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

was open. The hut used to be locked, but the rusted screws were torn out of the frame. The door, swollen with damp, had scraped across the faded linoleum floor, leaving a clear half-circle in the green mildew.

Sue stepped in.

There was nobody here.

Sue realized that she was holding her breath and exhaled, allowing her shoulders to relax.

She walked around the hut. There was no furniture left. The hatchery had been cleaned out long ago. Sarah had been heartbroken. It was one of the few times Sue could remember her daughter uttering angry words about her father. The river burst its banks that year. The water ripped apart undergrowth and hurled mud and silt in its ferocious current, unleashed by clear-cutting on the mountain. Sue and Fred frantically dug ditches and built dams to keep the house from flooding. In the end, they only lost a woodshed, but the hatchery was washed out by the torrent.

There was no money to rebuild, and no point, because the damage had been done. The river took control of the valley, pushing out all the inhabitants except for Fred, Sue and Sarah. Ruth had passed, and Fred had mellowed a little since the death of his wife, accepting without argument Sarah’s choice to join the protesters against the forestry workers.

Sue never questioned Sarah but knew that her relationship with Joe had become strained. A part of her was glad. She hated when Sarah stayed with Joe and that Jezebel. She was jealous when Tara befriended Sarah and introduced her to a new friend, Hephzibah, the daughter of some hippie, and Ed Brown, a local drunk. Sue knew that someday Sarah would leave the valley and she would be left alone with Fred. She said nothing when Sarah chatted excitedly about studying marine biology at college, and in her heart was relieved when Sarah arrived home from Joe’s one day, vowing never to take a penny of his dirty money.

She wished she had talked to Sarah. Not the perfunctory queries about homework and chores and reminders to take a jacket. No, the questions and conversations that Sue had believed there would always be time for. She’d never asked Sarah how she felt about anything. Did she blame Sue for her broken home? What was she afraid of?

I wish I’d asked you. I wish I’d protected you.

Sue had known that something was wrong. Sarah arrived home one evening quiet and white-faced. She had refused food. Gone straight to bed. The next morning she went to the hatchery. She had left early, the other volunteers said. Gone to see her father, they thought. But she never arrived at Joe’s house. After, someone told the police they saw Sarah with Pierre Mason.

It had never made any sense.

Sue shivered. The Nissan hut was wet and cold. Mould was growing on the walls, and brambles forced their way through cracked windows.

This place had been where Sarah spent most of her free time. Chatting to visitors about salmon. The epic journey, fraught with danger, from river to ocean and back again to reproduce. The fight for life. It had fascinated Sarah from the time she could walk and squeal with delight at the swish of silver and red of the spawning salmon. When she was old enough to volunteer at the hatchery, Sarah would arrive home, spilling over with infectious excitement, sharing every detail of her day. Sue smiled at the memory. She had listened silently, nodding with encouragement, and wondering how she had produced this fearless, passionate individual.

There was nothing left here. Not a hint of hope. The building groaned as Sue moved, as if burdened by the same weight of grief. Sue could smell human urine. Just a poacher out here, maybe, taking refuge from the rain. She turned to leave and caught sight of a pile of rags on the floor. She flinched and pulled her gun into position as the bundle moved, and then relaxed as a rat scurried across the floor, disappearing into the gloom.

Sue walked over and prodded at the pile with her foot. Looked like an old sleeping bag and a rucksack. An empty bottle of vodka rolled across the floor. She sighed. Her watcher must be some homeless person camping here. A strange place to shelter, Sue thought. A long way from food and warmth, unless you knew how to hunt and build a fire.

She shrugged and pushed the bundle back into a pile. She’d have to clear up the yard and lock away their tools, she thought. Homeless, hungry people made bold thieves.

Her foot touched something solid. A tin box. Without thinking, she kicked it and the lid came off, the contents spilling onto the floor.

Definitely a thief, Sue thought, looking at a curious collection of trinkets scattered on the ground. She bent down to scoop them back into the box.

And then she saw it. A glint in the gloom. Sue reached out slowly to touch it, holding her breath again. She knew what it was instantly. But her hand trembled. Disbelieving, and half expecting that this was just a trick of the light, she touched it. Her fingers closed around this tiny glittering connection to the past.

And in one moment, Sue knew that Sarah had guided her here.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Brenda laid her head back on her pillow. Every so often, nausea welled up and she felt a bead of sweat form over her upper lip. She tried not to move, and clenched and relaxed her hands until the feeling passed.

She breathed deeply and focused on the view of the Fraser River from her apartment window.

The doctor had been reluctant to discharge her from the hospital.

“You were lucky,” the doctor said, as he conducted his final check-up. “If you hadn’t been found when you were, severe hypothermia would have set in.”

Brenda nodded weakly. She still only had fuzzy fragments of