Shroud of Roses. Gloria Ferris

shot, Chief?”

      “Seems that way. The autopsy will determine any pressure bruising from fingers, but I don’t think anyone would bother to drop her over when she was obviously dead from the bullet to the forehead.”

      Bernie turned into the hospital’s freshly ploughed and sanded parking lot. They parked, then stepped out of the car, a cold wind from the west, off the lake, blowing loose snow and sand into their faces.

      Neil glanced up at the building. His wedding anniversary was coming up. He and Debbie had been married on December 23, thinking it romantic. She had teased him he would have a hard time forgetting a date so close to Christmas. He shook off the black memories that engulfed him. Hospitals always generated a feeling of depression in him.

      Bernie stomped through the automatic emergency doors ahead of him. “Whoa.” He grabbed Neil’s arm and pointed.

      Neil had spotted them already. Bliss sat on an orange plastic couch and held a bloody wad of tissues to her nose. A man wearing a red parka leaned over her, his arm draped across her shoulders. A mane of dark curly hair hid his face from view, but he seemed familiar.

      Neil strode over to the pair. “Cornwall! What happened to you?”

      The curly-haired man yanked his arm away. Glasses encircled his alarmed, round eyes. Bliss pulled the tissues away from her face. Her nose was puffy and small scratches criss-crossed her upper lip and cheeks.

      “Hey, Chief. Hi, Bernie! Nice of you boys to check on me, but I just took a tumble in the parking lot at Canadian Tire. Somehow, my face got mashed into the ice. The ambulance swept me up along with another victim of Chico’s safety violation. The doctor twisted my nose and said it wasn’t broken. Then he threw a box of tissues at me. Apparently, I was bleeding on the floor. I’m supposed to stay here until it stops.” She sounded like she had a bad cold.

      Bernie blinked and opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again after catching Neil’s warning glance. Bliss was slightly battered, but essentially fine. She was wearing high-heeled boots, but Neil knew better than to comment on their impracticality. Instead, he turned his attention to the guilty-looking man. “And you are?”

      Bliss answered for him. “This is Chico Leeds. We went to school together. He owns Canadian Tire now.”

      Charles Leeds: another face from the yearbook.

      “I’m married.” Chico’s face reddened and he shifted as far from Bliss as he could get without actually moving to another couch.

      “And you have three kids. Nobody cares, Chico.” Bliss caught a drop of blood escaping from her right nostril. “Listen, Chief. The other victim is none other than Mr. Archman, our old high school math teacher. Since you’re already here, this would be a perfect time to interview him about the graduation dance. I think his arm is broken, but he doesn’t appear to have a concussion.”

      Neil’s mouth opened and closed again without any words coming out. Bernie snickered under his breath and Neil whipped his head around. “Go and ask about Mr. Archman’s status, Bernie.”

      Bernie sauntered off, still chuckling. Bliss watched him leave, then mouthed the word sorry. She had trouble with boundaries, and they needed to have a talk. Another one. The entire force considered him whipped, and they weren’t exactly wrong.