Текст книги "Shroud of Roses"

Автор книги: Gloria Ferris

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Goddamn. This day might yet be saved. “I’m not supposed to answer the door, remember?”

He shoved past me and made for the front hall.

I flapped my hands and followed him. “Shit, Dougal, when’s the last time you took a shower?” By the time he flung the door open, I had my phone out.

Dougal’s face when he saw his ex-wife on his doorstep again? Priceless.

CHAPTER

thirty-nine

The rest of the week wasn’t nearly as much fun. The days fell into a deadly routine: Redfern dropped me and Rae at the greenhouse in the mornings, and Dougal drove us home at five o’clock. I’d love to know what Redfern said to make my self-centred cousin stick to me like a burrito fart at a poker game. Dougal even dragged himself away from his laptop long enough to pick up the flyers at the fundraiser and plaster them around town.

A junior constable waited with us at my house until Redfern got in, usually after 9:00 p.m. I was getting used to having him around nights, and I don’t think he missed his cabin. He swung by there every day to pick something up, things like his iron. Yeah, I’m serious. The guy has his own iron.

Every time my mind strayed to the murders, and my close encounter with the Grim Reaper, I steered it deliberately away. All the possibilities – Fang, Chico, the Weasel, Mr. Archman – seemed preposterous. I was beginning to think we had it all wrong. Somebody else’s name should be on the list. Whose, I hadn’t a clue, but maybe my subconscious would work it out.

Sophie’s funeral took place on Friday. Her family didn’t feel it necessary to wait until Kelly’s body was released for burial, so husband and wife could be interred together. That made me wonder if anyone would even claim Kelly’s body. Sad, but maybe the Episcopal Church would step up and pay the funeral costs.

Rae wanted me to go with her to the service at St. Paul’s, but I pleaded a mild form of theophobia and, while she looked that up on her laptop, phoned a skiving customer in Fukushima. The man wanted to pay his overdue bill in yen, but I didn’t have a monetary conversion chart and had no idea what he was talking about. By the time I straightened him out and he agreed to pay in Canadian dollars, Rae had driven away in her ancient Echo.

During my formative years, my family didn’t belong to any religious denomination and my parents were fond of dragging me and my sister, Blyth, to a different church every Sunday to broaden our worldview perspective. Or, so my dad said. As a result of this early church-hopping, I had only a passing acquaintance with religious ritual. If I went to Sophie’s funeral at St. Paul’s, I wouldn’t know whether to genuflect or slap a yarmulke on my head. Even worse, some of those places passed a contribution bucket along the pews and I never knew if toonies and loonies were acceptable, or if they expected bills. To seal the deal on my non-appearance at Sophie’s funeral, I would have needed a police escort, and they were all busy.

By Friday, though, I was ready to chew my own leg off to escape captivity. The decorations for Saturday were in place, including a couple of spotlights kindly donated by Chico. It only took two phone calls and a barrage of emails before he relented. Fang brought them over and installed them with no more than a token complaint or two, although his flawless white teeth gnashed audibly. He stayed and helped me string hundreds of white lights near the apex of the ceiling. Then he draped tinsel over the cords. It was gorgeous. Too bad Fang had to come back after New Year’s and take it all down again. I kept forgetting I wasn’t supposed to stand near windows.

I couldn’t leave the greenhouse to visit my Bliss This House clients, and this reminded me that I had promised Earl Archman I’d bring a cleaning crew over on Friday. No way would he let the crew in without me there to ease the way. It occurred to me that he might not let me in, ever, but new clients weren’t easy to come by, so I meant to try.

I planted myself beside Dougal’s desk and waited politely for him to notice me. It took a while.

“Fuck off.”

I needed to humour him. “What’s the setting of your new book? Death in the Convent, is it?”

He looked at me briefly. “Surprise. The setting is a convent. In Old Quebec.”

“You’ve never even been to New Quebec.”

“Holly and I are spending Christmas at the Château Frontenac. I’m leaving to join her in Toronto right after this stupid fundraiser is over tomorrow. We leave for Quebec City on Monday. We have a whole week to explore, and I can come back and add details to the manuscript. Then, it’s back to work on the outline of my third, as yet unnamed, novel. Anything else you want to know?”

“Well, I hope you two have a wonderful time. Um, the thing is, I need a favour.”

“No. Fuck off.”

“Come on, Dougal. I just need you to drive me into town to pick up my costume for tomorrow. A half-hour, tops. I’ll buy you a takeout lunch from any fast food place you want.” That should do it. He thrived on junk food.

“Anyplace? Come back in an hour. Wait, I can’t. I’m not supposed to let you out.”

“Redfern meant I wasn’t to go out alone. You’ll be with me, so it’s fine.”

I spent the hour arranging for Cora Wayne and two other off-duty cleaners to meet me at Earl Archman’s. All three were pleased to be offered an extra shift so close to Christmas. I reminded myself to pick up small gifts to go with the bonuses I planned to give my staff.

Dougal smelled okay in the close proximity of his vehicle. He remained unbathed and unshaven only on the weekends, and only when Holly was out of town. He bitched the whole way in, though. Under normal circumstances, I would be worried he’d leave me stranded by the side of the highway. But Redfern must have really put the frighteners on because when I directed him to Earl’s house, he simply told me to be quick and pulled out a French-English phrase book.

Cora and the other two were already on the sidewalk. I paid Cora and placed the costume gently on the back seat of Dougal’s vehicle. He set his book down and reached for the ignition, and I said, “Just a minute, okay? I’ll be right back.”

I explained to my staff that we had a difficult client on our hands. He might be a hoarder. Definitely, he was cranky, and he had Olympic-level sarcasm skills. They should stand well back until I deemed it was safe for them to enter.

Mr. Archman opened the door on the third ring. I was ready this time and hurled myself through the opening before he could slam it shut. He looked from me to the three women waiting on his porch. “What’s this, Miss Cornwall? Another intervention?”

“Call me Bliss. Can I call you Earl? Remember, it’s cleaning day. My staff is here to help you get organized, tidy up, and … and… get clean!”

“I suppose there’s no point in asking you to leave and never come back?” The poor man looked so defeated, I felt sorry for him. Glancing at my staff, I could see they felt the same way. He would be in good hands.

“No point whatsoever. Step aside, Earl, and let the professionals get at it. We’ve brought our own supplies.” I took a closer look at him. “I believe you’re thinner already, Earl. Good for you! But surely those aren’t the same track pants you had on the last time I was here? How’s your arm coming along?”

“Can it, Miss Cornwall. Stop calling me Earl. Do what you have to do and get out.”

“If only I had a loonie for every time I heard that, and usually the f-verb is involved.” I ushered the ladies in. Dougal beeped his horn, and I gave him a wave before closing the door on the relentless snow and the annoying moron at the curb.

I stood in the hall with Earl – Mr. Archman – and looked around to make sure the others were out of earshot. “Listen, I’m sorry if I got you into trouble with the police. I know you told me about your Second World War guns in confidence. But when I heard that … my boyfriend came to your house after Kelly Quantz was killed, I just blurted it out. I hope they didn’t ransack your house looking for weapons.” I glanced into the living room, which did, indeed, look like a platoon of ransackers had swept through, scattering paper, upturning cushions, and finishing with an extra-thick coating of dust.

“They haven’t been by so far, and I don’t care if they do come. You don’t think I’m stupid enough to keep guns here in the house, do you? Especially unregistered firearms.”

“Well, good. I hear you. We can carry on, then?” A beep beep sounded from outside.

“Do I have a choice, Miss Cornwall? I suppose I have no say in this matter. These ladies will poke through my belongings at will. I have no dignity or privacy left.”

“Give it a rest, Mr. A. They will only organize what’s out in the open. Your drawers are sacrosanct, haha. Park your pride for the afternoon, and you’ll have a whole new perspective on life.”

“I perused the advertising material you left me last time, Miss Cornwall, and I saw nothing about parking or perspectives. Still, I will retire to the basement and await my transformation. Send me your bill, but it better be the sum we agreed upon.”

“Remember to drink lots of water,” I called over my shoulder as he edged me onto the porch and slammed the door.

Dougal was enraged. Apparently the phrase book lacked engaging characterization, and the plot needed fine-tuning. Even after I bought him a Triple-Bypass Burger with a side order of poutine, he whined all the way back to the greenhouse. I glanced into the back seat at my costume.

I was going to knock them dead in that outfit.

CHAPTER

forty

“Got some bad news for you, bud.” Tony threw himself into the visitor’s chair. Melting snow from his boots formed a growing pool on the floor.

“If you tell me you’re dumping Glory, I’ll have to shoot you.”

“Nah. The babe and I are tighter than ever. You should be more concerned about me ending up with a broken heart than her. She’s got money, and class. Can’t see her settling for a working dude like me. Low pay, long hours.” He sighed and stared out the window at the grey sky.

“What’s the bad news, then?” Neil had a good idea, but hoped he was wrong.

“HQ is pulling me. I’ve been here, what, two weeks? They figure if we haven’t found the dirtbag by now, it ain’t gonna happen. I have to report this afternoon to London base, and spend the next few days finalizing my report. You should get a copy in a week or so.”

“This is Friday. Do they want you to work the weekend?”

“Nope. I’m off the clock. Glory and I are meeting up in Toronto after this charity bash tomorrow at the greenhouse. We’ll spend the rest of the weekend at some fancy hotel she booked.” Tony looked gloomier than ever at the thought. “Good thing, I guess. She wouldn’t be happy at my place.”

He was right. Glory had been born into privilege. She wouldn’t want to spend the night at a cramped city bedsit where sirens wailed by night and horns blared endlessly by day. Neil had seen Tony’s London apartment.

“Sorry to lose you. I’ll tell Cornwall you said goodbye.”

Tony’s rough laugh erupted. “I was hoping before I left, you and Miss Bliss would be on first name terms. Never saw an odder couple.”

“It’s her way of keeping me at a distance. When she’s ready, she’ll let me know.”

Tony laughed longer and louder. “Most people use first names before doing the horizontal hula. Maybe you need to resolve the Debbie thing before Bliss starts calling you Chief Redfern and kicks you out of bed.”

“That could happen. I’m working on my issues.”

“Just a suggestion, bud, but maybe work faster? Have you told Bliss you love her?”

Neil’s ears burned. “What’s wrong with you, Tony? When did you get so touchy-feely? Have you been through sensitivity training or something? Not that you didn’t need it, but I think they overdid it.”

“Just saying. Nothing wrong with the L-word. I’m fond of the little lady, and if you weren’t my friend, and if I weren’t attached at the moment, I’d take a run at her myself.”

“She’s attached at the moment, too, so fuck off.”

Tony shrugged. “Just don’t wait too long, that’s all I’m saying.”

What was up with all this personal shit? What happened to the deep undercover copper who had to be dragged back, kicking and complaining bitterly, from the biker subculture? It was almost like he had been reprogrammed and his button reset to “ordinary.”

“Look, Tony, I appreciate your help. Too bad we didn’t get the perp, but I’ll keep at it.” He regarded the whiteboard. “I hate that fucking thing.”

Tony stood up and flipped it around. “What are you sayin’, man? I wish I had one of my own. Look here. It self-erases if I turn this knob!”

“Don’t erase it yet. With Quantz dead, we’re down to four male names if we accept that Faith Davidson’s pregnancy was responsible for her death. Then, we further surmise that Sophie Quantz’s death occurred because she was present and threatened to expose Faith’s killer. Kelly Quantz died because he tried to blackmail the killer. And why was Cornwall targeted? We don’t know the answer to that. All this shit is conjecture at this point.”

He walked over to the whiteboard, picked up a marker, and stroked through the names Fang Davidson and Chico Leeds. “I can’t see Fang being responsible either for his sister’s pregnancy, or her death. As far as I know, Dogtown residents do not engage in rampant incest or inbreeding. They’re just a group of people who want to live in the country and enjoy family life without nosy neighbours. I have no sense that Fang is a deviant. And Chico can’t even stand up to Cornwall. I can’t find one person who links him to Faith back in high school.”

“That’s just your gut talking,” Tony said. “Not saying you’re wrong, but if you ain’t, we’re left with Earl Archman and Mike Bains. Fang could have lost his temper and offed his sister because she brought disgrace on the family. And nobody can stand up to Miss Bliss. Well, you come close. Maybe that’s why she puts up with you.”

When Neil was sure Tony was finished talking, he said, “Even if we get a DNA match from the fetal bones, we can’t prove the sperm donor killed Faith. I’ve felt all along we have to focus on Sophie, and now Kelly.”

Tony dropped into his chair again. “We have been. The Mauser’s a bust unless we get a match on that partial. It could be anybody’s. Nobody’s got an alibi. I hate leaving you with this mess, Neil, but I’ll stay in touch and let you know if I come up with any ideas. In any case, I’ll come back in the summer and we’ll take a trip on our bikes. As long as you get rid of that sissy Gold Wing and get yourself a man’s ride.”

Neil ignored his jab. “What if we add a new name to our suspect list?”

“Who you got in mind?”

Neil wrote the name on the board. From it, he drew two lines to Sophie’s and Kelly Quantz’s names. Then, without hesitation, he drew a line from one of the original suspects to Faith Davidson. “It would explain the attack on Cornwall, as well.”

Tony went silent. He tilted his head against the back of his chair and closed his eyes.

Neil watched his friend. Was he on the right track, finally?

Tony’s eyes snapped open and in their dark depths Neil recognized a flicker of hope and a reflection of his own frustration.

With one swift motion, Tony jumped to his feet and pounded Neil on the back. “I should turn in my badge and take a job as a security guard. You’re just as bad, pal. Why the fucking hell didn’t we see this before?”

CHAPTER

forty-one

When Dougal and I returned to the greenhouse from Mr. Archman’s, the walls resounded with unearthly but familiar screams. I breathed a sigh of relief. Glory was back to normal. We encountered a befuddled Pan in the centre of the anteroom, one hand clutching an aerosol bottle, and the other a wad of paper towel.

“What are you doing, Pan?” I asked. Dougal kept walking.

Pan’s black-agate gaze swept the expanse of glass walls and ceiling. “Her Holiness instructed me to clean the glass in here. I don’t clean, you know that, Bliss. Now that you’re back, you can do it. Here.” He tried to pass over the symbols of his servitude, but I backed away.

“You’ll do fine, Pan. It’s easy. First of all, put that hornet spray back where you got it. Find the spray bottle containing the vinegar and water solution. It has a pump handle. Point the nozzle away from you, at the glass, and pump twice. Then use the paper towel to dry the spot. Do a few panes at a time; that way you’ll keep track of your progress. I repeat, put the insecticide away and use glass cleaner.”

“After this, she wants me to clean the atrium, where the fundraiser is being held. It’s bigger!”

“Much bigger,” I agreed.

“I have to do the whole thing. How am I supposed to reach higher than the end of my arm?”

“Easy. There’s a stepladder you can use. Ivy Belcourt had it custom-made for the greenhouse. You still won’t be able to reach the apex of the ceiling, but just do your best.”

Pan shook his head, and his stumpy black ponytail jiggled in agitation. “I didn’t sign on for this. I’m going to quit my job and go back to Vancouver.”

“Isn’t there an arrest warrant out for you in Vancouver?”

“Just for possession of marijuana. A measly half an ounce, for personal use. I’m sure the statute of limitations has kicked in by now.”

“Better stay right here where you are, but I’d avoid Chief Redfern if I were you. He’s not fond of drugs. Who’s Glory screeching at, anyway?”

“She’s on the phone to the Royal York Hotel. They screwed up her reservation and don’t have a suite available.”

“What reservation? Is she leaving? Will she be gone long?”

“Haven’t you heard, Bliss …” He pointed the bottle at the closest pane. I pushed his arm down and a spray of waspicide hit the floor.

I covered my nose with my sleeve. “Heard what?”

“Well,” he stepped in closer. “Sergeant Pinato had to go back to … wherever he came from. She’s leaving to meet him in Toronto tomorrow night after the benefit, and coming back Monday. After that, I don’t know. She’s in such le desespoir.”

“You’ve been hanging around Dougal too long, my friend. She’s just in a plain snit.” The caterwauling reached a crescendo, then dipped and faded into a gurgle. Either the crisis was over, or she had overheated and passed out.

I spun Pan around and sent him back to the supply closet, then stopped in the foyer at Rae’s desk. She hung up the phone and pushed her blonde hair away from her face. “You wouldn’t believe the calls I’m getting from people who want to know if the food drive benefit is still on for tomorrow. We should have quite a crowd.”

“Why wouldn’t it still be on?”

“A really bad storm is supposed to blow in tonight and continue through tomorrow. I guess people thought we might cancel. But Glory says it’s happening no matter what.”

“Did the funeral go okay?”

Rae must have swallowed the “theophobia” excuse because she didn’t ask why I hadn’t shown up. “I only stayed for the service. The interment was just for the family. It was so sad, Bliss. Reverend Quantz had her grandmother and a few cousins in the front row, that’s all. The guild ladies held a tea in the manse, but they didn’t need my help and I wasn’t up for making small talk. I’ve heard people whispering about Reverend Quantz’s past. You know, how available she was when she was a teenager. As if that should matter now, after all the good things she’s done since she became a priest.”

“You’re right, Rae. Sophie’s past shouldn’t matter. And it doesn’t.” Nothing mattered to Sophie now. I knew Rae was thinking about her own not-too-distant past as a hooker in Hemp Hollow.

Through the layers of glass walls, I spotted Redfern’s Cherokee pull into the parking lot and stop beside Dougal’s Lexus. The snow fell fast and horizontally, and his hair and shoulders collected a thick white coating in the few steps from his vehicle to the front door.

In the anteroom, he brushed the snow off and nodded at Pan before continuing into the foyer.

“Afternoon, ladies. I thought I’d pick you up early and drive you home.” He turned his head and looked back. “What’s wrong with Pan? His shirt is wet and he smells like vinegar.”

“Good, he has the right bottle this time. Get your coat and purse, Rae. We’re outta here.”

The phone rang and Rae told another caller that, yes, the food drive benefit was going ahead at one o’ clock tomorrow afternoon. When she hung up, she said, “Listen, you two go ahead without me. The phones are crazy busy, and I’ll get a lift with Dougal or Glory. There’s a chicken casserole in the fridge. Just heat it at three-fifty for thirty minutes.”

“Is that after pre-heating?” I asked, then chortled at her expression. Even I knew you had to pre-heat. “Come on, Redfern, let’s get out of here before the Hive Queen makes me mop up the snow you tracked in.”

“Why do you have your coat and boots on?”

I pretended I didn’t hear him and raced to Dougal’s Lexus to transfer my costume to Redfern’s back seat.

“I need to stop at the cabin and pick up a few things,” Redfern said.

There was a stop sign at the corner of Concession Road 10 and Highway 21, but he barely yielded before pulling onto the highway. If I’d done that, Dwayne would have chased me down and tried to give me a ticket.

Redfern’s cabin wasn’t far from the greenhouse – just on the other side of the highway, down a tree-lined side road, and the first left along a path now almost impassable with snow drifts. Perfect for a hermit, or a city cop who didn’t know any better.

“I’ll wait for you here,” I told him when he stopped in front of the tiny cottage.

He went around and opened my door. “I don’t think so. Come in with me.”

“Really, I’m okay out here. I’ll just send a few texts, maybe phone my sister. Take your time.”

“Out. You’re in protective custody, remember?” He pulled me out. My utilitarian Cougars never hit the snow as he hauled me into his cold, damp cave.

He flipped on the light and I clutched his arm in shock. Somebody, or something, had tossed the place. From the front door, the entire living quarters, except the bedroom and bathroom, were visible. The kitchen area had taken the worst hit. Redfern didn’t keep much food around, but the cupboard doors – there were only two of them – hung open. Snow blew in the small sliding window over the sink.

A sound from the bedroom brought Redfern’s gun out of the holster and into his hand. “Squat down behind the sofa and stay there,” he ordered, and circled the living area, hugging the wall.

See, this is what happens on TV. The innocent bystander is told to stay back, then gets killed while the other guy runs off on his own and doesn’t die because he has the gun.

I followed close behind Redfern as he approached the open bedroom door.

“Will you ever listen to me?” His voice held no hope of that happening in his lifetime. He was learning.

“That’s what my parents used to ask. What have we got?” I already had a good idea what we’d find. I had seen the piles of poop scattered over the counter and the floor.

Sitting in the middle of Redfern’s bed was a raccoon. Not one of your overweight, citified raccoons. This was a Bruce County raccoon – lean, mean, and arrogant as hell.

It looked at us and chittered.

“It’s mad because you don’t have any food in your cupboards. Shoot it,” I said to Redfern.

He put his gun away and stared at the raccoon. It stared back. “How am I going to get you out of here?” he asked it.

“Uh, shoot it.”

“I’m not going to shoot it.”

“Right. That would make a big mess on the bed. Good point. How about you Taser him? You need the practice anyway, right?”

He reached forward slowly and grasped a corner of the bedspread. “Get the other side. We’ll wrap it up and let it go outside.”

Did the man know nothing about raccoons? Or me? “I haven’t had a rabies shot. No shit, Redfern, shoot it or Taser it, your choice, but don’t go all nature-nut on me.”

Redfern held up the bedspread and leaped toward the raccoon, but missed by a mile. I jumped out of the way and let the beast tear past me. We chased after it and were just in time to see it disappear through the kitchen window, chattering angrily. Redfern closed the window.

“I meant to fix that lock. I have some plywood and a nail gun. You stand here for a minute in case it comes back.”

Sure, no problem. While Redfern rummaged in a small storage room beside the fireplace, I searched the kitchen drawer for a weapon. I found a corkscrew, a good one. Redfern didn’t drink anything with a cork. Ergo, it was mine, left behind on one of my few visits to the cabin of carnal delights.

I stood ready with the corkscrew, but the raccoon stayed gone. When Redfern returned, I cleaned the poop and spilled cereal off the floor and wiped the table and counters with a disinfectant. “If you want, you can bring your bedding to my house and use my washer and dryer.”

“Okay. Thanks.” He took off his coat and set to work, every movement quick and efficient. He wasn’t even upset about the raccoon. Good-looking, smart, brave, even-tempered, good with tools. What more could a girl ask for? Someone not quite so arrogant, or burdened with heavy baggage, perhaps? Nobody’s perfect.

I sat in a kitchen chair and watched him. “I see the raccoon took a few of your things.”

“What’s that?” Knees planted on either side of the sink, he fitted the sheet of plywood across the wooden window frame and picked up the nail gun. I think I would have installed it on the outside of the window, but what do I know?

“Your wife’s pictures. The one beside your bed is missing. So are the ones in here.”

He went still but didn’t turn around. “I put them away.”

“When?”

“A couple of days ago when I came by to pick up some uniforms.”

“Why?”

The nails kee-cheeked through the wood. “It was time. Now, we can work on our relationship. Isn’t that what you wanted? Or were you just using Debbie as an excuse to keep me at a distance?”

Kee-cheek, kee-cheek.

Was I? I didn’t think so but I didn’t have to take a blood oath either way right now, did I? “Putting those pictures away is an important first step, and I know it was hard for you. So, now I’ll take one.”

He jumped down from the sink and set the nail gun on the table. “I’m intrigued. Go on.”

“From this moment forward, I’m going to call you Neil. You don’t have to call me Bliss until you’re ready. Okay … Neil?” God, that sounded so weird. Neil, Neil, Neil. I wasn’t sure I could pull it off. Maybe we only worked as Cornwall and Redfern.

He knelt beside me and took my hand. “I think I can manage a second step … Bliss.”

We looked at each other for a long moment, then burst out laughing. I picked up the corkscrew again. “This is a celebratory moment. Got any wine, Neil?”

“You know better, Bliss. I have a bottle of whisky in the cupboard, if the raccoon didn’t drink it.”

“Pass.”

“Let’s go to your place and celebrate. I’ll get my stuff and be right with you.”

I followed him back to the bedroom while he packed jeans, sweatshirts, and runners. How long did he plan to stay? If he started throwing in shorts and flip-flops, I would be forced to ask that very question. I opened his top drawer.

“What are you doing?”

“You sure have a lot of Jockeys for a guy.” They weren’t exactly colour-coordinated but they were folded and arranged more neatly than my unmentionables. “Do you have an underwear fetish?”

“For white thongs, maybe, and only when you’re wearing one.”

“So sweet, Neil. Is there anything in these other drawers you don’t want me to see?”

“Go ahead and look, but don’t blame me if a snake is hibernating in one of my socks.”

“Okay, I’m done helping.” I slammed the top drawer closed and leaned against the wall. When I tired of watching him fold every item neatly before stashing it into the sports bag, I went into the living room.

My hand reached out to the nail gun sitting on the kitchen table. I wanted to nail something. Just once. I picked it up.

I knew better than to point it at my face or any other body part. I aimed it at the floor. I just had to pull this trigger here …

Ka-tick. Nothing happened. I was sure Neil had pulled this trigger thing. Spreading my legs and using both hands like I was going to fire a pistol, I pulled.

Another ka-tick, but no nail shot into the floor. Maybe it was out of ammo. The walls in this rustic paradise were wood panelling and could use some anchoring. I’d try once more, then put it down before Neil came out and had a male fit because I was touching one of his tools.

With my free hand, I felt the panelling. Yup, a little loose right here. Neil had pushed the gun closer to the surface …

Kee-cheek!

I screamed and tried to pull my left hand away from the wall. My sleeve was pinned firmly to the wood. In my panic, I pulled the trigger twice more. Kee-cheek. Kee-cheek. I screamed again. My fingers wouldn’t let go of the thing, or stop pressing the trigger.

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.”