He waited while they blew out the candles and gathered up the trappings of the experiment. He stopped Cornwall from throwing the half-full bottle of tequila into the trash can. “Some kids might find it before this place is torn down.”

Neither of the men would touch it, so Cornwall tucked it into her huge purse. He opened his mouth, but shut it again, just in time. Reminding her to transport the bag in the rear of her hatchback, out of reach, would just earn him one of her snarly looks.

He followed them into the parking lot and watched Davidson and Leeds sprint across the slick pavement to their vehicles. By the time he turned back to Cornwall, she was in her car and peeling after them. Her purse was undoubtedly beside her in the passenger seat. At least Dwayne wasn’t on duty to impose the full force of the “no alcohol within reach” law.

He bolted upright in his chair at the sound of a gunshot. His hand flew to his belt.

“Have a nice nap, princess?” Tony laughed and waved the potato chip bag he had blown up and burst.

Before Neil could slow his heart rate to normal, the door flew open and Ed Reiner surged into the room. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Difficult delivery. All fine now, though.”

It wasn’t easy to find a place to meet on a December weeknight in this town. The restaurants closed by eight, and the bars were too noisy and public. Monday night at the Wing Nut was a case in point. Tony’s room at the Super 8 was an option, as was the station, but the hospital morgue was handier for an overworked obstetrician. While they waited for Ed, Neil had told Tony about Cornwall and her homeys at the old high school. Typically, Tony considered the account amusing, but unimportant. He was likely right, except for the amusing part.

Ed carried a file, which he slapped down on a desk old enough to have seen action during the Second World War. “As promised, the Forensic Pathology Unit faxed over the report on the fetal bones. I really wish I’d thought to separate and count the bones before I shipped them to Toronto.”

“Nobody expected you to, man. You were focussing on the head wound. I’m just surprised we got a report so soon.” Tony glanced at his watch, clearly anxious to get out of there. Back to Glory, most likely.

Neil was certain he wouldn’t be welcome in Cornwall’s bed tonight. “Yeah, Ed, it’s not your fault. What does the report say?”

“Okay. It’s approximately a sixteen-week fetus.”

“When we take DNA samples from the four male suspects, the results will tell us who fathered Faith’s baby, but not necessarily who killed her,” Neil said.

Tony swallowed the last of his orange juice and pitched the empty container into a nearby waste basket. “We aren’t even sure we’re looking for a male killer. This case is so freaking screwed up — two deaths separated by fifteen years. The first victim’s pregnancy may not even be important.”

“Possible,” Ed said. “Faith left Lockport right after school ended and never returned until the night of the graduation party. Maybe she had a boyfriend in Toronto. If she met someone shortly after moving there and was intimate with him, the pregnancy might have nothing to do with her death.”

Neil struggled to recall information he read in the missing person report. “That’s unlikely. She stayed with an aunt in Toronto. The aunt was an emergency room nurse who worked the three-to-eleven shift. Faith paid for her room and board by rushing home from class and looking after her two cousins, ages eight and eleven. Apparently, she didn’t have time for a social life. Looks like someone fathered that baby right here before she left in June.”

“Poor kid.” Tony struggled into his uniform parka. “In that case, my money is on the little bastard who knocked her up. When she came back for graduation, she told him and he lashed out, killing her. Then he stuffed her into the locker and threw her bouquet in after her. He walked away and never looked back. We’re going to hunt him down and make sure he pays for what he did to her. I don’t care how young he was at the time, he better not get off with a slap on the wrist.”

Neil stood up. “Let’s keep in mind there were two grown men at the graduation party — Earl Archman and Kelly Quantz. And two bouquets were tossed into the locker on top of Faith. That suggests a girl was involved.

“Valid points, bud.” Tony stopped in the doorway and looked back. “Only two girls involved — Sophie Quantz and Miss Bliss. Sophie is dead, and I hope you aren’t raising your lady to the head of the suspect list. Even I wouldn’t buy that, and I always suspect everyone.”

Neil ignored the reference to Cornwall. “I’m betting there were two people present when Faith died. And Sophie was one of them.”

Ed took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes until the whites reddened. “Have you accounted for all the girls in the class?”

“There were seven altogether, including Cornwall, Faith, and Sophie. We’ve contacted the other four. None of them remembered anything helpful. We’ll check to make sure they weren’t in Lockport when Sophie died, but it looks like they’re in the clear.”

Tony eyed the door. “Fine. The second bouquet belonged to Sophie. Let’s go with that. She was there when Faith was killed, knew who did it, and died because she knew. Let’s go with that, too. The question is, why didn’t she tell someone at the time, or in the years since?”

“There are several reasons why she wouldn’t speak up when it happened. Complicity. Maybe fear. Perhaps she was able to block the incident out of her mind until Faith’s body was discovered.”

Ed thumped the scarred desktop with his fist. “She became a priest, didn’t she? She turned her life around, perhaps trying to make up for her part in Faith’s death. What if she decided it was time to tell the truth? What if she contacted whoever else was present in the locker room and told him she was going to the police …?”

“That person would most likely need to shut her up,” Neil finished.

“Let’s go with that,” Tony responded. He ambled to the exit.

CHAPTER

twenty-nine

Throbbing temples woke me on Friday morning. I couldn’t breathe through my nose even though the swelling in my face had all but disappeared and the bruises had faded to yellow. I didn’t have time for a cold, damn it.

Breathing in the humid air at the greenhouse didn’t appeal to me, so I ran the payroll for Bliss This House from my laptop on my kitchen table and did some rescheduling. Marjorie needed Wednesday off to take her son, Storm, to the orthodontist. No problem there. One of the subs could help Cora at Mrs. Brickle’s. Done with a phone call and a click.

Next, Rae needed the same day off so she could write her registered massage therapy final exam in Kitchener. Since she put in eight hours at Glory’s on Wednesdays, I needed to find someone to fill in for her who could work a full day. And I had to pick her replacement carefully. It had taken Glory months to get used to Rae after I moved from slave labour to management of my own cleaning company. I don’t know which she regretted more — losing my cleaning skills or being forced to pay decent wages. Now I was going to ask her to change cleaners again. I’d better wear my motorcycle helmet when I broke the news to her. Or, better yet, do it by phone.

I called the greenhouse to speak with the Madam. Rae answered and put me through to Dougal before I could stop her. He screamed at me to get my lazy ass in to work and start on the long list of delinquent accounts. When pressed, he admitted only two names graced the current naughty list. Then he reminded me to get on the promotional tour bus for Glory’s food benefit since any dereliction on my part would reflect badly on him. And no, Glory hadn’t come in either. He was in sole charge of the greenhouse and how was he supposed to get the first draft of his third novel started if he had to run the place? He had a life, too, and was leaving town to join Holly in Toronto the minute the food benefit was over. Oh, and I better get started on putting the decorations up because the Canadian Tire bags were littering the break room …