Speak Ill of the Dead

by Maffini, Mary Jane

  “I’ll make a little notice for the elevators and the laundry rooms. I don’t think that cat could get out of the building, do you?” she said.

  “No. Not unless somebody took her.”

  We looked at each other. Somebody had already killed one cat… Maybe the same someone had plans to use this cat to intimidate me or Robin in some way. We have your cat and if you don’t… I shook my head. Too far-fetched.

  “You never know,” Mrs. Parnell said, as if she’d read my thoughts.

  The lovebirds kept on twittering. Very edgy, those birds.

  “The good news, though,” she continued, “is I think I know what the Hon. Deb Goodhouse didn’t want to make the papers.”

  I waited for her to tell me but it appeared I had to come right out and ask.

  “What?”

  “Well, seems she’s been in and out of these places, fat farms, you know, where they try to program you to lose weight. Treat it as a psychological problem. Lotta bull if you ask me, but nobody ever does. Anyway, turns out she’s had a couple of visits, paid for by the government, and she’s a bit sensitive on the subject. The legitimate press doesn’t cover that sort of thing. But the late Ms. Brochu would have made hay out of it. And apparently she’d intended to.”

  Bingo. I could just imagine it. Deb Goodhouse was still a large woman. Mitzi could have had fun with that. Before and After pictures, the same size. She would have included the costs for extra zing.

  “Potentially quite humiliating,” I said.

  “You bet. Although I’m not convinced it’s enough to send a sensible and successful woman, as Goodhouse appears to be, right over the edge. At least, we know she had a new reason to be upset with Mitzi.” Mrs. Parnell rewarded herself with a healthy belt of Harvey’s. “God, this is fun!”

  I turned down another refill. It was time to head home and think a bit.

  “I’m sorry about your cat,” Mrs. Parnell said at the door.

  “I’ll find her for you.”

  Back in the living room, the birds kept twittering.

  “I don’t know what’s gotten into them,” she said, turning back and leaving a trail of smoke.

  As I crossed the hall, I wondered how I could tell Robin that she now had two ex-cats.

  As the lights went on in my apartment, they went on over my head too. Did this have to be my problem? I called Ted Beamish, since he always wanted to help, and assigned him a chore intended to get me out of the situation.

  The cats alternated between surrounding me and disappearing for the rest of the evening. When I took my bath, all four joined me in the bathroom. When I felt like a cuddle, they vanished. When I snacked on a tuna fish sandwich, they all tried to sit in my lap. So what else was new?

  I sat at the table by the window and worked once more through the tangle of motives and clues. I knew one thing— Alvin and I had aggravated the murderer all right. Pushed him or her to action. But just which one of them was it? And what would he or she do next? Was I sure about Large-and-Lumpy? Could Jo Quinlan or her new husband or even Deb Goodhouse have followed Alvin and me?

  I never would have noticed. A chill ran through my body.

  I’d never thought about who was stalking me. I’d been too busy playing detective.

  The buzzer jolted me out of my chair. Edwina. I buzzed her in.

  Two minutes later she stormed through the door, followed by Stan, who was lugging a cast-iron planter exuding vivid geraniums. I knew Edwina was there to give me hell. The geraniums were just a consolation.

  Mrs. Parnell’s shadow rippled behind her half-opened door.

  “We must talk,” Edwina said, gesturing to Stan.

  Stan grunted on toward the balcony with the geraniums. That cast-iron container must have weighed thirty pounds.

  “Great idea,” I said. “Would you like a drink?”

  “No,” said Edwina.

  “Yes,” said Stan, returning from his chore, red-faced and puffing.

  I went with Stan. Lowest common denominator.

  Stan and I decided on rum and Coke.

  “Tea for you, Edwina?”

  “I might as well have one too.”

  When we had settled down, I noticed that Stan had a small, brown bag in his lap.

  I smiled at Edwina. The smile I always used when I got caught with my fingers in the icing bowl. It didn’t work as well as it used to.

  “Well, the family has noted that we have not heard much from you lately,” Edwina said.

  “You saw me at dinner the other night. Anyway, I’ve been quite busy.”

  “I imagine, since you haven’t called back and I’ve left messages.”

  “I figured you just wanted to give me hell over Alexa’s date.”

  “I do want to give you hell over Alexa’s date, and please do not think you can escape merely by not calling me. And may I add, it has been observed by more than one of us, you always have time to call when you need something.”

  “Well, yes,” I said, “that’s what families are for.”

  Edwina opened her mouth and shut it again. I thought I could detect a fizzling sound coming from her.

  She tried again. “We were informed today that your employee, Albert, was attacked while you were harassing certain individuals around town.”

  “Alvin,” I said.

  “Not important,” said Edwin. “Is it true?”

  I glanced at Stan, but he seemed hypnotized by the cats.

  “Who told you?”

  “It doesn’t matter who told me. Is it true?”

  I knew why they’d selected Edwina to set me straight. She’s the only one with the correct configuration of personality traits to have made a career as a Mother Superior.

  “I suppose McCracken told Alexa. What a worm.”

  “The point is, whatever you call him was attacked, and it could have been you, and we are very concerned. That’s the point.”

  “Here, kitty kitty,” said Stan.

  “Alexa is distraught. That nice policeman had to stay with her to calm her down.”

  “I’ve never heard it called that before.”

  “Be serious.”

  “I’ve been a lot of things, Edwina, but I think this is the only time I’ve ever been convenient for anyone.”

  Edwina’s upper lip twitched.

  “Pssss, pssss, pssss,” said Stan, clutching his brown paper bag.

  “All right,” said Edwina, “I’ll grant you that Alexa enjoyed being comforted by Sgt. McCracken. But even so, she was worried and so am I and so is Donalda and so is…” she looked over at Stan.

  Stan was bending forward, grinning at the cats, some of whom were beginning to move toward him.

  “…and so is the rest of the family. Except for Daddy. No one has told him. If you would like it to stay that way, stop this Nancy Drew nonsense.”

  My father. What a nasty threat. Everyone knew my father is the one person I can’t stand up to.

  Edwina leaned forward and lowered her voice. “We are terribly worried about you. Two people have been viciously, violently murdered. You have been hit on the head. Alphonse has been hit on the head. You live by yourself in this isolated, vulnerable apartment…”

  “I’m not alone. I’ve got Mrs. Parnell. And the cats.”

  I looked over to where the four cats were now very close to Stan.

  “And that reminds me…”

  “It reminds me, too, that your apartment was broken into and one of the cats was killed.”

  “That’s just it. Do you have any idea of how to…”

  The sound of a large dog, snarling and growling, cut through the air. Edwina and I jumped. The cats leaped and spun, their fur on full alert, claws out. They vanished as the growls turned to serious, loud barking. I held my chest, heart banging, head thumping.

  “For God’s sake, Stan, this is hardly the time for your stupid jokes.”

  It’s not like Edwina to give Stan hell, and he had the grace to blush.

  I pic
ked up the tiny toy dog with the powerful bark from the floor and removed the batteries. I dropped the batteries into my pocket and tossed the stupid mutt through the door of my bedroom with full force.

  “It’s okay, you can come back now,” I called to the cats. “As I was saying, Edwina, do you remember what Deb Goodhouse was like as a girl?”

  “Why on earth do you want to know that? Don’t you have more important things to think about?”

  “Indulge me.”

  Edwina narrowed her eyes. She seemed to feel I was up to something.

  “It’s hard to remember. She was kind of self-conscious.

  Worried about how people looked at her. She always had to shine at something, like Debating Society or Drama Club or some damn thing. She wasn’t pretty and she wasn’t popular, and she didn’t have any decent clothes. I don’t remember her ever having a boyfriend.”

  This didn’t sound too bad. I’d been pretty much the same, except for the self-conscious and worried part.

  “How come she hung out at our place? All of you were always popular.”

  Edwina shrugged. “I don’t know. I think Alexa felt sorry for her. And she always wanted to be around us. It used to irritate me from time to time, but Alexa and Donalda always stuck up for her. Why don’t you ask them?”

  “Yes, well…”

  “And please don’t think that this inquiry will distract me from the main purpose of this visit. You are to stop all your ridiculous and dangerous attempts at detecting.” She got to her feet with great dignity, marred only slightly by the clumps of cat hair stuck to her rear end.

  I smiled.

  “Come along, Stan,” she said, “and forget about that silly toy.”

  “But, Edwina…” he said We both knew he was out of luck.

  Even after they left, no cats appeared, suffering no doubt from a crisis of confidence in the management of their current hotel. It was fine with me, I had things to do. I was whistling as I picked up the phone.

  Twenty

  Sunday morning I woke up early, my breathing laboured because of a great weight on my chest. The cats had chosen to forgive and forget. The black and white one apparently found me quite comfortable. All four of them were miffed when I had the nerve to get out of bed.

  I bumped around the kitchen, yawning and fumbling. Cat food into the dishes, coffee into the coffee maker. Fragments of the night’s dreams clogged my head and zoomed forward now and then, causing me to gasp. Robin and Alvin and Deb Goodhouse had filled those dreams, had been dead in them.

  I was glad when the coffee was ready. I took a couple of sips and went to phone Alvin at home.

  “Wha’?” he asked after a considerable amount of banging with the receiver. “Whoosis?”

  “It’s Camilla, merely checking on your well-being. I’m glad to see you survived the night. Well, good-bye now.”

  “I’m claiming overtime for this.” He managed to slam down the phone before I did.

  Still, he was alive and back to his old self. My second call got a positive response. I had another cup of coffee to celebrate. I had my feet up on the coffee table and was reading the Sunday paper when the doorbell rang. Another success.

  Ted Beamish looked as furtive as a pudgy man with thinning red hair can look. The large doughnut box he was clutching seemed to have a life of its own, shifting and swaying in his grasp. From her open doorway, Mrs. Parnell peered at him with undisguised interest.

  They both stared at me. Perhaps because I was still in Paul’s old blue pyjamas, with the legs kind of rippling on the floor past my toes. What the hell, it wasn’t like either one of them made much of a fashion statement.

  “I got it,” Ted hissed.

  “Got what?”

  He whipped around to stare back at Mrs. Parnell, who had asked the question.

  I swear he made a peeping sound.

  “The answer to our troubles, Mrs. P.,” I said. “Come on over. It’ll save you having to lean against my door with a glass in your hand and maybe losing your balance and hurting yourself.”

  “No need to be snotty,” she said as she hobbled into the apartment.

  “Well,” I said, “let’s have a look in that box. Have we solved the problem?”

  Ted flipped open the top, and a small round calico cat hissed at him.

  “Perfecto,” I said.

  “You found it!” said Mrs. Parnell.

  “Not it, but one that looks just like it. What do you think?

  Robin will never catch on,” I said “Boy, that’s a relief,” said Ted. “I wasn’t sure I could find one with a face like a pansy. I wasn’t even sure exactly what a pansy looked like.”

  “You did well, young man,” said Mrs. Parnell, whipping out a cigarette to mark the occasion. “It looks like the same cat to me. A little slimmer perhaps.”

  “Robin will probably attribute that to my cooking. I owe you, Ted. Was it hard to find?”

  “My contacts at the Humane Society paid off. You’re absolutely sure Robin won’t catch on? She was pretty ticked off about the restaurant. I wouldn’t want to have another strike against me.”

  “Let’s show a little backbone here.”

  I thought I’d calmed him down, but he still jumped at the sound of the doorbell.

  “You get a lot of company, for a Sunday morning.”

  Robin’s voice chirped through the intercom and silenced us. By the time she arrived at the apartment, we were all sitting stiffly around the living room, trying to look like we had nothing to do with any conspiracy.

  “Hello-o,” she called pushing open the front door. “Here kitties.”

  “Robin,” I said, “this is great. How did you get here? Do you feel well enough to drive?”

  “Brooke dropped me off. She had somewhere urgent to go.”

  Kitties appeared from everywhere, showing great interest in Robin. She scratched behind their ears and snuggled up to them. The grey one, the black and white one, the Persian, the ginger. She looked at the little calico with surprise.

  “Aren’t you cute,” she said. “Who are you? Don’t tell me that Camilla finally broke down and got a pet.”

  My throat felt very, very dry as I said, “That’s your little calico cat, Robin.”

  She stared at me, astounded.

  “That’s not my cat.”

  “Of course, it is,” I told her firmly.

  Robin’s voice went up a notch. “This is not my cat. I know my cats, and this is not one of them. Where is my calico cat, Camilla?”

  I blundered on. “Perhaps, Robin, the effects of your recent…”

  “Enough bullshit. Has something happened to Myrtle?”

  She looked around just in time to see Ted and Mrs. P. exchanging looks that any jury in the world would accept as a sure sign of guilt.

  “Not really,” I said.

  “Then where is she?”

  “She is not here right now. However, I’m certain she’ll be back shortly. In the meantime, this lovely creature will permit you to return home with five cats.”

  “You tried to trick me, didn’t you?

  “Certainly not.”

  “And you,” she said, turning to Ted, “were you in on this duplicity too?”

  Ted uttered a strangled sound.

  “What he means to say,” I said, “is that he knows nothing about this. He merely came here in response to my request that he help me improve security in my apartment. He’s what they call an innocent bystander caught in the crossfire.”

  Robin nodded. At least she accepted that.

  “And Mrs. Parnell is an innocent bystander too. Just dropped in for a bit of tea.”

  “I should have known you could concoct something so ridiculous all by yourself.”

  “I’m not really innocent,” said Mrs. Parnell, drawing off the enemy fire, “I seem to have let your little cat escape. It was not Camilla at all. She wanted to spare you any additional pain. I agree the idea was naïve, perhaps even asinine, but it was well-meant.�
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  “Robin,” Ted blurted, “I’m not really innocent either. I found this cat and brought it here.”

  What is the matter with these people, I asked myself.

  “It’s okay, Ted, I understand you wanted to help.”

  She turned to me. I raised my chin.

  “But you should have known better. You should consider the consequences of the things you do.”

  * * *

  I was damned glad to be alone when they left, Robin to go back to her apartment, accompanied by Ted, Mrs. Parnell to spy on the rest of the neighbours, the cats to their castle.

  I was slumped on the sofa, telling myself I liked the place better without cats anyway, when I had an idea.

  “Camilla!,” Richard said, when he answered, “Are you feeling rested or still jumpy?”

  “A bit of both. Irritated too. How about if I tell you everything tonight? I really feel like spending some time with someone who won’t lecture me and who will see the humour in my existence.”

  “That someone sounds a lot like me.”

  “Great. Do you feel like coming here?”

  “What time?”

  “Seven?”

  It gave me something to smile about, and I considered not answering the phone when it rang two minutes later.

  The woman on the phone sounded panicky, breathless and far away. A familiar voice, familiar because so many women who have been victims are frightened of being victims again.

  “You’ve got to help me. They’re going to let him out.”

  “Who is this?”

  “Please help me. I’m afraid.”

  “I can’t help you if I don’t know who you are.”

  “My boyfriend. He’s out on parole. He’s coming after me.”

  “There are things you can do. How can I get in touch with you?”

  “You can’t. He’ll find out. I need to see you now.”

  “Fine.”

  “Can I meet you in your office?” She sounded like she was hyperventilating.

  Why not? Despite the pull of the Mitzi Brochu case, helping real or potential victims was my business. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d spent Sunday with a terrified woman.

  “Sure.”

  “When?

  “In an hour.” Long enough to change and walk.

  “Please, I can’t take the chance of anyone else knowing.”