to stand around on the main street on a snowy December Saturday with the temperature hovering around -12°C.
A Shriner on a miniature golf cart reached down and scooped up Andrea’s hat. He presented it to her with a flourish and puttered away. Where did he come from? Lockport didn’t even have an Ancient Order of Mythical Masons Temple.
A short siren wail sounded from behind me. I dropped back and tried the passenger door of the 4 X 4. It was locked. I rapped on the window and kept rapping until it lowered a half inch. “Open the door, Dwayne. I need to warm up.”
“I saw what you did, Bliss. I could charge you with assault, and I would if you weren’t the Chief’s girlfriend.”
“Well, I am, so deal with it. Unlock the door.”
“No. I got orders to keep unofficial personnel out of the vehicle, especially Bliss Moonbeam Cornwall. Keep marching, elf.”
“I’m in no mood for negotiations, Dwayne. I’ll jump on and ride this thing like a hood ornament. If I’m not mistaken, the photographer from the Sentinel is standing just up ahead.”
Snick. The door unlocked. I pulled myself in and cranked the heat up. The toe bells jingled merrily as I put my feet over the vents. Helping myself to a cookie from the open package lying on the console, I said to Dwayne, “Thanks, I appreciate this.”
The Cat in the Hat trotted alongside. His cart was overflowing and, still, people thrust groceries at him. He motioned me to get out and help. I sent him an air kiss and took another cookie.
“You aren’t supposed to be in here. Get out.” Dwayne moved the cookies to his lap where I sure wasn’t following them, so I nibbled at my second to make it last. The radio emitted a string of static and Dwayne pushed a button to silence it.
“No, I’m sitting out the rest of this parade right here. You can let me off at my house.”
“You look hilarious in that costume, Bliss.”
“Yet, here you are, a big bad cop driving four kilometres per hour, tooting your little siren once in a while to excite the tots.”
“The Chief promised I don’t have to do this next year. Can you say the same?”
He had me there. No doubt, Glory was already planning how to torture me in next year’s parade. She was big on the local food bank, which was only fair, since she had never gone hungry a day in her life — not that I’ve ever seen her actually eat. She liked to remind me that I had relied on the food bank during my darkest, post-separation days when I worked five jobs to keep a trailer roof over my head. The elf costume was going to be a December must-have for the rest of my life. Unless somebody kills her first.
My cell rang. I took off my elf hat and scrunched down so Glory wouldn’t spot me. It was my sister. Blyth lives in Rexdale and is blessed with two toddler sons and a husband in pursuit of a doctorate in psychology. She’s a full-time librarian at the University of Toronto and gaggingly efficient at everything.
“Bliss? Hi. What’s that racket I’m hearing?”
“I’m marching in a parade. I’m the head elf, in charge of all the other elves.” Beside me, Dwayne snorted, and I cupped my hand over the phone.
“Oh. Good for you. I just called to ask if you’d heard from the parents lately. It’s been a while and I’m a bit concerned.” From the noises in the background, she should worry more about her kids fluffing George, the gerbil, in the dryer.
Dougal’s stovepipe hat galloped past, pursued by Glory’s white bobble. I slid onto the floor. “A couple of weeks ago, I texted Dad. The eavestrough along the front of the house is loose. He replied to get it fixed and use the maintenance fund he set up at the bank to pay for it.”
“A couple of weeks ago? Okay, that makes me feel better. I haven’t heard from them in at least two months. I wish they’d call once in a while.”
“Yeah, or even visit. That would be nice.” Our parents left three years ago to tour the West Coast in an RV and we haven’t seen them since. Blyth was pregnant with her first child when they left, so they have never even seen him, or his brother born a year later.
The radio hiccupped again, and a female voice clearly stated, “Officer Rundell, pick up the damn radio.”
I said to Blyth, “Got to go. Important parade stuff to do.”
Dwayne fumbled the hand-piece, dropping it twice before finally speaking into it. “Sorry, Lavinia. Go ahead.”
I turned my head politely before snickering. How this idiot got through Police College was a mystery.
When Lavinia finished with him, sweat ran down Dwayne’s face and his lips trembled. I felt sorry for him and turned down the heat.
He rolled his eyes from side to side. “I have to get out of this parade.”
“Now you’re talking. Hit the siren and we’ll nudge our way through the mob blocking the next exit.”
“You can’t come. I have a hot shot. Get out, Bliss.”
Hot shot is police-speak for “get your ass over here PDQ.”
“I’ll wait in the car for you. Just leave the cookies.”
“Please! This is serious.”
“Oh, all right. Geez!” I tossed a handful of candy canes at him, then hopped out and watched him swing the 4 X 4 around the convertible and punch the siren. He leaned out the window and shouted at the crowd to get clear. Children screamed and covered their ears. Some elderly folk stumbled trying to jump out of his way. Finally, he had open pavement in front of him and the vehicle roared off.
Holy mama! The hot shot better be calling Dwayne to a murder scene or Redfern would be fielding public complaints by the shitload.
CHAPTER
three
Neil and Thea arrived at the station to find Bernie tapping slowly on a keyboard, still wearing his coat. He looked up as the door opened and said, “Got my notes in the computer, Chief. Anything else?”
“Yes, get yourself a coffee and come into my office.”
Neil shed his outer garments and sat down at his desk with his notebook in front of him. When Bernie arrived with his coffee — and his coat — Neil gestured at the other chair and asked, “How long have you been on the force here, Bernie?”
Bernie looked at the ceiling, then the floor. Finally, he said, “Twenty-one years?” He sipped his coffee and appeared to reconsider his answer. Then he nodded. “Yep, twenty-one years this coming May.”
“Okay, you said the old high school was abandoned about fifteen years ago. What else can you tell me about the closing?”
Bernie lifted his coffee to his lips, thought better of taking a drink, reached inside his coat to scratch something, and opened his mouth. “Well, I could be wrong, but seems to me the kids who graduated in June of 2000 came back in October — Thanksgiving weekend — for their official graduation ceremony and a dance
