Adele looked around the lobby, confirming she and Phillip were the only ones in the large, high-ceilinged room. To her right was the wide staircase leading to the second floor and the guest rooms. Adele knew that somewhere up there she would find Tilda.
“I tell you what, Phillip, I’m gonna wait over there in one of those nice chairs next to that big stone fireplace and give you a chance to reconsider, OK?”
Before Phillip could respond, Adele walked quickly across the wood plank floor and sat down in one of two high-backed, green upholstered chars that faced what appeared to be the hotel’s original limestone fireplace mantel. She removed a paper pad from her backpack and pretended to write notes in it. The lobby, being lit by just a few antique lamps placed in various corners of the large room, was being overtaken by late-day shadow.
C’mon, Phillip. At least go up there and ask her.
Phillip remained standing, utterly immobile, behind the lobby desk. Adele could feel his eyes boring into her back.
It was a sitting standoff.
I’m just going to stay right here. He can stand over there glaring at me all he wants.
Nearly an hour went by before Adele heard the sound of footsteps as a likely guest entered the hotel lobby from outside. She glanced at her phone and noted it was nearly seven-thirty. Darkness had settled over Roche Harbor.
The footsteps didn’t make their way to the lobby desk, though. Instead, they indicated someone was approaching the very chair Adele was sitting in. By the time Adele moved to turn her head and see who it was, the person was sitting down in the other chair directly across from her.
Adele’s mouth fell partially open and she let out a soft gasp.
The dark gaze of Tilda Ashland settled upon Adele.
“You wish to speak with me?”
Adele, caught off guard, initially stammered, forced herself to focus, and then responded.
“Yes, my name is Adele Plank. I believe you saw me speaking with Delroy earlier.”
Tilda smiled, showing a row of age-yellowed teeth. Her skin was remarkably smooth for a woman of nearly sixty, and her shoulder-length red hair remained almost as long and luxurious as it had been during the days of her youth, with just a hint of gray showing amidst its thick strands. The fingers were thin and delicate, and the legs underneath the white lace dress she wore appeared to be as well. Adele looked at Tilda’s chest and then quickly glanced away, only to find herself drawn back again.
A swath of translucent lace covered the upper portion of Tilda’s dress. She wasn’t wearing a bra and the material was not nearly opaque enough to hide her ample breasts and the dark outline of her nipples.
“Yes, I saw you speaking with Delroy. That’s the only reason I’m willing to speak with you now.”
Tilda leaned back and extended her right hand. Phillip placed a nearly full glass of amber-hued whiskey into it. She took a long, slow drink, emptying a third of the contents. Then she looked up with her dark eyes that seemed to stare into Adele.
“Tell me what you want from me, but don’t you dare lie, little girl. I have no patience for lies.”
Adele could smell the hotel owner’s alcohol-drenched breath and marveled at how Tilda was able to function given the amount she already appeared to have consumed.
“I’m doing an interview with the writer, Decklan Stone.”
Tilda’s eyes flickered ice, and her smile sent a shiver down Adele’s spine.
“I am quite certain I’m not Decklan Stone. You appear to be speaking to the wrong person.”
“I know you were friends with both Decklan and Calista, and---“
Tilda let out a hiss and then looked away for a moment as if trying to recall something she had long ago forgotten. The drink remained clasped in her right hand, while the tips of her left hand fingernails dug into the chair’s arm.
“You don’t know anything.”
Though shaken by Tilda’s obvious instability, Adele was determined to forge ahead, not certain that she would ever be given the opportunity to speak with her again.
“I know what Decklan told me of that day, and then the night that Calista died. He mentioned you and that is what brought me here. I wanted to hear your version. I wanted to show you that respect.”
Tilda’s mouth curled into a grotesque, savage snarl. The words she spoke next were spit out like a cobra striking upon its frightened prey.
“Decklan Stone is a killer! A murderer! Don’t talk to me of respect! Don’t talk to me of Calista! YOU…KNOW…NOTHING!”
Tilda brought the glass to her mouth and proceeded to empty its contents in a single swallow. It was then flung into the fireplace where it shattered in much the same way it seemed Tilda’s life had been shattered when Calista Stone forever sank beneath dark waters twenty-seven-years earlier.
Phillip rushed to Tilda’s side and gently placed a hand onto her right shoulder.
“Ms. Ashford, we do have guests.”
Tilda appeared ready to scream at Phillip as well, but then saw movement from the second floor as an older woman peered from a partially open door. The hotel owner let out a deep, exhausted sigh and then pointed toward the lobby desk. Her words were slightly slurred as her chin fell onto her chest.
“Bring me another drink.”
Phillip whispered into Tilda’s right ear.
“Perhaps it’s best you retire for the evening, Ms. Ashland.”
Tilda closed her eyes and began to chuckle. Her response arrived softly at first, but then grew in volume with each subsequent word spoken.
“Thank you for your concern, Phillip. Now do as you’re told and get me another drink.”
Phillip stood up again, paused, and then finally surrendered with a curt nod.
“Yes, Ms. Ashland, right away.”
Tilda’s eyes opened slowly until she was looking at Adele.
“What was the reason Delroy sent you? What part is he playing in this?”
Adele shook her head.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Yes you are, stop playing games. Clearly he wanted you here, and I’m now demanding you tell me why.”
Tilda’s volatile nature made it difficult for Adele to choose how to answer the hotel owner’s question. She chose to simply regurgitate Delroy’s own words in the hopes of sounding as truthful as possible.
“He said it would be for my benefit, and Decklan’s.”
Phillip returned with the drink. Tilda took it and then pointed to the fireplace.
“Please start a fire, Phillip. I grow cold. It seems I’m always cold anymore.”
Phillip quickly set about placing handfuls of kindling onto a pile of old newspaper and then added three large logs atop the pile. Soon the crackle and snap of burning wood echoed throughout the hotel lobby, the fire’s light helping to partially push back the shadows from the seating area that housed both Adele and Tilda. Tilda was about to take a sip from her whiskey when she stopped and loudly snapped her right fingers together.
“Phillip, bring my guest her own glass, and be quick about it.”
Adele was about to decline the offer but then realized it wasn’t actually an offer, but in fact an expectation, so she simply waited silently and then accepted the half-full glass of whiskey with a polite, albeit strained, grin.
Tilda gave what appeared to be her first genuine smile since sitting down with Adele.
“Men are good for little, and little good for anyone but themselves, but Phillip is better than most.”
Adele took a sip from her glass and tried not to grimace. She had never enjoyed the taste of hard alcohol.
“I’m curious. Why would Delroy think I, of all people, would care about what benefits Decklan?”
Adele found herself once again silently panicked over a question she did not with certainty understand the meaning of. It was clear Tilda blamed Decklan for Calista’s death, but Adele was not yet sure if Tilda thought that murder, or merely negligence, was responsible.
“I
’m sorry. I don’t know. I’m trying to learn more about all of this. I think there is a story here beyond the story that’s already been told.”
Tilda arched her eyebrows and delivered her second genuine smile of the night.
“Indeed there is, little girl. No one will listen to me. I’m crazy, you see, unworthy of being heard. The old woman in the tower. I am the still-living ghost of Roche Harbor’s hidden past, haunting those few who remain alive but choose to forget what happened all those years ago.”
Tilda drank from her glass and stared into the flames that licked the air in front of her.
“And now you hope to hear my version as well?”
Adele nodded.
“Yes, I would.”
Adele saw Phillip making his way outside. He stopped some ten feet from the hotel entrance and inhaled deeply from a cigarette. Then he blew the smoke out in an angry cloud that swirled around him before dissipating into the darkness. Adele was certain he was looking through one of the large hotel windows to where both women sat talking in front of the fire.
Tilda watched Adele watching Phillip and smiled again; though, this time her eyes were cold and hinted at the madness that lurked just beneath her surface.
“Very well, Adele Plank. I will tell my version. I will tell you what Decklan Stone cannot.”
Adele paused with her glass halfway to her lips.
“What is that?”
The fire’s flames danced like wicked children in the depths of Tilda’s midnight eyes.
“The truth.”
12.
Adele slept far more soundly in one of the sparse but tastefully furnished Roche Harbor Hotel guest rooms than she would have thought possible given the disturbing, decades-long tale that confirmed Tilda Ashland’s obsessive certainty that Decklan Stone was guilty of having murdered his wife.
Adele reached across the double bed for her recorder, sat up with her back against the soft, quilted headboard, and pushed play. Tilda’s low, slightly slurred voice immediately transported Adele back to the previous night’s conversation.
“I saw them arguing. I heard them yelling at one another, but it was the look on his face. It was the look of a man who wanted his wife dead. As soon as I heard she was missing, I knew what Decklan Stone had done. It was no accident. He killed Calista.”
“And is that what you told the police?”
Tilda’s mouth curled downward into a disgusted frown. She spat out her words as if they were poison being expelled from her mouth.
“Bah! Of course I did! I met with the sheriff personally. He had no use for what I knew. He hardly paid me any attention at all. He wanted that case to be over. He’s a lazy, worthless little man. That gun on his hip was always just for show. And then who is it hired by Decklan to bring him supplies to his island but the man’s own simple-minded son. Coincidence? I think not.”
Adele reached down and turned the volume of her recorder up and then closed her eyes as she tried to relive every nuance of the conversation.
“And this was Sheriff Speaks, correct?”
Tilda sniffed.
“Yes, the arrogant bastard. I went back again to ask why the case had been closed so quickly. He ignored me. Then he warned me to stop harassing him, said he would get a restraining order if need be.”
The recording indicated a long, silent break in the conversation before Tilda continued. At that moment she sounded tired, spent well beyond her nearly sixty years.
“It was as if he wanted Calista buried and gone from everyone’s memory, as if she had never been at all. I didn’t forget though. I will never forget!”
Adele pushed pause on the recorder, withdrew a pen and notepad, and wrote down Tilda’s comment. She didn’t know yet why those words were so significant, but she was certain they hinted at something important, something right in front of her.
Something she was missing.
I’ve got to get moving. I’ll finish reviewing the interview when I get back to Bellingham.
Adele washed, brushed her teeth, and changed into fresh clothes. She put her shoulder-length hair into a ponytail, and in less than fifteen minutes from getting out of bed, was walking down the hotel staircase and on her way outside.
“Good morning, Ms Plank. I trust you slept well?”
Adele stopped at the lobby desk behind which Phillip stood looking exactly as he had the day before.
“Yeah, thank you. Is Ms. Ashland up yet? I’d like to tell her thanks for giving me a free stay here.”
Phillip’s lips pursed together and he rapidly shook his head from side to side.
“No, Ms. Ashland isn’t normally available until later in the day. I will be happy to forward your gratitude to her though.”
Adele slapped the top of the desk with the bottom of her right hand and headed out the door.
“Thanks, Phillip. You take care.”
She was happy to be out of the hotel. Despite the building’s considerable size, Adele found its ambiance reflected its owner, unstable, moody, and suffocating.
The walk to Delroy’s sailboat was enough to clear away the experience of having met Tilda Ashland. It was a remarkably bright, warm spring morning with just a hint of a breeze. There wasn’t a single cloud to hinder the blue perfection of the sky.
Adele’s footsteps made a heavy, thunk thunk as she travelled over the wood dock. More than one stranger looked and gave her a warm smile. Once she reached the side of Delroy’s boat, Adele rang the bell and waited. When no response came, she rang the bell again.
“Hello? Delroy, are you in there? It’s Adele from yesterday.”
The sailboat remained still and silent.
What’s that smell?
It was the hint of something burning carried on the saltwater breeze. Adele scanned the horizon and saw a pillar of black smoke working across the water near Orcas Island. She continued to stand and watch the smoke as its dark mass expanded like the fingers of a massive, floating hand slowly opening.
And then a familiar voice sounded from directly behind her, causing Adele to flinch.
“Hello there, Ms. Plank.”
It was Decklan Stone.
“I’m sorry, did I scare you?”
Adele shook her head while her eyes drank in the sight of the impossibly attractive older man. A thick strand of Decklan’s hair hung over his left brow and his face was covered in a thin layer of dark stubble. Decklan wore a pair of faded jeans and a form-fitting, V-neck T-shirt with a pair of ragged, canvas high top sneakers.
Decklan smelled of gasoline and Adele noted a dark smudge covering the top of his right hand.
“You give up writing to be an auto mechanic?”
Decklan appeared confused at first, but then looked down at his hands and chuckled.
“Had a fuel line that needed to be re-clamped on my way over here. Made a bit of a mess.”
Adele glanced around.
“You bring your little boat?”
Decklan nodded and pointed toward the end of the dock.
“Yeah, tied up down there. I left early, spent an hour or so walking Sucia, and then made my way here. Figured I’d check in with Delroy, but it looks like he’s not around, huh?”
Adele remembered that Sucia was a small island some fifteen miles northeast of Roche Harbor. It was a favorite among beachcombers, noted for its fossilized rocks and multiple coves.
“Uh, I guess not.”
Decklan took a step forward and cocked his head slightly to the left.
“How do you know Delroy?”
Adele cleared her throat and tried to appear as casual as possible, but knew she was failing miserably.
“I just met him yesterday.”
Decklan’s eyes widened slightly.
“Uh-huh…”
Adele knew the proverbial jig was up. She had been caught red-handed.
“OK, yes, I was doing a bit of background on you for the article. I hope that’s all right.”
Decklan straightened his pos
ture and buried his hands into the back pockets of his jeans.
“So who else have you talked to besides Delroy?”
Adele’s eyes glanced up toward the hotel. Decklan, possessing the keen observational powers of a gifted author, noticed immediately.
He looked at the hotel and grunted.
“You spoke with Tilda, huh? That must have been a unique experience. Did she convince you I wanted to see Calista dead? That my failure to go to prison is the result of some grand conspiracy?”
Adele stood silent, unable to form a response. Rage flashed briefly across Decklan’s face.
“Answer me!”
The volume of his demand angered Adele and she found the courage to push back in almost equal proportion.
“Don’t you dare yell at me! I’m a journalist! I’m allowed to speak to whomever I want!”
Decklan’s rage dissipated just as quickly as it had appeared, and was replaced by his familiar, polite detachment.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Plank. I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way. Seeing you here caught me by surprise is all. I fear I remain overly protective of my privacy. You’re correct that I have no right to assume I enjoy any control over those you choose to speak with.”
Both Adele and Decklan looked up at the sound of a familiar voice.
“Well, well, well, it is the prodigal friend who has returned! Hello there, Decklan! And a good morning to you as well, Ms. Plank!”
Delroy Hicks tilted the brim of his fedora at Adele and then gave Decklan a warm hug. He pointed out toward the same smoke cloud that gathered over Orcas Island that had recently caught Adele’s attention.
“Decklan, did you hear about the accident?”
Decklan appeared to not have any idea what Delroy was referring to. He glanced at Adele and then looked down at Delroy and shook his head.
“No, what accident?”
Delroy’s narrow shoulders slumped within the thick blue fabric of his sweatshirt.
“Oh, it’s a terrible thing. That little store over in Deer Harbor by your place, it blew up this morning, apparently the result of a propane leak.”
All eyes returned to the smoke-filled sky. Adele, shocked by the news, covered her mouth with both her hands. Soon her shock transformed into quickly-creeping dread.
The Writer Page 10
