Duncan bent down and moved Houdini away from his leg, giving his butt a little shove to guide him away. “Fletcher always had a soft spot for cats,” he said in a tone communicating he didn’t share the same feature.
“He seemed to enjoy it here, that’s for sure.” Marjorie frowned at a thought. “Did the police tell you I was the one to report him missing?”
“No.” He held out the phone again, pointing to Esme’s blurry massage sign in the background. “But it didn’t take me long to work out where this had been taken.”
“You should be a detective.”
He wrinkled his nose, turning and staring around the room before facing her again. “Why’d you report him if you barely knew him?”
“I didn’t say that. For a customer, I knew him very well.”
Duncan shrugged. “It just seems odd. Where did he sit? Did he have a favourite table?”
“Over there,” Marjorie said, pointing. “Why don’t you take a seat, and I’ll bring you over something to eat and a cup of coffee.”
He sat, accepting her offer with such haste Marjorie had to suppress a smile as she turned to her workstation. With a plate full up with two cinnamon rolls and a pat of butter, she balanced another Americano for herself and a fluffy cappuccino for Duncan and walked to the table.
“Thanks for this,” he said. “I spend a sleepless night, convincing myself I should let the police handle things and just go to work as usual.” He took a quick sip, testing the temperature, then a longer one. “As you can see, I didn’t make a persuasive argument.”
“What more can I help you with?” Marjorie sipped at her coffee slowly, aware her nerves were already hyper. “I wasn’t able to tell the police very much, I’m afraid.”
“I don’t know.” Duncan rubbed his hands over his face. “How about friends? Do you know who he hung around with?”
“His girlfriend’s Adelaide Rowland. She lives down in the township if you want her address.”
“That’ll be good.” He sat back, staring over her shoulder, out the window. “Although I suppose it’s early to be making house calls.”
“Oh, dang it!”
Marjorie turned at the sharp voice to see Cecelia standing in the entrance. “I’m too late again, I see.”
“Too late for what?” Duncan asked, his eyebrows arching.
Cecelia frowned, glancing from him to Marjorie with a query in her eyes. “To sit at my favourite table.”
“This is Duncan Byrne,” Marjorie said, getting to her feet and picking up the empty dishes. “He’s Fletcher’s brother. And this is Cecelia Armock, another regular at the café.”
“I can move,” Duncan offered as Marjorie retreated behind the counter. “It’s no bother. Did you know Fletcher well?”
As the two of them chatted, Cecelia softening more than Marjorie had witnessed before, she picked up with the morning tasks she’d dropped to serve the unexpected arrival. Houdini decided it was a great time to play, nudging her in the legs and depositing a feather toy at her feet.
“Why don’t you take it over to the table?” she whispered to the kitten, pointing to where Duncan and Cecelia were deep in conversation. “I’m sure they’d appreciate the gesture.”
But the grey kitten just stared at her through his golden eyes, playing statue. Marjorie gave a sigh and fluttered the feather just out of the Chartreux’s reach, keeping him busy chasing it until more morning customers arrived.
“I will take that address if you have it,” Duncan said an hour later as he came up to the counter. “Once I’ve been back to the police station to check in with them, I’ll pay her a visit. It’ll be a decent hour by then.”
Thinking of Braden’s late waking habits, Marjorie warned, “Leave it until after lunchtime, just to be sure.”
“Perhaps you’re right. Do you know of a good place to stay in town? Not too expensive.”
“Aren’t you staying at your brother’s house?”
Duncan shrugged. “It feels like an intrusion to stay there without his permission.”
“But he’d ask you to stay with him if he were here, wouldn’t he?”
“I suppose.”
“And you might find something useful inside.” Marjorie clapped a hand to her forehead. “Except you don’t have a key. Doh. Forget I spoke.”
“Actually”—Duncan fished around in his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a house key—“I do. We exchanged them the last time I was up here.”
“Isn’t that inconvenient if you’re both renting?”
Another shrug. “It’s a three-hour round trip, and I’d get to see my brother. Hardly the worst arrangement in the world.” His face clouded over. “I’d feel funny going in his space alone.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” Marjorie put forward the offer with little thought and was glad to see the man’s countenance brighten. “I can’t come now”—she waved her hands towards the few diners—“but come back at three and we can go together.”
The rest of her Monday opening hours passed so quickly, Marjorie felt she’d only had time to blink and Duncan was back in the café. Houdini trotted up to see him, sniffing at the man’s foot and backing away with a few forlorn mews.
“I guess I don’t measure up to my brother, eh?” Duncan asked as he leaned down to give the upset kitten a pat. Houdini allowed a few strokes, then trotted away. A moment later, he jumped up on the windowsill, attempting to push Chaplin from his favourite sunning spot. The ragdoll bristled and held firm. Eventually, the two settled down together.
“Are they okay on their own?” Duncan asked as Marjorie popped away the café sign and locked the entrance behind her.
“They’ll be fine,” she reassured him. “When I’m out, Monkey Business is in charge and he lets them all know it. Sometimes I think they prefer having a rest from human interaction. Are you happy giving me a lift or would you prefer us to take separate vehicles?”
“Jump in mine. I don’t have a problem dropping you home later.”
As they travelled down the hillside, Marjorie pointed out a few spots of local interest. The turnoff to the campsite was one, along with the lovely walking trails surrounding the Dog Stream Reserve.
She regaled him with a quick anecdote about finding a mushroom there that—by the time she found a matching description online to verify its safety to eat—had decomposed into a mess of brown liquid and cream spores.
“It’s the next turnoff on the right,” Marjorie instructed as they drew closer to Fletcher’s home. “And then the third house on the right, with the cream gate.”
They pulled up outside, and she waved to Efron whose tousled head was just visible over the sectional fence.
“Did you know the police have been around?” he called out as soon as she slid from the passenger seat. “Yesterday, I kept telling myself everything was okay, then this morning, the old blues and twos were pulling up outside my door.”
“I hope they didn’t cause you any trouble,” Marjorie said, walking right up to the fence as Efron briefly ducked out of sight, then banged his head straightening up again. “Adelaide and I decided we should let them know, just in case.”
“Hm. Well, they got nothing out of me, I can tell you. I’m not a grass.”
Marjorie frowned. “Fletcher isn’t in any trouble. They’re just trying to find him so we can make sure he’s okay.”
Efron tapped the side of his nose. “My lips are sealed.”
Giving up, she walked over to join Duncan at the front door. His hand shook as he tried to slot the key home. “I’m terrified we’re going to walk inside and there’ll be this awful smell.”
“Oh, don’t.” Marjorie gently elbowed him to one side. “I’ll take a sniff and let you know if it’s all clear but I’m sure Fletcher isn’t hiding away inside here. His car’s nowhere around.”
Still, her heart beat at a rapid pace as she pulled the door open and took a tentative step inside the room. Apart from the slight mustiness of an unaired h
ouse, there was nothing to assault her olfactory senses.
“Come on in,” she said with a nod to Duncan. “If your brother is hiding away inside here, he’s still alive and well.”
Duncan scowled. “If he is skulking around in here, he won’t stay that way for long.”
But inside, there was no sign of Fletcher. At first, the two stayed together as they searched the kitchen and the front parlour, separating as they walked down the corridor and popped their heads in the side rooms.
“What is all this stuff?” Marjorie asked, seeing the boxes of computer equipment from the other side. The unopened boxes were stacked high in the bedroom, cutting out the afternoon sunlight from the side window.
“I don’t know.” Duncan frowned as he checked the labels, then lifted a box and hefted its weight. “Do you have a pocketknife handy?”
“Do I look like a woman who carries weapons?” Marjorie asked with a smile, rather fancying the idea. “I’ll see if there’s something suitable in the kitchen.
She strode back along the corridor, picking up a pair of scissors from the knife block. As she stepped out of the room, movement from the adjoining property caught her eye and she walked into the lounge instead.
Efron stood with a pair of binoculars fixed on the room where Duncan was, and the boxes of equipment. When Marjorie crossed to the window and pulled aside the net curtain, his focus changed, then he ducked behind the fence.
“I’m just popping next door, okay?” Marjorie said as she handed over the scissors. “There’s something weird going on with Fletcher’s neighbour.”
“Need a hand?”
Marjorie hesitated for a second before shaking her head. “Nah, I’m good. There’s plenty of foot traffic to yell to if I get caught off guard.”
Besides, she couldn’t imagine the rumpled and slightly disorientated man of the day before posing a threat. One push and his natural clumsiness would take care of the rest.
Efron was coming out the front door as Marjorie hurried up the path and he staggered to one side to avoid a collision. “Why were you peering at Fletcher’s house?” Marjorie demanded before the man could open his mouth. “I saw you with your binoculars.”
“I was… bird-watching,” Efron said with a sickly grin. “Nothing more. You’ve misunderstood—”
“I understand exactly what I saw.” Marjorie inched closer to the man until she invaded his personal space. “Do you have something illegal going on with Fletcher? Is that why you were so desperate to avoid talking to the police?”
“I don’t know what you’re on about,” Efron said with an indignant sniff. “I’m just a next-door neighbour who occasionally likes to share a beer. Nothing more.”
“So you won’t mind if we call the police and ask them about the stash of boxes in Fletcher’s room?”
Efron’s face drained of blood, his lips so pale they appeared blue. “Now, now. There’s no need to trouble our boys in—”
“My friend is an officer. I swear, it’s no trouble on my part.” Marjorie hauled her phone out of her pocket and clicked into her contacts list. “Her private number is listed right here.”
“No!” Efron struck the phone from her hand and it skittered across the concrete path, landing in the grass. “It’s nothing to do with his disappearance, okay? Why don’t you leave well enough alone?”
Chapter Seven
The phone screen was dirty but not scratched and once Marjorie gave it a swipe on her sleeve, it appeared as good as new. She’d assured Efron she wouldn’t bring his stash of goods to the police’s attention if he told her everything about the operation.
Despite his initial floundering, he soon cooperated, once Duncan came across to see what was holding Marjorie up, that was.
“He just stores things for me,” Efron explained, holding a mug of tea between his hands like he needed the warmth despite the late spring day. “Stuff falls off the back of a truck and it needs to hide away somewhere until the drivers forget what it was they lost, you understand?”
Marjorie understood completely and felt a pang of loss at the thought Fletcher wasn’t as clean cut as he’d appeared. No wonder he could afford to rent such a nice house, have the latest laptop for his studies, and spend up to fifteen dollars a day in a café. When she turned to Duncan, she saw the disappointment reflected in his eyes.
“How often do you come by things that need storing?” she asked, biting on her bottom lip.
“Not often,” Efron admitted reluctantly. “But they need housing for a long time when we do happen upon them.”
“Why don’t you just hire a storage unit?” Duncan said while his face flushed with anger. “Why involve my brother in this scam at all?”
“Storage units come with CCTV watching twenty-four, seven. There’s no way to hide from them, at least not in this town. But a rental house?” He shrugged. “Nobody looks twice at a moving van parking in the driveway for a few hours, loading or unloading.”
Marjorie exchanged a glance with Duncan. “Do you know anything about Fletcher’s disappearance?” she asked. “More than you’ve told me already?”
“I swear.” Efron spread his arms wide. “If I thought there was some connection, I’d ‘fess up.”
“What about your packages?” Duncan asked in a low growl. “Any of those have additional goodies hidden away in them? Something that might lead to a lot more jail time than just a few misplaced appliances.”
“I don’t know—”
“For goodness’ sake,” Marjorie said, slamming her palm on the table. The ferocity startled her as much as it did Efron. “There’s been a major drug bust in town on the same day Fletcher went missing and you expect us to believe you don’t know what we’re talking about?”
“N-nothing like that. I swear it.”
“You swear an awful lot of things for someone who’s been cheating, lying, and stealing for years.” Duncan fixed the man with a steely stare, pointing his finger at Efron’s eyes. “If I find out you’ve been holding something back, and it harms my brother…”
Although he let the threat trail off, it seemed Efron didn’t need any further illumination. He swallowed hard, pressing his pale lips together in a thin line.
“Come on,” Duncan said, tapping Marjorie on the shoulder. “I don’t want to stay in this place one second longer than I have to.”
It was a sentiment Marjorie wholeheartedly agreed with. As they let themselves out the front door, she wondered what her sleepy little town had come to. Missing persons, drug busts, and now this bumbling fool turned out to be a criminal fence.
“We should tell the police,” she said once they were back in Fletcher’s house. “No matter what we promised Efron. I can’t believe Fletcher’s involvement isn’t connected to his disappearance.”
But Duncan didn’t agree. “How about we leave it a bit longer?” He sat down in his brother’s bedroom, eyeing the stack of boxes with hatred. “Efron seemed to be telling the truth about that much at least.”
“Considering he must lie regularly, I’d say he’s good at it.”
Duncan buried his face in his hands. “But if this genuinely has nothing to do with it, then I’ve stitched my twin up for nothing.”
Marjorie sat on the bed beside him, wanting to say something reassuring but not having the words. “I suppose if you’d stayed in a motel as you’d planned, we never would’ve found this equipment.”
Duncan shot her a grateful glance. “And you wouldn’t have seen the neighbour acting suspiciously.”
The idea didn’t sit well with Marjorie but neither did hurting Duncan when he’d already suffered an enormous loss. Besides, promising not to tell the police didn’t exclude her from having a casual chat with an old friend about a theoretical situation, did it?
Regina would still be at work now, but if Marjorie called by her place in a few hours, she’d be free. In the meantime…
“The kitchen is empty,” she said, pulling Duncan into a safer topic. “Why don’t w
e go shopping and make sure you’ve got enough stuff to get by for the next few days? Even if you’re not feeling hungry now, you’ll be glad of it later.”
They set off on foot, Duncan so distracted Marjorie had to stop him from stepping out in front of a car.
“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I guess after my sleepless night, coffee should be top of the shopping list.”
“Or bottom.” Marjorie frowned. “If you drink it at this late hour, you’ll be wired when it comes time to go to bed. How about a nice Ovaltine instead?”
He sniggered. “Sure, grandma. Whatever you say.”
She elbowed him in the ribs, glad to see his mood improving, even at her expense.
“Hey, you!”
Marjorie turned, surprised to see Fletcher’s professor bearing down upon them. What was his name?
“Tyrone. Nice to meet you again,” she said, stepping forward before the man quite reached them. She held out her hand, but he ignored it, staring with disgust at Duncan.
“I don’t know what you think you’re up to, Fletch,” Tyrone shouted. “But you’d better stop it right this instant or you’ll be in more trouble than you know what to do with.”
Duncan backed up a step, holding his hands out to ward off the man. “Look, I don’t know what you want—”
“Oh, don’t you?” Tyrone shoved past Marjorie and stuck his face into Duncan’s. “We have an agreement, remember? If you don’t start living up to your part of the bargain, things won’t end well.”
“This is Fletcher’s brother, Duncan,” Marjorie said in a loud voice. “He came to town after I reported him missing to the police. Do you have some information on his whereabouts?”
Tyrone spun on his heel, nostrils flaring. “What are you babbling about? I don’t know who you’re trying to fool, but I know Fletcher better than you think.” He turned back, poking a finger hard into Duncan’s chest. “Don’t I?”
Duncan pulled out his wallet, flipping it to the clear envelope with his driver license photo. “I’m Fletcher’s twin brother and nobody’s trying to trick you. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?”
Chartreux Shock Page 4
