The Icing on the Corpse (11 page)

“Elaine couldn't murder anyone.”

“True.”

“How could she be charged?”

“Easy. The police think she could have done it.”

“But that's silly. Elaine? What an idea.”

“Where's the sweater, Lindsay.”

She raised her elegant chin. “I don't know where it is.”

“Did you leave the house last night?”

“Of course not.”

I spotted the little flash of anger behind her words. Interesting. Anger was a change from Lindsay's usual grace and fragility. Maybe I'd been treated to a glimpse of the real person. “Then where's your sweater?”

Merv loomed into the room and stood between Lindsay and me. “She's already told you she doesn't know.”

“Thank you, but I'm not finished here.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Goddam it, Merv, let go of my arm.”

I found myself staring at the closed door of Lindsay's bedroom. Of course, it takes more than that to stop one of the MacPhee girls. I turned the handle. Locked. I rattled the handle. Nothing.

I knocked on the door. Still nothing. I poised to give it a nice solid kick when I felt Alvin's hot breath.

“I can't believe even you would do this, Camilla.” Reproach oozed out of his pores.

“Do you believe Elaine will spend the night in the slammer?”

“No, she won't. And even if she did, Elaine's tough as old rope. There's no reason for you to terrorize Lindsay.”

“Terrorize? I'll terrorize you, you little twerp.”

Alvin managed a certain bony dignity. “You have to pull yourself together, Camilla. I can't allow you to upset Lindsay.”

While I sputtered “You? What do you mean
you
can't allow
me?
” I lost my advantage. Alvin insinuated himself between the door and me. The only way to knock would be to push him down the stairs first. I thought about it.

Unlike the others, Mrs. Parnell did not treat me like a pariah. She poured my cup of coffee and issued her stream of smoke away from my face, always a sign of affection on her part.

“Quite the discussion.”

“You heard it from down here?”

“I heard you.”

“Well, I had a legitimate question and I didn't get any kind of a legitimate answer.”

Mrs. Parnell issued one of her long wheezy chuckles that always tempt me to call 911. “So I gathered.”

“Maybe I lost it a bit.”

“Who doesn't get caught up in the heat of battle from time to time? And the question remains not only legitimate but delicate. We shall have to be most strategic in this matter.”

“But Alvin and Merv don't share your opinion.”

“Nevertheless,” Mrs. Parnell said. “Ain't love grand?

“I can't believe you didn't tell me you were protecting Lindsay Grace. I'm your buddy, Tiger. You could trust me with your life.”

I lounged at the table at Dunn's and watched P. J. fiddle with his fried eggs. Dunn's has an all-day breakfast, which was handy because P. J. was late, even by his standards. I could tell his mind was on the Benning story and how I might have information to improve it.

“You're a reporter. I wouldn't even trust
you
with your life. And don't bother pouting. It'll give you wrinkles.”

P. J. poked at the home fries. “Don't hold back on me. What's the dope on Elaine Ekstein? Cops slapped her into interrogation fast enough. Did she know this Benning?”

I didn't have the heart to tell him I wanted information from him. There was no plan to give him any.

“It's a mistake, P. J. They're grasping at straws.”

“Got a tip for you. Cops are confident she did it. They're closing the book on it.” He waited.

“That's crap and you know it. Elaine couldn't kill someone. Three officers staked out Lindsay's place. How could she or anyone else get out without them noticing? Incompetence? Or railroading? Your call.”

“Point taken.”

“Your turn to trust me. If you find out how Elaine was supposed to have slipped by them, let me know. Maybe she can make herself invisible at will.”

P. J. slipped from the booth, tossed a ten on the table and ran like hell for the door. “Will do.”

Well, that was one way to find out what happened to Benning. Wait and read it in the paper.

“We have no comment at this time.” I tried to push past a circus of journalists, mikes and cameras outside the Elgin Street Courthouse on the way to Elaine's bail hearing.

Elaine took a different approach. “I'd like to take this opportunity to say…”

I stuck myself in between her and the brace of microphones. “My client has no comment.”

I thought I saw P. J. Lynch well back in the crowd. Of course, unlike the guys with the television cameras, he could head on in and hear for himself. Mind you, that crossed the border between police reporter and court reporter, but maybe it was time for P. J. to make the switch and get the occasional night's sleep.

“Elaine! Did you do it?” An anonymous voice attached to a mike.

“No comment.”

“Elaine, do you have any words for battered women?”

“We have no comment.”

Elaine said, “Well, I certainly do.”

I stood up taller, the better to block her face from the flashes. “My client has no comment on that issue.” I turned to her and whispered, “You have no goddam comment. Now move your butt through the door on the double.”

“No
comment,” I called back over my shoulder as we swung into the Courthouse.

We were all the way into Courtroom Number Five before I finished Elaine's short refresher on how to behave before the media and in the court. I pulled no punches.

The Superior Court judge had a crisp new perm and manicured short nails lacquered in a classic red. She also had a rep for not suffering fools gladly. I hoped to hell we weren't about to be fools. Although with Alvin along as my able assistant, the possibility was real.

The Crown was represented by Mia Reilly, profoundly irritating in her black robe and expensive cologne. But so what? We were in an excellent position. The Crown might not think Elaine should get bail, but I didn't expect to have any trouble showing cause.

“Your honour, my client is a professional social worker, a tireless volunteer, a member of the boards of directors of numerous charities and social agencies in the city. She is highly regarded.” I felt no need to spotlight the small matter of picketing and protesting and even less reason to mention traffic violations and parking tickets. Let alone that awkward occasion when guards had ejected her from the visitors' gallery of the House of Commons.

“She is a respectable member of society, fully supported by her family and friends. We ask that she be released on her own recognizance. There is absolutely no danger of flight, nor is she a threat to the community.”

“I wouldn't go that far.” Elaine had a voice that carried.

“Be quiet,” I said, as softly as I could.

Elaine beamed at the judge. One judgely eyebrow rose.

“Ms. MacPhee, are you responsible for your client?”

“Of course, Your Honour.”

“Keep that in mind.”

“I certainly will, Your Honour.”

“There is no likelihood your client would fail to appear?

“No, Your Honour.”

“Could happen,” said Elaine.

“Absolutely not, Your Honour,” I paused long enough to give Elaine a sharp kick in the ankle.

The judge's eyebrow hit her hairline. And the shit hit the fan. “Bail denied. The accused will be held in the Regional Detention Centre until preliminary hearing.”

Of course, that could be six months.

The irritating Mia Reilly smiled and bobbed her sleek blonde head in approval. No one in court had a problem with Elaine being slapped behind bars. Except me and Alvin.

Unless you counted Mombourquette. I spotted him in the back row, his mouth a tense line.

“I hope you're happy,” I whispered in his greyish pointed ear as I walked past. “An innocent creature like Elaine, think she'll survive in the RDC? Lots of guys in there are serial batterers she helped put behind bars. Something to think about.”

Even though we both knew men and women were well-segregated at the RDC, I took some pleasure as his pale olive face turned to putty.

Another thing bothered me. I could understand how I could fall asleep at Lindsay Grace's place, ditto Alvin, Mrs. Parnell, Elaine and even Merv. We'd been lulled by hot carbohydrates and general winter laziness. But what about the two officers watching the front of the house and the one guarding the rear entrance? Shouldn't they have been shot for dereliction of duty? Since when were our tax dollars supposed to be asleep at the wheel? Funny. P. J. knew nothing about them.

I had no choice but to cozy up to McCracken and find out what had happened to the three officers outside Lindsay's place. I gave him a call and tried to cushion the blow by suggesting we meet at the Second Cup near the police station.

He was all business. “Sorry, Camilla. No time.”

I cut to the chase. “So, Conn, what's happening with the investigation? No word? Cops got your tongue?”

“I think you have to try to cooperate with Alexa about the wedding. This ceremony means a lot to her.”

“This is more immediate. After all, Elaine is in the slammer. You would have checked out security. You know there was no surveillance camera in the Crystal Garden. You will naturally have concluded, as I did, that the video is a fraud. So tell me, what are your esteemed colleagues turning up?”

“Hard for me to say, I'm a bit distracted by Alexa's concerns, as I'm sure most people would understand. Oops, I think that's her on the other line. See you, Camilla.”

“Okay, you win. I'll give her a call. Then we'll talk.”

“No problem,” he said. “Let me know when you've done it.”

S
ooner or later, even I have to cave and attend a family dinner. I had no excuse. Benning was dead, and therefore Lindsay Grace was out of danger. Elaine remained locked up in the Regional Detention Centre for the protection of society at large, and I'd run out of options to get her out. Even though I wanted to crash into bed and sleep off the whole nightmare, I had no choice but to enter the lions den of MacPhees. The festivities always begin with Edwina's husband, Stan, picking me up.

My sisters are formidable. My two brothers-in-law are merely weird. Donalda's husband, Joe, lives in a dream world filled with fishing trips and golf tournaments. I guess he's harmless. Then there's Stan, the man with the world's best collection of whoopee cushions, plastic dog turds, dribble glasses and press-on cockroaches.

I have to work hard to find something to like about my brother-in-law, Stan. But when he picked me up for dinner, I had to admit his new Buick felt toasty warm. The icy wind whipping along the driveway of my apartment building blew my red hat off my head and almost pulled my hair out by the roots. It was almost enough to make me appreciate Stan.

Almost.

I knew better than to argue with Edwina about having Stan collect me for family gatherings. Shooing him out of the house while she's getting ready for any social event plays an important part in her mental health, not that she'd ever admit it. And with the MacPhees, you have to pick your battles. Especially as this wedding loomed. I would need my strength.

I slid onto the Buick's leather passenger seat after checking it for fake vomit. You don't let your guard down with Stan. Of course, I had threatened him with bodily harm after the last little skirmish. He acted innocent enough. No doubt Edwina had laid down the law before she sent him out to get me.

The new car had a cushioned glide which I enjoyed as we drove along the Ottawa River Parkway in the blue winter light. The steam rose from the river, eerie and beautiful. The dark-shadowed snow covering the ground and dusting the evergreens could have been a painting. The sight of a raised hood and the flash of a tow-truck on the other side of the divided parkway reminded me of reality. Still, I relaxed.

But when my bum started to get warm, I turned to Stan.

“What the hell are you playing at now?”

He simulated one of his special hurt looks. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don't,” he whined.

“You do. This seat is getting hot. And it better not get any hotter, since it is too cold outside for me to get out of the car, so if it gets any hotter I will push you out and drive myself. They'll find your body when the snow melts in the spring.”

“Of course the seats are heating up. They're heated seats. It's a feature in new cars. I turned yours on so you would be comfortable.”

“Oh.”

Hurt silence radiated from the driver's side. Anyone else but Stan and I might have been tempted to apologize.

Given the kind of day it had been, I was grateful for the bit of quiet until we pulled into Edwina and Stan's driveway. As usual, it looked as though Edwina had buffed it with a toothbrush.

My sisters were waiting.

I hate that. I pictured three ash-blonde heads together, plotting in Edwina's new maple and granite kitchen before my arrival. It is always three to one. Always has been. I was the accident, born fifteen years after Alexa. It's not easy to be the short, dark one pitted against a coven of beautiful blondes. My sisters might be well on the road to fifty but they look like a bunch of goddam models.

“Camilla.” Alexa came forward to plant a kiss on my cheek.

I had to admit it, her forthcoming marriage to Conn McCracken seemed to be good for her. Her face shone with health. Her makeup was youthful yet appropriate. Her new hairstyle, long yet layered, perfect for the ash-coloured hair.

Too bad I hated the idea. But as Donalda had pointed out, it didn't matter a toot what I thought of Conn. I wasn't marrying him.

“Go see Daddy,” Edwina said.

My father held court in the wingback chair in Edwina's brocade and mahogany living room. He's a tall, fair man. My sisters got their elegant bones from him. He still maintains the look of authority developed in his years as principal of St. Jim's High.

I rated the usual look of surprise.

Just once in thirty-three years, I would have liked to have seen him without that expression.

“It's me, Daddy. Camilla.” I don't know why I always feel I have to introduce myself. After all, it was my mother's name, and I'm suppposed to take after her.

“Of course. Um, Camilla.”

It's hard to tell what he's thinking. A career school principal learns to play his cards close to his chest. I thought I detected the same look that had been on his face the summer I had hot-wired our next door neighbour's new Lincoln Town Car and took it for a midnight spin down the Queensway. I was fifteen. It had seemed like a fine idea at the time. All three of my sisters did a lot of talking in their smooth musical voices, or I wouldn't have been out of the house again before Christmas. I can remember Alexa saying, “Oh Daddy, girls will be girls.”

Not one of them ever rated the look of surprise.

“So, um, Camilla. How is our young man, Alvin, making out in your office?”

“Making out? That's the only thing he hasn't tried.

Otherwise, he's rude, abrasive, weird, intrusive, and his feet smell.”

“Now, dear, try to remember he lacked your wonderful advantages.”

Lucky for me my father is hard of hearing, because I couldn't prevent myself from snorting.

Alexa said, “Oh, Camilla.”

My father said, “It couldn't have been easy for his mother living all those years with an alcoholic. Poor Mary raised those children on her own. And every single one of them made it through university, too.”

Well, Alvin scraped through art school.

“I spoke to Mary the other day. I was happy to be able to tell her Alvin is flourishing under your wing.”

“My what?”

“Camilla.” I heard the warning note in Edwina's voice.

“You know,” my father said, “February in Ottawa is a lot tougher than in Nova Scotia. Mary's worried he won't be dressed properly. The poor lad's prone to bronchitis. Can you make sure he's bundled up?”

I guess no one heard me choking. All eyes were on my father.

“I assured his mother you were more than glad to do anything you could for him, since he saved your life during that terrible business last spring.”

“That's not quite my recollection of Alvin's participation, Daddy. If memory serves, Alvin was nothing but a pain in the butt.”

The doorbell rang before any of my sisters could say oh, Camilla. Alexa's hands were a blur fluffing her hair, smoothing her skirt, adjusting her sweater. She finished topping up her lipstick and gave herself a quick spray of L'Air du temps before Conn McCracken strolled into the room. It was enough to make you sick.

Dinner at my sister Edwina's features Minton china, damask table cloths, roses in silver vases and the chime of fine crystal. She has not yet heard we've entered a more casual age.

Not surprisingly, the food is first-rate. The conversation, lively and frequently dangerous. And the main course is always gossip.

As usual, the men were quiet. Stan because his practical jokes were off limits until after the wedding. Donalda's husband, Joe, because he lives in his own internal world of golf courses and fishing camps. McCracken because he was new to the crew. My father wades into a conversation if someone veers too far from traditional Catholic theology. Or swears. That's usually me. Tonight was no different.

“Well,” Edwina passed a gold-rimmed plate with pear, walnut and gorgonzola salad, “am I the only one who's shocked about Elaine Ekstein?”

Donalda looked up from serving pork tenderloin in orange soy sauce. “Who would have thought she had such a vivid imagination?”

“Indeed,” Edwina said.

“Pass the can of worms,” I said.

“Excuse me?” Edwina narrowed her eyes at me.

“Oh, Camilla.” Alexa gave me a look.

McCracken's lips twitched. I decided to concentrate on the rice. Edwina makes the best rice in the family. Firm, fluffy, safe.

“Well,” said Alexa, “don't you think something needed to be done? Imagine what those women suffered. And that poor officer who was shot. It's a miracle he's going to live. That Benning was an absolute monster.”

The girls never let go of a topic quickly.

“You bet,” Edwina said. “It's time we women started to fight back when bullies and wife-beaters get their own way with a spineless and craven justice system that dumps them back on the streets with a slap on the wrist. Or less.”

Conn McCracken hunched miserably over his plate.

“Of course, but I would never have thought Elaine Ekstein could kill somebody,” Donalda said.

“Didn't you?” said Edwina, “Elaine has spine. I'm glad she took the law into her own hands. No one else was prepared to do it.”

“Wait a minute.” I made an attempt to wrestle back the conversation.

“Oh, Camilla, there's no need to get defensive,” Edwina said. “I know you wanted to, but you weren't as effective as you could have been. The situation got beyond your control. But no one blames you.”

“It's not true,” I said.

Donalda said, “Well, not you alone, dear, society at large. When you come down to it, how did the man get loose?”

I slammed my silver fork on the table. “Goddam it, I mean, Elaine didn't do it.”

Everyone's eyes slid to my father's face. Waiting for the reprimand. His mind appeared to be elsewhere. Playing golf with Joe maybe.

“Of course she did it,” Edwina said.

“Don't be silly, Camilla.” Donalda moved a few serving pieces out of my reach.

“What do you mean?” Alexa said.

“I mean she didn't do it. What do you think I mean?” I barked. I caught Conn McCracken staring at me. I refrained from tossing food at him.

“Well, she confessed, didn't she?” Edwina said. “That's enough for me. And what's more, I think she has support from the community, and she'll get off on a self-defence.”

“Self-defence?” Conn didn't quite catch himself in time.

It surprised me too. Freezing someone in a block of ice? Quite a challenge to portray that as self-defence.

“I don't understand you, Camilla,” Alexa said. “Elaine is your friend. Why don't you want to help her? She'll suffer through a long, terrible trial, and for what?”

“She'll get off,” Edwina said. “She did what she had to.”

“Except she didn't do it!” I might as well have screamed into the wind.

“Fine, Camilla, be like that. Even I know if she pleads Not Guilty she's more likely to get a prison sentence, and then who benefits?”

“No one benefits. Either way. It's still murder, and Elaine still didn't do it.”

Stan said, “Any more of that pear stuff?”

“Oh, sure, call it murder. After what Benning did,” Donalda said. “What's the matter with you, Camilla? You've abandoned poor Elaine.”

“How is Violet?” my father asked.

“What?”

“Your neighbour, Violet.”

“Oh. You mean Mrs. Parnell, Daddy. She's fine, I guess.”

“Remarkable person, Violet. Lovely. We should see more of her.”

“Oh, dear, maybe Camilla's right,” said Alexa. “Killing him in such a gruesome way, I'm sure that's not.…”

“Legal? Moral? Ethical?” I said. “And speaking of legal, I would like to make the point that Elaine is innocent until proven guilty in this country and even in this house.”

“But, Camilla,” Donalda said, “she admitted she killed him. We saw it on the news. You stood next to her with your mouth hanging open like a guppy. She told the reporters she did it, that must mean
something.”

“It means it's goddam lucky we don't have capital punishment.”

“Camilla
.” This time my father paid attention.

“And I'll tell you something else,” I ignored him for the first time in thirty-three years. “I don't know who killed Ralph Benning. And I don't know why. But someone will get away with murder while Elaine goes up the river.”

“River? What river?” Donalda's husband Joe opened his eyes, hoping for a fishing story, I guess.

“I think she's sort of a heroine,” Edwina said. “Maybe we should get out and help her. Raise some money for her.”

Disappointed, Joe closed his eyes again.

“Well, whether she did it or not, there's not much we can do for her until after the wedding,” Alexa said.