by Grace York
Addison plonked herself back on the kitchen stool. "No ghosts. I've just been told I'm a suspect in Patrick's murder too."
Layla put down the knife she'd been holding. "It's not a very nice feeling, is it?"
Addison shook her head. "I kind of know what you felt like now, with Jenna…"
"It's going to be okay, Addison. I'm sure it's just a formality where you're concerned. You were here in the house when it happened. No-one saw anything, so technically you did have the opportunity to do it. And I'm guessing you have a key to Patrick's room?"
Addison hadn't even thought of that. Yes, she did have a master key that unlocked all the bedroom doors. But she'd never used it. She couldn't even think right now where it was.
"There's a master key somewhere. I'd better tell Wilcox about it," she said.
"It might be a good idea. You don't know where it is?"
"It might be in the drawer in my office."
Addison was about to go looking for the key when she saw Mrs Jones's familiar figure climb the stairs to the back verandah. She reached over to open the door, and Bella the dog came trotting in before her mistress.
"Hello, ladies," said Mrs Jones, taking off her hat and slipping onto a stool beside Addison. "What are you doing on this side of the counter?"
"To be honest I'm having some trouble dealing with Patrick's death, Mrs Jones. We're all still in a state of shock."
"We're taking turns falling to pieces," Layla added. "I had my meltdown this morning. It's Addison's turn now."
Addison had a little giggle at that. It was true, they had propped each other up at various times today.
"So what are the police saying?" asked Mrs Jones. "I assume they're back here, with all those vans parked outside."
"The forensics people are going through Patrick's room looking for evidence," said Addison. "Wilcox says Patrick was murdered."
"But I thought… didn't you say he killed himself?"
"That's what it looked like to us when we found him yesterday," said Addison. "But apparently the autopsy showed he was murdered, although Wilcox won't give me any details."
"Murder," said Mrs Jones, a hand splayed across her chest. "That is sure going to set Eleanor Moffett off. She's been on at me already today, you know. Gossip-mongering, that's all she ever does. I've been telling her to get a life and stop meddling in other people's business for years. She won't have it, though."
Addison smiled. Hazel and Layla had both filled her in on the town busybody, Eleanor Moffett. Apparently, she'd been perpetually peeved at Mrs Jones because Mrs Jones had run the local post office, and as such she knew a lot about everybody's business. Not that that was what upset Eleanor Moffett. No, Eleanor was upset because Mrs Jones never chose to share the details of everybody's business with her.
On the surface, Hazel had explained, Eleanor and Mrs Jones were great friends. They were roughly the same age, and when Mr Jones had been alive Eleanor and her husband Lionel had frequently socialised with them. Underneath it all, though, there was a rivalry that went back decades. Word had it that Eleanor felt she had the upper hand in the gossip stakes these days, now that Mrs Jones had retired from the post office. But somehow Mrs Jones still always seemed to know what was happening in the town before Eleanor did, and without gossiping herself. It apparently annoyed Eleanor Moffett no end.
As for Lionel Moffett, these days he spent a lot of time in the local pub. Not that he actually drank much, according to Hazel. He liked to bring in the newspaper after lunch, and sit at his usual table in the back corner reading and sipping on one beer. Then he drank lemon squash and talked to the tourists until it was time to go home for dinner.
Addison had enjoyed listening to Hazel and Layla's stories of the characters that inhabited Getaway Bay. The more time she spent here, the more it felt like home.
Until a young man was murdered under her roof. How could the beach house ever feel like home again?
7
Addison half-listened as Layla and Mrs Jones talked about Eleanor Moffett and the gossip around town about Patrick's death. So far everyone still thought the young writer had committed suicide, but the presence of the forensics vans would soon put paid to that. Addison realised she should call Olivia to explain before her daughter saw the tragedy on the news.
"What do you think, Addison?" Layla asked. Addison realised the two of them were staring at her.
"Oh, sorry. What did you say?"
"We were talking about how Patrick's room was locked from the inside. If Wilcox says he was murdered, then how did the killer get out of the room?"
Addison shook her head. "I have no idea. There are no windows that open, only the French doors. They were definitely locked, although I don't know why. Patrick always wrote with the doors open. It was a lovely afternoon, so the weather wasn't an issue."
"And the internal door to his room was also locked?" asked Mrs Jones.
"Yes. Ivy couldn't get in. She was screaming hysterically when we got there, turning the handle, trying to get the door open. It was locked. Dan had to kick it in."
"There was definitely no-one else in the room when you busted in?" asked Layla.
"No. Unless…"
"Unless what?"
Addison's face involuntarily screwed up at the thought, but it had to be considered. "Patrick was hanging from the wardrobe door," she said, the image of his lifeless body still very much burned into her brain. She'd always thought a hanging victim had to be suspended above the ground, their feet dangling in the air. But Patrick was in a kneeling position in front of the wardrobe, the noose around his neck tied to the door. She'd searched online last night, and found it was possible to die that way because the weight of the upper part of the body was enough to cause asphyxiation.
Layla and Mrs Jones were still waiting for her to explain.
"So the wardrobe door was closed. Dan and Adam got Patrick on the ground, but we didn't open the door. Someone could have been in there." Addison shuddered at the thought.
"Then what did you do?" asked Mrs Jones.
"Jason and I made everyone go downstairs while I called the police. We all went into the great room. If someone was in the wardrobe, they could have then escaped down the back stairs into the kitchen and out the back door."
"So it could have been an intruder," said Mrs Jones.
"Yes," said Addison. "Or…"
"Or what?" asked Layla. "Who wasn't there when you found the body?"
"Louie," said Addison. "He came in later, when we were all at the dining table." She ran through the events of yesterday afternoon in her head again, this time checking the theory that Louie could have been the killer. "He would have had to sneak upstairs while I was out the front with Jason," she said, talking it through. "Then kill Patrick, set up the noose and the body, hide himself in the wardrobe behind the body, and wait for us to break the door down."
"It's possible," said Layla. "I mean, whether it was Louie or an intruder, the theory works. I would imagine none of you would have even considered looking in the wardrobe when you just found Patrick's body hanging from it."
"No, of course we wouldn't. It was the perfect hiding spot. We should tell Wilcox."
"Tell me what?"
Addison spun on her stool to find the detective approaching the bottom of the kitchen stairs. "Can you wear louder shoes or something?"
"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you. Tell me what?"
Addison explained her theory of an intruder, or possibly Louie, hiding in the wardrobe and escaping once the rest of the household were seated at the dining table. Wilcox narrowed his eyes and nodded a few times as she spoke.
"That would have been a good hiding space. We've considered it, but there's no evidence anyone was in the wardrobe. They would have to be small to fit in there."
"Louie isn't a big guy," said Layla.
"What do you know about him?" Wilcox asked.
"Not a lot, to be honest," said Addison. "Jason hired him as a subcontractor.
He seems polite, and Jason says he's a good worker. That was good enough for me. Until now."
"We'll look into him," said Wilcox. "Do me a favour, don't go spreading your wardrobe theory around town. I don't need the good folk of Getaway Bay spreading rumours this time."
"We are not gossips," said Mrs Jones, hands on her hips.
Wilcox raised his eyebrows and slowly nodded. Addison couldn't decide whether to laugh or slap him.
"The forensics team will be finished up in another hour or so," Wilcox said to Addison. "Senior Constable Short will stay with them. I'm heading back to the station."
Addison walked him through the front of the house. "Have they found anything?" she asked. It was worth a try.
"You know—"
"Yes, yes. You can't tell us anything, I'm still a suspect, blah blah. Go on, off with you. Get back to your station and figure out who killed a man in my house."
Addison shooed him out and closed the door behind him without another word. When she returned to the kitchen Layla had resumed chopping salad while Mrs Jones peeled potatoes.
"I thought you could make one of your lovely potato bake thingys," said Mrs Jones. "If you feel up to it, that is. Otherwise I'll just cut them into chips and put them in the oven."
"Of course I can make a potato bake," said Addison. She needed to get back on her usual side of the kitchen bench. Sitting around lamenting was not in her nature.
"Excellent," said Mrs Jones. She was a big fan of Addison's potato bake. So were all the occupants of the beach house. It was a good idea, and Addison put on her apron and started slicing the peeled potatoes.
They worked in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts about the murder. Addison realised she'd moved past the denial stage of grief. Now she was angry. How dare someone commit murder in her house?
Wilcox had specifically asked her not to start her own investigation. But how could she not? Patrick was her boarder, and even though he was a grown man she felt responsible for him in some way. She felt responsible for all of them. She knew Wilcox and his team would do their best to find the killer, but surely it wouldn't hurt for her to do a little investigating of her own.
She'd start with Louie Liu.
8
Preparations for the barbecue were well underway by the time Ivy, Dan, and Charlie returned from their walk on the beach. Charlie raced over to greet Bella, and the two dogs headed out through the doggy door into the back garden together. They got on so well that Addison and Mrs Jones sometimes left the back gate between their two properties open so the dogs could come and go as they pleased.
"Did you have a nice walk?" Addison asked.
"It's certainly a lovely beach," said Dan. "Charlie had a great time playing in the sand."
"You didn't let him off the lead, did you?"
"No," said Ivy. "I know he's only allowed on the beach on his lead. I kept hold of him. We didn't let him go in the water and I brushed most of the sand off before we came inside."
"Thank you," said Addison. Ivy was more considerate than Adam in that regard. Adam was notorious for letting Charlie play in the water when there was no-one else around, and bringing him home wet through and covered in sand.
"Are we having the Friday night barbecue?" Ivy asked.
"We are, but no-one from the town is coming. Well, except Mrs Jones here. But we already had the food, and it's an easy dinner for me to prepare."
"That makes sense. Is there anything I can do to help?"
"No thank you, we've got it all under control. Dan, you're welcome to join us."
"Thanks," said Dan, "but I should go back to my rental apartment. Annette and the kids are coming back from the Gold Coast this afternoon, I should be there when they get back."
"Okay then," said Addison, then remembered something she'd been meaning to ask him. "You told the police you work in cyber security, didn't you?"
"That's right. For small businesses, mainly."
"Do you think… No, actually it's okay. I shouldn't ask."
"You want me to take a look at something for you?"
"Is it that obvious?"
Dan grinned. "It's okay. I get asked about computer problems all the time. What's up?"
"It's my laptop," said Addison. "It started running really slow about a week ago, and I don't know what I've done."
"Could be any number of things. Do you want to get it and I'll take a look for you?"
"Don't you have to be getting back?"
Dan shrugged. "They'll be another hour or so yet. Let me take a quick look, and if I can't fix it straight away I'll pop by tomorrow."
"Thanks." Addison went to her office to get the computer, and while she was in there she remembered the master key to all the bedrooms. It had completely slipped her mind earlier, when Wilcox left. She searched the drawers of her desk, but it wasn't there. She'd have to call and tell him about it.
She unplugged the laptop and took it out to the kitchen. "Here you go," she said, handing it to Dan. "I'm happy to pay you, of course. It's your business."
"I'm sure we won't need to worry about that. It's probably an easy fix. Can you log in for me?"
Addison typed in her password to open the computer, then left it with Dan. He settled himself at the kitchen table, and she got back to the potato bake.
Ivy, Layla, and Mrs Jones were discussing Patrick's death again.
"Did he speak to you at all about anything troubling him?" Layla asked Ivy. Addison was interested in the answer – she'd noticed Patrick paying a lot of attention to Ivy since he'd arrived two weeks ago.
"No, not that I can recall. He was working on a new project, like Amelie said. He told me he'd been blocked before coming here, but the atmosphere of this wonderful place had helped clear his mind."
"Getaway Bay is a good place to relax and get creative," said Layla.
"Not just Getaway Bay," said Ivy. "The beach house, too. You've got such a lovely home here, Addison. It's very generous of you to share it with all of us. I hope Patrick's… death won't change that."
"I hope so too," said Addison, although in truth she had no idea whether Patrick's death would put an end to her experience running a boarding house. She shook the thought from her mind. "Let's just concentrate on getting through this until the police find out what really happened."
Ivy nodded. She went and stood behind her brother, who was busily tapping away on Addison's laptop.
"Find anything?" she asked him.
"I think… hang on… yes, there it is. Sneaky little sucker." He looked over to Addison. "Have you clicked on any links in emails recently?"
Addison tried to think. "No, not that I can remember. Why?"
"You've got a virus. I don't think there's any cause for alarm, but it might be a good idea to check your bank accounts. Just in case."
"My bank accounts? You don't think someone's stolen my money, do you?" Addison wiped her hands on her apron and came over to stand next to Ivy and peer at the screen. It was unrecognisable to her; Dan had programs open she'd never seen before.
"Probably not. I'm just getting rid of the virus now," he said. "Then I'll get you to log in and check your accounts. You use internet banking, I assume?"
"Yes. Should I not?"
Dan shook his head. "There's no reason not to, it's very safe these days. But we should check just to make sure. Once the virus is gone."
"How would I have got it?" Addison asked. She knew very little about computers and how they worked.
"Like I said, you may have clicked on a link in an email that was dodgy. Or perhaps even online. One of those quizzes or clickbait posts they have on Facebook, for example."
"Clickbait?" said Mrs Jones. "What does that even mean?"
"It's when someone posts something with a catchy heading, promising something interesting if you click on it. Like 'you'll never believe what such-and-such famous person from the past looks like now', that sort of thing."
"Who cares what famous people look like
?" said Mrs Jones.
Addison kept quiet. It was possible that she'd clicked on one of those headlines while scrolling through her Facebook feed. Well you wanted to see what they looked like, didn't you?
"So I shouldn't click on those types of things?" Addison asked Dan.
"Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, they're fine. But there's always the one percent. Scammers are forever coming up with new ways to get your money."
"Then how can I protect myself?"
"I'll install a virus protector while I'm here, which should keep most of the nasties at bay. But you should be careful what you click on, never click links from emails unless it's from a source you trust, and above all keep an eye on your bank accounts. That way if something happens you'll know soon enough, and you can contact the bank quickly. They're pretty good these days."
Addison's mind whirled. More things she needed to keep on top of. She wondered whether having a computer was even worth it. But it was handy for so many things, including keeping in touch with Olivia and Justin. Both of her children seemed to post more often on Facebook than they spoke to their mother.
"Thanks, Dan. I really appreciate it. How much do I owe you for the virus protector thing?"
Dan shook his head. "You've been very kind to my sister. Consider it a thank you."
"Okay. Are you sure you don't want to stay for dinner?"
"No, thanks. Annette is expecting me." He typed away for another minute or so. "There you go, all done." He shut down the computer and handed it back to Addison. "It should run a lot faster now. Check your bank accounts as soon as you can, and let me know if you have any more problems. I'll be in town for a few more days."
"I will. Thanks again." Addison took the laptop back to her office and left it on the desk. A virus. She shook her head. Olivia would go mad when she found out. Maybe she didn't need to know.
Coming out of her office she ran into Adam and Amelie as they entered the kitchen. She checked her watch, it was right on five o'clock.
