Текст книги "Shroud of Roses"

Автор книги: Gloria Ferris

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

“Uh … well …”

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

CHAPTER

forty-two

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!”

CHAPTER

forty-three

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?”

CHAPTER

forty-four

Dougal carried a black bowler. He set it on his head and said, “I’m Charlie Chaplin!”

“You don’t have enough room between the end of your nose and your upper lip for a square moustache. You look like Hitler trying to pass as Charlie Chaplin to escape the Red Army. Better do something before Glory and the customers see you.”

He looked at himself in the mirror. “Fuck it. It’s good enough. Nobody will show up in this storm, anyway. I just hope the greenhouse doesn’t blow down.”

We stood silently and listened to the howling of the west wind as it swept off Lake Huron, picking up moisture and turning it to snow. If the greenhouse survived its first winter, it would stand for a few more. With any luck, the ominous moaning overhead came from the pines surrounding the parking lot, and not the steel structure buckling. Or the glass cracking.

I shoved Dougal toward the door. “Tell Chico to set up in the corner opposite the refreshment table. I’ll be out as soon as Rae paints my face.”

Muttering “This should be good,” he straightened his hat and left. Rae set to work with her paints. We jumped at a single high-pitched shriek. Glory must have caught sight of Adolf Chaplin.

Twenty minutes later, it was my turn to face the Gilded Gorgon. In the atrium, Chico stood behind his tripod and aimed practice shots at the six-foot Bambi standing in the corner. The plastic abomination was surrounded by a dozen red-and-green plaster elves cavorting in a woodland scene. The woodland consisted of a set of three plastic pre-lit palm trees with painted coconuts hanging from the foliage. Très tacky. I had outdone myself and created the perfect Christmas hell.

I had my cell ready, and when Chico looked up from his camera and spotted me, I took a shot of his face.

“Holy moly, Bliss. You’re going to scare the crap out of the kids.”

Without warning, Glory came up behind me and spun me around. “What is this? Start talking. No, go change immediately!”

I reached down and tore a few small holes in my glittery tights.

It was the perfect, finishing touch to the rest of my costume: black satin skirt with uneven hem, a separate, sleeveless bustier that didn’t quite meet the waistline of the skirt, and fingerless gloves that reached my elbows. My fingernails and toenails were matte black, and Rae had painted a reptile crawling up my throat – I had wanted a dragon, but she didn’t know how to draw one. The lizard’s claws reached up over the edge of my face and Rae had used the cleft in my chin to place the creature’s red forked tongue. Heavy black eyeliner, dark red lipstick, and a few hideous creatures leering from behind my ears completed the look. Instead of jewellery, which would have sent the outfit over the top, I had hung the bayonet through the loop of a plain black leather belt. My hair was gelled and sprayed into a wild halo around my face. Black glitter drifted to the floor when I moved my head and I reminded myself not to inhale it. The best part? A set of black tattered wings moved when I pulled a black cord on the bustier.

“I’m the Black Christmas Angel,” I announced.

“You look more like the Angel of Doom! Get your clothes back on. People will be here any minute!” Glory’s eyes were tinged with pink, coordinating nicely with her blush-coloured silk palazzo pants and matching tunic. With three-inch gold pumps, she towered half a foot over me, and I was wearing four-inch black leather gladiator sandals.

“Where’s your costume?” I asked, moving to stand behind Chico. He took one look at Glory’s eyes and wrapped his arms protectively around his photography gear. Silly boy, he knew nothing of her powers or he would have abandoned his expensive equipment and run into the storm.

“I don’t have to wear a costume. I’m running this benefit and am dressed accordingly.”

“In case you haven’t looked outside lately, there’s a blizzard bearing down on us. It may be our annual storm of the century. Nobody’s going to show up.” I was standing up to her pretty well. The costume must be giving me extra courage. I waggled my wings at her.

The outside door opened and Fang walked in, followed by a gaggle of children, at least a dozen. More folk streamed in. From the beards and plaid coats the men wore, they had to hail from Dogtown. The women were smartly turned out and everyone over four feet tall carried a grocery bag of food for the needy.

Glory turned her attention from my costume to the growing puddles on the floor. What did she think was going to happen when people tracked in snow? If she was half as smart as she claimed to be, she would have taken out an insurance policy in case someone slipped and broke a leg.

Before she could chastise Fang and his family, the door opened again to admit more snow-covered guests. Within minutes, the room began to fill up. Some of them wore snowmobile gear, dropping their outerwear and helmets in a pile near the door. That brought back some memories. The Weasel had a Yamaha Viper, and I had my own Arctic Cat Crossfire. We often went on day-long excursions with other members of the country club. It had been one of the few activities with him that I enjoyed back then. Well, that and target shooting.

Glory transformed herself into the perfect hostess, greeting each person by name, showing them where to deposit their food contributions, directing them to the plant tables. Dougal – his moustache now thinned out – presided over the colourful blooms, pointing out the best specimens to weather the trip across the parking lot to their cars. After that, they weren’t his responsibility. They would all be dead by New Year’s anyway.

Chico stared fixedly up at the disco ball, revolving and glittering above his head. I poked him in the arm to focus his attention. “Get ready, Chico.”

“For what? You just told me to bring a camera and tripod.”

I captured Rae and pulled her into the huddle. “Pictures of the kiddies with Bambi here, taken by a professional photographer, are five dollars each. I’ll get a container for the money. Rae, use Glory’s clipboard.” I flipped to an empty page. “Write down email information and particulars about each kid. Chico will take the list home, download the pictures, then email the photos. Simple. Any questions?”

The plan worked well, with one tiny ripple. As Chico ran back and forth, moving Bambi to the right spot, taking some practice shots, a little girl ran up to him. Even before she whined, “Daddy, daddy!” I knew she was Chico’s daughter. The black curly hair and glasses were a dead giveaway and weren’t the problem. Unfortunately, she had inherited her mother’s red-faced scowl and Yoda ears. I’m not joking; this was the ugliest kid I’d ever seen.

Tyger stood behind her daughter and looked pointedly at my chest. “Did you get implants, Bliss? I don’t remember those.” Two older kids rubbed their snotty noses on the sleeves of their sweaters.

I adjusted my girls. “It’s all in the presentation, Tyger.” The bustier had thrown my barely Bs into va-voom Cs.

“Daddy, take my picture,” the sprite shrilled, pulling on his shirt. “Now!” After puberty, she’d give Glory a run for the Shrew of the Year title.

“Okay, Esmeralda, just hop up there beside Bambi and smile.”

“Not Bambi,” Esmeralda said, twisting her lips into an epic pout. “Her!” She pointed at me. “The witch with the wings.”

“Hey, I’m the Black Christmas Angel!”

“Please, Bliss.” Chico pleaded. His glance darted to Tyger, and a line of sweat broke out on his brow. Man, he was even more whipped than in high school.

“Oh, all right.” I stood in front of the largest fake palm tree, with Esmeralda leaning against me. When she smiled, she didn’t look so bad, except for the ears, but those can be fixed nowadays.

I’m pretty sure Esmeralda never paid her five bucks, but before I had a chance to mention it, the other two Leeds kids – twin boys as it happened – wanted a photo with the witch, too.

That was the beginning of a trend. Every kid in the room between the ages of three and fourteen lined up behind Rae for a chance to get their picture taken with the scary black angel. Or witch, whatever. Money is money. I fluttered my wings at each of them before Chico took the shot, and they screamed in joyful terror. The noise was giving me a headache.

Between each customer, I noticed Chico would glance up at the disco ball and open his mouth to say something. Another kid diverted his attention every time.

Most of the dads lined up, too, and the bucket overflowed. I wasn’t worried about ending up on YouTube or Facebook. No one would recognize my paint-covered face or believe these were my boobs. Poor Bambi went completely unnoticed.

Old Bert Thiesson caused me a moment’s discomfort when his hand wandered too far down my back and I had to jab him in the ribs. He was definitely frisky for someone a hundred and ten. I was glad to see Mr. Archman made it. He hobbled in, arm still in a cast. He gave Chico the snake eye but consented to a photo, sighing dramatically and throwing ten bucks in the bucket. He definitely looked thinner.

“This will be your before picture, Mr. A. Next year, after you’ve lost the hundred pounds, we’ll take an after picture!”

He shook his head. “Maybe you can enlarge this one and prop it beside my casket. But promise me you won’t deliver my eulogy, Miss Cornwall? It might be difficult, but I’d roll in my grave.”

“Oh, Mr. A – can I call you Earl? – none of that talk, now. I’m going to come over and visit you again. I need some advice on storing, um, Second World War souvenirs, if you get my meaning.”

He gave me a signature eye roll and stumped quickly away without warning me not to call him Earl. I was serious. I had to remove Grandpa’s weapons from my garage before somebody in my family was charged. Maybe me and Earl could store our guns together.

Fang brought his four kids over and introduced them as Edsel, Chevy, Nash, and Hudson.

“Are you naming the next one Studebaker?” I asked him.

“We’re thinking maybe Packard.”

They all had Fang’s sharp, dark eyes and straight, white teeth, which showed up nicely in the picture. One was a little girl about five, and it crossed my mind that Faith could have looked very much like her when she was this age. Fang threw five dollars in the pail. I should have told Rae it was five bucks per kid.

Even Fern Brickle stopped by to chat and admire my outfit. She contributed twenty dollars and gamely put her arm around my waist for a photo. We were making money hand over fist. Glory cast me a baleful glare once in a while, but stayed away. Too bad. I so wanted a picture of the two of us together. It might go viral. The Ice Queen and the Black Angel. A new Christmas classic.

The Weasels arrived by snowmobile, smiling and waving like they were starring in a Viagra commercial. Andrea would be driving my Crossfire. Neither wanted a photo with the busty black angel, apparently. They avoided eye contact with me, and I saw panic in their faces as the crowd continued to swell and push them ever closer to the forest tableau. Andrea had on her Jimmy Choos, and I just barely held back a snort of derision. Who wears Jimmy Choos on a snowmobile? I said to Chico, “If the Weasel gets within shutter range, get a shot of us.” That might give me more blackmail material should I again need it someday.

“Listen, Bliss,” Chico called back. “I remembered what happened to the Polaroid shots from grad night.” He raised his eyes to the disco ball.

“What?” I looked up. The spotlights caught the silvery facets of the ball as it gently revolved above our heads.

“I got a ladder and used my jackknife to slice it open near the top. I slid about a dozen pictures in, one by one. A kind of time capsule. Then Mr. Archman made me get down.”

“Do you think they’re still viewable?” From what I remembered of Polaroid pictures, they faded after a time, faces first and the brighter colours last.

“Not likely. Alternating cold and heat wouldn’t do them any good. But we should look. Maybe we’ll see something that might help the police figure out … you know.”

“Come over tomorrow, okay, and we’ll cut the ball open.” The memento I had worked so hard to acquire would be destroyed, but what if Faith’s yellow dress showed up? And somebody else was in a picture with her? It was a long shot, but we had to look.

Before he could acquiesce, Dwayne Rundell cut through the crowd and stood in front of me, hands on belt. He had his official face on, meaning he just looked dumber than usual.

“What now, Dwayne? I haven’t driven my car in a week, so whatever your problem is, it can’t be related to anything I’ve done.”

“You can’t walk around with that dagger hanging off your belt.”

I had completely forgotten the bayonet. I put my hand over the hilt … handle. “What are you talking about?” I refrained from adding idiot, so I can’t be blamed for what followed.

“It’s a prohibited weapon. Hand it over.” He was attracting an audience of ear-flapping, nosy eavesdroppers.

“It is not a prohibited weapon! It’s part of my costume. You need to look up the regulations on prohibited weapons because, clearly, you’re an idiot.” Heat surged through my body and moisture collected in my cleavage. This was harassment. I didn’t care what Neil called it.

Dwayne reached over and pulled the bayonet out of my belt. He raised it over his head, out of my reach. If he thought I was going to jump for it, he was wrong. I tried to breathe, but nothing happened. Sweat trickled down my back, under my wings. I drew my foot back and prepared to kneecap him.

Neil was suddenly there between us. My sandal connected with his shin. He grunted and closed his hand over my bicep. He nudged Dwayne ahead of him. “Both of you. In the hall. Now!”

In the hallway, he pulled us along until we were out of sight and earshot of the crowd in the atrium. He stopped in front of one of the plant rooms.