“It’s a possibility,” Stewart answered. “She’s certainly been very vocal about her anger toward Rosalie. And one of the threatening notes left at Rosalie’s house was written on a Lind General Store paper bag.”

  Yes, of course! The faint orange stripe on the edge of the note Jason had shown me! It was the same color as the design on the Lind General Store’s paper bags!

  All eyes turned to Doreen, including Bob’s, his eyes widening in surprise. She jutted out her lower lip stubbornly.

  “So what if I wrote a note? That doesn’t prove anything.”

  “Oh, sweetheart, why did you do that?” Bob murmured, his eyes, for the first time, betraying actual concern.

  “You’ve got to admit, Doreen,” Vera sighed, “it doesn’t look great.”

  “I was angry. I wanted them to leave. That doesn’t make me a killer.”

  “So you’re admitting you wrote one of the threatening notes?” Ian repeated.

  She nodded, the stubborn tilt of her lower lip beginning to tremble a bit. “One note. That’s all. I didn’t write any of the others. It was a mistake. I’m sorry.”

  “Let’s take the note out of this for now, Staff Sergeant,” Vera said quickly. “That’s not why you brought me down here, is it?”

  “No. We have a more fundamental question for you, Vera. If Doreen is the killer, where did she get the poison?”

  Vera nodded, a sage smile spreading across her face. “Now we’re getting to where I come into this.”

  “Yes,” Stewart said, taking over for Ian. “It’s possible to purchase lily of the valley tincture, but not easy. You would need to know someone with connections in the herbal or naturopathic movement to convince a seller to let you buy some.”

  “But then it would be fairly easy to trace from the dispensary to me and then Doreen,” Vera replied.

  Stewart nodded. “That’s true, which is why we think there’s a good possibility it might have been homemade. Vera, you’re the only person on this island with a lily of the valley plant growing in your garden and the know-how to distill it into a poison.”

  Vera chuckled. “Well, not exactly. Other people on this island use herbs for medicinal purposes, such as the Tsawout. But that’s not what you’re asking me, is it? You want to know if I gave Doreen the poison that killed Rose?”

  “Yes,” Lesley answered.

  “If I did, do you think I would be stupid enough to tell you without a lawyer present?”

  “A yes or no is preferable to a hypothetical question, Vera,” she continued.

  Vera’s laughter veered towards anger. “Okay, here’s your answer. No, I did not. I have no Convallaria Majalis tincture in my home, nor have I made any in quite some time.”

  “Did Doreen question you about distilling herbs or flowers?” Stewart asked.

  Vera held up her hand to stop Bob before he exploded into a million little pieces. “No, she did not. And you are missing a couple of critical points.”

  “What points?” Ian asked.

  “Doreen can’t cook. She can’t bake a decent pie, roast a chicken, or even dress a salad. How on earth could she distill a tincture and figure out the dosing?”

  Doreen nodded, agreeing. “I am a horrible cook.”

  “So you don’t think…” Lesley started.

  Vera interrupted her. “No, I don’t think. I know she doesn’t have the ability to make a tincture.” Vera put up her hand to stop all conversation. “Just listen to me without interrupting, okay?”

  The three officers looked at each other for a moment and then nodded their agreement.

  “Doreen, come over here, please.” Doreen hesitated before walking over to where Vera was standing. “Can you take off that sweater?”

  “My sweater?” Doreen asked in surprise.

  “I am not asking you to do a strip tease, Doreen. Just take off your sweater.”

  She pulled it over her head, revealing a white t-shirt underneath.

  “Now, hold your arms and hands out to the police.”

  Doreen held her bare arms out toward the three of them.

  “What are we supposed to be looking for, Vera?” Stewart asked.

  “You’d know it if you saw it,” she replied. “Her arms and hands look normal, don’t they? No fading marks of any kind? No scabs or scratches?”

  They nodded their agreement.

  “Doreen, did anyone see you in the days before and directly after Rose’s death? See your hands and arms?”

  “Of course. Lots of people. Either here or in the hotel.”

  “Do you sell asparagus in your store?”

  Doreen shuddered and pulled her sweater back on. “No, you know I don’t, Vera. Can’t take the risk.”

  Vera smiled, thoroughly enjoying her Perry Mason moment. “And what risk would that be?”

  “A serious allergic reaction. I’m highly allergic to asparagus. Can’t eat it, touch it, anything.”

  “Exactly.” Vera folded her arms in satisfaction. One eyebrow arched with inquisitive glee. It was clear she knew what Ian would ask next, and she could hardly wait to tell him.

  “So what does asparagus have to do with lily of the valley, Vera?” he finally asked, sighing.

  Her smile grew wider. “Well, Lily of the Valley is a member of the Asparagaceae family. Asparagaceae: Asparagus. If Doreen had come within an inch of any part of a Lily of the Valley plant, she would have swollen up like an itchy, overripe plum.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Jupiter heard the knocking before I did. I had fallen down the rabbit hole of a documentary on serial murderers on Netflix the night before and hadn’t gone to bed until three. His body stiffened as he stirred from his spot curled up beside me, his tail ramrod straight behind him.

  “What is it, boy? Did you hear something?”

  A loud banging echoed from the front door down the hallway to my small bedroom at the back of the cottage.

  “Okay! Okay! I’m getting up!” I shouted and pulled myself out of bed.

  Whoever was doing the knocking must have heard my shouts because the thumping ceased. I pulled a fleecy robe over my PJs, not caring that it had a sizable Sleeping Beauty illustration, a gag gift from my sister after a trip to Disney World with my niece. I stumbled down the hallway and pulled open the door to find Shea standing, frantic, on the front doorstep.

  “Thank God you’re here, Kate,” she said and stepped past me into the cottage, removing her damp coat and placing it on a hook.

  “I don’t know where else I would be first thing in the morning, Shea. Is everything okay? Did something happen?”

  Shea made her way to the sofa and collapsed on it. Jupiter wandered over and sat in front of her, quizzically examining his previous owner. “Hey, Jupiter.” She gave him a distracted pat. “Lesley’s fine. She’s at home right now. I couldn’t talk about this on the phone. I had to see you in person.”

  I wandered into the kitchen and pushed the button to turn on the electric kettle. “I’m making tea. Is English Breakfast alright for you?”

  “Sure.”

  “I don’t have much to nibble on except for some leftover muffins from the bakery.”

  “I’ve already eaten. Tea is fine for me.”

  I poured the boiling water over tea bags in two mugs and carried one to Shea. I returned with my own and a plate carrying one of the leftover muffins.

  “So, what’s going on?” I asked as I settled into an overstuffed armchair.

  Jupiter was seated dead center in front of me. He had forgotten Shea’s existence now that he had my muffin to focus on.

  “The Glass House was broken into last night.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, Lesley got woken up by the 911 operator in the middle of the night saying there’d been an emergency call.”

  “Holy shit! Was anything stolen?”

  Shea shook her head no. “They’re not sure, but I don’t think so. It looks like the thief was looking for Rosalie’s laptop.”

  “Doesn’t the RCMP already have her laptop as evidence?”

  Shea nodded her head. “Yes, but I’m assuming there were other computers in the house, as well as hard drives and flash drives.”

  “What on earth were they looking for?”

  “They think it was a rough draft of Rosalie’s autobiography. Apparently, she had been working on one for quite a while. That was part of the reason she returned to Wynter. She felt the quiet here would help her get it finished.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “Me either. Jason was in bed but heard something downstairs. He got up and went to investigate and came upon the thief going through Rosalie’s office.”

  “Yikes. What happened? Did they catch him?”

  Shea shook her head. “He had a metal club and hit Jason with it.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “Lesley said it’s just a bad concussion, but to be safe, the ambulance boat took him over to Sidney last night.”

  “So they didn’t catch the thief?”

  “No, Scott heard the shouting and ran downstairs to find Jason bleeding on the floor. He could just make out a dark figure in camo pulling away from the beach in a small zodiac.”

  “Without anything.”

  “Scott doesn’t think anything is missing. Jason must have stumbled over him before he found what he was looking for.”

  “Rosalie’s autobiography. I wonder what’s in there that’s worth a late-night robbery and assault?”

  “Not just robbery and assault. Murder, as well.”

  “The police think this is connected to Rosalie’s murder?”

  “Yes. That whoever did the murder is behind this.”

  “Which means…what?”

  “I’m not sure. Is there a clue in her autobiography? You would think there must be something particularly incendiary there if it’s worth murdering Rosalie over and burgling her home to get rid of the evidence.”

  “But the RCMP have her laptop, which means they have her draft of the book. Whatever is in there is already known by the police.”

  “Yes, Lesley said they have read it, but she won’t tell me anything.”

  “Well, it is police business, Shea.”

  “Whatever. But you’re missing the bigger issue here, Kate.”

  After giving a piece to a waiting Jupiter, I took the last bite of my crumbly banana walnut muffin and washed it down with a slurp of tea. “It’s first thing in the morning, Shea. I’m still in my pajamas. I’m missing a lot of things.”

  “We had three main suspects: Doreen, Jason, and Selesia.”

  “Okay.”

  “Doreen is off the list because Vera proved that she’s highly allergic to the poison that killed Rosalie.”

  “That’s right. I was there when Vera told Ian. It was brilliant courtroom technique.”

  “So then we move down to Jason. Now, he’s off the list.”

  “Why is Jason off the list?”

  “Because if the killer and the thief are one and the same, Jason could hardly split himself into two. Someone other than Jason smacked a metal tube over his head and was spotted by Scott escaping in a boat.”

  “Alright, I get your point.”

  “That just leaves Selesia.”

  I nodded my head. “And that’s why you’re here. Because you’re desperate to prove Selesia’s innocent, no matter what. And the only name remaining on that list is hers.”

  “Yes, there could be others we don’t know about, but my guess is the investigation will focus on Selesia now.”

  I sighed. “I don’t know what you want me to do, Shea. I can’t fabricate evidence to help indict someone else. If Doreen and Jason are proven innocent, there’s not much the police can do except focus on Selesia.”

  Shea’s hand thumped the arm of the sofa, causing Jupiter to start. “She’s hanging on by a thread right now, Kate. Rosalie literally died in her arms. Will’s away from home, and she’s worried sick about what Brad is getting up to.”

  “Well, I know what he’s doing, at least part of the time. He’s hanging out with Fisherman Phil.”

  “Fisherman Phil?”

  “I know. An odd couple, isn’t it? Phil’s in a pretty bad way over Rosalie’s death. Brad has been visiting and helping him buy groceries, do chores, etc.”

  Shea mulled this over for a minute. “I don’t think Selesia knows anything about this. He just vanishes in his car at odd hours. And at home, he’s a mess: an angry, moody, defensive teen.”

  “So, like all other teenagers then.”

  “Worse than average, I think. He’s got a lot of extra stressors. Will is gone, and his mom is under suspicion of murder. He must know that if Selesia is taken into custody, he will have to leave Wynter Island. He’s still a minor. Custody would go to Rick, his father, who lives in Prince George.”

  “Plus, when I ran into him at Phil’s, I got the sense that his future is a touchy subject.”

  Shea nodded. “He’s never been great at school: dyslexia, learning disabilities. Will was always the star in the family.”

  “It must be hard to try and not compete or compare himself with Will.”

  “Yes, and that’s become increasingly apparent the closer he gets to graduation.”

  “He said he doesn’t want to go to college.”

  “That’s right. No schooling of any kind. Which is driving Selesia mad. She’s been hunting up special training programs for the learning disabled, but he won’t even look at them.”

  “Lots of people don’t go on to post-secondary education, Shea. They get a nice job somewhere and carve out a career for themselves.”

  “Yes, but those aren’t Indigenous teens. Especially not boys. However liberal and tolerant we think we’ve become, there’s still that overarching societal perspective that an Indigenous kid will be irresponsible and untrustworthy. Nobody wants to say it, but it’s true.”

  “I know,” I sighed.

  “If the choice is between a First Nations kid and anyone else for a low-level job, it will go to anyone else. Selesia is right. Some kind of education or specialty training is his path out of turning into the stereotypical unemployed guy on the Reserve, dipping into whatever substances he can find to pass the time.”

  An idea began to trickle into my mind, a not particularly positive one.

  “You said a lot of anger, resentment, and frustration has been building up in Brad. That’s not a great combination, Shea. Especially in a young man whose pre-frontal cortex is still developing.”

  “His what?”

  “Pre-frontal cortex. The part of his brain that helps him make complex decisions and prevents him from doing stupid, impulsive things.”

  “You mean, growing up.”

  “Yes. That’s why teenagers sometimes make incredibly dangerous choices: they don’t have the skills to stop themselves. And then you throw into that mix that a woman his mother despises has just arrived in town, the same woman who broke up his parent’s marriage…”

  “You don’t mean what I think you’re saying, Kate!”

  I nodded. “Yes, I do. If Selesia didn’t do it, is it possible that Brad did? And would that make things any better for Selesia if her son went to prison rather than herself?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Could you bring in some extra power cords?” I shouted out the open front door of the Community Hall to Dougie, who was grabbing things from the station truck.

  “Sure, Kate. I’ll be in in a sec.”

  I continued setting up one of the long folding tables in the back storeroom. The Community Hall used them for the weekly farmer’s market, one of the biggest tourist draws on the island. After pushing the legs open, I tipped it onto its feet and began dragging it towards the large meeting room.

  As tourist season had arrived, or would have if the weather had been any better, we couldn’t use the restaurant at the Lind Hotel for Fish Bingo. We could have started filming the show in the studio as planned, but no one had the heart yet to go in and film there after Rosalie’s death. And there was something atmospheric about being out in the community doing a livestream. People had come to expect it, and I was not going to mess with success. After all, Fish Bingo was an undeniable hit for CWYN.

  “Here, let me help you with that.”

  Ben’s arm brushed against mine as he raced to pick up the opposite end of the table. A strong scent of Drakkar Noir, spicy and woody with a leather undertone, wafted over me.

  “Thanks, Ben. This thing weighs a ton.”

  Drakkar Noir. It wasn’t Michael’s distinctive cologne. What was it that made Michael’s cologne so enticing? The aroma of fresh seawater and pine trees? Or that it meant I was close enough to spot the veins bulging on the back of his olive-skinned hands and see the stubble of a fresh shave on his cheek?

  No. Stop it! Stop fantasizing about the man you can never have, and focus on the single, handsome man in the room!

  “How have things been, Ben?” I asked breathlessly as we settled the table in the center of the room.

  The recently completed Community Hall had been a considerable investment of time and money for the islanders. It fit the bill for most island events: film nights, where students sold maple sugar popcorn to pay for after-school activities, weddings, wakes, and even the occasional dance.

  “Great. I brought Lucy along. She’s in the car.” He nodded towards where Jupiter had curled up on an old blanket. “Do you think he’d mind if I brought her in?”

  “Of course, you can bring her in. Jupiter is getting more…” I paused to consider my words, “tolerant.”

  Ben headed to the parking lot, returning with his brown and white springer spaniel. There was the usual dog greeting, sniff, sniff, with Jupiter prostrate like a martyr in a religious play while Lucy’s bobbed tail vibrated with happiness.

  “Hey, Ben,” Dougie said as he walked in with a light stand. “Are you co-hosting with Kate tonight?”

  “Yup, me and Lucy.” He nodded towards the spaniel, who had left Jupiter to wander around the open room.

  “I haven’t seen Lucy for a bit.” Dougie walked over to give her a few pats. “It’s been a while since either of you did Fish Bingo.”