I stared at the walls. Maybe it was time to get a few pictures.
My thoughts drifted to Richard. Although they were not the kind of thoughts you share with other people, the images were real enough for me, and as disturbing as our last conversation in his car. Richard and me. Richard and his wife. There was no way to make it work out right.
Moonlight filled the room, lightening the walls and the bedclothes and me, lying there. The fat little calico cat snuggled into my side.
Maybe it was time to buy some curtains.
* * *
In the morning, I snapped awake, remembering the Benning brief still had to be dealt with. Traces of the moon still hung behind the sky, just to haunt me. Five cats were haunting me, too.
It was a world filled with flashing tails and accusing, pointed ears. Cats leapt from floor to counter and from counter to floor as I opened the Meow Mix. The calico rubbed herself against my legs.
“Watch it, you guys, I’m not sure I’m cut out for family life.”
No one paid attention.
When I pushed my way through the office door an hour later, a man’s shape became visible. I came close to dropping my coffee and muffin and then exhaled in relief. Who else did I know with a brushcut?
Merv. His leggy presence took up most of the available room. He was sitting in one visitor’s chair with his feet up on the other one, sipping coffee from a jumbo styrofoam cup. An immense bouquet of flowers lay on my desk. Daisies, mums and ferns mixed in with lilies and statice.
Merv was not a happy man.
“I don’t know how you can get anything done in here. It’s like a closet.”
I refrained from saying that it was even more so when Merv squeezed his six-foot-three frame into it.
But he wasn’t done yet. He looked at me with the same critical gaze you might direct at a head of broccoli that’s been in the fridge too long.
“Look at you,” he said. “You look wrecked. Yuck, what’s that on your suit?” He reached over and brushed off a patch of cat hair.
“What can I do for you, Merv?” I said, unwilling to get caught up in personal grooming issues.
Amazement, or something like it, washed across his face and settled in around the eyebrow area.
“What can you do for me? I love it. Little Miss Busybody sends me on half a dozen errands and then says…”
“Can it, Merv. Three things, that’s all I asked you. And may I remind you that you did them for Robin’s benefit, not mine.”
The hard line of Merv’s jaw always softens when you mention Robin.
“It’s still what I can do for you. What I’ve done for you.”
He fished a paper out of his pocket. “It’s the scoop on your new friend.”
Large-and-Lumpy.
“Denzil Hickey. Let’s see,” said Merv, “long history of criminal lifestyle. Couple convictions. Armed robbery. Assault with a deadly weapon. They were a long time ago. Served a couple terms in maximum security. And that’s not counting the charges they couldn’t make stick. Stuff like intimidating witnesses, trafficking. Well-known to police here and in Toronto. They know he’s still active. He’s a goon for Rudy Wendtz. I imagine he picked up a few nasty tricks in Kingston Pen. I would not join his bridge club if I were you, Camilla.”
“I love it when you use the subjunctive, Merv.”
The back of Merv’s chair reverberated as the door to the office hit it.
“Sorry I’m late,” said Alvin, squeezing in past Merv. He edged around me and hung his best black leather jacket up on the oak coat rack, flicked his pony tail back over his shoulder, realigned his right row of earrings and sat himself down at the desk. He regarded the flowers and Merv with interest.
Merv looked back at him with astonishment. I looked at both of them and thought I would rather be elsewhere. But Merv was pretty well blocking the exit.
“Merv, Alvin. Alvin, Merv.” I hoped that would be all there was to it, but the looks on both of their faces indicated they would be making evaluative remarks about each other when the time was right.
Merv sipped his coffee.
I remembered my own cup and opened it. It was still hot enough to drink, and I felt I needed it.
Merv must have decided that the best way to deal with Alvin was to ignore him.
“So my point is, stay the hell away from this guy. We have reason to think he may be involved in the disappearances of several people. People who were of great interest to the Crown.
In the sense that they were potential witnesses and in the sense that nobody knows anything about their whereabouts as we speak. In the sense that they are no longer among the living. Do I make myself clear?”
“As clear as you ever do, Merv.”
It didn’t seem to bother him.
“Took the day off,” he said, unfolding out of the chair and making the room look even smaller. “Planning to visit Robin for a while.”
Well, at least that explained the flowers.
“And don’t forget what I said about that guy. He is vicious. Stop your meddling. Leave the investigation to the police.”
“May I remind you, Merv, that when the investigation was left to the police, they focused on Robin.”
“You won’t be much good to her if you’re dead,” was Merv’s parting shot.
I whipped my camera out of its case and captured a shot of Merv with his bouquet, for future blackmail.
“Delightful meeting you,” said Alvin. The morning sun glinted off his cat’s eye glasses.
But the glass in the door was already rattling from Merv’s exit.
I had managed to catch Merv’s bad mood and add it to my own, and therefore was glad Alvin was in the office. At least I could pick on him. I looked around at the piles of paper.
“For God’s sake, don’t you ever get any work done?”
Alvin looked up from his magazine in surprise. A hurt look settled on his bony face.
“What are you talking about? What about all the sleuthing I’ve been doing for you? Do you think you’re going to find out who murdered Mitzi without my help?”
“Yes, I do. It’s just a matter of time until I figure out what happened there. I know that Brooke Findlay’s big ambition was to be the ‘Walk in the Woods’ woman. I know she has a fondness for nose candy. I know that she was Rudy Wendtz’s part-time girlfriend, and I know Mitzi was jealous and planning to fix Brooke but good. And I know Mitzi and Wendtz had a huge fight the night before she died. I know that Wendtz employs someone who probably will kill on command. Yes. I think I can solve it while you’re catching up on the filing. The other suspects look pretty unsuspicious next to Wendtz and Company.”
“Fine,” he sniffed, “then you won’t be interested in knowing that Jo Quinlan and Sammy Dash were high school sweethearts, and even lived together for a while, back when Sammy was plain old Sammy Dashchuk.”
We looked at each other.
“I think I’ll keep any other information I might happen to have to