Echoes of the Past

by Susanne Matthews

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Her voice echoed across the water, and the boys stopped and looked up.

  “Who told you to touch my crime scene? You can be charged with compromising evidence.”

  Joseph’s grandson blanched, and he dropped the rake he’d been using to smooth the sand.

  “We work for the owners,” he stammered. “We were supposed to do this yesterday. My boss called me and said the police had released the beach, and we could clean it up. The other place, the toolshed, we got called about this morning. They said it could be cleaned it up since it wasn’t a crime scene or anything.”

  “Son of a bitch!”

  “Do you want us to stop?”

  Michelle inspected the beach around her and looked from one boy to the other. She shook her head in apparent disgust. Tony could see she fought to harness her temper. Her fists relaxed at her side as she realized the boys weren’t to blame. The youngest one looked scared enough to wet himself.

  “Did you find anything—bottles, broken glass, shredded fabric?” Her voice was quiet, but the authority in it was unmistakable.

  “Nothing like glass. We put everything over there.” The boy indicated a brush pile near the edge of the beach. “We were going to burn it.”

  Michelle moved over to the brush pile, searched through the pile, and walked back empty-handed.

  “You might as well finish. Go ahead and burn the debris. Sorry I yelled at you. I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  “I guess that answers my question.” Tony laughed as she retraced her steps to him. He could see she was still angry, but she had herself under control.

  “It’s a damn good thing it rained yesterday. If it hadn’t, this would all have been cleaned away before I’d even arrived. At least I had time to examine the scene earlier when I got up. I took pictures of the beach and the shed too. I’ll find out who released my crime scene. Someone is trying to compromise this investigation, and I don’t like it one damn bit.”

  She blushed. “I’m sorry for losing my temper like that. I don’t usually, but when someone messes with my work, I tend to go ballistic.” She reached out her hand and touched his forearm. “Listen, I’ll be back late-afternoon. After lunch, I want to run over to the morgue for a bit. When I get back, I’d like to talk to your students. Could you bring them over to my cottage, say around six?”

  Tony nodded. “I’ll have them there. Will you want to meet the families tonight too?”

  “I should. I can’t tell them much, but they should know the bodies will be held indefinitely. They can probably go home for now. Maybe you can have them come over around six-thirty? It won’t take me long to interview your students.”

  “I’ll tell them this afternoon. Will you have dinner with me?” He hadn’t known he was going to say the words until they were out.

  “I’d like that. In the restaurant here?”

  “Yeah. It’s close, and the foods just as good as the Explorer’s. We can talk after. Enjoy your lunch. Oh, if you get a chance, can you ask Ron for permission to take water samples on the lake at the edge of his property? He’s forbidden me and my students from going on private property.”

  She frowned as if his request confused her. “I’ll see what I can do. I’ve got to go and get ready. Later.”

  She turned away and walked across the grass to her cottage.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Michelle hurried across the short distance to her cottage. The electric charge she’d felt from the brief contact with Tony’s arm under her hand had startled her. It had been far stronger than her reaction to Ron’s touch. She’d almost pulled away, but that would have seemed odd, since she’d been the one to reach out. She unlocked the door to her cottage and stepped inside. She froze. She smelled the unmistakable aroma of an unwashed body. Since the door had been locked and could only be locked by key, whoever had been inside had come and gone.

  I’m being ridiculous. What I smell is probably the cleaning staff, but cleaners with poor hygiene don’t bode well for the place.

  She went into the bathroom and glared at the shower. She was sweaty and smelly from the run and her little bout of temper. When she found out who’d compromised her crime scene, she’d have him knocked down a peg or two. She looked at her watch. Twenty to one. Ron would be here soon.

  She remembered the look on his face when she’d mentioned examining the crime scene and sending the car and canoe to the crime lab. She didn’t like knowing he was aware of her movements, and his comments about her body had made her feel uncomfortable. She dressed to run, not to attract male attention. When had her attraction to the man cooled? She liked Ron, didn’t she? Maybe his comment about her body had just come out wrong. She was attracted to his physical appearance. Why shouldn’t he be drawn to hers? How was it different?

  She stripped off her clothing, unhooked the shower nozzle, and turned on the tap. The water came out in a gentle spray. She stepped into the stall and closed the glass door. She chortled. At least she wouldn’t get tangled in the curtain if she did have a hissy-fit.

  She sprayed the steaming water down her body, carefully avoiding her face. None of the panic she’d felt recently seemed to surface. Could it be over?

  She tilted her head to the back and side and slowly lifted the nozzle to her head. She let the water run onto her hair. Like Friday night, the water felt heavenly. She let the nozzle hang down the wall and reached for the small bottle of apple-scented shampoo. Nothing ventured; nothing gained.

  She washed her hair, ensuring the watery shampoo didn’t trickle down her face. Her eyes stayed open and the pleasant aroma of fresh apples relaxed her. She wouldn’t get disoriented this time. She reached for the shower hose, and rinsed her hair as she’d done before. Water trickled across her forehead, but nothing happened. She relaxed. She dropped the shower nozzle again and applied apple-scented conditioner. While it sat on her hair, she soaped her body.

  The apple fragrance and the touch of her slick hands along her flesh reminded her of her unknown dream lover. She could do without the nightmares and the fear of water, but she’d miss those dreams and him. Who was he? The self-assured mayor or the confused professor? Whichever one he was, she loved him, as ridiculous as it sounded. Losing him would be like losing a vital part of herself.

  The real man will be better, her conscience prodded. Yeah, but I have to figure out who he is.

  In her mind, she saw herself in the throes of passion, a man filling her, but try as she might, she couldn’t see his face. Her body heated, and she closed her eyes, enjoying the sudden erotic sensations. Water sluiced down the side of her face ending her sensuous daydream. She rinsed her hair and her body, and shut off the faucet. She opened the shower door and reached for the towel on the bar, dried herself, and wrapped the large bath sheet around her.

  She grabbed a face cloth, wet it, and added soap. The ultimate test. She brought the cloth to her face. Nothing. The fear was gone. She scrubbed her face, certain she’d taken off a layer of skin in her enthusiasm, but it felt clean for the first time in months. She reached for her moisturizer. It wasn’t where she’d left it. Nothing was quite where it should be.

  Cleaners? I don’t think so.

  She re-entered the bedroom and opened the drawer. As in the bathroom, things had been disturbed, further proof her cottage had been searched in her absence. Momentarily grossed out by the thought of some stranger pawing her underwear, she shuddered. Who had been in here? Tony? No. The scent was wrong. What had they been looking for? She checked between the bed and the mattress. Both USB drives were where she’d left them. She dressed quickly donning the mid-calf, navy print skirt and white silk blouse she’d chosen for the occasion. She partially dried her hair and tied it in an intricate knot at the nape of her neck, added mascara and lip gloss, and gathered her running clothes. Her cell phone had been in the pocket of her jacket, and she reached for it, grateful she’d taken it with her. After rinsing the rest of h
er running gear, she hung it in the bathroom to dry.

  She went into the main room to check her briefcase and computer. It looked as if someone had taken the documents Chad had given her out of the briefcase for some reason, and then returned them. She touched her computer, and the screen came to life. Whoever had turned it on hadn’t realized closing it down was a two-step process. She pressed the cancel button and saw her email program had been accessed. Maybe she hadn’t been overcautious after all. She might not be able to keep someone out when she was away, but she’d make damn sure no one came to visit when she was there. She’d stop at a hardware store on her way home.

  * * * *

  Michelle scanned the Whippoorwill Winery’s reception room. People sat at the tables set up for the Sunday Brunch and Tour. Since it was after two, most people had finished their meal and were enjoying wine or coffee. Ron lifted his glass. The sun shining through the window made the deep burgundy within the bowl glow.

  “Well, what do you think?”

  “It’s delicious.” She took another mouthful of wine. “I’ve never been a fan of red wine, but I could get hooked on this.”

  “I’ll get you a couple of complimentary bottles before we go. How’s your meal?”

  “It’s delicious as you can see. I’ve cleaned my plate. And these are student chefs?”

  “Yup. They come to study on the island, and we provide a venue to try out their recipes. Haven’t had a bad meal yet—of course the instructors oversee things closely. Do you want dessert now, or would you like your private tour?”

  “The tour, please. I’ll let the food settle. That lobster quiche was scrumptious. I had two pieces.”

  Michelle smiled. Ron was an excellent date—kind and considerate—but something nagged at her, and bothered her more than it should. He was almost too good to be true. He smiled too brightly, said all the right things, but it just didn’t ring true. Slick was the word she was looking for. If Tasha was here, she’d call him a flashy salesman and say something like he could sell refrigerators to the Inuit. Well, he was a salesman of sorts—didn’t he have to sell his wine as well as this island paradise? Try as she might, she couldn’t dismiss the fact that he seemed to be acting a part.

  Tony might blow up at any minute, but there was an honesty to him Ron lacked. Both men appealed to her senses—Ron possibly more so than Tony based on the blow-up they’d had last night. She hated second-guessing herself like this. Why couldn’t she just enjoy the moment? She’d never doubted her senses and instincts before, but so many things were confusing. Ron laughed and reached for her hand. He brought it to his lips and placed a kiss on it. Michelle was disappointed when she’d didn’t feel the sparks she’d felt earlier.

  “Come on, let me show you how things are done.” Ron gently pulled her arm through his and led her out of the dining area.

  The winery was a surprisingly large one. He began the tour in the warehouse area where the harvested grapes were crushed and destemmed using modern equipment far removed from the traditional foot stomping of older days.

  “This is far more effective and sanitary.” Ron laughed when she commented on it. “The tannins in the grapes can really stain your skin.”

  He showed her the various steps in the process—the pressing, the separating when necessary, the adding of sugar and balancing the ph levels, adding yeast and other nutrients, and finally, the stainless steel vats where the wine-making actually took place. There were many different sizes too depending on the stage of the operation.

  “The solid waste is dried and recycled into fertilizer and used to improve the soil quality. We sell to lots of the locals who like to farm organically. Over here, you’ll see the oak barrels we use for some of the more full-bodied wines.”

  “That red we had at lunch wasn’t oaked, right?

  “Correct, it went into smaller stainless steel kegs until it was ready for bottling. This way.”

  The bottling room was another modern marvel. The process was fully automated. First, the bottles were washed and rinsed.

  “Why do you wash the bottles? Are they recycled?”

  “Some are, but most are new bottles. Recycled ones need more work. Look here.” He pointed to a woman working at a large sink. “She has to remove labels, even if they’re ours. Then she has to look for scratches on the surface. If the bottle is damaged in any way, we can’t reuse it.” He pointed to a pail filled with broken glass, most of it green. “Bad bottles go in there.”

  Michelle watched as the woman tossed another green bottle in the pail.

  “What can scratch glass like that?”

  “Lots of things. Bottles rubbing up against one another on shelves or in ice chests and coolers, people tossing empty bottles on the sand where they roll around. We wash our new bottles for a number of different reasons too.” He led her back to the bottling line. “Dust and insects get into them, sometimes mold if they’re stored in a damp place. Some places just dry clean them with a jet of compressed air. We like to be on the safe side.”

  She watched as the various bottles moved along. Some went left, others right.

  “The batch on the left is our Cabernet Franc. Those bottles will be corked. The one on the right is a Chablis. They’ll get screw tops. Last but not least, we label the bottles, pack them into cases, and send them to our distributors.”

  “Wow! Impressive. I’d have thought you’d need hundreds of employees in here.”

  Ron laughed. “Employees cost money. Automation is cost efficient. One man oversees the machine doing the job of a dozen. Growing, harvesting, and fermenting involves more people than bottling and shipping. We move most of our cargo out by planes. We have regular runs between here, Montreal, and Toronto Island airport. We export to the United States, too.”

  “Could I have a cork for a souvenir?”

  “You certainly can.” He reached into a bowl on the shelf above his head. “Here you go.”

  Michelle took the cork and swallowed her surprise. It was identical to the one Lindsay had.

  “It’s not a real one.” She hoped she’d interjected the right amount of disappointment in her voice.

  “You’re right, but these are actually better. Synthetic corks don’t break down, are recyclable, and allow oxygen transfer the same way natural corks do. A lot of vintners are using non-traditional closures now. Shall we see about dessert?”

  Michelle put the cork in the pocket of her skirt and walked back to the table. Lindsay’s cork was in the bottom of her purse, and since her bag had been in Ron’s car when they’d gone running, whoever had searched her cabin wouldn’t have found it.

  Ron’s young chefs didn’t disappoint. Dessert was a melt-in-your-mouth crème caramel, followed by ice wine. It was sweeter than she’d expected, but she enjoyed it.

  “Do you want to come back to my place? I have a nice champagne there we could sample?”

  Michelle hoped the smile she pasted on her face gave the right measure of disappointment. The thought of doing the horizontal mambo, as Tasha called it, seemed far less appealing right now than it had yesterday, and she really wasn’t sure why.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t. I need to go to the morgue. I’m expecting preliminary results on a couple of the tests I ordered yesterday, and then I’m interviewing Professor Steele, his students, and the parents at six. I’m going to send the families home.”

  Ron had his coffee cup almost to his lips, and she saw his slight start of surprise.

  “I thought you said you weren’t releasing the bodies.” There was a faint note of accusation in his voice, and she fought not to show her sudden irritation. He might be the mayor, but she was the forensic pathologist. When to release the bodies was her call, not his.

  “I’m not releasing them, but there isn’t anything the families can do here. I’ll need to keep the bodies until the full autopsies are completed—that could take weeks. Plus, some of the more elaborate tests take time. I can make the arrangements to send the remains home when I�
��m done with them. This has been hard enough on them as it is. Hanging around here won’t help anyone.”

  “Are you going to send the professor back to Toronto, too?”

  “No. I’ll need him a while longer.” Something prompted her to tell him about her decision. She needed to see his reaction. “You might as well be the first to know, I’ve thought about it and I’m ruling the deaths suspicious. I’m going to call it in this afternoon.” She noted the quickly suppressed surprised and anger on his face.

  “Why would you do that? They drowned. They were found with their heads underwater. There’s nothing suspicious about it.”

  Her own temper flared, and she clenched her hands to keep it in check.

  “I told you yesterday, Ron. No one just drowns anymore. Yes, water contributed to their deaths, but the way they were bundled alone makes the circumstances suspicious. You must see that.”

  Divert him. Mollify him. Do what you need to do to keep him away from the morgue, her gut screamed at her.

  “It could have been suicide. Going into the lake bundled like that…”

  Ron visibly relaxed. “I’m sorry. You’re right, of course. You have to get to the bottom of things. I guess I should let you get back. You know, it could have been murder.”

  Michelle’s head snapped up, and she glimpsed the smug look on Ron’s face.

  “Murder? Why on earth would you think that? Who would want to kill those kids? I know you think Professor Steele has motive, but killing someone, especially someone the size of Aaron, wouldn’t have been easy.” Just how big a leak did she have at the morgue?

  “I understand those two young people weren’t a couple. Apparently the other girl is pregnant with the dead boy’s baby. If she caught him cheating on her, that’s a hell of a motive I’d think. Maybe it was the professor. He could have been diddling the girl and didn’t like that guy cutting his grass. If he cracked the kid a good one across the head…”

  Michelle struggled to keep from laughing out loud. She took a drink of her coffee to settle her face. That’s where he was going with this—from the sublime to the ridiculous?