A Masked Murder, page 9
“Aren’t the police doing that?” Ivy asked in puzzlement.
“Actually, last time there was a murder, in the summer, it affected the island very badly. A lot of guests ended up leaving and a lot of businesses suffered. I asked a few questions and managed to help the police out, and it was solved sooner than it might otherwise have been.”
Glancing nervously at Ivy to see how she was taking this, Autumn noted that her eyebrows were raised and that there was an expression of grudging admiration on her face. “That’s very enterprising of you,” she said.
“I don’t want the same damage to happen again. It would be so terrible for everyone in Magnolia Bay,” Autumn said. “I’ve already got a guest leaving a day early.”
Luckily, it seemed that her honesty was paying dividends.
“If you’re working with the police and just looking to help out, then I suppose I can tell you,” Ivy said. “Just don’t mention my name. Please.”
“I absolutely won’t,” Autumn promised. “It must be common knowledge in the art world who Stafford treated so badly?”
“You could say it’s an open secret,” Ivy said. “The young artist’s name is Finn Hayes.”
“And he lives on the island?” Autumn asked.
“Yes. As far as I know, he does,” Ivy said. “I don’t know him very well. I’ve really only heard about him via the grapevine.”
“I’ll go and ask him a few questions.” Autumn stood up, not wanting to take any more of the artist’s time, and feeling encouraged by the new lead. “I love your paintings, by the way,” she said.
"What, these ones? Or that junk I do for commercial success?" Ivy asked, with a tilt of her head and a glance at her wall.
“You painted these?” Autumn stared incredulously at the work on the walls again. They were beautiful. They weren’t in the least like the dark, threatening paintings that were all over her artist website. “They’re simply stunning!”
"Thank you." Now, for the first time, Ivy gave her a genuinely warm smile. "You know, I started out doing this kind of work, and it's where my heart is. Then, I was so depressed by having to fight for my place in the market that I thought I'd try something totally different. I started doing dark, terrible, hopeless paintings – and bizarrely, people couldn't get enough of them. It made my name and my reputation, and it pays all the bills. So I have to keep doing them." Her smile quirked up on one side, wryly. "I paint these for fun, and the art that made me famous, for money."
“Well, how fascinating to have two such different talents.” Autumn felt seriously admiring of Ivy. She was multi-skilled and yet, practical. Autumn felt glad to have met her. And better still, she had a new, strong lead.
Having suffered a financial loss as well as emotional hurt, Finn Hayes had two motives for wanting Stafford dead.
***
Seeing Autumn had no idea where Finn Hayes lived, and didn’t want to take a buggy back to the bed and breakfast unless she needed to go that way, she looked up his address as soon as she was out of Ivy’s house.
“Finn Hayes, Finn Hayes,” she muttered to herself as she searched. There were a couple of Finns on the island. Here was the one she needed.
Finn Hayes was a Magnolia Bay resident, living in one of the new, two-story apartment buildings on the south of the harbor. But Autumn didn’t think he would be at home, because her further research, into his social media, showed her that he was working at one of the island’s small hotels. That was close to here, on the north shore, and its name was Starforth Lodge.
A lovely name, Autumn thought, orienting herself on her maps app and setting off in that direction. She wasn’t sure what Finn did at the hotel. His social media was full of comments like: Blessed! What a view! Happy guests! Along with photos of the hotel from every angle. Finn really did love his photography. Maybe it allowed him to showcase his artistic streak, seeing as how the mentorship had fallen through.
Did all that gushing on social media hide a serious, lasting grudge and a deep, festering anger?
Autumn wondered about that, as she cut through a corner of the forest, enjoying the way the light changed, dim and mysterious, filtered by the trees, and then brightened again on the island’s north side.
And there was the hotel, the Starforth Lodge. It was very attractive, Autumn thought appreciatively, as she headed down toward it. A double story building, clad in natural stone that gave it a more historic feel even though the hotels on this side of the island were all new. It sat well in its wooded landscape, with no other buildings within a couple of hundred yards, and the woods backing onto it. Then, of course, it had a gorgeous lake view, on one of the sides of the lake where no shore was visible and the water stretched to infinity. Those were Autumn’s favorite views, she had to admit.
She headed inside. From the social media, she hadn’t been able to get a very clear impression of Finn, other than that he was dark haired, with a modern, angular looking haircut. He was more into photographing his surroundings than himself.
Inside, the hotel was warm, with a welcoming feel to the dark blue and yellow décor, and plush looking seats in the lobby, where a receptionist was on the phone. While she waited for her to wrap up her call, Autumn looked around.
There was a waitress serving coffee to two guests in the hotel lounge adjoining the lobby. And there was another employee, outside, arranging the furniture on the hotel’s front porch which overlooked the lake.
Autumn stared at him curiously and then headed over to the door for a closer look.
This man, in his smart blue jacket and beige pants, was the man she was looking for – she thought. His jawline was the same shape as the small picture in the online photo, and his hair had the same shape to the cut.
She strolled out and headed over to him.
“We’ll be another minute, ma’am,” he said. “Just need to get the cushions organized.”
His voice was bright and brisk. His smile was automatic, and Autumn felt certain that he hadn’t really seen her.
“Actually,” she said, “I’m hoping to get some information from you.”
“From me?” He straightened up, staring at her with a wary respectfulness. “Sure, ma’am. What do you need?”
“Are you Finn Hayes?”
“That I am, ma’am,” he said, now sounding positively nervy.
“I’m Autumn Ray. I was on the committee for the masked ball. I am actually here because of what happened at the ball. I wanted to ask you –”
But to her shock, Autumn got no further with her question. As she’d spoken, Finn had been looking more and more alarmed. And when she got to the word “happened”, he tensed, looking around him as if seeking an escape route.
He found one. A moment later, Finn turned, rushed for the balcony, vaulted over it, and headed into the woods at a run.
“Wait! Stop!” Autumn cried out the words, even though her brain was already telling her that a man who had fled when she’d mentioned the ball, was not going to come back just because she yelled out for him to stop.
“Well! Of all the…” Racing for the balcony herself, she scrambled over, determined to keep him in sight.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
With her shoes skidding on the neatly mowed grass, Autumn pounded across the lawn. Thank goodness, in view of the chilly breeze, she’d opted to wear black pants instead of a skirt. A skirt would have gotten in the way. Not that her outfit was helping her. Her scarf was coming loose and threatening to fly right off her neck. Just in time, without slowing her speed, Autumn grabbed it and clutched it in her hand.
Finn was heading at a breakneck pace for the woods. In his panic, though, he was zigzagging indecisively across the grass. That allowed Autumn to close the distance. All she had to do was figure out that there was only one entrance into the woods – a clearly marked gate in the fence line where the trail began – and head for it.
There was nowhere else Finn could go. He was making a getaway. It was a clear sign of guilt. Perhaps the mention of the masked ball had caused him to crack, as his conscience got the better of him and drove home the reality of what he’d done.
The zigzag route was taking him to the gate. Now, though, Autumn was worried that if he got through the gate, she wouldn’t be able to catch up with him in time. He was running with strength and desperation, and in the woods, it would be far easier for him to lose her.
“Hey! Wait!” she shouted. “I want to talk to you!”
“I don’t want to talk to you!” he shouted back. Fair enough, Autumn had to admit. That answer was both truthful and logical. However, it didn’t help her.
Was there a way she could persuade him to slow down?
“The hotel’s going to be angry that you ran away from doing your job!” she shouted. He’d reached the trail head now, and glanced back at her, his expression taut.
“I’m on tea break!” he yelled.
Autumn gulped in air as she headed into the woods. He was about fifty yards ahead, running strongly. At least the trail was straight, so she could keep him in sight, but he definitely had the advantage. She was clutching her scarf in one hand, clamping her purse under her other arm, and felt thoroughly ill-equipped for this impromptu pursuit.
"Why are you running?" she called, aware that she was already getting breathless, and that there wasn't much more conversation that would be possible. Her shoe skidded in a muddy puddle, which splattered over it and her pants leg. She leaped high, avoiding an even deeper puddle beyond.
“Go away!” he shouted back, without turning his head.
“Is this because of the ball?”
“Stop asking questions!” the agonized shout came back. “You’re slowing me down!”
Well, that was the point.
“You can’t keep running forever,” she yelled. “What do you think I’m going to do? I’m a harmless woman!”
He could be the killer, of course. Confronting him alone in the woods might not be a great idea. Not that she’d planned for this chase, but it could land her in a precarious situation.
Luckily, her questions were wearing him down. He dropped back to a jog, then to a walk, and then turned to face her, his chest heaving and his face bright red.
Autumn limped up, her leg muscles ready to seize. If that pursuit had taken any longer, she’d have lost him.
"Are you some kind of machine?" he gasped, as Autumn walked up, trying to keep her shoulders straight and not give away exactly how winded she was. "I mean, I do running and fitness. I even do CrossFit. And yet, you just kept running."
“I really wanted… to speak to you,” she explained, between gulps of air. “Badly. It’s important.”
“Why is anything to do with that ball, or that incident, important?”
Now that she was standing face to face with Finn, she saw that his face, despite being crimson, was floridly handsome, with the hairstyle emphasizing his jawline. He was probably in his early twenties, she judged.
“If it isn’t important, then why did you start running as soon as I brought up the topic?” she asked.
He thought about that, pushing a hand through his hair to cool his forehead, shifting from foot to foot as if his legs were also aching.
Eventually, with a sigh, he walked over to a tree and slumped down on the grass, leaning back against the trunk.
Autumn walked a few steps closer, chose another tree, and sat down herself. She’d have dirt and sand on her backside for sure, but she sensed it was important to try to be on a level with him.
She waited for him to answer. Finally, he did.
“Well, it’s because something unpleasant happened at the ball.”
“Why are you referring to it in such general terms?” she questioned. He shrugged.
“Maybe because murder doesn’t sound like a comfortable thing to say,” he admitted, looking down at the forest floor.
“It’s a horrible topic, but I wanted to get some background from you on Stafford.”
"Why do you think I'd talk to you about him?" He grimaced. "What's past is past. I'm trying to put it aside now and focus on my future."
But there was something evasive in his demeanor now. He had stopped looking at her. Those dark, brooding eyes – perfect for an artist, she thought, were now firmly fixed on the ground.
“You ran suddenly when I arrived,” she probed, wanting to get to the heart of the reasons why. She was sure they were important. “You turned and bolted. You couldn’t have gone faster if I’d been – if I’d been a bear.”
Hopefully, that would lighten the situation. But instead of relaxing, he scowled at her. “Think you’re so funny?” he asked.
“You were at the ball, weren’t you?” Autumn asked.
“Yeah, I was there, but I tried to avoid Stafford,” he said.
“I understand there was a history between you two.” Perhaps it was better to lead the conversation forward, she decided. Just asking questions, and getting terse rebuttals, was becoming tiresome.
He shrugged. “It’s in the past.”
“Did he disappoint you?”
"You seem to know about it all already. I don't know why you're asking me questions, if you know what happened." Morosely, he glared at the ground. "I guess everyone knows. I fell for his whole patter, like a sales pitch, really. He promised me that he'd take me under his wing men,tor me, and guide me on how to be a great artist. All I had to do was pay upfront for a block booking of twenty lessons."
“What happened then?” Autumn said, genuinely invested in the answer. What on earth had Stafford done?
"It took me months to get the money. I even took out a loan," he said in an embarrassed voice. "I tried so hard to get my tuition fee and I felt so proud when I achieved it. And then, as soon as I paid him over the money, he totally changed."
“In what way?” Autumn asked, now very concerned.
“He became disparaging and he belittled me, saying I have no talent.”
“That’s horrific!”
“He kept on changing the lesson times and postponing them, or else just not pitching up at all for the lessons. I was kept waiting three times. I ended up having exactly half a lesson. That’s all. I never got the other half because he said he wasn’t teaching somebody who couldn’t hold a charcoal stick correctly, and he just stormed out of the room.”
“But you – you paid for the lessons?” Autumn was incredulous that anyone could treat another person so badly.
“He took me for a ride,” Finn said, his voice terse. “I decided eventually that I was never going to get the lessons or the mentorship and I asked for my money back. He refused, of course. Laughed in my face and said that if I had real talent then he would have taught me.”
He picked up a stick as he spoke, now absently swirling patterns in the soil. Autumn guessed he didn’t even notice that he was doing it. But she had to admit, the patterns looked very artistic to her. He was drawing a tree. Just like that, the swooping outline of a weeping willow was appearing in the dirt.
“Well, I think that’s shocking behavior. Why did you go to the ball?” Autumn asked, now hopefully drawing closer to the disappointed man’s actions.
“My girlfriend wanted to go,” Finn said. “She was really looking forward to it. I knew she’d be disappointed if I refused to go with her. So, suck it up, buttercup?” He glanced at her cynically. “That’s what I did.”
“Did you speak to Stafford at all?” Autumn asked. She was getting the strong feeling that something had happened at the ball. What was it?
“I didn’t speak to him at all.”
“Did you have any interaction with him?”
Now, he was looking cagey, and that made Autumn’s stomach twist. He wouldn’t have had to have spoken to Stafford if he’d just walked in and stabbed him. It would have been easy to do that.
“I – um,” he said. His voice trailed off. His face reddened again, but this time it wasn’t due to the exercise. Autumn could clearly see there was another reason.
“Did you go there with the intention of doing him harm?” she asked gently. It would be better to show empathy. If this man was the killer, he was holding a world of hurt inside him.
“Of course not!” Finn’s voice was scornful. “Are you implying I killed him? Why would I do that? I’d never kill anyone.”
Autumn stared at him, her mind racing.
“But something happened. I think? Am I right?”
Finn was like a statue now, apart from that one drawing hand.
“I didn’t kill him,” he said again. “I left at half past nine. The news that he’d died only got to me when I was already home, after walking my girlfriend home.”
He had an alibi, then. If he'd left at that time and walked his girlfriend home, then there was somebody who could account for his time. Of course, they might both be colluding, but if he was the killer, then the police could interview the girlfriend. Having stern Officer Warring asking her to account for her time would be a lot scarier than having Autumn ask questions.
But now, she was thoroughly curious about what, exactly, Finn had been doing at the ball. There was definitely a motive for his presence there. She didn’t think it had just been to please the girlfriend.
Autumn felt that the truth was almost within her grasp. If she could only ask the right questions, they might lead her there.
“Was there a reason you left so early?” As the puzzle pieces slotted together in her mind, she decided she was going to see if she could answer that question herself. “Wait. I think I know – did you go there to get some kind of revenge?”
He stared at her, giving a long, deep sigh. “I can’t say that. Because if I do, they’ll think I killed him. How was I to know he’d made somebody else even madder than he made me? I couldn’t predict that would happen.”
“You did something, though?”
“It was spur of the moment,” he said, blushing again.
Autumn sighed. “If there was another reason why you went, why not tell me? I’m trying to figure out what happened. I know I’m not the police, so I can’t force you to answer. But you also won’t be in trouble. That’s a bonus, right?”
