“Right, Cornwall, boys have it made. We can pee on the ground or in a bottle if required. Is the building still there?”

“It is. It’s now the Bruce County Regional Prohibited Weapon and Target Shooting Club. I hear they even installed an indoor toilet.”

“You made up that name.”

“Maybe, but it’s something like that. The country club has a range, too. That’s where I shot when I was married to the Weasel. My point is, a lot of people enjoy target shooting as a hobby around here. But I’m guessing you already know all this. You can’t have been Chief of Police for three years without learning a thing or two about our culture.”

He just smiled. “Right. Who were the other kids you played with at the clubhouse?”

I opened the gun oil and took another sniff. I felt like a traitor. “I remember Chico was there, so his grandfather must have been one of the old guys.” I named a few other kids who were now long gone from Lockport, coming home to visit family once in a while.

“What about Fang’s grandfather?”

“He wasn’t one of the group. But seriously, Redfern, I’m sure Dogtown has an entire driving shed full of shotguns and hunting rifles. Hunting is a religion to them and, from what I’ve heard, they eat stuff they kill.” That reminded me. I snatched the remote and turned it back on, but kept the volume off. I wanted to see if the Robertsons were eating squirrel for dinner. Or frogs, Jase’s favourite food. “If you’re going to Dogtown with a search warrant, better take your squad with you. If they don’t shoot you, they’ll keep you for breeding stock. I hear they’re looking for tall blondes.”

Redfern didn’t look worried. He stood up and dropped his police-issue coat. It was warming up nicely in the garage. I wiggled out of my robe.

He ran his eyes up my sweaty togs. “Sexy. What did you do today?”

I shrugged. “The usual. Then I spoke to a potential new customer.” That should cover me if he found out I visited Earl Archman. Should I risk telling Redfern that Earl inherited his great-uncle’s Second World War weapons stash? Maybe, but I decided to wait. Should I confess to visiting with the Weasels again? Possibly, but not right away. I had to watch my mouth. For some reason, I was curiously chatty today.

He put his arm around my shoulders. “Who else attended these Saturday socials and taught their grandchildren about guns?”

“Well, the Weasel’s grandfather. The Weasel never came, but his grandfather did.”

“I suppose you were too young to remember what specific guns each man had?”

On the screen, Jase and Jep were pulling another prank on poor Willie. Dragging my attention back to Redfern, I replied, “Other than my grandfather, no. I was nine, for heaven’s sake.”

“When did you stop going with your grandfather to the clubhouse?”

“I only went for a year or so. I started f-bombing the other kids at school and pointing my trigger finger at them, so my parents wouldn’t let me go anymore. Have you got anything to share with me?”

“Like my interviews with suspects? No.”

I sighed. “That’s what I figured. It’s all one way with you, Redfern. You take and take, but you give nothing back.”

“Are we still talking about the investigation? If the subject is more personal, I’d like a chance at rebuttal.”

“I’m not up for another fight. It’s been a long day and I think my UGGs are ruined.”

He opened his mouth, then promptly closed it again. “That’s that, then. Guess I’ll be on my way. Back to my lonely cabin in the woods.” He removed his arm and stood up.

“Don’t let the bears bite.”

I waited until I heard him drive away before switching off the TV and heater. I dragged a ten-foot ladder to the centre of the garage and propped it against the centre beam. I climbed to the second last step.

I reached over my head and searched around until my fingers touched a large black metal box. After Grandpa passed away, Dad set the box up here. I used to climb up and open it once in a while, just to feel close to my grandpa again. If it ever became my decision to make, I didn’t know how I would dispose of them.

I climbed another step. The first gun I unwrapped was the Walther. I leaned over and put my nose close to it. I did the same to the other three — the Dreyse, the Sauer, and the Mauser. I picked up the Sauer and turned it in my hands, feeling the weight, remembering.

The guns weren’t mine, so I should leave them where they were and forget about them for now. I wrapped the oil-stained cloth around the Sauer and put it back with the others.

My left foot rolled off the rung and I clutched at the beam to steady myself. My elbow dislodged an object resting about four feet from the gun box. It fell to the cement floor with a dull thud.

I clambered down the ladder and poked at the bundle with my toe. It was long, wrapped in a dirty blue towel, and secured with duct tape. It had missed my Savage’s back fender by inches.

I found an old box cutter in the toolbox to cut through the duct tape, and unrolled the towel.

A dagger, about fifteen inches long, gleamed dully against the fabric. I brought it closer to my eyes and made out a tiny eagle and a string of worn letters and numbers, starting with a W. A groove ran along the flat edge of the wood handle. The handle was meant to slide into a rifle socket. I dropped it back onto the towel and leaned away.

It was a Second World War German bayonet. How the hell had Grandpa smuggled this back from Europe?

I sat on the cold cement floor for a few minutes, thinking. I tested the blade edges. Not sharp enough to cut on contact, and you’d have to poke someone pretty hard with the point to pierce the skin.

I wrapped the soiled towel around the bayonet, threw the cover over the bike, and switched off the garage lights.

In my bedroom, I shoved the bayonet under the bed. When I stood up, Rae was standing beside me, her arms filled with bottles of hair-dyeing chemicals.

CHAPTER

thirty-three

My heart rate had slowed to trip trip trip from boom boom boom. It was a good thing Redfern had shut the treadmill off or I might still be draped over it, dead, my heart stopped by an overdose of cold medication. One piece of good news, though. My sinuses were completely clear, although my respiration was rapid and shallow, as they say in the ER where I would be had I taken one more of those tablets.

Rain beat at the windows and the refrigerator hummed in the kitchen. Somewhere a faucet dripped, one drop every five seconds. Who could sleep with all that noise? I punched my pillow and squinted at the digital clock. Already 2:48 a.m. In another five hours, the alarm would beep.

Should I get up and make a cup of herbal tea? Or decaffeinated coffee? And some cheese puffs? I felt like shit if I didn’t get eight hours. An idea blossomed. I could turn the alarm off, why the hell not? But first, I should turn off my phone so Dougal couldn’t call and ask me why my ass wasn’t at work. Screw him. Arm-twisting deadbeat customers could wait another day.

I rolled onto my side and reached for my cellphone, but froze when I heard a sound outside the window. I told myself it was a raccoon raiding my garbage can. The noise continued, followed by foot treads on the deck. Definitely too heavy for a coon.

Bear! The town bear was right outside my bedroom window. No point calling the police night dispatcher. He would recite the Ministry of Natural Resource’s phone number and hang up. This wasn’t good.

I slid off the bed and crept over to the window. I looked to the right and saw a shadow disappear around the corner toward the front of the house. I yanked my phone from the charger and raced down the hall, throwing open Rae’s door. I jumped on her bed and shook her. “Rae! Get up. A bear is trying to get into the house. Wake up!”