Corpse Flower: A Cornwall and Redfern Mystery

by Gloria Ferris

  “Say hello to Melanie for me,” I said, and we both disconnected together.

  I recalled the thick canopy of deciduous trees that covered the property, all thriving and seemingly happy in their marshy soil. So, I was the owner of fifty acres of wetland. Funny that Mike was too.

  Once in bed cuddling my baseball bat, I found that, tired as I was, I could not relax enough to sleep. I kept listening for footsteps outside my tiny bedroom window. I wished I had a dog, a big dog. Maybe I would stop by the animal shelter and see if they had anything available in a German shepherd or Rottweiler model. But, then I’d have to buy it food and walk it, and a dog that big would poop a lot.

  Behind all these conscious thoughts, my subconscious must have been working on the wetland puzzle. Flipping on lights, I trotted to the kitchen and pawed through a junk drawer full of twist ties, pencil stubs, takeout menus, and my divorce documents. Ignoring the latter, I threw everything else on the countertop and sorted through the various pieces of paper.

  I sank onto the stained bench and spread a small pile of official-looking pages and one unopened envelope out on the table. All were from the town offices demanding payment of property taxes on the swamp. I hadn’t paid a dime of it, and each subsequent notice of taxes due simply added that quarterly installment, plus interest, onto the total.

  The fact that the taxes hadn’t been paid for a year before the Weasel and I divorced infuriated me. How he and his wily bitch managed to transfer ownership with back taxes still owing was a mystery, but I had ignored those demanding letters arriving four times a year like clockwork and hadn’t even opened the last. Now I did.

  The property tax on fifty acres of soggy land near a river that flowed into a lake was surprisingly low. It appeared the universe was giving me the finger, since the total for three years plus interest was within a few dollars of what I had in the bank. I glanced at the date on the letter. This was Monday and, according to the small print on the bottom of the page, the property would be confiscated by the County of Bruce to be sold to any interested party on — this coming Friday! Three days from tomorrow.

  A loud banging on the front door sent me flying back to the bedroom for the baseball bat. Armed and dangerously shit-scared, I crept to the front of the trailer where more fist-hammering was followed by a female voice calling out.

  “Yo, Bliss, are you in there? I saw your lights on and figured you were still up. I’ve brought you some Earl Grey tea.”

  Rae. But a Rae I wouldn’t have recognized if she had tripped me on the street. Her face was swollen to twice its normal size and a Band-Aid covered one eyebrow. Both eyes were purple and her lower lip was puffed into a shocking pout. I stood aside as she slowly climbed the two steps into the trailer.

  “My God, Bliss! What happened to your leg? That looks awful!”

  I had forgotten I was wearing only underpants and a tee-shirt. The abrasion had started to scab over and I was hopeful that I would be able to wear pants the next day. I gave my leg another spritz of antiseptic.

  “My bike went down. It was Dougal’s fault. But what about you? Have you been to the hospital? You look like you can hardly move.”

  “I’m doing okay. I’ll have a few weeks’ vacation, I guess. Not too many men want to have sex with a woman who looks like this. And I’m not my usual nimble self right now, I have to say.”

  “If you don’t mind me mentioning it, Rae, you seem a bit cavalier about what happened. Don’t you think it’s time you looked for another career? You could open that spa; maybe start small with nail care and facials.”

  “This is an occupational hazard, Bliss. Something similar happened a few years ago, so now I’ve got a special fund set aside to keep me going until I heal. I’m careful to take a new customer only when he’s been recommended by a regular, but sometimes a wing nut slips through no matter how careful I am. Jerry is a friend of Ewan Quigley, and I thought he was okay. Like I said, it’s an occupational hazard.”

  “But the spa …”

  “I’m not quite ready for that yet. I need a few more pesos in the old bank account. But soon.”

  Neither of us spoke for a few minutes. We drank our tea and I tried to think of something supportive and upbeat to say, but came up empty. Each of us had our eye on a personal prize. Only time would tell if either of our improbable dreams would materialize.

  “So, are you staying with the Quigleys again tonight? I didn’t know you were friends with Sarah Quigley, too.” That was a back-handed way of asking if Sarah knew Ewan was boffing Rae.

  “Well, they’re kind of rough, but they’ve been good neighbours. And, in case you’re wondering, Sarah knows Ewan is a customer. She’s cool with that. Saves her from having to do the dirty deed herself, I guess.”

  I saw Sarah’s point, but eeewww.

  “We just sat around and ate some cookies last night after Sarah fixed my cuts. That and a shot of Southern Comfort, and I slept like a baby in their spare bed. The only down side is that Sarah doesn’t wear clothes in the trailer.”

  “She doesn’t wear clothes outside the trailer, either. What’s with that, anyway?”

  “I’m not sure. Sarah has some mental problems, I think. Ewan doesn’t pay much attention to her, so maybe it’s her way of getting him to notice her.”

  As a psychologist, Rae sucked, but I had no better explanation for Sarah’s penchant for nudity.

  But, cookies and a shot of booze? Maybe I should try that to help me relax enough to sleep. There were no cookies here, but I did have that bottle of wine.

  I asked Rae, “Who was that big guy who ripped off your door, the one with the snake belt buckle? He was plenty scary, even though he came to your rescue.”

  “Oh, that’s Snake. He’s new around here. I think he helps Ewan with some business.”

  “And what business is that?”

  Rae looked at me through her swollen eyes. “I think Sarah and Ewan have a little … uh … produce company. Nothing big, but apparently they have a loyal client base in the area.”

  “What about Snake?” Seriously, how ridiculous was that name. “What does he do for the Quigleys? Is he an enforcer or a distributor?”

  “Don’t know and don’t want to know. I’m just glad he was around last night.”

  “What happened to the guy who assaulted you?”

  “Jerry? Hopefully he’s folded up in a shallow grave somewhere.”

  At my expression, she added quickly, “Not really. I imagine Snake just laid a beating on him and let him go.”

  I yawned, feeling more relaxed now that I had company.

  “Well, listen, Bliss. I won’t keep you up. I just wanted to ask you something. You’ll probably say no, but I know how hard up you are right now so maybe you’ll consider it.”

  I yawned again, almost dislocating my jaw. “What’s that, Rae? Anything I can do, you just name it. I could take your laundry and do it with mine at Dougal’s. Or I can fit some groceries in the bike.”

  “No. Listen, would you take a few of my customers for me while I’m laid up? Just a couple of my better ones? No more than one or two a day. I’d make sure they weren’t kinky, and give you some pointers on what they like. You could fit them in between your other jobs. I wouldn’t ask you, but I don’t want to risk losing good clients.”

  After opening and closing my mouth a few times, composing and rejecting several answers, such as, “I’ll do your laundry but absolutely will not do your customers” and “Yuck, yuck, a thousand yucks,” I finally replied, “Sorry Rae. I can’t do it. It’s not my thing, so, sorry.”

  My future might include dying of starvation in a ditch, but it was better than turning tricks in Hemp Hollow. The horny pervs would have to go elsewhere for service.

  She sighed and stood up. “That’s okay, Bliss. I understand.”

  I stood on my stoop and watched as Rae painfully climbed the steps to her own trailer. Either Ewan or Snake had repaired Rae’s door. I shivered at the thought of either of those t
wo creeps working so close to my place.

  After locking myself in, I took a last peek through a slit in the curtains. Across the compound, a figure stood silhouetted against the Quigleys’ open door. The man, or woman, handed a large paper grocery bag over to Ewan, who unfolded the top and peered in. He nodded and stepped back, but before he closed the door on his visitor the light widened momentarily and I caught a quick glimpse. Slight build, short, slicked-back hair. I didn’t need to see the agate-black eyes.

  Pan. What was Glory’s manservant doing here, on the wrong side of the tracks?

  He had dropped something off. Rae had more or less confirmed that Ewan was dealing marijuana, but Pan wasn’t picking up a stash, he was delivering something. Could it be Glory’s pot in that bag?

  I remembered the cannabis leaf stuck in Julian Barnfeather’s greasy hair. Was everybody in town involved with the stuff? Neil Redfern seemed to think so.

  I scooped up all the overdue tax papers and shoved them back into the drawer, except for the final notice, which I folded and tucked into my purse along with the newspaper article. I didn’t know what I was going to do about the swamp, but I had only a few days to decide.

  It seemed unlikely that Mike owned another section of wetland he was donating to the province. Was he waiting until Friday to buy my land back? He could probably get it for little more than taxes owing. But, in that case, wasn’t the article in today’s paper premature? If someone else bought the property first, Mike would be in big trouble. And with the Liberal nominations coming up fast …

  During our conversation in the alley this afternoon, I had offered Andrea the swamp back and she hadn’t reacted. Was that legal training or ignorance?

  In bed with my face resting against the bat, I felt a faint stirring of hope. Nothing concrete, but the beginnings of a plan. The Weasels were not going to make the giant leap to Parliament Hill by stepping on my neck. Not without a fight.

  Maybe the universe wasn’t giving me the finger after all. Maybe I had been given a sign.

  Chapter

  FOURTEEN

  Tuesday I got fired.

  Allison Seymour, the town librarian, interrupted her vacation to come in and hand me a letter. The board regretted that, due to financial constraints, they were forced to cut back part-time staff.

  “I’m really sorry about this, Bliss. Walt Sheffield dropped this off at my place last night and directed me to give it to you this morning. I didn’t know anything about it, honestly.”

  Walt was the Library Board head and a major butt-kisser. I saw the Weasel’s hand all over this. As the mayor, Mike would only need to put a word in Walt’s ear and, poof, one troublesome ex-wife gone. Andrea was on the board, too. It was a wonder it hadn’t happened sooner.

  “Listen, Bliss, you have two weeks’ notice, so that will give you time to find another job. I’ll give you an excellent reference, and you can take time off for interviews if you want.”

  I could have fought it. I had seniority, but who would I complain to? Certainly not the municipal leaders. The Ministry of Labour? If the paperwork didn’t kill me, the phone bills would.

  I thought about options. There were none. Finally, I said, “I think, Allison, instead of putting in the two weeks, I’ll just leave now. I’ll start job-hunting immediately.”

  “Wait, but Bliss! You have to stay for two weeks. I’m on vacation and so is Cheryl. Bailey can’t cover the library alone.”

  I opened my desk drawer and looked in. Funny, there was nothing personal in it, not a photograph, not a lipstick, or a Band-Aid. I closed it again. Picking up my purse, I walked toward the coat room where I gathered up my boots and jacket. Allison followed me, wringing her hands.

  “Bliss, you know that if you leave now, the board won’t give you any severance pay.”

  I said to Allison. “I won’t get any severance at the end of two weeks either. I believe the library owes me for last week, yesterday, and three hours for today. You can mail it to me.”

  In the parking lot, I was snapping on my helmet when a tall shadow blocked out the sun. I looked up to see Thea Vanderbloom, cap tucked under her arm and mirrored sunglasses folded into her breast pocket. Without the glasses, I could see she had pretty eyes, dark grey, with thick, curled lashes.

  “Hey, Moonbeam, where are you off to?”

  “No place in particular. I’ve just been fired.” For some reason, I handed her the letter and removed my helmet again. My head felt like it was going to explode. Maybe from anger, maybe from fear, I couldn’t tell.

  “That’s cold. I suppose the mayor is behind it.” She handed back the letter while I looked at her in surprise.

  “No doubt in my mind, but how did you know?”

  “Hah! Everyone knows about what happened to you. Mike Bains is pretty slick. So where are you going, really?”

  “I guess I’m as free as a bird, so if you’ve come to arrest me, I’ve nowhere else to be at the moment. Break out the handcuffs.”

  Officer Vanderbloom slapped me on my bad shoulder so hard I almost flew over the seat of my bike. “I’ve met my arrest quota for the month. Since you aren’t doing anything, how about I buy you a cup of coffee?”

  Why not?

  “I’m here on a goodwill mission,” she said, once we were seated in a corner booth at the back of the Mason Jar Cafe, next door to the police station.

  After the waitress laid our coffee cups on the table, I set to work opening two packets of sugar and three 18 percent creamers. I needed the calories. Officer Vanderbloom watched and, when I had finished stirring and took my first sip, she tried again.

  “Are you with me, Moonbeam?”

  “Oh, sure, sorry. What did you want to say, Officer Vanderbloom?”

  “Call me Thea. Okay, Neil sent me on a, well, kind of diplomatic mission to smooth the waters with you.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Oh, brother, he’s such a guy sometimes. He thinks I’ll automatically know the right thing to say to another woman.”

  I took another cautious sip of my coffee but found that, thanks to the three creamers, it was lukewarm.

  I took a bigger swig. “I don’t think I follow you, Thea.”

  “Okay, the heck with it. I’ll just say it in my own way, which is probably not subtle but will save time. Neil says that every time he tries to talk to you, you either puke on him or cry. Or yell. You have him on the run, so he sent me to say you aren’t a suspect in Julian Barnfeather’s death, and we don’t think you’re dealing drugs.”

  “I don’t get it. How can you just arbitrarily decide I’m innocent?”

  What?

  “You’re losing it, Moonbeam. You don’t have to get it. Let’s just say that the police in this town know more than we let on. So, all you have to do is let us question you and answer to the best of your knowledge. Because of where you work, the cemetery I mean, and where you live, you probably know more than you think.”

  The waitress refilled my cup. Thea waited patiently while I doctored my coffee again. This time, I only used two creamers.

  “You want me to be your stooge?” I asked finally.

  Thea pressed her full lips tightly together. “The word would be stoolie, if we even had such a thing, which we don’t. And we’re not asking you to be one. But I’m beginning to see what the chief means.”

  “What’s he so sensitive about, anyway? Hasn’t he been thrown up on, or cried on, or yelled at before? He was a homicide cop in Toronto, wasn’t he? You’d think he’d be used to the earthier parts of the job.”

  “He was on the drug squad, actually. So he knows his drugs, and knows there’s stuff going down in Lockport that needs to be stopped before this town becomes the Gateway to the North for drug trafficking.”

  “The True North Strong and Stoned?”

  “Nice one, Moonbeam, but yes, Lockport is perfectly situated. We’re just down-peninsula from Tobermory. Beyond that, the North is wide open.”

  “Wait,” I said, “are we t
alking about things like meth or heroin?” I was thinking of Ewan Quigley. If ever there was a disreputable character, it would be Ewan, and he was up to something besides supplying Rae with reefers. What if he was into worse stuff than pot? I didn’t think he had enough room in his trailer for a meth lab, but he might have another location for the actual manufacturing. I hoped so, or else my innocent ass could be blown sky-high while I slept some night.

  “Not specifically. Why, do you know something you need to tell me?”

  “Of course not. But if you don’t tell me what you’re looking for, how will I know if I have relevant information?”

  “Just answer our questions. And right now, I have only one for you. Have you ever seen anything unusual in the cemetery?”

  “No, never. Redfern asked me that already. What kind of connection could there be between the cemetery and drugs?”

  “Marijuana, Moonbeam. Marijuana. We are specifically concentrating on pot.”

  I was confused, but at least she wasn’t asking about Hemp Hollow. I didn’t know how I could possibly steer the police to Ewan Quigley without mentioning seeing Pan dropping something off. A bag of money? Snitching on Pan would lead to Glory, then probably to Dougal, then directly to me.

  “There’s no pot growing between the tombstones, that much I can tell you. I’ve groomed the whole place at one time or another, and there’s no pot.”

  “Sheesh, Moonbeam, we know the stuff isn’t growing merrily among the epitaphs, at least not out in the open. But, as Neil told you, Julian Barnfeather had a marijuana leaf on his person, and it was fresh, so he came into contact with it shortly before he died.”

  “Maybe he was smoking it and he dropped some.”

  Thea shook her head. “Are you for real? You don’t smoke it right off the plant, you have to dry it first.”

  “So what was a fresh leaf doing in Julian’s hair?”

  Her hands balled into fists and she leaned into me. “That’s my question. Do you know the answer?”

  I leaned away. Boy, she was getting as cranky as Redfern. “No, I don’t.”