I was just a little edgy as the phone rang in my quarry’s home.
“Camilla MacPhee here. I wonder if you can do something to help Robin?”
Ted Beamish muffled the surprise in his voice.
“Anything,” he said.
No questions asked. I like that in a man.
“Good. Here’s what I need.”
I was smiling when I hung up. Let Ted deal with the dragons. It would develop his character.
I had other fish to fry. Such as, how to confront my suspects with their presence in the Harmony without getting myself hit on the head.
The doorbell rang before I had made any progress.
Mrs. Parnell. I guessed that closing the door in her face wasn’t quite subtle enough.
She clomped past me into the living room, where five cats greeted her like a long-lost relative, although there was nothing catlike about her. If you had to liken her to an animal, it would be an elderly elkhound.
“I know I’m butting in,” she said, taking the chair and looking around with interest. “But I couldn’t help but notice you seem to have more than your fair share of troubles. Breakins, assaults, and last night I believe you had to race out of here with that nice man and go to the police station.”
Was she at that goddam door every minute of every day and night? Didn’t she ever sleep? I had to admire such unrelenting, unabashed nosiness.
Even as I was admiring it, she pulled herself to her feet and moved toward the balcony door using her walker. She had excellent upper body strength, as far as I could tell. Just one leg seemed to drag a bit.
“Nice view you have on this side of the building,” she said. But I could see her eyes stray to the notebook and the other materials on the dining room table.
She looked over just in time to catch me catch her. But there were no hard feelings. When I’m her age using a walker to get around, I hope I’ll have the energy to annoy people too.
“So,” she said, “is there anything I can do to help?”
“Like what?”
“Like watch your apartment. Like notify the police if you don’t come home. Like help you rig up booby traps.”
“Booby traps?” I couldn’t suppress the laugh.
“Fine,” she shrugged, “you’re the one with the dead cat, not me.”
She had a point. But I still couldn’t imagine her having the strength to construct booby traps. On the other hand, there were those weights back in her apartment.
“Mrs. Parnell,” I asked in a dizzying departure from the conversational track, “those weights in your apartment, what do you use them for?”
“Why Ms. MacPhee, I bake cakes with them, of course. I expect more intelligent questions from you. What do you think I use them for? Weight training, of course. Trying to get back a bit of the old get up and go. After this damn stroke. Trendy kind of treatment for us old crocks now.”
Stroke. And I hadn’t even known it.
“Sorry, Mrs. Parnell,” I said, putting my hand on her shoulder, “didn’t mean to get you all steamed up. Let’s forget the booby traps and weights and all that. What I need now is someone plugged into the gossip at the House of Commons.”
“What makes you think I’m not?”
I gave her a second look. “Let’s have a drink, shall we? I have some very good Armagnac that’s just going to waste.”
I waited until we were well into our drink, before I mentioned it again.
“So do you have any contacts there?” Maybe there was a bit of truth in the neighbourly speculations about Mrs. Parnell’s powerful past.
“The Senate. Close enough. Well, used to. Most of them are dead now. Or in Florida. Same thing if you ask me.”
“That’s too bad,” I said, sipping my drink with regret. “Lovely weather we’ve been having.”
“Of course, I might have a few connections left. I’m not dead yet.”
“Or in Florida,” I said under my breath.
“Is it about that Goodhouse woman?” she asked So much for any idea I might have had that she didn’t get a good look at the notes on my dining room table.
“Right. I’d like to know what the late Mitzi Brochu might have had on her. Something publishable, anything from embarrassing gossip to something nastier.
“Oh, I think we can find that out,” Mrs. Parnell smiled, putting her empty glass back on the table between us, next to the bottle, where I could not ignore it.
* * *
Robin and Ted were just visible at the end of the outdoor café as I strolled up to the Canal Ritz the next day. Summer weather at last and Robin’s pallor was highlighted by her flowered sundress. Her hair was in a French braid and she’d put on a bit of make-up. I stood and watched for a minute, searching for more signs that she was getting better. She sat facing the water, shaded a bit by the large umbrella. Her eyes were hidden by sunglasses, but she was smiling as she listened to Ted tell what I expected would be some tedious work tale. The smile became a laugh. They were drinking Coors Light, and neither one of them noticed me.
“Gosh,” I said, “what a nice surprise.” I reached over to hug her. “Imagine seeing you here.”
The smile slid down Robin’s face, and her Coors light teetered on the table. I could see her face crumple, all the nice effect of the pink lipstick and other stuff lost.
“Don’t let yourself fall apart here.” I slipped into the chair that would shield her the most from the view of other diners. “This is a place you want to come back to after all your problems are over. Just keep telling yourself, Camilla’s my best friend and she wants to help. Maybe I should trust her.”
She turned to Ted, the poor sap.
“You were in on this, too?” The note of betrayal in Robin’s voice was unmistakable, and Ted didn’t mistake it for one minute.
He turned the tables on me. “She didn’t tell me you wouldn’t want to see her. I’m sorry.”
I had to restrain myself from reaching over and belting him. “Excuse me,” I said, “but let’s use a bit of logic here.”
“I don’t want to use a bit of logic. I want to go home.”
“You heard her, she doesn’t want logic. She wants to go home,” said Ted.
“So, twenty-seven years have passed since that first day in Grade One when we shared the red crayon. I may not be the nicest person in the world, but in that entire twenty-seven years have I ever been anything but a friend to you?”
“It’s okay, it’s time to go. I’ll take you home now. I didn’t know she was going to ambush you like this.”
“Time to shut up, Ted. Robin and I have something to discuss. What about it, Robin? Have I ever been anything but a good friend to you?”
She shook her head, fighting for control now. I knew she’d never made a scene in a restaurant in her life, and she wasn’t about to start.
“It’s okay, Ted, I’ll talk to Camilla and then you can take me home. Would you mind waiting over there? Some of this is quite private.”
Once Ted was settled two tables over with another Coors, we eyed each other with caution.
“Look,” I said. “I know this is painful…”
She