The multi-purposed, board and batten cladded treehouse was one-of-a-kind, in the sky, structure. Matt estimated it to be at least 3-storeys off the ground. It literally looked liked a miniature house with a cedar-shingled roof, wood framed glass sliding windows, both an inner door and outer screen door, and wraparound deck. Attached to the west side of the deck was a slide while on the opposite side was a rock-climbing wall. All of this was connected to a platform on a neighboring tree by means of a cargo bridge which offered multiple ways to climb and play, including two swings. Access to the main structure was by means of a rope ladder which hung down through a hole in the deck. He peered up. Took in a deep breath. Hesitated. Then, he began to climb. Gyrating with increasing speed with each upward pull, he broke into a cold sweat. He knew he shouldn’t look down, but he did, and wished he hadn’t. The ground was a dizzying distance away. Quickly, he refocused, his hands frantically grasping one rung after the other until he poked his head through the hole in the deck and grasped the railing slats and pulled himself onto the decking and sat sucking in air. His heart pounded with such force that he thought his eardrums would explode. The slap of the screen door and giggling caused him to straighten up and attempt, though awkwardly, to regain his composure.
“You know you could have used the wooden ladder,” Alan said, thumbing over his shoulder toward the rear of the house with little to no perseverance spent to muffle his laughter.
Matt’s back slid against the rail for reassuring support as he stood and asked, “How long have you been watching me?” His gaze was glued on the boy.
“Long enough. What do you want?” It was as if Alan had turned off a switch, his persona had suddenly taken on a more stoic demeanor.
Matt noticed a mean spiritedness in his eyes, something he had not observed before. “To talk to you.”
“About what?”
He felt Alan’s scrutinizing gaze. “Your grandfather, among other things.” Matt remained fixed in place because of Alan’s uninviting manner. “I understand you keep a diary. I bet you know a lot of what went on in your grandpa’s house?”
Alan nodded slowly.
“May we go in and talk?” Matt asked with a slight nod toward the treehouse.
“Shouldn’t do that without my Aunt Isobella present!”
That response surprised Matt. “You are close to your aunt, then?”
Alan nodded. He took a step back toward the door of the tree house.
“And your mum?”
Alan’s eyes shifted downwards toward the deck.
“I bet you know every inch of this property. Your late gardener…”
“Mister Finlay,” Alan replied, scuffing the sole of his right shoe back and forth along the surface of the deck.
“That’s right. Well, he seemed to imply that you, too, were quite a gardener.”
Alan peered up at him suspiciously. “He did?” And he slipped behind the screen door and pressed the latch in place.
“He said if anyone knew where Monkshood could be found on this property, it would be you.”
Alan lingered, watching him through the screen door. “You’re trespassing, you know!”
Then someone called out. “Inspector! You shouldn’t be up there!”
Matt eased over to the railing and glanced over to find Aunt Isobella peering up at him with a not too happy expression.
When he turned back, he came face to face with Susan. If eyes could kill, her two barrels came well equipped to do the job.