Riley leaned forward. “I see what you mean.”
“If you asks me you can thank that feller with the rifle for being such a lousy shot. I can get you a nice new door for a good price.” Santos produced a tape from the tool belt around his waist and measured up the opening. “It so ‘appens I’ve got one the right size in stock, but it will be Monday before I can get ‘er fitted. Meanwhile, I can cover up the ‘ole with plywood.”
“That would be great, Mr. Santos.”
In less than half an hour, it was done. The living room was dark and gloomy without its major light source, but it wouldn’t be like that for long. As for the bullet hole, Santos promised to plug the outside with plastic wood and the inside with plaster, but that would have to wait as well.
“You can hide the patch with a picture,” he concluded.
Finally, the contractor’s truck departed in a cloud of blue exhaust. Riley realized he hadn’t stopped talking for more than ten seconds during the entire visit. He was one of those characters who leave a person quite worn out. Still, he seemed good at his job. The rain that had been forecast for the afternoon didn’t get past the plywood, even when a strengthening southwest wind blew it against the house.
It was getting on toward dinner time when the downpour eased off then stopped altogether. Riley was wondering what to do next when she heard the crunch of tires on the driveway yet again. Jean perhaps? But she was at work. The vehicle that came into view was a white van with the words St. John’s Evening News on its sides.
A rather heavily set dark young man got out; Riley waited for him to ring the bell before opening the front door.
“I guess you’re Riley Barnett,” he greeted. “I’m Mike Gallant from the Evening News. I understand you had a narrow escape last evening. What exactly happened?”
Riley didn’t answer directly. “How did you find out?”
“Oh, things get around.”
She smiled—things got around via Mr. Juan Santos, no doubt.
“So it seems,” she said. “But now you’re here you might as well come in and I’ll tell you about it.”
Riley described what had happened without going into much detail. Mike Gallant was nice enough, but the incident seemed to have taken over her life. The sooner he left the better. She wasted no time before directing him outside to see the bullet’s exit hole. That done, she quickly hustled him back to his vehicle.
“Thank you, Miss Barnett,” he said. “Incidentally, I notice that you’re not from here, are you? What brings you to Newfoundland?”
The last thing Riley wanted was to publicize the story of her inheritance, so she said, “I needed a break from Toronto, it’s as simple as that. This place was empty so I took it for the summer.” It wasn’t entirely true, but it wasn’t a lie either.
“It’s a nice spot.” The reporter got into the van and shut the door. “If you’re not a subscriber, be sure to get a Monday paper—you’ll be in it, assuming I have your permission?”
“Of course,” Riley answered. “I’ll look for the story.”
No sooner had she shut the front door when the phone rang. Riley answered at once.
“This is Margaret Cassell from CBC Radio. I understand a stray rifle bullet hit your house last night. Would you mind—”
“I’ll have to be brief, Miss Cassell. I was about to go out.” Things were definitely getting out of hand.
“Of course.”
When she had finished, Riley grabbed her purse, leaving the receiver off the hook. An immediate visit to the supermarket should pass the time. Besides, it was Sunday tomorrow and the shops would be closed. On the way into town, she remembered about signing Sergeant Kelly’s statement. She would have to divert via the RCMP detachment on Topsail Road.
It was long past six o’clock when Riley got home. She thought it best not to bother Jean, who would be getting ready for her date. The rest of the evening passed without interruption.
Sunday dawned bright, clear and cool. Riley was unashamedly curious about Jean’s tryst with Jonathan, but managed to contain herself and wait for her friend to call first. It was mid-afternoon before she heard the phone ring. She was filling the lawn mower with gas so she rushed indoors. To her surprise it was Mr. McGrath.
“I heard about the stray bullet on the radio,” he explained, “and wanted to be sure you were all right.”
“That’s very thoughtful, Mr. McGrath. As a matter of fact, I was going to call about my house insurance. Do you think it will cover the damage?”
“I expect so. How much was there?”
“I need a new deck door. The work’s being done tomorrow.”
“That was quick. Make sure the contractor itemizes everything on the bill. You may not get the full cost, but you shouldn’t be out of pocket by much.”
“I’ll do that.”
“I’ve heard of similar incidents before,” the lawyer went on. “But this was a little too close to home.”
“You can say that again. And thanks for calling.”
Riley was about to return to the lawn mower when the phone rang again.
“Hi!” said Jean. “I’ve been wondering how you got on with our Spanish friend.”
“He’s a real character, isn’t he? Everything’s going to be fixed tomorrow: the hole in the wall, a new door, the works. But tell me, are there many Spanish people in Newfoundland?”
“Quite a few as a matter of fact. Most are descended from early Spanish fishermen, but there’s been a steady trickle of immigrants as well. Juan’s family moved here from Toronto a long time ago. He was little more than a kid at the time.”
“That explains why he doesn’t speak with a Spanish accent. By the way, be sure to check tomorrow’s Evening News. We’re in it. And did the CBC call you?”
“No one bothered me at all,” Jean replied.
“That’s great! And…and how was your evening?”
There was a short silence, then Jean said, “Let me put it like this. It was fantastic. In fact, Jonathan’s still here.”
“Wow!” Riley exclaimed and they hung up.
Chapter Six
News from Toronto
The first thing Riley did when she awoke on Tuesday was to hurry to the living-plus-dining room and admire the new deck door. To complete the job, she would have to buy some new drapes, but since the house was completely private there was no hurry. She went over to the door, flicked up the latch and slid it open effortlessly with a slim forefinger. The thing might as well have been mounted on air.
Still in her summer nightie, Riley stood on the deck. The morning sun was shafting across the lawn through a break in the trees. She took a deep breath of clean air as a gentle breeze caressed her bare arms, at the same time wafting the thin material of the nightdress against her body. It was a sensual feeling, fleeting, but it lasted long enough to make her feel good inside.
An hour later found her well on the way to St. John’s for a visit to the insurance company to see about her claim. There were no problems; the clerk said they would pay the full cost of repairs less the standard deductible. Back home again, the first requirement was a cup of coffee, but when she opened the fridge there wasn’t any milk. Never mind, it was a good excuse to see Doris. After changing into her country clothes, as she called them—dark blue shirt, jeans and dirty white sneakers, Riley walked to the store.
Doris greeted her with the usual unique smile. “‘Ello, Riley. You’re lookin’ perky this mornin’.”
“It’s a perky day, Doris. The sun’s shining, there aren’t any flies and the insurance company’s going to pay for my new deck door.”
“I ‘eard what ‘appened. Oh, my! What’s it comin’ to when a person can’t sit on their deck without gettin’ shot at.”
At that moment the door opened and in walked Charlie.
“Nasty business about the bullet,” he said. “Didn’t do no damage to the wagon, did it?”
Riley went over to the milk cooler. “Not a chance. It missed by
at least thirty feet.”
“Jean said it went right between the two of you,” Doris added.
“Get away!” exclaimed Charlie. “She never said nothin’ when she stopped by about the Pinto.”
Riley set a carton of milk on the counter along with a five dollar bill. “All’s well that ends well, but there must be an easier way to get a new deck door. See you!”
After leaving the store, she walked past Charlie’s car toward the road, the milk carton swinging in the plastic bag that Doris had provided. It occurred to her that she had only been in Newfoundland for a couple of weeks, yet she felt quite at home. This was unexpected and due, of course, to her friendly neighbors.
As was her habit, Riley stayed on the right hand side of the road for the five minute walk to her driveway where it was safer to cross. A few seconds later, a car engine started somewhere behind her. The commonplace sound made absolutely no impression as she continued homewards. Then the engine raced and there was a screech of tires that sounded right on top of her. Riley whipped around. The thing was only feet away. Its malevolent black hood seemed about to smash into her stomach. She jumped sideways, instinctively twisting to break the fall with her hands. There was a rush of air. Small stones from the shoulder of the road sprayed the side of her body as she crashed to the ground. The plastic bag containing the milk swung sideways. The carton exploded in a cold white spray as it saved her face from the sharp gravel beneath. Her legs weren’t so lucky. An outsize jagged piece of rock tore through the jeans and raked across her left knee. The pain was excruciating. Riley screamed at the top of her voice.
The next thing she heard was more engine revving, more screeching of tires, then a distant voice cried, “Riley! What ‘appened? Don’t move ‘til I git thar!”
Charlie Fudge ran across the parking area and along the road as fast as he could. Concern drove his legs and lungs as he sprinted the short distance to Riley’s prostrate body.
“Oh, me Gawd!” he said. “Can you speak to me? Are you all right?”
“It’s just my knee, Charlie,” Riley said. She tried to roll over but couldn’t. “Shit! That hurts!”
Charlie squatted and took her hand. “‘Ere, let me help.”
This time, Riley made it.
“Seems like a nasty cut,” Charlie commented. “But I can’t be sure because of the mess. Put your arm around my neck and we’ll git you to the store. Doris’ll fix it. She knows what she’s doin’.”
Riley gritted her teeth. The knee hurt like hell but she hung on to Charlie, putting her weight on the other leg. They were halfway back to the store when she glanced down. Her jeans were soaked with blood and there was a nasty split in them. Good-bye, jeans!
Doris stepped into the tiny car park. “What’s goin’ on then?” she called. “Thought I ‘eard a car skid. Charlie, what you up to? Is Riley ‘urt?”
“Cut ‘er knee, she ‘as. You’d better take a look at it.”
Once inside, Doris took over. “Put ‘er in the armchair out back and git me a big plastic bowl of ‘ot water. After that you can mind the shop.”
“Very good,” Charlie replied. “Let me know if she needs to go to the ‘ospital.”
The conversation seemed a little distant to Riley, then the world tilted. It swam back into focus when she found herself slumped in one of two dark brown armchairs. She was in a room off the passage that connected the shop to the back door.
“Right,” said Doris. “Let’s get them jeans off an’ I’ll ‘ave you bandaged up in a jiffy.”
Riley undid the ruined jeans and between them they eased them down to her feet then took them right off. Doris disappeared to the kitchen. When Riley looked at the knee, she almost passed out again; it was an awful mess of blood and gravel and continued to hurt like hell.
Doris returned with a bowl of steaming liquid that smelt of disinfectant. Soon, the mess had been cleaned and bandaged and the pain had gone.
Doris stood back to inspect her handiwork. “You can’t go back in your undies, Riley. Besides, the knee needs a rest. Lucky it were only a nasty graze.” She held up what was left of Riley’s jeans. “These ain’t much good like this. Why don’t I cut the bottoms off and turn them into shorts?”
“Thanks Doris. I’d never have thought of that. It’ll make them much easier to put on with the bandage and everything.”
Doris picked up the scissors she’d been using. The job took just a few deft snips.
Riley pulled on her new shorts with some difficulty. She managed to stand, then put her arm around Doris’s neck and kissed her cheek. “Where’d you learn the first aid?”
“Oh, me Granny taught me,” Doris replied with a grin.
“Well, it’s amazing!”
“Come along, then. Charlie’ll give you a ride ‘ome.”
Back in the shop, Charlie was studiously looking out of the window.
“I was scared to death,” said Riley. “Did you see anything, Charlie?”
“Damn all,” he replied. “By the time I opened the door, the bastard was out of sight and I didn’t git no plate number.” He turned away from the window. “If you asks me, you ain’t ‘ad much luck lately, ‘ave you, Riley?”
“You’re dead right about that. But hey! Shouldn’t we call the police?”
“Why bother? It won’t do no good now. You don’t know what make the car was and you didn’t git the number either. Besides, we can’t prove ‘e was driving dangerously—just your word against ‘is.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“People gits away with murder in this place,” Charlie went on. “I remembers a couple of weeks before you came, some kid was so drunk ‘e didn’t make that sharp corner ‘alf way down the Dog Cove Road. Finished upside down in the ditch, ‘e did. By the time the cops came, the car was gone.”
“How come?”
“‘Alf a dozen lads from around brought a pickup and ‘auled it out. Only took ‘em a few minutes, I’ll bet.”
“Better git ‘er ‘ome, Charlie,” said Doris. “She looks a bit pale.”
“I feel it,” said Riley.
Doris took another carton of milk from the cooler and followed Charlie as he helped Riley to his car.
When they got back to the house, Charlie walked her to the front door.
“Best ‘ave a doctor look at that knee,” he said. “Just to be on the safe side.”
“Thanks for helping,” said Riley. “See you soon.”
“Give Doris a call if you needs anything.”
“I will.”
It wasn’t long before Riley’s reaction to the shock made her feel sleepy, so she lay on the bed. Her eyes had hardly closed, or so it seemed, when she awoke to the sound of a vehicle. In fact, the time was well past noon. It was difficult to stand, but she managed to do so and hobbled to the window. The presence of a police cruiser in the driveway proclaimed that Sergeant Kelly was the visitor. She made it to the front door and opened it just as he rang the bell.
“Afternoon, Riley,” he greeted. “I’d like to try and figure out where that shot came from.” Kelly glanced at Riley’s knee. “What happened there? Did you have a fall?”
“You could say that,” Riley replied, then she told him about the black car.
Kelly looked concerned. “How bad is it?” he asked.
“Just a nasty graze. It’s stopped hurting already.”
“That’s good. All the same, you should’ve called in right away. You never know, we might have got lucky and caught the guy. Can’t see a woman doin’ that.”
“I was rather out of it,” Riley replied. “By the time Doris had fixed my knee, it was too late.”
Kelly glanced at his watch. “Time’s gettin’ on. Guess I’d better do what I came for.”
“Before you go snooping around, come and see my brand new deck door.”
She led the way through the dining room. The sergeant did a careful inspection then slid the door back and forth.
“Nice job,” he commented
. “Who fixed it?”
“Juan Santos. Do you know him?”
“Oh, yes. Talks the hind leg off a donkey, but he does good work.”
Back at the front door, Kelly pointed at the knee. “Have that looked at. Doris uses olden day remedies. While they work in a hurry, there’s always the risk of infection.”
“I’ll call for a doctor’s appointment as soon as you’re gone.”
Kelly smiled. “In that case, I’ll head for the woods.”
“Drop in when you’ve finished.”
“Sure.”
Riley watched Sergeant Kelly disappear into the bushes on the far side of the lawn. He was an imposing figure and real nice—with a wife and 2.3 kids, no doubt.
Soon after Riley had moved into the house, Mr. McGrath found her a doctor in Portugal Cove. Realizing the importance of Kelly’s suggestion, she called his office immediately. A sympathetic receptionist gave her an appointment for the next day, Wednesday, July 5 at two o’clock. That done, she limped across the lawn and relaxed in an old garden seat made of logs and boards. It was in the shade of an aging birch that seemed out of place among all the fir trees around the house. In a few minutes she nodded off. It wasn’t long before she had the strangest dream; Paul Sutherland was driving the black car. She could see his face as it was about to hit her, then she awoke with a start. Sergeant Kelly was standing beside her with a smile on his face.
“Sorry if I disturbed you.”
“I’m glad you did, Sergeant, or I’d have fallen off the seat.”
“How about dumping the ‘Sergeant’ and calling me John? We’re pretty much past that stage, aren’t we?”
“You bet.” Riley saw that John Kelly was sweating and swung her injured leg to the ground. “How about some cold pop? I’ve got Pepsi, Ginger Ale and even tonic.”
“That would go down real well—Pepsi, I mean. Tell me where it is and I’ll bring you a can at the same time.”
Riley held up her hands. “No way! I’m okay. Honest! Relax, I’ll be back in a minute.”
She made the kitchen without difficulty and found a transparent plastic tray big enough for the pop cans and glasses, into which she put some ice.
She Came From Away Page 6