Killer Storm: PI Mackenzie Storm Crime Thriller 3 (The Storm Trilogy) by P.L. Pinch

Author:P.L. Pinch [Pinch, P.L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Linchpin PressWorks
Published: 2024-11-29T00:00:00+00:00

24

Stanley Thompson gave us the name of Bucky’s boat, but he didn’t know where it was docked, so we’ve spent the whole day trying to find it. But the area has more marinas than you might think, so we divided the list between us and began making calls and visits to most likely locations. It’s a time suck because marina owners are reluctant to give out client information. Riley has helped with that, but we’ve still had no luck. We only have a couple more possibilities on our list. Hannah was checking out another one nearby, but came up empty, so she’s on her way to meet us here at Miller’s Marina. It’s a convenience store and marina, but a ‘Closed’ sign hangs on the door. There is no one around, but Riley knows the family and asked them to meet us here.

“My father says this area used to be all wilderness,” says Riley. “The Miller’s ancestors are homesteaders of Muskoka, here way before the tourists and the summer homes.”

“Quite the transformation,” I say.

“No kidding,” says Riley. “Miller’s store was the heart of this area when I was growing up. It was where everyone went to buy their groceries and supplies. Now, it’s barely hanging on, all thanks to the highway.”

It’s an odd reaction from someone who is in her mid-twenties at most, but it tells me just how much she loves it here. “The highway that went in back in the 80s?”

“Yup,” she says, nodding. “It’s been a long, slow decline since then. Most of the new people, the ones with money, prefer to buy in town.”

The store looks like it belongs in a different era, with its weathered wood and hand-painted sign. But the location is stunning, situated next to the water.

I peer through the glass windows. The store’s interior looks pristine, but the shelves are only half filled with items.

“Mrs. Miller’s sick again,” says Riley, her face clouded with concern. “That’s why they’re closed.”

She reads the question on my face.

“Cancer,” she says, leaning against her car and scanning the quiet landscape.

“It’s a lot to manage,” I say. “A marina and a store. Especially if you’re sick.”

“Word is their son is moving back to help them out.”

“You sure they’ll show?”

“Yeah. The Millers are good people. They’ll do what they can to help us. I have no doubt. They wouldn’t stand us up.”

And, sure enough, we don’t have to wait long.

An old pickup truck rumbles into view. It pulls to a stop and the Millers clamber out.

“Riley, dear,” says Mrs. Miller, wrapping a thick shawl around her shoulders. “And this must be your colleague.”

“Jennifer Howard,” I say, using my fake name. I offer a hand, which she shakes with a firmness that belies her frail frame.

“Come on,” says Mr. Miller, leaning on a cane, heading toward a small outbuilding closer to the marina.

“How’ve your parents been keeping?”

“Oh, they’re great,” says Riley. “Thanks for asking. And thanks for doing this for us.”

“Oh, it’s no problem at all,” says Mr. Miller. “Just in here.

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