COFFIN COVE a gripping murder mystery full of twists (Coffin Cove Mysteries Book 1) by JACKIE ELLIOTT (tharntype novel english .txt) 📗

Brenda had warned Adrian against hiring Steve. He’d been in the industry for years and had earned his reputation as a cheat and a poacher. He’d fished in unauthorized areas, out of season and with outlawed equipment. He’d sold fish illegally, and one time, he’d nearly killed someone by selling them crab that had been dead for days. He’d been hauled into court at least three times that Brenda knew of. He’d been fined and immediately declared bankruptcy before returning to his shady business. Over the years, Steve had slipped under the radar, and although Adrian insisted that Steve was a changed man, Brenda suspected that Steve had just got better at not being caught.

It was beyond her comprehension, Brenda thought, why Adrian had employed him. It worried her that Steve was becoming more than an employee. He was taking charge of the company, and Adrian was lazy enough to let him. And she knew now that whatever they were up to, it wasn’t legal.

Brenda had been suspicious for a while. The volume of paperwork required for incoming fish deliveries, processing and final sales was immense and complex. Just lately, she’d been finding sale receipts for product that Hades Fish Co. had sold, but, according to the paper trail, they had never purchased or processed.

She laid out the contents of the manila file, noting dates and times. Hades had imported salmon. It wasn’t against any law to do that. But it was illegal if it was spoiled or if Hades was mixing it with other supplies and passing it off as locally caught.

That would make sense, she suddenly realized. A couple of days ago, she got a call on her cell phone from one of Hades’ oldest customers, a restaurant on Denman Street, in downtown Vancouver.

“Brenda, what’s going on?” the chef asked. “Twice I’ve returned a delivery because it’s off, and twice it’s been replaced with the same shit. I’ve talked to Steve, but he basically told me to fuck off.”

Brenda tried to talk to the plant supervisor, a gangly young man with dirty nails and a pockmarked face who she found smoking outside the break room. He stared at her belligerently and refused to look into the complaint. Finally, Brenda returned the call and told the chef that she too had been told to fuck off.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Things aren’t the same around here.”

Brenda sorted through the papers again. There was nothing in here that proved her suspicions, but there were still unanswered questions. Lots of these papers had nothing to do with fishing, she realized. Consultancy? Leases? Was Adrian branching into real estate? She thought of the bistro and the cash that had been poured into that failing venture and hoped that Adrian wasn’t getting in over his head for a second time. A bankruptcy would break his father’s heart. She pondered what to do next. Maybe nothing? After all, it wasn’t really her business, was it?

But she had promised Nikos she’d keep an eye on Adrian. He probably didn’t think, though, that she’d end up spying on his son.

Time to get out of here. She didn’t want Adrian or Amy to find her.

One document caught her eye. It was a receipt, but not for fish. It was a substantial amount of money, and she recognized the name printed at the top, but couldn’t place it. On an impulse, she picked up Adrian’s phone and dialled the number she found next to the name. No answer. It went through to voicemail, and Brenda hung up without leaving a message.

She rubbed her eyes, suddenly feeling tired.

She gathered up the papers, put them back in the file and replaced it in Adrian’s desk.

Maybe it’s just time I quit, she thought.

* * *

Steve Hilstead topped up his teacup and added a heaped spoon of sugar. The meeting was over, he supposed, as he noisily stirred his tea and sat back in the armchair.

From his vantage point he could see people were slowly gathering on the boardwalk, attracted by the sounds of sirens. Hephzibah herself had left the café and the fishermen — just like gossipy women — had followed suit, unable to ignore the drama unfolding outside.

He wasn’t interested. His phone had pinged a minute ago and now, in real time, he was watching Brenda in Adrian’s office, on the small screen. During the office renovation, Steve had taken the trouble (at his own expense) to install tiny cameras in the office, and all around the plant, that streamed directly to his smartphone. They were strategically placed so he could spy on Adrian from every angle and notified him every time someone entered or left the office. Just insurance, he figured. Just in case. But now, he observed Brenda with interest, as she riffled through Adrian’s desk and pulled out the very file he’d handed to Adrian for safekeeping.

For safekeeping. Adrian was a fuckwit. He turned his attention back to Brenda as she spread out all the shipping receipts of the Russian delivery of last year’s salmon that had arrived the week before.

Brenda had been asking far too many questions lately. It wouldn’t take long for her to work out the details of their scheme. Steve knew that he’d have to monitor her.

Luckily, he thought, laughing inwardly, there’s an app for that.

Chapter Fifteen

Andi remembered something. She shoved her hand in her pocket and pulled out a cell phone. She put it on the desk in front of Jim.

“I forgot about this.”

Jim picked it up.

“Whose is it? Andi, you didn’t . . .” He looked at her, and Andi guessed from his horrified expression what he was thinking.

“No, I didn’t take it from the scene. But I do think it belongs to Pierre Mason.”

They were both