“Sure, take a seat.” Kala pushed the plate to one side and picked up her cup of tea. “Would you like a drink?”
“Nah … but thanks. My name’s Ricky Fielder, by the way.”
“Officer Stonechild, but you can call me Kala.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance Officer Kala.”
Ricky didn’t offer his hand, perhaps because both of hers were wrapped around the mug. He kicked out the chair and dropped into it with a grunt. “Been washin’ dishes for my sins. Regular kid’s sick with the flu or acne or whatever it is teenage boys come down with nowadays.”
“What’s your usual job?”
“I’m your all-around handyman. My son manages the Mountainview and I play backup when needed. I used to be a guide for American fishermen and hunters but gave that up a couple of years back.”
She set down the cup and rested her elbows on the table. “So you have something to tell me?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. That fella, Thomas Faraday, word is he drowned up at Pine Hollow Lake near the lodge. That true?”
“It is.”
Ricky shook his head from side to side. “Goddamn. I’ve been on a huntin’ trip the last week and had no idea. Was it an accident?”
“We believe not. Did you know him?”
“Could say. We shared an interest in photography. He used to come in here for lunch on a regular basis and we got to talkin’. We both like using film and I have a darkroom in my basement. He’d come over and we’d develop pictures and watch a ballgame on TV. Pop a few beers.” He opened his mouth and inhaled another deep breath. “Goddamn.”
“Were you friends, would you say?”
“Not exactly. Small communities ain’t exactly teeming with new acquaintances. Most people have their quirks, and you get along if you want to have any kind of social life. Live and let live is my motto.” He paused. “Thom had a chip on his shoulder from something that happened in his photography business in Toronto. Sometimes I got the feelin’ he was into things on the shady side. I didn’t pry, though. Just went along and took him at face value when we got together.”
“Did Thomas say anything about the people at Pine Hollow Lodge?”
“Not much except he thought they made interesting subjects for his photography.”
Kala tried to assess if this information changed anything. “Did you see any of his photos?” she asked.
“Ones for the calendar that he liked. He worked alone in the darkroom usually and only showed me those he was particularly keen on. Guy had an eye, there’s no doubt. He had a couple of cameras, don’t you know. Digital and an old Canon with the film. Tough to get film nowadays but we order some in. Get the chemicals in special order, too, for developing the colour pictures.”
“Well.” Kala was at a loss. “Thomas never told you that he was involved in anything unethical?”
“Nope.”
“Did he mention fighting with anybody or being upset about anything?”
“He was easy to rile up, but nothing comes to mind.”
“Okay. Thanks for sharing your information with me.” She raised a hand to Jenny for her bill, wanting to wrap this up and get back to Taiku for his last walk before bed.
Ricky heaved himself to his feet. “Mighty sorry about Thom and that young girl, Rachel. This has been a bad summer all around.” He took a few steps toward the kitchen before stopping. “Say, I have a box of Thom’s stuff at my place. Do ya think his family would want it?”
Kala blinked. If she could slap herself on the forehead and not insult him, she would have. How the hell could you think that’s not important? “I’d like to come take that off your hands when you’re done your shift,” she said, keeping her voice even.
He seemed to consider her offer as if he had a choice. “I don’t see why not. I’ll hang up my apron and you can follow me home.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
Ricky lived east of town on the Whitman Dam Road in a small bungalow nestled behind a line of spruce trees. The nearest neighbour couldn’t be seen from his front door. Kala parked her truck behind the chassis of a stripped-out bus parked next to a rusting trailer and walked carefully past body parts from cars and trucks strewn around the yard.
In contrast, the inside of his house was spartan, no clutter and clean as a whistle. “Sorry for the mess outside,” said Ricky. “I keep my pack-rat habit contained to the outdoors. My wife, bless her soul, insisted, and I got used to humouring her. Seems respectful to her memory to keep her house spotless like she wanted it.”
Kala followed him down creaky stairs into the basement and surveyed the darkroom while he retrieved a metal box from under the workbench where he had it stowed. She scanned photos hanging to dry on a clothesline and walked the length of the wall where prints of local scenes and people were displayed. The images were magazine quality. “Are these all yours?” she asked.
“Yup. Thom always put his in this box or took them with him.”
“You could sell these pictures for a healthy sum. They’re works of art.”
“Thanks for saying that, I’m sure. My son frames some of them for the cabins at the lodge. That’s enough fame for me. I don’t need any more money than I got.”
He insisted on carrying the box to her truck and set it on the passenger seat. He leaned on the doorframe as she got behind the wheel. “I guess I’m going to miss ol’ Thom when all is said and done. He was a morose sort, but company. I hope you sort out this bad business and we can get back to normal around here.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“See that you do, young lady.” He smiled and tapped on the roof before slamming the passenger door.
She caught sight of Ricky standing motionless in his laneway in her side mirror, oblivious to the rain, watching her as she pulled onto the highway. An uncomplicated man with kind eyes and no agenda. She was sorry not to have more time to get to know him better. She had a feeling they could have become friends.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Kala had the strongest urge to pull over and go through the box, but the rain was picking up and the idea of the snug cabin and Taiku’s warm body resting on her lap was too inviting to pass up. She drove with care through the stormy night, the road slick with rain that puddled on the shoulders and spread in snaky rivulets across the pavement. The light from her headlights pierced through the swirling fog that parted for a moment until she’d passed through and then closed in as if she’d never been.
The box was heavy enough as she carried it from her truck down the wooded path, the rain a steady downpour in the open spaces. The warmth of the day was tempered by the damp but still warm enough for the first of September. She wished she’d left a light on in the cabin. Fog hovered in wispy strands above the ground, and combined with the darkness, she could only see a few feet ahead. She stumbled once and cursed before righting herself and tightening her grip on the box made slippery by the rain.
Taiku was waiting in the hallway and she let him out, leaving the door ajar while she gratefully set the box on the floor and slipped out of her wet boots and jacket. Business done, Taiku bounded back into the cabin a minute later and Kala locked the door. She pulled the curtains and settled on the couch with the box within reach on the coffee table while Taiku ate his supper.
The first photos were close-ups of plants and foliage. Faraday had been playing with perspective and light, and she had to squint at some of the black-and-white pictures to figure out the subject. He’d taken several colour shots of Pine Hollow Lodge, and she recognized her own cabin and dock in a series that started at sunrise, getting progressively lighter as daylight brightened the landscape from soft pink and orange sorbet to the deepest rich hues. Another series of black-and-white photos featured rock cuts from a distance and close-ups of rock crystals. Beautiful photography, she thought, impressed with his eye for detail — Thomas Faraday had had skill and talent.
Taiku jumped up next to her on the couch and butted his wet nose aga
inst her neck. Kala laughed and set down the photos, giving him some affection for all the hours she’d left him alone. “You’re so good to come home to, boy,” she said rubbing his ears before picking up a photo and inspecting the image. She set the picture down and grabbed a handful more, flipping through them and setting these in a pile on the table. She repeated this action four more times before doing a double take. “What have we here?” she wondered aloud. She held the photo close to her eyes.
The shot looked to have been taken through a window into one of the cabins. Two women close. Talking. She identified Petra and Martha. So far, Thomas had kept to images of scenery and nature, and a picture with people as subjects was a novelty. Kala grabbed another handful of pictures from the box. Each photo became more erotic. Petra touching Martha’s face. The two women kissing, Petra unbuttoning Martha’s blouse, both women lying naked on the bed. The last image in the series had captured a different camera angle reflecting off the window. Kala held the photo closer. Rachel Eglan was ghostly but recognizable, standing off to the side, her line of vision on the photographer, her mouth open as if saying something. She might have caught Faraday in the act of photographing the two women, or more likely, Rachel and Faraday were working as a team.
Rachel could have led Faraday to the window if she’d known what was going on inside the cabin. She’d had cleaning duties in addition to working in the kitchen, so not outside the realm of possibility.
Had Shane and Neal known what their wives were up to?
Kala picked up another pile of photos. In this batch, Faraday had chosen Rachel as his model, supporting the idea that they’d had a connection. Close-ups of her face hamming it up for the camera. Pouting. Sticking her tongue out. Blowing kisses. She’d posed for several in her bathing suit, matching the photos they’d found on his camera, but also in other outfits as if doing a portfolio shoot. Faraday had taken photos of her from a distance, too, and Kala had the sense that he’d shot them without her knowledge. In some she was walking away from the camera, sometimes alone and other times with Neal Lorring. In one, Neal had his head thrown back laughing, and Rachel’s face in profile looked animated … happy. Faraday had taken a series of Rachel working in the restaurant. The word obsessive seemed accurate as Kala flipped through photo after photo, stopping at a string of pictures of Rachel in what looked like a heated argument with Petra.
Why had he chosen these ones to print?
Kala sat for a long time afterward, trying to make sense of all the images, wondering if these photos were the reason someone had murdered Rachel and Faraday. Faraday could have been using the prints of Petra and Martha as blackmail. Rachel had likely been in on the scheme. Kala remembered Petra saying that Rachel was sneaky, listening at doors, inserting herself where she didn’t belong. A lonely girl wanting a bigger life. Nobody else had accused Rachel, but Petra might have had reason. The argument between her and Rachel caught on camera could have been over Faraday’s photos.
Both Petra’s and Martha’s marriages were on the rocks after this summer, with or without their husbands knowing about their affair with each other. Could the photos do more damage, or had they been leaked to the men like slow-acting poison? Had Faraday threatened to put them on the internet? Kala paused and played the scenario out in her head. The pictures could be easily scanned and uploaded. This was a small community, and business would suffer drastically if the town believed Pine Hollow Lodge was a den of adultery. Isabelle Eglan would have pulled Rachel out of there and whipped up religious fervour against the place.
Kala leaned her head back against the couch and closed her eyes, exhausted by the possibilities. The murders might have had nothing to do with Rachel and Phil Bocock’s relationship. The damning photos and underlying tensions that she’d sensed from the start pointed to the killer living at Pine Hollow Lodge. The murders spoke of desperation. Of all-consuming anger.
Kala thought back over the day. She pictured Petra sitting with Rouleau on her dock earlier this afternoon and replayed their conversation as retold to her by Rouleau. If you want to know who Rachel was sleeping with …
Her eyes snapped open. Rouleau had said that Neal Lorring had been watching him and Petra. Rouleau had found it odd that Neal didn’t reveal himself until Petra noticed him camouflaged by the woods. On approach, Neal had been angry and said that he had something to discuss with Petra in private. “Never found out what he wanted,” Rouleau said. Kala’s heart lurched.
She pushed herself to her feet and Taiku leapt off the couch, on guard next to her. She could hear the rain pattering against the roof, see the night pressing against the window. The last thing she wanted to do was step outside into the foul weather, but Clark had sent word earlier that everyone was free to leave. The window of time in which to corner the killer was narrowing, because tomorrow the lodge would be all but empty. If she was going to press the issue, force the killer into slipping up, it had to be tonight.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Martha sat alone in their cabin, staring out the living room window in the direction of the lake. She couldn’t see the water, with the exception of the raindrops splattering the pane, but the thought of the rolling waves and warm sand beach soothed her.
She loved this property. Land handed down from her father to her, and if things had gone as planned, to her and Neal’s children. A family linked through time and space by Pine Hollow Lodge — the idea had started as a yearning that grew over the last few years into a need. She’d tried so hard to have a child with Neal but four miscarriages later she’d become weary. Worn out from grief with the need for a baby making her physically ill. She’d finally persuaded Neal to give in vitro a go when they got back to Cobourg, but that was before he’d found out about her afternoons with Petra.
What the hell was I thinking? She hadn’t been thinking — that was the problem.
She hadn’t seen Neal since late morning when they’d actually had a conversation and cleared the air about a few things that had been bothering her. She’d told him that Petra saw him with Rachel and that it had hurt her. Maybe it didn’t make up for her own infidelity, but this proved that neither of them had been innocent this summer. She asked him to bury all their mistakes and start over. A baby would be a new beginning for all of them. She’d forgive his affair with Rachel if he could do the same for her with Petra.
Neal had sat very still while she spoke, head lowered, eyes on his folded hands. He’d waited for her to finish speaking before looking up. “Petra has not been much help to either of us,” he said at last. His eyes flashed with an expression that startled her. He was angry, and maybe she should have anticipated this. After all, Petra had betrayed him twice. The first time by seducing his wife and the second by telling his wife about his own infidelity.
“We can get past all this.” She reached out and grabbed one of his hands. She knew that Neal hated it when she begged, but she was willing to do whatever it took to get him back. She’d more than proven that. He was the only man she wanted to have a child with. He was her soulmate. “Please, Neal. Give me … give us another chance. I’ll spend the rest of my life making up for this summer.”
“I have to think,” he said, pulling his hand away. He looked ill. “I need some space.”
“Of course. I’ll be here waiting for you.”
She chewed on a fingernail and thought about pouring a glass of wine and making a sandwich. She’d been too nervous to eat all day but knew she had to get some nourishment into her or she’d become lightheaded. She stood at the same time as she heard a knock at the front door. Before she had time to cross the floor the door slammed open and banged against the wall, causing a reverberation throughout the cabin. Petra flew inside, hair sopping wet, eyes searching the room like a wild bird checking for predators. Her gaze landed on Martha.
“There you are,” she said and crossed the space between them without taking off her wet shoes. They squelched on the hardwood floor with each step. She stopped a few feet from Martha.
“Neal told me to come and apologize this morning. I needed time to think about it.”
“Whatever for?”
Petra’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here standing in the almost-dark?”
“Thinking. Are you okay, Petra? You seem kind of …” she wanted to say crazed, but settled on “off-kilter. What did Neal send you to apologize for?”
“I’m not well. Not really. I have to get my medication sorted. It’s nothing to worry about.”
Martha moved past her and turned on the overhead lights. The candles she’d lit on the coffee table flickered as she passed, the melted wax nearly engulfing the wicks. She bent and blew out the feeble flames. She may as well tell Petra now, since Neal was reconsidering their future and she believed he would take her back. “The police are letting us leave tomorrow. There was a message on my phone.”
Petra bobbed up and down in place. “They’ve arrested Rachel’s English teacher. Phil Bocock was screwing her.”
She knew that girl was evil. “Him, too? Seems our Rachel was having quite the summer.”
Petra’s face burned red. She was frowning even though laughter bubbled out of her throat. “The thing is, I was wrong about that. Neal never had anything going with Rachel. I misspoke to you, and Neal’s livid.”
“But you said …” Martha’s heart went cold. She spoke slowly and calmly as if to a child. “You told me that Neal and Rachel were having sex. You said that you saw them together.”
“Together walking. Not together-together.”
Martha’s voice dropped to a whisper. “What have you done?”
“It was an honest mistake.”
“No, it wasn’t. You made me believe that Neal was having sex with our waitress. Our teenage waitress. You took great delight in telling me. In fact, you told me that he was in love with her.” Martha’s brain was scrambling for a toehold in the horror that cascaded down around her. “Where’s Neal now?”
Closing Time Page 26
