by Ken Ogilvie
“Mum’s the word.” She slipped a few bills under the table, and left the pub.
Freddie joined her a minute later carrying a paper bag and they set off at a brisk pace.
Rebecca smiled despite herself. Small towns. Some things were the same everywhere.
Chapter 14
No coffee with DI Cartwright today, but something even better. Dinner tomorrow, in another town, where no one will see us. He said people would frown upon our relationship and he didn’t want to cause me any trouble. He touched my hand when he said it. I was surprised at this intimacy, but I’m excited. Now to decide what to wear . . .
— The diary of Rebecca Sarah Bradley (2003)
Dinner at Maggie’s was a treat. Roast chicken, scalloped potatoes, boiled carrots, freshly baked bread. And blueberry pie for dessert. Once more, Rebecca feared for her waistline.
Maggie watched them attack their food and beamed. Even Archie was in a good mood. He said little, but agreed to join them later for whiskey.
Maggie wouldn’t accept her help cleaning up, so Rebecca went to her room to write notes on her investigation.
At eight o’clock sharp, Maggie bellowed from the foot of the stairs, “Whiskey and gossip, in that order. Five-minute warning starting now.”
Downstairs in the parlour, Rebecca sank into a comfortable chair and gazed out the window. It was still light outside and birds were chirping. Before long they would settle into the trees and go quiet for the night. It was a beautiful evening, and everyone seemed relaxed, including Archie, who lounged in an armchair, cradling his whiskey.
Maggie broke the silence. “Rebecca, you’re up. Your entire life story.”
“Good heavens, no. You’ll all be asleep before the sun goes down. I’ll give you the highlights.”
“We’ll see,” Maggie said. “Go on, please.”
Freddie shimmied forward to the edge of his chair. He seemed to have recovered from their chat at Georgie’s. Archie’s face was still dour, but possibly a touch softer than usual.
Rebecca sipped her whiskey. It burned a satisfying trail down her throat. She hadn’t intended to say much, but then she changed her mind. Sally had told her that Maggie came from her home town, and Rebecca wanted to find out more. And the only way to do that was to change the habit of a lifetime and open up.
“I was born in a small town in northern Ontario called Prospect.” She looked at her companions. Maggie had averted her gaze. “Prospect was, and remains, a mining town. My grandfather, Steven Bradley, arrived in Canada as a dirt-poor immigrant from England. He tried his hand at prospecting, and got lucky. He struck a rich vein of gold and became the owner of a lucrative mine. In the space of a decade he became one of the wealthiest men in northern Ontario. Everything was going well, and then he was murdered.” Rebecca watched them again. She recalled Sally saying that Maggie’s mansion once belonged to Steven Bradley.
Freddie’s mouth hung open. Archie looked at her from beneath his craggy brows. The glass of whiskey in his hand trembled ever so slightly. Maggie was staring at her now. Nobody spoke.
“The murderer was never found. My grandmother, who’d been married to Steven for three years, fell ill and died. She was just forty years old. She had one child, my father, George. A month before she died her sister moved to Prospect from England, in order to care for George. He grew up wild, with money to burn. He never finished high school, but he was bright and strong willed. Nobody fooled with him. They still don’t. He’s been a decent, if largely absent father to me.” Rebecca let out a short laugh. “But he did make sure I got a quality education. Like him, I was independent by nature, and I had my share of adventures, but I never got into serious trouble. I didn’t get to know my mother though.” Rebecca swallowed. “She was murdered when I was eight years old. As with my grandfather, the murderer was never caught.” She slumped back in her chair, tears in her eyes.
“Poor dear,” Maggie murmured. Freddie and Archie sipped their whiskeys in silence.
Rebecca sniffed. “Because of the murders, I developed an interest in police work. I studied at the police college in Aylmer and got a job with the OPP in Orillia. My goal is to become a detective and eventually run my own private investigation agency.”
Nobody spoke. Even the birds had stopped chirping.
“I’m sorry it’s such a tale of woe.” Her voice broke.
To everyone’s amazement, Archie spoke. “Life can be hard, lassie.”
Maggie rose to her feet. “Here’s to life, death, intrigue, and mystery.” She raised her glass and drained it. Freddie and Archie followed suit.
Rebecca was the last to stand. “May I find the bastard who killed my mother and send him to a special place in hell.” She tossed back her whiskey. “Refill, please.”
That evening was the most bizarre Rebecca had ever experienced. It was filled with wild tales of tragedy and revenge, laughter and shouting. All thought of Abigail’s murder vanished from her head, but she hadn’t forgotten Maggie’s connection to Prospect, and Steven Bradley. She needed to have a private chat with Archie too. The tremor in his hand intimated that he, too, was linked to her father in some way.
* * *
The following morning Rebecca awoke with her head pounding. She’d forgotten to set the alarm and Maggie had let her sleep in. She showered quickly and hurried downstairs. Freddie had finished breakfast and left for the day. Archie was sitting in his usual spot, with his gnarly hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. He nodded at Rebecca. She glanced towards the kitchen and heard the clatter of plates and running water.
After a moment, Archie said, “Not to worry, lassie. She’s in a right good mood this mornin’. Said she’d be makin’ a special breakfast when ye gat up.”
“Thanks, Archie. I don’t want to offend her. To be honest, I don’t feel too good. My stomach’s queasy.”
He poured a cup of coffee and handed it to her. She sipped it slowly.
“Archie, have you ever been to Prospect?”
“Aye. Ye have a sharp mind, jes’ like yer father.”
Rebecca was stunned. This was all too much. What was going on in this town? Was she part of it, even central to it in some bizarre way? She put down her cup and stared at Archie, who held her gaze.
Rebecca heard Maggie come into the room. “Sorry I’m late. I drank too much last night.”
Maggie grinned. “Not at all. You slept soundly ’cause you let out all the stress that should’ve been set free long ago. You’ll sleep well tonight too, but set the alarm or it’ll be stale coffee and cold toast for breakfast tomorrow. It comes from your English heritage, you know. Stiff upper lip, and all that. Am I right?”
“Afraid so.” Rebecca smiled weakly.
“Ye should ha’ been born a Scot,” Archie declared.
Maggie looked at him, started to speak, then shook her head. She ambled back to the kitchen, muttering under her breath.
Rebecca turned her attention back to Archie. “Please tell me. I need to know why you’re in Conroy, and how you know my father. My grandfather too, right?”
He spoke gently. “Not now. Some things to tend to first.”
“Soon, Archie.”
And then it happened. Archie smiled.
Chapter 15
Dinner tonight was a dream. DI Cartwright — Jonathan from now on — was charming and attentive. I find him so attractive, even if he is a few years older than me. I guess it’s time I tried to trust men; ever since Mom’s death, suspicion has been my default. I’ve never had a close relationship with a guy. But Jonathan’s different. We’re going to see each other again.
— The diary of Rebecca Sarah Bradley (2003)
Rebecca lounged in Maggie’s backyard under the shade of a maple tree, reviewing her case notes. It was a glorious day, and the summer flowers were in full bloom.
Maggie had invited her to Duffy’s for a late lunch. No soup today, Maggie said, but Daisy made a great macaroni and cheese. Rebecca asked if she could talk to her lat
er in the morning, and Maggie agreed.
Kingsley McBride had returned sooner than expected and Rebecca was going to interview him today. She had called his secretary again and leaned on her until she caved in. Then she wondered why Kingsley seemed to be making it hard for her to meet him. Surely he wanted to see his wife’s murderer caught. Or did he?
* * *
At half past ten, Maggie brought tea and biscuits and settled into a lawn chair next to Rebecca.
“Maggie, how long have you been in this town?”
“About fifteen years, I reckon. Seems like forever.” She laughed softly and began to fuss with the tea.
“Why did you come here in particular?”
Maggie put down the teapot. “I’ve been dreading this conversation ever since you told me you knew the Delaneys in Prospect.” She hesitated. “I’m one of them.”
“I know the Delaneys well, but I don’t remember you.” Rebecca frowned.
“That’s because you were a young child when I moved away.” Maggie sounded sad. “I’ve never gone back there. I had a nervous breakdown and eventually moved to Conroy. Before that, I was in various rehab centres. I visited your house a lot when I lived in Prospect. I knew your parents, and even held you in my arms when you were a baby. But I was gone by the time you were four, so you wouldn’t remember me. When you came here two days ago, I knew at once who you were. Your name of course, but you also have your father’s eyes, though yours are gentler than his were. You’ve got your mother’s cheekbones too.” Maggie gazed into the distance and sniffed.
Rebecca was puzzled by her response, and she wondered why Maggie had spoken of her father in the past tense. He was still very much alive. Surely Maggie knew that?
Rebecca’s voice quivered. “Maggie, if I don’t leave this town soon, I’m going to go nuts.”
Maggie laid a hand on her arm. “Prepare yourself, dear. It gets worse. Archie came to Prospect quite often, although he didn’t live in the town.”
Rebecca nodded. “I know that he’s been there.”
“What?”
“He told me this morning. I don’t remember him, either.”
“Well I’ll be skewered. What’s getting into that man? He’s turning into a right chatterbox. He never talks to anyone except me.”
“Maggie, what the hell is going on in this crazy town? Everything is so entangled with my own life.”
Maggie stared into the distance. “For sure there are magical lines of force running through Conroy. There’s no other explanation. This little town has lots of secrets, mostly to do with Kingsley McBride, and possibly Jack O’Reilly, much as I hate to say it. Butch Taylor’s involved in something illegal, like drugs. He’s in partnership with Harry, the bartender at Georgie’s, and he has links to a biker gang that passes through town every few months.” Maggie’s gaze settled back on Rebecca. “I guess you might be wondering why I came here. The honest answer is, I don’t know. I lost my short-term memory when I had the breakdown. I moved here about fifteen years ago. Archie brought me. He and I go back a long way. It’s Archie who chose Conroy, but I’ve never asked him why. When I got here, I was in a terrible state and just wanted to be in some place where nobody knew me. One thing I have discovered during my time here, though, is that this is a shadowy and dangerous town. And there’s some very strange people live here. Have you met a woman named Jackie Caldwell yet? She works part-time at the Royal Oak Hotel. I mention it because she seems to be spending more time with Kingsley McBride than I would have expected.”
Rebecca blew out a breath. “No. I’ll do it, now that you’ve mentioned her, and I’d love to know about anyone else you believe I should talk to. I’ve been here almost a week, and all I have is scattered bits of information and loads of questions. You’ve given me a lot to think about. But can’t you help me more? There must be a pattern to this confusion.”
Maggie was silent for a while. Then she sighed. “I guess it’s time to tell you everything I know — well, most of it anyway. But there’s a lot I don’t know, not yet.” And Maggie began.
When she had finished, Rebecca sat on, trying to digest this pile of information. It still bothered her that she hadn’t heard of Maggie before, or Archie. Her father had never mentioned either of them, nor had anyone else in Prospect.
Thanks to Maggie, she now had more information than Cartwright and O’Reilly had recorded in their case notes. Maggie had just hinted at a relationship between Herman Vogel and Abigail McBride, along with a secret land deal involving Mayor Taylor and Kingsley McBride. And Rebecca now knew that Conroy’s shady deals were all conducted in the dingy shadows of Georgie’s Pub.
Things were getting interesting.
Chapter 16
Valentine’s Day. I’m going out with Jonathan again tonight. Two nights in a row! There was a glint in his eye when he asked me this morning. He touched my hand again and left it there for a few seconds. I need another new dress. Something sexy this time.
— The diary of Rebecca Sarah Bradley (2003)
Rebecca and Maggie strolled along to Duffy’s. The macaroni and cheese lived up to its reputation, and Maggie was great company. It felt like they were becoming friends, although Rebecca was convinced Maggie was keeping something important from her. She’d hoped she would open up during lunch, but Maggie kept the conversation light.
Shorty and Lukas were there, as always, and Rebecca decided to stay behind and question them. She watched the two of them finishing up lunch. They were like a pair of comic book characters. Shorty lived up to his name, and with his curly red hair he looked like a cherub descended from some old painting. Lukas was tall and lanky, pale, with a thin face and stringy blond hair. Shorty was ebullient, whereas Lukas was taciturn.
Maggie got up to leave. “Good luck with those two. They’re a funny pair.”
Rebecca nodded absently. On her way out, Maggie passed O’Reilly. He gave her a nod and sauntered over to his usual booth, pretending not to see Rebecca.
Was he a crooked cop? She hadn’t thought so, until she’d talked to Freddie and Maggie and they’d mentioned his involvement in secret deals. And there were also the omissions from the case notes to consider. She stood up and went over to Shorty and Lukas’s table. Arguing again. She had never seen them do anything else.
“Hi, guys. Mind if I ask a few questions?”
Lukas looked up at her and slid lower in his chair. His grey eyes were blank. Rebecca wondered what was going on in his head.
Shorty smiled. “Sure. My name’s Shorty, at least that’s what they call me around here. The dumb-looking guy across from me is Lukas. We’re friends of Hound’s.”
“I know. Since high school, I believe. Can I join you?”
“Sure, sit down. Take a load off your . . . uh, take a seat.” Shorty slid over to make room for her.
“Thank you.” Rebecca sat next to him. Opposite, Lukas stared back at her.
“Don’t bother about him,” Shorty said. “He can talk a bit when he wants to, but nothing intelligent of course.”
Lukas appeared to rouse himself. “I would be pleased to converse with you, Detective Constable Bradley. If I appear to be uncommunicative, it’s just that I’ve had to listen to this moron for the past half hour.”
“You’re a social worker, then, or a psychiatrist?” Rebecca tried to hide the sarcasm in her voice.
He didn’t notice or maybe he didn’t care. “No, I’m a philosopher. The first one this town has ever produced, and probably the last. Shorty’s a study in primitive man. It’s rather tedious to listen to his incessant chatter, but one can learn much about the evolution of primates by studying him.”
“He’s just a dumb alien,” said Shorty, “from a backward planet in some remote corner of the galaxy. Hound brought him here on a spaceship he built out of spare parts from the local junkyard.”
Rebecca didn’t know what to say. These guys acted like children. She wouldn’t get any useful information if they kept this up. She smiled weakly.
“Would it be okay if I talked to you separately?”
Shorty jumped in. “Not at all. It’d be great if Lukas got lost, but since he can’t take a hint, let’s move to where we can trade secrets in private.”
Apparently indifferent, Lukas turned to gaze out the window. Rebecca moved to another booth, followed by Shorty.
“What can I tell you?” he asked.
She opened her notebook. “You know I’m investigating the death of Abigail McBride?”
He nodded.
“You may also know there are no good leads in the case. Nobody has any idea what happened.”
Shorty replied slowly, “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”
“What do you mean?” Rebecca leaned forward.
“I mean, Hound probably knows what happened.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Why would he know?”
“Because he sees everything and knows everything. Well, maybe not everything, but he figures out things nobody else can. Like the time he helped Chief O’Reilly catch the thief who stole Maggie Delaney’s home-baked pies.” He giggled.
“I see, but why do you think he knows who killed Abigail McBride?” She was ready to give up on Shorty.
“I didn’t say that. I said he probably knows what happened.”
“Okay, sorry. Why do you think he probably knows?” She sat back, gritting her teeth in frustration.
“Because he never offered to help the chief solve the case.”
“But he did check along Hagger’s Creek the morning she was killed.”
“The chief asked him to. Hound never offered to help.”
“Shorty, are you saying you believe Hound knows what happened to Abigail, and he hasn’t told O’Reilly?”
“Maybe.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Ask him.”
“I will.”
“That’s all I’ve got to say. Hound’s never told me anything, but Abigail was his best friend. Believe me, he knows. If he didn’t, he’d have turned this town upside down until he found the answer.” Shorty nodded resolutely.