Arrow's Rest, Joel Scott [best book club books TXT] 📗

had tacked again in defiance of all racing tactics and common sense, and now appeared set to run her down. She swore savagely, punched in a tack and cast off the starboard sheets, hardened up again portside, and sailed away from them, her hands stinging from the sudden burn of lines.

It was another hour and a half to Montague Harbour, and God alone knew how many more idiots she’d meet out here. Most boats were sailed by men, and the sight of a slight redheaded woman single-handing a heavy old forty-six-foot wooden sailboat was guaranteed to send their testosterone into overdrive. Oftentimes the winds were so light that she was forced to ignore them as they passed her by, but every once in a long while there was sufficient breeze for the sweet old girl to spread her wings and fly, and she’d be goddamned if she’d forgo that pleasure because of some drunken morons. She wondered if they realized that Arrow’s heavy timbered frame could run their shiny plastic bathtub under her keel and not even require a trip to the boatyard afterwards. She took an angry sip of her water and glanced behind her again.

The Hunter had lost interest in the uneven contest and was bearing off towards Salt Spring Island. Cat’s good temper reasserted itself and she flipped them off as she reached down and clicked in a new course setting on the autopilot that took Arrow off the wind another twenty degrees and stood her up on her feet again. In two hours, they’d have the anchor down and the fresh caught salmon on the barbecue. Even this late in the season, Montague Harbour would be busy, but Arrow had more than enough chain to anchor out near the middle where they’d be alone. She sometimes wondered why she enjoyed solitude so much, unlike Lauren who was the social butterfly of the family.

Although she never raised the subject with her, Cat worried about her sister sometimes. She’d taken Lauren out on Arrow once, and while her sister had seemed to enjoy the grace and beauty of sailing, she’d begun to fret after the second day, already missing the glittering life of the city. She’d have to phone her soon, it had been too long since they’d had a good chat. Cat suspected she was involved with somebody again; her voice had had that excited, breathy, new-man lilt to it the last time they’d spoken.

No doubt she’d find out all about it soon enough, the giggling sexual confidences meant to shock her at the beginning and then, somewhere down the road, the teary post-mortem. Lauren had a knack for picking the wrong kind of man. At least they had that much in common, Cat thought with a wry smile.

The radio crackled into life down below, and through the static she thought she heard someone calling Arrow. She waited to see if Jared would answer, but he must still have been sleeping. After a final check around for traffic, Cat went down the companionway stairs and picked up the call.

Chapter 3

The big detective waited impatiently as the Coast Guard patched him through, scowling at the report lying on the scarred desk in front of him. It wasn’t his case and Christ knew he had more than enough on his plate already, but he’d overheard the name of the boat and that was enough to get him involved. Clarke had always felt a little guilty about the two years Jared had spent in jail, as if he should have been able to do something about it at the time. In fact none of it was down to him; he’d only interviewed the witnesses and given his summary of what had taken place during the vicious fight, but still. He’d thought at the time it had been a raw deal for an eighteen-year-old kid.

Anyway, that had all happened a long time ago and they were friends now and he would do what he could. So he’d grabbed the file from Wilson and told him he’d take care of it. Clarke was just months away from retirement and knew enough and was mean enough to pretty much do whatever he bloody well wanted. To prove the point he took out a cigar and lit it with a match dragged ostentatiously across the top of his desk and felt immediately better. He didn’t need to inhale; his high was in the white lipped glare of his lieutenant seated across the room beneath the no smoking sign.

“Coast Guard, this is Arrow.”

A woman’s voice, it must be her.

“Is that Caitlin Campbell?”

“Yes.”

“This is Detective Clarke from Vancouver. I need to speak with you. Can you call me back on a private line? As soon as possible please.” He gave her the station number.

“I didn’t bring my cell phone on the boat. It will be at least a couple of hours until I can get to a land line. What is this all about anyway?”

“Extension three please. I’ll be waiting. Say hi to Jared for me.”

Clarke put the phone down and picked up the report and read it through one more time.

The woman had been found lying on a bench in Stanley Park early Saturday morning. At first glance the patrolman assumed she was a street person sleeping off a high, but then he noticed the expensive clothes and the bloodstains and called in for an ambulance. They rushed her to West Van emergency where she received a transfusion and was treated for shock. She’d lost a significant amount of blood, and there were internal injuries that required immediate attention followed by some hospital time, but the doctor said Ms. Campbell was expected to make a full recovery. She was in intensive care at the moment, sedated, and unable to give a full statement. Maybe in another couple of days.

The doctor said it was one of the more extreme cases of sexual assault she’d dealt with, and the battering the victim received had caused