Skeletons in the Attic (A Marketville Mystery Book 1)

by Judy Penz Sheluk

“I’m sorry. I never meant to cause you any grief.” By now we were walking and our stride was anything but brisk.

  She waved her hands in dismissal. “If we weren’t arguing about you, we’d be arguing about something else. That’s just who we are, or at least, who we’ve become.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that, so I didn’t say anything.

  “Your father seems to have done a fine job of raising you.”

  Not the direction I was expecting, but once again my call center training kicked in. Let people tell the story in their own way.

  “He was a good man. Sometimes a little lost when it came to girly things, but he did his best. I still can’t believe he’s dead.”

  “You must miss him very much.”

  “I do. That’s one of the reasons I want to find out what really happened to my mother in 1986. My father was convinced she came to a bad end, that she didn’t leave voluntarily.”

  Melanie stopped dead in her tracks and turned to face me, her brown eyes serious. “Can I trust you, Callie?”

  “I suppose that depends on what you want to tell me. And why.”

  Melanie didn’t answer. Instead she started jogging, her steps getting faster and less cautious. Once again, I followed her lead. We’d covered about a mile when she stopped dead in her tracks. If I hadn’t been paying attention I would have fallen ass over teakettle, but I didn’t complain. Instead, I waited for what she had to say. I didn’t have to wait long.

  “You’re a smart girl, Callie, and so I think you know that Dwayne Shuter was more than some guy I met at the library.”

  “I didn’t know when I came here.”

  “But now?”

  “Let’s just say I suspected.”

  Melanie nodded and started walking again. I tagged along.

  “We had an affair. I was lonely. Reid was working long hours. Royce was a restless child, so we’d put him in every available activity. Swimming, Boy Scouts, soccer, baseball, hockey. You name it, he was in it. Porsche was only in Junior Kindergarten, but we had her in swimming, tap, and ballet. I would have loved to organize it all, but Reid insisted we hire a nanny. Appearances were—are—important to him. Having a live-in nanny fit the image he wanted to project.”

  Just like having a cook at a summer cottage, I thought. Other folks barbecued hamburgers and had wienie roasts over a fire pit. We’d feasted on prime rib, Yorkshire pudding, green beans with toasted almonds, asparagus with hollandaise, and wild blueberry pie with homemade vanilla bourbon ice cream for dessert. An aperitif before dinner, wine with, cognac and espresso after.

  “I’m sure you’re thinking, ‘Poor little rich wife,’ and I wouldn’t blame you,” Melanie said. “Maybe I should have asked Reid for a divorce and left when Dwayne begged me to. I told myself I stayed for the sake of the kids, but…but there was something so delightfully sordid about sneaking around, and if I’m being perfectly honest, I’d gotten used to the luxury lifestyle, something Dwayne would never be able to supply. Long story short, I wouldn’t leave and Dwayne wasn’t satisfied with being the other man. He left me on the same day as your mother left you.”

  “The same day?”

  “The same day. Valentine’s Day 1986. How’s that for a coincidence?”

  Chapter 45

  I don’t believe in coincidence any more than I believe in psychics. But what did it mean? I stumbled over a tree root and righted myself before I ended up face down in the dirt.

  “But Dwayne Shuter, he’s still alive—” I blurted out the words before I could stop them. Idiot.

  “So you knew who Dwayne Shuter was before you showed us that photograph.” Melanie’s tone was one degree up from sub-zero. “I thought as much, though I’ll admit you played it well. I think even Maggie was convinced. She may be a fool, but she doesn’t fool easily.”

  “Yes, I knew who he was, but I didn’t know that when I first came across the photo in the Marketville Post.”

  “I believe you. However, did you learn who he was? There were no names mentioned in the paper.”

  I told her about finding my parents’ certificate of marriage. How Dwayne Shuter had been listed as a witness. That I’d found him and a recent photo on LinkedIn. The way the crescent-shaped scar had been the giveaway. Ended with the fact he’d been the site supervisor on the jobsite where father had died.

  “That’s a lot of six degrees of Dwayne Shuter,” Melanie said.

  “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  “I take it you now believe Dwayne was responsible for your mother’s disappearance and your father’s accident?”

  “I don’t want to jump to any conclusions, but I’m leaning in that direction. Especially now that I know he left Marketville on the same day she did.”

  “I’ll admit it looks bad for him, but the Dwayne Shuter I knew would never have hurt anyone. He broke my heart, yes, but I deserved that.”

  “Then why did he leave on the same day?”

  “We’d had a huge fight a couple of days before. Dwayne wanted us to celebrate Valentine’s Day together. It would have been impossible. Reid always made a big deal about Valentine’s Day, the best restaurant, two dozen long-stemmed red roses, some sort of expensive jewelry, the more bling the better. It was all part of his idea of appearances.”

  “So you think Dwayne picked Valentine’s Day to leave as the ultimate good-bye?”

  “It’s what I’ve believed for thirty years.” Melanie’s voice caught. “I had no idea how close he was. Toronto. Rumor had him going out west, not that I can remember how that started.”

  “I don’t buy it.” I’m not even sure I bought her version of the story, not that I was going to tell her that. “There’s something that connects the two of them leaving on the same day. Maybe they even left together, but if so, I don’t believe my mother went with the intention of not returning. Neither did my dad. He was digging into her disappearance when he had his accident. Maybe he found out something to incriminate Dwayne.”

  “I refuse to believe Dwayne would have been a party to your mother’s disappearance or your father’s death. Besides, you’re missing some facts.”

  “Oh?”

  “Abby—your mother—and Reid had been having an affair. Reid told me all about it. Gloated about it even. He likes to do that, makes him feel like a man. Just one more reason I didn’t feel guilty about my relationship with Dwayne. One day, your mother dumped him. Apparently she wanted to make things work with your father.” Melanie laughed, a harsh guttural sound that didn’t fit with the refined woman in designer running gear. “No one leaves Reid and lives to tell about it. Why do you think I’m still with him?”

  I thought about the locket and the tarot cards. “Are you implying that it was Reid, not Dwayne, who killed my mother?”

  Melanie stopped walking and turned to face me. “I think it’s possible.”

  We were nearing the end of the trail and I doubted either one of us wanted to sit inside a café and sip on cappuccino. “I appreciate the confidence. I’m just not sure what to do with it. Are you asking me to prove that Reid killed my mother?”

  Melanie gave another harsh laugh, wiped away a few stray tears with an impatient hand.

  “Is that why you think I told you all this, Callie? Why I invited you to our summer home when Royce told me your pathetic tale about your long-lost mother? To get even with Reid for some long ago indiscretion?”

  An affair might be considered an indiscretion, but murder? “If not that, then why?”

  “Simple, Callie. I want you to stop investigating.” Melanie stared at me, manicured hands on hips, her brown eyes hard, any trace of tears long gone. “I want you bury these secrets so deep that nobody will ever come looking again. Leave Marketville. Go back to Toronto. Forget all about the past, all about my son. Hell, if you need some money, we can arrange that, too. Just name your price.”

  I stepped back as if I’d been slapped in the face.

  “What if I can’t do that? Leave here, fo
rget all about it. What if I don’t have a price?”

  “Then I suggest you find a way, and an amount, and find it soon. Oh, and Callie?”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s best if you and Royce leave when we get back to the cottage. Make up some sort of forgotten appointment, a migraine headache, whatever it takes.”

  Melanie started running again, quick and nimble as an eighteen-year-old, her burden unveiled.

  I kicked a stone and watched her go.

  Chapter 46

  “What happened during your run?” Royce asked.

  It was the first thing he’d said to me since we’d started the two-hour drive home forty-five minutes before.

  “Nothing happened. I just thought it was time to go home. I didn’t want to overstay my welcome. Besides, I already told you. I have a bit of a headache.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “You’re saying I don’t have a headache?”

  Royce shot me exasperated look. “No, I’m saying that I don’t believe nothing happened. The two of you were like peas in a pod heading off this morning. My mom gets back without you and promptly goes for a nap—something she never does. You arrive almost ten minutes later, say you’ve got a headache and want to leave. I may not be the most perceptive guy in the world, but even I can connect the dots.”

  What was I supposed to tell him? That Melanie believed Reid had murdered my mother? That she wanted me to bury any proof I might find? That she’d all but ordered me to stop investigating?

  “There are no dots to connect.”

  “If you say so, Callie.” Royce’s face tightened and his chin jutted out. I pulled my cocoa butter lip balm out of my purse, slathered it on, and proceeded to stare out the side window.

  We drove the rest of the way in silence. By the time we reached Snapdragon Circle the tension between us was almost palpable. I wished things could have been different, that I could confide in him, but it simply wasn’t possible. From this point on, I had to keep Royce at arm’s length. The less he knew about my investigation, the better. Despite Melanie’s orders, I had every intention of continuing it.

  I’d just have to be a little more careful.

  I spent the better part of the afternoon going through every single printout, over and over and over again, always reverting to the photo of Leith and Misty and the reward poster. Why hadn’t he admitted he knew Misty from way back when? Why hadn’t he told me he’d been involved in trying to find out what had happened to my mother? I’d always known that my dad and Leith had been unlikely friends given their vastly different occupations and rungs on the social ladder, but was there a deeper connection? Some reason that Leith had taken my father on as an ‘estate’ client when his specialty was criminal law?

  I didn’t have the answer, and I still wasn’t sure how to confront him. Sometimes the best way to come up with a plan was to think about something else, let the subconscious work. What I needed was a diversion.

  I thought about phoning Chantelle to see if she wanted to go out for dinner or maybe order something in, but she’d want to know how it went at the Ashfords’ cottage and I wasn’t ready to talk about it. I thought, briefly, of calling Royce but dismissed the idea just as quickly. Ella Cole was also out of the question. Her snoop radar would be on full alert, and I was feeling too vulnerable to dodge her questions effectively. Unfortunately, that was the extent of my ‘friends’ in Marketville.

  I pushed my pen and notebook aside, turned on the TV, and started channel surfing and found a Location, Location, Location marathon on BBC. There was something about watching Phil Spencer and Kirstie Allsopp touring the UK looking for the ideal home for their latest hard-to-please clients that always made me smile. Maybe it was trying to translate the British terminology. No one seemed to want ‘new builds.’ Everyone seemed to want ‘character features.’ A nearby ‘High Street’ meant a Main Street with pubs and shops. A ‘lovely kitchen-diner’ meant an eat-in kitchen, most of them painfully miniscule by North American standards. ‘Two reception rooms’ meant a living room and family room. Whatever the reason, the show entertained me without requiring any effort on the part of my brain. Exactly what I needed.

  I was midway through the third rerun of Location, Location, Location—this time in Glasgow where they talked about the Scottish ‘offers over’ real estate system—when the doorbell rang. Part of me wanted to ignore it, but I paused the show, went to the door and peered out the peephole.

  The last person I expected to see stood there, a baseball cap shielding his face.

  Chapter 47

  Reid Ashford was dressed in blue jeans, a plaid shirt, aviator sunglasses, running shoes, and a Toronto Maple Leaf baseball cap, which he’d pulled down low over his forehead. If he was looking to be inconspicuous, he was doing a halfway decent job of looking like a guy trying to look inconspicuous. Despite the effort I was pretty sure Royce would recognize his own father. I checked the driveway and the road, but didn’t see a car.

  I opened the door and asked him in. What else what I supposed to do?

  “I parked at the mall,” Reid said, removing his running shoes, sunglasses, and ball cap in the foyer.

  The mall was a couple of miles south of Snapdragon Circle, and the parking lot was typically packed, regardless of day, time, or occasion. Suburbia, it seemed, loved to shop. It would be easy to hide a car there.

  Parking at the mall would explain the lack of a vehicle in my driveway, though not the reason for his visit. Whatever it was, clearly he didn’t want Royce to know about it.

  Reid went into the living room and watched while I cleared the coffee table.

  “Can I get you something? Tea, coffee? Something stronger?”

  “I could use something stronger, but I’ll settle for coffee. Black, one sugar.”

  I fled to the kitchen and busied myself with the coffeemaker. Took a couple of mugs out of the cupboard, along with the sugar bowl. Put a few cookies on a plate. Reid didn’t strike me as a cookie kind of guy, but it only seemed polite to offer. Put everything on a black lacquer tray. By the time I got back to the living room, Reid was sitting in my recliner watching baseball. He turned the sound down but left the TV on when I set the tray down.

  “Thanks for inviting me in.” He stirred a teaspoon of sugar into his coffee mug, took a sip, one eye on the Jays game. I couldn’t blame him. They were playing the Yankees, always a good rivalry.

  “Good coffee.”

  “Thank you. Now let’s get to what brought you here.”

  Reid managed rueful smile. “I’m afraid Melanie can be a overly dramatic, especially when it comes to your mother. I came to apologize.”

  “And yet, you don’t want your son to know you’re sorry. Otherwise, why the subterfuge?”

  “It’s not so much that I don’t want Royce to know, as there is no need for him to know. The story goes back three decades. He was just a boy when your mother disappeared. This has nothing to do with him. I’d rather it stayed that way.”

  I nodded. “You’re asking me not to tell Royce what you’re about to share with me.”

  “Something like that.”

  Exactly like that. “So tell me the story.” I wasn’t going to make any promises, any more than I was going to run over to Royce’s front door the minute Reid left. He seemed to understand that.

  “My wife believes that I murdered your mother, though I don’t think she’s ever come up with a plausible method. Regardless, I can assure you that I did no such thing.”

  “Assuming my mother was murdered, why should I believe you?”

  “Because I loved your mother, Callie. I would have done anything for her.”

  “Does doing anything for her include leaving your wife and two kids?”

  “I’m not proud of it, but yes, including that.”

  I took a sip of my coffee and wished I’d poured a generous dollop of Bailey’s Irish Cream in it.

  “You have my attention.”

  Chapter 48

&n
bsp; “At the cottage, I told you I had met your mother on Canada Day, but the truth is that we were first introduced at the volunteer meeting for Marketville’s Canada Day tree planting initiative,” Reid said. “I didn’t want to be there, but Melanie insisted I do something to give back to the community. She was always volunteering for something or the other. Then again, she wasn’t commuting to downtown Toronto and working sixty-hour weeks. There was an ad in the Marketville Post for the tree planting initiative. The town wanted to plant one hundred and eighteen maple trees, one for every year of Canada’s confederation. It sounded like physical labor, something I got far too little of as a stockbroker.”

  I thought about the newspaper photograph showing the Canada Day volunteers, my father included. Surely they wouldn’t have started an affair when he was there? “When did you first meet, do you remember?”

  “I’ll never forget it. It was March 14, 1984. A Tuesday evening. I had answered the ad, and turned out to be the only one. I met your mother at the Tim Hortons in the strip plaza across from the mall.” Reid smiled, and his eyes had a faraway look. “Abby was beautiful, with shoulder-length blonde hair and sapphire blue eyes that sparkled when she talked, but it was more than that. It was the passionate way she presented her vision for what planting trees could do for the town and for the environment. In that your mother was well ahead of the curve. Folks didn’t talk about the environment back then, with the possible exception of acid rain. Looking back, I suppose it was love at first sight. On my part, anyway.”

  “And on her part?”

  Reid smiled. “I’d like to say the feeling was mutual, but your mother was strictly business. She had come prepared with a list of tasks that needed doing, from where to purchase and pick up the saplings to finding sponsors for the shovels and gardening gloves, to recruiting enough volunteers to do the actual planting. We split the list down the middle and agreed to meet the following Wednesday. That’s when things started to change.”