Holly pushed my hand away. She said, “Are you kidding, Bliss? I should give you your twenty dollars back, just for the entertainment.”
“Thanks, Holly. I hope, if anybody asks, you can truthfully say I never made any threats or accused Andrea of being unprofessional.”
“I remember every word, Bliss, and you have nothing to worry about. Have you heard that Mike is going to run in the next election? He’s really reaching for the stars, isn’t he? If he wins, he’ll be one of the youngest Members of Parliament in history.”
“Oh, he’ll win.” I rammed the towels into the bag on top of the canned goods. “With Andrea’s father grooming him, he’s a shoo-in. Next stop, 24 Sussex Drive.”
“He’d sell our oil rights to the States … or our water. I hope somebody stops him.”
“Maybe somebody will.” I wrestled the bags toward the door and waved at Holly with one free finger.
As I reached the alley between the library and the video store next door, Andrea stepped out of the shadows and blocked my way.
Surprised, I let go of the bags and they slipped to the ground. Darn, I hated dented cans, but perhaps it was just as well my hands were free. Andrea had six inches and at least fifty pounds on me, and by the flush high up on her cheeks, she was pissed. I looked around. No witnesses.
Arms crossed over her chest, Andrea leaned toward me. “Mike told me how you threatened him, trying to extort money. That could be construed as blackmail, and you could wind up with legal problems. Take my advice, as your former lawyer. Stay out of our way, or you’ll think a juggernaut ran over you.”
Adrenaline flowed, making my heart race and my body ready to do battle. I tried to damp it down to keep the oxygen in my brain. This fight required wits, not muscle.
“I don’t know what you mean, Andrea. As Mike probably told you, I gave him a figure I thought was a fair share of the estate we accumulated during our marriage. I’d be more than happy to give back the fifty acres in exchange.”
“You signed off all rights to any other properties at the time of the divorce. We owe you nothing.”
“Well, at the time I thought my lawyer was looking after my interests. I didn’t realize she was sleeping with my husband. Did you know I registered a complaint with the Law Society of Upper Canada?”
Andrea snorted. “Of course I know. They contacted me. How did that go for you?”
“Not so well. They sent me a nice letter saying they would look into the matter, then a couple of months later another letter arrived dismissing the complaint, but telling me I had the option of suing you. Anyhow, there will always be a record of the complaint, with your name on it. It would be such a shame if that came out during Mike’s campaign.”
“Do you really think we’d let that happen? We could make you look like a total nutcase.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Andrea. The ex-wife of the Liberal candidate is living in a trailer, working several minimum-wage jobs, buying food and clothes from the second-hand store.” I nudged the bags with my toe. “Why, I could supply pictures of me in my overalls, raking up the cemetery, or cleaning houses. Goodness me, whatever would the voters think? Let alone the party officials. They might consider Mike a risk they don’t want to take. I told Mike all this, but he’s a stubborn guy.”
“Mike offered you money, but you refused to take it. How does that look?”
“You mean yesterday’s offer at Tim Hortons? I don’t believe there were any witnesses to that offer. The amount on the cheque was an insult, and expecting me to sign a waiver means you underestimate me. You can tell Mike to shove both the cheque and the waiver so far up his ass he’ll need surgery to retrieve them. I believe I forgot to suggest that to him.”
“Mike and I are deeply committed to one another. We have a brilliant future, and we won’t let you spoil things for us. This is your last warning.”
I held up my hands. “Hey, I’m not planning to interfere with your future. I just want what’s fair, and you know what that is. Think about it, and I’m sure you and your true love will do the right thing.”
I bent down and picked up my shopping, relieved when Andrea didn’t swing her brown Louis Vuitton bag down on my head.
“Andrea, don’t get your hopes up about becoming the wife of the prime minister of this nation. Once Mike gets to the first rung and feels he can do without your father’s connections, he’ll dump you without a backward glance. He’ll marry some pretty little blonde who will give him a couple of cute little blond children to grace his Christmas card photo. Don’t kid yourself; Mike is only thirty-two and you’re, what, forty? You may be in love, but to him you’re only a means to an end.”
I took five minutes to unpack the bags and resettle the items in the saddlebags of the Savage after watching Andrea march away. After that, I felt calm enough to finish off the afternoon scanning out books for patrons. Dougal called twice to make sure I was going to measure Glory’s Titan and report my findings before I went home.
The Liquor Store was my first stop after work. Bypassing the Vintages section where I shopped during my marriage, I checked out the Ontario reds and chose a Niagara merlot that cost twelve-ninety-five. A slight splurge, but well-deserved. Next, I bought a copy of the Lockport Sentinel.
Now, I had wine to drink and something to read while eating the canned beans. Or maybe I’d have the stew, or even the Chef Boyardee. With a can opener and a microwave, any option was possible.
The wind had picked up during the day so the short drive to Glory’s was even less pleasurable than the morning’s run. The skirt ballooned and flapped, but at least my road rash got a good airing.
Pan answered my ring, but instead of inviting me in, he stepped out and closed the door quietly. He looked at my outfit, started to say something, then shook his head slightly.
“We’ll go to the greenhouse this way. You don’t want to risk running into Miss Glory today. She’s in a very bad mood.”
“How can you tell? Any special problem or just the usual princess syndrome?”
We had left the ladder in place beside the Titan Arum the night before and Pan climbed to the top with the tape measure. I held the end of the tape to the dirt.
He called down a number to me and I wrote it down. The spadix had shot up several more inches overnight.
Pan said, “Glory’s still in a rage about Dougal. She must seriously want this pollination to work. It’s hard to understand why. This is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. Who’d want more of them?”
“It’s not pretty,” I agreed, “but apparently it’s rare, and pollination is difficult, so maybe the seeds are valuable. Or, since neither Glory nor Dougal need money, maybe they hope to publish in the Botanical Geographic.”
Pan snickered. “More like Botanical Playgirl. It looks like a big—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.”
We decided not to try and measure the circumference of the spathe, lest we cause the structural collapse Dougal was so concerned about. Neither of us wanted to be responsible for that.
I took pictures, with Pan again censoring them. I stole a glance at the pot plants while he arrowed through the shots. Glory’s marijuana was thriving, seeming to match the Titan Arum in growth ratio. Maybe they were companion plants like onions and marigolds.
Before I left, I glanced into the spathe, feeling as wicked as a maiden peeking up a piper’s kilt. “Hey,” I called to Pan. “Look at this. I think there are flowers forming down there.”
He took a polite glance. “Yeah, great, we’re moving right along. Here’s your camera.”
I aimed the camera into the spathe and took a few more shots, hoping Dougal would be able to figure out if anything was happening that might speed up the pollination process. The sooner I was done with this pot palace, the better.
When I arrived at Dougal’s, he jerked the camera from my fingers and demanded to know the height of the spadix. He thumbed through the pictures and, in my opinion, got unreasonably excited about the last
shots I had taken of the spathe’s interior.
“This proves it,” he said, heading off down the hall toward his solarium. He put his hands on either side of the concrete planter and stuck his head into the spathe.
“Yes, Glory’s Titan will blossom before mine, possibly only a few hours, certainly not more than a day. Perfect.”
“Perfect,” I repeated, with my back to his marijuana plants.
Reminded I was there, Dougal rounded on me. “You didn’t touch Glory’s Titan, did you?”
“Of course not. We didn’t even measure the spathe.”
“Now listen, Bliss. Tomorrow, don’t measure the spadix either. I don’t need any more measurements, I just need confirmation there are no signs of collapse, so take lots of close-ups.”
“I got it, but …”
He looked directly at me for the first time. “What the hell kind of outfit are you wearing? You look like you should be ploughing the fields hitched to a horse. You’re really letting yourself go, Bliss. I hope you don’t tell anyone we’re related.”
“Everyone knows we’re related, moron. And I’m the one they feel sorry for.”
I led the way to his kitchen and began telling him about my day, including the face-off with Andrea. All he heard was I borrowed a skirt from his closet.
“That was you in my bathroom? I should have known. There were wet bath towels and sweat pants on the floor. And what gives you the right to waltz into my closet and help yourself?”
“Who did you think was in your bathroom, you idiot? I needed something to wear and figured Melanie might have left something I could borrow.”
“What makes you think it’s Melanie’s skirt? You’re jumping to conclusions, Bliss, and I’d thank you to stop making accusations about my therapist.”
“Have it your way. If it isn’t Melanie’s skirt, you must be a secret cross-dresser. I found a bra in there, too, right beside your pile of Speedo bathing trunks.”
By this time, I had removed a foil-covered casserole dish from his fridge as well as a large chunk of chocolate cake. I got a plastic grocery bag from under the sink and piled the food inside, adding half a flaxseed loaf from the bread box.
“I forgot to mention, Bliss,” Dougal said, in a tone that suggested he wasn’t going to talk further about Melanie or bras. “You’ll need to go to Glory’s twice tomorrow and from now on until we pollinate. I’ll need pictures and first-hand reports.”
“Come on, Dougal, when am I supposed to find time to do that? I’ll go right after work, like today. Isn’t that good enough?”
“We’re getting close now. You’ll have to stand by and be ready to pick up the pollen at Glory’s as soon as her Titan blossoms. There’s only a small window where the pollen is viable, so you’ll have to drop whatever you’re doing as soon as I call you. Meanwhile, get me pictures before and after work.”
“Swell. Pollinating two freaks of nature is taking up more time than I expected. I better get that money.”
“Stay on track and it will happen, darling Bliss. Insulting such beautiful specimens is beneath you. Now, are you ready to leave? Can you fit any more food in there or should I get you another bag?”
He tried to propel me out of the kitchen, but I stood firm and said, “Listen, I need to tell you something else that happened last night after I dropped you off.” I related the incident with Rae and the tall goon who had pushed me roughly to the ground.
“So, can I stay here tonight? Just until things get back to normal at the trailer park?” Prostitution and whatever Quigley was up to, maybe running a meth lab, were normal at Hemp Hollow, but the guy with the snake’s head belt buckle, and Rae’s attacker, were not.
“No, you can’t. Sorry. I’m having company any minute, none of your business who. And you need to get out of that trailer, Bliss. It’s dangerous. Too bad you don’t have any friends you can stay with.”
“Wait,” I struggled to free my arm. “My laundry. I put it in the washer this morning.”
“And I put it in the dryer for you myself. That’s the kind of cousin I am. You can pick it up tomorrow, but I’m afraid those sheets have had it. They’re full of holes and your underwear is a disgrace. You better get some new ones, Bliss, or the next time you bend over you’re going to moon somebody.”
He looked at me accusingly. “Mrs. Boudreau had to put my laundry through twice, it smelled so skunky. And she helped me haul the couch out to the garage. She says there’s nothing that will take the odour out, so now I have to buy a new one. Do you know how much that will cost?”
In the hall, I nearly stumbled over Simon who was lurching from side to side like a drunken sailor, probably stoned again. He hummed something that sounded like “Dancing Queen.”
“He likes Abba,” Dougal said fondly, as the parrot looked up Melanie’s skirt and whistled.
“You’re both certifiable,” I said to Dougal, and slammed the door.
I was tempted to hang around outside and catch Melanie in the act, but I was anxious to get home and barricade myself in before dark. Before leaving Dougal’s doorstep, I tucked the skirt as tightly around my legs as I could. I likely wasn’t doing the road rash any good, but at highway speeds, it wouldn’t do for the skirt to blow up over my face.
Passing the Super 8 Motel, I saw the silver Beetle still parked in front. The top was down and Chesley was barely visible bobbing between the seats, still cleaning the red leather. I wanted to stop and ask what he and his mother were up to, but I wasn’t dressed for the occasion and sunset was imminent. I felt like a freaking reverse-vampire.
On the ground behind my trailer, I found the bag of food I had brought from Dougal’s last night. The pears were squishy and the pasta salad would be toxic after lying out in the sun all day. I smelled the leather jacket still draped on a bush, and immediately removed my nose. No way was that scent dissipating anytime soon. If I left it any longer, it might attract another skunk. I dropped the jacket and the bag of food into the metal trash container between my trailer and Rae’s. At least I had a replacement for the jacket.
Before moving to the front of the trailer, I stopped and sniffed. A faint odour seemed to be coming from the woodland, and it was disturbingly familiar. Like wet dog and dead groundhog combined. The skin on the back of my neck tightened. Clutching the fresh food from Dougal’s and the two bags from The Second Hand Rose, I hurried around to the front.
I wondered if I should knock on Rae’s door. From the little I saw of her condition last night, she would be in no shape to service customers. After a moment’s hesitation, I walked over and rapped lightly. There was no response and I heard nothing when I placed my ear against the door. She could still be at the Quigleys’ — and I sure wasn’t going over there.
Inside my trailer, I wedged the chair under the doorknob again, though a fat lot of good that would do if someone wanted in, as proven by how easily Quigley and the other guy had broken Rae’s door down. I hung up my new outfit and leather jacket, arranged my canned goods in the cupboard, and stacked the blue towels on the miniscule bathroom counter. Then I made the bed up with the pink sheets. My chores done, I heated a portion of the chicken and noodle casserole and sat down at my tiny table with the Sentinel. Better to eat the fresh food now and save the canned stuff for the times when Dougal closed his kitchen to me. Reluctantly, I decided against the wine. It looked as though the sunrise and I were going to be BFFs for the next few days at least, and a hangover would make an unwelcome third wheel.
I opened the paper, hoping that reading the classifieds for places to rent might help keep me awake long enough to get undressed. Sitting with the skirt tucked into my underpants on my bad side and forking up the food, I unfolded the newspaper.
Before I could turn to the classifieds, an article on the front page caught my eye. It was about the mayor of Lockport’s political future. So the word was officially out that the Weasel was on his way to Parliament Hill.
I continued to read until I came to a paragraph hal
fway down that made me forget my exhaustion and the plate of cooling food on the table.
“What the hell!”
Chapter
THIRTEEN
Pushing the plate aside, I read the article again. It seemed Mr. and Mrs. Weasel were donating fifty acres of wetland, a haven for the endangered spotted turtle, to the province. The exact location was to remain private until legal arrangements with the Ministry of Natural Resources were complete, but it was believed to be somewhere along Bird River.
I thought about that for a minute, then read the article a third time. Apparently, this environmental philanthropy was to be the platform from which Mike Bains would be launched into political celebrity.
Questions flooded into my tired brain. Did Mike have another fifty acres of land somewhere near mine? He didn’t have while we were married. Was a wetland the same as a swamp?
I didn’t have a dictionary in the trailer, or a computer, so I called Dougal, forgetting he was getting some after-hours therapy from Melanie.
“What?” he snapped into the phone. “This better be good, Bliss.”
“Listen, I just need to know the difference between a swamp and a wetland.”
A moment’s silence followed. I peered out through a tiny gap in the curtain, but nothing stirred in the darkness. Across the dusty compound, a shadow moved inside the Quigley trailer, but the window covering hid any details of size or gender. I couldn’t tell if it was Rae or one of the Quigleys. Or someone else.
“You better not be drinking, Bliss. Remember, you need to get up bright and early. But if it will get you off the phone, the terms swamp and wetland are used interchangeably these days. Theoretically, a wetland has more mature trees growing on it, trees that can withstand a lot of moisture. An authentic swamp is usually under water, so the roots of most trees will drown. If you see an area with lots of dead tree stumps, that would be a swamp. Both swamps and wetlands are home to many varieties of plant and wildlife. Now if there’s nothing else, can I get back to what I was doing before you called?”
Corpse Flower: A Cornwall and Redfern Mystery Page 9
