AllFreeNovel
Share Us
A pickup ripped into the entrance and came to a halt with a skid in the dirt. It was a classic 1950s Chevrolet, a no-expense spared restoration with an awesome turquoise paint job that popped.
“There’s B… Anatoe,” Grandma said. She had almost called him by his nickname, Blinkers, but thought better of it.
A long-limbed man in his early thirties hopped out and walked by the Expedition, glancing at the official logo on the door. A crooked smile quickly flashed and retired. He sauntered up to the stoop and set a foot on the lower tread. Grease stained his coveralls and encrusted his palms. He stood as tall as Gibson. He had beefy square shoulders and a tense square jaw with earthy brown eyes, a spark of soul showing and a wariness hiding behind. He was a dead ringer for the lady Gibson had known so well long ago. Gibson looked at the ground and rubbed at his face.
“Just checking up on you,” Anatoe said and smiled at Gran. Not his grandmother, but it felt like it.
“I’m fine. These are the police.”
“Hey.” He remained on the bottom step and placed his hands on his hips.
“I understand you run a repair shop,” Gibson said.
“Yeah.” His eye ticked ever so slightly.
“Nice truck. Did you fix it up yourself?”
“Yeah.” Anatoe stared at Eckhart.
“Someone murdered Elsie,” Grandma blurted out. Anatoe took his gaze from the inspector and looked at Grandma instead.
“Huh. I thought she tumbled down the stairs.” His glance bounced toward Gibson.
“I’m afraid it wasn’t an accident. Did you see anything?” Gibson said.
“What? I don’t know anything.”
A flash ripped in the eastern sky. A crack in the air followed closely. The thunder rolled across the blue-steel grey expanse like a non-stop train. Gibson raised his gaze to black clouds sweeping in quickly. The next strike of lightening hit moments afterward. Another explosion sounded near to where they stood, the rumbling echoing off the lake.
“What about the fight?”
“It was nothing. That was just some jerks being nasty to Elsie. I tried to straighten them out. She didn’t deserve that.”
“Where did you go after that?”
“I went over to the fireworks pit. Then I grabbed a beer from the house.”
“Did anyone see you in your wanderings?” Gibson asked.
“I don’t know. They were all busy getting things set up.”
“David saw you arguing with Elsie on the landing.”
“That’s ridiculous. Wasn’t me. He’s mistaken me for someone else,” Anatoe said.
Gibson hoped that was true. Besides, David didn’t seem clear about what he saw. He took a photo of the ring out of his pocket and handed it over. “Are you part of this fraternity?”
“Yeah, Alpha Zee.”
“Where’s your ring?” Gibson rubbed at his finger.
“I gave it to a lady last year.” He grimaced. “Never got it back after we split.”
“Who are the members?”
“Just a few guys from Grimsby.”
“Have names for us?”
“Sure. No problem,” Anatoe said.
Eckhart wrote as he called out the individuals.
“Anything else you can add?”
He shrugged a shoulder.
The next brilliant zigzag of light crashed down by the shore almost simultaneously with a crackle of thunder. A patter of raindrops fell and then lashed down in torrential sheets. Anatoe bounded up the stairs to avoid getting drenched. Gibson moved away from the railing. Tree boughs swayed and groaned in the sudden gale.
“Thanks for your help.” Gibson shot a glance toward Eckhart. He bounded off the porch and made a mad dash for the truck.
“Let’s hunt down Felton’s firework buddies,” Gibson said.
“Okay.” Eckhart drew her pad from a pocket and flipped through it, searching for an address. She tapped the page. “They live by the canal. On this side. I know the place.”
He nodded.
“Should we grab a quick bite before we go?”
“Good idea.”
As Eckhart turned into the first market she encountered, the rain stopped as quickly as it had started. That was pretty typical for this part of the world in the summer.
There were plenty of bins of fresh local fruits and vegetables. Looked promising. They grabbed a couple of cold drinks and sandwiches from the cooler. Gibson bit down on his tuna sandwich and stopped mid chomp. It hadn’t been his first choice of fillings, but there hadn’t been much selection. He swung to his partner and saw she had the same look on her face. He tossed most of his lunch into a bin just outside the entrance of the store.
“Yuck. Definitely not the Mansion Pub,” he spat.
“Touché.” She followed suit and pitched her sandwich in the garbage.
They headed to a service road that ran parallel to the canal. A wire fence circled the trailer park. Eckhart drove down the muddy track between rows of mobile homes. The truck bounced in the wide ruts. They discovered the place they were seeking at the top of the second row, just as Felton described it. A hoarder’s paradise. Junk filled the meager lot in front: a sink, some irrigation pipe and a jumble of tangled metal. An old fridge stood vacant at the side of the mobile home, accompanied by a rusted-out water tank. A tarp attached to the flimsy aluminium wall flapped in the breeze. The whole yard looked like a fire risk. He glanced at the neighbour’s garden. It was respectable, even had a wooden tub of geraniums.
Gibson had run both their names through the system with the equipment in the Expedition. The father was clean, but the kid had a possession charge from three years ago. It didn’t matter anymore though, because weed was now legal in Canada. He thought he’d never see the day. He shook his head.
The structure rattled when Gibson tapped on the door.
“Yeah, what do you want?”
“It’s the police.”
May as well keep it simple. A chair scraped along the floor, and heavy footsteps caused the trailer to shake. An old man in a greasy plaid shirt with jeans that hung below his waistline stood in the entrance. He hiked them up, hauling on the frayed belt.
“Nothing to say to the police,” the old man said.
“Don’t worry. We just want to ask a few questions about the fireworks.”
“At Felton’s house?”
“Yes.”
Some banging reverberated from the back.
“Is that your son?”
“Get over here,” the old man whooped. A scruffy looking individual came around the corner and froze when he spotted the detectives.
“What?” the kid snapped, jutting out his jaw.
“They want to know about the fireworks.”
“What about them?” The kid forced his lips together into a scowl, and made an offensive gesture with his yellowed fingers, gunk under his broken nails.
“You were both helping?”
The old man nodded. The kid lowered his angry eyebrows.
“Who was there besides Felton?”
“Margaret. She served us cold beers,” the old man replied. Not quite as belligerent as his offspring.
“That’s right,” the kid said. The tone of his voice revealing his dislike of cops.
“Did Felton leave the site at all?”
“Just to take a piss,” the kid said, laughing so hard he doubled over at his own joke, almost pissing his own pants with the effort.
“Did you see anybody else?”
“Anatoe came round. Said hi and went in the house for a beer. He never came back. Then we lit the fireworks. That’s it.”
“I’m kind of busy. Can I go now?” the kid asked.
“Thanks for your cooperation.”
The kid spat on the ground and stalked off. The old man offered a half-hearted shrug.
They hopped into the truck. Eckhart steered through the park, dodging children playing in the muck. She pulled into a narrow path off the main road, the bumper
pushing through the unmown grass. Gibson had a pretty good idea where she was headed.
“Have you been here before?” she asked and pulled to a stop in a small clearing overlooking the canal.
“Yes. It’s been quite a while.”
Eckhart stepped out and leaned on the hood. Gibson got out and stood in front of her. He brushed her hair back from her shoulders and nuzzled her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her perfume. The kiss was hot, fiery and passionate. He could feel the beating of her heart against his chest. He stopped and looked into her eyes. Their fingers grazed as he moved away. He knew it was just a matter of time before it happened, but not today. She stayed where she was for a moment, turning to look at him through the windshield. Then she returned to the chill of the truck and started up the engine.
“That rain sure cooled things down.” Eckhart sucked her lips in.
“Yeah.” That was a clever reply, Gibson thought. His mind was doing flip flops.
She fiddled with the radio knob until she found a soft rock station playing a song by a local group that had made it big. The silence between them was effortless and pleasant. He settled into his seat and looked out the window. Clouds drifted across the sky with the gentle breeze. Aspen trees bordered the service road that ran alongside the canal. Their quivering leaves intercepted the sunlight periodically. Two ships met and passed each other. One rose high in the water. It would be empty, heading back to the St. Lawrence River and to places remote. The other one was heavy, fully loaded. Small waves licked the Plimsoll line stamped on the hull. He speculated what the payload was. He closed his eyes, sensing Eckhart peeking over to him. At the motel, she threw the gears into park and turned to him.
“I—”
“Pick me up at eight? Same place?” He grabbed her hand and squeezed.
“You bet.” She gave him a demure smile.
* * *
