Lavinia opened the door and announced, “Fang Davidson here to see you, Chief.”

CHAPTER

fourteen

“Can you do something with this?” I pulled the towel off my damp hair and stood in front of Rae in the living room.

She looked up from her anatomy textbook and set aside her pen. “Like what? I don’t have time to put another colour in tonight. I have my massage therapy final in less than a month and have to cram like crazy.”

Have I mentioned that Rae is a former hooker? We both used to live in trailers in Hemp Hollow, and I brought her with me when I moved into my parents’ empty house. Now, she’s a part-time receptionist at the greenhouse, and one day a week she works for me cleaning houses. In her spare time, she’s studying to become a registered massage therapist and plans to open her own business. She’s too busy to backslide into her old life, even if she’s tempted. I make sure of that.

“I don’t want another colour.” Even Redfern was beginning to make cracks about my many-shaded tresses. “Can you style it or something so it doesn’t look so striped and frizzy?”

“Sure. I’ll French braid it. Oh, and then I’ll make your eyes look smoky. You won’t be able to keep the Chief off you.”

“That’s not what I’m after tonight. He’s tied up with the OPP investigator, so I’m on my own. I’m going to the Wing Nut for a glass of wine and some company.”

Rae doesn’t do things halfway, so by the time I picked my way over the icy driveway to my Matrix — in knee-high, low-heeled boots — my person was not only French-braided and smoky-eyed, but plucked, blushed, and lip-glossed. Somebody better try to pick me up after all that.

The Wing Nut is a restaurant and bar south of the cemetery on Highway 21. In a bygone era, it would have been called a roadhouse. Since it was technically within the town limits, the highway was well-ploughed and sanded. The snow had stopped earlier in the day and if the temperature went up a few degrees more, maybe the accumulation would melt. I hated it when the snow stayed on the ground this early in December. It made a long winter endless.

The neon letters and graphic of somebody’s idea of a wing nut illuminated the parking lot, which wasn’t as well-sanded as the highway. I really needed to start transporting my own bucket of Ice Melt. My boots skidded on the icy patches, but, lucky for me, about a dozen cars crowded the parking spots closest to the entrance. I used the vehicles for support and made it to within a few yards of the front door before my feet slid out from under me. I gripped the door handle of a nearby pickup truck and held on as the rest of my body disappeared under the vehicle. I looked up and read the sign on its door: Davidson and Cutler Salvage.

Good. Fang was here. I could find out what he remembered about grad night. And, if it seemed appropriate, offer my condolences. I released the door handle, rolled over, and crawled out from under the truck. A tarp partially covered a glittery object in the bed of the truck. It beckoned me. I pushed back the tarp: a disco ball! Could this be the disco ball from the high school gym?

I touched the multi-faceted surface. It felt like glass, but was probably hard plastic. Big and shiny and tacky, it would look perfect hanging from the cathedral ceiling of the greenhouse during Glory’s food benefit. I had to have it. I would have it.

I made it up the three steps and opened the front door of the Wing. I wasn’t a fan of loud country- and-western music, but Monday night in these parts didn’t afford much choice if one was looking for food, booze, or company.

Fang slumped against the bar with a younger man yattering in his ear. I slipped out of my faux-fox-fur coat and hoisted myself onto the empty stool on Fang’s other side.

I ordered a glass of white wine and prodded Fang in the arm. “Hi.”

He barely looked at me. “How you doing, Bliss?” In addition to other odd jobs, Fang delivered packages to the greenhouse and collected shipments for the Royal Mail and UPS. On Friday, he had been his usual easy-going self. Now, he stared into his beer as though it would really help him forget his problems. If he wanted forgetfulness, he should switch to tequila.

The other man leaned around Fang. “I’m Larry Cutler, Fang’s cousin. You alone?”

Well, there it was. Not much of a pickup line, but now I could move on. “Hi, Larry. I’m Bliss. I went to school with Fang.”

He looked disappointed. “Oh, I guess that means you’re as old as Fang.”

“Pretty close, Larry.” I was three months older.

Larry went back to eating free peanuts and staring at the female bartender, forty if she was a day. But she did have an impressive rack.

Now that Fang was in my sights, I wasn’t sure how to proceed. Did he suspect the skeleton he found was his twin sister? If not, I didn’t want to be the one to break the news.

I tried for neutral. “It must have been awful, what you found in the old high school. Quite a shock.”

I wasn’t good at diplomacy, and Fang cut through my pitiful attempt. “It was Faith, you know.”

I put my hand on his arm. “I guess you knew all along that something bad had happened to her.”

“All this time, we thought she disappeared off the bus in Toronto. Turns out, whatever happened, happened right here in this sleepy little town.”

“I know.” For the life of me, I couldn’t think of anything to say that wasn’t a platitude, or just plain dumb. Time to move on.

“Um, I see you have the old high school disco ball in the back of your truck. I could use it, you know, a kind of nostalgia thing. I’ll give you twenty bucks for it.”

“Nah.”

“It’s part of my personal history. How about thirty?”

“Nope.”

Playing hardball, was he? “Okay. Forty. And that’s my final offer.” I could buy a new ball from an online party store for less. I wanted this one.

Fang sighed and ordered another beer. I didn’t want to hassle him under the sad circumstances and decided to leave it for a while, then come back at him with an offer of forty-five dollars.

At the other end of the bar, a couple of familiar faces pressed together in a private conversation: Thea Vanderbloom and Dwayne Rundell. They weren’t any more welcoming than Fang when I hopped up beside Thea. Good thing I wasn’t sensitive.

I sipped my wine and beamed at them. Thea had on a long-sleeved black T-shirt and a silver lariat necklace. Dwayne wore a black western-style shirt. “Are you guys taking line-dancing lessons here? Are we going to see a demonstration by the fab duo of Dwayne and Thea?” I checked their boots for spurs.

“Hi, Moonbeam.” Thea sat up straighter on her stool. A glass of icy pop snapped and crackled in front of her. Guess she was the designated driver tonight.

Dwayne looked over her head. “Well, look at you, all dressed up. She almost looks like a real girl, Thea.”

“Oh, aren’t you a clever boy?” I stuck three fingers into his beer and chucked him under the chin.

He grabbed a napkin and wiped his neck. “Thea!”

“Go to the restroom and wash your face, hon. I’ll get you another beer.” Thea shooed him off in the direction of the Gents, then shook her head at me. “I don’t know why you can’t be a bit more respectful.”

“Me? He took the first shot.”

“You call him Duh-wayne. That’s not nice.”

“Do I?” I was honestly surprised. “Sorry. I’ll try to do better.”

Thea threw me a suspicious look before taking the last mini-pretzel from the bowl in front of her and signalling the bartender to bring more.

I addressed Constable Crybaby when he returned. “I’ll buy you another beer, Dwayne.” There, that should make Thea happy.