I didn’t want to go home to cook, so I grabbed a mushroom burger, strawberry pie and coffee at the White Spot drive in on the highway. It was just after seven when I pulled up at Kewp’s house.
She opened the kitchen door and gave me one of those provocative lip-biting smiles. She was wearing a sleeveless orange summer dress, and her fine shoulders glowed with tan. “Glad you made it,” she said. “Have you had supper?”
“Yes, thanks. Need to talk.”
“That sounds serious.”
“I think it is.”
We sat at the kitchen table.
I said, “You haven’t been straight with me about Big Bill.” Kewp’s eyes went up, and she was about to speak. “And I don’t mean you and him,” I cut in. “I mean about him and Albert.”
“Ah,” she said. She crossed her legs and remained silent.
“We have a situation here, Kewp, and I’m worried about it. I probably should be sitting with the cops right now instead of here. But I do feel I owe you something for yesterday, so I’m giving you a chance to level with me first.”
She looked at the sink counter and coughed. When she spoke, her tone was carrying ice. “What is it you think you know?”
“Two things. Three, actually. First, that Big Bill was Virgil Wood’s neighbour. Something you never bothered to mention when we talked yesterday about Wood. The second thing is the real worrying one. That Big Bill went to the apple grove with Albert back in late June. He’s been identified by a witness.”
“To the cops?”
There was real alarm in her voice, and at that moment I knew I was on dangerous ground. I half expected Big Bill to come bounding out of the shadows and finish me. Then there would be nothing to connect him to Settlers Road.
“No, not yet,” I said.
“What’s the third thing?”
“Let’s just talk about the first two first.”
Kewp rubbed her mouth, thinking about it.
“Trying to come up with a story, Kewp?”
“No!” she snapped. “I’m trying to figure out if I should expose my life to you and maybe risk going to jail. How’s that?”
“I don’t know, because I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Come with me,” she said, sneering, as if I’d asked for it.
I followed her out of the kitchen. She strode into the laundry alcove next to the bathroom and pulled the cord on an overhead bulb to reveal a big clothes closet against one wall. She swept the coats and jackets aside, pushed the back of the closet, and walked through the opening. I went in after her.
The brightness from the grow lights hurt my eyes, and the smell almost knocked me over. It was like stepping into an indoor forest of sticky, ornately budding marijuana plants. Wedged between the pots, several oscillating floor fans made a terrific hum.
“This is what I do,” Kewp said. “I have three other rooms like this in the house. Six lights in each room. One reason I use candles all the time is to keep my hydro bill as low as possible, because that’s a way they can track you. It doesn’t make much of a difference, I suppose, more psychological than anything. I’m lucky, though, because this house is zoned as a duplex, and I pay my hydro on two separate bills.”
I was looking at the plants.
“This looks like Grade-A stuff,” I said.
“It is. I have a pretty small operation, but I grow the best B.C. bud there is.” She turned to me, and the old friendliness was back. “Too bad you don’t smoke any more, Pat, because this stuff would really get you high.”
“I’ll bet.”
“I try for three good harvests a year. This crop is past due already. I was planning to cut it down on the weekend, but when I heard the news about Albert, I thought it might be a good idea to postpone. Partly out of respect, but also because I knew someone might be coming around to ask questions, and for a few days this whole house will just reek of pot. I didn’t think it would be you showing up, I’ll tell you that.”
We went back to the kitchen. Kewp made tea.
“Big Bill got me started after I moved here—he’s been growing prime bud longer than almost anyone on the Coast. He brought me the choice cuttings. You can’t grow stuff like that from seeds; you have to start with cuttings. He taught me the basics of plant husbandry and set me up with a buyer in the city.”
“He went all out for you.”
“We were seeing each other in those days, but this is business for Big Bill. He’s set up grows like this all over the Coast, and he gets a cut from each one. He’s our original benefactor, and he always gets his cut.”
“But what does that have to do with Albert?”
“Nothing. It’s just that Big Bill can’t take any heat. Bill and Albert were friends. They met over here, and they used to see each other sometimes over at Virgil’s place. They actually had a lot in common.”
“Really?”
“Both intelligent, well-travelled men who did things their way.”
“Sorry, but my exposure to Big Bill, brief though it was, didn’t bear that out, Kewp. He struck me as an ape. And he has no class whatsoever in regards to you, my dear.”
“Oh, I know. On the subject of me, Big Bill is a big loser. But you don’t get where he is without having a lot on the ball.”
“So you’re saying that whatever he knows about Albert’s death, he can’t share it because it would bring the law to his doorstep.”
“He doesn’t know anything about Albert’s death,” she said shrilly. “I’ve talked to him about it. He’s actually afraid for his own life, because they were both hanging around Virgil and listening to his stories.”
“What kind of stories?”
“I don’t know. Neither one of them told me.”
I must have looked skeptical.
“I’m telling you the truth. I think it started as Albert’s thing; Big Bill just got interested in it this summer. They sort of teamed up for a while, but the last few weeks, Big Bill says he didn’t see Albert or talk to him. But he won’t tell me what he knows, absolutely refuses. I mean, here’s a guy with biker connections, Hells Angels connections, he’s a pretty tough motherfucker, and he practically starts trembling if you ask him anything about it.”
“He could tell me off the record.”
“You don’t know Big Bill. That’s what he was yelling about right here in this room yesterday when you were upstairs sleeping. I told him you were trying to find out the truth about Albert’s death, and he said to get you the hell out of here. He said you’re bad karma, and he felt death when he came to the house and saw your car here.”
“Too much drugs.”
“Maybe. What was that third thing you mentioned?”
“I guess I shouldn’t tell you.”
“Tell me.”
“You might be doomed if you hear it.”
“Tell me.”
I told her about the reported suicide of Ezra Paul, and how I had reliable information that strongly suggested another man had died in the apple grove back in 1949.
Kewp took it all in with a look of terror and wonder. “That must be what Virgil talked to them about,” she said. “That is creepy. Now you have to spend the night here.”
“I can’t, Kewp. I have to go home. In fact, I hate to spook you and run, but I really ought to get going.”
I gave her a small perfunctory hug before I left and told her that her secret was safe with me. I didn’t mention that there was a chance the Mounties could come knocking on my door asking about the lawnmower man. No use making her crazy with worry. I was, after all, bad karma on wheels.