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Murder in the Great Big Playground

A tale of real estate, murder, politics and really great powder: Chapter 7
1510novel
Illustration by Jasmine Robinson

By Annabell Mailath

A clean slate indeed. As the helicopter lowered, Janna and Hiroshi stared down with wide eyes at the pure white ground, full of disappointment. Not an obvious clue to be seen in any direction. Janna’s heart sank at the thought that solving her Gammy’s murder would remain dependent on the only suspect in custody.

Despite the fact that Mother Nature had tried to cover up and start anew, Janna remained relentless, determined to find something to prove once and for all that Rory was a no good, conniving, killer. Anything — a footprint; lone potato; a lost mitten — that might give an indication that Rory had dumped Chuck on the mountain after brutally killing him. The two of them walked endless circles around the large area for what seemed like hours. Hiroshi secretly hoped Janna would just get tired and give up; all he could picture was Chuck’s pale body lying in a pool of frozen blood on the glistening snow. Only the purple potatoes maintained their natural colours. The image made his stomach turn.

As the hours slipped by Janna became desperate at the thought that there really wasn’t anything to find that might help them determine who had been there that fateful day. The tears built up in her eyes again and she did everything she could to try and stop them, but it was no use. She put her by now snow- and tear-soaked gloves to her face and let herself sob as she had already done so many times that day. Time seemed to slow down and let her have her moment. Her chest felt heavy and she removed her hands to take a deep breath. She let her body lean to the left, against the nearest tree, for support. As if Mother Nature took some pity on the poor girl, and before Janna had a chance to inhale, something floated down gently in front of her and onto the crisp snow. A single little turquoise feather. Her hands now rested on her chest as she placed the little feather in her mind.

Janna’s brain started racing. It flashed back to the past summer — Sunday afternoon strolling down by the Chateau, stopping at every little tent within the farmers market to smell the fresh fruit and take a closer look at the intricate necklaces and hats. She had always admired the craftsmanship of the woven clothing and enjoyed the warm smell of the sweet popcorn wafting through the air. At that moment her memory focused in on one particular time when she was with Mumu. They had come across a stand that was draped with brightly covered scarves. The elderly artisan was very proud of her handiwork and explained how she had made them from coloured quail feathers. Janna was weirded out by the thought of having bird feather touching her face, but Mumu, accustomed to wearing dead animals as hats, jumped at the chance to have one of these decorative accessories.

Janna shut her eyes tight. Impossible! Mumu had been one of her childhood friends. Why would she want Minty dead? Furthermore, the skinny little blond thing would not have the guts, or the strength, to go through with it. Sickness rose in Janna’s body again. She turned away from the tree and vomited whatever was still left in her. Wiping her mouth on her sleeve she denied herself any more images of Mumu contorting her Gammy’s lifeless limbs into the locker. It came to her that there was still one other person she knew that had a similar scarf.

• • •

As if from the dead, Rory swore he could hear Chuck’s voice in the front office of the police station. Any minute he would be standing in front of the jail cell with Constable Baker unlocking the door, slapping Baker on the arm, his eyes glowing with pride. A look of disappointment would be on Baker’s face as he watched Rory scramble out the door to embrace Chuck, remarking, with a grin on his face, what a stupid joke it all was. “Way to go Chuck, you had us all fooled. You’re going to get it you know.” And then he awoke. Uncomfortable on the dirty cot he turned to face the other wall, his eyes open but not staring at anything in particular, wondering how he managed to get himself in this place again. He let his mind wander back to when he was sitting in that beat up truck with Chuck. The day they split the map and Chuck had made his promise of prosperity and freedom. Chuck had made that pact with him, how could he have shared it with Minty? Rory hardly knew anything about ‘the plan’; why was Chuck all of a sudden so trusting? What could Minty offer that he couldn’t? He was not obligated to feel guilty for this crime; it angered him that he was not allowed to defend himself properly. He sat up abruptly and was about to yell through the bars when he heard something else, another familiar voice.

Patti Peterson and Mr. Rumswitz walked into the police station together, she in her turquoise jacket and he in his expensive pinstriped suit. Everyone turned to watch as they strolled up to the front desk, but thought of it as nothing but a coincidence. At the sight of her husband Mumu hung her head down and mustered as many tears as she could to convince him she was his innocent wife caught up in a horrible mistake. Without a word he hurried through the paperwork, grabbed her arm and they were out the door as quickly as he had come in.

Patti, on the other hand, sat down emphatically at Constable Baker’s with her purse gripped tightly with both hands. Her presence made the whole precinct hum with curiosity. She stared directly into Baker’s eyes, “Do you honestly think that a man known around this community as a no go athlete would want another reason to be looked down upon? Hasn’t he been ostracized enough, Brian Baker? You should be ashamed! What would your mother think?”

It was not Chuck that walked up to the cell with Baker, but rather Patti. Rory sat on the cot with a half open mouth before standing up to leave the now unlocked cell. She had been his mother’s friend for years, but he never expected Patti to be the one to bail him out. They walked in silence to the desk so he could pick up his things and continued so to her Cadillac in the parking lot.

Annabell went to university and earned herself a BA in English. Now she writes in her spare time and has been itching to get into the writing scene. She moved here from Ontario almost a year and a half ago to work at the Fairmont Chateau Whistler, and dreams of one day becoming a travel writer, but looks forward to publishing a few small works first.



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