CHAPTER

twenty-one

I rolled down my window. “Hi, Dwayne. What is it this time?” I made sure to say his name fast so he couldn’t cry to Thea that I called him Duh-wayne or Dwa-aayne again.

“Licence and registration, please.”

“What now? I wasn’t speeding. And why were you having lunch at the Wing Nut so late?”

He pulled his summons book out. “Maybe you weren’t speeding this time, but your hatchback window is covered with ice, obscuring your vision. Your windshield isn’t so great, either. And none of your business when I have lunch.”

The last sheet of ice slid down my windshield. “My windshield is fine, and as for the back, that’s what side mirrors are for. Right?”

“Your backup lights are obscured by snow. That’s a summons for you.”

“Let me see that.” The door hit him in the stomach when I got out.

“Wait. I didn’t tell you to get out…. Return to your vehicle immediately.”

I marched to the back of my Matrix and brushed the snow off my tail lights. For good measure, I cleaned my licence plate. “There. Are you happy now?”

“There’s a thick coating of ice on the lights. You have to scrape that off.”

“I don’t have a scraper at the moment.”

He flicked over a page in his book. “In that case, I’m sorry, but this time I can’t let you off with a warning. Ice on your tail lights is a driving hazard.”

“No problem. Give me a moment.” I hiked up my jacket and set my butt against the first tail light. I squirmed against it and began to move in a rotating, grinding motion.

Dwayne looked around. “Stop that.” He took a step back.

“Is the camera on your dashboard rolling, Dwayne?” I threw my arms in the air, bumping and grinding, tossing my head back and forth, eyes closed. “Oh, baby. I’m almost there. Getting hotter, hotter. Smoking hot. The ice is melting.” Vehicles roared past, honking appreciatively. None of them moved over to the far lane as the law required when passing a parked police vehicle. Dwayne didn’t seem to notice those transgressions.

He cast a wild glance back at his cruiser and moved in front of me. “Okay, stop. If you stop, I won’t write you up.”

I threw my whole body into it, shoulders rotating, hips gyrating. “Can’t stop. Almost there. Then I have to defrost the other one. I don’t think you’re supposed to block out the camera.” An eighteen-wheeler roared toward us. The horn blared and I gave the driver a thumbs-up.

“Stop. Please!”

I stopped. The denim clung damply to my rear end.

“Boy, you are a piece of work, Bliss. Get lost.”

He turned on his heel and stamped away. The back of his uniform was again covered in salt and sand from passing traffic. So was the side of my car, but it was worth it. I pouted and waved at the dashcam, then threw it a kiss. When I pulled away, I made sure to use my indicator light.

Mrs. Brickle had been one of the chaperones at grad night. Glory and Redfern might have a couple of wee fits when they learned I visited Mrs. Brickle. But she was a client, so to hell with them.

Mrs. Brickle lived on Sandpiper Street, about a block and a half from my parent’s place. She was a childless widow in her eighties, although she looked much younger. And I hadn’t thought of this before, but she had to have been retired when she chaperoned the grad dance. Odd. I’d ask her about that later. And maybe she would remember something useful. Again, to hell with Redfern. And Glory.

Two of my cleaning staff, Cora Wayne and Marjorie Hamdock, were just finishing up when I arrived. We stood chatting in the hallway while the two women put on their coats.

“Oh, Bliss?” Marjorie paused in the open doorway. “Can I take next Wednesday off? I need to take Storm to London for his orthodontist appointment. The braces are finally coming off.”

“Sure.” I typed a note into my phone. “I’ll get someone to cover for you.” Who paid for orthodontic work for their pet? “Uh, so how is your cat these days?”

“Derek? He’s fine, for his age. Fifteen now, and fat as a coon. Thanks, Bliss.”

Confused, I followed them outside. If I had kids someday, I was naming them John and Sarah. And if I ever got a cat, I’d call it Fluffy. “Can I speak to you for a minute, Cora?”

Cora waved to Marjorie to go ahead. “Sure, what’s up, Bliss? I can clean Mrs. Brickle’s place by myself next Wednesday if you want. It will just take a few hours longer.”

“No, it isn’t that. I’ll get someone to help you. Do you still make costumes?”

“Sure. What do you need?”

I gave her a sketch I had drawn up and explained what fabric I wanted. Ten minutes later, I was seated opposite Mrs. Brickle in her living room. I placed a magazine under me so I wouldn’t leave a wet butt mark on her sofa.

The house smelled faintly of vinegar and lemon. We used whatever products the client stocked. Mrs. Brickle preferred vinegar and water for most cleaning jobs, and a natural lemon-based spray for her furniture.

“Have some Earl Grey. Sugar? Now, tell me, what brings you here this afternoon?”

I smiled at her. “Can’t I just visit my favourite customer?”

“I wish you would visit more often. But you have that determined look about you that means you have something on your mind.”

A colourful scarf was wound around Mrs. Brickle’s short white hair. Her fringed peacock-coloured tunic and wide-legged navy pants recalled the magical sixties. Maybe the sixties fashions were back in style and I was missing it: I was no fashionista. Well, except for boots. I loved boots.

“Bliss?”

“Oh, sorry, Mrs. B. I love your outfit. I couldn’t put myself together like that on my best day.”

“You always look nice. You’re a lovely, smart young woman who has overcome some difficult obstacles in her life.”

“I’m going to come back once a week for an infusion of self-esteem, Mrs. B. You could bottle and sell it!”

“Your visits are better than a tonic, Bliss. Have a cookie and tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” I bit into one of her homemade shortbreads. Mm-mmm, heavenly. “I’m sure you’ve heard about Faith and Sophie.”

“Of course. The girls were talking about it.” The “girls” were Cora and Marjorie. “Even though no one has come right out and said that the body found in the old high school is Faith, I don’t think there’s any doubt. And with Sophie being murdered right after she was found, the two deaths must be related.”

“Exactly my thinking. They were both at the grad dance. And so were you and I.”

“That’s true. The school had difficulty obtaining chaperones. I had already been retired for several years, but they asked me if I wouldn’t mind attending this one last event. I suppose the police are focussing on anyone who attended the graduation party who still lives in Lockport.”

“There aren’t that many, Mrs. B.”

“No? Have another cookie.”

I reached into my bag and pulled the yearbooks out. “There were thirteen graduates, one DJ, and three chaperones. Really, any of us could have killed Faith Davidson.” I opened the yearbook to the graduate photos and pointed. “Five settled in the area — me, Mike Bains, Chico Leeds, Sophie Wingman, and Fang Davidson. We suspect Faith Davidson died that night and Sophie four nights ago. That leaves four — me, Mike, Chico, and Fang.” I looked at Mrs. B. She nodded and ran her knobby, arthritic fingers over the young faces on the page.

I continued. “Of the three chaperones, two are still here — you and Mr. Archman.” I didn’t want to point out that the third was dead. “And the DJ, Kelly Quantz.”