by Amber Boffin
Fred cleared his throat. “He can’t be trusted. My brother didn’t like him. I heard LeBreton’d be broke without the municipal solar panel deal he worked out with the new mayor. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear he was involved in my brother’s death. He could’ve cut the cable and caused the accident. I’m sure him and the realtor…” He intertwined two fingers while looking around constantly.
Fred stopped short, seeing Barrie, who had stepped closer as if he wanted to catch more of his words and now turned around, scratching his head and pretending to pick up a paper from the pavement.
Fred changed the topic, pulling out from his jacket a quote for the work to be done at Maggie’s house. “I was going to email you this. Take a look. Let me know what you think. I’ve got to go.”
Maggie was still digesting his words, and her mind raced, thinking about Leon and Fiona as he disappeared as quickly as she had seen him. Barrie startled Maggie out of her reverie when he nudged her gently.
“Hey, Maggie! Good to see you! It’s been a while…but I can still recognize you.”
Maggie smiled, taking in the image of the young man. Barrie still had in his eyes a glimmer of the young boy she knew, despite his beard and broad, stocky figure. Barrie laughed and enveloped her in a strong, friendly embrace.
“Barrie, gee…you’ve…” She was about to say he’d grown, but feeling it might not be what he wanted to hear, she finished with, “done well for yourself, taking over your dad’s garage. I heard you’re a great mechanic! You always liked your cars…and playing the bassoon, right?” She looked up at the garage and back at him with smile, remembering the little boy with a huge bassoon wrapped around him like a boa.
“Yup…still like both. I heard you’re the new photographer in town. I could do with some car pics to decorate this place a bit…” Barrie swung his arm back toward his garage. Without giving her time to reply, he added, “And what’s all this about finding bodies? You really should be careful.”
“What do you mean?”
“For one, not sure what’s your business with Fred Wigmott, but he’s not to be trusted.”
Worried by Barrie’s serious look, Maggie asked, “What makes you say that? If I were to listen to the gossip, no one would be trustworthy in Foxton! I can say the same of Leon LeBreton. I don’t trust him for one second.”
“You might be right.”
Maggie looked at the street from his vantage point, perfectly positioned to have an overview of the village’s main street. “I heard you know what’s going on in the village.”
Barrie looked at her, seeming clueless.
She spread her hand out toward the street with a sweeping gesture. “You must see a lot from here.”
“When I’m not working, not that there’s much happening, though—well, until you came back…and you’re the one finding things!” Barrie laughed.
Hoping Barrie might have witnessed interactions between the villagers, she asked, “Have you seen Leon LeBreton and Fiona together? Like lovers?”
“Oh that, old news. They didn’t show it openly, but only that fool Leon thinks no one knows about it. Fiona always bragged about her conquests. At first it was Peter, and then it was the pharmacist, and now Leon. She even approached me! Pretty woman, but I don’t go for married women, too complicated.” Barrie stared at Maggie, then added, “You’re not married, are you?”
Maggie felt a little awkward because she still saw Barrie as the little boy surrounded by toy cars. But how much a boy could change. A real teddy bear figure with his thick brown beard, warm brown eyes, stocky build, and friendly smile, he must attract many hugs. She avoided his question by asking, “Really, was it serious between them? Between Leon and Fiona?”
“I guess so. Fiona talked about divorce just the other day.”
“Somehow I think the police aren’t aware of it. Surely it could be relevant to her death. Don’t you think?”
“You mean Humphries? He’s blind to that kind of thing until you put his nose in it. A link, you say…killing the lovers, mmm…” Barrie scratched his beard loudly.
“You think either Leon or Fiona’s husband could’ve killed both Peter Wigmott and Fiona, but that’d only make sense if they were still together, no?”
“I’ve got no idea. Don’t listen to me. So Adam said you wanted to show me something?”
“If you’ve got time? Or am I interrupting your street gossip scan?” said Maggie, looking at a group of people walking by.
“No, I can do two things at once!”
Maggie laughed at the naughty twinkle in his eyes. She could see why Adam would get along with him. He had certainly turned into a likeable young man. They must joke a lot. Pulling a photo from her pocket, she said, “I just want to show you a picture and a piece of metal I found. Did you see any bumps or markings on the snowmobile when you looked at it?”
Barrie thought for a brief moment, his head turned toward his garage as if he were reviewing the snowmobile, then looked at her. “Only a few scratches, and the seat was damaged, not a surprise there; it spent a long time in the water and ice.”
“And those scratches, what do you think caused them?” Maggie pointed to the blown-up image of the scratches on the snowmobile.
“Branches, anything really. I gotta admit I didn’t pay a lot of attention to them once I’d seen the brake cable had been cut.”
Standing closer to him, Maggie could smell the oil and diesel fumes that impregnated his overalls as he looked over her shoulder at the photograph. She pointed at the corner of the picture. “You see, there, on the right side, the marks.”
Picking up the photo with his rough, cracked hand, washed too many times, he rubbed his chin with the other. “Paint scratches, mmm. What you’d see when a vehicle grazes another. The other car or whatever it was must now have red paint on it.”
“I don’t get it, why?”
“Because this doesn’t seem to have any paint. The silver you see is the undercoating of the paint. So the red paint must have gone somewhere…”
“And what do you think this is?” Maggie pulled out of her pocket the small metal piece she had found near the road next to the beaver dam.
Barrie looked at it, turning it around between his fingers, puzzled. “Not sure, it looks like aluminum or chrome. Could be part of a bumper. Would have to take a closer look at it and compare it to pieces in my workshop. Can I keep it?” He flipped the piece up in the air like a coin and made it disappear by holding his pocket open to receive it.
“Yes, but don’t lose it. It might be evidence, who knows,” warned Maggie with a smile at his trick. “Could it have caused the scratches?”
Pulling the piece out again, Barrie tried to bend the metal a little. “It’s kind of flexible, so I’m not sure it could. Adam was right.”
“About what?” asked Maggie, worried about what Adam might have told him about her in relation to the murders.
“You never let go…so did I get it right? You really found both bodies?”
Maggie felt the blood drop from her face. “Yes, that’s why I want to understand what happened…before they suspect me.” She laughed without conviction.
“You, a suspect, never!” replied Barrie with a smile.
Maggie sighed with relief, sensing he was genuine. Wanting to lighten the atmosphere, she asked, “I heard you also fix planes, is that right?”
Barrie lifted his head and took a step closer. “I love planes, sure, why?”
“My father’s old plane has been idle for a long time, and I was wondering if you could take a look at it, tell me what you think, if it’s safe to fly it.”
“Sure! So…you fly?”
“Not yet, but I need to think about what to do with it. I’ll show it to you, then. Well, you’d have to go see it really.”
“No problem, anytime, just let me know! In the meantime I’ll look at the metal piece, but you be careful, you hear?”
“Don’t worry about me! I really appreciate your help.” A
s she spoke, Maggie waved at Barrie and walked away down the main street.
Looking at a bunch of red tulips decorating the counter of Danillies, Maggie suddenly remembered Fiona wearing a scarf with red tulips at the wedding. She had seen a similar scarf at Mr. Bern’s home. Perhaps it belonged to Fiona. She must have met Leon. There was no other reason Maggie could see for Fiona to be at the house. She felt the puzzle was coming together, and yet she couldn’t tell whether the two cases were related. She wondered how Ms. Stilton might be related to Peter Wigmott.
Maggie climbed into Big Jay, thinking about the rest of her day. The murders seemed to take hold of all her time; it was impossible for her to keep her distance until she believed she could no longer be suspected and the murderer needed to be found before something else happened.
She could kill two birds with one stone: getting a website done for her photography business while finding out more about Fiona’s widower, Patrick.
Maggie retreated to her study after a brief walk with Beans and Carrot doing their best to gain all her affection. She had never encountered such smart animals as those two dogs. Every day she discovered a new trick they had come up with. Beans knew how to open doors, that was clear very early on, but she could also open cupboards and access whatever she wanted. The surprising aspect was that Beans didn’t leave the doors open as other dogs would do. Items went missing from the cupboards, without a hole in them for a mouse to slip through.
One morning Maggie saw Beans very carefully clasping the knob of the door between her teeth and backing slowly away, one paw behind the other, opening the door. Beans then poked her head in the cupboard, sniffing at the items, and not finding anything edible, walked behind the door and pushed it shut with her nose. Meanwhile, Carrot sat at the other end of the kitchen, watching her, and whimpered as soon as Maggie stood behind her, as if warning her friend of the danger. Sure enough, Beans turned around to face Maggie, her tail wagging as she jumped onto one of her toys as a decoy.
Maggie could only feel admiration for the little dog. She decided to ignore the deed and placed locks on the doors she didn’t want Beans to access, leaving others open now and then with a treat. Perhaps Beans was a guide dog.
Maggie sat at her computer to interact with the web developer, and instead had the urge to do a quick Internet search on Ms. Stilton. She found the mayor had been to university with Peter Wigmott.
Using Google photo search, Maggie marvelled at the software recognitions tools at hand. There on her screen was what looked like a party photo from the eighties. Ms. Stilton stood to the right, Peter Wigmott in the centre, and to the left, hiding under a mat of hair, a pair of high-waisted jeans and loud shirt stood a man.
The man had to be Fred; the hair was different but the figure was the same. The mayor was grinning, in very high-heeled pink shoes matching the colour of her painted nails and necklace. Ms. Stilton had a nice smile and had been slim then, with the typical perm of the time, looking very confident. Peter Wigmott looked proud with his arm around her shoulder, his hand dangling down. Attracted by the shine on his finger, Maggie saw what resembled the ring Fred had been playing with. Perhaps a university ring. With a similar large letter A. The mayor was wearing one too on the picture. It must be a graduation party picture.
She printed the photograph, intending to show it to Ms. Stilton. This would explain why she seemed to know Peter’s habits. Had the mayor been his girlfriend? It was hard to tell from the photograph—both men seemed to lean toward her. Maybe she would first show it to Adam before confronting the mayor.
She suppressed her urge to see Adam straight away. She had to build her photography business and really needed a website. She already had an idea of what she wanted it to look like. It was just a matter of outlining it to Patrick McLenny.
Could he have killed his wife? It was in any case hard to fathom; it could have been premeditated. Both his son and father appeared to suffer from the loss.
Maggie wanted to trigger a visit to Patrick’s place, and for that she wanted to sound very keen and perhaps a little naïve, ready to spend a lot of money on the website. It had to be a big enough hook for him to come out of his current state of mourning. She told herself that her prime motive was for business; he had all the credentials she was looking for and was the only one local for the job. She would tread carefully when asking personal questions; she didn’t want to arouse any suspicion on his side.
The email sent, Maggie felt energized and ready to test her dream of flying. Nothing would stop her today. Perhaps it was the wonderful spring day, the goldfinches and pine siskin chirping outside her window, tucking into her freshly topped-up bird feeder, that filled her with vigour, or was it her two new friends poking her to go out and play in the garden, eager to distract her from the screen?
The decision was made: she would visit the local airfield to take a look at the state of the little plane her father had left her, and perhaps investigate learning how to fly.
Chapter Twenty-Two
To her surprise, Maggie heard a calm, melodious, familiar voice behind her as she poked her head through the hangar doors where the planes were neatly lined up.
“Can I help you?”
She turned around and recognized the Reverend John Smithers from the wedding. For some reason, when the reverend explained to her that he was the local flying instructor, she couldn’t believe her ears. At the same time, she could see he would be good at it: a relaxed, reassuring, and cheerful person. He might also have the added benefit of a good understanding of character, given his ministering role to listen and advise his flock.
They walked around Maggie’s father’s yellow Cessna, John pointing out a few things that needed to be repaired before the plane would be safe to fly.
“You seem worried. It looks like a big job, but it isn’t really. It’s a very good little plane.”
“I don’t know if it’s worth it. I liked flying with my father, but I’d have to learn, and I’m not sure it can ever be repaired to the standards of today’s regulations so that I can learn to fly in it.”
“Look, why not just come with me for a test flight? It’s the perfect day. You’ll decide afterwards what you want to do. Besides, the plane isn’t in the way here.”
Maggie felt joy overwhelming her, but then, concerned, she said, “But Reverend, in that case I must pay you for the flight, the fuel, I mean it’s quite something, not like going for a spin in a car.”
“Call me John. There’s no charge for an introduction. Besides, I was heading out myself anyway. I’ve got to keep my mileage up to keep my instructor level. Look over there, that’s my plane.” He pointed to a little red-and-white propeller plane gleaming in the sun on the tarmac in front of the hangar. “It’s a two-seater, so really if you want to test if you want to fly, come along! And I see you have your camera, perfect.”
John suggested they fly over her property so she could take pictures of it.
Excitedly she replied, “Okay then, I can’t refuse. I’ve got to start somewhere.”
John’s passion for flying, just like her father had, transpired in the way he spoke about his plane, with respect, as if it were alive. He had taken good care of it; it looked new, while it was from the seventies. He explained her what he was doing, the commands and a bit about how to navigate. It was all coming back to her; she had learned a great deal just by sitting next to her father and continually asking questions, as she always used to.
“Good. We’re at cruising altitude now. Take a look around, you see the cell phone towers. Those are important to avoid crashing into and memorize as beacons. Take hold of the command for me. I just want to write something down.”
Maggie grabbed the yoke with both hands, holding it steady, her eyes glued to the horizon gauge.
“Good, now just feel it, pull toward you…that’s it, but not too much. We don’t want to end up in a spin!”
“I can feel it, as if the wings were an extension of myself. Dad let me do that som
etimes. I love it!”
John explained that he alternated between planes with floaters to land on water and ones with wheels to keep the reflexes fresh for each. He also mentioned skis and landing on frozen lakes and even up rivers. Intrigued by his skills, Maggie questioned him on his story and how he ended up flying.
Before becoming a reverend, John had been a bush pilot in British Columbia, bringing equipment to remote locations and for rescue operations. He loved Beaver planes and explained how on one of his survival bush flying lessons, his instructor had patiently guided him through numerous landings on lakes and even on rivers, telling him what to do when he hesitated. It went very smoothly, and he felt pleased with himself, planning to return to the airport as usual when his instructor said that the session wasn’t over yet.
Maggie was hooked by his story, imagining what it must feel like to land up a river; it seemed an impossible feat to her. She didn’t want him to stop and said, “And what happened then?”
“He asked me to fly high, higher than we are now, and cruise a little, then he’d help me with the landing, but instead…” John suddenly opened his door.
Maggie gasped and sighed, “You scared me, but I know it’s not an issue. Even my dad flew without doors.” She was keen to appear courageous and up to becoming a pilot.
“Yes, well, I was scared that day when my instructor did the same thing.”
“Why? It’s not dangerous since there’s no pressure issue with a Beaver plane, just like this one, and you must have both had your seatbelts on?”
“I did, but I hadn’t seen what he was wearing. I must have been too excited with the whole experience. Anyway, he had a parachute!”
“What?” She checked if John was wearing a parachute, and in doing so she inadvertently pushed the yoke away from her, and the plane dove suddenly.
“Be careful, steady now…level it again,” John said calmly.
Maggie corrected herself, steadying the plane, focused entirely on the task, while John, his hands on the commands, was ready to take over any moment. Releasing his grip, his hands now on his lap, he said, “Good, you caught up well, but you shouldn’t have such brusque reactions. You’ll learn.”