HELL'S HALF ACRE a gripping murder mystery full of twists (Coffin Cove Mysteries Book 2) JACKIE ELLIOTT (tohfa e dulha read online .txt) 📖

bush, with Katie and Mr Gomich struggling to keep up. Clara was wearing a long dark skirt, just as Katie remembered from the old days in the museum. But Katie caught a flash of sturdy hiking boots under the folds of material. Clara was fitter than she looked and moved nimbly over the gnarled roots and loose gravel on the narrow trail.

Why hadn’t she ever noticed this trail before? It was more than an animal trail, and it seemed to be clear, as if it were walked regularly. Maybe it wasn’t just Clara who knew her way around the bush. She made a mental note to ask Terri.

Although they were walking in the shadows of the undergrowth, Katie caught glimpses of sun lighting up the path.

“Not far now!” Clara called out, sounding confident.

There was a sharp descent, and then all three of them were standing in brilliant sunshine. The trees had parted above them, and they were standing in a clearing.

“Here,” Clara said triumphantly.

Katie looked around. She didn’t see anything at first, except tall fireweed and yellow yarrow.

“I don’t . . .” she started to say, but Clara pointed out a mound at one side of the clearing. When Katie got nearer, she could see it was a pile of stones, covered with wild grass. When she looked closer, she could see the vague rectangular remains of a structure.

“I see!” Katie said. “This is amazing!”

She visualized telling the story to small tours of visitors.

“How old are the ruins, Clara?” Katie asked.

Clara shrugged. “Maybe a hundred years,” she said. “I’ve never found much on the chapel. Probably all the old paperwork burned when Art did.”

“Was it just a family chapel?”

Clara nodded. “Back in those days, people in Coffin Cove were either one way or another. They were drunkards or churchgoers. The drunkards were serious about their drinkin’ and the churchgoers were serious about the Lord. There was no meetin’ in the middle. Noah Whilley was serious about the Lord, and so he built his own chapel. Probably because he thought it was easier than pushing through all the drunk folk in town to get to the Lord. I dunno what he’d have thought ’bout his place bein’ Hell’s Half Acre. Probably turn in his grave.”

Katie was alarmed. “Are we walking on family graves?”

Clara’s answer was drowned out by a sudden screeching sound that made Katie grab Mr Gomich’s arm.

“What on earth?”

Clara chuckled. “Maybe it’s old Noah, telling us to get off his holy ground.”

Katie stared at her, not knowing what to think, but realizing Clara was enjoying her discomfort.

“You never heard ravens before, girl? You’ve been too long on the mainland.”

Katie smiled, relieved. She’d forgotten about the ravens. The “tricksters” of the forest, Lee had told her. They can make all kinds of noises — sometimes it sounds like a person laughing or a baby crying.

“Oh, that fits with the old story,” she said. “People weren’t hearing the ghost of a child, they were hearing ravens.”

“Exactly,” Mr Gomich said. “Wonder how that old story came about?”

“Probably to stop young ’uns falling down mineshafts,” Clara said. “No point telling ’em it’s dangerous, makes ’em want to explore all the more. But frightening them with ghosts and bogeymen — well, that’ll keep most kids away.”

“And the graves?” Katie asked.

“Not likely. None of the Whilleys, that’s for sure,” Clara said. “I’ve checked, they’re all in the cemetery in town. Except Art. There was nothin’ left of him.”

Katie wanted to know more about Art Whilley and his demise, but Clara had found a stick and was poking around at the edge of the clearing.

“There used to be a corner of the chapel still standin’,” she said, “somewhere around here, I think.”

Katie took some pictures with her phone.

“What do you think, Mr Gomich? Would this make a good tour for visitors?”

She and Mr Gomich chatted about making the trail wider or seeing if there was easier access from the beach. But Katie broke off her conversation when she heard Clara exclaim, “Oh my Lord!”

Katie hurried over. Clara was bent over and peering into a part of the ruin which must have once been the corner of the chapel. It was obscured by brambles, but Clara had found two stone walls joined at an angle.

The old lady was on her knees as if she were praying. She was motionless, and for a second, Katie thought she might be having a heart attack.

“Clara, are you OK?” Katie rested her hand on the woman’s shoulder.

“There,” was all she said. Clara had freed a brownish round object that at first glance seemed to be attached to the stone wall. Katie leaned closer, confused. Moss and brambles obscured Katie’s view, so she reached out her hand to pull the undergrowth away.

Clara grabbed her wrist. “Don’t do that, girl.”

Annoyed, Katie pulled away from the old lady’s grasp, and got on her knees to have a better look.

Then she realized she was looking directly into the empty hollow sockets of a human skull. She covered her mouth to stop her scream and stumbled backwards away from the sightless gaze.

Chapter Eight

“This is your assignment.” Jim handed Andi a sheet of paper.

“The Heritage Festival?”

“That’s what you get for being late. Go and interview the mayor and then write something nice about the celebrations here in town. We need copy by Thursday afternoon. I promised the mayor a mention before the launch party at the Fat Chicken.”

“How is belly dancing part of Coffin Cove’s history?” Andi asked, casting her eye down the festival schedule.

“No idea. It can be your first question,” Jim said cheerfully.

Andi shoved the paper in her purse and eyed Jim with suspicion. She got up to leave, saying, “I thought you were interviewing the mayor.”

“Sit down, Andi.”

Jim’s tone was serious,