“You look like death,” I said, slipping past him. I didn’t say a word about his belly-button ring.
“God, it’s not even noon. And it’s Saturday,” he said, leaning against the wall.
“Get dressed, I need you to come with me.”
Another ten minutes passed as I sat in the black living room, staring at the blenders and electric frying pans painted on the floor and covered with about eight coats of high-gloss plastic. From the rest of the apartment came sounds of flushing and brushing.
Five minutes later, the Alvin I knew emerged, tucking his tee-shirt into his jeans, the fake leopard skin vest in place. His pony tail was slicked back, and he picked up his best leather jacket from the coat rack, although it was the hottest day so far in the year.
As we walked out the front door, a girl with long red and blue hair emerged from the bedroom. She was wearing a carelessly wrapped sheet and smoking something illegal.
“Alvin?”
“Go back to sleep,” he said, closing the door behind us.
We were back in Ottawa and zooming along the Queen Elizabeth Driveway, before he spoke.
“I’m thinking about going back to Cape Breton.”
“That’s a great idea,” I said. “I’ll help you make your arrangements as soon as we finish this little chore.”
The little chore was my impending visit to Rudy Wendtz and his tame gorilla, Denzil Hickey.
“You stay here, in the car. And if I’m not out of the house in twenty minutes, you call the police. Do you have that? Twenty minutes.”
“I forgot to put my watch on.”
“Use the clock on the dash.”
“I don’t think the time’s right. You didn’t adjust it after Daylight Saving Time, did you?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, through my teeth. “Just twenty minutes after whatever it says. Got that?”
“No need to be snotty,” Alvin said under his breath.
I left him there and marched up to the tall and wide front door of Rudy Wendtz’s big house.
“Hi,” I said, shaking Denzil Hickey by the hand as soon as he opened the door. “Good to see you again. I can tell by the car in the driveway the man himself must be home. This’ll just take a minute.”
Denzil looked at me with eyes that reminded me of ball bearings. I tried not to think about him murdering the tabby.
I intended to deal with him on that matter later. He shrugged and I followed him down the hall to the conservatory. His shoes, I noticed, were black.
Rudy was working out with a set of hydraulic weights. He kept going without a pause as we entered the room. This was good, because I wasn’t sure what I was going to say to him.
It must be nice, I thought, to have enough money to have a house that overlooks the canal, and to have all the time in the world to develop your deltoids while watching the water ripple in the warm spring breeze. Wearing fashionable workout clothes and some kind of black running shoes.
I waited. Denzil lurked in a corner. After a while, I cleared my throat. Patience is one thing, but I didn’t have all day. And Alvin was set to call the police if I didn’t show up in twenty minutes.
“I just popped around to mention that you and Brooke Findlay were observed and overheard arguing over her intention to speak to a certain recently deceased media type and people are beginning to gossip. And also, since your friend here,” I gestured to Denzil, but he seemed to have stepped out, “was seen lumbering around the Harmony Hotel, the police may wish to reconsider your involvement. I thought I’d mention this to you, since we hit it off so well the last time.”
He didn’t seem to have heard me at all. Just kept on pumping that iron.
I waited for a while, checking out the plants, touching the equipment, before I glanced at my watch.
“Oh God,” I said, “will you look at the time. Gotta run.
Keep in mind what I said though.”
“The police,” said Denzil as I passed him in the hallway, “are not interested in little things like that. Or little things like you and your friends. They’re not going to bother Rudy. So you can save your concern.”
“Great,” I said, “I can sleep tonight.”
I skipped through the front door, down the stairs and past the black Mercedes, hoping that Denzil hadn’t been able to see my heart thumping through my tee-shirt.
Alvin was slumped over on the seat, snoozing. “Some lookout you are,” I snarled, giving him a shake as I climbed into the driver’s seat. I gasped as he toppled over onto me, his eyes closed, blood matting the back of his head behind the ear.
I sat there in the car, struggling to get my breath before I thought to lock the doors and drive poor damaged Alvin to the hospital.
* * *
The police were less than helpful.
“Rudy Wendtz. In front of his house. This happened in broad daylight in front of his house. Are the citizens of Ottawa not safe in their own cars?” Perhaps I’d raised my voice a bit with this. Other people in the emergency area turned to stare.
Mombourquette leaned against the door, smirking his ratty smirk, staying removed from our crisis. At least they took our statement.
Then I took Alvin home. I was left with the impression that since Alvin had not been attacked inside Rudy’s place and since Alvin never knew what hit him, there was unlikely to be a riot squad attack on Rudy Wendtz’s home to capture him and protect the decent people of Ottawa from scum.
By the time I pulled up in front of Robin’s place late in the afternoon, my stomach was growling. But at least Alvin was all right, resting at home, no doubt smouldering at his memories of me. So I was cranky when Mr. Findlay’s face appeared.
“Oh hi, Camilla,” he said, holding the door open.
Surprise. I was half expecting to be a pariah among the Findlays.
“Robin’s upstairs changing. Excuse me, I have something to take care of in the kitchen.”
I walked through the living room. The TV was off. I’d never seen that in all the years I’d been coming to the Findlays.
“Mother’s at a funeral. I thought I’d better stay here in case Robin needed me.” Mr. Findlay’s voice drifted out of the kitchen. Although I was sure I hadn’t asked the question.
Robin’s room was empty. Shower sounds were coming from the bathroom. Good. I tiptoed down the hall to Brooke’s door and knocked. She looked surprised to see me, and stunned when I plunked myself down on her bed and started talking.
“I find it interesting, Brooke, to know you had a major problem with Mitzi Brochu trying to ruin your career. And you were seen in the Harmony minutes before her body was discovered, although your family believes you to have been in Toronto, too busy to come to your sister’s side. I also find it interesting you had a public battle with Rudy Wendtz, noted drug dealer and thug, about your intention to confront Mitzi, and I’m fascinated your consumption of cocaine is so well known. Not good news for the ‘Walk in the Woods’ image, I’d say. And while I’m talking, let me add, if you treat Robin with anything less than the care and respect she deserves, and if you cause her to take any responsibility for crimes, or if you attempt to have me kept away from this house, I will go to the newspapers. I’ll ruin you, and I’ll smile while I do it. The choice is yours.”
I left her, white-faced and shaking on her bed, and walked back to Robin’s room. Robin, wrapped in blue towels, including a blue turban on her head, was glad to see me.
“You look better,” I said.
“I feel better. And you? Are you staying out of trouble?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good. I think I can go home again, pretty soon. I talked to the people in the office. I might drop in on Monday.”
“Great.”
She reached over and grabbed my hand. “Thanks. Thanks for talking tough. I guess I’d made myself a bit crazy. Lost perspective.”
“Hey, what are friends for?”
“Hmmm. I can’t wait to see my kitties.”
&n
bsp; I took a deep breath. How long before I could tell her about the little tabby? Would it plunge her back into grief?
Mr. Findlay popped into the room behind us. “Hungry, girls?”
“Yes,” I said, not waiting for Robin’s reply.
“Got a couple of Monte Cristo Specials in the kitchen.
How’s that sound?”
“Perfect.”
Robin laughed. “Sounds good to me, too, Dad. We’ll eat downstairs.”
“Good.” Mr. Findlay turned as Brooke brushed by in the hallway.
“What’s the matter, honey? You don’t look too good.”
“Nothing,” she said, “just a headache.” The bathroom door closed behind her.
Mr. Findlay bustled downstairs to put the finishing touches on the Monte Cristo Specials. Robin started to change from towels to clothes.
“Tell me, Camilla, why you looked so guilty when I asked about the cats.”
“No reason. Nothing to feel guilty about.”
“Out with it,” she said.
I hesitated, not wanting her to know about the cat in her fragile state.
She sat on the bed, turning white. “Oh God! You’ve let them all escape.”
“No!”
“Tell me what it is before I flip.”
“One is…I mean, one of them, um, died.”
She sat down on the bed. “Died? Which one?”
“The little tabby.”
“Dahlia.”
I bit my tongue before I could say “whatever”.
“How did she die?”
I looked straight into Robin’s blue, blue eyes and said, “Natural causes.”
She blinked. “Well, of course. But what natural causes?”
“I don’t know. We’re talking about a cat. I didn’t have an autopsy done.”
A tear trickled down her cheek.
“I’m sorry. I know you loved your cat. But maybe she had some congenital disease that strikes without warning. I don’t think there’s anything either of us could have done.”
“You’re right,” she said. “She was just a little stray, but I loved her.”
I patted Robin’s bare arm.
“So sorry,” I said.
“I’ll be okay. I don’t want Dad to see me crying. Let me pull myself together. But it’s like losing a friend, you know.”
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
Later, as we hovered over the French-toasted cheese the Findlays all call Monte Cristo Specials, Robin had pulled herself together. But I could tell we’d be dealing with her grief for Dahlia for a while.
“What’s the matter, Robin,” Mr. Findlay joked as he served up chocolate layer cake, “cat got your tongue?”
Nineteen
It was Saturday night, but what the hell. I’d stirred up a little action with the various suspects and spending a night alone gloating with the cats seemed like just the thing.
As I rolled down into the parking garage, a man jumped from the shadows and loomed towards me. I stopped gloating and started backing up. He ran faster.
“Camilla,” he shouted, “I need to talk to you.”
Richard.
A wave of weakness swept over me, and some of it remained in my knees.
“Richard,” was all I could say. But I did roll down the window.
“I want to talk to you,” he said, bending over. “What’s the matter? Did I scare you?”
“You bet,” I said.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize. I’ve been waiting, because you don’t answer your phone here or at your office, and I wanted to talk to you.”
“Talk.”
“Here?”
“Here.”
“Okay. I’m sorry. I’m sorry about the way I acted the other night. But I felt used and betrayed. I thought you’d gotten me over to your apartment so that your, um, your, um…”
“Employee,” I said.
“Right. Your employee could scavenge around the Harmony without me catching him.”
“Hmm.”
“I can’t stand that guy. He’s caused me problems every time I’ve tried to reach you at the office.”
“Right.”
“So the point is, I acted like a jerk and I’m sorry, and I was willing to sit in my car in front of your apartment for as long as it took to tell you.” He squeezed my hand, which was only slightly less shaky than my knees. “Can I see you again?”
“Okay,” I exhaled. “But not tonight. I’ve got a commitment.”
I didn’t mention that the commitment was to myself. As much as I was attracted to Richard, particularly now that he was properly apologetic, I didn’t want to spend an evening with him when I was distracted by having to develop a strategy to stay alive.
“Sure,” he said.
“Maybe tomorrow.”
He nodded.
“But listen, I have an idea. Walk me up from the basement, I’m a bit skittish, for reasons I’ll explain later.”
Richard hopped into the passenger seat and we drove down into the garage. A place I never give any thought to. Tonight, it seem filled with shadows and bad possibilities. Every square concrete column seemed large enough to conceal Denzil Hickey.
As Richard and I strolled toward the elevator, he was whistling. A creak in the corner caused me to jump.
“Relax,” he said. “Maybe you should cancel your commitment and just rest tonight. You’re very jumpy.”
“You’re right. Maybe I’ll do that.” I said as the elevator took us to the first floor.
He turned, smiling.
I melted under his hug.
“I’m glad you’re back.”
“Me too,” he said, kissing my forehead.
“Tomorrow,” I mouthed.
Still smiling, he waved back. Tomorrow.
On the sixteenth floor everything looked suspect. The strands of hemp in the wallpaper seemed to reach out and tug at my hair.
Pull yourself together, I told myself. You created this situation by stirring the pot, now you’d better cope with it without falling apart. I scuttled along the hallway with my keys held between my fingers like a weapon.
Relief, relief, relief when I reached my door. Until it swung open.
I found myself rooted to the floor, unable to move.
Mrs. Parnell humped out, using her walker.
“You stay there, cats,” she said. “I told you I’d be back later to check.” She pulled the door closed behind her and I heard a meow of outrage.
We both gasped in unison.
“There you are,” she said. “We’ve been worried sick.”
We?
She inclined her head toward my door, from which sounds of protest could still be heard.
“I’ve been busy.”
“Pretty skittish, aren’t you?”
I nodded. “It’s been a rough day.”
“Come on over and tell me about it.”
I hesitated. “The cats…”
“The furry spongers have been fed.”
“Ah.” I followed her into her apartment, still worried about Alvin’s head injury. What had I stirred up? I wanted to spend the evening thinking about a strategy to flush out a killer without creating a new batch of victims. I wanted to make sure Alvin didn’t end up dead because of me.
Instead, I found myself perched on Mrs. Parnell’s leather sofa holding a full glass of Harvey’s Bristol Cream. I was still jittery, and it seemed to me that she was too. Behind us, the peach-faced lovebirds twittered.
“Here’s to your health,” said Mrs. Parnell, downing her sherry in a gulp.
I tried to sip and noticed my hands trembling.
“Well, Ms. MacPhee,” she said, following a discreet burp, “now that you’re sitting down, I have two things to mention to you.”
“Mrs. Parnell,” I asked, feeling a sense of déjà vu, “how did you get into my apartment again?”
“Ah, make that three things.”
“Go ahead. Let’s hear them.”
>
“First things first.” She topped up her glass.
I shook my head when she offered me a refill.
“Well, would you like the good news first or the bad news first?”
“The bad news.” I always want the bad news first.
“Okeydokey. Then, remember when you had five cats?”
“Six cats. Not that they’re mine. Five remaining.”
I felt pretty stupid discussing cats when my life and Alvin’s might be in danger.
“Not any more,” said Mrs. Parnell. “That’s the bad news.
The little three-coloured one seems to have disappeared.”
I don’t even like cats, but my stomach clenched. The little calico was an extremely naïve animal, capable of taking a liking to the worst kind of people, myself included. Could she have…?
“I spent hours checking your apartment, the hallway, everywhere. I knocked on every door on the sixteenth floor. No one has seen the damn thing.”
“But how could it have gotten out?”
Was that a little flicker of guilt on Mrs. Parnell’s grey face? She stuck another cigarette into the long holder and lit up.
My voice rose a bit.
“Did you come over to my apartment to snoop, and let the little cat escape?”
Her head drooped. “It is possible, I suppose, while I was tending to the others, she, er, slipped out the door.”
“They didn’t need tending. I left them plenty of food and clean litter too. What are you suggesting, I don’t take care of them?”
“No, no. I didn’t see you all day, and I thought that perhaps something had happened to you. I went over to see if you needed help. The cats were just an afterthought.”
In a strange way, it felt comforting to have someone in the same building looking after my well-being, checking to see if I needed help. On the other hand, I value my privacy and I didn’t want Mrs. Parnell exploding through the door every time she imagined things were a little too quiet in my apartment.
“You still have a key?”
She grinned.
“The Super didn’t ask for it back?”
After a pause, she admitted: “I had a copy made.”
I held out my glass for a refill.
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