The Hanged Man's Noose

by Judy Penz Sheluk

  She hung the “Back at” sign on the front door, setting the clock hands on two.

  Arabella arrived at the McLelland Insurance Brokerage a few minutes after noon, her cheeks flushed from the brisk pace and late November air. Why was it the sunniest days were always the coldest? And it wasn’t January yet. January and February, those were the worst.

  As she expected, Stanford was sitting in his office, a half-eaten sandwich on his desk, his eyes glued to his computer monitor, his fingers flying across the keyboard. As usual he was impeccably groomed, navy blue suit, matching tie, white shirt. Stanford took his professional image very seriously. He might be a small town broker, but you wouldn’t know it from his appearance, or the number of diplomas, certificates, and awards lining the walls.

  He jumped slightly at her knock, then settled back in his seat and smiled warmly.

  “Arabella. Good to see you. Come in, come in. Can I get you anything? Tea, coffee, water? Half a tuna salad sandwich?”

  “Nothing, thanks,” Arabella said. She took a seat.

  “I’m glad you came by. I had the feeling you weren’t any too happy with me.”

  “That’s why I’m here. I need to know everything. Everything about your involvement with Garrett Stonehaven, his plans for the megabox store.” She fidgeted slightly. “So far, the police haven’t ruled his death as suspicious, but three accidental deaths…there’s bound to be a thorough investigation. I’m worried I might be a suspect. Because of the way I stood up to Stonehaven at the presentation. And the toast I told you about.”

  “I’m sure they have plenty more suspects than you, Arabella. The man I knew would have made plenty of enemies over the years. I’m not sure what else I can tell you.”

  “Can you recap it for me? I might have missed something, some detail.” Something you didn’t tell me the first time.

  “You always were thorough,” Stanford said with an indulgent smile. “I heard Garrett Stonehaven was looking for local business people to join his development team. I agreed to join.”

  “But how did you hear about the team? Nobody invited me, and I’m a business owner on Main Street.”

  “I’m not surprised. Camilla Mortimer-Gilroy recruited me.”

  That explained it. Camilla would never consider asking her. “Who else did Camilla recruit?”

  “No one, as far as I know. Gloria, Carter, Chantal, and Ned were all recruited by Johnny.”

  “So Johnny was part of Stonehaven’s team?”

  “From what I can understand, Stonehaven approached Johnny because he was the chairman of the Main Street Merchants’ Association. You know Johnny. He’d do anything for this town. And like I said, originally we all thought we were looking for a property to convert into a condominium.”

  “So no one expected StoreHaven?”

  “Heck, no. We expected some commercial space on the main floor, but nothing megabox. Possibly a convenience store and a dental office or medical services. Chiropractor, physiotherapy, massage, stuff like that.”

  “But the plan changed.”

  “It did. Stonehaven sat us down, gave us a preview of his presentation. It was the first any of us had heard of StoreHaven. He claimed converting the school to a condo wasn’t economically viable.”

  “And Carter Dixon challenged him on it.”

  “He did. Fat lot of good it did him.”

  “What about you? Did you believe Stonehaven?”

  “No, but I also saw the way he dismissed Carter. I knew confronting Stonehaven in front of the others would lead nowhere. I called him later, asked him to consider making some changes. Changes that would make it easier to accept the plan.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He promised to make some changes.” Stanford’s face flushed at the memory. “He made changes, all right. Asking for investors. That was never part of the original plan. It was bad enough jamming a megabox store down our throat. But to ask us to invest in it. That took the cake.”

  It would also explain why Stanford was so upset after the presentation. “You told me, after the presentation, not to worry, said you’d take care of everything. What did you mean?”

  “I was going to try to talk some sense into him.”

  “And did you? Talk sense into him?”

  “No, I never got the chance.” For the first time since Arabella had entered his office, Stanford got angry. “Look I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”

  “Calm down. I’m not insinuating anything. I’m attempting to collect the facts, see if I can figure out who killed him.”

  “Last time I checked, that was up to the police. Stay out of it and let them earn their paychecks.” Stanford stood up. “The man is dead, and his plan died with him. As for who killed him, all I can say is Garrett Stonehaven had it coming for a long time. Now I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I have a client meeting in a few minutes.”

  Arabella knew there was no point in pushing it. Stanford could be as stubborn as Levon once his mind was made up.

  Men.

  It wasn’t until she was halfway back to the shop that Arabella realized the significance of Stanford’s final statement. “As for who killed him, all I can say is Garrett Stonehaven had it coming for a long time.” How far did Stanford and Stonehaven go back? And what was it about their past history that caused the normally staid insurance broker to wish someone dead?

  Arabella picked up the pace, anxious to get back to the Glass Dolphin. She needed to think, have a shortbread cookie. Or three.

  34

  Emily started her day with a five-mile run followed by a visit to the Sunrise Café, where she ordered black coffee, an asparagus and red pepper egg white omelet with rye toast, lightly buttered, and two strips of well done bacon on the side. She experienced a pang of moderate guilt over the bacon, but dammit, she needed something to calm her nerves, and the run alone hadn’t done it.

  Michelle Ellis showed up at her office a few minutes past ten in the morning, looking for all the world as if she were ready to attend a high-profile business meeting, her blonde hair impeccably coiffed, her custom-tailored black suit softened by a rose-colored blouse and a strand of freshwater pearls. Even with five-inch heels, she stood a good couple of inches shorter than Emily, and yet everything about her exuded power and confidence.

  “Is this the mock-up of the first issue?” she asked, picking up a magazine from a large stack on Emily’s desk before taking a seat on the black leather sofa. “Nice cover.”

  “Thanks,” Emily said, taking the seat at her desk. Seriously, why did I buy a sofa instead of a couple of chairs? “That’s Arabella Carpenter standing against her wall of clocks in the Glass Dolphin. The owner of Print It! suggested we go with glossy covers and newsprint inside. I think it works.”

  “It does, and it’s a reasonable compromise from a cost perspective.” Michelle thumbed through the issue. “Twenty-four pages. Not too shabby for a first run. Nice photography, you have a good eye. I like the way you had the printer color spot some of the photos.” She studied the table of contents. “Grand Opening of the Glass Dolphin. What the Main Street Merchants’ Association can do for you. Get ready for the Santa Claus Parade.” She put the magazine down. “You decided against including anything about Garrett Stonehaven?”

  “I was going to include something, but given the recent turn of events, I thought it best to leave it out. I want to create a feel-good marketing magazine. Murder, if that’s what it turns out to be, is a bit off-putting.”

  “You have a point. What’s the ad to editorial ratio?”

  “About forty percent advertising to sixty percent editorial.”

  “Not spectacular, but respectable for a first issue.”

  “I expect it to improve, given time.”

  “When are you planning to go to press?”

  “It’s scheduled for tomorrow. We should be able to distribute on Saturday.”

  “Saturday is a good delivery date. What are your
distribution plans?”

  “I was conservative with this issue, and as it is we barely broke even. I’ve decided to start it as a monthly publication. It will give me more time to develop stories and bring advertisers on board. For this issue, I’m having the existing newspaper boxes filled. There are a couple dozen of them in town. I’ve also asked the merchants and businesses along Main Street if they’d be willing to have a few copies to give to their clientele.”

  “How was the response?”

  “The restaurants were all willing. Lots of customers are looking for something to flip through if they’re alone. Most of the businesses were also accommodating. Arabella was, naturally, and Johnny Porter, which was also to be expected.” Emily thought about how dismissive Chantal Van Schyndle had been. “Some of the other businesses weren’t as keen. I was thinking of offering delivery, by subscription.”

  “Paid subscription?”

  “Hmmm. Not initially, but I still think it’s worthwhile. You know better than I do that advertisers look at distribution numbers. The greater the distribution, the more willing they are to buy space.”

  “You’ve done your research.”

  “I have. I’m also working on getting the publication online in a 3-D flipbook format, which could offer live links to the advertisers. I’m looking at various software packages.”

  “It sounds as if you have everything covered. I’m impressed. It makes what I’ve come here to tell you all the more difficult.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m afraid Urban-Huntzberger has decided to terminate your contract.”

  “Terminate my contract?”

  Michelle pushed an invisible strand of blonde hair away from her face. “The reality is you were sent here to find out what Garrett Stonehaven was up to. The magazine was a cover.”

  “And now that Stonehaven is dead?”

  “Your services are no longer required.”

  “Will you keep it running? Inside the Landing?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “But not with me at the helm. I assume I’m being punished for finding out about Ambrose? About your past connection with Stonehaven?”

  “It has nothing to do with that. I would have been disappointed if you hadn’t made the discovery. You’re bound to find out the rest, and I owe you the truth, so I’ll spare you the research.”

  “Your generosity is overwhelming.”

  Michelle ignored the sarcasm. “You know Ambrose is dead. What you don’t know is that it was ruled an accidental overdose from a bunch of street drugs. The police called it a Cabbagetown Cocktail. I never believed it. He may have had a troubled youth, dabbled with some marijuana and got caught, but boot camp scared him straight. He’d been clean for five years, finishing high school, taking some college courses, working odd jobs. I would have known if Ambrose was into drugs.”

  “You suspected Stonehaven was behind the overdose?”

  Michelle nodded. “By then, Garry Stone had become Garrett Stonehaven. He hired Ambrose as a sales associate for the first HavenSent Development. At first, Ambrose was thrilled. He idolized Garry, thought the job would be his big break. But one day Ambrose came to me, more than a little bit worried. Said the sales formula reminded him of a pyramid scheme they’d run at Camp Miakoda. A few days later, Ambrose was dead. Stonehaven didn’t come to the funeral.”

  Emily wasn’t surprised. He hadn’t bothered to attend her mother’s funeral, either. “The development? Did it go ahead?”

  “It did, and frankly, I could never find any evidence of a pyramid scheme in that project, or any other. Believe me, I tried. And then I heard about his plans for Lount’s Landing.”

  “You suspected with Neighbors Helping Neighbors, Stonehaven might have been up to his old tricks. But how did you find out about it?”

  Michelle studied her hands a moment before answering. “You’re bound to find out. Ambrose’s father was on Team StoreHaven. Stanford McLelland. We never married.”

  Stanford McLelland. She thought about Arabella, wondered if she knew. Somehow she didn’t think so. “Tell me about it.”

  “We were just kids when I got pregnant, a summertime cottage romance. My folks had a place on the water in Lakeside. Stan’s father worked at an insurance brokerage in Lount’s Landing. Stan bought the business a few years back. I met Stan at a party in Miakoda Falls and the rest, as they say, is history. I was already home in Toronto and back in school by the time I found out.”

  “Did you tell Stanford?”

  “Not for a long time. My parents…things were different back then, for young girls who found themselves in ‘the family way.’ I was in my third trimester when I got the nerve to call him.” Michelle gave a short laugh. “He didn’t even remember me, kept calling me Michaela. He was full of stories about getting accepted into three universities. I hung up without telling him.”

  “But you did tell him, eventually.”

  “I did, but not until Ambrose starting asking a lot of questions, wanting to know who his father was. He was about twelve at the time.”

  “How did Stanford take it?”

  “He was great, although I’m sure it helped that I wasn’t looking for any sort of financial support. I sent him some photos, offered him the option of getting a paternity test. He declined. One look at Ambrose and it was obvious. He was the spitting image of his father when he was young.”

  “So what happened?”

  “I started sending Ambrose up to Lount’s Landing, one weekend a month, a week or two in the summer. He’d take the train into Miakoda Falls, and Stanford would pick him up from there.” Michelle gave a sad smile. “I’ve always wondered what would have happened if I’d told Stanford sooner. Maybe he could have kept Ambrose on the right path.”

  “You can’t blame yourself. Hindsight is always twenty-twenty.”

  “You’re right, but it doesn’t make me feel any less guilty. When Ambrose was fourteen, he started hanging around with a bad crowd. Managed to find one in both places. I suppose I overreacted and became overly protective. Most likely the worst thing I could have done. He and a group of his so-called friends got caught one night breaking into the pawnshop. Long story short, the owner pressed charges but Ambrose was underage, Stanford was respected in town, and my parents had money.”

  “So he ended up in Camp Miakoda.”

  “At first, we were relieved. We thought it would be a good place for Ambrose.”

  “But you didn’t count on Garry Stone.”

  Michelle nodded. “It was as if he’d cast a spell on Ambrose. He followed Garry around like a puppy. There was only one other person Ambrose would listen to.”

  “Let me guess. Garry’s girlfriend.”

  Michelle’s eyes narrowed.

  “Levon told you about her?”

  “He told us about the pyramid scheme, and Millie’s name came up.”

  Michelle nodded again. “Millie would take the time to say hello, ask how things were going for me. I didn’t trust Garry or appreciate his influence on Ambrose. But I couldn’t help but like her. We lost touch after camp ended. But then, after Ambrose died, she sent a lovely card and made a donation in his name to a foundation for troubled youth.”

  “How did she find out about Ambrose?”

  “You know, I don’t know. I never thought to question it. Why? Do you think it’s important?”

  “All I know is we have a bunch of folks who met at Camp Miakoda, and three of them are now dead. Stonehaven, Ambrose, and Graham.”

  “Surely you don’t think there was anything sinister behind Graham’s snowmobiling accident?”

  Emily shook her head. “I don’t know what to think anymore. Look, why don’t you let me stay here and report on the murder investigation? It would be easier to do that within the parameters of Inside the Landing.”

  Michelle shook her head. “It’s out of my hands. The partners at Urban-Huntzberger have already made arrangements with another reporter.”

 
“Another reporter?”

  “Kerri St. Amour. She’s checking into the Gilroy Mansion as we speak.”

  Kerri St. Amour? Now that was a low blow. Emily forced herself to stay calm. She wouldn’t give Michelle the satisfaction of knowing how much it stung.

  “It isn’t all bad, dear. Urban-Huntzberger has prepared a generous severance package.” Michelle pulled a sheaf of papers from her briefcase and handed them to Emily. “I insisted.”

  Emily read the paperwork. It was a simple document. Eight weeks pay in lieu of notice, plus an additional twelve months at full salary, with benefits. The bonus she had been promised when accepting the initial assignment. Rent paid in her current house to the end of the month, plus moving expenses back to Toronto or a place of her choosing. In exchange, she would forfeit all interest in Inside the Landing, and any future employment with Urban-Huntzberger Publications.

  She had to admit it was a generous package, not that it made getting fired any more palatable. But there was something else, something that didn’t seem right. Emily looked back over the numbers, realized what it was. The package was a bit too generous. It was as if someone wanted her to leave.

  “What if I decide to stay in Lount’s Landing?”

  “Why would you want to do that?”

  Because she had made a promise to Arabella. Because she didn’t like the idea of someone trying to stop her from finding out the truth. Because she owed it to her mother. If she’d listened to her, if she had believed her allegations about CondoHaven on the Park, her mother might still be alive.

  “I like it here.”

  Was it her imagination or did Michelle look nervous? Emily decided to push it. “There’s nothing in the severance agreement that stipulates I have to leave.”