by Liz Turner
“But speaking of family,” Amanda said. “When are you planning to find yourself a nice girl and settle down, Randolf?”
“Ohhh.” Randolf put his hands up and mimicked fear. “Please, no more, Amanda, I’ll confess to anything as long as you don’t ask these questions.”
“Confess to us who you like then,” Amanda said, giving Steve a wink.
“Me? Like?” Randolf shook his head. “I’m a little too busy at my job this moment.”
Helping him change the topic, Victoria asked. “Speaking of the job, did the fascinating case of the red-coated spy give you any new clues yet?”
“We got the results back from forensics,” George said. “The cause of death was being pushed off the mountainside, but I suppose anyone could have guessed that.”
“So it was being pushed and not jumping off?” Victoria asked.
George bit his lip, and looked at the Corporal, as if for permission. Randolf sighed. “We aren’t supposed to be telling you this yet.” He said.
“But do tell. I promise it won’t go beyond this table,” Amanda said.
“Well, it’ll be out in a few days anyway. We think that the verdict is going to be suicide.” Randolf said. “In cases like this, it’s hard to prove anything, you see.”
“We have a very smart murderer,” Victoria said, thoughtfully.
“Murderer? Personally, I’m a simple man. If the coroner says suicide, I’m not going to go around making conspiracy theories.” Steve laughed, as he helped himself to another round of pasta.
“Come on, Steve, you have to admit that it’s a fascinating case,” Amanda said.
She was interrupted by the abrupt buzz of Randolf's phone. Excusing himself, he answered the call.
They watched his face change from relaxed and happy to alert and on edge within seconds.
George.” He barked. “We need to go. Now.” Grabbing his coat, he jammed on his shoes, even as George pushed back his chair and ran after him.
“What is it!” Amanda exclaimed. “Is everything alright?”
“Far from it,” Randolf said, looking grim. “We’ve just got a call from Declan Moran.”
“Has something happened to LeeLee?” Victoria gasped.
“Something’s happened alright.” He said. “She’s dead.”
Chapter 11
The town of Larch Springs reeled from the news that her body had been found. She had been strangled in her own room.
Declan was sobbing when Corporal Jager first arrived on the scene. He was rocking himself and weeping like a child. “She’s dead! She’s dead!”
With great difficulty, Corporal Jager had managed to get the details out of him. LeeLee Brunt had begun feeling unwell shortly after lunch that day. She’d insisted on retiring to her room, and instructed Declan not to let anyone disturb her. Declan had agreed and decided to go out with a few friends for some beer. He’d lost track of time and stayed out until ten o’clock. When he returned home, he was surprised that LeeLee had still not gotten out of bed so he went to check on her.
“When I, when I got inside, she was d-d-dead.” Declan wept. “She was, oh my LeeLee was in the prime of her life!”
But it wasn’t just Larch Springs which was affected by LeeLee’s death. Overnight, the two mysterious murders attracted the attention of both national and international media. LeeLee had been a celebrity on the Italian and French fashion scenes. In no time, the grass outside her mansion had reporter’s vans parked everywhere. Well-dressed women holding microphones, their voices, speaking in multiple languages, compressed together to form a non-stop buzz.
For the next three days, Spring Hopes Café was packed with tourists and locals alike. Victoria had her hands full trying to serve the customers, and had to hire Byron and three of his friends as temporary servers and busboys.
“Did you hear about it?” people would whisper.
“Terrible crime.” Victoria overheard, at least, twenty times a day.
“Declan was a mess when the mounties came to see him.”
A mess he might have been but Declan soon hired a lawyer to protect himself from what he felt were very unfair questions by the police.
The lawyers were the Turner Twins. Identical twin brothers who had inherited their father’s practice. Both lived next to each other, five minutes from their office and could often be seen walking in perfect sync together, impeccably dressed. Today, they both wore identical gray herringbone suits, only differentiated by their ties. One wore red, the other black. Although they deliberately dressed alike within their office, outside it, they were almost opposite in their personality. Bill, who was the younger by a few minutes, preferred to spend his time socializing, holding large parties and organizing cycling meetups. Thomas, who was taller by a fraction, was a complete introvert who spent his free time holed up at home, either playing with his toddler daughter or watching movies in his basement home theater. They had, a year ago, represented Karen when she’d been the surprising recipient of a rather large inheritance. Rumors about LeeLee’s will ran amok through the town.
“Our client has already made his statement to the RCMP.” The Turner Twins would say if asked questions by the reporters. “He has no more comments to make at this time. We ask that you please respect him in his time of grief.”
It was a sensational story. Two murders less than a week apart. Everyone was now convinced that the woman in red could not possibly have committed suicide.
Could she?
Victoria was waiting tables, liberally pouring coffee during the breakfast lunch, when a discussion between a few townies lured her in.
“Read the latest on the case?” Steve Boonsbury asked. “Amanda’s quite upset that LeeLee died. I feel bad that she passed away, but personally, I’m more worried about whether Declan will pay me for my work at her party. Callous of me, I know, but there it is.”
“Haven’t had the time to read,” Victoria said, her smile lame. “I’ve been up since four am and sleeping at one each night because of the constant rush.”
“Oh poor you.” Dr. Molly Stewart chimed in. “I suppose that has to be hard. But it’ll all be worth it when your next paycheck arrives.”
“That’s what I tell myself,” Victoria smiled. “Besides, I know the rush will die off soon. It’s already beginning to fade.”
“We’re worried about the town’s reputation, though.” Adam Denner said. Denner owned one of the shops on Main Street, and the recession of the last few years had left him constantly worried about going under.
“Oh, Denner.” Molly chided. “Surely this is not the time.”
“It is, though,” Adam said. “A town that attracts murders isn’t a very good way to be known. We’ll lose all our tourists and goodness knows it’s hard enough to compete with the fancy spas coming up these days. No one wants a quaint town anymore. LeeLee was one of our biggest supporters and as a celebrity who loved to live here, she attracted others. Now she’s gone.”
“A place like Larch Hot Springs will always survive,” Victoria reassured him. “It’s in our nature. It’s in our blood. Don’t worry, Adam. For now, let’s focus on supporting Declan any way we can.”
“Oh that Declan.” Adam snorted. “I don’t like him one bit. Crocodile tears.”
“You don’t think his grief was genuine?” Victoria asked, surprised.
“I don’t think anything about that man is genuine,” Adam said. “What do we know about him, really? Nothing beyond the fact that he was her personal assistant. He could have a criminal record, he could be a secret serial killer and we’d have no clue.”
“He’s always seemed decent enough to me.” Dr. Molly said. “Well, sure, I wasn’t the biggest fan of him trying to seduce an old lady because of her money. But he was always respectful to me, and LeeLee’s personality was such that she was always a match for him.”
“Decent! Hah!” Adam scoffed. “Why I heard the first thing he did when she died was to go around the house pocketing anything that
he could.”
“Adam!” Steve Boonsbury protested. “That’s a really mean thing to say. I don’t like the man myself, but...”
“Maybe it is, but I’ll tell you what, Steve, I went over to LeeLee’s today to offer my condolences.” Dr. Molly said. “Well, as soon as I entered her bedroom, where Declan was sobbing, what do I find? That painting she had, a horrible one with a twisted kind of dog and eyes all over by some Italian artist, was gone. A nice blank space on the wall was the only thing that told it was missing.”
“I don’t care much for artist types.” Adam shrugged. “Modern art, in particular, leaves me baffled.”
“I think this painting was by Wilmagelda Massini.” Dr. Molly said. “I only know because LeeLee told me all about it when I had gone over once to check on a fever she had. Apparently quite a rare painting too.”
“So… worth some money then?” Adam said, an eyebrow raised.
“Look, you’re both ridiculous.” Steve protested. “Declan was set to marry her in three months. He wouldn’t go about stealing paintings! If anything, it proves that he hasn’t done it.”
“But are we sure anybody has?” Victoria asked. “I don’t think the coroner has given his verdict on whether it was murder or suicide yet.”
The three gave her pitying looks. “When you get to my age, you know in your gut when it’s a murder,” Adam said. “As soon as Boyd died last year, I knew he was gone- and that somebody who hated him had killed him.”
“Oh, Adam! You have to stop believing in all this supernatural sixth sense stuff.” Dr. Molly said.
“Well, it’s all fine for you to say,” Adam said. “But I always had a bit of psychic sense. Everyone on my mom’s side of the family did. Victoria, you might have inherited some since your ma and I were distant cousins.”
“Was that twice removed or thrice removed?” Victoria laughed. “No, I don’t believe in supernatural psychic senses, but I think…” she paused. “I think that there’s a part of the human brain, the subconscious mind, which processes things and recognizes patterns far faster than the rational, conscious mind does. I think that’s why, when we get a gut feeling, it’s best to trust it.”
“You believe all hunches are just pattern recognition?” Dr. Molly asked.
“The world runs on patterns, doesn’t it?” Victoria said. “Humans are creatures of pattern. We’re never truly quite original.”
“Now that’s a very cynical thing to say!” Steve smiled. “I always thought you were the optimistic kind Victoria, believing in the human spirit and originality.”
“Well, if you want me to prove my point, think of stories.”
“Stories?” Steve asked.
“Yes, stories. We’ve advanced so much in terms of technology in the last five thousand years. Yet if I tell you a story that is five-thousand years old, it might still resonate with you because some human themes are everlasting. Greed, Love, Hate, Jealousy…” Victoria said. “I always felt that if you only understood the stories of all the people involved in the case, sooner or later the murderer’s motive would be clear to you.”
“Unfortunately or fortunately, the motive isn’t all we need,” Steve said. “We humans need proof before we go around calling someone a murderer!”
“Well, Declan has a pretty solid motive to murder LeeLee, doesn’t he?” Adam asked. “He was set to inherit her money.”
“Was he?” Victoria asked. “After all, the two had only been dating for a year or two, and they weren’t married yet. I’m not so sure he was going to inherit much until after he married her. No, Adam, I think I side with Steve in saying that perhaps it wasn’t Declan after all.”
“Hey, I’m not saying he’s innocent.” Steve protested. “I’m just saying we shouldn’t go around painting him a murderer before the police even confirm there’s been a murder.”
“I agree.” Dr. Molly said. “But I tell you what I saw. That painting of LeeLee’s was definitely missing.”
Chapter 12
Victoria knew that she’d have to go offer her condolences to Declan sooner or later. What she didn’t expect was to have him show up at her café that very afternoon.
The entire café seemed to become alert as the door jangled and he walked in, looking very somber in a dark suit with a light blue shirt and a black tie.
“Coffee, please.” Declan murmured, keeping his head down.
“It’s on the house,” Victoria said, handing him a cup. She brought out a slice of her key-lime pie and placed it next to the coffee. “That too.” She said.
Declan bit his lip and drank his coffee silently.
Someone came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. It was Adam Driver, with Steve Boonbury next to him.
“Declan,” Adam said. “We just want to say we’re very sorry for your loss.”
Declan made no motion of acknowledging Adam’s statement. He drank his coffee and looked blankly ahead of him, lost in thoughts.
“Declan?” Adam squeezed his shoulder. “You alright, man? We’re here for you if you need anything.”
“How about peace and quiet?” Declan growled.
“Sorry.” Adam raised his hands and backed away. “I understand you’re grieving...”
“No!” Declan said. “No, you don’t understand. All of you smug, insipid folk simply don’t understand.” He turned around in his seat and faced them. “You think I don’t know what you whisper about me? You think I don’t know what you think? I know it all. You’re hypocrites, the lot of you. Vultures. You believe I murdered her for the money. I know you do. Idiots! I loved that woman. Yes, part of me loved her for her money and her ability to give me a good life but I loved LeeLee more than any of you two-bit townspeople love your two-bit wives!”
“Alright, Declan, you might want to calm down.” Victoria said, “I’ve got a room upstairs if you want to collect yourself.”
“I don’t want to collect myself,” Declan said, jumping up. “I want to...I want to kill someone! I want to put my hands around someone’s throat and squeeze. I was happy, finally, for the first time in my life, I was happy and some rotten, vile, maniac took my happiness away from me. I lost everything when I lost LeeLee.”
“You didn’t lose your friends,” Victoria said. “I know that we like to gossip in this town but when you look into our hearts you’ll find that every offer for help that is extended to you comes from love and sincerity. You’re part of our community even if you only did live here six months. We’re all sorry for your loss, truly. We’ve all lost people close to us, so we know that right now you must feel raw and battered.”
“I feel… tattered.” Declan said. “Like an old book, that’s starting to come apart. Those reporters are outside my house day and night. They’ve even followed me here. Last night someone asked me to comment on whether LeeLee had any surviving sons or daughters! I told them no, of course not! You know what that reporter did? She showed me a paper saying that LeeLee had once had a daughter that she gave up for adoption.”
Steve Boonsbury looked at Adam, and Victoria could read the thought that passed through both their minds. A daughter?
“LeeLee had a daughter?” Victoria asked Declan.
“I don’t know,” Declan said. “I don’t care either. She lived a long and complicated life. She broke her own heart several times and she broke other hearts all the time. But she was mature now, and she gave me the kind of love I needed. She and I had a huge age gap, I know, but love can connect two people no matter the age. I didn’t care about her age. But that’s all the reporters care about. I’m nearly thirty, but they make it sound like I’m some impressionable teenager and she seduced me half against my will. Those are the ones that are sympathetic to me. The rest make it sound like I’m unrepentant...”
“Declan, you need to stop listening to them,” Victoria said. “You have enough grief in your heart. Focus on that for now. Don’t allow the harsh words of others to poison your grief.”
“I tell myself that,
” Declan said, with tears in his eyes. “I tell myself that, but I just don’t know. It hurts me. It stings me that the world despises me.”
Corporal Jager entered the café, and the attention of the crowd shifted immediately to him. He looked around the room, and then caught Victoria’s eye. He gave her a small nod as hello, then walked over and sat down next to Declan.
“Declan.” He said. “George and I were going through some documents and we’d like to invite you down to the station again. I’m sorry if this is a bad time. You can call your lawyers down if you like.”
Declan’s shoulders slumped even more. “What’s the point?” He asked. “Just throw me in jail and be done with it. I don’t want to live without her.”
“I understand that you feel lost and upset.” Randolf put a hand on his shoulder. “But this is just a simple questioning. It’s routine. There’s no interrogation and we don’t plan to arrest you. Please don’t worry.”
“I’ll come along quietly,” Declan said, draining his cup of coffee. “If only because it’s as good a place as another. I think I might sleep better in a jail cell than in that haunted mansion I used to call home.” Dragging his feet, Declan left after Corporal Jager, leaving behind a few dollars to pay for his coffee and pie.
There were murmurs as Declan left, and Victoria noted that there were a lot of pitying looks thrown in his direction. If the mood in the morning had been to condemn Declan, the mood had certainly changed now. Almost everyone in the café seemed to feel personally responsible for his grief. Victoria guessed that some of the people who had called him names were now feeling especially guilty for doing so.
“Interesting.” Steve Boonbury said, sliding into the counter seat. “I’d like another coffee, I think.”
“Me too.” Adam Denner sat beside him. “Well, what did you think of that, Victoria?”
“I felt bad for him.” She said. “Poor man. He’s got quite a lot to deal with, and he seemed very genuinely emotional.”
“Of course, he did,” Steve said. “You know, I was working on a mosaic for LeeLee’s party, right?”
