Of Deadly Intent: A Mystery Novel Set in Victoria, Canada

By Pamela M. Parry

Carolyn Hewlett is thrilled to receive an offer to work at the illustrious Craigshore House in British Columbia, Canada. She has the opportunity to observe firsthand the brilliant playwright Allan Wyndham, and Carolyn cant pass up the opportunity to learn all she can. There are oddities at Craigshore, however; she wonders over the significance of a secluded rose garden, and Wyndhams nephew is anything but normal.

Even so, Carolyn writes off these observations as mere flights of fancy. She always had an active imagination, and Wyndhams work invokes certain dark, mysterious images in her mind. Theres nothing to be worried about at Craigshore House until a friend disappears. Carolyns suspicions begin to seem more rational. Could it be that her initial observations were actuallyand dreadfullytrue?

Carolyn doesnt have much time. She must solve the mystery of her missing friend. Not only does she have to stop an abductor, but she has to seriously consider leaving her job. How can she do it without raising suspicions? It all comes back to Wyndham and his nephewif they suspect her, life as she knows it will end, and Carolyn might become another missing person at Craigshore.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Jul 22, 2011
• ISBN: 9781426972355

Pamela M. Parry

Pamela M. Parry was born and raised in England, where she became an avid reader of English literature. She moved to Saskatchewan, Canada, in 1972, where she took writing courses and acted as secretary for the Victoria Writers’ Society. She currently resides in Victoria, British Columbia. Of Deadly Intent is her fourth novel.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Halloween Night – Victoria, Canada

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Distant thunder boomed like gigantic bongo drums and lightning streaked across a leaden sky while gale force winds bent trees to the point where some fragile branches snapped like matchsticks to land ungainly on the sodden ground. Torrential rains soaked the land, swelling streams, threatening to burst into farmland, roads and endangering the stability of wooden bridges. This was, indeed, unusual weather for Southern Vancouver Island.

A large house set against a backdrop of majestic Garry Oak trees was partially sheltered from the stormy weather and tonight it didn’t seem to have a care in the world. A party was in progress—lively music penetrated noisily through the walls and laughter accompanied clinking glasses. Masked dancers, some highly intoxicated, kicked up their heels to old fashioned rumbas, polkas and fox-trots—nobody had an inkling that the weather outside was so alarming!

The festivity was in full swing as fifteen year old Robbie Wyndham opened the front door, but it was sickening! He just had to get out of there.

He hated the old-fashioned music and some of the guests, men mostly, had had more than their fair share of liquor by the echo of their obnoxious voices piercing the crowded room. Anyway, Robbie wondered who danced to waltzes and polkas these days, yet when he’d been on his own and surveyed the guests, he could tell by some of the wrinkled faces that a lot of them were well into their seventies and eighties, all dressed up in ridiculous costumes that sagged and hung at weird angles on their old bodies. The music, to Robbie, was so boring and out of date, he questioned why some of the younger ones didn’t want something a little more upbeat!

His thoughts turned to the younger women at the gathering. At one point, he’d watched his older sister, Claire, as she’d tried to teach some old guy how to do the polka and had been surprised at the animation on her face as he’d fumbled comically over the steps. They’d been reduced to laughter and Robbie wondered if Claire had noticed how the old guy’s eyes had surveyed her with an odd, interested, look. It was gross! Couldn’t Claire see? Or was she as intoxicated as most of the rest of the crowd! Oh well, so long as she was enjoying herself, it didn’t really matter.

Then, his gaze had swept the floor to see the young woman who’d captivated him. Uncle Allan’s adorable secretary, Perla.

He’d met Perla in the summer and had developed an overpowering crush on her. He knew she had no time for him, after all he was only fifteen and she had to be close to twenty. Anyway, she had a boyfriend who was, at this very moment, dancing with her. He could not compete with a handsome man like that, but at least he could sit back and admire her from a distance.

At an opportune moment, he’d slipped upstairs, changed back into his normal clothing and hurried, unseen, out into the dark exterior, thankful to be away from the gathering. The noise hadn’t lessened much by going outside and he gauged the sound would have come to the attention of travelers on the roadway at the perimeter of the property. He smiled as he imagined the older ones shaking their heads in tolerable exasperation then quickly continue their journey, thinking that, here again, was a noisy teenage rock party!

He’d not wanted to participate in the first place, but his aunt and uncle had insisted. Where was he to go anyway? He knew no-one but the family in Victoria. His home was in Ontario. He more than ever wished his parents were home from their usual gallivanting around Europe; then he wouldn’t be here! Of course, it wasn’t going to be long before he’d be returning with Claire; after all, school would be resuming in a week or so after that terrible fire had closed it down giving the students and teachers alike, an extra holiday. Claire had a decided to take a break from her semester at University and as their parents were away, it worked out very well. Except that Robbie hadn’t really wished to come to Craigshore; he would have much preferred to have stayed in Ontario and hung out with his friends. He sighed; well, it obviously wasn’t his decision to make in this case. His parents had firmly refused to allow him loose rein at home and had made him come with Claire to Victoria. Not that he really minded the City. It was actually pretty cool to be here with all the tourist attractions and the decidedly more agreeable weather. At the moment, he’d heard there were unusual blizzards in various parts of Ontario, so perhaps it wasn’t so bad after all.

He pulled the warm woolen parka around his shoulders and lifted the hood over his dark hair. After shutting the door quietly he walked down the steps into the cold, extremely blustery October night. Although it mercifully had stopped raining, the air was chilly and damp. The leaves from the twisted, knobby Garry Oaks that took up a great deal of space in the grounds of Craigshore House, dripped wetness on his face as he glanced around and he could feel the soft ground beneath his runners. He ducked under the branches of one of the trees and leaned against the thick bark contemplating his next move.

He wondered, as he often did, why Uncle Allan and Aunt Jessica always insisted on having a Halloween party each October 31st. They had to be in their late forties or even fifties by now as were most of the people in that room. Robbie didn’t think people of that age could possibly have any liking for such an event. Yet, he thought, shrugging disinterestedly, it seemed it was a ritual handed down through the years that was always well attended. He was not keen on it. He’d rather be up in his room reading or watching television. He remembered there was a great ghost story playing tonight and he’d really wanted to see it. However, Claire had dragged him away and told him he had to don a costume and join everyone. Despite his protests, he’d done as she’d said, knowing he’d not be able to concentrate on reading or follow the story line of the film while all that din was going on downstairs.

Now he was free of it, though he had an idea someone would realize he was missing and come searching before long. Well, he’d take his freedom for as long as he could.

He’d only been leaning against the bark of the tree for a few moments, when he noticed movement and a light shining in the old lodge that had been built about the same time as the house. A lodge which once housed the Craigshore carriage back in the early 20th century; Robbie wasn’t sure what was in there now, as the carriage had been donated to the British Columbia Museum decades ago.

Well, he thought, raising an eyebrow, it was something to check out to while away the time until everyone went home and the house was quiet again, so he hunched his shoulders and drew the hood a little closer around his cold face.

When he reached the bottom of the steps that led to the closed wooden door, he paused before slowly moving toward it. The windows at either side of the door were grimy with years of neglect and dead ivy still clung to the façade, but when he glanced through the dirty glass, he was able to partially see what was happening. He frowned. It looked very odd; very odd indeed.

There were a group of people walking in a circle, their hands clasped in front of them and even with the wind howling in the trees around him, he could hear a kind of eerie chanting. The fact they were all wearing dark clothing intrigued Robbie and he eased forward into a more comfortable position, puzzled at the purpose of such a gathering. About a minute later one of the people stepped forward and turned to the rest of the group. This, Robbie, thought must be their leader. How fascinating. The leader raised a hand and the people stopped to obediently shuffle into a line. Then the leader moved to each person in turn and whispered something to them. Instantly, they moved back into the shadows out of Robbie’s sight.

A slight feeling of unease crept through his body as he stepped away from the window. The leader had by now, reached the door and opened it slowly. Luckily, Robbie wasn’t detected as he watched the person run lightly down the steps, around to the back of the house and out of sight. Curiously, he glanced in through the window again. All was quiet and he wondered if, by chance, the other people had taken the back entrance from the old lodge, but he didn’t have the courage to go in and find out. For some reason, he didn’t wish to be introduced to such a peculiar group. Instead, he decided he’d make this intriguing situation his quest that night. He had a feeling the leader would be coming back and he wanted to be there to see what was going on in that old building.

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Perla Summers, her Christian name misspelled by her father on her birth certificate twenty years previously, glanced up at an ornate clock mounted on the wall above the doorway and slowly pulled away from her handsome dancing partner.

You’re leaving? He asked, clutching her hand protectively. The night’s just begun, my love.

She tossed a blonde curl that had found its way across one blue eye and looked up at him. He was so handsome, his smile so engaging, Perla felt he could definitely sway her if he kept looking deep into her eyes the way he was at that moment. His infectious sense of humour and clever wit was something she could easily adapt to for she knew his sometimes blatantly sexist or slightly vulgar insinuations was just the way Gordon Linstone chatted up the females. Perla knew he was a tease and she also knew she could give him as much as he handed out with no problem at all. Yes, she felt Gordon and she would make a good match … if, indeed she was in the market for settling down, which she wasn’t.

Sorry Gordon, but I have a headache. A weak excuse, but it would have to do. She gently pulled her hand free. I’m going to lie down for a bit, but don’t let that stop you from enjoying yourself for the rest of the evening, because I probably won’t be back.

But you know I only attended to see you again, Perla. He glanced quickly around. There’s no-one else here who holds a candle to you, especially … he glanced with admiration over her gown, seeing you in that! He gave her a dejected smile and a frown appeared between his dark, well shaped brows. She pulled away from him gently.

Call me next week, Gordon. I’m sure we can arrange something for another time. She said and hurried from the crowded room before he had a chance to stop her. Tonight his blithe flirtations were far from her mind; she had a much juicier fish to catch. Tonight was going to be the ultimate excitement for her—it would not do to be late.

Once in the privacy of her bedroom, she stood before the full-length mirror, with head held high, her blue eyes sparkling. She pivoted around admiring the long cream-coloured gown she’d rented from a theatrical garment store on a back street in Victoria and self-consciously adjusted the position of the silver belt that circled her slim waist. Gordon had loved the gown and she could quite see why. It accentuated her slim, well-coordinated body very well; his admiration did much to raise her sexual awareness.

She crossed the floor to a table where a medium sized new flat-screen television set stood. Absently picking up the remote, she turned on the power and was immediately faced with a photograph of a thin bald-headed man. His eyes were wide and staring, his mouth tight-lipped and closed. A mug shot that didn’t exactly do the man any favours! Perla shivered as she listened to the droning of the newscaster. Untying the coiled hair beside her ears as some wisps had escaped the pins she suddenly stopped to listen closer as the newscaster explained that a convict had escaped from a Toronto jail earlier in the day.

The man, he was saying, is Elijah John Pooley convicted of the murder of two women in Barrie, Ontario. It is believed he could be heading west as he has connections on Vancouver Island. He is described as 36 years of age, 5’10 tall with a small tattoo on his upper left arm. He is armed and the police have cautioned that if anyone recognizes him, they must not approach him, but to contact the nearest Police Station immediately." He then went on to read further news stories.

Perla shrugged, laid the comb on the table and re-braided the hair, twisting it back in place beside her ears. She pursed her mouth unconcernedly. Living in Craigshore House which was situated on the outskirts of Victoria, she felt she’d probably never come in contact with such a man and if she did, well … she’d certainly have no dealings with him. Switching off the television set, she turned away with a shrug, giving no more thought to the dangerous criminal.

Her mind was concentrated on her next move. It was good that Allan Wyndham thought highly enough of her to invite her to attend the costume party that evening, there was nothing she liked better than to dress up in finery she would never normally wear. She was, after all, only his assistant—merely someone to key in his wonderful plays and sometimes help him with wording and other ideas. She liked working with him. He was kind, considerate and a fair minded man who appeared to trust her judgment when occasionally he appeared stumped as to the direction of the next scene. She prided herself on having a flair for acting, having appeared once or twice in school plays. On those occasions, she’d received enthusiastic applause and warm congratulations from parents and teachers alike, although she knew it caused rifts and somewhat bad vibes from her fellow performers. She hadn’t cared then, and she certainly didn’t care now because it had made a big difference to her association with Allan Wyndham. Yes, she was glad she’d taken the job when it was offered to her.

Twisting her head this way and that she stared into the mirror. A pleased expression flickered across the slim face that imaged back at her. She knew she looked good—didn’t she always—with her petite, curvaceous body and flawless complexion. She’d noticed the odd occasion when she caught Allan watching her with that certain look in his eye; a look she recognized as admiration and was sure he would be unable to resist her tonight. The knowledge made her tingle with excitement.

She carefully applied fresh lipstick then slipped a knee length jacket over her clothes, pushed her feet into new fur boots and opened the bedroom door that led to the corridor. Perla scanned the dimly lit hallway and breathed easy when she saw the area was deserted. Quietly closing the door, she caught up the hem of her costume, a remarkably good replica of one of Princess Leia’s gowns in the movie Star Wars, and hurried toward the head of the stairs. Good! There was no one around to detain her. Hitching the skirt a little higher, she moved stealthily down the staircase. Despite her gown showing expanses of cream silk below the dark jacket, she blended well into the shadows as she quickened her pace along a narrow passageway toward a single door that led to the outside. With her hand on the latch, she glanced behind. A smile touched the corners of her full lips. In the distance she could hear the party still going in full swing. She felt her spirits lift, as she wasn’t sure how she could explain to anyone why she was leaving the warmth of Craigshore House to venture so furtively into the cold outdoors, but if approached she was sure she’d think up something plausible.

The back door was suddenly wrenched from her hand as she turned the knob. It swung wildly and crashed against the outside wall with such force that the wind almost knocked her back inside. She frowned and again glanced behind her. Luckily, the corridor remained empty. Far away in the distance, she could still hear the continual babble of laughter and loud music, which gave her confidence a definite boost!

Despite her warm coat, she shivered in the cold air. Leaves swirled around her as she drew the door shut and walked unsteadily ahead. It was dark around the side of the building as the lights from the house shone mainly over the front edifice. No illumination was here to guide her and she swore softly, realizing she should have brought a flashlight.

Running lightly across a patch of open ground into a bushy area, she walked ahead a few paces until she saw a small, single storey building a few yards ahead of her. There was no sign of life and she could only see the reflection of the hazy moon in the grubby windows. An uncomfortable sensation of apprehension shivered down her spine and for a very brief moment, Perla felt a stab of misgiving in allowing her heart, as usual, to rule her head!

She paused, recalling earlier a person wearing a dark blue mask in the ballroom. The eyes that stared through the narrow slits of the mask had been bright and intense, seeming to follow her every move. She remembered having trouble tearing her gaze away. Perla was sure the voice, though low and indistinct, had belonged to Allan Wyndham. She shivered with eagerness when he’d urged her to meet him later that night at the old lodge to the east of the house. He’d touched her arm gently then disappeared among the merrymakers, leaving her standing alone in the room giddy with expectation.

Gordon had found her, gripped her around the waist and drew her into an old fashioned polka, laughing merrily at her complaints that she didn’t want to dance. Her protestations hadn’t mattered to him as he’d pulled her around the floor until she too was laughing merrily with him. If it weren’t for her intense infatuation with her employer, she once again felt she could have forged a life with Gordon. For now, however, he had slipped down a notch in her list of possible lovers!

She took a deep breath and pushed her way through overhanging branches and clinging brambles and as she did so, she fleetingly brought to mind her association with the Wyndham family. She’d dismissed as just gossip, the disturbing reports she’d heard that Allan Wyndham’s previous assistant had suddenly quit for no apparent reason. She naturally listened to gossip—who didn’t—but Perla placed no trust in it, as situations were always embellished on the side of sensationalism often out of context and invariably distorted once it’d made a few rounds. Yet, in this case, Perla couldn’t help but be curious as to why the woman had left so hurriedly as, after all, the old saying ‘there’s no smoke without fire’ could have an element of truth in it! Yet as she didn’t believe in fate, she dismissed the saying as a bunch of fanciful nonsense!

She walked ahead resolutely. She had no qualms about living in the same house as the famous playwright and his Hispanic, attractive wife, Jessica. Perla wasn’t naïve. Although she had a good rapport with Jessica, she had an idea that Jessica wasn’t happy about her husband and Perla being constantly together. Once or twice since Perla had worked there, Jessica had entered the office to find them close together discussing the pages of various scripts her husband was working to perfect. Although everything had been completely innocent, Allan had nervously pulled away on those occasions, smiling up at his wife with a flippant joke. Perla too, had reciprocated with a wave of her hand to confirm his comments to his wife. Yet, Perla could understand the woman’s reticence at having an attractive girl spending so much time in the room alone with her husband.

Perla was very much aware of her own sexuality and played on it at every opportunity she could. She knew her tantalizing smile and trim figure did much to enchant almost every man she met. She enjoyed the moments spent with Allan, flirting with him as slyly as she could without causing him to suspect her motives. She was aware, too, that Allan’s fifteen-year-old nephew, Robbie, had warm feelings for her.

Her thoughts turned to how Robbie, awkward and gangly, would go out of his way to open doors for her, smiling self-consciously whenever she caught his eye. Perla, although flattered, had no need of the boy’s attentions—her aim was to entice Allan Wyndham into an illicit affair. She didn’t care about the possible consequences. The fact that Allan appeared unaware of the trap she was setting for him, was fuel for her greedy desires; the challenge stimulated her beyond measure. Her main aim was to seduce her successful employer into a situation that would culminate in him leaving Jessica. Perla had even given serious thought to luring Allan into marrying her which would give her free reign over Craigshore. Now wouldn’t that be something! To be mistress of this lovely house; meeting successful entertainers; attending lavish parties … it could go on and on! It was in the future, of course, but the idea continued to ferment in her over-zealous mind.

Perla carefully stepped over a puddle at the bottom of well worn stone steps that led to the front door of the old building, as a gust of wind tore against her warm coat. She yanked the material closer around her body and continued on her way through the stormy wind, holding tightly to the hood for fear the vast amount of pins holding her hair in place would be tugged loose.

She’d been told when they had hired her, that when the house was first built, this had been used for housing a carriage with a small room next door for its driver. When the carriage and driver were no longer needed, Perla really had no idea why they even kept the place. Not that she really cared. She was employed as Allan’s assistant and continued to work diligently to please him in any way she could. What they did with their property was no concern of hers.

As she reached the top of the steps Perla thought, as she had on numerous occasions, why she’d never seen any activity at this cold looking building, except once when she saw Harry the gardener use it. Of course, it was probably an excellent place to keep his tools; but she had to admit she’d not seen even him there very often. It was probably just used to store the mowing machine and other gardening tools.

When she’d roamed the grounds during the daytime, she’d always considered it just a run-down building and had never had any desire to explore it. However, now, in the middle of the night, it took on a different aura. It lay in shadow, strangely ominous and silent—as if it were a living, breathing thing that pulsed with mystery.

The lodge now, as she stared at it, was bathed in grey shadows; the lamp at the top of the steps was unlit, so she stumbled forward with only a trace of skimpy moonlight to guide her footsteps through the darkness and for a moment she wondered why Allan had asked her to meet him here. She felt that shiver of unease again and for a moment she wondered if she’d misunderstood his intentions, especially on a night such as this. She wished there’d been a full moon and less cloud about; at least that would have given her a little more guidance. Suddenly she jumped with quickening heart as lightning slashed the area momentarily, followed almost instantly by an enormous clap of thunder directly overhead. What was the matter with her? She had never been afraid of thunderstorms before. The more she thought about it, the more she began to think she should return to the party. Feeling Gordon’s warm, protective arms around her sounded wonderful at the moment, but she’d come this far and to complete her plan, she had to go through with this rendezvous. The thought of the famous playwright making love to her was all she could fully concentrate on.

A tug of wind pulled against the hood of her coat, unleashing a few tendrils of hair to flap wildly across her forehead. She tucked them back, took a deep breath and walked determinedly toward the closed wooden door. She hesitated and wondered why they couldn’t have used one of the comfortable unoccupied rooms in the house—there were definitely enough of them to ensure no-one would discover their clandestine meeting. This seemed so strange, but Perla, longing to awaken Allan’s passion, ignored good sense and reached up to push against the door.

It was at the precise moment she was about to open it that she heard some twigs snapping behind her. With her hand still raised, she swung around feeling her heart pumping wildly. Before she could cry out, a dusty, foul-smelling burlap sack was tossed over her head. Someone roughly pushed her forward, stopping only for a moment to open the door. The unmistakable odour of burning incense permeated the air. Fearfully, she began to kick her legs at her captors, but only succeeded in striking the air. A moment later, the sack was lifted from her head and she had a chance to look around. Her heart hammered alarmingly against her ribs.

A sour taste