“The ‘S’ stamped on my forehead stands for short, not stupid, Mike. We can talk right here.”
“Maybe I no longer want the fucking property. I can come up with some reason not to donate the land, and nobody is going to listen to your lame fucking story.”
“Sure. Whatever you say. I have another offer on the property anyway. Let’s discuss the photo then. I hope you realize, Mike, that I’m not threatening or blackmailing you. I’m offering to return to you a precious memento of our past. I look incredibly hot in that photo, don’t you think? I suppose I could have it scanned first so we’ll both have a copy.”
“What do you mean you have another fucking offer on the property? From whom?”
“Can’t make that public just yet. We’re still in negotiations. You know how it is. Now, the other matter …” I can’t say I was exactly enjoying myself, and I wasn’t dumb enough to think Mike couldn’t lose it completely and attack me. But, for the first time in two years — even longer, since I had held no power in our marriage — I felt strong. Looking up into my ex-husband’s enraged face, I felt no fear. Even the F-word seemed to have fled my vocabulary for his.
A vein throbbed in the middle of his forehead, and I hoped he wouldn’t stroke out before we completed our negotiations.
“What do you want, Bliss?” His mouth formed into a tight bud, rather like the asshole of a weasel.
Capitulation? Not yet. I envisioned Mike’s razor-sharp mind running through options. I had to tread carefully. All I had to bargain with was an old photo of my ex-husband with a reefer in his mouth. If the photo went public — Facebook sprang to mind — my face would be out there too. Did I mind? Uh-uh. Would Mike? We’d see.
From Mike’s excessive use of the F-word, I was fairly certain he wasn’t taping our conversation. Still, I quickly reached out and patted his chest, pulling down the neck of his polo shirt to check inside.
“What the hell!” He shoved my hands aside like a Victorian maiden while I scanned the walls and ceiling for surveillance cameras. Paranoid? Maybe. But now was no time to get careless.
“Remember that figure I wrote on the piece of paper for you last Sunday? Well, add twenty thousand and we’ll call it a deal.” Geez, I hoped that was enough.
“And just what do I get for this fucking deal?”
“The satisfaction of knowing you’ve done the right thing, Mike.”
“So I’m supposed to just hand over five hundred and twenty thousand dollars to you?”
Whoa. Did I actually write a half a million dollars on that piece of paper? Serious money.
“You’re right, Mike, that’s just silly. Make it an even five hundred thousand and we’ll forget the twenty. That was a joke, but you aren’t laughing, so forget I even mentioned it.”
“You won’t get away with this, Bliss.”
“Blah blah blah, Mike. I’ve heard it all before, from you and from your wife. Here’s a card with my cell number in case you change your mind. Bye now.”
To my relief, he stalked back into his office without hurling me down the stairs. He took my card, though.
I remembered the twenty dollar bill that Garnet Maybe had given me the previous night after my yoga class. Lunch was on me. Until I checked my bank balance on Dougal’s computer, I didn’t want to make any withdrawals. Paying my taxes must have all but wiped me out, and in three weeks the rent was due on my trailer.
I had cast my bread and the tide better wash something up, fast.
Chapter
THIRTY-EIGHT
Timmy’s was busy with the lunch crowd, but I snagged one of the last tables. I had just taken the first bite out of my egg salad sandwich when I spotted Redfern at the order counter. I kept my head down and hoped he wouldn’t see me.
I shoved a large portion of my sandwich into my mouth just as Redfern plunked down a plastic tray on my table and dropped into the opposite seat.
“I’m glad to see you looking so perky after your ordeal yesterday, Cornwall.”
I swallowed my mouthful before it was thoroughly chewed and had to force it down with my scalding coffee. Redfern was poking at his bowl of chili with a plastic spoon and appeared not to notice my near expiration.
“’Tis a manly lunch,” I gasped, indicating the chili, “but you should have some vegetables with that.”
“Beans are vegetables. And don’t be taken in by my apparent disinterest. I was ready to jump in with the Heimlich if required, but you’ll understand my reluctance to appear to hit on you again.”
“It’s rude to keep your sunglasses on when speaking to someone. I can’t tell if you’re looking at me or scanning the room for Canada’s ten most wanted.”
“Oh, I’m looking at you. But you’re right, it is rude.”
He took off the shades and hooked them onto his breast pocket. Now that those eyes were fixed on me, I wished he would cover them up again.
“What are you staring at?” I asked. “Staring is rude, too.”
“I can’t win with you, can I, Cornwall? You have a piece of egg at the corner of your mouth. I’d wipe it off, but you’d probably bite my fingers and yell rape.”
I scrubbed furiously at my entire face with a paper napkin. Embarrassing memories of sitting on his lap surfaced. I had told him practically every detail of my life including how I played the Butterfly Queen in my kindergarten pageant. But I hadn’t told him about Jerry a.k.a. Fitzgerald Corwin. Why? Because he was a crooked cop? Something felt wrong, but I didn’t know what it was.
“Now you’re staring, Cornwall. Do I have chili on my face?”
Not a chance. I had never seen anyone eat a bowl of chili so neatly. “I was just wondering whether to thank you for sending Thea to cover my back today, or tell you to butt out.”
“I know which I’d prefer.”
“Well, forget it. Anyway, why are you here? You told me last night to get out of Dodge, I mean Hemp Hollow, and I have — for the moment, at least. So, what now?”
He wiped his completely clean lips with his napkin. “I see foreplay is over.”
Shocked, I looked around to see if anyone was within earshot.
“Don’t be such a prude, Cornwall. You can’t deny there’s something going on between us. Once I have a few matters settled, we’ll have to explore those possibilities.”
“What? What!” I sputtered.
“I finally figured out that bent thing. And the road to perdition you said I was on when you were high on Fern Brickle’s brownies. I’m not quite sure where all that’s coming from, but I guess I’ll have to convince you otherwise. Right now, though, we have to discuss Julian Barnfeather.”
Was this a good time to tell him I wasn’t attracted to fair-haired men who called me by my last name and talked openly about foreplay? I could feel the heat move up my ribcage and engulf my face. For two years I had been too busy to notice any man, and now, when I had more pots on the stove than burners to cook with, I had one hitting on me. Because I might be out of practice, but I recognized the vibes. Coming from him, that is, not me.
“Speechless, Cornwall? As I told you a few days ago, we’ve determined that Julian Barnfeather’s death was not murder, but death by misadventure. That means there was no deliberate intent to do harm.”
“You mean the Friends of the Settlers accidentally killed Julian? Did you find marijuana growing in the pioneers’ plot?”
He lowered his voice further, to the point where I had to lean closer to hear him. Our heads were almost touching.
“So you do know more than you said, Cornwall? How long have you known about the Friends?”
“Don’t go all conspiracy theory on me, Redfern. I just guessed. You didn’t answer me about the marijuana.”
“Keep your voice down. We shouldn’t be discussing this here, and I shouldn’t be telling you anything at all. But since it will be all over this gossipy town by tonight, yes, we found a healthy crop of marijuana growing in the old section of the cemetery. I have to give those people cre
dit, either for guts or stupidity, I haven’t decided yet. The surrounding coniferous trees are so thick, the only way they could grow the plants to maturity was to scatter them in the centre among the graves where the sun could get at them. This was only their second crop, and it still had a couple of months to go before it was ready for harvesting. Apparently, last year’s harvest didn’t yield very much and the brownies you consumed were part of the last of it.”
“I’m assuming you’ve uprooted the plants and burned them?”
He made an “are you nuts” noise in his throat. “The plants have been taken away to a disposal facility. Burning them would require a self-contained air supply to prevent the officers from being affected.” I remembered Dougal used that same excuse for not burning his crop in his backyard.
“The whole area is probably a real mess. Someone will have to clean it up, but I suppose the Cemetery Board won’t allow the Friends of the Settlers in there now,” I said. Even though half of the board were Friends.
“You bet your big brown eyes they won’t. I suppose that can be your job on Saturdays now that you have the rest of the cemetery in such good shape.”
“Hah! I’ve been fired from there, too, thanks to the Weasel. What’s going to happen to the Friends? I know they were growing marijuana for medical reasons, but since they weren’t licensed, you’ll have to charge them.”
“How do you know they were growing it for medical reasons?”
“Don’t be so suspicious, Redfern. I noticed that everyone visiting Fern the other day was either elderly or infirm in some way. Fern has severe arthritis, and Bob MacPherson is in chronic pain from his back injury. The others I didn’t know, but I’m guessing they have some medical problems, too.”
“One has multiple sclerosis, one has cancer. Most of them could have registered with the government and bought marijuana legally, but it’s a tedious process, and I think they decided that growing their own would be easier. But in a public cemetery?”
“What will happen to them?”
“I’ve passed the evidence to the Crown Attorney. He can decide whether to charge them or not. I’m guessing he’ll mull it over long enough to let public interest move on to some other topic, then bury it. Nobody wants to take sick old people to court. They weren’t trafficking.”
“But they did kill someone. What about Julian?”
“Well, now, Cornwall, that’s the most interesting part of this amateur crime spree.”
My cell rang. It was Dougal, naturally, and I mouthed “Gotta take this” at Redfern who impatiently surveyed the parking lot for litterbugs.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m at your beck and call as usual, and ready to do your bidding. I did not tell Chesley to go and see you, but we’re coming over at six. He has a proposition for you. I know you hate him, but he’s not a bad guy, and no, you can’t kick his ass. Just listen to him. Sure, if Thor’s pollen is ready we’ll postpone it, but you said midnight, so …”
Redfern was listening openly by this time. Dougal squawked for a few more minutes until I got tired of hearing his lunatic threats to throw both of us off his property if Chesley dared show his face again.
“Take a couple of pills and relax, why don’t you? We’ll be there at six.” I disconnected Dougal in mid-diatribe.
“This is the cousin you almost killed on your motorcycle Sunday night, I take it?”
“It was his fault the bike went over. Well, him and the skunk. If Dougal hadn’t moved around so much behind me, I could have kept my tires on the road.”
“You’re a regular Evel Knievel, Cornwall. Tell me, who is Thor and what is he pollinating?”
Ah well, the international statute of limitations on jungle plant theft probably expired years ago. “Thor is a flower and Dougal thinks it’s going to blossom tonight. Which means its pollen will be ready to pollinate another plant. Something like that. Dougal is a botanist.”
I smiled as innocently as possible at Redfern, knowing he would tell me if something was stuck in my teeth. At least that might distract him.
“I see. Can we get back to Julian Barnfeather now?”
“Right. Are you at liberty to tell me how he died?”
“Again, yes, since our investigation into his death is complete. You’re good at guessing. Care to give it a try?”
“Sure. Julian found out what was really growing in the Settlers’ Plot. He was pretty lazy, but he did walk around the cemetery once in a while. He wanted a share of the crop, either to sell or for his own use. One of the gang whacked Julian in the back of the knees with his cane, Julian went down, and they all jumped on him and he hit his head on a tombstone and died.”
Redfern looked at me, whether in appreciation or disbelief, I couldn’t tell.
“You were doing pretty well until the end there, Cornwall. Julian did find out and he did want a cut. There are some details I can’t share with you, but he shoved one of the group and was pushed back. A man of his size is top-heavy and his foot turned over on the uneven ground. He fell and, you were right about this part, he did strike his head on a tombstone.”
I looked him over for a few seconds. Sitting at a cozy corner table in Timmy’s, I had almost forgotten his involvement with Snake. Could I trust that what he said about anything was the truth? My instincts said yes, but my common sense told me to shut up and get the hell out of there. Curiosity won out.
“You told me Julian was hit on the top of his head. How could he have sustained an injury there if he fell backward onto a tombstone?”
“I said the wound was near the top of his head. We found hair and blood belonging to Mr. Barnfeather on a tombstone. We made a mould of the stone and compared it to the indentation on the skull. They match.”
I thought for a minute. “Those old stones are small compared to modern ones. Someone could have picked it up and bashed Julian over the head.”
Redfern had the audacity to laugh outright. “You should write for CSI, Cornwall. The stones in that area are cemented to a base. And not recently,” he added, as I opened my mouth to ask if the cement was fresh. “I don’t know why you’re so anxious to make a bunch of harmless seniors into ruthless murderers.”
“I’m not,” I protested. “I just want to make sure you covered every angle.”
“Your attention to detail would make you an asset to the force, Cornwall, but I’m afraid insubordination would get you fired the first time you spoke.”
“Ten-four, sir. But, however accidental, Julian’s death occurred during the execution of a crime. Doesn’t that mean it’s automatically manslaughter, at least?”
“Sometimes I forget I’m dealing with the ex-wife of a lawyer. Since I’m quite sure these people will never be charged with growing marijuana, no crime has been committed. Therefore, accidental death is what we have here. Now, just for fun, can you guess how Julian’s body travelled from the farthest side of the cemetery to the maintenance shed during the day when any number of people were in the area?”
I thought hard for a moment. Those frail seniors would not have been able to carry Julian’s enormous body all the way to the shed. Even if they could drag him, someone would have seen. Then I had it. It was really so simple.
I said to Redfern, “They have a gardening cart. It has a flat bed and is only about a foot from ground level. They were able to pull Julian’s body onto the cart. Then they covered him with a tarp and hauled the cart to the door of the shed. Someone acted as a lookout while the others rolled him inside. Why didn’t I think of that before?”
“I wish you had. It would have saved me days of speculation about how the body was moved.”
“How did you know about the Friends?”
“Let’s see. Got a list of names from the Cemetery Board of people who have access to the locked, fenced plot. Found marijuana growing in plot. Questioned names on list. All felt extremely guilty and confessed. Stories all match.”
“You’re a modern Sherlock Holmes, Redfern.”
“You’ve
mentioned that before, and you’re quite the little Watson yourself. But, I haven’t told you all this because I admire your sexy smile and killer cheekbones. The Over the Hill Gang caper is just a sidebar to the real drug crimes in this town.”
“You mean Hemp Hollow?” Again, where was my brain? As soon as I said those words, I wondered if I had some secret death wish. Redfern might be up to his elbows in whatever was going on in Hemp Hollow.
“Exactly. This is confidential, and I’m only telling you because somehow you seem to show up all over town at all the wrong times. I suspect Julian Barnfeather was involved in more than just minor extortion of senior citizens. That’s all I can say at this time, but stay away from the cemetery as well as Hemp Hollow for the next few days. Will you promise to do that?”
“Sure.” Tomorrow was Saturday, but I had been fired and wouldn’t be working at the cemetery anyway, so that promise was easy. As for Hemp Hollow, I might need some clothes later today, but I could be in and out in minutes. No need to even mention it.
“I hope you mean that.” He gave me another hard look, but I tossed him one of my killer smiles. Or, was that a sexy smile? Right, it was killer cheekbones and sexy smile.
Without another word, Redfern departed Timmy’s, and I watched as he pointed his cruiser toward town. I looked at my watch. Still a few hours to go before I refereed the reunion between Chesley and Dougal.
Chapter
THIRTY-NINE
Deep puddles dotted the overgrown lawns of the Barrister property. Last night’s storm had done little to flatten the wild grasses that flourished over the seven acres.
I imagined the property through the eyes of a developer. Front-end loaders and graders could clear the land in days. Bird River crossed the road under a crumbling cement bridge and bisected the north edge of the property, leaving plenty of room for greenhouses. I wasn’t sure about the house, though. It was in bad shape.
I crossed River Road to where century-old deciduous trees guarded the entrance to my swamp. As I slipped between the trunks, the place didn’t seem as gloomy as I remembered.
Corpse Flower: A Cornwall and Redfern Mystery Page 22
