The Icing on the Corpse (26 page)

“I don't know. I wasn't looking for it.”

“This is important. Think back. Relive it in your mind.”

She closed her eyes.

I said, “You drove up out of the garage in your neighbour's car on your way to find Benning. You saw the police officers were sleeping. What else did you see?”

Her eyes opened. “It wasn't. It wasn't there. You were all inside asleep. Elaine too. She was snoring. Her SUV was gone.”

“Holy shit. Who the hell could have taken it?” Merv said.

I had my own ideas about that. “A lady with a lot of connections.”

T
hursday morning, I hit Justice for Victims in time to find my so-called office assistant stirring a pitcher of orangypink liquid, serenaded by Jimmy Buffett. The fumes of citrus combined with high-octane booze nearly overwhelmed the familiar odour of Alvin's freshly applied fake tan.

“Did you get my message? You didn't return my call,” I said.

“Changes in attitude, changes in latitude,” Alvin sang. “Try some of this punch. It's low-fat and full of the sunshine vitamin.” In Alvin's life that would be rum.

“I asked you to do something, Alvin. Can you do it or not?”

“It's a simple photo of a policewoman, Camilla. Have you no faith in my ability?”

“Right. Can you dig that photo fast?”

“Take a gander at your desk.”

I checked my desk. The brown envelope labeled Camilla seemed a good start. I ignored the cartoon image of me wearing mouse ears.

Alvin hummed “A Cuban Crime of Passion” while I ripped open the envelope. Inside I found clippings of Randy Cousins in full uniform. Plus a university graduation photo. I flipped through some human-interest stuff from community papers. I tried not to fret about the loss to the local library and instead concentrated on a couple of Polaroid shots of the good officer emerging from a police cruiser in front of Tim Hortons. Judging from the depleted state of the snow banks, I took the photos to be less than a day old.

“Pick one,” he said. “It's a Valentine from me.”

“Thanks, Alvin.” I might have been more effusive if Jimmy Buffett hadn't been ringing in my ears. “Lucky you didn't get caught.”

He smiled enigmatically. Just one more thing I was better off not knowing about.

“I saved a message from Lindsay for you,” he said, remembering for a fleeting moment that he was an office assistant.

The message from Lindsay was crisp and to the point. “Camilla? I'm thinking about what we discussed last night. I'm going to need a lawyer. I hope you will be willing to represent me. Please call me.”

I bet Merv wasn't going to be tickled. It pleased me because I needed a bit more help from Lindsay, and she'd just given me the means to get it. I called her and said I'd be over to talk to her soon.

P. J. was lying in wait for me on Elgin Street when I emerged from the JFV office late in the morning. The rain had turned his wiry red hair dark and plastered it against his scalp. Good, I thought.

“Thank God you're here. This cold rain's running down inside my collar.”

“Couldn't happen to a nicer guy.”

“Aw c'mon, Tiger. Let's go have lunch and a brew at the Manx, and I can explain everything.”

“Forget it. Anyway, it's too early for lunch.”

“Or we can stand here and get soaked. Your choice. Free country.”

“I choose to leave you here while /go somewhere warm and dry.”

“Not an option, because then you'll never learn the truth, and I'll have to keep bothering you, and it's just a matter of time until one of us gets pneumonia.” It didn't sound quite that good when he said it, because his nose was obviously stuffed up.

“Fine. Let's get it over with.”

By the time we were settled in the Manx, we were wet enough for both of us to get pneumonia. We had the soup of the day then each polished off a pint of Smithwick's for preventive medicine.

“My problem was,” P. J. said, as he started on his second one, “every time I asked you to go anywhere, you always said no. I thought if it wasn't a date, you might not turn me down. I knew you liked kids, and I figured you wouldn't want to hurt their feelings.”

“I see. Could this be why I didn't remember making the arrangements in the first place?”

He avoided my eyes. “It seemed less likely to fail that way.”

“And the rent-a-relatives? Were they in on this complex plot?”

“They're a couple of kids I met doing a bit of volunteer work. Everyone say s how much they look like me.”

“That has to be the stupidest scheme I've ever heard of.”

“Point taken. You'll be happy to hear I've joined a twelve step program for recovering stupid people.” He stopped talking to sneeze.

“I hope the first step is to stay out of the rain.”

He couldn't have heard me, the way he blew his nose.

I didn't plan to let him off the hook quite so soon. “It didn't occur to you I would find out about the kids sooner or later?”

He sniffled. “Of course, I was planning to tell you. They're such cute little guys, I thought you'd overlook the ploy once you met them.”

“Tell you what, P. J. Don't go picking out houses with white picket fences until you get some of the finer points of dating.”

I found it hard to stay pissed off with P.J., and I wasn't sure why. After all, I didn't like being deceived, and the guy lied like a rug. Was it because he was so damn cute? Was it that redheaded innocence or the gap between his front teeth? Who the hell knew. Maybe it was just hard to maintain a decent argument with a person who kept sneezing. Maybe I was just too caught up in the problem with Elaine.

P. J. was getting off easy.

I cut my losses, declined a second Smithwick's, left him smelling of wet wool and imported beer and headed home. Lindsay would have to wait.

She leaned into the hallway, one eye half-closed to avoid the thin stream of her own cigarette smoke. Lester and Pierre screeched in the background.

“Ms. MacPhee, what a pleasant surprise to see you in the middle of the day. Allow me to offer you a hair dryer.”

“I need your help, Mrs. P.”

“At your service.”

“You might want to hear what it is first.” I edged into her apartment and slooshed out of my soggy Sorels.

“A little nip of Harvey's to take the edge off the weather?”

she said.

“No, thanks, I need a clear head.” I didn't mention the Smithwick's.

“I look forward to any task you have in mind.”

“Well, let me tell you what I want, and then you can decide. It does involve leaving this warm, dry apartment. I would understand if you didn't want to. And I'd have a different assignment for you.”

“Regardless, Ms. MacPhee. I will have done much worse and faced more than a bit of icy water in my career. Don't underestimate me.”

“I wouldn't dream of underestimating you, Mrs. P. I learned that lesson last spring.”

“Ail in the line of duty,” she said. “Peach-faced lovebirds and Russian composers only go so far in diverting one from the ultimate boredom of growing old alone.”

“Right.”

“Consider this: you are surrounded by four walls all winter long, staring out at everyone else having a good time leaping into the trenches.”

“Leaping into the trenches isn't my idea of a good time.”

“A little self-knowledge is always useful, Ms. MacPhee. The front-line battles are exactly your idea of a good time.”

“Maybe you're right.” I didn't want to get into an argument with my last hope. “But I can think of worse things than being bored.”

“You think so? First, give yourself a pair of wobbly legs. And a touch of arthritis. Accept that no one believes you have anything to offer any more. Add a covering of sleet and slippery sidewalks and see how restricted your life gets.”

“I take your point,” I said.

“Splendid. As they say, old age is not for sissies.”

“Okay, here's what I want you to do.”

She leaned forward, happy as a bride on a photo shoot. I handed her the photos and clippings Alvin had collected.

“Aha. The attractive yet highly-suspect Constable Miranda Cousins.”

“I need someone who will not excite the least bit of anxiety when asking a few innocent questions of her neighbours.”

“Allow me to offer my services as a wobbly and confused old lady, utterly unremarkable.”

That's not how I would have put it, but I kept my mouth closed.

“I am having a new set of speakers delivered sometime between four and six. As long as I'm back by then. Otherwise, I am completely at your disposal.”

“Perfect. Alvin didn't give me her address. But once I find out where she lives, I need you to speak to her neighbours or friends in a way that won't draw any attention and find out if Benning spent any time at her apartment or in her company. You can imagine why I can't send Alvin. He's too…”

“Don't be hard on young Ferguson, Ms. MacPhee. He's a lad of great talent.”

“Yes, well, in this case, the talented operative needs to be subtle and believable.”

“I'll get my coat,” Mrs. P. said.

“Don't step outside until I find the address. I'm thinking maybe I can lean on Merv for this one.”

“But I already have the address. It's right here,” she said, pointing to a note on her glass table. “Apparently our quarry moved to a new infill town house not far from the University of Ottawa just six months ago. Police officers might keep their home addresses private, but they need Hydro and phone service. Young Ferguson had plenty to do. Tracking down this information only took me a couple of minutes. I've learned a lot about this internet business. I must make up for my past defeats while searching for Benning's connections.”

“I hope were talking legal activities,” I said as I copied the information.

“What you don't know can't hurt you, Ms. MacPhee.”

No wonder she gets along with Alvin.

I made tracks toward my own apartment for a warm tub with a watermelon-scented bath bomb and a pleasant visit with Mrs. Parnell's purring cat.

“And if you don't mind me saying,” she called out, “I'll not be showing the photos of Randy to the neighbours, but rather some respectable shot of Ralph Benning, my grandson. I'm having a hell of a time tracking down that boy. Don't worry about a thing.”

Right. I kept going.

Maybe it was being called a bitch and a shit on the same day. More likely I preferred to avoid the dress Edwina had picked out for me. If I knew her, it would require serious engineering in the undergarment department. Anyway, I didn't have a lot to do except wait, since Mrs. Parnell had embarked on her reconnaissance mission, and I figured Alvin and Jimmy were still singing in the office.

Since I was warm and dry and had freshly shampooed hair, I did decide to bite the bullet on an alternative bridesmaid's dress before it was too late. Three o'clock found me standing in front of a rack of dresses in a small boutique in the Byward Market.

“May I help you?” Unlike most of the stores, this saleswoman did not imply, after taking in my parka, height and general lack of girlish good looks, that I lay beyond fashion help.

“Yes,” I said, “it's an emergency. My sister's having a big wedding, and I need a dress. It has to go with a whole lot of shades of cream. It has to suit her need for elegance and my need not to look like a complete and utter idiot. Any ideas?”

“Is that all?” she said.

“Other requirements are no frills, no slits, no sequins, no pink, nothing long, nothing that adds pounds or restricts movement, nothing you can t wear in front of your eighty-year old father.”