“Sure. Let me ditch these frozen boots, and I'll be right over.”
I hobbled into my apartment, peeled off my outer layers and slipped my numb feet out of the boots. Mrs. Parnell's little calico cat followed me. I bent over to give her a stroke. This was one night it would have been nice to come home to a cozy, warm, well-furnished home with curtains on the windows and food in the fridge. But you can't have it all. Mrs. Parnell's calico was sure glad to see me. I'd given the calico to Mrs. Parnell as a demonstration of gratitude, but due to some outstanding issues, I generally fed the cat and offered her a place to sleep on my bed. She spent her days in my apartment and didn't even seem to hold a grudge after I took her to be fixed.
Five minutes later, I pushed open the door to 1608, and Mrs. Parnell's peach-faced love birds shrieked in alarm. I limped over to the capacious leather lounger and sank into it. Might as well have the best seat in the house. I curled up and rubbed my toes. Mrs. Parnell's apartment is furnished in leather, brushed chrome, glass, serious stereo components and, most recently, state-of-the-art computer equipment. It might not be cosy, but the seats are damned comfortable, and I prefer that to doilies and Royal Doulton.
The birds continued shrieking.
“You'd think they'd get used to the puddy tat after eight months,” I said.
“Lester and Pierre don't mind the cat. Although they find you quite undesirable.”
“Well, they have lots of company.”
She seated herself on her black leather sofa and splashed a healthy dose of Harvey's Bristol Cream into a pair of Waterford crystal sherry glasses. The cat hopped up on the glass coffee table and made herself comfortable on Mrs. P.'s open copy of The War Memoirs of David Lloyd George, Vol. II.
“Here's what the doctor ordered.” Mrs. P. handed me my drink.
“Right. This your largest glass? I think I need to soak my frozen toes in it.”
“Sherry's the best medicine for cold feet. Learned that in the trenches. The radio reported Ralph Benning was on the lam.”
“Yes.”
“Thought so. That why you're such a sour puss?” Mrs. Parnell does not have a long pointed nose for nothing.
“You got it.”
“So what is the report, Ms. MacPhee?”
“Not sure what I could tell you, Mrs. Parnell, that you wouldn't have picked up on the radio.”
“Radio's fine as far as it goes, but it doesn't give you all the background information.” Not enough to keep Mrs. Parnell going. “This Benning, wasn't he the fellow you worked to keep behind bars last spring?”
I nodded. “Unsuccessfully.”
Mrs. Parnell drained her glass with a flourish and refilled it.
I covered mine in time to prevent a serious overflow. She leaned forward. “Still no sign of him?”
“Right.”
“They say the police have deployed a tactical team.”
“They did. Because one of their officers was injured. Much more important than some pesky woman being beat up.”
“You made the same point in your radio interview. You had a spendid sound bite on the five o'clock news. Won't win you any allies on the police force.”
She was right. One of the established ways to ensure the cooperation of agencies is not to trash them as soon as someone thrusts a mike at you. It's one of those life lessons I've never mastered.
“Glorious ineptitude,” Mrs. Parnell wheezed. “Nevertheless, it is a very serious matter. What is going on behind the scenes?”
“They're tight with information in order not to alert Benning. Elaine Ekstein made sure of it. According to my sister's fiancé…”
“Ah yes, the delightful Sgt. Conn McCracken.”
“I believe you described him as a Labrador retriever at one time, Mrs. P. Anyway, I'm told they have a heavy guard on Rina Benning. The police are also watching Lindsay Grace's place.”
“Lindsay Grace? Oh yes, she was your client who testified against him. Smart and beautiful and yet somehow extremely unwise.”
“Which reminds me, may I use your phone? I want to call her, and it's occurred to me Benning could tap into my phone or cell.”
“Paranoia, Ms. MacPhee.”
“Just because I'm paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get me.”
“Words to live by. Top up your sherry?”
“Thanks, but I need to be ready to head back soon.”
I dialed Lindsay's number and reached Merv.
“She's sleeping again,” Merv whispered. “She heard an unsettling report on the news and she had to take another sedative.”
“Oh, boy.”
“They sure made a big deal about how Benning chased Alvin and Alvin crashed into the PM's gates. They've found a stolen car abandoned in a park, and they think that's the one Benning was driving. They figure he got away on foot. The radio made it sound like no one in town is safe.”
“Not far from the truth.”
“The little lady here has guts though.”
“Don't I know it.” I remembered Lindsay's testimony at Benning's trial. “Cops still in sight?”
“Yeah.”
“Great.” I wished I felt confident a trio of officers would be enough. “I have my cellphone back, so will you call me on it if anything strange happens? Or if you need help?”
“Sure. But I think it's fine. I'm on the alert.”
“I know, but I can hop in a cab and be over in fifteen minutes. Twenty tops, if you want to sleep. Or need a change of scenery.”
“You know what they say, Camilla. You can sleep all you want when you're dead.”
I shivered. “Try not to be dead, Merv.”
“Who was that?” Mrs. Parnell was never one to disguise her interest in the affairs of others.
“Merv. Looks like he's in love again.”
She leaped to her feet. “I approve. Let us make a toast to love!”
“Count me out. I have no desire to encourage love, Mrs. P.”
Back in my apartment, I snatched the last edible piece of cheddar from the fridge and swallowed it in two bites. I made a phone call to P. J. on general principles. This time I suggested I might have valuable tips for him. Not that I planned to let any information slip. I didn't have a twinge of guilt. He'd have done the same to me. I ditched the rest of the clothes, slipped into my old flannel housecoat and turned on the bath. I tossed in one of the fragrant bath bombs Alexa had given me for Christmas and stroked the calico cat. But first I felt the need to apologize. “Sorry I haven't had much time for you, but it's not like you don't have a loving home with Mrs. P. and the boys.” The cat's tail twitched.
Three minutes later, I sank into the warm water and sniffed watermelon-scented air. The calico paraded along the edge of the tub. I thought about Lindsay. I told myself she was well protected. The police were watching, Merv was fussing.
Before I could unkink, the pounding started. I flung my housecoat on my sudsy body and raced down the hall. A sudden looming shape took my breath away. Someone had broken into my apartment. I grabbed a dining chair and raised it to fight off the intruder. Until I recognized her.
“Mrs. Parnell,” I yelled, “what are you doing here?” She was white as the front of a windshield. “You told me you no longer had a key to this apartment. You assured me you would stop doing this. I'm entitled to privacy, and it's time you learned to respect it.”
“No choice, Ms. MacPhee. You didn't answer your phone.”
The water must have drowned the ring. “I was in the bath.”
“Nevertheless, you must hear about this. They've interrupting regular programming…”
“It's Benning, isn't it?” My knees felt deboned. I leaned over and steadied myself on Mrs. Parnell's walker.
“Yes.”
“Has he found Lindsay?”
“He slipped past the police guard and kidnapped his wife.”
“Oh, no.”
“They don't know yet where the wife is, as far as I can tell.”
“Yeah, yeah. I heard.” M
erv couldn't keep the tension from his voice.
“Are the cops still around?”
“Of course they are.”
“I'm just making sure. How many?”
“Still three.”
“No one can figure out how he sneaked past the police guard to snatch his wife.”
“Holy shit. It's like the bastard can walk through walls.”
“Told you so. I'm on my way. The more people in the house, the less chance he can get Lindsay.”
I hung up and collided with Mrs. Parnell's walker.
“When do we leave?” she said.
“We do not leave at all. I leave on the double.”
“I am magnificent in an emergency. As I think you know, Ms. MacPhee.” She likes to play that card.
“True enough. But this isn't your kind of emergency, Mrs. P. It will be a long night of waiting.”
“I'm nearly seventy-eight years old. Do you think I don't know about waiting?”
“I'm sure you do.”
“These ears are sharp. I hope you don't think they're for decoration.” Mrs. Parnell's ears and the word decoration do not even belong in the same sentence.
“Absolutely not.”
“And, consider this, I have a perfectly serviceable vehicle available in our own parking garage which is more than we can say for you. Plus I have a pair of Sorel boots, lined, waterproof, never been worn, which I will give you in return for a piece of the action.”
I put up a token argument. “If he does show up, it could get dangerous. Who knows what could happen to you.”
“You forget, Ms. MacPhee, that I'm dying.”
“What?”
“Of boredom. Let's hit the road.”
Thirty minutes later, Mrs. Parnell and I pulled up outside Lindsay's place on Echo Drive. Mrs. Parnell's perfectly serviceable vehicle shuddered to a halt. The unmarked cop car still idled across the street.
By the time I had hoisted the walker from the back seat, an officer had ambled over to greet us. Nice as pie, his hand on his holster. The other officer was also out of the cruiser. Maybe they needed a stretch. Maybe they thought we looked suspicious. Maybe it had been a while since they'd seen a 1975 Ford LTD.
Mrs. Parnell clutched her two metal-pronged back-up canes. She opened her mouth to speak.
“Don't be a smartass,” I told her. “Evening,” I nodded to the cop. I recognized him from court.
He, on the other hand, did not recognize me.
It took longer to talk our way into Lindsay's town house than to cross town. In part this was because I was dressed in Mrs. Parnell's thirty-year old beaver coat with the matching hat. I looked like her evil twin, although I did think the neon yellow laces and trim on the Sorels were a nice contemporary touch. Both cops squinted at my picture ID for long enough to make a point.
I was glad of the Sorels, because we stood and waited while the officer poked through our overnight cases, sniffed Mrs. Parnell's bottle of Harvey's Bristol Cream, inspected the walker for hidden hazards, and checked out Mrs. Parnell's ID. Then he put me on the phone with my brother-in-law-to-be, Conn McCracken, to make extra sure. I even had to hand the phone to Mrs. Parnell so Conn could confirm her identity.
“Resist the urge to be cute,” I told Conn as I handed the receiver back to the officer. “It's cold out here.”
It took long enough, but we passed the test and scurried through the door. Merv seemed almost glad to see us, although I wouldn't want to stretch it. He settled Mrs. Parnell into an oversized armchair with a glass of sherry and her David Lloyd George biography. I perched on the ottoman. He continued to pace, long legs stretching out over the distance from kitchen to living room, living room to kitchen. Lindsay didn't even lift her head off the sofa. She lay with her eyes closed, her hair cascading over one of the large cushions.
“I think it's hitting her. He's holding Rina and is totally out of control,” Merv said.
We all went quiet. I think Rina's situation was sinking in with everyone.
“I thought he didn't know where this young lady lived,” Mrs. Parnell said after a while. “And that is why we took my car and why Ms. MacPhee wore some of my outerwear. To throw him off the scent in case he was tracking her.”
Merv met my eyes. The police had placed a heavy guard around Rina too. We both knew Benning would be after Lindsay regardless. Just a matter of time. Question was, would he find her before the police found him? And would we be able to stop him?
The doorbell pealed, loud and musical. Merv snapped to attention. Mrs. Parnell struggled to her feet. Lindsay lifted her head from the sofa. We gawked in the direction of the front door. I ran behind Merv to the foyer.
“You guard the back door in case he tries to distract us and kick his way in,” Merv said.
I thought I heard a small cry from Lindsay. I would have chewed Merv out, but he'd heard the cry too, and he was chewing himself out.
“I'll watch the rear door.” Mrs. Parnell was already lurching toward the back of the house, moving her walker menacingly.
The doorbell rang again. I don't think anyone in the room had even exhaled at this point.
“Who is it?” Merv pressed the button on the intercom. He didn't sound his tough old Mountie self. Lindsay was weeping softly in the background.
“It's me. Alvin.”
“Alvin?” I said.
“That's right, it's Alvin”
“No need to be peevish.”
“Well, what part of ‘Alvin' don't you understand, Camilla?”
“Be civil.”
“I'll be civil when I get inside.”
“Well, you'd better try before. By the way, it's nice and warm in here.”
“I never complain about the cold. You know I like this weather. It's the company I don't care for.” At least I think that's what he said. It was hard to tell with his teeth chattering.
“Okay, let him in, Merv.”
“How do we know the little peckerhead's alone?”
“What?”
“Benning could be right behind him, using him as a ploy to push his way in.”
I thought I heard another gasp from the sofa.
“Nevertheless, I'm ready for him if he does.” Mrs. Parnell had made her way back from the back door.
Lindsay raised her head from the cushion. “Press the button on the airphone and you can see who's outside.” Sure enough, the small screen showed Alvin. Next to him stood one of the officers from the unmarked car. Behind him, a cab idled.
It took a while for Merv to bite the bullet and open the door. Alvin's image was cool rather than cold. The tip of his nose looked frostbitten, which was too bad since Alvin was no beauty to begin with.
“It's okay,” I called to the officer. “He works for me. Although not very hard.”
“Hello, Lindsay.” Alvin made his icy way into the living room. I was glad I wasn't the one with nine visible earrings and a metal eyebrow ring. No doubt even Alvin's belly button chain was frozen to his skin.
Lindsay managed to smile at him. I put it down to the parrots on his shirt.
“Listen,” I said into my chirping cellphone, “this is not a good time.” I could feel everyone's eyes as I tried to disengage Alexa from her theme: my need to pick out a bridesmaid's dress. “I'll go into the kitchen for this. Since it's hard to hold a private conversation here”
Alexa continued to squeak.
“Hold that thought,” I said into the phone. “I'll head to the other room so I don't interrupt any of the fascinating conversations in here. Hold your horses, and I'll be right with you.”
Two minutes later, I was holed up in the kitchen with a fresh cup of coffee and a grip on myself. I tried to think about what made my sister tick so I could use the information to get her off my back.
“Alexa. I know this wedding thing is important to you.”
Squawk.
“As it would be to anybody. Of course…” I took a deep breath. You can try to beat my family or you can join them. Bu
t it's a hell of a lot easier to join them, because to the best of my knowledge they've never been beaten. I'll take my chances with politicians and defence lawyers. “What? No. I do not intend to demean the ceremony and all it stands for…what an idea…Well, Alexa, that's a lot to read into someone's reaction to shopping for a dress.”
This could be dangerous. In an unguarded moment, I might reveal to Alexa where I was and why. Ten minutes later my nearest and dearest would pile into the townhouse to help by bossing everyone around. We already had enough bosses, and I didn't want my sisters interfering with the tricky business of keeping Lindsay safe.
“Fine, I will put my money where my mouth is…Sure, I'll make a commitment to shop for the dress. Okay, okay, it doesn't have to be neutral. Yes, I understand black is out of the question. I'll do it…Yes, I know the ceremony's only two weeks away. Yes, I promise…No, not tonight. I'm tied up for the next little while.”
Who knew how long it might be before Benning's rampage would end?
“I can't help it. I'll shop with you on Saturday, and we'll find a dress you approve of.” Saturday had to be a safe bet. No way Benning could evade the entire focus of the Ottawa police much longer.
“Oh, it is not too late, Alexa. Be serious. That's more than a week before the ceremony. No, that's the absolute earliest. Well, I can't help it. Previous commitments. Yes, I realize being a bridesmaid is a commitment…No, I do not have any reason to want to ruin the ceremony for you. None at all…Alexa, you are out of control. What is it with you? The way you carry on, all this stress and anxiety, perhaps you don't want to go on with this wedding. Could that be it? Second thoughts? Cold feet? Alexa? Alexa?”
I returned to the living room to face a weird tableau. They might have been cast in bronze, statues in a public plaza. Merv stayed in a half crouch, Alvin's mouth hung open wide enough to reveal fillings. Mrs. P. leaned against her walker. I could smell the spilt sherry from her overturned glass. No one moved to wipe it from the pale hardwood floor. The sole sound was the local weather news from the radio.
“What is it? What happened.”
No one spoke.
“Will somebody tell me what the hell's going on here?”
The Icing on the Corpse Page 6
