Acts of Murder by L. R. Wright

Acts of Murder by L. R. Wright

Author:L. R. Wright
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781631941696
Publisher: Felony & Mayhem Press
Published: 2019-09-15T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

“HAVE YOU HEARD from Alan since you got here?” asked Eddie’s father that morning, casually, over breakfast.

“That’s over, Dad,” she said abruptly. “I told you.”

“Yes, but I just wondered; you’re bound to feel lonely, at first, a new place, a new job—and—”

“I’m not at all lonely, Dad, but thanks for asking.”

“I thought he cared for you, Edwina. I thought you cared for him.”

“Dad. Can we talk about something else, please?”

He had made pancakes and bacon for their breakfast. He had brought the pancake mix with him—and the bacon, too, and even a pound of butter and some syrup, realizing that Eddie’s cupboards would probably be bare.

“Okay,” he said, with a sigh. “Sure.”

Eddie was pushing a piece of buttermilk pancake around in a pool of syrup. This was her father’s favorite breakfast. It wasn’t hers. She thought that if he had really wanted to do something for her, as opposed to doing it for himself, he would have brought eggs and hash-brown potatoes.

“I think you’re going to feel somewhat strange,” he said thoughtfully. “Living as a policewoman in this community.”

“What on earth do you mean by that?” she said, looking up at him in surprise.

“Everyone will know who you are. Your neighbors. The people in all these houses”—he waved expansively—“up and down the street.”

“Everyone knew who I was in Burnaby, too. Everybody up and down the hall. Everybody on every floor. So what?”

“It’ll be different here,” said her father, nodding sagely. “What’s the matter? Don’t you like your pancakes?”

“I like them fine, Dad. I’m just not very hungry. Too much on my mind.”

He looked around the kitchen. “We’ve made a dent, though,” he said. “And at least you’ve got your windows covered now.”

“You’re right, Dad,” she said. “And I’m glad of it, too.”

He had insisted that she provide him with precise measurements of every window, and had brought with him, as well as food, venetian blinds for the whole house.

“And I thank you again,” said Eddie.

He touched his napkin to the corners of his mouth. “You’re welcome.” He sat back with a sigh, resting clasped hands on his paunch, and tilted his head at her. “And what is life like, exactly, in the Sechelt detachment of the RCMP?”

Eddie laughed. “You don’t want to know, Dad. Why pretend that you do?”

“No, really,” he protested, smiling. His thinning hair was tousled and his short-sleeved shirt was open at the throat, revealing loose skin. He wore slippers over bare feet and trousers that were baggy at the knees. These were the same clothes he’d worn yesterday, but today Eddie sensed in the casualness of his appearance a studied intimacy that she resented.

She studied him across the table. “Okay, Dad. A woman disappeared last Monday.”

“Probably missed the last ferry from the mainland,” said her father with a smile.

“We found her body the next day, in a shallow grave, an indentation, really, no more than that, earth and leaves scattered on top. She’d been murdered.”

Her father was frowning now.

“Yeah, and it’s the second body buried in that same spot.


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