Cornwall and Redfern Mysteries 2-Book Bundle (39 page)

“You have to talk to Tony.
He doesn't know what he's getting into.” I scooped more chicken casserole onto my plate. Thinking Redfern looked somewhat peaked at the greenhouse, I cooked him dinner. And made a salad from ingredients I found in the fridge. It was almost magical, the way food periodically showed up in there. But really I was thankful Rae dragged groceries in from time to time.

Redfern shovelled in the food like he hadn't eaten all day, poor guy. “I thought you couldn't cook.”

“I never said that. I just prefer not to.” I pushed the salad bowl his way. “Load up. You probably need more fibre.”

He pushed it back. “My fibre is fine. Don't worry about Tony. He can take care of himself. It's Glory I'm concerned about.”

“Glory. Are you kidding me? She'll suck Tony dry and discard the shell.”

He smiled, leaned back, and pushed his empty plate away. “Good dinner. I appreciate your efforts.”

I put our plates in the sink and covered the leftovers. “Don't get used to it. Go to the living room and put your feet up. I'll be right there. Coffee? Beer?”

He got up, but narrowed his eyes. “What's up with you?”

I stood on tiptoes and gave him a quick kiss on his way past me. Honestly, I wasn't sure what was up with me.

Once the kitchen was tidied, I prepared a tray laden with our coffees and two servings of cheesecake. Redfern accepted my offering quickly, like I had a boa constrictor wound around my neck. Shoot it or run, his expression seemed to be debating.

I noticed the black notebook and pen in his hand. “Are we going to talk about the case?”

“Yes, we are. I've made three columns here. First column consists of names of people I intend to interview. Second column is for tick marks after the interviews. Guess what the third column is for.”

“I have no idea, officer.” I did, but wasn't a fan of lists, so decided not to participate in this line of questioning where I was being set up to be the big loser. And I think he was lying about the columns. No way could you get three on that ratty little notebook.

“The third column has Bliss Cornwall as a heading. Which of these people have you already interrogated? Let's see. Fang, Earl Archman, Charles Leeds, Mike Bains. Anyone else?”

“For your information,
Chief
, Fang was too drunk and despondent last night at the Wing Nut to make any sense, and today he just complained — a lot — about the few simple tasks I asked him to perform. I meant to ask about grad night, but you and Tony came bursting in before I had a chance.”

“Earl Archman—”

“… went on at great length about how the Class of 2000 was the worst he had the misfortune to teach. Your friend, the gynecologist, interrupted us before I could get any useful details from him.”

Redfern looked up from his columns. “You need to get over this phobia about gynecologists. What do you propose to do when you get pregnant?”

“Uh, not get pregnant. Anyway, I've nothing against female gynecologists. But a man poking around a woman's nether parts for money is just wrong. I suspect his motives.”

Redfern touched my knee. “You're very entertaining, Cornwall, but can we discuss Charles Leeds now? You hung out with him for most of yesterday. Don't tell me you didn't discuss the graduation party.”

“Do I detect a pinch of jealousy?”

He snorted in a most unflattering way. “Hardly. He has three kids, remember. Talk.”

“I didn't have that much time to get into anything with him. I went to Canadian Tire hoping to score some decorations for Glory's charity open house. I managed to obtain a few. Chico helped me out to the parking lot. We fell. Mr. Archman cracked his arm on the pavement when he slipped. And then the ambulance came. There you have it.”

“You and Chico didn't discuss the deaths or grad night?”

“Not really. While we waited in the checkout line, I showed him the yearbook pictures. He had snapped most of them himself. We did take a short waltz down memory lane, but only about photography. I was bored to tears.”

“You spent time in the emergency room. What did you talk about there?”

“Mostly, he was on the phone, instructing his minions to cover the parking lot with Ice Melt. Then his wife called and reamed him out for twenty minutes about Chucky Junior's hockey schedule and telling him why he should get it changed so she doesn't have to get up at 3:00 a.m. every Saturday morning. After he hung up, he explained why it wasn't his fault the parking lot was a death trap and he hoped Mr. Archman wouldn't sue him. Uh, let me see.” I wracked my brain. “That's about it. He whined a lot. You came in with your henchman, Bernie, and this time I was rather happy to see you. That is, until you so rudely refused me a ride back to my car.”

He put the notebook on the coffee table and pulled me onto his lap. “I'm sorry about that. I'm such a bastard. What about Mike Bains?”

Nuts, I had hoped he wouldn't bring that up. “I guess the discussion I had with Andrea about designer boots isn't relevant. No? Didn't think so. Okay, well. You may be interested to know the Weasel doesn't have an alibi for Saturday night or early Sunday morning when Sophie Quantz was killed.”

“Say that again.”

I prepared to comply but didn't get very far. Redfern went critical mass on me. I fell off his lap and onto the couch where I stayed until he ran out of steam. There was no point trying to establish a give-and-take partnership with him.

“You need to butt out of this investigation, Cornwall. Starting now!”

“All right!” I had a thought. “Where's Tony? You didn't say. Didn't he want to come for dinner?”

Redfern's complexion slowly returned to normal colour. “He said he needed an early night but wanted me to thank you for the invitation.”

We looked at each other. “That doesn't sound like Tony, does it?” I picked up my cell.

Pan didn't answer until the third ring. “Hi, Pan. So, what were you doing at the greenhouse today?” I moved back over to sit on the arm of Redfern's chair. His arm curled around my waist. “Really? You're kidding.”

I let Pan complain about the Bloody Baroness before giving Redfern the scoop. “Glory doesn't think Pan has enough to do at the house, so she's teaching him how to be productive at the greenhouse. Today he had a lesson in detecting mould.”

It was time to interrupt Pan's whine-fest. “Yeah, that really sucks. I know how busy you are at home. Where is she now? … Really? When is she coming back?”

Redfern moved his head against mine and tried to hear Pan's words. Did I have a speaker button on this phone? I should look into that.

Pan returned to the subject of his servitude to an ungrateful mistress. I cut him off and put the phone down. “Did you hear that?”

“No. Did he say something about Tony?”

“Not directly. Glory left a few hours ago with an overnight bag. Since they're both MIA, what are chances they aren't together?”

Redfern stood up and began to pace.

I thought back over the past couple of years, since Glory's divorce from Dougal. That relationship seemed to have turned her off men for good, which made total sense, but I still figured Tony's soul hung in the balance.

I asked, “So, does Tony have a history of sudden attraction to She Devils?”

“He does. But keep that to yourself. Speaking of attractions, why don't you get your white thong and come back to the cabin with me?”

“How about you stay here tonight instead? I'm not going to your shack in the woods to freeze my ass off.”

“You won't freeze anything. Guaranteed.”

“Nope. Here's the deal. White thong here. Cabin, alone.”

“Where's Rae?”

“I wondered when you'd remember Rae. Well, truthfully, she's in her room. She took her dinner in there to study, and so we could be alone. She thinks you don't like her.”

“I like her just fine.” He lowered his voice. “But she used to be a hooker.”

Dramatically, I lowered by voice even more. “So let it go. She isn't one now. She was never charged, so you aren't compromising your integrity by being friendly.”

“I can't sleep over in the same house. What if she goes back to the life? My career could be screwed.”

“That's crazy. I'm not spending another night at the cabin. That's just the way it is.”

“I'll put the pictures away. I know it upsets you.”

“After, what, almost four years, you keep a picture of your deceased wife beside your bed. You can't honestly wonder why I don't want to spend the night there.”

“Debbie will always be part of my life. That doesn't reflect on my feelings for you.”

“It would have been better had you said Debbie will always be a part of your past. I'm giving you all the space you need, Redfern, but I can't be your solace while you continue to mourn indefinitely.”

“Mourning is subjective. You can't put a time limit on it.”

“Okay, got it. When you're here, I feel you're really with me, that's all I'm trying to say. At your cabin, you have pictures everywhere. You brought her with you from Toronto. It's your place and hers. I'm just a visitor. If you can't see that, then….” I ran out of words. I couldn't explain how I felt, and this wasn't the first discussion we'd had about Debbie. If she was an ex, I could deal with it, but it was hard to compete with a ghost.

His face took on a stubborn expression. “If you lived alone, there wouldn't be a problem.”

“Back at you.”

He grabbed his coat from the hook. “I'll talk to you tomorrow.”

The door closed very quietly, and a minute later I heard his vehicle start up and drive away. It broke my heart, thinking of him heading back to his cold cabin. But it was his choice. I ate my cheesecake. Then I ate his.

I went to bed with an icepack over my eyes, although it was too late. Dr. Doom's prediction had come true. There wasn't enough makeup in the world to cover the purple-black smudges around both my eyes.

Cornwall was right
about one thing. The cabin was glacial. Neil kept his coat on while he performed his nightly rituals.

The cabin was heated by a propane gas fireplace and several strategically-placed electric heaters. The fireplace shut off automatically after a few hours, and he couldn't leave the heaters running while he was out. He came home, and woke up, to a chilly house. But only in the spring, winter, and fall. Summer was pleasant except for the blackflies, mosquitoes, and skunks that raised their families under the back steps.

He plugged in the heaters and reset the fireplace, remembering he hadn't ordered propane and the tank had to be nearing empty. He fell into an old armchair pulled close to the fireplace and rested his boots on the hearth.

He was frustrated at the length of time it was taking for the lab to confirm that the bones belonged to Faith Davidson. The Davidson family didn't believe in routine x-rays. Since Faith, along with most of the clan, had been blessed with near-perfect teeth, there were no x-rays to help with ID. They would have to wait until DNA from the skeleton's teeth matched samples taken from Mr. and Mrs. Davidson to confirm identity. The shape of the teeth, strands of long, dark hair, and the timing of Faith's disappearance increased the odds that the remains were hers. Even the two tiny cones that once held celebration bouquets, and the decayed rose petals from the locker, pointed to Faith.

He had no choice but to proceed as though the girl was Faith Davidson. By his reaction at the scene, even Fang was certain he had found his twin sister when he opened the door of the locker.

So, if Faith never got on the bus to Toronto that night, who was the girl at the bus stop? Did she even exist? Earl Archman was the only witness to come forward at the time of Faith's disappearance to state he saw a young girl in a white dress at the bus stop the night of the grad party. The bus driver could neither corroborate nor contradict the statement. He had to interview Earl Archman tomorrow.

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled his notebook out. One of the two female chaperones had passed away. He made a note to interview the other one tomorrow. It was too much of a coincidence that Sophie Quantz was killed less than twenty-four hours after the skeletal remains were discovered. There had to be a connection between the graduation party and both deaths. He would assign Thea the task of tracking down every other member of that graduating class.

He forced himself to his feet, put his notebook away, and walked into his cramped bedroom, carrying one of the electric space heaters. He plugged in the heater, undressed quickly, and slid between the cold sheets. They felt damp as well as icy. He tried to picture Bliss wearing her white thong, but he was too chilled to sustain even that image. He reached out and pulled the heater closer to the bed. One of these nights, the cabin was going to burn to the ground, and him with it. He couldn't blame Cornwall for avoiding this place.

He should find a warmer, more convenient place to live. Perhaps buy a house. But that would mean making a commitment to remain here.

Before turning off the lamp, he glanced, as always, at Debbie's picture. He made a point of putting the picture away before Bliss arrived. Except for that one time. She hadn't said anything, but she hadn't been back since.

When he first looked around for a place to rent, he was hesitant when the realtor brought him here. But it was the closest place he could find that was within quick response distance. Gradually he grew accustomed to the night noises and enjoyed the absence of sirens, gunshots, and the voices of people in pain or distress, although some of those voices were in his head forever.

The station received several calls a week from hysterical homeowners who spotted bears — or maybe just the same one — lurking around their properties. The kicker was, the police couldn't do a thing about it. You couldn't shoot a bear just because it was foraging for food. So, each complainant was told the same thing: phone the Ministry of Natural Resources, number provided, and they will explain how to discourage bears from hanging about.

Neil had seen one a couple of months ago, lumbering around the side of the cabin as he drove up one evening. Thank God Bliss hadn't been with him. After that, he had started bringing his gun home with him instead of locking it up in the station like he insisted his officers do when they completed their shifts.

His mind refused to turn off and let him sleep. Far better to be pressed against Cornwall in her warm bed than shivering alone here. Maybe he should buy some flannel sheets. And flannel pyjamas. Just like his grandfather. No, strike that mental image. Maybe he should just move out and find a place with heat. Or, should he go back to Toronto?

An hour later, his eyes were still wide open. Debbie crept into his thoughts again. She was always home from work before him. Dinner was in the oven unless they decided to go to one of the little ethnic restaurants that peppered their downtown neighbourhood. She'd tell him about her day as administrative assistant to one of the city councillors. And he would give her an uncensored version of what happened during his shift. She listened and massaged the tension out of his shoulders, but didn't tell him what he should do.

Unbidden, that last night replayed itself in his mind. Holding Debbie's hand in the ambulance as it raced through the rain-slick streets toward Toronto General. Refusing to acknowledge that she and their unborn baby were already gone.

There was nothing he could have done, the doctors said after the autopsy. There was no way anyone could have known about her congenital heart defect. The pregnancy may have overtaxed her heart, but it could have happened anytime. Time bomb.

The next few months were a blur. When the fog lifted, he felt he had to get away from her family, his family and friends and, most of all, the memories. When he saw the Ontario Association of Chiefs of Police vacancy for Lockport, he applied. He had never heard of the place. Now, he visited family when he felt like it, but no one came hunting for him, especially from November to April when whiteouts could close the highway at any time. City people weren't up for it.

He ignored the scrabbling sounds outside his window, trusting it was a raccoon and not the town bear, which should be hibernating by now. His eyes closed.