Stain of the Berry by Anthony Bidulka

Author:Anthony Bidulka [Bidulka, Anthony]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Suspense
ISBN: 9781897178249
Google: ugJ1U1nxfkoC
Amazon: 1897178247
Goodreads: 767128
Publisher: Insomniac Press
Published: 2006-04-15T12:47:29+00:00

Chapter 10

The sickly sweetness of fruit sitting too long in the sun assaulted our nostrils as we beheld the windshield of Jared's Jeep Cherokee, awash in the purple pulp of countless splattered saskatoon berries.

It took some doing to convince Jared to call the police and make a report about the vandalism. Sure, a bunch of squished saskatoon berries on a windshield is more of a messy inconvenience than real damage, but I wanted what happened on record, just in case this turned out to be related to the harassment being experienced by the other members of the Pink Gopher chorus. I stopped short when Jared suggested that I, as a recent occupant of the vehicle, might just as easily have been the target.

By late afternoon we were done with the authorities, had eaten a complimentary piece of saskatoon berry cheesecake offered by the apologetic and sympathetic management of the Berry Barn, had cleaned off Jared's truck at a U-Wash, and Jared had dropped me off at PWC. I stood outside the building and studied the cerulean sky growing dark at horizon's edge. The hot air from earlier in the day, which had wrung a melody of sweet scents from every flower in the city, had grown heavy and still. Something was afoot. A weighty humidity smelling of electricity hinted at the possibility of a dazzling summer storm, a sure remedy for keeping our prairie landscape from sizzling away into so many acres of dry husks of crop and desiccated chunks of earth.

Instead of zipping up to my office to check on e-mail and phone messages as I'd planned, I jumped into the Mazda and decided my time would be better spent checking out the final two Pink Gophers before the weather got rough. But my luck had run out. Neither Kim Pelluchi nor Richie Caplan was to be found. I snooped around their homes a bit, debated breaking in, resisted. Instead I tried a few neighbours' doors, to see if anyone could tell me where to find them. After a few information-dry conversations, and with a threatening sky painting itself above the city, I gave up for the day and made for home.

Barbra and Brutus were both fidgety when I opened the door, no doubt in reaction to the low grumbles of brown-black clouds beginning their pre-storm song and dance. I let them out to run off their jitters while I battened down the hatches (a radio newscast I listened to on the way home had confirmed my suspicions and warned that the city was in for a doozy). I toured the house checking all the windows and doors, then headed into the backyard to lower patio umbrellas and stack plastic chairs that might take flight should the winds come swooping in. In the time it took me to do this, the storm was almost upon us, announcing itself in grand fashion with whipping gusts that shook the trees in my yard as if demanding an early leaf fall. Craggy

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