Cornwall and Redfern Mysteries 2-Book Bundle. Gloria Ferris

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      He looked up at me briefly, then held out his hand for the camera. While he downloaded, I floated to the kitchen and opened the fridge. By the time Dougal joined me, I had pretty much polished off a roasted chicken. Only the wings and tail were left and, as Dougal stared wordlessly, I started gnawing on a wing.

      “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “Did you want some of this chicken?” I held up the spare wing.

      “That was my dinner. You ate the whole damn thing.”

      “Don’t you have any potato chips or chocolate bars, or any other junk food you can eat? I’ll toast us a few cinnamon bagels, if you want.”

      Dougal pulled out a chair beside me. His ears were turning flamingo pink.

      I burped. “Oh, excuse me.” I burped again. “Well, if you don’t want this wing, I’ll just finish it off.”

      “Are you drunk, Bliss? Is that what this is all about? You better let me have the key to your death machine.”

      I tried to chortle at him, but I fear it came out as a giggle. Which, for some reason, reminded me of my recent conversation with Redfern.

      “I don’t have my motorcycle any more. Redfern took it away and drove me here. But, listen, there’s some stuff …”

      “What!” Dougal stood up so fast his chair crashed to the floor. “You led the cops to my door? And not just any cop, the Chief of Police! Are you trying to get me thrown in jail? What if he wanted to come in? Would you have taken his hand and led him into the solarium?”

      “Someone hasn’t had his smokie-wokie today. Anyhow, I didn’t have any choice, and he didn’t ask to come in. It wasn’t a date, sweetie. Although, he did get a little fresh. I think he’s hot for me.” I contemplated the chicken’s tail, then picked up the rib cage and stripped it with my teeth.

      “Hot for you? You are a whack job, Bliss. You said yourself he’s on a crusade to end all cannabis use in this town. Why the hell would you think he’s got the hots for you?”

      “Well, sweetie, he kept trying to grab my boobs.” I put my hand over my chest and felt the bulge in the front pocket. “Oh, well, maybe not.”

      I pulled out the packet and set it on the table. The contents were flattened and oozing through the wrap, but I threw the rib cage over my shoulder and picked up a fork from the table. Chicken and chocolate. Mmm-mmm-mmm. I unfolded the wrapping carefully.

      Before I could stick my fork into the chocolate goo, Dougal’s hand shot out and his fingers encased my wrist.

      “Not so fast, Bliss. Tell me what it is, and where you got it.”

      I explained as quickly as I could, eager to taste the chocolate. It seemed so long since the last yummy square in Fern Brickle’s kitchen.

      “So, you ate some of these desserts from Mrs. Brickle’s kitchen, wrapped one up to take home, and Chief Redfern nabbed you outside her house and tried to take it from you. Does that about cover it?”

      I nodded and plunged my fork into the melted dessert. Dougal ripped the fork from my hand and transferred its contents to his own mouth.

      “No more for you,” he said, chocolate oozing out the corner of his mouth. “Let the expert determine if this is what I think it is.”

      My eyes followed every crumb as Dougal lifted the fork to his mouth again and again. He let the chocolate melt on his tongue. God, I knew what that was like. At one point he got up, went to a cupboard, lifted down a box of cookies, and dropped it in front of me. Simon joined us, shuffling into the kitchen and looking terribly lonely on the floor. I lifted him onto the table and shared a cookie with him.

      “Here you go, baby,” I said, stroking the red tail feathers. He wasn’t such a bad bird.

      Every time I fed him a tiny piece, Simon would flap his wings and shout, “Do it again, do it again!” Good old Melanie.

      The plastic wrap was finally scraped clean by Dougal’s fork. He sat back and sighed with contentment.

      “Okay. Now we wait.”

      “Wait for what?” I asked him, ramming home another cookie.

      We listened to the ticking of the kitchen clock. At least I did. Dougal was in some sort of meditative trance and wouldn’t answer any of my questions, not responding even when Simon fluttered onto his shoulder and pecked at his ear. Time passed.

      Finally. “Oh yeah. This is good stuff. I guess the rumours are true.”

      “Rumours of what? Of your death? And are they greatly exaggerated?” I laughed uproariously at myself.

      “You’re stoned, Bliss. If you ate three of these, you have to be higher than a kite. I’d say this is the Baker’s handiwork.”

      “I know not what you mean, you miscreant.”

      “I’ve heard about a group of elderly Lockport residents, all with medical challenges, who grow their own weed and give another local citizen, known as the Baker, the raw product to cook up into brownies.”

      “That was not a brownie,” I told him. “That was sheer heaven, admit it.”

      “Okay, whatever it was, it was good, and it was loaded. And Chief Redfern knows, or he wouldn’t have tried to take this one away from you.”

      “Are you saying Redfern wasn’t making a pass at me?”

      “Sorry.”

      “He’s bent, you know.”

      “Bent?” Dougal looked confused. I wished he’d try and keep up with me and the British.

      “And there’s a bear living behind my trailer. So I have to stay here tonight. Maybe forever.”

      “No. I’m having company later tonight. You can walk over to Glory’s and get this evening’s shots, then take a taxi or something home after you deliver them here. I’ll even pay for it.”

      “That’s very generous, sweetie, but Hemp Hollow, for reasons I can’t remember at the moment, is a very dangerous place.”

      “And, please, go back to calling me moron so I know the planets are spinning in their appointed co-ordinates.”

      “As you wish, moron. I think your parrot just pooped on your shoulder. Maybe he shouldn’t have eaten so many cookies.”

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