Cornwall and Redfern Mysteries 2-Book Bundle (52 page)

Redfern … Neil … ran into the room with gun drawn. When he saw what was happening, he shouted, “Drop it! Drop it!”

I tried. I couldn't. He came up behind me and grabbed my hand. “Let go!”

It fired a few more times before he finally pried my finger off the hair-trigger. The sucker fell to the floor and lay still. He kicked it away from me and, thank God, his gun was back in its holster.

I tried a cute smile on him. “Now you know better than to leave me alone with a power tool. Ha.” The smile and comment fell flat. His face looked just the same as it did the time I puked on his shoes. That wasn't my fault, either.

“It's not a power tool. It's spring-loaded and has to touch the surface before it fires a nail.”

“You should have explained that to me earlier.” I nudged him. “So, we're still using first names, right? Neil?” He hadn't even warned me not to touch the damn thing.

“I'll get a claw hammer to pull the nails out. Wait right here.”

Despite his expression, he probably thought his instruction humorous since the sleeve of my coat was pinned to the wall by at least four nails. I had no problem slipping out of the coat. I examined my wrist. Not a scratch!

Once we were in his vehicle, he began the slow process of backing down the drive without sliding into the ditch. The second we turned onto the highway, he said, “You never did tell me why you had your coat and boots on when I got to the greenhouse.”

“Uh … well …”

“Before you come out with some convoluted lie, keep in mind you were standing in a pool of melted snow.”

Neil's heart rate
didn't return to normal until he turned into Cornwall's … Bliss's … driveway. When he had heard her scream from the front room, he thought … well, he didn't know what he thought. He just reacted, pulling his Glock and racing to protect her. The sight of the nail gun firing into the wall beside her hand was almost as chilling as confronting an armed intruder. He couldn't wait to tell Tony. He always appreciated a good Bliss story.

She was skilled at diversionary tactics; he'd say that for her. It wasn't until they were on the snow-packed highway that he remembered to ask her again why she had on her outdoor clothes when he arrived at the greenhouse earlier.

He listened to her explanation without comment. At least she told the plain truth this time, with no excuses. He wasn't surprised she had slipped her leash, only surprised it hadn't happened before today. She'd been cooperative all week about remaining under someone's eye, even cousin Dougal's, who was unfortunately subject to bribery and distraction.

Earl Archman had slid down a few rungs on the suspect list since Kelly Quantz's murder. Bliss was safe enough with him, especially if some of her staff were around. But she was still a target, and would remain one until he caught the killer.

He looked over at her profile. At least she didn't jump out of the vehicle as soon as it stopped in front of her house.

Gun ready, he stood in the driveway, listening and watching. Satisfied, he opened Bliss's door and hustled her into the house. Her docility disturbed him. Maybe she was already regretting their first-name decision.

The smell of cooking food reminded him he hadn't eaten since breakfast. Two place settings waited on the kitchen table, and included a wineglass and a beer glass.

“There you two are. I've eaten already. The casserole is in the oven, still hot, and there's a salad in the fridge.” Rae looked from one to the other. “I'm going to the gym for an hour or two. Chief, I'm parked on the street, so no need to move for me. Bye.”

Snatching her coat and purse off a hook by the door, she fled.

“You could try to put her at ease, Neil.” Bliss said this absently, like she had something else on her mind. She poured a glass of wine and sat down.

Neil took the casserole out of the oven and set the salad on the table. She stared into her glass but didn't drink. He filled a plate for her and pushed it in front of her.

Bliss took a mouthful, swallowed, and looked at him. The area around her eyes was no longer discoloured and she hadn't put the Egyptian-style makeup on today. Her eyes slanted the same way as her cousin's, but while his were blue, hers were whisky-coloured. Under the harsh kitchen lights, gold flecks appeared in the irises. A casual observer would call them brown, but that didn't come close.

“Anything to share on the investigation? Anything new?”

“We may have a few more leads.” He watched her fingers play with the stem of her glass. The cuts on her hands from the broken glass had healed except for one inflamed area on her right index finger. The light purple polish on her nails was chipped at the edges.

“Kelly Quantz was killed before I was attacked, right? You found the gun at the scene. So, the killer threw away the gun he used on both Quantzes, and used a second one on me. What calibre bullet was it?”

“We don't have a ballistics report back yet, but it looks like another .32.”

He watched her face and suspected her brain was sorting the information stored deep in her memory.

“None of the suspects are licensed for a .32, right? He could be using a second souvenir Mauser. The only other Second World War pistol I remember that used a .32 is a Sauer 38H.”

“Your favourite.”

“Yes. Small enough for a child to use, lethal enough to kill.”

“Do you recall how many Sauers were passed back and forth at the clubhouse?”

She carefully turned over a lettuce leaf on her plate like she expected to find something moving. “A couple. I can't remember who else had one.”

“Eat up and let's get to bed. You have a big day tomorrow at the greenhouse.”

She looked straight at him. “You're holding something back. How can I help if you aren't honest with me? Don't forget I'm involved, too.”

He made a decision. “I will tell you, but this is not for sharing. Got it? I mean it, Bliss. Don't tell Dougal, or Rae, or dash off to Earl Archman and run it by him. That goes for Fern Brickle.”

“I got it already, Neil. Geez, have a little trust.”

“The Mauser that Dwayne found in the swamp has a partial thumbprint on the grip. Enough points that we can likely match it up if we get a comparison.”

He thought she'd be excited. Instead, she got up and dumped her food in the garbage can under the sink. “You should compare it to Desperado Dwayne's thumb.”

“It's not his.” He didn't mention that checking the print against Dwayne's was the first thing Thea did. “I wish you'd try harder to get along with Dwayne.”

“I'd get along with him fine if he didn't try to charge my ass every time he saw me behind the wheel. Have you asked the suspects to come in voluntarily and have their prints taken for elimination purposes?”

He kept forgetting she used to be married to a lawyer and knew more about the law than the average citizen. “We did. Three of them came willingly, the fourth declined.”

“Don't tell me. The lawyer refused because he wasn't legally required to cooperate. He was above suspicion, et cetera, et cetera. All huffy and superior.”

“Pretty much.”

“So, were you able to eliminate anyone?” She did her best to sound off-hand, but he knew she was concerned about her friends.

“The thumbprint doesn't belong to Fang, Chico, or Earl Archman. That's all we can determine at this point.”

Bliss was silent for a minute. “Is it possible someone else is involved? Someone who isn't on the suspect list?”

Neil started.
How did she get there?
Maybe she just didn't want to believe Bains was a murderer. Nobody wanted to find out they had been married to a killer. “Do you have a name in mind?”

“Not yet. I'm setting my subconscious to work, though. It's smarter than my conscious. I should have an answer for you by morning.” Her cheeky smile appeared for a brief second.

“Then I'll sleep easy. Which reminds me, isn't it past our bedtime?”

“Patience, Neil. You have to wait up for Rae, then check all the doors and windows are locked. Doesn't mean we can't get started, I guess.”

As he dropped into bed, Neil had to admit sleeping in Bliss's warm house beat his shack in the woods. He groaned, reflecting that he would now have to pull several dozen nails from the plywood around the window and repair the lock.

He didn't mean to ask her this, but the words fell out of his mouth before he could stop them. “Did you go out with Fang in high school?”

Her eyes barely flickered. “I told you we hung out.” She turned out her light.

“Did you date him?”

“Who's asking, my boyfriend or a cop?”

“Boyfriend.”

“None of your business.”

“Now, I'm asking as a cop.”

She laughed and pummelled him with a pillow. “Same answer. Not relevant to the investigation. Turn your light off.”

Neil rolled over to comply, but as he reached for the switch, he caught a glimpse of something under the bed, just at the edge. His fingers closed over cold metal. What the hell? He pulled it out.

A sword? Dagger? He examined it more closely. The edges of the blade weren't sharp enough to cut through skin. The shaft on the end would fit onto a rifle. A bayonet.

He held it aloft. Was she keeping it under the bed for protection? Was it Grandpa's?

Bliss's eyes followed the length of steel to its tip. He could see her weighing her options. Disclaim any knowledge, or own up? He should have known she'd produce a third choice.

She threw herself on top of him, and he swung the bayonet away from their bodies.

“Oh, mighty Odin! Before you march into battle and smite thine enemy with this enchanted sword, pray satisfy this lady's lust. Take me now!”

The instant Rae and I
entered the greenhouse, Glory hit us with her long and detailed clipboard job list. I had a feeling a lot of pain was going down before we worked our way through even half of it.

“You, Bliss. Don't bother to take off your coat. We want our visitors to come through the back door directly into the atrium, so you need to shovel a path from the parking lot. When that's done, nail up a couple of signs to direct people. Chico donated some tacky outdoor candy canes, didn't he? Line the pathway from the parking lot with them. That way people can't get lost. When that's done, come and find me. There's plenty more to do. Any questions?”

“Why do I have to shovel? What's Dougal doing?”

“The useless worm is bringing the plants out to the tables. I'll arrange them according to price.” Behind Glory, Dougal pushed a trolley laden with colourful flowers. He smirked and waved.

“What about Pan?” At least he could do something useful and make up the signs.

“Pan has a touch of flu and had to stay home.”

Pan either had a touch of insecticide-poisoning, or he was lying to get out of work. I didn't care which; I was going to get even with that lazy little screw-up.

“What's that?” Glory pointed a claw at the hockey bag I had dragged in.

“My costume and stuff.” It was my dad's and didn't smell minty fresh, but finding something long enough to transport a bayonet had proven a challenge. I knew perfectly well no law forbade the carrying of a knife or sword, as long as it isn't a switchblade, but I needed to hide it from Glory since, law or no law, she would take it away from me. Once it was on my person as part of my costume, she'd have to chase me down to get it.

Neil had given me the flint eye when I told him what I was going to do with the bayonet. I could tell he was wondering what other treasures my house held for an officer of the law. That worried me a lot. If he became a permanent fixture at the house, he was bound to poke around and find my cache. Even though the guns weren't mine, technically-speaking, somebody would go down for illegal possession of prohibited weapons, and I was the one with legal tenancy to the premises.

“Bliss, did you hear me? And before I forget, you can take those four boxes of cheap china back to Canadian Tire, or else store them in your own basement. Just get them out of here. Seasons Repast indeed! Now, Rae, you set up the boxes for the food donations. Make sure they're covered in tasteful holiday paper and place them on either side of the door in the atrium. The donated baked goods for the refreshment tables were dropped off earlier. And thank you for that, Rae. You did a good job. When Bliss is finished shovelling, she can help you set out the food and prepare the coffee and tea urns.” She snapped her fingers. “Let's go now, people.”

“Where's the damn shovel?” I asked, earning myself an exasperated sigh.

“How should I know?” She waved her arm vaguely in the direction of the four winds. “Look for it and make it snappy.”

The shovel handle protruded from a snowbank at the far end of the parking lot. I had to dig it out with my hands, then empty the snow out of my boots. By the time I cleared the last foot of walkway to the back door, the first part had drifted in again. I know when I'm beat. Sticking the half-dozen candy canes on the piles of snow I had just created, I declared that job done. If the snow continued to swirl in this frenzied dance of blinding whiteness, no one would show up anyway.

Just when I thought I was finished and could get out of the cold, I remembered the signs. Not only did I have to direct non-existent visitors to the back, I had promised Chico I would advertise his generosity. The printer guy was bringing his own. I had Chico's signs made up already and just had to stick one to — something outside. The other would go on the men's room door as promised. Armed with a hammer and a few nails tucked into my pockets, I ventured out again. I could really use Neil's nail gun … now that I knew how to use it.

The sign was printed on bristol board, and I hadn't much hope that it would last long in this wind. I selected a tough-looking pine and hammered in two nails. Did trees feel pain? I hoped not. I had nothing against trees.

Glory must have arranged with our private snowplough company to clear out the parking lot before the party. A pickup with a plough affixed to the front drove straight at me. I threw myself into the nearest snowbank. Was the killer having another go at me, this time using a snowplow instead of a gun? It was a crazy thought, and it didn't last long. The driver swerved at the last minute. As he passed, he threw back his head and his mouth opened in a soundless laugh. Fang! He opened the window and yelled back to me, “Nice jump. See you later, Bliss!”

I
was going to kill
him
.

Inside, things seemed to be humming along. It was noon and,
screw Glory
, I was getting into my costume. After I ate a couple of the lemon squares that had been laid out on the refreshment table, that is.

Glory's stilettos pounded along the hall outside the atrium, coming closer. I ducked behind the food donation box that Rae had tastefully covered in holiday wrapping. The twelve-foot, pre-lit tree stood in stately winking splendour close by. I held my breath as the door opened. Glory mumbled to herself, then withdrew and clacked away. I waited until I heard her berating Dougal for mixing up the colours of the Hoyas — didn't he know anything about floral design? She should have known he didn't, having been married to him for the worst five years of her life (according to Dougal, it seemed twice that long.) Nice to see things were back to normal between those two. I raced to the ladies' room.

The Belcourts had anticipated their greenhouse becoming a tourist attraction once the atrium was transformed into a reptile and insect sanctuary, a.k.a. tropical garden. To that end, two lovely washrooms, one for men, one for women, adjoined the atrium, one on either side of the hallway. I can't describe the men's room, but the ladies' boasted three stalls with toilets that flushed automatically if you sat there too long. At least the doors didn't fly open at the same time. Dad's hockey bag waited in front of the triple sinks.

There was little chance Glory would intrude, as she had commandeered the manager's office during Ivy Belcourt's Arizona sojourn. The office had a private bathroom … or so I'd heard, since I was never invited on a tour.

Rae came in, already in her costume. The dress and her hair reminded me of something, but I couldn't place it.

“Who are you, again? Barbie?”

“No.” She turned from the mirror and looked at me reproachfully. “I'm a Disney princess. Guess which one?”

I hated guessing. I studied the long, puffy-skirted dress. It was blue, with a darker blue bodice. She had pulled her blonde hair back into an elegant chignon. “Snow White? Ariel? No, wait. Who's that other one — Jasmine?”

“Cinderella!”

“Right, right. You make a perfect Cinderella, Rae. Did you bring the face paint, like I asked?”

“I have it right here. Do you want to paint some flowers on your face?”

“I want
you
to paint some
things
on my face. I have a drawing.”

I tore off my clothes, right down to my black thong. My costume comprised many pieces, all black. By the time I wiggled into them all, Rae's face wore an expression of disbelief. I flatter myself that a trace of horror tinged her wide, blinking eyes.

“Oh, no, Bliss. Wow. Glory will be too pissed to even pee her pants!”

“I think she's too posh to pee anywhere, ever.” We giggled like fools, then froze when someone knocked on the door. Glory!

I dove for the nearest cubicle but stopped when Dougal called out “You girls decent?” He walked in without waiting for an answer. “Chico is here and wants to know where to set up his cameras.” He backed away when he caught sight of me. “What are you supposed to be? Never mind, Glory will spontaneously shatter into a million ice shards and that's good enough for me.”

“Forget about my costume.” I pointed at him. “That's not cool. Why are you dressed like Adolf Hitler?”