“Okay, just for the record, Ms. Cornwall, did you see anyone approach the maintenance shed at the Good Shepherd Cemetery last Saturday at any time during the day?”
“No, I did not.”
She wrote in her notebook, then sat back.
“It must have been you that left a pink lip print on the back of the chief’s shirt yesterday.”
“It wasn’t my fault. He stopped without warning. How did you know it was me?”
“Elementary, my dear Moonbeam. I know he went across to the library to see you, and he came back with lipstick on him. And, you’re the right height.”
“Well, congratulations, Officer Vanderbloom, I believe you’re ready to sit for the sergeant’s exam.”
“Don’t be flip. The chief was not amused when one of the guys pointed out the lipstick and ventured a guess as to how it got there.”
“Well, too bad. I was hoping his wife would be the first to notice.”
“His wife died three years ago, before he left the Toronto force.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I hadn’t heard about that. Was it an accident?”
“She had a congenital heart defect that she didn’t know about. She got pregnant and for some reason just died in her sleep one night when she was three months along. I didn’t hear this from him, by the way. He never mentions her.”
“That’s horrible. No wonder he’s so … uh …” I searched for a more charitable word than I usually used when thinking of Chief Redfern.
“Rigid?” Thea drained her cup and gestured to the waitress for a refill. “I didn’t know him before, so I don’t know how, or if, he’s changed.”
“Well, you’d think he’d have a girlfriend by now. Somebody to mellow him out.”
She looked directly at me. “What about you? Have you found yourself another man to take your mind off your ex?”
“Hardly. Look at me. I’m one step from living on the street now that I’ve been fired from the library. Even if I wanted a man, which I sure as hell don’t, what man would want me?”
“Ah, Moonbeam, there are plenty of men around who would be interested if you’d just pull your head out of your butt and stop trying to get even with Mike Bains. Get on with your life, why don’t you?”
I was sick of being told what to do, and practically sputtered at her, “You haven’t heard the latest. Look at this.”
Opening my purse, I unfolded both the final notice of taxes and the article from that week’s Sentinel and shoved them across the table.
Thea might have been quick, but she wasn’t that quick. “What am I looking at here? An article about the mayor running for MP, which is no shock, and a tax notice from the Town of Lockport.”
“Read the part about Mike donating fifty acres of wetland to the province. And this notice is for a fifty-acre property I own down by the river.”
Now she got it. “Are you saying he’s donating your land? Maybe there’s another property. Although, if you don’t pay this by Friday, Bains could buy this piece of wetland before it goes to public auction.”
Thea folded up the papers and passed them back. Standing up and placing her cap perfectly straight on her head, she looked out the window at the street and said, “Moonbeam, it looks like you’re finally getting screwed again, but not in a good way.”
Chapter
FIFTEEN
For the first time in two years, I didn’t know what to do with myself. There was no place I had to be. It was too early to make my second trip of the day to take pictures of Glory’s gestating jungle monstrosity. And it was way too early for the yoga class I taught on Tuesday evenings at the Golden Goddess Spa.
Then I thought of something constructive to do. I should be calling prospective cleaning customers. Initially, I had been desperate to fill my empty Wednesdays with a paying job, so, playing a long shot, I responded to an ad placed in the Sentinel by Fern Brickle who required cleaning help four hours a week. Fern, well-to-do but not part of the country club set, had agreed to give me a week’s trial. To my surprise, and probably hers, I turned out to be superb at cleaning. Toilets I wasn’t so crazy about, but they came with the territory.
Glory heard about my success at Fern’s and, when her own cleaning lady quit on her, she begged me to step in. Despite her complaining, I knew Glory never had her house cleaned so thoroughly, but now I wasn’t sure if she wanted me back at all.
Allison must have been watching for me to return for my bike. As I zipped my jacket and tucked my hair into my helmet, she came sprinting down the steps to the parking lot.
“Wait, Bliss. Please, can I talk to you?”
Determined to stand firm, I waited for her to reach me.
“Bliss, I called the board, and they agreed to keep you on till the end of the month. That should give you more time to line up something else.”
I seriously considered it. I would be crazy not to. Continuing to work a few more weeks at the library would give me a chance to resolve some key issues without worrying so much about money, issues like pollinating two giant plants, finding another place to live, extricating myself from marijuana purgatory, screwing the Weasel right back … Actually, these issues were so pressing, I didn’t have time to work at the library.
I hopped on my bike and called to Allison over my shoulder, “Gotta go. Oh, and thanks for the offer, Allison, but I’ve made other plans.”
It was peaceful and quiet at the back of my trailer, but I couldn’t shake a feeling of unease. There was no smell of four-legged carnivore and no sinister rustlings in the underbrush. I was fishing at the bottom of my purse for my key when I emerged from the shade of the trees into the bright sunlight of the courtyard. A sense of being watched forced my eyes upward from the key in my hand.
Snake was staring at me. He wore his dusty leathers and chains, with a skull-patterned do-rag wrapped around shoulder-length, greasy black curls. I froze for a second, then darted up the two steps to my door and tried to open the lock. My fingers wouldn’t grip the key and I dropped it twice onto the platform porch. I looked behind, but Snake hadn’t made a move in my direction. Neither had he taken a step back. Finally, on my third try, I jammed the key home.
Locked inside, I watched through the narrow slit in the curtain as Snake opened the Quigleys’ door without knocking. He looked up once toward my trailer before closing the door. God, where was Rae? Should I check on her? No, I didn’t think Rae was in immediate physical danger from Snake. But I could be. Who knew what was going on in that shack built onto the back of the Quigleys’ trailer?
With the baseball bat securely between my knees, I sat on my worn bench and contemplated the bottle of wine tempting me from the counter. I looked at my watch and sighed. Pretty soon I had to do the ugly plant run, then I was due at the spa. I wasn’t looking forward to returning to the trailer after dark tonight.
With fingers still shaking, I pawed through the junk drawer again until I located the list of potential cleaning customers. Within the hour, I had booked two clients for Fridays, starting next week. The rest of the list had found alternate cleaning help but would keep me in mind if circumstances changed. Two phone calls went unanswered and I left messages.
A stomach rumble sent me to the fridge. Empty. Not even a cracker. Simon probably had more crumbs in his cage than I did in my whole trailer. I perked up when I remembered the stacked cans in my cupboard.
Somehow I had to find work for Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. Suddenly, my hasty decision to walk away from the library before the end of the month didn’t seem like such a smart move.
I turned over one of the