Cornwall and Redfern Mysteries 2-Book Bundle (17 page)

“Miss Glory wants a word with you, Bliss.”

“I'll pass, thanks, Pan.”

It was my second Titan run of the day, a bit early, but it's amazing how many hours there are in a day when you don't have a real job.

Sif seemed to be more or less the same height as this morning, but her spathe had further opened and her inner lining of deep red velvet cupped thousands of miniature cream flowers at the base. The odour in the greenhouse was stronger than even a few hours earlier, and brought to mind a fresh load of manure spread on a newly ploughed field. Pan noticed the smell this time and threw me sidelong glances until I told him that it wasn't me, for God's sake.

The pot crop was high and verdant, obviously ready for harvesting. I was thankful that, soon, I would never have to set foot in Glory's greenhouse again. I needed the money now more than ever, but I hoped she would tell me she no longer required my services to clean her house. The woman either ingested too much pot, or not enough.

“She was really insistent,” Pan wheedled.

After a moment's thought, I decided to comply. Until I transported Sif's pollen to Thor, and Thor's back to Sif — or the other way around — it would be in my best interest to stay on Glory's good side. Well, that was a stretch. Glory had only a bad side, and a worse side.

“Lead me to Her Weedness then, but shouldn't I get a last meal?”

“You're quite amusing at times, Bliss.”

It looked like my amusement factor wasn't getting me any food. It was just as well. I'd had my quota of special ingredient for the week, and it apparently featured in every dish prepared in Glory's kitchen.

Glory sat on her terrace, in a wicker armchair pulled up to a round table. She was dressed in white shorts and a sleeveless tee-shirt, and I was happy to see she wore tennis shoes. At least she wouldn't be hurling high-heeled slippers at my head, but I kept my eye on the tennis racquet propped nearby.

A bottle of white wine in an ice bucket sat on the table. Two long-stemmed glasses waited nearby. I looked around for a bowl of chips or beer nuts. Nada.

“Sit down, Bliss.”

“Here?”

“Of course.”

I pulled out the chair opposite her and sat on its edge. I shot Pan a glance, but he looked as perplexed as I felt.

“I hope you like Riesling?” She waved Pan away with one hand and he left the terrace with unflattering speed. There would be no help from that houseboy if I needed rescue.

Glory expertly poured wine into the glasses and handed one to me. I took it but didn't sip.

“You've been on my mind all day, Bliss.” She tossed her tangle of fiery hair back and aimed her sea-blue eyes at my own regulation brown ones.

“Oh?”

“Yes. I realize you were only showing concern for me, and I reacted badly. You may be poor, and not too smart in the marital department, but you're sincere. I promise you that the crop of marijuana in my greenhouse is my last. The next time it's my turn, I'm going to tell my friends I won't do it. I'm quite high-strung, and I need my special food to relax, but I'm sure I can find another source.”

“I'm glad to hear it, Glory.” I wouldn't bet the family silver on that promise.

“To make up for being so cross with you, I'm going to tell you something. Something I haven't told another living soul. Except my therapist.”

I took a healthy gulp of wine and stayed on the edge of the chair. I had a premonition Glory was going to tell me she slaughtered her previous house cleaner and buried the body in the forest behind her house. Or she had a crazy old grandmother stored in the attic. Or, more probable, she was sleeping with Pan and was pregnant with his triplets.

“I'm going to tell you why I threw Dougal out of my house, and why I would cheerfully castrate him given a clear shot and a sharp knife.”

All right! I drained the glass, then poured myself a wee drop more.

“My therapist wants me to tell someone I trust, to share the pain. It's been eating at me for three years and he says that if I share it with a friend, the burden will be lightened. But I can't trust my friends not to laugh or spread gossip, so I'm going to tell you.”

“Does Dougal know why you threw him out?”

“Of course he does! It happened on my birthday, my thirtieth. You probably remember how you felt when you hit thirty. Unattractive, over the hill, incipient wrinkles, the whole bit?”

I nodded, although the memory I had of that landmark birthday was spending it in my parked car at the Bird River swamp. And, until now, I hadn't given significant thought to wrinkles. I fingered the skin at the corner of my eyes.

“Well, Dougal and I had dinner at the Club that night. He had been excited all evening, and I suspected he had something special for me.”

Glory's fingers were wrapped around her wine glass, but she was too engrossed in her story to drink. I poured another smidge into my glass.

“I thought maybe it was a diamond heart pendant I had been hinting about, or a pair of emerald drop earrings. Instead, he pulled an envelope out of his pocket and gave it to me, with his typical stupid grin. Well, then I figured the envelope held tickets for a trip. We hadn't been to Florence since our graduation year and … Guess what it was?”

Hell, I had no idea. I just shrugged and poured another nip.

“It was a gift certificate. My loving husband gave me.… Guess.”

“Don't know, Glory.”

“Breast implants. The worm had bought me breast implants. All I had to do was phone the surgeon's office and book the appointment. He was so pleased with himself.”

Now Glory drained her glass and reached for the bottle. It was empty. It couldn't have been a standard-
sized bottle, probably one of those small bottles from France, or Bulgaria.

Glory snapped her fingers and Pan magically appeared with another chilled offering wrapped in a cloth napkin, resting along his arm like he was some goddamn mâitre d' at the Château Laurier. He refilled her glass halfway and was going to place it in the ice bucket, but I held my empty glass out. He glanced at his mistress and, at her regal nod, poured me a couple of inches.

She waited until Pan disappeared again. He probably was hiding around the corner of the terrace, ears flapping like sails in the sunset. If he had any decency, he'd have brought out some chips with the second bottle of wine. I could feel the alcohol hitting my empty stomach and my near-empty brain. But this stuff was so much smoother than the red I drank the night before. I reached into the ice bucket again.

“Do these look like they need to be augmented? Tell me the truth, Bliss, do they?” Glory had her hands over her girls and was shaking them up and down. “Don't these look perfect to you?”

“Of course, they're perfect, Glory. If they were any bigger or firmer, they'd be just trashy. I can't believe Dougal would try and buy you bigger ones. Isn't that just like a man, only thinking of himself? He needs a brain transplant.”

“I know!” Glory reached over the table and filled both glasses to the brim. Oh, my kingdom for a sandwich.

“You know, Glory? That is the most insulting thing a husband can do. It's like he doesn't think you're good enough the way you are. I don't blame you for throwing his selfish ass out. No kidding, that was purely evil, what he did.”

“I know!” She snapped her fingers, twice, and Pan ran up with a third bottle, this time some kind of Chardonnay. I much preferred Riesling.

“I'm really sorry, Glory. But I'm glad you didn't give in and have the surgery. A lesser woman would have gone through with it, just to please her selfish husband. Bastards.”

“I know. But you don't mess with perfection, Bliss. Now, if the worm suggested you get implants, that would be different. No offence, Bliss, but you could use a little help in that department. Although, maybe if you put on a few pounds, your va-voom factor would increase exponentially. I don't remember you looking so flat before.”

What? I cupped my hands over my va-vooms and gave them a jiggle. Those puppies were as firm as apples but, I couldn't deny it, about the same size. It would probably be rude to ask Glory what she did with the gift certificate.

“There's something I must chastise you for, though.” Glory waggled a finger in front of my face. “You didn't tell me you are no longer working at the library. I had to hear it from the grapevine.”

I looked at the grapevine that had come out of hiding and was hovering nearby. He just shrugged and tucked a string of gelled hair behind his ear.

“Anyway, Bliss, I have a proposition for you.”

“Yeth?” My tongue was numb and my lips were thick, or the other way around.

“Since you have so much free time now, I want you to come over three mornings a week to clean — Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.”

It was hard to contain my joy. “I already lined up two custer … customers for Friday.”

“I'll pay you more.”

“No way!”

“Yes way.”

She named an hourly rate that was twice what she paid me now.

“Pan isn't much good at cleaning, and I need somebody reliable. That's you. I've entrusted you with my deepest secret, so you can't say no.”

“I can't come tomorrow. Dougal says the Titans will blom … blom-som soon, and I have to be ready to run po … mmen back and forth.” Okay, you try pronouncing those consonants on a snootful of wine.

“Monday then. Be here.”

It was rude to leave unfinished wine behind, but now my toes were numb. Pan helped me through the front gate to the curb.

“You shouldn't drive, Bliss.”

“Aren't going to, my little buddy. I will roll my bike along the sidewalk to Dougal's house.”

“I hope you realize you just agreed to work for the Fiery One three mornings a week?” He hung the strap of Dougal's camera around my neck.

“I am too dizzy to argue that point at the …
mo … mom … min
-ute. I will recon
shider
in the morning. And she knows you heard about the fake boobs. So we should never speak again. Of it. Ever.”

“Don't worry about me.” He mimed sharpening a knife and stabbing his own heart.

I nodded, solemnly as befit the occasion. “Exactly. Now we know the secret, and our souls belong to the Duchess of Devilweed.”

“Would you scan this
pic
-ture for me and file it someplace safe?” I asked Dougal once he detached the camera from my neck and sat down at his computer to download the latest shots of Sif. I planted my legs wide apart to keep from swaying.

He glanced at the photograph in my hand, then leaned across the desk for a closer look.

“This is Mike with a reefer in his mouth. Where did you get it? I thought you burned all his pictures. And who's the hot babe on his lap?”

“Very hilarious. This
pic
-ture is going to get me my fair share of our mooch-ual worldly goods.”

“Has he seen it?”

“Yes, and I am happy to retort … I mean
report
, that the blood drained instantly from his face. Even his ears were tight … white.”

He gave me an up and down gaze, but said merely, “Interesting. Anyway, sure, I'll do it right now while you go look at Thor and see how he compares with Sif.”

Thor looked, and smelled, pretty much the same as Sif. I wasn't tempted to linger in the solarium, but got sidetracked by Simon who was sitting on top of his condo glaring at the Titan.

“Help me!” he shrieked when he realized I was leaving him alone with the stinky plant again.

“Well, plop down and come along, then,” I said.

Simon fluttered to the tiles and beat me to the door. “I don't know what your problem is,” I said to the bird. “Thor is a jungle plant and so are you. A jungle bird, I mean. You should be thick as thieves.”

Simon turned his head and stabbed my ankle with his curved beak. He lurched rapidly down the hall, clipped wings flapping impotently and red tail feathers lifted high off the floor.

By the time I reached the study, Simon was perched on the back of Dougal's chair, opening and closing his beak in silent laughter.

“Simon bit me.”

“Don't be ridiculous. He was probably rubbing his beak against your skin as a sign of affection. Like this.” Dougal and Simon demonstrated a cross-species kiss, beak to lips.

“It's nice outside. Why don't we put Simon out on the patio and see if an owl comes by to visit? Or a coywolf?”

“Here's your photo of Mike and his doobie back. I've filed a copy on several different drives as well as a memory stick.”

“Doobie doobie doo,” sang Simon, not sounding like Dean Martin. He jumped off the chair back and skittered across the desk toward me.

I backed away. “Thanks, Dougal. Did Mrs. Boudreau bring any food yet?” The thumping headache I woke up with this morning had returned tenfold, and I knew I had to eat something. My Thursday night yoga class was in less than two hours, and I wouldn't get through it unless I sobered up.

“So, is Thor about at the same stage as Sif?”

“Looks the same, smells the same. About that food …”

“We're on our way, then.” Dougal's eyes were shining like a kid's on Christmas morning. “Nothing can stop the blossoming now.”

“Actually, they both look pretty blom-somy already. How come you can't do the pollination now?”

“They aren't quite ready. I'll know the perfect moment, and that may very well occur tomorrow around midnight, but you better make yourself available all day tomorrow, just in case.”

“Sure, I'm there. But Dougal. Food?”

“Mrs. Boudreau didn't come again today. I tried to call her, but had to leave a message. I hope nothing's happened to her, but if it has, you'll have to bring in groceries. You're not a great cook, but you may have to pinch hit for awhile. I've eaten all my convenience food and I'm starving.”

“I am not cooking for you. I draw the line in the sandbox.” I leaned on the desk to stop the floor from shifting under my feet.

Dougal threw me another onceover, but said nothing more. Soon we were in his kitchen surveying the still-empty fridge. After closing the door on that depressing sight, we moved to the cupboards.

“There's some spaghetti. You can cook that.”

“I can't remember how to turn on a stove, so move on.” I tried to walk in a steady line, which had me bumping into chairs and appliances.

The walk-in pantry still held the motherlode of cans.

“I have a pooper-scooper idea,” I said to Dougal, trying to pronounce my words carefully. He was watching me closely, but I gathered a selection of cans into my arms and called over my shoulder, “Fetch a bowl and some can openers.”

Soon, we had a production line going. I sat at the table and drank a bottle of water while Dougal opened cans, poured the contents into bowls, and heated them in the microwave. From all the hissing and popping sounds, that microwave would be a bitch to clean once it dried out.

We dispensed with plates and just used one fork each to spear whatever we fancied out of the dozen bowls arranged in the middle of the table.

“What's this?” I asked, looking at a bright red ball on the end of my fork.

“Beet.” Dougal was shovelling up ravioli, and changed to a spoon to capture the sauce.

I ate a beet. It wasn't so bad, so I ate a couple more before deciding to switch to a different colour group.

“What's this?” It was long and green.

“Asparagus. But it's from China, so I wouldn't eat too many.”

I spat it out beside my plate.

“Bliss, what the hell are you doing?” Dougal handed me a napkin and I wiped delicately at the corners of my mouth.

“Bliss, are you high again? Or drunk?”

“Drunk. What's this?”

Dougal leaned over to view the white chunks floating in gray liquid.

“How should I know? Try it and tell me what it tastes like.”

I snickered. “Yeah, right. Here, taste it yourself.” I shoved the purported food across the table and had a go at what was left of the ravioli.

“What's going on, Bliss? Yesterday you show up stoned, today drunk.”

“It wasn't my fault. Glory gave me some lovely Riesling, then we switched to Chardonnay. And since I haven't had a bite of food since forever, it went right to my head. Now I'm enjoying this yummy buffet. Pass the stew and your spoon, please.”

“Glory? Glory voluntarily served you wine. That's not a very credible story, Bliss.”

“It's true. She said she was grateful for my concern about the mari …” Oops, almost spilled the beans, there. “Let's just say I did her a favour and she was grateful. So we sat on the terrace and enjoyed a couple bottles of wine.”

“You're not making any sense, Bliss.”

“And she told me why she threw your ass out. How about that?”

“You're both crazy.”

“I've been called that a lot lately. Anyway, you showed an uncanny lack of sensitivity, even for you, buying your wife a set of fake boobs for her birthday. Shame, Dougal. Shame!”

His face now resembled the lone beet left in its bowl. I jammed my fork into it and shook it at Dougal. The juice spattered the front of his spanking white tee-shirt, leaving a track of red stains that looked a lot like blood. I shook my fork again and a disappointingly smaller spatter overlaid the first.

Dougal looking speechlessly down at his chest, and I was recovered enough to realize it was time to leave.

Chewing the beet, I said, “I'm throwing myself out this time, to save you the bother. See you in the morning.”

I was a little wobbly, but made it to the front door without major incident, although the umbrella stand tipped over as I was trying to step into my boots.

“Your skin is so soft,” insisted Simon who had followed me from the kitchen. He jabbed his beak at me again, but I fended him off with the curved handle of an umbrella.

“Fuck off, bird.” I slammed the door on him.

I should have brought the umbrella with me. While I was inside enjoying Dougal's hospitality, the fine weather had ended, and the angels had opened the taps.

I was in no shape to operate a motorized vehicle, so, scurrying to my bike, I tore off my leather jacket and replaced it with the top of a bright yellow rain suit I kept stored in the saddlebag. Slinging the canvas bag holding my yoga clothes over my shoulder, I set off for the Golden Goddess Spa.

The ten-minute walk did me good, but I was still unsteady as the class began. I learned that the balancing poses such as the Tree, the Standing Lotus, or any of the Warrior Poses required the blood to run alcohol-free as it was really embarrassing for the instructor to fall over before the students. We spent the hour on our mats performing poses that kept the whole body on the floor.

Throughout the session, I kept my eye on Chesley in the back row. I wanted to make sure he didn't slip away after class. Ivy and Chesley Belcourt were up to something, and I was going to know what that was before the night was over.