Текст книги "Shroud of Roses"

Автор книги: Gloria Ferris

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

CHAPTER

thirteen

Neil told Bernie to head back to the station, and Bernie had sense enough to keep his mouth shut on the drive. Why had he snapped at Cornwall and left her without a ride back to her car? Yeah, she was a little control freak. He’d known that from the beginning, and normally it didn’t bother him. If she wasn’t strong-willed, she wouldn’t have survived two years of poverty after her divorce, living in a rundown trailer park with drug dealers for neighbours. She not only survived, she forced her bastard ex-husband to fork over her share after he swindled her out of a fair settlement. He suspected she used blackmail on the Weasel, as she called him, sometimes to his face, but justice wasn’t always legal. He never questioned how Cornwall did it. From the look in Mike Bains’s eyes whenever he was forced to speak to Neil, he still harboured a grudge by association. Neil’s mind flashed back to the pages of grad photos in Cornwall’s yearbook. At seventeen, Bains was one of Sophie Quantz’s many boyfriends.

“Hey, Chief.” Bernie swung the 4 X 4 into the chief’s parking spot in front of the station. “I thought we were going to Dogtown to interview Fang Davidson.”

“We are, Bernie. I need to check a couple of things first. Go have your lunch and meet me back here at one.”

As he entered the outer office, Thea waylaid him, holding out a sheet of paper. “Chief, the lab in Toronto just faxed this over.”

He took the paper. “Already? They generally take months to get back to us.”

“We sent three samples scraped from the bottom of the locker. They must have a plant enthusiast, because a technician analyzed one right away and saw the granules in the sample. Anyway, you’ll find this interesting.”

Neil looked at the results. “Roses? There were rose petals in the bottom of the locker?”

“Red rose petals.”

He didn’t get it at first. It took a second. To confirm, he pulled out his cell and pressed number two for Cornwall. Number one was his mother. He should reverse that order first chance he got.

She answered on the third ring. “What? I’m kind of busy looking for a new boyfriend.”

A sharp pain pierced Neil’s right eye. Was he too young to have a stroke? “We’ll talk later, Cornwall, okay? Right now, one question. Did you grad girls carry bouquets of red roses?”

Silence, not even the sound of breathing. He figured she had hung up on him. Then, “Yes, we did. And the guys had rose boutonnieres. Red rose boutonnieres. Why?”

“Thanks. See you later.”

Lavinia tugged at his arm. “The OPP investigator is in your office. He got here about a half-hour ago, so I gave him coffee and let him sit in there. Here’s a cup for you. And I’ve ordered a couple of lunch specials from the Mason Jar. I’ll bring them in shortly.”

“Thanks, Lavinia. What would I do without you?”

“You’d starve.” She winked at him and bustled over to her desk to silence the strident ringing of the phone.

Small towns couldn’t afford to keep officers accredited in homicide investigation on payroll. Instead, they called in external expertise when needed. Neil took a deep breath and counselled himself to be polite to whichever OPP know-it-all sat in his visitor’s chair. Balancing his coffee cup and the lab report in one hand, he shoved his office door open.

The know-it-all was in Neil’s chair, boots on his desktop. As Neil closed the door behind him, the officer leaned back and tossed his cap with the distinctive blue band onto the desk beside his boots. The black eyes crinkled at the corners as he smirked at Neil.

“Get out of my chair, you bastard.”

The man waved a limp-wristed hand. “Love your hat.” He rocked back and forth a few times on the chair, then stood up. His muscular frame was wider than Neil’s, but he was an inch shorter.

Neil threw his flapped hat at the top rung of the coat stand in the corner, where it landed and, with the precision of long practice, stayed put. “You’ll be wishing you had one after a few hours in this town. I see you got a haircut. They must have pulled you off undercover. Permanently?”

“They gave me a choice. Come in from the dark side or hand in my badge. Since I only have twelve years to go before I can take my fuck-all pension and make some real money in private security, I came back to the fold.” He ran both hands through his black hair, longer on top than regulation but buzzed short at the sides. “Did you negotiate your Toronto pension into your chief’s job?”

“I did all right. What are you doing on the travelling team, Tony? Are they still trying to keep you away from the female constables at headquarters?”

“I’ve turned over a new leaf. I asked for this assignment. As soon as I heard there was a possible murder in Lockport, I signed up to solve the crime for my buddy.” He punched Neil in the shoulder.

Neil punched him back. “I’m guessing they booted you out of the Drug Enforcement Section, and you were in such a snit, you signed up for investigative liaison duty.”

“Something like that. Jerks. They forgot what went down in this town last summer or they never would have let me come back.”

“They needn’t worry. You don’t look anything like Snake, the outlaw biker. Even if there was anybody left in Hemp Hollow from that drug ring, they wouldn’t recognize you.” He thought for a minute. “Although Cornwall and Rae Zaborski will make you right off. Guess that doesn’t matter.”

“Miss Bliss? How is she? You and she tight? Cute as a little bug, that one.”

“She’s fine, better than ever. Where are you staying?”

“They booked me into the Super 8. The best place in town, I was told. Say, are you still riding that girly Gold Wing?”

“I won’t be riding anything for another four or five months. But yes, I still have my Gold Wing, and I’m not trading it in for a Harley.”

Neil opened his door and called Thea over. “Get hold of Fang Davidson, would you? Ask him to come in this afternoon … as soon as possible.” He was curious about Dogtown, after all he’d heard about inbreeding and moonshining, but he needed to brief Tony on the skeleton and Sophie Quantz.

Tony’s eyes lingered on the door. “Nice. Who is she? Is she seeing anybody?”

“Yes, she is. Eyes front and take a seat, Tony. It’ll take a few minutes to go over the crime scene reports. Both scenes.” He took his own chair and waited while Tony pulled the straight-backed visitor chair over to the desk.

“Both? As in plural? I thought there was only one body. Sophie Quint.”

“Sophie Quantz. I guess they didn’t tell you. The day before Sophie died, we found the skeletal remains of a young woman in a locker in an abandoned high school. We think she’s been there fifteen years.”

Tony’s eyes brightened. “You think the deaths are related?”

“Yeah, we do.”

It took Neil an hour to bring Tony up to speed. Halfway through, Lavinia brought in their lunches.

Tony set his empty Greek salad container aside and closed his fingers over the last of the sweet potato fries. “What is this stuff anyway? It doesn’t taste bad but not as good as regular fries. Is Lavinia trying to date you or mother you?”

“She doesn’t think I eat properly, I guess. She’s always stuffing me with salads.”

“Doesn’t Miss Bliss feed you well?”

Neil snorted. “Hah. Cooking is not one of Cornwall’s interests. Or skills.”

“Fascinating. That you still call her by her last name, I mean. Anyway, to recap the deaths. You think the skeleton is Faith Davidson, who never left the high school after a graduation party. The school was boarded up shortly after. Sophie Quantz was part of the same class and she died less than twenty-four hours after the discovery of Faith’s remains. That about cover it?”

“Exactly. The local mayor, Mike Bains, was one of the graduates, as was the manager of our local Canadian Tire store, Charles Leeds. And Faith’s twin brother, Rupert, or Fang as he is affectionately known in these parts.”

When Tony opened his mouth, Neil said, “Wait. That’s not all. The rest of the class is scattered all over the globe. We’ll interview the locals. But there’s one more little grad who can’t remember much of that night because she was trashed. Guess who?”

“Not Miss Bliss?”

“You got it. And she plans to help us whether we want her to or not.”

“She’s lived here all her life, hasn’t she? She’ll be a good source of background intel.”

“Remember last summer, Tony? She was in the middle of everything and nearly got herself killed.”

“Come on, man. Miss Bliss is clever, as well as easy on the eyes, so I think we should let her …”

“I hate to admit it, Tony, but she came up with something I hadn’t even thought of. Faith’s suitcase. She planned to take the bus directly back to Toronto after the party at the school. So where was her suitcase?”

“I’ll bite. Where was it?”

“We found the suitcase against the back wall of the gym, under a tiered bench. The bag was too long to fit into a locker in the change room, so Faith must have stashed it in the gym herself. We missed it first time around. We’ll show it to the family, see if they can identify the contents. But I don’t think there’s any doubt they belonged to Faith.”

Lavinia opened the door and announced, “Fang Davidson here to see you, Chief.”

CHAPTER

fourteen

“Can you do something with this?” I pulled the towel off my damp hair and stood in front of Rae in the living room.

She looked up from her anatomy textbook and set aside her pen. “Like what? I don’t have time to put another colour in tonight. I have my massage therapy final in less than a month and have to cram like crazy.”

Have I mentioned that Rae is a former hooker? We both used to live in trailers in Hemp Hollow, and I brought her with me when I moved into my parents’ empty house. Now, she’s a part-time receptionist at the greenhouse, and one day a week she works for me cleaning houses. In her spare time, she’s studying to become a registered massage therapist and plans to open her own business. She’s too busy to backslide into her old life, even if she’s tempted. I make sure of that.

“I don’t want another colour.” Even Redfern was beginning to make cracks about my many-shaded tresses. “Can you style it or something so it doesn’t look so striped and frizzy?”

“Sure. I’ll French braid it. Oh, and then I’ll make your eyes look smoky. You won’t be able to keep the Chief off you.”

“That’s not what I’m after tonight. He’s tied up with the OPP investigator, so I’m on my own. I’m going to the Wing Nut for a glass of wine and some company.”

Rae doesn’t do things halfway, so by the time I picked my way over the icy driveway to my Matrix – in knee-high, low-heeled boots – my person was not only French-braided and smoky-eyed, but plucked, blushed, and lip-glossed. Somebody better try to pick me up after all that.

The Wing Nut is a restaurant and bar south of the cemetery on Highway 21. In a bygone era, it would have been called a roadhouse. Since it was technically within the town limits, the highway was well-ploughed and sanded. The snow had stopped earlier in the day and if the temperature went up a few degrees more, maybe the accumulation would melt. I hated it when the snow stayed on the ground this early in December. It made a long winter endless.

The neon letters and graphic of somebody’s idea of a wing nut illuminated the parking lot, which wasn’t as well-sanded as the highway. I really needed to start transporting my own bucket of Ice Melt. My boots skidded on the icy patches, but, lucky for me, about a dozen cars crowded the parking spots closest to the entrance. I used the vehicles for support and made it to within a few yards of the front door before my feet slid out from under me. I gripped the door handle of a nearby pickup truck and held on as the rest of my body disappeared under the vehicle. I looked up and read the sign on its door: Davidson and Cutler Salvage.

Good. Fang was here. I could find out what he remembered about grad night. And, if it seemed appropriate, offer my condolences. I released the door handle, rolled over, and crawled out from under the truck. A tarp partially covered a glittery object in the bed of the truck. It beckoned me. I pushed back the tarp: a disco ball! Could this be the disco ball from the high school gym?

I touched the multi-faceted surface. It felt like glass, but was probably hard plastic. Big and shiny and tacky, it would look perfect hanging from the cathedral ceiling of the greenhouse during Glory’s food benefit. I had to have it. I would have it.

I made it up the three steps and opened the front door of the Wing. I wasn’t a fan of loud country– and-western music, but Monday night in these parts didn’t afford much choice if one was looking for food, booze, or company.

Fang slumped against the bar with a younger man yattering in his ear. I slipped out of my faux-fox-fur coat and hoisted myself onto the empty stool on Fang’s other side.

I ordered a glass of white wine and prodded Fang in the arm. “Hi.”

He barely looked at me. “How you doing, Bliss?” In addition to other odd jobs, Fang delivered packages to the greenhouse and collected shipments for the Royal Mail and UPS. On Friday, he had been his usual easy-going self. Now, he stared into his beer as though it would really help him forget his problems. If he wanted forgetfulness, he should switch to tequila.

The other man leaned around Fang. “I’m Larry Cutler, Fang’s cousin. You alone?”

Well, there it was. Not much of a pickup line, but now I could move on. “Hi, Larry. I’m Bliss. I went to school with Fang.”

He looked disappointed. “Oh, I guess that means you’re as old as Fang.”

“Pretty close, Larry.” I was three months older.

Larry went back to eating free peanuts and staring at the female bartender, forty if she was a day. But she did have an impressive rack.

Now that Fang was in my sights, I wasn’t sure how to proceed. Did he suspect the skeleton he found was his twin sister? If not, I didn’t want to be the one to break the news.

I tried for neutral. “It must have been awful, what you found in the old high school. Quite a shock.”

I wasn’t good at diplomacy, and Fang cut through my pitiful attempt. “It was Faith, you know.”

I put my hand on his arm. “I guess you knew all along that something bad had happened to her.”

“All this time, we thought she disappeared off the bus in Toronto. Turns out, whatever happened, happened right here in this sleepy little town.”

“I know.” For the life of me, I couldn’t think of anything to say that wasn’t a platitude, or just plain dumb. Time to move on.

“Um, I see you have the old high school disco ball in the back of your truck. I could use it, you know, a kind of nostalgia thing. I’ll give you twenty bucks for it.”

“Nah.”

“It’s part of my personal history. How about thirty?”

“Nope.”

Playing hardball, was he? “Okay. Forty. And that’s my final offer.” I could buy a new ball from an online party store for less. I wanted this one.

Fang sighed and ordered another beer. I didn’t want to hassle him under the sad circumstances and decided to leave it for a while, then come back at him with an offer of forty-five dollars.

At the other end of the bar, a couple of familiar faces pressed together in a private conversation: Thea Vanderbloom and Dwayne Rundell. They weren’t any more welcoming than Fang when I hopped up beside Thea. Good thing I wasn’t sensitive.

I sipped my wine and beamed at them. Thea had on a long-sleeved black T-shirt and a silver lariat necklace. Dwayne wore a black western-style shirt. “Are you guys taking line-dancing lessons here? Are we going to see a demonstration by the fab duo of Dwayne and Thea?” I checked their boots for spurs.

“Hi, Moonbeam.” Thea sat up straighter on her stool. A glass of icy pop snapped and crackled in front of her. Guess she was the designated driver tonight.

Dwayne looked over her head. “Well, look at you, all dressed up. She almost looks like a real girl, Thea.”

“Oh, aren’t you a clever boy?” I stuck three fingers into his beer and chucked him under the chin.

He grabbed a napkin and wiped his neck. “Thea!”

“Go to the restroom and wash your face, hon. I’ll get you another beer.” Thea shooed him off in the direction of the Gents, then shook her head at me. “I don’t know why you can’t be a bit more respectful.”

“Me? He took the first shot.”

“You call him Duh-wayne. That’s not nice.”

“Do I?” I was honestly surprised. “Sorry. I’ll try to do better.”

Thea threw me a suspicious look before taking the last mini-pretzel from the bowl in front of her and signalling the bartender to bring more.

I addressed Constable Crybaby when he returned. “I’ll buy you another beer, Dwayne.” There, that should make Thea happy.

It didn’t. “Now you’re saying Dwa-aayne.”

“Maybe I have a speech impediment. Did you ever consider that?” I slid off my stool and looked around the room. In a far, dim corner I spotted the faint gleam of blond spikes. Redfern. The uniformed OPP officer must be the investigator. Both sat with their backs to the wall, cop-style. A third man with a thinning spot on the top of his head faced them.

Wineglass in hand, I sauntered over to their table. Redfern saw me coming but didn’t give me a welcoming smile or wave me to come on over, dash it, and meet the boys.

Coffee cups and an empty carafe shared the tabletop with a basket of chicken bones.

Standing beside the balding man, I realized it was the doctor from the emergency room. My nose throbbed at the memory and I felt my lips. They were still swollen and I had used a lot of cover-up to hide the scratches on my face. But Dr. Doom was wrong about my eyes turning black without an immediate application of ice.

A folder lay open in front of the doctor. Redfern reached across the table and closed it, but not before I caught a glimpse of the photo.

I was tempted to go back to the bar and pick Larry up. Not for the night, but just to see Redfern’s reaction. “Hi, Chief. How about introducing me to your friends?”

“This is Dr. Ed Reiner, our coroner.”

“I met him this afternoon.”

Dr. Reiner nodded and kept his hands pressed against the folder in case I ripped it away and ran out into the night with it.

“He’s also a gynecologist,” Redfern added. Maybe it was the light from the smudged overhead chandelier, but I’m sure I noticed a malicious gleam in his eye. Note to self: never tell your personal fears to your boyfriend. He may forget your birthday but never that you have an aversion to examining tables and stirrups.

I edged away from Dr. Reiner. The OPP investigator looked familiar but I couldn’t place him at first. He was good-looking in an exotic, Mediterranean sort of way, with olive skin, black hair and eyes, and the longest lashes I’d ever seen. Well, except once on a camel at the Toronto Zoo. I knew him from somewhere. I usually let my subconscious do the memory work, and now it set to covering the face with stubble, growing the hair into long, greasy strands, dressing the body in dusty leathers …

I had it. “Sn—”

“Tony!” Redfern snapped at me. “This is Sergeant Tony Pinato. He’s an OPP investigator and will be working on the case with me.”

In a lower voice, he added, “Forget what you think you know, Cornwall. This is Tony.”

Tony chuckled, a raspy, damaged sound I had grown so used to hearing last summer when I lived in fear for my life in Hemp Hollow. Tony had been an undercover cop but I didn’t find that out until later. At the time, I thought he was a real biker, dangerous yet strangely attractive.

“You’re looking good, Miss Bliss. I hope we’ll have time to sit down and have a drink together before I leave town.”

A long, thin scar ran up the side of his throat, ending somewhere under his chin. Now, I realized that gravelly voice was actually caused by an injury, maybe from a knife wound, rather than from years of smoking, as I had thought.

“That would be lovely, Tony.” I aimed my best smile at him and ignored Redfern. Dr. Reiner’s intense scrutiny made me squirm. I wondered if he was measuring me for a speculum. I pulled my pink sweatshirt firmly over the rump of my new, tight jeans and moved closer to Tony.

“Well, we won’t keep you, Cornwall. I’m sure you have other friends at the bar to visit.” Redfern sent me a wintry smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes.

I pointed at the basket of bones. “What, you boys didn’t have salad? Good nutrition helps the little grey cells work, you know.” At least three chickens had given their lives for this meal.

Tony laughed and Redfern smouldered. What?

I yanked the folder out from under the doctor’s hands. Before anyone could stop me, I opened it and tapped the top photo. Two cone-shaped objects with a numbered identification tag lay against a white background, a ruler beside them. They were six inches high. “I guess you boys know what these are?”

Nobody spoke.

I slapped the folder closed and slid it back to the doctor. Picking up my wine, I turned to leave, tossing my braid and throwing two words over my shoulder. “I do.”