by Louise Clark
The coffee shop had the benefit of serving light lunches, so once they were together, they all took opportunity to order food.
“You said you have new information on the case. What is it?” Patterson said, getting down to business when the waitress had poured coffee, taken orders, and left.
“First off, Dylan confessed to dumping half Heather’s sleeping pills in the woods,” Christy said.
Patterson made a face. “Yeah, I heard. Greg got him to show him where he’d done it and they found a couple. He took Dylan down to the station to see Woodgate. I expect forensics are swarming over our campsite as we speak.”
“They hadn’t started when we left,” Christy said.
“Hell,” Patterson muttered. “That’s not good.” She straightened and said, “What else have you got?”
Christy smiled. “We know who the killer is.”
Patterson raised her brows. “Who and what evidence?”
“Who is Sheila Bunch,” Quinn said.
Patterson’s brows rose even higher. “Corey Bunch’s mom? The middle-aged lady in the campsite opposite us?”
Christy and Quinn both nodded. Trevor listened quietly.
Patterson’s surprised expression turned into a thoughtful frown. “First off, she’s not a large or particularly muscular woman. If the two murders had been arms length, poison or something like that, I might consider her. But these were physical deaths. Choking someone is not easy. They struggle. The body fights to survive. Both Shane Higginson and Norman Laing were young men, well able to overpower Sheila Bunch.”
Quinn looked steadily at Patterson. “We know Higginson was drugged and the murderer came at him from behind. There’d be an element of surprise. Laing was pushed off the edge of the cliff. If he was drugged too, he’d be groggy from the pills. His reflexes would be slow. Not hard to get him into place, then give him a shove. With Higginson, once she had the noose around his neck, it would be a matter of tightening it until resistance failed.”
Christy couldn’t help a wordless sound of revulsion. Patterson shot her a quick look, but she nodded and said, “Cold-blooded acts of violence. Another reason it is unlikely to be Sheila Bunch.”
“Not cold-blooded,” Christy said. She smiled faintly at Patterson. “Calculated, yes, but hot-blooded, passionate, and emotional. Sheila Bunch lived with the consequences of the accident at Loyal Scotsman’s Falls for over twenty years. She saw the kids who were there that day make successes of their lives—Rhonda Hicks, Dean Kelloway, and Chad Davis in politics, Norman Laing and Adam in academia, Shane Higginson in business—while her precious son never had his chance to shine. But that wasn’t the worst. The worst for her was that Corey remained friends with the men who had caused his injury and to keep Corey happy she had to be pleasant to them, and welcome them into her home. That must have burned like acid on her soul.”
Patterson’s frown deepened. “The motive’s solid, but…” She shook her head. “These were not easy murders to pull off.”
“She planned Shane Higginson’s murder. Carefully, I think,” Christy said. “We know she once owned the property Progressive Fish Farms was going to use for the land part of their open net fish farm installation. She sold part of it to Progressive through Shane Higginson. It’s likely Shane kept her up to date on development plans, because she still owned a portion of the bay, so she knew about the date and time of the meeting. Higginson being the kind of man he was, he wouldn’t suspect her of being a danger to him, so that night, when she went to visit him, he wouldn’t have been on his guard. She must have brought a bottle of booze with her and convinced him to have a drink, to celebrate perhaps. She fed him enough to get him drunk and sleepy, then she struck.”
“What about Laing?”
Quinn answered that. “Laing was unforeseen and one of the many details she couldn’t control.”
Patterson sent him a lopsided smile. “The many details she couldn’t control?”
Quinn grinned back at her. “When she planned the operation, she needed a place to stay close to the action. She chose ClanRanald because it’s anonymous. What better place to be a stranger than at a campground popular with people from all over the province? And who would look for a killer in a campground? Unfortunately, she ended up at a site opposite a family who knew her, who knew Corey, and who knew her victim.”
Patterson rubbed the scar on her cheek. “The unforeseen.”
Christy nodded. “I don’t think she planned to kill Laing in the beginning. Shane Higginson kept in touch with Corey. Norman Laing didn’t. I think she only discovered how involved Laing had been the day Corey was injured while she was here. Once she found out…”
Quinn shrugged. “When she knew what Norman Laing was really like she couldn’t let him live.”
“So her motivation for both murders was to revenge her son,” Trevor said. He tapped his chin. “I can work with that.”
Patterson shot him a look. “I can’t. You don’t have a shred of evidence that puts Sheila Bunch at the scene and while she might have motive, she doesn’t have means.”
“Sure she does,” Quinn said easily.
Patterson looked skeptical.
“Her son died after a long and tragic illness. I bet that if you checked her personal effects you’d find sleeping pills amongst them. As for the booze?” He shrugged. “Easy enough to buy a bottle of liquor and to dispose of the empty afterward.”
“As for placing her at the scene,” Christy said, “I bet you’ll find that the person who phoned in the tip implicating Greg was a woman and if you compared a voice print of Sheila’s voice and the tipster’s they’d match.”
“Yes, and why did she implicate Greg and through him, Adam?” Patterson demanded. “Greg and Adam stood up to Shane Higginson. They tried to keep Corey from jumping on that day. Why target either one of them?”
“You,” Christy said.
“Me?” Patterson’s tone was incredulous.
Nodding, Christy said, “You’re a police officer, the ultimate alibi. I think she heard Haley bragging to Noelle that you were all going to play mini golf that day. She could call the tip line and identify Greg’s car, but when Woodgate checked, you’d alibi Greg, as well as the rest of the family. He’d think the tipster got the license plate details wrong, but he’d still look for a car that was the same make and model as Greg’s. Greg would be safe and she’d have laid a false trail for Woodgate.”
Patterson rubbed her scar. “Possibly.” She shot Christy a half-approving look. “You have a surprisingly devious mind, Mrs. Jamieson.”
Christy sat back, not sure whether to be offended or pleased. Quinn laughed.
“Okay,” Patterson said. “Say you’re right and Bunch is the killer. All we’ve got is circumstantial. For Woodgate she’s a respectable woman, with deep ties in the community who’s already been traumatized enough by her son’s death. He will never agree to bring her into the station for questioning based on the evidence we’ve got.”
“It would help if Mrs. Bunch confessed,” Trevor said.
Patterson shook her head. “She’s too self-aware to spill her guts if Woodgate is around and if she does it to a third party, like Mrs. Jamieson or myself, it’s hearsay and not admissible.”
Christy smiled sweetly. “Then let me put my devious mind to work and figure out some way to make Sheila confess in front of Inspector Woodgate.”
Patterson reddened and Quinn laughed. “Piece of cake.”
Chapter 24
After the meeting with Patterson and Trevor broke up, Quinn and Christy stopped off at the grocery store to pick up supplies for dinner and a couple of blocks of ice for the coolers. The family were all back from the beach by the time they returned.
The cat’s tent was once more on the top of Christy’s van, which she’d left behind in favor of Quinn’s small subcompact for their excursion, but Stormy was nowhere to be seen. Sledge was sprawled on an armless camping chair, his guitar in his lap, strumming chords and muttering.
Roy, his laptop open on the picnic table, reported that Tamara, Ellen, and Noelle were at the bathhouse changing.
Christy unloaded groceries into the coolers while Quinn told his father about their discussion with Trevor and Patterson. Roy’s eyebrows snapped together into a frown. “Sheila Bunch? That chatty woman across the road from the Farnsworth’s site? She’s the killer?”
“Not so loud, Dad!”
Roy cleared his throat. “Sorry.” On the other side of the screen of trees and bushes the Farnsworth children could be heard bickering over cookies. Apparently, the supply was limited and they both wanted what remained.
Greg Farnsworth snapped, “No cookies for either of you, then!”
Both kids started to wail. Heather’s voice, soothing in tone, could be heard promising cookies and undercutting her brother-in-law.
Christy shook her head and thought that it was a good thing Patterson wasn’t there. “We don’t have hard evidence to prove Sheila did it, so somehow we have to get her to confess or we have to convince Woodgate to take her in for questioning.”
“Which Patterson doesn’t think he’ll do, because she’s part of the local establishment,” Quinn added.
“We need a plan,” Christy said, nodding.
Since building complex scenarios was what Roy was good at, he brightened.
A new voice joined the general noise on the other side of the greenbelt. “Hello? Mrs. Farnsworth? Greg?”
Christy stiffened and looked wide-eyed at Quinn. “That’s Sheila Bunch,” she hissed. “Do you think she heard us talking?”
“Mrs. Bunch.” Greg Farnsworth’s voice sounded brittle, pleasant but not welcoming.
Stress was the cause, but Sheila wouldn’t know that. Christy wondered why she was at the Farnsworth site.
“Ah, Greg. How are you? Has the Inspector released Adam yet?”
“No,” Greg said. He didn’t add anything further.
There was a pause, then Sheila said, “I am so, so sorry Adam is in such trouble.”
“Thanks.” Greg sounded skeptical. Christy could imagine him waiting impatiently for Sheila to get to her point. She could also imagine Sheila blushing—although perhaps not, since she had coolly planned at least one successful murder.
“Yes. Ah, I just wanted to say good-bye and to wish you well before I go.”
Quinn’s eyebrows shot up. He looked at Christy. “She’s leaving?”
Roy frowned. “Her site permit said she was booked for another four days.”
“Bon voyage,” Greg said. Patterson hadn’t yet returned, so he was unaware that Sheila was the murderer and that keeping her in the area was important.
“Thank you,” Sheila said.
“Mom! It’s the cat. He’s going to eat our cookies!” That was Haley who was never happy when attention wasn’t firmly focused on her.
“Shoo,” Heather said. “Bad cat.”
Stormy bolted through the trees into the Jamieson Armstrong double. Bad cat my a… He pulled up short when he saw that Christy, Quinn, and Roy were focused on the action next door. What’s up?
“I planned to stay longer, but all of this nastiness over murder has spoiled my vacation. And I think… well, I think it would be easier for you and your family if I wasn’t in a nearby campsite.”
“Good of you,” Greg said, but he sounded confused. Not surprising since he didn’t know Sheila was the tipster.
By this time Christy, Quinn, and Roy had all moved to the edge of their campsite, and were watching the action through the screen of trees. Sheila was standing just inside the Farnsworth’s site, looking uncomfortable. Greg faced her, his legs spread wide, his hands on his hips. He wasn’t giving an inch, Christy thought. It was great that he was defending his brother, but at the same time if Sheila went, Adam was probably lost.
Sheila turned away, but suddenly she looked back. “Corey is gone, and I can’t bring him back. I want to believe his friends, the people who visited him, were good people. I want to preserve those memories.”
“Adam didn’t harm anyone,” Greg said.
“I don’t want to think that Adam, who was so very kind to Corey, could have killed Shane and Norman. All of this—” She waved her hand in a vague way. “It’s too much for me. That’s why I’m leaving.”
“She’s going before she get’s caught out,” Christy whispered.
“She wants absolution before she goes,” Quinn replied quietly.
“I’ve got an idea,” Roy said in a low voice. “Frank! Go over and make sure she doesn’t leave the Farnsworth site until I can get there.”
Brave the kids and their crazy mother. Again?
“Yes,” Christy said, because Roy had already left.
Quinn raised his brows. “Yes?”
“Frank would rather stay here. He’s not a fan of Haley and Dylan.”
“Who is?” Quinn muttered.
The sound of tires on the dirt road caught Christy’s attention. She looked over and saw that the car was Patterson’s. Abandoning her place by the trees, she ran across the site, and waved it down.
Patterson stopped and powered down her window. “Is there a problem?”
“Sheila Bunch is doing a runner. She’s talking to Greg right now. Roy is on his way to see if he can convince her to stay.”
“Hell,” said Patterson. She raised the window and set the car in motion. Christy hustled back to the trees.
“Frank is over at the Farnsworths’ site,” Quinn said, pointing.
Stormy was twining around Sheila’s feet, slinking between her legs, making it difficult for her to walk away.
No need to go, yet. You know you want to stay.
“It’s that kitty again. So odd that a family would bring their cat camping with them.”
Not odd at all! I’m perfectly capable of fending for myself.
Sheila looked up at the sky. “I hate the idea of taking down the camp in the evening, so I’ll stay tonight—”
Not having any success with twining, Stormy butted Sheila’s leg. Aren’t you listening?
She looked down. “Bad, kitty. Stop that.”
Apparently not. Stormy sat down in front of her, back straight, tail tucked securely around his front paws, and looked up at her. Sheila Bunch ignored him.
Roy and Patterson reached the campsite about the same time. Sheila stepped aside as Patterson entered and parked. Bustling into the site on foot, Roy said, “It’s Mrs. Bunch, isn’t it?”
Sheila said cautiously, “I’m afraid I don’t remember—oh! You’re the man who owns the kitty.”
No one owns me.
“That’s me,” Roy said.
Traitor!
He smiled cheerfully and winked at Sheila. “I’ve come by to pick him up. Haley and Dylan don’t like him.” He scooped up Stormy and thrust him at Sheila. “Would you mind holding him while I put the halter and leash on him?”
“Oh, well…. Fine,” she said, holding out her hands. Roy dumped the cat into them.
Stormy glared at Roy. Well, Frank did. This is your plan?
“Hold him tight,” Roy said. “He tends to wiggle when I try to harness him.” He held out the halter. Stormy wiggled on cue.
“Well done,” Christy muttered on her side of the trees.
“Did Dad tell Frank to cause problems?”
Christy nodded.
“You know,” Roy was saying as he fumbled putting the harness over Stormy’s head, “I’m glad I caught you, Mrs. Bunch. I’ve learned from some colleagues in Victoria that Chad Davis has told the Premier he should go ahead with licensing the Progressive Fish Farm open net installation.”
Sheila’s grip on Stormy softened mid-wiggle and the cat almost fell out of her arms. She caught him under the armpits and the cat went limp, his hindquarters dangling.
“Stormy!” Roy said, tsking.
“Hello, Mrs. Bunch,” Patterson said, as she sauntered over from her car. “Can I help here?” She caught Stormy under his haunches.
Sheil
a let him go so she could concentrate on Roy. “You must be mistaken. Chad Davis was a friend of Corey’s. He would never betray me this way.” Her expression was a mask of shock. She sounded devastated.
Patterson absently stroked Stormy, who she was now holding without any help from Roy or Sheila. “I’m sure Chad Davis doesn’t see a decision like this one a betrayal of a friend,” she said soothingly, quickly picking up on Roy’s cue.
“He knew I kept a small parcel of beach front property back when I had to sell most of my Loyal Scotsman’s Bay property to Progressive. I didn’t want to sell, but Shane convinced me the money would make Corey’s quality of life so much better.”
“Did it?” Greg asked.
Sheila frowned at him. “No,” she said, drawing out the word. “His body was failing by that time, and his desire to fight was gone. No. Selling the property did nothing but benefit Shane Higginson and his company.”
“You have property on Loyal Scotsman’s Bay? I didn’t know that,” Patterson said, still stroking the cat.
Greg, who had been looking from his wife to Roy to Sheila and back again to Patterson, said, “The Bay is named for one of her ancestors.”
Sheila nodded agreement. By now her jaw was tight, and her eyes flashed with temper. “Even though I sold most of the bay, I planned to build a small resort on the property that remained. Corey loved the bay and the beach. Before he died, I told him I was going to dedicate the resort to him. When they visited, I told his friends—all of them!—that it was to be his memorial, a remembrance in a place that brought him joy. A fish farm in the bay would make that impossible and Chad Davis knew it!”
Roy beamed at Sheila. “I have good news, then. My environmental network is planning a demonstration. It will take a few days to put together, though. It would be terrific if you—a long-term member of this community and someone against open net farms—would help organize it.”
Sheila waved her hand weakly. “I was planning to leave tomorrow morning…”
“You can’t!” Roy put dismay in his voice and managed a horrified expression.
“Mrs. Bunch is upset by the murders,” Greg said. Patterson shot him a long look. He frowned at her, confusion in his eyes.