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rock.”
    â€œOkay, without six or seven accomplices, do you really think I could carry Julian’s body to the shed, even a few feet? Or drag him? He must weigh four hundred pounds.”
    â€œWhy do you persist in making this all about you, Ms. Cornwall? I haven’t accused you of anything, but I’m beginning to suspect you have a guilty conscience.”
    â€œBull!” Now I was getting angry. “Your constable implied I might be a suspect, and now you’re questioning me and tying me all up in knots. If you don’t think I did anything to Julian, then why am I here?”
    Redfern stood up and came around his desk to stand in front of me again. My stomach burbled.
    â€œMr. Barnfeather didn’t have to work on Saturdays, yet he was there every day you were working. I wonder why that was, Ms. Cornwall?”
    â€œHow should I know? It certainly couldn’t have been for the few minutes at the beginning and end of the day when he could harass me. He sometimes walked around the cemetery, but he never came near me when I was working. He was probably afraid I’d whack him with my hoe if he tried anything in plain view.”
    Whoops, I shouldn’t have said that, but Chief Redfern ignored my comment. Instead, he dangled a small plastic bag in front of my eyes. His own eyes were hard.
    â€œDo you think it possible Mr. Barnfeather harassed you to keep you away from the shed during the day? By your own admission, you never went near the shed after collecting your tools until it was time to return them at quitting time. Until yesterday, that is, when you left your tools outside for Mr. Barnfeather to put away.”
    â€œYesterday, I had other business to attend to. And I simply couldn’t face Julian again. You seem to be suggesting Julian didn’t act like a pervert because of my overwhelming cuteness, but for some more sinister reason.”
    He swung the plastic bag gently, moving it closer to my face. I felt my eyes cross.
    â€œWe found this in Julian Barnfeather’s hair. Very close to the wound. Do you know what this is, Ms. Cornwall?”
    I leaned away from the bag to bring it into focus. It contained a small green-brown object, flattened. I looked up. “I don’t know. A piece of fabric? Maybe a leaf?”
    â€œA leaf indeed. Any idea what plant this leaf came from?”
    I shook my head, but a horrible glimmer of an idea was beginning to take shape in my brain. Please, no, not again. Surely not.
    â€œThis, Ms. Cornwall, is marijuana. Any idea where it may have come from?”
    I dove for the waste basket, and just made it. Mostly.

Chapter
EIGHT
    The interview was over. Chief Redfern jerked his thumb at the door, and I made a run for it, leaving him to clean off his pants and shoes. You’d think an experienced homicide cop from Toronto would know better than to stand so close to someone struggling to keep her breakfast down.
    I retched non-productively while starting my bike and driving away from the skunk as quickly as possible. I detoured off Main Street onto Morningside Drive and stopped in front of my parents’ ranch-style house.
    Even though the tenants, Joy and Bob MacPherson, emailed my parents routinely with news of their garden and the condition of the toilets, I had promised I would drop in from time to time and check on things. Then I’d text them on my BlackBerry, “All’s well here.” They would reply, “Thnx, hp yr wl,” which was their idea of the hip way to correspond.
    They had left town before the Weasel blindsided me, and I had sworn Blyth to absolute silence about my financial predicament. My father had retired early from his manager’s position with the Royal Bank of Canada, defiantly bought a gigantic fifth wheel in the face of rising gas prices, and headed for the West Coast. My mother, a homemaker and proud of it, was delighted at the prospect of living unencumbered by eight-foot snow