I started toward Dougal’s, head down against the driving rain. In the dark, I probably resembled a yellow ghost floating several inches off the ground. And, man, did that almost come true.
Chapter
THIRTY-ONE
The coach lights mounted under the eaves of Dougal’s garage threw a diffused glow onto the driveway, outlining a dark-coloured vehicle that could have been a Volvo. If it wasn’t raining, and if the Rockettes weren’t performing high kicks in my brain, I might have walked up and taken a closer look. The vehicle must belong to Dougal’s girlfriend who wasn’t Melanie, and I was curious about her.
However, satisfaction would have to wait. By the time I took the cover off the bike and pulled the raincoat off in order to put on my leather jacket, I was soaked through again. Even my boots had taken on water. I quickly replaced the raincoat and pulled the helmet over the hood. The helmet fit a little tight, but at least water wouldn’t run down the back of my neck.
The rain looked like an all-nighter, so the smartest thing I could do was get home as quickly as possible.
Lockport’s stoplight was situated on the highway just past the Petro Canada station. A man in a green poncho who was walking two sodden pit bulls had pressed the walk button, forcing me to stop. He flicked a condescending glance at my bike as he passed, so I revved my motor in response. The unmuzzled dogs turned and growled at me, and I took my toes off the pavement and inched forward in case I had to take off quickly. An SUV pulled out of the Petro Canada and stopped behind me. When the light changed to green, I took off carefully.
I saw in my mirror that the SUV had narrowed the gap between us. Thinking I was driving too slowly, I increased my speed slightly. The vehicle moved up, but I had to slow again to make the turn onto the concession road. I signalled right and turned, careful to avoid the patch of gravel at the intersection.
The SUV turned with me. Alarms began ringing in my brain. The SUV was too close, and, other than the back entrance to Hemp Hollow, there were only a couple of farms farther on that were more easily accessed from the next concession road.
I sped up again as I came up on the rough trail leading to Hemp Hollow. With the rain an impenetrable curtain, my headlight scarcely made a dent in the darkness. The SUV moved up beside me and swerved. I veered sharply, hoping to avoid a collision, and the front wheel of the Savage caught in the sucking mud of the trail. The handlebars quivered under my hands.
As the Savage fell, the SUV roared away. I bounced and rolled, my helmet striking the mud grooves. The final bounce hurled me into the deep runoff ditch.
As I lay on my back, my head vibrated inside the helmet. Water swirled over my body and lapped against my face. But despite my addled state, I realized that I shared the ditch with something … something that smelled very dead. My overactive olfactory sense shuddered in distress and my pounding heart threatened to explode as I recognized the stench: the coywolf.
Chapter
THIRTY-TWO
The reek of decay surrounded me. I moved my arms and legs. Check. I was almost afraid to turn my neck, but my vertebrae seemed intact.
I sat up and noticed the ditch was filling up fast. If I had landed on my face and been knocked out, I would have drowned. I unbuckled my helmet and pulled it off. With water running over my face, it was impossible to tell if my head had sustained any bloody wounds. Nothing hurt and everything hurt.
Another stinking wave hit me and I froze, knowing the coywolf had to be very close.
I looked at the walls of the embankment and realized how far down I had fallen. The creature was trapped there with me.
I stood up slowly and was grateful to feel my legs plant themselves firmly in the muck and hold. It was silent except for the sound of the rain hitting the rushing water. I let myself hope that the smell was coming from a roadkill casualty, perhaps a long-dead deer.
The walls of the ditch were higher than my head and too slippery to climb. I needed to find the drainage pipe running under the concession road. But which way? Crap, my internal GPS was screwed.
I picked up my helmet, poured out the water, and plunked it on my head. Pulling my feet out of the mud one by one, I turned left and, after three squelching steps, collided with something solid.
Feeling with my hands, I determined that I had found the drain pipe. But it was flush to the opening under the path. Nothing for me to climb. No way out.
A sudden flash of lightning was followed almost immediately by a crash of thunder so loud my ears were ringing inside my helmet. I quickly released the metal pipe.
I stood ankle-deep in water in a ditch too deep to climb out of. The epicentre of a thunderstorm was directly overhead, and a malodorous animal, hopefully dead, was close by. If I believed in the modern translation of the Old Testament, this experience would be payback for wishing vengeance be heaped upon the Weasel — and maybe for using the F-word so often lately.
The lightning flashed again and, in the nanosecond before the illumination faded, I saw a motionless mound parting the stream of water as it rushed toward the drain. It was about ten feet away. I had to have been almost nose to nose with it when I landed in the ditch. One good thing — it looked dead.
Another lightning and thunder duo passed before I remembered my BlackBerry. I reached through the raincoat to the inner pocket of my leather jacket. Careful not to drop the phone into the swirling rainwater, I hit 911.
The dispatcher tagged me as a prank caller at first. It took a minute before I could convince him that I was stranded in a ditch and was in imminent danger of: a) drowning, b) electrocution, or c) both. He promised to send help.
I thought I heard thunder again. Then I recognized the sound of a motorcycle engine. Help was coming, but until it arrived I was at the mercy of anyone with wicked motives. The chance that a passerby would stop to rob or rape a woman in a ditch was pretty remote, but I felt around in the water for a rock anyway.
The sound of the motor stopped above me. Footsteps slid along the path that had to be a sea of mud. I didn’t call out, hoping he would leave.
“Hey! Anyone down there?”
Snake’s deep, rasping voice. It was one of those “life sucks but wait and it will get worse” moments.
“Kiddo? You okay?”
I remained silent. The fire department was coming.
I heard the sound of another engine. Thank God.
A car door slammed.
Snake spoke. “Do you have a flashlight, Neil? I think she might be down there, but I can’t see anything.”
I was shit out of luck tonight.
Redfern called out, “Cornwall, can you hear me?” The beam from a flashlight hit the running stream of water, lingered on the dark shape, and moved on.
Then the light struck my eyes.
“Why didn’t you answer me, Cornwall? Are you hurt?”
“Aren’t you ever off duty, Redfern?”
“Don’t you ever sleep, Cornwall? What happened?”
“Is my bike okay?”
It was Snake who answered. “It’s fine, little lady. It’s muddy, but listen, the engine turns over.”
The sound was music to my ears. I had been so afraid the Savage was totalled. Now I just had to get myself out of this ditch.
“Smell that?” Redfern appeared to be talking to Snake. “I think there’s something dead down there.”
“No fucking kidding, Sherlock,” I said, immediately thinking I should shut it. One, maybe both of them, had a gun. I might as well find an alligator and poke it with a stick.
I could hear Redfern’s condescending sigh.
“Stretch your arms out as far as you can, Cornwall. We’ll grab your hands and pull you out.”
“Not happening. I’m waiting for the paramedics.”
“Paramedics? Are you hurt?” He said to Snake, “I’m going down. If she isn’t hurt too badly, I’ll boost her up and you grab her. Otherwise, I’ll call in a rescue team.”
I said, loudly, “Call the paramedics
, fire department, even the army. I don’t care. I’m not coming up until somebody else gets here. So just stay where you are.”
In the brief lightning flash that followed, I could make out two heads high above me, one bare, the other helmeted. The thunder blunted Redfern’s next words.
“Is this because of what happened yesterday, Cornwall? You still think I was hitting on you? That was the last thing on my mind.”
“Thanks so much. How come you responded to my 911 call anyhow? That was quite cavalier of the dispatcher to send you when I might have needed medical attention.”
“You told him you weren’t injured.”
“I need a ladder. Do you have one?”
“Cornwall, I’m soaked and I feel like a lightning rod up here. If you don’t let us pull you out, I’m coming down.”
My BlackBerry rang. “Just a minute, I have to take this call.”
“Hi, Bliss, how’s it going? Are you getting the storm they predicted? It’s not too bad here, but I hear your area is getting the brunt of it. I hope you’re someplace safe and dry.”
Blyth always had the worst timing. “Yeah, it’s coming down pretty good here at the moment.”
“I haven’t talked to you for a while, Bliss. I just wanted to make sure you’re thinking about my offer.”
What offer?
“Oh, right, about coming to stay with you while I work on my masters.”
“Geez, that was a loud one, Bliss. You must have the window open. Well, what have you decided?”
“I think that might be something to consider. But I have to let you know later in the summer. Mike might finally cough up some money for me, and I should know one way or the other in a week or so. I really appreciate your offer, Blyth, but I have so many things going on right now, I can’t give it much thought. Can I get back to you soon?” Another clap of thunder eradicated her answer.
“What?” I crouched in the ditch, my butt dipped in the rising stream that rushed toward the drain pipe.
“You must be having some storm there, Bliss. But, everything’s okay, right?”
“Things are going great.”
“I’ll let you go then, but call me soon.”
“Love you. Bye.”
As soon as I closed the cell, it rang again.
“Cornwall, if you answer that, I’m going to rip your phone apart with my fingers. Now, which will it be? You help me pull you up, or I come down there.”
I heard scrabbling noises, and gave in.
“Okay, stay there. You can pull me up.”
Raising my arms up felt like surrender. Snake held the flashlight and Redfern knelt on the edge of the ditch and reached down. He grasped my hands and with one swift tug I was standing beside my Savage.
“What happened?” asked Snake. “Did your wheels grab mud at the corner?”
“I was run off the road. By an SUV. On purpose.” As soon as the words were out, I regretted them. I feared that my ditch experience was linked to the drug situation in Hemp Hollow. Which Snake and Redfern were involved in.
Redfern took my elbow.
“Come on, Cornwall. I’m taking you to the ER to be checked out.”
I pulled away. “Uh uh. I’m not hurt. Thanks for the help, but I’m going home.”
Sheets of water blew at us, and the lightning and thunder continued. Redfern wore a slicker, but the water ran in rivulets down his face. Snake’s helmet kept his head dry but water poured down the back of his neck. Both looked as miserable as I felt.
I hopped on the Savage and turned on the motor. Neither man stopped me.
The path was deep, rutted mud. I found it easier to drive on the field to reach the small clearing behind my trailer, where I covered the Savage. It was saturated already, but if the storm lasted any longer, it might be hard to start in the morning.
If the coywolf was still alive, it would have sense enough to find shelter from the storm, but it was impossible to forget that a killer was still on the loose. Casting a look behind me at the Quigley trailer, I banged on Rae’s door. Worried she wasn’t home, I kept up the barrage until the door opened.
In the two years I had known Rae, I had never been inside her trailer. After I closed the door behind me, I stood speechless, filled with a sense of awe.
Either I was in a whore’s bedroom or Barbie’s Dreamhouse.
Chapter
THIRTY-THREE
Of course it was a whore’s bedroom. Rae may look like Malibu Barbie with a domestic problem, but she was still a hooker.
She had ripped out every fixture in the trailer except the miniature sink, fridge, microwave, and furnace. The walls were painted a lighter shade of purple than the outside, and pink, custom-made blinds closed out harsh sunlight and curious eyes. Two purple tufted chairs were pulled up to an equally purple round table. The only other piece of furniture was a king-sized bed pushed against the far wall. The bed was covered in a puffy pink bedspread and strewn liberally with pink and purple cushions. A tiny white table beside the bed was loaded with coloured tubes and small jars. Gels? Best not to think about it. But everything was scrupulously clean.
A polished chrome post, reaching from floor to ceiling, was the focal point of the trailer. I dragged my eyes away and tried not to imagine Rae hanging upside down from the pole wearing nothing but a garter belt and fishnet stockings.
Rae stared at me in horror.
“Bliss. Look at you.” She fluttered around me like a fairy trying to comprehend the sudden appearance of a hobbit. “What happened?”
“I got run off the road at the corner. Are you ready to come over and spend the night?”
“You have to get cleaned up, Bliss. You are absolutely filthy.”
“Easier said than done, Rae. Maybe I could take off my clothes and stand in the rain.”
“Don’t be silly. We’ll just go to the centre and wash you up.”
“The centre will be locked.”
She reached into a hanging purple cupboard and pulled out a pink ribbon. Attached was a key.
I didn’t even want to ask if she had some sort of arrangement with the manager of Secret Valley. But I changed my mind about minding my own business. If it killed one of us, I was going to get Rae into another line of work.
Rae slipped on a pair of rain boots and grabbed an umbrella from under the bed. We stepped into the storm and, as the lightning flashed, I saw a figure standing under the roof overhang of the Quigley trailer. A cigarette tip glowed. I grabbed Rae’s elbow, but she merely gave the figure a friendly wave and kept going.
“Lead on, MacDuck,” I hollered as we clambered up the slippery bank. By the time we turned on the lights in the centre, Rae’s shorts and halter top were almost as mud-smeared as my clothes.
Rae had her own locker containing toiletries galore. Both of us shampooed and showered. Rae dressed in clean clothes from her locker and offered me a spare thong, but I passed. I donned the oversized yellow raincoat.
While I opened my trailer and turned on the lights, Rae ran next door. By the time I was dressed in an ancient set of gray sweats, Rae was back with a covered dish and a bottle of wine. The sight of the wine made my stomach lurch, but to my surprise I was hungry again.
While Rae bustled around, heating the shepherd’s pie and opening the wine, I tried to come up with a diplomatic way of broaching the subject of the dead guy in the woods.
But, hell, it had been a really long day.
“So, Rae, I believe you know the man we found in the bush this morning.”
She paused with a large serving spoon in her hand. Avoiding my gaze, she said, “What makes you say that? We couldn’t see his face.”
“I don’t think he had a face anymore. And you heard the cops identify him as Fitzgerald Corwin.”
“Oh?”
“Fitzgerald. Your abusive client. The one who beat the hell out of you. Wasn’t his name Jerry?”
“Well, it could have been him, I guess.”
“Snake dragged him away. Now he
’s dead. Death by hatchet, according to the police.”
“Bliss, you don’t think that I …”
“Of course not. I’m thinking Snake.”
I was trying to watch Rae’s face while digging into the casserole. She looked troubled, but not frightened. Me? I was just the opposite, scared as hell but not giving a shit who did it as long as he was caught, and soon. And I didn’t tell her about Redfern’s involvement with Snake. Sometimes the less you know, the safer you are, and I hoped this was one of those times, for Rae’s sake. She seemed too friendly with the Quigleys as it was.
“Bliss, you may find this hard to believe, but Snake is really a kind person. He looks rough and talks like a tough biker, but he’s been looking out for me.”
“Is he one of your clients?”
“No. Only because he’s never asked.”
“Maybe he’s gay.”
“Bliss, stop it. You’re suspicious of everyone.”
“It’s been that kind of day. Anyway, now that we know that Jerry is the dead man, what should we do about it?”
Rae sat opposite me and poured herself more white wine.
“Honestly? I don’t know what we should do. If I tell the police I knew him, they’ll find out pretty fast he was a client. Then, there goes my business.”
“You were going to quit anyway.”
“I know, but my plan calls for me to work another couple of years.”
“You might not have any choice, Rae.” An idea was germinating in my brain, but now wasn’t the time to pursue it.
“I just don’t know what to do,” Rae repeated. “The Quigleys have been good to me, but there’s something funny going on over there.”
“You’ve spent a lot of time in their trailer. Have you seen anything suspicious?”
“Like what?”
I helped myself to another portion of the shepherd’s pie, but left the wine alone. One hangover per day was plenty.
“Well, why is there so much traffic at the Quigley trailer? Boy, this food is really good, Rae. I don’t know how you cooked this with only a microwave.”
Corpse Flower: A Cornwall and Redfern Mystery Page 19