Dig around,” I said.
I could hear him squawking on the other line.
“I thought you had connections,” I said.
This was a matter of pride to him. I assumed the silence to imply consent.
“And, Alvin.”
“Yeah?”
“Be discreet.”
Elaine Ekstein was next on my wake-up call list.
“Of course I was up,” she claimed.
“I need to see Maria Rodriguez again.”
“Why?”
“Another question.”
“For Christ’s sake. Haven’t these people been through enough as refugees without you grilling them all the time?”
“I’m not grilling them all the time. I just want to ask one little question.”
“I’ll call you back.”
I used the time to get dressed, not as easy as it might seem with the shortage of clean clothes. Finally, I found a navy linen skirt that looked all right with my aqua cotton sweater.
Normally, I would team it up with the plaid blazer I’d worn on Sunday with my jeans, but I was never going to wear that again. A dry cleaner might get out the blood stains, but nothing could remove the memory of the savage scene in my office.
Alexa called while I was pushing my cereal around in the bowl. I didn’t feel like putting any of it in my mouth.
Yesterday and all its tastes were still too close.
“Camilla,” she said, “are you all right?”
“Of course.”
“That was a terrible thing yesterday.”
“Indeed.”
“But it looks like it’s over.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“Conn says that these people, well, I hate to speak ill of the dead, but…”
“Oh, go ahead.”
“Well, Conn says they were all involved with the drug trade in some way. Even Mitzi Brochu was tied to those people. They played with some very dangerous criminals, and they were dangerous themselves. This is the way it is, they get killed in disputes over territory or settling accounts. It’s not like they were innocent bystanders.”
“Like Robin.”
“Like Robin.”
“And me.”
“And you.”
“I hope Conn’s right.”
But I knew he was wrong. These deaths had been more than a settling of accounts. It had been someone with a major axe to grind. Someone torn up by memories. Someone who hated all four victims. More than business, this had been pleasure.
At nine o’clock, I made my first business phone call. And got the answer I’d expected and feared.
Twenty-One
“You missed that pedestrian,” I said to Elaine. “Do you want to try again?”
“Very funny,” she said, swerving into the bus lane and jamming her foot down on the accelerator.
I closed my eyes until we pulled up in front of Maria’s apartment building.
Maria was not happy to see us. I didn’t blame her. This time her husband sat with us, the set of his shoulders sending a powerful message.
“I don’t want her to be upset. She’s been through too much already.” He gave Elaine a look, like she should know.
Elaine hunched in her chair and translated the look into a glare. For me.
“Make it snappy,” she said.
I had only one picture with me this time and only one question.
“Ask her how long this person was on the eighth floor the day of the murder, Elaine.”
I guess my excitement was evident when I got the answer I wanted. Long enough.
Maria must have translated my smile into a potential visit from the police. Her husband covered her hand with his.
“It’s time for you to go,” he said.
“Thank you for your help,” I said as we stood to leave.
“She doesn’t want to talk to the police,” Maria’s husband said.
The door closed behind us.
* * *
“Oh, it’s you,” I said.
My unexpected visitor stood at my doorway, holding a box.
“I’m really busy right now. Can we do this some other time?”
I gestured around the apartment, which I was cleaning up to pass the time while I waited for McCracken to call or show up. I still had to hide the dirty laundry in the closet and put the unwashed dishes under the sink.
“No, it’d better be now,” she said, pushing her walker forward.
The box was precariously perched on the handles. Mrs. Parnell kicked the door closed behind her and it snicked shut. I could never figure out how she had such great balance in some directions and none in others.
“You’d better sit down,” she said, blowing smoke in my face.
“Five minutes,” I said, “is all I have. Do you want me to carry that box?”
“No, you sit.”
I perched on the edge of the sofa, irritated. Mrs. Parnell inched her way to the armchair and settled in. But not before she had placed the box on the floor. I was relieved to note that she didn’t have the bottle of sherry in the pocket of her walker.
“Well,” I said, when I couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Stick your nose in that box, why don’t you.”
I could think of a dozen reasons why I didn’t want to.
“Go ahead,” she said, her narrow, mud-coloured eyes watching me.
I inched toward the box.
Mrs. Parnell chuckled. The chuckle gave me goosebumps.
“What are you expecting in there, a severed head or something? Go ahead, open it.”
I couldn’t stand being taunted. I flipped the lid up and gazed into the contented face of the little calico cat.
“Surprise,” said Mrs. Parnell.
“Are those…?”
“Indeed,” she said, heaving out of her chair and looking down at the calico cat in the box at her feet. “I’m lucky I didn’t have another stroke when I found that animal in my linen cupboard. No wonder Lester and Pierre have been in such a twittery state.”
The calico cat rolled over to give her four kittens a better chance at dinner. She licked her paw with barely concealed self-satisfaction. Top that, she purred.
“Good thing one of the kittens is a calico. You’ll be able to return this amorous little creature to your friend Robin with interest.”
I looked at the kittens. Two the colour of marmalade, one inky black one and another tiny calico. They looked just like rats.
After Mrs. P. left, I pondered what to do with four kittens and a cat while I chucked the rest of the junk in the apartment out of sight.
I put Ma Calico in the bedroom while