Advertisement for Murder

by Nadine Doolittle

  “We concede that what happened to Sutcliffe was set-up. I don’t see where you’re going with this,” said Hector.

  Elliot resumed his pacing and chin-pulling. “The killer must know Jesse Sutcliffe quite well. He or she knows what keeps him up at night, is privy to his darkest fears, has heard his guilty ramblings, and is exploiting them. Who is that person most likely to be? Who has access to Jesse Sutcliffe?”

  Hector, Dennis, Helen and Avery turned in unison to Josie who had been knitting up a storm and only barely following the discussion.

  “What?” she cried with alarm. “What have I done?”

  “Josie, tell us about the ladies serving in this church group of yours.” Helen smiled as only Helen can.

  More wine was poured as Josie talked, Avery took notes, and the night wore on. By the time she got home to bed, it was close to midnight. Avery yawned widely. She really must put murder aside tomorrow and get to work on her book. Talk about life and death situations. Her bank account would be the next victim if she couldn’t turn things around.

  ✽✽✽

  FRIDAY MORNING, Solomon Brice covertly watched his erstwhile co-worker pack up her desk. There shouldn’t be that much to pack up; she’d only been at the Herald for a couple of weeks. It was sort of awe-inspiring to see how much stuff she’d squirreled into the place. He wept a little when the big ass dry-erase whiteboard came off the wall. He’d grown used to having that thing staring him in the face when he was on a deadline. He’d grown used to a lot of things that Pearl Hansen had brought to his working life.

  “It’s too bad,” he said by way of consolation. “It’s too damn bad your father is so—”

  “Watch it,” she said warningly. “As if you wouldn’t do the same thing if it were your mother pulling the strings.”

  “My mother eats guys like Carmichael for lunch.”

  “So the estimable Veronica Wakefield-Brice would be totally cool with you going to the murder club, hanging out with me and blowing your chances to get into law school by sticking your nose in where it didn’t belong? Is that what you’re saying, Brice?”

  Heat flooded his face. “For one thing, you and I don’t hang out. We work together. Big difference. My mother wouldn’t object.”

  Pearl’s cheeks were pink too Solly noticed. She wouldn’t look at him but kept on packing as if it was the most important job in the world. “It’s a moot point. We don’t work together anymore. Did you go to the murder club last night?”

  “No. I had the Haggerty attack to cover. Did you?” Stupid question—she didn’t or she wouldn’t have asked him if he’d gone.

  “Out of the question,” Pearl said grimly. “My father has me on a very tight leash at the moment. I wonder what they talked about ... if there were any new developments.”

  “Avery and Elliot were the ones who found Mrs Haggerty. They basically saved her life. No new leads on identifying the attacker. I’m finding this whole thing to be very weird, Hansen. There are a lot of strange doings in St. Ives all of a sudden. It’s as if the formation of murder club has stirred up an evil genie bent on mischief.”

  “Don’t say that.” Pearl shuddered. “I already have trouble sleeping at night thinking about a killer walking the streets.”

  Solly leaned back in his chair and linked his hands behind his head. “Is that really so scary? I mean, this person has been living free for forty-four years and hasn’t killed anybody else. Think about it. This person has been living here, holding down a job, paying taxes, probably raising a family, posing no threat to society—do they deserve to be locked up?”

  “What are you saying? That crime should pay, the guilty should go free and justice should not prevail? Why am I not surprised,” she said with disgust.

  “I’m saying that there might not be any justice at the end of this. Not for Jenny or for her killer. Too much time has passed. Nothing can hurt the dead now, but living people could get hurt if the truth comes out.”

  Pearl turned to him, her eyes wide with outrage. “That is the most cynical thing I have ever heard. I thought this story meant something to you. I thought it was important to us—to investigate as journalists! It’s the only thing I have to take away from my brief tenure at the Herald and it’s disappointing that you think it’s a waste of time.”

  “I never said that!”

  “Sure, it doesn’t matter.” She waved him off. “Forget it. Forget I said anything.”

  “Hansen—” Solomon stopped. In a rare moment of insight, he understood what Pearl wanted to hear, what she needed to hear, and he was surprised that he wanted to say it.

  “I’m going to miss you, Hansen.”

  Her smile wobbled dangerously. “I’m going to miss you too, Brice.”

  There was nothing he could do for her, Solly reminded himself. Domineering fathers were beyond his control. Besides, he had his own controlling parent to cope with. Veronica had a lot to say about the late hours he’d been keeping. He told her about the attack on Mrs Haggerty in the Abbey sanctuary, hoping she’d be so fascinated that she’d be distracted from unloading her grievances on him. It didn’t work. She wasn’t impressed.

  Actually, now that he thought about it, his mother’s reaction was bizarre.

  “I told my mom about what happened to Mrs Haggerty and do you know what she said?”

  “What?”

  “She said she wouldn’t be surprised if the wound was self-inflicted. She said Karen Haggerty was always unstable.”

  Pearl sat down. “That’s a very weird response. What did she mean by that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know? Didn’t you ask? What kind of reporter are you?”

  “She’s my mother, Hansen. In Veronica’s mind, I am not a reporter. I’m a five-year-old boy in short pants with a cowlick. It’s not her fault. She was thirty-eight when I was born; I was her miracle baby. And then my dad died and—you wouldn’t understand.”

  Pearl threw her shoulders back. “Oh, I understand, all right. You’re her only kid and she’s invested everything she has into making you turn out perfect. You’re the sum total of her entire life, and if you screw up, it’s her life you’ve screwed up, not yours, because you don’t have a life! I understand perfectly what it is to be the object your parent wants to point to and boast: ‘I did that.’”

  “I get the feeling we’re not talking about my mother.”

  She set her chin. “We’re not. Get your coat. We’re going to interview Veronica Wakefield-Brice about Mrs Haggerty and we’re not leaving until she gives us answers.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  SEPTEMBER WAS fading from the calendar faster than Avery could believe though it was happening before her very eyes. Pots of burgundy and orange chrysanthemums had already replaced summer flowers on the porches of St. Ives. Thanksgiving turkeys would be next and then pumpkins and Halloween candy, and then it would be Christmas and winter and she was woefully behind!

  The fact of the matter was Avery was blocked. She didn’t have an idea in her head. She rose from her desk and wandered into the kitchen to see what there was to eat.

  Undoubtedly, one of the things blocking her was the kitchen in her new house. She loved it to distraction. Avery would never have told the real estate agent, but she was prepared to pay the full asking price as soon as she saw the kitchen. The cupboards were pale butter yellow with burnished antique hardware and the countertops were granite. There was an apron sink and a kitchen island, and a window over the sink that looked out to the garden and there were French doors that opened onto the patio where she could stroll with her cup of coffee in the morning.

  She had visualized herself digging in that garden on a summer’s morning, steaming mug of fresh coffee at her side, birds singing and butterflies fluttering in the wildflower meadow at the end of the property. She imagined herself returning to her desk, refreshed and stimulated, where she was sure to produce a work of literary genius.

  The only thing Avery was p
roducing was panic. She was running out of money to keep her dream life afloat. It was like a beautiful iridescent bubble that was always threatening to burst.

  Maybe she should invest what was left of her nest egg in the stock market. The trouble with that solution was that she knew nothing about the stock market. Wasn’t the advice, don’t invest what you can’t afford to lose? She couldn’t afford to lose a single nickel.

  Avery sighed and pulled out a bag of oatmeal. Comfort food was required. Solid, stick-to-your-ribs porridge with brown sugar and whole milk like her mother used to make for her when she was depressed. No raisins. No cinnamon. Those belonged in baked goods, not oatmeal.

  The doorbell rang. Avery turned to look down the hall at the front door. The glass oval was covered with a sheer curtain but she could make out the silhouette of a tall, lanky figure standing on the porch. She flung open the door.

  “Good morning, Mr Marks. I didn’t know the doorbell worked.”

  The bell in her door was the very old type that required twisting to ring a little bell overhead. Of course, Elliot would know how to work it. Elliot knew everything.

  “Do you know anything about the stock market,” she asked, ushering him into the living room. “I think I should invest and I’m looking for advice.”

  “Mrs Holmes, don’t take this the wrong way, but friends who give investment advice do not remain friends for long.”

  “Are we friends, Elliot?”

  “I’ve come to ask you to lunch. That’s a friendly gesture, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” Avery agreed cheerfully. “I’ll get my coat. Should we call the others?”

  The antique coat stand with mirror was her pride and joy. They'd found it in a farmer's barn in Quebec and Thomas had spent months refinishing it. It was a beautiful piece that was so burdened with outerwear, it resembled a chubby Heidi. Not at all how they're displayed in the magazines.

  Avery dug around for something suitable to wear. The boiled wool was too warm for this time of day but it was the nearest to hand. She pulled it on and checked her reflection in the mirror. Her hair could do with a brushing, but she was otherwise presentable.

  “Mr Mandela has been roped into helping with his wife’s play,” Elliot said. “Tomorrow is their dress rehearsal. I gather he’s been recruited to paint the set. Mr and Mrs Potter have gone to check on Jesse Sutcliffe, to make sure he doesn’t do anything rash. They plan to spend the day with him if he’ll let them. Mrs Gaskell has gone back to the library to speak to Ida Greb again. She hasn’t given up on her notion of a team mate of Duncan Carmichael’s being involved. Consequently, it’s just the two of us, Mrs Holmes.”

  Avery’s spirits rose as soon as they left the house. The leaves on the sugar maples and birch trees were gold, red and orange against a sapphire sky. It was impossible to be worried about anything in such a beautiful place. She turned to her companion.

  “Why did you come back to St. Ives, Elliot?”

  He was wearing his usual mix of tweeds and wool, but in addition, he’d thrown a scarf around his neck. In the bright daylight, the colour of his eyes was hazel, framed by heavy black brows. Not an unattractive man, but his awkward reticence coupled with his flashes of intensity would get wearying. Avery wondered if he’d ever married.

  “St. Ives represented an oasis of calm in an otherwise tumultuous life,” he replied. “Like most colonial southern Ontario towns, it has an Anglo-Saxon sensibility. Streets are laid out in an orderly grid so one can’t get lost. Useful shops are on one street so one doesn’t have to drive elsewhere for necessities. Houses are built to last. And then there are the cultural enjoyments. Will you be attending the opening of Annie Get Your Gun?”

  She smiled at his formal speech but refrained from laughing. He was probably taught to speak slowly and enunciate to help with his stutter and the habit had stuck.

  “I was planning to. Are you?”

  “I promised Mr Mandela I would show my support.”

  “Do you think you’ll ever start calling us by our first names?”

  It was Elliot’s turn to smile. “It’s a fault of mine to keep acquaintances at bay. I subscribe to the adage that familiarity breeds contempt. I enjoy our group of amateur sleuths. I would hate to damage camaraderie by getting too close. I’ve seen it happen before in tightly-knit groups. Members learn too much about one another and mistrust sets in.”

  “I suppose that’s true.” Avery sighed. “It’s the human condition to wreck a good thing. I’m enjoying myself as well—a little too much. I’m not getting any writing done. Still, I hope we continue even after this case is solved.” She laughed. “Funny how you refer to us as amateur sleuths. I don’t even own a magnifying glass.”

  “I do,” Elliot said soberly. “I have no plans to disband the murder club. If we’re successful, we’ll want to try our hand at other cases.”

  Avery looked up at him in surprise. “Are there other cases?”

  “Of course! Even quaint, peaceful hamlets like St. Ives have murderers. Where there are human beings, there is bound to be crime.”

  “That is a very cynical world view, Elliot.”

  “Yes, it is. But I’ve seen too much of the world to think otherwise.”

  They arrived at the bistro on King Street, and true to form, St. Ives was humming with noonday activity. The patios were crowded with diners determined to eke out every last scrap of fine weather they could before the damp October chill set in.

  Karen Haggerty bumped into them as they looked around for an available table.

  “I’m sorry—oh, it’s you!”

  Her cheeks glowed pink. She seemed distressed at seeing them again.

  Elliot loomed over her like a tweedy Great Auk. “Mrs Haggerty, how are you feeling? Quite recovered, I hope?”

  Avery suppressed a roll of her eyes at his cold formality and squeezed the poor woman’s arm in sympathy. “Karen, it’s good to see you up and around. I thought you were told to take some time off. You’re not back at work already, are you?”

  The school secretary’s eyes suddenly swam with tears. She pulled a packet of tissues from the inside pocket of her jacket and pressed one to her eyes. “No, no, you mustn’t worry,” she said, waving off their concern. She gave a rueful laugh. “I burst into tears at the slightest thing now. The doctor says its shock. It’ll wear off eventually.”

  “You should be home, resting.”

  “I tried that but it didn’t help. I went back to work the day after the attack. I couldn’t bear to stay alone in the house. My daughter, Imogene, is coming to stay with me for a few weeks. I know it’s silly but I can’t help feeling nervous. That’s partly Detective Denton’s fault. I’m sure the attack wasn’t personal, but he asked if I have any enemies!”

  “And what did you tell them?” Elliot’s expression was utterly bland.

  A sulky, somewhat angry, look moved swiftly across her face, and then Karen returned to her sunny self. “I told them I have a school full of enemies!” She laughed and wiped her eyes. “Every kid who gets a late slip thinks of me as their enemy.” Her hand fluttered to her neck as though reliving the sensation of being strangled. “The attack was so random and pointless. It could have been worse, I know, but the timing of it was super sad for me.”

  “The timing?” Elliot eyes lit up with sharp interest.

  “I’m beginning to feel cursed,” Karen said with a frightened laugh.

  “Cursed how?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing. Probably just my imagination. I got some good news the other day and I was feeling pretty confident and then this happened. It’s as though the universe doesn’t want me to be happy. What I hoped was going to happen isn’t happening now.”

  “That’s disappointing,” Avery said with warm sympathy. “I know how that feels.”

  “And to top it all off, my daughter called her father and asked him to come and stay for awhile. After all these years, she wants to get to know him and introduce his grandchildren!” Karen threw
up her hands. “See what I mean? Cursed! Frank Zwick is the last person I want in my life right now. Imogene had no right. She should’ve checked with me first.”

  “Having a man in the house will offer you some protection, Mrs Haggerty,” Elliot said. “I think it’s a wise move on the part of your daughter.”

  Karen stared at him with suspicion. “Frank isn’t going to stay with me. Do you think I would allow that after everything he’s done? He’s booked a room at the Prince Regent on Water Avenue. Imogene and the kids will be staying with me. Even if I wanted to, I don’t have room to put Frank up. The Regent is a nice place. They serve lovely breakfasts there. I don’t expect to see much of him. He’s only here for a week. I’m not sure how much protection he can provide in a week,” she added with a trace of sarcasm.

  “When does he arrive?”

  “Tomorrow,” Karen told Avery. “He wants to see Annie Get Your Gun. Imogene tells me he also wants to get together with some of his old team mates. He’s set up a date to go golfing with Duncan Carmichael. I guess they’ll hash over old times. I’m not interested in that sort of thing. Strolling down memory lane is for the elderly. I’m a live-in-the-moment sort of girl.”

  “Mrs Haggerty, did you feel threatened at all before the attack?” Elliot asked, rather apologetically. “I’m sorry if this upsets you, but it could be important. Did you ever sense that you were being followed or felt troubled in any way?”

  Her face took on a curious expression. Avery struggled to identify it and then it was gone.

  “You are very kind,” Karen said warmly. “But I’m too pragmatic to be troubled by most things. Jesse Sutcliffe followed me once—but that was many years ago. I confronted him then and I would confront him now.” She hesitated. “There was one thing. I mentioned it to Detective Denton but I’m not sure it means anything. It didn’t trouble me, exactly.”