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

Once inside, he couldn’t see her. There were boxes piled to the ceiling, and just one narrow walkway through the maze. Jim spied Christmas tinsel poking out of some containers. Others were full of books, as far as he could tell. Clara, or he assumed it was Clara, had written “History” and “Stories” and other categories in shaky handwriting on some boxes.

Jim knew a little about hoarding. When his father had been in the early stages of dementia, he refused to throw anything away. But Clara was a collector, Jim decided. Although the trailer was full, and undoubtedly a fire hazard, it smelled clean. Clara took care of her treasures.

Clara appeared from behind a tall mound of folded linen. She held two mugs of tea in her hand. Both mugs commemorated a royal wedding. She handed one to Jim.

“This way,” she said, and she eased herself between two more piles of boxes and opened a door. They were at the back of the trailer. Tall fir trees shaded this side, but it was no less cluttered.

“The water feature collection,” Jim murmured, as everywhere he looked were stone fountains and birdbaths: some shaped like cherubs and clamshells, some even had water burbling out of the mouths of concrete fish.

“Sit,” Clara said, pointing to a stone bench, while she settled herself on a wooden Adirondack chair which had white paint peeling from the arms.

“You didn’t answer my question, Clara.”

Clara sipped at her tea thoughtfully. “I’ve seen dead bodies before, James.”

“Still, must have been a surprise at least. Unexpected.”

Clara nodded. “Bad business.”

Jim pushed a little harder. “Why were you out there, Clara?”

Clara’s face darkened a little. “George Gomich said the new curator wanted to know some local history. Said she’d heard about that silly old story and wanted to see the chapel for herself.” Her voice had taken on a sneering tone.

Jim wondered and then asked, “Do you miss the museum, Clara?”

To his horror, a tear ran down the old woman’s face.

“Clara, I’m sorry, what did I say?”

She brushed at her face. “Don’t mind me, I’m a silly old woman. But I loved that place. Gave me a reason to get up in the mornin’. Hurts when you get cast off, James. You’ll see when you get old. You young ’uns don’t understand until it happens to you.”

Jim hid his smile. It had been a long time since anyone referred to him as a young ’un. “I do understand, Clara. My father felt it when he left the Gazette. He said he had a lot more to give.”

Clara nodded. “That’s exactly it. Wise man, your father.” And then she said, “That new mayor. She said I could move into some new housing they’re going to build. Assisted living, she called it. Do you think they’ll make me leave here?”

She sounded genuinely scared.

Jim reached across and patted her hand. “Nobody will make you leave your home, Clara. Not as long as I’m around, I promise you.”

Jim thought it was best to change the subject. “Young Katie Dagg, she does love Coffin Cove. And she’s a nice girl. She’ll do a good job at the museum.”

Clara sniffed. “She seemed nice, I suppose. For a Dagg.”

“You don’t like the Daggs?” Jim asked. “Why? Is it something to do with their property? Or the chapel?”

“Wayne Dagg stole that house from Arthur,” Clara said suddenly. “Him and that Dennis Havers, they bullied him and stole from him. And got him mixed up in all that drug stuff with the bikers. He was a good boy, Arthur. Helped me with my maps.”

“Art Whilley?” Jim asked, leaning forward. He remembered the company registration documents Sandra had given Andi. This was why he was here. “You knew Art Whilley?”

Clara nodded. “When he was a boy. Before he got mixed up in all that craziness. He used to visit me. To get away from that monster of a mother.”

“You helped him, Clara?” Jim asked, not wanting her to stop and knowing now why Andi liked to record all her interviews.

“He helped me,” she said. “We walked all over and he helped make all my maps of the old mineshafts. And so I taught him how to shoot, and how to skin animals. He was good with a knife. He was smart too, liked to read. I gave him some of my books.”

“Well, you must have thought a lot of him,” Jim said with feeling. He knew how hard it was for Clara to part with her treasures.

She smiled. “Didn’t have a son of my own. He was good company. Told me a lot about my collection and helped me hook up the generator. That mother of his . . .” Her face darkened.

“Did anyone else try to help him?” Jim asked.

“Ann South, she did. And her boy, Douglas. He looked out for Arthur. But Wayne Dagg and Dennis Havers, they tormented him. Until they found out he was clever. Then they used him and then they killed him.”

Jim sat back in his chair, shocked at what the old lady had said. Clara was odd and didn’t live in the modern world, but she wasn’t crazy. “Dennis Havers and Wayne Dagg killed Art Whilley? You sure about that, Clara?” he asked again.

She shrugged. “Arthur burned in that fire. That’s what they told me. But he was too smart to get caught in some fire. So they must have burned him.”

Jim leaned forward. “Clara, can you tell me all you know about Arthur and Hell’s Half Acre?” He had no idea how it all fit with the death of Ricky Havers, but he was sure Clara knew something. Something important.

Jim was at Clara Bell’s trailer for two hours. He listened carefully, hoping he could remember everything