Arrow's Rest by Joel Scott (best way to read books txt) 📕

didn’t last very long.” Clarke figured about three minutes. Put another way, two forearm shivers, two body slams, and a helicopter and a double slab to end it. The latter was a career first for Thomas, he had told them afterwards. The only other highlight was when Clint flew out of the ring and Sinbad got him by the ear. By the time Joseph could intervene the ear was off, but he managed to retrieve it before the beast could swallow.

“It’s mainly cartilage you know,” Thomas had said as he sewed it back on. “Chances are it’s as good as new in a fortnight.”

Clarke said goodbye to Merlynn and peered out the pilothouse window as he jogged the Harp around a drifting log and considered his next move. Everyone had been too excited, too drunk, or too depressed to coordinate an account for the police the previous evening, and they’d decided to wait until the next day to get their stories aligned. That was the easy part and Clarke foresaw no difficulties there. Neither was he concerned about the testimony of Clint and Travis. It would be several days before they were in any shape to be interviewed, and by then the party would have their team of defence lawyers arrayed around them with wet fingers in the air testing for the political winds. The brothers would be . . . encouraged, for lack of a better word, to go along with the plot line that caused the least amount of turmoil for the party. What did trouble Clarke was the regular crew of the Blue Harp presently under lock and key. How much did they really know about what had transpired with the lawyer Patrick Sullivan? He would have to interview each of them individually and make a decision about how to proceed from there. He knew it was tip-toeing along a thin ethical line, but landing in Vancouver with the situation unresolved was not an option. The ensuing shitstorm of publicity would ruin them all. The problem was taken out of his hands when Ivery casually informed him over lunch that he and Thomas had met with the captain and crew while Clarke was putting in his long shift at the wheel. He said that none of them had known anything about a kidnapping, and they had all signed statements to that effect.

It had been further agreed they would be signed off in Vancouver with handsome down payments on their severance packages, with the balance of the money to be paid out over the following two years. Clarke thought some people might consider that arrangement a bribe. Ivery said that the exit interviews had been conducted by Thomas in one-on-one meetings where he took down everyone’s personal information including next of kin and wished them all happy lives. Clarke was secretly impressed that Ivery managed to relate all of this with a straight face.

None of it troubled him overmuch. Albright was dead and the brothers would do some time. How much was questionable given the leverage they had, but a few years at minimum, so that was some justice. One of them would have a limp for the rest of his life and the other a crooked arm barring extensive reconstructive surgery. You won some and you lost some.

One last thing. Clarke called the police chief on his private number and reported in. The conversation was short, and the early retirement buyout offer was thin, but Clarke was all over it. He didn’t have that long to go anyway, and it beat the hell out of all the other alternatives that were presented to him.

Chapter 57

Jared had just turned eighteen the last time he’d seen the old house from the back seat of the police car taking him to serve his two-year sentence. It was smaller and shabbier than he remembered, with gravel along one side where his grandfather parked the Sunday-go-to-church car and the old work-truck that leaked oil. The big red Dutch barn sat wide hipped two hundred yards further on; a long and scary walk for a young boy on a dark winter’s night. Jared gripped the worn skeleton key in his hand. Silly to think inanimate objects could contain emotions like fear and dread.

He pulled out the papers with the official stamps and witnessed signatures. On top was a note scrawled in shaky handwriting.

Jared. I’m so sorry. Forgive me. Be happy.

A signature scrawled underneath. Betty?

He still found it hard to believe. He’d been told a hundred times that he would never inherit, that the property would pass on to the commune, just one more lash in the old man’s whippings. But his grandmother had defied her late husband when she called the lawyers near the end of her long illness. She had given instructions that Jared not be told about her decision until she’d passed. The lawyer raised his eyebrows in judgment when he told him this, but Jared remained silent. He’d think about it all later.

A car came over the crest of the hill and the real estate agent pulled up and slid gracefully out of the German luxury sedan that defined her success. A tall good-looking redhead in her forties with a warm smile and a strong handshake.

“The old homestead, huh? I’m Sally Trenton. Pleased to meet you. Sure you want to sell? Seems like a pretty nice spot. I’m told it has good grazing and an excellent well.”

“I’m sure.”

They went down the slope to the house, and she told him about comparables that had sold within the last year. When her firm got the listing from the lawyers, they told her that the neighbouring farmer had made an offer to the widow when her husband passed. Sally said she’d contacted him and it was low, he was only interested in the property for its acreage. She told Jared the number and said he would do quite a bit better if he waited for a buyer who intended to live