Murder on Silver Lake

by Hugo James King

  “Maybe we should bring him here,” she said. “Whenever someone is in that seat, they come gushing out with everything.”

  Being a writer for a magazine was the exact opposite. People knew if they spoke with me, it could end up in an article. If someone spoke with Ruth, it started and ended inside the examination room.

  “What did he tell you then?”

  “He told me Gilbert paid him back,” I replied.

  “He did?”

  “Shocker, right?”

  Ruth hunched over, frowning deep into her forehead. “Doesn’t make sense.”

  “I’m going over to see Harriet after here.” I had questions. “I want to know if she knew about all of this, and where he got his money from.”

  “You think it could be someone else he owed money too?”

  “And perhaps see if he still had connections with the boy’s club.” It was worth a shot asking. “I’m sure she’ll be busy with the funeral arrangements, but there’s something off about all of this.”

  “Well, people hated him,” she added. “I’m not sure you can say it was off. A long time coming, perhaps.”

  “No, no, no,” I said, tapping my foot against the metal frame. “Scott’s back, and so is Gilbert’s ex-wife. I have questions for them both.”

  “Didn’t you ask him?”

  I did. “I have a theory.”

  “Oh?” she whacked a hand against my leg. “What are you waiting for?”

  I wasn’t sure how best to say it. “I think—well, perhaps Scott is only doing this whole business retreat as a cover for him being back and he’s somehow killed Gilbert. I mean, maybe killing Gilbert was like Gertrude said, and Briarbury has its very own loan sharks or mafia.”

  We stewed it over for a moment. Scott did own plenty of houses and businesses in Briarbury and Silver Lake. And he did perpetrate the awful tan and porcelain veneers of some new wave mafia type.

  A buzz rang through from a little bell above the exam room.

  “Ten minutes already?” She looked at her watch.

  “Right,” I said, placing the plastic over the uneaten sandwich. “I’ll see you later, or tomorrow morning at the funeral.”

  “Gosh, it’s tomorrow.”

  I nodded. “Everyone wants to know what happened, I’m sure the turn out will be high.”

  “If we see a group of men, all quiet and in black suits with sunglasses,” she began, leaning to the side with a hand on her hip. “Then we’ll know it’s them.”

  With an eyeroll and a hum, I shrugged her words off. This wasn’t the work of some hitman, Gilbert wasn’t that important. It was someone with a grudge, it was the only thing that made sense in this situation, someone close to the victim, how else could they have gotten close enough to attack.

  “I’m going to see if Harriet needs any help,” I said.

  I also had her gifts from the chocolatiers in the car. I had been meaning to give her them the other day, but she’d somehow convinced me into taking her to see where the body was found. The longer I thought on it, the more my upper lip turned.

  The rain had cleared. I left the GP with Charlie and we rushed to the car. I grabbed the gift bag from the backseat and then set off on a short walk to Harriet’s house.

  The streets were empty, but it was a Tuesday afternoon.

  At Harriet’s front door, I knocked twice, looking around to see if anyone’s curtains twitched. Charlie looked to me with a smile, panting out with his tongue.

  Two latches switched and plucked before the door opened wide.

  “Oh, Evelyn!” a voice called out.

  Wendy. “Oh, nice to see you again,” I said.

  “Come on in, come in,” she said, ushering me in with an arm. “It’s nice to see you too.”

  As I entered the house, the second time in less than a week, more times than I’d ever been inside the house than before. An overwhelming freshness hit me in the face, only to see the culprit in the living room; almost an entire garden centre.

  “Good job I didn’t bring flowers,” I said as Wendy locked the door behind me. “Where’s Harriet?”

  Charlie yapped.

  I turned to see Wendy bend to stroke him.

  “He’s probably just overwhelmed with all the smells,” I said. “He’ll want to pee on all of them.”

  Wendy burst into a fit of laughter. “Best get him out on the back then,” she said. “Harriet’s out there, doing goodness knows what. I’ve volunteered to help sort the wardrobe for her.”

  Good idea. “Best not throw everything away,” I said. I knew how hard it was to lose a loved one, and I’d kept a couple things that had belonged to Harry, mainly his favourite ties; souvenirs.

  “That’s why I’m doing it,” she said. “I don’t think her head is in it right now.”

  I smiled at her as she walked around in her high heeled shoes. “Does she need another pair of hands?” I asked, wiggling my fingers.

  “Go ask,” she said. “I’m gonna head back upstairs.”

  I nodded as she left.

  Sighing into my chest like a deflated balloon, I looked at all the gifts and flowers she’d received. I didn’t blame Harriet at all for not wanting to be inside, for not wanting to look at everything. It must have been overwhelming, to go from a family people despised to someone people were buying gifts for.

  Through the kitchen, I noticed more potted plants and flowers on the counter. I headed to the door, leading out onto the small back garden.

  “Hello,” I said, poking my head outside.

  On the small strip of garden land, Harriet was seated at a table, flicking ash from the end of a cigarette. Behind her, there was a shed, and beyond the shed, there was some woodland before leading onto the Silver Lake river.

  “Oh-oh.” She stubbed the cigarette out, noticing me. “Eve.”

  “I just popped over to ask if you needed anything.”

  At her side, Harriet had a small pile of square cards. “Not really.”

  “Here you go.” I placed the gift bag on the table. “Almost forgot.”

  She smiled. “I’m so embarrassed, I never smoke.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, pulling a chair out and sitting beside her. “It happens to us all sometimes. There’s no easy way to go through this. So, I’m here to offer you my friendship.”

  Her eyes dipped to her lap. A sniffle came from her nose. “That’s so kind of you.”

  “Whatever you need.”

  “I’d ask you to help write these thank you cards, but I know I should do that myself. I’m so grateful for everyone coming together.” She pressed her lips tightly. “There’s no way I can repay everyone, not in a million years.”

  “And everyone will be there in their droves tomorrow.”

  She nodded, a single tear breaking from her blinking eyes. “I want it all over with. I want to go to bed, I want to sleep until I forget.”

  It was never going to get easier, you just learned to cope. “But I’m sure once the killer is caught, you’ll sleep much better.”

  She grabbed my hand, squeezing at my fingers. “I think so too.”

  Her fingernails were chewed to the skin, I didn’t feel a single nail. “Maybe I can paint your nails.” I rubbed at her hand. “Make them look nice for the morning.”

  “Oh, would you?” she asked, gasping. “I haven’t painted my nails in forever.”

  It was the small things that mattered in this time. Harriet gathered a few bottles of polish and planted them on the table. They were mostly dark colours, fitting for a funeral. I wasn’t sure if that’s why she chose them, or they were the only ones she owned.

  “Have you always been a nail biter?” I asked.

  She gnashed her teeth together twice. “Nervous habit,” she said. “I used to nip at myself as a distraction, I’d pick my fingernails, bite them, it was horrendous. Then I started smoking, I stopped smoking, started chewing my nails more.”

  It was quite a loaded question to have asked, given the
answer it provoked.

  “I can’t imagine this is doing much for the stress either,” I said, uncapping a deep mauve purple coloured nail polish. “Funerals are expensive.”

  “Oh, well, we had insurance,” she said. “So, they’ll be paying out once he’s in the ground and I can get this from looming over me.”

  “A good policy then?” I asked, coating the middle fingernail of her right hand first.

  She shrugged, causing me to paint on her skin.

  I jerked my hand away. “Do you have any tissues?”

  “Oh, no.”

  “I’ll wipe it off.”

  She licked the finger and scrubbed the polish slightly. “It’s fine.”

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  TWENTY

  A grumbling yap came from Charlie. A bark I hadn’t heard for a long while. I hushed him, seconds away from taking him by the snout and asking him to be quiet with eye contact.

  Harriet didn’t move an inch. Wendy was taking care of guests.

  I finished painting her nails, looking to her face, I watched her gasp.

  “Did I get it on your skin again?” I asked, it had been a while since I’d painted anyone’s nails, and I was certainly not a professional.

  “Thomas,” a whimper fell from her mouth.

  Thomas? I turned.

  He stood, the height of the doorframe. Thomas Sodbury dressed in a messy black suit. His face was flushed red, his frame wobbling. Sniffling, he sobbed.

  Charlie barked once again.

  “Hush, hush,” I said.

  Thomas walked out into the garden, the sobbing growing louder. He shook his head. “I can’t believe this.”

  Harriet silently nodded, pressing her lips together bluntly.

  As Thomas sat at the table, he placed both his hands on the metal. One of them was bandaged and a little blood seeped through it slightly.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “No,” he snapped, “my brother’s dead.”

  “Your hand.”

  Harriet reached out and touched the hand. “What happened?”

  They both looked at me. Was it a secret? Did neither of them want me to know?

  “I punched a wall,” he said. “When I found out, I just—I—I punched. It was solid brick.” He held his hand up. “I’m so angry.” He chomped his teeth as if suppressing a growl from erupting.

  “It’s okay,” Harriet said, softly.

  “I’m giving a eulogy tomorrow,” Thomas said. “It’s what I need to do.”

  Thomas hadn’t been friendly with his brother in many years, but while he was alive, there had to have been that familial bond they shared, and now he was dead, he couldn’t forgive him, he couldn’t tell him what he wanted.

  “Have you written it?” I asked.

  He shook his head.

  Thomas being here ruined the questions I was going to pose to Harriet. I wanted to know if she knew about her husband paying off the debt he owed Scott. But—now Thomas was here, perhaps his brother had paid him too.

  “Me either,” Harriet said. “I can barely bring myself to write these notes.”

  I glanced to the only finished note in the stack of cards. Her writing was neat, all in a semi-cursive style of writing.

  I recalled the note I’d received. The lettering was messy, all capitals, smudged slightly. It can’t have been Harriet, but anyone can change their writing for a couple of capital letters. It could’ve been anyone.

  But it wouldn’t have been a man. The note wouldn’t have made much sense for a man to have written it.

  It could have been Wendy, but—no, I highly doubted Wendy still remembered where I lived. It had been many years since we’d seen each other, and if asked, I definitely didn’t remember where she and Gilbert had once lived.

  Thomas tssked out in pain as Harriet poked the bandage. “Has your brother-in-law come any closer to finding out who did this?”

  I had no idea. “I’m probably the last person he’d tell.” Not many people knew of the strained relationship we had. “Because it’s official police business.”

  “Has to be someone he owed money too,” Thomas said, shaking his head. He scoffed. “He owed me money, but we’re family.”

  Charlie nudged his head at my calf. “Oh? How much debt?” I asked. Charlie nudged me once again before rushing off to the bottom of the garden near the shed.

  Thomas scoffed. “Don’t want to think.”

  A tremor ran through Harriet, shaking the table. “We—we—we never discussed it.”

  “I actually had a meeting with Scott Pope,” I said. “He told me Gilbert paid him months ago.”

  Harriet gasped. “He said that?”

  “Probably not his exact words,” I added. “But more or less. Do you still have money problems?” I asked, getting straight to the point. We all wanted to know whether or not this was some countryside mafia.

  She shook her head. “I knew we had problems.”

  Thomas’ face creased. “I’d been depositing money into his bank each month.”

  “He never told me.” Harriet looked away, taking a tissue to her face.

  It was news to us all.

  “He never said,” she squeaked.

  He shrugged. “We never spoke, but I never wanted to see him on the streets. And I certainly didn’t want to see him dead—in—a—in a—ditch.” He sobbed, hanging his head on his shoulders.

  “I’m sure if he was here, he wouldn’t want us to be sad,” I said.

  “But I wish I could have spent more time with him.”

  Harriet nodded. “I know he wished that too,” she said. “I don’t remember much of the night he—” she cleared her throat. “But, I know he was waffling about something. He usually didn’t make sense. But your name would come up, often.”

  Thomas sobbed harder. “I’ll cover all the expenses.”

  “No need,” she said, offering a supportive smile. The bravery on her face, her pink cheeks, almost pinched with pain. “It’s already covered.”

  Charlie yapped, pulling my attention from their conversation. “I best see what he’s up to,” I said, leaving my seat.

  It was growing uncomfortable, having them both crying. I couldn’t cry with them, I wasn’t emotionally attached. Wendy should have been here with them, instead, she was upstairs, probably crying into black bin liners full of old clothes.

  The thought did blush my cheeks and knotted my stomach with the dilemma; should I check on her? I decided to continue forward to Charlie. We’d have to leave soon, and the longer I stuck around, the more uncomfortable I found the entire situation.

  “Charlie,” I said, patting a hand on my thigh. “Come on.”

  He was digging behind the shed, getting his paws mucky.

  Behind the shed, it was mostly filled with a rock paving while weeds and other undesirables grew. It looked like no one had been around here since the shed was built.

  “Oh, Charlie,” I grumbled. “You’re not getting in the car like that.” Although he would, given I wasn’t walking home. He looked at me, panting out his tongue and smiling wildly. “Fine,” I said back. “But you’re sitting on a bag.”

  Back at the table, both Harriet and Thomas were crumbling into tears, sitting at the table, clinging to each other’s hands.

  “—he had so much life left in him,” Harriet said.

  “I know, I know.”

  I cleared my throat from behind them. “I should go,” I said. “Charlie needs a bath.”

  Harriet stood on her shaky legs. She wiped her eyes and cheeks lightly. “Thank you for coming over,” she said, glancing to her nails. “I appreciate it.”

  I pulled her into a hug. “Thank you,” I said.

  Thomas didn’t stand, his hands were still on the table, shaking as he tried desperately to cling to the metal frame. “I hope your brother-in-law finds out who did this,” he said. “I want them to rot in prison.”

  I offered a smile. “I hope so.”

  “It�
�s one thing, to die,” he continued, “but murder—” he choked on a breath, coughing it up. “But murder, that’s just—just.” And in tears, he burst once again.

  “Thomas,” I said, softly, planting a hand on his shoulder. “Please go get your hand seen to. Frank and Ruth at the GP are good friends. They’ll take care of it for you.”

  He nodded, pressing his chin to the base of his chest.

  “I’ll make sure he goes,” she said.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said. “You have the support of the entire village.”

  She took a hard hold of my hand. “Thank you.”

  As I made my way through the house, holding Charlie under one arm, I didn’t want to get any dirt on her carpet—that should’ve been the least of her worries. Wendy was prepared, standing at the foot of the stairs.

  “Leaving?” she asked, startled as I approached.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Need to give him a bath.”

  She pressed her lips tightly. Did she want to say something else?

  “Are you okay?”

  A nod confirmed it. She had something on her mind, and I wasn’t an agony aunt, albeit, I had once written a column for a national paper, giving advice to readers, but that was many years ago now.

  She unlocked the door.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said.

  “Wait, no,” she snapped.

  Stepping out on the street, I looked back at her. She bit back tears in her eyes.

  “You’re not going?” I asked.

  “I am,” she said, quickly. “I—I—I just wanted to ask, if you think me, leaving him, if all this cause it.” Inhaling and blowing back at her face. “On the grand scheme, am I responsible for his death?”

  “No, no, no,” I said, letting Charlie on the ground. “Don’t think like that, you were married many years ago.”

  While Wendy was the ex-wife, I knew Gilbert’s problems started before her. He was a gambler, an addict, way before her. Did she make that worse by leaving? I couldn’t say, mainly because he cheated on her, and she left, rightfully so.

  “I don’t want anyone to think it’s my fault,” she said, poking a head out on the street. “If I knew this was happening this week, I would have chosen another week to visit.”