After Wyatt left I sat at the table and counted the number of starfish in the fishing nets on the wall. My form of meditation, I guess. I had reached number thirty-seven when a bell tinkled and I looked up to see Sam coming through the front door. He didn’t see me sitting there and went over to the woman behind the bar.
“Hey, Linda Lee. Can you give me a whirly burger and fries to go?”
“Ten minutes, Sam.”
“No problem.” He was perched halfway onto a bar stool and he turned to survey the room and caught my eye, which wasn’t hard since it was on him the whole way and I was the only person in the place. He slid off the bar stool and headed my way.
“Cordi, what are you doing in here?” he asked.
“Same as you.”
“No, I mean, why are you inside? It’s a beautiful day out there.”
I looked outside and said, “Have a seat.”
He looked around as if trying to find a way out but there was none so he sat down facing me.
I cut to the chase. “Why are you ignoring Mel?”
He looked at me in surprise. “You’re pretty blunt.”
I sat in silence, waiting. People abhor silence and if you can outlast the other guy it usually pays off. It didn’t this time.
“What’s come between you and Mel? You told me the other day that she wasn’t who she seemed. What did you mean by that?”
Sam fiddled with a knife on the table spinning it around and around, until I reached out and stopped it.
“When Wyatt came she changed. She used to be so outgoing and happy. And now she’s all closed up and brittle. Not the woman I signed on for,” he said bitterly.
“There’s more, isn’t there?”
“Why do you say that?” he warily asked.
“Because you don’t ditch someone after only five days of unexplained bad vibes. Not when you’ve been with her all summer. If you love them you hang in there.”
He reached for the knife again and I let him take it.
“When I said she’d changed she said it was because she wasn’t who she thought she was and that I should just get used to it or get lost. I got lost.”
“But you didn’t want to get lost, did you?”
“No, I didn’t,” he spat angrily. “But she scared me.” He glared at me.
“Why does she scare you, Sam?” I asked quietly.
“Because I think maybe she murdered Stacey.”
“Why would you think that?” I watched him fiddling with the knife and wrestling with his demons.
“Because she told me she was Stacey’s daughter.” He glanced up quickly, waiting for my reaction, and immediately looked down again. “And Stacey was leaving her twenty million dollars. I knew Mel had a shitty upbringing. Who wouldn’t blame their mother for that?”
“I can see why you might think what you did. It’s a good motive.”
“Do you think she did it?” Sam’s hand froze in midair and he looked up at me with eyes so intense they could have cut like diamonds.
“There are others with equally good motives,” I said, almost like a refrain.
Sam slammed his hand down on the table. “That’s just it. My head says she could be a murderer and my heart says no. If I really love her I shouldn’t doubt her. Love doesn’t seem to be blind for me, which must mean I don’t love her.” He looked up with such torment on his face that I didn’t know how to answer. Luckily I was rescued by Linda Lee and the whirly burger, whatever that was.
Sam took his burger outside without saying goodbye and I decided to order a whirly burger. While I waited for it to come I entertained myself by trying to find my location on the tabletop nautical charts that lay under a thick sheet of acrylic. The burger was taller than my mouth and came by its name honestly. It was so hot it made my head whirl and I had to order two drinks to put out the fire. I paid my bill and walked out onto the verandah. Sam was right. It was much nicer outside.
As I was heading for the stairs someone called out my name. I turned and saw Martha waving at me, so I went over and said hello. She and Melanie were sitting at a table together. I looked around for Sam but he seemed to have made himself scarce. I sat down beside Martha and opposite Melanie, feeling butterflies in my stomach. I really didn’t want to talk to Mel.
“How’s the sleuthing going?” said Martha.
“It’s a mess. Everybody still has a motive.” I looked at Mel but she was taking in the view. “Including you, Mel.” She froze and slowly swivelled to look at me.
“Meaning what?”
“Twenty million dollars is a lot of money.”
She looked trapped.
“We know that Stacey was your mother.”
“So?” she said defiantly.
“So she was a very wealthy woman.”
“And you think I’d kill her for her money? I finally find my mother after all these years and you have me killing her?” She was half standing now and I waited until she caught her breath and sat down.
“You told me you hated your mother, that she abandoned you. Why the sudden reversal?” She stared at me but remained quiet, her face a tableau of confusion and anger.
“Would your father have wanted her dead?”
She stared at me unblinking, her face frozen, her eyes bulging, and in that instant I knew she knew.
“My father?”
“Wyatt.” She did a pretty good job of choking on her own saliva and Martha was all over her while darting the evil eye at me. But when Mel finally raised her eyes they were clear and steady. Without speaking she gathered her things and left. I was spared a tongue lashing from Martha when Duncan appeared at our table and took a seat. The waitress came and took their orders, and even though I warned against the whirly burger Duncan threw caution to the wind.
“Apparently the ferry is up and running so you ladies will be able to leave tomorrow morning as planned,” said Duncan.
Martha and I looked at each other and grimaced.
“What? You don’t want to leave?” asked Duncan.
“No, no it’s just that this case is getting to us … me.” I realized Martha’s grimace had been for something entirely different as she gazed fondly at Duncan.
I filled Duncan and Martha in on all that had transpired. Martha was fidgeting like a woman with ants in her pants, or like me itching my legs.
When I finally finished she said, “I’ve got another piece of the puzzle.” She looked around at us triumphantly. “I searched the name that Rosemary gave to you, Wyatt Thompson, on the Internet. There were multiple references to a second trial.”
We looked at her expectantly.
“They had to do with the murder of a young woman in Austin, Texas.”
She waited for us to say something so I humoured her. “What has that got to do with anything?”
“The young woman was Jennifer Nesbitt and her killer was acquitted for lack of evidence.”
When Duncan and I looked bewildered she said, “Jennifer Nesbitt was Rosemary Nesbitt’s sister.”
I let that bit of information percolate and then said, “And the killer?” But I already knew.
“Wyatt Thompson.”
After that little bombshell we sat in silence for a while. I ordered another drink from the waitress. Duncan ordered two more and quaffed them both almost in one go as soon as they arrived. I was very proud of myself — I didn’t say a thing.
“Isn’t Rosemary Wyatt’s assistant?” asked Duncan.
“Interesting, eh?” I said. “I mean, why would the sister of the woman Wyatt allegedly killed take on a job working for her sister’s murderer?”
“And what does that have to do with Stacey’s murder?”
“If anybody, Rosemary would want Wyatt dead.”
“Rosemary, Mel, Sam, Trevor, David, Jayne, even Darcy all have solid motives,” said Martha.
“But Wyatt is our best bet,” and I told Duncan about the MedicAlert and the cricket.
“So we can put him at the scene of the crime?” said Duncan. I nodded but suddenly remembered Wyatt and how he had refuted everything I said and how I had felt unwell. I felt unwell again. Was I beginning to believe Wyatt?
Martha jerked me out of my thoughts by saying, “How could Stacey have made so many enemies?”
“She didn’t,” Duncan said. “Only one of these people killed her, the rest are motives only. They only become real if you’re the murderer.”
I thought back to the murder scene. Something in my subconscious was waving frantically and my conscious mind was trying valiantly to catch up. Something to do with the murder scene. I pictured it again in my mind. Stacey tied with those horrid slip knots to the chair, the necklace clenched in her fist, the smell of chloroform, the medical texts. And, like a face emerging from the depths of a lake, there it was in my mind, where it had been all along.
“Stacey was tied to the chair with slip knots.”
Martha and Duncan looked at me with interest.
“You never told us they were slip knots,” Duncan said.
“Who uses slip knots to tie a person up?” I asked.
“Most people would use a reef knot or some other knot that’s easier to tie,” said Martha.
“And more effective at binding the hands,” said Duncan.
“So why use a slip knot?” But I already knew. I just had to check the crime scene again and then I’d be sure.