“You’ll do fine, Pan. It’s easy. First of all, put that hornet spray back where you got it. Find the spray bottle containing the vinegar and water solution. It has a pump handle. Point the nozzle away from you, at the glass, and pump twice. Then use the paper towel to dry the spot. Do a few panes at a time; that way you’ll keep track of your progress. I repeat, put the insecticide away and use glass cleaner.”

“After this, she wants me to clean the atrium, where the fundraiser is being held. It’s bigger!”

“Much bigger,” I agreed.

“I have to do the whole thing. How am I supposed to reach higher than the end of my arm?”

“Easy. There’s a stepladder you can use. Ivy Belcourt had it custom-made for the greenhouse. You still won’t be able to reach the apex of the ceiling, but just do your best.”

Pan shook his head, and his stumpy black ponytail jiggled in agitation. “I didn’t sign on for this. I’m going to quit my job and go back to Vancouver.”

“Isn’t there an arrest warrant out for you in Vancouver?”

“Just for possession of marijuana. A measly half an ounce, for personal use. I’m sure the statute of limitations has kicked in by now.”

“Better stay right here where you are, but I’d avoid Chief Redfern if I were you. He’s not fond of drugs. Who’s Glory screeching at, anyway?”

“She’s on the phone to the Royal York Hotel. They screwed up her reservation and don’t have a suite available.”

“What reservation? Is she leaving? Will she be gone long?”

“Haven’t you heard, Bliss …” He pointed the bottle at the closest pane. I pushed his arm down and a spray of waspicide hit the floor.

I covered my nose with my sleeve. “Heard what?”

“Well,” he stepped in closer. “Sergeant Pinato had to go back to … wherever he came from. She’s leaving to meet him in Toronto tomorrow night after the benefit, and coming back Monday. After that, I don’t know. She’s in such le desespoir.”

“You’ve been hanging around Dougal too long, my friend. She’s just in a plain snit.” The caterwauling reached a crescendo, then dipped and faded into a gurgle. Either the crisis was over, or she had overheated and passed out.

I spun Pan around and sent him back to the supply closet, then stopped in the foyer at Rae’s desk. She hung up the phone and pushed her blonde hair away from her face. “You wouldn’t believe the calls I’m getting from people who want to know if the food drive benefit is still on for tomorrow. We should have quite a crowd.”

“Why wouldn’t it still be on?”

“A really bad storm is supposed to blow in tonight and continue through tomorrow. I guess people thought we might cancel. But Glory says it’s happening no matter what.”

“Did the funeral go okay?”

Rae must have swallowed the “theophobia” excuse because she didn’t ask why I hadn’t shown up. “I only stayed for the service. The interment was just for the family. It was so sad, Bliss. Reverend Quantz had her grandmother and a few cousins in the front row, that’s all. The guild ladies held a tea in the manse, but they didn’t need my help and I wasn’t up for making small talk. I’ve heard people whispering about Reverend Quantz’s past. You know, how available she was when she was a teenager. As if that should matter now, after all the good things she’s done since she became a priest.”

“You’re right, Rae. Sophie’s past shouldn’t matter. And it doesn’t.” Nothing mattered to Sophie now. I knew Rae was thinking about her own not-too-distant past as a hooker in Hemp Hollow.

Through the layers of glass walls, I spotted Redfern’s Cherokee pull into the parking lot and stop beside Dougal’s Lexus. The snow fell fast and horizontally, and his hair and shoulders collected a thick white coating in the few steps from his vehicle to the front door.

In the anteroom, he brushed the snow off and nodded at Pan before continuing into the foyer.

“Afternoon, ladies. I thought I’d pick you up early and drive you home.” He turned his head and looked back. “What’s wrong with Pan? His shirt is wet and he smells like vinegar.”

“Good, he has the right bottle this time. Get your coat and purse, Rae. We’re outta here.”

The phone rang and Rae told another caller that, yes, the food drive benefit was going ahead at one o’ clock tomorrow afternoon. When she hung up, she said, “Listen, you two go ahead without me. The phones are crazy busy, and I’ll get a lift with Dougal or Glory. There’s a chicken casserole in the fridge. Just heat it at three-fifty for thirty minutes.”

“Is that after pre-heating?” I asked, then chortled at her expression. Even I knew you had to pre-heat. “Come on, Redfern, let’s get out of here before the Hive Queen makes me mop up the snow you tracked in.”

“Why do you have your coat and boots on?”

I pretended I didn’t hear him and raced to Dougal’s Lexus to transfer my costume to Redfern’s back seat.

“I need to stop at the cabin and pick up a few things,” Redfern said.

There was a stop sign at the corner of Concession Road 10 and Highway 21, but he barely yielded before pulling onto the highway. If I’d done that, Dwayne would have chased me down and tried to give me a ticket.

Redfern’s cabin wasn’t far from the greenhouse — just on the other side of the highway, down a tree-lined side road, and the first left along a path now almost impassable with snow drifts. Perfect for a hermit, or a city cop who didn’t know any better.

“I’ll wait for you here,” I told him when he stopped in front of the tiny cottage.

He went around and opened my door. “I don’t think so. Come in with me.”

“Really, I’m okay out here. I’ll just send a few texts, maybe phone my sister. Take your time.”

“Out. You’re in protective custody, remember?” He pulled me out. My utilitarian Cougars never hit the snow as he hauled me into his cold, damp cave.

He flipped on the light and I clutched his arm in shock. Somebody, or something, had tossed the place. From the front door, the entire living quarters, except the bedroom and bathroom, were visible. The kitchen area had taken the worst hit. Redfern didn’t keep much food around, but the cupboard doors — there were only two of them — hung open. Snow blew in the small sliding window over the sink.

A sound from the bedroom brought Redfern’s gun out of the holster and into his hand. “Squat down behind the sofa and stay there,” he ordered, and circled the living area, hugging the wall.

See, this is what happens on TV. The innocent bystander is told to stay back, then gets killed while the other guy runs off on his own and doesn’t die because he has the gun.

I followed close behind Redfern as he approached the open bedroom door.

“Will you ever listen to me?” His voice held no hope of that happening in his lifetime. He was learning.

“That’s what my parents used to ask. What have we got?” I already had a good idea what we’d find. I had seen the piles of poop scattered over the counter and the floor.

Sitting in the middle of Redfern’s bed was a raccoon. Not one of your overweight, citified raccoons. This was a Bruce County raccoon — lean, mean, and arrogant as hell.

It looked at us and chittered.

“It’s mad because you don’t have any food in your cupboards. Shoot it,” I said to Redfern.

He put his gun away and stared at the raccoon. It stared back. “How am I going to get you out of here?” he asked it.

“Uh, shoot it.”

“I’m not going to shoot it.”

“Right. That would make a big mess on the bed. Good point. How about you Taser him? You need the practice anyway, right?”

He reached forward slowly and grasped a corner of the bedspread. “Get the other side. We’ll wrap it up and let it go outside.”

Did the man know nothing about raccoons? Or me? “I haven’t had a rabies shot. No shit, Redfern, shoot it or Taser it, your choice, but don’t go all nature-nut on me.”