Little Boy Blues

by Mary Jane Maffini

  “Yeah, but you said the place was full of people. Tourists and musicians and all that. Wouldn’t they notice him?”

  “I haven’t been back since they built this boardwalk, but Ray told me there’s a section at the end where a person could drown unseen.”

  “Did they send down divers?”

  “Of course they sent down frigging divers. What is the matter with you? And they worked with the Coast Guard.”

  “Why don’t you want me to speak to this Deveau guy?”

  “I’ve been a cop for twenty-five years. I’ve been a detective working major crimes for twelve. Ray’s been on the force for, let me think, eighteen, twenty years. It’s his home town. So, sure, yeah, I think a word from you would probably clear the whole thing up. Show us dumb cops that we should have looked for him in his closet. Or maybe put out a missing persons bulletin in the local media. We should have turned to you first. Maybe you can clear up all our cases.”

  “No need to be sarcastic.”

  Mombourquette scurried away from his desk and passed me in the doorway. He said, “This reminds me, did I ever mention you really piss me off?”

  “You and everyone else. Don’t go thinking you’re special.”

  “Good-bye, Camilla.”

  “Wait a minute, you said, one of two things. What’s the other?”

  But Mombourquette had taken the cheese and skipped the trap.

  • • •

  The Ottawa River Parkway was clear sailing all the way home. It was quarter to four when I got back to Mrs. P’s. Alvin was in the bathroom. Mrs. Parnell seemed to feel he had improved.

  “But I don’t think we should tell him they’ve found no sign of his brother.” Mrs. Parnell kept her voice low.

  “He’s going to find out anyway. Better if he hears it from us.”

  “I don’t dispute that, Ms. MacPhee. But the point is that young Ferguson is coming out of a disturbed state. If he receives more bad news right now, it could send him back over the edge.”

  “But what can we do? We can only guess why he’s in this state, and we don’t know where his brother is. By the way, did my travel agent call back?”

  “Indeed she did, Ms. MacPhee. She’s tried everything. Unfortunately, they have not a single flight available into Sydney for the next week.”

  “Be serious. Did you play the compassion card?”

  “Naturally. And the poor old lady card too. Apparently they book up early for this time of year because of family reunions and people returning for holidays in addition to the booming tourist trade.”

  I shuddered, and not just because of the family reunion idea.

  Mrs. P. mashed a fresh cigarette into her holder and fixed me with a look. “I know what you are going to say, Ms. MacPhee, and I have beaten you to the draw. I did a detailed check on the travel sites, discounters, the airlines themselves, the works, and there’s not a seat to be had. Not a single seat. Not through Fredericton or Charlottetown or Halifax. Not through Boston. Not one. You will have to accept that.”

  “Oh, great. Now we’re in a pickle. He’s in no shape to spend a long trip on a train or a bus. We can’t keep him here. We can hardly grill the family over the phone about what might have led to this state, and Mombourquette warned me against contacting the Sydney cops. We’re more than a thousand miles away, and we can’t do diddly about it.”

  I knocked on the bathroom door and told Alvin I’d brought fresh clothing for him. The door opened a crack, and the kitbag was whisked inside.

  Mrs. Parnell heaved herself to her feet. “It is time for us to mobilize our forces,” she said.

  “If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, the answer is no,” I said. “Absolutely not.”

  • • •

  I figured Mombourquette was in his office. I left a message in his voice mail. “Come on, Leonard. This is serious business. What’s the second thing? Squeak up.”

  Of course, I knew in the pit of my stomach what the second thing was. I also knew that most likely the police would be taking a hard look at known and suspected pedophiles in the area.

  I heard the bathroom door open. I hung up and turned. Alvin looked a whole lot better. For one thing he’d changed into his clean black jeans, fresh black T-shirt and black leather jacket. He was wearing all his earrings. He moved to the leather sofa and patted Mrs. Parnell’s little calico cat.

  I saw no sign of hysteria. So far so good.

  “Good to see you looking like your old self, Alvin,” I said.

  I glanced over at Mrs. Parnell. She managed to look inscrutable behind a wall of Benson and Hedges exhaust.

  “I’m okay now.” Behind the cat’s-eye glasses, his eyes were clear and focused.

  Mrs. Parnell lifted one eyebrow. Lester and Pierre shrieked.

  “Are you sure?” It was tricky dealing with this new fragile Alvin. Threats, insults, all the conversational conventions that had defined our relationship when Alvin was the world’s worst office assistant were now inappropriate. I had no idea how to communicate.

  He said. “I must have been overtired.”

  Mrs. Parnell patted his hand. I couldn’t get used to her new role as a handpatter either. It was a world gone mad.

  “But you’re feeling better now?”

  “I’m fine. And I want to thank both of you for everything.”

  My jaw almost hit the ground.

  Mrs. Parnell said, “We’d do anything for you.”

  There were distinct limits to what I would do for Alvin, but it didn’t seem like the moment to mention that.

  “I really appreciate it. But you know I’d better get going now.”

  “Right,” I said.

  “I’ve got to get home. They need me. Thanks for packing up my things, Camilla. That makes a difference.”

  “You won’t be able to get a flight. Everything’s booked.”

  Alvin narrowed his slanty eyes at me.

  “Trust me,” I said.

  “Is this another one of your tricks, Camilla?”

  “What do you mean, another one of my tricks? Look, my travel agent struck out. And before you continue on, let me add that Mrs. Parnell has been on the web scouring every travel service possible, and she had no luck either. Apparently everyone who has any tie with Cape Breton has chosen to descend on the island this summer. The week around Canada Day is particularly popular for some reason.”

  “What about stand-by?”

  Mrs. Parnell glanced at me and shook her head warningly. I took a deep breath. “I have it on good authority the majority of flights are actually overbooked, and even ticketholders are likely to be bumped. Stand-bys are up the creek. If you want to wait until next week, that might be different.”

  Alvin stood up. “Next week is too late. I’ll take a bus or something.” He looked a bit wobbly as he headed back to the bathroom.

  I said. “Looks like Alvin’s okay.”

  “Don’t be fooled, Ms. MacPhee. This bounceback of young Ferguson’s will turn out to be purely temporary.”

  “He looks fine to me. It must have been the shock of Jimmy’s disappearance.”

  She jammed another B & H into her holder. “It won’t take much to push him into the abyss again.”

  “But he’s back to normal.”

  “If, as you suggest, the news from home is bad, I fear for him.”

  “Look, I’ll go down with him on the bus if we have to. I’ll see he gets some professional help.”

  Mrs. Parnell clutched my arm in her vicelike grip. “You must listen to me, Ms. MacPhee. I know boys. Whatever is behind this will turn out to be something almost too dreadful to imagine.”

  So what can you say to something like that? “Mrs. P., I think he’s come to grips with whatever it is, no matter how dreadful, and he’s doing the right thing by going home.”

  “You don’t send them back to the trenches when they’re in this state. That’s when you lose them forever.”

  She sure knew how to raise t
he stakes.

  “Come on,” I said, “think about all the trauma Alvin’s had since he’s worked for Justice from Victims. He dealt with those situations very well.”

  “Ms. MacPhee, this is different.”

  “So what are you saying? He won’t be safe at home?”

  “We must not throw young Ferguson to the wolves.”

  “I don’t think you need to worry. I’ll get him there. I’ve already left a message for clients that Justice for Victims will be closed for the next two weeks. I’ll drive him if I have to.”

  “Ms. MacPhee. I hear the call to duty. My decision’s made. It will be much better if I go along too.”

  Seven

  Oh, Alvin,” I said, when he had emerged from the bathroom. “I almost forgot to mention I picked up your mail. You have a postcard from Jimmy, and maybe it has...”

  I wasn’t counting on his eyes losing focus and the strange humming moan he emitted.

  “Oh shit,” I said.

  That was lost on Alvin. He collapsed onto the carpet. I leapt to keep his temple from striking the metal and glass coffee table. “I was afraid this would happen,” Mrs. P. said. “It’s not necessary to say I told you so. I realize I should have waited,” I said when we had dragged and lifted Alvin back to his place on the leather sofa.

  By this time, Mrs. Parnell was perched on the edge of the leather chair, breathing deeply on a fresh Benson and Hedges. “I was not planning to say I told you so. Neither of us knows Alvin’s private demons, so we have no idea how to avoid arousing them.”

  “We know one thing: they involve Jimmy.”

  • • •

  “Don’t ask,” I said to P. J. when he called. “We have no option but to get Alvin home on the double.”

  “But that’s a crazy idea. This is Monday. The Bluesfest starts this Friday. Even if you left now, how could you drive to Sydney and back by then? You’re going to miss Blue Rodeo. And...” Rustling noises followed. “And a bunch of other really really good stuff. Really good. You’ll never get here in time.”

  “Unlike you, I already know who’s playing. But I have a situation to take care of, and I’m going to take care of it.”

  P. J. said, “I thought you were excited about Bluesfest.”

  “Let me remind you we are having a crisis.”

  “Yeah, but you want to go to Bluesfest, right?”

  “I can’t think about it at this minute.”

  “Yeah, but listen, Tiger...”

  “What is the matter with you? We have a terrible situation here with Alvin’s brother missing.”

  “What do you mean, Alvin’s brother’s missing? You never mentioned that.”

  “I’m sure I did. He may even be dead.”

  “You said you had to help Alvin get home. You didn’t mention his brother was missing. What kind of thing is that to hold back?”

  “Cool your jets. You’re not reporting a crime now. Alvin’s brother has disappeared.”

  “That’s bad.”

  “Yes, it is. The police in Cape Breton have done all they can to search for Jimmy.”

  “Jimmy. That’s the brother?”

  “Right.”

  “How old is he?”

  “He’s twenty-one.”

  “Get real. It happens all the time. The family goes off the deep end, then the guy turns up with a five-alarm hangover and lipstick on his underwear and can’t figure out what all the fuss is about.”

  “I wish that were the case here, P. J., but it’s not. Jimmy’s got some developmental problems.”

  “Oh. That’s different.”

  “I was hoping you’d done a piece on missing kids, and you might be able to tell me what to worry about or how to help the family.”

  “Maybe he was abducted. Kids like that are vulnerable.”

  “Exactly. So you can see why I’m not thinking about music right now.”

  “But we do have Clubhouse passes.”

  “I don’t want to hear it. I have to deal with this. Mrs. Parnell thinks Alvin might be shell-shocked. He keeps going into these trance states.”

  “Two hundred and fifty dollars each.”

  “It’s not like you paid for those passes.” I ignored the choking sound. “You won them, remember? And they’re in my name.”

  “Holy crap,” he said.

  “So I’ll let you know as soon as we get this thing under control. If all goes well, we can get back for Saturday or Sunday.”

  “I don’t know why you’re so grouchy.”

  “Who’s grouchy? Do you know anything about post-traumatic stress disorder?”

  “What I read in the paper.”

  “Don’t push me, P. J. What about missing kids? Do the cops do a good job in that area?”

  “Depends on what cops, I guess. The Mounties have a special section to deal with them. You want me to find out who to talk to?”

  “Sure. Got any contacts in the media in Sydney?”

  “No, but I can ask around. Lots of people from the East coast in this business. Plus I can chase down the missing kid angle for you.”

  “Great. But what I really need is for you to feed Mrs. Parnell’s birds and cat. And also to make sure they’re not left alone together. So the cat has to stay at my place.”

  “Feed the cat? And birds? Can’t the building super do it?”

  “Nope. He’s on vacation. The replacement’s run off his feet.”

  “I am too. Remember Nicholas Southern and the …”

  “Right. So I really appreciate you doing this for me. I’ll drop off the keys to Mrs. Parnell’s place and mine on our way out of town. You’ve got my cellphone number, but I’m sure we’ll be out of contact for much of the trip. Don’t worry about calling me, I’ll call you.”

  “Wait.”

  “Thanks, P. J. You’re a bud.”

  • • •

  “For the last time,” I said, “no way.”

  “It is simply not your decision, Ms. MacPhee.”

  “The hell it isn’t.”

  “If you don’t like it, stay here and attend to your business. I’ve got my marching orders.”

  “Look, Mrs. P., it is an eighteen to twenty hour drive to Sydney. We are not going to drive in your twenty-five year old car, and that’s that.”

  “Nonsense. My garageman tells me he’s got the old girl purring like a kitten today.”

  “Yeah right. So maybe he’ll volunteer to drive it then.”

  “Have faith, Ms. MacPhee.”

  “Really? And what happens if Alvin has an episode in the middle of nowhere, and the car breaks down?”

  “We will find a way.”

  I’d already exhausted my opinions on the notion of Mrs. Parnell pelting across country in the ancient LTD with Alvin as a ticking time bomb in the passenger seat and me snarling in the back seat. It reinforced what I already knew. The woman could be unbelievably stubborn.

  “I have a better idea,” I said.

  “What is it?”

  I took a deep breath. “The Buick.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me,” she said. “I’m packed, and you’ve got young Ferguson’s kit-bag ready.”

  At least she could have put up the semblance of a fight.

  “Fine,” I said. “Can you arrange hotel reservations? I have a few urgent things to take care of.” That was code for doing a bit of laundry, washing my hair, picking up some cash, figuring out which files couldn’t wait until I got back and throwing my toothbrush into a satchel.

  “I’m on the job,” she said.

  “The sooner we leave, the sooner we get back. Let’s get cracking.”

  “Now?”

  “Two hours to get ready and drop the keys to P. J. and to let the traffic on the Queensway clear up.”

  “Excellent.”

  “And, one more thing.”

  “Name it, Ms. MacPhee.”

  “I am absolutely the only driver.”

  “Victory will be ours,” she said, “howev
er long and hard the road may be.”

  Eight

  The trip to Sydney had shades of the lost weekend about it, without the light-hearted fun.

  I felt a twinge about commandeering the Buick, but I believed Stan would understand it was almost a matter of life and death. If he didn’t, Edwina would make it clear to him. The plan was to drive straight down to Sydney, deposit Alvin, assure his well-being, get him an appointment with an appropriate therapist and then turbo straight back home to normal life. I would be the only person to touch the steering wheel, so what could go wrong?

  We clipped along the 417 toward Montreal, making excellent time, slowing briefly to join the Friday night crawl across the top of the city on Boulevard Metropolitain. From the soft snores coming from the passenger seat, I figured Mrs. P. was dozing. Alvin lay limply in the back seat. I hoped he was asleep, for his own sake. As for me, I tried not to think what could have happened to a boy like Jimmy, last seen standing by the harbour. Except for stops every two hours for coffee and bathroom breaks, the Buick shot through the hot summer night. It gave new meaning to the word boring. You don’t hear a slogan that says “See Canada by Dark”, and for good reason. I kept busy hoping we weren’t heading straight towards a funeral.

  At around four in the morning, I pulled into an all-night gas station outside Edmunston, New Brunswick, and prepared to limp stiffly to the ladies room. Mrs. Parnell headed in first. Rank has its privileges. Alvin teetered to the men’s. I offered to pick up the refreshments.

  When I got back to the car with a Coke for Alvin and coffee for Mrs. Parnell and me, I found she had managed to get herself into the driver’s seat. She proved impossible to dislodge, even when I put down the coffee and gave it a real good try.

  Sometimes we have to yield to a higher power.

  “Let’s see what this baby will do,” Mrs. Parnell said.

  Alvin perked up in the back seat.

  “Pedal to the metal, Violet,” he said.

  Normally, I would have bitten his head off, but I was glad to see him looking like himself. I hung on.

  As it turned out, the Buick could get up to one-fifty without so much as a shimmy. I told myself Stan had it coming after all the times he’d put fake dog poop in my briefcase before important court appearances. On the other hand, I didn’t feel entirely ready to die. It took a certain threat level in my voice to get slowed down to well over the limit.