their normal sea-blue, so I gave her another wink and followed Pan. Hopefully, Glory wouldn’t eviscerate Dougal in my absence with her pink-tipped talons.
On the way to the greenhouse, I asked Pan, “Do you know what Dougal did to Glory? It’s strange that no-one seems to have any idea.”
He shrugged. “Haven’t a clue. Don’t forget I’ve only worked here since Miss Yates tossed your cousin out, and she doesn’t confide in me. It must have been something serious, though. If anyone mentions him, her eyes turn red.”
“I’ve noticed. He won’t tell me either. He just calls her names and looks scared.”
Pan pulled up a tall stepladder close to the concrete planter. With me holding one end of the tape measure to the soil, Pan climbed to the top of the stepladder and called down the number. I found a writing pad and pen on a small table and wrote it down. We did the same for the height of the frilly, red-rimmed spathe, but it was more difficult measuring the circumference without touching it.
Finally, I took the required pictures. Pan insisted on checking the digital images, and I had to delete one shot where a tiny piece of pot frond showed in a corner. I avoided even looking at the crop, figuring if the whole thing went bad and I had to testify in court, I could almost truthfully say I never saw any pot plants in Glory Yates’s greenhouse.
“Why is Glory growing marijuana in her greenhouse? I mean, there are a lot of plants here. Surely even the two of you can’t smoke all this. And she can’t be selling it.”
Pan looked at me sideways from his glittery black eyes. “Are you kidding? Can you see Miss Glory smoking anything?”
“I don’t understand. What does she do with it all if she doesn’t smoke it?”
Pan leaned closer to me. “I shouldn’t tell you this, but it’s Miss Glory’s turn this year to grow the pot. It’s for all her friends. And they don’t smoke it.”
“Then what? And, why?”
He leaned even closer. “They eat it. Because it makes them feel good. And because it makes them feel naughty to get away with it. You sure don’t know much about the pot subculture, do you?”
I dared a look at the potted euphoria. The plants were close to six feet, healthy, green and dripping with buds. Running to catch up with Pan, I asked him, “How do they eat it? Do you mean, like, baking it into brownies?” I couldn’t imagine Glory and her friends eating high-carb brownies any more than smoking.
But Pan was already opening the front door. We found Glory and Dougal sitting mutely on separate couches. Dougal was chewing his cuticles while Glory tried to bore a hole in his neck with her laser eyeballs. Simon hadn’t moved from the table but his head swivelled back and forth between the two. The magazine had collected a six-inch pile of birdie doo.
As I handed Dougal the camera and the paper with the measurements, Simon spoke up. “Anyone for a smoke?” he asked, sounding like a cross between Dougal and Robert DeNiro.
Glory rounded on Dougal. “Are you letting that bird smoke? Surely even you know how dangerous that is for his health. You worm!”
“Tobacco smoke has never entered his lungs,” replied Dougal with such an air of innocence that I almost believed him myself.
“Simon obviously heard that phrase on television. He watches Days of Our Lives and General Hospital regularly. He likes Law and Order, too.” Dougal managed to look both affronted and pathetic while positioning himself between the bird and Glory.
Simon wasn’t through, however. “Oh, baby, that was sooo good. Pass the joint, will you sweetie.” I didn’t recognize the voice this time, but Glory and Dougal — and Pan — all looked at me with varying degrees of horror.
“What?”
“Are you and Dougal having sex? That’s, that’s … it’s incest!” Glory sputtered and stepped way back from our unclean presence.
“Eeeww,” I replied in disgust, while Dougal said, “I’d rather hang myself,” at the same time. Pan snickered until Glory cast him a quelling glance with eyes turning bloody again. I figured it was time to retreat, and made for the entrance hall.
While I donned jacket and helmet for the ride down the block, Dougal was still talking, having never learned to quit while behind.
“He uses a voice he knows and puts words together. It’s a new thing. He doesn’t mimic verbatim.” Dougal tried to stick Simon inside his jacket and was having the same difficulty as the first time. The parrot’s scaly legs thrashed wildly.
“All I know is someone is smoking a post-coital joint in front of that parrot.” Glory’s glossy lips were pursed in disapproval. “If it isn’t you and your undersized cousin, then who is it?”
“I’d rather sleep with the bird,” I called to Glory over Simon’s furious shrieks.
“I told you. It’s the TV. Nobody’s sleeping with anybody or smoking a joint either,” Dougal shouted. I knew he wasn’t lying to save my reputation or even Melanie’s. He’d say anything to pollinate Thor.
“Just get out of my house.”
“I’m going. I’ll send Bliss over once or twice a day to check on Sif’s progress. She’ll have to take pictures as well. Both spadices are currently between six and six and a half feet tall, but it looks like Sif might flower a few hours earlier than Thor, so if you could collect the pollen, Bliss will bring it over to my place …”
“Do what you have to do, just get out now before I snap you in half and toss the pieces in the trash.” She could do it, too. Dougal was going to have to bulk up a bit if he wanted to defend himself against his ex-wife.
I stood on the second step of the curving staircase and buckled Dougal into his helmet. The parrot was having a tantrum inside the jacket, and I cautioned Dougal to unzip a little to allow Simon some air.
I figured I would have to boot Dougal out the door and kick him down the steps to my bike, and was rather looking forward to it. But at the open door, he halted so quickly, I hit him in the back with the peak of my helmet.
“Where did you get this?” he asked Glory, indicating an erect plant in a ceramic pot sitting beside the umbrella stand. About a dozen straight stalks rose several feet from the pot in a clump and ended in masses of frond-like leaves. I gave it a hard look to try to burn it into my memory cells. I’d be looking this up on the Internet later, as well as the ferns at my parents’ house.
Dougal continued, “It’s a magnificent example of Thamnocalamus tessellatus, but it needs a lot of direct sun.”
“I know what it is, you half-wit. An old friend from school just dropped it off. And I know how to look after a simple Berg Bamboo. Get out.”
“Who was it? Is it anyone I…?”
The door slammed me on the butt and caught the edge of Dougal’s helmet, propelling us both down the steps to the Savage. This time, I had no trouble getting Dougal on the jump seat. He was obviously bemused by his reunion with Glory. The growl of the motor and Simon’s muffled squawking sounded like music to my ears after Glory’s angry screeching. God, whatever Dougal did to get kicked out of her house and bed, it had been his luckiest day
