I hung up; not that he’d notice for another five minutes. I sneezed three times, signalling the start of the runny stage of a head cold. Just in case it was the flu, I figured I should get my work done before I collapsed and perhaps died of complications from pneumonia. Then a lot of people would be sorry. Before I left the house, I sent an email to my staff with the revised schedule and took a cold tablet to dry up the snot tsunami.
The pill hadn’t kicked in by the time I got to the Lockport Sentinel office on Commercial Crescent, just south of the Wing Nut. It took considerable pleading, and several bouts of uncontrollable sneezing, before the editor agreed to place a four-by-six ad for the food drive benefit in the next issue of the weekly newspaper. I thanked him but he turned his back and pulled out a container of anti-bacterial wipes. Next stop, the printers.
Zeus Printing occupied the ground floor of a mid-rise modern building (hereabouts that meant a three-storey structure built in the eighties) conveniently located next door to the newspaper office. Since the pill had started to work by this time and I couldn’t sneeze on the owner, I had to go from pleading to full-out begging to get posters printed gratis. So humiliating.
Eventually, the tightwad loosened his death grip on his cash register. We settled on a dozen twelve-by-fourteen posters in exchange for his business name on a sponsor’s sign above the food donation bin. He would provide the sign. I agreed, hoping the sign would fit through the door.
I remembered promising Chico a couple of thank-you signs and figured I could make them up myself using bristol board and permanent markers. Then I’d duct-tape one to a tree outside the greenhouse, and the other to the door of the men’s room.
The floor above the printers’ housed the legal office of Bains and Bains. How cute was that? I had an idea. Glory had demanded I stay away from the Weasels for Redfern’s sake. Redfern demanded I stay away from them — why? I couldn’t remember, but how about if I just smoothed the waters and, at the same time, picked the Weasel’s brain about grad night? Surely, nobody could complain about that.
I took the elevator and exited into a sparse reception area. So far, so good. The receptionist was AWOL, either in the bathroom or on maternity leave. The comfy chairs in the waiting area were also empty. I strolled down a short hall and stopped outside a partially open door. The Weasel’s voice soothed a client with promises of a hefty settlement before the court date. Since there was no second voice, the Weasel was phone-billing, a practice I remembered well. When Mike first set up his office, I did the reception work, sent out the monthly billings, and handled disgruntled clients. Perfect training for my current jobs.
I pushed the door open and walked in. Ignoring the surprise and anger on Mike’s attractive features, I plopped into his visitor’s chair with a sigh of relief. Those cold tablets sure knocked you on your ass.
Mike concluded his call and started right in. “What the hell do you want?”
I unbuttoned my coat and slid my arms out like I intended to stay a while. “I want to apologize for upsetting you the other night at the Wing Nut. I hope you didn’t think I was accusing you of murdering Faith and Sophie.”
“That’s what it sounded like to me. And I don’t believe you came here to apologize. I’m quite sure you don’t know how to do that.”
“I had a lot of practice when we were married, remember? Everything was my fault. Even when I was right, I was wrong, so I spent a lot of time apologizing.” Not in the door two minutes, and I was off track.
I stopped and tried to breathe deeply, but broke into a coughing fit. By the time I recovered my breath, I had also recovered some focus. “Anyway, I thought if we put our heads together, we might come up with something helpful about grad night.”
“Helpful to whom? You? The police? I’ve talked to the OPP investigator and I’m not talking to you.”
“Don’t you care what happened to Faith and Sophie? They were our friends.”
“Faith was a long time ago, and I haven’t talked to Sophie since that night, either. We don’t attend St. Paul’s Church.”
Little snippets of memories sometimes pop up when you least expect them. “I know you went out with Sophie. But didn’t you date Faith as well? Toward the end of the school year?” That had been an unlikely pairing. Shy, introspective Faith Davidson. Ambitious, controlling Mike Bains. “Did you see her over the summer?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but no. I spent the summer as a counsellor at Silver Birch Camp the other side of Mount Forest. And I didn’t date her.”
“Okay. You must have talked to her at grad night in October, though.”
“So what if I did? I talked to a lot of people that night. I told the OPP sergeant all this and I’m not repeating it to you.”
“Okay. I’m guessing you didn’t see Faith head to the locker room or notice her leaving at midnight with the rest of us?”
His mouth pursed into a tight oval. “I think you should get out before I call your boyfriend and insist he charge you with obstruction.”
“How about you …” I burst into a sneezing fit, and when I was done Andrea stood in the doorway.
“What’s going on? Why is she here?” Her designer business suit and Louis Vuitton shoes matched perfectly. Brown and more brown. Andrea was about thirty-seven, five years older than Mike, and, while not unattractive in a horsey sort of way, she could use a few fashion tips. Maybe a new hairdo, some makeup, a personality transplant …
“Don’t worry about it, Andrea. She’s playing at being a detective. Guess her boyfriend is out of his depth investigating murders. She’s just leaving.”
I blew my nose and threw the tissue into the wastebasket beside the desk. Both Weasels watched me with disgust. “Actually, I’m glad you’re both here. What’s this I hear about you threatening to terminate Chief Redfern’s contract because of his relationship with me?” What was I saying? I had to be allergic to the active ingredient in cold tablets.
Andrea looked down at me like I was an earwig begging to be squashed. “That’s not your concern, Bliss. The Police Services Board will proceed as it sees fit …”
The Weasel interrupted. “Redfern’s contract is up in six months. We will revisit the issue then. Whether we renew the contract or not depends on many factors. Only one concerns his relationship with you, and whether he can control you. We won’t allow you to continue blundering around in police matters, as you’re doing right now.”
Control me? “You know he’s a damned good chief. I bet you were one of his biggest fans until we started dating.” Dating? Was that what we were doing? God, my head was spinning.
Andrea crossed her arms and took a step closer. “You should be committed to a secure facility. Are you accusing my husband of caring whom you sleep with?”
“Sounds crazy when you put it like that,” I admitted. “So, why do you really want to get rid of him?” I looked from one to the other. “Whatever the reason, you better knock it off.”
“Or what?” Mike sneered. “Are you threatening to blackmail me again?”
“Me? Blackmail you? What a silly accusation.”
“You promised you didn’t keep a copy of that picture!” He stood up and leaned over the desk. Now I had both of them looming over me. “Did you lie about that?”
“Are you talking about the picture of you smoking a joint in university? Well, I kind of did lie about that. I have several copies. See, you promised to be faithful until death, and Andrea promised to represent my best interests during our divorce proceedings. Face it. We’re a pack of liars. We should form a club — the Lockport Liars.”
“I won’t be blackmailed again by you.” Mike spoke softly and distinctly.
“Did I say anything about blackmail? You need to get a grip.”