Three people with four drenched dogs raced for cover out of the dog area in lower Strathcona Park and dove into their cars. I banged on their windows, one by one. None of them had seen Alvin.
I headed down through the slushy snow on the path, glad of the waterproof boots and the light standards along the way. I'd walked through that park hundreds of times when Paul and I were in law school, living in a second floor apartment on Marlborough Avenue. It's not the kind of place where you worry about your safety. Dog parks are never empty. This one has its share of joggers and cyclists in the summer, cross country skiers in the winter, and it's crawling with pooches and owners anytime. I told myself the worst that could happen to Alvin was a wet kiss from a Lab.
Two more people with dogs splashed past me on the way to the parking lot. A lone jogger, heading out of the park, followed close behind them.
By the time I hit the site, in spite of Mickey Mouse, my hair hung in wet strings, definitely not a French twist anymore. My coat was soaked, and I was damn cold, if you didn't count my feet in the trusty Sorels. I imagined Alvin's twiglike ankles snapped because of a fall on the path. That might explain it. He'd be lying helpless with the cellphone out of his agonized reach.
When I located the spot Lindsay described, I found no sign of Alvin. Nothing but slush, the sound of open water and breaking ice.
Could he have gone further into the park? But why? Because he's Alvin, that's why, I thought. What else would you need to know? I concentrated on trying to locate the little twerp. I almost missed the ringing noise.
A phone? There wasn't a building nearby. The ringing stopped briefly and started again. Four more rings and then it stopped again. Obviously, someone who used the same strategy as my sisters.
I spotted the black receiver on the far side of a scruffy bush near the river bank. I picked it up and pressed TALK.
“Camilla,” someone bleated, faintly. The “battery low” sign blinked.
“Yes?”
“Where the hell are you?”
“Edwina?”
“Who else? You get yourself over to this church in the next two minutes or you may as well change your name. Got it?”
“Listen, Edwina, I need your help.”
“No, you listen. Everyone's here and we're ready to go.”
“What do you mean, everyone's there? It's not seven yet.”
“Six-thirty. The rehearsal's at six-thirty.”
“Is Leonard Mombourquette there?”
“You're breaking up. Talk loud.”
“Edwina,” I yelled, “I'm down at the river and…”
“Did you say down at what river? Oh, Camilla. Alexa's in tears. Stop this stupidity and get over here.”
“But Alvin's…”
The line went dead. The faintest blip. Then nothing. Okay. Deal with the girls later. Now to locate Alvin mondo quicko, get help and be on my way. I figured he must have slipped with those stupid shoes and skidded off the path. So the thing to do was, check for marks, find him and drag him back to the car. Logically, the skidding would have taken place near where he dropped the phone.
“Alvin!” Yelling is always good. Ask anyone in my family.
I made my way along the path, hollering and checking the river side for sign of a long skid. No sign. The path sloped and even in the dim light, I could see the pointy tracks leading through the slush to the little clump of woods. I followed, sinking into the wet snow.
The driving rain was cold enough to chill but not to freeze. My long wool coat grew heavier. Even the wool dress underneath was getting damp, but unless I found Alvin soon, that was the least of my problems.
In the distance, I caught sight of another jogger heading out of the park. Or maybe it was the same one. They all look alike. I slid down the incline, grabbing at brush to keep me from falling. How the hell do the joggers manage in the winter, I wondered. An image of the jogger passing Lindsay's place the bitterly cold night Benning was killed flickered in my mind. That image offered answers to a couple of nagging questions. Click. Click. Could the jogger have been Mia? Had she trapped Alvin? If yes, I hoped like hell she hadn't seen me.
At the bend in the slope, I spotted it. A long track in the piled snow. Big one too. Like someone had slid right to the edge of the river bank. I left the path and waded further into the slush. Something heavy had skidded across and kept going. The track went right to the bank and then down to the edge of the river.
Lucky I had the flashlight. I shone it down toward the partly frozen shore. Even with the flashlight, I couldn't see well in the glare of the rain. There were no convenient lamp standards off the path. It takes a lot to freeze the Rideau and the weather had been mild for days. The river was noisy, strong currents moving fast under the ice. Open water frothed at the shoreline. Further out breaks showed between large plates of ice.
I was too goddam cold and wet to think straight. Not far away, a duck quacked miserably. It took a time to locate the dark, still lump near the shore.
The orange lei was a dead giveaway. It fluttered in the wind. Plastic doesn't care about the weather. Alvin lay on a small triangle of ice broken away from the shore. What the hell was he doing there? The ice plate sloped badly. I hung on to clumps of brush and half-slid, half-crawled down the bank.
“Alvin,” I yelled. “Wake up!” The lump didn't move. The lei flapped in the wind.
“Alvin.” That was stupid. I didn't even know whether he was dead or alive. But if he moved and the ice slab tilted, he'd be dead soon. If he went under, he'd surface downstream at the locks in the Spring. Or not at all.
Maybe yelling his name wasn't the greatest idea. I could startle him and he'd roll over and then…or, typical Alvin, he'd do the opposite of what I wanted, with the same result. If I could just reach him. But first things first.
My jaw dropped as a chunk of ice flew through the air and sent the flashlight flying in a wide arc toward the river. The splash that followed was the worst sound in the world.
Thirty-One
The jogger had descended partway down the slope. It was too late to hide.
“Surprise. I'm back.” The last person I wanted to hear.
“Call 911. We have an injured person stuck on the ice.” I tried to sound confident.
Mia Reilly's voice was colder than the rain. “Not dead?”
“No. But he's unconscious. We have to get him.”
She moved closer. “You mean not dead yet.”
“No, but if the ice separates any more and tilts, he'll be in the river.”
“And you'll be right after him.” Mia's usually sleek blonde bob hung dark and wet. Her makeup must have washed away, leaving her ghostlike in the fog. She wasn't showing her expensive smile tonight. Even in water-resistant black jogging gear, she must have been soaked.
“No, I think I can get him out. For God's sake, Mia, please run back and call for help. I don't know how long he's been lying there.”
“His neck looks broken.”
I whirled and gawked at Alvin. How many times had I threatened to break his neck? Now it didn't seem amusing. “Hurry up, then,” I said.
“What's your rush?”
“Are you crazy?” On the river, a sheet of ice cracked with a bang. I whipped my head back toward Alvin. “Before it's too late, Mia. If that ice breaks off any more, he'll tilt and go under.”
Nothing prepared me for her giggle.
“There's nothing funny about this.” I felt angry enough to toss her and her sick little laugh into the roiling water.
“I don't know about that,” she said.
“Find a long branch we could use to hook him so he doesn't go under if it does break loose.”
I wanted to go for help but couldn't leave Mia with Alvin. She would smile and watch him drown. I had no tools and no way of getting him on ground without putting him at even greater risk. I was stumbling in circles and tripping on the ridiculous scarf, now stretched beyond imagination. I tramped on it as I caught my balance and rea
lized it was strong enough to get Alvin to shore. I staggered as close as I could to the edge of the river. What was that sound? A moan?
“What?” I yelled.
The weak call was lost in the wind and rain. But it was not time for a conversation. Alvin was trying to sit up.
“Keep still. You're by the open water.”
Alvin moved. The slab of ice tipped. Frantically, I unwound the scarf from my neck and tied one end to the trunk of the nearest alder.
“I'm going to toss you the scarf, then we'll go for help.”
Alvin kept trying to say something.
“Can't hear you. Don't try and talk. Do you have any feeling in your hands? Can you grip the scarf if I toss it to you?”
He must have been tremendously weakened. I couldn't make out a word. The slab wobbled and tilted more.
“For Christ's sake, stop moving,” I yelled.
He leaned forward.
“Shut up.” I tossed the scarf.
Alvin rose to his knees. “Behind you!”
I jerked around in time to see Mia Reilly bring down a piece of broken branch. I rolled to avoid the blow and slipped from the muddy bank into the water. I plunged to my waist. I reached out to grab at the vegetation on the side. To my left, Alvin's plate of ice tipped.
“Hang on,” I yelled.
The sumac held fast despite my weight. Mia Reilly kicked at my hands. Alvin moved closer. “Sorry, Camilla,” he said.
I tried to say “save yourself, Alvin,” but I inhaled a mouthful of icy, brown river. The wet wool coat hung like an anchor, the weight dragging me deeper into the water. If I let go of the sumac, I'd be finished. I kicked around and felt for something solid. My foot caught on a root. Mia's boot descended again.
“A tragic accident. I mean, so noble of you to die trying to save him.”
Behind me, Alvin went quiet. Was he already beneath the water, his lungs exploding as he shot under the ice?
Mia's heel landed on my hand. I screamed and let go. My boots were flooded, too heavy to tread water. I pumped my legs to kick off the Sorels. They held fast.
I fought back panic. I kicked my feet and grabbed at the buttons of the coat. My fingers didn't want to work.
I had a dim memory that your extremities cease to function after twenty seconds in near zero water. How long had it been? Felt like weeks. Goddam boots. The current sucked me toward the muddy river bottom. The cold was so intense, I felt little else. Every instinct sent my hands flailing upwards, toward the shore, splashing. I fought the urge and forced myself to work the buttons of my coat. My fingers grew too numb to feel.
A second's a hell of a long time when you're under water fighting for your life. My lungs were aching by the time the first button opened. The second took less time. I kicked as much as I could. The boots felt like weights.
Three buttons. Four. Five.
What would they say about me? She died with her boots on? Unable to unbutton her coat? I latched on to a root near the shore. It kept me from being swept under the ice. One boot slipped off. I put my energy into freeing the other.
My lungs were burning as I bent over in the water and forced myself to take off the second boot. I used one hand and grabbed the root with the other. This time my foot came out of the Sorel, which held fast in the roots.
I couldn't do it. Too hard. I heard my father's voice. “You're a MacPhee. We are not quitters.”
I fumbled until the coat opened. It slipped from my shoulders after a couple of weary shrugs. I felt the incredible lightness as the coat sank toward the river bottom.
Freed from my trap, I experienced the full pull of the current. With numb hands I clung to the root and gradually, painfully pulled myself toward the surface. Somehow now it didn't feel so cold. And, I didn't care much any more. What did it matter? Time to let go. Everything would be all right. Easy.
My father's voice again. “Not good enough. Get going.”
Bad girl, in cold water again. Sorry, Daddy.
When the going gets tough, the tough get climbing.
Hand over hand, that's all, Camilla. You'll get there. Hand over hand. Don't go to sleep. Don't.
Thanks, Daddy.
I felt the rush of air as my head crested the water.
“Well, well, well, I knew there was some reason those bubbles kept coming up,” said Mia Reilly. “Some people don't know when to quit. It's too bad you never learned to mind your own business.”
I spat out the filthy water. “People know we're here. They know about you.”
She looked around and laughed. “What people would they be? Nice bluff. Goodbye, Camilla.”
I clung to the root of the tree and fought to speak. “Why are you doing this?”
“You couldn't stop digging, could you. Do you think for one minute that I'm going to let you and your idiot assistant cause me to lose everything?”
She raised her foot.
“Wait, Mia. No one suspects you.”
“You couldn't just let things alone. I'm going to have a great marriage with the perfect man. He has a wonderful house, he drives a Jaguar, he's a partner in the biggest firm in town. I'll have the job I've always wanted. I didn't let Ralph wreck my career and my engagement, and I'm sure not going to let you do it. You're just not important enough to ruin everything. Don't bother looking over at that stupid kid. He's dead.”
I jerked my head. Alvin had disappeared. It was over. But she wouldn't get away with it if I could save myself. My fingers were starting to lose their grip on the roots. “Forensics will put two and two together.”
“They won't come up with this answer. Anyway, I'll have the perfect alibi tonight.”
She was quivering, a dangerous quiver for me. Dangerous for her too because off to the side, something inched forward, out of the water and up the embankment, something dark and dangerous, clinging to a Mickey Mouse scarf. Then it stopped, just stopped. Alvin lay still, a dark lump with a flash of neon orange. We were so close to making it. He couldn't die on me.
I grasped the base of the tree and pulled myself toward the shore, slipping and gasping. Adrenalin pumped through my system as I crawled upward and forward.
Mia was concentrating on me. She didn't notice even when the dark shape dragged itself to its feet and staggered in her direction.
“You always were a stubborn bitch, Camilla.” She raised her boot. Upward and forward.
I lay in the snow on the riverbank and barely managed to gasp: “Did you kill Rina too? Did you attack Mrs. Parnell?”
“You'll never know.”
“Watch me, Mia, I'm going to bring you down.”
She lunged toward me. Behind her, Alvin rose like the chief ghoul in a horror movie and launched himself.
“I don't think so,” she said.
Mia's knees buckled, as Alvin crashed into her. She pitched sideways and landed in the slush. I grabbed at her and caught a fist full of expensive hair. It gave me enough momentum to get onto solid ground. Mia lay still for a minute. She reared up again, just as I pulled myself to a kneeling position. Behind her, Alvin crumpled.
“I'll deal with you later,” Mia yelled. With a burst of speed, she pushed me back toward the water. I wasn't going there again. She bent over, her crazy face loomed above me. “Third time lucky, Camilla.” My hands were beyond feeling, my legs no longer worked. I heard my father's voice. “You're a MacPhee. MacPhees always use their heads.”
With my last bit of strength, I threw myself forward and butted her chin with the top of my skull. She screamed and fell back over Alvin. The scream stopped when her head hit the rock.
I tumbled toward the ground. I probably screamed too when my leg snapped.
Thirty-Two
Leave me alone.” The wail of sirens hurt my ears. And this slapping business.
“Camilla, Camilla.”
If that person didn't stop slapping me, I'd just have to open my eyes and clout him.
“She's trying to talk. Listen.” Sounded a lot like Edwina
.
Slap. Slap.
“I'm trying to say leave me alone.”
“What is it? What's she saying.”
“I don't know. She's just mumbling.”
“Down here. They're down here. You better hurry.” Who was that? McCracken? Wasn't he supposed to be somewhere else?
Who was crying? Alexa. I shouldn't have ruined her rehearsal. “Sorry, Alexa.”
“Oh, Camilla.”
“What's she saying?” A man's voice. Whose?
“It's okay, stay quiet. Camilla. You'll be all right.”
Slap me one more time and I'll tie your tail in knots, Mombourquette.
Leave me alone. Don't want to be lifted. Tired. Where is Alvin? Find Alvin. I don't want to go in there. Turn the light off. I don't need this cover on me, what is it? Heavy. I can't move my arms. Was that P. J.?
Not those goddam sirens again.
A hospital is not the place for a person like me. That goes double if the first furry face I see when I wrench open my eyes is Mombourquette's.
“What are you doing here?” I said, once I'd grasped the meaning of the intravenous feed, the clouds of carnations and the seasick green walls.
His nose twitched. “Just once, could you try not to be rude?”
“Not trying to be rude. I just expected something else.” I didn't know what, but it sure wasn't Mombourquette.
“Sorry to let you down. Just checking to see if you were up to giving us a statement yet.”
Wait a minute. If I was in the hospital, why wasn't my family crying and carrying on and reeling off rosaries to aid my recovery? “A statement? That's very sweet. Where are my sisters and my father?”
“They've been here. Keeping a vigil. But they just headed down the hall because the nurses were having a little do for Alvin.”
The Icing on the Corpse Page 27