by Grace York
Addison nodded. "I need to call him, so I'll ask him about it. Thanks."
"It was Annette's idea." Ivy stood. "I'm going to have a shower before dinner."
"Okay. See you later."
Ivy left, and Addison gave the crazed fan idea some more thought. Maybe Patrick's killer wasn't one of her boarders or Louie, after all.
If it was an intruder they'd have to have come in the back way, through the kitchen, and up the stairs during the ten minutes Addison was out in the front garden with Jason.
She stood and looked out the back window. The half-finished studio was on the left, where Louie had supposedly been working. In the middle of the garden was the temporary barbecue area they'd set up. And on the right was a clump of trees and shrubs Jason planned to remove to make way for a vegetable garden.
Could an intruder have snuck into her back garden, waited behind the trees for the right moment, and entered the kitchen?
As she stared at the trees and shrubs Addison saw movement. She held her breath, then relaxed when she saw Charlie and Bella emerge from the undergrowth. They must have been over in Mrs Jones's yard.
Addison let out a little gasp as she realised what that meant. The gate between her yard and Mrs Jones's was open, as they often left it. It was how the dogs came and went, and how Mrs Jones was able to come over and join her in the kitchen.
It could be how an intruder managed to get into the house without being seen.
Addison fished in her pocket for her mobile phone and called Isaac.
"Detective Sergeant Wilcox speaking," he answered.
"It's me, Addison. Do you have a minute?"
"Not really. We've got a… I'm just on my way out of the station. Can it wait?"
"I guess so." Addison didn't want to rush the conversation. She knew what Isaac thought of the intruder theory, and she wanted to explain it properly. It could wait until he was finished doing whatever he was doing.
She remembered something else she was going to ask him, though. "Could you give me the contact details for Patrick's sisters? I have all his things, and I thought it would be easier if I just sent them rather than bothering going through you."
There was silence for a moment, before he agreed. "I suppose that would make things a little easier on us. I'll get Diaz to text you. I really have to go, Addison. I'll call you later."
Addison said goodbye and ended the call. She wondered where he was rushing off to, and her mind started whirling with a dozen thoughts all at once. She barely noticed when Layla came into the kitchen.
"Thought I'd better get a start on dinner," said Layla, before she stopped and stared at Addison. "Is something wrong? You look confused."
Addison shook her head and checked the clock on the wall; it was almost five. The day had certainly flown by.
"Sorry, a couple of things on my mind."
"Anything I can help with?"
"Maybe," said Addison. She explained Ivy's sister-in-law's idea about an obsessed fan, her own theory about the possibility of an intruder coming through the garden, and Wilcox's rush to get somewhere meaning she couldn't tell him about either of them.
"Well that would mean it wasn't one of us," said Layla. "I mean one of the boarders. I know it wasn't you or I."
"I think that's why I like the idea. I still can't get my head around Patrick's killer being one of the boarders. Or Louie, for that matter."
"Or Dan."
"Yes, or Dan," said Addison. "I keep forgetting he was here as well."
Layla stood looking out the window to the back garden. "I guess it's possible," she said. "I mean, they could have come in through Mrs Jones's property, waited behind the trees there for you to leave the kitchen, and then made their move. But what about Louie? Wasn't he in the back garden?"
"He said he was inside the studio most of the time. They could have got by him."
"True. So how do we find out whether Patrick had any crazy stalker fans?" asked Layla.
Addison was about to say she had no idea when her mobile phone beeped with a message. It was Constable Diaz with the details for Patrick's sisters.
"This might help," she said with a smile.
21
Addison made the call while Layla pottered around in the kitchen preparing dinner. She was making a simple pesto pasta, and didn't need any help.
"Hello? Marilyn speaking."
Addison introduced herself to Patrick's eldest sister. She'd found out from Short that Marilyn lived in Sydney with her husband and three children, and hadn't seen Patrick for almost fifteen years. She had, however, spoken to him a few times on the phone and followed his writing career.
"Patrick was staying in the boarding house I run for artists and writers," Addison explained.
"Yes, I've seen pictures on the news. I was going to call you, actually…"
"Oh? Can I help you with something?"
Addison heard Marilyn's sigh down the phone. "I was wondering how he was doing. You know… was he well? Before he died? Was he happy?"
Addison smiled, and hoped it came through in her voice. "I only knew him for two weeks, but yes, he seemed happy. He'd been struggling to get going on his new book, but he seemed to enjoy the fresh air and sea breeze here. He made some friends, too. I think he was happy."
"That's good then," said Marilyn.
"Is it true you haven't seen him for many years?"
"Yes, it's true. My husband, well, and my sister, really, both of them thought it best we cut ties with Patrick. They never forgave him for the money. They didn't believe his story, you see. They think Patrick stole all our parents' money."
"And you don't?"
"Oh, I agreed with them at first. The story was too fanciful. A con-artist, he said. Some woman he'd taken up with. I don't know, none of us ever met her. He said her name was Emma. Anyway, he went on about how he'd loved her and she'd tricked him, told him about some investment that was guaranteed to double his money. Barry and Anita – my husband and sister – they didn't believe he could fall for something so obvious."
"But you think he could have?"
"The more I thought about it, the more inclined I was to believe him. He was naive, my brother. And he persisted with the story. Plus, he never seemed to have any money. So maybe it was true. I guess now we'll never know."
Addison felt sorry for Patrick. If it was true, and his family didn't believe him, what a double blow.
"Anyway, I'm sure you weren't calling to speak about that business from the past," said Marilyn.
"No, you're right. I wanted to organise to have Patrick's things sent to you. The police have his computer and all of his work, but his clothes and a few personal belongings are here. Would you like me to send them down to you?"
"There really is no need," said Marilyn. "I'd like his work, of course. There'll be people who'll want to get their hands on any unfinished pieces he may have, and I want to make sure that is done properly. But I have no interest in clothing or other unimportant items."
"There are a few books, a couple of old diaries," said Addison. "Are you sure?"
"I'll leave it up to you, dear. If you think there's anything important there, by all means send it down. But don't waste your postage on clothes and the like. Donate it to a charity shop up there, if you don't mind."
"Okay," said Addison. "I'm really sorry for your loss," she added.
"I lost Patrick fifteen years ago, dear."
Addison wasn't sure what to say to that, but she needed to ask one more question.
"Marilyn, the police said you followed Patrick's career a little. Do you happen to know whether he had any… how do I put this… overly dedicated fans?"
"You mean stalkers?" asked Marilyn.
"Um, yes. I mean the police probably asked you that already…"
"Actually no, they didn't. There was one woman, but it was a few years back now. She followed Patrick around for a while. He was mostly kind to her, but I know she got on his nerves. He ended up threatening to g
o to the police. But she was harmless, really. Moved to London, I think."
Addison got excited for a moment, until Marilyn mentioned London. Still, perhaps the woman had returned and found Patrick again.
"Do you remember her name?" she asked.
"No, but I believe she ran a website dedicated to Patrick and his work. It shouldn't be too hard to find her online."
It was something. Addison thanked Marilyn and promised to send anything important from Patrick's personal belongings down to her.
"What did she say?" asked Layla, pouring pasta into a pot of boiling water on the stove.
Addison explained about the fan who moved to London, and the website. "It might be worth following up," she said.
"Okay. Let's look into it after dinner."
Layla had the cooking under control, and there was the lemon cheesecake pie in the fridge for dessert, so Addison pulled out her recipe folder and hunted through to decide what she could make for Hazel tomorrow morning. She might be able to get a start tonight.
She was still looking when Ivy and Amelie wandered into the kitchen.
"Something smells good," said Ivy, opening the fridge and retrieving the bottle of wine she'd brought home earlier.
"It's just pesto pasta," said Layla. "With a few extra veggies. Got to keep you young people healthy, don't we?"
Amelie giggled. "We're not that young, you know."
"You're younger than us," said Addison. "Which is perfect. You keep me on my toes."
Ivy poured the wine into four glasses, and Addison took a grateful sip. The woman sure had good taste in wine.
"How was your day, Amelie?" Addison asked.
"Oh, it was okay," she said, with that hint of a French accent. "I'm very close to finishing my painting. I can't wait to show it to you."
"I can't wait to see it," said Addison. She couldn't help herself, she had to broach the subject of last night. "Did you sleep okay?"
Amelie put her wine glass on the bench and pulled out one of the kitchen stools. She settled herself onto it before answering.
"Did I make too much noise? I'm sorry. I tried not to wake anyone."
"No, I didn't hear you, but Adam did. Where were you going?"
"What's this?" asked Ivy.
Amelie ignored her. "I couldn't sleep, so I went for a walk to clear my head."
"It was midnight," said Addison. "I don't like the idea of you out so late."
"Why? Is it not safe? I can take care of myself."
"I'm sure you can. It's just, well, I think of you all as my family. I wouldn't want anything to happen to you. And with what's happened to Patrick, maybe it isn't safe."
She explained her phone call with Patrick's sister, Marilyn, and the possibility of an over-enthusiastic fan being responsible for his murder.
"So he did have a stalker," said Ivy. "Now it's getting interesting."
Addison wasn't sure she'd put it quite like that. "I just think you should be careful, that's all."
"Fair enough," said Amelie.
Ivy nodded her agreement. "Now tell us more about this stalker," she said.
Addison exchanged a glance with Layla, who shrugged and kept stirring her pesto. What could it hurt? Maybe they could help her find the woman.
22
After dinner Layla and Amelie cleared the dining table in the great room, and Addison, Adam, and Ivy got their laptops out and set them up. By the time Layla and Amelie came back in with hot drinks and lemon cheesecake pie, the dining table looked more like a conference room work table.
"Who wants pie?" Layla asked.
Three hands shot up, but none of them looked away from their screens. They were on the hunt for Patrick's stalker, and she was proving more elusive than Addison had expected.
"Okay, pie for everyone," said Layla. She cut five slices and distributed them, while Amelie handed out mugs of coffee and hot chocolate.
"Anyone want anything else?" Layla asked.
Addison finally looked up. "No, thanks. This is great."
"How's it going?"
"There's not a great deal online about Patrick, actually," said Addison. "He's got a page on his publisher's website, which I assume is official. But searching his name doesn't come up with much. If there was a website dedicated to his work written by some stalker, it's not there now."
Layla picked up her coffee and cake. "Well good luck. Come on, Amelie. It's time you showed me that beach scene you've been working on."
Amelie opened her mouth to protest, no doubt about to say it wasn't finished yet, but Layla's face shut her up. Addison smiled. Her cousin could be quite forceful when she wanted to be. Amelie followed Layla up the stairs, leaving the three writers at the table scouring the internet.
"I think you're right, Addison," said Ivy. "If that website was here it's gone now." She pushed her laptop away and pulled her coffee and cake in front of her. "This looks amazing."
"It's lemon," said Addison. "Still working my way through all the citrus out in the backyard."
Ivy popped a spoonful in her mouth. "It's delicious."
"How are you doing?" Addison said to Adam. His eyes were glued to his screen.
"I might have something," he said, not looking up. "Hang on a sec."
Addison and Ivy exchanged glances, then tucked into their desserts. They were both almost finished before Adam finally looked up.
"Got it," he said. "Well I've got something, anyway."
Addison put her plate on the table and leaned over to look at his screen. It was open at a simple-looking website, basically just a list of Patrick's books and a short synopsis of each. It didn't look in the least bit stalker-like.
"What is it?" asked Ivy. She came around to their side of the table and stared over Adam's shoulder.
"It's the only site I can find that specifically lists only Patrick's books," he said. "They're listed elsewhere, of course. But those are selling sites or sites dedicated to many writers. This one is only about Patrick."
Addison watched as he scrolled through the list. "Is that it?" she asked. "Seems pretty boring. Just a list of his books. It doesn't even have the covers. Are there other pages?"
Adam pointed his cursor at the menu at the top of the page. The drop-down box listed an about section, which he clicked on. A new page loaded, with an older picture of Patrick and the same bio that they'd already seen on the publisher's website.
"That's it," said Adam.
"That's boring," said Ivy.
"It is a bit," said Adam. "I was hoping for something way cooler than that. Maybe that's the crime writer in me."
Addison smiled; she knew what he meant. She'd envisaged something like what you see on television, when the police get to the killer's lair and find hundreds of photos of the victim, most of which the victim didn't realise were being taken. This website looked like something an amateur writer had put together about himself in a rush.
Adam pushed his computer back and tucked into his lemon cheesecake pie. "This is so good," he said between mouthfuls. "I can't believe I found a place to live that's affordable and feeds me so well. Addison, you're a superstar."
Addison felt herself blushing. It was good to hear. "I'm glad to have you staying here," she said. "Both of you. It's good for me too, you know. To have all of you young, interesting people in my life. I love this house, but I don't want to rattle around in it on my own."
"Do you think you'll keep it going?" Ivy asked. "I mean, I'd love to stay here, of course. But I'd understand if you didn't feel you could continue to have us here after Patrick…"
It had been a constant thought in Addison's mind ever since they'd found Patrick's lifeless body hanging from the wardrobe. Would she be able to continue running the beach house as a boarding house? Should she?
"Please say you will," said Adam. "I'm sorry if that's totally selfish, but I have nowhere else to go. I love it here. At least don't make any decisions until after Wilcox finds out who killed him."
"Yes," said Addi
son. "I believe that's sensible. I don't want to lose any of you."
They all finished their dessert in silence. Addison found Patrick's website on her own laptop and stared at it as she drank her hot chocolate. Did Patrick make it himself? It hardly seemed like the work of the stalker Marilyn had mentioned. Maybe that girl had given up and moved to London after all.
Addison was disappointed. It felt like such a dead end.
"Layla told me you've done some writing yourself in the past, Addison," said Adam.
"Oh, not really," said Addison, blushing again. "Just a few stories here and there. Nothing I've ever tried to get published."
"What sort of stories?" Adam asked.
"Murder mysteries, mainly. I love the old Agatha Christie novels. Hercule Poirot was my hero years ago."
"Have you written a character like him?"
"Something similar, yes. But my sleuth is a woman."
"Like Miss Marple," said Ivy.
"Perhaps not quite so old," said Addison.
"I'd love to read some of your work," said Adam.
Addison couldn't imagine someone reading any of her stories. She'd written them years ago, when the kids were younger and Rob was at work all the time. It had been her way of dealing with the difficulties of living with a police detective.
Not that Rob had ever burdened her with details of his cases. It was more what her imagination would do to fill in the blanks of what he wasn't telling her. She'd found that writing light-hearted mysteries kept her head away from the horrors of the real crimes Rob saw every day.
"Maybe one day," she said to Adam. "We could swap stories."
"I'd like that."
Adam started telling them about the latest chapters of the book he was working on. Unlike Addison, he loved talking about his work. Addison enjoyed listening – he became so animated when he spoke about his characters and the story arcs he sent them on. It was as if they were real people to him.
Every writer was different. Ivy didn't seem to want to talk about her work at all. She also seemed bored listening to Adam. She said she'd discussed writing with Patrick before he died. Maybe she found his work more interesting than Adam's action hero stuff.
