A Page Marked for Murder

by Lauren Elliott

  “Please . . . just call me Addie. You don’t have to refer to me as ‘Miss.’”

  “I can’t do that.” He shook his head. “I was raised proper. A lady like you, I gotta show respect.”

  “I was raised properly, too, but that meant I should show respect to everyone, and especially my elders by referring to them as Mr. or Mrs. or Miss. So please just call me Addie because I’m not your elder, Bill.”

  “No, ma’am, but a fellow like me . . .” His gaze dropped.

  “What do you mean ‘a fellow like you’? You’re a person just like I am, but, unfortunately, someone who’s a bit down on his luck at the moment, right?”

  “Yeah”—he shuffled his oversize booted feet—“I guess.”

  “Then it’s settled. From now on, it’s just Addie.”

  “Okay, just Addie.” He grinned crookedly. “Whatever you say, just Addie.”

  “Oh, Bill.” She tried not to smile at the childlike expression on his face and glanced down at Brett. Her stomach churned. “I’d better call the police now.”

  “I gotta go anyway. It should be good bottle pick’ns at the park this afternoon, and I gotta make sure I get back to the shelter early tonight. Last night, they were mad ’cause I was so late.” He pulled his wool cap over his graying sandy-blond hair. “See ya around.”

  “You can’t leave. The police are going to want to talk to you.”

  “No way, just Addie. Me and the police, well . . . we don’t talk that well together.”

  “Bill, you don’t have a choice.” She grasped his jacket sleeve. “You were at the scene of a crime, and they’re going to want to know everything you can tell them.”

  “I got nothing to say that I haven’t said to you. You just tell them for me, ’kay?”

  “I can’t do that. They’re going to want to hear it in your words.”

  “But—”

  “I’m sorry. I know this is hard for you, but it’s the way it has to be.”

  Less than two minutes from the time Addie placed the 911 call the first police cruiser pulled up behind her store. Jerry, an officer whom Addie was well acquainted with, got out, placed his cap on his head, adjusted his police utility belt, and sauntered toward them, his eyes focused on the mass on the ground not far from Addie’s feet.

  “Addie . . . Bill.” He nodded, bent down, placed two fingers on Brett’s neck, laid the back of his hand on his ashen cheek, stood up, and pressed a button on his shoulder-mounted police radio. “Dispatch, this is Sergeant Fowley.”

  “Go ahead, Sergeant.”

  “Yeah, you’d also better dispatch an ambulance”—he glanced at Addie—“and the coroner to the scene in the alley off Birch.”

  “Roger that. Ambulance and coroner dispatched.”

  Jerry clicked off his radio. His gaze darted between Addie and Bill. “So”—he took out a notebook and pen from the inside of his jacket pocket—“which one of you wants to be the first to tell me what you know about all this?”

  Bill glanced at Addie, panic reflecting in his eyes, and his body stiffened. Addie gently laid her hand on his jacket sleeve and gave him a reassuring nod. “I’ll go first,” she said, taking a step forward.

  Jerry’s hand shot up in a stop motion. “Don’t move until I can get impressions of both your boot soles. There are a lot of tracks here in the snow, and we have to try to figure out what’s what and when they were made.”

  “Right.” Addie dropped her gaze. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

  Another cruiser pulled in behind Jerry’s, and he ordered the young officer to bring the crime scene bag from his trunk. By the time the two officers had taken Addie’s and Bill’s initial statements and ink impressions of their boot soles, the laneway was filled with flashing blue and red emergency lights. Yellow crime scene tape roped around the entire perimeter, including Addie’s Mini Cooper. She looked questioningly at Jerry.

  “You can’t leave until we take tire impressions and swab your tires for evidence.”

  Addie nodded in resignation. “I’ll have to get Pippi out, or she’s going to freeze in there.”

  Addie retraced her original footprints in the snow as best she could back to her car. Not being able to leave might be a good thing. It meant she would be around longer and maybe overhear some of the chitchat between officers. It never hurt to have an inside scoop. She bent into the front seat to retrieve a wiggling Pippi from the cozy basket.

  “Miss Addison Greyborne,” a voice boomed from directly behind her.

  Startled, she jerked and smacked her head on the doorframe as she swung around to be greeted by the penetrating gaze of Marc Chandler, Greyborne Harbor chief of police.

  “Imagine my surprise at discovering you at yet another scene that involves a dead body,” Marc said, planting his hands on his hips. “Tell me, Addie, is this all part of your magnetic personality or do you go looking for bodies?”

  She rubbed the top of her throbbing head but didn’t know what to say. He was right, not so much about the magnetic personality bit, but about her having been at the scene of most every dead body discovered in Greyborne Harbor during the past two years. An uncanny coincidence, perhaps, or it could be a holdover of her run of bad luck that started three years ago when her fiancé, David, was killed during a home invasion. Six months later, her father died in a mysterious car accident.

  Since then, stumbling across dead bodies had become a part of her life in Greyborne Harbor, the quaint little New England town she had escaped to after her great-aunt Anita passed away. It was supposed to be Addie’s opportunity to leave her dark past behind and start over. But since arriving . . . well . . . she glanced at the dead body in the snowbank. A cold quiver raced up her spine. She gazed back at Marc and shrugged her shoulders.

  “Okay, Jerry, fill me in.” He glanced at Addie, shaking his head. “Are we holding her on this one, or is she only the messenger here? Messenger of death is more like it,” he mumbled under his breath as he took Jerry’s notepad and began reading.

  Addie opened her mouth to offer a quick retort, but Simon’s Ford F-150 truck came into view up the alley. She remembered Simon’s advice about dealing with Marc when he switched on his RoboCop mode: “Don’t go poking the bear. Just count yourself lucky.” She snapped her mouth closed. Since she had officially ended her and Marc’s often tenuous relationship nearly a year ago, things had been strained between them. They had both moved on in their personal lives, but there was always that undertone of wanting to get a jab or two at each other when they were faced with . . . well, a dead body.

  It seemed to be a pattern they had developed from the start of their relationship. Addie knew that it was only a matter of time until Marc told her, in no uncertain terms, to leave it alone and leave the investigating to the police. Then she would plead her case by telling him why she couldn’t do that. In this case, it was because the victim was Paige’s ex, and Addie knew things about the family history that could complicate it for everyone. She prayed Marc wouldn’t jump to conclusions when he started his investigation.

  Addie snuggled Pippi inside her coat, and her eyes met Simon’s as he strode behind Martha’s Bakery toward the body. A twitch of his lips told her that he understood what she was struggling with. He knew her history and aversion to anything related to death. She returned his half smile with a nod, indicating she was okay. He snapped on his blue rubber gloves and proceeded to examine the body.

  Pippi wriggled around in her armpit for a comfortable position, and Addie fought to squelch the laugh about to bubble free.

  Marc shot her a glare. “You think this is funny?”

  “No, I don’t.” She motioned to the little head poking out the front of her coat and redirected her focus on the scene as Marc returned to Jerry’s notes.

  There was nothing protruding from the oven vents that could have caused a wound like the one at the base of Brett’s throat. She pressed her eyes closed and opened them, forcing herself to look at Brett’s body. It was just
as she first thought. She wasn’t an expert by any means, but in her mind, an injury like that should have produced visible evidence in the snow, but there wasn’t anything other than boot marks, which could have been made any time since the last snowfall over two days ago.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw an officer push Bill’s head down and usher him into the back seat of a cruiser. Bill glanced over his shoulder at her. The hollowness in his eyes tore at her heart. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed, and fought back tears as they drove away. There was no way Bill could have had anything to do with this. She needed to talk to Marc, now. She wheeled around and marched toward where he’d moved, beside Simon over by the oven vents.

  “What do you have for me, Doc?”

  Addie came to a stop and feigned seeing to Pippi inside her jacket, to avoid the impression that she was eavesdropping on them.

  “At this point, not much.”

  “Is there any ID on the body to prove the victim here is, in fact, the fellow one of the witnesses named?”

  “Yeah, I found this in his back pocket.” Simon held out an evidence bag containing what appeared to be a man’s black leather wallet. “According to his driver’s licence, his name is Brett Palmer. It looks like he lives in Boston.”

  “Thanks.” Marc retrieved the bag from his hand. “What else did you find? This guy didn’t just show up behind the bakery with a hole in his throat and go to sleep, did he?”

  “Honestly, Marc, I don’t know what to tell you right now. The size and shape of the wound has me stumped. Until I can perform an autopsy and make a casting of the area of penetration, I have no idea what killed this man.”

  “So, the question is, how did he die, and if it was an accident or murder?”

  “I don’t think those are the only questions.”

  “What else you got?”

  “It’s also: Where did he die?”

  “Yeah, the area looks pretty clean.”

  “Exactly, and due to the lack of blood splatter, except for this”—Simon pointed to the front of Brett’s parka—“my best guess right now is that this fellow was moved or placed here after he was dead.”

  “Hmm.” Marc’s gaze narrowed in on the body. “If that’s the case, it means this probably wasn’t an accident.”

  “That’s the conclusion I’ve come to in my initial assessment of the body and the scene. Unless your team finds evidence to indicate otherwise, I’d say that you most likely have a murder on your hands and an entire town to comb for the original crime scene. Good luck with that.”

  “Any idea yet on the time of death?”

  “I’ll know better when I conduct the autopsy. Right now, I’d say he’s been dead at least six to eight hours.” Simon turned to the two paramedics and directed the loading of the body onto the gurney.

  “It’s going to be a long day,” Marc muttered, and glanced over at Addie.

  She averted her eyes, but it was too late. He had caught her listening. She fidgeted with the fluff ball, whose nose was poking out of her jacket collar, and waited for Marc to unload his infamous warning on her about staying out of a police investigation. Instead, his eyes searched her face, and he made no motion to move.

  He knew her well enough to know that any information she had just gleaned would set her off on her own sleuthing adventure, and no doubt thought his words would be wasted. If so, then he was right. This was one of those cases she wouldn’t be able to walk away from. There was too much at stake for Paige and her little girl, who was now left without a father, no matter how distant he’d been. Does Marc know about Brett’s connection to Paige? The anguished look in his eyes told her he did, and like her, probably sensed that no good would come out of this regardless of who investigated.

  Chapter Eight

  “Are you all right?” Simon’s hand on Addie’s elbow startled her from her thoughts.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” She forced a smile.

  “Good.” He gave her arm a light squeeze. “It looks like our plan for the day has changed, but I’ll call you later.” He kissed her cheek and started to walk away but stopped and came back. He whispered in her ear, “Remember what you told me Martha said to you yesterday?”

  She nodded and swallowed hard.

  “I think you’d better relay that information to Marc.”

  “I can’t, Simon,” she said, dropping her voice. “That would draw attention to Martha, and there’s no way she would have had anything to do with this.”

  “Maybe not, but attention to Martha has already been drawn. The whole town is talking about the family squabble on the beach last night.”

  “Does Marc know about it?”

  “Does much go on in this town he doesn’t know about?”

  “You’re right. Okay.” She bit her lip to stop the trembling and sucked in a deep breath.

  “Thatta girl.” His lips brushed her cheek, and he left, following the ambulance down the alley in his truck.

  “Okay, little friend,” she said, ruffling the top of Pippi’s head, “let’s hope I’m doing the right thing and not making everything worse.” She walked toward Marc, where he was crouched down, examining the area where the body had lain. “Hi,” she said, sliding up to his side.

  “Hi.” He glanced up at her.

  She struggled for the words she knew she needed to say and gulped when his gaze held on hers.

  “Is that it? Is all you wanted to say was ‘hi’?”

  “Um, no.” She pressed her face into the back of Pippi’s neck. Her heart and mind waged a battle inside her. “I’m surprised Detective Brookes isn’t here, though. I would have thought something like this would be right up her alley.”

  “Is that supposed to be funny, given where we are?” He slowly rose to his feet and stared down at her.

  “No, I didn’t mean it like that. Just that . . . well, you know… her being former FBI and all. And with a case where there’s no indication of what caused the death, and the fact that there’s little to no evidence at the scene . . .” Her voice trailed off as Marc’s eyes narrowed.

  “Was there something else on your mind, or are you just being nosy about Ryley?”

  “There’s something that I should probably tell you.”

  He continued to fix his unblinking gaze on hers while she blinked as though she had smoke in her eyes. “If it has anything to do with what happened here, then you’d better spit it out.”

  “It’s just that . . . well . . . um . . .”

  “I’m losing patience.”

  “I know, but—” She nestled Pippi’s head under her chin. “It’s something someone said to me yesterday.”

  “Does it have something to do with the case?”

  “That’s the problem. I’m not sure if it does or not, and I don’t want this person to get into trouble if it was said in innocence.”

  “If you don’t tell me what it is, then I have no way of knowing if whatever it is you have to say is relevant or not.”

  She relayed to Marc what Martha had said to her at the bookstore yesterday afternoon. She ended her report with Martha’s last chilling words: “‘Don’t worry. Paige is fine today because I think I’ve put an end to all his nonsense, and if not, I will soon. You can mark my words!’”

  “And you’re sure she was referring to Brett, Paige’s ex?”

  Addie nodded.

  “Oh boy.” Marc rubbed the back of his neck. “With what I heard about the scene at the beach last night, combined with what you just told me—Jerry!” Marc hollered.

  Jerry bolted toward them, his crime scene bag in hand. “What do you need me to look at, Chief?”

  Marc waved his hands erratically in the air. “Everything, just double-check everything for any traces of blood, fibers, whatever you can find.” Marc swung around and stomped toward his cruiser. “Officer Collins, come here,” he snapped. “I need you and Jefferies to pick up Martha, Ken, and Paige Stringer. Take the lot of them into the station.”

  “What! No,”
Addie called out. “Paige and Martha? You can’t be serious?” She hugged Pippi close. “You’ve known them your whole life and—”

  “Stop, right now. With what you just told me, I have no choice but to bring them all in for questioning. Brett, Paige’s ex”—he emphasized the last word—“didn’t just up and impale himself and wind up behind Martha’s store on his own, now did he?”

  “Come on, really? Think about it. If Martha or Paige had anything to do with this, would they really have left the body in a place where it would implicate one or both of them?”

  “At this point, I can’t speculate until I have the facts pertaining to the cause of death and have had an opportunity to question three people who may or may not have some information about that death. Now, if you’ll excuse me”—he took his cap off and tossed it on the front seat of his car—“I have some police work to do.” He got in and slammed the cruiser door.

  Addie heard an audible sigh and the clucking of a tongue behind her. She spun around to face Jerry. “What are you tsk-tsking about?”

  “I should have warned you.”

  “About what?”

  “The state the chief would be in today.”

  “Is it really any different from the one he’s in most days lately?”

  Jerry glanced up at her over his notes, a wry smile crossing his face.

  “What?”

  He shook his head and snickered.

  One look at Jerry’s face and she knew he was aware of and agreed with what she was talking about. From past cases they had worked on together she had no doubt he shared her thoughts about Marc’s sometimes RoboCop behavior. However, she also knew that he was far too professional to ever say anything against his boss and for the most part, masked his true feelings well. “It’s just that when you told me who you thought the victim was I knew it would hit him hard.”