Читать книгу Shroud of Roses - Gloria Ferris - Страница 9

The wind off the lake drove the snow straight at my windshield, so I stuck to the speed limit on the highway, more or less. A cop stood beside his snow-covered cruiser, but when he pointed the radar gun at me, I noticed that, for once, it wasn’t Dwayne. I gave him a friendly wave as I passed.

A second squad car slipped out of the next concession road and pulled onto the highway behind me. Lights whirled but no siren shrieked, so I kept driving. A few seconds later, the siren wailed.

Thinking the cruiser was in hot pursuit of a speeder, I steered my Matrix to the shoulder to let it by. It pulled up in front of me. Dorky Dwayne stepped out wearing his stupid fur hat, ear flaps dangling.

I rolled my window down partway. “If you’re collecting for the policemen’s ball, Dwayne, I give at home. Frequently.”

“You were picked up on radar, Bliss. Speeding.”

“I was not speeding!”

“You were going eighty-eight in an eighty.”

“You want to go to court on this one, Dwayne? The judge will fine you for wasting his time.” An SUV flew by us, going at least a buck ten. And it didn’t even move to the far lane as it passed.

“I’m not giving you a ticket. The Chief says we’re to warn people to slow down because he doesn’t want any accidents today. First snow days are always the worst.”

“I know that, Dwayne. Unlike you, I’ve lived here all my life. Okay, consider me warned.” I glanced in my rear-view mirror and screamed, “Look out!”

Dwayne flattened himself against my open window just as an eighteen-wheeler roared by, moving over at the last second. An avalanche of dirty snow and sand slammed against the side of my car. Dwayne glared after the truck’s tail lights and mumbled into his radio. The backs of his coat, pants, and hat were covered in brown mush.

The idiot had a death wish. “That was a little too close, Dwayne. Maybe you shouldn’t stand on the highway. I’m duly warned, so can we wrap this up?”

“I need your driver’s licence and proof of insurance first.”

“For what?”

“For my report.”

I was going to be late for the meeting, and the Demented Duchess would be in fine voice. We tried not to make Glory screech in the greenhouse. The acres of tempered glass over our heads was stronger than regular glass, and could supposedly withstand the sound waves only dogs can hear, but we didn’t want to test it.

I handed over my documents and watched Dwayne scrutinize them closely for expired dates or a fraudulent address.

“How’s the investigation going this morning?”

“Which one would that be, Bliss?”

“How many bodies turned up in your jurisdiction yesterday?” Moron.

“Only one yesterday. Another one today.” He jerked his head up and closed his lips tightly, but once uttered, you can’t return words to the brain, as most of us have learned the hard way.

I stuck my head out the window. “There’s another skeleton? In the high school?”

“Not at the high school, and not bones, either. Here.” He dropped my licence and insurance papers in my lap and walked away. I rolled my window all the way down and called after him, “Is it anyone I know?”

“Probably,” he said over his shoulder. “You know everyone in the county.”

He made an illegal U-turn on the highway and zoomed off.

Just for the hell of it, I did a hundred and change on the highway and made the right turn onto Concession 10 without due care and attention. My back end slid around the corner and the Matrix did a one-eighty, forcing me to perform a U-turn to get back on track. I skidded more slowly onto River Road, but floored it again when I reached the parking lot at the greenhouse. With some fancy hand-over-hand steering and expert braking, I managed to come to a perfect landing between Glory’s brand-new Land Rover (the Corvette spends winters in its own heated garage) and Dougal’s almost-as-new Lexus. Rae’s battered green Echo stood in lonely exile at the far edge of the lot, accumulating a layer of lake-effect snow.

The greenhouse was the Lockport Division of the Belcourt Greenhouse Corporation. It sounded much grander than it actually was, although it was the largest greenhouse structure in the tri-county area — that would be Bruce, Grey, and Huron Counties. The Belcourts assured me it was bigger than their other two greenhouses in St. Catharines and Niagara Falls. Big yawn.

When I first saw the high expanse of endless ceiling overhead, I was sure Dougal, a recovering agoraphobic, would be conducting business from under his desk, if not from home. He had whimpered relentlessly until Ivy Belcourt allowed the contractors to install a false ceiling of some light-filtering opaque glass over the office cubicles. Now, he was here every day, all day long.

I kicked my boots free of snow at the door and shed my coat in the humid anteroom. I heard the sounds of battle even before I opened the door to the foyer.

The grand foyer showcased the two monster Titan arums, now in dormancy, which belonged to Glory and Dougal, as well as other exotic plants in full bloom. I halted in the doorway.

Glory and Dougal faced off. Simon, Dougal’s African grey parrot, was perched on a nearby table, shifting from foot to foot. On Friday, the six-inch pots on the table had been filled with flamboyant petals in off-white with pink and yellow spots. Now the pots held only green stalks and a few thick leaves. A layer of colourful petals covered the floor. Rae flattened herself against the wall and edged toward the door to the plant rooms. She caught sight of me and her expression begged me to help extricate her from ground zero.

I pulled my cell out and took a few shots, one of Glory’s wide-open mouth, her face as red as her hair. She was hitting some new heights decibel-wise. If the greenhouse didn’t shatter now, it could withstand anything, including the earthquakes and tidal waves that accompany a polar shift.

“You can’t blame Simon for everything that happens around here.” Dougal’s mouth thinned into a mutinous slit.

Glory was uncharacteristically profane. “He ate the fucking alpinias!”

The Apocalypse was nigh. I captured a shot of Glory’s eyeballs turning red, a sure sign the Four Horsemen were saddling up. “The Alpinia zerumbet variegata,” she snarled, raising her red-tipped claws into attack position.

The hell with it. I engaged the video and audio features. This opportunity might never come again.

Simon showed no signs of remorse. Now perched on Dougal’s shoulder, he fastened his beady eyes on Glory. If he was trying to appear innocent, he should have spit out the petal hanging from his beak. I moved the phone around the room to capture everything. Maybe this would go viral on YouTube.

“He’s destroying our entire inventory.” Glory used her taloned finger to prod Dougal in the chest. “I vote we take him out in the woods and leave him for the coyotes.”

“That won’t work.” Dougal was standing up to his ex-wife’s assault pretty well, considering she scared the shit out of him. “Simon could outrun a coyote. He could probably outrun a whole pack of coyotes.”

Even I knew that was bullshit.

“Not if his legs are tied together and he’s tethered to a rock,” Glory shrilled. “What’s the use of trying to operate this business if that stupid bird eats the stock before we can ship it out?”

“He doesn’t eat it! He likes the pretty colours of the blossoms and plays with them.”

“Well then, let’s feed him some pretty, toxic plants!”

It was time for a note of reason, before Glory shoved Dougal through the glass wall and the entire structure collapsed on our heads. I said, “Maybe we should call in the big gun. Phone Ivy in Arizona and talk to her about Simon.”

At the mention of Ivy Belcourt, Glory’s mouth upturned into an evil Grinch grin.

“Good idea, Bliss. I’ll email Ivy pictures of the alpinias, and the empty spot in the shade room where the Hoya carnosas used to be.” Ivy had fled south for the winter, but she was capable of tuning up any of the combatants by phone, including Simon.

“I am not pleased,” Glory stated, lowering her nails an inch. “I can’t work like this. If you don’t take Simon home, Dougal, I’m going to sell my interest in this business. It’s the bird or me. Take your pick.”

Before Dougal could pick, and I’m pretty sure I knew which way he’d go, a short man with gelled black hair and agate eyes stuck his head in. “Shall I set the sandwiches out in this … room, Miss Glory?”

A laden tray preceded him as he took a few tentative steps. He wore black cotton pants and white tunic. His tan Sorel boots reached his knees.

“Pan! What are you doing here? Are you a chauffeur now?” I had never seen him in the greenhouse before, or anywhere other than Glory’s mansion, except once outside the local pot dealer’s trailer. And that had nothing to do with me. At the time, I lived next door to the local pot dealer and couldn’t avoid seeing his customers.

Pan was Glory’s houseboy. He didn’t cook, since she seldom ate, and he never did housework, since my cleaning company, Bliss This House, cleaned Glory’s Tudor-style mansion once a week. Other than answering the door, refilling her wineglass, and dodging the missiles she flung during her frequent fits, it was anybody’s guess what he did with his time.

Pan’s interruption sidetracked Glory’s preoccupation with bird-icide. She gave a derisive snort. “Somebody has to serve the sandwiches. Pan, you can take the tray through to the prospective garden room. The meeting will start momentarily.”

Pan scurried away. He had no idea where he was going, but looked happy to escape.

I was confused for a different reason. And suspicious. Glory lived on protein shakes and white wine at home, and she never brought any food to work. I opened the door to the corridor and was hit in the face by air even more humid than in the foyer.

“Hey, Pan. Wait up. Do you know what the meeting is about? And did you bring any booze?”

“It’s not even noon.”

“If things go bad, could you slip me some Riesling in a water glass?”

“I would if I had some. You’re very amusing, Bliss. Regarding the reason for this meeting, well …” He mimed hanging himself with a noose.

I led the way to a long room at the back, home of the future tropical garden. Plans included a waterfall and pond with accompanying bridge, and stone benches to sit on and contemplate the sodden flora. I heard talk of fish for the pond and maybe a few tropical birds as playmates for Simon. Good times ahead.

For now, the upcoming Garden of Eden contained a long table and a half-dozen lawn chairs. We used it as our lunchroom, and it was pleasant to wear sunglasses and a T-shirt and pretend it wasn’t -8°C outside. And that was back in November.

Pan pulled napkins, paper plates, and Tupperware containers of pickles and cookies from the cloth bag slung around his neck. Before I could eat more than a sandwich or two, the others came in. All were unbloodied, even Simon.

Dougal immediately took off his shoes, socks, and shirt, and rolled up his pants. He filled a plate and sank back in a lounger. I was impressed that a former agoraphobic could sit in such a vast space, look upward at the endless ceiling, and appear so relaxed. I took a closer look at him. Yeah, tranqu’ed. Who could blame him?

Rae chose a low-slung sand chair, which left her with her knees up around her ears. She realized her mistake and attempted to get up. After several tries, she rolled off onto the floor and stayed there, legs folded lotus-style.

Pan hauled a chair to the farthest corner of the room and sat down, ready to hop up and fetch something if the Mistress of Mayhem should beckon. She rested a hip on the table and tapped a fingernail on the ever-present clipboard.

“Everyone sit down. I don’t want to be here all day.” She flung her titian hair back and picked up a pen from the table. I started to worry. St. Patrick’s Day was less than four months off, and I sensed another parade on the horizon. Elves and leprechauns are related, aren’t they?

Glory clapped her hands for order, even though the rest of us hadn’t uttered a word. “Okay, everyone. First item: yesterday’s parade.”

We groaned. Outside, the storm picked up and hurled tiny ice pellets against the glass. Surely Ivy’s architect had taken Bruce County winters into account when he drew up the greenhouse plans.

Glory’s lips smiled at us. “Parade collection was a success! I had a look at our stock earlier this morning, and I believe the food bank can feed our needy families through Christmas. Seventeen grocery carts filled with food. Let’s give our Cat in the Hat a hand.”

Rae and I gave Dougal a round of applause. Far from looking pleased or embarrassed at the accolade, Dougal eyed the door and put on his socks. He knew something bad was coming.

“Everyone did a fabulous job yesterday.” Glory turned to Rae and widened her smile fractionally. “But what happened to the other chipmunks? I only saw one.”

Rae licked her lips. “I asked Dwayne Rundell and Thea Vanderbloom to do it, but at the last minute Dwayne said he had to drive the police car in the parade and Thea got called in to work. I didn’t have time to find anyone else.”

“I’d have been a chipmunk,” I said.

I shouldn’t have opened my big mouth.

A tinge of red appeared in Glory’s eyes. “We needed an elf, Bliss. And you’re short. However, this might be a good time to mention that I received quite a few complaints about you. Did you throw candy canes at a group of teenaged boys?”

“They laughed at my bells.”

“And did you knock Andrea Bains’s hat off?”

“Lucky shot.”

“Next time, you’ll hand out leaflets.”

“Next time, I’ll kill myself first.” I ate another sandwich and turned my head to stare out at the snow-covered trees. According to legend, if you looked into Glory’s eyes during their crimson phase, you turned into a zombie. I never chanced it.

It seemed like a good idea to change the subject, though. “Hey, did you guys hear about the skeleton in the old high school?”

Dougal straightened up and rolled down his pant legs. “It was all over CTV News last night. I’ll be surprised if they don’t find worse things when they tear the building down. Like asbestos.” He put on his boots.

“I heard it on the news this morning, too,” Rae said. “I wonder if a homeless person crawled in there for warmth, and just died. It’s so sad.”

Redfern had made me promise not to speculate on the identity of the skeleton, and I didn’t want to mention a second body in case Dwayne had pulled that one out of his ass.

Glory slammed her clipboard against the table. Her pen flew off into a corner, missing Simon’s tail feathers by a hair. The parrot shot her a look of hatred, but wisely kept his beak shut.

“It’s a terrible thing, but can we get back to business? We have another item to discuss. We’re going to have a Christmas open house and sale, here at the greenhouse. On December 14.”

Dougal wasn’t as drugged as he looked. “Not happening. That’s two weeks from yesterday. We can’t organize a show and sale in such a short time!” He struggled into his shirt.

Rae’s round blue eyes widened even more. “But, Glory, we don’t sell poinsettias or other seasonal plants.”

Glory waved Rae’s objections aside, and totally ignored Dougal’s. “If people want seasonal plants, they can buy them at the grocery store or local flower shops. We’ll sell exotics, of course. Fortunately, we have a surplus at the moment. And I’ve already spoken to Ivy. She thinks it’s a wonderful idea. So, we’re doing it.”

Dougal’s testosterone spiked, causing his mouth to malfunction. “Who put you in charge?”

Glory and Dougal were home-grown Lockportals. They hated each other growing up, much like now, but something extraordinary happened when they went to university to study plant science. They fell in love, or whatever that was. Personally, I believe all the pollinating — and field trips into the bush — screwed up their hormones. It lasted long enough for them to graduate, take a European holiday with classmate Chesley Belcourt, and get married.

Now, they were divorced and minority shareholders in the Belcourts’ Bruce County greenhouse enterprise. That’s minority shareholders. No reason for either of them to show up every day. Or any day.

Glory loomed over Dougal. “Ivy did, you useless worm. I’m in charge of this fundraiser.”

“Fundraiser? Didn’t we just do that?” Dougal bounced his chair back a few feet and struggled to his feet. “Anyway, I’m too busy to get involved with anything you’re in charge of.”

Dangling a preposition was a sure sign of fear, and Glory knew it. She lifted a high-heeled boot and shoved him in the chest. He fell back down again. “I guess you weren’t listening. The food bank will be empty before the New Year. The admittance fee to the event will be a food item. And cash only for plant sales, no guarantees since most people will kill the plants before Valentine’s Day. All proceeds to the food bank. Understand?”

We did.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t done. “You will all wear an appropriate costume …”

“I’m not wearing that Cat costume again. It’s too hot in here.” Dougal sat in his chair, crossed his arms, and looked defiant. But we all knew he was as beaten as the rest of us.

Rae’s lip trembled. “And Glory, I can’t wear the chipmunk costume either. I’ll sweat to death.”

I figured it was now or never. “And I’m not dressing like an elf. Ever again.”

“Fine! You people are selfish to the core. I will leave choice of costume to your discretion. But remember, nothing frightening to children, like witches or zombies. And no stupid robots or superheroes. Got it? As the dumbass here has pointed out, we have less than two weeks to pull this together, and all of you will help. Take a copy of this list, and I don’t want to hear any complaints about the work assignments. And no trading tasks either.”

I didn’t care if it was barely noon, I was going to have a glass of wine, maybe two, any colour, when I got home.

Rae squirmed like people do when their phone vibrates in their pants. She got up and walked to the window before pulling it out.

Dougal and I reluctantly took a list from Glory. My job didn’t look too bad. I could accomplish it in one morning. Dougal glowered at his ex-wife but didn’t open his mouth again. He stuffed the paper in his pocket without glancing at it and started for the door.

I heard a sound from Rae, and turned toward the glass wall. She stared at me and tried to speak. Her legs gave out and she sank heavily to the floor.

I dropped down beside her. “What’s wrong, Rae? What’s happened?”

She clutched at me. “It’s Sophie. She’s dead!”

“Sophie who?” I knew a couple of Sophies.

“Sophie Quantz. She fell from the choir loft this morning or last night. Nobody knows for sure.”

Dougal postponed his dash to freedom. “She runs the Step Dancing Academy in town, right?”

“No, you’re thinking of Sasha Gillhouse,” I said.

Glory addressed her ex-husband. “Idiot. She used to be Sophie Wingman. You went out with her in grade twelve, remember? She was only a kid in grade ten then. Now she’s an Episcopal priest at St. Paul’s.”

“Oh, that Sophie,” he said. “I barely remember her.”

“She was in my class,” I said. “After graduation, she went to a university out east, then to Divinity College. I haven’t spoken to her since graduation …”

Graduation. Well, shit.

I pulled my phone out of my purse.