He stood limp beside his pick-up, his hands loose at his sides, his breathing laboured.
Feeling like a voyeur, Catherine hurried to her car. Ed didn’t seem to notice until the Datsun’s engine sputtered into the uneasy stillness. She saw his stricken face staring after her as she accelerated out of the drive.
Once on the main road, she drove slowly. So that was it. A whole lot of strange things were beginning to make sense. Ed had killed Tracy Tomachuk. And she had just been canoeing with him …
Mavis Bigelow, ubiquitous dishcloth in hand, peered out of the window of the café towards Royce’s Garage. He wasn’t there yet. She looked at her watch – almost eight-thirty. Ed didn’t come in as early as he used to, before Tracy’s murder. She retied her crisp white apron and brushed imaginary crumbs off her red blouse. Red was her best colour.
She straightened the salt and pepper shakers on the nearest table, aligning them with military precision as her mind floated free. Why oh why had she reacted so violently when Ed had come in for his coffee? He hadn’t been back since and it was her fault – hers and her brother Barry’s. Barry had literally thrown him out. If only she’d stood up for Ed …
It had taken Mavis months to come to terms with his arrest – to convince herself he was a murderer. Her brother, on the other hand, had denounced him from the moment the handcuffs had snapped shut on his wrists. Now Ed was free – not guilty – and Tracy was dead. Would he come back to her?
‘He isn’t in yet, so stop gawking,’ Barry growled, coming up behind his sister.
Mavis jumped. ‘Don’t sneak up on me like that!’ She hunched her shoulder and began straightening chairs. ‘What are you talking about, anyway?’
‘As if you don’t know.’ Barry snorted. ‘I’ve seen you carrying coffee over to Ed. Think I’m blind?’ He waggled a meaty finger in his sister’s face. ‘You’re playing with fire.’
Mavis busied herself polishing the sugar bowls. ‘Why won’t you let him come here?’
‘’Cause he’s a killer, that’s why.’
‘He was acquitted … the courts say he didn’t do it.’
Barry glanced around to be sure there were no customers in hearing range. ‘That wasn’t your attitude when he came in here right after the trial,’ he said with a derisive laugh. ‘You couldn’t get far enough away from him as I recall.’
She flushed but held her ground. ‘I won’t presume to know better than the law and the law says Ed Royce is innocent.’ She gathered dirty dishes on to a tray with an authoritative clatter. ‘The man deserves a break.’
Barry grabbed his sister’s arm and the tray tilted perilously. ‘If you’re nice to Ed, people will think you believe he’s innocent.’
‘I do!’
‘Well if he’s innocent, then who’s guilty?’ Barry’s face turned even redder. ‘I was a suspect too, remember.’ His fingers dug into her arm. ‘Would you rather believe your own brother did it?’
‘Of course not.’ Mavis pulled away and the dishes clattered to the other side of the tray. ‘Neither of you killed poor Tracy.’ She turned towards the kitchen, but Barry blocked her way.
‘No sister of mine is going chasing after that man and making a laughing stock of me.’ The bell at the front door tinkled and three customers made their way to a table near the quarrelling couple. ‘Stay away from Ed Royce,’ Barry hissed, and then turned an oily smile on the newcomers. ‘Lovely morning, isn’t it?’
Catherine drove homeward in a daze. How had she landed back in the middle of another murder? She struck the steering wheel with her fist. ‘It isn’t fair,’ she wailed. ‘How can this be happening to me?’ She stamped on the accelerator and as her old Datsun shuddered to its top speed, Catherine didn’t know whether to cry or swear.
She was still undecided when she screeched to a halt in the driveway. When she got out, she patted the car. ‘Sorry, old thing. I shouldn’t take my frustrations out on you.’
Catherine found her daughter in the living-room, her nose buried in a book. She sat down on the chesterfield opposite. ‘Morgan …’
‘Yes?’
‘There are a few things you should know.’
Her daughter uncurled her legs and sat straighter. ‘About what?’ she asked warily.
‘Atawan … this house.’ She paused. ‘Jason Royce.’ She leaned forward and regarded her daughter earnestly. ‘I don’t know how to tell you this …’
That a woman was murdered in this house?’ Morgan broke in. ‘And that Jason’s dad was accused?’
Astonishment pushed Catherine’s eyebrows to her hairline. ‘How do you know? When did you find out?’
Morgan’s expression was bitter. ‘You don’t suppose anyone can keep that kind of gossip to themselves for long. Especially when “the new girl in town” moved into the very house.’ She laced and unlaced her fingers. ‘I found out about the house my second day at school.’
‘And about Jason’s father?’
Morgan flushed. ‘I didn’t realize who they were talking about until a few days ago.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I didn’t want you to worry … or blame yourself for moving us here.’
‘Oh, Morgan.’ Catherine flew across the room and hugged her daughter. ‘We’ve both been keeping quiet to shield each other,’ she murmured into her hair. ‘And I am so sorry.’
‘You couldn’t know,’ the girl said gruffly.
Her mother sighed and flopped back on to the couch. ‘Thank heavens you didn’t go to the dance with Jason.’
‘What do you mean?’ There was a sharp note in Morgan’s voice.
‘With his father a murderer …’
Morgan sprang up, hands on her hips, and confronted her mother. ‘He was found “not guilty”. Remember?’
Catherine stared at her daughter. ‘Even so …’
The girl stamped her foot. ‘How can you say that? Just because he was accused, doesn’t mean he’s guilty. Police make mistakes. Things, people, aren’t always what they seem.’ She laughed without humour. ‘You should know that better than most.’
Catherine’s gaze never left her daughter’s face. She hardly recognized this impassioned figure. Could this be her timid, insecure daughter? ‘Honey …’ She stretched out her hand but it was ignored.
‘Mom, we left Kingsport because we were being hounded for something we didn’t do.’ She dashed an angry tear from
