Andi put down her glass and went back to bed. As she pulled up the bedcovers, she decided this was one more sign she wasn’t ready for another relationship. Not for a long time.
Chapter Eighteen
Kevin Wildman sniffed. Something was wrong. The smell had intensified. He’d ignored the unpleasant odour in his apartment for how long? A day? Maybe two, he thought. Yeah, two days. He’d been too busy checking forums and blog sites on his laptop, and there were so many now, it was hard to keep up. So much important information the government was hiding from everybody. He had to be ready. There would be a revolution. A day of reckoning, he was sure.
Daylight was showing through the threadbare curtains Kevin kept closed at all times. When he’d found this apartment, it was the perfect place to crash. But now he was worried he was being watched. He knew he was being watched. The red light on the camera attached to the Smoke Room at the end of the strip mall was always glowing.
It was hard to see, because Kevin’s apartment was all the way at the far end of the strip mall. Kevin’s “apartment” was a ramshackle affair built over the Coffin Cove Bookstore. All the other stores had flat roofs, but at some time in the past, someone had tried to make a little living space above this one. At first Kevin had been delighted with the clear view of the Smoke Room and the parking lot from the small side window, like a sentry guard in a tower. But now he wasn’t so sure. If he could see everybody, maybe everybody could see him? He felt exposed. And now, the red light seemed to be angled towards him. Kevin tried to keep out of view, making sure the curtain was always pulled closed, and crawling around the two rooms on all fours. He’d stopped leaving the apartment unless it was absolutely necessary. When he had first noticed the red light, he’d investigated at different times during the day, running down the stairs at the back of the apartment and along the overgrown parking lot to the Smoke Room, gazing up at the camera to see if the light was still on.
Now Kevin knew that was a mistake. He’d given away his location. Now they knew where he was. Ricky had vanished ages ago. But they were still watching him.
Kevin had spent many hours fixated on the small red halo. Whenever the Wi-Fi signal from the nearby trailer park dropped out, Kevin would crouch down below the grimy window, making notes of his observations. He was sure the red light blinked at him sometimes. He just didn’t know what it meant.
Kevin stood up shakily. It was possible the smell was coming from him. He’d smoked a lot of weed, popped some pills. He must have eaten. There were pizza boxes scattered on the floor. But he wasn’t certain how long they had been there. And it was hard to keep clean here. The water was still on and the toilet could flush, although it had been blocked for some time. It had overflowed, and all his piss and shit and the pages he’d ripped from the old books downstairs and used to wipe himself had spread over the wooden floor of the small two-piece bathroom. Kevin had just shut the door.
Kevin had noticed this potential living space back when he was working for Ricky. These stores in the strip mall were abandoned. Some had plywood in the windows and large padlocks on the doors. But the old bookstore had an outside metal staircase leading up to the second floor. At the top of the stairs was a rotting weather-beaten door that to his delight wasn’t even locked. Inside he’d found two rooms, empty save for an old orange flowery couch and a plastic table and fold-up chair. Kevin tried out the couch. A cloud of dust billowed up when he sat down, and there were mouse droppings everywhere. But Kevin didn’t care. He couldn’t believe his luck when he flicked the light switch and the single light bulb glowed. There was running water too.
A fuckin’ palace. Close enough to keep an eye on Ricky too. Kevin trusted no one. And besides, he knew Ricky was stupid enough to fuck up a good thing. He wasn’t serious about the business.
When Ricky opened the Smoke Room, Kevin hung out there all the time he wasn’t working. Ricky had a trailer in the park, but Kevin wasn’t welcome there. Ricky did too much entertaining, and the girls complained about Kevin watching.
Stupid bitches jiggling and bouncing up and down on Ricky, pretending he was some big fuckin’ stud. He’d seen Ricky’s limp dick. No way he kept it up.
Kevin rubbed his own crotch absent-mindedly. Nothing. Pills and weed did that to you, eventually. Women were a distraction anyway. He’d tried to warn Ricky. Women would be Ricky’s ultimate downfall, Kevin was certain of that.
The new boss didn’t like Ricky “entertaining”. He’d promised Ricky fuckin’ bricks of cash if he’d run the Coffin Cove patch for him.
And the dude definitely had cash.
Kevin had seen the fancy new car when the boss came to visit. It glided to a halt outside the Smoke Room one evening, the engine hardly making a sound. The boss wore the same clothes as the men at golf clubs who left their laptops and wallets in full view. The boss entered the Smoke Room. Kevin hadn’t been invited to the meeting. Didn’t matter. He hurried to the back of the building, scaled the rusty fire escape to the flat roof and ran across to the Smoke Room. Being as quiet as possible, Kevin opened the wooden hatch and tiptoed down the staircase, as far as he dared. Ricky kept the inside access to the roof hidden behind a door marked “Staff Only”. He liked his privacy, and it was handy for Kevin when he needed to know what Ricky was up to.
This was the third business meeting Kevin had spied on. The first two were with the boss’s lieutenants. They arrived on bikes, noisy throbbing engines and gleaming chrome. The two large men removed their old-school crash helmets, not caring who saw them, and met with Ricky in the store.
Ricky always told Kevin he wasn’t intimidated by bikers. His old man, Dennis, had “connections”, he used to boast. If ever he needed protection or a little “work” done, he’d said, tapping the side of his nose, he knew who to call.
On this day, Ricky was pissed. He’d been told how to operate, what to sell and how to sell it. They’d left him with an assortment of “shit”, he said. They wanted to test him out before the boss trusted him with the new product.
Kevin shrugged. Seemed fair enough. Ricky was arrogant, being the son of the mayor and all, but that also made him a potential risk. Plus, Dennis Havers dropped in at unscheduled intervals to check the inventory and cash, and just to see if Ricky had bothered to turn on the “OPEN” sign.
Dennis was bankrolling the Smoke Room. He’d paid for the licence, filled in all the forms and purchased the order of government-sanctioned supplies.
Ricky was overjoyed. He loved weed — considered himself an expert in the various strains — but had no intention of selling weed from his new shiny store. He and Kevin discussed this many times. Since legalization, there was no money in weed. Everyone was growing their own now. Sure, there were some consumers who paid a little more for their favourite flavours and the oils and edibles were a hit with the girls. Their business model, Ricky decided, would focus on opioids.
Kevin had agreed. Opioids were easy. Easy to get and easy to sell. He liked them too. The intense feeling of warmth and euphoria as he sunk into oblivion — much better than a joint.
Ricky had banged on about “bread-and-butter revenue” and “wide customer demographics” for opioids, but Kevin tuned him out. He found Ricky annoying when he got like this. He loved the sound of his own voice, got all high and mighty, as if he were going to build some fuckin’ empire by selling asshole junkies a handful of fuckin’ painkillers.
Kevin sighed. Ricky could never keep his mouth shut. That had got him killed.
Kevin had sold Ricky’s first consignment of shit for the new boss. The goons on the bikes seemed pleased and promised Ricky a meeting with the boss.
Ricky had been excited but evasive. Kevin sensed he was being dumped. He could tell Ricky didn’t want Kevin involved in this extra money-making venture. Kevin smirked to himself. Ricky needed him. Ricky wasn’t a salesman. For all his big words and fancy business talk, all he’d done was rely on Daddy for handouts. Kevin said nothing and watched and waited, pretending not to notice as Ricky
called on him less and less.
The new boss was older than Kevin had imagined. Kevin strained to hear the conversation, as the boss was quietly spoken. He could hear Ricky’s arrogant tone as he showed the boss around the premises. As they got nearer the door to the staircase, Kevin shrank back, ready to scoot back to the roof if he saw the door handle turn. It didn’t, and the two men in the store carried on their conversation, near enough for Kevin to hear every word.
Kevin was puzzled. The boss seemed more interested in Dennis Havers than anything else. He asked pointed questions about Dennis’s involvement in the Smoke Room. Kevin nearly laughed out loud as Ricky blustered some bullshit about being his “own man”. Tell that to Daddy when he comes to collect the rent and balance the takings, Kevin thought.
The boss changed tack and started grilling Ricky about loyalty. Again, Kevin wanted to laugh. Loyalty was not a concept Ricky grasped. But then Kevin didn’t rate it highly either. But the boss banged on about it. He’d been betrayed before, he said. He was a patient man, though. His voice got lower, and for the first time, Kevin shivered, and hoped he wouldn’t be discovered. The man was fuckin’ nuts. He wondered if he was holding a knife to Ricky’s throat or something, because Ricky remained silent while the boss described exactly what would happen if Ricky screwed him over.
Finally, he heard Ricky speak. His voice was shaky, as he promised absolute unconditional loyalty.
Then the boss seemed to lighten up. The voices faded a bit and Kevin slipped down one step to keep listening. This was the important bit. What was the product? From what Kevin could make out, it was some kind of psychedelic. He hoped it wasn’t mushrooms. He fuckin’ hated mushrooms. They were finicky to grow and hardly anyone could get it right. They were either mouldy or dried out, and instead of a hallucinogenic out-of-body experience, all you got was a mouthful of expensive dung. But it wasn’t mushrooms. Something like LSD, but better.
Kevin liked the idea. LSD was old-school. It wasn’t found much on the island, most people preferring shrooms. But the market was saturated with crap products and people were restless for something new.
Kevin had heard enough. He slowly moved his body round to creep upstairs. The voices grew louder, and the boss said something about “night”. Operating in the night? Kevin hesitated. No, it wasn’t “night”. He was asking Ricky to join his “knights”.
Kevin didn’t chance it. As quiet and quick as a rat, he scuttled up the stairs, closing the hatch behind him, and descended the fire escape before running across the waste ground behind the strip mall and entering his secret hideout, just as the boss left the Smoke Room. Kevin watched from the window, just peeping over the sill enough to see the top half of the boss as he bent to open his car door and then disappeared from Kevin’s view as he got into the driver’s seat. Then Kevin heard the low purr of the engine fade into the distance.
Kevin waited for Ricky’s call. He kept looking at the cheap pay-as-you-go phone Ricky had given him. No text, nothing. Ricky didn’t call him the next day or the day after that. Kevin wondered if Ricky was being tested. Maybe the boss was making sure of Ricky’s loyalty. Maybe there was some kind of initiation for the new “knight”.
Kevin watched and waited. He wanted in on this new venture. Maybe he’d wait and approach the boss himself? He could be an asset. He knew several customers looking for a new high, something more exciting. The new product, whatever it was called, could fill a gap in the market, as Ricky would put it.
A couple of nights later, Kevin got excited as he watched Ricky smoke his usual joint on the roof of the Smoke Room. This had to be it — the test. Kevin watched as a woman climbed the fire escape and stood looking at Ricky. It wasn’t one of Ricky’s prossies, she was dressed different. She didn’t look like she was coming on to Ricky either.
Kevin saw Ricky reach out, as if he were going to shake the woman’s hand . . . What the fuck? Kevin saw a flash of light, and Ricky fell backward, seemed to right himself and then fell and collapsed like a rag doll on the ground behind the Smoke Room. Kevin was on his feet, clutching his head. What had the boss done? What had Ricky done to piss him off? Kevin realized he was standing in the window. He ducked down and waited for what seemed like hours. Then he straightened up and dared to look out the window. It was dark. Kevin could see the glow of the neon sign on the shop, but nothing else.
This didn’t make any sense. Why would the boss send a woman to shoot his new knight?
Kevin paced the room. What to do? Maybe this was a way to get in, he thought. If Ricky was dead, then maybe he could take over the operation? And if Ricky wasn’t dead, and Kevin helped him, then maybe they’d both be so grateful, they would cut Kevin in?
Kevin made up his mind. He left his lair and stood in the night air for a moment until his eyes adjusted. There was enough light from the trailer park to cast shadows, and as Kevin made his way carefully through the debris, he could see the outline of Ricky’s body. Kevin waited. Ricky wasn’t making a sound. Kevin inched closer and saw Ricky’s chest moving slightly. He was breathing. One leg was bent at a weird angle, and Kevin could just about see a dark patch under Ricky’s head, which he assumed was blood. Unconscious, but not dead.
Kevin knelt down beside Ricky’s inert body. He felt around in Ricky’s pockets, pulled out his phone and grinned. It was still intact. He sat back on his haunches and opened the phone. He knew Ricky’s four-digit password and tapped it in. He scrolled down the recent calls. There was only one number without a contact name. Ricky had called and received a couple of calls in the last two days, so Kevin took a chance and pressed the phone icon. The call was connected, and Kevin breathed out with relief as he heard the same man’s voice he’d heard a few days ago.
“Yes?”
Kevin hesitated.
“What is it?” the man said.
“Your knight is down,” Kevin said and quickly ended the call. He pushed the phone back into Ricky’s pocket and hurried away into the night.
That had been months ago. Ricky had disappeared. Kevin had watched Dennis and Sandra and then police cars come and go. He never saw the boss again. Maybe Ricky had been spirited away to another patch? The new psychedelic had made it to the streets of Nanaimo. Kevin asked around, but nobody had seen Ricky. He wasn’t one of the knights in Nanaimo, at least.
Kevin kept his head down, dealing in this and that, stealing and selling, and waiting in his tiny hideaway for word from Ricky.
Nothing. But Kevin knew he was being watched. The red light blinked on and off. It had to mean something.
Chapter Nineteen
Jim’s truck trundled up the rutted logging road to Clara Bell’s home. She lived in a small trailer, a good twenty minutes beyond old Ed Brown, Harry’s father. As Jim passed, he raised his hand in greeting to Ed, who was sitting on his porch. It was a little after ten in the morning, but Jim suspected Ed would already be sipping his second beer.
Poor Harry, Jim thought. He took the brunt of looking after his father. Not that he owed Ed anything. It was his vicious drunken temper that drove Greta, his wife, to take Hephzibah and live on Hope Island, leaving Harry behind. A strange decision, Jim thought. Harry rarely talked about his childhood. He’d been married once and had a grown-up daughter, but he was a bit of a loner.
Harry has an eye for Andi, Jim thought. But Andi, did she have feelings for Inspector Vega? There was certainly a spark between those two. It might be a rocky road, given their chosen professions, though. In fact, Vega would be cursing Andi right about now. Jim smiled to himself. He supported Andi and her article, even though she hadn’t held back. He wondered how it would affect her relationship with Vega. But that was by the by. For decades now, the RCMP had paid lip service to Coffin Cove, choosing to let Charlie Rollins mark time until his retirement. Things needed to change around here.
Charlie had walked the other way when he saw Jim earlier that morning. Jim had let him go. For now, he thought, only for now. He was inclined to believe Charlie was guilt
y of laziness and incompetence rather than conspiring with Dennis Havers. Still, Charlie’s failings might have cost Ricky his life. They were right to publish the article, even if it ruffled a few feathers, Jim decided. Let it all play out.
Jim laughed out loud. Why was he worrying? Andi could take it. Last night at the office, she looked just like the old Andi, ready for battle.
The logging road climbed and narrowed. On either side, tall firs shaded the trail. Clara Bell had lived out here alone as long as Jim could remember. He couldn’t remember a spouse or siblings, although there was talk about a brother who’d left to look for gold up in the Yukon.
The road swerved abruptly to the right, up to Clara’s home. Jim tried to avoid the bigger potholes.
“What the hell . . . ?” Jim slammed on his brakes as a horse appeared in front of him. A cloud of dust obscured his view, and when it cleared, he saw that the horse hadn’t moved a muscle. Jim got out of his truck and slammed the door. What was wrong with the damn animal? He heard laughing and saw Clara Bell standing with her hand on her hip.
Jim thought Clara looked like a pioneer woman in an old sepia photograph from the 1800s, with her shock of white hair and long dark skirt.
“Fools everyone, does my Trigger,” she called out. “Better than a guard dog.”
Jim laughed too. “Where did you get this, Clara?” He walked over to the horse, a life-size plastic model, complete with real horsehair for a mane and tail.
“Oh, I got it at one of those auctions,” Clara said, waving her hand. “Looks real, don’t it?”
“It does. How are you, Clara? Got over your shock?” Jim walked towards the old woman, thinking she’d hardly changed all the time he’d known her. Even thirty years ago, her hair had been white and wild, spilling over her shoulders. Her face was weather-beaten but smooth. It was hard to say how old she was. Eighty? Ninety? It was possible.
She’d always been intense, fixing you with those dark watchful eyes as she listened to what you had to say. People in town said she was fierce, and when she was curator of the museum, children had been afraid of her. But get close to Clara Bell, do her a kindness, and she’d be a friend for life. A long time ago, Jim’s father helped Clara, and every so often, she’d dropped off deer meat or a trinket from her collection, as thanks. Clara still hunted for her meat. She was an excellent shot, as many a poacher found out if they got too near to her treasures.
HELL'S HALF ACRE a gripping murder mystery full of twists (Coffin Cove Mysteries Book 2) Page 14
