Law and Disorder (26 page)

I held my head high as I stomped back toward my car. Across the street, I paused briefly to lean against the maple. I took my shoe off and pretended to shake it out. “A stone in my shoe,” I shouted to Mombourquette, who was watching me.

He turned away in irritation. I took advantage of that to reach up into the maple tree and yank down the camera and the small recorder. I stuck the whole thing into my oversize handbag and I beat it the hell out of there. Even from across the street, I could still smell the chemical odours.

I was amazed at the quality of the image that the pinhole camera was able to capture. Who knew that the technology was so advanced? There was very little action on Bunny’s street, so the time dragged as I watched. After what seemed like a month, a woman walked into the camera’s view and along to Bunny’s house. She wore a floppy bush hat and large sunglasses, a longish flowered skirt and a loose overblouse. She marched confidently up the paving stone walk, past the pom-pom hydrangeas, the peonies and the tricycle, and up the front steps, a large green stuffed toy dog dangling from her right hand.

She knocked confidently at the door. Waited. Knocked again. Waited. She tried the latch, and sure enough, the door opened. Wasn’t it just like our Bunny the burglar to keep forgetting to lock his front door before departing?

The woman glanced around furtively. Then she stepped through the door and into the house. She may have been in disguise, but I was pretty sure I’d know that back and that walk anywhere. I didn’t need to see her Sunny Choi suit or three hundred dollar pumps to know this was Annalisa Fillmore.

Minutes later, I sat watching, mesmerized, as a red glow showed through the windows. Curtains on fire? Where was Annalisa? The front door opened and a human figure, hat and clothing blazing, staggered from the burning house. My stomach lurched as she stumbled and lay writhing on the neat paving stones of the walkway a foot away from the pink tricycle.

A frantic man, a neighbour perhaps, ran up to the figure, now lying still, and backed away, hand over his mouth, seemingly repelled by the heat from the house.

As the emergency personnel arrived, I turned away from the image, but I knew I’d have it in my head for a long time.

What the hell had happened inside that house? The more I thought about it, the more Annalisa appeared to be the author of her own destruction. But why?

By midnight I was still mulling over the huge green stuffed dog she’d been carrying. A dog named Hey-soose? Now I knew who the body was. But where the hell were Bunny, Tonya and Destiny? More to the point, were they still in danger?

Needless to say, Mombourquette did not respond to my calls.

I could have used a bit of advice and soothing talk from Ray, but he was on his course and incommunicado.

Jacki Jewell’s eyebrows rose. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if she found us as difficult as we found her. A second too late, she unleashed a blindingly toothy smile. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “Did I get you out of bed? I’m having trouble reaching you it seems. My messages aren’t returned.”

“I’m awake now,” I said.

“Yes, of course.”

“I had a late night,” I said, not liking the fact that I seemed to be offering excuses to her. I hadn’t bothered to pick up when I saw her name on call display or return her messages. It’s not like she was Bunny.

She paused. “Are you alone?”

“Alvin’s here. He’s cooking up a storm in the kitchen.” I figured from the air it was to be another chowder day, starting with poaching a few pounds of haddock.

“That couple I mentioned, the ones who liked the Italian-style murals, they’re with me in the car. I took them by to show them the neighbourhood and the exterior, and they’d like a more detailed viewing.”

I opened my mouth to say it wasn’t such a good time, but she steamrollered ahead. “Did I mention they’ll only be in town for a few days? This could be your best chance of a sale in this market.”

I blinked. Really, this woman was too much.

“How many people are in the house? Are those visitors still here? Is it possible that you could all go up to Bridgehead for a coffee for an hour? Put the pets in the car?” She wrinkled her nose as she said “pets”.

“No, it is not possible,” I said.

“But…”

“Not going to happen.”

“We’ll have to do something about this. I don’t know how I’m expected to sell this property when it’s always crawling with people and animals. Animals make it very difficult to move a property.” Again with the nose wrinkling.

What the hell? “The animals stay. The people too.”

“Well, you really should consider making some kind of arrangements so that the house shows well, because—”

“Take it or leave it,” I said.

Her lips thinned out with the effort of saying, “Fine. We’ll be in shortly.”

“Less than ten years old,” Jacki Jewell was saying. “Designed by one of Ottawa’s foremost architects. It’s a beautiful example of upscale infill housing that respects the original neighbourhood and the character of the Glebe. Very very very easy to redecorate. Just a bit of paint here and there, that’s all.”

The couple nodded, looking around, acknowledging Alvin and me. Her eyes went right to Alvin’s mural. She smiled. She was hooked all right.

“There’s still a warranty on the roof,” Jacki Jewell said to the husband, as the wife was busy mooning over the faux stone walls with the grapevines. No one paid much attention to her. “The furnace and air conditioning are well-maintained.”

The young woman continued to smile. I was pleased to note the smile reached her dark eyes. She leaned over and scratched Gussie’s ears.

She pointed at the walls. “I just love these paintings. I’m crazy about anything Italian.”

I was startled to hear myself saying, “I’m glad you like the murals. I’ll pass it on to the artist.”

I refrained from mentioning that the artist, Alvin Ferguson, hailed from Sydney, Nova Scotia, and was about as Italian as your basic haggis.

The husband gave a gentle pat to his wife’s backside, meaning let’s get a move on. Maybe they were as irritated by the real estate agent as I was.

Jacki Jewell shot us a critical glance as she followed her clients into the kitchen. Her chipper voice grated, “The kitchen is totally up-to-date with granite countertops and high end appliances. The French-door refrigerator is a nice feature and the stainless is a true classic, don’t you think?”

I tried not to listen to appreciative murmurs from the young couple, but they were drowned out by the latest blast from Jacki Jewell.

“And you have a lovely view of the deck and the garden. It seems to extend the kitchen beautifully. Step outside, and I think you’ll see how pleasant and private it is for meals on the deck, surrounded by greenery.”

I supposed that they stepped outside.

Jacki shot her head around the corner, and I swear she hissed. “Please stop making fishy foods during the showing of the house. It’s hard enough with all those murals and Tuscan trinkets. Fresh-baked cookies. That’s a good aroma. Flowers. Or anything with cinnamon. Even barbecue smells good to some people. We just don’t need them thinking about fish heads in the garbage or anything disgusting like that.”

“Point taken,” I said. “Now can you excuse me, please?”

What did I care? I wasn’t running for Miss Congeniality. I guess it took more than that to deflate our ace realtor.

She said, “I realize this is very hard for you to grasp, but there’s an art to getting the best price. It means money in the bank for both of us. Please tell your guests not to leave their luggage open and their sports gear strewn around. It’s also quite inappropriate to have undergarments hanging on chairs in full view of clients during a viewing. Between that and the revolting smell of fish, it will be almost impossible to move this place. I’m not sure I should bother.”

The young couple had returned from the backyard. “I love the fountain fresco, and the potted rosemary is wonderful.”

Alvin had chosen that moment to make an appearance. He said, “Thank you,” with great dignity.

“And I can tell you really use the kitchen.”

“Why don’t you head upstairs?” Jacki Jewell said. “I’ll be there in a second.”

I called up to the prospective buyers. “By the way, my friend’s daughters are here for the Dragon Boat Festival. They are accomplished athletes. Alvin is making a giant vat of fish chowder for them. I don’t intend to fuss over a bit of luggage strewn around. Or the chowder. We have to keep living here as usual.”

Jacki flounced up the stairs after her clients. She stopped briefly as soon as she was out of sight. I figured she needed to have a silent and private hissy fit.

No problem for me. I returned to the living room where I pressed PLAY again on the DVD player. I wanted to revisit the scene of Annalisa Fillmore’s death, and to try to figure out what I might learn from it. The clunk of feet on the staircase put an end to that. The young couple entered the living room, smiling broadly. Jacki Jewell followed, not smiling.

The young woman grinned from ear to ear. “I love that this is a house that my sisters can come and visit. It seems so comfortable upstairs, but private for guests too.”

“They have their own bathroom up there,” I said. “They’re guests, and I’m letting them relax while they’re here.” I refrained from giving Jacki Jewell the finger.

“We are so tired of houses that don’t quite look real, aren’t we, honey?”

Her mate had that buzzed-out look that husbands get sometimes in intense situations. No one expected much of a response from him.

She reached over and shook my hand. “We’ll be in touch. Or Jacki will. Thank you and we’re sorry to interrupt.”

“Fine with me,” I said. “And with the artist who did the murals.”

Alvin blushed to the tip of his ponytail.

She said, “I love them all. That’s what makes the house really special.”

Jacki Jewell cleared her throat. “Well, we have a couple more really special houses to visit, so we’ll be off now.”

The young couple prepared to leave. The young woman leaned over and gave Alvin a huge hug. “I know you will have a successful career as an artist and as a chef too, if that wonderful chowder is anything to go by.”

By this point, the tips of his pointed ears were glowing like embers.

As Jacki Jewell, significantly more purse-lipped than she’d been when she arrived, shepherded her buyers out the door, Alvin said, “I think that went well.”

Jacki turned and said, “You may be hearing from me. I’m not overly hopeful.”

Alvin snorted. “I don’t know why not. They were ready to sign on the dotted line before they even left.”

Jacki Jewell slammed the door. Not that we cared.

“Will you make me a copy of that DVD quickly, Alvin? I have an idea of how to find Bunny, and he has to see it.”

THIRTEEN

What’s the difference between a lawyer and a pothole?
-People will swerve to avoid hitting a pothole.

W
hat conceivable connection could Bunny have with Annalisa Fillmore? Or, for that matter, why would she, a high-powered crusader, have wasted her time trying to harm a tame former burglar? She usually set her sights on cabinet ministers or influential media types. It just didn’t make sense. She was the most resolute anti-crime crusader anyway. She was in favour of bringing back capital punishment. She would have been able to reduce Bunny to a solitary speck of lint on Tonya’s spotless carpet. He might have died of fright, no fire necessary.