Noel stopped the car on the verge. Too much talk about Shane, not enough about Derek.
“You can drive right in.”
“Linda, what’s your sense of the people around Derek? Who are his friends?”
“The guys on the island? Two of them are at UBC and now they’ve got summer jobs in Vancouver, so Derek hasn’t seen much of them. Sam’s the closest right now. He went over to the hospital a couple of times. Sam Bristol.”
Kyra pulled herself forward. “What’s your sense of Sam?”
“Good kid. Works with his father, they have greenhouses and supply restaurants and markets on Vancouver Island.”
“Where can we find him?”
“Bristol Greens. Up on Fir Lane, end of Triggerbrook Road.”
“And in Campbell River?”
“Well, Cindy of course.”
“What’s your take on her?”
“A pleasant young woman.” She paused for a moment. “She does seem to adore Derek. We may have to get used to her.”
“You looked irked with her this afternoon.”
“Well, she can be a bit much.”
“How about male friends? At the school?”
“He’s friendly with Gast Robitaille, and another called Joe. And Mike, I always remember his name, Mike Campbell from Campbell River.”
“What’s your sense of them?”
“They seem okay, too. Though why some men shave their heads . . .”
Noel said, “I got the sense from Tim that he doesn’t much care for Gast and Joe.”
“I don’t think he really knows them.”
“Enough to make him wrinkle his nose.”
“I suspect he’s a bit jealous. Of the time they spend with Derek. Derek and Timmy always were close. Eldest and youngest.”
“So recently Tim hung out less with Derek?” Kyra offered.
Linda nodded. “I had the sense Gast and Joe treated Timmy like a little kid. Which I suppose someone at twenty might think of a fifteen year old.”
“Tim called them the dopeheads,” Noel stated.
“As in pot? Or harder stuff?”
“Pot, I think he meant.”
“And Mike Campbell from Campbell River?
“The kind of young man any mother would be proud of. He’s in the heavy equipment course with Derek. But he’s not around this summer either.”
“Thanks, Linda. Anything else, Kyra?”
“No.” Just get me a bed.
Noel turned into a gravel driveway, passing a sign, Steller’s Jay B&B. A square two-storey cedar-sided building with a covered porch running the length of the front sat to their right. As they got out, a robust woman wearing jeans, a light-colored shirt and sandals stepped onto the deck.
Linda called, “Hi Barb.” Barb, late fifties, came down the steps.
Introductions. Noel and Kyra grabbed their suitcases and followed Barb into the house, Linda trailing. In the hall, the sky-blue walls peppered with Steller’s jays, Kyra said, “Thanks, Barb. Can I get to my room? I’m exhausted.”
“Of course, dear. Follow me” She headed down the stairs, Kyra following.
Noel turned to Linda. “I’ll take you back.”
“I’ll walk, thanks. Clear my brain.”
“Want a ride into Campbell River in the morning?”
“No, thanks again. I ride with a friend. Ferry price for the car every day, it’s become prohibitive.”
“Yeah, we’ve noticed.”
“And do you know how long you’ll be staying?”
Does she think this is a pleasure visit? “Until we learn who beat up Derek, and why. We’ll have to leave for a couple of days. But we’ll be back.”
“You can stay as long as you want, Barb said. It’s a quiet summer. Oh, and I told her we’d cover the expenses but she said no, find out who did this to Derek, that’s all the payment she wants.”
“That’s very kind—”
“She dotes on Derek. And he adores her. His honorary Aunt Barb.” She started to leave, then turned back. “Please find out who hurt him so.” She looked squarely at Noel, tears welling.
Noel nodded. Which Linda didn’t see as she strode out the door.
He took his suitcase and descended the stairs. Barb came out of one room and pointed across the hall. “You’re in here.”
• • •
Alana Franklin turned on the light and closed the door. She glanced about. Derek’s bed, twin sized—one of a pair? did Tim or Shane have the other?—had been made up. The window faced the ocean, pretty in the fading blue light. Beneath the window stood racked weights, 20 pounds, 10 and 5. Derek a bodybuilder, or was this for exercise? Beside the window, a desk, bare except for a computer and printer. She could email Sonia, find out what she was up to. And Jerry. When she’d arrived at her grandparents’ Alana missed Jerry. But after a few days it was okay without him—back home he seemed to be around like all the time.
Shane. What a gorgeous hunk. If she got him alone she’d open him up, easy making guys relax. Jerry was uptight when she met him, now it’d be better if he retightened some. Shane’s sponsor’s Austin Osborne, cool! She remembered Sonia talking about Osborne, one of the greats, on the Olympic team maybe three times? Pairs. Who’d he skated with? Alana couldn’t remember.
She opened her backpack and took out her night T-shirt. How were Kyra and Noel working on this case? She knew about detectives, she’d seen movies, but in movies things got rough. Were her uncle and Kyra up to violence? They both seemed too gentle. Somebody’d been pretty ungentle with Derek.
Could she be of help? She’d wanted to meet Shane Cooper to make Sonia jealous. Now if Sonia asked what was he like, all Alana could say is mopey. Like, not real exciting.
Across from the bed, bookshelves and closet. What did Derek read? Auto racing. Hockey. Coastal boating. House building, hunting, sky-diving, football. Yep, some kind of jock. Closet? You can learn a lot about people from their closets. She slid open the door. Flannel shirts, some dress shirts, three red hockey shirts with a yellow 23 on the back, corduroy pants, flannel pants, jeans, couple of jackets, one leather and a red team jacket—Campbell River Cougars. Shoes: runners with cleats, without, red and black highsiders. Black dress shoes. Hanging from hooks by their tied-together laces, two pairs of black hockey skates.
She backed out and pulled open the chest drawer. Sweatshirts, T-shirts, socks—
Tap-a-tap. Alana jumped back and squeaked “Eeeh—”
Linda’s voice: “Alana?”
She pushed the drawer closed, slid the door to. Her breath was coming fast. She opened the door. “Hi.”
“Would you like something warm to drink?”
“Thank you, but I’m fine.”
“Is there anything you need?”
“Okay to use Derek’s computer? I’d like to write a couple of my friends.” She hoped Linda hadn’t noticed her iPhone.
“Of course. I hope it’s working. The RCMP took it looking for leads for finding whoever had beaten Derek.”
“Did they learn anything from it?”
Linda shook her head. “If they did, they haven’t told us. Shall I turn it on?”
“I can, thank you.”
“Well, good night.”
“Night. And thanks for letting me use Derek’s room. It’s nice.”
Linda smiled. “Yes it is.” She closed the door.
Alana checked the door handle. No way to lock it. What were the Mounties looking for on Derek’s computer? Maybe she could find something. Something to help Uncle Noel—she had to stop thinking of him as Uncle Noel—and Kyra. She turned on the computer. It came to life very slowly—must be at least four years old. She took off her rings except the little pinky ring Jerry had given her—not because it was from Jerry, just it was difficult to get off. After a minute the screen finally brought up the wallpaper, a hockey arena, a game going, lots of people in the galleries—looked like the arena in Campbell River. More minutes till the icons came on. God, this was
boring. What should she check out? His music? His pictures? His documents? She tapped on My Pictures. She tapped on Last Year: Finals. She opened the door and looked out. Dark and silent. She closed the door. Try the top drawer. Official looking papers—school grades, he’d done okay in high school, Bs and B+s mostly; a birth certificate; a passport—where would Derek go? Play hockey in the States somewhere? Photos, half a dozen of a very pretty young woman with long brown hair and a sweet smile; ten or so of Shane, skating, professionally taken—god, the man was beautiful, elegant bum and gorgeous legs and a mouth that sure looked good; a couple of his parents at a party.
She glanced over to the computer. Still no pictures. Next drawer. More underwear, jockstraps, socks. She ran her hand beneath the clothing—nope, nothing there. A sound like a squeak from the hall? She froze. Silence. An old house, shifting. She shivered. Is this what happens when Uncle Noel and Kyra look for evidence? The drawer below, sweaters. She felt underneath. Nothing. What did she expect, a note, Derek—join the Deaths’ Head Rangers or we’ll beat the shit out of you? Not likely on this island.
She pushed the drawer closed quietly. The computer had opened the Finals page. She clicked on Slide Show. Photos flashed by of a hockey game, focusing on number 23. Derek in the thick of things. The next set, Shane/Juniors. Again the long wait. Back to the closet? Again she listened, again silence. She re-opened the closet door. Trouble with trying to help Kyra and Uncle Noel—Noel—she had no idea what to look for.
Maybe something in a pocket of one of the jackets. She felt around in the leather one. Tissues, yuck. Anyway, if the police had searched this room they’d have found anything important. They must have, they took his computer. Still, people make mistakes, and even cops are human. She fished her way through all the jacket pockets. Nothing. In the shoes? Nada, nada. She lifted both pairs of hockey shoes from their hooks, turned one upside down—no way was she going to stick her hand in there—another, the other pair— Clunk. Something had fallen. She backed to the side and felt around. A memory stick? She picked it up. No neck cord, just the technology.
She returned to the computer. Did this ancient machine have a USB port? Not at the front. The back? Yay, two USB ports, one to the printer. She plugged in the stick. She sat, hoping for patience, unable to find it. Out in the hall, footsteps. She sat completely still, not even breathing. The footsteps passed her door, heading down the hall; Shane or Tim going to the bathroom? Did the parents have an ensuite? She breathed, shallow now. She’d wait till the footsteps passed again. Hey, she had no choice, E drive hadn’t come up yet. She counted to 40-50-60. Forever. Okay, it took more than a minute to pee. The footfalls again. She forced herself to keep breathing. She waited, even though the screen now showed the E directory. Then only the light hum of the computer.
She moused it open. One file: Shane. She clicked. A list of dates, with dollar amounts:
June 15, $3000.
June 30, $3000.
July 15, $3000.
July 30, $3000.
August 15, $3000.
August 30, $3000.
Total, $18,000
Huh? Alana dug her notebook out of her knapsack and copied the figures.
• • •
Kyra crossed the hall to Noel’s room. Its walls were a moss green, the duvet forest with lighter trim. He was unpacking his shaving kit. Green bathroom too. She yawned.
“Just get my laptop out.” Noel rummaged, sat on the bed, kicked off his shoes and plugged in the computer.
Kyra yawned again. “Don’t know how long I’ll last.”
“Okay. What do we know?” Noel typed in date and place.
The whole day jumbled in Kyra’s brain, flash of Noel’s parents mixed with Linda at her kitchen table, hospital lump, machinery, washrooms, police, Mrs. McDougal— “I can’t do this. It’s all a fuckin’ muddle and I’m going to cry if I don’t go to sleep.”
Noel looked at her, concerned. “The fetus thing?”
“I guess so. I’ve never felt so tired in my life.”
“Okay.” He looked at his watch. “If we’re up and dressed by eight, we can get a coffee and talk driving out to Sam Bristol of Bristol Greens.”
She tried to smile. “Goodnight.” She left.
Noel thought. Twilight had disappeared outside the sliding glass door. The ground must slope, house a back-to-front split level. Although he doubted there was anyone to see in, he closed the green vertical blinds, flicked on the bedside lamp, plumped up the pillows and stretched out, laptop on his stomach. What do we know?
15th June s.o.? hit D. coma
20 yrs., North Island College, good kid, everyone likes, close-knit family, no crim. rec. Friends: Sam, Joe, Gast, Mike, g.f. Cindy
2 bros. S. 18, v. prom. figure skater, worried? Ma worried about him? Sponsor Austin Osborne, ex-fig. sktr. part-time Q res.—T. 15, nice kid
Mo. L. nurse full-time, to hosp. daily
Fa. J. 400 ha. woodlot, self-employed—
Fifteen minutes and Noel found himself in a reverie. He and Jason had kept in touch after high school, Noel had introduced Jason to Brendan—and before him, to William—and Noel and Jason had shared all the missing years. He chewed his cheek ruefully, glad Kyra wasn’t there to tease him.
Why would a well-liked kid with a stable family get beaten up? Drugs? This part of the world, BC bud. Growing? Dealing? Doping? No one said a doper, Joe denied Derek toked.
Random? Wrong place wrong time?
Cindy’s old boy friend, jealous?
He typed drugs? after D. coma, saved and closed the laptop. After bathroom things, he located his book.
• • •
He was sure now. Absolutely convinced. It had come to him last night after his sixth beer—Charlie had cheated. That’s the only way he could have got the thousand off him, a thousand of the kid’s money he was going to clean up his debts with. Charlie had palmed an ace, no doubt about it. He replayed the game his mind. There! Charlie—his thin unmoving face, its permanent sneer, his balding skull above rimless glasses, the fast move of his hand to his lap. Earlier in the evening he’d thought nothing of it, assumed Charlie had a itchy crotch or thigh—hah! Charlie had a fourth ace stashed, he was convinced. Charlie had to be taught a lesson.
He’d gone to Canadian Tire. The chatty checkout guy had remarked, “Late in the season to buy a bat, in’t it?” and he’d said, “Oh well, you know, pickup and kids—” and the clerk said, “Yeah, if they’re breaking ’em, get aluminum.” He’d said, “Ehh,” and was outa there.
No masks for sale tonight. Good thing he’d bought a bagful last Halloween.
Charlie’d parked his car down the street from Saddleman’s. He felt a flare of fury, rush inside, bash his head in right there, blood and brains splattering the table. Harder than he’d hit the kid. After all, the kid hadn’t done anything to him. This, with Charlie, was personal. But he contained himself. If Charlie was in a game, he wouldn’t be out soon. And who was he fleecing tonight?
He’d go home and plan. He didn’t know Charlie’s address. Nor where he worked, if he did work. Or his movement through his world. A beer called. He started the car.
• • •
Kyra rolled over. The clock said 1:43. She’d been checking since 12:48. Asleep since 10:30, she’d been awakened two hours later by her bladder, peed, crawled into bed and prayed to fall asleep again. The sheets under the duvet were cool except at her previous warm nest, which she squirmed into. Light from the full moon flooded the room. She burrowed into the pillow.
Her mind wouldn’t shut off. One baby scenario after another: a small bundle of blanket smelling like sweet powder, dark hair under a cap—boy or girl? A toddler steps off the curb, a car approaches, she grabs for the child, misses— Kyra shivered and moaned against that image. She’d never seriously thought about having a child though she and Sam had discussed it. Before things went rocky.
An abortion. Only six weeks, hardly too late. Then she wouldn’t have to wonder what sort
of parent she’d be. She wasn’t a right-to-lifer, was she? No. Every woman had a right to control her body, didn’t she? She didn’t believe life was sacred as such, but she did believe life should be protected. Not forfeited easily.
How to look after a baby and work? How to pay for day care? How to choose a good day care? All stuff she knew nothing about. How to work while pregnant? Suppose they were in the middle of a case, a stakeout, and she went into labor? A stakeout miles from anywhere? Yes, she should have an abortion.
No, you can’t prepare for life. It’s not like studying for a test. Life just happens. Maybe a baby comes under that heading. She should just accept it. But a baby is very permanent. Suppose you invest all that love and effort into the baby, the child, and something happens to it? Like Derek, lying comatose.
Kyra rolled over to shed her memory of an intubated lump, Derek on the hospital bed. The Coopers poured love into Derek and look what happened. A senseless, random act?—scary in itself—but I bet Derek was doing a drug deal. All that effort into a kid and it turns out a bad one. Kyra felt unbearably sad: disappointed and betrayed by her teenage druggie-child.
Maybe Tim knows something. Or Sam Bristol with the greenhouses. Hope Derek’s just dealing BC bud, not anything else.
Kyra felt hot, twitchy. Her hair clung to her forehead. 2:29. She raked it back with her fingers, flipped the pillow to its cooler side. Close the venetian blinds? No, watching cloud wisps drift across the moon should be sleep-inducing.
• • •
At 8:00 AM, a knock on Noel’s door. Kyra, open yellow shirt over red tank top and black jeans, hair wet from the shower, looked more herself again. He’d been for a long walk. “To suss out the lay of the land.” He offered her a sandwich bag holding a croissant.
“I’ll pass for now,” she said, suppressing a look of distaste.
He opened his, and took a bite.
She looked out the patio door as he munched.
Another knock at the door. Barb. “I heard you, so here’s coffee.” She passed over a tray—insulated carafe, milk, sugar, two mugs.
Noel took it from her, smiling. “Just what we need.”
Never Hug a Mugger on Quadra Island Page 9
