Shroud of Roses. Gloria Ferris
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“I have Thea working on that. But we may have a possible identification …”
His cell vibrated in his pocket. As he listened to Lavinia’s voice, Ed buttoned his coat and got up to leave. Neil stopped him with a raised hand.
“What exactly is the priority, Lavinia?” He listened for a minute. “Where? I’m on my way.”
He looked up. “If your patient can spare you for a while yet, Ed, you need to come with me.”
Ed pulled his cap farther down his forehead. Behind his glasses, his blue eyes gleamed. “Where are we going?”
“St. Paul’s Episcopal Church. A dead priest.”
CHAPTER
six
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