Never Hug a Mugger on Quadra Island

by Sandy Frances Duncan

  He squinted at her, braked and came to a halt. “What’s up?”

  “Randy. If he beat up Derek, who knocked Tim off the road and pushed me into the ditch? No, don’t answer, I’ll tell you. Randy. And Randy again beating up Zeke. The death’s head mask. And Tim thought he saw a clown driving the van. Another mask.”

  “And it’s all Randy . . .”

  “And Osborne’s giving the orders.”

  “But why Tim?”

  “To push Shane into obeying Osborne. However ridiculous you and I think it is.”

  “Derek too?”

  “That’s where it all began. At least for Jason and Linda.”

  “And the Honda, that was because Randy or whoever thought I was in there with you. Why would Randy want to get rid of us?”

  “Because Osborne thought we were learning too much about who beat up Derek.”

  “He sure was wrong there. If Tim hadn’t been knocked off the road, we’d be nowhere.” He sighed. “Okay, how do we test this hypothesis of yours?”

  “We ask Randy.”

  “To admit it?” He was not liking Kyra’s tactics, not at all.

  “To see how he reacts.”

  “Whoever wiped out Zeke and Derek’s a powerful guy. If it’s Randy, I can predict how he’ll react.”

  “There’re two of us. And I’ve got my Mace. Let’s go talk to him.”

  “You know where he lives?” Maybe they wouldn’t find him.

  “Tim and Shane will.”

  Noel accelerated and stopped behind the truck. Tim was still helping Shane get down. Yes, Shane knew where Randy lived—in a cabin on Austin’s land. A left turn as you leave the heavy wooded area, along a small dirt road. “You going to confront him?”

  “We just want to talk to him,” said Noel.

  Tim said, “If he’s the one who wiped out Derek—”

  “We’ll be careful.” Kyra said. “If we’re not back by nightfall, send out the dogs.”

  Noel turned the car around and headed out the drive. “Back to where we came from.”

  “Not quite. A new bit of the geography.”

  “I don’t get it. Osborne has a crazy notion about saving Shane from this guy Arensen, and it sets off a chain reaction.” They were asking for trouble, he could feel it.

  • • •

  Not stupid Randy. Dangerous Randy. Shane’s little brother, too smart by half, was he going to blab? Austin didn’t think so. Timmy’d be scared of making accusations he couldn’t prove. Kid shouldn’t be spouting out wild guesses. Next thing, he’ll try to use his hypothesis to explain everything that goes wrong. Randy didn’t like those detectives, Austin had seen that. Especially the man. Had Randy noticed Austin’s aversion to the flaming snoop? Randy often read Austin’s sense of things. Certainly had that afternoon, last time Austin was here, the two of them with the Pimms. Used the older brother to show what could happen. Except, if the older brother could identify Randy— No, Randy would never allow that to happen, it was dark, he’d have been disguised—

  Then Austin heard, inside his head, Timmy shout to anybody who’d listen that Randy had driven the van that pushed the detectives’ car off the road, that Randy had brought on the accident which broke Shane’s leg. That Randy was responsible for Shane not making the Olympics.

  Wait. Don’t give credence to the kid’s wild guesses. Randy wouldn’t dare injure the prodigy, he knew how valuable Shane was to Austin. He wouldn’t have the guts to—

  Not the guts. The malice? Possibly. Malevolence. He’d seen Randy angry. Those times Austin had confronted Randy about his gambling, his fury got mean. Turned against Austin who was trying to help Randy, keep him out of trouble. Betting on a skating competition, for godsake! With a Canadian bookie, so stupid. And Randy must’ve known that. Too bad Austin had to find out the way he did.

  Which meant Timmy’s voice in Austin’s head might be making a too-good guess. Randy, responsible for Shane’s injuries. Not a hypothesis to be carried around without testing. He reached for the telephone and pressed in Randy’s pre-set number. Randy picked up. “Would you come over to the house? . . . A drink together . . . Half an hour? Fine.” He broke the connection. Thirty minutes to explain his fears to Shu-li and Steve.

  • • •

  Noel had driven past the road taking off to the left both times he’d gone to the Osborne house without it registering. Now, there it was. He spun left onto the dirt track, smooth for the first hundred or so feet, then suddenly rutted. Forest to the left, high brush to the right, terrible road surface. Likely in the spring tires sank into mud here, leaving these indented furrows. Noel drove slowly, right tires on the verge, left on the hump in the middle of the troughed road. “Bet Randy drives a truck with big wheels.”

  “Or a jeep. Or maybe he doesn’t take this road at all.”

  “Shane didn’t suggest another way of getting in.”

  “Maybe he didn’t know of it.”

  Noel concentrated. A raised ridge scraped at the undercoat. Just a rented vehicle, no problem. Slowly the track flattened again; a less wet area? The furrows disappeared giving place to two- and three-foot deep potholes. Now the road was relatively straight but it rose and fell twice, and again. The brush on the right crowded in, making it hard to see what lay ahead. Maybe half a mile later, around a small curve, the land opened into a large clearing. At its center stood a small cabin, cedar-sided like Osborne’s house. Beside it, a Ford truck.

  “As you predicted,” said Kyra.

  Noel parked the Honda on the thin grass beside the truck. Beyond the truck the brush had been cut back, leaving a view of the sea below what looked like an extension of Osborne’s cliffs. “We go say hello?”

  “We do.”

  “And then we ask him why, rather than if, he attacked Derek?”

  “We do.”

  “Pretty brazen, aren’t we.”

  “We are.”

  “And if he’s got a weapon?”

  “There’re two of us, one of him.”

  “And your Mace.”

  “And my Mace.”

  Kyra grabbed her purse and led the way along a dirt pathway to two steps rising to a railing-free wooden deck. Gracing the deck to the right, a table and two chairs, one white plastic, the other a large cedar. To the left an old barbecue. The door had a window starting at waist level. She stepped up and knocked. No answer. Another knock. Nothing. With cupped hands she shaded her eyes and looked in.

  “Anything? Anybody?”

  “Living room, couple of closed doors. Nobody there. Let’s look around back.”

  Noel could already feel himself not liking what she’d be up to in a minute, but he followed. The side of the cottage featured a few cared-for plants, some with knobby purple flowers, some orange lilies. At the back another deck, same as in front, more plastic chairs and table. No barbecue here. He glanced up at the sun. Likely the front faced west, good sunset evenings while Randy grilled his steak. From beyond the cliff came a dull roar, ocean beating against rock.

  Kyra glanced through a window. A bedroom maybe, the bed a folded-out couch. She knocked on the door. No answer again. She turned the doorknob and pushed. The door opened. “I’m going to take a look inside. See what’s in his medicine cabinet.”

  “Kyra, you know I don’t—”

  “Quiet. Just stay here and give me warning if Randy shows.”

  “Do I have to tell you every time that I can’t stand it—?”

  “Not every time or any time. Your job is to stand guard.” She opened the door the whole way. “Randy?” No response. She stepped inside, leaving the door ajar.

  He sighed. One day she’d get them in real deep shit. Usually her investigative methods were sane. But her natural instinct to snoop, to break and enter—okay, the door had been open this time—always gave him the shudders. He pulled himself straight and returned to the side of the cabin to spot anyone approaching without immediately being seen. He stared to the right where Osborne’s house would
be. No building visible.

  In the living room/kitchen Kyra found a sink with dirty dishes, empty pizza boxes, frozen dinner packages, a cereal carton in the garbage. Beer cans, unwashed from the smell, whisky bottle, pop cans, two wine cartons in the recycling box. On the table an unfinished bowl of tomato-like soup. In the fridge, milk gone sour, leftovers from the frozen dinner packs, five part-emptied bottles of ketchup, unwrapped stale bread. More or less clean plates and bowls in the cupboards. On the living room end a fireplace, its glass screen blackened. Two stuffed chairs, one with the padding escaping from an arm. A footstool. Nothing on the walls except a color photo of a man over a caption, Randolph Dubronsky: Employee of the Month. Eyes close together, a stubby nose. A smile on the right side of his mouth. A stealthy smile?

  In the bathroom, a dirty tub behind a plastic shower curtain, hair and soap particles clogging the drain. A dirty towel hung from a rack. In the medicine cabinet, four bottles of patent medicines, toothpaste and a brush. A dildo. A package of condoms. She suddenly felt lightly nauseated. She lay her hand on her belly and breathed deeply. A smell of old food hung in the air. An open package of latex gloves under the sink. Hmm.

  On to the bedroom. The unfolded couch, sheets rumpled. A closet: shirts, pants, sweaters, shoes. A chest with three drawers. In the top, three packages of women’s black knee-high stockings. Double hmm. Beneath them two heavy white plastic bags held closed with a drawstring. She opened one. Aha. Masks. Around-the-whole-head masks. A clown mask with a bulbous yellow nose, a red-white-blue painted face. Bingo! A Ronald Reagan mask, bushy eyebrows, real scary. A Donald Duck mask, complete with protruding bill. In the second bag, a Lone Ranger mask tied over a Lone Ranger face. The mask of a pink and white bear, its huge tongue lolling down to its chin. A skull mask, with grisly red tears running across the cheeks. “Noel!” No answer. “Noel!”

  He heard her call. It sounded muffled. He ran around the corner of the house and stopped hard. “Oh my—” Kyra’s body, but a black and white death’s head staring at him as if the skull had swallowed the torso and was now disgorging it. He squeezed his eyes shut. Opened them. Kyra’s grin, eyes and black curls appeared from behind the mask she was holding in two tissue-protected hands. “For catsake, Kyra!”

  She’d wanted to wear it to shock Noel, but the ideas of pulling on the stinky plastic and of contaminating evidence stopped her. Still, Noel’s reaction was gratifying. “See what I found?”

  “Like in Zeke’s story.”

  “Like that. And a clown mask from Tim’s story.”

  “And now?”

  She took out her iPhone. “I call Sam Mervin, he comes over to search the place—”

  “And you tell them you entered Randy’s home illegally and contaminated whatever evidence there might be here?”

  She thought for a moment. “Okay, I call 911 and say we saw a guy beating up a woman, and he was wearing a skull mask. That should intrigue the Mounties.”

  “That’s a lie. Just tell them to check. Do it anonymously. And we get ourselves out of here right away, okay?” He headed up to the car, Kyra phoning behind him. She finished and stowed it. Noel, impressed she’d found a signal here.

  “We’re going to Osborne’s.”

  “Again? Why?”

  “Where do you think Randy is?”

  “What makes you think—?”

  “His truck’s here. He’s not gone far. And I didn’t see him tanning himself.”

  TWELVE

  Randy walked the cliff trail, a path he enjoyed. When it rained he took the truck, or if he needed it after leaving Austin’s. No rain today—a first-rate late afternoon, the sky clear except for sea haze to the south. Now to Austin’s for a drink. Which was first-rate too. Steve Struthers would be there, too bad. Steve was a loser, unclear what kind but a loser for sure. Except without Steve there’d be little chance of Shu-li being around, they arrived together, two eggs in a nest. Didn’t stay together, Shu-li was Austin’s girl. Though recently he’d seen tension there. Which was fine.

  He stopped to stare at the sea, sixty-five feet below. The strong wind had given a dramatic surge to the waves. Maybe today a little background drama was a good thing. Usually here the channel, protected by Read Island up north and Cortes to the east, rippled more smoothly. He’d showered and put on clean clothes: black skivvies, yellow shirt, comfortable jeans, socks and sandals. Even a shave; wouldn’t do to say hello to pretty Shu-li with yesterday’s plus today’s five-o’clock shadow. He patted the snippet of toilet paper on his neck where he’d cut himself. Dry, so he pulled it off. He touched the wound; yep, scabbing had started. He dropped the paper. The wind carried it inland.

  Even though Austin hadn’t been specific, he’d invited Randy so he could show his appreciation in a ceremonial way. More than just a pat on the back. Hadn’t been time for thanks since Austin got here, what with Shu-li and Steve arriving. Randy valued the invitation. Because Austin had reason to thank Randy, partly for all the jobs done that Austin didn’t even know about, mostly for all those indirect requests. That was Austin’s reason for calling Randy to come over now. Likely they’d ask him to stay for supper. Hot damn. Throw some charm in Shu-li’s direction. Maybe sit next to her, or across from her and he’d look into her eyes. And she into his. If beside her, their hands could touch under the table. She’d understand. He’d tell her about his cabin, neat little place, she should visit. He’d show her around. Hell! What if she decided to come this evening? Place was a mess, a while since he’d cleaned up. But if she was so eager to see it she’d put up with the mess. In his living room he’d take her hand and hug her and they’d kiss deep. Or maybe she’d make the first move, run her fingers along his fly. Yeah! Either way, soon their clothes would be off and he’d see her naked like last fall from in the garden when she’d been in her room with the window open, running her hands down her little tits and nice curvy hips and sweet ass, having a great time. Man oh man. If Austin hadn’t been a couple of rooms away— Man oh man.

  Maybe. Maybe she’d tell Austin, Austin, I want to spend time with Randy. And maybe Austin would object. And she’d say, No, it’s my life and I’d like to spend part of it with Randy. If Austin got tough, Randy would take her side, tell Austin he didn’t control the lady, she’d do what she wanted. If he got rough? Randy could fix that. And maybe the fixing wouldn’t be so nice. What it’d feel like, hurting Austin? He didn’t want to hurt Austin. But sometimes you got to choose. Randy knew which way that choice would go.

  He reached the dip in the path where it sloped to the little sandy bay. On the other side more cliffs, but down the trail Austin had easy access to the sea. Great place for a house, protected by cliffs, a lowland cut between them. Now the sea lay quiet, as if muffled by the cliffs on either side. Randy checked the razor cut on his neck. Crusting over well. He combed his hair back with his fingers, stepped onto the deck, walked around to the front door. He was after all a guest—no entering via the kitchen today.

  • • •

  “Come in.” Fifty minutes ago Austin had said, half an hour. Randy was getting too casual.

  “Hiya, Austin. Havin’ a good afternoon?”

  “Fair to middling.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Come in to the living room.” Austin led the way, Randy directly behind, a dog showing deference.

  In the living room sat Shu-li wearing a yellow dress, hem at her knees, arms bare, and string sandals. Steve reclined on the sofa, black Hawaiian shirt rich with red and yellow butterflies, shorts and bare feet. Randy said, “Hey, Steve,” and nodded in his direction. He turned to Shu-li and smiled broadly. “Hello, Shu-li. You’re looking lovely.”

  She gave him a small smile. “Thank you.” She sipped from a glass of clear liquid.

  Randy noted Steve too held a glass, stubbier than Shu-li’s, containing brown liquid and ice. “That looks good. I’ll have whatever Steve is drinking.”

  Austin stared at him. Randy looked different. Changed body shape, unusua
l demeanor, more confidence? How to deal with this? Randy’d said he’d have what Steve had? Austin had asked him to come for a drink. Had Randy done all he was accused of?

  “Glenfiddich on the rocks okay?”

  “Great. Yeah.”

  At the bar Austin picked up a glass, dropped two ice cubes in, poured a finger of whiskey and handed it to Randy. Randy scowled at it, a tiny drink. “Thanks, Austin.”

  “Have a seat.” He gestured to the sofa in front of Steve.

  “I like to stand while I drink.” Randy glanced from Austin to Steve, then let his eyes rest on Shu-li. She remained impassive. “Cheers, everybody.” No one moved a glass in return. Randy sipped, walked over to the fireplace and set his glass on the mantelpiece.

  “Randy,” Austin said, “We want to talk to you.” He walked over to the other side of the mantle.

  Randy shrugged. “Whatever, Austin.”

  “Did you beat Derek Cooper to a pulp?”

  • • •

  Holy shit. This wasn’t going right. What the hell was Austin doing? And what was he supposed to say? With these two here? Did he have Shu-li’s attention? Time to turn on the charm? Damn well better. If Austin wants it this way, this is how it’s gonna be.

  • • •

  The right side of Randy’s mouth rose, a smile Austin recognized. Randy’s finagling smile. “Did you want me to beat up Derek Cooper?”

  “What kind of question is that?”

  “Same as your kind. If you wanted me to beat up Derek Cooper then I did. If you didn’t want me to, then I didn’t. Okay?”

  “It’s a straightforward question.”

  “It’s not a straightforward situation though, is it?”

  An exasperated sigh from Austin. “You’ve worked for me for four years, right?”

  “Yep. Plus a few months.”

  “You’ve done many helpful things.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Sometimes even when I didn’t ask for them, right?”

  “I know you, Austin. I know what you need right then and what you’re gonna need tomorrow. That’s what you hired me for, right?”