A Haunting Refrain: A Helen Bradley Mystery (Helen Bradley Mysteries Book 4)

by Patricia H. Rushford

  Stone gave her a strange look.

  "I used to be a police officer."

  The sheriff stiffened. "I see. You're saying he didn't die of natural causes?" Tiffany pulled a small notebook out of her pocket and wrote something in it. The khaki uniform and bulletproof vest gave her petite form a masculine shape.

  "I don't know. I'm thinking he may have been poisoned, but I can't say for sure."

  "Richard said he'd passed away during the night. He told me he thought Paddy had another stroke."

  "He may be right, but there are extenuating circumstances. I assume you know about the attempts on his life."

  "Attempts? Paddy reported that he'd heard a gunshot and thought there might be a poacher. What did you say your name was?" The sheriff eyed Helen warily as if sizing up an opponent.

  "I didn't." In the initial flurry of their arrival, she'd forgotten to introduce herself and did so now.

  "So you're the famous Helen Bradley." The young sheriff oozed resentment and Helen couldn't fathom why.

  "Famous? Hardly." Helen shrugged, trying to make light of the animosity growing between them. "Have we met before?"

  "No. Paddy told me you were coming. He said you were a top-notch detective and he intended to ask you to do some investigative work for him. I decided to look into your background. You have an interesting history, Mrs. Bradley." The corners of her mouth curved in a cynical smile. "Apparently you couldn't find the perp either. Now it's too late, huh?"

  So that was it, jealousy. And maybe an underlying frustration with her own failure to, as she said, "find the perp." Helen shook her head. "Look, Sheriff Stone. I'm not here in an official capacity. My uncle called me for a family gathering and I came. I didn't know until we were on the way to the island that he wanted me to look into the matter. Just for the record, there were three, maybe four attempts on his life." While they walked back to Paddy's suite, Helen quickly relayed the information Paddy had given her about the boat and the incident with the automatic garage door at the marina.

  "Well, you can look all you want. But let's get one thing clear at the offset. This is my investigation. I call the shots." Tiffany Stone was about a head shorter than Helen, but spunky, with a chip the size of Seattle on her shoulder.

  Helen raised her hands. "Fine by me." The sheriff had a lesson or two to learn in diplomacy, but far be it from Helen to teach her. Helen folded her arms and nodded at the door. "He's in there."

  Despite the seriousness of the occasion and the rudeness of the officer, Helen felt a certain respect for Officer Stone. She was the sort of woman who could run a country if given half the chance. All she lacked was maturity, people skills, and experience. The medical examiner followed them in and Helen went back to the dining room to let the family and Greg know what was going on. The room was empty except for Hillary, who was carrying a pile of dishes into the kitchen.

  "Where is everyone?"

  "I told them to go to the drawing room. They'll be more comfortable there. Can I get you anything?"

  "No, thanks. I need to let them know the sheriff and medical examiner are here."

  "Do you think they'll be wanting some coffee?"

  "I don't think so." Helen hugged the woman. She wanted to ask her about the rose but didn't want to get her upset again. She'd save it until later.

  Greg and Claire were the only ones in the drawing room. They were sitting on the couch, Claire leaning forward, her face buried in her hands. Greg had his arm around her, trying to offer some comfort.

  "I can't believe he's gone," Claire murmured.

  "I know," Greg said. "He must have had a premonition. All he's talked about lately is his will and how he wanted everything in order."

  They looked up when Helen walked in. "The sheriff is here."

  "Good." Greg removed his hand from Claire's shoulder. "Now maybe we'll get some answers."

  "Where are the others?"

  "Richard hasn't come down yet. Megan and Peter went for a walk."

  "A walk." Claire dabbed at her eyes. "I think I'd like to do that too. Helen, would you walk with me?"

  “I'd like nothing better, but I should be here in case the sheriff needs anything and when the officer from the RCMP comes."

  "I'll walk with you." Greg stood and offered Claire a hand up.

  "Oh, Greg, I couldn't ask you to do that. I know how busy you are. You've already done more than your share, sitting here with me blubbering and. . .."

  "Claire, don't. Paddy was my friend and so are you. Please, let me help. Besides, there isn't much I can do until the sheriff and the medical examiner are through gathering evidence. I'd just be in the way."

  Claire gave him a wan smile and let him pull her up. "Thanks. I don't know what we'd do without you."

  Helen felt a bit guilty over not walking with Claire. Greg was right. There really wasn't much point in hanging around. When they'd gone, Helen went back to Paddy's room. She stood in the doorway watching the sheriff and the medical examiner take photos and gather evidence. Perhaps Tiffany was more experienced than she'd originally given her credit for. Seeing Paddy's body again made her wish she'd gone with Claire and Greg. Once more she struggled for the objectivity she'd need if she were to make any sense of Paddy's death.

  "Mrs. Bradley, I presume?" The deep masculine voice from behind startled her. "Hillary said I might find you up here."

  "Yes?" Hand to her heart, she spun around and found herself face-to-face with a tall, attractive man in a navy blue uniform.

  "What are you doing out here?" Officer Stone cast him a disparaging look.

  "The same as you, I suspect. Part of the island lies within my jurisdiction, you know."

  "How can I forget? As you can see we've got things well in hand, so if you'll excuse me." She started to close the door.

  He stopped it. "Try to leave things intact. I'll be wanting to take a look myself when you're through."

  "You can read my report. In case you hadn't noticed, this part of the house is on the U.S. side."

  He let the door slam shut and raised his eyebrows as if apologizing for her. "She doesn't like me much. Can you tell?"

  "She isn't too fond of me either," Helen said.

  "Don't take it personally. She's new at her job, and I think she's had a rough time being the only female officer on the islands. She's good, no doubt about that. Think it would be better, though, if she'd quit trying to save the world by herself and become more of a team player."

  "Hmm. I know how that is, being the only woman. You tend to feel the need to prove yourself. I used to feel that way. I had to do it alone or it didn't count. I learned all too quickly how dangerous that kind of thinking can be."

  He looked wistfully at the door, and in that moment, Helen knew the RCMP's concern for the curt sheriff was more than professional. Glancing back at Helen, he said, "Since they have the room tied up, perhaps you could tell me what we're dealing with."

  "I'd be happy to. Would you like some coffee?"

  "Actually, I'd prefer Earl Grey tea if you have it."

  "A man after my own heart."

  "By the way, I'm Officer Chad Powell, Royal Canadian Mounted Police at your service, ma'am." He reached for her hand, pumping it enthusiastically.

  "I'm pleased to meet you."

  "Well, I am delighted to meet you, Mrs. Bradley. I'm a big fan of yours." He had a slight English accent and reminded her of J.B. in his younger days, which endeared her to him imme­diately.

  "Really? In what way?"

  "I read that article you did on Vancouver Island in Travel Times. Excellent piece. I especially liked the human interest angle. I could tell you were having a great time."

  "I was. Victoria is one of my favorite places. I love the waterfront and the artists and bagpipe players."

  "Me too. I also read 'Honeymoon Cruising in the Caribbean,” He chuckled. “It almost made me want to get married. Unfortunately, I've yet to find a girl who'll have me."

  Helen doubted that and said
so.

  He flashed her an embarrassed grin, then turned serious. "I can't tell you how sorry I am about Paddy. He and I spent a good deal of time together."

  "So I heard. I'm curious about that."

  While they talked, she led him back to the great hall and out to the veranda, where she'd been sitting the afternoon before, then let Hillary know they'd be wanting tea.

  "Beautiful place, isn't it?" Officer Powell stretched his long legs out on the chaise lounge and folded his hands behind his head. "Paddy told me this was your first time to visit him out here."

  "That's right. Now I'm wishing I'd come sooner." Her eyes filled with regretful tears again. She blinked them away and leaned back as Hillary set a tray on one of the dark green metal French bistro patio tables with a glass top. "Thank you, Hill."

  "Is there anything else I can do?" She clasped her hands in front of her.

  The desperation in her voice stopped Helen's negative response. Instead, she said, "I think it might be wise to start making lunch, maybe some sandwiches and soup. It looks like we'll be having a lot of guests."

  "Lunch. Yes. That's what I should do." Hillary nodded to Officer Powell. "You'll be staying?"

  "Yes, thank you," he said without hesitation.

  "Then I'll be making your favorite." Hillary bustled off.

  Helen raised her eyebrows at him. "What service. You really do come often, then?"

  “Two or three times a week. Sometimes more. We run a routine patrol around the islands looking for smugglers. Paradise is a good one for that, seeing as it's partly on Canadian soil. With the tourists the health spa and castle have been bringing in, we like to keep a close watch on things."

  "Is that why Paddy has such an elaborate security system?"

  "In part, yes. I urged him to install it before he opened the place up for business."

  "I understand no one can get onto the island without setting the security alarms off. How does that work? I haven't seen any guards around."

  "You wouldn't. Paddy had guards working around the clock when the place was full of guests. Now the alarm is primarily for detecting people coming onto or leaving the island. If any­one comes into the channel, an alarm alerts Peter, or whoever is on duty."

  "What about the other parts of the island? Someone could anchor a boat nearby and swim to shore, or fly in. I understand there is a landing strip."

  "The airfield is monitored and the entire perimeter of the island is set up with an invisible fence. If anyone crosses through it, the alarm sounds."

  "My goodness, it sounds like something out of a spy novel."

  "One can't be too careful."

  "Apparently someone was able to come in unnoticed. Otherwise, how do you account for the attempts on Paddy's life?"

  "You mean the poacher?"

  "Yes, and the others." She told him about the near drowning, the trail giving way, and the incident at the marina.

  His eyebrows knit together as she spoke. When she'd finished he leaned back. "Perhaps it's an inside job."

  "You think whoever did it was here all along?"

  "I suppose that's possible. The only people who could get on and off the island without setting off the alarm are those who know how to disarm it. Paddy has such a device on his yacht. Peter can do it, of course, and Richard and Claire. I'm not sure about the others."

  "Wouldn't the workers who come in during the day, like Martha, have access? And couldn't she tell her husband?"

  "Workers and visitors like Greg are simply told to contact Peter or Paddy when they arrive so the alarm can be disarmed."

  "What about the cameras? Who watches the monitors?"

  "No one at the moment, except maybe Peter. As I said, there were guards here all summer, but now, with only a few employees and family members, Paddy didn't think it necessary to have someone sitting in the monitor room full time."

  "Hmm. Maybe he should have. Not that it does much good. I understand a rather expensive brooch was stolen from one of the guests. If someone was monitoring the cameras, how could that have happened?"

  "Ah yes, the brooch. We didn't find where anyone had entered the woman's rooms. According to Hillary, Mary took the brooch. It's an old one, you know, probably made in the era in which she lived."

  "If you ask me, Hillary is much too eager to blame the ghost. As much as I hate to admit it, I do wonder about her." Helen took a long drink of her tea. "I like Hillary. She's been good to Paddy, but I don't know."

  "I don't think Hillary is guilty of anything more than having a-wild imagination. She's spending entirely too much time telling ghost stories and scaring herself senseless. My feeling is that the brooch wasn't stolen at all but misplaced. The lady in question couldn't remember whether or not she'd worn it the day it turned up missing. She's an older woman who admits her memory isn't what it used to be."

  "I hope you're right. Still, I'd like to see the videos from yesterday and last night. I assume that's possible."

  He nodded. "Are you looking for anything in particular?"

  "They are motion activated. I'm hoping to see who might have gone into Paddy's room besides Hillary and me. I also want to know who is stealing my roses."

  "Are you willing to wait until we've finished our tea?"

  "Of course."

  "Good." He picked up his cup and after taking several sips said, "I'm not the sort to believe in ghosts, Mrs. Bradley. I'll tell you that."

  "Nor am I." She settled her cup in the saucer and leaned forward, eager for his view on the subject.

  "It's not that I don't believe in spirits," he continued. "You see, I happen to be a Christian. I believe in the existence of demons and angels. But I don't think God allows the human soul to stick around in the form of a ghost or spirit so it can take care of any unfinished business, like all those stories you see in the movies where people turn into angels or take over someone else's body. No, I think the soul either makes its way to heaven or hell."

  ''I tend to agree. But there are a lot of conflicting ideas about the spiritual realm. And a lot of questions that probably won't be answered until we die."

  "That's true enough. Still, this business with ghosts can be dangerous. I've seen too many people who have been sucked into cults, witchcraft, demonology, and devil worship. Delving into that stuff has destroyed a lot of people."

  Helen had seen it too. The spiritual dimension could give rise to miracles, angels, and all sorts of good, but there was a dark, evil side that induced abuse, drug use, sacrificial killings, and other crimes too horrid to think about. While she didn't hide her head in the sand and pretend the evil didn't exist, neither did she wish to dwell on it.

  "I can't help but wonder," Helen said, "if whoever is trying to perpetuate this ghost thing is responsible for Paddy's death."

  "I agree. But back up a minute. You said responsible for Paddy's death. You think he may have been murdered? Richard said he’d likely had a stroke or heart attack."

  "I know. He thinks or hopes his father died of natural causes. He may be right, but I have a hunch Paddy was murdered."

  The Mountie asked her to recount the events from the time Paddy picked them up at the marina in Anacortes the afternoon before. She finished with the discovery of Paddy's body and seeing the rose on the mantel. It occurred to her as she spoke that she hadn't told Sheriff Stone about the rose and made a mental note to do so. Maybe.

  She found herself more willing to discuss matters with Officer Powell than with Sheriff Stone. Their styles were entirely different, with Stone being all business, brusque, and to the point. She used her position to elicit information. Powell, on the other hand, had highly developed people skills. He listened and took the time to get to know the person he was interviewing. She imagined that his respect for people often made them willing to offer information. It was a style she preferred to use herself.

  They finished their tea, and Chad was about to show her the security systems and videos when Sheriff Stone joined them. "Looks like you m
ay be right, Mrs. Bradley. The ME says from the pink tinge of the skin and the smell of. . ."

  "Bitter almond," Helen finished, now recognizing the faint scent she'd smelled while taking his pulse. "Cyanide."

  Chapter Fifteen

  I can't believe I missed it. I should have known."

  "Don't be too hard on yourself, Mrs. Bradley," Chad said. "Not everyone can detect the scent of cyanide on a victim."

  "True. But on one level I did know. It just hadn't made its way into my consciousness. I knew he hadn't died of natural causes." She stared at the residual tea in her cup. "Still, I should have guessed cyanide at the onset."

  "Why's that?"

  "It's what she would have used."

  "She?" Tiffany Stone lowered herself onto the edge of a chair.

  "Mary Werner."

  "You think this Mary Werner killed Paddy?"

  "Don't tell me you actually believe the ghost did it," Chad sputtered.

  "No, no. Not that Mary killed him. That would be quite impossible, since she is already dead. Don't you see? The rose on the mantel and the cyanide. It’s like something straight out of Arsenic and Old Lace. We're supposed to believe the ghost did it." She looked up at the two officers, who undoubtedly had branded her a nut case.

  "That's crazy." Tiffany did a double take. "Wait a minute. What rose? There was no rose in Paddy's suite."

  "When I first saw the body, I saw a rose on the mantel. It’s one of the roses out of the bouquet my husband sent me, I'm sure. When I went back to the room so Greg could view the body, it was gone."

  "I'm afraid I don't see the connection between the roses and the ghost." Tiffany was growing impatient.

  Helen quickly relayed the incident with the rose from the day before and the one she'd seen in Paddy's room.

  "Let me get this straight." Tiffany grinned. "You're saying someone used cyanide because that's what a ghost would have used. Then this ghost left a rose on the mantel so you'd believe she did it?" She gave Helen an are-you-out-your-mind look and shook her head.

  "I know it sounds bizarre, but how else do you explain it?"

  "You tell me. Maybe you're trying to throw me off the track. Maybe you killed Paddy."