Never Hug a Mugger on Quadra Island (12 page)

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.”

“That's a wonderful bed, Barb.” Kyra said. “I slept and slept.” Yeah, finally.

Barb smiled and closed the door.

“Coffee?” He poured himself some.

Kyra stared at the tray dubiously. “Maybe if you put in a lot of milk?”

Noel did. She wrapped her hands around the mug. He opened his laptop. “Okay, what do we know?”

“Did you get anywhere last night?”

Noel read her his notes.

“You're thinking drugs?”

“A hypothesis. What else is more likely around here?”

“Old grudges?”

“Everyone says he's a nice guy.”

“Means we haven't dug enough.” Kyra sipped slowly.

“Well, some people are just nice.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Tell me that when the case is solved.”

Noel changed tack. “I propose this line-up for today: Sam Bristol; Shane when we collect Alana; then over to Cindy's.”

“Yeah. I'd like Alana's impression of Cindy. Also, I've mulled some more and I think something's fishy about Joe and Gast. Remember when we asked if they'd seen Derek that day, one said
no
and one said
yes
? Also Tim didn't think much of them. I think I trust his intuition. We should re-see them.” She sipped more coffee, realized it was half gone.

Noel added the itinerary to his notes. He nodded toward Kyra. “How're you feeling?”

“Maybe I'll try a bit of croissant.” Noel handed her a sandwich bag. She opened it and broke off an end. She chewed slowly, swallowed. Noel realized he was watching her belly with extreme concentration.

Kyra noted this and grinned. “You look like a cat at a mouse hole.” She tore off more croissant. “Anything else strike you?”

“Mike Campbell of Campbell River is supposed to be another nice guy. This set is littered with white hats.”

“We should talk to the Zamboni driver.”

Noel made a note. “Shorty Barlow. We'll have time to pass by the rink.”

“I'd like to see Shane skate and,” her tone changed, “how do I know so would Alana?”

“Come on. You had crushes when you were a teenager, right?” Noel, defending his niece.

Right. A monumental crush. But she wasn't going to tell Noel. Ever. Since it had been on him. “I'll brush my teeth and be back, ready to beard Sam in his greenhouse.”

“Okay.” Noel stood and gave her a firm hug. Kyra returned it.

Kyra said, “Thank you.”

•  •  •

Austin Osborne pushed the plunger down into his Italian coffee maker and poured a cup of thick black liquid. He took a sip. Good. When Austin was in residence, Randy usually appeared at 9:00
AM
. It was 9:10.

He strode through the open-plan kitchen, dining, living area to the foyer and opened the front door. He stopped as he always did on his first morning back and admired the flagstone entry and vine-covered gazebo. Then he admired the navy blue Porsche in the carport. Ah, here came Randy, slouching, swinging his arms. Waving a salute.

Austin looked at his watch. “Twelve minutes late.”

“Island time.” Randy smiled, on top of the situation. He was taller than Austin's six feet by a couple of inches. When Austin had hired him as caretaker, he'd made him cut his ponytail. Randy had grumbled. But Austin's deal was pretty good, including bi-monthly haircuts at Sylvia's Emporium. Therein lay a story Austin didn't know and Randy wasn't about to tell. Randy's hair, red-brown, was even coiffed. This morning he was newly shaved. Ready for Shu-li when she got in? Hmmm.

“Come up, have coffee.” Austin said.

“How's Ottawa? You keeping those asses in Parliament in order?” Randy said this often when Austin arrived.

Another repeat: “I order them to keep in order.” A bored tone.

Randy didn't think Austin paid any more attention to politics than he did.

•  •  •

Normally Randy had the place to himself, nice one bedroom cabin, lots of firewood, check on the big house a few times a week, do what Austin ordered from Ottawa. After Austin's absences his easy smile was the first thing Randy noticed. Out of show-biz skating for two years now, Austin still kept himself trim. Hard to do; running the big skating equipment organization he'd built up from nothing kept him on his duff most days.