She Came From Away Read online

  Riley thought this little bit of information was better than nothing, but it didn’t shed any light on her deceased relative.

  “You must know where my uncle was buried,” she said. “I’d like to visit the grave if possible.”

  “I’m afraid he was cremated as directed in the will. We don’t have a crematorium in Newfoundland, so the body was flown to Halifax. I believe there was a short service at the funeral home there, but no friends or relatives were present.”

  So that was the end of Uncle Richard, but how about talking to Doris? She must have known him reasonably well.

  By the time Riley got back to the hotel, a warm southwesterly wind had blown away the fog. At two o’clock when Charlie Fudge was due, the sun was out, so she sat on a garden seat outside the hotel entrance to wait for him. A few minutes later, she saw a large, gray station wagon coming up the hill. This looked like her ride so she got to her feet.

  The driver pulled up at the curb and opened the passenger’s door.

  “‘Ello, Miss Barnett,” he said, leaning over and offering a large, grimy hand.

  “Thanks for coming, Mr. Fudge,” Riley replied as she climbed in.

  Charlie put the wagon into gear. “No problem.”

  After a short silence, Riley said, “Perhaps you could tell me your idea about a car?”

  “It’s quite simple. You buys it off me and I buys it back when you’ve finished with it—for less, of course.” Charlie’s mustached face broke into a smile. “You won’t ‘ave to buy it for what it’s really worth. Just enough to satisfy the Vehicle License Office.”

  Riley thought for a moment. “I could probably borrow from a bank since I’m the proud owner of a house. It’s a great idea, but what sort of a car is it?”

  “This one.”

  Riley gulped. “It’s huge, Charlie. I’ve never driven anything so big in my life, I’ll need a cushion to see over the wheel.”

  “She may look like a tank,” Charlie retorted, “but she drives like a racing car.”

  By this time, they were halfway down the hill toward Water Street. Without warning, Charlie pulled over and got out.

  “‘Ere,” he continued. “You can take ‘er ‘ome. I’ll tell you which way to go.”

  Riley gulped again, then slid over to the driver’s seat while Charlie sat in her place. It took two minutes for her to realize how well the station wagon handled. Evidently, it had a very large engine. Not only that, the visibility was surprisingly good. She wouldn’t need a cushion after all.

  Once she had overcome her nervousness, Riley relaxed enough to spend the rest of the drive discussing financial arrangements.

  Charlie’s place seemed more like a barn than a garage, but it had a modern hydraulic hoist and was almost clean. There was no office, just a battered desk in one corner. The owner lowered his bulky form onto an equally battered chair. After lighting a cigarette, he recorded their verbal agreement on a sheet of paper.

  “All right?” he asked, handing it over.

  Riley glanced at the untidy but legible scrawl. “Do you want me to get it typed up?”

  “Naah! Don’t bother. Sign it and I’ll write out another copy.” Charlie picked up a set of keys. “She’s all yours.”

  “But what about the money?”

  “I trusts you. You’ve got an honest face. Bring it when you can.”

  Riley was amazed. She had heard that Newfoundlanders were friendly, but this was something else.

  After leaving the garage, she drove around for a while to get used to the monster, then headed for the store. There was a blue Pinto already parked, so she pulled up beside it and went inside.

  Doris was behind the counter serving a fair-haired woman several years older than Riley. She loaded the groceries into a large paper bag and pushed it over to the customer.

  “‘Ello, Riley,” Doris greeted. “I see Charlie’s fixed you up with the wagon.”

  “It’s a bit big for me,” Riley replied, “but it’s fun to drive.”

  Doris nodded toward the woman. “This is Jean Collins. She lives down the road from you.”

  “Hi, Riley,” said Jean, extending a hand. “I’m about a mile away, almost at Horse Cove Line.”

  Riley thought she was very pretty with her rather rounded features, carefully styled blonde hair, slim build and good figure. Jean looked about thirty. Riley noticed that she wore a wedding band but no engagement ring and immediately told herself not to be nosey.

  “See you later,” said Jean as the door closed behind her with a cheerful ring.

  Riley turned to Doris. “I just dropped by to thank you for putting me in touch with Charlie. He’s been real nice and even let me take the car before I paid for it.”

  “‘E likes to ‘elp come-from-aways when ‘e gits the chance, thinks it’s important for us Newfoundlanders to look good.”

  “Come-from-aways?” queried Riley.

  “People from up-along—from somewhere else.”

  “Well, he’s doing a good job as far as I’m concerned. Anyways, I guess I’d better get going. Mr. McGrath says I can have the keys to the bungalow on Friday, so I’ll see you then.” Riley was about to leave when she remembered the second reason for stopping by the store. “I almost forgot to ask how well you knew my uncle. Mr. McGrath never met him. He didn’t even say if there was anyone else living at the bungalow.”

  “‘E was on ‘is own,” Doris replied. “Kept to ‘isself and ‘ardly ever went out. In all them years, ‘e only loosened ‘is tongue once. Said ‘e earned ‘is livin’ as a freelance editor for magazines and publishers and didn’t need to leave ‘is ‘ouse to do it. As far as I know, ‘e didn’t ‘ave a single visitor ‘til mebbe a year ago. That was when several people noticed a car that went up the driveway regular, twice every week. They never got a close look at the driver because you can’t see the ‘ouse from the road or even from the neighbors’ properties. But someone told me it was a woman, youngish, dark-’aired, per’aps in ‘er mid-thirties. Never seed ‘er meself though. She never stopped by the store and Mr. Gibson never said who she was. Like you’d expect, everyone thought they was a couple. I remembers when the visits stopped. It was about two weeks before Mr. Gibson passed away. That was on the tenth of March. ‘Is body was found in the meadow by some kids who ‘appened to be goin’ through the property. Stuck in a snowdrift, it was. Funny t’ing, I never ‘eard ‘ow ‘e died or where they buried ‘im.”

  “He had a heart attack and was cremated in Halifax,” said Riley.

  “Cremated was ‘e? Died of an ‘eart attack, did ‘e? Makes a person wonder, don’t it?”

  “What do you mean, Doris?”

  “Well, the man ‘ad been lookin’ sick for over a week. And each time ‘e came in for his milk and t’ings, ‘e looked worse—then ‘e was dead.”

  “That’s odd,” Riley commented.

  “Looked to me like ‘e’d been poisoned,” Doris went on. “Maybe that woman wanted to inherit the property. Jean said there are poisons that can’t be traced.”

  “Could be,” said Riley. “It all gets very curious, doesn’t it?”

  “See you Friday, then.”

  “You bet.”

  Riley left the store and walked over to the car. There was no doubt that Doris had a fertile imagination; her theory was quite outlandish with no supporting evidence. Mr. McGrath would laugh Riley out of his office if she so much as mentioned it.

  Chapter Three

  Something in the Woods

  It was late when Riley awoke on Thursday morning. As she pushed back the bedclothes, she realized there was nothing to do all day. It would be a welcome relief from the hectic activity since leaving Toronto. She lay in bed for a while, then barely made it to breakfast at the hotel restaurant. During the meal, she resolved to leave the wagon in the parking lot and have a day of rest, sort of; there was shopping to do. Summer in St. John’s bore little resemblance to summer in Toronto, so appropriate clothing was first on the list. Then
there was local Newfoundland food to sample; the rest of her meals would therefore be eaten “out.”

  Riley slogged her way along the entire length of downtown St. John’s then wolfed a pub lunch. A taxi to the hotel seemed more than attractive, but she resisted the temptation. Back in her room and completely exhausted, she slept the afternoon away. Dinner “out” became dinner “in,” following which she flopped on the bed and watched TV. Unfortunately, there was nothing much on. Eventually, she got bored then had an urge to talk to someone, anyone. The obvious person was Joni.

  “It’s me,” she said.

  “Hey, Riley!” Joni answered. “You okay?”

  “Of course. Just wanted to tell you that all’s well. This place is something else, you know. In some ways it’s like another planet but in others it’s like the rest of Canada.”

  “I don’t understand. You’re talking in riddles.”

  “What I mean is, apart from a couple of supermarkets and a Woolworth’s, that’s it. Everything else is…well, quaint.”

  The conversation continued in this vein for a while, then Riley noticed the time. St. John’s was one and a half hours ahead of Toronto and another thirteen ahead of Australia—or was it? She told Joni good-bye then tried phoning Marion, but her stepmother was out.

  After dozing off several times, she put on her nightdress and clambered into bed. In a few seconds, she was asleep.

  Friday morning was the start of Riley’s big day. First, she would collect the keys to her very own house. After that, she could move in right away if she wanted, but somewhere at the back of her mind a pinprick of apprehension flickered. It was fleeting, barely noticeable, but enough to trigger the procrastinating side of her nature. Instead, she would check the place over to make sure there were clean sheets etc, then wash the pots, pans and crockery.

  After breakfast, a heavy shower was in progress so she drove rather than walked to the lawyer’s office.

  The plump secretary picked up three sets of keys from her desk.

  “Good morning, Miss Barnett,” she greeted. “I’ll put these in a plastic bag for you. Mr. McGrath said to call if there are any problems.”

  Riley remained standing. “Thanks. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

  “And by the way, the final account for the Gibson Estate will be ready in a week or so. Off the record, it looks as though there may be a few dollars left in it after all.”

  “Great,” said Riley as she turned to leave. “And thanks for telling me.”

  Soon after arriving at her house, the sun came out with the promise of a warm day. After a close inspection, it was clear that the Coffin family had been almost meticulous in looking after everything, an agreeable surprise indeed. Riley made up the bed and tested the mattress, which seemed quite comfortable. After that, she wandered around the garden. It consisted of a small lawn surrounded on three sides by young balsam fir trees. It wasn’t long before she came upon a sizable wooden shed tucked away among the taller trees behind the parking area. The shed contained bags of fertilizer and grass seed plus two spades, a fork, a rake and several smaller tools. Evidently Uncle Richard had been a keen gardener.

  By this time, it was almost noon. A short walk along the road would give Riley an appetite for lunch. On the way back she could stop at the store to buy the necessaries for a sandwich.

  As she walked slowly down the gravel driveway, she saw it was in good condition except for the steepest part where a few potholes had been filled in. When Riley reached Dog Cove Road, she noticed a mailbox directly opposite. She presumed it belonged to the house and crossed over to see what state it was in. The steel box was old and rusty; it would have to be replaced. Still, it looked as though it was watertight and would do for now.

  Without thinking, Riley obeyed some inner reflex and lifted the flap. For a split second she caught a glimpse of a dark, heaving shape inside, then she screamed as everything went berserk. A buzzing black swarm of blowflies erupted straight into her face while a foul smell assailed her nostrils. There was a crash as she dropped the flap, at the same time stepping backwards into the road. Riley screamed again as she tried to ward off the cloud of insects with her hands. At the same instant, car tires screeched and a horn blasted, almost on top of her.

  Silence. She turned. All of two feet away was the gleaming red hood of a late-model Mustang. The terrified countenance of a man stared wide-eyed at her from behind the wheel. She couldn’t move and remained frozen with her mouth half open.

  As he approached, the man’s expression gradually relaxed until his freckled features resumed their normal appearance.

  “That was close,” he said. “You scared the hell out of me. What on Earth were you doing?”

  Riley’s mouth snapped shut as her brain finished processing the compressed experiences of the last thirty seconds.

  “I…I’m sorry,” she stuttered. “It’s…there’s something in my mailbox. A swarm of flies came out and frightened me to death.”

  The young man glanced at it. The blowflies were beginning to return. As soon as they alighted, they crawled through the gap between the flap and the side of the box.

  “Judging by the stink, it’s something revolting,” Riley went on.

  “I’ll give you a hand,” replied the young man. “But first, I’d better get the Mustang off the road.”

  As soon as the sporty-looking car had been parked on the shoulder, its owner joined Riley a few feet from the mailbox.

  “I see what you mean by stink,” he said. “Perhaps we should use a stick to open it.”

  There were several small branches in the ditch that fell away from the gravel shoulder. He retrieved the strongest and broke off most of the twigs. “Okay, here goes.”

  The flap squeaked in protest as the young man lifted it wide open, where it remained. Once again, there was a buzzing eruption of blowflies.

  Riley peered inside. “It’s a dead rat or something. Yuk! There are zillions of maggots all over it. There’s no way I’m touching that.” She turned to the stranger. “I wonder how it got there. Maybe it crawled inside and couldn’t get out.”

  The young man leaned forward and glanced at the corpse.

  “I doubt it,” he said. “More than likely, someone put it there.”

  “That’s real creepy, isn’t it? Thanks for your help, anyway. And I’m sorry I stepped in front of your car. I can manage now.”

  Riley extended a hand. “By the way, I’m Riley Barnett.”

  “And I’m Paul Sutherland.”

  The handshake was firm, then their eyes met for a second. His were blue like her own, but much paler. Riley hadn’t really noticed him before. He was a lanky character with untidy, blond hair, which had a tinge of red in it. The freckled face was a little sunburned.

  “Are you sure you can manage?” he continued, glancing at his watch.

  “No problem. And thanks again.”

  Paul Sutherland threw the branch back in the ditch and brushed some dirt off his blue jeans as he headed toward the car.

  Riley watched the Mustang disappear up Dog Cove Road with a throaty roar, then the evil smell from the dead rat assailed her nostrils. She had a job to do.

  The first thing was to find something she could use to get it out of the mailbox. The shed seemed a good place with its assortment of garden tools. She chose a hoe and took a plastic garbage bag from under the kitchen sink.

  The hoe was perfect for pulling out the corpse, which fell to the ground with a soft thump. Crawling maggots scattered in all directions. Riley held the garbage bag at arm’s length and hooked the corpse inside. It must have been dead for quite a while. After tying the mouth of the bag into a knot, she inspected the inside of the mailbox. Apart from one or two maggots, which she fished out with the hoe, it looked clean. On her way up the driveway, she decided that Paul Sutherland had probably been right when he suggested that the rat had been planted deliberately.

  Back at the house, Riley dumped the bag in the garbage can
and snapped on the lid. In spite of the foul smell that lingered in her nostrils, she felt hungry but there was nothing in the fridge. The only answer was a visit to the store.

  Doris was sitting on a stool behind the counter, evidently her usual spot. She stood. “‘Ello, Riley. All settled in, then?”

  “Not yet. I’m checking out of the hotel tomorrow. As a matter of fact I dropped by to get some stuff to make a sandwich—doesn’t matter what it is.”

  “There’s ‘am, cheese, tuna, heggs. I brought a couple of lettuce from the garden as well.”

  Riley chose ham, cheese and a lettuce. She took a loaf of bread from a shelf at the back of the store and put it on the counter. “I had a nasty experience this morning, Doris. Guess what I found in my mailbox: a dead rat. It was very dead indeed, crawling in fact. I thought it might have got trapped, but a young guy who stopped to give me a hand suggested that someone had put it there.”

  “Go on!” exclaimed Doris, a look of concern on her face.

  “Why would a person want to do such a thing? I haven’t moved in yet. How could I possibly upset the neighbors?”

  “Kids,” came the reply. “More’n likely kids. There’s some bad ‘uns ‘round ‘ere. They lives at the bottom of the ‘ill. I never ‘eard tell of a nasty trick like that though.”

  Riley fished in her purse for some cash. “Well, it’s all cleared up now. I’ll be able to enjoy my lunch on the deck. By the way, when you see Charlie, would you tell him I should have some money tomorrow?”

  “‘E’ll be pleased to ‘ear that.”

  “Thanks, Doris. See you, then.”

  Saturday morning broke warm and sunny, a perfect day for moving, if you could call it that. For some strange reason Riley awoke with an enormous appetite. As a result, she consumed far more than her money’s worth of breakfast before checking out of the hotel. The first stop was the supermarket on Portugal Cove Road where she bought some more food, and the second was Charlie Fudge’s garage. Riley entered through a door at the rear of the building. She waved a check at the owner as he emerged from beneath a blue Pontiac that was on the hoist.