But that was too subtle for Mia. She tossed her head and each strand of the sleek blonde bob fell back into place artfully. “So, Camilla. Are you ever going to try the dating game again?”
I snapped the lid on the latte. “When Hell freezes over.”
She laughed. Irritatingly. “Bitter, bitter.”
“You bet. And speaking of bitter, do you think the Crown will mess up with Benning today?”
“That is so not fair. Of course they won't. He'll get dangerous offender status. It will take a while, but he's going away forever.”
“About time,” I said.
“I wish I'd worked on that file. I ended up with the drill bandit instead.”
“Who?
“You know. That guy who drilled little holes in car doors parked near the canal, then popped the trunks and made off with one credit card from each purse? You haven't heard of that? I mean, he's pulled off hundreds of these. But he slipped up. I'm so glad we got him before Winterlude this year.” With a last fond look at her diamond, she slid her hand into a pair of fur-lined black kid gloves.
I was at a loss for words. As if a minor pilferer was even worth talking about on the day of Benning's sentencing. I barely managed not to say “Who gives a rat's ass?”
I picked up my cup and the bag with my chocolate almond biscotti and made a serious effort to put as much distance between us as possible. I elbowed my way through the crowd and out the door. Outside the Second Cup, I couldn't resist a sharp intake of breath. Hell had frozen over all right.
I jumped at the tap on my shoulder. P. J. Lynch was shrugging on his coat in the cool way young guys have and sharing his wide grin.
“Big day for you.”
“No kidding.” You have to love P. J. Maybe it's the carrot-coloured hair. Maybe it's that space between his two front teeth. Maybe it's the way he loves to shoot the shit.
“Fingers crossed, Tiger.” He lit a cigarette. He's usually pretty perky, but this morning he was rumpled with dark circles under his eyes. Probably up all night.
“Thanks. What are you doing in the Second Cup, P. J.? I thought you disapproved of fancy coffees.”
“Free country. You heading for Court?”
“I have a couple of items to take care of at the office first. Benning's on the docket for 10.00 a.m. today.” The truth was I didn't want to spend an hour pacing publicly. It would be hard enough to keep still and shut up during the application. If I showed up early, there was a distinct chance I'd get myself in some trouble while waiting.
“Don't forget about our Winterlude date,” he said.
“What?”
“Winterlude. We're taking my sister's kids out on the canal this weekend, remember?”
His sister's kids? I didn't even remember that P.J. had a sister, let alone that we had a date with her kids. The whole Benning thing had been blitzing my brain. “Right,” I said.
“You're not going to slither out of it, Camilla.”
“I never slither.”
“Sunday evening.”
“Of course.”
“Got a tip for you. There's more to life than work.”
“Not today there isn't,” I said.
P. J. blew smoke out the side of his mouth and away from my face. The wind blew it back. Lucky for him he was cute. “Don't worry. That creep will get what's coming to him today. It doesn't matter how many cops he has in his pocket.”
“Here's hoping.”
“Make sure you practice your skating, Camilla. These two little guys are a handful.” He turned and headed back into the Second Cup.
That was a relief. P.J. was a helpful colleague, and I knew he believed someone on the local police force had done a lot of favours for Benning in the past. But any quotes from me would have led to grief if they had gotten into print. My family kept reminding me to watch what I said to the media. I tried.
In the few minutes it took to hike the block and a half towards the offices of Justice for Victims, I could feel the welcome heat seep out of my latte. With fresh snow on the sidewalk, it was lousy weather for staying on your feet. Everyone was late. People were mad as hell. Drivers peered through golf-ball-sized peepholes in frosted windshields. Just a matter of time until one of them swerved off the street. Perhaps it only looked liked they were aiming for pedestrians.
I was nearing the office when I heard the first sirens shriek. Three police cruisers, roof-lights flashing, edged past the stalled lines of traffic and shot north on Elgin St. I figured it must have been a robbery. Normally, I'd picture a terrorized teller in a big bank on Sparks Street, gaping at the gun pointed at her face. Of course, normally, I wasn't fighting hypothermia and losing.
I caught a glimpse of P. J. rocketing out of the Second Cup, his coat flapping open as he raced along the sidewalk. He might have been up all night, but where there are sirens, there are stories. Life had been a bit harder for police reporters since the Ottawa police acquired their digital system which you couldn't pick up on an ordinary newsroom scanner. So P. J. Lynch didn't pass up stories, even if he'd just worked all night.
I'd almost reached the door of the office when my cellphone rang. I balanced on frozen toes and tried to avoid getting knocked into the street by a slip-sliding man with a briefcase. To hell with it. I let it ring. It would be one of my three sisters and the subject would be Alexa's wedding and why I wasn't more cooperative about it. They all had cellphones and there was no getting away from them.
So hardly worth getting killed over. Another minute and the latte would be as cold as my toes and I wasn't even sure they were still attached to my feet. By the time I hit the front door, two more cruisers had flashed past. Must be one hell of a bank job, I thought as I heaved myself up the stairs to the second floor. I figured the latte was solid.
The sirens screamed on.
* * *
I opened my office door, holding the coffee between my chest and my chin. The bag with my chocolate almond biscotti was clutched in my teeth.
“Gotta go, Ma. Camilla's getting in. Don't worry about anything.” Alvin, my office assistant, hung up the phone.
“I hope I don't find another batch of collect calls from Sydney on the next phone bill,” I said.
“Hey, Camilla. Just fourteen days left before Valentine's Day, le jour de l'amour.”
“Do not speak.” I kicked the door closed. Valentine's Day is never my favourite occasion. This year my sister had chosen it for her wedding day. Another strike against it.
The bag with the biscotti slipped from my mouth and tumbled to the floor. Naturally, the cellphone rang again.
“Gee, I wonder who that is?” Alvin said. “We've already had a couple of calls from your sisters this morning.”
I let it ring. “Tell me something I wouldn't already know.”
Alvin tossed his ponytail. “This wedding is making you grouchier than usual, although that is hard to imagine. Try to chill out.”
“I'm chilled, Alvin.”
I plunked the latte on his desk and started to remove layers. Trusty parka. Wool hat. Thinsulate gloves. Snazzy leather boots. They were just three months old. Too bad they held in the damp and let out the heat. I had to replace them, but it was too cold to shop. I hate when my teeth chatter.
“People carry on about the weather up here, but I think it's all in the mind,” Alvin smirked.