“Why do I have to shovel? What’s Dougal doing?”

“The useless worm is bringing the plants out to the tables. I’ll arrange them according to price.” Behind Glory, Dougal pushed a trolley laden with colourful flowers. He smirked and waved.

“What about Pan?” At least he could do something useful and make up the signs.

“Pan has a touch of flu and had to stay home.”

Pan either had a touch of insecticide-poisoning, or he was lying to get out of work. I didn’t care which; I was going to get even with that lazy little screw-up.

“What’s that?” Glory pointed a claw at the hockey bag I had dragged in.

“My costume and stuff.” It was my dad’s and didn’t smell minty fresh, but finding something long enough to transport a bayonet had proven a challenge. I knew perfectly well no law forbade the carrying of a knife or sword, as long as it isn’t a switchblade, but I needed to hide it from Glory since, law or no law, she would take it away from me. Once it was on my person as part of my costume, she’d have to chase me down to get it.

Neil had given me the flint eye when I told him what I was going to do with the bayonet. I could tell he was wondering what other treasures my house held for an officer of the law. That worried me a lot. If he became a permanent fixture at the house, he was bound to poke around and find my cache. Even though the guns weren’t mine, technically-speaking, somebody would go down for illegal possession of prohibited weapons, and I was the one with legal tenancy to the premises.

“Bliss, did you hear me? And before I forget, you can take those four boxes of cheap china back to Canadian Tire, or else store them in your own basement. Just get them out of here. Seasons Repast indeed! Now, Rae, you set up the boxes for the food donations. Make sure they’re covered in tasteful holiday paper and place them on either side of the door in the atrium. The donated baked goods for the refreshment tables were dropped off earlier. And thank you for that, Rae. You did a good job. When Bliss is finished shovelling, she can help you set out the food and prepare the coffee and tea urns.” She snapped her fingers. “Let’s go now, people.”

“Where’s the damn shovel?” I asked, earning myself an exasperated sigh.

“How should I know?” She waved her arm vaguely in the direction of the four winds. “Look for it and make it snappy.”

The shovel handle protruded from a snowbank at the far end of the parking lot. I had to dig it out with my hands, then empty the snow out of my boots. By the time I cleared the last foot of walkway to the back door, the first part had drifted in again. I know when I’m beat. Sticking the half-dozen candy canes on the piles of snow I had just created, I declared that job done. If the snow continued to swirl in this frenzied dance of blinding whiteness, no one would show up anyway.

Just when I thought I was finished and could get out of the cold, I remembered the signs. Not only did I have to direct non-existent visitors to the back, I had promised Chico I would advertise his generosity. The printer guy was bringing his own. I had Chico’s signs made up already and just had to stick one to — something outside. The other would go on the men’s room door as promised. Armed with a hammer and a few nails tucked into my pockets, I ventured out again. I could really use Neil’s nail gun … now that I knew how to use it.

The sign was printed on bristol board, and I hadn’t much hope that it would last long in this wind. I selected a tough-looking pine and hammered in two nails. Did trees feel pain? I hoped not. I had nothing against trees.

Glory must have arranged with our private snowplough company to clear out the parking lot before the party. A pickup with a plough affixed to the front drove straight at me. I threw myself into the nearest snowbank. Was the killer having another go at me, this time using a snowplow instead of a gun? It was a crazy thought, and it didn’t last long. The driver swerved at the last minute. As he passed, he threw back his head and his mouth opened in a soundless laugh. Fang! He opened the window and yelled back to me, “Nice jump. See you later, Bliss!”

I was going to kill him.

Inside, things seemed to be humming along. It was noon and, screw Glory, I was getting into my costume. After I ate a couple of the lemon squares that had been laid out on the refreshment table, that is.

Glory’s stilettos pounded along the hall outside the atrium, coming closer. I ducked behind the food donation box that Rae had tastefully covered in holiday wrapping. The twelve-foot, pre-lit tree stood in stately winking splendour close by. I held my breath as the door opened. Glory mumbled to herself, then withdrew and clacked away. I waited until I heard her berating Dougal for mixing up the colours of the Hoyas — didn’t he know anything about floral design? She should have known he didn’t, having been married to him for the worst five years of her life (according to Dougal, it seemed twice that long.) Nice to see things were back to normal between those two. I raced to the ladies’ room.

The Belcourts had anticipated their greenhouse becoming a tourist attraction once the atrium was transformed into a reptile and insect sanctuary, a.k.a. tropical garden. To that end, two lovely washrooms, one for men, one for women, adjoined the atrium, one on either side of the hallway. I can’t describe the men’s room, but the ladies’ boasted three stalls with toilets that flushed automatically if you sat there too long. At least the doors didn’t fly open at the same time. Dad’s hockey bag waited in front of the triple sinks.

There was little chance Glory would intrude, as she had commandeered the manager’s office during Ivy Belcourt’s Arizona sojourn. The office had a private bathroom … or so I’d heard, since I was never invited on a tour.

Rae came in, already in her costume. The dress and her hair reminded me of something, but I couldn’t place it.

“Who are you, again? Barbie?”

“No.” She turned from the mirror and looked at me reproachfully. “I’m a Disney princess. Guess which one?”

I hated guessing. I studied the long, puffy-skirted dress. It was blue, with a darker blue bodice. She had pulled her blonde hair back into an elegant chignon. “Snow White? Ariel? No, wait. Who’s that other one — Jasmine?”

“Cinderella!”

“Right, right. You make a perfect Cinderella, Rae. Did you bring the face paint, like I asked?”

“I have it right here. Do you want to paint some flowers on your face?”

“I want you to paint some things on my face. I have a drawing.”

I tore off my clothes, right down to my black thong. My costume comprised many pieces, all black. By the time I wiggled into them all, Rae’s face wore an expression of disbelief. I flatter myself that a trace of horror tinged her wide, blinking eyes.

“Oh, no, Bliss. Wow. Glory will be too pissed to even pee her pants!”

“I think she’s too posh to pee anywhere, ever.” We giggled like fools, then froze when someone knocked on the door. Glory!

I dove for the nearest cubicle but stopped when Dougal called out “You girls decent?” He walked in without waiting for an answer. “Chico is here and wants to know where to set up his cameras.” He backed away when he caught sight of me. “What are you supposed to be? Never mind, Glory will spontaneously shatter into a million ice shards and that’s good enough for me.”

“Forget about my costume.” I pointed at him. “That’s not cool. Why are you dressed like Adolf Hitler?”

CHAPTER

forty-four

Dougal carried a black bowler. He set it on his head and said, “I’m Charlie Chaplin!”