by K. E. Warner
The Sandcastle Murders
A Stey Cove Mystery
K.E. Warner
Vancouver Islandology
Copyright © 2020 K.E. Warner
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-9992789-2-2
Published by Vancouver Islandology Publishing, 2020
[email protected]
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental, and are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.
Written by K.E. Warner.
Cover credit Anthony O’Brien
For Elodie – because the world is your ocean.
Waves roar against the shore,
Marking time in rhythmic, meaningless quantities.
For what does time matter to a sea with nowhere to go,
But everywhere?
And nowhere to be,
But here.
@vancislandology
Chapter One
Sonja Bearns' jaw clenched as the sound ground through the inky black night. She squinted at the sky, seeking stars to guide her vision, but it lacked starlight, or even a sliver of a moonbeam.
Her shoulders pinched at the distinct gritty scrape of metal against sand. Gripping the balcony railing, she pushed her face further into the night, straining to see who was disturbing the peace.
Che.
Che.
Che.
Why in the world was someone digging sand in the middle of a starless night? She turned and slapped the switch on her balcony light, illuminating her world but only in a six-by-eight foot rectangle.
The digging stopped immediately. Once again the night was silent and still, but for the rhythmic roll of waves on the beach.
Perhaps the beacon of light from her eighth-floor perch had been reprimand enough. Or perhaps she was mislead by an overactive imagination. The imagination that interrupted her sleep causing her to be on the balcony in the first place.
Minutes earlier she was startled awake thinking about the White Night Dinner. It would be a highlight of the summer in the resort community and she, and her friend Donna Beaumont, was coordinating the event. The two women had accumulated a rich history of event management experience over their respective lifetimes; Sonja wondered why she wasn’t more comfortable believing they thought of everything.
But she worried. It was her nature. She and Donna worked well together; each had an event-planning niche. Donna was the marketer of the duo, due in large part to her gregarious, charming, and somewhat gossipy nature. Sonja, more private and introverted, was the logistics wizard.
Tonight, she’d been sound asleep until midnight when she woke in a panic, dreaming the lanterns weren’t delivered on time. With that scare she bolted upright. Given she couldn’t, or shouldn’t, call anyone at midnight to vent her concerns, she pulled a sweatshirt over her loungewear and made a cup of chamomile tea.
Just the thought of chamomile tea soothed her. Teacup in hand, she sat on the balcony listening to the ocean waves as they beached themselves with the pace of the tide. That sound, in the darkness of the overcast night, mesmerized her. How surreal to hear, yet not see, the ocean breathing.
She was almost relaxed enough to return to bed when once again she heard the sound of a shovel. The noise came from the area opposite the boardwalk. It seemed to be the space the Beachfest Sandcastle Competition would use next week. Was someone starting early?
Che.
Che.
Small hairs on the back of her neck bristled to attention as she stepped back into her apartment. She dashed to the cupboard above the stove to retrieve a flashlight. Flicking it on, she returned to the balcony and aimed the beam toward the annoying noise. But it was hopeless. The black night sucked the stream of light into its void and provided no help; except maybe to signal she was searching.
She switched the flashlight off, grabbed her jacket from the closet, and headed downstairs to the lobby. Under no uncertain terms were people to be digging in the sand at this hour. The park closed at 11 p.m. sharp, and there were no exceptions. She would be giving someone a piece of her mind.
She exited the elevator and stepped out of the brightly lit condo foyer into the black of night. The click of the door auto-lock behind her caused her to stop as she realized how absurd her actions were. She was a seventy-year-old woman chasing phantom noises around in the pitch black after midnight. She was asking for trouble. The simplest way to deal with noise was a pair of earplugs.
She unlocked the outer door to the condo building and hurried for the elevator, hoping to reach it before someone else summoned it. But they had, and she heard the familiar swoosh as it headed away from the foyer. As she stood waiting, she realized it had gone to the garage level.
Which of her neighbours was arriving home at such a late hour? She’d see in just seconds when the elevator returned to the lobby to pick her up.
But it arrived empty, though she heard footsteps running up the concrete stairwell. She chuckled at the impatience of someone who hadn’t wanted to wait for the elevator. As she rode up to the eighth floor, she considered how Donna would have poked her head into the stairwell and called out to the ambitious neighbour. Donna would have made sure she knew who it was at this late hour.
Sonja stepped off the elevator on her floor, listening for the sound of a condo door closing, hoping that the night owl exited the stairwell before her floor so she need not explain her own late-night behaviour. As she approached her apartment door she heard the stairwell door down the hall click closed. Tiny hairs bristled at the back of her neck sending a chill down her arms.
Her unsteady hand fumbled with her keys at the keyhole. Once the tip of the key found its home, she shoved it in the lock and twisted to unlock the door. Exhaling with relief, she stepped inside, just as a hand came from behind and slid over her mouth.
Chapter Two
Charles Brotter began his day reflecting on the tranquility of a cherry-blossom pink sunrise blooming behind the ridge of mountains on the mainland. On a cloudless morning like this one, there was nothing he enjoyed more than the privilege of witnessing a summer sunrise. Not only were they beautiful and serene, but they occurred long before most of the world was awake.
For an introverted want-to-be recluse, the last attribute was a bonus. Charles, a retired accountant, had no great fondness for the population at large. Nor for many individuals within the population when it came down to it. He preferred his days to be filled with books and his little Japanese Chin, Saori. To that end, he tried to avoid other people to the best of his ability, and a summer sunrise occurring shortly after 5 a.m. was a gift. He had the time to get in his car, make the seven-minute drive to the beach, walk Saori on the boardwalk, and be back safely ensconced in his condo unit in Muirfield Lanes before the rest of the world rubbed the sleep from their eyes.
Saori hopped from the car and stood quietly while Charles hooked her leash to the faux emerald collar Donna Beaumont purchased for her as a reward of sorts.
Saori had been instrumental in ensuring a safe outcome for Donna during an unwelcome adventure last fall. Every time he looked at Saori it reminded him of the event, but he didn’t have the heart to tell Donna he didn’t want the pup to wear it. Donna would be hurt, and although Charles didn’t intend to succumb to her romantic pursuit of him, he didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
The two strolled down the charming plank boardwalk, Saori intent on identifying every new smell ensconced in the wood boards since the last time they were there, and Charles enjoying the gulls and eagles performing competing dances of authority over the b
each. Charles raised a hand to his eyes to shield them from the glare of the rising sun and stared out at the ocean. The tide was in, but the slow slope of the beach in Stey Cove meant he was unlikely to witness whales, or even sea lions, from the shore. The eagles and herons could see smaller fish and he watched as a heron landed in the shallow water to stand proud on one leg, staking a claim on the ocean floor.
Two black bunnies sprinted in front of him. They darted, zigzagging across the boardwalk and into the long grass separating the beach from the park. The history of those rabbits was a sore point in Stey Cove. Urban legend told of a homeowner who, unable or unwilling to continue to care for his bunny pets, released them into the wild years ago.
Since that time, they multiplied like – well, rabbits. No surprise there. But the question of how to deal with an overabundance of cute and cuddly plant and vegetable eaters brought out the predatory nature of many homeowners in the resort town. How were they supposed to maintain the pristine appearance Stey Cove was known for if the flowers and lawns were nothing but incredible edibles for feral rabbits? The deer were annoying enough.
Charles had no opinion one way or another. Muirfield Lanes, the condo development he lived in, backed onto a beautiful golf course, and raccoons, deer, river otters, and skunks meandered through the property with impunity. A few rabbits were not going to make a difference. But on the other hand, a nice plump bunny could be a delicious attraction for larger predators, like cougars. That was a much greater concern to Charles, and one reason he enjoyed the beach so much.
The boardwalk, almost a mile long, followed the large bay around its curve. Stey Cove claimed the Nanaimo First Nations word stey for its moniker. It meant canoe or canoe races, but the double entendre was self-evident. When you arrived – you wanted to stay. The huge beach and bay were a significant part of the appeal.
They had the boardwalk to themselves when Saori pulled toward a thin patch of sand the tide left behind as it began its slow rollout of the bay. Charles unleashed the pup so she could get her feet sandy and enjoy the stories the ocean left behind. None of the tiny crabs or starfish presented enough of a threat to break through Saori’s fur and skin, but she might feel a bit of a buzz if her little nose got too close to a sea nettle jellyfish.
He watched closely as the pup’s head jerked toward the sky, her nose twitching with fury. Her head followed her nose from side to side, honing in on a new scent. When she found it, she quickly followed her small snout back to the boardwalk, crossing it to the path beside the Ocean Castles Condos and Resort complex. She stopped every few feet to correct her bearings and proceeded to slow her pace just slightly as she grew closer to the resort. Halfway down the path, she stopped beside the chain-link fence separating the resort from the empty property beside it, and stared into the barren lot.
“Saori, get back here.” Charles glanced from side to side, worried Saori spied another beach-strolling citizen with their dog off-leash. He didn’t want to be in the awkward situation of having to speak with someone. A quick scan of the area told him no one was in sight and he called the pup again, this time more loudly.
Saori refused to move and began to whimper, unusual behaviour for the self-confident and intuitive little pup. Charles pulled the leash from his pocket and walked toward her, his eyes reprimanding the dog with each step. As he bent to latch the leash, Saori yipped and pulled toward the fence, taking Charles’ gaze with him.
There, sprawled like a misused crash-test dummy, was a twist of arms and legs topped with a mop of grey hair.
Chapter Three
Man and dog froze, each taking a few seconds to make sense of the incomprehensible vision they witnessed, before hobbling off to the lobby of the resort. Charles sparked well-deserved concern when he demanded the duty manager call the police before he stumbled out of the lobby to wait.
Surrounded by curious resort staff, Charles cradled Saori as he sat on a small berm near the body. Police vehicles pulled up less than ten minutes later, and urgent mumbles dropped to his ears from condo balconies. He hesitated to look up, for when he did it seemed he was greeted by a flock of faces peering down like hungry gulls. That action encompassed one of the most amazing things he knew, and despised, about human behaviour - bad news travels fast. And news of a dead body, which appeared to have toppled from one of the condos, traveled very fast indeed.
Charles controlled his gaze to raise no higher than eighteen inches. Knee-height. The first thing he caught sight of was a gold stripe running up from the ankle of black pants. The familiar everyday dress of the RCMP officers who protected Stey Cove, and the majority of Vancouver Island’s communities, was a welcome sight to Charles. He lifted his head further, craning to see the sky-blue background framing the face of an officer he was familiar with – Raheem Khan.
Officer Khan was a mountain of a man; tall, broad-shouldered, and muscular. He had a smile that could tame a cougar, and charm that played the good cop side of the equation against his sergeant’s gruff cop. He was a friend, by circumstance, and a respected member of the community. But in Charles’ opinion, his best quality was his excellent listening skill.
“Mr. Brotter,” the officer stated as both a fact and a greeting. He extended a meaty hand to Charles, assisting the older man to a standing position. “I hadn’t expected to see you here. Are you the one who found the victim?”
Charles watched as officers taped off the area and pressed back the growing crowd. An officer with a camera around his neck scribbled notes in a small scratchpad, the scritch of fountain pen on paper an added assault on Charles’ senses.
“Yes. Well, Saori was actually.” He hugged his dog and watched the officer for some indication that what he said was expected. Charles was not good with social cues and became extremely attentive when the situation dictated.
“Okay.” Officer Khan pulled out a notebook and ballpoint pen. “Can you tell me how you came upon the body?”
Charles sniffed and stared at the officer’s pen, relieved it wouldn’t add to his anxiety. These open-ended questions were sometimes a challenge for Charles. He was never quite sure how much detail was required.
“We came down for an early morning stroll on the boardwalk. Saori wanted to go for a walk on the beach and I didn’t want sand in my shoes. I took her off her leash so she had free reign. She started to nose around at some crabs and I thought she found a jellyfish.”
Here his mind wandered and he chose to provide the officer with a small aside he found interesting. “Jellyfish may be the snack food of the future. The Danish have found a way to dehydrate them and turn them into something akin to potato chips.”
Charles choked on his tongue and blushed. Although he found Officer Khan to be a kind and attentive listener, he likely wasn’t interested in that anecdote on this occasion. He continued with his timeline, “Saori ran up the asphalt path beside the resort and condos. She stopped there.”
Raheem followed Charles’ pointing finger as the senior went on. “By the time I reached her she seemed interested in something on the other side of the fence. It looked like a person, bent and crumpled, as if the body parts weren’t in the right places. I ran into the resort reception and asked them to call the police.”
“And what time did you find the body?”
“I’m not certain. It was probably around 5:45 – it was just minutes before I asked the front desk clerk to call the police.”
“Did you see anyone else in the area?”
“No. No, there was no one at the beach at all this morning.” He glanced around him. Less than half an hour ago the beach was deserted, but now it was packed with onlookers. He wheezed and clutched at his chest where he felt it tightening. “Looking around now you would think it was the first day of the Sand Castle Festival.”
“Mr. Brotter? Are you alright? Here, let's step inside the resort. We’ll find somewhere to sit and finish talking.” Raheem took his arm just as they both heard a familiar voice.
“Charles, Raheem
- Officer Khan.”
A petite young woman appeared at Raheem’s shoulder. The singsong voice prompted the ends of the officer’s mouth to curve into a slight smile, despite the situation.
“Ah. Magda. I wondered how long it would be before we were graced with your lovely presence.” Magda Shepard and Raheem Khan began dating the previous fall when they met as the result of a hit and run in the community. “We were just headed inside to have a seat while I finish taking a statement from Mr. Brotter.”
Magda’s eyes grew wide as she looked at Charles. “Oh Charles, you weren’t involved in this were you?”
Charles went white. What was she saying? “Hello, Magda. No, no I wasn’t involved.” His throat closed once more, his breath rattling in his lungs. Did she think he was involved in someone’s death?
