by Amber Boffin
Then there was Peter’s brother, Fred, a strange one, a secretive and jealous type, promoting his brother with a little too much ardour. What was he trying to hide? What about Joe and his passionate wife Heather? Joe had told Maggie jokingly that he often had to write down in his diary a man’s name instead of a woman’s when he had an appointment, otherwise Heather would question him through the night. When Heather pushed Joe into offering his services to her, it seemed out of line with what a jealous woman would do: arranging a meeting with another woman for her husband, even for business.
Maggie wondered whether Heather was more calculated than she appeared. It could have been a test to see how Joe reacted to one of his female clients. She brushed away the thought as she remembered Joe mentioning that his wife knew he didn’t fall for redheads. Perhaps she felt she had nothing to fear…
The warmth of the sun on her cheeks connected to the thought of solar panels. She couldn’t explain her uneasiness about the entire business, especially Leon LeBreton. She didn’t trust him. He boasted and liked himself too much. Normally that would be enough for her not to hire him, but she needed an excuse to speak to him again without raising any suspicion about her true motive.
She felt she had to help find out what happened, to clear her name of any possible suspicion on the part of the police—or Tina. She knew Tina was doing her own investigation, and if there would be a way to incriminate her, she would. Just like when they were kids, when she had pointed the finger at Maggie for the mysterious disappearance of the classroom’s skeleton—still a mystery to this day.
What if the murderer thought Maggie had seen him or her when she found the body? She might then be the next target. Maggie shuddered. She had to get to the bottom of it. Although the local police were good people, they didn’t seem the fastest around and could do with help.
She hated lying and concluded the way to trick herself into concealing her fear and views from Leon LeBreton when meeting him was to remind herself she genuinely was considering solar power for her home and was evaluating the option, even if she was doubtful of its viability.
She should not judge him yet; it might be a preconceived impression. This made her think of the relationship between Leon LeBreton and Ms. Stilton, the controversial solar panel project that no one wanted. Leon might have resented Peter, who was against the project, and had he been elected mayor, the solar plan would have fallen through.Now that is a motive to get rid of him! He was at the party; he could have cut his brake cable.
Although Leon could have wanted Peter Wigmott gone, Maggie didn’t see why he would want the same for Fiona. It even appeared they liked each other, judging from seeing them dance together at the wedding party, eyes locked, while Fiona’s husband Patrick was standing at the bar, looking at the pair with disgust. Maggie had only briefly spoken to Patrick, who appeared closed like a clam, only answering her questions with very few words and shuffling from one foot to the other as if he wanted to run away given the chance. She hadn’t caught any glimpse of humour in him or any interest in interacting with anyone. The only topic his eyes lit up for behind his glasses was computer programming.
At the time, Maggie had found it hard to believe Fiona and Patrick were an item and wasn’t surprised Fiona would be looking elsewhere for attention. Perhaps they didn’t get along, and Patrick wanted to get rid of her or caught her with a lover and killed her in his rage. He might be a boring man, but the angry look he gave his wife at the party was meant to harm; it wasn’t just a look of disgust. His fists had been clenched.
Deep in thought, Maggie patted Beans, playing with her little black ears as she lay with her head on her lap. Beans sprang up and barked. The llamas were getting excited, and a moment later Maggie heard a car engine. She got up, brushing the leaves from her trousers as if she were brushing away her suspicions.
Adam poked his head around the trunk of a centenary maple tree and greeted her with a loud, “Hey, Maggie, you can’t hide from me. Good to see you and your happy bunch!” He pointed toward the dogs.
“Not trying to hide. I was enjoying your peaceful place.” She smiled as wide as she could, eager to hide her anxiety. “I just wanted to show you how well the dogs are doing and see if you had any news regarding their owners…” Her voice trailed off, and her eyes shifted downward as she tried to hide the real reason she was there.
“No news on the owners. You’ve only just got the dogs…but that’s not why you’ve come?” Adam looked at her straight in the eyes.
She felt small again, as if she had told her parents a lie, looking for an escape and yet eager to tell them the truth that was weighing on her.
Confronted by silence, Adam added, “I don’t mean to pry, and if you don’t want to talk that’s fine. I’m sorry, I can be a little forthright.”
Maggie relaxed as he put his hand on her shoulder.
“I hoped I wasn’t an open book. It’s been a very strange day so far. The realtor Fiona Mc…not sure what her last name was.”
“Was?” asked Adam. “What do you mean, not another death?” He looked worried, his forehead furrows bunching up together in a combination of horizontal and vertical lines.
“Yes, dead. I found her. Sergeant Humphries thinks it was murder this time, a knock on the back of her head with a stone…”
“Come on, that’s crazy. Where did you find her—not at your place!”
The last word had a drier, harder tone to it, as if he was accusing her.
“No, at the electrical utility guy’s home, Mr. Bern—you know, the big newly built cottage with the solar panels I talked to you about.”
Adam led her into the house, a little colder than before, keeping his distance from her by walking a few metres ahead. As he put the kettle on, Maggie sat at the kitchen table, feeling uneasy and desperate to change the icy air that had just risen between them. She regretted having come, but now that she was here, she had to find a way out.
“I don’t know if I should be telling all this to you. I feel I might be burdening you, and I don’t want you to get in trouble because of me.”
Adam looked again at her with his intense eyes X-raying her, then tilted his head sideways, his wrinkles around the eyes pleating upward in a friendly fashion. Maggie released a deep sigh of relief as he spoke.
“Nonsense. Of course you’re not, and why on earth would I get in trouble with it. And even if I would, this is mad, you have to tell me all about it. Do you think it is linked to Peter Wigmott?”
“It might be.” Maggie gathered her courage to come out in the open with the idea that she might be suspected. That way it could be discussed and dismissed. If she kept quiet, it would only lead to suspicion.
“I’m worried the police could consider me a suspect for this murder because I was at the house in the morning looking at Joe’s work and Leon LeBreton solar panels to see if I’d hire them.” Maggie didn’t let Adam interrupt her, since she wanted to give him the whole story first before he made up his mind, her words flowing at high speed. “After the visit, I went to Moose Lodge but remembered I’d forgotten my camera, so I drove back, and that’s when I found her. What I say might sound weird. I’ve the feeling all this has something to do with the solar power business and big money. It’s a feeling, I don’t know why.”
Adam looked puzzled. “Why would a real estate agent be murdered because of solar panels? That seems a little farfetched, don’t you think? Come on, you’re in shock and you’re seeing things.”
“Maybe she was involved with the sale of land relating to the solar panel project and was against it?” retorted Maggie.
Adam shook his head. “Sorry, I still don’t see the link.” Then he carried on speaking slowly, as if he were thinking aloud. “Although you must have heard she was popular with the blokes around, but not really with the women, as you can imagine. The gossip goes that she had a fling with every successful newcomer. I think it is a little exaggerated. However, if I’m right, Peter Wigmott was one of them, when he
first arrived shortly after she sold him his house. That is if Barrie got it right.”
“You see!” exclaimed Maggie, her fist hitting the table. “I knew it, and there is a connection. Who is she seeing now—rather, was?”
“I don’t know. I’d have to ask Barrie. Not only does he pick up the chatter, but he also sees things. You should show him the picture of the paint scratch you took. He might shed some light on it.” They both were quiet for a moment, deep in thought, interrupted suddenly by Adam.
“Did you hear anything about the time of death?”
Maggie looked down at her large watch and lifted her head, recollecting when she had left the house. “It must have been between eleven thirty and one o’clock. I was away then.”
For a moment the heavy silence fell back on them like a black cloak sticking to their bodies, difficult to remove. Maggie watched Adam nod, wondering what he was thinking and hoping he would believe her, until he lifted his head with a deeply concerned look, his eyebrows like two swords battling each other as he asked in a severe tone she never imagined, “Do you have anybody who could testify to seeing you during that time?”
Maggie shuddered and stammered, “You don’t think I did it…” Then she pulled herself together with the thought that she had nothing to fear as she was innocent. “Yes, I do, for part of it. I was at Moose Lodge speaking with Richard Miller just after leaving Joe. Then I took the dogs for a little walk around his land and drove home and realized I had forgotten the camera.” Maggie stopped speaking, having only just remembered that she had walked the dogs on her own without a witness. She added, “I guess there is a time when I was on my own aside from the dogs. No witness.”
Adam sweetened his voice, extending his large hand to her arm across the table, the furrow between his eyebrows melting away. “No. Anyway, I don’t see what motive you’d have. Besides, you only just arrived here.” She frowned at him and he added with a smile, “Unless of course you liked Leon and were the jealous type…”
Still feeling under attack and not seeing the humour, given the circumstances, she countered, “And where were you, since we’re talking about suspects! Just checking you’re not one of them. Were you not at the Christmas party when Peter disappeared?”
Holding his two large hands against his heart and leaning back into his chair, Adam replied, “Okay, touché. You were the one to mention being seen as a suspect, after all. I was on duty writing boring reports at headquarters. What about Ms. Miller?”
Maggie wondered why he was suddenly directing the focus away from himself. Was it to hide something?
“It just occurred to me you were with Richard Miller at the time and didn’t mention her.”
“I’m a little edgy, sorry for that. Ms. Miller wasn’t there, and for all we know she could have been out there killing Fiona. She seemed to dislike her; I noticed Ms. Miller avoiding Fiona deliberately with a tray of canapés when I was speaking with Fiona. My hand was left floating in midair as she passed them under our noses too swiftly and left me scratching my head instead, not to look stupid. She gave Fiona such a black look! A murderous look.”
Maggie sipped her tea, waiting for his reaction, mesmerized by his shiny eyes for a moment. Her mind moved away a sordid thought, the blood pool around Fiona’s head. She remembered the tulip motif scarf that lay on the couch when she viewed the house. She wondered where she had seen it before. Adam’s voice interrupted her train of thought.
“Don’t worry about all this. I mean, you merely happened to be there each time. Maybe you should forget about it. They’ll find out what happened.”
Maggie was stubborn, and once she had set her mind to solving a problem, she would hold on to it and not let go until she felt she had looked at it from all possible angles. She had learned from science that looking for answers usually created more questions, and it was a never-ending story. Mysteries were different; they often seemed to have simple solutions, usually rooted in human psychology—jealousy, fear, anger, revenge, far simpler than the imagination would speculate.
“Yes, I can’t do much now anyway… What happened to the poachers? Did you catch them?” asked Maggie, eager to change the topic.
“Funny you ask, I met up with Alfred and his boys this morning: a lumberjack with two teenage sons who often get into trouble. They were still angry with Peter Wigmott, even though he’s dead now.”
“Why? What had he done to them?” asked Maggie, surprised.
“Peter had filed a complaint against them and requested they have their hunting license removed for poaching.”
“Was the accusation fair?”
“Not really. They had trespassed on Peter’s land while tracking a wounded deer, and Peter happened to witness it. They should have asked for his permission, but Peter didn’t have a no trespassing sign on his land, and there was no fence, so it really was hard for them to tell the limit of the property.”
“I imagine it’s important to track the wounded animal down,” added Maggie.
“Yes, it is a hunter’s obligation to do so, but that doesn’t mean trespassing. Anyway, I managed to let them get away with a fine. They took their revenge, though; they confessed only after I questioned them about Peter’s murder to having dumped a heap of garbage on Peter’s land and covering it with snow in winter for him to discover it in spring.”
“That’s a crime, no?” asked Maggie, always appalled by any illegal garbage dumping and its impact on the environment.
“In theory, I have to report it to the sergeant, but I know their father, he’s very strict, and I’m sure he’ll know how to make them regret what they did. I’m letting them simmer a little.”
“Why?”
“I feel they know who the poachers are and are hiding something.” Adam looked out the window for a moment, tucking some of the unruly silver blond meshes back into his ponytail. Lowering his hands back on the maple table, he said, “They’ll talk. I just need to wait a bit.”
Fiddling with her shirt buttons, Maggie caught a glimpse of her neglected fingernails. She looked at them for a moment, and seeing Adam’s eyes following the same route, she buried her hands under the table. “Are you really so sure they didn’t cut the brakes? You know, a joke turned bad, not having thought of the consequences?”
“That’s exactly what Barrie said, but they’re good guys, full of energy and testing their limits, but murder, never. And they’re not dumb; they’ll know what a cut brake would mean! Having said that, the sergeant might not see it that way if ever he gets hold of them. They’ve had issues with him, riding a dirt bike without license and things like that. He’s always suspicious of them, he has that with teenagers once they hit sixteen.”
Maggie could see Adam had a soft side for the boys. They were lucky to have such a man understanding their desire for exploration and testing the limit, which came with their age. She believed Adam; it was very unlikely they would have done it, and besides, there were already a number of suspects with a real motive—love, finances. She combed her flaming curls with her plump little fingers, and as she stood up to leave she said, “Thanks!”
“For what? I haven’t done anything.”
“I feel much better now, talking things over with you. But next time I’ll have cheerful topics to talk about, I promise.”
Walking out with Maggie, Adam laughed. “No worries. Maybe we should have a drink at Heidi’s. She always has fun exhibits on.”
“I’d like that, I love Heidi’s cooking.” Maggie smiled from her driver’s seat.
*
The excited pair of dogs barked all the way till she reached home and let them out into her woods. The little terrier darted off, clearly pursuing a scent, followed by the setter and by Maggie. She noticed fresh moose tracks in the mud and followed those, hoping the dogs were on the same tracks. They led her to her beaver dam, and sure enough, both dogs were now barking on the banks of the dam, having lost the scent in the water.
Beans took off, nose down to the groun
d, across Lake View Road. Maggie rushed to her side, ready to scold her for crossing the road when she saw her sniff and growl at a purple fleece hat lying on the ground, slightly covered by leaves. Maggie knelt down, pushing Beans away to take a closer look, imagining someone had lost it when jogging. She picked it up and looked inside it to see if she could find a name.
A familiar whiff of perfume crept up her nose. An image of Ms. Stilton made out of a Peruvian cloud of perfume appeared, like a genie out of the hat. Given her physique, the mayor didn’t seem the jogging type, so what was her hat doing there?
Maggie stood up and looked at the footprints around the hat, following their direction toward the dam on the other side of the road. She lowered the hat to Beans’s snout to sniff in the hope she would guide her along a trail left by its owner, but Beans instead thought she was playing tug of war and bit the other end.
Irritated, not in the mood for a game, Maggie raised her voice, “Stupid dog, no, I thought you were a terrier, a sniffer dog!” Surprised by Maggie’s tone, Beans whimpered, tail between her legs, looking sideways as if she expected a blow. Maggie reassured the little dog with a pat between the ears and lifted the torn hat to her eyes.
“It’s not your fault, I should’ve known better.” Maggie shook her head, looking down at Beans’s pleading eyes. “How can I present this to the sergeant? Look at what you’ve done. It’s all torn. It might be evidence! Even if it isn’t, I can’t possibly return it to its owner in this state.”
Why would the mayor walk along this road, close to the snowmobile accident? She lived on the other side of Foxton—plenty of walks there. Perhaps Ms. Stilton had visited the crime scene and dropped her hat while retrieving incriminating evidence.
Or had someone planted her perfumed hat here to frame her? Maggie decided she needed to find out if the hat was the mayor’s without confronting her directly. She didn’t want to scare her. She just had to find the right DNA match with some of the hairs still in the hat. She looked inside it at the hairs to see if there would be enough of them, and to her surprise she saw what seemed to be different colour strands. Could they all belong to the mayor? If not, whom else could they belong to?
