by Grace York
"Did you manage to get any work done, either of you?"
Amelie looked like she was about to burst into tears, but Adam seemed not to notice.
"I got a bit done, actually," he said, picking a piece of cucumber out of the salad Layla had prepared and popping it into his mouth. He opened the fridge and pulled out a beer for himself. "Anyone else?"
"No thanks," said Addison. She put her arm around Amelie and gave her a reassuring smile.
"No," said Dan. "I'm just leaving." He turned to Ivy. "Walk me out?"
The two of them left, and Addison opened the back door and propped it open with the door wedge. "Help me set up the chairs outside," she said to Amelie. The poor girl was suffering the most after Patrick's death, and Addison thought it was time they had a chat.
The barbecue area in the backyard was still in its temporary configuration. Jason had put together the plans to build a pizza oven out here, but Addison wanted the rest of the house finished first. The pizza oven and outdoor space was a luxury, whereas the house and the art studio were more necessary and therefore got priority.
Addison and Amelie carried stacks of plastic chairs from the verandah and set them up in a circle beside the portable barbecue. Addison noticed Amelie wipe a few tears from her face.
"You loved him, didn't you?" Addison asked.
Amelie collapsed into one of the chairs. "Yes," her tiny voice squeaked. "Since the day I met him."
9
"Tell me about it." Addison took the chair next to Amelie. She glanced up to see Mrs Jones in the doorway, and gave her a look that she hoped would tell the others not to disturb them. Mrs Jones gave her a slight nod and closed the back door.
"We were both staying at the same backpackers lodge in Townsville," Amelie began. "It was full of teenagers and twenty-somethings. Patrick and I were the only people in there over thirty. We connected straight away."
"Did you recognise him? I mean, he was a reasonably famous author. Did you know who he was?"
"No, and I think he actually liked that. He was having trouble with his next book, although I didn't find that out until later. He was trying to disappear… no, that's not the right word. He was trying to take a break from the literary world, so I think me not knowing who he was, helped."
"How long ago was this?" Addison asked. "When you met, I mean."
"About three months ago. We started eating together, going for walks, that sort of thing. Patrick liked to bounce ideas off me for his writing. I'm a good listener. And he was interested in my painting, too. Then we decided to leave Townsville and travel south together. We were going to go all the way down the coast eventually. But we found your place, and Patrick started writing again. Or at least I think he did."
"What do you mean by that? You just said he talked to you about his writing."
Amelie twisted her hands together in her lap. "He talked to me about his writing when he was struggling with it," she said. "But since we've been here he kept it to himself."
Addison had noticed that Patrick and Amelie hadn't communicated much since they'd been at the beach house. She'd thought it odd, considering they'd arrived together. She'd also noticed Patrick spending time with Ivy, but she didn't know how to ask Amelie about that.
"He didn't love me back," Amelie said. She pushed her hair behind her ears. "But you guessed that, right?"
"I had an idea. It was none of my business, though." Addison felt sorry for her. She couldn't imagine how it would feel to be in love with someone and not have them feel the same way.
"Oh, Addison. When I thought he'd taken his own life… that was one thing. But murder? Who could have done this? And why? I know he could be difficult at times, but I just can't think of any reason someone would do that to him. The police must have it wrong."
"I've thought the same thing, believe me," said Addison. "But Detective Wilcox assures me they haven't."
"Do you trust him? This detective?"
"I do."
"Then I guess we'll have to wait until he figures out what happened."
"I guess so." Addison stood. "I could use a glass of wine. Would you like one?"
"Yes please. I'll finish setting up out here."
Addison returned to the kitchen, where Layla had already found a bottle of white wine and poured a glass each for herself, Ivy, and Mrs Jones. Two more glasses stood empty on the bench.
"Thanks," said Addison, taking the bottle and filling the two glasses. "Let's all go outside. Amelie needs people around her right now."
"Don't we all," said Layla.
They each carried something out to the makeshift seating area and Adam took control of the barbecue. Mrs Jones launched into another tale about her sister in Brisbane and the cats, and soon had everyone laughing. Between them, Mrs Jones and Layla and Addison managed to keep the conversation light and away from the question on everyone's mind, until it finally resurfaced after they'd eaten.
"I reckon it must have been that contractor, Louie," said Adam.
"What makes you think so?" asked Addison.
"He looks shifty."
"He looks shifty?" Ivy repeated. "That's your evidence?"
Adam shrugged. "Have you got any better ideas?"
"Well, no. But I wouldn't form an opinion of someone just based on the way he looks. Especially not when you're talking about who committed murder."
A sharp intake of breath came from Amelie, and Addison felt for her all over again.
"Do you want to go inside?" Addison asked her.
"No," said Amelie. "If we're going to discuss this, I want to be here. Patrick was important to me. I want to know what happened to him."
"I'm telling you, the contractor," said Adam. Ivy opened her mouth, but Adam held up a hand. "I know, you want evidence. Let's think about it. He was the only one who was at the house but wasn't there when Ivy found Patrick. We all raced up the stairs, even Jason. But where was Louie?"
"He said he was out in the new studio with headphones on," said Layla.
"But he also said he heard Ivy screaming," said Adam. "If that's the case it took him long enough to get inside. We all heard Ivy screaming from where we were out the front. We all raced up the staircase to Patrick's room. But Louie didn't get inside until after we were all back down in the dining room. What took him so long?"
Addison realised Adam was right. Louie had come in when they were all in the dining room and Addison was phoning Wilcox. He'd said he heard screaming, but then he'd told Wilcox and Short he had headphones on and didn't hear anything. It didn't add up. She shot a nervous glance at Layla and Mrs Jones, who were both staring at her.
"He could have been in the wardrobe," Addison said without thinking.
"What do you mean?" asked Ivy.
Addison explained the theory she'd discussed earlier with Mrs Jones and Layla, and then Detective Wilcox.
"What did Wilcox say?" asked Adam. "Did he think it was a possibility?"
"He said he couldn't rule it out, but the space in the wardrobe is small."
"Louie's not a big guy," said Adam. He was bouncing around in his seat. "I'm going to go take a look."
"Wait, isn't it still a crime scene?" asked Ivy. "Are we allowed in there?"
Adam shrugged. "No-one told me I couldn't go in there," he said, standing. "Anyone coming?"
For a moment everyone just stared at one another. Addison didn't know what to do. Senior Constable Short and the forensics team had left a couple of hours ago, and they hadn't said anything forbidding anyone to enter Patrick's room.
"I'll go with you," she finally said to Adam.
"Are you sure?" said Layla.
Addison stood. "It's my house. I should be there."
"I'll come too then," said Layla.
"Well I'm not being left out," said Ivy. "What about you, Amelie?"
Amelie shook her head and shoved her hands in her pockets. "I can't. Not yet."
"You stay here with me, dear," said Mrs Jones. "I'm not climbing up all those s
tairs. We'll scrape the plates and find some scraps for Bella and Charlie."
"All right then," said Addison, feeling like she was about to lead an expedition. "Let's do it."
10
Addison almost lost her nerve when they reached Patrick's door. She couldn't help but replay the scene over in her mind – Ivy screaming, frantically turning the doorknob; Dan breaking down the door, finding Patrick's body. It was all there, front and centre. She suppressed a shudder.
The door was pulled closed, but the broken doorknob and splintered wood remained. Adam pushed on the door and it opened easily. He gave the others a tentative look before entering the room. Addison and Ivy followed, Layla stayed in the doorway.
"I guess it's okay to touch stuff now," said Adam, running a finger through the black dust that coated just about every surface of the room. "They've obviously done all their checks for fingerprints."
"Even so, let's not spread that stuff all over the house," said Layla. "When do you think they'll let us clean up?" she asked Addison.
"I don't know. But I need to call Wilcox about that key, so I'll ask him," she replied.
"What key?" asked Ivy.
"There's a master key somewhere that fits all the rooms. I forgot to tell him about it."
"What do you mean, somewhere?" asked Adam. "You don't know where it is?"
"Not exactly." Addison didn't like the way the two of them stared at her. "Well I haven't had to use it, have I? You all have your own keys, and I trust you. It's only really in case someone loses their key, or there's an emergency."
"Like yesterday?" said Ivy.
"Ah, yeah."
Adam turned to face the wardrobe. "Shall I?" he asked.
"Open it," said Addison.
He did, and Addison saw that Wilcox was right. There was enough space in there for a small person, but it would be a tight fit.
"I don't know," said Ivy. "It would have been difficult to fit oneself in there and hide while the rest of us discovered the body."
"Not to mention gruesome," Layla added. She had a clear view from the doorway. "To climb in there and shut the door while Patrick's body was hanging from the same door? You'd have to be especially callous."
"Well, he did just murder someone," said Adam. "I think it's safe to say whoever did this was pretty callous." He bent down to take a close look at the space.
Addison peered over his shoulder. She could see Patrick's shoes lined up in the bottom of the wardrobe. They didn't seem disturbed.
"I think they would have made more mess than this," she said. "I mean, if there was someone hiding in here they'd need to have been crouching down, and they would have trampled over all these shoes. There's no evidence of that. Plus, if it was Louie, he would have left in a hurry to come downstairs and join us all in the dining room. He wouldn't have had time to straighten up first."
"So we're back to an intruder, maybe?" said Ivy.
"Maybe," said Addison, although she wasn't convinced about that either. "But how would an intruder have picked exactly the right time to come in, get upstairs without anyone seeing, and either get out again unseen before you discovered Patrick's body, or hide in here until after we left?"
Ivy, Adam, and Layla all stared blankly at her. They weren't getting any answers up here, just asking more questions. And it was getting uncomfortable.
"Let's go back down and find Mrs Jones and Amelie," said Addison. "I've got an apple crumble I can put in the oven."
The mention of dessert got everyone moving.
Back in the kitchen Mrs Jones and Amelie had managed to clean up after dinner and stack the dishwasher. Amelie was wiping down the bench when they trooped back in.
"Well?" she asked.
"It's possible," said Addison. "But so are a lot of things. I don't think we should talk about it anymore."
"Yes," agreed Ivy. "We really should leave it up to the police. They'll find some evidence or something, I'm sure."
Addison set the oven to heat, then retrieved the apple crumble she'd made yesterday from the fridge. It seemed so long ago now. She'd made it to have for dessert last night, but after Patrick's death no-one had even been interested in dinner. It needed using, though, and they could all do with something to lift their spirits.
"Who would like coffee?" asked Layla, as she fired up the coffee machine. Hands went up, some opted for tea, and Layla set about her task. Mrs Jones helped, Addison put the apple crumble in the oven to heat through, and soon the six of them were settled around the smaller table in the kitchen with steaming mugs and plates of the sweet dessert.
Charlie and Bella came charging through the doggy door when they smelled the food, and for a moment the group were entertained by their antics. But it wasn't long before the mood turned sombre again.
"My money's still on the contractor," said Adam.
"Do we have to discuss this?" asked Addison. She cast a nervous glance toward Amelie.
"I think we do," he said. "If there's a murderer amongst us, I for one would like to know. Wouldn't you?"
It was a good point, Addison had to admit.
"What about Jason?" Ivy asked. "He was out the front working, but he was right underneath the balcony. No-one could see him for most of that hour. He could have come inside and up the front staircase, snuck into Patrick's room…" She didn't finish the thought. She didn't need to.
"No," said Addison. "Jason isn't a killer. What possible motive could he have, anyway? He barely knew Patrick. Plus, there's no way he would fit in that wardrobe. He's too big. So how did he get out of the locked room?"
No-one had an answer for that.
"Well they're the only two outsiders who had the opportunity," said Adam.
"I know Jason, and I'll vouch for him," said Addison. "There's no way it was him."
"And Louie?" asked Adam. "Can you vouch for him?"
Addison shook her head. "Jason hired him. I trust Jason, though. He would have checked Louie out before bringing him into my home. Surely." Wouldn't he? Louie was looking more and more suspicious by the minute.
"He's not from around here," said Mrs Jones. "I've never seen him before he started working on the beach house."
"He's from Riverwood, I believe," said Addison. "I got the impression Jason knew him, though. He's worked with him before."
"Maybe you should ask Jason what he knows about him," said Ivy.
"Yes, maybe. I'll do that tomorrow. But I don't understand what possible motive he could have."
"What motive could anyone have?" said Amelie. She had both hands wrapped around her coffee mug.
"Someone must have a motive," said Ivy. "I mean, it happened, didn't it? Patrick is dead, and the police say it wasn't suicide. That means someone had a motive to kill him. How much do we really know about him?"
"Enough to know he was a decent person," said Amelie. Addison caught the hint of a snarl on her lips, and realised for the first time that Amelie, quiet as she was, might have a nasty side.
"I'm not so sure about that," said Ivy, who had missed Amelie's flash of anger.
"What do you mean?" asked Addison.
"I don't want to speak ill of the dead…"
"Spit it out," said Amelie.
"Well… he was pretty rude to Adam, for starters." Ivy raised her eyebrows in Adam's direction.
Adam shrugged. "I'm used to it."
"What happened?" asked Addison.
"I asked him a few times to read some of what I was working on. Not the whole manuscript, of course. Just a couple of chapters. To see if I was on the right track."
"And did he?" asked Addison.
Adam shook his head. "No. He kept saying he was too busy. Which is why I thought it odd when you said he was blocked."
"He was blocked when we first came here two weeks ago," said Amelie. "But then he got writing again."
"So he said," said Ivy. "Are you sure he was telling the truth?"
"Why would he lie about that?"
Ivy pushed her plate of app
le crumble aside. "I'm sorry, Addison. This smells delicious, but I'm not hungry."
"I'll take it," said Adam. He swapped his empty plate for her full one without further discussion.
"Why would Patrick lie about what he was writing?" Amelie asked Ivy again.
"I have no idea. I just…"
"You spent a bit of time with him over the last week," said Addison. "Did he tell you what he was working on?"
Ivy shook her head. "No. But I didn't ask. We talked about other things."
"What other things?"
"Other writers, books in general. The state of the publishing industry. That sort of thing."
"And how did he seem to you?" asked Addison.
"To be honest? Like he was hiding something. I think something was troubling Patrick, although he wouldn't tell me what it was." She turned to Amelie. "Did Patrick do drugs? Was he on any medication?"
"Not that I'm aware of. Why?"
Ivy took a sip from her tea cup, and placed it gently back on its saucer. "I don't know. A couple of times he seemed… different. Almost as if he were high."
11
Amelie was in the kitchen finishing off a bowl of cereal when Addison came down on Saturday morning. It was still early, none of the rest of the household were up, but there was baking to be done. She'd promised Hazel a batch of cinnamon scrolls this weekend, in addition to the usual assortment of scones and muffins.
"Good morning, Amelie," said Addison, putting on a wide smile. She hoped her resident painter was slightly happier today. The fact that she was up early this morning was a good sign.
"Good morning. I thought you could use a hand today. Sorry I didn't get up to help yesterday."
"That's completely understandable. I would have stayed in bed myself yesterday, except for not wanting to let Hazel down. She's been such a good friend since I arrived in Getaway Bay."
Amelie finished her last mouthful of cereal and put the bowl in the dishwasher. "Everyone here does seem very kind," she said. "I'd love to stay here."
"You're welcome in this house for as long as you want," said Addison. "That's the point of the beach house. I don't want anyone to leave quickly. And besides, I haven't seen any of your work yet. How is your beach scene coming along?"
