“Did she get free rooms?”
“No, but she got the suite for the price of a standard room, provided we weren’t booked solid for a convention or something.”
“How long has that been going on?”
He stopped for a second and looked at me.
Maybe I was getting goopy from those suicide wings. I dabbed at my mouth and fingers with a napkin. I’d lost the habit of worrying about how I looked to a man.
“I don’t know,” he said, “I’ve only been here for six months. I’d have to check the files.”
“Oh,” I said, distracted from my Mitzi probe, “where were you before?”
“Toronto.”
“Quite a change to Ottawa. How does your family like it here?”
Richard sipped his Perrier for a second before answering.
“I’m here on my own.”
I didn’t know quite what to say. There are many reasons for being in a new city on your own. Most of them you shouldn’t pry into.
“Do you like it here?”
He shrugged. “I don’t get out much. I’ve been putting in pretty long hours. But I like that and I like the Harmony.”
“It’s a beautiful hotel. I can see why you like it.”
“Yes. I hope I can stay on.”
“Would they move you without…”
He smiled at me. A crooked smile with a lot of sadness in it.
“I’m the manager at a showcase hotel where a star client was murdered. In a very showy way. The Official Philosophy of Harmony Hotels is to provide a place where clients don’t have to worry. There’s a lot of heat right now. Somebody’s got to carry the can, and I’m the ideal candidate.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Life isn’t always fair, Ms. MacPhee.”
“Right. Tell me about it.”
He waved the waiter over to refill our drinks. I was surprised to see mine was empty. There’s something about suicide wings.
“So,” he said, “what did you want to know about Mitzi Brochu?”
“Everything. How often she came here. Who stayed with her. Who came to see her. What she was like.”
“Oh, is that all?”
I noticed he was laughing.
“Well, whatever you can tell me,” I said, laughing too.
“Let’s see, she came down about once every two months. I have no idea who came to see her. Hotels are not in the business of keeping tabs on clients.”
“What was she doing here?”
“In the hotel?” His eyes twinkled.
“In Ottawa.”
“The scuttlebutt is she was writing a book on federal politicians. On their personal style or something.”
“A book on Members of Parliament?”
“I heard on M.P.’s, Senators, the Prime Minister, the back room boys, everyone and everything.”
“Have you ever read her stuff?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Then you know what she was like. A lot of people would want to avoid being in her book.”
“Perhaps not enough to kill her.”
“Humph,” I said, getting back to the suicide wings.
“Even though you might like it to be a conspiracy of parliamentarians.”
I thought he had a point, so I tried another approach.
“Did you know her well?”
“Not really. She only stayed here three times since I’ve been here.”
“Did you like her?”
“Not in the least.”
I raised my eyebrows and sipped my beer.
“She wasn’t very likeable.”
I had to agree.
“And she upset a lot of people before she died,” he added.
I knew what he meant. She’d been able to upset me a lot even after she died. Case in point, here I was on a Sunday night in a bar with a man I’d just met. Something I’d never done before in my life.
“I know. Robin was one of them.”
“And you say she’s still in shock.”
“That’s right. And the police want to talk to her as soon as she’s well enough.”
“Too bad,” he said. With sympathy.
“Right.”
Our conversation slid into personal matters, likes and dislikes, what chance the Jays might have this season, what it was like to live alone in Ottawa.
Much later I looked at my watch and shook it. The time couldn’t be right. I had to get home to bed like a good little girl or I wouldn’t be able to catch up on the Benning case tomorrow.
“Gotta go,” I said, whipping out some cash and looking around for the waiter.
“It’s on the house,” Richard said.
“Thanks.” I was on my feet, still marvelling at the fact I’d had two beer on a work night.
“Something I said?” he asked, rising.
“No, just pressures of work. Time for me to hit the hay. Do you mind if I call you if I have other questions?”
“No problem.”
As we walked back to the foyer, where the big-haired receptionist was chirping at new arrivals, I decided to grab a cab. It was very late by my standards, and the walk by the river was just a little too isolated at night. I’d had enough big, strapping clients who were victims of vicious predators to be under any illusions.
“Thanks, again.” The front doors opened, and I walked towards the cab stand.
Richard took me by surprise as he caught up to me. He took the Blueline driver by surprise too.
“Can I give you a lift?”
The last surprise was when I realized how much I wanted that lift.
I found myself smiling as I waited for the parking valet to arrive with Richard’s car, and I was still smiling as we pulled on to Wellington Street and turned left.
“Usually I walk,” I told him.
“It must be nice. Especially with all the tulips.”
“What tulips?”
“The million or so tulips that are about to bloom,” he said, flashing a look at me.
“I guess I haven’t really noticed them. You sort of take them for granted when you’ve lived here most of your life.”
As we slipped along the Parkway, the river glittered in the May night. In five short minutes, we drew up in front of my building, and I felt a jab of regret.
“Good night,” I said, regretting the regret.
“We seem to have gotten off topic. Aren’t you going to ask me about her boyfriend?”
“Whose boyfriend?” The words slipped out before I could stop them. Mitzi’s boyfriend, of course. “What about the boyfriend?”