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

mostly British Columbia plates. Before them lay a broad landmass, high cliffs to the right, thickly treed with Douglas fir or so it seemed from this distance. On the left, a shoreline of hollowed sandstone beach at low tide. On the cliff above, red arbutus, some with their bark peeling, sun-splattered bright green leaves. On deck, people in groups chatted or perused the oncoming island, the gulls, the blue-grey water. A couple of cyclists, helmets at their sides, sat on the deck playing cards.
    â€œIt’s strange,” said Noel, “I look out at this island every day and I don’t know much about it at all.”
    â€œMmm.” Suddenly Kyra was standing up front on the ferry to Bowen Island watching Snug Harbor approach, she was ten, her bony collarbone pressed the rail, she could smell the salt tang of back then, see salmon jump— “Read some more about the place.”
    He scanned the printout. “About fifteen kilometres long, a third as wide. Three provincial parks, some regional pocket parks, golf course, tennis court, couple of marinas. Local history museum.”
    â€œSounds pleasant enough.”
    â€œAbout 4,000 population year round, 6,000 in summer. Three pubs.
    RCMP detachment with three Mounties, two medical clinics.”
    Kyra’s eyes followed a flat-bottomed boat travelling toward them at remarkable speed. “Hey, look at that thing.”
    Noel glanced at it. “Pretty good engine.” He squinted to make out a sign on the cabin. “Arbutus Water Taxi.” The ferry approached a dock. “Descanso Bay.”
    â€œLook up there.” Kyra pointed to the top of a fir to the left. A bald eagle, white head gleaming, watched the ferry approach. “You rarely see them around Bellingham.”
    Noel said. “Majestic.” He turned to her. “Kyra?”
    â€œHmm?” But she knew his question before he opened his mouth.
    â€œYou think there could be a connection between my tires and those phone calls?”
    She spoke slowly. “They’re two different kinds of things.”
    â€œThe tires were likely slashed at night. And the calls—”
    â€œSo now we know your enemy’s an insomniac.”
    The ferry slid into docking position. “Come on.” Kyra walked back and sat in the car. Noel got in. A ferry worker lowered the ramp. “Read me whatever you’ve got about Marchand’s Gallery.”
    Noel glanced from the printout to the map. “Eaglenest sits on that cliff we saw.” He read on. “Marchand opened the Gallery about fifteen years ago. Two areas of expertise.” He glanced down the sheet. “First, discovering new painting talent. Some from around here but others from as far away as California and Alaska. He also acts as agent.”
    â€œGood for him, I guess.”
    â€œYeah.” He read on. “Area two, he tracks down lesser classics, sixteenth- through eighteenth-century works from the schools of master painters. He shows them first at the Eaglenest Gallery. Wonder if Gabriolans can afford to buy.” He slipped off his jacket.
    Foot passengers, bikes and motorcycles streamed off the ferry. Kyra turned the key. She looked up toward the eagle tree, but the bird was gone. And their row was rolling. “Here we go.” She drove up the ramp, along the trestle and onto Gabriola. In the parking lot, cars picked up the walk-ons, and new passengers waited to board. Outside the lot, a row of cars was lined up on the hill, heading to Nanaimo and beyond. Cars approaching from the right were blocked by the cars from the ferry. A small traffic jam on Gabriola.
    â€¢ • •
    Rose met Artemus in the kitchen. “Hello, darling.”
    He beamed down at her, bent over her wheelchair and they kissed. He straightened. “Your brother’s eaten all the coq au vin .” His disapproval was mild.
    â€œDid you like the find he brought? He wouldn’t tell me a thing