Never Hug a Mugger on Quadra Island by Sandy Frances Duncan, George Szanto Page B

doctor.”
    Jason glanced at Linda. “Doctor Pierce.”
    â€œHe’ll have the reports from Victoria?”
    â€œYes, he does.”
    â€œWhere could we find him?”
    â€œDo you have a—?” Linda made scribbling motions.
    Kyra pulled out her iPhone. Linda gave her the number. Kyra punched it in. “Thanks.” In the hall she pressed Talk. The receptionist said, “The doctor could see you for a few minutes—” she stressed few —“in about an hour.”
    Back in the waiting area she said, “We’d like to see where Derek was attacked.”
    â€œA dead-end road.” Jason pursed his lips. “I better come with you. Linda,” he put his arm around his wife’s shoulder, “why don’t you take the kids and go home. I’ll show them the attack site. We’ll come over later.”
    â€œWe’re to talk with Dr. Pierce in about an hour,” Kyra reminded him.
    â€œOh. Okay.”
    To Alana, Linda said, “You can come to Quadra with us if you’d rather.” And to Kyra, “I’ve got a place for you on Quadra. A friend with a B&B had cancellations. Won’t you have to be on the island too?”
    Yes, they needed to interview whatever friends and maybe enemies Derek had on Quadra. In the morning. “That’s very nice. Thank you.”
    On Alana’s lips, a confused scowl. She glanced over at Shane; he stared beyond her. To Kyra she said, “If Noel doesn’t mind, I’ll go over with Linda.” Linda nodded. “You’ll tell me what you find out?”
    â€œThat’s okay?” Kyra said to Linda, who nodded. Then to Alana, “Sure.”
    â€œCome on, everyone. Cindy, take some time for yourself, dear.” Linda’s tone just wanted to go home. “Derek’s getting the best care he can have.”
    Cindy played with her purse strap. Fear, grief, anxiety, confusion flitted across her face.
    â€œIf you do something for yourself this evening, you’ll have more to report to Derek tomorrow,” Linda stated.
    Cindy’s eyes teared. “I just want him back again.”
    â€œWe all do, Hon.” Linda patted Cindy’s shoulder. “Do you have your car?”
    â€œNo, I walked.”
    Linda smiled. “Jason and the others can give you a ride home.”
    In the elevator Linda told Kyra that her friend, Barb, had cancellations because she’d informed her bookings that the attic had been invaded by carpenter ants. She only needed the people away for a few hours but they spooked and cancelled. “City people don’t know, in the bush you live with lots of critters. If you want I’ll confirm the rooms from the ferry. The ants are gone.”
    â€œGreat.” Ants?
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    A couple of years ago Harold Arensen decided the weather in Victoria far outranked humid Ottawa summers and ice-laced winter streets, so decided to move his base. In Victoria, too, the skating community treated him with appropriate respect. Not that he’d lacked respect in the east, simply that the natural rivalry between the BC skating world and that in the Hamilton-Toronto-Ottawa-Montreal stretch had the west believing they’d brilliantly won Harold away from his haunts for the last thirty-plus years.
    Though he preferred Victoria to Vancouver, sometimes it was necessary to spend time on the mainland, especially this year leading up to the Olympics. He’d been a proud supporter of the Canadian faction that had won the 2010 Olympics for Vancouver; if he’d been living on the west coast then he would’ve been a leading partner in the effort. Now, since many of Canada’s superior young skaters trained in and around Vancouver, he’d been following a select few through their coaches, offering advice, sometimes even wisdom, as best he could. To the very best he would offer his unique expertise. They would profit from