Cornwall and Redfern Mysteries 2-Book Bundle (22 page)

Deep puddles dotted the overgrown lawns of the Barrister property. Last night's storm had done little to flatten the wild grasses that flourished over the seven acres.

I imagined the property through the eyes of a developer. Front-end loaders and graders could clear the land in days. Bird River crossed the road under a crumbling cement bridge and bisected the north edge of the property, leaving plenty of room for greenhouses. I wasn't sure about the house, though. It was in bad shape.

I crossed River Road to where century-old deciduous trees guarded the entrance to my swamp. As I slipped between the trunks, the place didn't seem as gloomy as I remembered.

A few shafts of light beamed down between the branches and scattered tiny sun drops on the forest floor. When I looked closer, I saw they were yellow lady's slippers and I knelt on the soggy earth for a closer look. Reaching out to gently touch one specimen, I realized some things in nature weren't so bad.

Bird River flowed quietly through the trees to a small inlet off Georgian Bay a quarter-mile away. I stepped cautiously to the river bank and looked down at the water. The river was a few hundred feet across, and one tall tree had, many years past, fallen over the bank to lay partly submerged. Now it was just a dead log for birds to stand on while they hunted small fish or insects in the water below.

Suddenly, part of the log seemed to move. A head on a scaly neck swivelled in my direction, like some alien life form scenting an intruder. When I realized it was a turtle as big as my head, I prepared to run. I'd heard stories of large turtles taking the legs right off geese and ducks.

As I looked, four more turtles, smaller than the first, turned and blinked up at me.

The big one began to pull its cumbersome body along the log in my direction. I wasn't up for an attack by a herd of turtles, but, on the other hand, I needed to verify that my swamp was indeed home to the infamous spotted turtle, endangered and ugly as hell. I needed to see if these had spots.

I picked up a small branch and banged on the log. That stopped the turtle's advance. It looked at me and I sensed the gears in the primitive brain turning.

“Bad turtle. Jump.”

One of the little ones obliged and, just before it plopped into the water, I saw its shell was black and orange, but not spotted. The monster lumbered closer. I banged the log and plop, plop, two more dropped into the river. Those two had yellow spots.

Plop. I heard the fourth small one hit the water, but I didn't take my eyes off the leader coming at me.

“Back. Back, turtle.” It was close enough for me to see its shell was black and it had yellowish spots, not just on the shell, but everywhere. As it crawled closer, I saw a large orange spot on either side of its head. Turtles have ears?

Not only were its ears orange, but its eyes were as well, and, holy shit, it had an orange beak, like a bird of prey!

That was enough detail. I ran until I reached River Road, where I had to stop or be flattened by a pickup driven by a good old boy with a black lab hanging out the passenger window. I berated myself for fearing all things that slithered, scampered, or jumped.

Now I had another dilemma to add to my list. The spotted turtles were endangered, and, although I wasn't personally fond of the prehistoric creatures, they apparently needed to be protected. If the Province of Ontario acquired their habitat via the Weasel, there would be spotted turtles for everyone's grandchildren to enjoy.

The Belcourts' motives were unclear. They said they planned to grow rare, native wildflowers as a business venture. But if they planted things willy-nilly throughout the swamp, would that destroy the turtles' habitat? An environmental assessment would take forever, and I didn't have that long. I would be forced to take up residence under a bridge unless I made some serious bucks soon.

And the swamp was my primary ace. Sell it to the Belcourts or sell it to the Weasel. I had, at this moment, no firm offer from either, so should I accept the first one and devil take the turtles? On the other hand, I didn't want to be known the length and breadth of Bruce County as the mercenary who dispatched an endangered species into full-blown extinction.

Hell. Before I saw those ugly animals on the log, their existence was just academic. Now I had their very survival on my conscience. Stupid damn turtles.

The silver Bug gleamed beside the curb in front of Dougal's house, the odour of skunk drifting from its interior. No Canadian Tire product would win that battle. Chesley leaned on the hood playing with a cellphone.

“Hi, Chesley. Rehearsed your marketing strategy?”

“Bliss, I was afraid you wouldn't make it.” Chesley's eyes were bright with anticipation. I almost felt sorry for the shit-kicking, figuratively-speaking, he was about to experience at the end of Dougal's tongue.

“Let's go see if we can bag you a Titan Arum for your new nursery.”

I took his arm and we walked along the stone path to the front door. I saw Chesley's expert eyes flick from side to side and wondered how he rated my gardening skills.

Dougal waited until I rang the bell three times. He opened the door, eyed us briefly, then turned without a word and walked away. I took this as a good sign. At least he didn't slam the door in our faces.

We found him in his living room. There were two armchairs and a hassock in the space. Simon fluttered up to the hassock and glared at us.

“I see you haven't bought a new couch yet,” I said to break the silence. I sank into one of the armchairs and left the other two to stand or sit. Who cared.

“Good eye,” Dougal observed. “I told you I had nothing to say to this jerk.”

When Chesley continued to stand like a mute swan, I was forced to speak for him.

“He wants to buy Thor,” I said bluntly. Why did everyone expect me to be their go-between? Negotiating was not my speciality.

“He can kiss my ass,” Dougal replied.

No rebuttal from Chesley.

I stood up and stepped between them. I've noticed that my subconscious is smarter than my conscious mind, and it was time to let the smart one speak. I opened my mouth and let 'er rip without trying to filter the words.

“Chesley and his mother are going to open a new business here in Lockport. The new nursery will specialize in foreign exotics and native wildflowers.” I hoped that was in the ballpark.

Dougal looked incredibly underwhelmed, so I blundered on. “They need a signature plant, something spectacular. The plant will appear on the letterhead and as a banner on the web page. A Titan Arum, as impressive in leaf as in flower, would be a perfect flagship plant for Belcourt Exotics.” I thought Dougal began to show some interest, and Chesley blinked once.

“Thor is going to be a father, or mother, or both, and his little corms will fetch a pretty penny on the market. I know you can buy the seeds on eBay, but how often do they actually grow into mature plants? Imagine a business where discriminating buyers can browse among lovely orchids and other rare flowers. Imagine Thor standing proud in the luxurious greenhouse, his little corms sprouting in clay pots beside him.”

What I knew about horticulture could dance on the head of a pin, but both men were staring at me with open mouths. A little drool collected on Dougal's lips.

“Imagine a wetland directly across from the greenhouse where local wildflowers, like the yellow lady's slipper I saw this afternoon, flourish amidst other rare specimens. The area is fenced to preserve the sacred spotted turtle in its natural habitat …”

“Wait. What? A yellow lady's slipper?” Dougal had me by the shoulders and was shaking me. I ground my heel into his toe and he stopped.

“You saw a yellow lady's slipper?” Chesley actually spoke out loud and stopped blinking like an owl in daylight.

“Well, yellow with reddish twisty things growing out the back of pouches,” I replied. “But there was this enormous turtle with an orange beak. Did you know turtles had ears?”

“Cypripedium parviflorum,”
both idiots said in unison.

“How many did you see?” Dougal advanced on me, and I backed up.

“Dozens.”

“Did you get any shots?” asked Chesley.

“She has the oldest cell on the planet,” said Dougal. “I'm surprised her charger still works.”

“I have a charger?” I said. Then “Just kidding. What's the biggie on the lady's slipper?”

“The
Cypripedium parviflorum
is quite rare in this area,” Dougal responded. “Where did you say you saw them?”

I watched Chesley. His thick lips were sucking in air, and he seemed to be gearing up to say something momentous. I think I closed the deal when I said, “Well, I was strolling in my wetland out by River Road. I was so surprised when I saw all these tiny yellow lady's slippers. So pretty.”

Dougal said with disbelief, “You own property? You don't own yesterday's dinner.”

That was rude, and I would make him pay.

I ignored him and spoke to Chesley. “I don't know how long the flowers will last. They seem to be in full bloom now. I can take you out there if you want to snap a few photos. Maybe Mum would be interested in coming along?”

Chesley wiggled all over. “Oh, would you, Bliss? I would love to see the lady's slippers. And I'm sure Mum would too. Can we go now?”

I glanced at Dougal. He seemed about to cry. Served him right. “Well, I don't think we can go today, Chesley. Thor is going to bloom any minute, and I have to stand ready to transport pollen back and forth between here and Glory's house.”

This news was too much for Chesley. Tears leaked from his eyes and ran down his thin cheeks as he turned back to Dougal. “Thor is going to blossom? Oh, please, can I stay and watch? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, Dougal, and you know how I grieved for Jarnsaxa.”

“Sure, sure, buddy.” Dougal punched Chesley lightly on the arm and turned away. His eyes were wet, too.

Nobody cared about the spotted turtles, but the lady's slippers were a big hit. Somehow, I could turn that to my advantage.

“Just remember,” I said to Chesley. “I'm getting paid to deliver the pollen from Thor to Sif and the other way around. So, when magic time rolls around, get out of my way.”

“You can stay and help me with Thor tonight, if you want, Ches,” Dougal offered. “I have to surgically cut through the spathe to brush on Sif's pollen. Bliss can do the grunt work by transporting the pollen between plants, but you and I will suit up and perform the pollination. Glory will do the same at her end.”

“Uh, Dougal?” I flicked my head and rolled my eyes toward the solarium where Thor shared his digs with other, worldlier members of the flora species.

“You all right, Bliss? … Oh. Never mind, Ches is cool.”

A voice behind me called, “Reefer time, man. Who's got the lighter?”

“Get lost,” I told Simon, as he skated through the solarium door.

Chesley went directly to the Titan and looked up. His face had that beatific look you see in old paintings, where the saints are illuminated with the knowledge of the cosmos. He was taking in air in great gulps and, fearing he would hyperventilate, I slapped him on the back.

Dougal stood by, as proud as if he had personally fathered this giant freak of nature instead of stealing it.

Then Chesley caught sight of the marijuana. He walked over to the tall plants, ignoring the orchids now bunched together near a window.

Fingering a cluster of buds, Chesley turned and looked at Dougal.

“Dude.”

“Yeah,” Dougal responded modestly, “prime.”

“It stinks even worse in here than it did last night,” I observed, sniffing the humid air. “Are you sure you don't have a sewer backup? There appears to be essence of cannabis mixed in with a dead rat in the wall smell again.”

“This crop is ready for harvesting,” said Chesley.

Dougal nodded. “I might get a chance tomorrow. Thor's taken up all my time lately. I've documented his progress, and plan to write an article for one of the Geographic magazines.”

“I've been thinking, too,” I interjected. “Dougal, I'm sure you don't want to sell Thor. And, you've done a wonderful job coaxing him to blossom and, hopefully, the pollination will be successful. But have you thought about afterward?”

“What do you mean, afterward? Thor will go dormant for a time, then his leaf will grow intermittently for a few years, then, if I'm lucky, he'll blossom again.”

“But, in the meantime, think of this scenario. Thor resides at the entrance of a vast greenhouse built of soaring steel and glass. A large brass plaque is affixed to his burnished pot. The plaque reads: On Loan from Dougal Seabrook. Visitors will line up to see Thor, even in his leaf stage. A legend on a stand describes the life cycle of the Titan Arum, with pictures of each stage of development. And when Thor blossoms again, the excitement will rival that created by a blossoming Titan in any botanical garden in the world. Everybody wins. You still own Thor, and the Belcourts have their flagship exotic.”

“Or,” said Dougal, “how about if the plaque reads: On Loan from Published Author and Renowned Botanist Dougal Seabrook?”

Chesley and I both stared at Dougal.

“Well, you'll have to wait and see if
National Geographic
accepts your article,” I said. “And, as for the renowned part, you aren't exactly in that league yet …”

“I'm not talking about a magazine article. I heard this morning that a Canadian publisher has accepted my manuscript,
Death in the Conservatory
. I told you I was writing a mystery with a botanical theme.” He looked at me reproachfully.

“But I didn't know you even started it.”

“You've been preoccupied lately, Bliss. I would have appreciated your opinion on my draft, but you were always in such a hurry.”

“Because you kept me on the hop every minute of the day, you numbskull. Weeding, mowing, fetching, delivering, trimming your damn hair! I would have read it.”

“Uh, I hate to interrupt, and congratulations, Doog, that's great news about your novel. I always knew you'd be a writer some day,” Chesley said. “I'll have to discuss this with Mum, but I'm sure she will agree with me that leasing Thor is acceptable if you aren't willing to sell outright. Of course, we would expect to purchase a percentage of any viable seeds that may result from this current pollination.”

“Pull the stick out, Ches,” Dougal replied. “Thor is a lot of work, and I feel confident you can care for him. As a loan. So, once tonight is over, we'll discuss business with Mum.”

“I have another idea,” I said.

Both goofballs looked at me condescendingly.

“Just listen. Dougal, you need something to do with your life other than sit in this house and grow pot. Okay, and write mysteries. How about you invest in this latest Belcourt operation, the greenhouse and wetland, for exotics and natives? This is a new type of venture for them, and you can help with the new Titan Arum tubers.”

Becoming involved in affairs outside his own head might also help Dougal overcome his agoraphobia without the use of illegal herbs.

“I'd have to think about that,” said the tightwad who still had every nickel his parents had left him.

He turned his back on me and spoke to Chesley. “I've been feeding Thor with a high potash liquid fertilizer. I wouldn't doubt it had an impact on his energy levels.”

“Did you give some of this yummy fertilizer to Glory?” I asked. “Sif looks exactly the same as Thor, so their diet …”

“Shut it,” Dougal told me.

He said to Chesley, “I have some other ideas for potting the corms in larger containers so they don't have to be disturbed later on. If we can increase the energy stores in the corms, they might bloom sooner and more often. Several universities have done some interesting work on Titan Arums and they might be willing—”

“I have to call Mum,” Chesley interrupted. “I'll tell her I'm staying here tonight to help you with Thor and Sif. Tomorrow, we can talk about the business after Mum and I finalize our financial arrangements. Oh, and Bliss, can we visit the
Cypripedium parviflorum
tomorrow? Maybe in the morning? I don't want to risk missing the blossoming of the Titan.”

I looked at my watch. “Not a problem.” I was relieved that Chesley was content to wait until morning to see the tiny lady's slippers in their boggy beds.

It was almost dusk. I knew turtles sometimes crawled up on land, and if I saw one trudging through the lady's slippers, there better be daylight between me and the exit. I didn't figure I could count on Chesley in a crisis.

As events played out, it wasn't a homicidal turtle that Chesley was forced to confront.