“I guess it is. Well . . . all right.”
I thanked Sierra for her help, waited until she backed her car down my driveway and started for home, and then hurried down the flagstone path for the MacKenzies’ house. I had a photo to show Laurence.
CHAPTER 18
“That’s the guy you call Richard Comeau?” Laurence asked.
“That’s him,” I said. “Sierra took it during our birdwatching tour.”
Emily put her hands on her husband’s shoulder and leaned in for a better look at my phone. “Yeah, I’d know that weasel face anywhere.”
Laurence shook his head. “That’s not Richard Comeau. How many times have you met this guy, Kate?”
“I met him on the bus, he’s been to my house—invited and uninvited—and just a little while ago I met him in the woods. Why?”
“He’s thin but never seems to get cold? Peppers his sentences with French?”
“Exactly.”
“Stay away from him,” he said, giving me the phone.
“I’ve been trying to.”
“He followed you into the woods?”
“Either that or he was already there.”
For the first time since Nadine Sullivan’s murder and the break-in at my house, Laurence looked genuinely worried. “His name’s not Richard Comeau. It’s Ignace Surette, and he’s a despicable character.”
I dropped to one of their living room armchairs, and Laurence and Emily joined suit, taking seats on their couch. “He’s a spook, isn’t he? A ghost.”
Emily groaned. “Kate.”
“All right, don’t tell me if he’s a spook, but how do you know him, Laurence?”
“He was born in New Brunswick, though he’s an American citizen now, and the last I heard, he was living in far northern Maine,” he said, skillfully avoiding my question.
“He’s in central Maine now,” I said. We could have been talking about a virus and how far it had penetrated our state. “Why do you think he’s using the name Richard Comeau?”
“He likes to work under aliases. Occasionally he uses more than one at a time.”
“How do you know so much about him? What does he do?”
“Nowadays he works for himself, as far as I know. I don’t think he has any colleagues.”
“He told me he was a ‘solo practitioner,’ whatever that means.”
Laurence’s voice flattened. “From everything I know about him, that’s true. I’ve never known anyone who worked for him or closely with him. He operates alone.”
“How does he make a living?” Emily asked.
“He’s basically a grifter,” Laurence replied. “A scam artist.”
But the expression on his face told me there was a lot more to it than that. Grifters were a criminal nuisance, not a danger to life and limb. I was going to ask Laurence why Ignace Surette had chosen my modest house to break into—I had no money, no gold, nothing of value he could steal—but of course I knew the answer. For whatever reason, he had turned his grifting attentions to the unseen world, the fairy world, and he knew he could do so without repercussions. Hunting fairies wasn’t like stealing. If the authorities knew what he was up to, they would laugh and tell him to carry on.
Still, something didn’t sit right with me. How had Ignace Surette come to Smithwell? How had he found Irene Carrick? I didn’t believe he’d been drawn by her obscure fairy lore booklet. No one outside of Smithwell knew it existed. I’d lived in Smithwell for twenty years, and I’d only learned of it after Ray died and I found the booklet in his house.
I looked up from my faraway ruminations to see both Emily and Laurence watching me, concern etched on their faces. “I’m interrupting your dinner, aren’t I?” I rose and shoved my phone in my coat pocket. “And with Laurence leaving for Tunisia day after tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to go,” Emily said.
“That’s all right, I have my own dinner to fix. One last thing, Laurence. How do you know about Surette? You didn’t say.”
“Didn’t I?”
“You know you didn’t.”
He rose, his tall frame stretching to the ceiling like a fir tree. “I’m still bound by confidentiality agreements, some of them going back years. But I can tell you that Surette worked for two different government agencies at one point. He was probably fired from both, but I don’t know that for certain. He has some connections, few of them trustworthy, and in the past he’s been involved in some pretty weird stuff. My opinion, Kate? Not to leave this room? He’s an autonomous government agent, or he works for one. The question is, which government?”
In the MacKenzies’ warm living room, I felt a chill run down my spine, and in the silence that fell on the room, the only sound was the ticking of a mantel clock.
Emily at last spoke up. “After Laurence leaves, why don’t you sleep here? We’ll watch TV, eat popcorn.”
“I think that’s a terrific idea,” Laurence said, his countenance brightening.
“Okay,” I managed. Minette. That bony snake was after Minette.
“Now I have a question for you,” Laurence said. “Why did Surette break into your house? You must have some idea what he wants.”
Not wishing to break my word to Minette—I’d promised not to tell another soul about her—and knowing that in any case, it was Emily’s place to tell Laurence about our fairy, I laid the fault on my sweet, dead neighbor. “Ray Landry believed in fairies, and so does Surette.”
Laurence scowled.
“Ray said they live in the woods across from our street,” I went on, “and he pretty much told a couple people that he’d met them and had proof of their existence.”
Laurence was incredulous. “Ray Landry? We’re talking about Ray Landry? He was a solid guy.”
“Anyway, Comeau—or Surette—mentioned fairies to me when he followed me into the woods. He thinks I know where they are, and that’s why he broke into my house.”
“Has he gone around the bend?” Laurence said. “I always heard he was off the wall, but this is wacko.”
I shot a sidelong glance at Emily. “So he was looking for proof in my house. Fairy flowers in the house, fairy cages, who knows? He did find the moss I picked up during the birdwatching tour, and he took that as a sign I was feeding fairies in my house.”
“He said that?” Laurence was staring at me, floored by what I was saying.
“In different words, but that’s what he meant.”
“Is he mental?” He marched out of the living room and seconds later marched back in with his phone. “Send me that photo. I’m going to text it to Detective Rancourt. We knew each other when I worked at different embassies.”
“I’d forgotten.” Rancourt had told me that last November, around the time Emily had found a dead body in her back yard. Laurence seemed to know every top gun in law enforcement. “He got out of the hospital a day early, but I’m sure he left the station for the day.”
“No problem, I have his home number.”
Naturally. I texted him the photo. “What will you tell Rancourt?”
“That he needs to pick up Surette and put some pressure on him. It sounds like he’s gone around the bend, and unless he’s stopped, he’ll keep harassing you.”
What Laurence didn’t know was that Surette would hound me not to hound me, but to find Minette—or some other poor fairy. He’d cage her and . . . what? Sell her? Charge money to see her? Put in her some secret government program? My mind reeled at the possibilities, all of them sickening. And Minette was alone and defenseless. “I need to go. Text me if you hear from Rancourt.”
“I’m calling you later tonight,” Emily said as I rushed out her front door.
I dashed inside my house, once more checked every door and window lock in the place, and then stood at my living room window, peering through the parted drapes at the woods across the street. Minette was out there. Hiding high up in her tree, I hoped. But if she was still safe, why hadn’t she heard me when I’d called for her? He
r hearing was, in her own words, “magnificent,” and I couldn’t have been that far from her tree when I’d called to her. Was she cold? More snow was on the way tonight—and freezing fog and more of that numbingly frigid wind that whipped around the treetops. Tomorrow, at long last, the bright sunshine would return to central Maine, but tonight . . . I let the drapes fall back into place.
“Kate.”
That voice! My head snapped around. Minette was sitting atop Michael’s old chair by the fireplace. “Minette! You’re safe!” I was overjoyed! “When did you get here?”
“I heard you in the forest. I’m cold.”
Racing to her, I almost fell over the magazine rack by my other armchair. “Are you all right? How long have you been here? Why didn’t you come to me?”
“The Comeau man. I saw him before you did. He’s a bad man, and he wants me.”
“Of course! Oh, Minette, I’ve been so worried about you.” I drew close to her, extending my palm toward her, but she remained seated on the chair back.
“They’re not dirty,” she said, holding up her feet.
“I don’t care! I missed you! I’m just glad you’re back.”
Her tiny chin quivered.
“Minette?”
Instantly, her whole body tensed, and her hands closed into fists. “Baloney!”
Shocked, I drew in my breath and pulled back my hand. “What do you mean?”
“Baloney!”
I had taught her a new word, and she was using it to its full measure. To get back at me. “What’s baloney? Tell me.”
“I told you. I told you I was scared in the woods, but you left me.”
“I’m so sorry.” I sat down on the edge of the chair and twisted back, looking into her eyes. “I’m so, so sorry. But Comeau wants to capture you, do you understand? Capture. He’s a very bad man—worse than I thought. He broke into this house, and he’s going to keep breaking in until the police stop him. You weren’t safe here, that’s the only reason I took you to your tree. I didn’t want you to leave.”
Minette nodded slowly and relaxed her fists. “Do I live here?”
“You’ll always live here. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Buoyed by my words, she smiled and her shoulders bunched around her neck in that childlike way she had. “The Comeau is trying to capture me in the forest, too. Not just here.”
“I know, and that’s why you’re staying with me at all times until the police find him. His real name is Ignace Surette, and he’s a killer, Minette. He killed Gavin Dearborn. I’m sure of it now.”
My text tone sounded from my coat pocket. It was Laurence. Rancourt and the whole Smithwell Police Department were looking for Ignace Surette, alias Comeau, but as yet they didn’t have a lead on where he was. And two more things. Rancourt told him that Joel had crumbled when arrested and had confessed to Nadine’s murder. And the medical examiner believed a man had killed Gavin. It was the force of the weapon, and how the tip of the blade had broken off on entry, that convinced him. Laurence spared me the particulars.
“We’re sleeping with the lights on tonight,” I said to Minette. “And the police had better get their act together and find Surette. Right now.”
CHAPTER 19
I put the kettle on, falling back on my usual medicine for calming my nerves—hot herbal tea. Then I slug my coat over a chair, pulled the kitchen drapes closed, and poured maple syrup into a teaspoon and set it on the table for Minette.
“I’m going to read more of Ray’s journal,” I said, “but I won’t read it aloud unless you want me to.”
Resigned to the fact that I was soon to learn more about her and her past than she wanted, Minette sighed and drifted feet first to the table, sitting in front of the teaspoon. “Ray of the Forest wrote some things I didn’t know he wrote. He listened to everything I ever said.”
“Of course he did. He cared about you.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, tilted back her head, and pressed her peas-sized hands to her mouth.
“Minette, breathe.”
She exhaled loudly and looked up at me. “I miss him, Kate. Like you miss Michael.”
“And we’ll always miss them.” Suddenly not in the mood to make tea, I turned off the kettle and took Ray’s journal into the living room.
I did miss Ray, and reading his journal triggered a host of emotions in me that, for the time being, I would rather have let lie dormant. But I needed to finish the journal and return it to Sierra. She hadn’t said so, but I knew she’d been offended that I’d supposedly loaned it to neighbors without her permission. Then again, the journal was almost as much mine as hers . . . and it really wasn’t hers. It belonged to Ray’s son in California.
“I’ll take photos of these pages,” I said as Minette floated lazily to Michael’s chair. “Remember I told you that? That way I’ll have a copy you can look at later, if you want to.”
“The Ignace Surette man wants it.”
“I know that.”
“He will not,” she said fiercely. “He will not touch it. Where is he? Why won’t the police find him?”
“He’s in the wind,” I said. Seeing her confused expression, I added, “It’s an expression that means no one can find him. He changes his name, kills, moves again, and then disappears.” With Ray’s journal open on my lap, I leaned my head against the chair, the weariness I’d felt for hours settling in. “Did he kill Gavin because Gavin knew about fairies in the woods? Gavin believed in fairies, or said he did, but he never saw them. I guess Surette saw Gavin as a threat to his enterprise.”
“His enterprise,” Minette repeated thoughtfully.
“I hope he doesn’t see Sierra in the same light and . . .” I sat quietly for a minute, wrestling with an unpleasant thought that was gaining feasibility by the second. “Sierra and Gavin,” I murmured.
Minette landed on the open journal. “I don’t like Sierra, even if you do. She traps birds in cages.”
“How do you know that?”
She covered her face. “I was . . . because I was—”
“Drop your hands. Because you were in Ray’s house. You followed me. Minette, why do you keep ignoring what I say? I’m only trying to keep you safe.”
“But Sierra doesn’t tell the truth, Kate. I hear it in her voice.”
“I didn’t need your supersonic hearing to tell me that. She knows more than she’s telling me or the police.”
With a downward flick of her wings, Minette floated to my shoulder, and there she sat, gazing down at Ray’s journal. “Ray of the Forest wouldn’t like Sierra either. Sierra’s not afraid of the Ignace Surette man like she should be.”
“She pretends to be afraid, but she wasn’t bothered by him searching her back yard, and she let him into her house a second time. Or was it just the second time? If you think about . . .” I sat forward with a jolt, letting Ray’s journal tumble to the floor. “Sierra knows Ignace Surette. And he knows her. Oh, how stupid of me! They both said as much. They let it slip.”
“What did they slip?”
“Sierra said Surette was French Canadian. Okay, maybe that was a good guess, given his French, but then Surette said Sierra was an accountant in Dover-Foxcroft. How did he know that? She’s a substitute teacher now. Laurence figured out she used to be an accountant, but Laurence is Laurence.”
“Laurence knows things.”
I sprang to my feet. “If you put those two things together, then, then . . . Minette, why did Sierra give me Surette’s photo? Because she knew I’d focus on him and not on her, that’s why. She wanted to throw me off. But I think they’re in on it together. I actually believed Sierra’s story about him tracking her down in the supermarket! Why would he do that if it was only Gavin who believed in fairies? Sierra’s lying.”
Minette streaked to the ceiling, laughed, and tumbled forward, rolling in the air. “She’s bad! She traps birds!”
“She traps more than that,” I said.
Midair, Minette
came to a screeching halt. She straightened and descended quickly to my shoulder, where she sat clutching my hair, leaning into my neck.
“Did you hear Sierra and Gavin talk about anything important after I left their house?”
“For only a butterfly second, Kate. I promise I flew out of the fireplace after that.”
“You’re not in trouble. Tell me what you heard.”
“Gavin said, ‘I felt stupid saying those things to her. You’re the one who’s obsessed with fairyland, not me. Now our neighbor thinks I have a problem. Why did I have to be the one?’ And then the evil bird trapper said, ‘But Gavin, baby, you sound so much more credible when you say it, and you did so well on the bird tour. I really believed you were angry with that Canuck. You could be an actor, baby.’”
“Oh, Minette.” I slapped my hand on the back of my chair. “I could smack myself.”
“Don’t!” She shot from my shoulder to the thumb of my right hand and wrapped herself around it. “I won’t let you!”
“Come here.” I opened my hand, and though she wouldn’t earlier, she now sat on my palm. “I meant I feel foolish for not seeing it before now. And for not talking to you so I could put the pieces together. I was right in thinking Sierra didn’t kill Gavin herself, but I was wrong in thinking she had nothing to do with his murder. She did, she did.”
Hurrying into the kitchen, I dug for my phone in my coat and called the police station downtown, telling them what I knew, repeating my story twice for the apathetic officer on the other end. I ended my call with a plea for him to alert Rancourt. Sierra Dearborn was out of her mind, I said, and I feared she was after me.
I was about to dial the MacKenzies’ number when Minette latched onto my thumb again, this time squeezing it with all her might. “I hear someone. Someone’s coming. It’s the Ignace Surette.”
“Upstairs now! Don’t come down until I say it’s okay.” I finished dialing their number, my heart thumping in my chest. A second later, the front doorbell rang.
“Madame Brewer!”
Where are you, Laurence? Answer the phone! That freak, that man who even Laurence feared, was at my door.
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