“Of course.” Neil felt like slapping his own head. “All the girls had one. What about the boys? Were their boutonnieres inserted into a cone?”

Cornwall’s look was disdainful. “That would be one heck of a boutonniere, wouldn’t it? They had one rose wrapped with some leaves, then stuck through their lapels and pinned.”

She lowered her voice. “So you found two cones in the locker. Somebody threw two graduation bouquets on top of Faith’s body, closed the locker, and just walked away.”

“But, why two?” Neil mused.

“If the murderer was one of the girls, she could have thrown her bouquet in as well as Faith’s.”

“Maybe.”

The door behind them swung open, slamming him in the back.

Glory Yates entered, releasing her thick mane from her white cap. She still wore the lab coat and the face mask hung around her neck. Her houseboy, Pan, similarly attired, hovered behind his boss.

“Oh, hello, Neil. Excuse me. I need to speak with Bliss.” She gave him a quick uplift of her lips. Glory was a member of the Police Services Board. He had never had any personal run-ins with her, but according to Cornwall she was the devil’s mistress, prowling the graveyards at night, sipping blood from a crystal goblet while she waited for her Dark Lord.

She addressed Cornwall. “There you are, Bliss. Did you contact the list of delinquent clients I gave you this morning?”

At Cornwall’s nod, she continued. “Good. I have another three names, and you might as well get to them before you leave today.”

Bliss accepted the paper from the outstretched hand and stuffed it in her back pocket.

Glory’s eyes scanned the mountain of Canadian Tire bags in one corner. “Oh, I see you’re moving forward with your decorating tasks for our open house. Carry on then.”

As she turned to leave, she hesitated and looked up at the glitter ball. It spun slowly, catching a few beams of light from the overcast sky. “Very nice. But it needs a spotlight. See to it. Fang, I hope Bliss isn’t taking advantage of you again …”

Her words ended abruptly and her body became still. She found the one stranger among them. Her mouth formed a perfect O.

Tendrils of curls tumbled around her face, and her pale complexion turned pink. She floated forward, stopping a few feet from Tony. One hand twitched as though she wanted to reach out and touch him.

Tony blinked and cleared his throat. His olive skin never reddened. But something changed in his face. Black eyelashes swept his cheeks. His dark eyes opened wide and his gaze locked with hers. Neil had seen this reaction before.

Tony’s right hand reached for Glory’s and, instead of a traditional handshake, their fingers intertwined.

Was it Neil’s imagination, or did forked lightning flash in the darkened sky above the atrium?

He closed his eyes against the sight. “Ah, shit.”

CHAPTER

eighteen

“You have to talk to Tony. He doesn’t know what he’s getting into.” I scooped more chicken casserole onto my plate. Thinking Redfern looked somewhat peaked at the greenhouse, I cooked him dinner. And made a salad from ingredients I found in the fridge. It was almost magical, the way food periodically showed up in there. But really I was thankful Rae dragged groceries in from time to time.

Redfern shovelled in the food like he hadn’t eaten all day, poor guy. “I thought you couldn’t cook.”

“I never said that. I just prefer not to.” I pushed the salad bowl his way. “Load up. You probably need more fibre.”

He pushed it back. “My fibre is fine. Don’t worry about Tony. He can take care of himself. It’s Glory I’m concerned about.”

“Glory. Are you kidding me? She’ll suck Tony dry and discard the shell.”

He smiled, leaned back, and pushed his empty plate away. “Good dinner. I appreciate your efforts.”

I put our plates in the sink and covered the leftovers. “Don’t get used to it. Go to the living room and put your feet up. I’ll be right there. Coffee? Beer?”

He got up, but narrowed his eyes. “What’s up with you?”

I stood on tiptoes and gave him a quick kiss on his way past me. Honestly, I wasn’t sure what was up with me.

Once the kitchen was tidied, I prepared a tray laden with our coffees and two servings of cheesecake. Redfern accepted my offering quickly, like I had a boa constrictor wound around my neck. Shoot it or run, his expression seemed to be debating.

I noticed the black notebook and pen in his hand. “Are we going to talk about the case?”

“Yes, we are. I’ve made three columns here. First column consists of names of people I intend to interview. Second column is for tick marks after the interviews. Guess what the third column is for.”

“I have no idea, officer.” I did, but wasn’t a fan of lists, so decided not to participate in this line of questioning where I was being set up to be the big loser. And I think he was lying about the columns. No way could you get three on that ratty little notebook.

“The third column has Bliss Cornwall as a heading. Which of these people have you already interrogated? Let’s see. Fang, Earl Archman, Charles Leeds, Mike Bains. Anyone else?”

“For your information, Chief, Fang was too drunk and despondent last night at the Wing Nut to make any sense, and today he just complained — a lot — about the few simple tasks I asked him to perform. I meant to ask about grad night, but you and Tony came bursting in before I had a chance.”

“Earl Archman—”

“… went on at great length about how the Class of 2000 was the worst he had the misfortune to teach. Your friend, the gynecologist, interrupted us before I could get any useful details from him.”

Redfern looked up from his columns. “You need to get over this phobia about gynecologists. What do you propose to do when you get pregnant?”

“Uh, not get pregnant. Anyway, I’ve nothing against female gynecologists. But a man poking around a woman’s nether parts for money is just wrong. I suspect his motives.”

Redfern touched my knee. “You’re very entertaining, Cornwall, but can we discuss Charles Leeds now? You hung out with him for most of yesterday. Don’t tell me you didn’t discuss the graduation party.”

“Do I detect a pinch of jealousy?”

He snorted in a most unflattering way. “Hardly. He has three kids, remember. Talk.”

“I didn’t have that much time to get into anything with him. I went to Canadian Tire hoping to score some decorations for Glory’s charity open house. I managed to obtain a few. Chico helped me out to the parking lot. We fell. Mr. Archman cracked his arm on the pavement when he slipped. And then the ambulance came. There you have it.”

“You and Chico didn’t discuss the deaths or grad night?”

“Not really. While we waited in the checkout line, I showed him the yearbook pictures. He had snapped most of them himself. We did take a short waltz down memory lane, but only about photography. I was bored to tears.”

“You spent time in the emergency room. What did you talk about there?”

“Mostly, he was on the phone, instructing his minions to cover the parking lot with Ice Melt. Then his wife called and reamed him out for twenty minutes about Chucky Junior’s hockey schedule and telling him why he should get it changed so she doesn’t have to get up at 3:00 a.m. every Saturday morning. After he hung up, he explained why it wasn’t his fault the parking lot was a death trap and he hoped Mr. Archman wouldn’t sue him. Uh, let me see.” I wracked my brain. “That’s about it. He whined a lot. You came in with your henchman, Bernie, and this time I was rather happy to see you. That is, until you so rudely refused me a ride back to my car.”

He put the notebook on the coffee table and pulled me onto his lap. “I’m sorry about that. I’m such a bastard. What about Mike Bains?”