A Conventional Murder, page 4
part #2 of Megan Montaigne Series
Max had already started to walk away, but he turned back. “Be careful?”
“Handsome guy like yourself,” Megan said. “I don’t want her to drug you, too. To get to the nookie.”
Max rolled his eyes but laughed, then went off to talk to Isabelle, passing Ginny, the Tourism office representative, as he walked away. Ginny approached Megan with her eyes on Max.
“Yours?” Ginny said.
Megan was confused. “Sorry?” she said. A waiter approached her with a tray of various drink offerings, and she picked up a blue cocktail. She’d seen the menu plans and knew this was a drink they’d created just for the event, which they were calling “Blue Skagit.”
“That policeman,” Ginny said. “Your boyfriend?” She reached for a glass of white wine.
Megan nearly spit out her drink. “Oh gosh, no,” she said. “That’s the Deputy. Deputy Coleman. He’s investigating Patrick Bates’ murder.”
Ginny frowned. “Hmmm. That sort of ruins the spirit of the party, don’t you think?”
Megan squinted her eyes involuntarily. “Well, a man is dead,” Megan said. “Seems like now’s as good of a time as any to try to find out what happened. Before Patrick died would have been a little too soon, don’t you think?” She felt defensive about Max, even though she knew he could handle himself just fine. “He’s got a job to do. He’ll be discreet.” Megan reminded herself that this was a library event, and she was, technically, a hostess, and she probably should be nice. “You’ve done a great job with this conference,” she said. “You must be pleased.”
“Hmmm,” Ginny said again. “Well, we’ve certainly gathered more publicity than I expected,” she said wryly.
“How long have you worked with the tourism office?” Megan asked. Ginny was the kind of person who made talking feel like extracting teeth. Offering nothing, but still standing there like she expected conversation.
“A couple of years,” Ginny said. Her eyes were scanning the attendees the whole time, like she was watching for something, or someone.
Megan nodded and tried to think of a topic that might engage Ginny more. “Do you travel yourself?” she asked. “Having all these travel writers around has made me want to get my suitcase out.” She smiled, as if by having enough of a positive attitude her own aura could make up for Ginny’s sour mood.
A half smile lifted one side of Ginny’s mouth. “Yes. A lot of Italy,” she said. “But then everyone’s been to Italy. Cinque Terre.” She paused, then scanned the room again until she found Max. She lifted her chin in his direction. “You should go to Italy,” she said. “Great place for a fling.” Without looking at Megan, Ginny walked away to mingle awkwardly elsewhere.
A memory flashed into Megan’s head as Ginny walked away: she had asked if Megan could put up two people at the library apartments. Megan had felt one was enough, and Ginny had sent her Kendall. But Megan was sure the other person had been named in the emails. Had it been Patrick Bates? Surely Megan would still have the email, at the very least in the unemptied trash folder. She made a mental note to check later. It might not mean anything, but if it had been Patrick, then that would mean Ginny was at least aware of his name.
Megan turned and nearly jumped on seeing Lily right beside her. “Oh!” she cried.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you!” Lily laughed. “Just wanted you to know I’m heading home.” She tipped her head at a tray of drinks as another waiter passed by. “I think those Blue Skagit drinks are loosening up the crowd. Glad to see Max is here in case things get out of control.”
“The party is over in a couple of hours,” Megan said. “How much damage could they do?” Nonetheless, she frowned as she looked over the group again. They did seem to be getting loud very quickly. Megan had thought it might be a rowdy bunch—travel bloggers, Owen had told her, knew how to party. But now she started to worry. Yes, thank goodness for Max.
“Oh,” Lily said, pulling a book out from under her arm. “Kendall gave me this. Her book. I think she wanted me to tell you to read it and put it in the library. Do you want it? I can read it later.”
“Sure,” said Megan, “but can you just put it on my desk in the library so I don’t have to carry it around tonight?” The library was closed for the evening, but Lily was an emergency back-up for Megan, and had a key.
“Will do.” Lily gave Megan a quick hug. “Call me in the morning! Or text if you find out anything juicy.” She winked and headed home.
Megan talked to a few more people at the party, chatting about Emerson Falls and the library and the river and the weather. Everyone seemed to be consciously avoiding the topic of Patrick Bates, but she knew that in their close conversations, with people they knew, they would all be gossiping. A part of her wanted to try to eavesdrop, but a part of her just wanted to go to bed with a good book, maybe even Kendall’s. Megan was what she called a “sprint extrovert”—she could be an extrovert and hostess when she needed to be, but it took some effort and she couldn’t keep it up forever. It had been a long day, and she was starting to feel the strain from the effort of smiling and making small talk. She pulled her phone out of her pocket to check the time. Technically, she told herself, she could leave. Technically, she wasn’t the hostess. Kendall had her key to her room. No one would miss her here. So long as Max and Owen were planning to stick around, she’d let herself leave in half an hour.
As she looked up, Megan saw Devin heading her way and she smiled.
“Hello again!” Devin said, eyes crinkling at the sides.
“Hello!” Megan said. “Are you enjoying your evening?”
Devin looked around the room and shrugged. “It’s a nice evening. But office parties aren’t really my thing. When I travel, I like to immerse myself in the community. Wherever I go. Get to know the locals.” His dark brown eyes were mesmerizing, whether he intended them to be or not. “There’s a break tomorrow afternoon, about four. Can I take you to a happy hour somewhere? An early dinner?”
Megan suddenly noticed Max watching them and couldn’t decipher his expression. She scanned her mind, trying to remember if she had any obligations, but couldn’t think of any. “That would be nice,” she said, and her heart skipped a beat.
“Normally on taking a lovely lady out, I’d pick a place. But you know the area better than I do. Any good ideas?” Devin said.
This is just detective work, Megan told herself. Not a date. Nonetheless, she searched her mind for a restaurant other than Rae’s. Something quieter. Something farther away from prying eyes. “You’re down the road at the hotel?” she asked.
Devin nodded.
“There’s a new place out that way called Bezauberung,” Megan said. “I’ve been wanting to try it. How would that be?”
“Bezauberung?” Devin said, laughing as the strange combination of syllables rolled slowly off his tongue. “That’s a mouthful!”
“German for ‘enchantment’ or ‘delight,’ I think,” Megan said. “It’s supposed to be good, and I’m pretty sure they have a happy hour. Rae was worried she’d lose business to them, but she doesn’t seem to have yet.”
“That sounds perfect,” Devin said. “I’ll meet you there at four?”
“I’d love that,” Megan said. Purely business, she reminded her brain.
“See you then,” Devin said. He looked around the room. “And with that, my final mission, complete, I think I’ll head out. These kids are going to be doing shots off each other’s stomachs soon and I’m about ten years too old for that.” He laughed and walked away.
Megan’s eyes popped. Shots off each other’s stomachs? She hoped not. The carpet was new. The cleaning budget was small. Hopefully Owen had made Ginny sign a liability form.
Max was across the room, nibbling on a cracker with a bit of smoked salmon. Megan quickly sidled over to him. “Max,” she said. “Are you here all night?”
He shrugged. “I can be. Are you?”
“I think I’ve hit my social quota for the evening,” she said. “But I want to make sure a responsible adult will be here in case things get out of hand.”
Max raised his eyebrows. “Heading out with your new friend?” he asked, trying to be casual.
“My new friend?” Megan said, pretending to be confused, but she knew who he meant.
“That guy you were talking to,” Max said, still nonchalant.
“Oh, Devin,” Megan said. “No. He’s gone back to the hotel. I’m heading upstairs. Call me if you need anything,” she said, patting her phone in her pocket. “Thanks, Max.” Megan felt the blood warming her neck, and rushed away before Max could see.
And what was it to him if she went anywhere with Devin, after all?
On her way back upstairs, Megan stopped in the library to pick up the book Lily had left, and also to get some of Patrick Bates’ books. The sun was just setting, and was throwing its final sunbeams for the day through the tall windows with a glaring vengeance. She loved being in the library when it was closed, when no one else was around. Especially after dark, but even now, with the sun still casting its evening light that filled the giant space like a fog. In the heavy silence, she felt the presence of all the authors of all the books, whether alive or dead. Not in a morbid way. In a wisdom way. Like if she sat and listened, they would give her all the answers, tell her all their secrets.
“Do you know who killed Patrick Bates?” Megan whispered to the stacks of books. Even knowing she wouldn’t get an answer, she paused to listen. She heard the rush of the river as it passed by outside and thought if it could speak—or if she could understand its language—she would hear it saying Yes. Yes, I do.
Megan fell asleep in her chair in the living room, Kendall’s New Zealand book open in her lap to a page that discussed the history of the Māori people, the first residents of the country. Vivid dreams took over her exhausted brain. She was sitting on her bedroom balcony, looking over the Skagit River and watching for eagles in the sky above. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a movement disrupt the bucolic scene. She turned left and saw a man floating down the river, slowly. Even from this distance she could see Māori tattoos on his face, and a black-and-white piupiu skirt swirled around him as his body bumped though the water. He was screaming. At first it sounded like screams for help, but then his screams turned into giggles as he splashed and waved. Then, as he passed directly in front of Megan’s balcony, his body rolled in the water. The entire back of his head was crushed in, like a soda can someone had stepped on. He rolled again, and his screams once again turned into giggles.
Slowly, Megan realized she was dreaming but the sounds were real. The screams and giggles were coming from the hall outside her apartment. Megan checked the time: just after one in the morning. She opened an app on her phone that operated the web cams throughout the library and looked at the top floor. Sure enough, there was Kendall and a handful of other conference attendees, lolling in the hallway upstairs, giggling, screaming, shushing each other; clearly quite drunk. Laughing as though the dead man had meant nothing.
Megan shut the book in her lap. Without bothering to brush her teeth, she went to bed.
CHAPTER FOUR
IN THE MORNING, memories of the late night distraction came flooding back to Megan, along with regret for not having brushed her teeth.
“Ugh,” she said, repelled by the fuzzy feeling and her own breath. She headed to the bathroom to get rid of all the grime of the previous day, both physical and mental. Standing in the steam of the shower, she thought again about Patrick Bates. The last time he’d showered was, in fact, his last time, and yet as he’d stood basking in the bliss of the manufactured rain, he’d had no idea. Every little thing, one last time, and yet not one bit of advance notice that now was the time to savor the musky scent of his shampoo and the slick feeling of soap on his skin. The rich, life-giving taste of his morning coffee and the way he could feel the tube of warmth as the hot liquid flowed down his esophagus. The smell of the earth in the morning after an overnight rain, the feel of splatters of mud hitting the back of his calves on the early morning run.
Megan stopped and stared at the water flowing out of the showerhead. Had Patrick been out on a run? Time of death between five and eight a.m. Was he a runner? Why had he been down at Addie’s park? It wasn’t an odd place to go; it was on the river between the library and Emerson Falls Park, with the falls after which the town had been named. Anyone exploring the area would easily encounter Addie’s park. Had Patrick been trying to get an early start on the day? Had he invited anyone along? Or had someone else lured him out that morning?
Who had wanted Patrick Bates dead?
Or, she thought, now oblivious to the water as it poured over her chest. Or, had it been an accident? Heat of the moment? A cover-up?
She had a lot of work to do.
The water was now running barely lukewarm. Megan finished her shower, dried off and dressed, made some strong coffee, and sat down at the kitchen table with her laptop.
“Okay, Patrick Bates,” she said to the startup screen as she opened a browser. “Let’s find out who you were.”
In the search bar, she typed Patrick Bates, and then after a moment added travel writer. “Probably a lot of Patrick Bateses out there,” she said to the search engine. Quickly, thousands of results filled the screen. The top hit seemed to be his own website, so she clicked on that.
The home screen was filled with an image of a young man, maybe thirty something, early thirties, standing next to an unidentified ancient brick wall. A castle? A fort? “Somewhere in Europe,” Megan said, remembering Devin’s comment about Patrick’s travel focus. Patrick was not looking at the camera; he was gazing out toward the distance with a soft, introspective but intelligent expression. He wasn’t just looking; he was looking at something that had caught his interest. His short blond hair would have meant easy maintenance for a life on the road; his skin had the slightest golden tinge of some, but not too much, time spent in the sun.
Reading through the menu, Megan clicked on “about.” Patrick’s bio was short. “Author of bestselling travel books with a unique perspective on discovering Europe. Named one of the Top 10 Under 30 in the Travel Industry.” Small images of each of his books linked to an online store where she could purchase them. The book titles indicated that the author was as important as the location: Patrick Bates: England, Patrick Bates: Spain, Patrick Bates: Germany, Patrick Bates: Italy, and more. A note at the bottom indicated that he would soon be expanding his reach across the globe: “Coming soon: the rest of the world!”
“Hmmm,” said Megan. “Not anymore, I guess.”
She clicked next on “videos,” which took her to Patrick’s YouTube channel. He had more than two hundred thousand subscribers, and the list of videos went on for several pages. Megan scrolled through them quickly: Spain, France, Switzerland, Croatia, seemingly every country in western Europe was covered, along with a handful of videos from Greenland, Iceland, Antarctica, Australia. Every continent, many countries. She clicked on one at random and watched.
Charisma. Engaging. Friendly. Happy. These were the words that popped into Megan’s mind as she watched the young man on his adventures, interacting with locals, enthusiastically sharing his joy of discovery. He was calm and sincere, but also managed to convey a sense of passion and intimacy. The people he talked to had their eyes locked on him; they clearly seemed to feel they were the center of his attention. And they were. He asked thoughtful questions and followed up with interest. He wasn’t phoning it in. He wasn’t just there for the free travel perks that Megan had learned were a huge part of the draw for many of the bloggers. This was a man who wanted to absorb the world into himself, and who wanted to bring others along with him on the journey.
Megan sighed. A bright light, gone.
She wondered again: who could have wanted this man dead? It had to have been an accident.
Then again, everyone had secrets.
And speaking of secrets, what, she then wondered, of Deputy Maxwell Coleman?
She turned her computer’s attention to the handsome officer. A quick search revealed what she already suspected: Max Coleman was far too common of a name. The search results were endless, and completely unhelpful. “Men should be required to have unique names so we can Google them,” she muttered under her breath. Deputy Maxwell Coleman Skagit Valley she typed next, and this time the results were more than underwhelming. “Dude keeps a pretty tight rein on his privacy,” Megan murmured. Not surprising. He was, after all, a policeman, and well aware of the dangers that lurked online, dangers that the average person consciously ignored in order not to feel threatened. “I guess,” she said, shutting down her laptop, “I am going to have to do some research the old-fashioned way.”
But first, Patrick Bates. For Patrick, a trip to the scene of the crime was in order, to see if it would spark any questions, or answers; to see, she thought, if the trees might give her some whispers in the wind.
The day had dawned with a gray fog, but the sun seemed determined to break through. At the very least, it didn’t look like rain. Always up for a walk to the park, Megan donned a light jacket, grabbed her purse, and headed out.
Emerson Falls, the town, was constrained on the west, south, and east by the Skagit River in northern Washington state, with a northern border that more or less followed Highway 20—the North Cascades Highway. Within the town, the library was situated in the southwestern corner, tucked into a promontory of land and itself largely surrounded by the river. Emerson Falls, the multi-tiered waterfalls, was on the other end of town, to the east, and a bit north of the river itself. Emerson Falls Park extended from the falls to the river, and was about a mile away from the library, with a scenic riverfront trail connecting the two. A little more than halfway from the library to Emerson Falls Park was Addie’s park, the Adeline Rose Emerson Memorial Park. The park where Patrick Bates had been found.
