Corpse Flower: A Cornwall and Redfern Mystery

by Gloria Ferris

  He looked up at me briefly, then held out his hand for the camera. While he downloaded, I floated to the kitchen and opened the fridge. By the time Dougal joined me, I had pretty much polished off a roasted chicken. Only the wings and tail were left and, as Dougal stared wordlessly, I started gnawing on a wing.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “Did you want some of this chicken?” I held up the spare wing.

  “That was my dinner. You ate the whole damn thing.”

  “Don’t you have any potato chips or chocolate bars, or any other junk food you can eat? I’ll toast us a few cinnamon bagels, if you want.”

  Dougal pulled out a chair beside me. His ears were turning flamingo pink.

  I burped. “Oh, excuse me.” I burped again. “Well, if you don’t want this wing, I’ll just finish it off.”

  “Are you drunk, Bliss? Is that what this is all about? You better let me have the key to your death machine.”

  I tried to chortle at him, but I fear it came out as a giggle. Which, for some reason, reminded me of my recent conversation with Redfern.

  “I don’t have my motorcycle any more. Redfern took it away and drove me here. But, listen, there’s some stuff …”

  “What!” Dougal stood up so fast his chair crashed to the floor. “You led the cops to my door? And not just any cop, the Chief of Police! Are you trying to get me thrown in jail? What if he wanted to come in? Would you have taken his hand and led him into the solarium?”

  “Someone hasn’t had his smokie-wokie today. Anyhow, I didn’t have any choice, and he didn’t ask to come in. It wasn’t a date, sweetie. Although, he did get a little fresh. I think he’s hot for me.” I contemplated the chicken’s tail, then picked up the rib cage and stripped it with my teeth.

  “Hot for you? You are a whack job, Bliss. You said yourself he’s on a crusade to end all cannabis use in this town. Why the hell would you think he’s got the hots for you?”

  “Well, sweetie, he kept trying to grab my boobs.” I put my hand over my chest and felt the bulge in the front pocket. “Oh, well, maybe not.”

  I pulled out the packet and set it on the table. The contents were flattened and oozing through the wrap, but I threw the rib cage over my shoulder and picked up a fork from the table. Chicken and chocolate. Mmm-mmm-mmm. I unfolded the wrapping carefully.

  Before I could stick my fork into the chocolate goo, Dougal’s hand shot out and his fingers encased my wrist.

  “Not so fast, Bliss. Tell me what it is, and where you got it.”

  I explained as quickly as I could, eager to taste the chocolate. It seemed so long since the last yummy square in Fern Brickle’s kitchen.

  “So, you ate some of these desserts from Mrs. Brickle’s kitchen, wrapped one up to take home, and Chief Redfern nabbed you outside her house and tried to take it from you. Does that about cover it?”

  I nodded and plunged my fork into the melted dessert. Dougal ripped the fork from my hand and transferred its contents to his own mouth.

  “No more for you,” he said, chocolate oozing out the corner of his mouth. “Let the expert determine if this is what I think it is.”

  My eyes followed every crumb as Dougal lifted the fork to his mouth again and again. He let the chocolate melt on his tongue. God, I knew what that was like. At one point he got up, went to a cupboard, lifted down a box of cookies, and dropped it in front of me. Simon joined us, shuffling into the kitchen and looking terribly lonely on the floor. I lifted him onto the table and shared a cookie with him.

  “Here you go, baby,” I said, stroking the red tail feathers. He wasn’t such a bad bird.

  Every time I fed him a tiny piece, Simon would flap his wings and shout, “Do it again, do it again!” Good old Melanie.

  The plastic wrap was finally scraped clean by Dougal’s fork. He sat back and sighed with contentment.

  “Okay. Now we wait.”

  “Wait for what?” I asked him, ramming home another cookie.

  We listened to the ticking of the kitchen clock. At least I did. Dougal was in some sort of meditative trance and wouldn’t answer any of my questions, not responding even when Simon fluttered onto his shoulder and pecked at his ear. Time passed.

  Finally. “Oh yeah. This is good stuff. I guess the rumours are true.”

  “Rumours of what? Of your death? And are they greatly exaggerated?” I laughed uproariously at myself.

  “You’re stoned, Bliss. If you ate three of these, you have to be higher than a kite. I’d say this is the Baker’s handiwork.”

  “I know not what you mean, you miscreant.”

  “I’ve heard about a group of elderly Lockport residents, all with medical challenges, who grow their own weed and give another local citizen, known as the Baker, the raw product to cook up into brownies.”

  “That was not a brownie,” I told him. “That was sheer heaven, admit it.”

  “Okay, whatever it was, it was good, and it was loaded. And Chief Redfern knows, or he wouldn’t have tried to take this one away from you.”

  “Are you saying Redfern wasn’t making a pass at me?”

  “Sorry.”

  “He’s bent, you know.”

  “Bent?” Dougal looked confused. I wished he’d try and keep up with me and the British.

  “And there’s a bear living behind my trailer. So I have to stay here tonight. Maybe forever.”

  “No. I’m having company later tonight. You can walk over to Glory’s and get this evening’s shots, then take a taxi or something home after you deliver them here. I’ll even pay for it.”

  “That’s very generous, sweetie, but Hemp Hollow, for reasons I can’t remember at the moment, is a very dangerous place.”

  “And, please, go back to calling me moron so I know the planets are spinning in their appointed co-ordinates.”

  “As you wish, moron. I think your parrot just pooped on your shoulder. Maybe he shouldn’t have eaten so many cookies.”

  I skipped to Glory’s house and took pictures of Sif, who was really strutting her stuff now. Her spathe was half-opened, the interior blood-red and inviting. While Pan looked through the shots, I touched my fingertips to the spathe. It was velvety and spongy, and I understood, on a primal level, why Thor’s pollen would be welcomed by this jungle beauty.

  Back in Dougal’s solarium, I took a few minutes to visit with Thor. While Dougal’s back was turned, I stroked Thor’s spadix, whispering, “Not much longer now, Dark Prince, before you and your lady will be as one.” Finally, I understood how Dougal felt about Thor, the spiritual union of human and plant.

  It was twilight when I left Dougal, telling him I was going to walk home. As if. I had another key to the Savage in my purse and it took only a few minutes to reach Fern Brickle’s house. Her visitors had all departed, and a lone light blinked on as I passed the front of the house. My bike was still in the alley.

  Soon, I was rolling along the trail to Hemp Hollow, through the dark woods, singing “Over the Rainbow” loudly to frighten away the bear. The clearing behind my trailer was devoid of wild smell or green eyes, so I picked up a stick and swung it in the air, yelling, “Fuck you, bear,” before scurrying around front.

  An envelope was taped to my door. It was from Rae, telling me she was going to stay with her sister and brother-in-law in Owen Sound for a week or two. “Things are kind of crazy around here,” was how she put it. She didn’t know the half of it.

  I hadn’t realized how much I depended on Rae for company until she was gone. Just knowing she was a few feet away had been a comfort. I didn’t blame her for making herself scarce, but now I was truly alone.

  My eye fell on the bottle of wine on the counter. Red wine was supposed to be cooled for twenty minutes before serving, I seemed to remember from dinner parties a thousand years ago. But then, I wasn’t going to serve it. Good thing the bottle had a screw top, so easy to open.

  There were no glasses in the trailer, only a couple of ceramic mugs, and red wine was never to be d
runk from a mug, another wine rule. So I upended the bottle and took a swig. Not as good as chocolate, but not bad.

  I extracted the two-day-old newspaper article from my purse and reread the piece on the Weasel and his

  political aspirations. That’s right. Tomorrow, I had to pay the property taxes on my swamp before it magically turned into a wetland. And there was something I needed

  to look for that might help with my Weasel problem.

  Taking the bottle with me, I went to the bathroom and inspected the two small boxes stacked in the shower stall. When I left my former home, I had thrown a few keepsakes like year books and albums into those boxes and hadn’t touched them since. I was afraid to open them now in case I was wrong.

  Taking another sip before setting the wine in the sink, I pulled the first box out. Unfolding the top, I found report cards from high school, transcripts from university, and a few programs of concerts Mike and I had attended during our engagement.

  The second box was packed to the top, mostly with photographs. A couple of albums held casual snaps of my growing up years, of birthday parties and Christmases with friends or Blyth and my parents. Digging deeper, I found a dozen loose wedding pictures. They were taken by a professional photographer and had initially been secured in a large white album with a hundred others.

  On that last day, I had whipped through the wedding album, pulling out pictures taken before the church ceremony. These didn’t include Mike.

  I looked at one photo where I sat in shadow looking out a window. It was posed, of course, but the expression of happiness and hope on my face was genuine. Only ten years ago, but I was so different now. A better person, or just stronger?

  Was I wrong to spend so much time and effort on recovering material assets? Dougal and Glory seemed to think so, but then they both had financial security. And, quite frankly, neither of them worked a day of their lives for what they enjoyed. So, why the hell should I listen to them?

  Only a few older photos remained in the box and there was no reason I would have kept the picture I was thinking of. The Weasel was in it.

  Reaching up, I hauled the wine bottle out of the sink and tipped it up, letting the lukewarm liquid run down my throat. Okay, one moment of truth coming up.

  I lifted up the half-dozen or so photos from the bottom of the box. Shuffling through them, I discarded all but one.

  Here it was. And there I was, in all my nubile glory, laughing at the camera, holding up a glass of spectacularly cheap red wine, showing at least twenty-eight perfect white teeth. No wonder I took it with me. I would never look so good again.

  Behind me, impossible to confuse with anyone else, even though it was at least eleven years ago, was the Weasel. And now I had him right where I wanted him. If paying the property taxes didn’t convince him, this would.

  Oh, yeah.

  Chapter

  TWENTY-ONE

  That night I slept the dreamless sleep of the optimistic. A pack of grizzly bears could have joined a biker gang in a hoedown outside my trailer, all smoking reefers, for all I cared. If I had known two-thirds of a bottle of wine would send me off to sleep like that, I would have done it a long time ago. My head was banging a bit when I woke up, but it was well worth it for a full night’s rest.

  When memories of yesterday’s encounter with Redfern threatened to surface, I washed them away with pleasant thoughts of the Weasel’s face when he handed me the cheque. I should get a picture of that. Mrs. Brickle’s chocolate desserts were not going to enter my consciousness again, ever. I can’t say it was a bad experience, just not one I cared to repeat. Except for wine, I swear no mind-altering substance would ever pass my lips again, so help me God.

  Fresh from a shower in the recreation building, I zipped on my leather jacket and started to head around back to the Savage.

  “Yo, Bliss. Wait.”

  Rae slammed her trailer door and joined me by our communal garbage can.

  “Rae. I thought you were staying with your sister in Owen Sound?”

  “I was, but Suze and Jason, her husband, got into a huge fight, so I got the heck out of there. I figured it was safer here, know what I mean? I got back late last night.” Rae pulled a pink knapsack slowly over one shoulder. Under the heavy coating of foundation, the bruises were still puffy, but she looked much better than two nights ago.

  “Do they have any children?”

  “Who, my sister? Not yet, but they’re trying.”

  “Are you going to the pool to teach a class, now?”

  “That’s it, girlfriend. As long as I’m back, and still out of commission, I might as well pick up some extra money at the community centre. The water helps ease the muscle soreness, too.”

  “Listen, Rae, I don’t want to scare you, but have you heard the bear outside your trailer at night?”

  “Bear? I’ve heard something, snapping noises, like that. And twice I heard a high-pitched howl. I was thinking there’s a coyote out back. But coyotes won’t hurt you. They usually run away when faced by a human.”

  “A coyote.” I considered that. Possible. “I hope you’re right, Rae. I haven’t heard the howling, but I’ve seen green eyes watching me at night when I come home, and there’s the smell too.”

  “Smell?” She turned her nose to the wind and sniffed. “Oh, you mean, like that?”

  “What?”

  But now I detected it, too; the earthy stench of a primitive creature. I stepped closer to Rae and we scanned the trees. Then we heard a low growling.

  Rae dropped her knapsack and picked up a hefty stick. She started toward the woods and I tugged on her arm.

  “Rae, wait. What are you doing? You don’t know it’s a coyote. It could be a wolf, or a bear even. We better call someone.”

  “Who are we going to call, Bliss? The police? Do you really want them poking around Ewan and Sarah? Or Snake? With us right in the middle?”

  That had been my argument for not calling the police before, and now that I knew Redfern was crooked, I was even less eager to call 911.

  “We can contact the Ministry of Natural Resources,” I told her, fumbling for my phone.

  “As soon as we see what it is, we’ll call them. They won’t come unless there’s a confirmed sighting. I’ll try to get a picture of it with my cell. I don’t mind going alone. You wait here.”

  “Just let me get a stick, Rae. I’ll come with you.” I couldn’t let Rae become a dead hero on her own. But goddamn.

  Picking up a stick, I followed her onto the trail. Halfway through the woods, she stopped and held up her hand. We listened but heard no further growling. The animal reek, however, was stronger.

  “This way,” Rae whispered and headed off-trail into the trees. The woods were thick and dark as dusk.

  Rae stopped, and I slammed into her back.

  “There he is,” she whispered, and by her movements I figured she was reaching for her cellphone. Since she was four or five inches taller than me and standing between two sturdy tree trunks, I couldn’t see over or around her.

  I ducked under her arm. “Where? And why are we whispering? Don’t we want to scare him away?”

  “Not until I get a couple of pictures. Here, hold my stick.”

  Peachy, now I had two sticks. Some protection. I was content enough to take a subordinate role in this safari, since the world of nature was not my area of expertise, and Rae seemed to know what she was doing.

  “I still can’t see it,” I whispered. Was it a bear, or was it a wolf, that’s all we needed to know, and, yes, a picture would be nice, but getting the hell out of the woods would be nicer. I hoped it was a wolf, since they couldn’t climb trees like bears. But, looking up to the lowest branch, I realized it didn’t matter. No way could either of us shinny up one of those pines to reach a branch growing well above our heads.

  “It’s right there. Just a couple of shots and we can chase it away with our sticks. To sort of discourage him from trespassing on our turf.”

 
; In the sudden flash that followed, the creature was outlined in white light, not fifteen yards away. The eyes glowed yellow, then green, and still glowed when the flash faded.

  Rae’s cell flashed again, and this time the animal uttered a menacing sound from low in its throat. By the third flash, I knew this wasn’t a bear. I didn’t know how big wolves were in relation to coyotes. If it was a coyote, it was a big one and a mean one. The bottom half of its face was black, and it turned to face us.

  “Okay, give me back my stick. Now we chase it away.”

  Rae uttered a high-pitched shriek. I almost dropped my stick, stunned by the unearthly sound. She stepped forward into battle, stick held in both hands over her head. I was beginning to think she was crazy, but I followed her anyway, proving I was the crazy one.

  We moved ahead, her in front, me trying to edge around her body in the tight space. We waved our sticks in front of us, advancing on the wolf like a skimpy army.

  We were less than ten feet from the creature when I tugged on Rae’s tee-shirt to stop her.

  “Wait, Rae. It’s not backing away, and that’s blood on its mouth. It’s eating something. Move back!”

  “Probably a deer.” But she stopped and lowered her stick slightly.

  I stepped up beside Rae and for several seconds we faced down the beast. We were close enough that, even in the gloom, we could see its dripping maw move menacingly and hear its deep-throated snarls.

  I dared a quick glance at the creature’s feed. The motionless heap was half-hidden behind several trees.

  “That’s no deer,” I screamed at Rae. “It’s wearing a plaid shirt.”

  Chapter

  TWENTY-TWO

  Rae tried to take a deep breath, but it turned into a gurgle in her throat. She dropped like a rock, pulling me to the ground. I fell on my skinny stick and heard it snap into two equally useless pieces.

  Fuck. I sprang to my feet and tore Rae’s stick from her limp fingers. When I looked up, the beast had advanced several feet. Rage poured from its primitive eyes. Its blood-stained jaws snapped once, and again. The stench emanating from its matted fur did as much to strike me numb with fear as its menacing stance. The lips curled back on fangs drenched with gore.