Jade loved college. The last years at school in Coffin Cove, she’d suffered from panic attacks. She wasn’t popular. The popular girls were the pretty ones who gathered together at lunch breaks and giggled about boys. The boys they liked were the ones who had trucks. Trucks with gun racks, boys with beer who liked to race their trucks in the gravel pit while the pretty girls watched. Or the sports jocks who strutted and preened and expected adulation.
They never invited Jade to join the crowd and giggle about boys. The girls were not openly mean, they just huddled and whispered when Jade was near, and sometimes they laughed.
Jade didn’t care that she wasn’t popular. Until that one day. She preferred not to think of that day.
When Jade was at college, she discovered her weapon: her intellect. She had always been smart, with good grades, but in college she excelled. Her professors had wanted her to study law, but she rejected that option. She studied business and economics because she knew that money, not law, equalled power. When she graduated, she was snapped up by a large property developer who soon discovered Jade’s ability to negotiate contracts with steely resolve.
“She cut their head off before they even knew they were bleeding,” she overheard one partner say in awe after she saved the company millions, by refusing to back down or even move an inch during particularly sensitive transactions.
Jade took that as a compliment. She also took the bonus with a curt “thank you”, refusing the invitation to the celebratory dinner. She still wasn’t popular.
Jade knew some of her decisions as mayor would not be received well. Some of the residents still disliked blow-ins. They preferred to think of themselves as outlaws in a renegade town, keeping business to themselves. But business hadn’t been good for decades. Not since the days when lumber and fish fed the town’s economic boom. But those days were gone now, and Coffin Cove needed a financial lifeline, one that benefited the whole community, not just opportunists in elected office.
After Jade took over, she worked on uncovering the damage Dennis Havers had done. She opened files, worked through budgets, studied reports. While the rain pounded outside, Jade made it her business to know all the financial secrets of Coffin Cove. Dennis Havers had never considered the possibility of losing, she thought, because he had made little attempt to cover his tracks. There weren’t actual records of backhanders, but the inflated tenders for city contracts — sometimes with no evidence of work having ever started, let alone been completed — showed that Dennis was skimming. The same names came up repeatedly.
The atmosphere at City Hall for that month was hushed and apprehensive, as Jade worked long hours with her door closed.
But she made headway. She was true to her promise. She never fired anyone or used the word “fraud”, but a quiet word in a clerk’s ear, pointing out accounting discrepancies, was usually enough to prompt a quick note of resignation.
When the new fiscal year rolled around, the budgets were balanced. Jade had acquired provincial grants and long-term loans to invest in the town. Applications for business licences were up and the planning department reported an increase in applications for new building work. Jade had big dreams for the town, and today, for the first time, she believed they would come true.
She turned around and sat at her desk. She had some letters to sign, and after that she promised herself a walk to Hephzibah’s to get a large mug of milky coffee. Her latest project, the Heritage Festival, kicked off next week, and Hephzibah would let her know if there was a buzz of enthusiasm in the town about the festivities. Jade hoped so. An early start to the tourism season was what everyone needed.
Still work to be done, she admonished herself. Can’t celebrate just yet. And she focused on the pile of paperwork on her desk.
Jade had her head down, working through her pile, when she heard a slight cough.
“Excuse me.”
She heard a man’s voice and looked up.
A tall man was standing in the doorway, smiling.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “You are Jade Thompson, oh . . . my apologies, Mayor Jade Thompson?” He was still smiling, but Jade couldn’t sense a mocking tone. She didn’t stand on formalities, but she didn’t tolerate disrespectful comments either. But there was no hint of either, and the man didn’t move to walk into the office.
“Yes, I’m Jade Thompson. Come in.”
The man was well-groomed, and Jade thought he’d be in his late fifties or early sixties. Carrying a manila envelope, he walked to Jade’s desk and stretched out his hand. She shook it. Jade noticed his handshake was firm, but his hand was soft and his nails were trimmed.
He held out the file, and as his sleeve moved up his arm, Jade caught sight of a tattoo.
He saw her looking.
“Sign of a misspent youth, Mayor,” he said, and his smile widened. “Don’t judge me.”
Jade could not help but smile back. She associated tattoos with the bikers of the bad old days of Coffin Cove. But she knew it wasn’t fair. Many people had tattoos now. It didn’t mean they were in a gang.
“I’m a property developer,” the man said, with no preamble. “I’m interested in developing the old fish plant site.” He nodded at the envelope. “The details and my offer are in there.”
Jade took the envelope and frowned. She had uncovered Dennis Havers’ plans for the now derelict fish plant. The site was one of the few pieces of real estate still owned by the city. Once, it had been the centre of Coffin Cove’s thriving seafood industry. Fishing vessels lined up to unload their daily catch at the pier, and the plant hummed with the sound of conveyor belts moving mechanical rivers of shiny fish to be cut and processed. The fish plant was one of the major employers in the town. For decades it had stood silent and empty, save for the odd vagrant who camped there and the gulls that lined up on the rusting rails of the pier, as if paying homage to the days when they were sure of easy meals of fish guts.
“Thank you,” Jade said, “but I haven’t put that project out to tender yet.”
The man chuckled. “Word of your regeneration of Coffin Cove has reached far and wide,” he said. “I’ve been looking at the potential of the town, and that waterfront site . . . well, let’s say it could be a goldmine. For everyone.”
Jade was secretly pleased. This was what she wanted: for people to see beyond the decaying infrastructure of Coffin Cove and instead picture what the town could be. She needed people with vision. Maybe this man was one of them.
Still, she kept her cool. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll be happy to look it over.”
“Please do. I’ll be in town for a while. But I won’t take up your time, you look busy.” He gestured to her desk.
“Well, thanks again,” Jade said awkwardly, as the man had made no move to leave.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking,” he blurted, “but . . . Thompson? Are you any relation to Summer Thompson?”
“Yes,” Jade said, feeling uncomfortable. Who was this man? “She’s my mother.”
“Thought so,” he said. “You look like her.”
“You know my mother, Mr . . . ?” Jade was getting a little suspicious now. Was this man a friend of Dennis Havers’, fishing for information, perhaps?
“Oh, a long time ago,” the man said, ignoring the obvious hint for his name. “Back when I was proud of my tattoos,” he laughed.
Don’t be silly and paranoid, Jade told herself, as the man excused himself and left the office.
She sat back down at her desk and opened the envelope. She slid out a sheaf of papers and recognized the legal format. She scanned them, looking for a name, but the cover letter was signed by a lawyer’s firm she knew from her days working in Vancouver. They referred to their client as “Knights Development Ltd”.
She’d never heard of them.
Sighing, she pushed the papers back in the envelope. That development was a long time in the future, and right this minute, she had work to do.
On second thoughts,
she stood up.
It was such a lovely morning, maybe she’d run out now for coffee and enjoy the morning air. She deserved a few minutes out of the office.
“You want some coffee?”
For the second time that morning, Jade wished the door was closed.
“No, thank you, Nadine.” Jade forced herself to smile. “How are you this morning?”
Before Jade could tell her office manager to close the door, Nadine Dagg interpreted the polite words as an invitation to sit down and actually tell Jade exactly how she was.
Jade was forced to listen to Nadine’s never-ending list of complaints about her office colleagues. Nadine was one of Dennis Havers’ most valuable employees — at least in her own opinion. Jade wasn’t oblivious to the rumour that Nadine had been far more than an employee to Dennis.
Jade looked at her, not listening to her voice, and wondered what on earth Dennis was thinking, if the rumour was true. Sandra Havers may have been older than Nadine, but she had kept herself in shape and was a stylish, well-groomed woman.
Nadine Dagg was nearing her mid-fifties, Jade guessed. This morning, she was squeezed into a tight black leather skirt and a red shirt that strained over her chest and midriff. She wore her faded blonde hair long, with one streak of purple, and was heavily made-up, with pencilled-in eyebrows and bright lipstick.
Jade imagined that Nadine would fit in perfectly on the back of a Harley, clinging onto a pot-bellied, bearded biker. In the city office, she looked as if she should be paying a fine for loitering outside the Fat Chicken all night, rather than managing the office.
Nadine was oblivious to the inappropriateness of her dress. In fact, it was obvious that she thought she looked sexy. Many a male employee had smiled politely at Nadine and then been subjected to a full-frontal “seductive” move. Nadine reminded Jade of a coiled snake, waiting to strike and consume her prey.
Jade disliked Nadine but had to admit she was passably efficient at her job.
“Oh honey, you look so tired and stressed, what’s wrong?”
Jade bit her lip. She hated being called “honey” or “dear”, but she let it go, just hoping to get rid of Nadine as soon as possible.
“Absolutely nothing, Nadine, I’m fine. What’s on the agenda for today?” Jade was brisk. Nadine’s syrupy tone, she knew, was designed to elicit some small morsel of information that she could file away and use to her benefit, or even just for her entertainment. Jade had long since discovered Nadine’s love of gossip.
The accounts department had already lost a couple of junior clerks who’d made the mistake of confiding in Nadine, only to find they were the subject of wildly false rumours that spread throughout the city offices. As with a dangerous swaying snake, it was best to show no fear and no signs of weakness.
If Nadine was offended at Jade’s abrupt tone, she didn’t show it. She moved smoothly into business mode and the next few minutes were at least productive.
Then Nadine got up to go.
“Nadine, did you see a man in a sports jacket leave the building this morning?” It occurred to Jade that Nadine, who never missed a thing, might know the man. She told Nadine about the unscheduled meeting.
Nadine pursed her bright red lips. “No, I don’t know who that could be,” she said. “I’ll ask around. What company did he work for?”
“Oh, I have it here.”
Jade pulled the envelope out of her drawer.
“Here it is. Knights Developments Limited. Are they local?” She looked at Nadine, who shrugged.
“Never heard of them,” she said.
As Nadine left the office, one of the junior clerks barged in. “Sorry to interrupt, Mayor Thompson,” she said.
“Yes?” Jade was getting short-tempered now.
“Jim Peters phoned from the Gazette, Mayor, and said to remind you about the interview at ten.”
Jade sighed. She’d forgotten. She thought for a second about cancelling but then nodded at the clerk. “Thanks, I’ll make sure I’m free.” She might as well get it over with. She’d agreed to the interview, and she liked Jim Peters. The Gazette had been neutral throughout the campaign and refused to print anything negative or mean-spirited about either candidate. Since she’d been in office, Jim had printed positive articles about her progress, urging the community to give their new mayor their wholehearted support. So she owed him an interview, at least, she thought.
“And close the door, would you?” Jade called out at the retreating clerk, hoping, finally, for some peace and quiet.
Chapter Seven
When Katie arrived at the gravel pit, she saw a small red truck already parked. Mr Gomich was waiting for Katie. As she drove closer, she could see he had a companion. She had hoped he would bring other members of the historical society, but her heart sank when she saw the other person was Clara Bell.
Clara had retired as museum curator just as Katie returned to Coffin Cove, but the couple of times they had met, Katie had felt the elderly lady’s hostility. Maybe she was upset because she’d had no support from the city, Katie had wondered aloud to her father. “And now I have a budget and the promise of brand-new facilities? I’d be annoyed too,” she’d said.
“More like she’s a grumpy old bag,” Lee had replied.
Maybe Clara knew something about the mysterious chapel, Katie thought as she waved and smiled. Harry Brown had told her earlier that Clara helped him with locating all the old mining tunnels.
Clara Bell was one of Coffin Cove’s “characters”. She lived out of town on the original homestead her family had claimed back in 1846, just as the Treaty of Washington divided off United States territory, allowing the British control of Vancouver Island. She lived off the grid still, with electricity from a diesel generator and water from a well.
Clara was a forbidding figure. She’d been old when Katie was little. She looked no different now, except her wild mane of hair was white. Her face was smooth, with few wrinkles giving away her age, and her dark eyes were sharp and piercing. And at the moment, Clara was glowering at Katie.
Katie tried to stay positive. This was a learning experience, she thought.
Mr Gomich greeted her enthusiastically.
“Hello there, Katie! I’m excited about our adventure this morning. I’ve brought Clara with me. She’ll be a huge help — there’s very little she doesn’t know about our local history.”
“That’s wonderful.” Katie smiled at both of them, ignoring the sullen expression on Clara’s face.
“Is that a map?” she asked Clara. The old lady was holding a roll of yellowing paper.
Wordlessly, Clara marched over to the truck and pulled down the tailgate. She spread out the paper. Katie was surprised to see it was a hand-drawn map. She could see the gravel pit marked, a few trails and some other symbols which meant nothing to her. Katie didn’t know much about map-making, but it looked to scale.
“Did you do this?” she asked Clara. “It’s amazing.”
“I mapped all the area,” the woman said, in a friendlier tone. “See that there?” She pointed at the map. “That’s your house, Hell’s Half Acre.”
Katie smiled. Her mother hated it when the elders in the town called their home that old name. Katie had heard the stories about gangs and parties but had never taken much notice. She thought her mother was being oversensitive.
“You ever walked much in the bush?” Clara asked her. Her voice was gravelly, as if she were a heavy smoker, and she was abrupt.
“No. Just that trail. From our house to the beach. Dad always told us there were abandoned mineshafts and it was too dangerous.”
“He was right,” Clara said. “The shafts are here and here. The chapel is between them, in a clearing right here.” She was gesturing at her map, but Katie was looking at her, amazed.
“So there really is a chapel?” she asked.
“’Course there is. Why else are we here? Some damn goose chase?” Clara snorted, as though Katie was the most ignorant person she
had ever met.
“It’s just I’d never heard about it until the other day. And the story about the priest and the coffin.”
Clara looked at Katie as if she were mad and then threw back her head and laughed.
Katie was getting annoyed now, but at least her lack of knowledge had broken the ice with the irritable old woman. When Clara stopped laughing, she took Katie’s arm.
“Come on, I’ll show you, dear, and tell you the true story. This way,” she called over her shoulder to Mr Gomich.
“That’s just an old wives’ tale,” Clara explained to Katie. “There was no priest, and no coffin bobbing out to sea. Coffin Cove got its name from the shape of the bay. It’s a recent name. The natives who lived here long before we arrived had their own name.”
“And the chapel? Who built it?” Katie asked.
“Noah Whilley. The great-grandfather of the most recent Whilley. Poor little Art Whilley lived on your property before your uncle conned him out of his inheritance and all the hell-raisin’ started.” Clara looked sharply at her. “Your mother knew all about that. But maybe you’re not like her, eh?”
This was news to Katie. Lee had always been vague about her uncle’s story, and Nadine never spoke about her past. What did Clara know?
But before she could ask more, Clara was striding through the bush, with Katie and Mr Gomich struggling to keep up. Clara was wearing a long dark skirt, just as Katie remembered from the old days in the museum. But Katie caught a flash of sturdy hiking boots under the folds of material. Clara was fitter than she looked and moved nimbly over the gnarled roots and loose gravel on the narrow trail.
Why hadn’t she ever noticed this trail before? It was more than an animal trail, and it seemed to be clear, as if it were walked regularly. Maybe it wasn’t just Clara who knew her way around the bush. She made a mental note to ask Terri.
HELL'S HALF ACRE a gripping murder mystery full of twists (Coffin Cove Mysteries Book 2) Page 6
