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

“What have you got there? Old photographs?” he asked.

“I was just telling Andi about Art Whilley,” Terri said.

“Oh yes? What do you want to know about him? He’s been dead for years.”

Andi and Jim exchanged a glance. Doug sounded defensive.

Terri said, “I was just telling them what a dreadful childhood he had. And how you and Ann helped him.”

Doug grunted. “His mother was a bitch. Art was neglected. He was dirty, and he didn’t get enough food. My mum would have him in for dinner, but we could hear Barbara screaming at him after.” He shuddered. “She was hideous. She never washed. She had this long greasy hair and she stank. She was enormous too. I remember one time, it was in the summer, she was sitting on the porch of their shitty cabin, and she wanted to go to the bathroom, but she couldn’t get up. So she screamed for Art to help her. But instead of going in the cabin, he helped her down the steps, and she just lifted her dirty old dress and just peed. Right there!” He shook his head. “Best thing that ever happened to him when she died. Massive heart attack. Never woke up.”

“What about Art’s father?”

“Fred Whilley? Fucking spineless, that’s what he was. Letting that bitch treat his son like that? It wasn’t right.”

Terri frowned at Doug.

“Sorry about the language, but who mistreats a kid like that? Anyway, he died shortly after his wife. Art was about sixteen or seventeen, I think. We were close friends for a bit — my dad passed away when I was young, so we had something in common. And Mum made sure he had food. He lived there for years on his own.”

“He stayed in the house after his parents died?” Jim asked.

“Yep. Nowhere else to go. And no other relatives. I think he was happy on his own,” Doug said. “Nobody worried much about that. He was nearly an adult, so . . .” He shrugged. “Art and I kinda drifted apart when he started hanging around with the Daggs.”

“You didn’t get on with the Daggs?” Andi asked. She was intrigued by this story. Terri had fetched a plate of cookies and was busy brushing up crumbs as Doug munched on them. His hostility seemed to have faded.

“Oh, I like Lee. He’s OK. Wayne, not so much. He was in a biker gang.”

“You were too,” Terri interjected.

“For the love of God, woman, it wasn’t a gang, we just rode together,” said Doug, exasperated.

Andi laughed. She was starting to like this couple.

“As I was saying, Wayne was in a biker gang — high up in the ranks —and they were into selling drugs. Everyone was into drugs back then. Everyone smoked weed and some took those magic mushrooms.”

Doug paused. “I didn’t mind the odd puff, but I preferred a beer. Mind you, Coffin Cove, in those days, was full of hard drinkers. The pub back then, the Timberman’s, you remember, Jim? It wasn’t like it is now. No lounge or food or anything. Just about every week there was a fight. Either loggers against fishermen or bikers against everyone. There was a lot of booze and a lot of drugs, and everyone had a lot of money. Fishing was booming and so was forestry. You know, fishermen would come in and offload their catch and have rolls of notes on a Friday, and by Monday they’d be broke. But they didn’t care, they’d just go out and do it all again. It was nuts. And you know, there were always enough assholes around to take money off the idiots. And Wayne Dagg was one of ’em.”

He shook his head in disgust. “He didn’t deal in weed. Wasn’t enough money in it for him. He preferred the hard stuff. They — him and Art — were dealing this new kind of drug. I guess you’d call it a ‘designer drug’ now. They sold tiny crystals stuck on little strips of cardboard. Some kind of acid — you know, the stuff that makes kids think they can fly and they jump out of windows?”

“You mean LSD?” Andi guessed.

“Something like that. Except it was supposed to be really pure. Give better trips and all that.” Doug snorted. “Everyone was raving about it. And Art was right in the middle of it. He was smart. He was always reading, and Mum used to give him books on chemistry and all kinds of stuff. He was always working on something in that old workshop at the back of Dagg’s place.”

“You think he was making the drugs?” Andi asked.

“I don’t know for sure. He was definitely growing mushrooms for a while. All I know is Wayne Dagg and the bikers were at that place all the time.”

Doug shook his head and rubbed his face with his large hand.

“I’m sure glad those days are over,” he said. “My poor old mum used to say that place was hell on earth for Art when he was a kid. But when the bikers were there, we called it Hell’s Half Acre.”

“Can’t have been pleasant living next door to Hell,” Andi commented.

“No, it wasn’t. Mum slept with a loaded shotgun next to her bed. And there were some nights we didn’t sleep at all.” Doug turned to Terri. “My lovely wife here didn’t know what she was in for when she moved in, did you, dear?”

Terri gave a short laugh. “Wasn’t any worse than where I was living. My dad was one of those drunk loggers. Coffin Cove wasn’t a place for women back then. It was like the Wild West. Some women got tired of the Saturday night beatings and moved to Hope Island just across the bay. It was safer there — until the men got it into their heads to