HELL'S HALF ACRE a gripping murder mystery full of twists (Coffin Cove Mysteries Book 2) by JACKIE ELLIOTT (classic literature books .txt) 📗

some fuckin’ chick flick on and his girl had blown him off, so here he was, hanging out with the usual losers, as they fussed over Harry’s piece-of-shit Chevy. Everyone knew everyone here. They all hung out, sitting on tailgates, swilling cheap beers and smoking home-grown weed. Occasionally a couple of the muscle car boys would race, spinning tyres and kicking up dust and rubber, sometimes competing with the bikes. Then drunken assholes would start a fight. Sometimes a cop car would drive by, slowly, reminding them to keep the noise down. No one really bothered them. There was fuck-all to do in Coffin Cove, and besides, generations of youth had congregated here. Where else would they go?

Lee took a drag on his cigarette and flicked the ash away.

It was a sticky evening after a hot sultry day, and the heat hung down in the pit, unmoved by any breeze. Lee reached into the back of Harry’s Chevy and found a cold beer.

He was bored.

Bored with this evening, bored with Harry and Walt, bored with his job. He was sick of his old man riding his ass about apprenticeships and carrying on the family business. He didn’t want the fucking business. He wanted out of here. Out of Coffin Cove, and off the island. He wanted to make some real money. Maybe he would go up north. Or go to the oil patch. Make a shitload of cash, and buy a decent truck, buy a house on the mainland, get a girl . . .

He was broken out of his daydream by the low throaty growl of an engine.

He looked around.

A Mustang crunched over the gravel. Low-slung, tinted windows, red shiny paint job.

Unheard of in Coffin Cove, a town of rust buckets and reclaimed beaters from the scrapyard.

Even the bikers moved to get a closer look.

The car came to a stop, and a girl got out the passenger side.

Fuck.

Nadine.

Lee ground his cigarette into the gravel, looking down long enough to get his emotions in check.

“So you got a better offer, then?” he called out to Nadine.

She flicked her hair and smiled at Lee, unconcerned.

“I guess,” she answered.

A slim figure got out of the driver’s side. Lee didn’t recognize him. He had almost white blonde hair and pale skin, as if he had been shielded from sunlight his whole life. As if to confirm this, he reached inside his pockets and put on mirrored sunglasses that covered most of his face.

In contrast to the redneck uniform of scuffed blue jeans and grimy sleeveless T-shirts, the newcomer was wearing immaculate chinos, suede boots and a chequered short-sleeve shirt.

“Holy shit!”

Harry stood at Lee’s shoulder.

“You know who that is?”

“Some asshole who moved in on my girlfriend?”

“Nope. Well, yeah, but it’s also Art Whilley.”

“I don’t give a fuck who it is . . .” Lee pulled out another cigarette, lit it and walked over.

“Hey Nadine, what the fuck . . . ?”

Before he could finish his sentence, another car pulled into the pit. Lee groaned again.

Dennis Havers was driving. He stayed in the car and Lee’s older brother Wayne got out of the passenger side.

“This your car?” he sneered, indicating the Mustang and addressing Art Whilley.

“Yep. You got a problem with that?” His voice was high-pitched, like a young boy.

“No. I’ve got a problem with that . . .” Wayne nodded at Nadine.

Lee said, “Wayne, leave it.”

“No fuckin’ way, he’s screwing your girl!”

A small crowd had gathered round the Mustang. Tension was in the air. A fight was coming.

Nadine, playing to the crowd, leaned against the Mustang, her shirt undone a little too far.

“Hey Wayne, how’s it going?” She smiled at the older boy, not caring about his angry expression.

Lee watched, first in disgust, and then more intently, as Art reached into the Mustang and tossed a piece of card or paper to Wayne with a small nod of his head.

“That what you want?” Art Whilley asked, not appearing intimidated at all.

Wayne’s demeanour changed.

“Sure. We just stopped by to say hi. Have a nice evening.”

Lee stared as his older brother got back in the car and Dennis accelerated out of the gravel pit, churning up enough dust to choke the disappointed crowd.

“What the hell was that?” Lee asked Nadine angrily.

She didn’t answer, just shrugged and tossed her hair again before she and Art left in the Mustang, leaving Lee looking bewildered.

“Don’t sweat it, Lee. She’s just trying to fuck with you. Ignore her.” Harry patted him on the shoulder.

But Lee wasn’t listening. He walked over to where the Mustang had been parked and crouched down. He spied what he had been looking for, a piece of card Art had dropped when he was talking to Wayne.

“How the fuck do you think he can afford that Mustang?” Walt was asking.

Lee stood there for a minute, fingering the piece of cardboard in his hand.

“I don’t know. But I bet it has something to do with this.”

Chapter Twelve

PC Matt Beaufort had never been involved in a major crime case before.

Coffin Cove was his first posting as a fully-fledged member of the RCMP, Canada’s national police force. Initially, Matt had been disappointed at being sent to this quiet backwater. After twenty-six weeks of basic training in the middle of Saskatchewan, followed by six months’ on-the-job instruction in Whitehorse, the capital of Canada’s Yukon territory, Matt had applied to join the Surrey detachment on mainland British Columbia. He needed the experience of a metropolis, he thought. He needed gangland shootings and drug cartels to replace road traffic collisions with moose and illegal whiskey stills. But the Surrey detachment was in an uproar as the residents had voted to create their own municipal police force, so they diverted Matt to Coffin Cove.

Matt Beaufort wasn’t the type of man to sulk. He’d joined