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

their fares subtracted. She drove into the line-up. The BC ferry, with its blue and red stripes over white, glided into its berth.
    â€œWhat did Austin say?”
    â€œThat he’d come to see me skate.”
    â€œWell, duh.” To Alana, Linda explained, “Osborne has been sponsoring Shane.”
    â€œDo I recognize his name? Wasn’t he an Olympic champion?” She’d look him up as soon as it was polite.
    â€œYeah. Late nineties,” Shane said, as if it didn’t matter much.
    â€œWow!” Definitely check him out.
    â€œHe usually drops over.” Linda started the engine and put it in gear.
    Amazing, thought Alana. All these famous skaters.
    Parked on board, Tim got out and slammed his door. Wow, is she ever pretty. Shane sat silent, staring out the window. Tim walked up to the front. Not the prow, he knew—the ferry ran forwards and backwards. He stared for a few minutes at the Quadra shore approaching.
    â€œHey Tim.”
    He turned. Randy, the guy who sometimes helped his dad. “Hi Randy.”
    â€œHow’s it going, fella?”
    â€œPretty good.” The ferry approached the dock’s guide rails.
    â€œHow’s your brother doin’?”
    â€œNot so great.” What the heck was Randy on about? He had a sense Randy didn’t much like Derek—cool vibes between them when Randy had helped out on the woodlot the last couple of autumns. “Still unconscious.”
    â€œDamn shame,” said Randy. “Sad.”
    Randy didn’t sound sad. “Yeah.” Tim started back to the car. “See you, Randy.”
    â€œRight. September in the woodlot, right?” The ferry scraped against the barrier. A crewman reached for the attaching cable.
    Wrong. “I don’t think so.”
    â€œNo?” Randy’s brow furrowed.
    â€œNo. Dad’s got his friend Zeke to come in.”
    â€œOh,” said Randy. “How about that.”
    â€œSee you.”
    A minute after Tim had left the car Linda pulled out her cell phone. “Hi Barb, I’ve got Jason’s friends, the detectives I mentioned . . . Oh the same. Vital signs stable . . . Thanks, we do too . . . On the next ferry, I think. Your rooms still open, I hope? . . . No, I didn’t ask.” She looked at Alana. “Would they share a room—?”
    Alana quickly shook her head.
    â€œNo, two . . . Don’t worry about the breakfast part, they’ll eat with us . . . Thanks, Barb. Oops, we’re unloading.”
    Linda pocketed her phone just as Tim slammed back into his seat. She looked back at Shane. “Did Austin say when he might come by?”
    â€œNo.”
    She turned around. Shane was sitting with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. She had never seen him sit so still for so long. Linda started the engine.
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    Dr. Pierce was running late. Would they be able to come back at five?
    Noel turned to Jason. “How’s that for the ferry to Quadra?”
    â€œIf we have a short chat with the doctor, and if the ferry’s running a little late we can maybe get the 5:25. If there’s no overload. Otherwise it’s the 6:15.”
    â€œWe’ll be back at five,” said Noel to the receptionist.
    Kyra saw a sign: Washroom. “Catch up with you.” Pregnant, demanding again.
    â€œWe’ll wait,” said Noel.
    She reappeared shortly. They walked out to the car.
    Jason said, “I’m betting on the 6:15. Pierce is often late.”
    â€œWhat’s his specialty?” asked Kyra.
    â€œInternist. Good guy, by and large. Not nearly as bad as McPherson, Derek’s surgeon.”
    â€œFits all the clichés about the surgeon-god?”
    â€œMore like surgeon-king. Campbell River’s not big enough for a god.”
    Noel said, “Time to see the Mounties.”
    â€œI’ll call,