Shroud of Roses. Gloria Ferris
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So, Reverend Quantz may have come in that way last night. And possibly her assailant. There’s another door from the walk-up basement. It’s locked from the outside and barred from the inside. I think it used to be an old coal cellar, but doesn’t look like anyone’s been down there for years.”
Neil stepped aside. “You two get back to the station and start processing the evidence for transfer to the CFS in Toronto. I’m going to arrange for the church to be secured. We might have to take another run-through tomorrow.”
By the time two more officers arrived, it was fully dark. “These outer doors aren’t locked and we don’t have the key yet. Put some tape across and make sure no one goes in.”
His phone rang as he climbed into his vehicle: Cornwall. Maybe she wanted him to answer another robbery call. That was going to have to wait. Sunday or not, he had two deaths to investigate.
“Hi, Cornwall. I can’t talk right now. An incident …”
“I know all about it. Reverend Sophie Quantz died in her church. Do you know who she is?”
“You mean other than the priest at St. Paul’s?”
“Yeah, other than that. Her maiden name is Wingman.”
“I don’t see…. Wait, wasn’t she in your graduation class?”
“Congrats, you aren’t as blond as you look, Redfern. Yesterday, you discover the body of someone who shall remain nameless for the moment, but could be a member of the last graduating class of the old Lockport High. Today, another grad dies. I believe in the occasional coincidence, but this looks more like cause and effect.”
Neil thought so, too. The trouble was, Cornwall had a talent for adding two and two, getting to four, but causing a lot of trouble on the way. “Keep this theory to yourself for now, okay? We can talk as soon as I take care of a few things. Where will you be?”
“At home, waiting for you, cutie. I’ll even make you dinner. Bring the yearbook.”
She rang off and Neil drove to the station. His stomach lining gnawed itself and acid splashed into his throat. Cornwall’s cooking was a hit-and-miss challenge. He preferred to barbecue a steak while she emptied a ready-made salad into a bowl. And if he read the signs correctly, she thought she would be helping him with the murder investigations.
He asked Lavinia to connect him with the Ontario Provincial Police headquarters in London.
CHAPTER
eight
I was well into my second drink when Redfern finally showed up.
“Close the door, will you? You’re letting all the heat out.” I sucked up the cherry at the bottom of my glass and stabbed a mandarin orange slice with the point of my wee umbrella.
“Why are you wearing a bathing suit and eating a fruit salad from a margarita glass?” He hung his outer layer of clothing on a hook by the door and loosened his tie. “Christ, it’s hot in here.”
“This is a special, vitamin-packed margarita. I cranked the heat to twenty-five, so you better divest yourself of some more clothes. Just a suggestion, I’m not trying to be bossy.” I tied the strings of my sheer black cover-up into a neat bow and padded into the kitchen to turn the broiler on.
When I returned, Redfern was fiddling with the thermostat.
“Hey, leave that alone, copper. Nachos will be ready in a couple of minutes. Sit down and I’ll pour you a drink.”
He eyed the pitcher of margaritas like it had committed an indictable offence and he was preparing to whip out the handcuffs. “I’d rather have a beer.”
“Go get one, then. And check the nachos aren’t burning while you’re there. I’m going to be pretty wasted if I have to drink this whole pitcher by myself.”
He came back with a tray loaded with nachos, salsa, sour cream, and a frosty bottle of Molson Canadian. His hair was standing up in sweaty spikes and he shed another layer of clothes down to his underwear, but not before closing the drapes and locking the front door. Like anybody who wanted in wouldn’t go around to the kitchen door, or come through the garage.
“Where’s Rae?” He sank down beside me and picked up a napkin.
“In her bedroom. She’ll be out in a minute.” I laughed at his expression. “Kidding. She’s in Owen Sound again, staying overnight with one of her sisters.”
“You didn’t answer my first question. Why are we pretending it’s July and listening to steel band music? Which is quite loud, by the way.”
“That’s two questions. But I have one answer. I’m trying to forget about the first storm of the winter, with at least four months to go until spring. I’m feeling quite depressed.”
“Maybe we can take an island vacation in January or February. Would that help?”
A dollop of sour cream dripped onto my bare knee. I leaned over and lapped it up. “Don’t toy with me, Redfern.”
His gaze followed my tongue back to my mouth. “We’ll do it if you want, but right now I have a crime or two to solve.”
I ignored the napkins he handed me and licked the salsa off my forearm. The ice was melting in the pitcher and I topped up my glass, adding more fruit and a fresh umbrella. “So. Sophie Wingman. Murder?”
“Perhaps.”
I snorted. “Sure. Pull the other one, Redfern.”
“If you were on the job, I might tell you that, at this time, murder is probable.”
“I may not be on the job, but I bet I know more about this town and its citizens than your exclusive little club.”
“I don’t doubt that, Cornwall.”
“What are your reservations, then, about giving me more details?”
“I can’t allow a civilian to influence the investigation.”
I picked up a maraschino cherry by its stem and twirled it in front of my eyes. It was so round and red and perfect. I placed it on my tongue and slid it into my mouth. Mmmmm. “I don’t aspire to be a cop, or even a police rat. But I do have a vested interest in solving the murder of a classmate. Make that two classmates.” I spat the stem towards my paper plate, but missed.
When he began his obligatory protests, I waved my hand in front of his face. “Yeah, yeah, I know. A teenage girl felt a heart attack coming on and crawled into her gym locker to die alone. She didn’t want to bother anyone. Makes perfect sense. And another girl becomes a priest, only to be murdered in her church the day after the first girl’s body is discovered.”
He tipped the last of the bottle’s contents down his throat. “I’m only too happy to hear what you know about your two classmates. But what you tell me has to stay between us.”
“Whatever. So, it’s settled. I’ll give you all the deep background you need, and you keep me in the loop.”
“Sure, Cornwall. You go first. But I’m going to turn off the music and lower the heat.”
“You can be a real downer. I can hardly wait to get you alone on an island. You’ll probably bring your own water-purifying kit.”
While Redfern carried the remains of our meal to the kitchen, I emptied more fruit into my glass and opened two yearbooks to the pertinent pages. I organized my thoughts between bites.
“What are we looking at, Cornwall?”
With my shoulder touching his bare chest, it should have been a cozy prelude to a delightful interaction, but tonight was all about business. I nudged the first volume. “This one here is the book you borrowed, from the year I graduated. The other is from the following year. Most of us bought it because it had two full pages of photos of us on the official grad night that