Chapter 12

Second Nature

“It’s been four days since Aiden called after they found Owen’s body.” Nick splashes milk into their mugs and pours hazelnut coffee on top. “Feels like weeks. Here. You’ll need the fortification for the interviews later.”

When she tilts her face toward his, he blushes, and she enjoys the effect she has on him. “Right now, I’d appreciate my life back.” She spoons jam on her toast. “Too busy, but at least we’ve reached a pause of sorts. Aiden’s off to Hawkesbury tomorrow and won’t return until Sunday night.”

“Does he plan to drive Rosemary home?”

“I expect not. The doctors proposed she stay in the facility indefinitely and he’s not thrilled with the idea. I suspect Mary Jo and Toni will come back with her in tow sooner rather than later, though.”

“He wants a normal life. I feel for the guy.”

Stella nods. “Exactly what he said. But Rosemary’s sisters are right—she has never been stable. He has to face facts.”

“Not to change the subject, and you know I love talking about Aiden and Rosemary,” he teases, “but we’ll be well prepared for the party Saturday night. I’ll put together a grocery list for you tomorrow.” He watches her as he sips coffee. “Since you’ll grace me with your presence for the next three days, I hope I can make the investigative lull worth your while.”

His eyes remain visible above the rim of a pottery mug. His eyebrows wiggle. She giggles, then blushes.

****

Her drive into Shale Harbour is quiet. Tourists are gone. Roads are empty. Crisp and cool air hovers over water tinged with indigo. The hue reminds Stella of the cold days to come. The ocean reflects turquoise when the weather’s warm, darker blues as fall approaches, and grey in the winter—her sky in many ways.

The Whittletons checked out and drove past her house before she left. Their truck and trailer are parked further along the street. Aiden is in conversation with Moyer when she arrives. “Are they here?” She’s breathless when she interrupts.

“Nope. They probably stopped to buy coffee before their interview. They’re not due for five minutes, yet. Come on. Let’s go. Thanks, Sergeant.”

Moyer nods to Stella before they wander along the hall to the conference room. “I want to confront them right off the bat, Stella. Make them uncomfortable and watch where their truth lands. Agreed?”

“Nothing to lose. They’re siblings. To be frank, they behave like brother and sister—ones who don’t appreciate each another much. We might as well observe their reactions. As for Owen, we confirmed the Whittletons left for the day, before Greta, and spent the evening with Mildred. They didn’t go back to the hall during the main window of opportunity.”

“Right. I’m convinced they’re not involved, but I want them to squirm because they lied to us.”

Sergeant Moyer escorts Naomi and Gregory into the interview. Without a word, they take their seats across from Aiden and Stella. Both are dressed as if they’ve readied themselves for a cliché safari on a movie set, in khaki pants and white shirts, their uniform of sorts. In unison, they remove their brimmed hats and place them on the empty chairs beside them.

“Good morning.” Aiden doesn’t avert his eyes from the file when he addresses them.

Stella nods.

Gregory communicates first, after a short and silent consultation with Naomi. “We told you every detail, Detective North, Stella.” The tremor in his tone illustrates his nervousness. “We fought and left the venue shortly after four. We returned to Shale Cliffs RV Park and spent a lovely evening with Mildred Fox. What else can we tell you? Was the little worm killed?”

“This remains an investigation.” Aiden stares at them for the first time. “Mr. Whittleton, Miss Whittleton, we spoke to a witness.”

Naomi’s eyes widen at the salutation used by Aiden.

“Well, good. Whoever witnessed us knows we left. We parked our truck in front of the café.” Gregory crosses his arms and juts his chin. He did not note the greeting extended to his sister.

“You departed the curb at four-fifteen, to be precise. Your description of the circumstances matches our witness, and Miss Fox has provided corroboration regarding the remainder of your day.”

When Gregory makes a move to stand, Naomi places her long fingers across his wrist. Her eyes remained locked with Aiden’s. “I think the detective is interested in another topic, Gregory.”

“What?” He yanks his arm away from her touch.

“You’re astute, Miss Whittleton.”

A flash of understanding crosses Gregory’s face.

“The two of you are brother and sister. You lied to the police—a serious offence.”

Naomi takes the lead. “I told you we should tell them the facts. If the press doesn’t sniff out our story, what difference does the truth make?” She turns her attention from accusations aimed at her brother, toward Aiden and Stella. “You’re correct. Our status has been an outright lie for years and has become second nature. I’m sorry. We apologize, right, Gregory?” She slaps him on the arm.

“Second nature,” he grumbles.

“Did Owen suggest he’d reveal Gregory’s behaviour, Naomi, or was he aware you two are brother and sister? Did he threaten to tell people the truth?”

“Oh, I don’t suspect, for a minute, he considered us siblings. He tossed the news of Gregory’s supposed infidelities in my face. Owen’s attempted coercion didn’t upset me. Gregory risking our reputation dictated the reason for my anger.” She turns to her brother. “Gregory’s behaviour requires discretion, if we are to carry on with our travel books.”

Gregory pouts. “Yes, the resulting circumstance was certainly my fault.” He shrugs his shoulders. “In any event, Edward and Frances are ignorant of the truth. None of the authors who came to the retreat are aware. Owen activated his mean streak. He assumed we were married, and I was cheating. He searched for a way to use the information to his advantage. He frequently took pleasure in the discomfort of others.”

“Do we face consequences, Detective North?”

“No. You may go now. You’re no longer suspects in the death of Owen Ellis-Thomas, but we reserve the right to call you back if necessary. Please provide updated contact details to Sergeant Moyer before you depart.” He rises.

Stella stands.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Stella. We will mention your business in our next newsletter. Goodbye.” Naomi grabs her hat, points at Gregory’s reminding him to retrieve his, and they leave. Aiden accompanies them.

****

She’s certain the Whittletons were not involved in Owen’s tragic demise. They were aware of Greta’s continued presence in the hall, and they didn’t return to town once they arrived at the park. Stella leans back in the chair and closes her eyes for a moment. The interview with Greta will round out their morning. Nick stuffed a sandwich and a cookie into her purse before she left the house. The end of today can’t come soon enough. Perhaps they’re on a wild goose chase, and Owen fell. Conversely, the initial incident report said Lucy Painter toppled into the basement and died, but her death turned out to be caused by poison. The flutter of heels gives her reason to abandon her reverie.

“Miss Walmsley was ready and waiting for us in reception, Stella.” He motions to a chair. “Miss Walmsley.”

“Detective, I told you to call me Greta. Everyone does,” she simpers.

Today called for frills. Greta has chosen to wear a long pale blue skirt with tiered ruffles. Her blouse cascades in layers of fabric around the bodice and sleeves. Her denim bag is gathered at the clasp. She straightens her flounces as she sits.

“Greta.” Aiden meets her gaze and squints. “We uncovered anomalies in the timelines related to when you departed the community hall and returned to the hotel on Saturday.” He shuffles loose papers in a file on the table in front of him. “You reported you left the venue before Naomi and Gregory Whittleton, correct?”

What appears to be mock horror crosses Greta’s face.

“Yes. Did I speak incorrectly? Oh, Detective, I am terribly sorry if I made a mistake. What can I do to resolve the problem?”

What can she do to resolve the problem? Tell the truth, for once.

“Our witness, Greta, says you left the hall at four-forty-five, not five past four as you reported. In addition, the same witness observed you travel on Birch Street and emerge on Elm, where you crossed to the hotel at five-ten. Please clarify your whereabouts on the Saturday afternoon of September 26.”

The ruffles tremble. The writer swallows. “Okay, you’ve found me out,” she titters as she avoids Stella’s stare and focuses on Aiden. “I didn’t want to tell you I left the retreat venue last, except for Owen. I take time to jot notes after my workshops. It helps me improve from one session to the next.” She sits straighter in her chair. “Review and reflection are hints in my books.” She wags her index finger at them. “But I possess pertinent information which I will share. I was scared before, but not anymore.”

“Did you talk to Owen before you left the hall?” Aiden has refused to allow curiosity to cross his face.

“Briefly. He was Frances and Edward’s son. I complimented him as I recall. I told him the story he read the night before at your place, Stella, was exceptional. I asked him where he found his ideas. He expected to meet another party and wondered if anyone still remained in a classroom, and I assured him no.” Her words come out in a rehearsed flood. “I reminded him the janitor requested the last person out to lock the door.”

“Why didn’t you tell us these details the first time, Greta?” Stella’s suspicions and annoyance bleed into her tone.

“Because you would believe I might have been the last person to see him alive.”

“And you use the word ‘might’ because?” Stella has a vague notion they’re getting played.

Greta leans across the table, much more relaxed now. She acts as if she’s prepared to take them into her confidence before she spreads the latest gossip. “As you are both aware, I was invited to dinner in Port Ephron on Saturday night with Bryce. Well,” she puffs, before she continues. “When I left, he was parking his truck. I ran along Birch and took my time to walk around the block to avoid him.” She stops and makes eye contact with them both. “He entered the hall behind me. Did he report this?”

Aiden ignores her question. “You spent twenty-five minutes on your stroll. You emerged from Elm and went into the hotel. Did you spot Bryce as he parked his truck?”

Her eyes narrow and she stares over Aiden’s shoulder at the wall. “I didn’t observe Bryce again until I came downstairs to meet him to go to Port Ephron.” She pauses. “He was agitated. I assumed, at the time, his attitude was because I wasn’t ready, although I wasn’t late.” Her tone has developed an out-of-character thoughtfulness. “If he pushed Owen down the stairs, he had an obvious reason to appear agitated, correct?”

Once again, Aiden avoids a direct response to her question. “We want to thank you for your time today, Greta. The authors from the retreat are permitted to leave for home after their second interview.”

She reaches for her bag, which she settled on the chair beside her when she first came in. She fusses with the frilly decoration. “I must wait for mean and cranky Elsbeth. I anticipate a long drive back to Halifax.”

“I’ll show you out.” Aiden stands.

Aiden returns to the doorway. “Did you bring lunch with you?”

“As a matter of fact, I did.”

“Good. Let me grab mine and we can talk in private before Bryce arrives.”

Settled with lunches and tea, Stella wants to debrief. “Greta tried to pin whatever happened to Owen on Bryce, and she assumed the kid was pushed.”

“Did she lie?”

“She lied to us in the first interview. Today, she needed a story to make her delayed departure sound plausible. I wonder if Bryce spied Greta when she left the hall or went into the hotel before him. Why did she avoid him?”

“Bryce’s interaction with his readers—the way he finds it necessary to live a false persona in order to sell books—makes me suspicious.”

“Everyone has a secret in one form or another, even us.”

“Yes.” He meets her gaze for a fraction of a second, then returns to the discussion at hand. “But which ones did Owen uncover? Not the Whittletons’. Maybe Bryce; maybe Greta. Mayko’s identity remains unknown except for those involved before she immigrated to Canada. The queen of the twist, Miss Strauss, seems to leave her life wide open. My money is still on Bryce or Greta.”

****

“Mr. Blanken, Detective.” Sergeant Moyer steps aside to enable Bryce to enter the interview room.

Stella understands she hasn’t hidden her surprise. Bryce sports a ball cap which advertises a country radio station in Ontario. He has chosen to wear a white T-shirt and olive cotton slacks, along with sneakers instead of his standard-issue cowboy boots. She remembers a television interview which featured a famous country and western singer. He didn’t wear his signature Stetson and Stella found it difficult to recognize him. She has the same unsettled response when she greets Bryce.

“Once I abandon the act, I’m not the same person. Don’t be shocked.” He drops into the chair opposite them and tosses his cap onto the seat to his right. “All loaded and ready to drive. Won’t make the long trip home tonight but will push to Paradis de la Petite Montague in northern New Brunswick before sunset. Hate to hook up the trailer in the dark.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Blanken. We’ll try to be brief. A witness has reported your movements in town on Saturday after the workshops.”

She studies his reaction—not even a twitch.

“Great. Did your witness validate me?” He asks the question with obvious confidence.

“Yes, although a window remains, providing time for you to engage in an altercation with the victim.”

“Didn’t happen. I hollered for Greta and when I heard no answer, I left and walked to Parlour Antiques.”

“We’ve confirmed your whereabouts.” Aiden doesn’t want to let him off the hook. “Our questions today revolve around the movements of Miss Walmsley.”

“I never saw Greta until she came out on the veranda at the hotel.” He leans forward. “The pretty girl with the ponytail called her room and Greta reported she was behind, but she’d be with me in a minute. She wasn’t late. I was early.” Bryce relaxes back in his chair. “I must have been excited to wrap my hands around an end-of-the-day beer at the Purple Tulip.”

“Bryce, you didn’t bump into Greta when she left the hall or entered the hotel?” Stella has trouble with the idea and mistakenly permits her feelings to show. Aiden glares.

“No. I wanted to visit the antique store. Then I had a difficult job finding a spot to park close to the hotel when I moved the truck. I fiddled to manoeuvre in near the curb, in a place better suited for a sedan.” He stops for a moment. “Greta was nearby?”

“Not necessarily. We need to confirm our information and obtain corroboration as we go. We may contact you again, Mr. Blanken.”

Surprise darkens his eyes. “Your sergeant took my details.” In a more conspiratorial tone, he adds, “Did one of the authors shove the kid?”

Aiden glances at Stella before he continues. “Sir, you hide behind a secret which Owen could use against you. We are given to understand the victim tried to steal from you and an altercation followed. The hall was accessible.”

“Am I a suspect?” Bryce’s face has turned bright red. “I killed the little thief because he wanted my barbecue tools?”

“Everyone is a suspect, Mr. Blanken, but you may return home now. We have no obvious reason to detain you.”

The cowboy author stands, bends to retrieve his ball cap, and rests his hand on the back of the chair. “Owen was an idiot and a burden to Edward and Frances. He stole, lied, and blackmailed. I couldn’t stand him. I imagine there are a dozen people who harbour the same assessment, including his poor parents. Don’t hesitate to call if I can be of further assistance.”

As he reaches for the door handle, Aiden rises to accompany him to the front of the building.

He’s told them the truth. But...if her feeling is wrong, and he pushed Owen, she’s doubtful there’s a clear path to proof.

Elsbeth Strauss slams into the conference room, tosses her purse on a chair, and hauls thick strands of white hair off her face. “I am in no mood for you people. I want to put the trip back to Halifax behind me as soon as possible. You realize I’m stuck in a car with Greta Walmsley for the next two hours? What can I tell you?”

“Good afternoon, Miss Strauss.”

Stella knows Aiden well enough to recognize the smirk he’s trying desperately to conceal.

“Hi, Elsbeth. A witness has attested to your whereabouts as you visited the shops on Saturday afternoon. Were you in a position to scrutinize any other authors on your journey?”

“You two should take better notes. Did I fail to mention I ran into Bryce Blanken at the antique shop? I watched the cowboy race into the hall as I made my way to the weaver’s.” She grabs her purse and holds the satchel in her lap. “I want to leave. Mayko Doan is out in the foyer. She wants to go home, too. She has a much longer trip.” Elsbeth squints for a second. “She walked her dog on Saturday. Didn’t I provide information on her earlier?”

“Yes, Miss Strauss, and our thanks. You did not run into Miss Walmsley in your travels?”

“No, I did not. Damn it, people, I must leave.” She stands.

Stella will be as happy as Elsbeth when the woman exits the premises. She watches Aiden.

“Thank you for your cooperation, Miss Strauss. If we need more information, we’ll be in touch.”

The mystery writer races out the door, and her heels click along the hall before Aiden rises from his chair. He jogs after her since Moyer hasn’t had time to return to the interview room and escort her out.

Elsbeth can be obnoxious. She and Greta will make a great pair on their trip back to Halifax, but she didn’t lie. Stella stands when Aiden escorts Mayko into the room. Tanchau cuddles inside her airline bag. No one has objected to the little dog this time. “Hello, Mayko. We won’t keep you too late. The drive to Fredericton is long.”

“No hurry. Hope has offered to host me for another night. I can begin my journey after breakfast tomorrow.”

“Good idea, Miss Doan. A witness observed your whereabouts on Saturday. Today, we need to know if you spotted any of the other authors in the neighbourhood.”

“The cowboy jumped out of his truck and ran into the hall when I turned on to Birch Street. As I walked, I remained behind Greta Walmsley—two houses back because I didn’t want to overtake her.”

“Why not?” Stella leans forward. She already knows Mayko considers Greta to be indifferent toward her.

“She doesn’t like me. I don’t know the reason. She meandered slowly, as if she wanted to waste time. When she paused to inspect a flower bed on someone’s lawn, I stopped, too. She often glanced around. If she noticed me, she never acknowledged my presence. I followed her back to the hotel and then I returned along Main Street until I reached Mrs. Carlyle’s.”

“Did she see you?”

“Oh, yes, I’m sure. I didn’t hide, I talked to my dog, and I maintained a respectful distance. As is normal for Greta Walmsley, she ignored me. Hester Painter must be your witness. She sat at a table in the café window.”

They clear Mayko to leave the interview.

“Quick assessment before we clock out for the day?”

They haven’t learned much. “We confirmed Bryce’s movements and decided he had opportunity. Greta’s behaviour comes across as odd on several counts. She lied to us the first time we asked her when she left the venue. She revealed her conversation with Owen after we told her we talked with a witness. At the speed Greta walked, Mayko had a chance to enter the hall, push Owen because he tried to blackmail her about her identity, and then catch up to Greta soon after.”

“Miss Walmsley omitted any mention she saw Mayko, but watched Bryce go into the venue. Details still seem out of whack.” He frowns. “And Hester didn’t report seeing Mayko slip inside, either. I leave for Hawkesbury in the morning. Detectives are assigned to complete merchant interviews and forensics will gather Owen’s compositions and research. Once I’m back, we’ll visit the parents and discuss any new issues.”

As she stands and gathers her belongings, she forces a smile. “I hope your trip to see Rosemary and her doctors works out. Safe travels.” She touches his arm as she moves past him toward the door, hoping he takes time to reflect on his wife.

“Until Monday.”