LITMIR.BIZ

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her home but not enough to disqualify her, since the force didn’t want officers working in their own neighbourhoods. The Fossil Bay detachment had only been activated ten years before to monitor the road west to Port Renfrew. Domestic disputes, speeders, drunk drivers and teens with six-packs led the docket. In the summer, car break-ins increased at parks along the Juan de Fuca Trail. Overnight hikers were advised to use the seasonal shuttle buses.

      She cracked open the book and was immediately drawn to the unconventional plot of the concise and imaginative novel. In a quirky but daring twist, the murderer was known from the beginning and shared the point of view. The denouement was simply a cat-and-mouse game involving maddening clues and the question of motivation. The more she worked at her trade, the more Holly wanted to know why, not just how. But if she wanted to play detective, she’d have to move to a larger post.

      An hour later, she went inside for a dry cider, sipping it on the deck. Though the view was panoramic, it was far from quiet. Secondary growth aspen and maple on the slopes below separated her from West Coast Road, but in a bandshell effect, the traffic noises revealed the critical artery. The guttural roar of a motorcycle gearing up for the change from sixty to eighty kmh blended with the shriek of jake brakes on a truck heading the other way. The single-lane road, the only east-west connection, was a worrisome fact for those who saw development as inevitable.

      As she closed the book, leaving a few tempting chapters, she heard a car crunch gravel. The KIA, packed with dog crates for Madeleine’s brood, raced up the slope, skidding to a dusty stop at the back porch. Holly waved and called, but the limber little woman, her flyaway reddish hair blowing in the breeze, hurried to Norman’s side. She opened the door, then stood, hands on her hips with a worried frown. Holly left the porch and came around to the back deck as Shogun leaped out, backpack swinging. Her father was crouched in the front seat, his lean face contorted. In reflex, she put her hand on her chest in panic. Surely not a heart attack. He never talked much about his health. Her family had skated free of illness, pure luck that she’d taken for granted. Had fortune changed her mind?

      “Dad, what happened?” She considered the car, pristine and uncrumpled, windshield intact. Not an accident, then. Nor something so serious as to call an ambulance or drive straight to Victoria General. “Did you fall?” The elevated spit embracing Canada’s southernmost port used sharp rip-rap for its breakwater and could be dangerous if they had left the gravel path to uproot the stubborn broom. She searched his knobby knees for signs of damage. Not a mark.

      “Ooooooo,” he said with an undisguised wail, wincing as Holly and Madeleine helped him from the car, each putting an arm under his and heaving at the count of three. “It’s just a wrench. I did it one year starting the damn mower. That’s why I gave you that job, Holly.” With a bitter laugh, he turtled forward.

      “Enough self-diagnosis. Let’s get you inside,” Holly said.

      For a woman in her late fifties, the wiry Madeleine had muscles from her daily clear-cut hikes with her pack. They maneuvered him with difficulty up the winding Tara stairs to his bedroom. Norman was soon safely tucked in with a very large rum. Straight up. No ice.

      “Hot pack or cold?” Holly asked, her first-aid course a dim memory. Tossing a mental coin, they set up a heating pad.

      Sipping an orange juice, Madeleine sat on the deck with Holly as they tried to wind down. From past the greenbelt, their neighbour’s time-challenged rooster announced his superiority. “This type of injury is not serious, since it’s merely muscular, but it can last several days, and you know your father. He is very stubborn and independent.” Madeleine’s charming accent replaced th with z.

      “I’m no caregiver. What am I going to do with him?” Holly was thanking the gods that he had class only twice a week. And what about that quiche? Stress was giving her an appetite.

      Madeleine pursed her lips together. “Men are very stubborn, but at heart they are babies with pain. It might be a good idea if he got a massage. Or two. And as soon as possible.”

      “I’m not sure he’ll agree. They’re expensive,” Holly said. Norman could squeeze a loonie until it laid an egg.

      To his egalitarian credit, he’d always cooked for the family. Once he had sprained his ankle and couldn’t get off the couch. Her mother, whose motto was “Suffer in Silence”, had clashed swords with him about his meal plans, by default her responsibility. “For Christ’s sake, can’t you make an exception? One frozen pizza or a TV dinner isn’t going to kill us.” A small-time lawyer turned full-time advocate for women’s rights on the island, aboriginals in particular thanks to her Coastal Salish heritage, Bonnie spent much of her time travelling the province in her battered Bronco, snacking on fruit, nuts, cheese and bread. Meals were an inconvenience she often forgot. Rather than watch her parents continue to bicker, Holly had stepped in at fourteen and made the meat loaf, mashed potatoes and carrot coins for his Forties feast.

      Holly saw concern but a no-nonsense approach in Madeleine’s glacial Scandinavian eyes, more than a passing resemblance to an older Garbo. She was proving to be a good friend to the older man. Whenever Holly had called on Sundays before her return, he’d been having a “quiet dinner”, presumably alone. Now not only did he have Shogun, but he was laughing again, chatting on the phone with Madeleine like a teenager. “Odd timing, but I met a masseuse this week,” Holly said. Had Fate stepped in to lend a hand?

      * * *

      At ten the next morning, Chipper was doing mental calculations about how long it would take before he could afford an apartment and a sharp new silver Mustang convertible. His salary was bumping up big-time this year, but he had a ton of student loans. Living on the Prairies had been so cheap. True, his basement bachelor suite had been small, and the oil furnace woke him when it kicked in during cold winter nights. There wasn’t anything in a hundred miles to spend money on anyway. It would take him hours to drive to Regina, see a show and go to a club. Then on Sunday he’d have to return to work.

      At Bailey Creek, Chipper slowed as a man waved him over. He pulled to a stop in the parking lot and got out, making sure the doors were locked. Kids liked to peek into the windows at the shotgun on the console. He adjusted his duty belt to ride easily on his slim hips.

      The man was drinking a can of soda. Watching from a nearby van was a young family.

      “Yes, sir. What can I do for you?” he asked with a friendly smile. Maybe the guy merely needed directions.

      “There’s a body in the bush.”

      “A body…” He could hardly push saliva past his Adam’s apple as he answered three notes above his usual range.

THREE

      Officer, are they poisonous? We didn’t know what else to do. We were hiking on the beach a few miles west. Darn cellphone dead as a doornail. Who could have thought? Telus told us no problem anywhere in Canada. We drove back at top speed then realized we had no clue where the nearest hospital was. Then we saw your flag flying and pulled in. Can you call 911?”

      The gasping woman, clearly a tourist in her giant sunhat, light summer dress and clogs, stood in the detachment office, eyes wild with fear. Behind her, a man held a two-year-old in a Hello, Kitty jumpsuit, happily gurgling with a soother. The baby’s colour was good, and it seemed to be enjoying the action.

      Holly considered the pale-pink heart-shaped berries nearly crushed in the woman’s sweaty hand. “No problem. These are salal. Quite edible even if they’re not ripe. They were a staple in the native diet. My dog thrives on them.” It was hard not to smile. A tour guide in darkest Kazakhstan.

      Worry lines relaxed on the woman’s round face as she dropped them into a wastebasket. She patted her chest and leaned on the desk for support. “We figured those others, the yellow ones, and the tiny blackberries, were fine. But I didn’t recognize these. Dakota was toddling around and grabbed some before I could do anything. You know how kids put everything in their mouths.”

      “I told you so, honey. Just

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