I handed Fang a shovel and pointed to the ladder.

Since I’m not one to ask people to do something I wouldn’t do myself, I joined Fang on the roof with a second shovel. We worked productively for a while. The scrape of metal on shingles and the plopping sound of rain on my vinyl hat were quite soothing.

Fang sent me dark looks I ignored. Up and down Morningside Drive, my neighbours had the same concern for the snow load on their roofs and had taken the day off work. Some of them had cases of beer and sandwiches with them. Others dragged up boxes of Christmas decorations. We all waved. Rain and slippery roofs never stopped Lockportals from getting the job done. Most of the houses on this street were bungalows and the worst you could expect from a tumble into the shrubs was a scratched face and a spilled beer.

Fang broke his silence. “You remind me of Donald Duck in that getup. You remember the cartoon where he’s on a sinking ship?”

“If that’s a metaphor for something deep, Fang, good one. Hurry up. Chico should be here soon. I asked him to bring some food and coffee with him.”

Fang perked up, and then his face fell again. “Look at this.” He indicated a strip of eavestrough that had ripped away from the house.

“No problem. I have a hammer and some roofing nails. You can fix it temporarily, then come back tomorrow and do the rest. Oh, I think that’s Chico’s truck coming down the street.”

“I can’t do this for you tomorrow. I have a lot of other jobs ahead of you, not to mention deliveries. And salvaging.”

“Give me a price.” He pulled a figure out of his ass, and I said, “I’ll add 15 percent if you place me at the head of the line.” The money wasn’t coming out of my pocket. I was just the tenant. Sort of. By renting a room to Rae — for a modest amount — I actually made a few bucks every month.

Fang agreed so readily, I suspected his initial figure was a little high. But better to pay extra now rather than chance the roof collapsing and the eavestrough falling onto the driveway.

My feet began to slide and I gripped the chimney. “I’ll finish here if you go over the peak and do the other side.” Watching him scramble over the top of the house, I felt some concern for his safety. I’d better check the homeowner’s insurance policy to make sure my dad was covered if Fang missed the shrubs and hit the patio in the backyard.

I leaned my shovel against the chimney and sat on the edge of the roof with my feet planted firmly on the top rung of the ladder. Chico’s vehicle splashed through the melting snow and parked in the driveway behind Fang’s truck. He got out, his arms filled with paper bags of fast food.

“Come on up, Chico,” I called. “We can have a picnic. Fang is on the other side, but he should be finished there soon.”

“I’m not dressed for it, Bliss. You come down.”

Chico wore his Canadian Tire parka and a matching toque. “You’re dressed perfectly. How’s the tread on your boots? That looks good. Come up.”

Fang struggled back over the top of the roof. He looked like a wet dog, and kind of smelled like one as he accepted a Styrofoam container of chili from Chico.

“Why did you call me, Bliss?” Chico hadn’t opened his chili, but if he gripped the container any tighter, the lid was going to fly off and take his eye out. It occurred to me that not everyone was comfortable sitting on a slick roof.

To repress the simmering mutiny I sensed in my motley crew, I started talking. “Okay. The three of us are on the suspect list for two murders. Sorry, Fang, but that includes Faith. Just because you’re her brother, doesn’t mean the police won’t be considering you.”

“What can we do about it?” Chico still hadn’t opened his chili. “My only alibi for Sophie’s murder is my wife. Same probably for you, Fang. And we know the cops don’t believe family. All we can do is hope they find the real killer before one of us goes down for it.” After one look at my black eyes, Chico talked over my head to Fang.

“One of you two,” I clarified. “Chief Redfern doesn’t really think I did it, but he doesn’t know you both like I do, so he has to suspect you.” No point mentioning that I had the best alibi ever for Sophie’s murder — I was in bed all night with a cop.

“Like the man said, what can we do?” Fang had finished off his chili and eyed Chico’s. Chico silently handed over his container.

“The other four suspects are the Weasel, Mrs. Brickle, Kelly Quantz, and Mr. Archman. It wasn’t one of us, or Mrs. Brickle either. That leaves the Weasel, Kelly, and Mr. Archman.” I carefully opened the tab on my coffee and sipped. Good old Hortons. Their coffee was still scalding despite the trip in Chico’s truck and the rooftop airing.

Chico shifted his bony butt on the ledge. “Who’s the weasel?”

“That’s Mike Bains,” Fang answered for me. “I don’t like thinking about anyone killing Faith, but if it was Mike, he needs to pay for it.”

“I don’t know,” Chico said. “Mr. Archman was pretty mean back then. Remember all the detentions he gave us?”

I snorted. “Grow up. We were rotten kids. It’s a wonder any of us managed to graduate. I would hate to find out that I was married to a murderer for eight years, and I can’t think of a reason for the Weasel or Mr. Archman to kill Faith. And the discovery of Faith’s body has to be tied in with Sophie’s murder. It’s a mess.”

Chico was sitting above the damaged trough, gripping the metal. If he fell, he was taking the whole length of it with him. Fang would charge me extra, plus 15 percent.

“Why are we up here, anyway?” Chico asked. “We can talk inside, or in your garage.”

“Fresh air, privacy. Relax. Just don’t look down. In any case, let’s go with the idea that the perpetrator is Mr. Archman or Kelly Quantz. Or the Weasel.”

“Go where? You’re no Miss Marple, and we’re not Cagney and Lacey. What if we stir something up, and the murderer strikes again?”

Obviously, Chico didn’t remember that Cagney and Lacey were women. “We won’t stir anything up. We need to piece together grad night. One of you may have seen something you’ve forgotten. Maybe Faith argued with someone, or maybe she was followed into the locker room.”

“You’re saying you don’t remember that night either? Any of it?” Fang crushed his empty coffee cup and stuffed it into one of the dripping paper bags. “We were pretty blitzed.”

“Give me a break. I don’t even remember leaving.” I could almost taste the tequila. A wave of nausea hit me, and I guessed it wasn’t entirely from the chili.

“They locked us in.” Chico straightened and I grabbed his arm to stop him from toppling over. “That’s against the Fire Code.”

Fang lay back against the shingles, one arm cushioning his head, letting the cold rain wash over his face. You can’t get any wetter than soaked. “I remember bits and pieces. But nothing about Faith especially.” He closed his eyes. “I drove my truck…. Where did we end up?”

“In a field. We built a fire.” Images flashed through my mind, but they disappeared so suddenly, I couldn’t be sure they were my memories or dreams. Maybe even movies I had seen. “I woke up in the back of Fang’s truck. Do you remember driving home, Fang?”

“Shit, no. It’s a miracle I didn’t drive right into Ghost Swamp and sink without a trace. Then my parents would have lost both of us that night.”

“I would have gone down with you,” I said, morosely. Looking back on our teenaged years, it was a miracle we survived to adulthood.

“Tyger graduated the next year, and they didn’t hold a party after the ceremony. There hasn’t been one since ours.” Chico leaned against the chimney and sniffed his coffee. If he poked his tongue through the tab hole and got stuck, I was going to have to laugh.

Tyger was Chico’s wife’s real name. She had been the girlfriend who had bossed him around through four years of high school. “Chico, you told me the other day in your store that you took a lot of pictures that night. What happened to them?”