by Reagan Davis
So I’ve noticed.
Kelly’s face changes from sad and heavy to frustrated and tense.
“I told him who did it. I told him it’s Ryan Wright, but he’s still walking around Harmony Lake a free man.” She shrugs with both hands in front of her.
“How can you be sure it’s Ryan?”
I’m glad April asked, because I wanted to, but held back for fear of upsetting Kelly even more.
Kelly looks at me. “Remember when I told you Paul thought Ryan wasn’t trustworthy and didn’t want him in the salon or apartment?”
I nod.
“Well, Ryan tried to talk my Paul into an insurance scam involving the business.”
She opens her eyes wide and pauses for a reaction. I open my eyes wide in response and make my best surprised face.
“Ryan said he knows a guy who will pay big money for the new salon equipment. They could make it look like a robbery and I could make an insurance claim to get the stolen equipment replaced. Ryan would give us half of the proceeds of the sale.”
“Wow!” I say out loud, even though I meant to say it in my head.
“I know, right?” Kelly says. “I couldn’t believe it. I thought Paul misunderstood what Ryan was suggesting, but then he told me that Ryan has done this kind of thing before. Apparently, he went to jail a few years ago for stealing from his employer and re-selling the stolen goods.”
“What did Paul say when Ryan suggested this scheme?” April asks, shocked.
“He told Ryan we didn’t want anything to do with it and told him if any of my equipment went missing, we’d go straight to the police and tell them it was Ryan who did it.”
Paul has a pattern of lying and blackmail, and Ryan has a history that includes time in jail for a similar robbery scheme. Which one of them is lying, and which one is telling the truth?
Kelly and her cart of cleaning supplies make their way toward the pharmacy to find her sister, and April and I and our carts of butter resume shopping and checking items off our lists.
“They don’t look alike, do they?” April observes, pointing to Kelly and her sister who are leaving the store with their purchases. “Kelly is blonde and lean, and her sister is brunette and curvy. Like you and me.”
“She seems convinced that Ryan killed Paul,” I point out.
“She also seems convinced everyone loved him and thought he was a great guy. It was like she was describing a completely different person. Grief must have a way of changing our perspective and making us only remember the parts that we want to remember of the person we lost.”
“So is her judgment clouded by grief, or is she blaming Ryan to keep the investigation focused on him and not on her?” I ask rhetorically.
We check out and I follow April to her car so I can transfer the butter from my cart to her trunk.
“Who has a stronger motive,” I ask, “Kelly or Ryan?”
“I think it’s relative,” April replies. “What might not be a big deal to one person might be enough for another person to commit murder.”
“And they both have something to gain from Paul’s death,” I add. “Kelly’s business would be protected from Paul’s gambling, and Ryan’s criminal history would stay a secret.”
“But did they both have opportunity?” April asks as she closes her trunk. “If Archie is telling the truth, Ryan couldn’t have done it and only Kelly had the opportunity. She was in the salon while he was right upstairs. She just had to distract Mrs. Pearson long enough to go up there and kill him.”
We say good-bye. I walk my cart over to my car, load my groceries in the trunk and head home to take something for the headache I can feel coming on.
Chapter 17
Wednesday, September 18th
I’m walking along Water Street on my way to Knitorious to join Connie. She and I are going together from the store to the Irish Embassy for Paul’s celebration of life.
The sunny, warm weather is a stark contrast to the sombre, serious, mood of the town. It’s not every day that Harmony Lake buries one of its own, never mind someone as young as Paul or a murder victim.
The WSBA and the town council decided that Water Street businesses could close early today so everyone can attend Paul’s celebration of life. The irony of Water Street closing early isn’t lost on me. Paul devoted his life to enforcing compliance with every town and WSBA bylaw and ordinance. I don’t think he would approve of closing Water Street early on a business day for anyone’s funeral, even his own. But, maybe that’s the point, to honour Paul in a way that would really mean something to him by changing the rules to accommodate him. Or maybe it’s a passive-aggressive way to violate a bunch of bylaws at once since there’s nothing Paul can do about it.
It took me a while to decide what to wear. The weather is too fall-like to wear a summer dress and too warm for a winter dress, so I settled on a knee-length, black jersey-knit dress with three-quarter length sleeves, and black calf-high leather boots. I pulled my hair back into a quick French twist and chose not to fight with the few rebellious curls around my face that refused to cooperate.
To add a bit of colour to my all-black ensemble, I switched out my black tote bag for my pumpkin-coloured tote bag. I always carry a tote bag large enough to accommodate my usual purse items along with a knitting project or two, and over the years, I’ve acquired an impressive collection of them.
Adam texted to say he’ll meet Connie and I there because he has an appointment. I heard him on the phone yesterday, and it sounded like he was making arrangements to view an apartment. I’m hoping that’s the appointment he has today, and that he likes it, wants to live there and will be telling me soon that he’s moving out.
We’ve decided to start slowly telling our friends and neighbours about our separation after today, so we don’t upstage Paul’s day. Today, we’ll attend the celebration of life together and keep up appearances. We’re quite good at that, we’ve had a lot of practice. The fact that we’re arriving separately won’t raise any eyebrows because the whole town knows he’s a workaholic, and people are used to me arriving at events on my own.
I’m about the reach into my bag for my keys, but I decide to turn the handle and see if the door is already unlocked. It is. I open the door at Knitorious and listen for the jingle above the door. The familiarity makes me feel warm and comfortable. Connie is sitting in the cozy area with Archie Wright and two ladies from the book club.
“Hello, my dear!” Connie waves me over to them. “We’re just having a quick cup of tea before we head over. We thought we’d arrive as a group, apparently several community groups are sending a delegation of ambassadors, so we decided we would, too!”
Harlow is curled in a ball and sleeping on her lap.
I greet Connie’s friends and make polite small talk while I help to clear the tea cups from the large square coffee table and return them to the sink in the kitchenette.
Our envoy leaves Knitorious, and we walk up Water Street to the crosswalk in front of The Irish Embassy. There are a few people dressed in dark, conservative attire loitering outside the pub entrance, chatting and soaking up the nice weather.
Archie opens the pub door and holds it while the rest of us file past him to enter the building. Or at least we try to enter the building. The pub is completely packed. One step past the doorway and we hit a wall of darkly clad people crammed too close together. Personal space does not exist here, we’re literally rubbing shoulders with each other. Well, I’m on the shorter side, so I tend to rub just below the shoulder of most people.
The Irish Embassy is a good-sized pub. It’s the equivalent of two of the stores on the north side of Water Street. The main floor has a long double-sided bar in the centre of the space with stools lining both sides of the bar. The bar also is surrounded by various types of seating, including booths along the walls, tables and chairs in the centre, and a couple of cozy sitting areas with sofas and club chairs around a fireplace. If a dance floor is needed, the tables and chairs
can be cleared away to make enough space to dance. There's also room for a band or booth for a DJ.
During tourist season, Sheamus often books local bands for Thursday and Friday nights. It’s usually standing room only, but it's still never been as busy as this wake. There’s a centre hall staircase immediately behind the bar that leads upstairs where there are two large function rooms, one with a large boardroom-style table and chairs, and one that’s empty but can be set up as required. Sheamus’ office is also up there, with a couple of extra washrooms, and a large open foyer overlooking the main floor with an intricate wood railing to lean on.
The upstairs is usually closed to the public and available only to private functions renting one of the rooms. Behind the staircase there are more tables and chairs; it’s usually quieter behind the stairs than the rest of the pub, so that’s a good place to hang out when you want to hear the people you’re speaking with. Beyond that is the patio door. The Irish Embassy is one of the few businesses on the south side of Water Street so the patio overlooks the park and the water. It’s a beautiful place to spend a summer evening. The patio has tables, chairs, umbrellas, and if there’s a live band, the music is piped out to the patio with speakers.
“Wow!” I say as I turn to look at Connie.
“He was young, and involved in every committee, club, cause, and group in town.” She shrugs. “I was expecting a full house, but I never imagined it would be like this!”
We suck in our shoulders and try to make ourselves as small as possible to move through the crowd.
Luckily, April is tall and easy to spot. I can see the top of her blonde head about ten feet ahead of me.
“Excuse me! Pardon me! Sorry! Can I just squeeze past? Thank you!” I repeat as I navigate through the tightly packed space. I’m regretting my tote bag because of the extra space it’s taking up, and I’m temporarily envious of April who never carries a purse, just a wristlet that acts as both a wallet and phone case.
“I made it!” I declare triumphantly, then give April and Tamara a hug. “But I’ve lost Connie along the way.”
I scan the area immediately around us, but can’t see Connie. She’s been absorbed into the crowd.
We’re discussing how packed the pub is and how warm it is with all these people so close to one another when I see the top of Adam’s head making its way through the crowd in our direction.
When he reaches us, I squeeze closer to April to help make room for him. He greets April and Tamara each with a hug and cheek kiss. I’m watching them chat and can’t help but notice how flattering his tailored suit is, and while he’s always been handsome, age and maturity have only increased his attractiveness.
My mother always said a well-tailored suit is to women what lingerie is to men, and she was right. I catch myself giving him an appreciative head-to-toe-glance and feel a twinge of sadness remembering how once upon a time, seeing him dressed up and watching him charm a room would elicit a stronger physical response from me than just an admiring glance. I can’t remember the last time my heart skipped a beat, or I felt the flutter of butterflies in my belly with Adam.
I’m trying to figure out the exact moment that everything changed and we stopped being in love, when the person standing behind me and I accidentally bump into each other. We both turn to apologize at the same time, and I see that it’s Phillip Wilde, my neighbour at home and at work.
“Hi Phillip. Sorry to bump you. Sometimes the force of the crowd just kind of moves me, you know?”
I smile and place a hand on his shoulder to steady myself against the movement of the crowd. He leans in and we exchange a double cheek kiss.
“I know what you mean,” he whispers in my ear because that’s how close he is. “It took us twenty minutes to make our way over to Kelly to give our condolences. I don’t think I’ll last much longer in this suit. It’s getting too warm in here with all the people.”
He fans his hand in front of his face.
“I hear ya!” I say.
I sympathize with him about the crowd. Being on the shorter side, crowds always feel overwhelming to me. I feel less visible when I’m surrounded by a lot of people, like I’m being swallowed up.
Suddenly, the atmosphere changes and the crowd loosens up. We’re able to spread out a bit, move our elbows and breathe a little more deeply. I stand on my tippy toes to look around the pub.
“Where is Kelly?” I ask Phillip.
Phillip points over his left shoulder, raises his eyebrows and says, “About twenty minutes that way. She’s with her sister and brother-in-law near the fireplace. You might be able to get there in ten minutes now that the crowd has eased up, and if you don’t run into too many people you know.”
“In this town?” I ask jokingly. “Where everyone knows everyone else?”
We laugh and I turn back to Adam, April, and Tamara.
“It looks like Sheamus opened the patio and upstairs,” Adam says, looking up and pointing toward the ceiling.
I’m grateful for the extra space. I silently thank Sheamus for relieving the pressure and letting in the fresh air I can feel starting to come through the patio doors. Then I look up to where Adam is pointing and see people spilling into the open area at the top of the stairs. My eyes follow the line of the wooden railing then stop when I see Eric leaning against it, drink in hand, assessing the crowd below. I catch his gaze, smile, and wave. He smiles back and lifts his drink.
Interesting. I guess it makes sense for him to be here, watching and listening. Does that mean the killer might be here, too, blending in with everyone else, pretending to be a grieving friend and neighbour? I shudder and pull myself back to the here and now.
“Now that there’s space to move, we should find Kelly,” I suggest. “Phillip said she’s with her sister and brother-in-law near the fireplace.”
I jerk my head in the direction Phillip pointed to earlier. We move single file through the less crowded room, stopping every few feet to say hello to a neighbour, hug a friend, or smile at an acquaintance.
When we get to Kelly, there’s a line of people ahead of us waiting to offer their condolences. Even grieving and traumatized she’s one of the most beautiful, graceful women I know. It’s just who she is. Her blonde hair is pulled into a low bun, and she’s wearing a thin, black, long sleeve turtleneck, a pair of high-rise black wide-leg pants and simple black pumps. Her wedding ring and gold stud earrings are her only jewelry. She’s not wearing any makeup and her eyes look swollen and red from crying and probably lack of sleep. She looks exhausted. Poor Kelly. She’s having the worst week of her life, but she still manages to put on a smile and deal with a town’s worth of people who all want a few minutes with her to offer their sympathies.
My heart breaks for her and I feel like a huge jerk. She’s obviously devastated about her husband’s death, and here I am thinking she could be the person who killed him.
As I watch how gracefully Kelly handles everything going on around her, and admiring her strength, I see a man’s hand comes into view. It disappears behind Kelly’s upper back and moves up and down in a rubbing motion. My gaze follows the arm to see the rest of the man attached to it.
It’s Fred!
Fred Murphy is rubbing Kelly’s back.
Chapter 18
I look away from Fred long enough to grab April’s arm.
”Are you seeing this?!” I ask, trying to whisper but making more of an angry hissing sound.
April looks away from her wife, and her eyes widen when she sees Fred.
“Is that?” April asks incredulously.
“Yup! That’s Fred the blackmailer,” I say, interrupting her before she can finish her sentence. “Why is he standing with Kelly?”
I should just stop trying to whisper. Subtlety doesn’t seem to be an option currently available to me.
“So… if that’s Fred, does that mean the woman on the other side of Kelly is his wife, Stephanie?” April asks. “Are Stephanie and Kelly sisters?”
&
nbsp; April’s head is still facing Fred, but her eyes are looking at me when she speaks, “I’m sure she’s the same woman who was with Kelly at the Shop’n’Save, remember?”
Whoa! My mind is blown.
I scan the room for Adam and spot him by the bar talking to Sheamus. Narrowing my eyes on my target, I inhale sharply and walk over there.
“Hi Sheamus,” I say, smiling at him while I clench Adam’s forearm, “you really have your hands full today. Do you mind if I borrow Adam for a moment?”
I speak quickly, and without waiting for a response, lead Adam to a quiet, less-populated, corner of the pub. I look him in the eye.
“Is that your girlfriend standing next to Kelly Sinclair? Look behind me, eleven o’clock.”
Adam looks. He blinks and does a double take, as if he can’t believe what he sees. His reaction answers my question; the woman standing next to Kelly is Stephanie Murphy. Stephanie and Kelly are sisters. Fred and Paul are brothers-in-law.
Feeling overwhelmed as I make the connections in my head, I walk to the nearest table and sit down. It’s already occupied, but there’s an empty chair. I smile at the people already sitting there.
“Do you mind if I just sit for a moment and catch my breath?”
They all say “of course” slightly out of sync and nod and smile. One of them asks me if I need anything.
“Just to rest for a moment, thanks,” I reply, smiling.
I fiddle with my ring and observe Stephanie from the safety of the full table.
Stephanie and Kelly aren’t alike at all, and I don’t just mean their appearance.
Where Kelly is blonde, slender, and graceful, Stephanie is brunette, curvy, and appears uncomfortable greeting people and making small talk.
Where Kelly has beautiful taste and a classic sense of style, Stephanie is wearing a grey pant suit a size larger than her body, cream-coloured blouse and sensible cream flats that are definitely function over style.
