Cornwall and Redfern Mysteries 2-Book Bundle. Gloria Ferris
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keep you up nights.”
He looked at me, hard. “I think, Ms. Cornwall, you might be surprised at what goes on in a small town, one that is three hours from Toronto, two and a half from Hamilton, four from the border.”
“Well, now you have a murder to solve. But that doesn’t happen very often,” I replied, feeling I should defend my home town.
“Nobody says Julian Barnfeather was murdered.”
“You did. You said that Julian Barnfeather didn’t die in the maintenance shed. That he was put there afterward. What else could it be? If it’s not murder, why are you trying to pin it on me?”
He watched me as though trying to make up his mind about something. Maybe whether to arrest me, or just threaten me some more.
“Cornwall, do you recall the marijuana leaf found in Barnfeather’s hair? It didn’t jump in there by itself. You may be the best possible lead we have to his death.”
I said indignantly, “Why don’t you question the staff that digs the graves, or the people in the office? They’re all regular employees, like Julian. I’m just a seasonal worker.”
“The fact remains, Cornwall, you were the only one there on Saturday when Julian Barnfeather met his untimely end.”
To my everlasting shame, I burst into tears. I’m not generally a crier, but the violence of Rae’s attack, followed by a night without sleep, had shaken my emotions loose. During the past two years, I had ignored the hunger, the cold in winter, and the veiled contempt from former friends. Yes, it was my chosen path, but it wasn’t fun.
Now, not only was I terrified for Rae’s safety, I was furious with Dougal for risking his health and freedom by growing marijuana.
And now I was suspected of murder. The tears flowed faster than I could wipe them away with my forearm, and I was making a disgusting hiccupping noise. Redfern reached over and snatched a box of tissues off the counter, practically throwing it into my lap.
“Come on now, Cornwall, there’s no need to carry on like that. I’m simply saying that, since you were at the cemetery the day Barnfeather died, you may have noticed something that could help us. That’s all I’m trying to get from you.”
I blew my nose and threw the tissue in the wastebasket.
Through clogged nostrils, I said to Redfern, “I already told you I left Julian in the shed about eight in the morning and never saw him again. I never went near the shed all day. What more do you want from me?”
“I want you to explain to me how a marijuana leaf wound up in Julian Barnfeather’s hair.”
I was sick of marijuana. I didn’t grow it, I didn’t use it, I didn’t endorse its use for any reason and, seriously, I didn’t give a shit what other people did unless it impacted my life.
I stood up. I pointed my finger at Redfern. “Do I look like a pot head? Look at me?” I even pulled up my skirt to show him the road rash. “Do I look like somebody who deals in drugs? Do you think I’d be living in a crappy trailer with no toilet or shower, or cleaning other people’s houses, or teaching bitchy women how to do the Downward Dog if I had a steady income from drug sales? Do I?” The last words were pretty close to a screech.
Redfern stood up as well, leaning down so his nose was inches from mine. “I don’t know what your problem is this morning, Cornwall, but I haven’t accused you of drug dealing. Obviously, you have some issues to resolve. I haven’t the time now, but you and I will talk again.”
He turned and strode to the door. I was right behind him and, when he stopped abruptly, saying, “One more thing, Cornwall,” my lips met the middle of his back, leaving a perfect pink lipstick imprint on his shirt.
“You might want to put some antibacterial salve on that abrasion before infection sets in. Oh, and cute will only get you so far.” Then he was gone, and I kicked the metal waste basket against the wall. Bastard!
I was beyond the point of exhaustion and in no state to meet and greet the public. I took the trolley of returned books and spent a couple of hours restocking the shelves, assigning Bailey to deal with library patrons. At noon, I left her in charge and went down the street to DeLong’s PharmaSave where I bought antibacterial spray.
The Second Hand Rose Shop was next door to the drugstore and, on impulse, I went in, hoping to find a replacement for my silk suit.
The store manager, Holly Duffett, smiled as the bell over the door jingled. She was a volunteer, one of Lockport’s wealthy, and more civic-minded than most. A striking woman in her mid-thirties, Holly was a little taller than I, only a smidge heavier, and had straight blond hair expensively cut. She smelled pleasantly of a natural, clean scent that seemed familiar.
“Bliss! I haven’t seen you in ages. You look great.” Her smile faltered there at the end, but I didn’t hold it against her. She glanced up and down my body, looked confused, then turned her hazel eyes back to my face.
“Hi, Holly. Do you have any double sheet sets?” I was pretty sure my worn sheets would not survive the bleach bath in Dougal’s washing machine. I was running short on undies too, but second-hand underwear was a destination I hadn’t quite reached.
“Sure, lots. Over here.” After selecting a pair of faded pink sheets and a yellow pillowcase, all for three dollars, I browsed through the racks of women’s clothing, trying to find an outfit that would take me through any future showings of the Barrister house. I managed to find a cobalt blue pantsuit in my size and set it beside the sheets on the counter. The outfit was a synthetic blend that resembled silk and, bonus, I could rinse it out at home and it would dry overnight.
“Bliss, I know you have one already, but this jacket came in a few days ago. It’s your size, I think. It’s twelve dollars.” Holly was holding up a black leather jacket. I tried it on and, while the sleeves almost reached my fingertips, length was a plus in a motorcycle jacket. The lapels and cuffs were loaded with silver studs. I was fond of bling.
The jacket joined the sheets and polyester-wear on the counter. While I was adding up the total, Holly called from the back of the store, “Bliss, we got a big donation of canned goods this morning. Everything is fifty cents, if you need to stock up on anything.”
I almost drooled looking at the shelves of baked beans, pasta in tomato sauce, soups, stews, and vegetables. I collected an armful and deposited them with the other items at the cash register.
“Let’s see. I can give you everything for twenty dollars, Bliss.” Holly packed my bargains into two plastic bags and rang up the sale. As I turned to leave, I found myself toe to toe with a tall woman carrying a pile of towels in one arm and several pastel garments in the other. She sucked in some air and closed her eyes. She had to be hoping she would open them to find herself somewhere else. She was face to face with her worst nightmare.
Chapter
TWELVE
You can’t practise the lawyer trade and remain thin-skinned. Andrea, the new Mrs. Bains, showed her mettle by hardening her eyes and softening her thin lips into a professional smile.
I waited for her to speak, wondering why she hadn’t had those lips enhanced with collagen. Fine lines webbed the skin around her light blue eyes and grey streaked her red-brown hair. The fifties bob hairdo could use a little updating, too. I noticed she was wearing pumps of conspicuous quality, Chanel in fact. I think the Weasel had been telling a fib about his trophy wife’s age — she would never see forty again. If she expected to grace the arm of a federal Member of Parliament, she better get herself a makeover.
I had never felt bitchier.
That reminded me of my mission: getting my fair share of the marital estate and, if possible, keeping Mike Bains out of politics. It wouldn’t be easy to discredit him, and I knew from years of living with a lawyer not to say anything even covertly litigious. After my dark night of the soul, I knew that justice would not come my way in a court of