I said before backing away. “Again, my condolences. I am sorry to have intruded.”
“Thank you,” she said, without a trace of emotion.
I slipped back into my car and took stock. Whatever Madame Cardarelle’s emotional state, grief formed no part of it. Now that piqued my curiosity.
I got into the Acura and edged the car along until the Cardarelle residence was out of sight. I was grateful for the vast size of the properties on this street as I turned into the next driveway and scurried up to the door. Coco Bentley opened it with one of her usual dramatic gestures. I almost fell off the gracious front step when she screamed, “Camilla!”
“Yes,” I said, quietly. I was hoping that Madame Cardarelle hadn’t heard, even from half a block away.
“What are you doing here? Come in and have a drink!” Coco is like all my sisters’ friends, affluent, with a house that could grace the cover of Traditional Home. Unlike my sisters’ monuments to obsessive-compulsive disorder, Coco’s surfaces are always covered with books, magazines, newspapers, old birthday cards and other lovely debris. The walls are decorated with finds from her many postings with Foreign Affairs and huge outrageous paintings by apparently drunken artists. Coco is tiny, with café-au-lait skin and a wicked glint in her huge dark eyes. She’s in her mid-fifties, like my sisters, but she could pass for thirties. I think she must be missing the matronly gene. I should mention that she is also far more fun than all my sisters put together. By now I was sorry I hadn’t stopped here first.
I followed her past the cluttered formal living room to a cozy garden room in the back of the house. “Name your poison,” she said cheerfully.
“Just soda for me, please.”
“Oh, don’t be so tight-assed. I finally get a visit from you, and you won’t even have a glass of wine. I will not accept it. Will not!”
I agreed to a small glass of red. I sank into a battered leather club chair, which felt quite heavenly, and accepted a red wine goblet filled to the brim. “I was just offering condolences to Madame Cardarelle, and I realized you lived next door.” Close enough to the truth. I did have to admit that I sounded as stilted as a stuffed bird.
“Now I’ll have to have a double,” Coco said, swinging a bottle of something, “because that’s just too weird for words. I hope you don’t think for one minute that I believe you, Camilla.”
“Why not? What’s wrong with condolences? Madame Cardarelle seems lovely.”
Coco took a sip of her whatever it was, and took a seat in the opposite club chair. She crossed her legs, elegantly. “In an icy, repressed way, I suppose. But he was a gold-plated bastard. Don’t bother to deny it.”
I didn’t plan to deny it. “No kidding. What’s the story?”
“Did she seem broken up about it?” Coco arched an eyebrow and giggled.
“Not in the least. No emotion whatsoever.”
She said, “And you think she killed him?”
A splot of wine slopped from my glass as she asked that. I snatched a tissue to wipe it up. “What makes you say that?”
She shrugged. “Because you were there. And I know you like to meddle in murder. Every time I open the paper, there you are up to your armpits in one.”
“I do not like to meddle in murder.”
She shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
“Fine. Do you think she might have killed him?”
“I certainly would have bumped off the old bastard. Well, I probably would have divorced him long before I felt like murdering him. And I like to think I wouldn’t have married someone like him in the first place.” She shivered. “Those jowls.”
“But she didn’t divorce him.”
“No.”
“And he treated her badly?”
“I don’t mean he beat her or anything. But he was a vile man, cold, manipulative, and I am absolutely certain she never had a happy day in her married life.”
“I got that sense too, when she spoke, although she didn’t put it into words. So you’re insinuating she’d have reason to kill him. Do you think she polished him off?”
She said, “That’s just wishful thinking on my part.”
“Stop teasing me, Coco. Why not?”
“For one thing, she was in hospital having a hysterectomy. She was still in the recovery room when he died.”
“That must be why there was no funeral or visitation,” I said.
“It certainly allowed her an out. She wouldn’t have had to pretend in front of his colleagues, who were probably glad he died too. I mean he wasn’t like any other judge I ever met. Then there was his family. I don’t think she got along with them.”
“I read that he died of anaphylactic shock.”
“Nuts. A long time allergy. He always carried an epi-pen.”
“Let’s just speculate. Do you think she could have arranged to leave the nuts at home before she went into the hospital? Maybe hid his epi-pen?” Of course, I wasn’t sure how a joke would fit into this scenario.
“It didn’t happen at home, though. He had gone out for a walk. I saw him leave at least forty-five minutes before they told me he died. He couldn’t have eaten any nuts at that point, because he was fine. Not that he spoke to me or even acknowledged my presence.”
“Did he forget his pen?”
“I heard that it was found by his hand and that it was working. A fluke, everyone said. I was just kidding about murder. If it was anyone else, I’d have thought what a terrible tragedy. But the world is better off without this man. Don’t quote me.”
“This is very nice wine.” A non-sequitur for sure, but I wanted to get my head around this information.
“Well, it should be a nice wine,” Coco said, without bothering to explain. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”
I thought for a minute. Coco liked to talk and I didn’t want this story spread all over town, at least until I understood it. Finally, I said, “Can you keep a secret?”
“No, not at all. That’s why I had a career in the foreign service.”
“All right, all right, it sounds like a dumb question.” I filled her in on the jokes and the deaths that seemed to be connected, ending up with Judge Cardarelle’s name.
She uncrossed her legs and sat forward, staring me right in the eyes. “I see why you wanted to talk to her.”
“I thought I could develop a rapport and then sniff out if he’d received any jokes. Then maybe try to learn if there were people who hated him.”
“Of course there were,” Coco chuckled. “I hated him, and I hardly knew him. France definitely hated him.”
“I’m wondering if he had any connection to Lloyd Brugel.”
“The nasty creature who’s on trial now?”
“The same.”
Coco may be small and cute and sexy and glamorous, but she’s also sharp. “So you think this Brugel is behind it?”
“There has to be a connection. He’s a likely one. Heartless enough to play such a game. I hope it’s him. And if it is, he may get away with it too. Who knows how many other people might get a joke.”
“What do the police say?”
“The one I talked to from Major Crimes was delighted by the idea. I’m just trying to scrape together enough to get them to take it seriously.”
She smiled at me. “I can call the chief if you like. I find him quite attractive, although awfully tall.”
“What I’d appreciate even more is if you can find out if the Cardarelles received any jokes. Madame wouldn’t have been around on that last day. I am sure that she would have been stunned when she got back home after major surgery, having lost her husband and all, but maybe she would have noticed a joke.”
“I’m on the case,” Coco said. “I feel guilty about not offering to do anything for France. I think I’ll invite her for dinner tomorrow. Impromptu.”
“Good neighbour,” I said.
“Bad neighbour. Much too nosy.” Coco raised her glass and twinkled.
SEVEN
How
can you tell when a lawyer is lying?
-Her lips are moving.
It was just past ten when I snuggled into bed with Gussie and the cat and made my nightly call to Ray. The air had cooled enough to leave the windows open and the air conditioner off. Somehow that seemed like a luxury.
“I see you left several voice mails and also phoned a few more times without leaving any messages,” I said.
“Just wanting to know how everything is going.”
“Great,” I said. “Just great.”
“And the girls?”
“They got here in one piece. Well, two pieces, not including luggage.”
“They’re settled in?”
“For sure. They’ve been training all day and…” I realized I was light on Ashley and Brittany details. In fact, I had no idea if they were even back in the house. I heaved myself out of bed and padded along the hallway to the guest room, leaving a disgruntled dog and cat behind. In the guest quarters, clothing lay jumbled around on one side of the room and folded neatly on the other. I wondered which of the girls was like me and which was like my neat freak sisters. But it didn’t matter because they weren’t there.
“Can I talk to them?” Ray said.
“Ah, well, you could, but they’re not back yet.”
“Not back from where?”
“Training, I imagine.”
“In the dark? Are you pulling my leg?”
“It hasn’t been dark long, Ray. I imagine they’re hanging around with the team after—” I wasn’t really sure after what, but stopped myself in time.
“After what?”
“Are you fully present in this conversation, Ray?” Sometimes the best defence is a good offence.
“Nice play, Shakespeare. I know when you’re stalling me.”
“Fine. I don’t know where they are. They’re grown women. Aren’t they both going to university in Halifax? Were you expecting me to shadow them?” I thumped back to bed and disturbed the menagerie once again.
“Just try to show a bit of interest. It’s not just a matter of keeping them well-fed and giving them a place to sleep, you know.”
Well-fed? That hadn’t crossed my mind, although Alvin had cottoned on. It sounded like it was something that Ray took for granted. I was new to this whole in loco parentis gig, and there was more to it than I’d imagined. “I hear a note of exasperation in your voice, Ray. I find it very sexy. Don’t snort. The thing is, the girls seem amazingly in charge and independent. And this is Ottawa, after all, not the fleshpots of—”
“Okay, you’ve made your point. They’re my girls. I guess I want you to care about them too. I know we’ve had a lot of issues with them, but they’re past that now. They’ve turned into…” His voice trailed off.
“Women. I hardly recognized them. All those muscles. And very expensive hair. Gorgeous highlights. But you know me, Ray. I have to ease into the situation.”
“I do know you. And I guess it’s too late to back out now.”
“Very funny. No one’s holding you captive.” As the romantic moment seemed to have fizzled out, I decided I might as well bring up the subject of the jokes and get some advice from my favourite police officer. “Listen, I need to talk to you about—”
“The girls?”
“No. Nothing to do with the girls.”
A long peal of laughter from the backyard made me sit up. I dislodged Gussie and the little cat yet again, hustled over to the window and peered out.
“Hang on, they’re outside with Alvin, laughing their heads off. I imagine the neighbours will call in the police shortly, but in the meantime, before the bylaw officer shows up, I’ll take my phone out to them.”
So much for joke talk. I picked up the kitchen receiver on the way out so they could have equal access. After doing my bit for family solidarity, I stomped back to bed, nudging the zoo out of the way. I’d have to discuss the latest on this joke situation with Ray some other time.
In the morning, I noticed the message light on the phone base was flashing. Since I hadn’t heard the phone ring, I concluded the call must have come in while Ray was talking to the girls. and they’d just let it go to message. That might also explain why I couldn’t find the receivers for the phones. Both turned up outside on lawn chairs. Must be great to be young, I thought grumpily.
Coco Bentley sounded pleased with herself in her message. “I had an interesting talk about you with France Cardarelle. Didn’t even have to have dinner,” she said. “Call me when you get a chance. No rush. And in the meantime, don’t be too surprised if you get a visit from her.”
Of course there was no answer when I called her back. I figured we’d have an irritating game of telephone tag for the rest of the day. In the meantime, I had something to discuss with Alvin before I walked Gussie. The dog was as flatulent as ever. Even Mrs. Parnell’s little cat had swished out of the room in the middle of the night, and Lester and Pierre looked like they were about to pitch off their perches.
Alvin did not respond well to my inquiry about feeding the girls.
“Of course I got food in for the girls,” he snapped. “They’re athletes in training. What do you think? I’m going to let them starve? Just because you’re happy to eat all your meals in restaurants and never let a vitamin cross your lips doesn’t mean that other people are. They’ll be well looked after as long as Alvin Ferguson is around. You can pick up the costs.”
“Put it up against my tab for taking care of your dog for more than four years. And walking him. Which reminds me, what have you been feeding him? He reeks.”
Alvin ignored that. “Who’s at the door?”
“I don’t know, but as it’s not even eight in the morning, it’s no one I want to see. Oh wait, I hope it’s not—”
Alvin stuck his head out of the kitchen. “It’s that real estate lady. She’s not as nice and smart as I thought she was. And why is she here so early every day?”
“Damned if I know, Alvin, but you’re in charge. I have to walk this dog. He’s disgusting. Do your best to discourage her. Show her your tattoo.”
I grabbed Gussie’s leash and a handful of doggie do bags, and the two of us made an escape out the back door, leaving Alvin to fend off Jacki Jewell.
“Let’s go and make it snappy just this once, Gussie. I have stuff to do today,” I said as we jumped the low fence.
Ten minutes later, it was obvious that Gussie had only understood the “let’s go” part of that directive. We had sniffed our way down Third Avenue to O’Connor and then along to Second Avenue. With Gussie stopping every three feet, we’d worked our way south on Bank, past all the appealing shops, still closed, and over to Fourth. There was a lot to smell, I guess, on Fourth, including the tantalizing aroma of someone cooking bacon for breakfast. I was getting hungry by the time we got ourselves back along O’Connor to our street again.
“This is your last chance,” I groused as we approached the house. Gussie slowed at the sound of that, although he did lift his leg to decorate a tire on a Volvo parked in front of our house.
“Sorry,” I mouthed with a shrug to the driver. I did a double-take and glanced at the driver again. I stopped and stared.
The door of the Volvo slowly opened. Might even have been a scene from a movie if there had only been a bit of ominous music playing in the background.
Mme Cardarelle stepped out. She was casually dressed this time, in white pants and a black tunic. She had a red cardigan tied loosely around her neck and dark red leather sandals on her feet.
“I’d like to talk to you. I’m sorry if it’s too early. I can’t sleep since Robert died.”
I wanted to talk to her too. “No problem. Gussie won’t mind. Shall we walk a bit?”
She stared at me.
I said, “We can go inside if you’d prefer, but I warn you, you may encounter two rowing-obsessed teenaged girls and a truly frightening real estate agent. Plus the world’s most annoying office assistant.”
“Oh, yes, I think
I may have spoken to him on the phone,” she said. “Let’s walk.”
Gussie enjoyed this get-out-of-jail-free card and meandered a bit faster. He pulled on the leash, and I had to hold on to keep from being forced to gallop.
I had said nothing by the time we reached the end of the block. I had no idea why she was there, and I didn’t want to spoil it by pushing for information too soon. She kept her gaze on Gussie as we walked, seemingly fascinated. Gussie in turn stopped pulling and sidled up to her, leaning in with that cuddly way that’s quite appealing.
“Is he friendly?” she said with a hint of nervousness.
“Gussie has taken a shine to you,” I said, “that’s why you’re being leaned on.”
“Oh. I don’t really know much about dogs. I never had one. My husband didn’t believe in pets. I would have liked a dog. A small one, I think.”
“Gussie’s very affectionate, but no one’s ever accused him of being small.”
“I suppose not,” she said.
“You can scratch his ears. That will make you popular.” I did a demo, and Gussie, the ingrate, didn’t so much as cast a glance my way. Madame Cardarelle got the big brown eyes treatment. Heartbreaking. Luckily she missed the gassy output that often accompanied such expressions.
With great concentration, the elegant and dignified judge’s widow scratched behind Gussie’s ear. Gussie gazed at her with adoration.
“Tell me,” she said finally, turning back to me, “why you really came to see me.”
“I wanted to learn something about your husband.” A passing squirrel caught Gussie’s attention, and I held tight to the leash.
“What did you want to learn?”
“I don’t know. Anything. I felt grateful to him.”
She stopped and turned to me. “That’s not entirely true, is it?”
I dug in my heels to keep Gussie from dashing after the squirrel and admitted, “Not entirely.”
She said, “I’m here because I had a talk with my neighbour, Coco Bentley. She said she knew you.”
I managed to halt Gussie’s progress, but only barely. “She does.”
“She suggested that I should talk to you and be frank. She said that you are a good person and not as unfeeling as you look. And I should just tell you the truth.”
Law and Disorder Page 9
