“Jeezuz, Cornwall!”

“I’m too tired to sleep. Do you want to look at my toenails? I have Azure Waters on one foot and Irish Mist on the other.”

“What are you talking about? I’ll pass on the toes, but if you want, I’ll rub your back. Roll over.”

That felt so good. I sighed with pleasure and began to drift off.

Redfern tapped my shoulder. “Okay, maybe I’m not too tired. Just don’t expect anything fancy.”

Redfern put on his tie in front of the bathroom window. “Do you have an iron?”

I thought about that for a minute. “I don’t think they make irons anymore.”

“What about a steamer?”

“Get real, Redfern. There isn’t a wrinkle on you.”

“I’m thinking about tomorrow. My shirts are creased from hanging in the garment bag.”

“I’ll ask Rae. Maybe she has an iron.” From his comment, Redfern planned to stick around for a while. Well, we’d take that one day at a time.

His equipment belt hung over the bedpost, gun safely holstered. I reached out a finger to the Taser holster.

“Don’t touch that!” He yanked the belt away and strapped it on. “Never touch my belt.”

I rolled over on my back. “You’re the first man who’s ever said that to me.”

“You should get dressed.” He fastened his Kevlar vest.

“No, I shouldn’t. It’s Sunday.”

“You can’t stay here alone. I haven’t anyone available to watch you today. We’re stretched too thin as it is.”

“I have Rae.”

“I’ve already talked to Rae. She’s spending the day at Glory’s. Something about plucking, or waxing. How long does that take?” His face reflected the confusion most men feel over beauty treatment regimes.

“Longer than you’d think when Glory is involved. I’m not going to waste a day at her house of horrors. She’d make me clean her windows or dust for cobwebs. I never saw a house so prone to cobwebs. It must have something to do with her undead status. And she goes ballistic when she sees one. Nope, not going there.”

“How about Dougal? I’m dropping you off somewhere, so pick a place and stay there until I come for you. And there’ll be an Alert out on you, so if any of my officers spot you, they have orders to bring you in. We’ll see how you like spending a snowy Sunday in one of our deluxe cells.”

“You only have four cells, and they all smell like human body fluids. No need to go all caveman on me, Redfern. Last night’s performance wasn’t that stellar.”

“Don’t make my job harder than it is, Cornwall. Please. Give me one less thing to worry about. And, for the record, you weren’t complaining last night about my performance.”

“I slept through most of it. Okay. Drop me off at Dougal’s. Although, I can’t guarantee he won’t throw me out as soon as you leave.”

He sat on the bed and pulled me upright beside him. “One thing before we leave. I’m going to show you something. This needs to stay between us, so no sharing with Rae. Okay?”

“Sure.”

“What do you make of this?” He handed me his cell.

“That’s a Mauser.” I enlarged the picture. “An HSc model, I think. See the low positioning of the grip screw? This would be an early model, most likely from the 1940s. My grandpa has … had one like it. An expert can tell you the age for sure by checking the serial number and looking for an eagle imprint somewhere near the trigger guard. That’s about all I remember. Oh, the early ones also had a wooden grip.” I handed the phone back. “Whose gun is it?”

“We found it near Kelly Quantz’s body yesterday.”

“So, it’s probably the same gun that killed Sophie last week? Do you think the murderer dropped it accidentally?”

“Maybe, but could be he didn’t want it to be found in his possession, or on his property. It’s unlicensed, or he wouldn’t be so cavalier about leaving it at the scene.”

I went into the bathroom to get dressed. Unlike Redfern, I wasn’t comfortable prancing around naked.

I called out to him, “Did you, uh …” How could I put this. “Did you search Mr. Archman’s house for weapons?”

“We’re trying to get a search warrant, but it doesn’t look good. We only have your word that he possesses them. He didn’t say they were in the house, did he?”

“Nope. They could be in a storage locker or a bank deposit box, I guess. And he wouldn’t likely talk about his souvenirs if he used one to kill Sophie and planned to kill Kelly. I wonder why Kelly was killed?”

“I can’t share that information. Come on, let’s go. You can eat at Dougal’s.”

I brightened at that suggestion. Dougal’s housekeeper, Mrs. Boudreau, was a fantastic cook, better even than Rae, and she always left him casseroles and pasta dishes for the weekends.

Redfern accompanied me to Dougal’s door and handed me off like a UPS package. He pushed me inside and closed the door with Dougal on the wrong side. They were on the doorstep for a few minutes, Dougal shivering in the cold. The fresh air would do him good.

When my crazy cousin was finally released from police custody, the expression on his face was too precious for words. You’d think he’d just watched a cockroach crawl out of his pillowcase. I took a picture and emailed it to his girlfriend, Holly.

The day passed pleasantly enough. At least for me. Dougal didn’t speak — bonus — and stayed in his study labouring over his latest romance, although he preferred to call them “historical suspense novels.” The only suspense in his last novel consisted of which chambermaid the master was going to screw first, before Lady La-Di-Da turned him into a faithful, doting husband. As if. Mind you, this latest tome takes place in a convent, so the master might have his hands full.

Mrs. Boudreau had indeed left delicious meals in the fridge. I locked Simon, the profane parrot, in the solarium so I wouldn’t have to listen to his salacious invitations, and had the rest of the house to myself. Plate of lasagna in hand, I wandered through the spacious rooms, even Dougal’s bedroom, gathering decorating ideas to avoid when I had my own house.

The disturbing reading material on Dougal’s bedside table turned me off snooping. Man, I hoped Holly was on board with Dougal’s tastes. I ate a bag of potato chips — no cheese puffs in this house — in front of the bay window in the living room, forgetting for the moment that I was a target.

A white Land Rover skidded to a stop at the curb, sending a wave of dirty slush across the sidewalk. Glory jumped out of the driver’s seat wearing a knee-length white faux fur coat and matching hat. She steamrollered up the walkway carrying a bottle of white wine in each fist. Rae and Pan followed behind like stray puppies. Pan carried her purse.

I raced to the study and rapped on the door. “Are you in there, buttercup?”

“Fuck off.”

“You have company, sweetie.”

“Tell them to go away. I’m busy.”

Goddamn. This day might yet be saved. “I’m not supposed to answer the door, remember?”

He shoved past me and made for the front hall.

I flapped my hands and followed him. “Shit, Dougal, when’s the last time you took a shower?” By the time he flung the door open, I had my phone out.

Dougal’s face when he saw his ex-wife on his doorstep again? Priceless.

CHAPTER

thirty-nine

The rest of the week wasn’t nearly as much fun. The days fell into a deadly routine: Redfern dropped me and Rae at the greenhouse in the mornings, and Dougal drove us home at five o’clock. I’d love to know what Redfern said to make my self-centred cousin stick to me like a burrito fart at a poker game. Dougal even dragged himself away from his laptop long enough to pick up the flyers at the fundraiser and plaster them around town.