The Hanged Man's Noose Page 9

  “I understand that, and I want to be part of the solution, not part of the problem.”

  “Thank you.” Johnny stood up. “Will I see you at Stonehaven’s presentation tomorrow evening?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it. I plan to take some photos, include them in the first issue.”

  “Somehow I don’t think Arabella will be pleased about sharing space with Stonehaven.” There was a twinkle in Johnny’s black-brown eyes.

  “I hear you. But I’m planning to take some photos at The Hanged Man’s Noose to help promote Betsy’s business. Arabella will like that. The two of them are good friends.” A thought struck her. “Would you be willing to be interviewed after the presentation to offer your perspective? Speaking as the chairman of the Main Street Merchants’ Association?”

  “Love to, as long as we’re friends again.”

  “We are.”

  “And you give me permission to tell you about the Association first.”

  “Permission granted,” Emily said with a grin.

  “Then why don’t we arrange to meet on Wednesday morning for breakfast at the Sunrise Café. Unless you have an objection to mixing business with pleasure?”

  “No objection. How’s eight a.m.?”

  “It’s a date. Now I better get back to the store.” Johnny smiled. “Enjoy the roses.”

  Emily googled “meanings behind the color of roses” as soon as Johnny left. Her search revealed plenty of websites. She selected one that appeared to have an air of legitimacy, and blushed to her roots when she read the description.

  “The unique beauty of the lavender rose has captured many hearts and imaginations, making them a perfect symbol of enchantment. The lavender rose is traditionally used to express feelings of love at first sight.”

  Johnny had told her that he was fascinated by color. Emily wondered if he was aware of this particular meaning. She wasn’t entirely sure she was ready for the answer.

  She also wasn’t entirely sure she was ready to confront Michelle Ellis. She summoned up her nerve after drinking another cup of coffee, tidying her paperclip tray, and going through the rest of the photos from the Glass Dolphin grand opening.

  Michelle answered on the first ring.

  “It’s Emily.”

  “Emily, dear. I wasn’t expecting your report until after Stonehaven’s presentation. Is everything okay?”

  “Depends on your version of okay. There’s been another death.”

  “Another death? I know you mentioned one of the diners at the Sunrise Café had some sort of allergic reaction and died, but I didn’t think it was suspicious.”

  “Neither did I at the time. Now I’m not so sure. The waitress at the same restaurant, a young woman by the name of February Fassbender, has been found dead in her apartment.”

  Emily heard Michelle’s sharp intake of breath, then, “How did she die?”

  “Apparently it was a drug overdose. But here’s the thing, Michelle. Her landlord, a man by the name of Nigel Watters, tells me she mentioned a woman named Michelle was going to help her live the good life. And I got to thinking. A woman named Michelle sent me to Lount’s Landing with a similar pitch. Somehow I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”

  Michelle sighed. “I should have told you about February. She was a waitress at a restaurant near our office, worked there for about a year. I dined there a lot, usually alone after a long day at work. February always had gossip to share about various builders and developers from conversations she’d overheard. I tipped her handsomely for the information. And then one day she told me she needed to get out of the city in a hurry, asked me if I knew of any opportunities.”

  “Did you?”

  “I promised her I’d look into it. That’s when I got the idea to send her to Lount’s Landing. She had eavesdropping down to a science. I figured she’d be a valuable asset.”

  “And as luck would have it, the waitress at the Sunrise Café had handed in her notice.”

  “It was a bit more complicated. I’ve known Camilla Mortimer-Gilroy for years. She was the one who first told me about Stonehaven coming to Lount’s Landing.”

  “So you asked Camilla to hire the waitress away from the Sunrise Café, leaving Gloria in need of a waitress. But wouldn’t it have been easier to have February go and work for Camilla? After all, Stonehaven is staying at the Gilroy Mansion.”

  “Camilla told me Gloria Moroziuk and Carter Dixon had managed to get onto Stonehaven’s redevelopment team. She figured the reason he’d picked the two of them was to get his hands on their apartment, though from what Camilla tells me, Carter was having none of it. Whatever the story, from my perspective, February had a greater chance of finding out what was going on from Gloria than she would have working at the Mansion.”

  Emily believed her. “So you told February about the opening at the Sunrise Café, told her if she could get the job, you’d offer her a side deal, a way she could live the good life.”

  “You make it all sound so tawdry. The girl wanted a fresh start. If I could find a way to benefit both of us, what was the harm?”

  “She’s dead now, so you could say that she came to harm.”

  “That’s a low blow. I certainly had no idea the girl was into drugs. I would never have hired her if I did.”

  “What I don’t understand is why you still felt the need to bring me on board. You had February and you had Camilla.”

  “I needed someone who was a consummate professional but loathed Garrett Stonehaven enough to dig deep. February was in it for the money, and I knew she’d sell me out to the highest bidder if someone else came along. As for Camilla, I’ve never completely trusted her. I’ve always suspected her of playing both ends against the middle.”

  “Meaning she might also be working with Stonehaven?”

  “I think it’s entirely possible.”

  “That might explain it.”

  “Explain what?”

  “Stonehaven came by the office a little while ago. He came right out and asked if you had sent me here.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “The truth, or at least a version of it. I told him you had sent me on behalf of Urban-Huntzberger to run Inside the Landing. I’m not convinced he bought it. He made a not-so-veiled threat, said he would take a dim view of anyone who tried to sabotage his plans.” Emily thought about Carter Dixon. Had his death been an accident? Or murder?

  “Don’t let him intimidate you, Emily, dear. He doesn’t know anything.”

  “What about Johnny Porter?”

  “The chairman of the Main Street Merchants’ Association? What about him?”

  “Is he involved?”

  “I doubt his interest goes beyond getting what’s best for Main Street. Certainly he has no connection to me, other than what I’ve already told you. Why?”

  “No reason,” Emily said, looking at the lavender roses. “I just need to know who I can trust going forward.”

  “That’s easy,” Michelle said. “Trust no one.”

  It wasn’t until Emily hung up that the thing that had been bothering her all along finally filtered into her consciousness.

  The syringe had been next to February’s right hand.

  But February had written Emily’s order down with her left. Emily was sure of it.

  Which meant February’s death probably wasn’t an accident.

  19

  Arabella settled into a carved oak booth at The Hanged Man’s Noose and ordered a club soda with lime, desperately hoping the soda would settle her stomach. Her head still pounded from too much cognac, even after taking a couple of extra-strength ibuprofen liquid gels, and her mouth felt like it was coated with cotton wool.

  Not that she’d been able to crack Emily on the subject of Garrett Stonehaven, regardless of how much cognac had flowed. When it came to playing the game of true confessions, Emily was all about getting them and not so much about giving them.

  She wondered what Levon wanted. He’d phoned fir
st thing this morning and asked to meet for lunch. Her curiosity had gotten the better of her. Last night, Emily mentioned the Larry, Garry business, thinking Arabella might know something. It was infuriating to confess she did not. As much as she hated to admit it, entire chapters of Levon’s life remained closed to her.

  The tavern door swung open, and Levon entered.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he said, not bothering to offer an excuse. He took a seat, called out to Betsy for a Sleeman Honey Brown Lager, bottle, no glass, and turned his attention back to Arabella. “Thanks for coming.”

  “I appreciate the invite, but didn’t I see you last week and then again on the weekend? People will start talking.” Arabella said it lightly, but she knew there was truth to the statement. Lount’s Landing was a hotbed for gossip mongering. As much as she cared for Levon, she couldn’t go through it all again.

  “I wanted to congratulate you on what a good job you did setting up shop, and on a successful grand opening. It looked like you sold quite a few things.”

  “I did, and thanks, but you’ve done that already. So fess up. What’s the real reason you wanted to see me?”

  “I wanted to apologize for the Garrett Stonehaven incident,” Levon said, looking none too happy about it.

  “It was uncomfortable, but I don’t see how you’re to blame for his bad manners.” She took another sip of her soda and decided to plunge in. “I am curious about one thing. What’s the deal with the Larry, Garry business?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “You’re the one who called me, remember?”

  Levon slumped further into the booth. “I know. It’s complicated.”

  “Levon, the man plans to convert the elementary school into one of those hideous megabox stores. The kind you see in bedroom communities where everyone commutes ninety minutes to get to a job they hate, in a city they don’t want to live in. And maybe we can stop him from building it, and maybe we can’t, and maybe it isn’t as bad as it looks on the surface, but in the meantime, if you two don’t go back a ways, I’ll eat my hat.”

  “You’re not wearing a hat.”

  “Don’t deflect, Levon. I hate it when you deflect.”

  “Okay, so what if we do? Go back a ways.”

  “Maybe you can convince him to take his megastore somewhere else.”

  Levon gave her a full-on smile, the kind that used to work on her, back when they were a couple.

  “Have I mentioned how much I love your new hairstyle? All those fluffy copper curls around your face suit you. Much better than the straightened look you were going for before.”

  “Don’t mess with me.” Arabella resisted the temptation to play with her hair, which was, by the way, auburn, not copper. Not that Levon had ever sweated the small details. “Now tell me about Garrett Stonehaven.”

  “All right, already, you win. Yes, Garrett Stonehaven and I go back a ways.”

  “Now we’re getting somewhere. Exactly how far back is ‘a ways’?”

  “A few years.” Levon took a long sip of his beer. “I guess it’s about time I told you. Especially since Stonehaven has come here with his latest dog and pony show. Sooner or later, something or someone is going to slip. It’s better if you hear it from me.”

  “I appreciate the courtesy this time around.”

  Levon resisted the dig. “Do you want the full story, or not?”

  “Tell me everything.”

  “The unvarnished everything?”

  Arabella hoped she was ready. “The unvarnished everything.”

  20

  Emily spent a sleepless Monday night, visions of the syringe lying next to February’s lifeless body haunting her. The police might believe her death was the result of an overdose, but Emily didn’t, and she was determined to find out the truth. She went over the facts and possibilities for the tenth time in as many hours.

  Point one: February had been the waitress who served Carter the pancakes that killed him. But what if the pancakes weren’t the cause? Betsy Ehrlich swore her sister, Rebecca, had been ultra-careful about cross contamination. How else could Carter have been exposed to peanuts? And why didn’t he have his EpiPen with him? Emily thought back to the moment when February had tripped over Carter’s jacket. She had looked embarrassed, but what if it had all been an act? What if she had tampered with his food in some way, taken the EpiPen from his pocket when she’d stumbled? But if so, why? Had someone hired her to kill Carter? Emily shook her head. The idea seemed implausible, at best.

  Point two: Michelle said that February had eavesdropping down to a science. February admitted that she “saw and heard thing as a waitress.” Had she seen something suspicious that day in the Café? What if February’s mysterious “line of work” was blackmail? What if the person she’d been waiting for was the person she planned to blackmail? Maybe that person had agreed to her demands, only to come back a couple of days later with a syringe full of drugs?

  But who could that person be? Gloria? If she wanted Carter dead, surely she wouldn’t use her own restaurant as the place to do it. Michelle? She was in Toronto, and besides, what reason could she possibly have for wanting Carter Dixon dead? That left any one of the others who’d been in the Sunrise Café that morning. Chantal Van Schyndle, owner of the Serenity Spa and Yoga Studio. Ned Turcotte, owner of Birdsong. Poppy Spencer, the real estate agent who’d sold the elementary school property to Garrett Stonehaven.

  Garrett Stonehaven, whose plan Carter Dixon had been publicly dissing. Could Stonehaven have hired February to give peanuts to Carter?

  Emily rubbed her temples, trying to ward off the headache she could feel coming on from lack of sleep and an overactive imagination. Was her hatred of Stonehaven clouding her judgment? She checked her watch, surprised at how much time had gone by. It was time to get ready for his presentation.

  The conference room was jam-packed, the last-minute arrivals forced to stand at the back of the room. Emily noticed Levon and Shuggie were among the unfortunate standees. She caught Levon’s eye and smiled in recognition. He gave her one of his trademark lopsided smiles, then turned to say something to Shuggie. The young man looked up and waved to Emily, a swift gesture warmed by his gap-toothed grin.

  Arabella sat across the aisle, in the third row, Stanford McLelland by her side. Emily had considered saving a seat for her, but she’d been a little embarrassed to do so, worried it might seem a bit high school juvenile. Seeing Stanford sitting next to her, she was glad she hadn’t given in to the feeling. She wouldn’t have thought to save two seats, would have felt foolish if Arabella had made some sort of excuse. She and Arabella might have spent a night drinking too much cognac and telling too many tales, but it wasn’t like they were best buddies.

  Emily was also feeling vaguely disquieted by her own duplicity. She didn’t like to think about what the antiques shop owner would say if she discovered Emily’s arrangement with Urban-Huntzberger and Michelle Ellis. She had the distinct impression Arabella didn’t tolerate phony people in her life, any more than she’d tolerate fakes and reproductions in her shop. And now Emily had the burden of knowing about Michelle’s relationship with Arabella’s nemesis, Camilla Mortimer-Gilroy, and the drug-addicted February. It was all getting way too complicated.

  At least her mission involved exposing Garrett Stonehaven as a fraud, which in turn might mean stopping, or at least altering, his plan. Surely that good deed would counteract the sting of any deception.

  Garrett Stonehaven strode into the conference room with the quiet confidence of a man used to making presentations. Emily had seen him in action enough times to know he never showed so much as a hint of nerves. True to form, he looked like he’d stepped off the runway at a Canali trunk show, right down to his black leather lace-up shoes. Today’s ensemble included a black suit with a fine pinstripe, a white-on-white shirt and a cornflower blue silk tie. Even his hair was perfect, thick, dark waves with a hint of gray at the temples.

  The noise level in the confere
nce room had gone from near deafening decibels to dead quiet. Emily realized most of the people here had only seen Stonehaven on television newscasts, or read about him in home and condo magazines, the real estate section of newspapers. Never mind what he might or might not have to say, it was a bit like a celebrity had come to their town.

  He made his way to a small table next to the podium, powered up a laptop, and nodded to a young man standing at the side of the room. The lights dimmed, plunging the room into semi-darkness.

  “NIMBY.” Stonehaven’s voice reverberated through the silence. An oversized screen lit up at the back of the stage, casting a soft shadow across his face. A kaleidoscope of before-and-after Main Street images began flashing by: brick storefronts sandblasted to their former glory, old warehouses painted and prettified with awnings and gilt lettering, the rutted stretch of asphalt road replaced with cobblestone pavers, the sidewalks lined with cast iron lampposts and planter boxes overflowing with lush foliage and fresh flowers. Red, white, and gold flags were emblazoned with a singular message: “Welcome to Historic Main Street.”

  “NIMBY.” The voice softer now, a shade above a whisper. “Not. In. My. Back. Yard.” His dark eyes scanned the room as if daring someone to speak. No one did.

  “I know what you may be thinking. What does NIMBY-ism have to do with a beautifully revitalized Main Street? And the artist’s conception of what could be is beautiful, don’t you agree?”

  Murmurs of assent filtered through the room. Emily shifted in her seat and looked around the dimly lit surroundings. Stonehaven had these people in the palm of his hand. Even Arabella looked mesmerized.

  Stonehaven waited a few moments, glancing from person to person, as if hypnotizing the audience into silent submission. Once again, they complied. The screen faded to black, then slowly filled with a picture of the Main Street Elementary School. The audience gasped.