by Cathy Ace
And worth a lot of money, I’m guessing.
It was at that breakfast table, with a cup of very strong tea in my hand, that I decided to stop being an idiot, and to trust my instincts. Colin MacMillan had just given me three very good possible motives for Annette’s murder, some insight into how it might have happened, and one very good reason why she wouldn’t have killed herself. I threw my earlier doubts out of the window, and decided I was back on the case.
Now I really needed to see the papers Bud had asked Ellen to get together for us. I had a feeling that somewhere within them I’d find a further clue to the real motive for Annette’s murder which would lead me to the culprit. All I’d have to do then would be to work out how they’d managed to talk Annette into sitting in a truck until she couldn’t breathe any more. Or how someone had managed to get Annette to a state of unconsciousness, then lifted her into the truck, given that there wasn’t a single person on my list of possible suspects who looked as though they were capable of lifting more than a small sack of potatoes. I mean, some of those trucks are so high I need a stepladder to get into them myself, and I’m not hauling a deadweight. Already the prospect of solving the puzzle was exciting me, and I couldn’t wait to get started.
Poor Bud.
Kopi Luwak
AS THE BREAKFAST CROWD BEGAN to rise from their seats and take their leave, shaking Pat and Lauren’s hands as they departed, I was anxious to have a chance to compare mental notes with Bud. When I gave him the nod, Bud was up and moving toward the staircase in pretty short order.
As we made our way upstairs, I could hear Colin tell his Mom that he’d like to stay for the luncheon at their home later that day, after all. Her reply gushed with gratitude, and they left with her all but patting him on the head.
It wasn’t until I was leaving my bathroom that I realized that Bud and I hadn’t made arrangements for someone to drive us to Ellen’s office, as she’d suggested. I crossed the landing and knocked on Bud’s door, which he opened so quickly I suspected he’d been standing right behind it.
“We didn’t organized a lift to Ellen’s. I’m sorry, it slipped my mind,” was my very reasonable opening gambit. He pulled my arm, and the rest of me, into his room, and shut the door. “We learned a lot about Annette this morning,” I added brightly.
“Now you’re trying to put lipstick on a pig,” he observed wryly. “As far as I can see, the only things we learned about Annette were that, a) for some reason, she once took her garbage downtown, b) the day she died she had a row with someone and was upset, and c) she collected little boxes. The first two point to unusual behavior immediately prior to her suicide, the third . . . well, I guess it just tells us she had a hobby.”
“Okay,” I replied, trying to slide into the topic graciously, “I see where you’re coming from, but I interpret those pieces of information differently. For example, the garbage thing: what was it in her garbage that she didn’t want anyone to find?”
“Who would find anything in her garbage?” was Bud’s sharp retort. “I mean, who would even look at her garbage—except the garbage collectors?”
I nodded, but wouldn’t be dissuaded. “We don’t know, though maybe we can infer that the assiduously attentive Wisers might have hazarded a peek. But she obviously thought it was important, so it should be important to us. And the argument she had. Who was she arguing with, why was she reduced to tears, and what might it mean in terms of a possible murder?”
“Cait, let it go!”
“No, I won’t, because what that tells us is that she was upset . . .”
“Exactly,” interrupted Bud. “And maybe upset enough to kill herself . . .”
“. . . but we don’t know why, so we should look into it.” I was not going to be sidetracked. “There’s also the collection of snuff boxes. If she had a good, large collection, especially of silver boxes, it could have been very valuable. We need to find out if stealing that collection, which Colin says has disappeared, might have been a motive for murder . . .”
“Oh come on, Cait. Colin’s a kid. Just because he hasn’t seen the collection since Annette died doesn’t mean it’s ‘disappeared.’ It’s much more likely that Ellen’s put it into storage with the rest of her sister’s stuff—though that is an interesting point, in its own right.”
I recalled how Bud had pressed Colin about the possibility of Ellen hauling her sister’s belongings to the old apple store. “Yes, what was all that about?” I asked.
Bud scratched his head. “Well, when you were cooing about the canapés to someone last evening, I asked Ellen about the furniture in this place—you know, it’s nice, old stuff?” I nodded. “She told me that she’d kept as many family pieces as she’d needed for setting up the B&B, but that she’d ‘got rid of’ the rest of Annette’s things. I was really asking on your behalf, because I know how good you are at building a profile of a victim from their belongings. I thought that, you know, if you could root through Annette’s stuff, you’d be able to build a better picture of her.”
I pounced. “Ah, so you do think she might be a ‘victim,’ after all!”
Bud tutted. “Last evening I was still prepared to give you some benefit of the doubt, but that was it.” He scratched again. “Why wouldn’t Ellen just tell me she’d stored it all? Why would she lie about that? It makes no sense.”
I gave it a moment’s thought. “Okay, I’ll play devil’s advocate here, and suggest it might just be a sign that she can’t let go of her sister. You know what I’m like with my parents’ ashes, the way they’re still sitting in urns on my mantelpiece . . .”
“Yeah, that is a bit odd, Cait, you have to admit. I mean, it’s been a long time now.” Bud shifted from one foot to another as he spoke.
“I know it’s been a long time, and I also know that they are where they are because I can’t let go. I don’t actually want to let go, and I am fully aware of that fact. It’s not unhealthy. It doesn’t mean I’m nuts, or even odd. Plus there’s nowhere for me to put them. They never visited me in Canada, so there’s nowhere here that was special to them. I didn’t want to leave them behind in Wales, where there’d be no one to tend to a memorial. My sister, Sian, didn’t want them with her in Australia, which was fine by me. I think that having them on my mantelpiece is just the right spot for them, for now. And don’t let’s even go to the place where you heard me talking to them about you: you were supposed to be asleep and it was your fault you heard anything. But we’re not talking about me. I’m just using that as an example of how people choose to hang onto things. Maybe Ellen wasn’t ready to get rid of Annette’s stuff: Colin said she made those trips to the old apple store very soon after her sister’s death, so maybe that’s how she dealt with the issue of belongings.”
“Why would she lie about it? She said she’d ‘got rid of them.’” Bud repeated.
“What if she thinks you’d see that as an indication that she hasn’t come to terms with her sister’s death?”
“You’re saying that Ellen lied to me, to stop me from thinking that she really believes her sister killed herself?”
I nodded.
“I guess it’s a possibility,” said Bud thoughtfully. “I still think that the right thing to do is to confront her with that.”
“Okay, but look, don’t forget that now we know there’s a back way that someone could have got to or from Anen House, without anyone who lives in Anen Close being any the wiser, and that’s a big game-changer. One of my major stumbling blocks, on the murder front, was how anyone could have gained access to the scene of the crime. Now I know how that could have happened. All I need to do next is work out how someone could have got her to sit in the truck until she was dead—that’s where the autopsy will come in handy. How about we get ourselves to Ellen’s office, then we’ll see if she’s got the papers we asked her to hunt out, and I just get one more chance to see if there’s anything concrete to go on.” I wasn’t pleading, but I was using my “pretty please” voice.
<
br /> Bud smiled. “You can stop the super-cute smiley face, Cait,” I did, “and tell me why you’ve shifted from agreeing with me, earlier on, that Annette probably did kill herself, to being back to believing she was murdered.”
“I had a moment of weakness this morning,” I sighed. “I was feeling pretty low. I doubted my instincts, which I shouldn’t do. I thought I had learned that. And now I’m beginning to get a little insight into Annette, I realize we don’t know the woman, the woman she really was, at all. Initially, you had a pretty thinly drawn picture of her from her sister, no more than a sketch of a perfect woman, whom no one would want to harm. And what have we learned about her so far? She liked science fiction and fantasy; made fun of people who lacked her own skills; collected expensive snuff boxes and read extensively about history; even chose to spend time mixing, thoughtfully, with the young and the old. She was acting out of character for the last several weeks or so of her life, and she actually spent a lot of time with Raj Pinder, to whom she willed her half of the family business. We haven’t even been here a day yet! I think we’re doing okay, but we could do better. Surely there are enough odd facts coming to light that it’s worth spending just a little more time digging around, before you do your big ‘grief buddy’ thing with her sister?”
Bud had moved his scratching hand from his head to his chin. A good sign. “Okay, I’ll give you that,” he said, almost grudgingly. “If we’re going to go visit Ellen, why don’t we just take my truck? I know she said to get ourselves a ride, but maybe everyone with a vehicle has left by now. What do you think?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know who’s still downstairs and who’s gone, but I can see the little parking lot behind the house from my bathroom window, and our rooms are mirrors of each other, so you should be able to see it from yours too.” Bud trotted into his bathroom as I spoke. “Are there any cars there?” I asked.
“There’s one. A white Prius. Don’t know whose it is, but if we’re quick, we might be in luck. I guess if she said to get someone to drive us to her office, Ellen must have some sort of plan. She seems quite keen on plans.”
“Okay, if you pop down I’ll just—you know, run back to my room for a minute—and I’ll join you.”
“Too much tea?” quipped Bud, as I left his room.
A few minutes later I was refreshed, jacketed, and at the foot of the stairs with Bud and the Jacksons. Oh joy!
“The Jacksons have very kindly offered to drop us off at Ellen’s office before they head on back to their store,” said Bud, smiling a little too brightly.
“Super,” I replied through almost gritted teeth. I sighed, but only inwardly, of course. “We appreciate it.” Please let it be a very short journey!
“You’re welcome,” Lizzie Jackson replied, as she blinked at me through her owlish spectacles. “We felt a little guilty driving up the hill from our house first thing, but we knew we’d want to be back at the store for a while before the luncheon, so it made sense to not have to walk back down to collect the car. Of course, we don’t like to use the car more than we absolutely have to, you know, the environment and so forth.” Here we go . . .
“It’s totally understandable,” I added politely, as we all walked around the house to their waiting vehicle. “You’ve made a very sensible choice of car for the environment,” I added watching Grant Jackson unlock the hybrid.
“Yes, it’s a good one,” he said proudly, “and only a few thousand on the clock when we bought it from Ellen. It’s got a good few years in it, this one.”
“This used to be Ellen’s car?” I asked, desperately trying to keep the subject away from anything to do with Faceting.
“No, it was Annette’s. But not the one—you know, that she—not that one. That was Ellen’s truck. I don’t think we could, you know . . .” Grant blushed.
“Drive the vehicle that Annette killed herself in?” I offered. Bud glared at me.
“When we leave this world we leave an imprint, and the imprint of poor Annette’s final desperation will always be in that truck, which Ellen insists upon still driving,” said Lizzie, with a mixture of sadness and disgust. She gathered up the layers of pale turquoise satin, chiffon, and velvet clothing that she’d donned for breakfast as she grappled with her seat belt. She added, “You see, Annette had a lot of back problems before she died, and, of course, everyone knew she’d backed out of tastings, so I suspected that her sense of smell was awry too, both clear indications that her root chakra was completely unbalanced. I told her to wear red. I even gave her a bloodstone to keep with her. But the ultimate failure of the root chakra is suicide. And I couldn’t save her.”
Grant Jackson managed to find his wife’s hand among her multi-layered clothing and held it gently in his. “We failed her, Lizzie. We tried, but we failed. We should have tried harder. I should have recognized the signs when she asked me for help. I did what I thought was right, but I didn’t understand what it meant. Lizzie’s right, guys. Annette was definitely doing things in those last weeks that weren’t right for her. She was obviously grappling with something. And I didn’t connect with that. She wouldn’t let us connect, or give, or help her to spiritualize her life in any way. We tried and failed. That won’t stop us trying with others, for others, right, my dear? Right?” He kissed her hand, or more specifically, the large, green, crystal ring she wore.
I wondered what Bud and I were in for on the journey, but, as Grant pulled out of the parking lot and began to head down the road toward his own house at its base, I didn’t have to wonder for long. He was clearly an evangelist for his belief system, and all Bud and I could do was nod politely as he rattled on, and on, and on.
“I gather you know nothing about Faceting for Life,” he began joyfully, “which isn’t unusual, eh Lizzie?”
“That’s right, Grant,” she replied, equally jolly.
Bud squeezed my hand as a warning.
“This is such an ideal opportunity to tell you a little about it,” began Grant. Oh, just shoot me now! “But, hey, you’ll have more of a chance to learn all about it when you come to our humble restaurant for lunch tomorrow. Briefly, it involves the concept that there are fourteen Critical Facets that we need to attend to each day of our lives, in order to allow ourselves to exist harmoniously with our surroundings. They are: playing, achieving, developing, creating, loving, connecting, giving, relaxing, organizing, spiritualizing, vitalizing, indulging, dreaming, and laughing.” As an aside he added, “I don’t expect you to remember them all, of course, but I’m sure we have a pamphlet somewhere in the car that you can take with you.”
“And what we do is make sure we attend to each Facet, each day, and give it a good buffing,” added Lizzie with enthusiasm. “Facet and Face It, you see. By ensuring that we make a conscious effort in each of these fourteen parts of our life, every day, we become at one with the whole cosmos.”
I bit my tongue. I could tell that Bud knew how much I was dying to speak, and he squeezed my hand even tighter. I couldn’t hold it back any longer.
“So Faceting for Life is a simple lifestyle choice, and you just, sort of, do it all on your own?” I heard Bud “tut” as he let go of my hand in disgust.
Both the Jacksons laughed. I wondered if that was all the laughing they’d have to do that day to have buffed that particular Facet.
“Oh no. We’re not strong enough to do it as well as we might, completely without help and guidance. That’s what we use ‘The Gem’ for.”
“What’s ‘The Gem?’” Well, I had to ask, right?
“Oh, that’s the place in Sedona where we Facetors can meet, live for a while, learn from each other, and fortify ourselves with supplies that help us in the outside world. It’s where we met, eh, Lizzie?” replied Grant, blissfully unaware of the vibes coming from the back seat. Lizzie nodded at him lovingly.
“Lizzie had been there many times, but it was my first pilgrimage.” Oh, come on! “She was so much more powerful than I, and I learned a great deal
from her. We Faceted together for many days and, eventually, we both knew that our future path should be walked together. That’s when Lizzie sold up in Phoenix and came to Canada, and I sold up my little business too, in Vancouver. We set up the store, the restaurant, and Lizzie’s healing practice, right here. Together.”
“Oh yes, I’ve been told that you help people give up smoking, Lizzie. Cait could do with your help on that one, right, Cait?” Bud was getting back at me for breakfast. Damn and blast!
Lizzie turned as much as she could in her seat to look toward me. “Oh my dear, I certainly can. I use a blended program of hypnosis, crystal healing, chakra realignment, and aura manipulation. I’m very successful. It only takes seven sessions. When are you leaving? I could fit you in today, if you like?”
I don’t think she caught the look on my face.
“Well, we’re leaving on Monday, Lizzie, but I’ll certainly bear it in mind for our next visit.” I tried to sound as enthusiastic as possible.
“It only took five treatments for Serendipity to quit, though she’s still due to have her final two, next week. She’s been without the poison in her system for almost a month now. I’m so pleased for her, she’s taken to it so well. I thought I’d had a success with Marcel du Bois, though I understand he might be backsliding a little. It all went well to start with, but, being at that restaurant, he’s got so many opportunities to have a sly smoke there.”
I was puzzled. “But he can’t possibly smoke at the restaurant?” As a smoker, I’m only too well aware of all the places you cannot indulge these days.
“Oh, no. But they have a place out back where the smokers all congregate, and they sometimes leave their cigarettes before they’ve finished them.”
I still didn’t get it. “And?”
