HELL'S HALF ACRE a gripping murder mystery full of twists (Coffin Cove Mysteries Book 2), JACKIE ELLIOTT [best ereader for graphic novels .TXT] 📗

“Did you hear what he said, Sarge?” he asked excitedly.

“A lot of nonsense, is all I heard,” answered Diane, “and now we’ve got to put that filthy creature in the cruiser and take him back to the detachment.”

“No we don’t, Sarge,” Matt said, with a big grin on his face. “He was talking about the ‘knights’ and I’m sure he said ‘dukes’.”

Sergeant Fowler looked at him, not understanding. “So?”

Matt explained how he’d been looking out for the new drug on the streets of Coffin Cove.

“The Nanaimo guys are picking up everyone they can find connected to this new street drug,” Matt explained.

Diane nodded, her confusion clearing. “Good work, Constable. Give Nanaimo a call, this arrest is all theirs.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Jim pulled into the strip mall parking lot.

“What happened to you?” he asked, as Andi climbed into the passenger seat.

“Had a bit of a clash with a squatter,” Andi answered and told him what had happened.

Jim whistled. “Wonder if he saw anything.”

“That’s what I thought,” Andi said. “Something else Charlie Rollins missed. The man looked like a junkie. Maybe Ricky was selling more than weed. Maybe this is all to do with a drug gang killing.” She sounded dispirited.

Jim snorted with laughter. “Don’t sound so disappointed, girl. If you’d run into that junkie a day ago, I’d have said yes — sounds like Ricky pissed off some local drug lord, straightforward as that. But today, I heard an interesting story about Hell’s Half Acre. And now, we’re going to have a visit with someone who can verify some details. Leave your car here. We can talk on the way.”

“OK, boss.”

* * *

“Hello there, Jim. And you’re Andi Silvers,” a slim blonde woman said, before Andi could introduce herself. “I’m Terri South. Come in and sit down while I make us some coffee.”

Andi and Jim followed Terri into the kitchen and looked around. The interior of the house was not what Andi had expected. It was a complete contrast to the exterior, with its old wheelless cars propped up on blocks and rusty junk piled up around the workshop.

“Doug South is a mechanic,” Jim had explained as they drove up to the house. “He’s lived here his whole life. Ann South, his mother, was a schoolteacher. They both knew Art Whilley when he was a child. Art Whilley’s house, which is now owned by the Daggs, is less than half a click from here. And if Clara is telling the truth, Doug will be able to connect Art Whilley and Hell’s Half Acre with Dennis Havers. You see, Andi,” Jim was serious, “I don’t think it was a gang killing. I believe Ricky’s body was put in the chapel on purpose. I don’t have all the answers, but I think Doug can fill in some gaps.”

Doug South was not in the house. “He’s off getting some parts,” Terri explained. “He’ll be back soon.”

Jim explained why they were there. Terri’s face clouded. “My poor Katie,” she said. “What a shock. And terrible for the Havers.”

Andi couldn’t imagine Doug South sitting in this room, not with oily hands and stained work overalls. The kitchen was ultra-modern, with glossy dark granite tops and brushed chrome handles. It was spotless. The dining area opened up into a conservatory, with floor-to-ceiling glass windows. Tasteful wicker furniture was arranged to take advantage of the view. Although they were a few kilometres from the town, Andi could still see a peek-a-boo view of the ocean through the trees.

The conservatory was decorated with unusual carvings, which Andi suspected came from Africa. They looked authentic too, not a knock-off from a cheap art shop in a Nanaimo mall.

All around the room were touches of colour — yellow throw cushions and a patterned rug. It was like a room from a magazine, Andi thought.

Terri South guessed the gist of Andi’s thoughts.

“Not what you expected from a redneck homestead like ours, eh?” She smiled.

“It’s beautiful,” Andi said. “I feel like I walked into a brochure.”

Terri South looked pleased. “I love decorating. Doug tolerates it, but he thinks throw cushions are actually for throwing.” She threw back her head and laughed at her own joke.

Andi immediately liked her. Terri had a pixie face and a twinkle in her eye.

Terri made coffee for the three of them and handed out little coasters for the coffee cups as they got seated in the conservatory.

“Have you and Doug always lived here?” Andi asked, knowing the answer, but wanting to start the conversation.

“Yes,” Terri said, “this house belonged to Doug’s mother. We lived with her when we first got married. She was ill, and Doug didn’t want to leave her on her own — his dad died when he was young, so we moved right in after our wedding day. Doug was so good with her.” She sighed. “He was heartbroken when she died. We always talked about moving, but Doug loves the workshop for his cars and the business. I knocked a few walls down and redecorated, and neither of us could see much point in leaving.”

“Were you born in Coffin Cove?” Andi asked.

“We’re both Coffin Cove born and bred,” Terri said proudly. “You saw the gravel pit, right?”

Andi nodded.

“Doug and I met right there!”

“At the gravel pit?” Andi was confused.

“Back in the day, it was the place where we all hung out. We drank beer, smoked a bit of weed,” Terri winked at Andi. “But I wasn’t there for the booze or drugs. I was there for the racing. Right behind the pit is the Quarter Mile. Doug and I fell in love when we were racing.”

“Racing? You mean cars?” Andi asked, still confused.

“Yep. Muscle cars, old beaters, trucks, bikes — you name it, we raced it. God, it was