Holly Martin Mysteries 3-Book Bundle. Lou Allin
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Romanesque red brick building with white trim had two stories, a gymnasium at one end, and a fenced athletic field out back with a baseball diamond and soccer goal posts. In Holly’s day, the Saints soccer team had excelled. She remembered watching some of their games at Fred Milne Field. Opponents came from all over the province. Today a homemade sign read: “Game of the Year. Comox. Meet at the Log. Bring your helmut.”
She entered the building as a bell rang, signaling a period change. The students paid her no notice, probably imagining that she was here for the service. The uniform was short kilts on the girls and dress pants for the boys. Both wore white shirts and dark ties, though a cardigan was allowed. Only on weekends did Notre Dame students experiment with Goth or gangsta couture. She’d seen them gathered around food joints at the Evergreen Mall, talking on cell phones and passing around cigarettes.
Notre Dame hadn’t been Holly’s choice. Her family had been free-thinking agnostics, but her father had perceived that a better education might be hers, religious instruction aside. Sending her all the way to Victoria to historic St. Margaret’s was too expensive. “It’s time you had a fresh perspective,” he would say. “The island is a small place, and you don’t want a mind to match.”
“What about the heaven, hell, and sin stuff?” she asked, sprawled on the sofa and leafing through the school brochure.
“This says we have to go to mass every Friday. Even confession?”
He chuckled. “Fairy tales, my dear. But mind your manners and don’t make fun of them. Catholics don’t like that. You’re there for the small classes. And the Latin. A good basis for any discipline. What’s the name for skunk cab—”
Holly didn’t need to open her threadbare Plants of Coastal British Columbia. “Lysichiton americanum.”
Her mother flipped a rolled-up Mother Jones magazine onto the table. “Say what you will about public school, “she told Norman, “it’s moving forward instead of being rooted in the past. A live culture. Not like dead languages and the frivolous things you teach.” Her voice rose, and she paced the room, gesturing passionately.
“Snobs are better than thugs, Bonnie.” Sitting in his recliner in the solarium, her father rattled the Sooke News Mirror. “Look at this police-beat report. Drinking and vandalism at the old graveyard again. Tombstones broken and defaced. No pride in their pioneer heritage. If they had more homework, they wouldn’t have the time to get into trouble. And at least Notre Dame keeps a sharp lookout on absenteeism.” He shot a smile at Holly. “Not that we need to worry about that.”
On the way to the main office, she passed a familiar mural depicting the timber industry, in this community everyone’s “friend”. The long panel in Grandma Moses style showed a stream full of shimmering, leaping fish. On one side, trees were being cut, logged and hauled as neatly as a pack of yellow pencils. On the other, an army of jolly planters was investing in silviculture futures. A picnic with happy children was arranged in the final corner. No clear-cutting, no run-off, no burning and no diesel fumes. Did anyone really believe it, or were they glad to keep their jobs in the faltering industry? The alarming fact was that the companies owned over eleven per cent of the island, and eighty per cent of the old growth had been logged in the last forty years. Other than inaccessible mountain passes and a few protected areas like Cathedral Grove, little of the original beauty was left.
“Office”, the sign on the smoked-glass door read: “Visitors please register.” Holly had gone there every day as a student. Finished her work in half the time, she had made an ideal messenger and often carried supplies around the school. The secretary, an older red-headed woman with buck teeth but a welcoming smile, told her that the principal, Dave Mack, was at a conference in Burnaby. Brightening as he saw her face, Paul Gable came from an adjoining office. “Corporal Martin. Good to see you again. I’m so glad you could make it.” He gave her tailored suit and low pumps an approving glance. “You didn’t wear your uniform. That’s probably better. In this age, the days of Officer Friendly are over, sadly enough. Much too adversarial now.”
“I’d be glad to give a talk on Career Day or whatever it’s called.”
He beamed then pulled out a pocket planner and made a note. “What a super idea. I’ll give you a call in April. And I’ll have our counsellor reel in the girls. We need more female officers.”
“I’m afraid I’m here on business, too.” She sighed. “We have an inspector in from West Shore and some new developments.”
“I heard about the interviews and hoped that they were just a final formality.” He straightened his striped tie and adjusted the folded handkerchief in the pocket of his sportcoat. Then he pulled out a pack of gum and pushed out a square, popping it in his mouth. Nico-Ban. “This isn’t going to be good for the students. What a nightmare.”
Holly nodded in sympathy and tried for a confident smile. “I need to talk to Ms Bass and the coach again.”
Gable looked around as the secretary bundled papers together and went into the hall, leaving them alone. His voice lowered, and he leaned forward, checking that the door was shut. “Is it true that crystal meth was involved? Lindsey Benish spread the word, not that I trust that little...girl. Meth here, for god’s sake. And brought on the class trip? I blame myself.” He twisted his face in embarrassment. She imagined that he must have faced serious criticism with the drowning happening on his watch.
“How could you have prevented it? Strip-search the students?”
He shook his head in concern. “We try to keep current, but even our drug awareness programs can’t offer total protection, not when a new chemical thrill lurks around every corner. Our nurse is only part-time, but she monitors the drug scene. Listen to this.”
He told her about “cheese”, the latest high. A combination of black heroin and cold medication, one snort for a couple of dollars. Problem was, the unreliable nature of the purity of the heroin had killed several youths in Vancouver.
“Alcohol is still the main problem, though. Teenagers are picked up every weekend, usually remanded to their parents. How would you say Notre Dame stacks up?” Holly was making the logical connection between any kind of mood-altering substance.
He gave a furtive look around the office and into the hall. “I’m going to level with you, but I’d rather you didn’t spread the word around, because who needs that publicity? Sure, we have a few bad apples. Bring beer to school, take off on their lunch hours. For a second offense, they’re expelled. Three so far this year, no matter how their parents bitched. And we’re working with the liquor stores this spring for a Dry Grad. The system’s far from perfect, but we’re as proactive as we can be.”
It had been the same when Holly had been a student. With all the aging hippies in Sooke, getting marijuana was as easy as buying a pop. Beer was also in quick supply. She remembered tasting her first after a soccer game at sixteen. She’d kept herself clean after changing majors, knowing that a career in law enforcement had no room for substance abuse. They’d been warned that even a misdemeanor could prevent them from entering the RCMP.
“People blame the school, they blame the parents, but everyone’s in charge of himself. We tell the students about these critical choices.” A worm of a question crossed his large brow. “Do you know any more about how she got it? Do you suppose she came in contact with someone in Port Renfrew? It’s a tough place. The students mentioned seeing a few local boys the first day at the beach.”
“I have a couple of names to follow up on.” She wondered if he knew about Billy and Mike and guessed that he was grasping at any opportunity to pass the blame away from his own students. “We have doubts that she took the drug on her own.”
He gave a sharp intake of breath, then exhaled slowly. “My thoughts exactly. Certainly not Angie.” A frown passed across his features like a dark cloud. “But who would do such a thing? I see now why you need to re-interview people. How can I help? Can I show you around?”
“I graduated from here...more than a few years ago.”