Shroud of Roses. Gloria Ferris

for my robe before remembering it was on the kitchen table. My white thong hung from the bedside lamp. Since it was used on ceremonial occasions only, and then very briefly, I stuck it back in the drawer.

      Redfern pulled himself free of the tangled mess on the bed and headed for the bathroom.

      After doing a few stretches to get the kinks out, I called, “I guess I should join you, just to save water, but don’t get my hair wet. I just washed it this morning.”

      My ensuite bathroom had a small shower stall, built for one. With two of us in there, we needed to be inventive, but since Creative is my middle name, we were both clean in a couple of jiffies.

      Dried and dressed, I retrieved a container of shrimp chow mein from the microwave and dropped it on the table with the other Chinese offerings. I rubbed the blond spikes on Redfern’s head. “So, how was your day, dear?”

      “Interesting.”

      We ate from the containers, passing them back and forth across the table. I waited for him to continue. When I looked up from eating around the celery pieces in the chicken chop suey, I found him watching me. I knew that look. Can I trust her not to blab this all over town before dawn tomorrow?

      “Listen, if the Weasel called to complain that I knocked his bitch’s hat off in the parade, it’s a lie. The same goes for any kids who say I hit them with candy canes. Bald-faced lies. Maybe it’s Dwayne? He got called to a hot shot and nearly ran over some seniors when he peeled away from the parade. Surely, someone complained about that?”

      Redfern plunged his fork into a sesame ball. “Sounds like you had an interesting day, too. But mine trumped yours.”

      “How so?”

      “Promise to keep this to yourself?”

      “Look up discretion in the dictionary and you’ll see a picture of Bliss Moonbeam Cornwall.”

      “Last week you told me your picture was under flexible. All right, I’ll take a chance. Skeletal remains were discovered in the old high school.”

      “No way! I went to that high school!” This is what happens when you waste a day dressed like an elf, handing out candy to ungrateful kids. You miss all the good stuff.

      “Tell me, Cornwall, would you happen to be a member of the last class to graduate from that old building?”

      “Yes. Have you identified the body?”

      “Not yet. There’s not much to go on.”

      I shivered. “If it’s female, I know who it is.”

      CHAPTER

       five

      Overnight, a storm had blown in from Lake Huron, dumping seven centimetres of fresh snow on the county. Neil didn’t look forward to the barrage of multiple vehicle pile-ups on Highway 21.

      When he entered the station on Sunday morning, it was deserted except for Lavinia, their civilian dispatcher. Her weekend replacement was on maternity leave, and Lavinia seemed in no hurry to line up a sub. He asked her to contact the two officers setting up radar on the highway at both ends of the town limits and tell them to pull over motorists to warn them of the hazardous driving conditions. He had another officer patrolling the residential streets, and a fourth had the unrewarding task of touring the outlying concession roads checking for God knows what because nothing ever happened out there.

      Looking out his office window, Neil could just make out the flat-topped roof of the old high school, two blocks over. Snow would have blown in through the doors by now. No harm done to the crime scene. He’d take a last look around later before releasing the building to Cutler and Davidson.

      Neil turned to the radio on the windowsill behind his desk. “Danny? Are you anywhere near Dogtown?”

      “Just coming up to it now, Chief.” Over the static, Danny sounded morose. Nobody liked the township detail, and the squad car always returned low on gas and full of snack wrappers.

      “Good. Tell me what’s going on.”

      “The gate is closed across the compound entrance. No tire tracks in the snow. Smoke coming from two or three residences and some outbuildings. Some kids and dogs playing outside.”

      “Thanks, Danny, that’s all.”

      Sunday morning might be a good time to catch Cutler and Davidson at home. He wanted to talk to Earl Archman, as well. But it was 8:00 a.m. — too early to show up on anyone’s doorstep.

      His mind wandered back to earlier this morning, to Cornwall, barely opening one eye when he asked her if she wanted some scrambled eggs. She had stared at him through her tangled hair and blown a raspberry at him. Strange how they could communicate so well without words.

      He opened the yearbook she loaned him last night and turned to the pages that showed pictures and write-ups for the graduates of year 2000. Thirteen young faces looked back at him, six boys and seven girls, including Cornwall. Even at seventeen, she was hot. Twelve years of Mike Bains, through university and a bumpy marriage, had stripped away the innocence shining from her eyes in the photo. Unfortunately, time had that effect on most people. He definitely wasn’t the same kid who graduated from university and applied to Police College.

      Before he could stroll too far down memory lane to the dark places in his own past, his desk phone rang.

      “Hey, Neil, it’s Ed Reiner. Got a minute?”

      “Sure, Ed. Are you at the hospital?”

      “I’m at home. I sent the bones to Toronto, but I did a quick examination before I packed them up. Anything I say isn’t official, of course, but since it’ll be a long wait for the lab results, maybe I can give you something to work with regarding her identification.”

      “Ed, I’ll be grateful for whatever you can tell me. Do you want to meet for coffee?”

      “Mason Jar, half an hour?”

      Neil spent the wait thinking about the discussion that he and Cornwall had last night. Of the other six female graduates, Cornwall knew the whereabouts and the married names, if applicable, for all of them except one. One girl she insisted would surface in his missing person search.

      He left the yearbook on his desk and went to meet Ed. The wind blew straight at him as he descended the steps to the street and walked next door to the Mason Jar. He ordered a cup of coffee and watched the swirling snow through the window until Ed burst through the door in a flurry of energy.

      “I just have a few minutes, Neil. Got a patient in labour, only three centimetres dilated so far, but that doesn’t mean anything with a first pregnancy.” He placed his phone on the table and called to the waitress to bring him coffee and a doughnut.

      Neil looked at the doughnut. When he ate one in public, he felt like a stereotype. He got out his notebook and pen.

      Ed pulled off his orange toque, his scalp shining under the Tiffany-style lamp hanging over their booth. He leaned over the table, ready to bolt if his phone rang. “I mentioned yesterday that the bones are those of a young female of slight build. Okay, after a closer look, I believe she was between sixteen and twenty. Her teeth are exceptional, no cavities, straight, can’t tell with superficial examination whether braces straightened them or she was born that way. I found some long, dark hairs on the skull. The skull, by the way, isn’t abnormally thin, so the depression was unlikely to have been caused by a light tap. By the colour of the bones, remaining tissue, and the condition of the scraps of clothing, she’s been in the locker for years. If the school has been closed for more than ten years, I’ll bet she’s been there that long, or close to it.” He paused to bite into his doughnut.

      Neil decided to play devil’s advocate. “A crime occurred. No doubt about that. But this might not be murder. Could be she fell against something, which caused the fracture. Someone panicked and hid her in the locker. We’re waiting for residue results from a washroom sink.”

      “It’s