Текст книги "Shroud of Roses"

Автор книги: Gloria Ferris

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

CHAPTER

thirty-six

The battle of the board game raged on the coffee table. Maybe “raged” was an overstatement. Bernie was the slowest Scrabble player on planet Earth, but if I didn’t get some good tiles soon, he would win his third straight game. To accommodate Scrabble novice Rae, we had agreed to bend the rules and allow proper nouns. But it was Bernie who had just spelled out Zamboni and happily taken the 50-point bonus.

While Rae pondered her rack intently, a text came in from Dougal.

ARE YOU OK?

Like he ever cared before.

FNE. SHKN & FW CTS

Unlike Redfern, Dougal understood my texts perfectly.

GOOD. THEN GET YOUR ASS OVER TO MY HOUSE

I tossed my phone on the couch. Telling Dougal to fuck off would be a waste of time. He considered it a term of endearment.

Rae nibbled her lip and scrunched up her nose. She had overrun her sixty-second time limit, but Bernie seemed in no hurry to point this out to her, so I headed for the kitchen. It was noon; time for some refreshment. The cheese puffs were long gone, as were the potato chips, and blue tortilla chips. If I was going to be held hostage much longer, somebody was going to have to bring in provisions.

I came back with a can of ginger ale, two wine glasses, and a bottle of red. I tossed a bag of baby carrots at Rae so she could stop chewing her own lip. Bernie eyed the wine with his big, sad eyes, but I handed him the pop. I didn’t want his aim thrown off by alcohol if another attempt was made on my life. I could probably shoot straighter than him, but he had the gun and was paid to protect me.

My phone beeped. Another text from Dougal:

WHAT ABOUT RAE? I NEED SOMEBODY!!!

I called him. “What is your problem?”

“I need either you or Rae to come to my house.”

“Why?”

His voice was so low I could barely make out his words. “It’s complicated.”

“I’m going to hang up.”

“No, don’t! Okay. It’s Glory. She came over with Pan and is telling me personal things about her and Pinato.”

“Really? You mean, like really personal? As in what they do in bed?”

Bernie and Rae stopped contemplating the board and stared at me. I walked over to the window. The broken part was covered with cardboard and a cold wind rattled through the cracks.

Dougal breathed heavily into his phone. “No, that I could stand. Barely. She wants to talk about feelings. Apparently it’s my fault she couldn’t open up during our marriage, and she wants me to understand how different things are with the Italian stallion. He’s making a new woman of her.”

“What’s wrong with that? You were a crashing failure of a husband, everyone knows that. Why’s she bringing all that up now?”

“I’m not interested in her reasons. I have a deadline coming up and can’t listen to her yammer any more. One of you needs to get over here and take her away.”

“Glory speaks fluent French, doesn’t she? Maybe she can come up with phrases for your new novel. No. Wait, I know. Write a sex scene and ask her to transcribe it into French. That should keep her mind off her feelings.”

There was silence for a few seconds, and I took the opportunity to pour myself another glass of wine. Then, he found his voice. “Does that mean you’re not coming over? What about Rae?”

I hung up on him. If I parted with Rae, I’d have to feed Bernie. That would mean cooking. I glanced out the unbroken section of the window. Bernie looked up from the board and drawled, “Step away from the window.”

“There’s a truck in the driveway. Moffitt Glass.”

A knock on the door threw Bernie into guard-dog mode. Gun in hand, he peered through the peephole. Satisfied last night’s gunman hadn’t returned to finish me off, he let in two young men. According to the name tags on their coats, one was Brad, and the other was Ivan.

With dubious glances at Bernie’s gun and dishevelled uniform, and the food scraps from our long morning’s Scrabble games, Brad and Ivan set to work measuring the broken panes.

While they busied themselves, I set my glass aside, and closed my eyes. I must have dozed off. When I opened them again, the front window was intact, Brad and Ivan were gone, and Thea sat in Bernie’s place. I smelled cheese.

Thea got up and pulled the drapes across the window to close off the darkening afternoon. I picked up my cell to check my phone messages. Twelve messages, two from Dougal, begging for help. Glory had already consumed one full bottle of his best Riesling and was hinting about a second. Pan had made himself coffee and broken out the potato chips. It looked like they were going to make an evening of it. Worse, Glory had stopped referring to him as “the worm” and showed signs of nostalgia, dredging up horrible (according to him) memories of their honeymoon. Pan sat in a chair behind Glory and rolled his eyes at every intimate detail. Would somebody help him?

Not me. The other ten messages were in response to an email blitz I had launched earlier in the day requesting information on the latest shooting victim. They confirmed that Kelly Quantz was the unlucky winner.

And then there were five – me, Chico, Fang, the Weasel, and Mr. Archman. Six if you counted Mrs. Brickle. When my head stopped spinning from the possibilities, I was left with the usual impasse. I didn’t for a second consider Mrs. Brickle a suspect. Fang and Chico were out of the question, too. And it couldn’t be the Weasel, for all his weasely qualities. I had been married to him for eight years. I would have known if he was capable of homicide. And Mr. Archman? Three hundred pounds of gasping, lumbering sarcasm, waving a gun in one hand and an inhaler in the other, running through the streets, evading police? I couldn’t fathom it.

That left me. There was no other possibility. I was the killer.

The hell with it. I vowed to leave the whole investigative mess for Redfern and Tony to figure out. Rae brought in plates of homemade macaroni and cheese, with mushrooms, spinach, and red peppers mixed in. I poured another glass of wine, ignoring Thea’s frown of disapproval. What? People in the witness protection program weren’t allowed alcohol?

“So, why are you on guard duty?” I asked her. “Weren’t you working the crime scene this morning?”

“I was. The evidence is on its way to Toronto, and my report is done. There was nobody else available, and the Chief is worried about you. So, here I am.” She looked exhausted and not thrilled with her present lot in life.

“Did you find a .32 calibre shell casing at the scene?”

“You know I can’t tell you anything about that, Moonbeam. You’ll find out the same time the details are released to the public.”

“Right you are, Constable. Who’s going to be on night duty?” If it was Dwayne, I’d just save everyone a heap of trouble and shoot myself.

“The Chief. After the emergency Police Services Board meeting tonight, he’s going to swing by his cabin and pick up some clothes, then bunk in here with you till we find the killer …”

“Uh?”

“… so I suggest you lay off the wine and take a bubble bath. You look like you’ve been on a three-day bender. Maybe you could brush your hair for a start.”

“Did you say there was a Police Services Board meeting? Tonight? It’s Saturday.”

“I said it was an emergency meeting. And don’t bother to ask what it’s about. I don’t know. The mayor called it. Sergeant Pinato is attending, too.”

Oh boy. While I was in confessing mode with Redfern, I should have told him I went to the Weasel’s law office yesterday and really pissed him and the missus off. I picked at the Band-Aids on my hands and thought furiously. Was Redfern being called on the carpet? If so, it was my fault. Well, not totally my fault. I had been under the influence of outdated cold medication. That was the truth. But it wasn’t enough. I was a selfish bitch, and my actions could cost Redfern his job.

I poured more wine into my glass. Thea reached over and took the bottle away. Ha. The joke was on her. The bottle was empty. There was something Glory said, about a contract. Yeah, they couldn’t get rid of Redfern until his contract was up. Then, they could choose not to renew it. I wasn’t going to let that happen. The solution was obvious. Somehow I had to get rid of the Weasel before he could get rid of Redfern.

Okay then, I had a goal. Now, I just had to formulate a plan to accomplish that goal. Stick with what you know, that was always a good start. I had used blackmail successfully last summer to squeeze my share of our marital assets out of the Weasel. Perfect. Blackmail was on the table.

I smiled at Thea and Rae. “Okay, girlfriends, let’s party down. Rae, fetch your nail polish collection. We’re going to paint our toes and giggle until it hurts.”

CHAPTER

thirty-seven

Neil wolfed down a cheeseburger at the Mason Jar, then returned to his office to sift through the photos and reports from the second Quantz murder investigation. A message from Ed reiterated that he couldn’t narrow the time of death further. Midnight to 2:00 a.m. this morning. The body had been transferred to London for autopsy.

After leaving the crime scene, Tony had gone to St. Paul’s manse to assist the officers already there. They were searching through the dead man’s effects. Neil had checked in with them several times, but nothing of importance had been found.

He looked at the old schoolroom clock hanging on the wall beside the door. Half an hour until the start of the board meeting. It wasn’t unusual for a mayor to call a meeting with the police chief to update the board during a serious investigation. The difficult part would be preventing the suspicion and dislike he felt for Mike Bains from showing. Tony would make a good buffer, if he showed up.

He called Tony’s cell.

His friend answered on the first ring with a gruff “What’s up?” After listening, he said, “Are you afraid I’m not going to make it in time to hold your hand at the meeting?”

“Something like that. We have twenty minutes until showtime. Get your lazy ass over here.”

“If you insist. I wouldn’t pass up a chance to see my sweetie being cute and official.… And I don’t mean you.”

“Quit fucking around, Tony. What’s your ETA?”

“How about now?” He walked through the door and threw his coat at the rack. He stuffed his phone into his pocket and tried to smooth down his unruly black hair. “I have something special for my comrade-in-arms. We found it in Mr. Quantz’s lair, less than an hour ago. I wanted to surprise you.”

Neil’s exhaustion lifted. “Better make it quick. Ten minutes and counting.”

“I knew I’d see this lady again.” Tony slapped a large baggie on the desk. Inside was Quantz’s drawing of the squirrel-girl with the huge hooters. What was her name? Amandaline? Almandine? He turned it over.

A sentence had been written and scratched out. A second sentence had a line drawn through it, but it was still legible: “You have to pay for what you did to Faith and Sophie.”

Neil looked up and saw the excitement in Tony’s face. “Quantz knew who killed his wife and Faith Davidson. Sophie must have told him who she was meeting at the church. He tried to blackmail the perp, and got a bullet for his efforts.”

Tony nodded. “The fucker burned some paper in his wastebasket, most likely his practice pages, but we found this one under his ratty chair. Wonder what made him try it?”

“After it hit home that he had to leave the manse with no resources and no means of supporting himself, he must have resorted to blackmail.”

Tony flipped the baggie over to stare at Almandine. “We didn’t find a cellphone on his body or in his house. I’m guessing the perp either took it or threw it into the swamp with the gun. Just his bad luck the gun fell short. It’ll take time to get Quantz’s phone and email records, but considering this practice blackmail note, he either mailed his demand or dropped it off.”

“In his desperate state, I can’t see him waiting four, five days for the Royal Snail to deliver it. I’m betting he delivered it personally, left it in a mailbox maybe.” Neil swept the bagged blackmail note into his desk drawer and locked it.

He said to Tony, “I’ve got some news for you, too. Thea lifted a partial thumbprint from the barrel of the Mauser. The rest was wiped clean. Might be the break we need.”

“Best news I’ve heard since I landed in Crazytown. Now, all you need is the thumb to match.”

“Let’s go. The meeting was supposed to start five minutes ago.”

Tony rose slowly and made no attempt to straighten his rumpled uniform. “So, we’re fashionably late.” He reached for his coat. “Where’s the town hall in this village of the damned?”

“Follow me. The Municipal Chambers are up one flight and along a dingy hall.”

Their boots clattered up the wooden staircase, and the sound echoed through the empty corridors. They passed darkened rooms and paused before a closed door. A strip of light shone on the linoleum floor at their feet.

“Shit. What happened? Did your real town hall burn down? This is a dump.” Tony put his hand on Neil’s arm to delay him. “Are you going to mention the latest victim’s blackmail scheme?”

“Nope. Bains is still a suspect. We’re not telling him anything we wouldn’t say to a newspaper reporter.”

The Bainses, Glory Yates, and Bert Thiessen had taken seats facing the door. Glory had left an empty chair between herself and the other three. Neil and Tony sat down side by side with the old wooden conference table separating them from the board members.

Andrea Bains looked at her watch. Tony smiled at her politely while Neil ignored her gesture.

The mayor said, “I call this meeting to order. Let’s get down to business so we can all get out of here and go home. It is Saturday.” Bains tapped his manicured fingers on a thin folder lying on the table in front of him.

Tony leaned back slightly and crossed his arms. Neil waited quietly and set his expression to neutral. His eyes scanned three of the faces across the table, dismissing Bert Thiesson from the upcoming discussion. This was a situation that could implode or fizzle. The previous mayor had hired Neil, or he wouldn’t be sitting here now. Even before he met Cornwall, he had heard rumours of how ruthless Mike Bains could be.

The board could only fire him now if they had cause. Neil remembered Earl Archman telling him that Bains was a sociopath. The restrained rage in the man’s eyes reinforced in Neil’s mind that he must tread very carefully here tonight.

“We’ve had two murders in this town in the space of a week. Chief Redfern, I have yet to receive a report from you regarding progress on the investigations. It shouldn’t be necessary for me to call a special meeting to learn the facts that you and our OPP investigator have uncovered, but in the absence of your courtesy – and responsibility – in this matter, here we are.”

“Is there any coffee?” Bert opened the Timmy’s bag in front of him and pulled out a bagel. He leaned forward and looked across the Bainses at Glory. “How about it, dearie? Where’s the coffee?”

Glory put her fingers to her temples as though she had a headache. “There’s no coffee, Bert. Please, just pay attention to the discussion.”

Neil had been concerned about having Glory and Tony in the same room during a professional discussion. So far, they had avoided eye contact with each other and kept their hormonal surges under control. He didn’t think the Bainses were aware of the sizzling relationship between their fellow board member and the OPP investigator, and he didn’t want them to figure it out tonight.

“With all due respect, Mr. Mayor, if I spent time at my computer, typing up preliminary reports for you, who would be assisting our OPP liaison investigator with our murder inquiries? As you know, a town this size should have two investigators on the payroll. We have none.”

Andrea Bains refused to be distracted. She fingered the plain gold chain around her neck. “Perhaps, Chief Redfern, your personal relationships are interfering with your duties.”

Here we go. Neil sensed Tony stirring beside him and shot him a warning glance. “What relationships would you be referring to, Mrs. Bains?”

A pair of glasses lay on the table in front of Andrea. She put them on and peered at him as if he were a specimen under a microscope. “To start with, it has come to our attention that you and Sergeant Pinato are personal friends. It may be advantageous if we had someone more … well, shall we say, more impartial, to lead the investigations. We have no choice but to request alternate and additional resources from the OPP.”

Neil and Tony glanced at each other and smiled.

“And,” she continued, “I dislike mentioning this, Chief Redfern, but we also have to consider your relationship with Bliss Cornwall …”

Tony interrupted. “Bliss Moonbeam Cornwall.”

Andrea drew back and stared across the table as though the chair had spoken out of turn. “She has been interfering with these investigations, and you, Chief Redfern, have allowed it to continue. She even accused my husband of murder.”

Bains nodded approval at this wife’s summation. “As a courtesy, we want to officially inform you of our decision to contact the OPP and request a replacement for Sergeant Pinato.”

There was that word courtesy again. Neil had had enough of this crap. Before he could fire off a response, Glory beat him to it.

“Just a minute, Mr. Mayor. You told me you were calling this meeting so the board could ask the chief and Sergeant Pinato to update us about the deaths. There has been no prior discussion about the other matters Mrs. Bains has raised tonight. I believe you are both out of order.”

“What’s going on?” Bert asked, shaking his empty bag. “Did I miss a vote?”

Neil stood up. “I agree with Ms. Yates. Let’s all calm down and discuss these murders.”

He stared down at Bains. “You mentioned two murders? We have three. Don’t forget Faith Davidson. The discovery of her remains is connected with the two more recent murders. Bliss Cornwall was present at the grad party and was one of the last people to see Faith before she disappeared. As were you, Mayor Bains. Ms. Cornwall knows all the suspects, as do you. If you believe I have been sharing confidential information with her, then by all means report me to the relevant authorities. Don’t forget to explain that, since you are one of the suspects, I felt it prudent not to share all aspects of this ongoing investigation with you.”

Bains clenched his fists on top of the folder, and his mottled complexion left no doubt how he viewed Neil’s comment. Andrea patted her husband’s arm, but he jerked away from her touch.

Neil put his hands on the table and leaned forward. “Just to make myself clear – you, Mr. Mayor, are a suspect in three homicides, and that status trumps any updates you feel you are privy to as head of the Police Services Board.”

He walked over to stand beside the door, arms folded.

Tony got to his feet. He slid a card across the table to the mayor. “Here’s my boss’s contact information. Feel free to call him if you want to lodge a complaint about me, or ask for a replacement. Good luck with that.”

He turned his attention to Andrea Bains. “Madam, Chief Redfern and I have worked several investigations together. During that time, we have developed a bond. If you can prove this murder investigation has been negatively affected by our relationship, then you, too, are welcome to call my boss.”

In the doorway, he turned. His glance swept over the mayor and his wife. “As far as I’m concerned, my part in this witch hunt is over.”

Glory pulled her eyes away from Tony and pushed her chair back. “I propose we adjourn this meeting. There won’t be a vote taken here tonight.” She hurried out of the room, closely followed by Neil and Tony.

Neil closed the door without looking back.

CHAPTER

thirty-eight

“You know Rae is here, right? She’s not leaving,” I called out to Redfern who had just dumped a sports bag on my bedroom floor and unceremoniously shoved my clothes aside in the tiny closet to hang up a garment bag of uniforms. He beetled into the bathroom without even stopping to kiss me.

The shower stopped. “What?”

“Rae. She stays.”

“I’m not asking her to leave.” He came out rubbing his wet hair with a towel. The rest of him was moist and pink from the hot water. I envied him – all men, in fact. No matter what they have to offer, they’re proud of it, and show it off at every opportunity. In Redfern’s case, his pride was justified. Flat stomach, rippling muscles, but not overdone. He belonged to a men’s soccer league and they played all year round, our small town boasting an indoor field, and he had the thighs and calves to prove it.

“Like what you see?” He threw his towel into the bathroom and slid into bed. “I’ll have to ask you to keep your hands off me tonight. I haven’t slept in days.”

“Get over yourself. Except for a few minutes during the changing of the guard this afternoon, I haven’t slept for days, either. And I’m traumatized from the attempt on my life. If you lay a finger on me tonight, you’ll lose it.”

“You never were easy, Cornwall. It took me nearly four months to get you into bed.”

“You should have tried a little harder. You’d have gotten laid a lot sooner.”

“You’re a cruel woman, telling me that now. Wait, I forgot. Shows how tired I am.” He got out of bed and went to the closet, scrabbling around on the floor. He came back with his gun and placed it on the bedside table, barrel facing away from his head. Always the safety nut.

“Don’t touch it. We need to get a safe in this house to stow my gun in when I’m here.”

“Yeah, that’s what I need. A gun safe. I’m sure you wouldn’t even tell me the code.”

“You got it.” He turned off the lamp and rolled away, facing his gun.

I poked him.

“Cut it out. I told you, I’m too tired.”

“Tell me what happened at the board meeting and I’ll leave you alone. What did the Weasel say?”

He groaned and turned onto his back. “Nothing much. He threatened to have me and Tony replaced as investigators. Tony told him to bring it on. I mentioned I couldn’t share details of the investigations since he was on the suspect list. That didn’t go down well, so short meeting. Glory was supportive and ended the meeting before there was bloodshed. But she looked like she had a headache or wasn’t feeling well.”

“A hangover, trust me. She spent the afternoon at Dougal’s house, drinking white wine and explaining why it was his fault she used to be an emotional ice queen. I’m surprised she was useful at all. Did they threaten to fire you?”

“They did, in a roundabout way. Will you move back to Toronto with me?”

“Probably not. Did they mention me?”

“They mentioned you at great length, with fire heating up their cold blue eyes.”

“Aw, what a poetic turn of phrase. Have you noticed their eyes are the same colour? Spooky.” Dead silence was the only response. I digested what he had told me. I poked him again.

“What!”

“What did they say about me? Specifically.”

“Specifically, the charming Andrea is incensed because you accused her husband of murder. Whose murder she didn’t really say. Maybe Faith’s, maybe all three. And word is out about your playing detective.”

“Well, shit.” I mused on that for a bit. “Kelly wasn’t dead when … I last conversed with the Weasels. She exaggerates.” Whew. My visit to the law office of Bains and Mrs. Bains on Friday morning hadn’t been mentioned at the meeting. Guess I caught a break there.

Redfern didn’t snore, a big plus in a bedmate. He just went into a coma when he slept, but could wake up in an instant. I prodded him in the back.

“Jeezuz, Cornwall!”

“I’m too tired to sleep. Do you want to look at my toenails? I have Azure Waters on one foot and Irish Mist on the other.”

“What are you talking about? I’ll pass on the toes, but if you want, I’ll rub your back. Roll over.”

That felt so good. I sighed with pleasure and began to drift off.

Redfern tapped my shoulder. “Okay, maybe I’m not too tired. Just don’t expect anything fancy.”

Redfern put on his tie in front of the bathroom window. “Do you have an iron?”

I thought about that for a minute. “I don’t think they make irons anymore.”

“What about a steamer?”

“Get real, Redfern. There isn’t a wrinkle on you.”

“I’m thinking about tomorrow. My shirts are creased from hanging in the garment bag.”

“I’ll ask Rae. Maybe she has an iron.” From his comment, Redfern planned to stick around for a while. Well, we’d take that one day at a time.

His equipment belt hung over the bedpost, gun safely holstered. I reached out a finger to the Taser holster.

“Don’t touch that!” He yanked the belt away and strapped it on. “Never touch my belt.”

I rolled over on my back. “You’re the first man who’s ever said that to me.”

“You should get dressed.” He fastened his Kevlar vest.

“No, I shouldn’t. It’s Sunday.”

“You can’t stay here alone. I haven’t anyone available to watch you today. We’re stretched too thin as it is.”

“I have Rae.”

“I’ve already talked to Rae. She’s spending the day at Glory’s. Something about plucking, or waxing. How long does that take?” His face reflected the confusion most men feel over beauty treatment regimes.

“Longer than you’d think when Glory is involved. I’m not going to waste a day at her house of horrors. She’d make me clean her windows or dust for cobwebs. I never saw a house so prone to cobwebs. It must have something to do with her undead status. And she goes ballistic when she sees one. Nope, not going there.”

“How about Dougal? I’m dropping you off somewhere, so pick a place and stay there until I come for you. And there’ll be an Alert out on you, so if any of my officers spot you, they have orders to bring you in. We’ll see how you like spending a snowy Sunday in one of our deluxe cells.”

“You only have four cells, and they all smell like human body fluids. No need to go all caveman on me, Redfern. Last night’s performance wasn’t that stellar.”

“Don’t make my job harder than it is, Cornwall. Please. Give me one less thing to worry about. And, for the record, you weren’t complaining last night about my performance.”

“I slept through most of it. Okay. Drop me off at Dougal’s. Although, I can’t guarantee he won’t throw me out as soon as you leave.”

He sat on the bed and pulled me upright beside him. “One thing before we leave. I’m going to show you something. This needs to stay between us, so no sharing with Rae. Okay?”

“Sure.”

“What do you make of this?” He handed me his cell.

“That’s a Mauser.” I enlarged the picture. “An HSc model, I think. See the low positioning of the grip screw? This would be an early model, most likely from the 1940s. My grandpa has … had one like it. An expert can tell you the age for sure by checking the serial number and looking for an eagle imprint somewhere near the trigger guard. That’s about all I remember. Oh, the early ones also had a wooden grip.” I handed the phone back. “Whose gun is it?”

“We found it near Kelly Quantz’s body yesterday.”

“So, it’s probably the same gun that killed Sophie last week? Do you think the murderer dropped it accidentally?”

“Maybe, but could be he didn’t want it to be found in his possession, or on his property. It’s unlicensed, or he wouldn’t be so cavalier about leaving it at the scene.”

I went into the bathroom to get dressed. Unlike Redfern, I wasn’t comfortable prancing around naked.

I called out to him, “Did you, uh …” How could I put this. “Did you search Mr. Archman’s house for weapons?”

“We’re trying to get a search warrant, but it doesn’t look good. We only have your word that he possesses them. He didn’t say they were in the house, did he?”

“Nope. They could be in a storage locker or a bank deposit box, I guess. And he wouldn’t likely talk about his souvenirs if he used one to kill Sophie and planned to kill Kelly. I wonder why Kelly was killed?”

“I can’t share that information. Come on, let’s go. You can eat at Dougal’s.”

I brightened at that suggestion. Dougal’s housekeeper, Mrs. Boudreau, was a fantastic cook, better even than Rae, and she always left him casseroles and pasta dishes for the weekends.

Redfern accompanied me to Dougal’s door and handed me off like a UPS package. He pushed me inside and closed the door with Dougal on the wrong side. They were on the doorstep for a few minutes, Dougal shivering in the cold. The fresh air would do him good.

When my crazy cousin was finally released from police custody, the expression on his face was too precious for words. You’d think he’d just watched a cockroach crawl out of his pillowcase. I took a picture and emailed it to his girlfriend, Holly.

The day passed pleasantly enough. At least for me. Dougal didn’t speak – bonus – and stayed in his study labouring over his latest romance, although he preferred to call them “historical suspense novels.” The only suspense in his last novel consisted of which chambermaid the master was going to screw first, before Lady La-Di-Da turned him into a faithful, doting husband. As if. Mind you, this latest tome takes place in a convent, so the master might have his hands full.

Mrs. Boudreau had indeed left delicious meals in the fridge. I locked Simon, the profane parrot, in the solarium so I wouldn’t have to listen to his salacious invitations, and had the rest of the house to myself. Plate of lasagna in hand, I wandered through the spacious rooms, even Dougal’s bedroom, gathering decorating ideas to avoid when I had my own house.

The disturbing reading material on Dougal’s bedside table turned me off snooping. Man, I hoped Holly was on board with Dougal’s tastes. I ate a bag of potato chips – no cheese puffs in this house – in front of the bay window in the living room, forgetting for the moment that I was a target.

A white Land Rover skidded to a stop at the curb, sending a wave of dirty slush across the sidewalk. Glory jumped out of the driver’s seat wearing a knee-length white faux fur coat and matching hat. She steamrollered up the walkway carrying a bottle of white wine in each fist. Rae and Pan followed behind like stray puppies. Pan carried her purse.

I raced to the study and rapped on the door. “Are you in there, buttercup?”

“Fuck off.”

“You have company, sweetie.”

“Tell them to go away. I’m busy.”