by K. J. Emrick
Darcy wasn’t really sure what a ‘drongo’ was, but from the way Cathy’s lips curled around the word, it wasn’t anything good.
“We were talking to…someone earlier,” Jon said to Cathy, “about one of the victims. A young woman by the name of Lindsay Burlick. She was from here in Lakeshore, wasn’t she?”
Cathy scratched at her ear, leaning one hip against the counter. “Sort of. Her family was from Melbourne. I think Lindsay lived here with a housemate for five years or so. Came into the shop now and then. Liked the natural food stuffs, as I recollect. Had the place at the end of Humes Street. Nice little place.”
“Let me guess. The white place?”
Her laugh was honest and lighthearted. “I know, right? Every place in town. White, white, white.”
“Is there a reason for it?” Jon asked her.
“It’s a nod to our history. Bit of nostalgia. Australia was originally a dumping ground for Britain’s convicts. Thing was, not every criminal wants to stay locked up even when the prison’s in such a nice place like this. Whole groups of them escaped and became bandits and robbers. Bushrangers, they was called. In 1813, bushrangers came to Lakeshore. Burned the whole town. Stole the gold from the mayor’s house.”
She paused to take a breath, taking a grape soda from the little mini-cooler near the front. “After the bushrangers left, the people painted over their houses to hide the fire damage. Used white paint, ‘cause it was what they had. Done it that way ever since.”
Now that Darcy knew the reason for it, she kind of liked the town being all white like this. It meant something, and made them all a community.
Plus, they now had the address of the house Lindsay Burlick used to live in. Cathy had also told them Lindsay used to share the house with someone.
If they were lucky, Lindsay’s housemate would still be there.
She couldn’t finish her sandwich fast enough.
***
Asking how to find Humes Street would only raise Cathy’s suspicions. Neither of them wanted to take a chance that just walking around to find the street would work twice. So the plan, once again, was to go back to the bookstore in town. Now that they knew more they would have more questions to ask Mabel.
Jon was becoming more and more convinced that what had happened here wasn’t just coincidence. Four people in the same town, all poisoned, all nearly at the same time. Two of them dead, a third one maybe dead soon. A fourth one just out of the hospital.
That was way too much coincidence for Darcy, even more so for her police officer husband.
The path they took from the Milkbar to the bookstore got them lost. Again. Somewhere around the fountain with its pitiful little stream of water they took a wrong turn. “How come I don’t get lost in Misty Hollow but every step I take here leads me in circles?” Jon asked as they stood looking both ways up Main Street where it intersected Koala Lane. The houses all looked the same. The church they had seen yesterday with its handmade cross dominated the other side of the street.
“Maybe your sense of direction is backwards,” Darcy teased. “Since we’re upside down.”
“Heh. That must be it. I think we’ve already been down there. It looks familiar, anyway.”
“Can I help you folks?” a voice called across to them from the churchyard.
A small man, both thin and short, had come around the side of the church while Darcy and Jon stood there. At first she thought he was a teenager, but his dark brown hair was receding and his face showed the lines that only came from years of laughter and deep thought. Round glasses with dark rims gave his oval face an owlish appearance. He wore black slacks and a black short sleeved shirt with a reverse collar, marking him as the church’s pastor.
In his hand was a watering can, still dripping from the spout. He raised his other hand in greeting and then wiped sweat from his brow. “You must be tourists to our little town here,” he said. “Lost, are ya?”
“A bit,” Jon admitted. “We’re looking for Humes Street?”
“Not so lost after all,” the pastor reassured them. “Although I do recommend heading to church whenever you feel lost. Glad you found me. You need to go up Main Street that way, and take your second right turn. Humes is the next street. A dead end. Are you looking for someone? I know everyone in town, if I can help.”
“Oh, let them go already, Jonas,” the man standing in front of the doorway of the church said to the pastor. It was the tall man with the gaunt face who had waved to Roy’s taxi yesterday. He was standing in the same place that Darcy had seen him, holding the same wooden cane with the rounded handle, wearing dark clothes again. His face was clean shaven, his gray hair combed straight back from a high forehead. He winked at Darcy. “They’ve got important things to do.”
“Well we are in kind of a hurry,” Darcy had to admit. If Jonas was the pastor, with his reverse collar, maybe this other man was the assistant pastor. He certainly had the kind eyes and easy smile she would expect from someone who spent their time ministering to the needs of others.
“I see,” Pastor Jonas said with a nod. “Young people. Always in a rush. Like a wallabee hopping around.”
“You’re Pastor Albright?” Jon asked.
“Yes I am, although it’s Reverend not Pastor,” he corrected. “I am the minister at the church here. Feel free to come down while you’re visiting us here in Lakeshore.”
“We just might do that,” Darcy said, although her thoughts were already on finding Humes Street. “Thank you, Jonas.”
The pastor seemed surprised. “I don’t believe I told you my first name, Miss.”
Darcy thought back through their conversation. “No. He did…”
She was pointing at the empty front steps of the church, where the tall man had stood, and was now gone.
“Who did?” Pastor Jonas asked. “I don’t see anyone.”
“I don’t know who it was. He was tall, with gray hair. Using a cane?”
The pastor’s face went very pale, and he turned to stare at the church door again, as if he’d just seen a ghost.
Jon thanked the man again. They left him standing there, and started down the street in the direction he had given them.
Darcy felt tingles running up and down her spine. Pastor Albright’s church wasn’t as empty as he might think.
Humes Street was easy enough to find, once they knew where to look. A dead end street with exactly three houses on it. The last one at the end wasn’t much different than the others. A single story home, with a plate glass window facing a small yard littered with pine needles from the trees growing just past the edges of the pavement. The white of the exterior walls was bright and clean, like it had been painted only recently. Darcy could see flowers of different colors drooping along the front, beginning to wilt as the seasons changed.
Heavy blue curtains were drawn across the window so they couldn’t see inside, but a beat up Volkswagen hatchback was in the driveway. Someone was home.
The door opened before they even got to the short set of front steps. A slender young woman stood glaring at them, dressed in khaki shorts and leather cowboy boots that had pink fringe on them. Her shirt matched, with pink pockets and shoulders on the sleeveless button-up top. Curly black hair framed an angry face.
“Who’re you?”
Maybe they should have thought up a plan, Darcy told herself. Something to say that would explain what they were doing. Hindsight was a wonderful thing. Well, without a plausible story to tell, all they were left with was the truth. It had worked before.
“My name is Darcy,” she said. Jon looked at her in surprise. She ignored him. “This is my husband, Jon Tinker. We’re staying at the Pine Lake Inn. We heard about the poisonings, and we heard that Lindsay died. We’re so sorry. Would you mind if we came in and talked to you about it for just a few minutes?”
Something in what she said must have struck the right tone. The woman took a short, stuttering breath, and the heat from her gaze softened. “Nobody�
��s cared one tiny wit about her death,” she said to Darcy. “Except her sis. She came to town right after. Hardly left my side. Nobody else in this Godforsaken place showed a lick of concern. The cops don’t care. Wrote it off as an accident. Had the nerve to say Lindsay did it to herself. Took something she shouldn’t’ve. A big fat lot of good they are. Like to drown the whole lot of ‘em in a lake full of crocs.”
She took another little breath. Darcy saw her shoulders relax and wondered at the emotion bottled up inside of her. “Come inside,” she offered. “My name’s Maureen.”
The inside of the home was neat and clean. Everything had a place, from the framed pictures on the shelves to the little plastic trophies on the entertainment center. The rug on the floor was brown and plush, obviously new. The walls still had painters tape up around the edges of windows and doors. The fresh coat of paint was yellow, and after all the white buildings in the town Darcy was really getting to appreciate any splash of color.
In the living room, three paintings hung on one wall. Sunflowers, tall and proud in the sun.
The furniture was still old and threadbare, but comfortable as Maureen had them sit down in one of the two loveseats and she took the other, kicking off her boots to curl her feet underneath her. “Sorry about that. I thought maybe you were more of them ratbags from the Lakeshore Times. Had James Callahan out here three times so far, looking for a quote to run in that rag. Told him to bugger off each time. Isn’t getting the message.”
Darcy understood enough of that to know the local newspaper was hounding Maureen about Lindsay’s death. “We have a reporter back home who’s pretty much the same way,” she said, thinking of Brianna Watson, always nearby whenever anything was going on. “We’re not reporters, I promise. We’re here on our honeymoon.”
Flinching, Maureen chewed her bottom lip and stared down at her hands. “Me and Lindsay were hoping to say that. Someday. Oz doesn’t recognize same sex marriage, of course, but there are ways round that.”
Jon nudged Darcy with his elbow. Lindsay and Maureen weren’t just sharing a house together. They were lovers. Serious lovers, if they were thinking about ways to get married while living in a country that legally prohibited it.
“I’m so, so sorry,” was all Darcy could think to say. “We didn’t know.”
That brought out the barest shrug from Maureen. “Nobody knew. We had to keep it secret. Or, least wise, Lindsay felt like we did. I loved her deeply. Would have done anything for her. So, I kept it mum. Because she asked me to.”
“Maureen,” Jon asked gently, “I’m a police officer where I come from, back in the United States. Darcy is a consultant with my department. We came to talk to you because, well, we don’t think these deaths were accidental. We think maybe there was more to it. What do you think?”
Her head came up. There were tears in her eyes but a smile ghosted on her lips. “I think yer two steps ahead of the police here, is what I think. God, to have someone actually believe us!”
“So you don’t think this was an accident either?”
Shaking her head, Maureen shifted to the edge of her seat, her hands clenched into fists on her knees. “No, I don’t. Don’t think the town is cursed or any rubbish like that, neither. Lindsay only ate prepackaged health foods. She was a nut for the stuff. Meal bars and drinks and shakes. Iced tea was her only indulgence. She didn’t even drink alcohol, she’d only ever order water on the nights we’d go out to the local pub. Drove me nuts. So how’s she supposed to get poisoned? No way. This was done to her deliberately, and I know who did it.”
All Darcy could do was stare. Maureen knew who had poisoned Lindsay. Everyone else thought it was an accident but Maureen knew who did it? Seriously?
How?
“If you know who did this,” Jon was saying, “then how come the police haven’t arrested someone? Why not tell the newspaper everything you know and have the killer brought to justice?”
Maureen flinched a little when Jon said ‘killer.’ Her hands trembled as she flattened them out, scrubbing her palms back and forth on her khakis. “I guess I don’t know exactly who it was. I know it was a man. If the cops would do their work they could catch him easy.”
“How?” Jon asked, echoing Darcy’s own thoughts. “How would they be able to find the guy?”
How does anyone even know the killer was a man, Darcy wanted to add, but before she could say anything Maureen was up out of the seat and flying down a short hallway to another room. She was back nearly as quickly with a thin pile of folded paper. She handed them to Jon and then stood there waiting for him to read them.
“I’ve already touched all of them.” Maureen sounded upset with herself. “Not going to get fingerprints from them. Isn’t that what you cops do? Take fingerprints and make them match the suspect?”
“Sort of,” Jon said, unfolding the papers.
Darcy watched over his shoulder. They were letters. Typed rather than handwritten, addressed to Lindsay. None of them were signed. All of them talked about being deeply in love and waiting for the day when Lindsay realized they were soul mates.
“I take it these aren’t from you,” Jon stated.
“’Course not. See the second one? See what the bugger says?”
Jon shuffled the pages.
Darcy read the first two paragraphs. She stopped when she felt her ears turning red.
The letter was very explicit. Whoever wrote it was definitely male, and was very specific about what he wanted to do with his…male anatomy. To Lindsay.
“See?” Maureen asked when she saw they were reading the juicy parts. “That’s a man. Writing to my Lindsay. She wouldn’t tell me who it was but I’d wager good money she knew exactly who the bugger was. She just didn’t want me to worry. Whoever did this wrote those letters. She turned him down flat so he poisoned her.”
“And three other people?” Jon had to ask. “I don’t see how that tracks.”
“Don’t care about the other three. Not the old biddy in the hospital, not that Alec Thingummy or whatever his name is.” The teardrops spilled out of the corners of her eyes and left trails down her cheek. “I only care about Lindsay. She was all I ever cared about.”
Darcy looked away from the raw emotions on Maureen’s face. Her ex-husband had been murdered. Great Aunt Millie had died when she was still young. If she ever lost Jon, her heart would break into pieces. Just like Maureen’s had.
She understood how Lindsay felt.
Looking back over Jon’s shoulder, her gaze settled on the letters again. Typed, no handwriting, no signature. No letterhead. Plain paper. The only thing that seemed even the least bit interesting was an uneven black smudging around some of the edges.
Nothing to go on.
“Can I keep these?” Jon asked her.
“What for?” Maureen asked. “You’re no cop here. You’re like me. A nobody.”
Jon folded the papers carefully and set them on the seat next to him. Then he took Maureen’s hands in his and waited for her to meet his gaze. “We don’t think you’re nobody, Maureen. And neither was Lindsay.”
The room became very silent as Maureen closed her eyes and cried.
Chapter Six
“I think it’s fair to say Maureen isn’t a suspect,” Jon said as they walked back to the Pine Lake Inn.
“That’s an understatement,” Darcy agreed. “She’s devastated that Lindsay is dead.”
“At least she pointed us toward a suspect. Those letters are definitely from an admirer. Some guy had it bad for Lindsay.” He shook his head in thought. “It’s possible she was killed for spurning the writer’s advances. That’s one of the oldest motives in the books. Unfortunately it wouldn’t explain the other poisonings. Four people. Did they have anything in common?”
“Apparently not. Alec said he didn’t know any of them. Except Lindsay from around town. Two of the victims were men, two of them were women. So whoever did this isn’t going after just men or just women. One of them wasn’t even
from Lakeshore. Did they maybe eat all in the same place?”
“I doubt that’s it,” Jon said. “According to Maureen, Lindsay only ate health foods that were prepackaged. I think the Milkbar owner said almost the same thing, too. But, can you picture Alec Beaudoin being a health food nut?”
Darcy snorted at the idea. With all of the pizza boxes and beer bottles on Alec’s floor, it was a safe bet he didn’t sneak in a protein shake on the weekends. “So, no connection?”
“None that I can see, but I’m not from here. There may be social clubs the four victims belonged to together, or church functions, or the same swimming hole for all I know. It’s too bad we couldn’t talk to more of the victims. Like, you know, Lindsay Burlick.”
Darcy knew that comment had been for her. “I can try to do a communication, Jon, but I didn’t pack my travel kit.”
“Why not? I thought you didn’t go anywhere without that?”
She gave him her best you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look. Her Emergency Communication Kit was everything the modern girl needed to perform a ritual calling of a spirit. Darcy had put it together herself and it had come in handy any number of times. The problem was, the kit wasn’t exactly something she could pass through airport security without raising a lot of red flags. Fat wax candles. Metal jar lids to use as makeshift candle holders. Matches. Salt. Incense. Plus a few other little items bound to raise eyebrows with the TSA.
“Besides,” she added, “I don’t have any of Lindsay’s personal items. I need some sort of connection with Lindsay to make a call to her. Otherwise I’m just shouting into a windstorm and hoping the right person hears me.”
“I know. You’ve explained it to me enough for me to get that much. But we have something personal of Lindsay’s.”
“We do?” Darcy was confused. “What?”
He pulled the folded letters out of his back pocket. “These.”
It took them another twenty minutes to find their way back to the gently sloping street where the Inn was located. They still hadn’t gone back to talk with Mabel again. It would have to wait now, because Jon was right. Calling up Lindsay’s spirit was their best bet, as hard as it might be on Darcy with only unwanted love letters to make the connection.