turned back.
“Thanks for understanding. I’ll have Lexy get in touch with you later.”
Cassie nodded and let herself out. She said a silent prayer on the short trek back to Olde Crow Primitives, asking God for forgiveness. Brent was right. She’d crossed the line one too many times. First and foremost, she served God. Her job was to make Him known through her actions and her words. Justice was important too, as it also was to Him, but she had to be sure to honour the Lord while seeking it, trusting Him to help her.
By the time she arrived at work, Cassie felt refreshed and at peace.
“Got all your errands done, dear?” Grams asked as she readjusted the display of travel mugs.
Coat still on, Cassie slipped behind the counter to give Pumpkin a quick nuzzle. “I did. Thank you.”
“No problem. Had a couple of good sales while you were gone.”
“On a cold, winter’s Monday? Nice!”
Grams winked. “I went straight for the jugular.”
“Grams!”
“Maybe I should work on commission.”
Cassie laughed. “How about I buy you a doughnut and a coffee, instead?”
“Deal!”
“I’ll be right back.” Cassie darted back out the door and across the street to Drummond’s Bakery. The smell of fresh bread and cinnamon met her on the sidewalk before she even entered the building. As she tugged the door open, the smell intensified, and her stomach roared in response. She hopped into line, and when it was her turn, ordered two Boston crème doughnuts.
Her next stop was at Java Junction to get Grams a coffee and a nice, tall, Earl Grey tea for herself. With a cup in each hand, and the bag of doughnuts dangling beneath, she exited the café just as Daniel approached and almost ran into her.
“Hey.” He grinned ear-to-ear. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Hi.” Her body warmed as much as the drinks in her hands.
“Are you in a rush?”
“Kind of. I was already out this morning, and I’m bringing this coffee to Grams. But I can wait in line with you, and we can walk back together.”
“All the way across the street? Done. I accept.”
Cassie followed Daniel back inside. “I have some news on the murder. The husband had an interview with Brent this morning.”
“Is that where you were? I’m surprised he let you listen in.”
“Uh... he didn’t, but I overheard. And was rightfully reprimanded.”
“Did he lock you up?” Daniel grinned.
“No, but I was convicted about unethical behaviour. Does that count?”
“Convicted by the Holy Spirit, you mean?”
“Yes. I’m going to tread lightly from now on.”
“Good girl.” Daniel put his arm around her and gave her a squeeze. “What’s next on the agenda?”
“I was thinking of heading to the library after work tonight. They’re open later on Mondays. Maybe they have old newspapers, school yearbooks, or town history books that mention Marilyn Howard.”
“To what end?”
“I don’t know. Connections? Motives? Something else that might give me an idea of who would want to murder her.”
Daniel turned to the barista and ordered, “Large double-double, please.” He looked back at Cassie. “It wasn’t the husband?”
“I don’t know. It still could be, I guess. But my gut isn’t sold on the notion.”
Daniel took his coffee and paid the young man. “Uh oh. That opens a whole new can of worms.”
Cassie followed Daniel out of the store. “Exactly. Not what I was counting on, but I want to figure this case out.”
“I could join you at the library, if you think it would help?”
They skipped in front of a slow, on-coming car. “I’d love that. Meet me at my apartment at six-thirty?”
“Sounds great. See you then.” He opened the door to Olde Crow Primitives and held it open long enough for Cassie to get through. He waved to Grams before heading on his way.
Cassie’s heart swelled. And she found herself humming as she worked the rest of the afternoon. Grams eyed her a few times, but opted not to say anything about Daniel. Cassie was relieved.
A few hours later, Cassie sat across from Daniel in the old, rustic log building by the Rideau River that served as the Banford library.
She loved this building. Massive logs crisscrossed the high ceiling, holding up the roof and creating space for a loft and a children’s area. Windows all around gave a spectacular view of the river and the park next door. Walls and aisles of books filled the space.
“Anything?” Daniel peered across the table at the old Banford High School yearbook Cassie perused.
“Not
yet. You?”
“Just the same school photo of Marilyn. I don’t see her in any other photos.”
Cassie suddenly turned her book around so Daniel could see. “Is that her?” She pointed at a basketball team photo.
“Might be.”
“Doesn’t really help, though, does it?” She sighed and pulled the book back. “Maybe we should look through some old newspapers.”
“It’s worth a shot.”
Cassie slid her chair backward and walked to the reception desk.
The tall, lean librarian pushed her glasses up her nose and smiled. “Need some help, Cassie?”
“Yes please, Roberta. I’d like to look through some old Banford newspapers.”
“How old?” She clicked the mouse to wake her computer screen.
“Between 1965 and 1968?”
“Oh.” Roberta frowned. “I’m afraid we don’t have records from that long ago. Our oldest scans only go back to the eighties.”
“Rats. What about hard copies? Do you have old newspapers anywhere? Ones waiting to be entered into the system?”
“Afraid not. Sorry.”
“That’s okay. Maybe I’ll try Mrs. Dingham’s Antique Shop.
Roberta shook her head. “She already donated all the old newspapers she had.”
Cassie slumped her shoulders. “All right. Thanks anyway.”
Daniel looked up as she returned. “Any luck?”
“No. They don’t have newspapers that old.” She flopped back into her chair.
“These history books don’t seem to be helpful either.” He snapped one shut. “Most of them talk about the bigger cities and Upper Canada. There’s only a small section on Banford, and it only mentions the mill, the locks, and the doctor in the village.”
“I think most of these books predate the existence of our old mansion. Even though it’s one of the older buildings in town.”
Daniel slid his hand across the table and gently placed it on Cassie’s. “How about we get this cleaned up and take the river trail back home?”