The Hanged Man's Noose Page 13

  “I know. Not that I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Are you going to tell him you were at the Gilroy Mansion earlier?”

  “I don’t think so. He’s bound to overreact. He has a tendency to do that when it comes to me. The fewer people who know, the better.”

  “I have to agree with you there. But if you’re calling Levon—”

  “Yes?”

  “You told me at The Hanged Man’s Noose you had a theory, but you needed to clear it with Levon first.”

  “I don’t have to clear the theory with Levon. I have to clear telling his story, which was the reason for the theory. Though now that Stonehaven’s dead, I’m not so sure about any of it.”

  “Do you think, if you were to be there, that Levon would tell me his story? Let me decide it it’s plausible?”

  “I can ask him, see what he says.”

  “Then that’s our next step.”

  28

  They ended up meeting Levon at The Hanged Man’s Noose the next afternoon. Emily knew Arabella was reluctant to revisit the pub, given her recent run-in with Betsy over Stonehaven, but Levon had insisted, telling her Betsy and Arabella needed to kiss and make up.

  Emily had sided with Levon on the location, although her reasons were far less altruistic. She was primarily interested in Betsy’s side of everything that had transpired. Outnumbered, a reluctant Arabella had agreed. But judging by the way two women hugged one another, each one crying and apologizing at the same time, Emily was sure their friendship would survive the Stonehaven tsunami.

  “I don’t like the idea of you getting any more involved in this than you already are,” Levon said. “Let the police do their job, and keep your nose out of it.”

  “Emily is going to help me,” Arabella said, a haughty tone to her voice.

  “Gee, now I feel better.”

  Emily was about to respond when Betsy arrived at their table with their drinks order. Her face was tear stained and splotchy, and Emily realized she’d been crying long before her hug fest with Arabella.

  “How are you holding up, Betsy?” Emily asked. “I understand from Arabella that you were seeing Sto … Garrett. It must make it doubly difficult for you.”

  Betsy attempted a smile, didn’t quite succeed. “You can’t begin to imagine. I realize not everyone was on board with what he was planning for Main Street, Arabella especially, but I loved him, you know? And I know he loved me. Garrett wouldn’t have done anything to hurt me.”

  Emily wasn’t so sure, but she knew better than to say so, and thankfully Arabella stayed silent while Levon studied the foam on his beer.

  “Garrett wouldn’t have done anything to hurt me,” Betsy repeated, her voice breaking. She wiped back a tear and glanced from Emily to Arabella to Levon and back to Emily. “You want to know the hardest part of all this? The thing that really haunts me? His murderer might have…might have been here on the night of the presentation party.”

  “Do you remember everyone who was here that night?”

  “I need to make a list for the police. They left here about an hour ago. But why do you care?”

  “Emily’s going to help us find out the truth,” Arabella said, with a pointed glance at Levon.

  “I’m all for that,” Betsy said, her face brightening. “If you want, Emily, I can give you a copy of the list once I’ve finished.”

  “A copy of the list would be great. We should each make a list. Who knows, one of us might remember someone the other didn’t.”

  “Speaking of people who were here that evening, I don’t remember seeing Stanford McLelland at the post-presentation party,” Levon said.

  “He wasn’t here,” Betsy said. “I was a bit surprised, because he’s been such a supporter of the pub. He spent a lot of time with me so I’d understand all the types of insurance I’d need, and he worked hard to get me an affordable rate. But then again, Stanford’s never been one for crowds.” She glanced around the pub. “Customers waiting, gotta go. I’ll get you that list, Emily.”

  “Weren’t you sitting with Stanford at the presentation?” Emily asked after Betsy had left.

  “I was going to tell you about Stan,” Arabella said, her eyes lighting up. “The night of the presentation, after Stonehaven left, he told me that he felt a migraine coming on.”

  “I suppose that’s possible,” Emily said, not quite getting Arabella’s excitement. So what if the man had a headache?

  Arabella shook her head. “I worked for Stan for years. I’ve never known him to complain of so much as a mild headache, let alone a migraine. But there was something he said that struck me as odd at the time. He said something about taking care of everything. He told me not to worry.”

  “You have to call him,” Emily said. “Find out what he meant.”

  “I’m way ahead of you,” Arabella said. “I called Stan as soon as I got into the shop this morning. I told him about the Treasontini business, about Stonehaven’s death, about the police interviewing me. He came to see me within the hour. I thought it was to lend me support, but the truth was he came to tell me something.”

  “Which was?”

  “He’d been part of Stonehaven’s team.” Arabella leaned back, a self-satisfied smirk on her face.

  “Wow, I didn’t see that one coming,” Emily said, shaking her head. “Stanford McLelland and Garrett Stonehaven. I don’t really know Stanford, but he didn’t strike me as the sort of guy who’d support someone like Stonehaven.”

  “Can’t say I saw it coming either,” Levon said. “How’d Stan manage to get on Stonehaven’s team?”

  “He told me that he’d been recruited. To be fair, Stanford thought it was about revitalizing Main Street and finding a location for a condo. He didn’t think there was anything…untoward.”

  “A condo in Lount’s Landing?” Levon sounded skeptical.

  “I could see it,” Arabella said, a defensive tone in her voice. “I always thought the schoolhouse could be converted with a little bit of imagination.”

  “And I have seen it, even written about it in Urban Living,” Emily said. “Besides, Stonehaven was known for his condo developments. It all makes sense if you look at the bigger picture.”

  “Fine, right, whatever,” Levon said. “Who else did he recruit, did Stan tell you?”

  “Gloria and Carter. They also recruited Chantal and Ned. According to Stanford, no one on the team was aware of StoreHaven until Stonehaven held a pre-presentation meeting.”

  “Nice,” Levon said.

  “Typical,” Emily said.

  “There’s more. Carter Dixon challenged Stonehaven on it, in front of everyone, told him he should start revitalizing Main Street before springing the idea of StoreHaven onto folks. From what I can gather, things got tense. No overt threats, but it was clear Stonehaven was not impressed. Then he suggested circling the revitalization of Main Street back to the school, and Carter said that could probably work. Stanford said it calmed Stonehaven down some.”

  “I sense a ‘but’,” Emily said.

  Arabella nodded. “Stanford said he saw this look of fury in Stonehaven’s eyes. And now Carter is dead. He didn’t come right out and say it, but I’m sure Stanford thinks Stonehaven was behind Carter’s death in some way. Except Stonehaven wasn’t at the Café that day, was he?”

  “No, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t behind it,” Emily said. “Remember when I told you I had an idea?”

  “Yes, but you said you weren’t quite ready to talk about it,” Arabella said.

  “That’s because there’s a fair bit of conjecture on my part.”

  “We’ll take that into consideration,” Levon said.

  “I think February might have done something.” She told Arabella and Levon about the way February had stumbled and fell.

  “Everyone said Carter always kept an EpiPen in his jacket pocket, but he didn’t have one on him that day. What if February knew he’d have an allergic reaction? Somehow had tampered with his food?
What if when she stumbled, it wasn’t by accident but rather to grab the EpiPen from his pocket?”

  “That’s a whole lot of what-ifs,” Levon said. “It’s more plausible that February stumbled because she was stoned.”

  “You’re right on all counts. That’s why I’ve been reluctant to say anything. But the fact is, February stayed behind after Gloria left to follow Carter to the hospital. She said she’d do all the cleaning up before closing. So she had plenty of time to get rid of any evidence.”

  “Okay, let’s assume for argument’s sake that February is responsible for Carter’s death, and that Stonehaven put her up to it in some way,” Arabella said. “And let’s assume she couldn’t deal with it, so she decided to shoot some heroin, and that the overdose may or may not have been intentional. It still leaves us with the question of who killed Garret Stonehaven. If it turns out not to be an accident.”

  “And why,” Emily said.

  “Levon might have a theory,” Arabella said.

  “What sort of theory?”

  “It’s a long story, and it goes a long way back,” Levon said.

  “Okay, so tell me already,” Emily said. “But first, let’s order some food. The wine is starting to go to my head.”

  29

  Levon and Arabella each settled on the Jailhouse Club, bacon extra crispy for her, not so crispy for him, and a side order of sweet potato fries split two ways. “Make sure you give us each our own plate,” Arabella said to Betsy. “Levon can be a bit territorial when it comes to his food.”

  “Just because I don’t like someone picking food off my plate while I’m eating doesn’t mean I’m territorial,” Levon said.

  “A picker who doesn’t like to be picked,” Arabella said.

  Emily decided to stay out of it. She studied the menu for a minute—typical pub fare, without a lot of vegetarian meal options, unless you considered potato skins and deep-fried mozzarella-jalapeno poppers as vegetarian meals. In the end, she ordered a BLT—surely a couple of strips of well-done bacon couldn’t hurt—and a club soda with lime. “If I drink any more wine, I won’t be able to concentrate,” she said, pushing the empty wine glass away from her. Arabella asked for a diet cola. Levon ordered another beer.

  “So, what’s the long story?” Emily asked, after they had finished eating.

  It took Levon a few moments of shifting in his seat and exchanging looks with Arabella, but eventually he got started.

  “I grew up in the suburbs, Scarborough to be exact, street upon street of virtually identical 1950s bungalows. Three bedrooms, one bathroom, kitchen, a living room-dining room combo, all crammed into a thousand square feet. If you were lucky you had a wood-paneled basement recreation room.” Levon paused to take a sip of his beer. “The neighborhood started off as one of Toronto’s first shiny, new post-war suburbs, gradually transitioning from fresh dreams to blue collar to new immigrants to drugs and decay. But it wasn’t a bad place to grow up. We had decent-sized yards and, I don’t know, I guess you’d call it a sense of community.”

  “I know the area,” Emily said. “I grew up a few miles north of you, in Agincourt.”

  “We used to say Agincourt was on the right side of the 401,” Levon said with a grin. “My dad left a few weeks shy of my sixteenth birthday. Left for a pack of smokes and never came back. My mom spun out of control. Started drinking, taking tranquilizers, dating whoever came by, the furnace repairman, the neighbor down the street. I became the invisible kid. A child psychologist might say I acted out to get attention. Whatever the reason, I started hanging out with a group of equally screwed up teenagers. Before long, I was flunking out of school.”

  “What did your mom do?”

  “She was too far gone by then to realize anything was wrong. At midterm, I changed a couple of F’s on my report card to B’s. It shouldn’t have fooled anyone, but my mom had no real interest in her own life, let alone mine. The school guidance counselor was equally useless. Back then, there wasn’t a lot of bubble wrapping of kids.”

  “What did you end up doing?”

  “Did I straighten out, do you mean?” Levon shook his head. “I started taking stuff from the house, little things, knickknacks and vases and old junk my father had left piled up in the attic, stuff I knew my mom wouldn’t miss. Then I’d take them into Pete’s Pawn Shop and get a bit of money. I convinced myself I was doing my mother a favor, de-cluttering the place.”

  “But your mom couldn’t have had enough stuff to keep you going for long.”

  “She didn’t, but before long spring came, and with it, a plethora of neighborhood yard sales. I used what little money I had to start buying the kind of stuff Pete sold, jewelry, old wristwatches, paintings, furniture, china, you name it.”

  “Sounds like you were born to be a picker,” Emily said.

  Levon smiled. “Maybe I was. For a while, things looked promising. I had a hobby that more or less kept me out of trouble and into a bit of money. Pete was a crusty old curmudgeon, but he started to take time with me, mentor me. I managed to pull my marks together, enough to squeak through the year with a pass. And then winter happened.”

  “Winter?” Emily couldn’t see the connection.

  “Winter. No more yard sales to feed my habit. Remember, there was no Internet back then, no eBay or craigslist. It wasn’t like today. You basically had those Super Shopper kinds of publications and newspaper ads. One afternoon, I was at the local hardware store and decided to try for the five-finger discount. Took a set of socket wrenches, stuffed them inside my jacket.”

  “But it turned out okay? You got away with it?”

  “Not exactly. But the owner was a decent guy. He called the police, I think more to scare me than anything else, because in the end he didn’t want to press charges.”

  “What did the police do?”

  “The officer on duty was a decent sort. His last name was Death, spelled D-E-A-T-H, but he pronounced it Deeth, said if Mr. Murphy wouldn’t press charges, there wasn’t much he could do, beyond having a long, hard talk with my mom. When she didn’t answer the phone, he drove over to our house. To this day, I don’t know why he insisted on going there without me. Could be he’d seen it all before, or could be he had a policeman’s premonition.”

  “A premonition?”

  “Officer Death found her in the car garage, inside her beat up car, the engine still running. The kid next door saw the whole thing, couldn’t wait to tell me all about it, how her face was bright cherry red.” Levon swallowed hard. “Officer Death called it in right away, and an ambulance was there in no time, but it was too late to save her. She was pronounced DOA at the hospital, a clear case of suicide by carbon monoxide poisoning.”

  Emily knew firsthand how suicide impacted the surviving family. She also knew spouting off a bunch of platitudes wouldn’t make it any better. “I’m sorry.”

  “It was long time ago. Twenty years and counting. The good news is another kid today shouldn’t have to face that sort of horror show. Catalytic converters found on modern automobiles eliminate over ninety-nine per cent of carbon monoxide produced.”

  Arabella reached for Levon’s hand.

  Twenty years later and Levon was still reading up on CO2 poisoning, Emily thought. She wondered if the people left behind after a suicide ever got over the pain, the sense of abandonment.

  Levon stopped and took a sip of his beer, grimacing slightly. “There are a few other details I’d rather not go into, but the bottom line was I was sent to a boot camp for young offenders who needed some direction in their life. It was called Camp Miakoda.”

  “I remember there had been talk of experimental boot camps for teens, but I hadn’t realized there was one in Miakoda Falls,” Emily said. “Is it still there?”

  Levon shook his head. “It was about ten miles outside of Miakoda Falls, on the Dutch River, locked in between two sets of waterfalls and surrounded by forest. Quite remote, as you’d expect it to be. The government of the day sank a fair bit o
f money into it, but it faced a lot of public and political opposition. It was only open for that one summer. The land, including the buildings, was sold off about three years ago to a real estate developer.”

  “Let me guess,” Emily said. “Garrett Stonehaven?”

  “I’m not sure,” Levon said. “I tried to trace it, but all the records circled back to a numbered company. Poppy Spencer would know. She was the realtor of record.”

  Arabella had mentioned that Poppy had started changing about three years ago. Getting involved with Stonehaven might explain it.

  “It might be unethical for her to reveal the name of the purchaser, but I think your conclusion is solid, given her most recent dealings with Stonehaven,” Emily said. “Plus, Johnny told me Poppy was the one who brought Stonehaven to Lount’s Landing. Do you still have the information on the numbered company?”

  “Sure, it’s on my computer somewhere. If I email it to you, could you trace it?”

  “I might be able to. It’s interesting, though. If the Miakoda Falls camp was purchased by Stonehaven three years ago, then his plans for Lount’s Landing went far deeper than StoreHaven.” Emily studied Levon. “What was your interest in finding out who purchased the camp? Did you have plans to buy it?”

  “No, but I’d heard the camp had been sold and I wondered if the buyer had been Garrett Stonehaven. I’ve followed his career with some interest. He was at the camp with me that summer, though back in the day he was known as Garry Stone. He changed his name legally as soon as he turned eighteen. He thought Garrett Stonehaven sounded more sophisticated, the kind of name a big shot might have.”

  “Like Levon sounds a bit more glamorous than Larry,” Arabella said.

  “Nothing hiding there, Arabella. The whole Larry business was just Garrett being an ass, a riff on my last name. He knew it bugged the hell out of me, knew my deadbeat dad was known as Larry. I made the mistake of confiding that tidbit to him when I thought he was a friend. Trust him to throw it back in my face all these years later. His not-so-subtle reminder of our past.”