by Louise Clark
Roy nodded. “I get that, but this is important, Mrs. Bunch. It’s our last chance to stop the Progressive Fish Farms installation for good. You’re on side with that, aren’t you?”
“I suppose,” she said cautiously.
“A few days. That’s all it will take.”
“Well…”
Keep it up! She’s wavering.
Roy softened his voice and let his mouth curl into a beseeching smile. “For Corey.”
Sheila stared at him. There was a small frown between her brows as she studied him with a calculating stare.
Greg said quietly, “Corey would be proud.”
Sheila looked at him sharply, before she turned back to Roy. After a moment she nodded. “All right. I’ll stay and help.”
“Excellent!” Roy scooped Stormy out of Patterson’s arms, not bothering to slip on the harness. “I’ll talk to my friends tonight and see what plans they already have in place. I’ll be in touch tomorrow. Come on, Stormy. We have work to do.”
Figuring out how to get Sheila Bunch to confess in a way that could be used to prosecute her required a planning huddle away from the campsite.
Voices carried over open spaces and it would be difficult to ensure Sheila wasn’t in range. There was also the matter of who and how many would be involved. Tamara wanted no part of the process, but she offered to entertain Noelle while the others were plotting. Quinn suggested they limit the Farnsworths to Patterson and her husband Greg. Christy agreed.
It was Sledge’s idea to meet on the beach. It was flat and open, useful for ensuring conversations remained private. Since Noelle and the Farnsworth kids often played together, setting up chairs and towels in the same area would be unremarkable, and a convergence of adults from the two groups would go unnoticed. As well, since no one had ever seen Sheila use the beach, it was unlikely she would set up nearby, but if she did they’d be able to see her and change the conversation long before she was close enough to hear them.
Christy and Quinn had worked out a basic strategy, so the beach discussion would be to identify everybody’s part in it. Before the planning began, Christy settled Noelle at a tidal pool with her shovel and bucket. “All right, kiddo,” she said. “You know your job.”
Noelle nodded, her expression serious. “Keep Haley and Dylan occupied while you and Quinn and Roy and Mr. Three and Sledge and Aunt Ellen talk to the detective.”
Christy laughed at the breathless list of names. “You’ve got it.” She turned to Tamara. “I know you don’t agree with all this, but thank you for helping Noelle with the Farnsworth kids.”
“And their mother.” Tamara frowned. “She’s a mess and she’s not handling her responsibilities very well. Even though I don’t have any children, I can see she has parenting issues.”
Christy grimaced. “Yeah. She interferes when she should be letting the kids work it out for themselves.” She looked down at her daughter. “Noelle is pretty good at handling herself, but I’m glad she has backup.”
“Yeah,” said Noelle. “Is Da—” She shot a worried look at Tamara and changed tack. “Is Stormy going to come over and play in the tidal pool or stay in his tent?”
“That’s up to Stormy,” Christy said.
“I’ll hold his leash if he wants to join the sandcastle building,” Tamara said. She had no idea that Frank was in the cat, but she had taken to the idea of a cat going camping. She didn’t seem to mind being the caretaker of a cat on a beach.
“I’ll bring him over if he wants to come,” Christy said. She looked down the beach. “Here come the Farnsworth crew.” She hugged Noelle. “Have fun.”
“You bet,” Noelle said. She fell to her hands and knees on the sand and started digging. Haley caught sight of her and raced away from her family. Dylan followed. They were at the tidal pool long before Patterson, Greg, and Heather reached the area.
Patterson wandered over to Christy. “Are we ready?”
Christy nodded. She looked over at Heather, who was setting up towels, chairs and an umbrella with Greg not far from the Jamieson-Armstrongs. Her expression was set and there were deep, dark circles under her eyes, suggesting she wasn’t sleeping well. “Does she know?”
Patterson shook her head. “Greg and I were afraid she’d rush over and confront Sheila.”
“The last thing we want,” Christy said. She added loudly, so that the kids and Heather could hear, “I have some wine and beer in my bag. Why don’t you and Greg come over for a drink?”
Patterson raised her brows, amusement in her eyes. “Wine and beer on a public beach? I’m a cop, remember.”
“Spur of the moment,” Christy said. “I didn’t expect to have to find an excuse to get you privately.”
Patterson laughed. “Greg! Are you all done there?” Over at the Farnsworths’ area, Greg nodded. “Bring the sunscreen and come over and chat.”
He nodded again, then rummaged through one of the beach bags.
Her hands on her hips, Haley announced, “Our castle will be bigger than yours.”
Dylan said, “Yeah!”
Noelle glared at them. Tamara winked at Christy, who said to Patterson, “We’d better be quick before the kids start to bicker and our cover falls apart.”
She and Patterson ambled back to Christy’s area where Roy, Ellen and Trevor were settled on chairs under their umbrellas. Sledge and Quinn were on towels, sunning themselves.
The cat wants to fish in the tidal pool. I want to be there for my daughter. Fill me in after you’re done.
Christy picked up Stormy and took him over to Tamara. When she returned she settled down beside Quinn, leaving space for Patterson and Greg.
“I can’t believe Sheila Bunch is a killer,” Greg said as he sank onto a towel beside his wife. “She was always so focused on Corey, so maternal and patient. It’s weird to think a woman who did so much to prolong and celebrate a life, would be cool with taking one.”
“Two,” Patterson said.
“She loved Corey,” Christy said quietly. “Her whole life was dedicated to him. While he was alive, it didn’t matter what she sacrificed for him. But once he was dead? Then she had to go on, alone. She started to look at what was ahead and what she’d given up while he was alive. I think she needed to lay blame, so she focused on the people who had been there the day of Corey’s injury.”
“Shane, Norm, Adam, me.” Greg shook his head. “I didn’t see it coming.”
“Nor did her other victims,” Patterson said. “I didn’t as well, and I should have.” She squeezed her husband’s hand. “So now we catch her.” She raised her brows and looked at Christy, then Quinn. “What’s the plan?”
Quinn said briskly, “Dad has already set the stage, telling her there will be a demonstration against the fish farm. We’ll visit Sheila’s campsite and ask her if she is willing to be interviewed. I’ll tell her people will want to hear her story, about her family and Loyal Scotsman’s Bay, and her property, and why she had to sell it for Corey. I’m going to suggest we do the interview the day before the demonstration, so it can be used for promotion. Dad is going to come up with the great idea that we should do it at the info site, for authenticity.” He looked over at Roy. “Don’t be too creative, Dad.”
Roy looked offended and Trevor snorted.
“And once we get her to the fish farm site?” Greg asked.
Quinn nodded at Patterson. “Detective Patterson will ensure Inspector Woodgate is there.”
“Sheila won’t talk in front of Woodgate!” Greg said.
“He won’t be there as the investigator of the murders, but as local law enforcement making sure the demonstration is conducted safely and legally,” Quinn said.
“That will be my excuse for being present, as well,” Trevor said. “I’m there to confuse the issue with talk about property lines and where the demonstrators can and cannot go.”
“Ellen and I will be there to feed the fish,” Christy said.
Patterson blinked. “Feed the fish?
”
“I doubt anyone has been paying the poor creatures any attention since Shane Higginson died,” Ellen said, disapproval in her voice. “Christy and I are there to monitor their health and to see if the animal advocates need to be brought in.”
“Of course,” Patterson said. Her brows were raised, though her expression was blank. It was clear she hadn’t considered the fate of the fish until that moment, and was not sure whether to take Ellen seriously or not.
“Sheila’s not going to like that,” Greg said. He clearly wasn’t as skeptical as his wife.
Sledge snorted. “That’s the point.”
“We’re adding conflict, pushing her off balance,” Roy said with considerable enthusiasm. “The more that’s going on, the more confused she’ll get and the more likely it will be that she’ll start to talk.”
“What’s our role?” Patterson asked.
“Greg will be there as someone who considers the fish farm to be an ecological blight on the area,” Quinn said. “He wants to ensure the demonstration against the instillation goes forward. He’ll be vocal and enthusiastic. You’ll be in conflict with Woodgate, who is vocal about his dislike of demonstrations generally, and wants this one in particular stopped. Sheila will see you and Greg as friends and supporters. That will give her confidence and help her to open up.”
“This is complicated,” Patterson said. “I’m not sure Woodgate will buy into this sting.”
“You’ll have to convince him,” Quinn said. His gaze was steady on her.
“I’ll help with that,” Trevor said.
Patterson shook her head. “I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad idea.” She looked from one to the other. “Anything could go wrong with this plan.”
“It could,” Christy said. “If it does, we’ll improvise.”
“We have a lot riding on this,” Greg said. He sounded upset, almost angry.
Christy leaned forward. “We know. The good thing about our plan is that Sheila won’t be expecting it. We’ll catch her off guard, and hopefully she’ll crack.”
From the sandcastle site, Haley screamed. They heard Heather shout, “Stop that cat!”
Looking over, Christy saw Stormy leap over the battlements into the inner courtyard of the castle the children were building. He tossed the minnow he had in his mouth high in the air, watched it fall into the sand, then pounced on the writhing fish. Tamara ran forward, hauling in the cat’s leash as she went. At the castle, she tripped and fell headlong. The cat leapt away, but Tamara’s fall had reduced the structure to a pile of unformed sand. Haley began to cry.
Heather screamed, “Greg!”
He jumped to his feet and Patterson sighed. “Guess the planning session is over. When will Operation Fish Farm go down?”
“Day after tomorrow,” Quinn said. “Will that give you time to get Woodgate on board?”
Patterson nodded grimly. “It will have to.” Her gaze tracked her husband, who was over at the tidal pool doing his best to soothe Heather and her children. “I’d better go.”
Christy nodded. “Till then.”
Patterson sighed. “Till then.”
Chapter 25
The opportunity to set up Sheila Bunch came sooner than anyone expected and the information was supplied by the cat, who had just come back from the rousing chase of a local squirrel that had been taunting him for the past three days and who had the misfortune of letting down his guard that afternoon.
She’s in her campsite and she has her car trunk open and boxes on the picnic table. It looks sketchy to me.
Christy, who had come up from the beach a half an hour before to prep for dinner, was washing vegetables. She frowned. “You think she’s going to bolt?”
The cat leapt up onto the bench seat beside her and sat in his usual neat and tidy way. His green eyes stared unblinking at her. Sure looks that way.
Quinn, who had appeared a few minutes ago, and was still in his bathing suit, paused before his tent. “Are you talking about Mrs. Bunch?”
Christy nodded.
He came over to the picnic table and studied the cat. “The information came from him, I suppose?”
Again, Christy nodded as she told him about the boxes and open car door.
Quinn grunted. “Hell. We should’ve figured Sheila Bunch would rethink her agreement to stay for the demonstration. She’s committed two murders, after all. We know she’s prepared to do pretty much anything to save her own skin.”
“If she leaves, we won’t have another chance to coax a confession from her,” Christy said. She studied Quinn, ideas turning around in her mind as she tried to figure out what to do.
“Patterson said our plan was complicated and things could go wrong. Looks like it’s just begun.” The words sounded gloomy, but Quinn’s expression was thoughtful as he looked in the direction of Bunch’s campsite.
Hopeful, Christy said, “What do we do?”
Quinn continued to stare for a while longer, then he looked over at her. “We go talk to her.” He gestured between them. “You and I.”
“But—It was supposed to be you and your father.”
“He’s not here and it would take too long to go down to the beach and drag him up.” He smiled and his eyes were warm on her face. “Come with me, Christy. You know how to talk to people. Together we can make her open up.”
She stared at him for a moment, then nodded. While Quinn went into his tent to change, Christy found a cloth, which she used to dry the vegetables she’d washed. She slipped them into a plastic bag to keep them clean, then put them away in the van. When Quinn emerged from the tent she was ready. “Okay, let’s go.”
Stormy hopped down from the seat. I’ll come too.
Christy resisted the urge to groan. Instead she said, “Sure.”
They found Sheila Bunch standing by her car, shifting items around in her trunk. The screen house she’d erected over the picnic table had been removed and her cooler was open, but largely empty. She turned as they moved into her campsite.
“Hello,” Christy said. “I don’t know if you remember me? I met you with Billie Patterson the other day.”
“Billie…? Oh! Mrs. Greg Farnsworth! Yes, I do remember you.” She smiled, but there was caution in her expression and a question in her eyes.
“This is a friend of mine, Quinn Armstrong. You met his father yesterday—Roy Armstrong.”
Sheila looked blank.
Quinn said, “The man who came to rescue the cat.”
At that point Stormy trotted into the site, went up to Sheila, and butted her in the leg, before he twined around her, rubbing against the trousers that were definitely too expensive and too fashionable to be camping apparel.
Sheila looked down at the cat, then back up at Quinn. “The man who is organizing the protest.”
“That’s him,” Quinn said, smiling. “He says plans are coming along nicely. He contacted some media outlets about your story, which he thinks would be a great way to focus attention on the demonstration. They want interviews. I’m a reporter when I’m not on vacation, so he sent me to talk to you.” He looked around the site, letting Sheila know he’d noticed the folded camping chairs leaning against the car, the drying line that was no longer there, the absence of the screen house. He raised his brows and added pleasantly, “Do you have a minute to talk to us?”
She hesitated, then sat down at the picnic table. Gesturing for them to join her, she nodded. “What do you want to know?”
Christy smiled in her most friendly way. “Before Quinn begins with his questions I wanted to offer you my condolences. I didn’t realize your son died recently.”
Sheila clasped her hands on the tabletop and stared down at them for a moment. Then she looked up. Her smile was perfunctory. “That is very kind of you.”
“I know it’s hard,” Christy said, at her most earnest. “My husband passed away last year. I thought you might like to talk about him. Your son, I mean.”
Sheila stared at her fo
r a moment, then she said, “I suppose you know Corey became a quadriplegic as the result of a diving accident when he was a teenager.”
Christy nodded. “That must have been a terribly difficult time for you.”
Sheila stared, not at them, but at some distant place beyond the campsite. “Corey was so young, so alive, so very bright. To have it all snatched away…” She shook her head. “He talked about becoming a marine biologist like Norman Laing and Adam Farnsworth. He would have been as brilliant as Adam is.” Her lip curled. “Not a corporate hack, like Norman.”
Quinn raised his brows. “From all I’ve read, Dr. Laing was widely respected. He held a fully funded academic chair at a top Canadian university.”
Sheila sighed. “I know what I said sounds awful, but… Shane Higginson used to visit Corey from time to time. He was so career-oriented and anxious to develop new sites for his fish farms. He would say Norm had his back. That he could depend on him for support whenever he needed it.” She paused, then shrugged. “Poor Norman. As a teenager, he was a brilliant student, but so insecure.”
“He and Shane were friends?” Quinn asked.
Sheila laughed. “Shane Higginson ran the show in high school. If you were his friend you were somebody. If he didn’t accept you? Well, I’m sure you know what it is like.”
Christy tilted her head. “So Norman would do whatever Shane asked him to?”
Sheila nodded. “Worse than that. It was as if Norm channeled Shane. If he thought Shane didn’t like someone, Norm would tease that person—for no reason that I could see!”
“Norm teased Corey,” Christy said gently.
Another sigh and Sheila directed her gaze over Christy’s shoulder, to somewhere distant, probably in the past. “Constantly. You’d think the smart kids would stick together, wouldn’t you? But no, not Norm. Adam Farnsworth, now. He was a lovely boy. He and his big brother Greg were the only ones who stood up to Shane. They both tried to stop Corey from diving in that day, but Shane taunted him, and Norm goaded him as well. Adam blamed Shane for Corey’s condition. I don’t think they were ever friends after that.”
