Cornwall and Redfern Mysteries 2-Book Bundle. Gloria Ferris
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word answers were best.
He took off his sunglasses and rubbed his forehead. In an effort to hide the fact that I forgot the question after one glance at his deep blue eyes — they were navy, really — I quickly turned away and scanned the treetops for eagles or buzzards. In the split second those eyes were locked on mine, I was sure all my recent indiscretions had been revealed. Like socializing with pot growers and hookers, and thinking about dropping a dead skunk on my ex-husband’s doorstep.
“Yes you work at the cemetery? You don’t seem to be too sure about anything this morning, Ms. Cornwall.”
“Look, I’m not used to being interrogated before I’ve had my second cup of coffee.” Not so smart, Cornwall, I told myself. When cornered by the law, it’s not wise to reveal sarcasm is your first language.
“You call this an interrogation, Ms. Cornwall? These
are very simple questions. Now, do you work at the cemetery on Saturdays and were you working yesterday? Yes or no will do.”
“Yes. And, yes.”
“Good. Did you see Julian Barnfeather during the course of the day?”
“I saw him in the morning, as usual, and that’s it.”
“So, you didn’t see him again before you left the cemetery at the end of the day?”
“No, I did not. I left my tools outside the maintenance shed.”
“Was there a reason for doing so?”
“He’s a dickhead and I wanted to avoid him. I figured he would put the tools inside before he went home. He’s always there when I leave at five o’clock — he locks the gates. My cousin called and wanted me to come right over so I left at five on the dot. I don’t know what time Julian left.”
“So you didn’t see him yesterday before you left. You only saw him first thing in the morning. What time would that be?”
“Eight a.m.”
“Did you have a conversation with him?”
“What’s this all about? Is it illegal to call that fat doofus a perverted mistake of nature? Because if he’s complaining about me, I have grounds to charge him with harassment.” I drew myself up to my full sixty-two inches.
A condescending sigh escaped Chief Redfern’s lips. The svelte Constable Vanderbloom just kept scribbling in her ratty black notebook.
Then I remembered the flashing lights and activity in the cemetery as I passed it last night.
“Did Julian Barnfeather have a heart attack or something?”
“You don’t sound too broken up about the possibility of something happening to Julian Barnfeather, Ms. Cornwall,” Constable Vanderbloom observed.
“Look, if Julian is sick or hurt, well, I’m a little sorry, but he won’t be receiving a get well card from me.”
“A sympathy card to his wife would be more appropriate,” said the constable.
“Go on! Are you telling me he had a wife? And he’s dead?” Then a sudden thought struck me. “What happened to him?”
Chief Redfern replied, “The autopsy report hasn’t come back yet. His wife called us when he didn’t show up for dinner last night. We sent an officer to the cemetery.”
“Because,” I said, like he hadn’t spoken, “he could have been lying there dying while I was working. Maybe if I had put my tools away like I should have, I would have found him in time to call an ambulance.” I shuddered at the thought of anyone, even Julian, lying in the shed, waiting for help that didn’t come. Nobody deserves to die alone.
Suddenly, strong hands gripped my neck and pushed my head so far between my knees that my forehead touched the dirt. The hands held me down and all I could do was flail my arms and yell, “Stop. I haven’t done anything. You’re hurting me.”
“Careful or she’ll be screaming police brutality,” said Constable Vanderbloom.
I was picked up immediately and held hanging a foot off the ground. I kicked him in the knee.
“Goddamn it!” He dropped me, but I managed to land on my feet. “What did you do that for? I thought you were going to faint.”
“I never faint.” My heart was beating wildly, and I hoped I wouldn’t make a liar out of myself as my vision started fading to black at the edges.
“Then, if you’re up to it, I have a few more questions.”
“Go ahead.” My head still felt like it might fly off into the clouds, but I wasn’t going to admit to it.
“Could you see the shed from where you were working?”
I took a deep breath and my vision cleared. “No. The shed is in the middle of the cemetery surrounded by tall shrubs. I was working closest to the fence and Main Street.”
“So you didn’t see Mr. Barnfeather at all after eight in the morning? What about lunch and calls of nature?”
“I have a key to the bathroom behind the office building at the entrance to the cemetery. You can’t see the maintenance shed from there. And I didn’t stop for lunch yesterday.”
“Did you see anything out of the ordinary?”
Neither cop noticed Ewan Quigley step out of his trailer behind them, take one look, then back quickly inside and close his door. And, between Rae’s trailer and the Quigleys’, a figure in dusty black leather and multiple chains draped across his chest melted back into the trees.
“No, and I didn’t budge from my corner except for one trip to the bathroom. I have excellent bladder control.”
Chief Redfern’s lips compressed. “Can you describe the people you remember seeing?”
I wasn’t going to be much help. I tried to avoid anyone I knew while I was working. It was just too awkward.
“Not really,” I said slowly. “The cemetery is a popular place for walking but I didn’t recognize anyone. You might ask the Friends of the Settlers, since there are always a few of them in the cemetery, although they probably don’t see many folk wandering by their corner.”
The glasses came off again. I lowered my eyes and stared at the third button from the top of his shirt. Constable Vanderbloom stopped writing.
“Who are the Friends of the Settlers?”
“It’s a volunteer group that looks after the pioneer graves in the northwest corner. That area was the original Lockport Cemetery. The rest has grown out from there. There’s an iron fence and pine trees around the site.”
“How do we get in touch with these people?”
“There are two or three of them there every Saturday, all quite elderly. You can probably get the names from the Cemetery Board.”
I didn’t divulge that one of the Friends was Fern Brickle, my Wednesday afternoon cleaning job. I didn’t want the police to bother her. She was a nice lady and gave me a fifty-dollar bonus at Christmas.
“So, I’m getting the impression that Julian didn’t die from a heart attack or stroke,” I ventured, once the notebook was stowed away and both pairs of sunglasses were back in position. The activity in the cemetery the night before made sense, now.
Chief Redfern’s lip twitched briefly. “Until the autopsy results are in, we don’t know what we’re dealing with.”
“If the coroner indicates Mr. Barnfeather’s death was not due to natural causes, we’ll be back for another chat. Don’t leave town,” said the constable, showing her white teeth in a smile.
“I’ll be in touch.” Chief Redfern nodded at me.
As they scrambled up the