by Amber Boffin
He made his way to his kitchen, switching on the coffee machine, feeling his unshaven beard. His head was pounding. He poured himself a glass of water and swirled the water around, looking at it mesmerized until it seemed to morph into a wineglass. Where had he been—yes, he had gone to the Horizon Cafe. As usual, he must have had too much to drink.
Putting his hand into his pyjamas pocket in search of a tissue, he pulled out a tulip-patterned scarf. He stood at the kitchen sink, holding it up, perplexed. It belonged to Fiona. He had given it to her on their first secret date, when he was working at a remote cottage on an island, where she had joined him. He had no recollection of how it got there or of having spent the night with her. He looked around for evidence of her clothing just in case. He had a bad feeling in his stomach—something had gone wrong, but what?
Burying his head in her scarf, he cried, struck by the memory of her death. He didn’t want to believe it. The image of a solar roof and Mr. Bern’s house slowly brought him back to reality. The coffee was taking effect.
He spoke out loud, as if he had to convince himself. “Last night… I went back to the house, where I must have got the scarf… I had to. No one can know I had an affair with her, otherwise…”
After the late night, he had insisted on driving back home, in spite of Heidi’s attempts to stop him. He remembered this far and that he had been lucky not to have had an accident or any encounter with the police. He had driven very slowly, his chin on the steering wheel, trying to stay on the road that seemed to move like a snake in front of him. The house—yes, he had stopped there, now he remembered.
There had been bright car lights that dazzled him. His heart sank as he vaguely recalled that it was stationary. Maybe someone saw him. He reassured himself that nothing was wrong; he had just picked up something he had forgotten. He had the keys and always looked after the house. What he obliterated from his mind was that he opened his car door, rolled out of it, and staggered onto his feet. Walked straight into tape, irritated by it, ripped it apart with one hand as he had done many times with building tape, and walked to the front door.
Fiddling for a long time with his key. Ripping more tape off, he finally entered the building. He stumbled to the living room looking for the scarf, the image of which dominated his mind until he put it into his pocket. He managed to walk back out and lock the door behind him, as he had done so often recently when they had met there in the evening.
What a perfect excuse, keeping an eye on someone’s home and doing some work; no one would know they spent some time there together. Fiona would tidy up after, she was good at that. No one would know. Just the scarf. He patted his pocket, reassured that he had dealt with it, and staggered back to his car.
He put his hand in front of his eyes, dazzled by a car light that slowly drove by. He remembered that now. If it was the police, he could explain. He just wanted to pick up her scarf to remember her. He would have to deny being drunk, and there was no proof anyway. As far as he knew he hadn’t given a blood sample or blown into any breath analyzer.
Standing under a cold shower to sober up, reality hit him. He saw it was police caution tape, not a simple building tape. It was where Fiona had died. He had trespassed that night, but he was drunk, they might understand…he hoped.
A mix of self-pity and sadness for Fiona released a flow of tears that fused with the water from the shower as he stood, his head tilted back, his hands slowly stroking back his hair. He didn’t see a way out. He could ask Joe for advice; he knew about their affair and always had ideas, but then he remembered their fight. Swallowing his tears, drying himself, a glimmer of hope came to him. No one knew he had been there. Why would he tell anyone? He could always deny it. He could focus the police on what Fiona had told him that day.
He had disagreed with her for the first time and was worried for her. She had told him she had uncovered important information that could have a big impact on the local elections. She wanted to challenge the person with it before going public. She mentioned a name. He tried hard to recollect, but his head was still hurting from the hangover.
As he dressed, he tried to remember her words. Only her face smiling at him kept coming back sadly to his mind. In the kitchen, he hit his head with the palm of his hand as he heard the ten rings of his cuckoo clock in the kitchen.My appointment, I forgot, I’m running really late…
Leon hurried out of the house into his car when he noticed the flag on his letterbox was up. He thought he might have forgotten to pick up his mail, but that didn’t make sense. He vaguely remembered having picked it up the day before. He drove up next to it and retrieved a folded piece of white paper. Leon opened it and stared down at the collage of letters.I saw you. You can’t escape. He crumpled the note and stuffed it into his jacket pocket.
He would revert to his preferred tactic, burying his head in the sand, despite that never working and getting him into more trouble than facing an issue early on. He could always talk himself out of any situation. Needing to regain his confidence, he looked into the rear-view mirror, combing his shiny hair back with his comb and giving himself an encouraging wink.
Chapter Twenty
Sergeant Humphries told Constable Gupta to go question the mayor, Ms. Stilton. He had to ask her about the hat, and in any case about the Christmas party. Constable Gupta had pointed out to him that the mayor could have stood to gain from Peter Wigmott’s death, thus defeating her only opponent. She would have never become mayor otherwise. Sergeant Humphries felt uneasy about it, not having spoken to her early enough in the enquiry, assuming it had been an accident.
He felt intimidated by Ms. Stilton and didn’t want to admit it. He would conveniently use the training excuse to let his constable speak with her in his place; delegating was part of his role to teach the younger generation.
Constable Gupta pleaded in vain with the sergeant to come with him. “But Sergeant, she’s an influential person here. Is it not better for you to speak with her?”
“I thought you wanted to get out of this building. You told me the other day that I don’t give you enough assignments outdoors. Well, now you have one!”
“Yes, that’s true but…”
“And it’s on your beat. It’s about time you did your village tour regularly. After the visit you can do that too. You said you liked it.”
“I do like that.”
“Off you go then, on the double!” exclaimed the sergeant, tapping his desk with his hand.
*
The municipal brick buildings were very close to the police station, only a block away on foot. They overlooked Perch Lake, just opposite Horizon Cafe with a public beach and marina just below The Road, the main street of Foxton, leading to it. Raj usually enjoyed his patrols along the lakeshore and back up through the village streets, stopping to chat with the locals. He often stopped by the cafe, checking with Heidi that all was in order as an excuse to enjoy a coffee before carrying on with his round.
Two cheerful ladies greeted the constable from behind a low, long counter, wheeling themselves from one corner to the other, stacking green papers. Curious, the constable peered down toward the hands of the fair-haired clerk with her large glasses and flower-printed blouse generously open in front. The paper was an open invitation to the public to hear about the solar panel project and its benefits to the community hosted by the mayor. Sandra, rose-cheeked, looked up at him, parting her thin lips into a sweet smile.
“What can I do for you, Constable?”
“I’ve come to speak with Ms. Stilton about a police matter. I believe she’s expecting me, or rather the sergeant. Sergeant Humphries sent me.”
So far, he felt at ease. The constable was about to say he was a little early when the door swung open and Maggie Flanagan entered. The constable felt comfortable with her and had even mentioned to his wife that she might like to meet her, since they both had a bubbly disposition. He was keen for his wife to make new friends; he was worried she might feel lonely at times, ha
ving just arrived in Foxton and left her friends behind. Maggie greeted the group.
The constable picked up one of the green leaflets and was about to hand it over to Maggie, asking if she was planning on attending, when a strong scent filled the air, and all heads turned in its direction. Ms. Stilton stood in the doorframe, her dotted white silk blouse highlighted by a long, beaded green necklace. She clapped her hands in delight.
“I see you have already found my leaflets. I do hope you’ll come. I’m keen on explaining to the community how we will all benefit from it and how each person can contribute to making our village greener. Recycling will be the second topic. I’m eager to hear your opinion on how to make it easier to meet our recycling target and reduce the garbage thrown on the roads. I believe in involving everyone in the decision, you will be committed to it, and we can be a showcase to other communities.”
Constable Gupta hadn’t anticipated the mayor would have taken centre stage with her monologue. He had lost all his self-assurance, and even his uniform didn’t help as it had in the past. She reminded him of someone who had this effect on him, but who? He stood there, motionless, his mouth slightly agape, the green pamphlet about to fall out from his hand, until he was saved by Maggie.
She seized the pamphlet from him as it slowly slipped from his fingers. “I’m interested in recycling and how to reduce the garbage thrown on the roads at least. It’s really needed. Are you considering fines for littering and putting the police in charge of enforcing it, like in BC?”
Ms. Stilton played with her necklace, rolling the beads around her index finger. “That’s an idea. There’re a number of possibilities, and I’ll be there to listen to suggestions at the meeting. If you attend, you’ll hear about it.”
Ms. Stilton turned to the constable, who had just remembered who she reminded him of—a pair of round glasses was all that was missing to be a copy of his math teacher, his nightmare! Knowing whom she looked like didn’t help him. As if he had done something wrong again, he looked down at his shoes when she addressed him.
“And Constable Raj Gupta, I hope you’ll be joining us too.”
The constable lifted his eyes to meet hers. “Yes, if I’m not on duty.”
“I hope you’re all taken care of,” said the mayor, hinting to her clerks.
Sandra replied, “Actually he wanted to see you, Ms. Stilton.”
“Oh, why’s that?”
“Ma’am, Ms. Stilton, I’m here on a police matter. I believe you know why,” whispered the constable, rubbing his palms against the side of his trousers.
“Oh yes, about the disappearance of Peter Wigmott and what happened on that Christmas dinner evening. I expected the sergeant, not you.” She looked at him from head to toe. “You don’t need to whisper. I’ve nothing to hide from my colleagues nor from…?” Ms. Stilton turned toward Maggie.
“Maggie Flanagan. I can come back later.” Maggie turned away as if she were about to leave.
“No need to go. As I said, I have nothing to hide. So what do you want to know, Constable Raj Gupta?”
The constable regained a little composure now that he felt supported by Maggie’s presence. He straightened his back and in a clear voice said, “As you wish, ma’am. Where were you between 5:00 p.m. the night of the Christmas dinner till 9:00 a.m. the following morning?”
“I was at the party. I arrived, let me see, at six, and then—well, as Sergeant Humphries, if he’d been here now as he said he’d be, might recall—I was at the party all evening. I even spoke to him. I think I must have left around midnight, and then I went home like everyone else.” She waited a little moment and added, “And yes, I did speak with Peter Wigmott at the party. Who didn’t speak with him?” She laughed. “He made sure he talked to everyone that evening, as always, even to Leon LeBreton, even though he disagreed with his solar panel project. That’s all. I’m afraid I can’t help you any further.”
Maggie asked, “Yes, but after midnight?”
The mayor stared at Maggie as if she had been insulted. Although the constable was taken by surprise by her remark, he had a soft side for her, and his male protective instinct took over. “She’s right, yes, were you alone at home? Had anyone seen you go home or could witness that you were there the rest of the night?”
Ms. Stilton seemed to change her stance and became defensive. “I don’t have a bodyguard, if that’s what you’re asking, nor am I married any longer, nor do I have a boyfriend, okay? I was on my own. No one saw me, like half the village who was at the Christmas party, going to bed.”
Her tone pierced the constable’s ears. He felt the humid tickle from the sweat forming on his forehead. She had to be hiding something; he had to question her to find out what it was. Why react like that? He pulled himself together, while still not in control of his voice, which he could hear had a slight crackle in it as he asked, “Did you notice anything particular that evening with Peter Wigmott? Was he behaving in a strange way or anyone interacting with him in a strange way? Did you have an argument with him?”
“No, I didn’t. Why would I anyway? He seemed a little upset after speaking with Leon LeBreton, which is unusual for him. Peter normally doesn’t display his emotions in public. Now, is that all? I’m very busy. Can I go now?”
“Yes, but we might have more questions for you,” replied the constable, having regained his composure.
Ms. Stilton didn’t linger and disappeared from the room, leaving behind her a cloud of perfume particles. Raj’s eyes fell on a notice posted against the counter.No perfume allowed please, this is a public space.He was about to jokingly comment that the mayor might not be aware of it but decided it would be inappropriate.
For the first time he noticed dimples dancing on Maggie’s cheeks as she spoke with the clerks. He was thinking of his wife and how to make them meet.
Maggie interrupted his train of thought as she came up to him and in a low voice said, “Strange, don’t you think, she pretends not to know him but talked about him as if she knew him well.”
“Not sure I get you? Who?”
Maggie whispered, out of hearing distance from the clerks. “Ms. Stilton, about Peter Wigmott.” Then added quickly in a normal voice, “Has the sergeant had time to look into what I brought him?”
The constable understood straight away that she was talking about the hat. “Yes, I’ve even dealt with it myself, sent it out, but we doubt anything useful will come out of it.” He raised his hand to his mouth and stamped his foot. He had forgotten to ask Ms. Stilton if she had lost a hat.
“Is everything all right?” Maggie put her hand on his arm with a concerned look in her green eyes.
“No, nothing, thank you. I’ve got to rush.”
The constable walked out briskly, leaving Maggie behind with the two clerks. Maggie casually chatted with them about how the garbage system worked and the lack of pickup service, which in her view was a good thing, as it forced people to see for themselves how much waste was produced when they visited the dump. Maggie moved on to the mayor and her role in the solar panel project. Both clerks shifted in their chairs, looking uneasy about the topic and glancing at each other.
This was enough for Maggie to sense that contrary to what Leon LeBreton had proclaimed to her, the project might not have received all the green lights. Ms. Stilton’s backing might not be sufficient, hence the upcoming event hosted by her. She felt there was more to the project than met the eye, and it might have something to do with Peter Wigmott’s death. She would have to speak with Leon LeBreton again and find a way to corner him into telling her the truth, not an easy task with such a slippery fish.
Chapter Twenty-One
It was a beautiful day, and Maggie looked up at the sky, trying to spot the little propeller plane she could hear. She promised herself to properly learn how to fly, and perhaps she could help Adam with his wildlife tracking from the air.
Having left the municipal building, Maggie walked along the sidewalk, past the garage and Dani
llies ice cream parlour. Her eyes still scanning the sky, she bumped into Fred Wigmott and stopped short as he said, “Hey, look where you’re going!”
Maggie could smell the reek of smoke on his clothing and stepped back to look at him. He was unshaven, his hair ruffed up, a thick padded shirt hastily buttoned, his jeans folded into accordions toward his ankles, and a hollow look in his eyes, as if he were looking through her.
This is a very different man from when I first met him. Of course, his brother’s death must’ve shaken him and yet…his anger and roughness seem out of character.A cigarette was nestled in-between his bony fingers. This might be her opportunity to get his DNA sample, if only she could get hold of one of his smoked cigarettes. His hand trembled as he lifted his cigarette to his mouth, but his nails weren’t yellow, the sign of a heavy smoker. Was he in disguise? She even doubted it was him until he spoke to her.
“Oh, it’s you, Ms. Flanagan, sorry.”
“It’s me. I wasn’t looking where I was going! Are you okay? You look troubled.”
He threw his cigarette away and said, “Yes, fine, just all the stories about my brother, you know, and now this realtor.”
Maggie didn’t want to interrupt him, hoping to hear more regarding Fiona, the possibility of the two deaths being linked having crossed her mind.
“If you ask me, there’s something fishy about this Quebecker solar man.” Fred looked around as if he were checking whether anyone was listening but overlooking Barrie behind him, standing in front of his garage, wiping his hands. Maggie mimicked Fred’s body language, coming closer to him.