Читать книгу Cornwall and Redfern Mysteries 2-Book Bundle - Gloria Ferris - Страница 18

Tuesday I got fired.

Allison Seymour, the town librarian, interrupted her vacation to come in and hand me a letter. The board regretted that, due to financial constraints, they were forced to cut back part-time staff.

“I’m really sorry about this, Bliss. Walt Sheffield dropped this off at my place last night and directed me to give it to you this morning. I didn’t know anything about it, honestly.”

Walt was the Library Board head and a major butt-kisser. I saw the Weasel’s hand all over this. As the mayor, Mike would only need to put a word in Walt’s ear and, poof, one troublesome ex-wife gone. Andrea was on the board, too. It was a wonder it hadn’t happened sooner.

“Listen, Bliss, you have two weeks’ notice, so that will give you time to find another job. I’ll give you an excellent reference, and you can take time off for interviews if you want.”

I could have fought it. I had seniority, but who would I complain to? Certainly not the municipal leaders. The Ministry of Labour? If the paperwork didn’t kill me, the phone bills would.

I thought about options. There were none. Finally, I said, “I think, Allison, instead of putting in the two weeks, I’ll just leave now. I’ll start job-hunting immediately.”

“Wait, but Bliss! You have to stay for two weeks. I’m on vacation and so is Cheryl. Bailey can’t cover the library alone.”

I opened my desk drawer and looked in. Funny, there was nothing personal in it, not a photograph, not a lipstick, or a Band-Aid. I closed it again. Picking up my purse, I walked toward the coat room where I gathered up my boots and jacket. Allison followed me, wringing her hands.

“Bliss, you know that if you leave now, the board won’t give you any severance pay.”

I said to Allison. “I won’t get any severance at the end of two weeks either. I believe the library owes me for last week, yesterday, and three hours for today. You can mail it to me.”

In the parking lot, I was snapping on my helmet when a tall shadow blocked out the sun. I looked up to see Thea Vanderbloom, cap tucked under her arm and mirrored sunglasses folded into her breast pocket. Without the glasses, I could see she had pretty eyes, dark grey, with thick, curled lashes.

“Hey, Moonbeam, where are you off to?”

“No place in particular. I’ve just been fired.” For some reason, I handed her the letter and removed my helmet again. My head felt like it was going to explode. Maybe from anger, maybe from fear, I couldn’t tell.

“That’s cold. I suppose the mayor is behind it.” She handed back the letter while I looked at her in surprise.

“No doubt in my mind, but how did you know?”

“Hah! Everyone knows about what happened to you. Mike Bains is pretty slick. So where are you going, really?”

“I guess I’m as free as a bird, so if you’ve come to arrest me, I’ve nowhere else to be at the moment. Break out the handcuffs.”

Officer Vanderbloom slapped me on my bad shoulder so hard I almost flew over the seat of my bike. “I’ve met my arrest quota for the month. Since you aren’t doing anything, how about I buy you a cup of coffee?”

Why not?

“I’m here on a goodwill mission,” she said, once we were seated in a corner booth at the back of the Mason Jar Cafe, next door to the police station.

After the waitress laid our coffee cups on the table, I set to work opening two packets of sugar and three 18 percent creamers. I needed the calories. Officer Vanderbloom watched and, when I had finished stirring and took my first sip, she tried again.

“Are you with me, Moonbeam?”

“Oh, sure, sorry. What did you want to say, Officer Vanderbloom?”

“Call me Thea. Okay, Neil sent me on a, well, kind of diplomatic mission to smooth the waters with you.”

“Pardon?”

“Oh, brother, he’s such a guy sometimes. He thinks I’ll automatically know the right thing to say to another woman.”

I took another cautious sip of my coffee but found that, thanks to the three creamers, it was lukewarm.

I took a bigger swig. “I don’t think I follow you, Thea.”

“Okay, the heck with it. I’ll just say it in my own way, which is probably not subtle but will save time. Neil says that every time he tries to talk to you, you either puke on him or cry. Or yell. You have him on the run, so he sent me to say you aren’t a suspect in Julian Barnfeather’s death, and we don’t think you’re dealing drugs.”

“I don’t get it. How can you just arbitrarily decide I’m innocent?”

What?

“You’re losing it, Moonbeam. You don’t have to get it. Let’s just say that the police in this town know more than we let on. So, all you have to do is let us question you and answer to the best of your knowledge. Because of where you work, the cemetery I mean, and where you live, you probably know more than you think.”

The waitress refilled my cup. Thea waited patiently while I doctored my coffee again. This time, I only used two creamers.

“You want me to be your stooge?” I asked finally.

Thea pressed her full lips tightly together. “The word would be stoolie, if we even had such a thing, which we don’t. And we’re not asking you to be one. But I’m beginning to see what the chief means.”

“What’s he so sensitive about, anyway? Hasn’t he been thrown up on, or cried on, or yelled at before? He was a homicide cop in Toronto, wasn’t he? You’d think he’d be used to the earthier parts of the job.”

“He was on the drug squad, actually. So he knows his drugs, and knows there’s stuff going down in Lockport that needs to be stopped before this town becomes the Gateway to the North for drug trafficking.”

“The True North Strong and Stoned?”

“Nice one, Moonbeam, but yes, Lockport is perfectly situated. We’re just down-peninsula from Tobermory. Beyond that, the North is wide open.”

“Wait,” I said, “are we talking about things like meth or heroin?” I was thinking of Ewan Quigley. If ever there was a disreputable character, it would be Ewan, and he was up to something besides supplying Rae with reefers. What if he was into worse stuff than pot? I didn’t think he had enough room in his trailer for a meth lab, but he might have another location for the actual manufacturing. I hoped so, or else my innocent ass could be blown sky-high while I slept some night.

“Not specifically. Why, do you know something you need to tell me?”

“Of course not. But if you don’t tell me what you’re looking for, how will I know if I have relevant information?”

“Just answer our questions. And right now, I have only one for you. Have you ever seen anything unusual in the cemetery?”

“No, never. Redfern asked me that already. What kind of connection could there be between the cemetery and drugs?”

“Marijuana, Moonbeam. Marijuana. We are specifically concentrating on pot.”

I was confused, but at least she wasn’t asking about Hemp Hollow. I didn’t know how I could possibly steer the police to Ewan Quigley without mentioning seeing Pan dropping something off. A bag of money? Snitching on Pan would lead to Glory, then probably to Dougal, then directly to me.

“There’s no pot growing between the tombstones, that much I can tell you. I’ve groomed the whole place at one time or another, and there’s no pot.”

“Sheesh, Moonbeam, we know the stuff isn’t growing merrily among the epitaphs, at least not out in the open. But, as Neil told you, Julian Barnfeather had a marijuana leaf on his person, and it was fresh, so he came into contact with it shortly before he died.”

“Maybe he was smoking it and he dropped some.”

Thea shook her head. “Are you for real? You don’t smoke it right off the plant, you have to dry it first.”

“So what was a fresh leaf doing in Julian’s hair?”

Her hands balled into fists and she leaned into me. “That’s my question. Do you know the answer?”

I leaned away. Boy, she was getting as cranky as Redfern. “No, I don’t.”

“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.”