Lethally Green

by Amber Boffin

  *

  Joe kept his hand around Heather’s shoulder, directing her to the car, and only once on the road did he tell her, “Heather, my sweetheart, I love you. You have the proof you wanted. Fiona wasn’t my mistress, or anyone else for that matter. But please, oh please, promise me one thing!”

  Heather seemed to feel a little ashamed of her overreaction as she replied in a mellow voice, “Yes, darling, anything…”

  “Don’t speak to the police again unless I’m with you, and don’t speak like a headless chicken about things you know nothing about.”

  Heather blushed. “What do you mean? I was only trying to help.”

  Joe replied, “There are times when keeping quiet is the best you can do! Anything to do with this case and in particular snowmobile racing: stay out of it. Don’t you see this idiot of a sergeant is desperately looking for a scapegoat for both murders, and now he could see me as a suspect? First, because you broadcasted I had a relationship with Fiona, shouting like that for everyone to hear. Lucky he mustn’t have heard it, otherwise he would’ve been a real pain. And now because of the snowmobile race you start telling him that I’ve an issue with the Wigmott brothers and their ways of winning, and before you know it I’ve cut the brakes!”

  Heather narrowed her eyes. “Have you?”

  Raising his eyes to the sky, Joe sighed. “Gee, no, of course not, why even ask! You see what I mean? You will get me in trouble with your overly suspicious attitude about everything I do. Enough is enough…”

  Joe accelerated abruptly, as if he were trying to escape the cloud of trouble that seemed to be expanding by the minute. Heather broke the silence, adjusting her skirt over her knees. “You have a lot of explaining to do. I won’t take it. You know where the spare room is.”

  Joe grumbled, avoiding eye contact, unsure of how he could turn the situation around this time.

  Chapter Sixteen

  In the comfort of her log home, Maggie carefully selected a number of hairs with their root sheath from the hat her terrier had found. Amy had told her it was essential to have the root with the hair to be able to ascertain that the DNA came from the suspect with a high degree of probability when comparing DNA samples. Maggie carefully placed the hat into a clean bag to bring to the police.

  She made a list of the people she would need to somehow get DNA samples from in order to check if there was any match with the hairs in the hat. The mayor’s unique perfume was a good giveaway as to its potential owner, but someone else could also have sprayed it onto the hat without it belonging to her.

  Maggie lifted her fingers from the keyboard. Amy had a tendency to go out of her way to help her, so she was of two minds about asking her to do the DNA testing, let alone telling her that she might be seen a suspect in a murder case. The last thing she wanted was to compromise Amy in any way. At the same time, it would be impossible not to tell her. Amy would certainly not forgive her if she could have helped her out when she was in trouble.

  They had always been soundboards for each other, even with an ocean between them. Maggie cherished their friendship, and now wasn’t the time to wreck it. I’ve got to take action to stop my mind from spinning around. I’ll talk to her…maybe I’ll first try to get hold of one or two just to see if it works out…

  Having a plan eased Maggie’s anxiety a little. She would start with the mayor. She found Ms. Stilton’s address online; her home was, as she had thought, not far from Adam’s farm, and it would only take her ten minutes to drive there. This time she left the dogs behind, not wanting them to get her into trouble by poking their snouts where they shouldn’t.

  Ms. Stilton lived in a cottage on a small, dark lake with only a few houses around it, only a few kilometres from Foxton. Tall pine trees gave the place a spooky appearance, casting long shadows on the road, accentuated by their creaking as they rubbed against each other in the wind.

  Maggie parked her faithful truck at the beginning of the road, where the mailboxes were stacked. Should Ms. Stilton be home, she could always hide in the bush or pretend she was going for a walk, although that would not make much sense since this was a dead-end and there was no convincing reason for her to be there. She brushed aside her concern and counted on her improvisation skills to wiggle herself out of such a situation, if it arose. She looked around and sighed with relief. No car, just a gleaming silver Airstream trailer parked next to the house.

  Reassured, Maggie walked around the house, peering through the windows to see if there was a dog or any other pet. The garden was overgrown and the house looked messy. This surprised Maggie, as Ms. Stilton always appeared very neatly dressed. Maggie had counted on the mayor storing her rubbish outside, in a shed perhaps. She would not want to be caught trespassing in her house.

  She bent over slightly to check under the wooden terrace a metal container that looked like the bear-proof containers for garbage. This is easier than I thought it would be.I’ll be out of here in no time. Quick…She lifted up the heavy lid and peered into the bin. A strong smell engulfed her nostrils. Had she doubted she was in Ms. Stilton’s home, the smell of her flowery Peruvian perfume was even in her rubbish, exactly the same smell as in the purple hat. Smells could be even stronger than images to trigger one’s memory, and this perfume brought her straight back to her first encounter with the mayor during the wedding party.

  She thought,If only the smell would mean that it comes from her makeup cotton pads or something like it—a perfect source for the sample.She moved a few bags aside, and there through a clear plastic bag tightly shut she saw old clothing, which explained the smell. This was ideal.

  She busied herself untying the tight knot. She pulled out an old black tank top with a few hairs still hanging on it. She quickly put it into her coat pocket then stuffed the rest of the clothes back and tied the knot again as she had found it. She thought the mayor was likely to be perceptive, so she had to be very careful. She didn’t want to linger for fear of being caught red-handed.

  As she stepped back, the lid fell down with a loud, metallic clunk. Her heart beat fast, as it had when she and Amy had crept into the laboratory at night, unlocking the door to carry out their DNA test. She listened, and reassured, she looked around, walking under the cover of the terrace toward the side of the house where she could reach the road.

  She felt a sudden tightening of her chest, the flight instinct taking hold. She rushed out and hit her head on a plank sticking out from the terrace. Slightly dazed by the pain, she stood frozen on the spot. Something had frightened her. An engine noise grew louder. Her mind raced for an escape route, her eyes scanning her surroundings until they landed on the shiny Airstream trailer. She sprinted to it, hoping it would be open.

  Just as the car pulled slowly up, Maggie managed to slip into the Airstream, and catching her breath, her back against the door, she listened to the engine noise stop and two doors slam. She could faintly hear Ms. Stilton’s voice and that of a man. She couldn’t tell who it was. She slowly bent her head, trying to catch a glimpse of them through the small window. In doing so, an old bottle of beer fell to the ground and rolled across the floor with a hollow sound.

  Alerted by the noise, the mayor interrupted her conversation and said, “Did you hear that?”

  “What? No,” said the man.

  “It came from my Airstream. Wait a minute, I want to check it.”

  Maggie panicked; what if Ms. Stilton found her there? It would be hard to get out of such a tricky situation; she was no longer a young student, let alone a child. The only solution was to disappear somehow. Maggie saw a small closet and squeezed into it, pushing the clothes hangers to the side. Barely able to hold the door closed, a small slit remaining, she held her breath as the mayor entered, followed by the man. Maggie could now see through the slit that the man was Leon LeBreton.

  Ms. Stilton looked around and picked up the beer bottle, her back toward the cupboard. “Probably those awful little creatures again. They keep coming in and hiding their
nuts everywhere. Outside it’s fine, but I don’t like squirrels inside. They can do so much damage.”

  Ms. Stilton leaned her bottom against the little cupboard, closing the door on Maggie, who withheld a scream as one of her curls was caught in the door. Maggie felt quickly in the dark to find a handle she could turn to get out—none, just a protruding cold piece of metal with what felt like a slit in it. She nearly called out that she was stuck but stopped herself in time. She heard a throat clearing coming from Leon LeBreton, then a few steps, probably down the outside staircase.

  Maggie heard Ms. Stilton’s heels pounding the floor, moving away from her, and the sound of a door closing, her voice still audible. “No windows open this time. I’ll have to check it out later, as I heard some strange noises, but I don’t want to keep you waiting.”

  Maggie gently pulled at her lock of hair to free it, relieved that no one spotted it, while pushing on the door in vain. She waited a little until she couldn’t hear any voice and took out the pocketknife she always carried with her. After a failed attempt at fitting the blade into the little slit, thinking it would move the handle, she thought of how easy it seemed to open doors with a knife in movies by sliding the knife along its side, but even this flimsy one didn’t want to budge.

  She would have to find another way. Leaning back among the clothes hangers, she tried to gather momentum to push the door open with her shoulder. That too didn’t work, and her shoulder was now hurting and bruised. Afraid of making too much noise, she waited five minutes, a claustrophobic feeling slowly taking hold of her. She sat at the bottom of the closet, her knees against her chest, cursing herself. She would have to call someone for help.

  Her feet propped up against the door, Maggie called Adam and felt like a fool when the door moved under the pressure of her feet. She hung up before Adam picked up, and with all her might pushed the door with both feet while leaning against the back of the closet. The door swung open, and her phone flew out with it. A frog-quacking sound emanated from it. Adam was calling her back. She scrambled out of the closet on all fours to stop the noise.

  She sat still on the floor of the trailer, her phone in her hand, listening for Ms. Stilton, her heart pounding. To her relief, all seemed quiet. She looked around at the damage she had done. If she were lucky, Ms. Stilton would think a raccoon caused it. She peered out the window—no sign of the pair. Ms. Stilton and Leon must have entered the house and were out of hearing.

  Maggie carefully tiptoed towards the Airstream door, checking she had everything. She had to move fast, afraid they might be able to see her from the house. The camper was parked only a few metres from the house. As she opened the door, she heard Ms. Stilton’s voice slightly covered by the hissing of a kettle. They must be in the kitchen.

  Instead of sneaking out straight away, her curiosity got the better of her as she stood next to the open door, trying to hear their conversation. Leon’s loud deep voice reached her. “The subsidies you’ve approved, together with the ones from the province, will already apply once I start building the solar installation. But we’ll only get the payback once it’s working, of course. Is it all okay on your side? I mean, you don’t see any issue with the final approval for this?”

  “It’s all clear, at least it should be, and I’m also counting on it. I want to present your project to the conference on clean energy coming up. I was planning on having a poster showcasing our village with its solar farm, a good example of having all the odds against you and still making it. The locals will come around to it once they see their village is seen as a role model for the region, you’ll see.”

  “You’ll be seen as a leader of the green…”

  Maggie couldn’t pick out the last words; instead she heard what could have been a window being shut, followed by silence. This would be her moment to escape. Fortunately for Maggie, the conversation in the kitchen lasted long enough for her to slip out of the trailer and close the door behind her, catching a glimpse of her own dishevelled appearance in the mirror-like body of the Airstream.

  To her horror, she noticed that she had a pink polka-dotted piece of clothing stuck to her shoulder. She removed it and held up a large bra in front of her eyes.I can’t run away leaving this on the ground or take it with me. She’ll look for it, an unusual silk bra. She wouldn’t believe a raccoon could have taken it either. Maggie laughed at the idea of a raccoon wearing it, perhaps as a hat. A hat for two raccoons, walking side by side!

  Hearing a noise coming from the house, this time a door, Maggie jumped back into the Airstream, stuffed the bra quickly back into the closet where it must have come from, and dashed back out of the trailer, running into the woods for cover until she reached the road via the neighbours. Out of breath, moisture building up on her forehead and cheeks flushed, she climbed into her truck and sped off as if pursued. Only when she reached her driveway did she lift her foot from the accelerator pedal and finally control her breathing.

  She made a mental note to get fit; she really had to lose some weight. It would be hard to cut down on the homemade cakes, so perhaps taking up jogging might be the answer. The dogs would like that. She felt her pocket. The piece of clothing discarded by Ms. Stilton was still there, and if she had any doubt she could still smell it: the risk taken had been worthwhile. She tried to recall whether there was any security camera at the mayor’s home, carefully going over the place in her mind, and dismissed it, thinking it was too late anyway. She should have thought about it sooner.

  The next person on her list of suspects was Leon LeBreton. Even if she got a match with Leon for the hat, it was still possible that Leon might have handled the mayor’s hat, given their frequent interaction relating to the solar panel project. He could have picked it up for her if she’d dropped it and not necessarily have placed it alongside the road on purpose. The presence of his DNA on the hat couldn’t be conclusive, whereas the other suspects might not have the same access to Ms. Stilton and her hat, and finding their DNA on it would be surprising.

  She felt strangely energized, emboldened by her stint at the mayor’s house, adrenaline still pumping in her veins. She checked the time on her father’s oversized watch. He called it his flying watch. He always wore it when he flew his floater plane in the skies above the lakes and explained it was a backup for the instruments, indicating pressure and height.

  Maggie was always excited when he allowed her to climb into the two-person cabin beside him and they would taxi the plane to the middle of the lake. She used to wave to her mother, who was standing on the dock overseeing the event. Her father would ask her to look out for boats and canoes before they took off above the sea of trees dotted with islands of lakes. She would ask him to fly low over Algonquin Park so she could see what the moose or bears were up to.

  Flying meant ultimate freedom for her, no need to ask permission to take off or land. It seemed he was like a bird, a loon, and could go wherever he wished. She decided she would fulfill another of her dreams now that she had changed her direction in life: learn how to fly, and what better place than here. She already knew the basics, having been taught by her father at a young age, without ever having gotten her license.

  Suddenly the hands on the watch popped out at her. Already four o’clock, still time to do some work on her photos, but speaking to Amy would have to wait. She knew she was procrastinating; she wasn’t sure how Amy would react. First she would get the samples, then once she had them all she would tackle her friend.That’s a feat in itself, if it will be all like the mayor’s sample. No use Amy knowing about it if I fail…

  Chapter Seventeen

  Fiona’s shy husband, Patrick, sat in front of Fiona’s dressing table, tears in his eyes. He caught sight of a large makeup brush, remembering her applying it to her cheeks; he tried it on himself to see if it would help conjure an image of her. Instead, the powder on it made him cough. Anger took hold of him. In a wild gesture, he swiped all the products off the table.

  His sadness was more self-
pity than real mourning for her. He wondered who would take care of the house for him. He had believed she would always be there for him and couldn’t accept or understand this loss.

  The thought of his mother haunted him, how hard it had been losing her. She had betrayed him by leaving his world when he was a kid. He had found in Fiona another mother, which was not the recipe for a balanced marriage and often resulted in fights, Fiona refusing to take on that role and eventually seeking attention elsewhere.

  He sat on the chair, rocking his upper body, clasping his head with his hands. Jumping up violently, he slammed the dressing table with his fist and cried in pain as it landed on a small metal box. Calmed down by the jab of pain, he stared at the box, applying a piece of his shirt to his wounded hand to stop the bleeding, when out rolled a strange-looking ring. He had never seen it before, a large ring with a letter A carved out.

  He picked it up carefully, turning it around, looking for an inscription. He tried sliding it on his finger, only to find it could barely fit on the tip of his pinkie. That reassured him; this meant it belonged to Fiona and would have fitted on her slender fingers. It couldn’t have belonged to one of those men, given its size…although the style reminded him of university rings, and she never went to university. He knew she had had affairs.

  At first Fiona had told him she nearly slept with their son’s hockey coach, hoping this would trigger a reaction and he would pay attention to her. Instead, Patrick told her to go ahead; he didn’t care. At the time he even thought it would be good. He wasn’t interested in the physical relationship side and thought she would leave him in peace while they would live happily together. Initially, Fiona couldn’t believe him and thought it was out of spite, like a teenager challenging someone to something they don’t want and think the other person incapable of.