The Sandcastle Murders

by K. E. Warner

  The sounds slowed, then stilled, then stopped. The dull roar in her ears became loud voices, distinct and authoritative, until finally she heard, “Hey, hey, okay, it’s okay now. You’ll be okay.”

  Doubt and distrust overpowered the voices, and she kept her face deep within the moss, wishing it to swallow her into the earth. Chris’ weight peeled from her body. Her breathing deepened and slowed, but she grasped the moss to hold herself in place, afraid of what she was going to see if she left the comfort of the earth.

  Someone picked her up. Two handfuls of soft, lush vegetation came with her.

  “Magda. Magda. It’s okay.”

  And she smelled the familiar scent of Raheem as he crushed her to his chest.

  Chapter thirty-seven

  Roses. The scent nudged her from unsettling dreams to groggy thoughts. She wasn’t on the forest floor. Heaven, maybe? Not likely. If there was a heaven, her recent ‘selective honesty’ disqualified her.

  The unfamiliar room was dim, but through heavy eyelids she saw the outline of flowers beside her. She struggled to fully open her eyes.

  Every inch of her body hurt. She clicked her tongue against her palette and a strand of stringy saliva pulled away from her teeth. A cup sat beside the flowers, and she shifted her shoulder to move her arm. It was heavy, immobile, and covered in a cast. She dropped her shoulder back on the pillow and licked dry, chapped lips.

  “Hey.” Raheem’s voice cut through the last of the fog in her brain. He sounded like an angel and appeared beside her. She pointed at the cup. He reached over her small body and lifted the cup to her hand.

  “You’re looking good.” His teeth flashed like beacons through his grin.

  “Yeah?” She pointed at the cast.

  “Apparently Chris covered you – and broke a bone in your forearm. Had to get you down and out of the way once he knew what was happening. He saved your life.”

  “Chris?” She was having trouble making sense of the world.

  “You saved his life too, you know.”

  “Whose?”

  “Chris.”

  “He’s a cop, Raheem. Did you know that?”

  “Not till he disappeared. When I blew up at the station accusing him of breaking into your place and stealing those keys, the guys working on the opioid case had to let me in on it – he’s been working undercover for two years. His dad didn’t even know. Couldn’t break cover. But when things headed to Stey Cove, he couldn’t have been happier. Brought him close to his dad. A little bittersweet.”

  “What? How did he get into a gang? Or maybe the question is, how did he become a cop?”

  “He grew up here, same as Dan Belcher – who’s in jail now. Chris left Stey Cove shortly before he finished high school, completely estranged from his dad, and lived on the street in Vancouver. When he was nineteen, two of his friends died of overdoses. A cop took pity on this troubled, hungry, street kid, and took him in. Long story short, his life was saved, he finished high school, went to college, and on to the police department.”

  “But his dad didn’t know? How is that possible?”

  “He was a pretty terrible kid. When he left the island, I don’t think either of them cared to see the other again – at least for a few years. Once Chris sobered up, and grew up, he vowed not to return to his dad until he could make him proud. He stayed in touch with his dad, assuring him he was making good but without the specifics, and ended up under cover a few years ago – that meant he couldn’t be in touch often.”

  “Funny how our lives seem to turn on the kindness of strangers. So, how did Dan end up in this?”

  “Dan’s story’s similar, but he didn’t have the benefit of anyone seeing his potential. About the time Dan and Chris connected, Dan was on top of the food chain. It was an easy connection because they had a common history; both from Stey Cove, both troubled kids: recreational drugs, break and enters, disorderly conduct. The connection led to Chris’ undercover assignment, and his smarts earned him a solid reputation with the gang. As the drug smuggling became more lucrative, he gained trust as Dan’s right-hand man. Their most grandiose scheme was bringing a largest shipment into Canada through Stey Cove. The location was a good fit on the West Coast, with enough sparsely populated islands for them use as drop points, and the cover was perfect, since both men had family here.”

  “So, Dan Belcher was key to it? I guess it’s bittersweet that Brian wasn’t around to learn this. He would’ve been devastated.”

  Raheem’s face fell. “Better devastated than dead. Dan conscripted his dad to front some minor drug deals here while he waited for this shipment. He threatened to leave when his dad refused. Brian and Dan both knew that would break Ann’s heart. She was thrilled to have her son home and be a family again. So, Brian gave in and dealt to some people in the community. Ann didn’t know any of it.”

  “Alice Connor?”

  “Among others. That’s the thing about opioids. Powerfully addictive. And they don’t judge either. Can be a little ‘friend’ for anyone. All you need is a painkiller, a week of enjoying the benefits of pain-free living, and – boom. Not to everyone, but to many. Imagine the number of seniors here with chronic pain. To a dealer, that’s a market with great potential.”

  “What do you mean ‘better devastated than dead?’” Magda winced, her suspicions growing.

  “Brian decided this trip to Asia would be the make it or break it scenario for his son and told Dan he wasn’t helping with the drugs anymore. Dan said he wasn’t going to Asia. Brian told him he’d talk to the police. They fought, and Dan took him out on Chris’ boat on the pretense of taking the boat to Vancouver for the plane flight. Then Dan shot him.”

  “Oh my God. His father? He buried his dad in the sand? That’s unthinkable. He had to have known someone would find him.”

  “He tried burying him underneath the section where the sand sculptures are built. Brian’s body wouldn’t have been found for at least another month – maybe longer - if he’d found the right spot. He got distracted and rushed. He ended up burying him a few feet away, in the children’s area.”

  “Distracted?”

  “Sonja Bearns was looking out of her balcony in the middle of the night. She brought out a flashlight, hoping to see what the noise was, and he saw it. He ran over to her building to hide so she couldn’t see anything, but she came downstairs and went outside. When he saw a car enter the building, he followed it to the underground parking and came up the interior stairs to her floor. He watched her exit the elevator from the stairwell, then as she unlocked the door, followed her in, and threw her off the balcony. Somewhere in the process he also lost the keys to the Snowflake.”

  He tugged two tissues from a box beside her and wiped her tears. “Remember that photo you sent me of the guy lurking around at the White Night Dinner? That was Dan Belcher. I guess I was so caught up in re-connecting with you, I didn’t notice him. Anyway, the photo tipped us off that he was still around, even though Chris was missing, so thank-you.”

  “He looks like his dad. I guess that’s why he looked familiar.” She squirmed then asked, “How’s Chris?”

  “He’ll be fine; somewhat dehydrated, a punctured lung, dislocated shoulder, a few broken ribs, but nothing he can’t live with. He’s afraid his face will heal with a scar since the wounds were healing before he got medical attention. He’ll be okay – guys like that become more intriguing when they have scars. They’ll release him tomorrow, or the day after. Henri’s with him now. Hasn’t left his side since they brought him in. Aren’t you going to ask about the cast on your foot and ankle?”

  She hadn’t had time to process all of her injuries yet. “I assume you asked the doctors to put it on so you could slow me down.” It hurt to laugh, and she grimaced.

  “Never thought of that.” His fingers strummed the growth on his chin, the by-product of two days without a shower. “You fractured two of your cuneiform bones. The full cast wasn’t completely necessary, but when they h
eard how active you were,” he laughed, “they cast it for your own protection. So, yes, it’s supposed to slow you down. I told them it wouldn’t work.”

  “I could do with a slowdown for a while. Raheem, will you forgive me?”

  “Forgive you? For saving a cop’s life? For leading us where we needed to be? Your voicemail came through on my watch and it turned us in a different direction. It meant the difference between success and failure.” He picked up her hand. “Magda, I need to learn to trust you. If anything had happened…” his teeth clenched and his grip tightened on her hand. “I think we’re better as a team than as two people trying to chase the same story for different reasons.”

  “Raheem, I’m still sorry. I won’t make excuses; you’re trying to protect me from myself. If the roles were reversed and you were walking straight into something you didn’t understand, I’d be sick.”

  He bent down and kissed the top of her head. “There’s something I want you to have.”

  A quick knock on the open door startled them, and they turned in unison to see a chair being wheeled by Henri.

  “Hey, hero.” Chris’ smile was bright on a face of purple, blue, and green bruises. Three strips of wound closure tape striped his face under his eye and across his nose; both eyes were blackened, one was closed, giving him a Cyclopean appearance. Magda and Raheem stared in silence at Chris.

  “Okay, right, I should have said heroes. How are you feeling, Magda?”

  A smile warmed her face. “I’m feeling better than you look. Chris, why didn’t you tell us?”

  His face contorted into a lop-sided frown. “Tell you what? I have crappy friends? Or I’m trying to bring down the biggest smuggling ring on the West Coast? Which were you more likely to believe? Besides, it’s what undercover means.”

  Raheem raised his hands in front of himself in a sign of innocence and shook his head. “Hey, I wasn’t even told until it was necessary. Eventually I discovered that’s why we released him from jail after the fight outside the bar.”

  Chris scowled. “Right. And that turned out to be the reason Dan figured out I was a cop. It was six of one, half dozen of the other.”

  “Did you break into my place and steal the keys?”

  “No, that was Dan. When you called me, he was at the bar and I mentioned his set of keys to the boat were located, but I didn’t have them. We had a heated discussion about retrieving them. He guessed they were at your place, and if he hadn’t found them there, he was going to,” Chris choked, “ask you. It was the final loose end for Dan. He decided then that he and his friends were going to take me out on the boat and have some fun.”

  Magda nodded, beginning to understand. “Getting arrested led to you and me going to Jedidiah instead of paddleboarding, and if that hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t have had a clue about the goats, and figured out you were texting me.”

  “It was the only phone number I could remember. Everything else was on my phone, which Brian took from me before they took my boat and me for an uncomfortable ride. Your number stuck with me. The phone I called you from was a burner I carry – but they caught me texting when we were walking to the cabin. I paid the price for it in spades.” Chris’ tight grin said things even Raheem didn’t want to hear.

  “Okay dude, you can forget that number now.” Raheem wore the look of a man who was joking, but the implication was serious.

  “I figured that out on my own. You two are serious. And on that note, Dad?”

  Henri turned the chair and wheeled it out of the room, turning back to mouth two words to the couple.

  Thank you.

  As they stared after the men, Raheem reached into his pocket.

  Magda smiled as she watched him. “What were you saying before Chris came in?”

  “I better say it before someone beats me to it.”

  He held out an antique silver keyring, the word CANADA pressed across the top, a maple leaf bordering each side, and the distinct silhouette of an RCMP officer atop a horse centred in the oval. His hand let go of the keys attached as she pulled the keyring closer.

  “It’s beautiful, Raheem.” The keys dangled in front of her. “What are the keys to?”

  “Well, I would say my heart, but I’m not that corny. My house. Don’t make a decision now, or this week. I just want you to know that I want you to be part of my life. A big part of my life. And if you can make that transition at your own pace, I’m ready for it.”

  A tear trickled from the corner of her eye as she reached up, clutched at the buttons on his shirt, and pulled him in for a kiss.

  Chapter thirty-eight

  Donna opened the door and ran to Magda.

  “Magda. Two casts! Oh, you poor, poor woman. Come in and tell us everything. Everything. And did you hear? Elaine and Henri?”

  Raheem pulled Magda’s purse from his vehicle and followed Magda, hobbling on crutches, into the house. He heard the echoed shouts of ‘Surprise’ as people greeted Magda, the hero.

  Little Saori leaped from the couch and ran to her, yipping for attention, and Donna scooped up the pup while explaining Magda couldn’t lift her with a cast on.

  Magda scanned the living room and Raheem caught up to her, pointing to an available chair. She took the seat, grinning at the guests. Alice and Dave Connor, both looking well, Charles, grinning ear to ear as Saori jumped back into his lap, and Elaine sitting close to Henri.

  “Aha, a reprisal of the White Night Dinner.” Magda enjoyed this company better than any she had known. “How is Chris, Henri?”

  “He’s getting better every day. Taking the next six months off to spend time with me. We’re buying a small fishing boat.”

  “Buying a boat? What about Snowflake? I thought that was his boat.”

  “No. That belonged to the police. Bought it as part of his cover. I think they’re glad you helped save the boat, and Chris.”

  The smile faded from Henri’s face and Elaine reached over and patted his hand. “Well, Chris was saved, and here’s Magda so we can thank her for that. We don’t have to dwell on the what-if scenario.”

  The room quieted and Charles perked up, squirming like a three-year-old eager to speak. “Magda, I wonder if you can help us. Henri showed me an old picture, and it looks like a photo of me – as a younger man. It isn’t me, but a darn good a facsimile. I seem to have a doppelganger. Do you remember how you looked into my past last fall?”

  She nodded, and he continued. “Well, I am wondering if you could help us track down the background on Alexander Ivanov? I’d like to find out more about someone so similar…”

  This was an evolution for the gentle man and she welcomed the opportunity to do some ancestry research for him. “Charles, I’d love to work on that. I won’t be doing much running around in the next few weeks.” She turned her attention to Alice, her voice soft. “How are you feeling?”

  The question said so much, and Dave took Alice’s hand as she answered. “Much better. Working with a pain management specialist and going to physio three times a week. I feel myself again, almost.”

  Dave hugged her. “We learned from this. No one is beyond the reach of addiction. It could be anyone. Anyone.” His grave warning had the room nodding.

  Donna smiled as she glanced around the roomful of friends she had collected in her home. “Well, if anyone is hungry, lunch is ready!”

  Chapter thirty-nine

  Charles scanned the sky across the Strait of Georgia and into the haze hiding the mountains on the mainland. The resort and condos, and the dark memory of finding Sonja Bearns, lingered behind him.

  Saori bounced beside him, eager to reach the foam left behind by waves pounding the beach. Donna clipped along the boardwalk on the other side of him, careful of her footing in high heels.

  “It’s nice having your company this morning, Donna. Saori is wonderful company, but occasionally, I’ve learned, a good human friend can be more rewarding.”

  He felt the warmth of her fingertips search for his hand
and he acquiesced, gently squeezing her hand as he took it. He hoped he wouldn’t regret his comment.

  Acknowledgement

  So much about this second book in the Stey Cove Mystery series is about gratitude. Gratitude for the Twitter writing community, where I spend time admiring, learning from, and cheering for the talented and kind writers in cyberspace – people who make this world a much better place.

  Gratitude for those who so kindly read my work, reviewed it, and comment with honesty and encouragement. It’s not easy being green, but your support made me feel that perhaps being green is just a starting point.

  And gratitude for this wonderful island, with so many, many fictitious stories to tell.