43. Who Owns The Cottage?

The Land Registry Office was open until 1 o’clock on Saturdays. It was 12:15 when Kathy called the direct line for Estelle Canton. Her friend worked reception on a Saturday because her husband Ed was home to mind the girls, and because it paid time and a half. “Compton Land Registry, Estelle speaking, how can I help you,” she answered in a cheery singsong voice.    

“Estelle! It’s Kathy, how are you, and how are the kids?”    Estelle laughed. She knew Kathy was after a favor. They had been friends for years, and Kathy had given her encouragement and support at least as many times as she’d given Kathy inside information.

    “Jenny’s going into grade 8 and wants to go on the pill. Peter graduated grade 9 and wants to be a scientist. He’s got the grades, but Ed wants him to join his accounting business. Jonathon is still a handful and he’s going into grade 6 in September if I don’t kill him first and bury him in the garden. How’s you?”

She was rewarded with a laugh. “I’m great, but listen, can you tell me who owns a certain cottage out at the point?”

“If you tell me which one you mean, I can tell you in about ten seconds. Address?” Estelle never questioned why Kathy needed to know.

“Hmm, I’m not sure, but it’s the last cottage before you get onto the beach, before the timber archway on the east side.”

Kathy could hear Estelle on the keyboard. She waited patiently.

“Got it. It’s called Rose Cottage, one of the originals, built in 1908 by John James Rivers. It’s been in the family ever since and the current owner is,” tap, tap, “Dr. Ken Rivers.”

Kathy blinked and said nothing for a good five seconds. “Did you say Ken Rivers?”

“Yes, it was transferred to him 16 years ago as part of the previous owner’s estate.”

Kathy fought down her excitement. “Estelle, honey, thanks so much. I owe you a coffee. How about Thursday? I can catch up on that crazy family of yours.”

Estelle’s laugh came out like a bark. “It’s a date, but let’s not talk about my gang, you can tell me what you’ve been up to. Like, have you asked that detective fella out yet? Clock’s ticking, girl.”

    “You old mother hen! There’s not much to tell.” She heard Estelle snort. “But let’s do it, see you at Tim’s next Thursday. Is nine-thirty too early?”

Estelle chuckled. “The kids are old enough to pour their own damned cereal. I’ll be there.”

Kathy disconnected and sat quietly. Had Catrina been more than just a student to the preening Dr. Ken? What was she doing in his cottage, and were those his hands on her slender naked back?