Winter of Secrets

by Vicki Delany

  By which Smith assumed that Gary, fresh out of prison where he’d no doubt learned a thing or two about intimidation, had kicked them out of home and out of town.

  No loss to anyone. Least of all to the patrol officers of the Trafalgar City Police.

  “What’s the matter?” Lorraine asked in her soft voice. She stood at her brother’s side clutching a tattered pink robe around her skinny frame. The slippers on her feet had teddy-bear heads. They were clean and looked new. “I’m sorry about last night, Mol. I mean, Constable Smith. But those people…Jason’s family, they made me so mad. Are you going to arrest me?”

  “No, Lorraine. As I told Gary.” She glanced at the brother. All anger and aggression. And, Smith hoped, protection. “We’re here about Jason Wyatt-Yarmouth. You knew him?”

  “We were engaged.” Lorraine pulled a well-used tissue out of her pocket and blew her nose.

  “I’m sorry,” Smith said. Why the hell was she conducting this investigation? “I need you to think back a bit, Lorraine. On Christmas Eve, I was in the police truck outside the convenience store and you were going into town. We talked for a few minutes. Remember?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Think back before that. Like around dinner time. Did you see Jason then?”

  She shifted her feet. “Yeah.”

  “When?”

  Lorraine took a quick peek toward her brother. Then she looked so directly at Smith that the officer knew the girl was about to lie, or at least to dissemble. “Jason came here around six o’clock, maybe six-thirty. I was the only one at home, so I invited him in for something to eat. I put a couple of frozen dinners in the microwave and we talked for a while and then we ate.” She sniffed. “I’m cold, Gary. Do we have to stand here on the porch?”

  “Yes we do. These people are not welcome in our house. Not without a warrant.”

  “Not a problem,” Winters said. “It’s a pleasant evening.” Somewhere down the street, a snowblower roared to life. At the bottom of the hill a car spun its wheels searching for traction.

  “After you had dinner, Lorraine, did you notice what time Jason left?”

  She looked everywhere but at the police. “Sure. It was nine o’clock. I went back inside and turned on the TV. The movie was starting. Right, Gary, the movie was on.”

  “I wouldn’t know, Lorraine, I wasn’t here.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “Where were you, Mr. LeBlanc?” Winters asked.

  “I slept on Donnie Bernard’s couch. You can check if you want. I’d had a disagreement with my father in the afternoon and decided to spend the night elsewhere. I came by the next morning to check on Lorraine. Found that the parents had been drinking at a friend’s place and hadn’t even made it home. They were in the drunk tank and Lorraine alone and in a bad way.”

  “Was Jason driving?” Winters asked the girl.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t look outside.”

  “Do you know where he went when he left here?”

  “Back to the B&B, I guessed. He said he’d phone me later and I could come to their Christmas Eve party. Christmas Eve. Like I was part of a real family.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “She’s lying.”

  Smith started up the van. “You think so?”

  “Yes, I do.” Like a real family. God, but that was sad. Lorraine had retreated into the house, in a flood of tears after mention of the aborted Christmas Eve party.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Does it matter that Lorraine’s lying to the police in a suspicious death investigation? Don’t be stupid, Molly, of course it matters.”

  Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel and he could hear her take a sharp intake of breath. “I meant Jason’s activities that night. He killed his friend, and was taking the body to dispose of it in the wilderness when he went off the road. Lots of wilderness around here. I’m guessing he found Ewan with Lorraine and they got into a fight over her. Both men are dead. Case closed.”

  “Nothing is obvious here, Molly. Does it matter? Yeah, it does. It matters to the law and it matters to me.” He sat in silence as she drove downhill in the direction of town. He’d left her to do most of the questioning of Lorraine because Smith had a rapport, no matter how tenuous it might be, with the girl. Whereas he, obviously, represented authority, Smith, in her handmade red gloves and spiky blond hair, at least knew Lorraine. The brother was another matter. He hadn’t needed to say anything out loud to the effect that he liked Molly, it had been written all over his face as soon as he opened the door and saw her coming up the walk. Before the hard guy façade fell back into place.

  Winters closed his eyes and thought about what Molly had said. Perhaps he should just write it up as a fight between friends that got out of hand. But suppose there was another reason Jason had been driving around with his friend’s dead body in the car. He had to know Ewan was dead. Jason was a medical student, for God’s sake. Surely they learned on day one the difference between a dead person and a living one.

  Had Jason killed Ewan and been trying to dispose of the body? Or had someone else killed him and Jason was trying to protect him, or her?

  Or had Jason, knowing his friend was dead, been taking him to the hospital and gone the wrong way? Why would he do that? To avoid overloading the EMS on a busy night? That sort of consideration wouldn’t fit with the impression Winters had gained of Jason Wyatt-Yarmouth.

  Smith pulled into the back of the police station. He could tell by the set of her shoulders that she was smarting from his rebuke.

  Only eight o’clock and he was dead tired. Barney was a night person, and Eliza said they’d be having dinner around nine. Barney was actually a morning, afternoon, and night person. The woman didn’t seem to have low gear. She’d pretty much taken over their computer room. She was on vacation, so she was only working half time—twelve hours a day instead of twenty-four.

  Smith backed the van into its parking spot. Winters unfastened his seat belt.

  Lorraine LeBlanc was not a bad liar. Considering her family life, she would have learned such a basic survival skill. Sixteen years old. That would throw a good-sized spanner into the works. He couldn’t drag her down for further questioning without a parent or guardian present. And considering that the parents appeared to have vacated town without the courtesy of leaving a forwarding address that meant legal complications he most certainly didn’t need.

  The radio squawked. “Seven-two. 911 call. Disturbance at 1894 Victoria Street.”

  “Not them again,” Smith groaned.

  Winters grabbed the radio. “Winters here. I’ll meet Seven-two at the scene.” He fastened the seat belt. “Enjoying your day off, Molly?”

  “As much fun as a day at work.” She put the gear into drive.

  ***

  Lucky helped Ellie carry the tea things into the kitchen. It was after seven, long past time to be home. Andy would be wanting his dinner. Not that Andy Smith ever expected dinner to be on the table when he walked through the door. Usually he considered himself to be fortunate to be provided with a hot, cooked meal at all. He wasn’t incompetent in the kitchen, and when the children were young Andy fed the family about half the time. But somehow, as middle age settled in and Moonlight and Samwise found lives of their own, Andy sort of forgot how to cook. Not that Lucky always took up the slack, but this morning she’d taken a four-bean chili out of the freezer.

  “Thank you for being here with me, Lucky,” Ellie said as she opened the dishwasher drawer.

  “Glad I could be of help.”

  “This is all so difficult. Those poor boys. And the police poking around. Never thought I’d complain about living in a town with a low crime rate, but I guess if they don’t have anything better to keep them occupied they have to make themselves look important. Oh, sorry, I forgot—Moonlight.”

  “My daughter does her job to the best of her ability.” Lucky knew she sounded pompous. It was difficult, sometimes, in the anti-establishment c
ircles in which she moved, to defend her daughter’s dedication to her career while at the same time ensuring that she herself still supported the civil rights, environment, and peace activists who might occasionally fall afoul of the police.

  “Do you know, Lucky, I’m starting to wonder about letting rooms to these college types.”

  “People of any age die. You’re far more likely to have a sudden death with us of the older crowd, you know.”

  “All this…going on. Having girls upstairs. Girls like, well, like Lorraine. She’s a sorry creature, Lucky. That mother of hers should be horsewhipped.”

  “I don’t think they do that any more.” Lucky rinsed the tea pot.

  “Well they should. Alan and Sophie aren’t married, you know.”

  Lucky struggled to contain a laugh. She remembered smuggling Andy into her dorm room at the University of Washington. She and her roommate Jane had agreed on the hours Jane was to be in the study hall. Lucky returned the favor. Jane hadn’t come back to school after summer break and was dead before Thanksgiving. Lucky was pleased Jane had been able to have some fun in life before cancer chewed through her body.

  “They’re young, Ellie, what do you expect?”

  “Take some baking for Andy,” Ellie said. “I’ve more than I’ll use. This business has put the guests off their appetites.”

  Lucky needed no further prompting to rip a length off a roll of plastic wrap and use to it to bind shortbread, cookies, and squares. Nothing like a touch of chocolate chips or sprinkling of colored sugar to make Andy forget the little wife was late serving his dinner.

  She carried her goodies out to the hall and put them on the table by the door while she rooted through the closet for her coat.

  The guests were still gathered in the common room. Wendy had come back downstairs to join them. The door was open.

  “Ghouls,” she said in a voice that could be clearly heard in the hall. “I can’t imagine why they’re making such a fuss over a car accident. Isn’t it bad enough that my brother’s dead, without them wanting to drag every little detail out about what happened the day he died?”

  “They’re just doing their job,” Rob said.

  Lucky sat on the deacon’s bench to pull on her boots.

  “He might be, but that female cop. God, have you ever seen such a superior bitch.”

  Lucky tied her laces, while reminding herself that not everyone in town could be expected to love the beat constable.

  “Bet he’s screwing her.” Jeremy.

  “You’re the one who’s screwed. In the head. What the hell gives you that idea?” Rob.

  “She wants to get ahead, doesn’t she?” Wendy again. “You can see ambition practically dripping off her.”

  “Here’s an interesting fact, Wendy: ambition doesn’t become a dirty word when it’s applied to a woman.” Rob.

  You tell ‘em, boy.

  “Look at your own mother, Wendy, Order of Canada isn’t she?” Rob.

  “’Course your mother’s quite the screwable piece herself. Despite being, what, fifty years old?” Jeremy.

  “What the hell does that mean?” Wendy.

  “Will you guys drop it?” Alan, coming down the stairs.

  “Sorry, pal. You can’t hear yourself when people are talking? That must be a problem. Me, I never much care what I can hear when I’m on the job. Unless she’s not breathing, that is.” Jeremy. “’Course I might pay attention if that blond cop came banging on my door with her truncheon.”

  “You are such a jerk.” Rob.

  “Not that you’d know.” Jeremy. “I can see what’s going on in the dark, you know, Robbie. You cuddle up to that computer as if she were a whore.”

  Lucky Smith was certainly not the housemistress of this bunch. But enough was enough. If someone didn’t interfere they’d soon be coming to blows. She took a step toward the common room.

  “Stop it. Stop it,” Wendy yelled. “My brother’s dead and you’re arguing about who’s screwing who. I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care.” She began to scream. Long and loud, without end.

  Lucky took a step toward the girl.

  “Well done, Jeremy.” Rob took a half-hearted swing at Jeremy, but he missed and tripped over a loose edge of the rug. Rage flooded Jeremy’s face, and he pounced and followed Rob to the floor, fists moving.

  Kathy, coming out of nowhere, brushed past Lucky. She jumped on Jeremy’s back, pummeling him with her fists. Alan grabbed Kathy around the waist and tried to drag her off. She turned, grabbed his arm, lifted it to her mouth. Her jaws closed.

  Alan yelled and dropped her. Holding his arm and swearing a blue streak, he leapt backward, knocking into the Christmas tree. The tree swayed and the ornaments rattled.

  “Tabernac.” Sophie grabbed a lamp and swung the base toward Kathy’s head.

  Lucky grabbed Sophie’s arm. “Drop it.”

  She did and turned to tend to Alan.

  Wendy began throwing things. An ornamental blacksmith’s shop bounced off the window.

  Ellie stood in the doorway, her face as white as her apron. She screamed at the sight of a glass ornament in Wendy’s hand. Wendy threw it at her, and Ellie ducked. The piece hit the wall and shattered into pieces.

  Jeremy and Rob were well into it. At first Jeremy was on top, his fists moving like pistons on a race car. Then it was Rob. Mild mannered Rob was able to hold his own in a fight. He grabbed Jeremy’s head by the ears and smashed it into the floor. Once, twice. Kathy jumped up and down, yelling encouragement.

  Lucky ran across the room and dropped to her knees. She touched Rob’s shoulder. “No more. Please.”

  He pulled back. He looked at her, his eyes dull and focused, and for a moment she feared he was about to hit her.

  He shoved Jeremy’s head down and stood up.

  Jeremy jumped to his feet, turned his head and spat blood onto the shiny hardwood floor. The two men faced each other, breathing heavily, fists clenched.

  Lucky stepped between them. She put one palm on each chest, and could feel their hearts beating as fast as her own. “This has gone far enough, don’t you think?”

  Sirens coming down the road. Stopping outside the B&B.

  “Will you shut the hell up,” Alan yelled at Wendy. “Like we need the cops here again.”

  She stopped screaming, and her hand froze before it could throw the brightly painted wooden nutcracker soldier she gripped in her right hand.

  Fists pounded on the door. “Police.”

  “Someone get the door,” Lucky said. “Or they’ll break it down.”

  Rob and Jeremy glared at each other across her arms. She wasn’t sure if she stepped away they wouldn’t start the fight up again.

  The other combatants began to examine their injuries. “The bitch bit me. I’m going to need a rabies shot.”

  “Sacre bleu, what kind of freaks are you?”

  “My late husband gave me that village. You’re going to pay for it.”

  Wendy fell into a chair and began to cry with great heaving sobs.

  “I’ll let them in,” Kathy said.

  ***

  Dawn Solway was half-way up the path, which was covered with the afternoon’s fall of snow, when Smith pulled up behind the patrol car. Winters was out of the van before Smith had brought it to a complete halt.

  A pure white Jack Russell barked at him. Fortunately for Winters’ ankles, the dog was attached to a leash, held by a woman bundled against the cold. The woman pointed her cell phone toward the B&B. “Someone’s screaming in there to beat the band. I thought I’d better call you.” A man crossed the street to see what was happening. Next door, the porch light came on.

  The B&B looked like Santa’s village in the gently falling snow. The roof and doorway were trimmed by tiny white lights; nets of lights were tossed over the bushes on either side of the porch steps. A big green wreath topped by a white bow graced the front door.

  Solway hit the door with her fist. “Police.”

/>   She sensed someone behind her and turned around.

  Smith came up the path at a trot. Solway took a quick look at her and lifted one eyebrow at the unusual uniform.

  Smith shrugged.

  “I’ll take this,” Winters said. “You two follow me.” He lifted his hand to knock again, but it wasn’t necessary.

  Kathy Carmine stood there. “Can I help you?”

  “We received a call of a disturbance at this address,” Winters said. “Loud enough to be heard on the street.”

  “It’s all sorted out. We’re fine, thanks. Just a misunderstanding. Thank you for coming anyway.” She began to shut the door. Winters stuck a boot into it.

  “I’d like to come in and check for myself.”

  Smith didn’t know why, but Kathy looked at her as if she were asking what she should do. Smith nodded, and Kathy took a step backward, out of the doorway.

  Please don’t let my mom still be here. Smith entered the house behind Winters and Solway.

  But her prayers were not answered. Lucky was in the middle of it all. She stood between two young men, both of them breathing heavily and bleeding from the nose and minor cuts to the face. Lucky wasn’t much over five feet tall, a pudgy fifty-six year old woman with graying red hair that refused to keep to its pins; the men were six feet and more, muscular, young and angry. She kept them apart as much by force of will as strength of hand.

  The other residents and the owner of the B&B were in various stages of nursing wounds, weeping, crying over broken furniture, and straightening ornaments.

  “Who’s going to tell me what’s going on here?” Winters said. “Mrs. Smith, you can start.”

  Smith glared at her mother, and Lucky ignored her.

  “As you understand, Sergeant Winters,” she said, in a voice her daughter knew so well. Her formal, speaking to authority (before cutting them off at the knees) voice. “Emotions are running high around here. Thank you for coming, but it’s all over now.”

  Like an actor who hadn’t gotten the changes to the script, Jeremy pointed at Rob, “Bullshit. He came on like a goddamned lunatic.” Blood streamed from his nose, and he wiped it on his sleeve. He looked around the room. “You all saw it. He attacked me for no reason.”