Riley saw that her nail polish had partly worn off, then the size of the offer registered and her jaw dropped. In a second, she regained her composure hoping that the agent hadn’t noticed. “Thank you and good-bye, Ms. O’Shea. I’ve got things to do.”
A supercilious smirk crossed the woman’s face as she snapped her briefcase shut.
Riley turned her back. By the time she opened the front door, the BMW had gone. Her knees felt weak as she stood in the middle of the living room looking again at the piece of pink paper. The offer was more than twice the value that Mr. McGrath had suggested soon after she arrived. The prospective buyer was a Mr. Edgar Price. The odd thing was that the space for his address had been left blank. The offer expired on the following Tuesday at five p.m. She would see Mr. McGrath before then because it would be silly to ignore it. After all, a great deal of money was involved. Without waiting, she picked up the phone and left a message on his answering machine asking for a Monday appointment. That done, she tried unsuccessfully to put the whole thing out of her mind. There was no doubt, it was highly suspicious. Why would anyone offer such a large sum of money for a rather useless property, even if it did fit his need for solitude? Maybe Mr. McGrath would have some answers. As a lawyer, he ought to be familiar with the local real estate scene.
Forgetting the remains of her breakfast, Riley went out on the deck and leaned over the rail. It wasn’t a bad morning weather-wise, but she didn’t feel much like doing anything alone. In addition to missing Joni, she was disappointed that Paul hadn’t called. She wanted to get to know him better, but at this point the ball was in his court. Besides, it was high time she saw a bit more of Newfoundland before the short summer was over, regardless of whether or not she stayed on. It was obvious that some sort of plan was necessary. Maybe a visit to the tourism office was the answer.
Riley glanced at her watch then gazed out over Conception Bay. She could just make out a giant iceberg floating miles offshore. Her thoughts wandered: icebergs…flying…Ada Rideout sitting beside her on the plane. She was the answer to her loneliness. This was a great opportunity to go to Portugal Cove and pay the promised visit. Riley wondered if she should phone first, but on the other hand a surprise might be nice. In addition, a small diversion to the edge of town would take her to a flower shop.
Riley had no problem finding Ada’s house. It seemed to fit the owner—a small, neat bungalow with a tidy front garden. The nearest neighbor’s house was about a hundred feet away to the east, on the Torbay side. A wire fence separated the two lots with a gravel parking area beside a lawn on the neighbor’s side. She parked on the road since Ada didn’t have a driveway. Flowers in hand, Riley walked up the garden path. Much to her surprise, the front door was wide open so she knocked loudly. Almost without a sound, Ada seemed to materialize in front of her. She was wearing grubby blue denims and an equally grubby pale brown shirt.
“Why, Riley!” she exclaimed. “What a lovely surprise. It’s been a long time, but I knew you’d drop by sooner or later.”
“I’m sorry, Ada. I should have come before this.”
“Nonsense, my dear. There’s no need to apologize. I’ve been doing a bit of gardening and slipped indoors to put the kettle on for tea. Come in and join me.”
“I’d love to. And these are for you.” Riley offered the bunch of mixed blooms.
“They’re beautiful. As you can see, the selection in my garden is rather limited.”
Ada’s house looked quite old. She led the way down a dark passage with closed doors on either side. When they got to the end and entered the kitchen, Riley was surprised how big it was. There was a table large enough to seat three or four. The window over the sink looked out over a lawn with tall fir trees at the back, adding to the spacious atmosphere.
The kettle was beginning to sing as Ada took a glass vase from a wall cabinet. “Would you put these in water while I make the tea? And how about some homemade rhubarb cake?”
“That would be great, Ada. It sounds delicious.”
Riley filled the vase at the sink and laid out the flowers on the table so she could put them in one by one. By the time she had arranged them to her satisfaction, the tea was ready and the rhubarb cake sliced. The two sat at the table with the flowers between them. Riley told Ada about her parents in Australia, then they discussed the deceased uncle, whom Ada didn’t know. Ada also mentioned her two children, a boy and a girl. They were grown up with families, both living in Alberta. At this point in the conversation, Riley refrained from saying anything about what had happened since her arrival. Even so, the story of the stray bullet came up because it had been well-publicized.
An hour or so later, they went outside to the front garden. Riley was about to take her leave when a voice from across the fence said, “Afternoon, Ada. I see you ‘ave a visitor.”
Riley turned. A woman was leaning on a garden rake. She was somewhere in her late thirties, dark-haired and quite attractive, but Riley noticed a hardness about her features. The nose was straight and the lips were thin and unsmiling.
“We met on the plane from Halifax,” Ada said. “Riley, this is Marj Noseworthy.”
“Nice to meet you, Marj,” said Riley as she and Ada walked over to the fence.
“You must be the young woman who inherited the ‘ouse in St. Peter’s,” Marj commented.
Riley had guessed that was coming. “Seems I’m getting quite famous around here.”
“I makes it my business to find out about things.”
Ada smiled. “If you want to know anything at all, ask Marj.”
Marj grinned and looked Riley in the eyes. “A little bird told me you’re goin’ back to Toronto come Labor Day.”
Riley turned away. Marj’s eyes were weird, sort of flecked with gold, or was it the light? “I haven’t made up my mind. Actually, I may stay on, especially if I can take some courses at Memorial University.”
“I wouldn’t advise that, you know,” Marj went on. “Your ‘ouse is quite isolated and strange things can ‘appen in a Newfoundland winter—a lot worse’n a stray bullet or a dead rat in your mailbox.”
“Hey!” Riley exclaimed. “Where did you hear about that?”
“Don’t take any notice of her,” said Ada, turning away. “She’s just a snoop.”
Riley gave Marj a perfunctory wave and they started back across the lawn.
“I’d better be going,” Riley said.
Ada followed her to the car where they shook hands.
“It’s been great seeing you again,” Riley continued. “You must come for a visit sometime. I can drive you over.”
“I’d like that. And it was kind of you to remember me.”
That Marj is a freaky woman, Riley thought as she drove away. I wouldn’t like to meet her on a dark night.
When she got home, Riley decided to visit Jean and tell her about Jonathan. She was psyching herself up for the task when Joni called to thank her for the visit. She asked Riley if she’d heard from Paul, but of course she hadn’t. After a chat, the two said good-bye. Once again, Riley relegated Jonathan to the back of her mind. The mention of Paul made her think of whales, and what better place to go than Cape Spear, the easternmost point in North America? You were more likely to see one there than anywhere else in the area. Unfortunately, she was out of luck. Still, the view was fantastic.
On Monday, at nine o’clock on the dot, McGrath’s secretary called in answer to Riley’s telephone message. Could she come in right away? Mr. McGrath was due in court at ten-thirty. Riley gulped down her coffee and stuffed Bethany O’Shea’s pink paper in her purse.
Immediately on arrival, she was shown into the lawyer’s office. He pushed back his chair as they shook hands over the desk.
Before taking a seat, Riley said, “It’s good of you to see me at such short notice, Mr. McGrath. The thing is, I’ve had an offer for the house. It expires at five tomorrow.”
McGrath’s eyebrows rose a notch. “Really. But I thought you didn’t want to sell, at le
ast not now.”
“Wait ‘til you see how much it is.” Riley fished the realtor’s form from her purse and handed it over.
McGrath unfolded it. He scanned it briefly, then looked up. “This is insane. The amount’s out of all proportion to the current market value.”
“I know,” Riley answered. “But if it’s genuine…”
“Let’s take a closer look at the form.”
“Don’t bother, Mr. McGrath. I know the contents by heart. The offer is from a Mr. Edgar Price. He doesn’t give an address and there’s nothing about where the money’s coming from. That part’s left blank as well.”
McGrath sighed. “I see the agent is Bethany O’Shea. She has a dubious reputation; too many of her deals fall through. Well, there’s one way to settle this.” He picked up the phone. “Sharon, get me Bethany O’Shea at Lillington, will you?”
Sharon’s reply crackled and in a moment she put him through.
“Good morning, Ms. O’Shea. This is Martin McGrath of Corcoran, Corcoran and McGrath. I have in front of me an offer that you presented to Miss Riley Barnett of St. Peter’s on Saturday last. It seems rather a lot for her property, especially as it’s in an agricultural zone.”
Riley heard more talking noises from the phone.
“But you signed it, Ms. O’Shea,” McGrath turned the form over again. “Just a minute, the scribble is quite unreadable, and you haven’t filled out your name in capitals either.” More noises came from the receiver, then McGrath said, “Good-bye, Ms. O’Shea.”
He looked at Riley. “That woman’s unbelievable. She denies visiting you on Saturday—says she knows nothing about Mr. Price or his offer.”
Riley spluttered.
The lawyer raised a hand. “Don’t worry. I know you’re telling the truth. If you ask me, this is some kind of trick, though what’s behind it, I can’t imagine.”
Chapter Nine
Where’s the Station Wagon?
Riley was only half-awake. Her eyes were still closed. Weird visions left over from a dream were still floating in her mind. She stirred as her thoughts became more organized until at length they crystallized into memories of the meeting with Mr. McGrath on the previous morning. It was comforting to know that she had treated Ms. B. O’Shea appropriately. Perhaps the whole business of the ridiculous offer could be forgotten. At this point, she opened her eyes and propped herself up on an elbow so she could see the world outside. It was pouring with rain. She was tempted to go back to sleep but it was almost half past eight—time to get out of bed.
She sat up, then remembered it was Tuesday, August 1. The next day was Regatta Day, a public holiday. A couple of weeks ago, Jean had suggested they might go to the races together and watch Jonathan row, but that was definitely off. Riley would have to think up some excuse if Jean called. She still hadn’t told her about the episode with the bikini.
A howling southeaster was buffeting the bungalow. Getting up was a singularly unattractive proposition but somehow Riley managed it. On her way to the kitchen, she glanced at the driveway through the dining room window; there seemed to be something wrong. For a moment it didn’t register, then she caught her breath. The wagon wasn’t where it should have been. In fact, she couldn’t see it at all. Ignoring the deluge, she rushed out onto the deck, expecting it to be a few yards down the hill or even wedged among the fir trees where the driveway curved, but it was nowhere in sight.
Panic took over. It must have been stolen. Then a faint hope. Maybe Charlie had borrowed it—but he would have called first. Soaked and shivering in her sodden nightdress, Riley shut the deck door and went to the bathroom to dry herself off and get dressed.
Thoughts of breakfast and coffee had long since vanished; her stomach wouldn’t have welcomed them anyway. The first thing to do was see if the wagon was nearer the road or somewhere along it. She hoped it wasn’t in the ditch, the result of a prank like the dead rat in her mailbox. Forgetting about underwear, she pulled on jeans and sneakers then buttoned up a thick shirt. When she reached the front door, she grabbed her umbrella from the coat stand and stepped outside. Opening it against the wind was hardly worth the struggle as it didn’t do much to keep off the rain. Riley ran along the gravel driveway, hopping across rivulets of water that were flowing down the hill. There was no sign of the wagon, not even on the several hundred yards of Dog Cove Road that were visible from the driveway entrance. The inescapable fact was that it had been stolen.
As she hurried back to the house, Riley tried to remember the previous day. Had she locked the car doors? Were the windows shut properly? Being a careful person, she was certain these things had been done. They always were.
Two minutes later, she dialed Charlie’s garage.
A gruff voice answered, “‘Ello.”
“Is that you, Charlie?”
“Yis.”
“Um…this is Riley. I hate to tell you, but the wagon’s disappeared.”
Silence.
“Are you there, Charlie?”
“‘Ow the ‘ell did that ‘appen?”
“Dunno. I parked it in its spot yesterday evening and now it’s gone.”
“You must ‘ave left it unlocked. Bloody stupid thing to do, wasn’t it?”
“Charlie, I locked it. I know I did. It wasn’t my fault—honestly.”
“Very good. Meet me at the store and we’ll decide what to do.”
“Okay. I’ll leave right now.” Riley began to feel miserable. Charlie being mad didn’t help matters one little bit.
She put on a waterproof jacket and ran all the way to the store. Rain dripped on the floor as she stood at the counter, panting.
“What’s the matter, Riley?” asked Doris. “‘As there been an accident?”
“Nothing like that. I got up this morning to find the wagon had disappeared. Charlie’s mad as hell. He should be here any minute.”
“You mean it’s been stolen?”
“Looks like it. There’s no other explanation. I don’t know what to do.”
At that moment, Charlie’s car pulled up.
“You calls the police,” Doris replied. “And the sooner the better.”
Charlie was scowling when he opened the door. The rain blew in for a moment before he shut it again.
“It ain’t up the road,” he said. “It ain’t down to the Bay either.”
A few tears rolled down Riley’s cheeks at the intensity of Charlie’s anger, but she soon pulled herself together.
“I’ll call the RCMP right now,” she said. “I sure hope John Kelly’s there.”
Doris pushed a rather battered black phone across the counter.
“There’s a directory out back if you wants it,” she said.
“That’s okay. I can remember the number.” Riley dialed, but the officer on duty was a woman. Crossing her fingers, she asked for Kelly.
“He just got in,” the officer replied. “Who’s calling?”
“Riley Barnett.”
There was a short pause before the sergeant spoke. “Hello, Riley. What can I do for you?”
“Find my car if possible.” Riley gave a half-hearted laugh.
“In other words, you think it’s been stolen.”
“Looks like it.”
“Very well. Let me get my raincoat off and I’ll take down the details.”
After a short pause, the sergeant explained that he was filling out a form and began asking a string of questions. When at last he stopped, Riley heard the rustle of papers.
“That’s about it,” Kelly concluded. “And you’re quite sure the vehicle was locked?”
“Definitely,” answered Riley.
“I’ll get this description circulated at once, which means that all our patrol cars will keep an eye open. The comforting thing about Newfoundland is that it’s an island so your wagon will likely be found—eventually.”
Riley hung up. If anything, she felt more upset than ever, especially with Charlie still glowering at her.
She sniffed and turned to leave. “I’m sorry. I really am.”
“C’mon, Charlie,” said Doris. “Give the girl a break. You knows perfectly well it wasn’t ‘er fault.”
“Suppose you’re right,” Charlie admitted reluctantly. “But she was a good car.”
“Stop talking stupid,” said Doris. “There ain’t no ‘was’ about it. You’ll get it back.”
Riley smiled weakly. “I’ll call if I hear anything.”
When she got home, soaked and miserable, she phoned the library to see if Jean was working. She was, so Riley explained about the car, then she said, “I wanted to tell you I don’t feel much like going to the regatta tomorrow.”
“Me neither,” Jean answered. “Actually, I’m planning on spending the day with my parents. Why don’t you come along? It might take your mind off things.”
“It’s a nice thought, but I’d rather stay home in case John Kelly calls.”
“Sure. I understand. But give me a shout if he comes up with anything.”
Riley hung up and thought about the conversation. Why didn’t her friend want to watch Jonathan row in the regatta? She’d have to wait to find out. Another thing, it was too bad Jean wasn’t at home. It wouldn’t be fair to tell her about his unwanted advances while she was at work.
Regatta Day dawned bright and sunny after an overnight downpour. Unfortunately for Paul Sutherland it wasn’t a holiday; he was on the morning shift at the Weather Office.
Paul lived in the basement apartment of his parents’ bungalow at the north end of Topsail. By nature a quiet person, he had become even more withdrawn when he broke up with his fiancé some eighteen months ago, not long after his twenty-sixth birthday. Time and again, he would try unsuccessfully to figure out what went wrong as he walked in solitude along the shore of the nearby barachois pond.
Paul’s shortest way to and from the airport was through the Memorial University Campus on the west side of St. John’s, but he sometimes used a slightly longer more scenic route. It took him further up Conception Bay, then along Dog Cove Road. When he finished work on Regatta Day, the traffic was heavy so that was his choice. Each time he passed Riley’s mailbox, he always remembered the incident of the dead rat, and ever since their accidental meeting on the Bird Island tour he had gone by more often. Somehow, this beguiling little girl with the gorgeous smile and slight but seductive figure had got under his skin. While he couldn’t bring himself to call and ask her out, he hoped that a chance encounter on Dog Cove Road would provide the opportunity.
She Came From Away Page 9