As a special treat, Alvin had brought Day-Glo leis for everyone. We looked most festive as we waited with the lights low to surprise the bejesus out of Alexa and Conn.
It promised to be a long, long night.
“Gee.” Alvin swallowed one more chocolate truffle. “It's getting late, and I haven't heard the latest about the wedding plans.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Parnell, “I'd love to have the details.”
Oh, nice. From the frying pan into the fire.
“You have your invitation, I hope,” my father said.
“Oh, yes,” Mrs. P. said. “I can't wait.”
“Me neither,” said Alvin.
What?
“One week from tonight,” Donalda said with a glance in my direction.
“Under control,” Edwina said, firmly.
Alexa fixed me with a look. A dress shop would have been a palatable alternative to this shindig, but it seemed better not to mention it.
“We're ready. Even the problem with Camilla's dress is solved,” Alexa said.
“I don't believe I've ever been to a candlelight wedding on Valentine's Day,” said Mrs. Parnell. “It sounds romantic.”
My father said, “Very romantic.”
When your parents hit eighty, you'd think you could count on them to settle down and not be making cow eyes at the neighbours.
“Let's see.” Edwina ticked items off on her fingers. “The flowers have been selected, cream-coloured roses and callas, the colour scheme's worked out, the favours are ready, the seating arrangements are done, the music's been chosen, the caterer's been whipped into shape. St. Jim's is booked. The men have their tuxes ready. Andy and Scott are here, ready to waltz Alexa down the aisle. Except Camilla has shown not the slightest interest in any of the preparations…”
“What do you mean, the problem with Camilla's dress is solved?” I said.
Alexa said: “Edwina selected one for you. It's being shortened. Ready tomorrow. You don't even have to pick it up.”
They do say be careful what you wish for. Having my bail revoked started to look like a better prospect than wearing a bridemaid's dress selected by the Starch Queen.
“What kind of music?” Alvin said. “I have a superb Jimmy Buffett collection. I'd be glad to let you have it.”
I would owe him one for the attempt at deflection.
“Then,” Edwina said, with just the tiniest flicker in Alvin's direction, “there's just the rehearsal.”
“Rehearsal?” I blurted.
“Oh, Camilla.”
I hate it when they all speak at once. “Okay, okay, of course, the wedding's a big deal. But aren't they all the same? It's not like we haven't done it before.” Everyone was looking at me. “I thought this was in place of the rehearsal. What?”
Edwina narrowed her eyes, “Of course, there's a rehearsal. It's a time-honoured tradition. Although you appear to be unaware of it.”
I thought I heard Alexa sniffle.
Edwina crossed her arms. “For my peace of mind, Camilla, tell us where the rehearsal is and when.”
Mrs. Parnell leaned forward and whispered to me, “She brings to mind Churchill at his finest hour.”
I can think on my feet. Where would it be? Daddy always says when your back's to the wall, use your brain.
“St. Jim's, of course. Sunday night.”
Edwina's eyebrow remained raised.
“Saturday,” I amended. You probably can't have a rehearsal on a Sunday.
Edwina's nostrils flared. I was running out of options.
“Friday evening then.” I detected a sigh of relief around the table. “What are you worried about? I'll be there.”
That did the trick. Conversation turned to the wonderful view of the canal.
“Terribly romantic,” Mrs. Parnell said. “With those twinkly lights and the fresh snow and skaters.”
My father smiled. “We must come here again.”
Alexa leaned over and whispered, “Let's go to the ladies', Camilla.”
“I don't need to go.”
“Yes, you do.”
“What? Ouch. Okay.”
Once we were through the door, she let me have it. “I want you to promise on your honour to be nice to the best man. Is that clear?”
The best man. Maybe I was underinvolved in this wedding. I tried to remember who the best man was. One of Alexa's boys? But hadn't Edwina just said they were walking her down the aisle? Of course, they could do both. I couldn't remember anyone mentioning it. I racked my brain, but it was full of Benning and Lindsay and Elaine Ekstein. No matter what, I knew better than to let on I had no idea who the best man was.
“Why wouldn't I be nice to the best man?”
Alexa leaned over and whispered, “Promise you won't make those horrible remarks about his tail getting caught in the door.”
When we returned to the table, Leonard Mombourquette lifted his champagne glass to toast Alexa. His whiskers twitched.
Twenty-Four
It's hard to believe a twisted creep like Benning could have a following. But if you judged by his funeral service, he did.
My bail conditions said nothing about staying away from Benning family and friends. So that was good. I didn't have to put a bag over my head. I slipped into the back row as the ceremony was starting.
The forces of good were well represented. At the opposite side of the church was Alvin, wearing black, perfect for a requiem if you didn't count the crimson sneakers. I assumed he was scanning the mourners from behind his sunglasses.
Mrs. Parnell had parked herself off to the side. Not in disguise but, as she likes to say, nobody gives old war horses a second look. A smattering of people huddled here and there. I was disturbed by the ordinary appearance of this small gathering. Somehow you'd expect Ralph Benning's enormous evil to leave behind mourners with a twisted, bizarre look.
I wasn't surprised to see Lindsay or Benning's lawyer. But Conn McCracken and Mombourquette knocked me for a loop. And Constable Miranda Cousins was a bonus. I'd heard the cops like to check out funerals for suspects, but talk about overkill. Especially since the state had slapped Elaine behind Plexiglas and steel.
I found myself calculating their average hourly salaries and adding travel time for good measure. I factored in the cost for the legal aid lawyer who was gamely keeping up the pretence that Benning had been worth defending. Quite a tidy sum. Benning had been a one-man growth industry for the local legal eagles.
Wouldn't the local newspapers love to get their mitts on that idea? I decided to mention it to my questionable friend, P. J. Lynch, since I spotted his tousled red head on the far side of the church. He'd probably include the cost of the assistant crown attorney. Of course, Mia was no doubt pretending that poor murdered Ralph Benning was the victim of a horrible crime, the better to build a case against Elaine. On the other hand, she wouldn't get many excuses to wear that dramatic black hat. And I had to admit, she looked damned good in it.
Mia would count on a prime photo op after this funeral. That hadn't mattered to Lindsay, who was the only person in the church crying steadily. She couldn't have looked worse.
The service was one-size-fits-all. How many times had I been told we celebrate God and not the deceased. The bereaved are supposed to take comfort in the future life. This one was no different. Standard funeral with a sermon on God's will and a few brief mentions of Benning. It must say “Fill in name of deceased here.”
The officiating clergyman appeared never to have met Benning. That was fine with me. Maybe Benning hadn't deserved to be murdered, but he sure didn't merit tears and hankies. I was thankful I'd bucked the family trend and had Paul's memorial at the Unitarian Church. I'd written the eulogy myself. I had stood in front of the friends, family and colleagues and delivered it. Plenty of time to cry afterwards.
My father had recovered eventually.
But it's never good to dwell on Paul in public. There were other targets for my attention. I took another gander at
Lindsay in the front of the church. Was she crazy? How could she cry over the man who had reduced her to a tranquillized shadow of herself? A man who would have killed her if he'd had the chance.
She was elegant as always. The deep red of her coat was perfect for her colouring. She projected that touching air of vulnerability. Men would continue to fall at her feet. Merv was already stuck to her side. Sworn to serve and protect. There was something about Lindsay in her red coat. Something nibbled at my memory, but I couldn't quite figure it out.
I turned my attention to Randy Cousins. What the hell was her connection with Benning? A lover? If Lindsay seemed unlikely in that role, how much less plausible was Constable Cousins? At six feet, she would have been taller than him. Her short, spiky hair didn't seem calculated to attract a man. She didn't strike me as the kind of woman he preferred. Rina Benning had once been reedlike and lovely. Lindsay was graceful and petite. Randy looked like she could beat the guys at arm wrestling as a warm-up for a triathlon.
Randy Cousins was strong, confident and attractive. But I didn't think she'd been Benning's lover. But what? Mrs. P. and Alvin were working hard to find out. Time to turn up the burner on my investigation. Especially since my bruised back still ached, and I figured I owed those bruises to Randy Cousins's knees. She had the strength to toss a person into a snowbank and probably the disposition to finish the job.
When people began filing out of church, I leaned back out of the way but not quite far enough to avoid Conn McCracken's eye. Ditto Mombourquette's. And Randy Cousins spotted me. No doubt about it, she knew who I was all right. And she didn't like me much either.
I gave her a merry little wave. From the look on her face, I thought she might pull out her Glock and shoot me for the fun of it. Mombourquette put a steadying hand on her arm as they left the church.
Alvin would find out where she went afterwards and with whom. I stayed in the back of the church until the congregation, the highly paid public servants, the photographers and the reporters cleared away.
The ceremony left me feeling empty. Nothing would undo the damage Benning had done. To the dead, to the living, to himself and to others.
When was it going to end?
On the bright side, I'd figured out where I'd seen Randy Cousins before and why that was important. All I had to do was prove it.
But first, a word with my alleged friend, P. J.
His gap-toothed smile faded as soon as I opened my mouth.
“Don't say a word, P.J. I want to know who those kids were.”
“Kids?”
“Yes. The nephews you managed to collect without having a sister. Or a brother.”
“Okay, Tiger, so they're not exactly nephews. They're close friends of the family.”
“Nope.”
“Not really close friends of the family. I think of them as nephews but, to tell the absolute truth, they're kids from the neighbourhood.”
The little bastard.
“Wrong.”
“I can explain,” he said.
“Explain this,” I said, showing my middle finger. I didn't bother to give him my neat story idea.
“For God's sake, Camilla. Are you out of your mind?”
“Hi, Conn.”
“What the hell were you doing at Benning's funeral?”
“Last time I looked, it wasn't against the law to go to a religious service. Even for Benning. And, although the forces of law and justice were there in their splendour, you must have noticed I didn't approach any of them.”
“Watch it.”
“And, for the record, WAVE will be having a memorial service next week for Rina Benning. I'll be there too. Count on it.”
“Be careful where else you go. We hear the Crown Attorney's office is howling for your blood. I can't always bail you out.”
“When have you ever bailed me out? Don't bother to answer that. But I would like to know what half the force was doing at Benning's funeral anyway, since that case is supposed to be solved.”
There was a pause long enough to bake a cake. “Where are you?”
“Does it matter?”
“It does if you're violating your bail restrictions by sticking your nose into this Ekstein case.”
“Oh, great. Now it's the Ekstein case. Like she's been tried and convicted. What was the matter with the Benning case?”
“She did confess.”
“What is this obsession you people have with confessions? How many false confessions do you get? A ballpark figure will be fine.”
“Of course, we get lots of them. Most of them are from nutbars.”
“I rest my case.”
“Don't rest your case too early. Ekstein's a major pain in the butt, but she's definitely in her right mind.”
“I'm beginning to wonder. How can she be if she confessed to a murder she didn't commit?”
“Okay, we've done that one to death. Where did you say you were?”
“Why?”
“Because I want to make sure you're not about to get yourself in a bit more trouble. Not that you couldn't get yourself into all the trouble you want. That's fine with me, except it upsets Alexa.”
“Ah.”
“So where are you?”
“Where am I?” This was beginning to be fun.
“Yes.”
“I'm picking up girl stuff.”
“Oh.” Apparently McCracken wasn't devious enough to ask if picking up girl stuff meant I was heading off to confirm a few new details about his colleague, Randy Cousins. So I didn't have to lie.
“Hey, no problem. I sure don't want Alexa in a snit. By the way, Conn, do you have any idea if Elaine Ekstein's SUV is still impounded?”
“Yeah. Still impounded. And don't get any ideas.”
“I think I left some of my stuff in it. Can I check it out?”
“How stupid do you think I am?” I'm sure he didn't want me to answer. He added, “Don't even contemplate trying to see it. The judge would include Elaine Ekstein's vehicle in those bail conditions. And then slam, slam.”
“Yikes,” I said, “Alexa would go out of her mind.”
“That's right. So start behaving like an adult.”
“I'd like to, but I have this huge problem. I need some information from the SUV. If I'm right, and I believe I am, it could show how the killer set her up. It's worth a bit of hassle.”
“Forget it.”
“You don't even know what it is.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“I have no choice.”
“For Chrissake, it will kill your sister if you're banged into the RDC for the wedding.”
“Nice talking to you, Conn.” I hung up.
McCracken held out for ten minutes. I had to hand it to him. He was getting better. This time next year, I'd probably have to refine my strategies. On the other hand, maybe he'd just needed a private spot before continuing our conversation.
“One question,” he said.
“Go for it.”
“Just curious. What were you willing to risk losing your bail and wrecking your sister's wedding for?”
I told him.
The atmosphere in Mrs. Parnell's apartment had changed from my last visit. And it wasn't subtle.
“Hey, Camilla,” Alvin said from the sofa where he was hand-rolling a cigarette. I was a bit worried when I saw the parrot shirt; I thought a big dose of Jimmy Buffett was about to follow, but Mrs. Parnell had The Siege of Leningrad on. The volume was enough to shake the sherry glasses. Lester and Pierre screeched steadily from their cage. We were not talking tranquil.
“What is that smell?” I asked.
Alvin issued a thin stream of smoke. He crinkled his brow. I could tell he was thinking hard.
I said, “Look, this is an apartment building with paper-thin walls and a door you can practically crawl under. Is it a good idea to smoke weed in the home of a respectable senior citizen? Do you think no one will smell it?”
“Don't get your shorts in a
twist, Camilla.”
“And as for you, Mrs. P., if you don't want the neighbours dashing down the hall to see if the building's under siege and getting a whiff of Alvin's silly cigarettes, turn the stereo down.”
“Alvin's right. You should learn to relax a bit, Ms. MacPhee.”
“What? Don't tell me you're doing it too.”
“Maybe I should,” she said. “From time to time life seems a little dull.” I hate it when she gets that wistful note in her voice.
“Better the devil you know, Mrs. P.”
“Perhaps you're right. A tiny bit of Harvey's?”
“No, thanks. Look, can we get down to business?”
“You're the boss.” Somehow Alvin conveyed a look of wide-eyed innocence through the haze.
“Last call,” said Mrs. Parnell.
Alvin cheerfully blew smoke.
“What is the matter with you two? Do you want to get tossed into the Regional Detention Centre on charges of possession? Keep in mind it's probably too late for a bail hearing today. On the upside, you might get a chance to cosy up to Elaine and find out what she's planning.”
“What an outmoded, undemocratic and unpalatable piece of legislation anyway,” said Alvin. “Absolutely needs to be challenged.”
“Ms. MacPhee, you must learn to pick your battles.”
“Right. And the battle I'm picking is to get Elaine out of the tank before she engineers a return to capital punishment.”
“Wow,” said Alvin, “capital punishment. Could that happen?”
“Not in this country.” Mrs. Parnell drained her glass of Harvey's. “Nevertheless, Ms. MacPhee's right. We must soldier on in the fight to save Ms. Ekstein from ignoble incarceration.”
“No problem,” said Alvin.
“I'm beginning to despair of both…” I stopped mid-speech. Was Edwina's tone beginning to creep into my voice? Not that it mattered, since neither of them was paying any attention. “Fine.” I started again. “Mrs. P., did you have any luck finding out what I asked?”
“Direct hit to the target,” Mrs. Parnell said.
“Ah.”
Alvin giggled. Mrs. Parnell rammed a fresh cigarette into the holder. Alvin smirked. “We have her.”
The Icing on the Corpse Page 20
