COFFIN COVE a gripping murder mystery full of twists (Coffin Cove Mysteries Book 1), JACKIE ELLIOTT [most recommended books txt] 📗

“I call him Slippery Steve,” Hephzibah whispered back. “It’s Steve something, I can’t remember his real name. He works for Hades Fish Co.”

“Why is he here?”

“To find out what’s going on. These guys,” Hephzibah nodded at Harry’s group outside, “work for Hades. Well, more than that, really — Hades either owns or part-owns their boats and licences. If they don’t deliver herring, a lot of them won’t make their boat payments.”

“I see. He does look . . .” Andi fumbled for a word.

“Slippery,” Hephzibah finished for her. “Right?”

“Can’t Hades help? I mean, with sorting out the infractions or talking to the DFO or something?” Andi asked.

“It’s not as simple as that.”

Before Hephzibah could explain further, a thin, grimy man slapped some change on the counter. He was clutching a roll of stained material, which Andi saw was a sleeping bag, and had an old canvas bag slung over one shoulder. Andi assumed he was homeless.

“Can I have a coffee, Hep?” He had a high-pitched voice, and as he spoke, flashed broken brown teeth. He was standing a few feet away from Andi, but a stench of faeces and urine wafted in her direction.

Hephzibah pulled a face. “Geez, Brian, when was the last time you washed?” She set down a cup of coffee in a paper to-go cup. “Take it outside.” She waved at him to take his change.

Andi had seen Hephzibah be much kinder to homeless people, and it seemed unlike her to be so dismissive.

“Who was that?” she asked as the man grabbed his coffee without a thank you and slouched outside.

“Brian McIntosh,” Hephzibah answered.

“McIntosh?” Andi opened her mouth to ask more questions, but Harry and the fishermen, grumbling about “that stinkin’ rummy”, filed inside to get refills from Hephzibah and take seats around Slippery Steve.

Harry acknowledged Andi with a nod.

Slippery Steve waved his hand at Harry. “Who is this?” he asked, looking at Andi.

“She’s the girl from the Gazette,” Harry answered, before Andi could introduce herself. “Mason’s been getting all the media attention, I thought it was about time we got some.”

“And the Gazette counts as media these days, does it?” The man smiled, but it wasn’t pleasant.

The sound of a police siren diverted his attention, wailing near to the café. As if jolted by an electric force, the homeless man, Brian, leaped up and started to run. In his haste he overturned the table and dropped something out of his pocket.

The fishermen and Hephzibah laughed.

“Brian always has that reaction around police,” Hephzibah explained to Andi, who didn’t see the joke.

Andi went outside and set the table upright. She saw that Brian, in his haste to avoid the police, had dropped his phone. She held it up for Hephzibah to see.

“Almost certainly not his,” Hephzibah called to her. “Take it to the—” Her suggestion was drowned out by another blast from the police siren.

“That’s weird. There must be an accident.” Hephzibah joined Andi outside and walked down the boardwalk.

“Hey, something’s happening over at the fish plant,” she called back to Andi.

Andi felt the stolen phone buzz in her hand. She looked at the screen, and one word announced a call: HADES.

Before Andi could think about that coincidence, she heard the trill of her own phone from deep in her purse.

She rummaged with one hand and shoved the other phone in her pocket, mentally making a note to take it to the detachment later.

She held her phone to her ear.

“Where are you?” Jim’s voice demanded.

“At Hephzibah’s,” Andi said. “Harry asked me—”

“Get over to the old fish plant,” Jim interrupted.

“What’s going on?” Andi asked.

“There’s a dead body,” Jim said. “And this time, it’s human.”

Chapter Twelve

In a small town, rumours spread like grass fires, and twice as fast, Andi discovered.

After Jim’s phone call, she’d taken off running towards the fish plant. She could hear Hephzibah calling after her, but Andi knew there wasn’t any time to explain.

Andi slowed to a walk when she saw a woman sitting on a chair outside the bait and tackle shop, across the road from the fish plant. Already a small group of people were gathered around her. As Andi got closer, she saw the woman was Peggy Wilson, owner of the only motel in Coffin Cove. Her dog was by her side and whining as Peggy alternated between covering her face with her hands and gesturing furiously towards the fish plant.

Andi looked from Peggy to the fish plant, knowing she didn’t have much time before the police arrived.

Andi made a decision. She could hear what Peggy had to say in a few minutes. Right now, she wanted to see as much as possible for herself.

The police were already at the scene. The police cruiser was parked outside the fish plant, and the driver door had been left open. There was nobody in sight, so Andi walked to the fish plant door, pushed it wide open and stepped inside.

It took a few moments for Andi’s eyes to adjust to the dim light. The smell of decay hit her nostrils. There was a dark mound on the floor, and Andi could see it was the dead body. There was a metallic odour, mixed with the stench of faeces. Andi saw stagnant pools of blood that had seeped out from under the corpse and were now congealing on the concrete floor. How long had the body been here?

Andi had seen dead people before. She’d been to the scenes of traffic accidents and gang shootings on the mainland. But usually, she only caught a glimpse before the first responders ushered her away.

Where are the police now? she thought, expecting someone to stop her at any minute. The place was eerily quiet.

Andi moved forward, her stomach churning. Her