Speak Ill of the Dead (18 page)

“Mrs. Parnell…”

“But I think I saw you last night leaving with someone who looked a bit like a Saint Bernard, carrying cats which looked exactly like cats. And I do have to tell you, young lady, that you will have to do something about those noisy beasts.”

Behind her, a bird peeped in agreement.

“What about birds?”

“If you mean Lester and Pierre,” she said, nodding towards the cage with purse-lipped satisfaction, “birds, Ms. MacPhee, don’t disturb anyone.”

“I don’t know, Mrs. Parnell, that persistent chirping gives me migraines.”

“Very funny, but don’t try to change the subject. I knew those cats were there. And now look what’s happened. The police are asking about it. I didn’t like to turn you in, but I won’t be able to hold out forever.”

I looked at her with astonishment. “But, Mrs. Parnell, the police don’t care about cats in the apartment. That’s a civil matter.”

“Not too civil if you ask me,” she said, with a glance at the love birds.

“I mean, not criminal. You see…”

“Depends on your point of view,” she sniffed.

“Mrs. Parnell, one of those cats was murdered last night. To my knowledge, the occasional loud meow doesn’t merit the death penalty in this country.” I leaned forward with fire in my eyes. Perhaps it was the Bristol Cream taking effect.

“Murdered!”

“That’s right, its neck was broken,” I snapped my fingers.

“Dear me,” she said. “It’s the disintegration of society.”

“I don’t really see it as the disinteg…”

“How shocking for you. Goodness, you need that drink topped up.” She was spry enough to hop up and get the Harvey’s bottle. She filled her own glass to the brim right after mine. “So what are you going to do with the other three, now that this one’s dead?”

“The other five.”

“Five! I only spotted three, I must be losing it.” She polished off half the glass. “Oh well. May as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.”

“Mrs. Parnell, this is a serious business. I need your help. From time to time you may accidentally see something from the peephole in your door.” That was the kindest way I could think of to mention that Mrs. Parnell’s eyes were rarely far from that peephole. “When you’re checking up on suspicious noises.” I didn’t want to alienate her by adding that she was the nosiest woman I’d ever encountered.

She nodded at me and leaned forward. This Bristol Cream is the secret to promoting neighbourliness, I thought. I dug out the package of photos from my purse.

“Did you see any of these people going into my apartment last night?”

She kept nodding as I showed her each one of them. We went through them twice.

My heart banged a bit when she pointed to my new friend, Large-and-Lumpy.

“Are you sure?” I asked, hoping she wasn’t.

“Pretty distinctive, don’t you think? Looks like a bear. I thought at the time he must have been a boxer or something. He didn’t seem to be your type, but…” she shrugged her shoulders, “who can tell these days.”

I was clutching my sherry glass so hard the crystal pattern dug into my palms. Large-and-Lumpy, not my oldest buddy, but I’d felt a rapport with him, and now, to find out he’d been in my apartment the night the tabby was killed. On Wendtz’s orders, I was sure. It told me something I wanted to know: Wendtz was implicated, despite his alibi, and he didn’t want me digging around in Mitzi’s activities. It told me something I didn’t want to know, as well. Large-and-Lumpy would do anything he was directed to by Wendtz. Frightening me. Killing a cat. I swallowed the rest of the Bristol Cream and thought the next logical thought: Would he also have killed Mitzi on Wendtz’s orders? Did Large-and-Lumpy have an alibi for the time of Mitzi’s death?

Mrs. Parnell poured another healthy dose into my glass and added a discreet amount to her own.

“Well,” she said. “Well, well, well. Isn’t this exciting?”

Exciting wasn’t the word I was searching for.

“That explains, I suppose, that man who was working on your door today. And that the Super was up too. Good thing you and the Saint Bernard took the cats away last night.”

Two and three-quarters glasses of sherry were enough to make my head spin, and I still had to drop in to see Richard for a civilized little drink. Mrs. Parnell was good enough to call the Super to bring up my new keys. She must have a way with him. I’ve never gotten action that fast.

While we waited, I took a couple of shots of her peach-faced love birds for her. And got a nice one of her standing next to the cage.

“The police said something about cats, Mrs. Parnell,” said the Super as Mrs. P. opened the door and whisked the keys from his sweaty little hand.

“I think they said bats,” she told him. “The burglars were out of there like bats out of hell.”

I waved to him from the sofa.

As I staggered across the hallway to my empty apartment, I turned and asked her, “Promise me, Mrs. Parnell, that you’ll let me know if anyone comes to my apartment in the next few days. Here’s my office number. Thanks for the drinks. And for keeping my secret.”

“My pleasure,” she said, with what might have been the beginnings of a smile.

*   *   *

A bath, a nap, a change of clothes and the intervening three hours weren’t enough to get me back to normal before I hit the Harmony. It had been a busy and distracting day even before the sherry.

It was the first warm evening of the season, and a frisky breeze ruffled my hair. Climbing out of the cab, I smoothed my deep green jersey dress and gave it a little tug. I wasn’t used to having things end above my knees, and I wasn’t sure what I had been thinking of when I bought it.

I was steady enough on the high heels though, plus I had clean hair, face and teeth and, best of all, I was fifteen minutes early. I also had my camera and plenty of film.

I recognized Naomi by her big hair and chirpy voice. She was working with Brad, who had lots of teeth set on perma-smile. “Hmmm,” chirped Naomi, “no, I’ve never seen him.” She pointed to Large-and-Lumpy in the photo and gave a little shiver, “how could you forget someone like that?” She took a look at Rudy Wendtz’s brooding expression. “Oh yes, he was here often when Miss Brochu was in town, wasn’t he, Brad?”

“Sure was,” said Brad. “Remember the night of the big fight? When we had to call in security?”

“Who could forget it?” Naomi rolled her eyes.

“And this one, too. I’ve seen him before.” She pointed to Sammy Dash. “I think he used to accompany Miss Brochu, too. Kinda cute, isn’t he?”

“These two women look familiar,” said Brad. I put it down to an attempt to change the subject. “I’ve seen them both before, but I’m not sure where.”

“One of them does the news and the other’s a politician, I think,” Naomi added. “But the one who does the news, she was here the day of the murder, I remember her with a camera crew and everything. But I think she might have been in earlier too.”

“Can you remember when?”

“Sorry,” said Naomi.

“But she’s been here all right,” said Brad, not to be outdone. “Who could forget a face like that?” He pointed to Brooke.

“Big deal, she didn’t look that great the day she was here.” Naomi was prepared to sulk a bit.

“Upset, maybe. But still beautiful.”

“When was that? Do either of you remember?” Naomi shrugged.

“Well, this is the first day I’ve been back from my holidays,” said Brad, “so it must have been just before I left. That would be the twelfth of May.”

May twelfth, the day before Mitzi’s murder.

“Who cares?” said Naomi.

“Great,” I said, ignoring her and focusing on him, “any idea what she was doing here?”

They both shook their heads.

“She came in looking like a million dollars and headed straight for the elevator. She knew where she was going, all right,” said Brad.

“And she came out again, a bit later, looking real upset. I think she’d been crying. Her mascara was running.” Naomi offered the comment with some satisfaction.

Okay, Brooke. Gotcha now.

I tucked myself behind a pillar, snapped on the zoom, bagging a good shot of Brad and Naomi still arguing about Brooke. For good luck, I caught the bell captain and two bell boys.

Then I sashayed into the bar to meet Richard, right on time. “Smile for the birdie,” I said, getting a nice image of him telling the waiter to give me special treatment.

*   *   *

I arrived at Alexa’s place that evening with a grin on my face and what was left of my Catholic conscience locked in the basement of my mind.

Alexa opened the door the second Richard’s car drove into the driveway, eliminating any mushy stuff. Just as well. After all, it had just been a civilized drink followed by dinner.

As I walked through the door, I sniffed L’air du Temps. I turned to wave good-bye to Richard.

Alexa was wearing very subtle yet effective make-up, creating a dewy, youthful appearance. An appearance bolstered by her soft, cream cowl-necked angora sweater and black pants with little patent flats. A very nice effect, but wasted on me at eleven in the evening.

“Is that him?” she whispered, watching the car pull out of the driveway.

“It’s a different him.”

“Oh. So who is he?”

“A friend.”

“How nice,” she said, sinking into a chair in the living room.

I could tell she wanted to talk, but I had to make a stop in the laundry room. I was feeling guilty about the cats. Maybe I could buy my way back into their favour with the cat treats.

“It’s very hard to keep them in the laundry room,” Alexa pointed out as she came up behind me. “They seem to want to get out and sit on the furniture.”

“I think I can understand that.”

“Yes, well,” she said, “they’re staying in.”

Ten eyes glowed with reproach when I opened the door. It would take a hell of a lot of cat treats to get back in their good graces.

I closed the door and faced Alexa, who was slumping against the wall.

“I’m sorry. I still think you should just give him a call. Save yourself all this stressful self-torment. I’ve got to go to bed now. Big day tomorrow.”

When I snapped her picture from the top of the stairs, she was sitting in the living room with the lights off. Mooning over McCracken.

Go figure.

Thirteen

C
’mon, Alvin, you can do it.” He looked across the desk at me, arms crossed, mouth a tight little knot, ponytail in full droop.

“Oh sure,” he said, “get me to do all the real scruffy stuff that you don’t have the taste for. Other Duties As Required. Give it to Alvin. The underclass.”

“That’s not true. I very much want to go to the Harmony and prowl around the delivery entrances and the back hallways. But I can’t. The manager there knows me, and he told me he’d call the police in a flash if he caught me snooping.”

Alvin had no way of knowing what Richard had said over dinner the previous night. But I remembered it well.

Be careful had been the underlying theme.

“I just want the name of the 8th Floor maid, Richard.”

“Okay, here it is. But…”

“Thanks,” I said, leaning over and looking at the card with the name Maria Rodriguez written on it. I had to touch his hand to pick up the card.

He was still talking.

“…this is a dangerous situation. Someone knows where you live, knows you have been investigating and wants you to stop. Dead cat, remember?”

“I remember. How would I forget?” It was hard to concentrate with his hand touching mine like that. Hard to keep my mind on our civilized little drink and dinner. And his civilized little warning.

“When does she come on duty?”

“She stopped working here, right after the murder. A lot of these refugees went through some pretty gruesome times in their own country. They want to feel safe in Canada.”

“Where does she live?”

“The address is there, for all the good it will do you. This woman only had a couple of words of English. But, listen, why not give it to the police and suggest that they interview her? They’ll find a translator from the community. One of these rocks you turn over in your investigation is going to have something pretty ugly under it.”

“You’re right,” I’d said, smiling into those chocolate eyes and picking up the card with my free hand. “Why buy trouble?”

So Alvin, not I, would be nosing through the back halls of the Harmony with an armful of photos, trying to pin down just who might have been sneaking in the back way to see Mitzi Brochu before her death. For his own protection, I sent him over to the Rideau Centre to get the roll of film with Richard’s picture developed.

“Alvin,” I said, by way of convincing him of the wisdom of the Harmony mission, “the way I see it, we’re partners, each with our own role to play in solving this gruesome crime. You’ve brought me a lot of useful information.”

“Yeah well, I…“ But I’d had enough of Alvin’s stalling at this point. “Time to hit the road. A rolling stone gathers no moss and all that. We need those photos ASAP. Now get going, partner.”

“But Camilla…“ “Look, my day started with my sister sulking at me over the corn flakes. Then things got a bit more exciting when I transported five, count ‘em five, cats in boxes back to my apartment in the world’s most anti-cat building. Now, here I am, it’s nearly noon. I have to be on the alert for the beautiful suspect and now, instead of being a cooperative partner, you’re getting your back up.”

“Fine,” he snapped, “wait for it then, partner.”

He was out the door before I could clarify just what it was I would be waiting for.

I put in another call to Merv, who also has a tendency to sulk for unexplained reasons.

“Try the city police. I can’t dig up a lot of information without people starting to notice.”

“It’s a situation I understand well, Merv, but I don’t want you to dig up information on a lot of people, just one. Just one person, and I have his picture. And I would rather avoid talking to the city police since they don’t seem to take me seriously.”

There was silence on the line. I shook the phone. “After all, it’s for Robin, in case you’re forgetting, Merv.”

“Yeah, all right. One picture. Drop it by. At the desk. Don’t come in. You’ll just give people ideas.”