The Corpse With the Golden Nose (26 page)

I conjure up the Jacksons next: Lizzie is wearing a huge, faceted rock around her neck, it's weighing her down, but she's repeating a mantra—“Look into my eyes, my eyes, my eyes”—and smiling. Grant is tiny, like a little scuttling insect, but in almost human form. He's running around on the ground beside Lizzie shouting loudly, but she can't hear him, only I can: “Face It. Face It. You know, you know it. Face it.”

Now Grant is chasing Sammy Soul, who hasn't got a reefer any more, but he's scattering cigarettes as he runs, still trying to catch the diaphanous gown of his daughter.

“Don't light it. Don't light it,” calls Lizzie to Grant as he picks up one of the now-tiny cigarettes.

Colin, Sheri, and Rob MacMillan appear in a puff of smoke. “Time travel is great,” says Colin to his parents, who start screaming at him that they want to go home. He's crying now. His father is wearing boxing gloves and starts to punch himself in the head. His mother is crying too, she's stroking Colin, petting him like she would a cat. Colin's hair grows very long, and he starts to trot toward me. He's panting like a puppy, but the sounds coming out of his mouth are the sounds of Doctor Who's
TARDIS
as it lands.

“I have to have it.” Annette has broken out of the storage box that Ellen is trying to stuff her into. “I have to have it!” She's wearing a gas-mask, and she's running toward Grant who is trying to hide from her giant feet. He grows to her size, and there he is, holding a large candlestick in one hand, a coffee roaster in the other. Annette grabs the candlestick from him and proceeds to bash away at the stacks of plastic bins that are suddenly surrounding her. They start to topple. Everyone is being hit by giant storage bins . . .

I stopped. I pulled myself together. It was a start. What had I learned?
Anything?
What had I
felt
? Immediately I could sense
obsession
.
Why?
I gave it some thought.

Everyone
had an obsession: Annette and her snuff boxes; Colin and The Doctor, and probably Annette,
and
me; Raj and the perfect wine; Serendipity and the perfect food; Sammy Soul and his wife; Suzie Soul and her lovers; Grant and Lizzie Jackson, and their Faceting; Sheri MacMillan and her son; Rob MacMillan and his escape; Gordy Wiser and his orchards; Lauren Corrigan and her knitting; Pat Corrigan and his sausages. Marlene Wiser, poor Marlene, seemed to be the only one who hadn't been caught up with something that was their distraction, or their focus—or maybe adopting six children
was
obsessive?

I allowed my mind to wander back to Colin MacMillan. His sad home life; his other, fantasy world; the kindnesses Annette had shown him; their connection; his obsession. He knew about science; he had access to Annette's home. She'd been acting strangely—
had
she offended him? Would she have known if she had? How would Colin react?

I was questioning, judging. Was I now taking a step too far? Being
too
judgmental? Maybe I was nervous that I'd just sent Colin away, and he might never come back.

Damn, I want a cigarette! Maybe that's why I pictured all those cigarettes?

I got up from the chair and walked over to the contents of my purse, still on the floor in a heap. I gleefully saw that the pile contained a squashed cigarette box, with two smokes in it
and
a limp book of matches. I gathered up the other bits and bobs and put back them where they belonged. I looked around. I couldn't really see any harm in having a smoke. The
door
was wide open, even if the gate was locked. I lit up, and sucked in hard.

The relief was tremendous. Okay, the
rush
was tremendous.
I'm an addict. I admit it.

Hobbies, obsessions, addictions. A continuum?

I looked at my watch. Thirty minutes had passed. Bud should be arriving at any moment.
If
Colin had actually gone to get him, that was.

I walked back toward the box of books I'd been intending to get to when I'd sidetracked myself. I pulled down the other kitchen box that was on top of it, and finally achieved my goal. Opening the box was a bit of a disappointment. I didn't know what I'd expected to find, but what I saw was a pretty comprehensive collection of books about silver antiques. I picked out one or two, and wandered back to the spot near the gramophone, under a lightbulb. Inside the front cover of one of the books was an inscription: “To one of my best customers, G.”

Of course! Grant Jackson! Why hadn't I thought of that before! The candlesticks!

Just then I heard a crunching noise beyond the gate.

“Hello?” It was Colin's voice.

Quick as a flash I was back at the gate. “You're back!” I was relieved.

“Yep,” he said.

“Where's Bud?” I asked impatiently.

“He wasn't there,” he replied, “but I brought a screwdriver and some WD-40 ,” he added proudly.

“Where on earth is Bud?” I might have sounded a little terse.

“It's a long story, so I'll tell you while I try to undo this, okay?” replied Colin, as though speaking to a child. I wasn't really in any position to argue.

I sighed. “Yes, right, okay. I'm sorry. I'm just a bit . . . you know  . . . tense.”

“I might be
only seventeen
, but I
am
possessed of a modicum of perception,” said Colin loftily.

That's me put in my place!
“What's happened to Bud?”

I peered as far as I could out of the gate, but all I could see was Colin's left side. His tongue poked out and he was clearly struggling with the screws. I could smell the oily chemicals of the WD-40 wafting on the cool evening air.

Putting his tongue back where it belonged, Colin spoke calmly. “Ellen came back to Anen House with Pat in his car. She asked Bud to drive her to the winery in
his
truck to collect some ice wine that she'd promised to take to SoulVine Wines for the dinner tonight, 'cos
they
don't make it. They'd left before I got there, because she had to get to Serendipity's restaurant before the other guests showed up. Lauren told Bud you weren't due back at the
B&B
until seven, so he called your cellphone and left you a message. Pat's a bit tied up right now, but he said he'd drive you over to West Kelowna when you're out of here. He offered to help, but I said I could manage.”

I took it all in. Ellen was pretty good at getting people, especially Bud, to help her out. But that's what Bud's like. Damsel in distress and all that.

Well,
I
was a damsel in distress right now, and
I
could have done with his help.
More
than Ellen. But Bud hadn't known that, of course.

“Are you talking to me, or yourself?” asked Colin.

I hadn't been aware I was saying anything aloud. “Myself,” I replied.

“Good,” he sniped back.

“How's it coming along out there?” I asked.

“Just two more.” I could hear the effort in his voice.

I stood as calmly as I could. I
hate
waiting. And it's especially annoying when I'm not in control of the situation, where putting pressure on someone else does anything but help.

I sighed. “What about you and Poppy du Bois then, Colin? I reckon you'd be spending your time much more wisely with her than following the likes of me about the place.”

The sounds of Colin's exertion stopped.

“What do you mean
Poppy
? And what do you mean
follow you
?” He sounded quite put out.

“Oh, come on, Colin, you've been following me about. Did you see who locked this gate, when you were skulking around out there?”

“I
wasn't
skulking and I
didn't
see anyone. And what about
Poppy
?”

I smiled.
Ah, so you are interested, after all, eh?

“I think Poppy quite likes you, Colin. You two have a lot in common: same class at school, similar interests. I guess you spend quite a bit of time together.”

Colin was clearly back at work. “Yeah, but she has to help out at the restaurant, you know. Which is pretty cool, I guess. They all work together. Like a proper family. She's okay. She's pretty cool for a girl.”

I thought it best not to press the matter. I'd planted at least the germ of a thought that might spur Colin to take up with a girl his own age, rather than obsessing over me and mooning about the place. I didn't want to say anything any more concrete: whoever knew a teen who'd do something if they thought an adult
wanted
them to do it!

“Hey—got it. Last one now!” exclaimed Colin.

“Good job,” I offered by way of encouragement. “I'll check that I've left everything in good order here,” I added.

“Okay, just a few more turns and it'll be out,” Colin called to me.

I darted back into the cavernous apple store and glanced around. I picked up my purse and peered into it. Had I collected
everything
off the floor? I cast my eyes about the place. Yes. Did I have my cigarettes and matches? No, I'd put them down next to the box of mail. As I reached for them, I knocked the plastic box onto the floor.
Damn and blast!
The mail scattered everywhere. I gathered it off the dusty floor and popped it back into the box. I looked around for a flat surface. I spotted a tiny table: that would do. I picked up a couple of photographs that were lying face down on its surface. I could drop them into the box of mail too.

I glanced at them as I placed them on top of the mail. One was the same as the snap that Bud had brought to my house a week earlier, the one that had introduced me to the Newman sisters, but the other one was different. It had obviously been taken a few moments before, or after, the one I'd originally seen. No,
definitely
before. I popped my specs back on, held one photograph in each hand, and studied them. Carefully. Very carefully. I focused on the expressions on the sisters' faces, then on their body language.

In the photo that Bud had shown me, Annette was closest to the camera, smiling happily, her arm around Ellen's shoulders. Ellen was trying to look happy too.

In the other photo, the one I was seeing for the first time, Ellen and Annette were looking at each other, rather than at the camera. Annette's entire body said “happy”: her arms were outstretched, upward and toward her sister; her face, even though I could only see a side view, was gleeful; her mouth was open wide in a smile, and her head was thrown back in joy. Ellen, well she'd been caught in an instant of pure disbelief. Her mouth was also open, but in an “o” of shock, not delight; her arms were also raised, but her hands were on their way to grasp her face; her shoulders drooped in defeat, she was curling in on herself.

Wow!

And there was one more significant difference between the photos. This photo showed a side view of the sisters, and I could see that it wasn't only Annette's bra that didn't fit. Her shirt was pulling on her, too.

And that was it. I didn't need any more “wakeful dreaming” to help me work out who had killed Annette Newman,
and
Stacey Willow,
and
poor old Gordy and Marlene Wiser, or why, or how. Everything slid into place like a pattern in a kaleidoscope.

Annette Newman's bra didn't fit—and I knew that a week ago!

Oh, Cait Morgan, you are so stupid!

“It's open!” called Colin proudly. “You can come and push now.”

I picked up the photos, stuffed them into my purse, tugged the chains to turn out the lights, and launched myself at the gate. It began to shift. A moment later, I was out, and trying not to panic.

“Can I use your phone to call Bud?” I asked Colin.

“It doesn't
work
here. I think we established that,
right
?” The boy shook his head, despairing of my stupidity as he spoke. “
Eidetic memory?
” He tutted.

I held my forehead.

“You're thinking?” he asked. I nodded. I was also trying to keep calm.

“Right-o, Colin. You've rescued me—thank you so much. Now we have to get back to Anen House, as quickly as we can, then to SoulVine Wines. Let's go. We'll talk on the way.” I knew I was barking at him, but it didn't matter. “You lead, and can you use your phone to light the path a bit? It's almost dark.”

“Sure can,” he replied jauntily.

As we trudged up the hill in the darkness, which was a lot more difficult to do than to wander down it in daylight, I sorted through all the facts in my mind, and I knew I wasn't wrong about it all, which
wasn't
good. We had to get to Bud as fast as possible.

“Once we get up to Pat and his car, how quickly can we get to SoulVine Wines?” I asked, panting.

“This time of day, it's about twenty minutes to half an hour from here by road. It could be longer, depending on the bridge.”

That wasn't good. But at least I could phone Bud from the
B&B
and tell him what was going on. That would help. It
should
help.

“But there
is
a quicker way,” said Colin.

“What?” I spoke sharply.

“Our boat. If Pat gives us a ride to my house, we can just zip right across the lake. They're opposite us. It'll only take five, ten minutes.”

“What about the other side? Will we need a car there?” I wasn't sure where exactly the dinner was taking place, geographically speaking.

“No!” replied Colin—implying “Don't be so stupid!”—“We just tie up at their jetty and walk up the steps to the restaurant. Didn't you
see
it opposite our house today, when you were there?”

“No, Colin, I guess I just didn't know what I was looking at.”

Understatement of the year there, Cait. That's at least two examples, now, of where you just didn't see what you were looking at in the way you should have seen it.