by Bobbi Holmes
“I got some great pictures this morning. I just finished loading them in MLS.”
“That was quick.” Baron took a seat facing the desk.
Adam picked up the sandwich, yet instead of taking another bite, he set it back down again and looked at Baron. “I understand you stopped at Marlow House yesterday.”
Baron leaned back in the chair and crossed one leg over the opposing knee. “I wanted to take Danielle up on her offer to see the house before I head back to Vancouver. How did you know?”
Adam shrugged and picked up his sandwich. “I saw her last night. Some of us got together for a barbecue at a mutual friend’s house. She mentioned it.”
“I met one of her friends while I was there…a Chris?”
Instead of commenting, Adam took a bite of his sandwich.
“Do you know him?” Baron asked.
“Yeah.” Adam took another bite.
“So are those two an item?”
Adam shrugged. “Nothing official, why? You’re not interested in Danielle, are you?”
Baron smiled. “Would that be so bad?”
“I just don’t think she’s really your type.” Adam set what was left of his sandwich on a napkin and picked up his soda.
“So what does this Chris do?”
“Chris?”
“He mentioned he was between jobs. I didn’t realize he knew you. I suggested he talk to you about that handyman opening you mentioned when I was in here.”
Adam couldn’t help it, he let out a short laugh and then took a drink of his soda.
Baron frowned. “What’s so funny?”
Adam set his soda back on the desk. “Chris isn’t exactly the handyman type. Unless it has something to do with waxing a surfboard or something.” Adam laughed again.
“So what is this guy, a beach bum or something?”
“He’s alright. Don’t you want to hear about your listing? Want to see the pictures I took?” Adam picked up a paper napkin and wiped off his mouth.
Baron shook his head. “No. I trust you. Hey…did you read about that peeping tom in the paper today?”
Adam wadded up the napkin and tossed it aside. “Yes. Read about it this morning. I hate crap like that. We’ve had our share of bad press the last couple months.”
“I understand the guy was looking into someone’s house over on Beach Drive. Someone named Heather.”
“Heather, Heather Donovan? She was the one who reported it?”
“You know her?” Baron asked.
“Yeah. A little. She lives a couple doors down from Marlow House.”
“You haven’t seen this guy, have you?” Baron asked. “Does he look familiar?”
“You mean the peeper? No. I’ve never seen him before. At least not if he looks like the drawing. In fact, I haven’t heard anyone else in town talking about a peeping tom. But to be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if Heather’s imagination is working overtime.”
“Why do you say that?”
“She’s a little different.” Adam shrugged.
Adam hadn’t told Baron which exact house on Beach Drive belonged to Heather Donovan. But knowing it was a couple doors down from Marlow House helped narrow the search. What was especially helpful was the Donavon printed on her mailbox.
Newspaper in hand, Baron made his way up the walkway to Heather’s front door. There was a car in the driveway, so he assumed she was home. After ringing the doorbell, he noticed the front windows were open, something he found odd for someone who had recently reported a peeping tom. Heather Donovan must not be overly concerned with her safety, he thought.
“Yes, can I help you?” Heather asked when she opened the door.
“I’m sorry to bother you. My name is Baron Huxley, and I read in the paper this morning about the man you saw.” Baron opened the newspaper and showed Heather the picture of Elizabeth’s drawing. “I was wondering if I could talk to you for a moment.”
“Exactly how did you know it was me who reported seeing that man?”
Baron smiled. “It’s a small town. Does it really matter?”
“What do you want?” Heather eyed him coolly.
“Like I said, I was wondering if I could talk to you for a moment about the man.”
“Why?”
Growing frustrated, Baron forced a smile. “You see, he looks like someone I once knew. Someone I haven’t seen for a long time.”
Heather stood silently at the doorway for a moment, considering the request. The silence was broken by a meow near her feet. She looked down. Bella weaved around her ankles.
“Back, Bella,” Heather said gruffly. With one foot, she gently shoved Bella back into the house. She then stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind her. Reaching out, she took the newspaper from Baron and opened it to the subject of the conversation. She sat down on the porch and looked at Antoine’s image.
With a reluctant shrug, Baron sat down on the stoop next to her.
Staring at the picture, Heather asked, “What’s his name?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your friend. The guy in the picture. What’s his name?”
“Well…” Baron stammered. “I’m not really sure it’s the same person. It just looks like him.”
Heather handed the paper back to Baron and looked at him. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“Ummm…a few years.”
“So what is his name?” Heather asked again. “If he’s your friend, I’d think you’d know his name. After all, he’s a person of interest; the police are obviously looking for him. Knowing his name would help the police. That’s why they ran that picture.”
“I understand that. But to be honest with you, I don’t really remember his name. Like I said, it was someone I knew a long time ago.”
Without expression, Heather studied Baron for a moment. Finally, she asked, “So what did you want to ask me?”
“When did you see him?”
“Last weekend.”
“According to the article, he was looking in your window.”
“Yeah, my living room window. I screamed, and he disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
Heather shrugged. “Well, he wasn’t there anymore.”
“Have you ever seen him before?”
“Yeah. The day before he looked in my window, I saw him on the beach.”
“Did you talk to him?”
Heather shook her head. “No, I never talked to him. Do you want to find this guy or something?”
“Like I said, it’s someone I knew a long time ago. I always wondered what happened to him.”
“Well, maybe you should go talk to the police about it.”
Baron stood up. “Thanks for your time, Ms. Donovan.” Baron turned and made his way down the walk to his parked car.
Heather remained on the front stoop and watched as Baron got into his vehicle. After he drove off, she pulled her cellphone out of her jacket pocket and dialed Danielle Boatman.
“Hey, Heather, what’s up?”
“I just had an interesting visitor.”
“Don’t tell me it’s our ghost Antoine Paul.”
“No, but it’s someone who’s looking for him. Some older guy named Baron Huxley.”
Twenty-Eight
Danielle didn’t call the chief until the next morning to tell him what Heather had said about Baron Huxley stopping by. Reluctant to bother him on the weekend when he was with his boys, she figured she would wait until Monday to tell him. Yet, by mid-morning Sunday, she broke down and called him.
“Sorry to bother you at home, Chief,” Danielle said when he answered her call.
“What’s going on, Danielle?”
She then went on to tell him everything Heather had said about Baron Huxley stopping by and inquiring about Antoine Paul.
“I suppose I should have expected that. That was one reason I tried to pull the article.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“It’s entir
ely possible there was a police composite sketch done back then of the man seen leaving the restaurant with his wife. One I didn’t come across in my brief search on Paul. Huxley probably recognized it.”
“I figured it was probably something like that.”
“Thanks for telling me. I suppose I should expect a visit from Huxley tomorrow. I need to be prepared and come up with something. I feel terrible dredging up all those memories for the poor guy. I hate giving someone false hope. If I was in his situation, I couldn’t stop looking for my wife’s killer.”
Before leaving Vancouver, Shirley Paul went online and looked up Frederickport motels. She found the Seahorse Motel, it was located right on the ocean. But she didn’t care about her room’s view. This wasn’t a vacation. It had taken some fast talking to get a few days off at work. But she had to come.
It was late Sunday afternoon when Shirley pulled into Frederickport. With the help of her car’s GPS, she drove directly to the Seahorse Motel. She found the rooms clean but well used, with the basic necessities. It was too chilly to open her sliding door, but she pulled back the curtain, exposing the ocean view. Exhausted both physically and emotionally, she kicked off her shoes and laid down on the queen-size bed, not bothering to pull back the bedspread.
When Shirley woke up several hours later, it was dark outside. Getting up from the bed, she rubbed her eyes and glanced at the alarm clock sitting on the nightstand. It was almost 9 p.m. She wondered if there was someplace still open where she could get something to eat. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and then it was only cereal and a piece of fruit. After slipping her shoes back on and running a brush through her hair, she grabbed her purse and car keys.
Heading downtown, she found a little diner that was still open: Lucy’s Diner. She hoped she wasn’t too late to order something. It was a quarter past nine.
When Shirley entered the restaurant, the first thing she asked, “Are you still serving?”
The waitress, clutching several menus to her chest, smiled and said, “We sure are. We’re open until ten. Sit anywhere you like.”
Shirley chose a booth not far from the entrance, her back to the door.
Baron Huxley had a lot on his mind. Just when things seemed to be working out, another obstacle would be thrown in his way. Antoine Paul wasn’t an obstacle exactly, but a major distraction.
When Huxley entered Lucy’s Diner shortly before 10 p.m. on Sunday evening, he paid no notice to the other diners as he made his way to an empty booth at the back of the restaurant. Just as he sat down, his cellphone began to ring. Before answering it, he looked to see who was calling.
“What does he say?” Baron asked when he answered the phone. “Can he explain how Paul was seen in Frederickport? I sent you that picture. If that’s not him, he has a twin brother.”
Baron listened to the caller’s reply. Shaking his head, he leaned back in the booth seat, still holding the cellphone to his ear.
“I just don’t need this. Klein’s out of the way. Everything should be smooth sailing from here on out.”
Baron’s phone call was interrupted when the server showed up at his table. Covering his phone briefly, he looked up at her. “I’m on the phone. Come back in about five minutes and take my order.”
A pad and pen in hand, the waitress let out a weary sigh, yet she didn’t acquiesce to his request. Clearly annoyed, the waitress—who should have retired ten years earlier and wanted nothing more than to take her shoes off and soak in a hot tub—shook her head.
“I’m sorry, it’s after ten, and if you want something, you’re going to have to order now,” she said stubbornly.
Glaring at the server, Baron knew instinctively she was not going to budge. Turning his attention briefly to his phone, he said, “I’ll have to call you right back.”
Baron proceeded to give the waitress his order, and while doing so, his eyes wandered past her to a young woman at a booth facing him. The woman had just stood up and tossed money on the table. When she looked up in his direction, he almost jumped from his seat. Knowing he had to follow her, he attempted to get out of the booth, but the waitress was blocking his way. He almost told the waitress—who hadn’t noticed his sudden shift of interest due to the fact she was busy scribbling his order on the pad—to get out of his way, when he realized it was too late. The woman had stepped out of the diner.
Sliding to the far side of the booth’s bench seat, he looked out the window into the dark night. He couldn’t see where she had gone, but he had to find her.
The waitress, who now noticed her customer’s odd behavior, looked up from her pad and frowned. “Is something wrong?”
“That woman who just left—I think it’s an old friend of mine. She didn’t happen to say where she’s staying, did she?”
“What woman?”
Baron pointed to where the woman had been. “She was sitting there. She just left.”
The server glanced around and looked at the now empty booth. With a shrug she said, “No. She didn’t say anything.”
After the server finally left his table to put in his order, Baron promptly called back the person he had just been talking to.
“Antoine Paul has to be in Frederickport. I just saw his sister.”
On Monday morning, Police Chief MacDonald sat at his desk, reviewing his file on Steve Klein’s death. He was halfway through the file when Brian showed up at his door with a cup of coffee in each hand.
Glancing up from his desk, MacDonald smiled. “Please tell me one of those is mine.”
“You left your coffee sitting in the break room.” Brian walked to the chief and set one cup on his desk. “I poured you a fresh cup.”
“Thanks.” MacDonald picked up the coffee and took a sip.
Sitting down in a chair facing the desk, Brian nodded to the folder MacDonald was looking at. “Is that on Klein?”
“Someone fed him crabmeat, and we need to find out who it was.”
“The obvious suspects, Carla or his wife. They both had the opportunity. The motive.” Brian took a sip of his coffee.
“I keep thinking of Baron Huxley.”
“The tamale guy?” Brian asked.
“He gave Steve the food he supposedly ate that night. According to Beverly, they had some issues. And according to Danielle, Mr. Huxley may be having some money problems.”
“How would Danielle know that?”
MacDonald smiled sheepishly. “Don’t repeat this.”
“Certainly not.” Brian’s grin widened.
“Danielle called me yesterday morning. She told me Huxley stopped by Marlow House, supposedly wanting a tour of the place. While he was there, he asked her to fly with him to San Francisco for dinner.”
Brian arched his brows. “Wow. Likes to sweep the ladies off their feet, doesn’t he? I didn’t even know she knew him that well.”
“She doesn’t. Only met him at Beverly’s when she stopped by to give her condolences, and again at Adam Nichol’s office.”
“Fast mover. I take it she didn’t accept his offer. So why does she think he has money problems?”
“Because the reason he was at Adam’s office, he listed his beach house here—at a significantly reduced price. He wants a fast sale. She suspects he has a cash-flow problem.”
“If he does, then why is he offering to fly Boatman to San Francisco for dinner?”
MacDonald smiled. “Why do you think?”
Brian considered the question a moment and then said, “Ahhh…he was after the lady’s money.”
“That’s what Danielle thinks.”
Brian shrugged. “Maybe she’s selling herself short. She’s an attractive woman. I could see why Huxley would hit on her.”
Before MacDonald could respond, the phone on his desk rang. It was the receptionist at the front of the office.
“Yeah?”
“There’s a woman who insists on seeing someone regarding that picture we had in the paper. Her name is Shirley Paul. She says the man
in the drawing is her brother. Who do you want me to have her talk to?”
MacDonald noticed the striking resemblance between Shirley Paul and the drawing of her brother the moment she walked into his office. He guessed she was about Danielle’s age, which meant she was probably around twenty when her older brother went missing.
The night before, he had decided what he would tell Baron Huxley about the man in the drawing—should he show up in his office and make an inquiry. While Huxley hadn’t yet shown up, MacDonald decided he would give Shirley Paul the same story he had concocted for Huxley.
Standing up from behind his desk, MacDonald shook Shirley’s hand, they exchanged brief introductions, and he asked her to take a seat while he closed the office door.
“Like I told the woman at the front desk, I’m here about the picture that ran in Saturday’s paper—about that person of interest you’re looking for.” Opening her purse, she pulled out a photograph of her brother, stood up, and handed it to the chief, who now sat behind his desk. He accepted the photograph and she returned to her chair.
Studying the picture in his hand a moment, he looked up at Shirley and smiled. “He does look a little like the man in the drawing.”
“He looks exactly like the man in the drawing,” she insisted. “I believe the man you’re looking for is my brother, Antoine Paul.”
Setting the photograph on the desktop, MacDonald looked at Paul’s sister. “I really appreciate you coming in, and I’m sorry for wasting your time. But, we’ve already located the man we’re looking for. It wasn’t your brother. His name isn’t Antoine Paul.”
Shaking her head in denial, she said, “Then my brother must be using another name. I don’t think he knows who he is.”
“Are you saying you believe your brother has lost his memory?”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense. He went missing about eleven years ago. I haven’t heard from him. Antoine wouldn’t just disappear without letting me know where he was.”
MacDonald noticed the tears welling in the young woman’s eyes. He felt it inhumane to give her false hope.
“Ms. Paul, how old would your brother be now?”
