Tony placed a tick mark against each name under the PAL column. Beside the word PAL, he wrote No .32s. “So all our suspects have experience with handguns. Except Fang, but I’m assuming he’d be able to hit the broad side of a barn if you placed a pistol in his hand. We can’t rule any of them out.” He threw an evil smirk at Neil.

Bernie cleared his throat. “There’s one thing we should remember.” At Neil’s nod of encouragement, he continued. “There may be hundreds of Second World War souvenir guns tucked away in attics and garages. Most of them unregistered.”

The idea of all those unlicensed weapons made the skin on the back of Neil’s neck tighten. “Local gun owners have had ample opportunity to come forward and register their arms.” Shit, he sounded like he had a stick up his ass.

“I’m just saying, Chief, if you could compare the RCMP Firearm Centre’s list of licences against actual guns, you’d come up way short on licences. And some of the souvenir handguns use .32 ammo. Just a thought.” Bernie folded his arms and closed his eyes, indicating the end to his contribution.

Neil dropped into his chair and stretched out his legs. “This just keeps getting better and better. We’d have a hell of a time getting warrants to search random premises for unregistered handguns. Looks like we’ll have to come at this another way. What else have you got, Tony?”

Tony wrote ALIBIS above the second column. “Nobody has an alibi for early Sunday morning. Spouses and significant others don’t count.” He avoided looking at Neil, and drew an X under each name.

He studied the names for a minute. “I’m inclined to drop the two females from the suspect list. Fern Brickle can’t hold a gun, let alone shoot one and hit her target. And Bliss Cornwall? Can’t even pretend to come up with a motive for her.” He stroked off Bliss’s and Fern Brickle’s names. “That leaves us with the five men: Archman, Bains, Leeds, Davidson, and Quantz.”

One thing Neil knew for certain: If Cornwall was inclined to shoot someone, her ex-husband wouldn’t still be top side of the turf. But he found it strange that she never mentioned owning a target pistol.

He dismissed the constables and closed the door behind them. “You made a good point, bud.”

“Which one was that? All my points are good.” Tony laughed, and his hand went automatically to his shirt pocket, feeling for the long-absent cigarettes. “Does Lavinia have any doughnuts out there?”

“No. And I mean about Kelly Quantz. Maybe we’re wrong about the motive for Sophie’s death. If Kelly killed her, the timing could just be coincidence.”

“Yeah, I was sort of kidding. Why would he kill her? The life insurance policy issued by the diocese will barely pay for her burial plot and headstone. And without her, Kelly is out on the street. By the looks of him, he won’t be too good at surviving in the real world.”

Neil stuck his head into the squad room and called Thea back. “Find out if Kelly Quantz is the beneficiary of any life insurance policy other than through the Episcopal Church. Check deeper into Sophie’s assets and investments. And look into Kelly’s personal relationships: girlfriend, boyfriend, enemies.”

Tony pulled on his heavy coat. “Nothing more to be done today, bro. I’m taking Glory out to dinner, if I can find a nice place in this backwater town of yours. You need to get your ass over to Miss Bliss’s and beg forgiveness for whatever stupid things you’ve done recently. Pick one and go with it. Maybe she’ll forget all the others.”

Neil stopped him before he reached the door. “Since you mentioned Glory…. Headquarters isn’t going to let you stay on here indefinitely. If we don’t make progress soon, they’ll pull you. I don’t like repeating myself, but have you given any thought to how your leaving will affect Glory?”

Tony placed his hat rakishly off-centre and nodded. “What happens, happens. Maybe I’m just a quick roll in the hay for Ms. Yates. She’s out of my league, in case you haven’t noticed. We’re having fun, one day at a time. You go clear up your own issues with your pretty little rebel before preaching to me.” With a final, deep chuckle, Tony shut the door behind him.

CHAPTER

thirty-two

I went straight home from Earl’s and took two more daytime cold pills. I stripped down, took a long, hot shower, and pulled on a sports bra and yoga shorts. I wrapped myself in a fleece robe and fuzzy slippers. With my hair skinned back in a ponytail and the yellow skin around my eyes glowing like the noonday sun, I looked like … well, like nothing you’d want to date.

Rae came into the kitchen while I was foraging in the fridge. The shelves were bare except for a pre-packaged salad, which didn’t appeal to me. I needed some comfort food. Somebody better go grocery shopping, and soon.

Discouraged, I slammed the door closed.

Rae said, “Bliss, there’s a stir-fry in the pan on the stove. I’ll heat it up for you.” She scooped a man-sized portion into a bowl, nuked it, and set it before me with cutlery, while balancing a ten-pound anatomy textbook in her left hand.

“Bliss. I’ve been thinking about your hair …”

I held up one hand in a “stop” motion and talked around a mouthful of rice. “No more colours, Rae. I want my natural colour back. When I look in the mirror, which I’m avoiding these days, I don’t even recognize myself.” I sniffed wetly.

Rae stepped back a few feet. “That’s just what I was going to suggest. I think we should strip out every colour, return it to a warm, light brown, and add a few lighter highlights. It will look awesome.” Rae is the only person I know who can say “awesome” without sounding like an eleven-year-old Justin Bieber groupie.

“That’s the way it was before you added every colour of the rainbow. People are giving me strange looks.” I scrubbed at my nose with a tissue.

“That would be due to your yellow eyes and red nose. So we’ll tackle your hair later tonight?”

“It’s a date. And thanks for the food. I’m going to the garage for a while.”

“What for? It’s cold and dirty in there.”

“I have to think. And I need to visit with my motorcycle to remind myself that spring is only four or five months away.”

I scored a bag of cheese puffs from the pantry, which cheered me up no end. A bottle of orange juice was the perfect accompanying beverage. It’s a known fact that orange foods are packed with vitamins.

With these items under my arm, I snatched up a pair of old runners and entered the garage. I turned the space heater to its highest setting and, while waiting for the place to warm up, pulled the cover off my Suzuki Savage. I ran my hands over the polished front fender and threw my leg over the seat. I wrapped my fingers around the handlebars for a moment and closed my eyes, imagining a soft wind blowing against my face, wheels flying over the pavement …

Sighing, I got off the bike and, with a clean rag, rubbed a few smudges from the gleaming metal. I whispered, “Only a few more months, then we’re free again.”

Redfern’s big-boy Gold Wing was parked near the Savage. It was so like him — solid, reliable, and built for endurance. I snorted at my flight of fancy and gave the Gold Wing a pat through the vinyl cover.

My dad’s massive first-generation treadmill took up an entire corner of the garage. It faced a dated twenty-one-inch TV with the dusty remote sitting on top. To my surprise, the TV lit up without hesitation. Saggy couch, heater, TV, treadmill. This was Dad’s retreat when Blyth had one of her hormonal teenage fits and chased me out of her room with manicure scissors. True story; she did it all the time.

I stepped onto the treadmill and pushed the start button. It creaked and jerked and emitted a smell like burning dust. Great, my nose was working again.