“Very insightful, Mrs Potter, and I think true,” said Elliot. “So what went wrong? If Carmichael went after her that night, why did he fail to win her over?”
Nobody had an answer for him. And if Duncan refused to talk, they never would.
✽✽✽
KAREN SAT across from Avery and Helen, toying with her clubhouse sandwich and fries. She told them she wasn’t given much time for lunch even on a Friday afternoon so it was strange she wasn’t eating faster. They were in a comfortable family-run diner a few blocks from the school. Frequented by students and faculty alike, the customers moved in and out of the place like waves on a beach.
The school secretary had been so surprised by the lunch invitation that she’d said yes before she could question why Helen Potter and this new lady, Avery Holmes, suddenly wanted to strike up a friendship.
Avery made small talk for a few minutes and then edged up to the point by asking Karen how well she knew Jenny Blake. “I’m a writer,” she explained. “It’s an interesting story.”
“I knew her but Jenny wasn’t a girl’s girl, if you know what I mean.” Her eyes flicked over their faces seeking corroboration. Helen gave it.
“Oh absolutely,” she said. “I’ve met the type. Prejudiced against girls.”
“She didn’t have any close friends who were girls,” Karen continued with ease. “She was more comfortable with the guys. I think I was the closest female friend she had. She wasn’t interested in shopping or boys or any of the stuff we were obsessed with.” The woman laughed self-consciously. “Seeing how everything turned out, maybe she was right and we were wrong.”
“How do you mean?” Avery asked. “She was murdered. It sounds like she made a poor choice somewhere—or with someone.”
“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it. I don’t know how Jesse Sutcliffe is walking around free to this day. But her death is not what I meant,” she said hastily. “That was terrible, and not exactly a choice, in all fairness to Jenny. No, I was referring to something else—the life choices we make as kids without realizing the impact they’re going to have on our lives. Look, I have no regrets and I love my daughter like crazy, but sleeping with Frankie Zwick to get back at my boyfriend was incredibly stupid. Not the kind of mistake a girl like Jenny Blake would’ve made.”
There was a tinge of bitterness in her tone that was disguised by a sunny self-effacing smile.
“You weren’t the only one,” Helen said with intuitive understanding. “When did you know?”
“The first day I was late. I was never late. My little friend came like clockwork at the beginning of every month. I wasn’t even out of high school. That kind of thing does not happen to the women in my family.” She shook her head with a rueful laugh. “I married Frank to shut my parents up. Big mistake! Our daughter was a year old when he decided he’d had enough of pretending to be a family man. We divorced and the only contact he had with Imogene after that were the child support cheques.”
She raked nails that were painted pearl pink through her soft blonde curls. At sixty-one, Karen Haggerty had retained her youthful good looks. “It’s been forty-four years. You’d think I’d get over it. Nothing works out the way you think it’s going to,” she said absently.
“Isn’t that the truth,” Avery said, nodding her head supportively. She confided her own story of trying to get pregnant and nothing happening. “There we were, this young couple starting out with a parcel of land to build on and plans to operate a small farm. I imagined four or five kids running around, and month after month—nothing. Every year, we scaled back our plans for building a big house.” Avery smiled at the memory. “We told ourselves we could put an addition on if it became necessary. It never did. My body entered menopause before I was ready to give up and that was the end of our dream.”
She took a steadying breath. After all these years, the disappointment could still burn a hole in her stomach.
“I’m sorry,” Karen said. “Here I am, whining about my failed marriage when at least I have a child. Imogene has been the joy of my life, and then there are my grandchildren....” The thought trailed off. Her face tinged pink.
Avery forced a smile to her lips. “That’s wonderful. I don’t mean to be a downer, only I know what you meant about things not working out the way you hoped. Listen, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but what happened between you and Duncan Carmichael? Why did you break up?” Avery leaned in confidentially. “Missy Hilroy told me you two were an item in high school. Helen showed me his high school photo, and wow, you would’ve made a cute couple.”
To her surprise, Karen pressed her hands to her flaming cheeks and giggled hysterically. “Oh my God, not that old song again! That’s what everyone says to me. You should be with Duncan Carmichael! You and Duncan were made for each other!’”
That’s not exactly what Avery said but Karen’s tone had become positively adolescent.
“And for the record, we were a cute couple,” she chided primly. “That was a foregone conclusion, given his looks and mine back then. But, you know how it is. Life happens. People get in the way of other people’s happiness. Who knows what might’ve been? It’s all water under the bridge now.”
Chapter Ten
KAREN LIFTED her soda to her mouth with an arch expression. “Duncan is married now, has been for years. No kids though. She couldn’t give him children. I think he always regretted that.”
Coming on the heels of Avery’s confession, Karen’s comment seemed bizarrely insensitive but Avery didn’t take it that way. She suspected Karen was one of those people who meant no harm but caused it almost daily with their thoughtless remarks.
“Were you very much in love?” Helen asked. She leaned her elbows on the table.
“I guess I can admit it now,” Karen said confidentially. “Not that it was much of a secret. I was crazy about him. I would’ve done anything for that guy.”
Avery wondered if that included providing him an alibi for murder.
“Isn’t it awful how invested we were in boys back then?” Helen exclaimed. “I was like that about a guy once. I was very young and madly in love. He dropped me for another girl but I would’ve done anything to get him back. I had no self-respect in those days.”
Karen’s eyes flashed. “I never lost my self-respect. Duncan was going through a thing. He needed to spread his wings and be the big man. I let him. That’s how much I loved him. ‘If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it is yours. If it doesn’t, it never was.’ Remember that? We had an understanding. I saw other guys and Duncan saw other girls.”
“He was going out with Jenny Blake at the time of the murder,” Avery said. “At least, that’s what I heard.”
“She was an experiment,” Karen said acidly. “A failed experiment. He got over her PDQ.” She glanced at her watch. “Oh heck! I’ve got to get back.” Karen dug in her purse for some money and threw a couple of bills on the table. “This was fun, ladies. Thank you so much for inviting me. I hope we can do it again sometime.”
She gave them a brief friendly hug and hurried out of the diner.
“That scared her off,” Helen said, watching her go. “Did you catch what she said? She let Duncan go but he never came back. He spread his wings and flew away.”
Avery chewed a French fry, thinking over what Karen Haggerty had said and what had gone unsaid. “Jenny made the fatal error of misreading the signs.”
“What signs?” Helen asked.
Avery was thinking of Karen’s fanatical love for Duncan and the dark pools of jealousy that were likely concealed behind friendliness and sincere heart-to-heart talks. She had exploited Jenny’s inexperience with female psychology.
“Jenny believed Karen when she said she wasn’t jealous,” she said aloud. “She believed she was over him when she took up with Duncan’s best friend. In reality, Karen would’ve done anything to get Duncan back. I think she’d do anything now. She’s been providing him wit
h an alibi for forty-four years. What will it take for her to break it?”
✽✽✽
TUESDAY MORNING, Briggs declared the best use of his cub reporters was to send them out to cover the rehearsals for the upcoming St. Ives Little Theatre production of Annie Get Your Gun while he manned the phones, edited copy and laid out the pages for Monday’s paper.
Solomon knew that what his boss really wanted was a nap. A near impossibility with Pearl in the office. Solly never minded if Briggs knocked off once in awhile, but Pearl Hansen had different standards. She thought the paper should be hunting down leads and turning over rocks in pursuit of stories. Her work ethic was driving Solly and Briggs to drink.
“My father wants me to quit,” she said. They were standing at the back of the auditorium, waiting for a signal from the director that she was ready to talk to them. Joyce Mandela had taken the helm and pinning her down for an interview had been difficult. The woman was busy every single day. Solly wanted to get photos of the production and he was in the middle of wondering when that could be arranged when Pearl dropped her bombshell.
“Quit the paper?”
She nodded and leaned in. “He got a call from Duncan Carmichael,” Pearl murmured. “My father does business with him, and the fact that he’s on St. Ives Municipal Council, let’s just say Carmichael can make things awkward for my dad. My father told me to quit the Herald or else.”
“Wait—what? He’s telling you to quit because of Carmichael? What does your working at the paper have to do with the councillor?”
“It’s not the paper,” she said in an undertone. Her eyes were on the performers. “It’s the murder club. Detective Denton has been making calls. Now that the press has been asking questions, he’s digging into the cold case files. Let’s face it, if it wasn’t for the murder club, we wouldn’t have called him about it. Briggs doesn’t even know what we’re up to! Duncan Carmichael said there was no story. Now he thinks he we’re harassing him.”
“He can think what he wants,” Solly shot back. “I’m writing the story when this is all done. If there’s a chance they find out who killed Jenny Blake, I want to be in on it. The big papers will pick it up, maybe even the newscasts. You’re crazy to bail now, Hansen. We could share the by-line!”
She stared at the performers without seeing them. Lit from the spill from the stage lights, her face appeared pale and still. He could smell her soap. She smelled like vanilla. Solomon forced himself to concentrate on the problem at hand.
“I’m sorry,” he said, not knowing what else to say. “This sucks for both of us. I’ve got used to having you around. Your father needs to grow a spine.”
“It’s worse than that. It’s worse than you think. My father has a standing in St. Ives.” Pearl grey eyes grew shiny. “A lot of that depends on maintaining good relationships with the municipality. I tried to reason with him, but there’s not much I can say without exposing the murder club. I told him I would drop the story but it’s not up to me. I don’t run the paper. If you or Mr Briggs wanted to pursue it there’s nothing anyone can do about it—not even Duncan Carmichael. My father said he would talk to Briggs and as for you—”
She quickly looked away.
“What?” Solomon demanded. “What threat did he make against me?”
“The threat wasn’t against you,” she said irritably. “It was against me if I ever see you again. This is the last time I can be out in public with you, and I had to beg to be allowed to do this!” The rims of her eyes filled with moisture. “If I defy him in this, my father will send me to Queen’s to get a business degree, which is what he wanted me to do from the first.”
“You’re eighteen. He can’t force you to do anything.”
“Oh really? If I refuse, he’ll get you fired and he can do it because he’s tight with what’s her name—the owner of the Herald.”
“Lucinda Pye?”
“That’s the one.”
Solly watched the performers run through the final number and pondered this development. On one hand, losing Pearl at the paper wouldn’t significantly impact his life. But on the other, he didn’t like her being forced out this way. It made him uncomfortable. What kind of father bullies his daughter in this day and age?
He could ask himself what kind of mother bullies her son. Veronica Wakefield-Brice made it known that she tolerated his journalistic hobby only so he could get it out of his system. What would he do if she pulled the plug and gave him an ultimatum to go into the law or else?
Fortunately for Solomon, his mother was not a fan of Duncan Carmichael’s. Veronica thought he was a political animal who had the integrity of a snake oil salesman and the taste to boot. He would develop St. Ives into the ground, she was fond of saying. With his greedy zeal for real estate development, Carmichael would destroy the heritage of the hamlet. Veronica Wakefield-Brice was a frequent and vocal attendee at council meetings.
“I don’t see why your father has to single me out,” Solomon hissed. “You mean to say if I ask you to come for a beer after work, you’d say no?”
She turned her luminous eyes on him and he was sorry he asked because now he felt like going out for a beer after work with Pearl Hansen. Now that her father had forbidden her to see him, she’d grown in sex appeal.
“I’m eighteen. They won’t serve me.”
He held her gaze. “You’re saying you’d defy your father and risk being seen with me if you were old enough to drink beer? Is that correct, Hansen?”
“I think I might.”
Solomon quickly looked away. “What’re you going to do if you leave the paper?” He asked mainly to change the subject. His heart was pounding oddly.
“Run away and join the circus.”
He laughed and flicked a glance at her with new appreciation.
Pearl shrugged. “Unfortunately, there’s no if about it—I have to quit. But I refuse to get a business degree. I hate business. Maybe I’ll go into teaching. Or become a librarian.” She sighed. “I didn’t think I’d have to make this decision yet. I thought I’d have a few years to find myself.”
Joyce Mandela signalled that she was ready to talk to them. Reluctantly, Solly moved down the aisle feeling very unsettled by this whole business with Pearl, which was not like him. Generally speaking, if a thing didn’t affect him, he didn’t care. But this had rattled him and he tried to understand why.
No one likes a bully, Solly concluded. That’s why he’s bothered. It was the damned injustice of it all! Who did Carmichael think he was, throwing his weight around, dictating what should and shouldn’t be covered by the Herald? The councillor might have found a way to shut Pearl Hansen up but Solomon Brice wouldn’t be intimidated. If anything, Solly was more determined than ever to get at the bottom of the Jenny Blake murder.
That’s a switch, he thought. He’d been ready to chuck in the towel on the murder club. After last week’s meeting, the group seemed stuck in low gear, doggedly plodding through the St. Ives high school yearbook from 1975 for witnesses. It was a dead end, Solly told them. None of those old timers would remember who was where when it happened or what Jenny was wearing the night of the murder or where Duncan Carmichael was—not with any accuracy, anyway.
It turned out he was right. Some of those on the scene that night had theories and hunches, some had an axe to grind, but the club had not turned up a single solitary lead.
He had been planning to skip the next meeting. Now he wasn’t so sure. If Duncan Carmichael was this invested in making the story go away, Solomon had to ask why.
Why would an innocent man care what a couple of novice reporters turned up on a cold case that was forty-four years old?
✽✽✽
ST. IVES was blessed with a thriving bookstore that had weathered the storms of commerce and technology by becoming a café. Doris Kilherne still sold books—plenty of them—to people who wanted a coffee, a pastry, and to be left alone. They sprawled on the leather sofas, in the armchairs, and on the bench in
front of the store with their noses stuck in books, coffee cooling on the tables beside them.
“It’s different,” she said, observing her customers fondly. “It’s a mystery why they don’t drink coffee at home, but I’ll take it. Business has improved, though I wish everyone would start thinking about Christmas and ordering their books now. It’s always frantic in December trying to get orders delivered on time.” She turned her cheerful gaze to Elliot and Hector. “I deduce that you two are here to pick up your book order. Did I guess right? Would I pass muster for the St. Ives Murder Mystery Book Club?” A teasing laugh bubbled out of her. “Don't mind me. I'm thrilled! I wish everyone in town would form a book club.”
She lifted a box of books onto the counter. “Eight of the latest Louise Penny. That’ll be two hundred and nine dollars and sixty-seven cents.”
Elliot handed over a wad of cash without turning a hair. Hector raised an eyebrow. If Marks was willing to foot the bill just to keep up appearances, Hector wasn’t going to object. Josie and a few of the others couldn’t afford new books every week.
“It’s only once a month,” Marks corrected him when they left the store, books in hand.
“Joyce tried to put a reserve on this one for me but the library said it’d be weeks.”
“I thought as much. We have to be reading something or people will talk.”
Hector grinned. “Only in a town this small would the doings of a book club provoke gossip. At home, in Halifax, no one would bat an eye.” They claimed a small table under the awning that shielded them from the afternoon sun. “Do you mind me asking what you did before this, Elliot? I mean before you retired to St. Ives.”
“I travelled. I was frequently on the move so I didn’t live in any one place. My job took me all over the world.”
Advertisement for Murder Page 8
