There was an audible gasp in the room. Vera turned around in her seat, her waggling eyebrows signaling Doreen to shut up.

  “Alright,” I said, “that means that Dougie, Selesia, Jason, Doreen, and whoever had access to the bottle at the store—”

  “What about you?” Dougie asked.

  “Me?” I stuttered out. “Why would I be a suspect?”

  “I don’t know why, but some guy from the press is wandering around asking questions about you.”

  My mind harkened back to that male voice at the press conference. Was that who Dougie was talking about?

  “Who is it?”

  “I don’t know his name.” Dougie swiveled around to look at the other members. “Does anybody know who it is?”

  The volunteers shook their heads no.

  “But you know who I’m talking about, right?”

  Several nodded their agreement.

  “See, I told you. He’s been asking about you all over the island.”

  “What does he look like?”

  “Thirties. City type: soft hands with clean fingernails; no tan to his skin. Dark hair with those Ray-Ban sunglasses. Wears a black leather jacket.”

  “Doesn’t ring any bells for me.”

  At least not visually. Internally, I was sure he was the anonymous voice from the press conference.

  “What was he asking about, Dougie?”

  Dougie hesitated. “He wanted to know about your life on Wynter Island. Particularly,” he swallowed before continuing, “about Daniel’s death.”

  I squeezed my eyes tightly shut. Would this never end? I had been so excited to start my new job on Wynter Island, so pleased at the thought of having a fresh start after my time in Afghanistan. Until I found the body of my ex-boyfriend floating in the Salish Sea.

  Daniel. My lovely Daniel.

  A smack reverberated from the front door as Fisherman Phil pushed it open with a thrust of one hand and stumbled into the lobby. His entrance was immediately followed by the pungent aroma of rum.

  “I heard there was an emergency meeting today,” he slurred. “I got here as fast as I could.”

  “Please tell me you didn’t drive, Phil!” Gwen asked.

  Phil shook his head, causing the laces at the top of his rain jacket to flap back and forth across his chest. “No, got a lift.”

  A beat-up Chevy pulled out of the parking lot with a young man behind the wheel. Was it Brad Sixto?

  “Well, thank God for small mercies,” Vera muttered. “You’ve missed most of the important bits, Phil, but I’ll give you a quick recap. The person funding the station is getting antsy with all the publicity around Rose’s death. He’s threatening to shut us down.”

  Phil’s milky eyes welled up, turning his features from the grumpy, caustic fisherman I knew into a sad, lost soul.

  “Rose.” He sat down heavily in a seat.

  I walked over to him and reached out a hand, pausing before placing it lightly on his shoulder. God only knew what forms of microscopic sea life might be living on that jacket.

  I had never seen him like this before. Just the mention of her name had moved him to tears. I remembered Ben’s description of him sobbing over Rosalie’s body at the island hospital. Yes, he was definitely a broken man.

  “Phil, are you okay? How much have you had to drink?”

  His eyes swam towards me. “Not enough.” He paused. “It’s never going to be enough. She’s dead, you know.”

  “I know, Phil. We all know. It seems like you had a special connection with her.”

  He nodded. “Such a beautiful girl.”

  I gestured to Nate. “How about you let Nate take you home, okay? Maybe have a rest and let some of the alcohol wear off. We can talk about your new show, ‘Fishing with Phil’, another day.”

  He nodded and allowed Nate to help him to his feet before following him out the door.

  “What a horrible way to end a horrible meeting,” Vera said as she stood up. “He loved Rose like a daughter, you know. God knows why.”

  I watched as Nate reversed out of his spot with Phil slumped in the passenger seat.

  Yes, that’s true. Only God knows why.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I like Gene Kelly, but I’ve gotta say, I’m not a huge fan of singin’, dancin’, or even walkin’ in the rain,” I said, huddling under the broad branches of my pop-up umbrella.

  “My mom says that it builds character,” Shea replied, forging across the Enchanted Forest Park in her purple patterned rubber boots.

  “Causes illness, more likely,” I muttered, following her in my new blue Bogs: waterproof and warm, just what my tootsies needed.

  Jupiter had refused to leave the truck and sat balefully watching us through the front window. His white and grey arched brows spoke volumes: Kate stupid. Me smart.

  “Why are we doing this, Shea? We could talk anywhere, Annie’s bakery, my house, your house…”

  She shook her head. “Not my house. Lesley is home this morning.”

  “Okay, so we need to talk about Lesley?”

  Shea stopped suddenly in her tracks, her purple boots kicking up an errant splash of mud. “This has been a tough summer for me, Kate.”

  I moved closer. “More than just the weather?”

  She looked grimly towards the edge of the park, whose uncut grasses obscured the drop to the sea. “Way more than just the weather.”

  “Is this about Rosalie? I didn’t realize you knew her.”

  She started to walk once again. “No, I never knew her. She left before I arrived on the island. It’s about Selesia,” she paused as her voice cracked, “and a lot of other things.”

  “Let’s start with Selesia.”

  “Well, first off, she’s a suspect in Rosalie’s death.” Shea gazed down to watch the toe of one boot tunnel into the mucky soil. “Not just one of the suspects, but THE suspect.”

  “That might be jumping the gun a bit. Right now, my money is on Jason, the boyfriend.”

  “Well, Selesia stated that she would like to see Rosalie dead. Not just once but several times, and in public, to boot. And then she vanishes while Rosalie’s drink is left unattended in the lobby? No one saw her during the ten minutes she said she was in the washroom. Everyone else was on set or in the control room. She could have been anywhere in the station.”

  “True, or she could have been right where she says she was: in the bathroom. It takes a lot of chutzpah to poison someone with only a closed door between you and everyone else.”

  “Chutzpah is something Selesia has in spades.”

  “I can’t disagree with you there, but do you really think she’s capable of killing someone?”

  There was a long silence before Shea finally spoke. “I don’t know.”

  “That doesn’t sound like an I don’t know. That sounds like a yes.”

  Shea turned and started to stride towards the hill’s edge. “I need your help, Kate. I’ve got to clear her.”

  I struggled to keep up in the soggy soil. “Why me in particular? I mean, have you talked to Lesley about this? She’s trained in this kind of thing.”

  “I can’t talk to Lesley about this. We try to keep at least a little separation between her work and our relationship.”

  “Alright, but you can still talk to her about how concerned you are for Selesia.”

  “So that she gets more validation for her theory that Selesia did it? I don’t think so. We need to do more than that. She could lose custody of Brad to Rick, her ex, who lives 20 hours away in Prince George.” Shea paused to look out over the roiling waters of the Pacific, the raindrops landing like silver bullets. “I don’t think she could survive that.”

  I turned to watch the mist of rain descending into the ocean below. “What does Sam think?”

  “He agrees with me. And that’s just the start of it. I don’t want to think about what she would face as an Indigenous woman in the Canadian penal system. We like to kid ourselves that justice is blind, but you and I both know it isn’t.”

  “Let me get this straight. You think Selesia poisoned Rosalie Morgann.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Okay, I am inferring that is what you meant. And you need my help to try and prove she didn’t?”

  “Basically.”

  “I can see why you didn’t want Lesley to overhear us.”

  “Lesley is another issue entirely.”

  “You don’t think she’s the murderer!” I laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

  Shea’s glower didn’t budge. “No, I don’t think she’s the murderer. At least of Rosalie Morgann.”

  “Of someone else?” I replied, shocked.

  “There are different kinds of death,” Shea replied. “There’s also the incremental death of a relationship, like a frog in a tepid pot of water coming to a boil. You think everything is fine for the longest time—until it isn’t. We’ve been together for four years. Four happy years, or at least that’s what I thought.”

  “Lesley doesn’t agree?” I hesitated. “You don’t think she’s cheating on you?”

  “Yes. I do.”

  We had arrived at the edge of the park, the unobstructed wind whipping rain steadily onto our faces. The force made it painful, like tiny pinpricks over my cheeks.

  “Ahhh,” I said, spitting out the bits of rain that splashed into my mouth, “what a lovely day for a walk.”

  I turned to see Shea silently sobbing, the only visible sign being the upward hiccupping of her shoulders.

  “Shea!” I wrapped my arms around her, trying and failing to keep our umbrellas untangled. I finally just gave up and dropped mine to the ground. “Are you sure?”

  Indecipherable sounds emerged from where she had burrowed her head into my shoulder. She raised her head so that she could speak clearly. “Yes. She’s having an affair.”

  I tilted her chin with one finger to look directly into her blue eyes. “I find that hard to believe. Lesley loves you.”

  “Loved.”

  “No, not loved. Loves. What proof do you have?”

  “She’s been acting strange for quite a while. There was all the craziness with Daniel’s death and Gwen’s house being bombed, so I assumed she was preoccupied with that. But everything calmed down. You went back East to visit your father and sister. Everyone began to get ready for the summer season….”

  “And then it started to rain,” I added.

  “Yes, so no tourists. No crime. The island ground to a stop. And yet she kept on disappearing at the oddest of times.”

  A chill slithered down my spine. “Like when?”

  “There was no rhyme or reason to it. She started going to that crazy “Crafting with Cocktails” get-together— as if Lesley ever crafted a day in her life! I’d stop at the station to talk to her, and she’d be out ‘on a job.’ But Stewart wouldn’t tell me what the job was or where she had gone.”

  “Shea! Come on! Do you think Stewart would allow Lesley to go off and have some romantic assignation in the middle of the work day? And then lie to you to cover for her?”

  Shea shrugged. “Who knows? I don’t know who to believe anymore. But that’s not it, Kate. There’s more.”

  “Go on.”

  “I went through her cell phone.”

  “Illegal but understandable.”

  “There were calls to and from a number I didn’t recognize. And a few text messages from it, too.”

  “What did the messages say?”

  “Not much. Need to see you. Got your message, will call later to discuss it. Let me know when you can come by.”

  “Sounds pretty tame to me.”

  “How about: I’ll be home tonight. Does seven work for you? You like chardonnay, right?”

  I hesitated, scrambling to find a positive slant. “A work meeting?”

  “A work meeting? At night? With an RCMP constable? Where you offer them chardonnay? I don’t think so.”

  A sigh escaped my mouth, a low, drawn-out exhalation. “Do you know who it is?”

  “Yes. I called the number, pretending to be a survey taker.”

  I watched as her face froze into an impenetrable block of stone. “And? Who is it?”

  “Gretchen Steubbs. That artist who has a cabin not far from Michael and Anna. That newly single artist.”

  “Single?” My voice wavered. “I thought she was in a long-term relationship with that pop star, Tonya something or other?”

  “She was. Tonya dumped her for a high fashion model a few months ago. Gretchen must have been,” She ground the last few words out through her teeth, “lonely.”

  “But Shea, we still don’t know if that’s true. There may be a reasonable explanation for all of this.”

  “There is no reasonable explanation for any of this.” She stared out into the grey mist. “I don’t know which hurts more: clinging to the desperate hope that I’m wrong or the thought of living the rest of my life without her.”

  “Oh, Shea.” I wrapped my arms around her, hugging her tightly in a futile attempt to ward off her pain.

  “You’ve got to help me, Kate. Help me save something, someone. If I can’t save my relationship with Lesley, at least help me prove that Selesia is innocent. I can’t bear to lose her as well.”

  I remembered Ian’s words on the bench beside the harbor. Was it true? That I was somehow intrinsically entangled in murder on Wynter Island? It certainly felt like it.

  I gripped her tighter and whispered, against my better judgment, “Yes, Shea. I’ll help you.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Ishook my umbrella several times, making sure not to splatter Jupiter, before leaning it against the outside wall of the Lind General Store. I stomped my boots in a futile effort to return circulation to my feet and blew on my icy, chapped hands. I had no idea a place without snow and ice could feel colder than Boston in mid-January. But that’s what a combination of rain and wind blowing in off the ocean does for you.

  “C’mon, Jupe. Let’s go in.” Jupiter, who had suddenly found the energy to leave the comfort of the truck, stood waiting expectantly beside me. “You’re not fooling me. I know why you’re willing to brave the rain now but weren’t willing to go on a walk with Shea and me. You’re hoping Doreen has a treat for you, aren’t you?”

  His ears pricked up excitedly at the sound of the magic word.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

  The ferry had just arrived. A few vehicles, mainly locals but with a few hardy tourists sprinkled amongst them, motored off the ferry and started up the hill. A sparkling new white pickup was in the lineup. I squinted and recognized Dougie’s ginger hair as he drove past me.

  Hmm, Dougie’s bought himself a new pickup. That must have cost him a pretty penny.

  I stepped inside the steaming warmth of the store, happy to get a warm cup of coffee and a liter of milk to take home.

  “What the hell?”

  Standing beside the long counter that stretched across the front of the store, Ian and Lesley were deep in conversation with Doreen and Bob. From the fevered crimson flush spread across Bob’s face, it was not good news.

  “We didn’t have anything to do with this!” Bob growled, his fists clenching reflexively beside him. “How can you even be sure it happened here? That bottle could have been poisoned anywhere along the supply chain!”

  Ian’s lips clenched together as he visibly struggled to maintain his calm demeanor. Ian was usually pretty even-tempered, which meant Bob was being particularly difficult this morning.

  “Yes, it may have been tampered with before arriving on Wynter Island, but that’s highly unlikely, Mr. Corker. If we are working under the assumption that this was a targeted crime, then the poison could only be administered once there was a good chance the bottle would get to Rosalie.”

  “But how could the killer know which bottle would be picked from the cold case?” Doreen asked.

  “Jason bought the same brand and flavor frequently,” Lesley explained. “The murderer might have known that and used it to their advantage.”

  “But how did the bottle get into the store?”

  Lesley and Ian, exchanging a brief glance, said nothing.

  Doreen continued. “And what would have happened if someone else had gotten to that bottle first?”

  “Then we would have a random poisoning on our hands rather than the murder of a Hollywood star,” Ian said. He spotted me at the door, his lips clenching even tighter in irritation.

  My presence here was making a bad situation even worse. I smiled in my most obliging way, and he nodded back in a brisk up-and-down greeting.

  “Remember, this is a woman with enemies. Several people publicly stated that they wanted her dead.” He hesitated as we all watched a flush crawl up the surface of Doreen’s neck. “It’s possible that Rosalie got the bottle accidentally, but not likely.”

  “But you’re still not sure it happened here,” Bob countered, his bluster starting to lose steam. “That the bottle was tampered with in our store?”

  “That’s correct. It’s just one avenue we have to investigate. All the other bottles that Constable Akiyama removed from your cooler tested negative for poison.”

  “So it was only in the one bottle?”

  “As best we can figure out right now.”

  “And what about once the drink left here? Someone could have poisoned it after it left the store,” Bob said.

  “That’s true. It did pass through several hands.”

  “Was it at the studio long enough for someone to poison it there?” Doreen asked.

  Lesley nodded. “Yes.”

  “So that’s most likely how they did it.”

  “We can’t say for sure,” Stewart said as he walked out the open door of the back storage room, his fist closed loosely around something. “Hey, Kate. I didn’t realize you were here. And Jupiter, too.”

  All eyes turned to look at me. “I just came in to get a cup of coffee and warm up. After a walk.”