by K. E. Warner
Raheem gave them a slight smile. “I’m glad to hear that. It sounds as though you have a lot of support. One last question. Have either of you met Mr. Belcher’s son, Dan?”
Alice and Dave furrowed their brows at him in unison, but Dave spoke up. “No. I didn’t even know he had a son.” Alice nodded in agreement.
Raheem jotted a few more notes and stood. “Thank you both. Mrs. Connor, I wish you success with your struggle. I’m not sure I’ve known someone who has suffered through opioid addiction, but I’m certain it’s a very tough struggle. It sounds like you’ve got a lot of support here. If either of you think of information that could assist us, please call me.”
As he walked out, he considered what he’d learned from the Connors, and how it fit into the big picture.
Chapter twenty-seven
Magda’s shoulders inched up her neck as officers dusted for fingerprints. Two hours of police work made her apartment look like a family of ghosts lived with her. Fingerprints seemed to exist on everything. She couldn’t wait to wipe away the powdery reminders of the night.
Raheem appeared in the doorway as the detectives left. She grimaced at the sight of him in uniform; he still looked angry.
“How’re you doing today?” His question sounded clipped, but sincere.
“Okay. Just…”
“Not letting you off the hook on this one Magda. You and I will set the ground rules, and they’ll operate from now until the foreseeable future.”
She inhaled and held her breath. She expected something bad would come of this.
His face flushed an angry shade of red as he continued. “First, if Chris Ducharme calls you, you are to contact me - right away.”
Her chest deflated as he emphasized the last words. She deserved this.
His tone became more ominous as he continued. “Second, you are not to share any information you may have heard, or interpreted from conversations last night.”
Her eyes narrowed at him. “What do you mean? Share nothing? How am I supposed to do my job?”
“You know what I mean. If we have something to share that you can disclose to the public, we’ll tell you. Third, you’re not to pursue, by any means, any investigation into the death of Brian Belcher. Clear?”
She responded through clenched teeth. “Clear.”
His shoulders softened along with his voice. “Magda. I care for you so much. We're going through something uncomfortable in our relationship. I’m not sure where we’re headed, but I can’t have you interfering with my role in Stey Cove, no matter how much I love you.”
She sucked air, the cold bite tingled her teeth and her face flaushed. This was the time he chose to tell her that he loved her? He’d never said that before. She knew he felt something, they both did. But she wasn’t sure how she felt. She only knew that when she saw him, or heard him, or thought of him, her world stopped.
He loved her?
“You have a funny way of showing it.”
He turned and headed to the door for the second time.
◆◆◆
Magda opened her car window and leaned into the breeze. The day had been a long one; she’d confined herself to the office, scheduling her planner with articles about Stey Cove’s seasonal sporting events and local farmer's markets.
Her mind wandered to Donna and their intent to spend the evening relaxing together. She committed to herself not to discuss her brush with an intruder. It would upset her friend and bring up too many questions. They’d have plenty of other things to talk about. The White Night Dinner was this week, and given Magda was new to the event, Donna would be eager to share information about the event.
Donna was on her knees in the garden as Magda pulled into the driveway. She gave a weed a quick tug, and wiped the back of her hand across her forehead leaving a smear of earth in place of perspiration. As Magda opened the car door, she caught sight of Charles and Saori headed in their direction.
“Hey, Donna. Hi Charles.” Magda waved at Donna, then Charles, and kneeled to come to the pup’s level. “Hey, Saori.” The little dog ran at her as if she was his next meal, tiny tail wobbling from side to side so that it appeared the little dog would lose its balance.
Donna glowed with the energy of an afternoon spent gardening. “Magda. So happy to see you. Did you hear about Alice?”
Magda glanced at Charles, who rolled his eyes. Donna would never stop gossiping. She paused and wondered what new tragedy had befallen the Connors. “No, I don’t think so.”
Charles stopped and stood with the two women.
Donna lowered her voice as if confiding in her two friends. “She’s recovering from drug addiction. I just knew something was wrong. She’s seeing a therapist and everything.”
Magda didn’t understand what ‘and everything’ meant, but she wasn’t interested in discussing Alice’s problems with Donna. She needed to remind her friend about boundaries.
Charles interrupted Magda’s thoughts. “You know Donna, it isn’t nice to talk about people when they aren’t around.”
Both Magda and Donna turned dropped jaws in his direction. Charles rarely added to a conversation, and when he did it was an anecdote about something somewhat relevant to the conversation. He never commented on social foibles. Correcting Donna on personal graces was a new side of the man.
“Oh, Charles. You’re right. Let’s go see Alice right now.” She marched toward the Connor’s home, adopting a confident stride.
Charles shrugged, but Magda called her back. “No Donna, not now. I came to see if we could talk about the White Night Dinner. I want to do a preliminary article before the event on Thursday.”
Donna tottered back, an unbalanced ballet. The heels she wore today weren’t stilettos, but they were too high to be running around on stony asphalt, or gardening for that matter.
“Oh.” Her face flushed pink, her mouth drooped. “Okay, let’s go inside. I’ll make you coffee.” A grin took over her face. “And I have fresh ginger cookies. Charles, will you and Saori join us?”
“I don’t’ think so, Donna. Thank-you. Saori and I are walking to the marina today. We heard the sea lions squealing earlier this morning, and we’re curious about what’s going on down there.” He turned and wandered away as Saori watched the women enter the condo before trotting after him.
◆◆◆
“Okay Donna, fill me in about the dinner.” Magda cuddled into a comfy chair, sipping coffee. “I know it’s been around since 1988, but how did it begin here?”
“Oh, it’s only been in Stey Cove for five years.” Donna pulled her feet onto the couch, tucking them behind her. “The first year, Sonja gleaned the idea from an article about the original Diner en Blanc, the elegant Parisian outdoor summer dinner. She invited thirty friends.”
“And you all wore white, similar to the original version?”
“Yes, we wore white to identify guests. A little classier than a VIP tag around one’s neck.”
A picture of gentle elegance took shape in Magda’s mind. “How many guests do you expect?”
“Ha. Well, the idea took off here – you know how gossipy people can be.” Donna’s voice trailed off as she blushed. She cleared her throat and continued. “It’s well known now; people snap up tickets. Each year requests for tickets grows. We can accommodate two hundred guests this year. But we aren’t part of the eighty-five cities or seventeen thousand guests counted worldwide.”
“I read those numbers when I researched – a waiting list of almost eighty thousand people worldwide. It’s incredible. So why isn’t Stey Cove counted? Let me guess. Not everyone will wear white?”
“Oh yes, yes they all do. In fact, we have zero tolerance on deviating from the colour scheme. No beige or off-white. We followed the format and rules for the first two years, but when we made it a fundraiser, we had to distance ourselves from the original event. The Diner en Blanc doesn’t allow for political or community affiliations. That includes charities.”
“Oh. Th
at’s too bad. But it’s great you still use the idea to help local charities.” Magda picked up a cookie from the tray Donna had set on the coffee table. “But people don’t know where the venue is yet. How do they find out?”
Donna beamed at her; a schoolgirl planning a surprise party. “Well, at 4 p.m. on the day of the event, we send each guest a text showing the meeting location. They arrive at the location dressed in white, head to toe, with their tables, chairs, and picnic paraphernalia in hand. Some bring small wagons to carry things, and store them under their table. Once at the location, a school bus takes them to the venue. The plan for transportation means guests don’t worry about parking or traffic congestion.”
“Brilliant.” Magda clapped in admiration. “With using the park this year, extra cars won’t crowd tourists using the beach or playgrounds. Smart. Other events could use that idea. It must be fun watching people pile off the bus.”
“It’s terrific fun. Like a parade. When the bus arrives at the venue, guests depart and group with their table leader. Most guests have bought table space together, so table guests know each other. The table leader is the person making contact to register the guests. When all the groups are together, they carry everything they brought to their assigned space, and set up.”
Magda’s bottom lip puckered and worry lines deepened on her forehead. “I’m envisioning baskets of food and tables dumped in a pile, and everyone running off to play in the grass. Like when families go to the beach. Conscientious people stay to set up, and others that came for the fun, head for the water. Is it like that?”
Donna’s head pulled back from her shoulders as if repulsed by the thought. “Not at all. The theme and goal of the evening are decorum and etiquette. Everyone helps set up. Guests set their places, place the food and decorations, and remain standing behind their chairs. No row of guests sit before each table is complete and every guest in the row is ready. It seems to motivate people to coordinate and cooperate. Table guests arrive together, leave together, and follow the suggestions of the table leader.”
Magda shook her head and frowned. “That sounds restrictive.”
“It isn’t. Magda, you’ll see. It’s formal, yes, but it’s as if you’re part of lovely Victorian play. People don’t have to attend if they don’t want to conform to the rules, but every year the demand for tickets goes up. Hold your judgement till after the dinner.”
Magda’s eyes flashed, and she grinned at Donna. “What about alcohol? Sometimes people aren’t good at following rules when they’ve had too much to drink.”
Now Donna shook her head. “Possible, but unlikely. We restrict alcohol to wine or champagne, and guests carry it in with them. They also carry a table, table decorations, chairs, and food. All that carrying restricts the amount of anything you can transport, so the event doesn’t lend itself to overindulging. The dinner self-selects. It’s intended for people who enjoy elegance and simplicity, and would like to support a worthy cause. It doesn’t attract people who aren’t interested. And the tickets aren’t cheap – so if you don’t wish to follow the rules, why would you pay to attend?”
“It sounds magical, Donna. Do guests clean up afterwards?”
“Or risk being barred for life.” Donna giggled like a cartoon character about to attempt world domination.
Magda munched cookies while she scanned her notes, asked a few more questions about the guest list, and realized the best way for her to write about the dinner would be as a participant.
“I’m looking forward to this. It sounds lovely; charming and elegant, and time to enjoy the evening with my favourite people. I have to get started on the article, so I better go, but I’ll see you Thursday, if not sooner. Thank you for the coffee and cookies – they were so good, and I was hungry.” Magda felt guilty about lying to Donna about needing to go and begin the article, but she needed an excuse to leave or Donna would chat with her all night.
Donna hugged her close before she said, “You’re very welcome. Get some rest, my young friend. You look tired.”
◆◆◆
Magda pulled into the parking lot at the end of the marina. She wanted to find Chris, and that was the true reason for her abrupt departure from Donna’s. Despite all good intentions, warnings from Raheem, and her gut instinct, Magda felt something important happening in her world.
Her tires crunched on the gravel in the parking lot, and she could see Charles and Saori perched on the rocks facing the sea. Their view was one of dichotomies; the soft swell of wake from boats entering or leaving the marina, and the harsh crash of waves pounding the rocks of the seawall. Charles appeared content; a man meditating on the beauty of his surroundings.
She closed the door to her car gently, a solemn tribute to the peace of the marina, and walked to Charles.
“Oh, hello again, Magda.” His chin tilted down as her shadow crossed his line of sight, and he looked at her over top of his sunglasses. “You aren’t looking for me, are you?”
“Hi, Charles. No, not looking for you, but I thought I’d say hello. Just enjoying the view.”
“Well, we thought we would find sea lions, but did not. The ruckus we heard this morning must have been a momentary bubble in the sea life. It is mesmerizing and peaceful to watch the ocean, though.”
“Do you come here often?” She brushed loose tendrils from her face and smiled into the breeze.
“A few times a week. Do you? I wouldn’t have expected to see you here.”
“I’m looking for a boat. It’s a nice one, newer model, I think. Maybe twenty feet, a fishing boat. It’s called the…” she turned to watch his face. “It’s called Snowflake.”
She listened to the sensual lapping of waves on boats as she watched his headed tilt up, lips pursed in thought.
“White? Rooftop cover on the bridge deck?”
“Yes, that’s it.”
“I might have seen it last week, on one of our early morning walks. It’s new here, I think. At least I haven’t seen it before. I don’t come here often, but I prefer it here since……”
She reached over and rubbed his hand. He remained composed and continued his thought. “Yes, I know the boat.”
Silence again. It didn’t appear he’d volunteer anything without being asked. “Do you know who owns it?”
“No. Not who owns it, but….”
Getting specific information from him was a challenge. Magda didn’t like interjecting into someone else’s thoughts, always hoping they would simply blurt what they were thinking; Charles needed prompting. “But?”
He sighed as if trapped. “Well, there were police officers on the boat last week. I only think they were officers because they flashed badges at the man on the boat before they boarded.”
Silence. She considered what to say. Her line of questioning might sound intrusive to Charles, and his recent chastising of Donna had shown he was prepared to dismiss meddling.
“Police? Did you know them? I mean, was Raheem one of them?”
“I didn’t know any of them. There were four. I recall wondering why four of them needed to attend a personal fishing boat. So maybe they weren’t police. They didn’t stay long. Maybe fifteen minutes. The entire time they were there, two of them appeared to scour the other boats, the parking lot, and the road beyond. I think they watched me too. Like secret service.” He chuckled.
Magda coughed at Charles suggestion, an attempt to hide her discomfort. The more she learned the more confused she became, and asking Raheem for clarification was out of the question.
She tried to dismiss the conversation so Charles wouldn’t worry. “Well, maybe they were trying to sell the guy tickets to the policeman’s ball.”
Deep lines appeared in his forehead. Her statement, intended to make light of the situation only highlighted it. Charles’ attention to social norms was improving, but grasping sarcasm was a stretch.
“You don’t see that boat here today, do you?” He looked directly at the slip where Magda had entered Snowflake w
ith Chris.
“No. Maybe it’s out fishing.”
They sat quietly for a few more minutes, Charles absorbed in the sea, Magda contemplating the intentions of the police. None of this made sense when considering the Chris Ducharme she knew. Well, she’d followed Raheem’s rules. Chris had not contacted her, she had shared no information, and she was not in any way collecting information about the death of Brian Belcher.
“I have to get back to the office, Charles. Thanks for the chat. I enjoyed your company, as always.” She bent and scrubbed Saori’s head and walked away leaving the man and his dog to contemplate the sea.
