The Body in the Beach House

by Grace York

  "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 go 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, Patrick, 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 Addison. "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.

  "I'm going to call it a night," Ivy said when Adam took a breath.

  "Oh, okay," said Addison. "I guess it's been a long day. See you in the morning."

  Ivy took her dishes through to the kitchen before she came back for her laptop. "Goodnight," she said, and headed up the front stairs.

  "Goodnight," said Adam and Addison together.

  Addison asked Adam to keep going with his story, but her phone rang before he could get back to it. She checked the caller display. Wilcox.

  "Hello?"

  "Hi. I'm sorry to call so late, but I thought you'd want to know. We've made an arrest in relation to the murder of Patrick Wilde."

  "An arrest? Who?"

  "Louie Liu."

  23

  Addison had gone to bed with thoughts of Louie's arrest whirling in her mind. She'd told Adam, then they'd knocked on the girls' doors and informed them all. Everyone was surprised, of course, but also quite relieved.

  Although it was hard to think of the quiet contractor who'd worked in her house and yard for weeks as a murderer, Addison had to admit she was relieved it wasn't any of her boarders. Maybe now she could answer Ivy's question – yes, she'd be able to keep running the beach house as a place for writers and artists to live and work.

  Wilcox had promised to call first thing in the morning to explain the details of the arrest, and Addison found herself awake very early. She was up and dressed and down in the kitchen by six, joined by Amelie for the day's baking. Hazel had called last night and requested something vegan for the cafe today, so Addison was keen to try a new recipe. She'd found one for a vegan chocolate cake that looked promising.

  Amelie pre-heated the oven and greased the cake tins while Addison set about melting chocolate and coconut milk together in the microwave. The recipe sounded so good she doubled the ingredients, so she could make a larger cake for Hazel and a smaller one for the beach house.

  "When did he say he'd call?" Amelie asked. She'd finished preparing the cake tins for Addison, and was about to make a batch of Anzac biscuits – another request from Hazel.

  "Detective Wilcox? He didn't give me a time, just said this morning. He knows I'm an early riser, though, so I expect we won't have to wait too long." Isaac hadn't given her too many details on the phone last night. It was late, and he still had paperwork to fill out after interviewing Louie. Addison was anxious to hear the details of the arrest.

  "Do you think Louie killed Patrick then hid in the wardrobe?" Amelie asked.

  "I'm not sure," said Addison. "I can't think of any other way for him to have done it and locked the bedroom door again when he left. He didn't know there was a spare key."

  "No, I can't think of any other way either. The doors to the balcony were definitely locked, weren't they?"

  "Yes," said Addison.

  Amelie measured the oats into her mixing bowl. "It's a strange feeling, isn't it? Knowing they've caught him, I mean."

  "I know what you mean," Addison agreed. "But it's only just happened. They've arrested him, but let's wait to get the details from Detective Wilcox." It was in the back of her mind that arrested didn't necessarily mean guilty, but she didn't want to say that out loud.

  They worked away in silence until the rest of the household woke and joined them in the kitchen. Then the discussion got lively.

  "I told you it was him," said Adam, pouring way too much milk onto his cereal as usual. "I just knew it. He looked shifty."

  "You did say that," Ivy agreed. "Have they charged him yet?" she asked Addison.

  "I don't know," said Addison. She checked the timer; the smaller of the two cakes should be just about done by now. "We're still waiting for Isaac to call."

  "Isaac?" said Ivy with a smirk. "I thought he was Detective Wilcox? Is there something going on we should know about?"

  "No, nothing like that," Addison replied. "It's a small town. Everyone knows everyone. That's all."

  "I don't know him well enough to call him Isaac," said Adam, joining in.

  Addison's eyes pleaded with Layla for help, but her cousin was no use. "I reckon he likes you," Layla said. "But I told you that already."

  "No you didn't," said Addison. She would have remembered that.

  "Oh no? Maybe I told Olivia." Layla smiled and grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl. "I'm off to meet the contractor at the gallery site. Let me know how you get on with Isaac."

  Addison shook her head and focused on her chocolate cakes. She poked a skewer into the smaller one, and it came out clean. She put her oven mitts on and pulled it out of the oven.

  "That looks awesome," said Adam. "What is it?"

  "Vegan chocolate cake," Addison replied.

  "Vegan? What on earth for?"

  "Special request from Hazel. Apparently a lot of the tourists have been asking for vegan treats. This recipe looked good, so I thought I'd give it a try. Amelie made some Anzac biscuits if you don't fancy the cake."

  Adam shook his head. "Nope, I'm not fussy. If it looks good and tastes good, I don't care what's in it. Or not in it."

  "You're the type of house guest I like," said Addison. She checked the large cake, but it wasn't quite done. "Five more minutes for that one, I reckon."

  The doorbell rang just as she was closing the oven door.

  "I'll get it," said Amelie. A minute later she was back in the kitchen with Isaac.

  "I thought you were going to call?" said Addison, careful not to use his first name and face further r
idicule from her boarders.

  "I was, but I need to take another look in Patrick's room. May I?"

  "Help yourself." Addison pointed to the staircase, intending to let him go up by himself, but was bombarded with questioning stares. "Mind if I join you?" she added.

  He shrugged, so she asked Amelie to keep an eye on the cake and followed him up to Patrick's room.

  "So come on, tell me," she said once they were in the room. "What made you arrest Louie? Do you think he killed Patrick?"

  "I wouldn't have arrested him for murder otherwise, would I?" Isaac opened the wardrobe door and stood thoughtfully in front of it.

  Addison hoped he wasn't in a difficult mood. "No, fair point. You think he hid in there?"

  "It's possible. Run me through what happened again?"

  Addison described the events of that day, starting from Ivy's scream, and finishing with Louie arriving in the great room once they were all seated at the dining table.

  "And no-one opened the wardrobe door," said Isaac.

  "No. Adam and Dan unhooked the rope from the door knob and lay Patrick on the floor. He was our focus, not the wardrobe itself."

  "Yes. We found both their fingerprints on the rope."

  Addison was glad he hadn't said noose. It was still difficult being in this room, the sight of Patrick's body still very much at the forefront of her mind. "Were Louie's fingerprints on the rope as well?" she asked.

  Issac shook his head. "No. We didn't find his prints anywhere in this room, or on the body. But then he could have worn gloves."

  "True. He has a pair of gardening gloves. I've seen him wearing them. What made you arrest him?"

  Issac turned to face Addison. "We found traces of cocaine in this room," he said. "Louie has form for drugs, and he wouldn't account for the discrepancy in his story to you versus what he told us. He maintains he didn't hear anything, said you all must have been mistaken about him saying he heard screaming."

  Addison shook her head. "No, that's definitely what he said."

  "Yes. When I challenged him further he asked for a lawyer, so we stopped the interview. We'll pick it up again this afternoon after we've searched his house."