Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Declan took a sip of his tea.

"Henry must be quite a handful," he said. "You said he was your ward. Are you two related in any way?"

Mrs Cameron retrieved a kettle and added more hot water to the teapot on the kitchen table. "No, but his grandmother was a good friend of mine."

"How did he wind up here?"

She stared hard at him, then took a sip of her tea. "Do you have anyone in your life that you would do anything for?"

Declan thought about Charlie and said, "Yes. I do."

"Well, I felt that way about Henry's grandmother Rachael. There's no shame in telling you now that we were more than friends when we were younger. But then things changed."

"What things?" Declan asked.

"She wanted children, and we couldn't do that together in those days. She got married and so did I."

"Is Mr Cameron still alive?"

"He died…must be twenty years ago. And Rachael's husband is dead too. He was a mean man. The only good thing to come out of their marriage was a child late in her life, Henry's mother. I'll be truthful, when he passed away, I didn't feel any sorrow."

Declan continued, "So what happened to Henry's parents?"

"They were killed in a car accident when Henry was four. Rachael took in the boy, but her health declined a few years after. And that's when she came to me to ask if I would look after him. He was nine at the time."

"And the foundation was all right with him staying here?" Declan asked.

"I made my case. I cover his expenses and the foundation allows him to live here as long as he stays out of the writer's hair."

"He seems like a bright kid."

Mrs Cameron smiled. "He is, and he's the best thing about Hoodoo House."

Her careworn face suggested she'd been through a lot in her life. To Declan, she looked like a tough old bird and probably wouldn't be offended if he'd said so.

"What are you grinning at?" she asked, with a perplexed look.

"I was looking at you and thinking how much you remind me of my stepmother."

"A stepmother? Do I look that evil?"

"No, and neither does she. I'd say forceful was a better description of her."

She sat back down. "I hope you don't think it rude that I served your tea in a mug. Someone in the house broke all of the teacups."

"No problem. Teacups don't fit well in these anyway," Declan said, holding up his large, rough hands.

She narrowed her lips and nodded. "Looks like those hands have seen some action."

"This whole body's seen more than what's good for it," he replied.

"I know that feeling," she said, rolling up her sleeve and showing off a ten-centimetre scar that ran up her forearm.

Declan detected the slightest of smiles on her face. "Ouch. That must have hurt."

"Got it caught on a length of barbwire. They wanted me to go to a hospital, but I just washed it up and stitched it myself. More tea?" she asked.

"Please," he said. He took a sip. "Honestly, I think this is the best tea I've ever had."

"Mr Pritchard used to order it in from a small shop in Ladysmith on Vancouver Island. I've just sort of stuck with it."

"He was one of the writers-in-residence, wasn't he?" Declan asked.

"He was. And a wonderful gentleman to boot."

"How long did you know him?"

"Well, let's see," she pondered. "Thomas started in 1988, I believe, and I was hired on a year later."

Declan could see her relaxing. "So, you didn't work for Marjorie Ellis?"

"No, I never had the pleasure. Thomas came to Hoodoo House after the foundation that runs this place was established, and I was hired to help keep the place in order. He was a good man but just couldn't keep house to save his life."

Declan smiled. "It must have been hard when he passed," he said.

She nodded.

"And was Mr Pritchard followed immediately by Mr Tull?"

"Too soon after, if you ask me."

Declan noticed a change in her demeanour. "And how did working for him compare to Mr Pritchard?"

"I didn't work for Thomas. At least it never felt like it. With Mr Tull it was all work, and not pleasant work at that."

"How would you describe him?" Declan inquired.

She laughed. "He was a miserable bastard and I can't say that I'm sorry he's gone. I don't think that man enjoyed much of anything."

"Surely he enjoyed writing?" Declan asked.

"Well, he constantly complained about his publisher and editor—"

"The editor being Mr Yamada?"

She nodded. "Yes. They fought often, and their last fight was a doozy."

"Do you know what the fight was about?"

"I couldn't make it out clearly. From the sound of his voice, Mr Tull had been drinking and was in a foul mood. I can't remember exactly how the argument started, but I distinctly remember hearing Mr Yamada yell something about Mr Tull turning something over to him. Mr Tull said he would make Mr Yamada pay—and no, I wasn't listening at the door. They were yelling so loudly you probably could have heard them from the road."

"What happened next?"

"Mr Yamada stormed out."

Declan nodded. "Do you remember when this happened?" Declan asked.

"Of course. It was the evening before Mr Tull's body was discovered."

Interesting. Yamada never mentioned the fight.

Declan noticed that Mrs Cameron's mug was empty. He picked up the teapot and asked, "May I fill you up?"

"Thank you," she replied.

"So, it appears Mr Tull didn't have a lot of fans," he said with a smile.

"He was nothing but a schoolyard bully. Someone should have put him over their knee and given him a good spanking years ago. And it's not the way he treated me, or the folks from the foundation—we can all take care of ourselves—but his total lack of respect for Marjorie Ellis and her work, work which put a roof over his head and food in his stomach… Well, there was no call for that."

"I take it you're a big fan of Marjorie Ellis?"

Mrs. Cameron nodded enthusiastically. "She's a great writer. I'd say one of the best this country has produced. You can't clump her work, at least the earlier novels, with those run-of-the-mill romances that come out these days. Hers have substance and depth, and she's a master of character development. The Ragtag Crew was a masterpiece. She should have won that Booker Prize. Her second book, The Offal House…well, it seemed a bit rushed. I don't agree with the critics who said it was ‘the sophomore curse'. I suspect the publisher pushed her to finish it so he could take advantage of the popularity of the first novel. In my opinion, great books need time to develop. That's probably the only thing Mr Tull and I agreed on, as he certainly took his sweet time writing his novels, but his books were never great like Marjorie Ellis'."

"This is very helpful Mrs Cameron. A few last things. When was the last time you saw Malcolm Tull with his computer?"

She tilted her head. "The last I saw of it, I'd guess, was a few days before he died. He was using it in the writing room."

"Did you see it there on the day before he died?" Declan asked.

She shook her head. "Not that I recall."

"And you didn't think that was strange?"

"Mr Tull, like all writers, I suppose, had his own process. He didn't always write on the computer. Sometimes he did his notes by hand."

"Thank you. Now tell me, did Mr Tull have friends or other people who visited him while he was here?"

She sat for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip before continuing, "He had visits from strange people."

"Strange in what way?"

"Disreputable. From time to time, rough-looking young men would show up at the house, and at all hours of the day and night. I didn't approve, but I don't own the house, so it isn't my business, I suppose."

"And did any of these people visit him on the day before he was found dead?" Declan asked.

"I didn't see anybody, but there was a large Harley parked at the side of the house for a few hours that afternoon," she replied, "and I suspect whoever was riding that bike was up to no good."