Misery Bay: A Mystery Read Free

to Chebucto Head. Only one Nazi U-boat had ever made it through the netting, by following in the wake of a ship. It had then proceeded to torpedo a Canadian warship before making its escape.
    The harbor entrance faced south, and Garrett could feel the boat turning northeast, heading straight for Ireland. He knew Alvin must have contacted the harbor patrol, so at least someone would be looking for them. What he had to decide was whether it made more sense to hunker down and wait for help or try to overpower the two men by himself. The decision wasn’t all that difficult. He was sore all over from the leap onto the boat and the blow from the man on deck. He couldn’t find his weapon in the dark. The men could wait.
    He eased over to the girl, who stared at him cautiously like a wounded animal. He avoided touching her and sat a few feet away. “Well, darlin’, it’s you and me. Let’s hang out for a while and see what develops, okay?”
    She started to cry and his heart melted for the poor creature. He shuffled over to her and put out one arm. After a moment, she moved in, and he hugged her tightly, talking to her in a low voice. “We’re going to be just fine … just fine,” he said over and over.
    Twenty minutes later, a Coast Guard cutter and a harbor patrol boat loomed out of the darkness. Simultaneously, a helicopter appeared and hovered overhead, bathing the scene in light. Alvin had called in the cavalry.
    The fishing boat slowed, her captain aware there was nothing he could do against such a force. Twenty minutes later, Garrett and the girl were wrapped in blankets and sitting in the warm cutter, drinking hot chocolate and smiling at one another.

2
    “ D EPUTY COMMISSIONER’S LOOKING FOR YOU,” said Martha, her eyes avoiding him.
    Garrett stopped in front of her desk. “As you can clearly see, I’m not here.”
    “He said to be sure to tell you that you were here and that you should get your F-ing blank the F up to his office.” There was a smile at the corner of her mouth.
    “I assume he did not actually say, ‘F-ing.’”
    “He was more colorful, but a demure, overeducated, highly trained personal assistant is not aware of the meaning of such language.”
    “You are all of those things except the first, Martha.” He sighed. “Thanks.”
    He took the stairs two at a time, satisfied that the effort produced no discernible limp, nodded at two officers, and presented himself at his boss’s door.
    Alton Tuttle had been Deputy Commissioner for six years. He was the Royal Canadian Mounted Police Commanding Officer in Nova Scotia, known as “H” division. In Halifax, as in many municipalities outside of Ontario and Quebec, the RCMP was hired on a contract basis to provide police services in rural areas. Recently, local police commissioners had been considering ending the relationship, giving local RCMP officers the option of transferring to the municipal force. The business had been controversial and was one reason Garrett had decided to retire. He despised the bureaucratic runaround.
    Tuttle sat at his desk, unlit cigar in his mouth, head buried behind a stack of files. He was in his mid-fifties and wore a navy dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, the shirt tight across his bulging abdomen. He’d been a muscular high school wrestling champion three years running. But the years sitting at a desk had taken a toll.
    “Nice of you to drop by,” he said.
    “Martha said you wanted to see me … in somewhat more colorful terms. I figured you wanted to rehash things again,” Garrett replied in a tired voice. “Frankly, it’s all been said. I’m on my way out, Alton. You know that. Twenty years on the Halifax force is enough. I’m tired of people who can do this sort of stuff to young girls. I’m tired of people who can do this sort of stuff to me. My retirement, my garden, and my boat await me.”
    Tuttle scowled at him. “Damned if I can understand young officers these days. You’re forty-two years