The Devil's in the Details

by Mary Jane Maffini

  First, I tried to reach Constable Yee on his cellphone. It immediately went to his voice mail. Either he was on the phone or out of range. I left a message suggesting that he leave the specific answers I wanted on my voice mail and, further, if he had new information or questions for me, that he leave a detailed message. I reminded him I wanted the names of the witnesses who saw Laura fall.

  Next, I located the piece of paper on which I’d written Frances Foxall’s number. I didn’t like the feeling in the pit of my stomach as I dialled. A man answered on the fourth ring. I asked for Robert Watson.

  His hesitant tone went well with the soft voice. “This is he.”

  “Camilla MacPhee here. You returned my earlier call.”

  “Yes. You were calling Frances. I guess you didn’t know.”

  “Know what?”

  “Were you friends?”

  I felt my head spin a bit. “We knew each other at university.”

  “Oh. That was a long time ago. So had you not heard?”

  “We haven’t really been in touch. I was calling because a mutual acquaintance was killed yesterday, and I wanted to let Frances know personally.” Not a complete fabrication.

  “I see. How dreadful. Well, unfortunately, there’s no easy way to say this. Frances died this summer.”

  “Died? Oh my god. I’m so sorry.”

  He had a definite catch in his voice. “Thank you. It was unexpected. An accident.”

  “A fall?” I blurted.

  “In a way. You may know we’ve had a hobby farm, south of Ottawa, for the past ten years. Frances did a lot of riding. She was thrown from her favourite mount.”

  The pause that followed was so protracted I thought for a moment he’d hung up.

  “Mr. Watson?” I said.

  “She broke her neck,” he said, his voice cracking.

  “That is tragic. When did it happen?”

  “Six weeks ago. July 13th. That’s the worst part. It was her birthday.”

  I scrambled for the right words. I had not liked Frances Foxall, but this sad-voiced man didn’t need to know that. “Frances was a remarkable woman. This must be extremely difficult for you.”

  “Yes,” he said. “Frances would have been pleased to speak to you. And I appreciate your call.”

  I sat on my sofa and stared at nothing. Another person from the same Carleton cohort was dead. With Laura Brown and Sylvie Dumais, that made three. Three women who’d known each other and died accidentally within a few months. No goddam way was that a coincidence.

  Frances had died on July 13th. I tried to keep my buzzing head steady enough to think. July 13th. I had been caught up in the frantic search for Jimmy Ferguson. That would explain why I hadn’t heard about Frances’s death. A woman being killed in a fall from a horse would probably have made the local news.

  The paraded on the back of the sofa and rubbed her silky head against my neck. Gussie put his chin on my knees and sighed.

  “Thank you for your support. If only the rest of the world were like you two.”

  I had a couple of things left to do that evening. It was time to face the music. Lucky me, Alvin didn’t answer his phone or his cellphone. Mrs. Parnell picked up her cellphone on the first ring.

  “Mrs. P., I’m . . .”

  “Tremendously exhilarating, Ms. MacPhee. I wish you could have experienced it.”

  “Well, I can’t believe I missed it again.”

  “I’m sure you had your reasons. The flight was simply grand.”

  “You’re not upset?”

  “Spectacular views. Perfect clear sky. Like nothing else in the world.”

  “That’s great. Alvin’s message led me to believe you’d been becalmed, and you’d landed in the middle of a major roadway and everything was a disaster and that it was mostly my fault.”

  “We mustn’t let small setbacks get us down, Ms. MacPhee. Esprit de corps and all that.”

  “You mean you were becalmed?”

  “Nothing we couldn’t get ourselves out of.”

  “Good attitude. I just wanted to mention the reason I missed out on taking the photos tonight was because of my watch. It must have been damaged when I fell down the stairs at Laura’s place. I’m a bit confused because of the concussion, and, anyway, I screwed up, and I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ll be there tomorrow. For sure.”

  “These things happen. You have a lot on your plate right now. You’ll be back to your old self in due time.”

  “Count on it.”

  “Hold on, Ms. MacPhee, Young Ferguson wants a word.”

  “That’s okay. I don’t want to tie up your cellphone. I can talk to him later.”

  “Camilla?”

  “Oh, hello, Alvin.”

  “Yeah, right,” Alvin said. “Did you tell Violet your watch was wrong? What kind of lame excuse is that? Did the dog eat your watch?”

  Even on the phone I could imagine him, beaky nose ruby with outrage, cat’s-eye glasses more pointed than usual.

  “I wanted to be there. Things went wrong.”

  “These flights are important to Violet, you know. I don’t think a few photos would be too much trouble for a friend.”

  Apparently, Alvin had been reading the same kind of motivational handbook as my sisters.

  “See you tomorrow,” I said. “What? What’s that? Alvin. Can’t hear you. I’m losing the connection.”

  I snapped the cellphone closed.

  Call it self-defence.

  The staff were bustling about Maisie’s Eatery, resetting tables, when I puffed through the door.

  “I’m looking for Jasmine,” I said.

  The woman at the front desk raised her sculpted eyebrow in a way that told me she’d be trouble. Her three-hundred-dollar highlighted hairdo, sexy navy suit and the shiny red four-inch heels said something, but it sure wasn’t “welcome”. I knew she was the owner-manager, but I guess she didn’t recognize me as an occasional customer. I’d be in a bad mood too if I had a facelift pulled that tight.

  “Ms. Thurlow is not available. We’re busy.”

  “Right.” Since the restaurant was less than half full, I doubted the rush would be beyond their control. But hey.

  “Why don’t you think of me as part of that rush? I’d like to be seated in Jasmine’s section.”

  She pursed her glossy red lips. “I’m not sure I can do that.”

  I’d met her counterpart before. They make their presence felt in corporate headquarters, airlines, complaint sections and law offices. Not that they worry me.

  “I’m a frequent customer, but I can always take my business elsewhere.”

  “Surely you understand we have policies.”

  “I have policies too. One of them is to get treated properly in the service industry. Oh well, it will make interesting reading,” I flipped out my little notebook from my pocket and flicked the top of my pen.

  Seconds later, I found myself seated at a corner table with a fine view of the kitchen. The owner was whispering intently to a tall, willowy young woman with a dark pixie haircut, a wide, expressive mouth and trendy angular glasses.

  The young woman made her graceful way toward me. Years of dance training, I decided. My sister Alexa walks the same way.

  “Sorry, if I caused you trouble,” I said. “I didn’t intend to.”

  She shrugged. “Don’t worry. If not you, then it would be somebody else. That’s just Norine.”

  “Is her bark worse than her bite?”

  “Let’s just say she barks, she bites and they can both be bad.”

  “I noticed. And you’re Jasmine?”

  “That’s me.”

  “I was in here earlier, and one of the other servers suggested you might be able to help me.”

  “You spoke to Chelsea. Yeah, she left me a message.”

  “Chelsea, right. She mentioned me?”

  “She’s a bud. She thought I’d want to help you.”

  “Did she tell you what I need?” />
  “You were asking about a couple of women who came to the restaurant a few months ago.” Her wide mouth twitched. “That was a lot of detail for Chelsea. But her heart’s in the right place.”

  Finally, something was going my way. Jasmine was smart and pleasant and appeared to have a functioning sense of humour. Just the kind of person I’d been missing.

  “Crazy, I know. Two among thousands of customers. But it’s important and, at least, I got a good lunch out of it today.” I glanced over and noticed Norine assessing us. “I think I’d better order dinner.”

  “Being watched? Let me take your drink order, first.”

  “Excellent diversionary tactic,” I said, sounding a bit like Mrs. Parnell.

  I ordered mineral water, San Pellegrino. It goes against the grain for me to pay several dollars for something that comes free from the tap. Still, it wouldn’t fight with my painkillers.

  Jasmine brought my drink and listened while I described Laura Brown and the woman she was dining with. I explained about Laura’s death and my trouble finding her friends and family.

  She said. “I heard about that accident. They didn’t say her name on the radio. It gave me the shivers. I mean, right downtown in daylight should be the safest place, right?”

  “Good point.”

  “Do you have a photo of your friend? That would help.”

  “There don’t seem to be any photos of her, except for a batch from our college days. That’s why I’m all over town with these strange requests. Your friend said you might recognize her from a description.”

  “It’s possible. I am fascinated by faces.”

  I described Laura in detail. I even went so far as to talk about her purse on the table. “Small, structured bag, crocodile or something. Tan. Double handles.”

  Jasmine said, “We get lots of women in here with that general description. Plus I also work at a café in the west end, on my days off here. So I have a lot of faces in my head. I’ll try to narrow it down for you. But it’s not her you want, it’s the friends and the friends’ names. Right?”

  “Exactly.” Norine fixed her gimlet gaze on us.

  “Is this going to bring you grief?” I asked.

  “Well, it might be a good time to choose from the menu,” Jasmine said. “Diversionary tactic, as you said.”

  I picked the filet of beef, with garlic mashed potatoes and beet salad. What the hell. We’re only on this earth for a short time.

  “Good choice,” she said, taking my order with a flourish.

  Norine drifted towards us. “The place is filling up, Jasmine.”

  “Your filet will be right out,” Jasmine said with a wide smile.

  Short minutes later, the steak showed up. Maisie’s does an amazing filet, which would be worth going to a restaurant by yourself on a not-so-wonderful holiday weekend for, even if you weren’t tracking people. But Maisie’s is really famous for its desserts. And Jasmine was back with the two-page dessert menu seconds after I finished my meal. Norine had her eye on us, so I did my best imitation of a person fascinated by a selection of desserts. I pointed here and there and raised my eyebrows to indicate dessert-related questions.

  “My friend probably didn’t eat dessert. She was diabetic.”

  “Diabetic. That helps. And auburn hair, you said.”

  “She had an amazing smile. She always sat here in the window. She loved the sun.”

  Jasmine’s own smile was pretty amazing when it flashed. “I think I know your friend,” she said. “She came in often, if it’s the right person. She was usually with one other woman, but there were others.”

  “How many other people do you remember her having lunch with?” I said, pointing to the specialty coffees to throw Norine off the scent. “Was it always lunch? Did you ever see her at dinner?”

  “Hard to say.” Jasmine pointed at the Chocolate Triple Threat.

  “And you don’t have any names?” I said, nodding my head.

  “We don’t usually know our customers’ names, so I didn’t know your friend was called Laura. If we do take a reservation, it’s usually just the first name.”

  “Every bit helps.” I didn’t say what I was thinking. Everything in our world except maybe the personals, revolves around last names. Phone numbers, addresses. The kind of things I needed. Why would restaurants have to be different?

  “Don’t people leave their numbers when they make a reservation?”

  “They do. So if I can remember a first name or you can give me one, I could try to match it up with the reservation list.”

  “And you could give it to me.”

  “Afraid not,” Jasmine said. “Serious legal implications there.”

  “Don’t tell me, let me guess. You’re studying . . .”

  She laughed “Not yet. I start first year law at University of Ottawa this term. I don’t want to start by violating people’s privacy.”

  “U of O is my alma mater.”

  “You’re a lawyer?”

  “I run an advocacy agency for victims of violent crime.”

  Behind the trendy glasses, Jasmine’s large grey eyes shone. “You do? What is it?”

  “Justice for Victims.” I felt a stab of guilt. JFV had been getting short shrift of late. Still, I enjoyed the flash of admiration from Jasmine.

  “Justice is what it’s all about.”

  There’s a time and a place for idealism. I didn’t want to disillusion Jasmine, so I just nodded.

  “I can’t wait to get to work in the field. That’s why I’ve been working the two jobs all summer, so I can go straight through without having to take a year off. I know I can make a difference.”

  “You will. If we come up with a name, you can call the person and tell her I want to talk to her and why. Then it’s her choice.”

  “Good plan,” she said. “All we need is the name.”

  I snapped the dessert menu shut. “I’ll have a double cappuccino. Chocolate sprinkles on top.”

  We smiled at each other under the watchful eye of Norine. Jasmine had earned my respect. Plus a healthy tip.

  Eighteen

  I was too woozy to walk home. Once again I caught a cab. You can’t take it with you, as they say.

  The cab ride was not without usefulness. Spotless, well-cared for leather seats. Holly Cole playing on the stereo. The driver was dark-skinned, with crisp short black hair. I sat in the backseat and stared at the chiselled features in his photo as my head throbbed and spun. His name was Youssef, with a surname I was unable to pronounce in my medical condition. He was a lot like my regular emergency room doctor, minus the little moustache and the Newfoundland accent.

  “I don’t suppose by any stretch of luck you were a doctor before you drove a cab?” I knew better than to say before you came to Canada.

  He stared at me in the rear-view mirror. “Sorry. Engineer,” he said.

  “That’s too bad. I was hoping for a doctor. I have this concussion. It seems to be getting worse.”

  “Civil,” he added. “I can take you to the hospital if you want. I hear they have doctors there.”

  Everyone’s a comedian.

  I glanced again at his photo as we pulled into the driveway in front of my apartment building. That’s when it occurred to me. Why hadn’t I taken the box of photos with me when I went to Maisie’s? What a dope. Just because I didn’t know anyone, didn’t mean Jasmine wouldn’t recognize one of the people. I wasn’t at my sharpest this weekend.

  I thanked Youssef.

  He handed me a card with his unpronounceable last name and a cellphone number.

  “Let me know if you need any bridges built,” he said. “Or if you just need a cab to Emergency.”

  “I’ll settle for a ride downtown again in five minutes.”

  If cats have eyebrows, then Mrs. Parnell’s cat raised hers when I limped through the door, as if to say, “It’s you again, how boring.” Gussie on the other hand, spun in a frenzy. I think he believes that seconds after I turn
the key in the lock, there will be a walk.

  “Not this time, Gussie,” I said, checking my phone messages. Nothing. Not even “Unknown Name”, “Unknown Number” or “Number Blocked”. Not a single click. Talk about no social life.

  Gussie continued to spin, on his third twirl knocking the cat off the chair with his tail.

  “Sorry, no walk now.”

  My first mistake: entering the apartment. My second mistake: uttering the W word. Even with a negative. Gussie yelped with joy.

  “Be quiet.” This must have sounded like “walk”, because it earned me a few more barks. In turn that led to Mr. Crab Head banging on the wall. Which set Gussie off again.

  The banging turned to pounding. Gussie barked louder. More pounding.

  I hated that man.

  “Good dog,” I said. “You’ll have a nice ramble when I get back the next time.”

  My head was spinning more. My knees throbbed, and every scrape and bruise had its own little brand of pain. I decided the various aches and ouchies were probably making my head feel worse.

  I picked up the flowered box of photos, slipped into my new jean jacket with the butterfly embroidery on the back, grabbed my backpack, swilled a painkiller and slipped out the door.

  Gussie howled.

  Even though it was a busy weekend, Youssef seemed pleased to get the extra fare.

  “Tried to, but I just can’t live without that dessert after all,” I said to Norine when I waltzed through the door at Maisie’s. “Chocolate, chocolate, chocolate.”

  Before she could seat me at some other server’s table, I hustled across the restaurant to the table I’d been at before. Someone else was already sitting there, so I took the next one, hoping it was still in Jasmine’s section.

  Norine followed me, glossy lips compressed, body language screaming “Ready for battle”.

  I whipped the napkin out of my glass with a flourish and fiddled with the fork. I turned to the people dining to my right.

  “Wonderful atmosphere here, isn’t it? And the desserts! Don’t leave without one. You’ll only end up coming back. I did.”