Page 10 of Murder At Lake Ontario (DI William Gibson 2)

“Hello. Come in.” She signaled them to the living room. All the furnishings were spotless and tasteful. The essence of spices wafted from the rear. “It’s the detectives.”

“Coffee?” Mr. Underwood rose from his loveseat and gestured to a couch by the window. He sat back down.

“That would be nice,” Gibson said. He sat and looked out the window toward Grandma’s house. Eckhart perched next to him.

“I won’t be a moment. Bear with me.” Mrs. Underwood scurried down the hallway, soft footfalls resounding in the small space.

“She’s an excellent cook.”

Gibson smiled. Eckhart reached for her journal, ready to take notes.

Mrs. Underwood came back with a big tray. “I have sandwiches too.” She arranged the works on a table between the two seating arrangements. After everybody was established with a plate of food and steaming coffee, she sank into the loveseat. The couple remained close but not touching, linked by a force that flowed between them.

“Did you make it to the fireworks?” Gibson asked.

“No. We didn’t go,” Mr. Underwood said.

“It was ten years ago to the date we lost our child,” his wife said matter-of-factly.

Although he was aware of the story, Gibson felt his heart strike his rib cage.

“Katie had gone out on her bike with friends. A day like today. Perfect.” Mrs. Underwood inhaled sharply and went on. “She was with Savannah from the store. Jackie was at her grandma’s house that weekend, as well.” She pointed across the street.

Gibson’s heart darted around his chest, seeking for a place to stash his emotions. Eckhart sat straight, mouth drawn. It was painful to listen to Mrs. Underwood speak in such a neutral manner.

“I presume the girls separated. I discovered Katie’s bike at the top of the beach stairs. The police suggested she had drowned.” She shrugged. “We never recovered her body. What could we do?”

The detectives sat still.

“It’s okay. We’re okay.” She reached over the coffee table and touched Gibson’s sleeve. He was reluctant to look her in the eye. When he did, he didn’t see the emptiness he was expecting, but hope—hope that Katie was at peace. His heart settled into its appointed spot.

Mrs. Underwood squeezed his arm and smiled a smile that brought memories back. Gibson swallowed hard. This was what heartbreak felt like. He had experienced it once before when his younger brother had committed suicide. A tear threatened to expose him. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” He perched on the brink of the couch.

Mrs. Underwood glanced skyward and exhaled. Mr. Underwood patted her hand.

“Thank you for your time.” He pointed a chin at Eckhart and rose. “And the snacks.”

Gibson wasn’t certain what he was feeling when they left. Despair? Hope? Guilt?

Eckhart looked distressed.

“Late lunch?” he asked.

“Yeah. How about the Mansion Pub? I love their Reuben sandwich.”

Eckhart fired up the engine. The drive downtown was quick. The traffic had thinned considerably. She discounted the ‘No Parking’ sign in front of the pub and parked with the truck’s nose touching the sign. They ordered the same as the last time. Gibson rested back in his chair and looked at the mirror behind the bar, thinking things over.

“Anatoe claimed he was getting a beer from Felton’s house,” Eckhart said.

“And nobody noticed him.” Gibson took a taste of his burger.

“That’s right, but David told us he thought Anatoe and Elsie were arguing by the landing. Although he wasn’t a hundred percent positive, Mr. Tatlow was. Anatoe doesn’t have an alibi. None that we have found yet. Why would he be quarreling with Elsie? Why go to the beach to start a fight with her? What would be so important?”

“That’s a lot of questions,” he said.

Eckhart wiped mustard off her mouth with a napkin and looked over at him. “Could it be that he just wanted to go out with her sister? That sounds so lame.”

“We’ll ask him again.”

“He won’t tell us.”

“We’ll see,” Gibson said.

“Maybe the ring is his?”

“Could be.”

“What about the Grimsby guys? Are they connected?”

“We’ll check them out, too.”

Eckhart plucked out her journal again and found the name she was looking for. “John Terry Henneberry. He’s the president of that fraternity club. Should we phone ahead?”

“No, I think we’ll make a surprise visit,” Gibson replied, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Where has Gregory been? That’s a problem. Don’t you think? It’s been a few days since anyone has seen him. Is he the killer and we’re just letting him go?”

“I haven’t forgotten about him. Maybe he went to Grimsby,” he said.

“He should know that we would want to talk to him. After all, he found the body.”

“We’ll track him down. One way or the other.”

“Okay. What about Mr. Tatlow?”

“He seemed harmless enough,” Gibson said. “Or is he the monster the kids insist he is?” He didn’t really think that was the case.

“Right. Who do you truly know?” Eckhart tempted him with her deep pools of blue. “You deserve a nightcap after listening to all that stuff about death on Lawsons Lane.”

“I do.” He knew what he was about to do was wrong, but he wanted this.

Eckhart chattered as she drove. Her laughter was like a songbird. He drank it all in, savouring the moment. She parked in the driveway and they scampered up the steps two at a time. A moon hung over the lake, spilling a silver light into the room. She held out her hand, and he took it. The kisses were long and deep. All thoughts of the future melted away in the heady lust. Afterward, he lay beside her and let himself dream of a different life.

Chapter 10

It had been a warm night with barely a breeze to cool his fevered body when Gibson stole his way out of the townhouse. He had taken one last glimpse before he closed the bedroom door, the moonlight shimmering on her smooth skin. Now he waited in the café for the Expedition to come round the corner. Eckhart smiled at him as he hopped into the truck.

“Hi, handsome.” Her voice had a trace of huskiness that wasn’t there yesterday.

Gibson felt at ease. She would always know what to say.

“It’s time to see what the husband has to say,” he said. Even to his own ears that sounded weird.

“I agree.” She giggled like a school girl and glanced at him sideways, a faint curve of her mouth lingered.

Eckhart drove out of town and shortly after pulled into Jacobs Landing. She lined up the Expedition in front of the general store. Someone had ripped dead flowers from the terracotta urns and thrown them on the ground. They strolled under the covered passage—honeysuckle and purple-flowered clematis vines clinging to the lattice trellis—to the small forties bungalow at the back. It was isolated from the house next door by a tract of meadowland. He punched the buzzer. The peal reverberated inside. There was no other noise until the slapping of rubber echoed along the hallway. Savannah opened the door.

“May we come in?” Gibson asked.

“You’re the detectives?”

He nodded.

They accompanied her down a short corridor, pictures covering the walls with their life. Gibson swept his eyes over the black and white and sepia photographs. Savannah led them to the kitchen, the sweet smell of coffee brewing. The room was bright and cheery, painted a bold yellow. Behind the glass-fronted cabinets was a mishmash of chinaware, doubtless collected since the fifties. A simple folded tea towel dangled from the oven handle. The rustic table took up most of the tiny space with old chairs crowded around. Probably antiques now.

Todd sat at the head of the table and nodded in their direction. He was dressed in the uniform of the grieving—sweat pants and a T-shirt. His hair was unruly, but he had shaven. A weighted look dragged his skin down in pa

le folds. Gibson hauled out a chair and sat down, glancing out the window to the fields beyond. Eckhart perched on a seat beside him. Savannah plunked down and brushed at her forehead.

“We’re sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks.” Todd’s lips were drawn in. A glassy look told them his spirit had retreated inward as well. Where else could he flee?

“Did you make it to the party?” Gibson asked.

“No, I was working on the books. I planned to make it before the fireworks started, but...”

“Someone heard Anatoe and Elsie arguing. Any idea what that would have been about?”

“I don’t know. Maybe she told him to stay away from her sister.”

Savannah dipped her chin at his remark and plucked her bangs.

“Would he have hurt Elsie?”

“No, not really.” Todd sucked in his breath. “But I think Gregory would.” His sidelong glance toward Savannah spoke volumes.

Savannah stared hard at him and then narrowed her eyes.

“What makes you say that?” Gibson asked.

“Because of his prior behavior,” Todd said.

“What behaviour?” Gibson shook his head not following.

“He was in jail for raping a teenage girl.” A haughty laugh escaped his lips.

Gibson shot a look toward Eckhart. Oh, shit. How did they miss that? Was it because he had other things on his mind?

Savannah sunk into her chair, sticking her fist to her mouth.

“His mother isn’t much better either.”

“Todd, stop that.” Savannah lashed out. “Gregory didn’t do anything. He didn’t rape that girl. It was—”

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