A junior constable waited with us at my house until Redfern got in, usually after 9:00 p.m. I was getting used to having him around nights, and I don’t think he missed his cabin. He swung by there every day to pick something up, things like his iron. Yeah, I’m serious. The guy has his own iron.
Every time my mind strayed to the murders, and my close encounter with the Grim Reaper, I steered it deliberately away. All the possibilities — Fang, Chico, the Weasel, Mr. Archman — seemed preposterous. I was beginning to think we had it all wrong. Somebody else’s name should be on the list. Whose, I hadn’t a clue, but maybe my subconscious would work it out.
Sophie’s funeral took place on Friday. Her family didn’t feel it necessary to wait until Kelly’s body was released for burial, so husband and wife could be interred together. That made me wonder if anyone would even claim Kelly’s body. Sad, but maybe the Episcopal Church would step up and pay the funeral costs.
Rae wanted me to go with her to the service at St. Paul’s, but I pleaded a mild form of theophobia and, while she looked that up on her laptop, phoned a skiving customer in Fukushima. The man wanted to pay his overdue bill in yen, but I didn’t have a monetary conversion chart and had no idea what he was talking about. By the time I straightened him out and he agreed to pay in Canadian dollars, Rae had driven away in her ancient Echo.
During my formative years, my family didn’t belong to any religious denomination and my parents were fond of dragging me and my sister, Blyth, to a different church every Sunday to broaden our worldview perspective. Or, so my dad said. As a result of this early church-hopping, I had only a passing acquaintance with religious ritual. If I went to Sophie’s funeral at St. Paul’s, I wouldn’t know whether to genuflect or slap a yarmulke on my head. Even worse, some of those places passed a contribution bucket along the pews and I never knew if toonies and loonies were acceptable, or if they expected bills. To seal the deal on my non-appearance at Sophie’s funeral, I would have needed a police escort, and they were all busy.
By Friday, though, I was ready to chew my own leg off to escape captivity. The decorations for Saturday were in place, including a couple of spotlights kindly donated by Chico. It only took two phone calls and a barrage of emails before he relented. Fang brought them over and installed them with no more than a token complaint or two, although his flawless white teeth gnashed audibly. He stayed and helped me string hundreds of white lights near the apex of the ceiling. Then he draped tinsel over the cords. It was gorgeous. Too bad Fang had to come back after New Year’s and take it all down again. I kept forgetting I wasn’t supposed to stand near windows.
I couldn’t leave the greenhouse to visit my Bliss This House clients, and this reminded me that I had promised Earl Archman I’d bring a cleaning crew over on Friday. No way would he let the crew in without me there to ease the way. It occurred to me that he might not let me in, ever, but new clients weren’t easy to come by, so I meant to try.
I planted myself beside Dougal’s desk and waited politely for him to notice me. It took a while.
“Fuck off.”
I needed to humour him. “What’s the setting of your new book? Death in the Convent, is it?”
He looked at me briefly. “Surprise. The setting is a convent. In Old Quebec.”
“You’ve never even been to New Quebec.”
“Holly and I are spending Christmas at the Château Frontenac. I’m leaving to join her in Toronto right after this stupid fundraiser is over tomorrow. We leave for Quebec City on Monday. We have a whole week to explore, and I can come back and add details to the manuscript. Then, it’s back to work on the outline of my third, as yet unnamed, novel. Anything else you want to know?”
“Well, I hope you two have a wonderful time. Um, the thing is, I need a favour.”
“No. Fuck off.”
“Come on, Dougal. I just need you to drive me into town to pick up my costume for tomorrow. A half-hour, tops. I’ll buy you a takeout lunch from any fast food place you want.” That should do it. He thrived on junk food.
“Anyplace? Come back in an hour. Wait, I can’t. I’m not supposed to let you out.”
“Redfern meant I wasn’t to go out alone. You’ll be with me, so it’s fine.”
I spent the hour arranging for Cora Wayne and two other off-duty cleaners to meet me at Earl Archman’s. All three were pleased to be offered an extra shift so close to Christmas. I reminded myself to pick up small gifts to go with the bonuses I planned to give my staff.
Dougal smelled okay in the close proximity of his vehicle. He remained unbathed and unshaven only on the weekends, and only when Holly was out of town. He bitched the whole way in, though. Under normal circumstances, I would be worried he’d leave me stranded by the side of the highway. But Redfern must have really put the frighteners on because when I directed him to Earl’s house, he simply told me to be quick and pulled out a French-English phrase book.
Cora and the other two were already on the sidewalk. I paid Cora and placed the costume gently on the back seat of Dougal’s vehicle. He set his book down and reached for the ignition, and I said, “Just a minute, okay? I’ll be right back.”
I explained to my staff that we had a difficult client on our hands. He might be a hoarder. Definitely, he was cranky, and he had Olympic-level sarcasm skills. They should stand well back until I deemed it was safe for them to enter.
Mr. Archman opened the door on the third ring. I was ready this time and hurled myself through the opening before he could slam it shut. He looked from me to the three women waiting on his porch. “What’s this, Miss Cornwall? Another intervention?”
“Call me Bliss. Can I call you Earl? Remember, it’s cleaning day. My staff is here to help you get organized, tidy up, and … and… get clean!”
“I suppose there’s no point in asking you to leave and never come back?” The poor man looked so defeated, I felt sorry for him. Glancing at my staff, I could see they felt the same way. He would be in good hands.
“No point whatsoever. Step aside, Earl, and let the professionals get at it. We’ve brought our own supplies.” I took a closer look at him. “I believe you’re thinner already, Earl. Good for you! But surely those aren’t the same track pants you had on the last time I was here? How’s your arm coming along?”
“Can it, Miss Cornwall. Stop calling me Earl. Do what you have to do and get out.”
“If only I had a loonie for every time I heard that, and usually the f-verb is involved.” I ushered the ladies in. Dougal beeped his horn, and I gave him a wave before closing the door on the relentless snow and the annoying moron at the curb.
I stood in the hall with Earl — Mr. Archman — and looked around to make sure the others were out of earshot. “Listen, I’m sorry if I got you into trouble with the police. I know you told me about your Second World War guns in confidence. But when I heard that … my boyfriend came to your house after Kelly Quantz was killed, I just blurted it out. I hope they didn’t ransack your house looking for weapons.” I glanced into the living room, which did, indeed, look like a platoon of ransackers had swept through, scattering paper, upturning cushions, and finishing with an extra-thick coating of dust.
“They haven’t been by so far, and I don’t care if they do come. You don’t think I’m stupid enough to keep guns here in the house, do you? Especially unregistered firearms.”
“Well, good. I hear you. We can carry on, then?” A beep beep sounded from outside.
“Do I have a choice, Miss Cornwall? I suppose I have no say in this matter. These ladies will poke through my belongings at will. I have no dignity or privacy left.”