“The property is the rectangle marked in red,” continued Riley, pointing to the area outlined by the lawyer. “But I can’t see anything like a road or a track across the back end.”
Jean leaned over and looked closely. “As a matter of fact, it is here. Your lawyer was a bit heavy-handed with the red ink. It covers up a black dotted line that goes in at one corner and out at the other.”
Jean stood back so Riley could see.
“You’re right,” she said. “Your eyes are sharper than mine.”
“And you can see the Allens’ house,” Jean went on. “It’s on the shore of Beaver Pond. The driveway belongs to them.”
“Hey!” exclaimed Riley. “I forgot about the aerial photo. It ought to show everything, even the trail.”
She fished a 10”x 8” print out of the envelope that held the deeds and put it beside the map.
Jean examined the dark green woods, the paler-colored meadow and the brownish bog. “The survey line’s quite clear, which means you should see the trail.”
“But there isn’t one, is there?” Riley asked.
“No. There’s nothing at all.” Jean turned the photograph over. “We’re in luck. There’s a date stamped on the back—May 1976. That means the trail must have been cut during the last couple of years. I expect your uncle had the work done so he could get to the back line. Or maybe he just liked the walk. It’s really quite pretty, don’t you think?”
Riley nodded. “You’re probably right, and it is a nice walk.”
Chapter Five
Near Miss
The main branch of the St. John’s Public Library where Jean worked was housed in the Arts and Culture Centre at the eastern extremity of the Memorial University of Newfoundland Campus. After a particularly busy day, Jean was about to pack up and leave when she noticed Riley’s survey map on her desk. It had been sitting there waiting to be photocopied since Tuesday. Today being Friday she decided to do that at once then drop off the copies on the way home.
The Pinto was in the sun-baked staff parking area to the left of the main entrance, but when she turned the ignition key, the engine spluttered and refused to catch. It was having a tantrum. All she could do was to wait a minute or so and try again. As she sat in the hot car, Jean thought about the upcoming evening with her boyfriend, Jonathan Hynes. He had asked her to dinner at the Harbour Restaurant, doubtless with a view to spending the night with her afterwards. The relationship had reached the point where she either stopped seeing him or let things continue as nature, or rather Jonathan, decreed. Pleasant and unbelievably sexy though he was, Jean had some minuscule misgivings in the back of her mind. Perhaps if she persuaded him to take things slowly…Crossing her fingers, she tried the ignition once again. This time, the engine purred like a noisy cat. Still, it might be a good idea to have Charlie Fudge take a look at it on her next day off.
A few minutes later, Jean swung the Pinto around the curve of Riley’s driveway and pulled up behind the station wagon. The moment she got out of the car, her nostrils were tweaked by a marvelous barbecue smell. She glanced up and there was Riley, leaning over the deck rail with that amazing smile on her face.
“Hi, there! Something tells me you’ve brought my photocopies.”
Jean held up an envelope. “Boy, does that ever smell good. What are you cooking?”
“Just burgers. Why don’t you stay awhile and join me? I’ve got some cold beer—you look as though you could do with one.”
“I’d love to, but I’m going out to dinner with Jonathan tonight.”
“Well, have a drink anyway. It’s early yet. When’s he picking you up?”
“Seven-thirty. Okay, I give in. A beer would go down well.”
“Come on up, then. The front door’s open.”
When Jean stepped onto the deck, she saw that Riley had found some real charcoal for her barbecue instead of the briquettes that had taken over the market.
“Do you want to watch these while I get the beer?” said Riley.
“Sure.”
Two minutes later, her friend returned with bottles and glasses along with a bag of chips.
“I put the photocopies on the dining table,” Jean said. “And the patties were done on one side so I turned them.”
Riley set the drinks on a small patio table and unfolded a couple of lawn chairs. “So how’s Jonathan these days? And where are you going for dinner?”
“The place has a dreary name but fabulous food—the Harbour Restaurant. And Jonathan’s fine, thanks.”
“It sounds like tonight’s the night. Am I right?”
Under normal circumstances, Jean would have bristled if someone said that to her, but Riley wasn’t just someone. Apart from being extraordinarily perspicacious on occasions, this bubbly kid had somehow got under her skin. She was welcome to say what she liked.
Jean took a swig of beer. “I guess so. It’s too bad relationships with men always seem to boil down to one thing, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so,” replied Riley. “As a matter of fact, I met a real nice character the other day. Did I tell you about the dead rat in my mailbox?”
Jean smiled. “No, you certainly didn’t. But what’s that got to do with the guy?”
“I was so surprised to find the rat that I stepped back into the road without looking—right in front of his car. He was rather annoyed at first, but when I showed him the rotting corpse he sympathized and gave me a hand with the mess. His name’s Paul Sutherland.”
“Can’t say I know—”
There was a loud crack. The glass of the deck door shattered into a thousand shards, which cascaded around them. Some fell through the gaps between the two-by-four decking to the concrete path below.
Riley screamed, Jean’s beer glass fell from her hand, its remnants joining those of the deck door. Then silence descended abruptly as if nothing had happened.
They both jumped to their feet, glistening fragments falling from their heads and shoulders.
“My God!” Riley cried. “What was that? And look at the door! Did someone throw a rock or something?”
Jean thought for a second—as much as the shock would allow. “I…I think someone shot at us!”
“What?”
“It certainly wasn’t a rock and there’s no other explanation.”
They both shook the glass from their clothes.
“Don’t cut yourself,” Jean continued.
“I…I think we’d better get inside,” said Riley.
At this point, the barbecue started belching flame and smoke from burning beef fat.
“I’ll bring the burgers,” Jean offered. “If they get out of control, the house could burn down.” She quickly rescued the charred meat then hurried to the kitchen and comparative safety.
Shaking with terror, they clung to each other for a few seconds, then Riley went into the dining room.
Jean followed and pushed her against the wall.
“Don’t stand in front of the open deck,” she said. “Whoever did it might see you and try again.” It was then that she spotted a small jagged hole in the gyprock opposite the deck. “That was definitely a bullet. It went right between us and clean through your house. We’d better call the RCMP.”
As they looked at each other, Riley’s eyes suddenly widened. “Hell, Jean! One of us could have been killed!”
After the realization sank in, Jean managed to pull herself together. “Why don’t you squat somewhere away from a window while I call the RCMP—and where’s the phone?”
“On the table by the front door.”
By this time, Jean’s inner self was beginning to overcome her fear. She realized what she had to do and dialed 911. When prompted, she asked for the police. Within a few seconds, a vaguely familiar voice came on the line.
“This is Sergeant Kelly. May I have your name, address, phone number and the nature of the emergency?”
Jean said, “My name is Jean Collins and I’m at Box 241, RR 3, Dog Cove Road, St. Pe
ter’s. Sergeant Kelly, we met a year or so ago. I’m at a friend’s house and a rifle shot smashed the deck door.”
“Very well. I want you to keep everyone away from the windows until I arrive. Give me ten minutes, okay?”
“We’ve already taken cover.”
“Good. And try not to worry. I don’t think for a moment there’s any danger.”
“Thank you, Sergeant.”
Jean returned to Riley, who was sitting on the living room floor with her back to the wall. “It’s lucky that Sergeant Kelly’s on duty. He’s a very nice and efficient officer. I’m sure we’ll be fine. While we’re waiting, I’m going to call Jonathan and tell him our dinner’s off. I’ll ask him over later instead.”
Riley sniffed and pulled a tissue from her pocket. “I’m sorry. I’m not being much help, am I? And don’t disappoint Jonathan. It’s not even six o’clock yet. There’s plenty of time to talk to the Sergeant and get ready for your date.”
“Come on, Riley Barnett,” Jean replied. “I’m your friend, remember? I don’t walk out on friends when they’ve been shot at.”
“Maybe I can do the same for you one day.”
“I sincerely hope not!”
They both laughed halfheartedly.
A few minutes later, they heard the siren of an approaching police car. Jean went over to a window overlooking the parking area. As soon as Sergeant Kelly had parked behind the Pinto and got out, Jean opened the front door. Riley joined her as six feet plus of RCMP uniform came up the garden path.
“This is Riley Barnett,” said Jean.
“Nice to meet you,” replied the Sergeant.
Jean shut the door behind them as Kelly glanced at the shattered patio door then picked his way through the broken glass to the deck. “Made a nasty old mess, didn’t it? Watch out when you clean it up, Miss Barnett.”
By this time, Riley seemed to have recovered from the shock. The officer’s longish face with its confident smile and shortcut fair hair must have helped.
“I’ll be careful, Sergeant.” She indicated the sofa as they returned to the living room. “Have a seat and we’ll answer your questions.”
It took almost half an hour for Kelly to complete his notes. After pocketing his pad and ballpoint, he crossed the living room to the hole in the wall opposite the deck. It was about five feet above the floor.
“Looks like a .300 caliber to me.” He closed one eye and peered through the hole. “Yep! I can just see daylight, which means it smashed the window and went clean through the wall. We’ll have a hard time finding what’s left of it—probably ricochetted off a tree and ended up God knows where.” He turned and went back to his seat. “Here’s how I see it. Someone was hunting moose illegally, in the woods to the south, I’d guess. He missed the moose and the bullet kept on going. A good hunting rifle’s very powerful. It can do a lot of damage from as far away as a mile, although I’ll bet this fellow was closer than that. It may surprise you, but people’s houses do get hit from time to time.”
“Really. I had no idea,” Jean commented.
“Mind you, this is the closest to town I’ve heard of,” the Sergeant added.
“That’s good news, isn’t it?” said Riley. “I mean, no one’s trying to kill us.”
“Of course not. On the other hand, there isn’t much chance of finding the guy even if we come up lucky with the bullet.”
“Too bad,” said Jean. She turned to Riley. “Why don’t you stay the night at my place? You’ll probably sleep better.”
“Thanks a lot, but I’d rather be at home.”
“You’ll be quite safe here,” said the sergeant. “A patrol car will keep an eye on the house and I’ll ask the constable to walk up the driveway so as not to disturb you.” He held up his notepad. “Your statement will be typed up tomorrow. The two of you should stop by the office on Topsail Road as soon as you can and sign it.” Kelly opened the front door. “And don’t worry,” he added.
Riley and Jean returned to the deck and watched the cruiser back gingerly down the driveway, its tires crunching on the gravel.
“Come on,” said Jean. “I’ll give you a hand cleaning up. And what about the deck door? Maybe we can cover the opening with garbage bags.”
“There’s some heavier plastic in the shed,” said Riley. “And I saw a box of thumb tacks somewhere around.”
“That should keep the birds out. And there isn’t any rain or wind in the forecast so you’ll be fine for the time being.”
It took them a while to remove the broken glass, vacuum the carpet then pin up the plastic sheeting. By the time they’d finished, Jean guessed that Jonathan would be waiting at her house.
“I’d better be going, if you’re sure you’ll be okay,” she said.
Riley put a hand on her shoulder. “Of course I will.”
“And call if you’re lonely.”
“You bet. And thanks.”
Jean opened the front door. “No problem. Any time!”
“I’ll walk you to the Pinto,” said Riley.
After all the hubbub and excitement, Riley felt somewhat deflated. As sunset approached, she began to dwell on the incident. Never in her life had she been so terrified. In spite of Sergeant Kelly’s assurances, she felt uneasy. Somewhere, somehow, something was wrong, but she couldn’t pinpoint anything in particular. Dismissing these thoughts, she decided to call Mr. McGrath first thing Monday morning. At least the lawyer would know if the repairs were covered by her house insurance; he might even help her file a claim.
Tomorrow was Saturday and Riley had a multitude of things to do, so the best thing now was to get a good night’s sleep. Reluctant to interrupt Jean’s tryst with Jonathan or to put Joni off her possible visit, she resisted the temptation to phone either of them and went to bed exhausted.
A shrill ringing jabbed Riley awake. Her eyes blinked at the early morning sunshine flooding through the window. She dragged herself out of bed and rushed to the telephone.
“Hi!” said Jean. “Did I wake you?”
“Yeah, but it’s just as well you did. I was dead to the world.”
“First off, are you all right? But you must be, otherwise you wouldn’t be talking to me. And second, the weather forecast is for rain this afternoon.”
Riley glanced at her watch—7:43. “Oh-oh! I’d better get my clothes on and do something about the deck door.”
“As a matter of fact, I took it upon myself to ask someone to look at it—hope you don’t mind. His name’s Juan Santos. He’ll be at your house around nine, complete with a large sheet of plywood.”
“Jean, that’s great! But how did you arrange it at this hour?”
“Called him last night when I got home.”
“Well, you’re an angel. Talking of last night, how was Jonathan?”
“Oh, fine, thanks. Actually, he didn’t come to the house. We spoke on the phone and put off our date until this evening. It’s a good thing we did. One of the girls at the library called in sick, which means I have to be at work by nine o’clock.”
“Talk to you soon,” said Riley. “And have a good time!”
No sooner had she replaced the receiver when the phone rang again.
“Good morning, Miss Barnett, this is Sergeant Kelly. Would it be convenient for me to bring a constable and look for the bullet? There’s no need for us to come into the house.”
“Be my guest, Sergeant. And good luck!”
Riley had almost finished her bowl of cereal when the police cruiser pulled up behind the station wagon. Sergeant Kelly and the constable walked to the back of the house where Riley imagined they’d check out the exit hole before looking for the bullet. After breakfast, she glanced through the window; they were examining the tree trunks. Maybe it had embedded itself in one of them. By the time fresh coffee was ready, the two men were nowhere in sight.
Riley’s next task was to clean up the broken glass from the deck and the area beneath it. She had barely finished sweeping the concrete
path outside the basement when Sergeant Kelly rounded the corner of the house. He had a broad smile on his face as he held up a small object between his thumb and forefinger.
“Here’s the culprit,” he said. “Got stuck in a tree further back in the woods. It’s our lucky day.”
Riley put the offered piece of twisted lead and brass in her palm and peered at it.
“You can see that part of it has broken off,” the Sergeant went on. “But this is the bit that we need.” He pointed a large stubby finger at a circular piece of brass. “That’s the back end of the bullet. The rifling marks made by the gun barrel are quite clear.”
“And like in the movies, you match them with a bullet fired from the suspect’s gun.”
“You got it, miss. But like I said last night, there ain’t no suspect. In my opinion, the chances of finding one are about zero. All we can do is keep it as evidence, just in case. I’ll call this in and make sure the constable’s diagram of the bullet’s path is straightened away, then we’ll be off. Don’t forget to drop by the office and sign the statement, will you? It should be typed up before noon.”
“I’ll try and do it today,” Riley promised.
She returned to the house as the police car was leaving. By now, it was well after nine o’clock, which was when Juan Santos was supposed to turn up. In fact, it was nearer eleven before a ramshackle pickup came to a squeaking halt. Riley went out to meet the owner.
The man who got out of the cab was dark, his skin the color of coffee. He had a rather small mouth and black eyes that seemed to bore deep into Riley’s brain.
“Mr. Santos?” she queried.
“Miss Barnett.” He extended a work-hardened hand. “You’ve come to the right man. Let’s have a look, then.”
Riley had expected him to speak with a Spanish accent, but an acquired Newfoundland dialect had masked his mother tongue.
Juan Santos put his hands on his hips as he surveyed what was left of the deck door. Riley had already removed the plastic sheeting.
“It’s an old piece of junk, I’d say.” He dislodged a jagged fragment of glass from the door frame with the toe of a well-worn work boot. “The two panes weren’t even sealed, just separated by that strip of wood. The window would fog up terrible in the winter.”
She Came From Away Page 5