“Go away, Bliss. Bears are in hibernation. Go back to sleep.” She turned over and pressed her pillow over her head.

I bounced up and down on my knees. “I’m telling you, a bear is casing the house, trying to find a way in. Get up. You might have to chase it away.”

Rae pulled on a robe and followed me into the living room, complaining with every step. I had left the drapes open, but the streetlights allowed very little illumination into the house. All was silent outside. Still, the hair on my arms stood up and my hyper-vigilant brain sensed human, not animal presence. Someone was lurking outside.…

I jumped away from the window. A framed print fell to the floor with a crash as I flattened myself against the narrow wall between the big picture window and the door. My phone fell and skittered off into the shadows. Rae clutched my arm and I shook her off. “Run back to your room and call 911. We have a two-legged intruder.”

Usually I lock my doors, but tonight — over-medicated and stupid — I hadn’t. The sound of the knob turning almost stopped my heart. Fucking hell! I needed a weapon and there wasn’t as much as a vase within reach. The door opened an inch and I threw my weight against it. As it slammed shut, I turned the lock.

I ran to the front window and looked around the drapes. A shape darker than the night stood on the flagstone walkway. Damn! I needed to turn on the outside lights. I pulled my head back and reached out to feel for the light switch beside the door. An explosion shattered the window, right where my head had been a second ago. Shards of glass shot across the hardwood floor. I collapsed and rolled into a ball, hands over my ears. I knew a gunshot when I heard one.

When no second blast came, I scampered on all fours across the living room, oblivious to the fragments of glass cutting into my hands, knees, and toes. In my bedroom, I ran into Rae’s legs. I dove under my bed and dragged out Grandpa’s bayonet. We locked ourselves in my ensuite and waited for the cops.

Ten minutes after Rae’s call to report an intruder, two cruisers blocked both ends of the street while a third parked on the sidewalk in front of my house: pretty good response time for the middle of the night. Flashing lights allowed the nosy neighbours to watch one officer busily run yellow tape over and around trees and bushes.

Inside, Bernie and Dwayne hovered over Rae, ostensibly taking her statement, but in my opinion it was just a ruse to get close to the shapely young blonde. Rae had her bunny slippers on to protect her feet from the glass-strewn floor. She clutched her pink, fuzzy robe tightly to her throat.

Nobody took my statement or seemed to care that it was my head that almost got blown off. I dabbed at the cuts on my feet and knees and wrapped paper towels around my bleeding hands. Thea took pictures of the shot-out window, stopping to make an occasional entry in her notebook. She frowned in concentration and ignored me as diligently as the men.

“You guys should look on the front stoop for a shell casing,” I volunteered.

She gave me a cool, professional smile. “Thanks, we got this.”

“The perp touched the door handle on the outside. He probably wore gloves but you should dust for fingerprints just in case he didn’t.”

“We did. Thanks, though.”

“Doesn’t anybody want to hear what happened? Shouldn’t somebody be making me a cup of tea or driving me to the ER to get the glass picked out of my skin?”

“The Chief wants to inter— question you himself. He’ll be along any minute.”

“Really? Well, guess I’ll go make some coffee or something. Or, I know, I’ll just stab myself with a fork, how’s that?” No one paid any attention to me as I went to my bedroom and pushed the bayonet farther under the bed. I didn’t want to sidetrack Redfern with unrelated details.

I pulled the curtains completely closed and made my bed neatly. I dressed in loose track pants that were cheap to replace if I bled to death on them. The area around my eyes was almost back to normal and it took minimal makeup to create a face that looked like it had had eight hours sleep instead of nada. I rewrapped my hands in toilet paper. Somehow my fingertips had escaped shredding.

I plunked down on my bed to wait for the big chief. It didn’t take a genius, or a cop, to figure out that someone wanted me dead. Had I struck a nerve with the person who killed Faith and Sophie? Redfern was going to deduce that I had poked the wrong alligator in my quest to unearth the truth. Although, he wouldn’t put it that way. Meddling would be his verb of choice. I tried to quell the tremors that wracked my body.

It didn’t seem fair that I had been shot at and still didn’t have a frigging clue why, or who the bad guy was. And where the hell was my phone? I wanted to text my parents. This time I would tell them what a horrible time I was going through. Maybe they would invite me to visit them in their hippie haven on Vancouver Island. Man, I’d be on the next plane out of Pearson Airport in Toronto.

I wrapped myself in an afghan and tried to cry. A good restorative howl would do me good. But fuck it! I never was much for the waterworks. I reached for the TV remote. Maybe the Shopping Channel had something I needed.

I rocked back and forth in the middle of the bed, my fingers feverishly punching the buttons on the remote.

CHAPTER

thirty-four

It seemed Neil was asleep for mere minutes when the night dispatcher called. Cornwall’s front window had been shot out. No injuries were reported, and the entire night shift had already been dispatched to the scene, along with the on-call SOCOs.

Neil immediately contacted off-duty staff and sent them to the Davidson, Leeds, Brickle, and Quantz residences. Tony took the Bainses and Neil reserved Earl Archman for himself.

Archman answered his door wearing a tent-like bathrobe, his thick brown hair hanging like wiry strips of rope. Winter boots stood on a rubber tray by the door and several coats hung on a hook. None showed signs of the rain that continued to fall unabated. Archman seemed appropriately disoriented, and when Neil told him why he was there, the man turned a disturbing shade of purple. Neil helped him to his recliner and located the asthma inhaler. With the man’s permission, he ran upstairs and took a quick glance at the unmade bed and discarded clothing. The pant hems were dry.

In the living room, Archman’s skin colour had faded to his normal greyish-white. Neil suggested he not open his door to anyone other than the police, keep his drapes closed, and call if he noticed anything suspicious.

As Neil was climbing back into his car, dispatch reported that no one was answering the door at the St. Paul’s manse. Kelly Quantz was either passed out inside or not there at all. Neil ordered an Alert out on the man and asked for a warrant to be initiated to enter the residence.

On Cornwall’s front lawn, a constable handed Neil a plastic evidence bag containing a shell casing. He reported they had found footprints around the back, side, and front of the house and were attempting to take casts, but the rain filled the depressions and blurred the edges. They would keep trying, but photographs might be all they could salvage. No prints on the front door handle.

Inside the house, the collection team was finishing up. A bullet had been dug out of the wall facing the front window. The intruder hadn’t gained access to the house, so taking fingerprints was unnecessary.

To the east, the sky brightened almost imperceptibly. Neil dismissed everyone except Bernie. The sounds of clattering china came from the kitchen.