An excerpt from Debra's short story
"Local Intelligence".

 

A pale arm reached skyward from a tangled mass of bull kelp that rocked gently in the bay's frothy waves. A body?

     RCMP Corporal Hazel Quinn set her binoculars onto the hood of the patrol car as Bob Corker, better known locally as Corky, stood twitching nervously on the sidewalk that hugged the waterfront in Turnaround Bay.

     "I was on my way to the store for some groceries, just minding my own business, when I saw it ...." He swung his arms toward the mass of seaweed floating just offshore. "I think someone's drowned."

     The tide was at its low point, leaving a long slick stretch of shoreline, so Constable Mark Connors, Hazel's partner, stepped down onto the bouldered beach and stumbled awkwardly over its treacherous surface. Hazel locked the patrol car and carefully followed.

     Mark hesitated at the water's edge, took off his utility belt, boots and vest, then stepped into the saltchuck. As he made his way precariously toward the floating debris, he slipped. Hazel cringed while he tried desperately to regain his footing, but couldn't. He came up quickly, stood and grasped a loose end of kelp, reeling it toward him. Gradually, the entire mass reached shore and Mark emerged from the water, sopping wet.

      "Are you okay?" Hazel asked.

      A frown appeared on his round brown face. "Don't ask," he said. His dark hair was dripping wet, his uniform soaked.

      Hazel pulled on a pair of nitril gloves from her pocket. "Let's see what we're dealing with here."

      They dragged the kelp onto the beach and began to untangle the corpse.

      "You take us for suckers?" Mark shouted to Corky. Corky made his way toward them. "It's a bloody mannequin," Mark snapped.

     Corky took his ball cap off and scratched his head. "You're sure about that?"

     Hazel had been stationed in Turnaround Bay for only a couple of months, but in that short time, she'd discovered Corky had a reputation for his oddball humour. Would he throw a mannequin into the bay as a joke, though? She wouldn't put it past him.

     "Think we should call the coroner?" Corky grinned.

     "I don't think that'll be necessary," Mark said. He sat down, took his socks off and wrung them out.

     Corky turned the mannequin over. "Wow, she's pretty well endowed. I wonder where she's from?"

     Mark shrugged. "You got me there. Maybe she was sightseeing and fell off a boat."

     "Don't get him started," Hazel warned.

     "I don't recognize her as local," Corky went on, without further encouragement. "I wonder if she's single."

     A crowd had gathered on the sidewalk at the end of Kingfisher Lane. A few held cellphones pointed in their direction.

     "I'm not sure we have a crime here," Hazel said. "Somebody's obviously missing a mannequin. If we find out who it is, the best we can do is charge them with littering ... or mischief." She glared at Corky who pulled his ball cap low over his eyes and shrugged.

     "I'll leave her in your capable hands," he said. "If you're taking her back to the detachment, I'd recommend dressing her first. Otherwise, Ferguson's liable to arrest her for indecent exposure." He wiggled his bushy eyebrows and cackled. 

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