He put three blocks between himself and the restaurant, sagged against a wall. When his breathing had steadied he crossed the street to a payphone, got the restaurant’s number from the operator-computer, dropped a quarter. The phone rang once, and was picked up by a woman with a Quebecois accent.
Ross identified himself. He asked the woman to tell Orville that he was a quitter.
She said there was somebody who wanted to talk to him, and asked him to please hold a minute.
Ross said merci but no thanks. He slammed the receiver into its cradle almost hard enough to break it, because a guy he’d met in the joint had advised him the vibrations would shake loose his quarter.
No such luck.
Chapter 6
Annie was furious. She’d handed in the wrong French assignment and her teacher had insisted that she and a dozen of her classmates come in after school to catch up. How could so many of them have misunderstood the situation? Who lacked the necessary communication skills, the students or the teacher? Her anger flared to rage when her finished work was rejected because it had been written on lined rather than unlined paper.
Claire said, “I know it isn’t much consolation, Annie, but you have to remember that teachers are just like everybody else — some are good and some are better than good, and some aren’t much good at all.”
But Annie wouldn’t be mollified. “She’s a horrible old bitch!” she hissed, slamming her textbooks down on the dining room table so hard that the salt and pepper shakers jumped.
Claire turned away to hide her smile. As a rule, gritty language wasn’t countenanced in the Willows household. But Jack was on the phone in his den, and Annie had a point. At the beginning of the year, that same French teacher’s first assignment had been to have the students make protective paper jackets for their textbooks. Annie’s had been functional but apparently not sufficiently snug-fitting. She’d lost ten marks right off the bat, and, unfortunately, the battle lines had been drawn. Parker gave Annie a quick hug. She said, “I’m making tea. Would you like a cup?”
“Yeah, sure.” Annie brightened. Coffee was still forbidden, but as a result of intense and unrelenting lobbying she was allowed the odd cup of tea. They went into the kitchen. Parker wasn’t exactly an aficionado. Her idea of a good cuppa ‘char’ was a Red Rose teabag dunked in her favourite mug. Annie, on the other hand, had embraced the culture with typical no-holds-barred enthusiasm. She’d organized a trip to a health-food store on Fourth Avenue, and bought a bewildering variety of exotic mini-packs. Today’s choice was relatively conservative: blackberry. Claire added a few grains of sugar. She and Annie sat across from each other at the kitchen table. Claire said, “So tell me, how’s your love life?”
Annie blushed prettily. The previous weekend she and David had dated for the first time. They’d gone to a movie, and then on to a White Spot for a burger. David had driven Annie home on the stroke of her midnight deadline, but declined her invitation to come in to meet her father. Parker didn’t blame the kid. When David’s car had pulled up in front of the house, Willows had been standing at the window. Squinting into the night, hands on his hips, he’d been the very picture of parental wrath.
Annie said, “David’s okay. Too much of a jock, maybe…”
“How do you mean?”
“I dunno.” Annie shrugged. She turned her mug in a half-circle, and back again. “He spends a lot of time with the guys. Shooting baskets in the gym, chugging around the track…”
“Chugging?” Claire smiled.
Annie said, “Well, that wasn’t fair. I guess what I’m saying is that he spends a lot of time doing physical stuff, but he isn’t interested at all in…” Annie trailed off, frowning.
“The academic side of things?”
Annie laughed. “Not exactly. But it’s kind of boring, talking about sports all the time.”
“How are his grades?”
“Okay, I guess. Kind of average.”
“He’s in grade eleven, isn’t he? So he’s only got another year of school. What’s he going to do after he graduates?”
“He has no idea.”
Claire sipped her tea. “Well, there’s nothing wrong with that, I suppose. Kids are under so much pressure these days. Anyway, it’s not as if he asked you to marry him.”
Annie’s eyes sparkled.
Claire said, “I hope.”
A hinge creaked as the front door swung open. Claire leaned back in her chair to look down the hall. Sean waved negligently as he shut the door. The new cat, Tripod, hurried towards the kitchen. From the end of the hall Sean yelled, “Didn’t you hear him meowing?”
Annie said, “I just let him out ten minutes ago.”
Sean gave her an accusatory, disbelieving look. He shucked his black leather jacket and slung it across the banister, stomped down the hall towards her and then veered abruptly into his bedroom. His door slammed shut.
Annie said, “The thing is, David’s really cute, but I hardly ever get to see him alone. He’s always got a bunch of his dumb jock friends with him.”
“Maybe you should dump him.”
“Are you serious?”
“No, I’m kidding.” Claire reached out and lightly ruffled Annie’s hair. “You’re the serious one, my dear.”
Because of the nature of their work, and the fact that they were often away from home for long hours at a stretch, both Willows and Parker were in the habit of preparing meals in advance, and freezing them for future reference. While Annie did her homework, Parker used the microwave to thaw a pre-cooked Irish stew. She put the stew in a stainless-steel pot and set the pot on the stove to simmer. Technically, there might not be any difference between microwave and gas-generated heat, but somehow food heated on the stove always tasted better than if it had been heated by invisible rays in a plastic box.
While the stew warmed up, she made a salad of iceberg lettuce, red onion, radishes and a hothouse tomato, mushrooms and grated carrot. Barney mewed at the back door, and she took a minute to let him in. He and Tripod touched noses. Barney went over to his dish and began to eat. Tripod crouched on the floor behind him and batted at his tail. Barney was missing most of his left ear, and Tripod had only three legs, but the two cats were so similar in colour and size that they might have come from the same litter. But Barney was noted for his sulks, and was a slow and careful eater, while Tripod, who was younger and led a more active life despite his disability, was known for his sharp appetite. Shortly after Tripod had joined the family, Parker tried putting his food in a steep-sided bowl identical to Barney’s. The cat had cried piteously, until finally Parker caved in and gave him a bowl of his own — a larger one.
She fetched down bottles of oil and vinegar from the shelf, pulped several cloves of garlic.
Jack walked into the kitchen, looking tense. He checked out the stew on his way to the fridge. “Want a beer?”
“I’ll split one with you.”
He got a glass out of the dishwasher, poured a short half into the glass and put the glass down on the counter next to the salad bowl.
Claire said, “Did I hear the phone ring, about half an hour ago?”
He nodded, nibbled at his beer.
Claire added a pinch of chives and twist of pepper to the salad dressing. She wiped her hands on a dishtowel, picked up her glass and clicked it against Jack’s beer bottle. “Should I drive down to the phone booth by the IGA, drop a quarter and give you call?”
He frowned. “You mean, would I be more communicative if it wasn’t so easy to communicate?” He drank some more beer. “That was my lawyer, Peter Singer.”
“Really?” Claire leaned against the kitchen counter. “What did he want?”
“In his office this morning, I told him I hadn’t spoken to Sheila in several months, and had no idea where she was. He was just confirming that I hadn’t made any attempt to get in touch with her.” Jack hesitated, and then said, “He gave me the impression he thought there might be something I wasn’t tell
ing him.”
“Is there?”
“No, of course not!” The question had caught Jack by surprise. He said, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. I was just asking. Maybe she sent you a change of address and you chucked it in the garbage, instead of passing it on to the kids. I don’t know.” Claire gave the jar of homemade salad dressing a vigorous shake. “Let’s not argue, okay? Dinner’s just about ready. Would you mind setting the table?”
Sean ate in his room. Annie’s mind was on her homework. Jack kept his eyes on his plate. Claire wasn’t hungry, but forced herself to eat. As she picked at her food, her anger faded. It wasn’t like Jack to flare up, go all emotional on her just because she asked him an innocent question. He had to be very worried about his wife. Three months was a long time, for someone who made a point of keeping in touch. Why hadn’t Sheila’s parents kicked up a fuss? She wondered if Jack was afraid he’d alienate her by expressing his concern about Sheila’s uncharacteristic silence.
She glanced up, and caught him staring at her. He lowered his eyes. Her stomach twisted into a knot. She carried her dirty dishes into the kitchen and stuffed them in the dishwasher. Sean had cranked his damn stereo up so loud that the thump of the bass rumbled through the walls. She slammed the dishwasher door. Dishes clattered.
From the dining room, Annie yelled, “Qu’est-que c’est le bruit?” Claire punched buttons, turned away from the machine and there was Jack, looking embarrassed and apologetic.
She said, “I’m feeling claustrophobic. Why don’t we go out for a drink a little later?”
“Two drinks.” He smiled faintly. “Maybe three.”
“Three for you and one for me,” she amended. “I’ll be the designated driver.”
“You drive me crazy,” he said, and leaned into her and kissed her lightly on the mouth.
*
Willows had introduced Parker to Freddy’s the night they’d wrapped up their first murder, eight years earlier. Willows drank at Freddy’s because it was the only bar he knew where he could drink for free. Or, if Freddy was feeling the pinch, at a greatly discounted rate. Freddy had slowed down during the past few years. When Willows had first met him he’d been a musician, a piano player who toured the bars and had a richly deserved rep as a guy who liked to mingle. It was Freddy’s fondness for women — especially other men’s women — that had resulted in him being chained by a cuckolded gangster to a radiator in a cheap hotel, where the three middle fingers of his left hand had been reduced to bloody mush in a high-speed blender. Freddy was tough, but not that tough. Even Liberace played with all ten digits.
Freddy had fainted, been slapped around until he revived. Willows and Norm Burroughs had kicked in the door just as Freddy was about to lose an appendage that was, in a non-geographical sense, much closer to his heart than his fingers. Freddy’s gratitude had been all but boundless. He’d promised the two detectives free drinks for as long as they lived. Burroughs had died of cancer two years later; Willows was still collecting interest on Freddy’s self-induced debt.
Freddy expertly hooked a bottle of Cutty down from the shelf as Willows and Parker came in through the door. His wedding ring glittered on his thumb. He nodded in acknowledgement as Willows pointed at a rear booth, then pursed his lips and blew Parker a furtive, mildly comical kiss. “Want something to eat, kids? I got a special on hot wings…”
Parker frowned as she breezed past the glitter of the bar. “Something to eat, a special on hot wings… What’s the connection, Freddy?”
Freddy was still chuckling over Parker’s little joke when he served their drinks: a double Cutty on the rocks for Willows and a single, straight up, water on the side, for Parker.
“Thanks, Freddy.” Willows dropped a twenty on the table. It was an important part of the ritual. Neither Freddy nor Willows were the kind of people who liked to take things for granted — nor cared much for people who did.
Freddy ignored the money, but lingered. The scar tissue on his maimed hand gleamed like old ivory in the bar’s subdued light. He had the look of a man who had something to say, but didn’t know how to spit it out.
Parker said, “Something on your mind, Freddy?”
Encouraged, Freddy slid into the booth beside her. Parker shifted, giving herself as much room as was available. Freddy fiddled with the wide-splayed collar of his tight-fitting, custom-made red-triangles-on-a-field-of-black silk shirt. He adjusted a gold-plated cufflink to enhance its light-reflecting qualities.
Ice rattled against Willows’ teeth.
Freddy spread his arms wide, in a gesture of abject helplessness and supplication. He scratched his nose.
Parker and Willows exchanged a glance.
Freddy sighed wearily.
Parker studied her glass. She raised the glass to her lips, sipped, held the alcohol in her mouth, swirled it around and swallowed, felt it burn as it went down. Yummy.
Freddy cleared his throat. “There was a guy in here this afternoon, no more’n three or four hours ago. Askin’ about you.” His eyes darted around like fish in an aquarium.
“Asking what?” said Willows.
Freddy shrugged. “I dunno. Various questions. This guy, he waltzes in, takes a seat at the bar, all friendly and relaxed. Said he was looking for you, heard this’s where you liked to do your drinking.” Freddy risked a furtive smile. “He didn’t ask why you drank here. I don’t know what I would’ve told him, if he did…”
“What did he want to know, Freddy?”
“Let’s see now.” Freddy rubbed the stumps of his fingers. “He asked me, Jack spend much time in here? Come in every night? That sort of thing…”
“How much I drink, in other words.”
“Yeah, could be. And what kind of people you drink with, or are you the type of guy prefers to drink alone.”
“What’d you tell him?”
“I told him the truth, Jack.” Freddy’s attitude had turned belligerently righteous, and it wasn’t a very good fit. He added, “All I can say, I hope you ain’t got something to hide.”
Parker said, “Why’d you bother to give this guy the time of day, Freddy? What did he look like? Did you get his name?”
“Yeah, sure, of course I got his name!” Agitated, Freddy lifted a hip, plucked his wallet out of his pants pocket, withdrew an off-white business card embossed with blue and gold lettering. He grunted softly as he leaned across the table. He propped the card against Willows’ glass. Bobby Dundas. “Know him, Jack?” asked Freddy.
“Yeah, I know him.” Bobby’s character, or lack of character, had been shaped by the years he’d spent in vice. Jack had never really liked Bobby; now he liked him even less. Willows emptied his glass. He turned the card towards Parker, then dropped it in his glass and handed the glass to Freddy.
“Want another?”
Willows nodded.
“Me too,” said Parker. She waited until Freddy was out of earshot and then said, “What’s he up to, Jack?”
“Beats me. Nothing I’d approve of, I bet.” Willows stood up. “Back in a minute.” He strolled over to the bar. Freddy was industriously wiping a shot glass, and had his back to him. He knuckled the polished mahogany. Freddy glanced up, registered him in the mirror. Willows said, “You’ve got my card too, Freddy.” Freddy nodded. Willows said, “Next time my inquisitive friend walks through that door, pick up the phone and call me. Understand?”
Freddy turned so he was facing Willows. He said, “Yeah, I understand.” He thumped a matched pair of lowball glasses down on the bar, wiped sweat from his hands with a small white towel.
Willows stared hard at Freddy until finally Freddy looked at him, and then he said, “The guy’s bad news, Freddy. Don’t talk to him.”
“Got it, Jack.”
By way of apology, Freddy poured four fingers of whisky into both glasses. Quadruples. Willows was slightly cheered.
Parker watched him closely as he walked towards her, glasses in hand. He sa
t down, pushed a glass towards her. Parker said, “If I drink all that, it’s going to carry me into the land of maudlin.”
Willows smiled.
She said, “Is there any way Bobby might’ve got wind of the fact that you’ve got a problem with Sheila?”
“No way.”
Willows knocked back about a quarter of his drink. He felt flushed, short of breath. Was he angry, or merely getting drunk? Three months. He said, “I should give her parents a call…”
He looked miserable. Guilty and angry. Parker reached across the table. She squeezed his arm. “It’s a two-way street, Jack. You didn’t phone her, but she didn’t phone you, either.”
Willows checked his watch. It was pushing ten o’clock. There was a three-hour time difference between Vancouver and Toronto. Sheila’s parents would have gone to bed a couple of hours ago. He imagined the population of the country strictly in terms of time. In the West, people were drinking in bars, having a good time. Move across the prairies and they were yawning. A little further east they were in their pyjamas, brushing their teeth. And in Ontario and la belle province the citizens were dreaming sweetly, counting sheep.
He said, “Sheila’s parents must know where she is. If they were worried about her, they’d have called by now.”
“Good point,” said Parker.
“You agree?”
“Certainly.” Parker realized that she was choosing her words with a view to their slurrability quotient. Was she drunk? She didn’t really care. Which was irrefutable truth that she was definitely extremely drunk. The knowledge sobered her. She turned in her seat so she could look directly behind her.
Willows said, “Something wrong?”
Parker gingerly shook her head, no.
It was a lie, and she rarely lied to him. But how could she satisfactorily explain that she’d expected to find Bobby Dundas standing right behind her, close enough to touch?
Memory Lane Page 6