“These two women look familiar,” said Brad. I put it down to an attempt to change the subject. “I’ve seen them both before, but I’m not sure where.”
“One of them does the news and the other’s a politician, I think,” Naomi added. “But the one who does the news, she was here the day of the murder, I remember her with a camera crew and everything. But I think she might have been in earlier too.”
“Can you remember when?”
“Sorry,” said Naomi.
“But she’s been here all right,” said Brad, not to be outdone. “Who could forget a face like that?” He pointed to Brooke.
“Big deal, she didn’t look that great the day she was here.” Naomi was prepared to sulk a bit.
“Upset, maybe. But still beautiful.”
“When was that? Do either of you remember?” Naomi shrugged.
“Well, this is the first day I’ve been back from my holidays,” said Brad, “so it must have been just before I left. That would be the twelfth of May.”
May twelfth, the day before Mitzi’s murder.
“Who cares?” said Naomi.
“Great,” I said, ignoring her and focusing on him, “any idea what she was doing here?”
They both shook their heads.
“She came in looking like a million dollars and headed straight for the elevator. She knew where she was going, all right,” said Brad.
“And she came out again, a bit later, looking real upset. I think she’d been crying. Her mascara was running.” Naomi offered the comment with some satisfaction.
Okay, Brooke. Gotcha now.
I tucked myself behind a pillar, snapped on the zoom, bagging a good shot of Brad and Naomi still arguing about Brooke. For good luck, I caught the bell captain and two bell boys.
Then I sashayed into the bar to meet Richard, right on time. “Smile for the birdie,” I said, getting a nice image of him telling the waiter to give me special treatment.
* * *
I arrived at Alexa’s place that evening with a grin on my face and what was left of my Catholic conscience locked in the basement of my mind.
Alexa opened the door the second Richard’s car drove into the driveway, eliminating any mushy stuff. Just as well. After all, it had just been a civilized drink followed by dinner.
As I walked through the door, I sniffed L’air du Temps. I turned to wave good-bye to Richard.
Alexa was wearing very subtle yet effective make-up, creating a dewy, youthful appearance. An appearance bolstered by her soft, cream cowl-necked angora sweater and black pants with little patent flats. A very nice effect, but wasted on me at eleven in the evening.
“Is that him?” she whispered, watching the car pull out of the driveway.
“It’s a different him.”
“Oh. So who is he?”
“A friend.”
“How nice,” she said, sinking into a chair in the living room.
I could tell she wanted to talk, but I had to make a stop in the laundry room. I was feeling guilty about the cats. Maybe I could buy my way back into their favour with the cat treats.
“It’s very hard to keep them in the laundry room,” Alexa pointed out as she came up behind me. “They seem to want to get out and sit on the furniture.”
“I think I can understand that.”
“Yes, well,” she said, “they’re staying in.”
Ten eyes glowed with reproach when I opened the door. It would take a hell of a lot of cat treats to get back in their good graces.
I closed the door and faced Alexa, who was slumping against the wall.
“I’m sorry. I still think you should just give him a call. Save yourself all this stressful self-torment. I’ve got to go to bed now. Big day tomorrow.”
When I snapped her picture from the top of the stairs, she was sitting in the living room with the lights off. Mooning over McCracken.
Go figure.
Thirteen
“C’mon, Alvin, you can do it.” He looked across the desk at me, arms crossed, mouth a tight little knot, ponytail in full droop.
“Oh sure,” he said, “get me to do all the real scruffy stuff that you don’t have the taste for. Other Duties As Required. Give it to Alvin. The underclass.”
“That’s not true. I very much want to go to the Harmony and prowl around the delivery entrances and the back hallways. But I can’t. The manager there knows me, and he told me he’d call the police in a flash if he caught me snooping.”
Alvin had no way of knowing what Richard had said over dinner the previous night. But I remembered it well.
Be careful had been the underlying theme.
“I just want the name of the 8th Floor maid, Richard.”
“Okay, here it is. But…”
“Thanks,” I said, leaning over and looking at the card with the name Maria Rodriguez written on it. I had to touch his hand to pick up the card.
He was still talking.
“…this is a dangerous situation. Someone knows where you live, knows you have been investigating and wants you to stop. Dead cat, remember?”
“I remember. How would I forget?” It was hard to concentrate with his hand touching mine like that. Hard to keep my mind on our civilized little drink and dinner. And his civilized little warning.
“When does she come on duty?”
“She stopped working here, right after the murder. A lot of these refugees went through some pretty gruesome times in their own country. They want to feel safe in Canada.”
“Where does she live?”
“The address is there, for all the good it will do you. This woman only had a couple of words of English. But, listen, why not give it to the police and suggest that they interview her? They’ll find a translator from the community. One of these rocks you turn over in your investigation is going to have something pretty ugly under it.”
“You’re right,” I’d said, smiling into those chocolate eyes and picking up the card with my free hand. “Why buy trouble?”
So Alvin, not I, would be nosing through the back halls of the Harmony with an armful of photos, trying to pin down just who might have been sneaking in the back way to see Mitzi Brochu before her death. For his own protection, I sent him over to the Rideau Centre to get the roll of film with Richard’s picture developed.
“Alvin,” I said, by way of convincing him of the wisdom of the Harmony mission, “the way I see it, we’re partners, each with our own role to play in solving this gruesome crime. You’ve brought me a lot of useful information.”
“Yeah well, I…“ But I’d had enough of Alvin’s stalling at this point. “Time to hit the road. A rolling stone gathers no moss and all that. We need those photos ASAP. Now get going, partner.”
“But Camilla…“ “Look, my day started with my sister sulking at me over the corn flakes. Then things got a bit more exciting when I transported five, count ‘em five, cats in boxes back to my apartment in the world’s most anti-cat building. Now, here I am, it’s nearly noon. I have to be on the alert for the beautiful suspect and now, instead of being a cooperative partner, you’re getting your back up.”
“Fine,”