The Hanged Man's Noose

by Judy Penz Sheluk

  See and hear it all. This pasty-faced young woman might come in handy. “I’m sure you do, February. How about we talk when you’re not so busy?” Emily riffled around in her wallet and pulled out a business card. “Here you go. Call me any time.”

  February took the card and slipped it into her apron pocket. “Thanks. I better get a move on or Ms. Moroziuk—I mean Gloria—will have my hide.” She motioned toward the kitchen, where a sturdily built woman, Gloria presumably, was working a hot grill laden with eggs, bacon, sausage, and pancakes. “Can I get you a tea or coffee to start?”

  “Coffee would be great, thank you.” Emily handed back the menu. “Do you have anything remotely vegetarian?”

  “How’s a BLT without the bacon sound?”

  Emily considered. She’d been trying to make the switch to vegetarianism—mostly because of her ex-fiancé, Kevin—but she couldn’t forget how good bacon tasted. Especially when it was all crispy. And all the veggies in the world hadn’t stopped Kevin from dumping her. Eating bacon now and again couldn’t hurt. Could it?

  “I’ll have the BLT, with the B.”

  February wrote the order on her pad before making her way toward the kitchen. Emily pulled out her tablet. It was always good to eavesdrop under the guise of reading, and she had Johnny Porter’s PDF list of Main Street merchants on there. She could pass the time trying to figure out who was who.

  Johnny was right. The Sunrise Café was a hotbed of gossip. It wasn’t long before Stonehaven’s upcoming presentation became the source of heated debate. Hockey Jersey kicked things off, a major league scowl spread across his face.

  “I don’t get where you’re coming from, Chantal,” Hockey Jersey said, addressing an athletic young woman sitting at the table next to him. “How can you possibly think a big city developer will know what’s good for the town?”

  “I didn’t say it would be good for the town, Carter. I said we should keep an open mind.” The woman’s hair was black as a raven’s back and cropped close. With the exception of a pair of diamond stud earrings, she appeared to be decked out in yoga wear from head to toe.

  Emily referred to the PDF and pegged her as Chantal Van Schyndle, owner of the Serenity Spa and Yoga Studio. She assumed Hockey Jersey was Carter Dixon, owner of Slapshot, a sporting goods store that Johnny wrote was “barely hanging on.”

  “Chantal’s right,” said another man. He had the ruddy complexion of someone who spent much of his life outdoors. “Let’s wait until we hear the presentation next week and have all the facts.”

  “You think we’ll get all the facts, Ned? You’re a dreamer,” said Carter. “Then again, maybe it takes a dreamer to open a store that sells nothing but bird seed.”

  Ned’s complexion had gone from ruddy to raging, but he managed to keep his voice low. “Birdsong sells a lot more than bird seed, Carter. We sell supplies for backyard birders, something you would know if you weren’t so wrapped up in your precious Maple Losers.”

  Emily checked the PDF again. Ned would be Ned Turcotte. “Bit of a temper,” Johnny had written, “but keeps it under wraps most times.”

  “This will be the Leafs year,” Carter said.

  “Who’s the dreamer now, eh, Carter?”

  “Gentlemen, please, let’s all take a chill pill.” Gloria came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. “This here’s a respectable establishment. If you want to get rowdy, take it outside and don’t find your way back.”

  Emily was surprised at how quickly Carter and Ned complied with Gloria’s request. Clearly this was one woman nobody wanted to mess with.

  “What do you think, Emily?” February asked after Gloria had gone back to her grill. She gestured to the room at large. “Everyone, this here’s Emily Garland, she recently moved to town. She’s gonna be the editor of Inside the Landing.”

  A murmur of “how’s it goings,” and “pleased to meet you’s” filtered through the restaurant. Carter glared at her. Emily ignored him.

  “What do I think about what?”

  Dead silence. Emily looked around the room and knew she’d made a mistake. No one believed she hadn’t been listening. She was grateful when a successful-looking businesswoman in her late forties came to her rescue. Steel gray eyes partially hidden behind dark designer frames, short brown hair artfully highlighted with glints of copper and gold.

  “Poppy Spencer,” the woman said by way of introduction. “We’ve been discussing Garrett Stonehaven’s purchase of the Main Street Elementary School, and speculating on what he might do with it. Some forward-thinking folks believe he might bring business and investment opportunities to the town. Others, like Carter Dixon here, aren’t quite ready to step out of the past.”

  “Spoken like the real estate agent who sold the school down the river,” Carter said. His face had become red and bloated. He reminded Emily of a pot of borscht about to boil over.

  “You’re being ridiculous,” Poppy said.

  “Down the river,” Carter said, his face getting redder.

  Poppy let out an exasperated sigh. “If I hadn’t sold the property to him, someone else would have.”

  “Paddling, paddling, paddling down the river.”

  “Grow up, Carter.” Poppy turned to Emily. “What we should be debating is whether commercialism should trump traditional town values, or whether the two can co-exist. The answer is, it’s not that simple, now that the mill at Miakoda Falls closed down.”

  Emily silently cursed Michelle Ellis for not mentioning a mill in Miakoda Falls. Or Miakoda Falls, come to that.

  “Closed down and took away plenty of good paying jobs,” Poppy continued. “Since then, most of the Main Street shop owners have been struggling to keep their heads above water. A successful real estate developer like Garrett Stonehaven might be able to help.”

  “Or drown us completely,” Carter said, pulling at his collar. He began making loud gurgling noises. It might have been amusing except for one thing.

  By the time anyone realized Carter was going into anaphylactic shock, he was dead.

  The atmosphere in the Café turned from conversation to controlled chaos. Emily followed the action, keeping every detail fresh in her mind: Poppy Spencer called 9-1-1. Ned Turcotte attempted CPR. Gloria Moroziuk searched Carter Dixon’s pockets for an EpiPen and found nothing but a wallet and a couple of butterscotch candies.

  The paramedics made good time, assessed the situation, and told everyone to stand back, there might still be a chance of revival. Emily caught the look between the two EMTs as they loaded Carter onto the gurney. No amount of epinephrine was going to save Carter Dixon. But they weren’t about to let Gloria’s business hang in the balance. Gloria followed the paramedics, leaving a shaken and mascara-streaked February in charge of closing up. Meals were on the house.

  Emily’s journalistic instincts kicked in faster than a runner’s high. There was bound to be an official investigation, and the closer she was to it, the better. “I think we should make of list of everyone who’s here, along with our contact information. I’d be happy to take that on.”

  Poppy Spencer wasn’t having it. “I realize you’re a stranger in this town, Emily, but we’re all friends here, in spite of what you may have surmised from our earlier debate. What you’re suggesting is completely unnecessary and downright insulting.”

  “I’m not trying to insult anyone, Poppy. I’m suggesting it might be a good idea to have a list, in the event the police are called in.”

  “The police? You’re not insinuating anything about this was deliberate?”

  “Of course not. But if Carter dies, there’s bound to be an investigation, if not by the police, then by the coroner’s office.”

  “This isn’t Toronto, Emily. If and when that is the case, each and every one of us will tell the police whatever we know. The workings of a small town are considerably different than those in a big city. You should remember that if you want to fit in.”

  Was that a warning? Emily glance
d around the restaurant and saw the others nodding in agreement. Annoyed and more than a little embarrassed, she apologized with as much grace as she could muster, tossed some change on the table to cover February’s tip, and hustled her way up Main Street to her office. She’d write up her own damn list when she got there, along with her best memory of what everyone had said and done.

  6

  Emily was so lost in her thoughts that she collided face first into the ladder propped up against the front façade of It’s a Colorful Life. Johnny Porter was standing on the top rung holding a string of Christmas lights.

  “Penny for your thoughts.” A warm smile lit up Johnny’s face as he looked down. “Or should I say a nickel, since Canada gave up the penny?”

  “God, I’m sorry, Johnny. My mind’s off somewhere else.”

  “Anything wrong?”

  “I just witnessed a horrible accident at the Sunrise Café.”

  “Accident?” Johnny dropped the string of lights, covering the sidewalk with splinters of blue and green glass.

  Emily jumped back, narrowly missing the curb.

  Johnny cursed under his breath and climbed down the ladder.

  “What kind of accident? Is Gloria okay?”

  “Gloria’s fine, upset, obviously, but that’s to be expected.”

  Good grief, she was making a complete bollix of this. She took a calming breath and recapped the events as succinctly as she could, starting with Carter’s objection to Stonehaven’s plan, and finishing with the paramedics.

  “I got the impression they knew he was dead.”

  “They probably didn’t want to leave Gloria stuck with a body in the restaurant, waiting for the coroner. In Lount’s Landing, everyone has everyone’s back, and Gloria’s been a volunteer at the hospital’s auxiliary for years. It would be a lot less complicated for all concerned if a doctor at the hospital pronounced him.”

  Emily had suspected as much, although she wasn’t sure if she entirely approved. She recalled Poppy’s warning and decided to keep her opinion to herself.

  “I just wish I had done something to try to save Carter. But I thought he was being overly dramatic, mimicking a man drowning. I suppose we all did.”

  She remembered the way Carter had tugged at his collar, his face blown up like some sort of helium balloon, the horrible gurgling sounds coming from deep inside his throat.

  “It must have been terrible to watch. Any idea what caused it?”

  “Earlier, Carter had blasted the waitress, February, for leaving peanut butter packets in the jam basket. So I’m assuming he’s allergic to peanut butter. But February took the packets away, so it couldn’t have been that.”

  “It doesn’t make sense. Gloria would have been careful. She knew about Carter’s peanut allergy. Everybody did. He made certain of it. Carter could be extremely vocal. February Fassbender, on the other hand, is a relatively new recruit. She started working for Gloria a week or so ago. It’s possible she wasn’t aware. What I don’t understand is why he didn’t have an EpiPen. He always carried one. Another thing he thought everyone would want to know about.”

  “He might have forgotten it.”

  “That’s one explanation,” Johnny said, but he didn’t seem convinced. “I need to make a couple of phone calls, starting with Gloria. But I want to hear your version of events again, if you’re not in too much of a hurry.”

  Retelling it would solidify her memory, and spending time with Johnny wasn’t exactly a hardship. “I was heading up to my office, but I suppose another few minutes won’t hurt.”

  “Thank you. Now let’s go inside. You can take a look around while I try to reach Gloria.”

  Johnny disappeared behind a door marked “Employees Only.” Emily wandered around the store. Beyond the paint and supplies there wasn’t much to see, although a small section of wall sporting a selection of plaques and photographs piqued her interest.

  In addition to a plaque declaring It’s a Colorful Life as a “Proud Member of the Main Street Merchants’ Association,” there were a number of plaques signifying sponsorship of local charities and team sports—everything from hockey and baseball to soccer and bowling—along with an assortment of signed photographs thanking Johnny for his support.

  One photograph stood out from the rest, a faded color print of two teenaged boys standing on a wooden dock, a river behind them. Emily guessed their ages to be about fifteen and seventeen. The older boy had his arm slung protectively over the younger boy’s shoulder.

  Emily recognized a young Johnny Porter, shorter, scrawnier, a hint of adolescent acne, but the same dark eyes, black, smoldering, already sensuous. She figured the older boy for Johnny’s brother. There was a strong likeness around the nose and chin. The two of them were smiling widely for the camera.

  “My brother, Jake,” Johnny said, startling Emily. She hadn’t heard him coming.

  “I spotted the resemblance. Are you still close?”

  “He drowned the day after that photograph was taken.”

  Emily put her hand on Johnny’s. “I’m sorry.”

  Johnny pulled away. “It was a long time ago.”

  “Some things don’t heal with time.”

  Johnny changed the subject. “Gloria asked how you were doing. I told her you were here, that you filled me in, that you were fine.”

  “How is she doing?”

  “She’s a wreck. Carter didn’t make it.” Johnny pursed his lips. “There will be a police investigation. Carter’s fiancée, Tiffany Branson, is accusing Gloria Moroziuk of murder.”

  “Why would Tiffany do that?”

  Johnny considered Emily for a moment. “Ah hell, this is a small town. You’ll find out soon enough. Gloria and Carter were part of Garrett Stonehaven’s redevelopment team. Gloria and Carter had been arguing about it. Carter didn’t trust Stonehaven. Apparently he didn’t approve of Stonehaven’s plans for the elementary school, though Gloria didn’t get into details. Some sort of confidentiality agreement.”

  “That’s no reason to suspect Gloria of murder.”

  “There’s more. Gloria and Carter have been friends since childhood. A few years back, they purchased the low-rise apartment building next to the elementary school. They thought the apartment might be a good investment.”

  “Was it?”

  “They manage, but not much more. There’s always repair work to be done, and their tenants tend to be transient. Not all of them leave with the rent paid. Gloria was tired of being a landlord. It was the main reason she opened the Sunrise Café. She was looking for a way out.”

  “Let me guess. Garrett Stonehaven came along and made them a generous offer.”

  Johnny nodded. “Gloria wanted to sell. Carter didn’t.”

  “And if one of them died?”

  “The other would own the property outright.”

  Emily took a minute to process the information. She was about to speak when Johnny interrupted.

  “I know what you’re thinking. Gloria had the means, opportunity, and motive to murder Carter Dixon.”

  “Actually, I was going to ask if Stonehaven knew Carter’s position.”

  “I’d have to say yes. Carter never had an opinion he wasn’t willing to share. Why?”

  “Just curious,” Emily said. But she was thinking about her mother, the way she’d publicly battled with Stonehaven over his CondoHaven on the Park in downtown Toronto.

  And her mother also happened to be dead.

  7

  When she arrived at the office of Inside the Landing, Emily was still mulling over the events at the Café, along with everything Johnny had told her. Calling it an office might have been putting a shine on things, though, as it was basically a repurposed bedroom, eight by ten, housed inside a converted rooming house that had seen better days.

  The other tenants included a guy who specialized in computer repairs and a husband and wife team who sold mail-order merchandise, mostly crap from what Emily could determine. Did anyone really beli
eve a pair of overpriced spandex shorts could eliminate cellulite?

  The owner of the row house was a thin, bald, birdlike man with heavily veined hands, sagging skin, and nicotine-stained teeth. He also occupied the largest space in the building with Print It! In addition to printing Inside the Landing, his presses produced everything from sales flyers to wedding invitations—and in all likelihood Garrett Stonehaven’s brochures.

  Emily sat down at her computer to record what she’d seen and heard. She was just about done when there was a knock on the door. Curious, she scurried to see who was paying her a visit. She was none too happy to see Garrett Stonehaven standing there.

  “Garrett. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  Stonehaven pushed his way past her as if she were invisible, and promptly sank into her comfy, secondhand sofa. Emily resented that he had entered without being asked. She resented him sitting on her sofa even more.

  She sat back into the chair at her desk. It was either sit there or stand. No chance in this lifetime was she going to sit down next to him. “What can I do for you?”

  “What are you doing?”

  So much for small talk. “Doing?”

  “In Lount’s Landing?”

  “I’m the new editor of Inside the Landing. Which you must know, since you managed to find me here.”

  “You never struck me as the small-town type.”

  “Ditto. And yet here we both are.”

  “Did Michelle Ellis send you?”

  Did he know about her deal with Michelle? And if so, how? “Why do you ask?”

  “Don’t play games. Did Michelle Ellis send you?”

  “Indirectly.”

  “Why?”

  “She hired me on behalf of Urban-Huntzberger.”

  “Again, the question would be why?”

  “Why did Urban-Huntzberger hire me? Or why did I accept the job?” Emily fixed Stonehaven with what she hoped would pass for a steely-eyed glare.