Thunder Bay by Douglas Skelton

Author:Douglas Skelton [Skelton, Douglas]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781950691357
Publisher: Arcade Crimewise
Published: 2020-01-22T00:00:00+00:00

23

Compared to a supermarket on the mainland, the Portnaseil General Store was small potatoes, even though the shoppers could find almost everything they needed on its shelves. Prices were slightly higher, of course, and many islanders made a monthly trip across the water to bulk buy, but if they wanted fresh bread and milk, a daily newspaper—although fewer and fewer people looked for them—or to simply replenish vital supplies, then the Sinclairs’ general store was the place to go.

Rebecca peered through the window and saw a man standing at the register. He was small and his stomach bulged against his work coat, his head thatched with thick grey hair swept back from his forehead. He chatted to customers as he ran their purchases through the till, technology no longer requiring any great attention on his part, although he did keep his eye on the read-out for anomalies. Scanners may have replaced push button tills but Rebecca would lay odds that Hector Sinclair knew the price of every item on his shelves.

The shop was busy. Pupils from the high school wandered among the aisles, picking up items they knew they really shouldn’t be having for lunch. Rebecca’s stomach grumbled—a reminder it was that time of day. She’d eaten a hearty breakfast—far more substantial than normal—but she’d always had a prodigious appetite, even as a child. Her mother often wondered where she put it all, prompting her father to come out with another of his catchphrases: You can’t fatten a thoroughbred. Rebecca never fully understood the saying—she’d seen plenty of overweight full-blood Labradors—but it was one she regularly used herself.

Before he dropped her off in the Square, Chaz had told her that the family lived in the flat above the shop, which was accessed through an alleyway between the store and the old bank building. They agreed to meet for dinner in the hotel that night so she could fill him in what she’d learned.

The door to the Sinclair home was of modern PVC, with a glass panel set in the top half. Although a gauze curtain hung on the other side, Rebecca could make out a narrow carpeted stairway. She thumbed the doorbell but heard no associated buzz or ring, though that didn’t necessarily mean it wasn’t working. It was while she debated giving the letterbox a rattle that she saw, first, a pair of brown moccasin slippers, then legs in black trousers, then a woman wearing a shapeless, overly large blue cardigan.

Molly Sinclair hadn’t aged that much in the fifteen years since her photograph had been snatched as she walked into the court building. Even her hairstyle was the same. It was short and grey then, and it was short and grey now. She was small, like her husband, but she had kept herself trim. Her eyes were sharp and wouldn’t miss much, but there was a hint of sadness there too. Those eyes were wary as she studied Rebecca, as if she knew what she was going to hear, her hand clasped round the edge of the door as if preparing to slam it at any moment.

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