The Body in the Beach House

by Grace York

  "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 F
acebook, 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.

  "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 t
o 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.