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

When Jade won, Walter wasn’t surprised. Her campaign committee, led by his hard-working wife, had knocked on doors, shaken hands and kissed babies. They’d tweeted, posted videos and put up posters. They talked to weary business owners and promised change. They campaigned on turning the fortunes of this small defeated community around. They promised to dismantle the old boys’ club — a swipe at Dennis Havers’ shady business dealings — and they revealed their vision for building a new commercial and residential development on the waterfront, by tearing down the derelict fish plant.

“It’s about time women ran this town,” Cheryl had declared. “You men had your chance.”

Walter privately agreed with her, though he laughed and rolled his eyes with the guys at the bar. But even they were coming around to Jade Thompson’s proposals.

That last campaign promise alone had caught the town’s attention. The fish plant and the pier were crumbling into the ocean. Worse than that, it had been the scene of a murder the year before. Walter hadn’t been near the dump since they’d removed the crime tape, but Peggy Wilson, the motel owner, was constantly complaining that the gruesome evidence of a killing still remained. Nobody had been back to clean up the blood. Rats scurried in and out, while rust and oil contaminated the bay where the pier stood. It was a reminder of a tragic time in Coffin Cove.

Walter shivered at the memory.

A shadow fell over him.

“Mornin’, Walter.”

Walter looked up to see the tall bulk of his old friend, Harry Brown, blocking the sun. Beside him was a young woman who smiled and thanked Harry and disappeared into the café.

Harry was one of the last commercial fishermen who tied up at Coffin Cove. He’d been forced to retire early when the fishing boom ended but had made enough money to pay off the money owing on his boat and buy a cottage in town. Harry, towering above Walter, was a solid wall of a man, wearing the customary fisherman’s uniform — canvas bib overalls and a wool sweater. He was also a solitary man, with a resting expression that was neither welcoming nor forbidding. His penetrating blue eyes were the only clue to his Norwegian heritage, though his year-round dark tan hinted at his native blood. The Pipe Dream, his old aluminium purse-seiner, used to be his livelihood but was now home to just himself and the occasional visit from his grown-up daughter, and he rented his cottage to his sister, Hephzibah.

Harry bent down to pat Bruno.

His young companion emerged from the café and handed Harry a mug of coffee.

“Thanks again, Harry, I appreciate it. Dad said you’d be the man for the job.” And with a big smile and a nod at Walter, the woman walked down the boardwalk.

Harry sat down at the table with Walter.

“So?” Walter asked, noting Harry’s smug expression. “What was all that about? And who is she?”

“That was Katie Dagg, Lee and Nadine’s girl.”

“Little Katie?” Walter could hardly believe it. “How old is she now? I thought she was still at school.”

“Just finished university. And back here as the new Coffin Cove Museum curator.” Harry acknowledged Walter’s surprise with a grin. “Yeah, I know. I remember when she was born.”

“God, I feel ancient,” Walter said, then frowned. “The old museum is opening?”

Harry nodded. “Yep, in the old building at first, then in the new development. They hired Katie last month. She seems to know her local history, that’s for sure.”

“And what did she want with you?” Walter asked. “Some of your fishing stories?” He chuckled.

“Kind of.” Harry ignored his friend’s teasing. “She’s hired me to do trips along the coast, pointing out where the rum runners and smugglers operated. For tourists. I’ve got my first booking in a couple of weeks.”

Walter was astonished. “She’s paying you?”

Harry nodded and smiled. “Not bad pay, as it happens.”

“What do you know about smuggling?” Walter asked. “Family connections, maybe?”

Harry laughed. “I wouldn’t put it past Ed to have done some smuggling at some point.”

Ed was Harry’s father, and Walter knew him well. Ed had dabbled in all sorts of nefarious activities in his life, so it was a fair comment, and Harry took it as a gentle joke. When Ed was younger, he’d had a vicious temper, especially when he was drunk — which was often — and Harry’s mother, Greta, had left when he was still young. She’d taken his baby sister, Hephzibah, with her and it was only when the two siblings were adults that they’d finally begun a relationship. Greta had since died, but the siblings were still close. Harry had even helped Hephzibah set up the café.

“Actually, it was Clara Bell who got me interested in the old smuggling stories,” Harry said. “They used the old mining tunnels. There’s a whole network of them, and the smugglers extended them as far as they could to the coastline, so they could move barrels of hooch right out to the beach. Then they got picked up by a boat in the middle of the night and whisked down to Seattle or the Oregon coast. Back in Prohibition times.”

“Clara Bell, who used to run the museum? Is she still alive?” Walter said, surprised again.

“Yes, and yes. She’s very much alive and kicking. She lives up near Ed. I used to visit her when I was a kid. You know how she used to have the museum filled with boxes?”

Walter nodded. “You could hardly move in there.”

“Right. Her place is worse. Always has been. Jam-packed to the rafters. She must be one of those hoarders, I suppose. But she knows her local history, and she dug out an old map of the mining tunnels from years ago. And then I did some of my own research.