Never Sleep With a Suspect on Gabriola Island Read Online Free PDF Page A

sex involves you in some of the world’s biggest messes.
    â€¢ • •
    Tam set the coq au vin going in the microwave. Then he strode to the end of the hall, through his sister’s suite and out the door to the pergola leading to the greenhouse. Where he met Rose, wheeling toward him.
    â€œTam, dear, what were you doing in my room?”
    â€œRushing through. Sorry. But Rosie—”
    â€œPlease stay out of my room.”
    â€œI said sorry. But listen, A. may be messing up.”
    â€œWhat’re you talking about?”
    Tam stared at Big Sister Rose, eleven years older. BSR, the way he’d thought of her since learning to spell. “He wants to hire a detective.”
    His whisper was hoarse with a suppressed shout.
    â€œWhat for?” Her eyes slitted.
    â€œHe’s worrying about the Gallery’s reputation. We don’t want any detectives here.”
    â€œOf course we don’t.”
    â€œOkay, tell him. I’m off to town.” He’d discharged his responsibility and turned back toward his coq au vin .
    â€œDo not go through my room, please.”
    He hunched his shoulders in mock-fear. “Yes, BSR.” But he did understand. She had her private spaces, her room, her greenhouse. Just as he had the cabin to himself. And of course Artemus his aerie. He headed for the kitchen by way of the front door.
    Just here to eat, that boy. Now he’ll bike to the ferry and Nanaimo’s charms. Rose wheeled to the water side of the pergola and took in Northumberland Strait, a freighter, two sailboats, Nanaimo buildings, mountains. She loved this view. Then she wheeled back to the greenhouse. She’d talk to Artemus when Tam was gone.
    â€¢ • •
    The walk-ons walked on. The ferry worker signaled the front car. When the row beside her had boarded, Kyra started up and followed the vehicle parade across the ramp, bump up, bump down. She cut the engine and slouched into a renewed pleasure of ferry travel, a stretch of peace until it docked again, and all the more so on a small ferry where she could remain in the car.
    This slashed tire business had gotten to Noel. Yes, and to her. Slashing tires of a single car in a garage shouted out serious personal venom. She wondered if it had anything to do with the 3:00 am phone calls. Wondered too if Noel had made a connection. What could he have done to bring on slashed tires and deep-night phone calls? She glanced at him. He was staring straight ahead.
    This was a bigger small ferry than to Bowen in the old days, five lanes for cars, and it looked like passenger lounges on both sides. On the Bowen ferry you climbed up the stairs for a great view. “Tell me about Marchand’s gallery.”
    Noel blinked, and jerked toward her. “I just want to say, I’m glad we’re coming over together.” He folded her in a solemn hug. “You know— Oh, you just know.”
    She hugged him back. Her one-time mentor, become her friend. She kissed his cheek.
    Noel pulled away, leaned against the passenger door and again fell silent.
    â€œOkay,” she said, “the gallery on Gabriola Island.”
    He nodded, and took the printout sheets from his pocket. “Eaglenest has a show coming up, Thanksgiving weekend. Some old paintings Marchand’s located. What they are is a big secret.”
    â€œHeck of a way to attract an audience.”
    Noel glanced at the second sheet. “Gabriola’s full of artists and weavers, potters, alternative wellness workers.”
    â€œWellness?”
    â€œMassage, reflexology, acupuncture. And colon hydrotherapy.”
    She shuddered. “Yuck.”
    A sudden chilly breeze blew through the window, the salt-breath of ocean, early fall. “Come on, let’s go up front. I want to see the island as we approach it.” He grabbed his jacket and the printouts and stepped down.
    They passed the rows of cars, maybe fifty on board, two-thirds full,