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Victoria Day, A Mystery
Victoria Day, A Mystery
Victoria Day, A Mystery
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Victoria Day, A Mystery

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Experienced, competent and gutsy, social worker Victoria Day boldly enters a world where families and violence intersect. Victoria, British Columbia is the setting for Nelson Brunanski's intriguing mystery that revolves around a social worker's daring efforts to protect vulnerable children, even as she unravels a string of clues that point to a brutal murder.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateJun 12, 2013
ISBN9780973912159
Victoria Day, A Mystery
Author

Nelson Brunanski

Nelson Brunanski grew up in a newspaper family where he honed his writing skills and formed an interest in the drama and intrigue of people in the news. He received a BA, BEd. and went on to a career teaching English, playing music and writing fiction. Nelson has published a series of small-town Saskatchewan mystery novels and a thrill a minute Mexican adventure called Southern Exposure. Victoria Day is Nelson's first book set in the beautiful city of Victoria, British Columbia where he lives happily on the Pacific Ocean.

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    Book preview

    Victoria Day, A Mystery - Nelson Brunanski

    Victoria Day

    A Mystery

    by

    Nelson Brunanski

    Published by

    Caronel Publishing

    Victoria Canada

    *****

    Copyright © 2014 Nelson Brunanski

    Smashwords Edition

    All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,

    stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,

    photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

    Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication


    Brunanski, Nelson, 1950-
          Victoria Day / Nelson Brunanski.


    Issued also in electronic formats.
ISBN 978-0-9739121-4-2


    I. Title.


    PS8603.R85V52 2014          C813'.6         C2013-900013-5 


    Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication


    Brunanski, Nelson, 1950-
          Victoria Day [electronic resource] / Nelson Brunanski.


    Electronic monograph in PDF and HTML formats.
Issued also in print format.


    ISBN 978-0-9739121-4-2 (PDF).--ISBN 978-0-9739121-4-2 (HTML)


    I. Title.


    PS8603.R85V52 2014                 C813'.6                 C2013-900014-3 


    Caronel Publishing

    Victoria, Canada

    www.nelsonbrunanski.com

    Cover Art and Design

    by Spica Book Design

    Printed and bound in Canada

    This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual events or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

    Dedication

    This book is dedicated to hard working social workers everywhere. In particular to Lisa Noelle Brown who devotes her life to the well being of children and families in Victoria, BC and who helped in the creation of this novel.

    1

    The road to my coach house is long and curvy and on that dark, damp night it seemed particularly challenging. And not only because I was still wearing my high heals. I'd rushed out after having one of those brutal end-of-the-day meetings you just don't want to have. Needing something to take my mind off of it, I reached over and turned on the radio of my ten-year-old Toyota. I twisted the dial and skipped by some hip-hop music, then a war-on-drugs phone in show. I listened for a minute. I finally settled on a classical station to help soothe my frayed nerves and ease my mind.

    When my eyes returned to the shadowy road ahead, I saw a deer frozen in my headlights, only a few yards in front of the car. And her two fawns were right behind her. I closed my eyes, stomped on the brake and prayed for deliverance. I may have kept the deer from crashing through my windshield, but I didn't save it from a punishing blow to its hindquarters. I did not see, but felt the impact against the bumper of my car.

    When I opened my eyes again, I saw the poor thing drag itself into the deep ditch and struggle to get up the other side. Meanwhile the two startled fawns looked on, watchful and wide-eyed. When I opened the door they hightailed it into the woods and disappeared. Despite my own shock, I feared that the fawns might not survive without their mother who now lay in the ditch mortally wounded. I called 911.

    After the ordeal was over and the police had come and gone, I drove home and went to bed, feeling awful. The horrible scene played out in my mind over and over until I finally fell into a fitful sleep. But my dreams did little to lighten the mood.

    I woke up feeling groggy and hoped a shower would wake me up. It didn't. I dressed in my court clothes—a dark suit with a modest length skirt and gumboots, in case we got the snow that was forecast. I drove through the freezing rain to the office where I was meeting with my boss and the ministry lawyer before heading to the courthouse downtown.

    I bought a coffee from the machine in the lunchroom and joined my team leader Larry Ridley and lawyer, Sybil Strange. She was a young, untested advocate who'd just been hired by Child and Family Development. But she seemed like a quick study. She was tall and slim and wore a blue pantsuit and penny loafers.

    So, this Henry Battle is quite the piece of work, Larry said, pulling his bulky frame up to his desk. Larry

    carried a lot of extra weight, but somehow he never looked fat. Just bulky. Why don't you fill us in on what we can expect in court, Vicky?

    I was named Victoria after my maternal grandmother, and didn't like being called Vicky. I thought it sounded like an old gramophone record or a throat lozenge—or Sticky Vicky, a nickname I'd picked up at school after gluing my bottom to a desk in art class one day. But it was more than that. I liked the sound of my name. It sounded regal and refined. The four syllables gave it a certain distinction. But, most people still called me Vicky.

    I pulled a thick file out of my well-worn briefcase and set it on Larry's desk. I met with the parents yesterday afternoon for an hour, I said, and let me tell you it was no picnic. Henry was abusive, threatening and downright rude. I thought about the unfortunate deer I'd hit. Could I blame that on Henry Battle too? "He's been in and out of jail several times and arrested for assault more than once. We've had to remove the two older children before. In fact only when Henry goes back to jail do things settle down.

    Irene, the mother, has been living with her parents and the three kids. Now Henry wants to reunite the family, claiming he is clean and sober. Not bloody likely. There is no way these people are capable of looking after one child, let alone three. And Irene has her own problems with drug addiction and mental health issues. However, the biggest problem is Henry's violent behavior and how it impacts the children.

    The grandparents, Ian and Joyce Burns, a really nice couple, are willing to keep the kids, Angie who's three, conceived on a conjugal visit, Danny, a real sweetie, he's four and eight-year-old Carmel, a troubled young girl, who's been suffering her whole life."

    From what? Sybil asked.

    Everything. Emotional, physical and psychological abuse. She needs a lot of help. I passed the file folder over to Sybil. Here's my application for custody. If you just ask me about all the ones I've marked, I'm sure the judge will see that we have good reason to keep these kids in the ministry's care.

    So, will we recommend the children continue living with the grandparents? Sybil asked.

    Yes, I said.

    And the grandparents have agreed?

    Yes. I nodded emphatically. They love those children. The Burns had been stalwarts throughout the years.

    All right, Larry said. Does that give you enough for now, Sybil?

    Yes, the young woman said. She then asked, tentatively, Can they question the children?

    No frickin way, I said.

    After organizing my daybook I went out to the parking lot where the rain had turned into the predicted snow. I was hoping they'd been exaggerating the threat, but here it was. A little snow was not uncommon in the Capital City, but it was very odd to get it in March. Chalk up another one to global warming, I guess.

    Having used my gloved hand to wipe away the snow mixed with cherry blossoms from the windshield, I backed out of my parking spot. All at once I found my car sliding backward down the sloped lot. I pumped the brakes frantically and the car finally came to a halt just before ramming a parked SUV. With a deep sigh of relief, and wondering at the wisdom of it, I pulled warily out onto the street, joining the slow-moving traffic that wended its way along Gorge Road toward downtown Victoria.

    On a warm summer day you can't find a more beautiful city than Victoria, British Columbia. Surrounded by water, with gardens and natural beauty everywhere, it's paradise. But today everything from the breathtaking view to the historically rich architecture, to the guy in the bicycle lane was a distraction and a hindrance to me getting to where I needed to go. What was he doing riding a bicycle in the snow anyway?

    The snow thickened and the traffic slowed as I turned onto Douglas Street. When I reached the courthouse on Burdett Avenue, I parked in the underground lot. I exchanged my gumboots for my high-heeled pumps, and made my way through the maze of stairways and hallways that took me to the courthouse entrance.

    Upon arrival I read an official looking notice indicating that the docket had been cancelled for the day due to hazardous driving conditions.

    Well, that's great, I said to myself, just great.

    Excuse me? a man also reading the sign said. Did you say something?

    Oh, no, I replied, a little embarrassed. "I just drove all the way down here, through hazardous driving conditions, for nothing."

    Yeah, tell me about it, the man said, grinning, I risked life and limb to get here too. You can't believe some of the drivers out there. As soon as it snows, they forget how to drive. I noticed that he wore good shoes, though they were a little soiled by the slushy snow.

    Are you here for a case? I asked.

    I was, he said, but I guess it'll have to wait for another day. He carried a leather briefcase and wore a handsome navy pea coat. What about you? he asked. I noticed his dark eyes looking me over.

    Yeah, I'm here for a custody hearing.

    Oh, me too.

    It's not the Battle case is it? I asked, doubtfully.

    The very same, he said, laugh lines showing around his dark eyes. I'm representing them.

    I'm the children's social worker. Looks like we're both out of luck, I said. But I was thinking his luck had run out when he got hired by the Battles.

    I wonder, he said, somewhat hesitantly, since you're free and so am I, perhaps you'd join me for a cup of coffee?

    I don't know, I said. We're on opposite sides of this court case. It might be considered a conflict of interest.

    He shifted his briefcase from one hand to the other. Holding up his left hand, he said, Will you come if I undertake an oath not to mention the case? I noticed he didn't wear a wedding ring.

    It's supposed to be the right hand, I said.

    I'm left handed, he countered, with a grin.

    I smiled and thought about it for a moment. Alex, my on-again, off-again boyfriend had just informed me that he was off again. So I felt no disloyalty to him, but was I ready to get involved with someone new? Reeling out my whole life story yet again? Trying to put the best face on it? It all seemed like such a chore, so much effort, and for what? Nine out of ten encounters went nowhere anyway and often led to more humiliation and disappointment. And did I really need more of that in my life?

    He'd introduced himself as Anthony—call me Tony—de Mello. He was six feet tall, had broad shoulders and narrow hips. A classic Adonis physique. He had eyes that shone when he smiled. He was one of the lucky ones, whose looks would always get him places. Or so he thought. But he wasn't asking for my hand in marriage, was he? Just a cup of coffee, what did I have to lose?

    2

    After a white-knuckled trip back to the office, I parked in my assigned spot. The falling snow had filled my earlier tracks and I noticed that much of the parking lot was empty. I soon found out why. A sign at the vacant receptionist's desk, like at the courthouse, indicated that the office was closed due to snow, and it listed two emergency phone numbers.

    In the child protection branch a few of the offices were occupied, but most were dark and the doors were closed. Even the lunchroom was shut down. Now I wished I'd taken Anthony de Mello up on his offer. I could've used a good cup of coffee. No doubt about it, he was an attractive man, and he seemed to like me. But you should never consort with the enemy. Isn't that the first rule of warfare? And trust me, this is war. We're battling for the lives of three children.

    I unlocked my office and took a seat at my cluttered desk. The Battle family was only one of almost thirty I had in my caseload, and not the worst either. I decided this would be a perfect afternoon to get caught up on some paperwork, undisturbed by appointments, phone calls and family visits. But just as I was about to dig in, Larry Ridley appeared at the door, a file folder under his arm.

    That didn't take long, he said. How'd it go?

    It didn't. Court was cancelled, the whole building was shut down because of the snow.

    I'm not surprised, he said.

    Well, I was. It was no fun driving all the way down there and back for nothing.

    Yeah. Road's pretty bad?

    Yeah, and getting worse.

    With this weather and your road, you might want to get going, Larry said, but he seemed distracted.

    What is it? I asked. Larry had been my superior for almost six years and I knew when something was on his mind.

    You know the Singhs, Justin and Jasmine.

    How could I forget them? We just removed their kids again.

    Yeah. Well they've lodged a quality assurance complaint against you.

    Oh. I felt my heart sink. What for?

    They claim that you discriminated against them.

    In what way?

    Racially.

    You've got to be kidding, I said, incredulous.

    And…

    And what?

    And the ministry has agreed to investigate, and what's more they want to look at past clients to see if there's a pattern.

    Oh, for God's sake.

    I know, I know, Larry said. It's the pits. But all we can do is give them what they want and prove it's a false accusation.

    And spend how much time doing it? I said, angrily. In addition to dealing with thirty other families.

    Thirty-one, Larry said, handing me the file folder he had tucked under his arm.

    I decided I'd had enough. The office was closed and why shouldn't I take a snow day along with everybody else? Besides I knew my road would be treacherous and getting worse by the minute. And I needed to pick up hay for my horses that were undoubtedly cold and hungry.

    Outside the snow billowed down in clouds and the poor visibility added to the already treacherous road conditions. As I took the sharp curve that would take me up Prospect Lake Road I felt the car fishtail. The rear end drifted dangerously close to the deep ditch before I was able to regain control.

    With my heart in my throat, I was relieved when I pulled into Five Pines. I drove up to the barn and when I slid the big door aside, I breathed in the familiar sweet smell of mown hay. I loaded four alfalfa bales, two in the back, two on top, then went up to the house and paid for them. Albert, the owner told me he was surprised to see me as none of his other customers had been there since it started snowing.

    I crawled home over the ever-deepening snow, watching carefully for any signs of wildlife. When I pulled into the yard and turned off the engine my Australian shepherd, Heidi, barked a deep-throated welcome and I let out a sigh of relief.

    I changed into jeans, put on my barn boots and went out to the paddock to

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