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

Andi also had her own suspicions, Vega remembered. She’d thought Jade Thompson, the new mayor, and her mother, Summer, were hiding some connection to Ricky Havers.

Vega hated relying on “bad feelings”. Chasing down dead ends based on somebody’s pet theory or gut reaction wasted so much time.

But Coffin Cove was a small town and its residents didn’t like outsiders. They talked among themselves and shut everyone else out. News and gossip spread like a fanned fire. Vega was sure someone knew something about Ricky’s disappearance. He just needed to find them and persuade them to talk.

In the meantime, he and the team would gather as much evidence as possible and make this case watertight. Then, when they found Ricky’s killer, he or she wouldn’t get off on some technicality.

He’d left his car at the detachment the night before because he’d wanted to clear his head with a walk after talking to Andi. It was also another way he could slip in and out of the motel without being noticed, and besides, he needed the exercise. A stroll from the motel to City Hall and the adjoining RCMP detachment took around twenty minutes, a few more if he stopped at Hephzibah’s café to pick up a morning coffee.

He decided to do just that. The coffee out of the dispenser at the office was terrible, and he could also pick up one of Hephzibah’s famous Morning Glory muffins. That would be a reasonably healthy start to the day. Vega knew he had long days ahead, full of hastily consumed junk food if he wasn’t careful, so starting off on the right foot would be a good idea. He needed his wits about him and a full quota of energy.

The café was empty except for two fishermen, who nodded at Vega but paid him little attention.

“Good morning, Inspector, large coffee? To go or for here?”

Andrew Vega was happy to see the tall woman with wavy grey-brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, and blue eyes which crinkled at the edges when she smiled. From his previous time in Coffin Cove he knew that Hephzibah did more for the community than just sell excellent coffee and delicious baked goods. The café was a gathering place, a refuge, and often, the only place in town where someone facing financial hardship could get a free meal. She also provided a willing ear for everyone’s troubles and a shoulder to cry on. Vega was pleased to see evidence of repairs and upgrades here too. A fancy new commercial coffee grinder and percolator sat on a new countertop.

“To go, please, Hephzibah, and one of those muffins too,” he said, pointing to the fresh batch she’d just pulled out of the oven.

“You’ve got it. You’ll be here to investigate what happened to Ricky Havers,” Hephzibah said, in the form of a statement.

Vega nodded. It wasn’t a secret. He watched Hephzibah as she poured his coffee into a paper cup and remembered his conversation with his superintendent and with Andi the night before. Maybe he could do a little digging before this morning’s briefing. He checked his phone for the time. It was still early.

“Hephzibah,” he said, as she handed him his coffee, “do you have a minute to chat?”

“Sure, just a sec!” She hurried over to the two fishermen and topped up their coffee, then smiled at Vega. “Let’s sit outside and enjoy the morning sun, Inspector.”

They both sat and watched the silver-grey morning tide wash against the shore.

Vega decided to start with Emma Ross’s old investigation and the information he’d got from Superintendent Sinclair. “Hephzibah, what do you know about Hope Island and the women’s commune?”

She looked at him in surprise. “How do you know about that?”

“Oh, just doing some research,” Vega answered carefully.

“Well, as it happens, I practically grew up there,” Hephzibah said, taking a sip of her coffee. “My mother, Greta, took me to the commune to escape my father, who was — and still is, sadly — a drunk. He’s not violent now, but he used to knock Greta around. The commune was a refuge of sorts, I suppose. There wasn’t much protection for women back in those days.”

“And you grew up there?” Vega asked in amazement. “What about school?”

“We were homeschooled, I think you’d call it now. I left when I was sixteen, just after Greta died. Turns out my education was better than the one I would’ve got at the school here,” she laughed. “Greta was a stickler for homework, and she loved to read.”

“How did it work?” Vega asked curiously. “I mean, how did you get supplies?”

“We grew most of our food, and once in a while, Greta or another of the older women would head out and get flour and stuff.” Hephzibah stopped for a moment and screwed up her forehead, trying to think. “You know, Inspector, we must have had some money, but I’ve no idea how we got it. Greta left my dad with just the clothes she stood up in, and most of the women on Hope Island were trying to escape from something.”

Vega asked her a direct question: “Do you ever remember Dennis Havers from those days?”

Hephzibah thought for a moment, and then shook her head. “No, I don’t. We had problems with some men from the town getting drunk and taking a boat to the island to cause trouble.” She sighed. “You have to remember, Inspector, Coffin Cove was backward when it came to women’s rights. Most men felt humiliated when their wives left. They wanted to teach them a lesson. Either that or they called them filthy names. Or lesbians.” She smiled at the inspector. “And some were lesbians, of course. There was nowhere for women to be safe or be