COFFIN COVE a gripping murder mystery full of twists (Coffin Cove Mysteries Book 1)

by JACKIE ELLIOTT

  Joe divorced Sue, but although she signed the legal papers, she knew they were still married in God’s eyes. Nothing would change that. So now here they were, still husband and wife, at their daughter’s graveside.

  Sue stood beside Fred and Ruth. She held her mother’s hand, and it felt shrivelled, claw-like. Fred was stooped and withered, his thunder smothered by the shovels of dirt that hit the coffin with a rhythmic thud. Sue allowed their grief to swirl around her. She felt nothing but rage. It engulfed her. People seemed to sense it, as they clasped Joe’s hands and hugged him tight, but moved past Sue quickly, just murmuring their respects. She stood at the graveside, long after the mourners left. She was at war now. It would never end.

  The police promised justice. But their justice did not interest her, and the police stopped driving out to give her updates. Until Jim appeared the other day, it had been years since she’d heard Mason’s name spoken aloud.

  She clenched her hands, one clutching her rifle, the other digging in her fingernails to try to eliminate the thought of Mason from her mind.

  Maybe Sarah was rebelling, they’d said. It’s normal for teenagers to sneak out. Lots of parents don’t know where their kids are half the time. Drinking and smoking, right? Isn’t it possible Sarah went to meet Mason?

  Sue had felt sick. She had sat on the edge of the couch, looking at a police officer, trying to grasp what he was saying. She had said nothing, staring blankly at him. But inside she was screaming, Not Sarah, not Sarah.

  “Not Sarah,” she whispered to herself. “Not Sarah.”

  Sue glimpsed a movement in the corner of her eye. Not an animal, she knew. It had been the same for the last few mornings. Sue felt she was being watched. The first time it happened she imagined it was Sarah’s presence. If she stood still enough, she might be able to stretch her hand through the misty veil that separated their souls and touch Sarah’s soft spirit. She came back again the next morning, but the feeling was gone. And now, she was sure that her watcher was human.

  “Who’s there?” she shouted suddenly, and startled ravens took flight into the rising fog, seeming to echo her voice with their cries.

  Nobody answered. Maybe she was going mad. Maybe this was God’s final punishment, taking her sanity. After Sarah’s death, she had felt her grip loosen on reality. She was grocery shopping in Coffin Cove, months after Sarah’s death, lining up with her basket of items waiting for the cashier to serve her, when she caught sight of blonde hair cascading over a bright sweater out on Main Street. She dropped the basket and ran, pushing her way through the checkout, looking wildly from left to right in the street before she saw the blonde hair bobbing down the road towards the boardwalk.

  “Sarah!” she screamed, but the blonde hair kept moving. Before she could move, concerned shoppers surrounded her. “It’s not Sarah. Sarah’s dead,” one lady was saying. “I’m so sorry.” They were staring at her, as if she were a madwoman. “I’m so sorry,” they repeated. What were they sorry about? Sue wondered.

  It’s not Sarah, Sue told herself now. Sarah is gone, Sarah is dead, Sarah is gone, Sarah is dead, the ravens called. God’s messengers mocking her from high in the treetops.

  Sue tucked the rifle under her arm. The old Nissan hut that used to be the hatchery office was overgrown with brambles. The old wooden steps were rotting, and they sunk under Sue’s weight. The door was open. The hut used to be locked, but the rusted screws were torn out of the frame. The door, swollen with damp, had scraped across the faded linoleum floor, leaving a clear half-circle in the green mildew.

  Sue stepped in.

  There was nobody here.

  Sue realized that she was holding her breath and exhaled, allowing her shoulders to relax.

  She walked around the hut. There was no furniture left. The hatchery had been cleaned out long ago. Sarah had been heartbroken. It was one of the few times Sue could remember her daughter uttering angry words about her father. The river burst its banks that year. The water ripped apart undergrowth and hurled mud and silt in its ferocious current, unleashed by clear-cutting on the mountain. Sue and Fred frantically dug ditches and built dams to keep the house from flooding. In the end, they only lost a woodshed, but the hatchery was washed out by the torrent.

  There was no money to rebuild, and no point, because the damage had been done. The river took control of the valley, pushing out all the inhabitants except for Fred, Sue and Sarah. Ruth had passed, and Fred had mellowed a little since the death of his wife, accepting without argument Sarah’s choice to join the protesters against the forestry workers.

  Sue never questioned Sarah but knew that her relationship with Joe had become strained. A part of her was glad. She hated when Sarah stayed with Joe and that Jezebel. She was jealous when Tara befriended Sarah and introduced her to a new friend, Hephzibah, the daughter of some hippie, and Ed Brown, a local drunk. Sue knew that someday Sarah would leave the valley and she would be left alone with Fred. She said nothing when Sarah chatted excitedly about studying marine biology at college, and in her heart was relieved when Sarah arrived home from Joe’s one day, vowing never to take a penny of his dirty money.

  She wished she had talked to Sarah. Not the perfunctory queries about homework and chores and reminders to take a jacket. No, the questions and conversations that Sue had believed there would always be time for. She’d never asked Sarah how she felt about anything. Did she blame Sue for her broken home? What was she afraid of?

  I wish I’d asked you. I wish I’d protected you.

  Sue had known that something was wrong. Sarah arrived home one evening quiet and white-faced. She had refused food. Gone straight to bed. The next morning she went to the hatchery. She had left early, the other volunteers said. Gone to see her father, they thought. But she never arrived at Joe’s house. After, someone told the police they saw Sarah with Pierre Mason.

  It had never made any sense.

  Sue shivered. The Nissan hut was wet and cold. Mould was growing on the walls, and brambles forced their way through cracked windows.

  This place had been where Sarah spent most of her free time. Chatting to visitors about salmon. The epic journey, fraught with danger, from river to ocean and back again to reproduce. The fight for life. It had fascinated Sarah from the time she could walk and squeal with delight at the swish of silver and red of the spawning salmon. When she was old enough to volunteer at the hatchery, Sarah would arrive home, spilling over with infectious excitement, sharing every detail of her day. Sue smiled at the memory. She had listened silently, nodding with encouragement, and wondering how she had produced this fearless, passionate individual.

  There was nothing left here. Not a hint of hope. The building groaned as Sue moved, as if burdened by the same weight of grief. Sue could smell human urine. Just a poacher out here, maybe, taking refuge from the rain. She turned to leave and caught sight of a pile of rags on the floor. She flinched and pulled her gun into position as the bundle moved, and then relaxed as a rat scurried across the floor, disappearing into the gloom.

  Sue walked over and prodded at the pile with her foot. Looked like an old sleeping bag and a rucksack. An empty bottle of vodka rolled across the floor. She sighed. Her watcher must be some homeless person camping here. A strange place to shelter, Sue thought. A long way from food and warmth, unless you knew how to hunt and build a fire.

  She shrugged and pushed the bundle back into a pile. She’d have to clear up the yard and lock away their tools, she thought. Homeless, hungry people made bold thieves.

  Her foot touched something solid. A tin box. Without thinking, she kicked it and the lid came off, the contents spilling onto the floor.

  Definitely a thief, Sue thought, looking at a curious collection of trinkets scattered on the ground. She bent down to scoop them back into the box.

  And then she saw it. A glint in the gloom. Sue reached out slowly to touch it, holding her breath again. She knew what it was instantly. But her hand trembled. Disbelieving, and half e
xpecting that this was just a trick of the light, she touched it. Her fingers closed around this tiny glittering connection to the past.

  And in one moment, Sue knew that Sarah had guided her here.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Brenda laid her head back on her pillow. Every so often, nausea welled up and she felt a bead of sweat form over her upper lip. She tried not to move, and clenched and relaxed her hands until the feeling passed.

  She breathed deeply and focused on the view of the Fraser River from her apartment window.

  The doctor had been reluctant to discharge her from the hospital.

  “You were lucky,” the doctor said, as he conducted his final check-up. “If you hadn’t been found when you were, severe hypothermia would have set in.”

  Brenda nodded weakly. She still only had fuzzy fragments of memory. She remembered being very cold, her cheek pressed against a hard frozen surface. Her head hurt. The back of her neck hurt. She’d tried to open her eyes and when she did, she was aware of a shoe, a man’s shoe near to her head. She was afraid. She felt like she should lie still, not call out or speak, even though she was chilled to the bone. She forced herself not to shiver . . . and then it went dark again.

  When Brenda woke up, she was in hospital. The nurse who coaxed her awake from her deep sleep patted her hand. “Brenda? It’s alright, hun, you’ve had an accident, a bit of a bump on the head, but you’ll be fine. Not to worry, just rest.” Before Brenda could grab her arm, tell her she was frightened, she felt a prick on her arm, and the smiling nurse faded from sight.

  Next time she woke, the same nurse explained what had happened. A young man had found her, she told Brenda, collapsed in a heap in a freezer, of all places! Brenda had a nasty bump on her neck where a large box of frozen fish had hit her, and a smaller bruise on her forehead, probably from her head hitting the concrete floor. She had a concussion, had suffered very mild hypothermia, but would be fine with plenty of rest. They were keeping her in for a night, maybe two.

  Brenda nodded and tried to smile her thanks, but tears rolled down her face instead.

  “Oh, don’t worry, you’ve had a nasty shock to the system. Tears are normal,” the nurse reassured her. “Try to get some sleep.”

  Adrian had visited her in hospital. Brenda had woken to find him pacing at the bottom of her bed, whispering urgently into his phone. He had brought her flowers, which she acknowledged with a slight nod of her throbbing head.

  He was agitated, and she soon realized why.

  “You know, Brenda, you shouldn’t have been in the freezer. I know you were only trying to sort out that delivery problem, but still, you weren’t supposed to be there . . .” His voice trailed off, and he paced back and forth again. “But look, everything worked out. I know you had a bump on the head, but no long-term harm done, right?” Again, he flashed her an anxious smile. “And maybe it’s for the best if I just accept your resignation? Pay you some severance pay? And a bit extra for the holiday you’re owed? We can sort it out in no time, if you just sign here . . .”

  Brenda was too tired to argue. She’d forgotten about her resignation letter. And now she’d given Adrian the perfect excuse to terminate her employment. She knew why he was nervous — what if she sued? She didn’t care about the severance or the holiday pay, what she wanted right at that moment was a sip of water to soothe her parched mouth and for Adrian to leave.

  “Leave it there,” she croaked.

  “Sure, sure, not a problem, when you’re ready. OK, then.” Adrian’s phone rang, and he grabbed it thankfully. “OK, Brenda, get well soon, and let me know about that letter, OK? It’s the best thing, the best thing . . .”

  The next day she discharged herself. She needed to be home.

  And now it was late afternoon. The sun was sinking out of sight, leaving purple and pink streaks in the sky and illuminating the river. Brenda had got up late, pulled on some sweatpants and picked up some coffee from the shop at the bottom of her apartment block. She didn’t feel like eating or talking. The nurse had asked her if there was anyone they should contact. Brenda realized that apart from her sister in Ontario, there was no one. No one apart from Adrian and the other people she worked with — or used to work with, she corrected herself — had any idea she was in hospital. Or even alive, or dead. Was that the sum of her life? Nikos used to tell her that nobody was indispensable. When we leave, it’s like pulling your foot out of a bucket of water. Apart from a few ripples, it’s like we had never been there at all. Brenda used to think this was such a cynical view of the impact people make on the world, but now she believed him. All those years, for what? An undignified end to her career. Not even a career. Just a job. And now she didn’t even have that.

  Brenda hadn’t read Adrian’s letter until she got home. He’d got legal advice, she guessed. It was written in formal language and made it sound like her fault.

  “Against safety protocol . . . not authorized . . . breached the rules . . . Unfortunate that she placed a box back on the shelf insecurely, resulting in it slipping and banging her on the back of the head—’

  She stopped when she got to that part. She shut her eyes. She remembered crouching down over a box, but then? The memory was just tucked out of reach.

  The letter described the supervisor returning because he’d forgotten his phone, and finding the freezer door unlocked, and Brenda lying unconscious on the floor. She’d been there for two hours. The rest of the letter laid out the terms of her termination. Quite a generous severance — Adrian was probably advised to do that, Brenda thought — her holiday pay and a month’s pay in lieu of notice.

  At first, she was angry. What if she didn’t sign? She contemplated phoning a lawyer herself. But just as quickly as her anger flared when she read Adrian’s letter, it dissolved. She would sign it.

  Later, while she was trying to get comfortable and take a nap as the doctor ordered, her phone rang. The sudden noise in her silent apartment made her jolt, and her head hurt all over again.

  “Brenda? How ya feeling?” Amy trilled, and without waiting for an answer, she went on. “So sorry to bother you, but the new girl can’t find your Accounts Receivable file? Do you know where you put it?”

  New girl? Brenda wished she was the type of person to tell her where to go, but she wasn’t and she didn’t. She told Amy where to find the file, then clicked off her phone, pulled herself up from the sofa and signed the letter. She found a stamp and padded down to the lobby of her apartment in her slippers and dropped the letter in the mail.

  She could have walked it round to the office. But she never wanted to go to Hades Fish Co. again.

  For the rest of the evening Brenda sat at the window, watching darkness engulf the water and listening to the night sounds of the harbour. She tried not to obsess about the questions swirling around in her mind and to just enjoy the familiar night sounds and sights of Steveston, but she couldn’t settle. Should she phone Nikos? Had it really been an accident? And why hadn’t she heard from Harry? She couldn’t shake the feeling that had gnawed at her since she arrived home from hospital. Was it fear? Or loneliness?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Steven Hilstead smiled approvingly at the new girl.

  “Good morning,” she chirped with a wide, lipsticked smile that showed perfect teeth. Apart from her consciously arranged auburn hair, the new girl looked exactly like the other one, Steve thought. Still a vast improvement on that frumpy old woman, in the same old sweatshirt and jeans, who just scowled at him.

  No, he wouldn’t miss Brenda and her meddling.

  Adrian was still fretting.

  “She hasn’t signed the letter yet,” he said as soon as Steve appeared at his office door. “What if she sues?”

  Steve shrugged and sat in one of the comfortable armchairs.

  “What if she does?” he said calmly and then shouted, “Can I get a coffee in here, please?”

  “Look, Brenda was a pain in the ass, but she knew how to work things ro
und here,” Adrian practically shouted. “That new girl doesn’t know anything, and this morning I’ve had three calls from pissed-off customers because their order was screwed up.” He came out from behind his desk and stood over Steve. “What am I fucking paying you for?” he snarled, pointing his finger in a stabbing motion. “You’re my fucking operations manager, and in the last week I’ve had to deal with an accident in the plant and customers freaking out about their orders — what are you gonna do about it?” His voice had got louder.

  Steve ignored Adrian and gestured to the new girl, who was standing at the door, holding a mug of coffee in her hand. The Instagram smile was gone, and her eyes were wide as she witnessed Adrian’s outburst.

  “Put the coffee here, dear,” Steve said pleasantly, “and then, if you don’t mind, close the door behind you.”

  She complied and left quickly, keeping her head down.

  Steve breathed deeply and reached for his coffee. He took a sip, savoured the expensive blend which Adrian always purchased, and replaced his mug on the table in front of him, with exaggerated care.

  He knew that silence rattled Adrian. He was like a yappy little dog, always needing attention.

  It worked. Adrian flopped down into the other armchair and ran his hand through his hair.

  “What am I going to do?” he said miserably. “My dad will be mad about Brenda when he finds out—”

  “Fuck Brenda,” Steve interrupted, “and fuck your precious daddy.” He leaned forward and picked up his coffee again.

  “What the—?” Adrian spluttered, his face going bright red.

  “Listen to me,” Steve said quietly, and Adrian must have noticed his menacing tone, because he shut up and listened. “It’s time Nikos Palmer moved on from Hades Fish Co.” Steve said this conversationally, but inside he was tense. Time was running out.