What the hell are they up to?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Dougie, it’s okay. Most people’s first attempts at editing aren’t usually that great.”

  Dougie’s first try at editing was, however, worse than most. The quick flashes of abrupt cuts and rollicking dramatic music were jarring and in no way projected a peaceful image of the island to viewers.

  “I did say let’s aim for something nice and pastoral to advertise the channel, Dougie. Not James Bond.”

  “Jason Bourne, not James Bond,” he replied rather indignantly. “No one wants peaceful shots of the marina or orca swimming by, Kate. If we want to promote the station, the island, we need some action, adventure.”

  “Well, it’s not an action/adventure piece, Dougie. Wynter Island is not the streets of Marseilles during a full-speed car chase.”

  “All the footage I used was taken on the island.”

  “It may have been, but Nate driving at full speed past all of the local sites defeats the purpose of this video. We want people to see the beaches and the Lind hotel, not make it appear that life on Wynter Island is like living in the middle of some cop show.”

  “But people love cop shows.” He paused and sighed. “If I’d had the camera with me this morning, I could have gotten some great footage of all the RCMP vehicles out on Rte. 97.”

  The sound of the Beatles’ “Hello, Goodbye” blasted from where my phone sat on the edge of the editing bay.

  I punched a finger at the screen and held the phone up to my ear. “Hello?”

  “Kate? It’s Shea. Can you please come to the Reserve? Right now?” Shea’s voice, high-pitched and frantic, pummeled my eardrums.

  “What the hell is going on, Shea?”

  “Someone called the Crimestoppers line in the middle of the night with an anonymous tip about Rosalie’s murder. They said Selesia is the killer, and the RCMP would find proof of it on the Reserve.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  * * *

  At eleven a.m. on a cloudy Thursday morning, traffic was pretty light. Traffic was always pretty light on Wynter Island, the only exception being summer weekends when the roads filled with vacationers and day trippers. Sadly, there were no such crowds to worry about this summer.

  A beaten-up cream-colored Chevy flashed by me as I turned onto Rte. 97. One black leather-clad arm hung out of the window. It looked like Brad Sixto. Where the hell was he going at that speed?

  It didn’t take long to get to Selesia’s house. Two RCMP vehicles occupied all of the space in the driveway. Bodies were moving around inside. I jumped out of the truck and headed to the open front door.

  “Hello?” I called out.

  Ian’s head popped out from the kitchen. “Kate? What are you doing here?” He stopped and shook his head. “Foolish question. Someone called you and told you we were here.”

  “Yeah, Shea did. What’s going on?”

  “That’s none of your business, Kate,” Stewart said as he emerged from the hall that adjoined the small front foyer. “You’re butting into a police investigation.”

  “This is serious, Kate,” Ian added. “You’re going to have to leave. This is no place for an amateur detective.”

  “You’re kicking me out?” I laughed, trying to keep things light, but the heaviness of the atmosphere in the tidy split-level squashed that.

  Lesley walked out of the kitchen, her hands encased in latex gloves. “Yes, we are.” Her brown eyes were troubled but firm. This was serious, they seemed to say, and there was no point in pretending otherwise. Her eyes mirrored the pain she knew she was inflicting on Shea. “Shea is down at Sam’s with Selesia.”

  “Okay, I’ll head down there then.”

  Before the words were even out of my mouth, they had turned back to their investigation.

  * * *

  Shea’s blue SUV was parked in front of Sam’s rancher. He had the best patch of land in the entire Reserve, his modest brown house facing out onto a shore of beach grass and granite that fell away to a stunning view of the Salish Sea.

  Sam’s front door was cracked open. I stepped a few feet into the front hall and called, “Hello? Anyone here?”

  Toenails scratched frantically over the wood floor as Jojo, Sam’s black lab, raced out to greet me.

  “Kate? Is that you? We’re in the kitchen,” Sam’s rich baritone floated out from the back of the house.

  “C’mon Jojo,” I bent over to allow her to lick my face before heading into the kitchen, “Let’s go and see everybody.”

  The kitchen resembled a wake. Selesia, Shea, and Sam were seated around the small wooden kitchen table, three full cups of coffee sitting ignored in front of them.

  “Hey,” I nodded, pushing Jojo down from jumping on me. “I guess there’s no point in asking how everyone is doing.”

  Shea’s desperate eyes connected with mine. “Thanks for coming, Kate.”

  I pulled out a chair and sat down, waving away Sam’s offer of tepid coffee. “I’m not sure what you expect me to do.”

  Sam said, “I’m sorry we had to take you away from work, but—”

  “We need fresh eyes on the situation here,” Shea finished for him. “Someone who’s had a decent night’s sleep and can see things clearly.”

  I glanced over at Selesia. She was still as a statue, her angular face carved out of marble, her long black hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. Her eyes never lifted from her untouched coffee cup.

  “It’s okay. I left Dougie to watch the station. He’s editing footage. Thinks he’s the new Michael Bay. Anyway, what happened?”

  Sam sighed. “The three of them showed up at Selesia’s house. Someone called in an anonymous Crimestoppers tip saying that Selesia had killed Rose and they would find evidence on the Reserve.”

  Selesia’s head jerked up, her dark pupils connecting with mine, but she said nothing.

  “So the three of them have been ransacking her house ever since,” Shea finished. “Selesia called me, and I met her here at Sam’s.”

  “Where’s Brad?”

  Shea shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. He was already gone by the time I got here.”

  “He headed out as soon as he saw them,” Selesia replied. “I’ve no idea where he is. Like usual.”

  That’s interesting. Why did he need to leave as soon as the police arrived?

  “Well, I saw him heading south on Rte. 97 about ten minutes ago. He’s roaming around the island somewhere. Did Ian say anything to you?”

  Selesia snorted a derisive, angry sound. “They didn’t need to. It’s pretty obvious what they’re thinking. What everyone on the island is thinking.”

  “Selesia, that’s not fair,” Sam started, but she cut him off with the swiftness of a fox biting the head off a chicken.

  “It is fair. And I don’t care what anyone thinks. Rose got what she deserved. She ruined people’s lives and didn’t give a damn about it.”

  “She was a child,” Sam offered.

  “Child or not,” Selesia continued, “she knew what she was doing and, ultimately, paid the price.”

  Selesia’s words hung dangerously in the still air of the kitchen. Even Jojo seemed cowed by their fury as she headed into the living room to curl up on her dog bed.

  “Don’t say such things, Selesia,” Shea warned.

  “Why not? What’s it going to do? I’m going to be heading off to prison anyway.”

  “Don’t say that!” Sam barked, startling all of us. “Do you hear me? You’re not going to prison!”

  In the silence after Sam’s angry outburst, we could hear footsteps crunching up the front path toward the house.

  “Excuse me,” Ian called through the partially open front door, “RCMP here.”

  No shit, Ian. Really?

  “We’re in the kitchen,” Sam replied.

  Jojo’s toenails clattered on the floor as she danced joyfully at the appearance of even more people. The three officers made their way into the kitchen.

  I could tell instantly that it was terrible news. Melancholy leached off the three of them like water spilling into wine. Lesley could not even look at Shea.

  “Selesia Sixto?” Ian said in his deep, magisterial voice.

  “Yes?” Her face tilted towards them, anger and pride written across her sharply cut features.

  “We found this in your backyard, mixed with the ashes in your fire pit.”

  He held up a clear bag that held a smoke-tinged, melted piece of glass. I leaned forward to read its label but couldn’t make out anything.

  “It appears to be some kind of medicinal bottle. We’re not sure where from yet. Most of the label is gone. But we’ve got a pretty good guess at what was in it: lily of the valley tincture.”

  Before Selesia could say a word, Sam pushed his chair back and stood up, one hand trembling as he gripped the back of the chair.

  “It’s mine,” he said, his voice clear and decisive, “not Selesia’s. I’m the one you should be arresting. I killed Rosalie Morgann, not her.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chaos ensued. Everyone shouted simultaneously. Selesia screamed at Sam not to be such a fool; Shea shouted at Selesia to shut up before she said something stupid, and Jojo yapped at everyone from the living room as she sensed the sudden emotional shift.

  “Enough! Enough!” Ian’s full volume bellow drew everyone to a halt. “Sam Hanks,” The sudden silence in the room was jarring. Sam’s breath wheezed in and out in rapid gusts. “Are you confessing to the murder of Rosalie Morgann?”

  He nodded his head. Selesia opened her mouth to say something, but Stewart’s hand rose to stop her.

  “I need to hear you say it, Sam,” Ian continued.

  He swallowed twice. “I killed Rosalie Morgann.”

  “No!” Selesia screamed. “He’s lying! Don’t listen to him!”

  “Sam Hanks, I am placing you under arrest for the murder of Rosalie Morgann.” Ian reached into his back pocket to retrieve a pair of handcuffs.

  “Do we have to, Ian?” Lesley asked, her quiet question barely audible against Jojo’s barking. “It’s not like he’s fighting us or anything.”

  Ian gave her a stern glance before turning back to Sam. " You do not need to say anything. Anything you do say may be used as evidence against you in court. You have the right to retain and instruct counsel. If you cannot afford this, counsel will be retained free of charge through the Provincial Legal Aid System.”

  Sam held his hands silently in front of him so that Ian could put on the cuffs. Jojo stopped barking, and in the sudden silence, we could hear them click shut around his wrists. We, three, stood there frozen: Selesia’s hysteria silenced; Shea looking sick with concern; and me, unbelieving of what was happening in front of me.

  The sound of a sharp knock on the front door brought us all back to our senses.

  “Hello? Anyone here?” Gwen’s voice called out in the silent house.

  “No, Gwen. Don’t come in,” Sam shouted, but it was too late. She was already in the open doorway to the kitchen, staring aghast at the scene in front of her.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  She looked from Ian to Stewart and then Lesley before settling, bewildered, on me. I walked over and took her arm.

  “Gwen, we need to talk.” I tried to pull her from the kitchen, but she shook my hand off.

  “What do you mean we need to talk? I need to find out what the hell is going on here!”

  Sam looked up from the floor, his eyes connecting with hers. “I killed Rose.”

  Gwen laughed, her disbelief slipping into horror. “Don’t be ridiculous. Stewart, what’s going on here?” She turned to him, her eyes desperate for a saner explanation.

  “It’s true, Gwen. He’s being arrested for the murder of Rosalie Morgann,” Stewart said.

  “Let’s get a move on,” Ian said as he began to lead Sam from the kitchen.

  “No.” Selesia and Gwen’s shouts were simultaneous, echoing back at us from the kitchen walls.

  Before Selesia could move, Gwen grabbed Sam’s other elbow, yanking him to a stop.

  “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, Sam, but this is too much.”

  His eyes, so sad and tired, suddenly lifted for a moment. “Remember when we were young, Gwen? When we’d sneak away to the beach?”

  Her expression shifted from fury to confusion. “What?”

  “When we were at UBC. We’d sneak down to the beach on a sunny weekday when it was empty.”

  Her eyes shifted from confusion to clarity. “Yes, but what does that have to do with any of this?”

  He continued as if she hadn’t said anything. “We’d bring down a beach towel and sunbathe. Remember?”

  The clarity shifted to sadness. “Yes, but why are we talking about this, Sam?”

  “And I would tell you how much I loved you.” He gazed deeply into her eyes, unable with his cuffed hands to touch hers. “I still do, Gwen. I always have.”

  “Sam!” She started in shock, but Ian pulled his arm free of her hand and began to walk him toward the front door. “Sam!”

  He glanced over his shoulder, smiling at each of us before settling on Gwen’s stricken face. “I just wanted you to know.”

  And with that, Ian led him outside to the patrol car with Stewart and Lesley on their heels. Jojo tried to run after him, but I grabbed her collar to keep her back. She whined and pulled, looking back at me in confusion when I wouldn’t allow her to follow her master.

  I bent down, burying my face in her short, black fur. “You can’t go with him, Jojo,” I whispered. “None of us can.”

  * * *

  The single cell in the basement of the Wynter Island RCMP detachment looked as if it hadn’t been used in years. It was clean but had the dusty smell of an old storage cupboard. Sam was seated on a fold-down cot that doubled as a bench. In one corner, an aluminum toilet sat against the concrete floor.

  “Kate’s come to see you.” Lesley coughed into her hand, causing him to look up. She pulled a key out of her pocket and jiggled it in the lock before pulling the steel door open.

  Sam smiled as I walked into the cell, looking over at Lesley as she clanged the door shut and relocked it. “Is this typical RCMP policy, Lesley?”

  She smiled sadly. “No, it most definitely isn’t. But Kate’s convinced me she can wrangle the truth out of you. You know, being a seasoned journalist and all. You’ve got fifteen minutes, Kate. That’s it.”

  She turned and headed back up the stairs.

  “Thanks, Lesley. I appreciate it.” I sat down on the rough blanket and sheet that covered the cot. “I love what you’ve done with the place, Sam.” I glanced around the chilly, spartan cell. “Interesting decorating choices.”

  His broad smile cracked across his seamed face. “You can talk your way into just about anywhere, can’t you, girl?”

  “Yup, pretty much. Although talking my way into jail is a new one for me.”

  He sighed and looked away. “I’m afraid it probably wasn’t worth the effort.”

  “I disagree. I know you didn’t kill Rose Morgan, Sam, so don’t bother trying to deny it.” I raised my hand in the air. “You think you’re protecting Selesia, but you’re not.”

  “Oh, and why would that be?”

  “Because Selesia didn’t kill Rose.”

  He said nothing.

  “I know the melted apothecary bottle looks bad, but there could be several different explanations for how it ended up there. Not just that Selesia was trying to burn evidence in her fire pit.”

  “Is that so, Sherlock Holmes?”

  I was not going to be distracted. “Yes, it is. She needs you, Sam.”

  “Yes, I know. That’s why I’m here.”

  “So you’re admitting you lied to stop the police from arresting Selesia?”

  “I’m not admitting shit, Kate.”

  “Sam, I’m trying to find the killer. You throwing yourself on your proverbial sword is not helping anything.”

  “Really?” He looked around the empty cell in mock surprise. “I don’t see anyone else in here with me.”

  “No, that’s right. Selesia is at home with Shea now, heartbroken. Heartbroken because she believes her brother thinks she is capable of murder.”

  “She’ll get over it.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He stared stolidly ahead at the cement wall. “I’m in here because I poisoned Rose Morgan.”

  I threw my hands up in the air. “You’re determined to destroy your life, aren’t you? Your martyr act is just a diversion, Sam, and one that won’t buy very much time. The police will figure out the truth eventually.”

  “What are you talking about, Kate?”

  “You confessed because you wanted to protect Selesia. What if she’s innocent, Sam?”

  His brow furrowed in confusion. “Then, just for the sake of argument, who burned the apothecary bottle in her fire pit? Or did it just magically arrive there?”

  My mind flashed back to the image looping in my memory for the past hour: the black leather sleeve hanging out the open window of a beaten-up Chevy. What if Betty Wu was mistaken? What if Jack Donahue had not arrived on Wynter Island before Rosalie’s death? What if the young man she had seen was instead Sam’s nephew, Brad Sixto? Could there be a nefarious reason why he was headed towards Rosalie’s house in the days before her murder? Perhaps doing some reconnaissance?

  “What if Brad put it there.”

  He jumped to his feet in shock. “What the hell are you saying, Kate?”

  “I’m saying that there is another person on the Reserve that people have been ignoring as a possible suspect: Brad. He could have been attempting to destroy evidence in Selesia’s fire pit. No one would have thought anything of it.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” He stamped to the other side of the cell.