Never Sleep With a Suspect on Gabriola Island by Sandy Frances Duncan, George Szanto Page B

Patty’s head, Noel noted, was round. Hair cut to helmet her head, no protruding ears or extended chin, and eyes wide, in echo of her overall face. In fact she was round all around, not fat but large-curved, round fingers, short round forearms, rounded breasts, and, when she turned, particularly round buttocks. Trim bare feet in thongs, with round toes. She led them into a small living room. Chairs and the couch were protected by slipcovers, a red and yellow plaid, frills on the arms, each looking ready to head off square dancing. “Danny’s showering,” Patty said. “He just came home.” A large print of a down-home Jesus dividing up a small fish hung on one wall. On another, a wedge of varnished fir, the words “Jesus is Lord” etched in. Noel stared at it. Patty said, “Danny carved that,” with hesitant pride.
    â€œHe’s a woodworker, then?”
    â€œOh no, just a hobby. He’s in site preparation so he gets real dirty, that’s why he’s showering. He doesn’t like to be dirty.” Patty giggled, and her lips rounded.
    Noel said, “About Roy Dempster. What kind of guy was he?”
    Patty thought for a few seconds. “I guess you’d say Roy liked to help people.”
    â€œHelp?”
    â€œYou know. Like if a person needed her wood split or gutters cleaned, Roy’d be there.”
    â€œDid he have any special friends?”
    â€œSure, Danny. And Steve Bailey. But Steve’s not a Faith Bearer.”
    â€œYou have his address?”
    She found Bailey’s address and wrote it on a scrap of paper.
    â€œDid Roy have a girlfriend?”
    The giggle again. “Lots. As many as you can on a small island.” She caught herself. “Oh, I don’t mean all at the same time. But Roy really wanted to get married. He must have proposed three times in the last couple of years.” Another giggle. “That we know of.”
    â€œWas he dating somebody special?”
    â€œSue Smith. Friend of mine.” Patty took back the scrap and wrote another address.
    â€œDid he propose to her?”
    â€œOh yeah.” More nods.
    â€œDid she accept?”
    â€œShe said she needed time.” Patty sighed. “I just wish I’d never introduced them. She’s so broke up about him dying and all.”
    â€œGood evening, folks.” A tall man in his mid-forties, jeans and a white T-shirt. Newly shaven tanned face, brown hair greying, well-muscled arms. Beginnings of a belly-bulge. “My good wife not offered you a cuppa?”
    Introductions, and Patty said, “Some Beach Reflection? Or juice?”
    Both Kyra and Noel declined. “Get me some tea, would you, hon?” Danny smiled. “Puts your insides in real good harmony.” They sat. Patty left them. “You want to know about Roy.”
    â€œYour wife was giving us a few details,” said Noel.
    â€œAbout Sue,” said Kyra.
    Danny frowned. “A good kid, Sue. Should of agreed to marry him. Maybe would of kept him home with her and he’d be alive now.” He suddenly shifted his tone. “Why you want to know about Roy?”
    They were looking into Roy’s death. No, they couldn’t say who hired them, confidential.
    â€œRoy used to say, ‘My dad worked hard all his life and got nothing, so I’m going to retire early.’ He was nineteen then. Spent twenty years floating high.” He grinned, suddenly abashed. “Me too. It was the times.”
    Yeah, Kyra thought, the generation halfway between her parents and herself. Just about Noel’s generation, in fact. The islands used to be sprinkled with these guys and their women in Indian print granny dresses stoned at the side of their men. Grass, acid, sex, and off-key Lightfoot imitations. “But he wasn’t retired. He was working for the Gallery.”
    â€œPart-time retired. Long ago he got into woodcarving. Roy was good with his hands.