The Dead Don't Get Out Much
A Camilla MacPhee Mystery
Mary Jane Maffini
Text © 2005 by Mary Jane Maffini
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, digital, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior consent of the publisher.
Cover art: Giulio Maffini
We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts for our publishing program. We acknowledge the support of the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Media Development Corporation's Ontario Book Initiative
RendezVous Crime
an imprint of Napoleon & Company
Toronto, Ontario, Canada
2nd printing 2009
Printed in Canada
13 12 11 10 09 5 4 3 2
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Maffini, Mary Jane, date-
The dead don't get out much / Mary Jane Maffini.
(A Camilla MacPhee mystery)
ISBN 1-894917-30-8
ISBN-13 978-1-894917-30-8
I. Title. II. Series: Maffini, Mary Jane Camilla MacPhee mystery.
PS8576.A3385D42 2005 C813'.54 C2005-903468-8
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Many people have been generous with their time, sharing information and memories that helped in the writing of this book. Special thanks to Ora Ryan Abraham, Dr. Peter Duffy, Alfonso Maffini, Sgt. Sheila Maloney, Sandra Ryan, Wayne Tupper, Leslie Weir and Brad White. Nano McConnell's wonderful book We Never Stopped Dancing was a revelation, as were the military histories of Mark Zuehlke. Any errors are my own, which should come as no surprise to anyone.
My father-in-law, Vittorio Maffini, left a legacy of stories of the Italian partisans, and my father, John Merchant, left a view of the times in one hundred and twenty-five love letters to my mother, Isobel Ryan Merchant.
Victoria Maffini and Linda Wiken offered very useful comments, and Giulio Maffini, as usual, offered more insight and support than I could ever hope for. My good friend Lyn Hamilton always made time for me.
The RendezVous Gang, Sylvia McConnell, Allister Thompson and Adria Iwasutiak, were splendidly resolute throughout the whole long process.
Here's the thing: this is a work of fiction. That means you make it up. This can involve inventing streets, restaurants and people as well as playing fast and loose with times and weather. I have taken liberties with historic Florence—so don't waste your time in that wonderful city retracing Camilla's steps. Alcielo, Montechiaro, Pieve San Simone and Stagno Toscano are not real, although I wish they were. But you can find many other places just as intriguing throughout Italy as well as many fine meals.
21 Frank Street
Chesterton, Ontario
September 12, 1941
Dear Vi,
Well, aren't you the one! The whole town is still talking about how you up and joined the army. I think it's just grand! You'd better hope the Canadian Women's Army Corps doesn't find out what a daredevil you are and send you packing home again. It would be a shame to miss a chance to see the world. Like me! Mum will hardly let me out of her sight in case I try to follow in your footsteps. That's not likely to happen. I'll never sign up, even with those smart uniforms. I am comfort-loving at heart, and I can't really leave Mum alone when her health is so poor. Anyway, you wouldn't catch me living in a tent with a bunch of other women. Now, I'll be lucky I don't break a leg climbing out my bedroom window after Mum's asleep. Make sure you keep that a secret!
I imagine you are enjoying your great adventure. People are saying that the gals who sign up are mostly stuck working as cooks and laundresses in the most dreary army towns in Canada. They don't know what they're talking about. How could anything be drearier than Chesterton? Especially now that we have rationing of gasoline and everything is getting pretty scarce, especially metal. Even if you have the money, you still can't find appliances. People have taken up stealing bicycles to get around. Last week, someone stole Mrs. Benton's sewing machine. They won't get far on that! Thank heavens we still have the movies, or I don't know how we'd keep smiling. I saw “Rebecca” last week at the Vogue. It gave me goose bumps, and the ending was such a surprise. You would have loved it. The other good news is that I got a lovely new hat for the Fall. Soft brown with a little feather and a brim.
All three of the Delaney brothers signed up last week. Mrs. Delaney hasn't stopped crying since, although people have been very good about bringing her peach and apple pies. We're all knitting socks at the Carry-on-Club. And if things get much worse, we'll be knitting them in the dark. Oh well, mine will probably turn out better that way.
Betty Cannot (Oops, I meant Connaught) left for Normal School last week. I just bet her mother is getting her spies ready in Toronto. There won't be much to find out about Betty. She's always been such a boring goody-two shoes. Not like her scamp of a brother, Perce. I can't say I mind Perce leaving, but I do miss you and Harry something awful. The town's not the same without you. I sure hope you are back here before Betty gets her teaching diploma and comes home to lord it over everyone.
Love from your best friend in the world,
Hazel
P. S. Will you really be teaching the boys to drive trucks? You are the limit!
One
Close your eyes. Imagine this. You're stretched out on a cushioned lounge chair at the edge of an endless sandy beach. The sun warms your body. You smile as the gentle breeze ruffles your hair, and you wink at the passing waiter, which is all it takes to get another margarita. You sip the tangy drink, savour the salt and close your eyes in pleasure as the perfect turquoise sea laps at your toes. You feel very relaxed and maybe just a wee bit amorous. At that moment, you are the only person in the world who matters, except me, of course. And hey, there I am, lying beside you with the coconut-scented suntan lotion in my hand, awaiting your instructions.”
I shook my head and stared at the telephone receiver. “Who is this?”
Silence.
I said, “Hello?”
“It's Ray, Camilla.” Oops, chilly tone there.
“Ray, that's great. Uh, what was that all about? I mean the sand and the sun and the amorous part?”
“What do you mean, who is this? Who else would be applying your suntan lotion?”
“No one. Especially in November. And, no offence, but what time is it?”
“About six thirty. I'm getting ready to go on shift.”
“Ah. You mean it's six thirty Atlantic Standard Time. Hmmm. Well, that would make it five thirty here in Ottawa Snoozing Time.”
“Not so fast, my friend, aren't you the queen of the three a.m. calls?”
“Oh, come on, Ray. Why would you say that?”
“Because I've gotten quite a few myself, and I'm not the only one. People talk, you know.”
“True, but most people don't talk to me at five thirty in the morning. However, I take your