Irene Paget shut off her vacuum cleaner and leaned against the doorframe. Tuesday was housecleaning day and since it was Tuesday she had risen early and tackled the task with less than enthusiastic verve. Only the kitchen was left and she was leaving that until after lunch, meanwhile she would get her shopping list filled out and speak to the bank manager about extending her loan to cover the cost of the necessary roof repairs she'd had during the winter.

The expense had crippled her savings and she was doing whatever else she could to make money, aside from the little she made at the hotel. Her thoughts were filled with financial worries as she sat at the kitchen table and jotted down the items necessary, thinking about how much of an extension she would need on her bank loan.

April was living up to its designation in the rhyme although the temperatures had risen to more comfortable levels in the recent days allowing for lighter jackets and shoes, and today's early ground fog had finally dissipated. Irene finished her shopping list and checked her watch. She could drive to the bank, speak to the manager and then grab the things she needed on the way home... all before lunch, leaving her plenty of time before getting to the hotel.

Oddly, an image of the new guest popped in and out of her mind very quickly as she locked the door and crossed the lawn to her driveway, wondering about the surprise thought.

At thirty-eight years old, Irene was still without a life plan. Born and raised in a small community several miles south of Thompson Bay by hard working parents—mother taking in laundry and father running a small fishing guide business, now both retired and living in government senior facilities on a meager allowance for personal use—she had missed a complete education and any kind of meaningful social experience. Small town girl enduring the limitations of small town life.

For some unfathomable reason the arrival of the new guest had injected a shot of curious excitement into her day. Maybe it was the fact that until he arrived every day was the same boring routine; winter in the Bay could be like that and with so few young men... well younger men... Irene's social life really didn't have much of a chance. She reflected on his pleasant manner and rugged good looks. He was considerably older than her but oddly he seemed young. She felt a sudden embarrassment over dwelling on the stranger and focused on her drive into town and her hopes for a good outcome at the bank.

Her position at the hotel, along with any odd jobs she could manage and an already heavy debt with the bank, supplemented her ability to buy the tiny, three room cottage she lived in and was now in danger of losing.

The ten-year-old car her father had left her bravely chugged along the lake road to the downtown area and into the bank parking lot, wheezing and spewing dirty exhaust. Irene hated the fact that she was polluting the air but there was just no money available for repairs or a change of vehicle. She locked the door and hurried around to the street and in the front entrance of the bank.

Elwood Peters saw her come in and he sprinted from his manager's office to greet her. He straightened his tie and smoothed the hair along the side of his head. Coddling the attractive single and married women in the Bay was Elwood's specialty... his raison d'étre. He watched her cross the lobby with a lustful anticipation.

"Good day, Irene." He oozed. "You're looking particularly pretty today." His long fingers grasped hers and she felt the shiver of discomfort at both the touch and the remark. Elwood had made no secret on several occasions of the fact that Irene's financial position could be improved with a little give on her part.

"Hi, Woody," she smiled, removing her fingers and using the nickname he'd gained in school and hated ever since.

"How can I help today?" His voice and face both hardened.

"I was hoping to discuss an extension on my loan. The new roof came as an unexpected expense."

He directed her to his office and closed the door. They sat facing across his desk, Irene wary and hopeful. Elwood hopeful and randy.

"Let me bring up your account." He fiddled at his keyboard and then sat back reading the screen with pursed lips and a slight frown. "That's a large sum already, Irene. What was your roof expense?" He seasoned his voice with a syrupy concern.

"A little over eleven hundred dollars. It needed to be stripped down to the sheeting."

"Hmmm..." He hit a few more keys and his eyebrows rose. "That would bump your payments by another sixty-eight dollars on your current contract."

"That's why I'd like to talk about an extension... maybe two or three years. I could drop the monthly payments a bit?"

He raised a hand and blew air out of the corner of his mouth. "I don't think I could see my way clear on that, Irene. You already have our max as a credit risk."

"I'll pay the money, Woody, you know I will. I'm not a risk, I just need time."

The name rankled again and he clamped his molars together but retained a passive face. "I know you're already working full time at the hotel as well as heaven knows how many other part time and odd jobs that come your way. How much more do you think you can earn to cover off this amount?"

"I'm trying to explain to you it isn't a question of more money, as time. I need more time that's all."

Elwood steepled his fingers and did a slow rock in his chair while Irene waited patiently. "I hate to see you in this position, Irene, really I do... but..." He rocked some more. "There might be a way to lighten the load a little, if you're willing of course." She stiffened inside and waited for the expected proposition. "I could hire you to clean my apartment and maybe do a meal or two each week for say... fifty a week?"

You impossibly cheap, slimy, manipulator, she thought, holding her breath. She knew Woody lived alone in a new condo near the water and that he already used a service for cleaning. This was just another attempt to hit on her under the guise of benevolence. Still, fifty dollars a week would go a long way in easing her debt worries.

"I suppose I could manage the cleaning once a week. The meals might be trickier since I'm at the hotel until nine every night."

"I don't mind a late dinner now and then." His voice purred slightly. "Maybe on a couple of nights that aren't as busy at the hotel." His eyes lit up over the possibility.

She clenched her fingers. "That would probably be Tuesday and Thursday."

"Perfect. Tuesday and Thursday it is. And what day for cleaning?" He perked up as if the deal was done and she felt her stomach clutch.

"I'm- I'm not sure... maybe Tuesdays?"

"Great! Start next week then?"

"What about my extension

He tapped the keyboard and smiled. "I'll apply the fifty to the debt and even round it down a couple of bucks. You won't need the extension."

Irene sat up and made a round mouth. "I thought I would get the money- I mean that you would pay me?"

"I am. I'm putting right against the debt. What better way to go? No extra paper work, no risk of missing payments?" He smiled and made a 'couldn't be better' gesture with his hands. Irene blinked back what felt like a tear and stood up. She was committed and headed for an uncertain relationship but what other choice? She knew if she refused, so would he. Ergo, surrender and plan for the best.

"Next Tuesday then." She held out her hand to shake agreement and he took it in both of his. His fingers prodded her palm in a suggestively intrusive way and she pulled her hand back quickly.

"I'll leave a list of preferred meals on the kitchen table. We can discuss food shopping later." He came around the desk and placed a proprietary hand on her waist as he led her from his office and bade her goodbye at the front doors. She walked slowly down the steps and around to the side drive, Elwood's eyes stuck to her all the way. He rubbed his hands and walked back to his office, sat and made the required changes to her account.

******

Ray sat in his car on the hotel lot checking through the information binder on the seat beside him. He read the dossier he'd compiled on the couple, Roger and Stella O'Hare, middle forties and owners of the cottage that his niece and the other university kids had rented. Roger was employed by the county as a highway inspector responsible for maintaining records on the infrastructure. Pothole inspector, Ray figured.

Stella, originally American, had been a onetime hoofer in an Atlantic City casino and had stopped working after marrying Roger. Any man with money and a solid job would have done. He satisfied himself that he could remember any necessary highlights then started the car and headed down the lakeshore road to their cottage.

Stella O'Hare was a forty-ish, trying to stay twenty-ish, buxom, dyed redhead with big eyes and a pair of legs more than suitable for the painted on jeans encasing them; obviously her show business credentials and the trap used to snare Roger. She stopped working and leaned provocatively on the rake she was using for the garden and watched Ray climb from his car and walk up the drive toward her.

"Mrs. O'Hare?"

"Maybe. Who's asking?" The voice came with a tease, a habit hard to break, Ray suspected as he watched her sway the rake to one side. One hand perched on an outthrust hip and the plump lips puckered slightly.

"My name's Ray Simmons, I'm asking around about the occurrence that took place here a few years back. You rented your place to a bunch of students from the city?"

"The university girl that was killed?" She changed to a more serious pose.

"Yes. Adelaide Balfour. She was murdered on the beach down there." Ray indicated the area down in front of the cottage.

"That's right... I don't understand what it is you want. What do you mean, asking around?"

"I'm trying to find out what really happened and hopefully who was responsible."

"After all this time? I thought they gave up on that." She automatically raked at the dirt, not pleased with the topic or the fact that didn't appear interested in her.

"Adelaide was my niece and I haven't given up." Ray smiled sadly. "Would you mind a couple of questions?"

"I don't see how I can help, we weren't even here." The shoulders shifted back and one hip shifted out, assuming a more defensive posture.

Ray looked toward the house as a door banged shut and a large man lumbered toward them led by a stomach that threatened the belt trying to support it. He had thinning fair hair, a day's growth of beard and a bottle of beer dangling from thick fingers.

"What's this about?" Roger O'Hare asked in a scratchy voice. He looked at his wife and rubbed a thick hand over the grey stubble on his face. She changed her pose from defensive to subservience.

"This fella's asking about the girl that was killed—"

"Murdered." Ray inserted, softly.

"Murdered then, on our beach. Remember?"

"What about her?" The lidded eyes swung around to Ray and the tone became a little more hostile.

Stella took over, explaining to her husband about Ray's relationship and why he was following up. Roger maintained his bored attention for as long as he could and then muttered, "Whatever."

Ray asked if they knew it was going to be a large party of kids and they both shook their heads no and Stella added that it was not a move they would be making again any time soon.

"So you don't rent any more?"

"Only after a thorough vetting." Roger said. "The bastards left the place a mess, including the beach. Bottles and crap all over the sand."

"You folks talked to the two policemen that handled the case? Williams and Hersch?"

"'Course we did," Roger scoffed. "We're neighbours for Christ's sake."

"I meant about the case." Roger's look was dangerously vacant and the three stood still surrounded by silence. Then he flapped a hand at Ray. "I'm goin' back in. The game's comin' on." He walked back to the cottage and went inside without another word.

"Sorry about him. A diplomat he's not. Basketball is all he thinks about anymore." The statement hinted that Stella thought about a number of other things... a lot, witness the return to her more seductive tone and pose.

Recognizing the signs of a woman used to more brazen attention, Ray felt discretion and a hasty retreat were in order. "Listen, I'd like to thank you for your cooperation. This means a lot to me." He stuck out his hand and Stella quickly reached out, holding it tight for a few seconds.

"I'd like to help in any way I can, Ray. It was just such a terrible thing that happened." The hand was warm and the grip almost pleading. Ray heard the first name usage and saw the look in her eyes. He retrieved his hand and thanked her again. "I hope I haven't caused any trouble. Mrs. O'Hare."

She pushed a hand through the air. "If you mean, Rog, don't bother about it. Like I said, he's not the most diplomatic person in the world." She gave a throaty laugh as an indication of a characteristic she was used to and others should ignore.

"Still, I hope I didn't make a nuisance of myself."

"Not at all." She moved closer. "I think it's very- very noble what you're doing," her breath came in excited bursts, "and I just want you to know I'm more than willing... to help?" He noticed the use of the singular. No doubt about it, Las Vegas Stella was a no-holds-barred cougar; Roger was already dismissed and forgotten.

He exploited the moment to ask a few more questions and after several minutes of deflecting her attempts to ask personal questions of her own, he learned that Stella had arranged the rental through their local banker. The rest of her information, aside from little bits of blatant innuendo, he already had from the city police incident report. As a sudden point of curiosity Ray asked about the amount of the rental.

Stella paused, her demeanor altering slightly, and then answered slowly. "We let them have it for nine hundred for the long weekend."

"Was that cash or...?"

"Roger insisted on a two hundred dollar deposit as his contribution to the deal," she made an exasperated, conspiratorial face, "and I made the arrangements with the bank to collect the rest when they left. We went away to visit friends."

"And did they pay for the whole time even after the...?"

"Oh sure. It went into our bank account." She swayed and shaped her mouth into a saucy pout. "Is any of this helpful, 'cause if you need to ask more questions I could get us a drink or something." Her eyes flicked to the house with a tic of worry and then back.

Ray followed suit and saw the shadow of Roger looking out from behind the screen door. "The policeman, Hersch, died in some kind of accident didn't he?" Ray asked, deflecting her concern.

"Yes, he did. Went right through the ice out there." She turned her body and pointed so that the full effect of her figure was presented. "Poor bugger."

"Was he a friend?"

"Hersch? God, no. He was a-." She stopped and touched her hair with her fingers. "He was just a neighbour."

"Your husband said that too. Did he live close by?"

"That's a Thompson Bay expression. If you live in this town, you're a neighbour. He was up the shore a ways somewhere."

"What about Williams?"

"Oh he's still on the force." She laughed suddenly. "Sorry. The force sounds so- so big city. There's only three of them." The fingers twiddled with the hair and she sidled nearer still.

"Is he a neighbour too?' She held the smile but her eyes told him he'd stepped over an invisible line.

"Roger was a high school buddy of Garth Williams."

"Did they talk to you about the incident at all... later?"

"Everyone talked about it. The whole town had nothing else to do it seemed. Garth said that he and Theo visited the party a couple of times and gave the kids a bit of a warning; Theo liked to intimidate, especially young women." She said the word as though it described something distasteful.

Ray caught the distant echo in her voice but let it pass. "Listen, thanks again for the information, I really appreciate it."

"If there is anything else..." An almost plaintive plea.

He turned and started down to the car, glancing back at the house and giving Roger a wave. The shadow faded from the door.