Never Hug a Mugger on Quadra Island (22 page)

Both Jason and Linda said, “Thanks, Erika.”

Noel added, “Yes. Thank you.” And thought:
Wonderful she's alive and going to be okay.
And then:
I don't have a car anymore.
And:
Who is destroying the Cooper family? Why?

Shu-li woke early. If others were in the house she would move to her bedroom and rumple the sheets before showering. Today she wanted an early morning walk along the shore—well, not so early, the clock on the mantle told her 7:25. She slid from her side of Austin's bed. Nothing lost if she woke him but she wanted a half hour alone in the clear morning light.

Last evening they had avoided discussing Harold Arensen. Never mind that he was a powerful member of the Board of Directors of Skate Canada, and Honorary Chair of VISU, the Vancouver Island Skating Union; mainly he was Harold, destroyer of careers, and a too large part of her reason for being here.

In her room she slipped out of her red silk nightgown and saw her body in the mirror. She hadn't changed much since the glory years of international competition. Her hair, still long and glossy black. Her face, less make-up these days than when she'd been on the ice. Oval eyes from her father, her mother's high cheekbones. Small breasts, her contribution to the rumors that defeated her. Still slim of waist, lucky that she had such an active metabolism since she enjoyed eating, another legacy of her mother. Good crotch and all it implied because she was a great devotee of sex. Though increasingly she found herself longing for sex with only one man. Sadly, she was beginning to understand she couldn't have him for always; settling for sometimes? She slipped on panties, didn't need a bra here, a green short-sleeved blouse, khaki shorts. Her legs, still strong and slender as ever—as a coach, she had to demonstrate every move to her students. Runners on, and ready.

She crossed the landing and whipped downstairs, wishing no floorboards to squeak; they rewarded her. Out the door, down the trail cutting between high cliffs to the beach. Again waves lapped the shore, though today the tide was further out. She breathed the tangy salt air deep into her lungs. She sat briefly where last night she and Austin had dipped their feet, high and dry this morning. Where would his mind be this weekend? How long would he stay close to her? With Steve here he'd be distracted, the three of them planning.

She wished she fully trusted Steve and Austin on the topic of Harold. She sure didn't have an alternative plan. Maybe Austin would ask her to stay on after Steve left. She'd arranged her ticket not to return to Calgary until Tuesday; the float charter could be rescheduled.

She stood up and walked fast. Down the rocky beach twenty minutes, twenty back. The squawks of gulls broke the regular wavelet pattern. Now she'd take a shower. Up the path to the porch and into the kitchen where Austin had coffee going, the last of the glugs saying it was just ready. Its thick scent wafted her way. She thought she heard him speaking. Or maybe the radio.

“Austin?” No answer. She poured a mugful. Wondered if he'd like coffee now. Poured a second mug and walked along the hall toward his study. The double glass doors stood ajar.

He sat at his desk, the phone in his hand at his side; no more talk.

“Coffee?” She noted his face: ashen. “What's wrong?”

He looked up. “All our plans.” And repeated: “All our plans.”

“What?” She set the coffee mugs on the desk. “What's happened?”

“Shane—a car accident.”

“What? Is he okay?”

“Last night. That was his father on the phone.”

“Shane's okay? Isn't he?”

“His leg. Two breaks. Femur and shin.”

“Oh Austin. Oh shit.” She slid a coffee mug toward him. “Will he heal?”

He stared at the coffee “I'll help him, of course. But the breaks are bad.”

“Did Jason say that?”

“Yes.”

“You mean they won't heal in time?”

“He's got to qualify, for petesake. I have to get over there. The hospital.”

“I'll go with you.” She sipped coffee. “Do you want breakfast?”

“We'll get something there.”

“Is the other brother still there?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think—uh, will Harold know? Yet?”

“Word gets around. It's a tiny culture. My guess would be, yes.”

“Maybe I won't go with you.”

“I don't think we'll run into him.” He stood. “Tiny culture, but careful too.” He started for the door, thought better of it, came back. “Ready in a couple of minutes.”

“Let me have a fast shower.” She walked through the doorway into the hall.

In the kitchen, pouring coffee, smiling to himself, stood Randy. He was Austin's man so she tolerated him, even made a show of liking him. “Hello, Randy.”

He looked up, saw her, beamed. “The lovely Shu-li. How good to see you.” He strode over and hugged her.

She hugged him back. His hug lasted a second too long. She stepped away first. “Good to see you too.”

“Austin around?”

“Getting ready to go out.”

“Gorgeous day to go out into.” He beamed.

She never knew what to say to Randy. “Want milk for your coffee?”

“Doing fine, thanks.”

His face was lean and tanned except where he'd shaved off a beard, growing into cragginess. About forty, she thought. His smile stuck to the middle, in his eyes as well as on his mouth. “We're off to Campbell River. To the hospital.”

“You okay? Austin?”

“No, we have to visit Shane Cooper. You know him. He was in an accident.”

“Shane? What accident?”

“We don't know details. A car went off the road.”

“No—”

“His leg's broken.”

“That's terrible—”

Austin appeared from downstairs. “Morning, Randy.”

“That true? About Shane? A car accident?”

“He was looking for his brother, he'd disappeared. With one of the detectives his father hired. The woman. She was driving, must've lost control and crashed into the woods. The car's totaled. She seems to be mainly okay but Shane's smashed up.”

Randy slumped onto a kitchen chair. “That poor family.” He shuddered suddenly. “It must've been the detective's fault. Was she drinking, does anyone know?”

“We don't know anything. We're going to find out. Don't worry about picking up Steve. I'll be over there, I'll get him.”

“Oh. Sure.”

“Just make certain everything's ready here. His room, his chocolates especially. Then you can take off. I won't need you till Monday.” He headed for the door out.

“Yeah. Okay.” Randy picked up his coffee cup.

Shu-li following Austin, turned and gave Randy a smile. “See you, Randy.”

Randy smiled after her. She felt good where he'd held her. No bra. Maybe one day he'd be able to do more than just hold her. She smelled good too. Off to Campbell River. Not today or likely even tomorrow. Maybe—? That accident? Stupid woman driving.

Then Shu-li came back. She headed upstairs. Did she want him to follow her? He sipped coffee. Minutes later again downstairs, now skirt and blouse, clutching her purse. She smiled and waved as she passed. What? Oh yeah, fuckin' Steve's chocolates. He'd bought them already. Then the whole day off. Lots he could do with a whole day off.

•  •  •

Noel had slept or something like it sitting beside Kyra's hospital bed. He'd awakened just after six, and splashed water over his face. He felt ratty in the jeans and shirt and underwear he'd had on for nearly twenty-four hours, and three hours till he could get to a toothbrush. He returned to his chair. He'd been present when the Mountie, Bryan, was questioning Kyra and Shane. They'd agreed, a dark green van had forced them off the road. Why? No answer. Noel would find an answer. But, irritatingly, only after he got back from seeing his parents and brother. What the hell was happening to Coopers? Derek, then Tim, and now Shane. Whoever was doing this, at least he, or they, hadn't killed anyone. Yet. Both van brushes could have killed the two boys. And Kyra. And Derek was still in a coma. What more was coming?

He watched as the sun traveled up the sheets on Kyra's bed and crossed over her arm to her face. He studied her curly dark brown hair, which he realized was longer than he remembered. It lay on the pillow awry, but that was how it looked even when she combed it. With no lipstick and her face washed clean, she seemed much younger, all tender innocence smashed around by a rolling car. His car.

The sunlight reached her nose, she wrinkled it, opened her eyes, blinked. “What—where—” She sat up, saw Noel, and slumped down again. “Yeah. I remember.”

“You slept well.”

“You've been here all the time?”

“Of course.”

She sighed and turned to face Noel. “Have you seen Shane?”

“Not since last night.”

“Would you check on him, please?”

Noel stood up, leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “Good morning.”

She reached out and took his wrist. “Thank you.”

He headed down the corridor and some stairs. In Shane's room Linda was sitting in a chair. “Hi. How's he doing?”

“Very unhappy.”

Noel gestured for Linda to come into the corridor. She followed him. They walked a few paces from the door. “What do you make of this?”

“Of—?”

“These attacks on your sons. On your family.”

She shuddered. “No sense. Scares the hell out of me.”

“It must make sense to someone. Someone who wants to do you harm? Scare you? Someone who wants revenge for something?”

“Noel, I just don't know.”

“We have to assume that you—maybe all of you, maybe just your sons—have something someone wants. That they'll harm you to get it?”

“We don't have much of anything. We've got the house, we've got the woodlots, Shane has—we hope he has—an exciting career ahead of him. Derek doesn't have anything.” She stared at Noel, her face flushed. “I don't know anything.”

“Try to think, Linda. Who might want to harm you, and why.”

She nodded, and turned.

Back in Kyra's room, she now had a breakfast tray. “Shane's as well as he can be.” He glanced at his watch. Just after seven. “I'm heading out for a while. They aren't going to serve me breakfast. You feeling okay enough to leave here this morning?”

“No question.”

“I'll talk to the nurses on my way out.”

•  •  •

The kitchen phone rang again. Jason Cooper picked up. “Hello?” He listened. “You're right.” He listened some more. “Okay, I'll tell her. We'll be on the ten o'clock.” He set the phone down.

“Noel?” Alana asked, half-standing, her hand still holding her coffee cup.

“Yeah. He'd like you to pack up then we'll go to the B&B and you can get Kyra and his stuff and I'll take you over to the hospital.”

“Can I go too, Dad?” Tim pushed his chair back from the table and stood.

“How're you feeling?” Jason studied Tim's face and bruised arms.

“Good. Great. Rarin' to go.”

Two black eyes, bruising on the lower right cheek and the left side of his neck, a bandage covering the stitches on the right side, small bright red scars forming on the boy's bare arms, the middle three knuckles of his right hand covered with Band-Aids. “You don't look great.”

“Inside I'm doing fine.”

“Okay.” To Alana Jason added, “We'll head out in half an hour.”

“Did Noel say anything about Kyra?”

“She spent an easy night. They're releasing her this morning.” Jason paused. “Shane didn't have a good night. He's on painkillers. His leg's in a cast.”

“Oh.” Tim grimaced. “It's really badly broken?”

“Bad enough. He'll stay in the hospital at least one more day.” Jason heard what Tim was thinking. They'd leave that unsaid, for now. Jason turned to Alana. “Noel's still planning on heading to Qualicum before your parents show up. He's rented a car.”

“Has he talked to Kyra? Or Shane? Did they say how it happened?”

Jason didn't want to answer. But Tim and Alana would find out soon enough. “Yeah, they said. A green van forced them off the road.”

“Holy shit,” said Tim.

“Tim—!”

“Sorry, Dad. But—the same green van?

“Hard to know. The Mounties are checking with Sam Mervin here.”

“This is really weird!”

“Yeah. Really.” Jason pulled himself together. “I need to pack stuff for Shane. Get yourselves set.” His eyes met Alana's and Tim's. “Wear a long-sleeved shirt, Tim. Cover up your arms.” He left them.

Alana said to Tim, “This is pretty awful.”

“No coincidences, you figure?”

“Like someone's out to get you guys.”

“Yeah, like that.”

She walked around to Tim's side of the table and gazed at his face. “I'm real sorry, Tim.”

Tim looked over her shoulder, his eyes suddenly welling tears. “Oh god—”

She hugged him for a few seconds, her cheek against his. She whispered, “It'll be okay. Noel and Kyra'll figure it out and end it, and make them pay.”

Tim's arm went around Alana, and held on. She squeezed him and let go. He stepped back. “Thank you.”

She smiled. “I'd better get packed.”

•  •  •

“It makes no sense,” Linda said.

Shane agreed. He and Derek, that could be a coincidence. But Timmy too? It couldn't all be Shane's fault. No one wanted him to break his leg. Maybe more than his leg—who knows what happens when you're in a car and it rolls like the Honda did.

He glanced toward his mother. She'd been sitting in that chair all night. Real handy for her, two of her three battered sons close at hand. She'd been here since they brought him; he'd barely slept. A broken leg. No Olympics for you, Shane. Kiss your damn future goodbye. He could feel tears gathering. No way his mother should see him cry. He grabbed a tissue and blew his nose. He let his eyes slide shut . . . He'd be in the den watching televised Olympic skating. Petro Sagan, a perfect triple axel. Petro was good. Maybe almost as good—