Misery Bay: A Mystery (10 page)

Roland was nearly spitting in frustration but, true to form, he wasn’t about to confront the police. The fact that it was Garrett who represented the authorities only made it worse, because Garrett knew Roland was all bluster and Roland knew Garrett knew it.

“Now, I’ll give you a week to correct the situation. After that, I’ll put a provincial police lock on the thing and you won’t be allowed to use it—fair enough?” Garrett decided to leave it there. He could see Roland was boiling.

“Well, it was nice to see you, Rose. You’re looking fine as usual.” He headed for the door, more than ready to breathe some fresh air. “Thanks again, Roland, for the roofing job. I’ll see you around.” He let himself out, already hearing Rose lay into her son. He wondered for the hundredth time how a man could live his whole life with his mother. Garrett had loved his mother but wouldn’t have wanted to live with her.

“Ya can’t put up with that, Roland,” Rose was saying to him. “Ya got a right ta keep your fish. Whadd’ya gonna do about it?”

“Aw, Ma …” was the last thing Garrett heard as he stepped off the porch.

14

“
R
EADY
? L
IFT
.” G
ARRETT RAISED THE
back of the Wilderness Systems double kayak off the roof of the Subaru, while Sarah struggled with the front.

“Watch out for the antenna,” he said.

“God, it’s heavy,” said Sarah. “I’ve always used a solo. What’s this thing weigh?”

They carried across the pebble beach and set the boat down, half of the craft in the water.

“About a hundred twenty pounds.” He hesitated. “But I’ve got the paddles, life jackets, lunch and two bottles of a very nice Cabernet in the cockpits, so it’s probably more like one forty.”

She swatted him. “Asshole! No wonder. I’ve a mind to make you load it by yourself when we get back.”

It was Friday morning. A few wispy clouds scudded rapidly across the sky, seemingly whipped by an invisible force, for there was no discernible wind at ground level.

“You want bow or stern?” Garrett asked.

“Doesn’t matter, but she’ll probably trim better with you in the back.”

They stepped into the spray skirts, and after Sarah was in place in the bow, Garrett pushed off.

Sarah sat back comfortably in her seat, slipped the skirt over the gunnel, and closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of floating.

“I love this,” she said. “I always feel like I’m on an invisible plain, poised between sky above and water below. But it’s a plain we could ride right round the world if we wanted to.”

“Pretty philosophical for so early in the morning.”

She turned and gave him a dazzling smile. “I’m just glad to be doing this, Gar. Thanks for asking me.”

“So it’s Gar now, is it? Getting a little familiar, aren’t we?”

“I’m feeling a little familiar,” she said. “I might even call you Gar-goyle before the day is out.”

They headed straight out past Dougal’s Island, then Barrel Island and Seal Island. Sarah paddled with an easy and fluid motion. Clearly, she had done a good deal of this. She directed Garrett to head northeast beyond Seal Island and, after an hour or so, they were approaching Heron Rook, where the whale had washed up several years before.

“I don’t smell a thing,” Garrett said as they neared shore.

“Yes, the smell’s long gone. We might still pick up a bone or two, though, if it hasn’t been completely picked over.”

But when they landed, the site was utterly clean, with no sign of the whale at all.

“That’s incredible,” said Garrett. “It’s only been three years, right? There’s nothing left at all of a creature that must have weighed thirty tons.”

“Ocean’s a good cleanser, all right. At least that’s how I’ve always thought of it—as clean. Pristine,” she said. “But after hearing about those poor girls who were killed out here, it doesn’t seem quite so clean any more. And I hate that.”

Garrett carried the pack with lunch as they hiked the length of the island and then waded across a pebbled spit that separated the island from a tiny islet at one end. As they came around the islet and faced the open sea, the wind picked up and breakers crashed against the rocks.

“Let’s go up there,” said Sarah, pointing to a bluff covered with vibrant green moss and sporting a single weathered and barren spruce, dripping with storm-blown seaweed. Garrett climbed up first, then reached back and gave her a hand.

The view of the outer islands was spectacular and the warm summer wind blew the smell of salt air over them.

“What a spot. I bet you bring all your boyfriends here.”

She was quiet for a moment. “My husband and I came here a few times.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Stupid thing to say.”

“It’s all right.” She turned to him, raised her head and gave him a quick kiss. Her breath was sweet and Garrett wanted to linger, but she broke away and said, “Let’s eat. I’m starved.”

While Sarah dug out the sandwiches, Garrett opened one of the bottles of wine and filled two plastic cups. The moss was as comfortable as a feather bed. They could put their drinks down by burrowing them deep into the thick ground cover. Garrett wore shorts and Sarah looked at his foot with fascination.

“You don’t seem to have any trouble with it at all,” she said. “Was it very hard at first?”

Normally he hated talking about his injury, but Sarah made it easy to discuss for perhaps the first time in his life.

“It was hard to accept for a long time. Silly, in a way. Other guys lost much more. Multiple limbs, legs right up to the hip. Mine seemed too insignificant to justify a lot of sturm und drang about it. So I kind of bottled it up and just … dealt with it. But I went through a period of depression. Almost all the guys who went to Afghanistan suffered depression, PTSD. Some of the most screwed up had no physical disabilities at all. Everything was in their heads.”

“Your cousin was with you when it happened?”

He nodded, took a sip of wine. “Saved my life. Everyone else was injured or shell-shocked. I would have bled to death if he hadn’t been there.”

She rolled over onto her stomach and stared out at the ocean. “Sounds like you two have been close all your lives. It’s good to have that, Gar. A lot of only children have no one once their parents die.”

“You?”

“Uh-huh. I was an only child of only children. I have no siblings, cousins, aunts, or uncles. My grandparents are long gone. There’s no one but me. I have friends, of course, who mean a lot to me, but I think it’s why my husband’s death affected me so strongly. He was my future in a way, you know? We hoped to have lots of kids.”

“Hard to be alone,” Garrett said. “Lonnie could identify with that. He’s got lots of siblings and cousins. But he’s never been successful in finding a woman to love him and start a family with. You haven’t met him yet or you’d see why. He’s huge. A bull in any china shop. I think he’s not bad-looking myself, but women are just scared of him. And I’ll tell you, despite what he does for a living, he’s got a real heart of gold. If he likes you, he’d do anything for you. If he doesn’t … best to get out of town in a hurry.”

She considered him mischievously. “What about you? Any ex-wives or children kicking around?”

“Nope.” Garrett adjusted his wine in the moss. “After I lost my foot, I kind of went through a period where I didn’t want to be close to anyone. A depressed, one-legged ex-grunt is a lot to foist on a companion.”

“You’re not one-legged, only one-footed.”

He shrugged, conceding the point.

She wanted to ask him more but felt his reticence. “I talked with Ayesha the other day,” she said.

“Who?”

“Ali Marshed’s fifteen-year-old daughter, the man who runs the grocery. The ladies living next to Roland thought she was depressed and invited her to come work on their garden. It’s been very therapeutic for her, I think.”

“That was good of them. I imagine being fifteen and having to work all day long in that dreary little building would depress anyone.”

“She hadn’t come by to work in the garden for a week, so I went to see her. When Ali’s there, you can never talk to her because he forbids it. He’s very strict, and I think she’s scared of him.”

“Really?” He leaned back in the moss on one elbow. “It’s not good for a girl to be afraid of her father. You don’t think there’s anything else going on, do you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Abuse of some kind.”

Her forehead furrowed. “I hadn’t considered that. We thought she was depressed about working at the store, but I suppose there could be more to it than that.”

“She’s said nothing to you, though?”

Sarah shook her head.

“Well, perhaps we shouldn’t make too much of it. Understanding what goes on inside families is tough. I’ve seen the dynamics in a lot of families whose daughters went into prostitution, and it’s not pretty. But it’s also usually not abuse—at least not the official sort. There’s plenty of misunderstanding, lack of communication, coldness, withholding of love—all the bad stuff that tears families apart. But that’s not abuse, at least in a legal sense. Just stupidity.” He took another sip of wine and bit into a sandwich. “Still, it wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye out for her if you’re concerned.”

“I guess you’re right. I don’t know enough about it. You’ve been around this sort of thing a lot more, Garrett. Maybe you should come talk to her with me. You might pick up something I’ve missed.”

“I can do that.” He tossed the dregs of his drink over the rocks and stared at her until she blushed.

“And I can do this,” he said. He put one hand gently on her shoulder and turned her over. He kissed her deeply and felt the passion rise quickly in both of them.

She rolled on top of him, her body pressing against him urgently, as Garrett sank into the moss under their combined weight. He ran his hands under her blouse and felt the firm, slim muscles of her back. She moaned slightly, arching her back upwards, her face toward the sea, and then he felt her freeze.

He stopped. “What’s the matter?”

“Garrett,” she whispered. “There’s something out there—in the sea.”

Reluctantly, he rolled her off and turned to look. Floating twenty yards away, washing with the waves against the rocks, was what looked like a piece of seaweed. Except it was black and wispy instead of green and floated heavily in the sea. He knew what it was instantly.

“It’s a girl,” he said.

15

K
ITTY WELLS PARKED HER VERY
tiny rear end very firmly on the porch steps of Garrett’s house. The news of another young girl discovered in the ocean had galvanized the press. This was turning into the type of story that could move an ambitious reporter onto the national scene. She wasn’t going anywhere until she got an interview with the man who’d been responsible for finding all of the bodies in question.

Truth be told, she was quite pleased with herself. It hadn’t been easy to find the Mountie’s out-of-the-way shack. She still smarted from the crack he’d made about her voice during the open briefing with the press. But Kitty Wells prided herself on being a professional. First things first. Get the story. She could always shred the son of a bitch later.

Garrett had no idea how long she’d been waiting for him. The day had been sunny early on, but now a heavy fog blew across the meadow, and though the woman sitting on his steps wore a jacket, he could tell she was cold. Not much insulation on those bones. Well, it would be a cold day all right before he’d help promote her career. He had half a mind to take his
handicap
and kick her off his property. She was so tiny, one good boot would probably do the job. But he chose instead to play the good cop.

“Can I help you?” he asked, pretending not to know who she was. “Are you lost?”

Wells smiled, showing her perfect, little white teeth. Everything about her was perfect, slim, trim, impeccably dressed. Not a man alive could resist her. She oozed sexuality and had used it to advance her career from the very first day on the job.

“Kitty Wells, Mr. Barkhouse. I’m reporting on those poor murdered girls.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding sadly. “I’m sorry you had to come all the way out here for that, Ms. Wells. I know nothing that hasn’t already been reported in the papers.”

“Well, you know, a good reporter needs background and context, as well as basic information. It all goes into the hopper.” She looked around as though seeing the dilapidated little house for the first time. “Do you actually live … in this … ?”

“Home sweet home,” he said, regarding her without enthusiasm. Much as he disliked this woman, press coverage might be helpful in the case. The more people knew about things, up to a point, the more likely someone might remember seeing something—and that just might present a thread he could begin to unravel. He’d solved more than one case in such a manner.

“Well, you might as well come in.” He opened the door and stood to one side.

“You don’t lock the place?” she asked with surprise.

“As you can see,” he said, stepping past her and turning the lights on in the living room with the sloping floor, “There’s not much worth stealing. I’ve only been here a few days and the place has been closed up for years.”

He swept a pile of newspapers off the sagging gray Victorian couch. “Have a seat,” he said grandly.

Kitty contemplated the moldy piece of furniture the way she probably looked at a bag lady on the streets of Halifax. She sat primly on the very edge of the object, her knees pressed close together.

“What I wanted to know,” she began, “is why you think you’ve been the only one so far to discover any of these girls?”

He shrugged. “Had to be someone. I get around. It’s part of the job, you know.”

“Yes, that brings me to my next question. What exactly is your job title here?”

“Not sure they ever gave me one. I was asked by the department to investigate the smuggling on the Eastern shore.”

“Found anything?”

“A few threads. It’s early, and frankly, dead Chinese girls were not what I expected to find.”

She gave her sympathetic look, furrowing the tiny, but very cute, wrinkles on her forehead. No Botox honey, she. “It must have been a shock,” she said. “Well, what I’d really like to ask of you, Mr. Barkhouse, is the chance to follow you around while you do your investigation. Kind of an exclusive, you know? In exchange, I’ll see that you figure prominently in the coverage. Might get you a promotion.”