The Devil's in the Details (37 page)

A dim shadow rose slowly behind Jasmine. I did my best to appear to look straight at Jasmine. Anything to distract her. I sensed rather than saw Kate lurch forward. Kate loomed behind Jasmine and slammed into her. Jasmine lurched forward and lost her balance. She staggered, whirled at Kate. A shot reverberated. Without a sound, Kate crumpled to a heap on the floor. The smell of cordite filled the room.

I stood, stunned, unable to react. Even with my limited vision, I could see the stain spread around her, clearly red. Jasmine turned back to me.

“Now look what you've done, Camilla,” Jasmine said. “The authorities will not be pleased. Fortunately, I happened along to check on Kate and was able to struggle with you and save myself. It pays to be younger and taller. I was too late for poor Kate, of course. But as Frances Foxall liked to say, life goes on.

I saw the shadow as she raised her arm.

“This is the police,” a familiar voice came from behind the door to the dining room. “Put the gun down and step away from it.”

Jasmine said, “Thank heavens you're here, officer. I have been able to wrestle the weapon from your fugitive, but I didn't know how much longer I could hold her. Is there an ambulance here? My friend, Kate Westerlund, has been shot by Camilla MacPhee.”

If I hadn't been scared shitless, I might have admired her audacity. If it struck her as odd that the police would pussyfoot through the dining room, there was no sign in her voice.

“The game's over. Put the weapon down. And move away from it. Slowly.”

If I had one small thing to feel happy about, it was that Jasmine didn't know Bunny Mayhew. She turned slowly.

“Can you come in here, officer?” she said.

Something told me that Bunny hadn't passed the cop test.

Bunny said, “The house is surrounded, Jasmine. Put the gun down.”

I was pretty sure the house was not surrounded by anything but wishful thinking. I figured Bunny was about to be dead. What was worse, to shout a warning? Or hope like hell the ruse was working? The decision was taken from me when Jasmine raised her arm and fired the Glock. As far as I could tell, she fired right through the wall. Bunny screamed. Jasmine was more than smart enough to figure out that if the man in the next room didn't come out firing in a Kevlar vest, then he was either out of commission or not a cop. Jasmine edged along the wall in front of me, heading for the door, raising her arm. I had to stop her from killing Bunny.

Across the room, Kate Westerlund gurgled as if her lungs were filling with blood.

“Not dead enough, Kate?” Jasmine said. “We can fix that.”

That was my chance. I had nothing to lose. I grabbed the wall hanging and yanked with every bit of strength I had left
and hurled it at Jasmine's back. The heavy sheet of fabric came off the wall with a shower of dust. I tumbled after it. The wooden frame behind the hanging hit Jasmine. Something clattered on the floor. I hoped like hell it was the Glock. I fell forward, jarring my head. The grey mist turned black. Now I saw nothing. Where was Bunny? Where was Jasmine?

I yelled, “She dropped the gun. Get help, Bunny. Tell them what you heard.”

Kate gurgled again. She was probably dying. I couldn't even find her, let alone help her.

Jasmine spoke, it seemed, from a distance.

“That wasn't at all nice, Camilla. But it gives me another opportunity. Two birds with one stone.” She chuckled.

“Someone heard everything you said, Jasmine.”

“Someone who didn't mind impersonating a police officer. I don't think I have to worry. Even if anyone believed his story. But here's something more immediate for you and Kate to worry about.”

I heard a half dozen small clicks a few seconds apart. A familiar sound, but what was it? Not a gun. I didn't think a Glock would click. I struggled to my feet, reaching out and happy to touch a table to steady myself.

Kate moaned. It sounded like she was just a couple of feet from me. If I guessed right, I had just bumped into the coffee table. Kate must have been by the corner window. I couldn't be sure. My head was buzzing, my thoughts jumbled.

The first whiff of smoke took me by surprise. What was that smell? I inhaled a whiff of acrid smoke, like burning fabric. Seconds later, smoke seared my throat. Everywhere I turned, the smoke seemed thicker. I knew now the clicks were from Jasmine's lighter. Jasmine must have ignited the wall hangings. My eyes streamed.

Vainly hoping someone would hear, I yelled, “Help, fire.”

Kate was coughing now. I was confused, disoriented. Where was the door? Where was the window? I tripped over the low table. Something rocked and rattled. I remembered the huge vase with the sunflowers. Vases contain water. I pulled off my tank top and felt around. I tossed out the flowers and soaked the shirt. I put it over my mouth and dropped to the floor, hoping the smoke would rise and I could stay below it. I fumbled around in my pack for another piece of cloth. I dragged out something, the Sens shirt perhaps. I soaked it too. I crawled to where I thought Kate was lying. Even with the wet fabric over my mouth, breathing was difficult. I tried to remember what I'd seen in this room on my previous visit. In the corner, a table, lamp and rug, I thought. I prayed I was going in the right direction and not just deeper into the smoke-filled house. I finally connected with Kate's body. I pressed the cloth to her face. I could feel the small rug on the floor. Coughing and spewing, I rolled her onto the rug. I felt for the edge, got a grip and crawled toward what I hoped was the way out, pulling the rug along with me. I'm pretty sure I couldn't do that on a normal day, let alone blind and concussed. That's the power of fear. I figured the smoke would get us before the fire did.

Was Bunny going to die because of me? The irony was, I might save Kate, who could have saved everyone, and hadn't.

Hacking and gagging, I pulled her toward what I hoped was the front entrance. I said to Kate. “If you have any strength left, push.” But Kate had even stopped coughing.

I don't believe in giving up. I didn't plan to die without a fight. But I was too exhausted to move.

Something pulled against me, waking me up. Voices, yelling. Jasmine? I did my best to fight back, connecting fist to
face. Someone yelled.

“For Christ's sake, Camilla. Stop fighting.”

Mombourquette?

“You have to get Kate,” I said, trying to help whoever was pulling me from the building.

“We got her out.”

Bunny?

“Don't let the cops shoot me,” I said.

Maybe that was a dream.

One last bit of advice. Try not to party in the hospital. The nurses don't like it, and some of those guys are bruisers.

The Labour Day weekend was long gone before I opened my eyes again. Pale institutional green surrounded me. That meant I could see. I sure hoped I was in a hospital and not in hell.

Wherever I was, I must have been expected, because there was the obligatory crowd scene.

From the foot of the bed, a voice said, “Welcome back, Ms. MacPhee. You have been missed.”

“Lord thundering Jesus, Camilla,” a second voice said, “I guess you'll do anything to stay out of a balloon.”

I sat up and grabbed Alvin's wrist, “Listen to me. That girl, Jasmine, she killed all those people. She shot Joe. And Kate. I think she shot Bunny. You have to find Bunny.”

My sister Donalda said, “If you mean that young man who picked up your book and helped drag you from the burning house, he's all right. Although the police wanted to talk to him, and he seems to have wandered off.”

“You have to tell the police about Jasmine.”

“The police know,” Mombourquette said.

“Do they believe me now, Leonard?”

“They do.”

“That's good. Does that mean you're in the deep weeds for getting involved in the investigation?”

My sister Alexa spoke up. “I think the brass will be overlooking anything Leonard might have done to save your life, since you wouldn't have been in danger if they hadn't been hounding you based on false accusations. That was shocking.”

Alvin said, “Your lawyer can't wait to pursue the matter.”

“I bet,” I said.

Edwina said, “Of course, you could have saved yourself a lot of grief by giving yourself up earlier. You wouldn't have lingered here for five days while we thought you were going to die, Missy.”

Time for Mrs. Parnell to speak up again. “Ms. MacPhee did the only correct thing. She waded into battle without regard for her own safety. We will respect that.”

I liked the sound of that. So did my father, who had been quiet until now. He leaned over and gave my hand a squeeze.

“Thanks, Daddy,” I said. “You were right about the devil.”

“Good job, um, Camilla,” he said.

Sentimental moment. Always to be avoided with the MacPhees. “What about Kate?” I said.

Mombourquette said. “She's still in critical condition. Between the gunshot and the smoke inhalation and the shock of what happened to her husband, it's touch and go.”

Donalda said, “Lucky to be alive. What were the chances that a passing cab driver would turn out to be a doctor?”

“Faroud came back to help?” I said.

“He arrived before the emergency personnel,” Mombourquette said. “Damn lucky. If she lives, it's because of him. The papers loved the story, though. Hero doctor can't get a job in Canada.”

I smiled. Faroud deserved whatever good breaks he got.

Alvin and Mrs. Parnell exchanged glances. “We are sorry, Ms. MacPhee, that we didn't arrive in time to stop these terrible things. We heard a lot on the cellphone, which of course you intended, but because of the winds, we just couldn't get close enough to land. As soon as we realized your life was in danger, Young Ferguson borrowed another phone from the balloon pilot and called for reinforcements.”

“Pretty snippy at 911,” Alvin sniffed.

Mombourquette said, “I can just imagine what that story sounded like. But never mind. Police, fire and ambulance all showed up.”

“Right after you did,” I said. “Thank you, Leonard.”

“Hey,” he said, “what are friends for.”

“What about Jasmine? Did she get away?”

P. J. piped up. “That was the best part of the story, Tiger. Aside from the lawyer on the run and the shoot-out and the burning house.”

“What was?”

“Your high-flying friends, Alvin and Mrs. P. here, tracked her in their balloon and kept in touch with the police by phone until they picked her up. What a story that was. You couldn't
make
it up.”

“Well, we didn't act alone, of course,” Mrs. Parnell said. “Every balloonist on that part of the Rideau kept an eye out for her.”

Alvin said, “You gotta love cellphones.”

“But she's such a psychopath. She'll concoct a story.”

P. J. said, “Her credibility took a dive when she fired at them.”

“Ah, yes,” I said. “That happens.”

P. J. continued, “I think they've managed to figure out who she is. The stuff about University of Ottawa law school was all
bullshit, of course. She's been a troubled kid all her life. They're not even sure how she got from the States into Canada. She was putting up a pretty good imitation of a psychotic episode, so that might help her avoid first degree murder charges. Anyway, I've got a feature assignment to track back to the original tragedy and follow her and her family over the years.”

“What about Laura Brown and the other girls who were part of the Settlers?”

“I'm trying to track their families too.”

“Any luck?”

“Nothing so far. But I bet I'll get a book out of this,” P.J. said.

With any luck, there'd be more to add to it when Laura's safety deposit box was opened.

From the back of the crowd, Elaine said, “I'm not quite so happy. I guess we have to talk.”

I said, guiltily. “I'll replace your clothes.”

She said, “That's not what I mean.”

Mombourquette said, “I am afraid I did some damage to your friendship. Jasmine somehow planted those rumours about Elaine. I haven't figured out how yet.”

I said, “It was your mysterious appointments that worried me, Elaine.”

Elaine said. “I guess Jasmine set everyone up. The mysterious appointments, as you call them, were with a counsellor. When Frances and Laura and Sylvie died, it was a wake-up call for me. I decided to try to reconcile with my family, and I wanted some advice. I found someone I trusted who was willing to give me a couple of sessions on the weekend. I wasn't ready to tell everybody.”

Good time to change the subject. “Hey, who are all the flowers from?”

My sister Donalda inspected a weird plant.

“That's from me,” said P.J. “Venus fly trap.”

“I sent the orange blossoms,” Elaine said.

“The snake plant is from your lawyer,” Alvin said. “It came with a substantial bill for phone consultation and negotiations.”

“The two-dozen roses are from my cousin Ray in Sydney,” Mombourquette said. “He's been calling every hour. Crazy with worry.”

I snorted. “Crazy with worry, my fat fanny. Now he sends flowers. Where the hell has he been?”

“In hospital himself. Emergency appendectomy when he was on that course. His appendix burst when he was at the training site. It took a couple of hours to get him to a city hospital. They said another half-hour, and he wouldn't have made it. He'll take a couple of months to recover.”

I sat up a bit straighter. “Oh. I thought he'd just dropped out of the relationship. Why didn't anyone tell me? You sure he's all right?”

Mombourquette shrugged. “His kids kept trying to call you, but they didn't want to leave an upsetting message informing you that he was in intensive care.”

“And they kept hanging up?”