Cornwall and Redfern Mysteries 2-Book Bundle. Gloria Ferris

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 ever.

      As we rode down the street past the woods, I saw the dark shadow of a vehicle pull away from the curb and fall in behind us. Headlights reflected yellow light into my mirror, effectively blinding my left eye. I attempted to move as far right as possible to allow the vehicle to overtake and pass. But the headlights behind me did neither, and, as I coasted under a streetlight, I dared a quick look in my mirror.

      There was no mistaking the Beetle shape behind the glaring lights. The top was down, and I could see one narrow head. Chesley Belcourt was on a breakaway from Mum.

      Enough was enough. Did the Belcourts want to buy the Barrister house so badly they were prepared to follow me after dark to close the deal? Not likely, but only one way to find out.

      I turned the Savage around, planning to confront Chesley. I have short legs and, with Dougal squirming and twisting my jacket in a clenched fist, it took a few seconds to make the one-eighty. By the time I re-balanced and pointed in his direction, Chesley had shot past me and was speeding off into the night, probably making for the highway and the Super 8 Motel. This time, I didn’t try to turn the bike on the road, but drove over a lawn and double driveway. I was just a few hundred yards behind Chesley when he turned right onto the highway that bisected the town.

      Ignoring Dougal’s bleating and the death grip he had on my stomach, I flipped my face shield down, leaned over the handlebars, and turned the accelerator toward me.

      A surge of wanton recklessness suddenly washed over me and I forgot Dougal and Simon were on the seat behind, forgot even my own safety.

      For a few enchanted moments, I wasn’t anything-for-a-buck Bliss Moonbeam Cornwall, rejected wife and trailer park dweller. I became Indiana Bliss, saviour of the world, hurtling through the night with 350 pounds of steel between my thighs.

      Chapter

       TEN

      The metal foot rest scraped the pavement as we took the corner onto Highway 21, but I managed to pull the bike upright coming out of the curve. I had never driven the Savage at this speed, and wasn’t sure I could maintain control. The cemetery whizzed by on my left. The streets of Lockport were as silent as the tombs within.

      Dougal’s grip had loosened and his helmet was bopping the top of mine, as though he had given up all hope of survival. I hoped this ride wouldn’t set back his recovery. Something was pushing frantically on my back, probably Simon trying to free himself, but at least he and Dougal had ceased their screams of indignation. Or maybe both of them were still shrieking their guts out, but the wind rushing by overpowered the sound.

      The blood lust was abating and I geared down to seventy, still too fast entering the town centre. The Beetle also slowed, and I was about fifty yards behind as we neared the police station. Rotting skunk odour filled my nostrils.

      The Beetle tried to veer, but its left tires hit the skunk dead on. Black and white and red chunks of gore shot from under the tires, flying into the interior of the convertible, smashing onto my windshield, and skidding across the roadway. Luckily, I was barely moving when my front tire hit a lump of slimy black and white fur.

      The wheel slid sideways, but just before the bike went down, Dougal swung his long leg over my head and jumped free. The crash bar saved my own leg, and I clambered out and crawled to the curb.

      The Beetle kept on going.

      Dougal fell on his hands and knees and barfed in the gutter. I felt like doing the same, even more so, when I recognized the uniformed man standing over us. He must have seen the whole thing.

      Taking the offensive, I said to Redfern with as much indignation as I could muster, while trying not to regurgitate the popcorn, “Did you see that! If you want to put out an APB, I can tell you exactly who he is and where he’s staying.”

      “Cornwall. Why am I not surprised?