Speak Ill of the Dead (28 page)

“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.

“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.