Strange Things Done Read Online Free PDF

starter.” When he laughed, the sound was a long, rasping smoker’s cough that made her wince.
    “Ah. So when life gives you lemons …”
    He shook his head and looked away, squinting into the distance at something upriver that Jo couldn’t see. “No. You don’t make sourdough. You become it.”
    They were nearing a flat stretch of shoreline where two flags mired in stone and snow signalled the docking area. Next to the landing, a Zodiac marked “RCMP” had been dragged up onto a bare stretch of gravelly shoreline. The boat was a cheerful banana-yellow, a hot, tropical colour that seemed at odds with the austere and shadowy surroundings. Further down the rocky line of beach, a throng of black figures were milling about.
    “So, what’s going on over there? Have you heard?” Jo asked.
    The ferryman frowned. “Find out soon enough.”
    Jo lifted her face against the wind.

    Jo had her camera ready as they docked. The wind off the river was biting, carrying with it the scent of winter, pine, and mud. Many of the inhabitants of Dawson had already migrated to join a ragtag collection of neighbours on the northwestern shore, huddled together with their collars raised against the cold. Jo snapped a quick picture of the crowd, then shoved her way forward, muttering “Sorry … excuse me … press!” when she deemed it necessary. A handful of RCMP officers had already cordoned off a section of the shoreline and were in the final throes of erecting a tent over the area. The officers pushed the crowd back as Jo pressed forward.
    Then she saw the body, face down in a small cove in the Yukon River. The corpse had lodged or been dragged mostly ashore, but the long, dark hair was still partially submerged and strangely beautiful as it writhed like seaweed in the water. The back of the head, though, was ruined in a way that forced Jo to look away. The woman was wearing the same quilted red parka as the woman last night. Jo took a deep breath of bracing air.
    Next to the body, a young officer in hip waders was taking photographs. He was approached in long strides by Sergeant Cariboo. “Reid, what’s taking so long? Get her out of there and into the tent.” Cariboo eyed his wristwatch.
    “Sorry, Johnny. Had to wait for the light. Wanted to make sure we git it right.”
    Cariboo glanced at the sky, where the salmon glow of dawn was still breaking through ribs of cloud, though it was now well afternine. He turned toward the crowd and caught Jo’s eye. A flash of recognition played across his features, followed swiftly by something else. Annoyance, perhaps.
    “Sergeant Cariboo,” Jo said. “Could I have a word on behalf of the Daily ?”
    He moved forward, hands out like stop signs. “We have no comment at this time. Please step back.” He added more gently, “You shouldn’t be here, Josephine.”
    “Jo. Was it an accident?”
    Sergeant Cariboo blatantly ignored her, turning back to his team as though he hadn’t heard the question. “Scott, what’s our ETA on the coroner?”
    Scott, gangly and still in his twenties, wore an expression that Jo interpreted as “eager to please.” He responded quickly with, “He’s got a three-hour drive from Mayo. At least, that’s three hours in good weather. We called him just after six.”
    “Good. Should be here any time.” Sergeant Cariboo nodded, his brow furrowed.
    Scott studied the sky with a look of apprehension. “Unless the weather turns.”
    “Hurry up with that tent in the meantime.”
    Scott nodded and scurried away.
    There were five officers present, including Cariboo, but there didn’t appear to be a forensic team. While Jo had waited for the ferry, she’d seen the RCMP Zodiac—still just a dark shape on the water—bumping up and down the river. Cariboo had no men to spare, yet he’d made time to leave the site to question her.
    The tent flapped angrily in the wind and the cold metal-on-metal sound of a mallet striking pegs rang out like bullets, startling