“Your honour, my client is a professional social worker, a tireless volunteer, a member of the boards of directors of numerous charities and social agencies in the city. She is highly regarded.” I felt no need to spotlight the small matter of picketing and protesting and even less reason to mention traffic violations and parking tickets. Let alone that awkward occasion when guards had ejected her from the visitors' gallery of the House of Commons.
“She is a respectable member of society, fully supported by her family and friends. We ask that she be released on her own recognizance. There is absolutely no danger of flight, nor is she a threat to the community.”
“I wouldn't go that far.” Elaine had a voice that carried.
“Be quiet,” I said, as softly as I could.
Elaine beamed at the judge. One judgely eyebrow rose.
“Ms. MacPhee, are you responsible for your client?”
“Of course, Your Honour.”
“Keep that in mind.”
“I certainly will, Your Honour.”
“There is no likelihood your client would fail to appear?
“No, Your Honour.”
“Could happen,” said Elaine.
“Absolutely not, Your Honour,” I paused long enough to give Elaine a sharp kick in the ankle.
The judge's eyebrow hit her hairline. And the shit hit the fan. “Bail denied. The accused will be held in the Regional Detention Centre until preliminary hearing.”
Of course, that could be six months.
The irritating Mia Reilly smiled and bobbed her sleek blonde head in approval. No one in court had a problem with Elaine being slapped behind bars. Except me and Alvin.
Unless you counted Mombourquette. I spotted him in the back row, his mouth a tense line.
“I hope you're happy,” I whispered in his greyish pointed ear as I walked past. “An innocent creature like Elaine, think she'll survive in the RDC? Lots of guys in there are serial batterers she helped put behind bars. Something to think about.”
Even though we both knew men and women were well-segregated at the RDC, I took some pleasure as his pale olive face turned to putty.
* * *
Another thing bothered me. I could understand how I could fall asleep at Lindsay Grace's place, ditto Alvin, Mrs. Parnell, Elaine and even Merv. We'd been lulled by hot carbohydrates and general winter laziness. But what about the two officers watching the front of the house and the one guarding the rear entrance? Shouldn't they have been shot for dereliction of duty? Since when were our tax dollars supposed to be asleep at the wheel? Funny. P. J. knew nothing about them.
I had no choice but to cozy up to McCracken and find out what had happened to the three officers outside Lindsay's place. I gave him a call and tried to cushion the blow by suggesting we meet at the Second Cup near the police station.
He was all business. “Sorry, Camilla. No time.”
I cut to the chase. “So, Conn, what's happening with the investigation? No word? Cops got your tongue?”
“I think you have to try to cooperate with Alexa about the wedding. This ceremony means a lot to her.”
“This is more immediate. After all, Elaine is in the slammer. You would have checked out security. You know there was no surveillance camera in the Crystal Garden. You will naturally have concluded, as I did, that the video is a fraud. So tell me, what are your esteemed colleagues turning up?”
“Hard for me to say, I'm a bit distracted by Alexa's concerns, as I'm sure most people would understand. Oops, I think that's her on the other line. See you, Camilla.”
“Okay, you win. I'll give her a call. Then we'll talk.”
“No problem,” he said. “Let me know when you've done it.”
Twelve
Sooner or later, even I have to cave and attend a family dinner. I had no excuse. Benning was dead, and therefore Lindsay Grace was out of danger. Elaine remained locked up in the Regional Detention Centre for the protection of society at large, and I'd run out of options to get her out. Even though I wanted to crash into bed and sleep off the whole nightmare, I had no choice but to enter the lions den of MacPhees. The festivities always begin with Edwina's husband, Stan, picking me up.
My sisters are formidable. My two brothers-in-law are merely weird. Donalda's husband, Joe, lives in a dream world filled with fishing trips and golf tournaments. I guess he's harmless. Then there's Stan, the man with the world's best collection of whoopee cushions, plastic dog turds, dribble glasses and press-on cockroaches.
I have to work hard to find something to like about my brother-in-law, Stan. But when he picked me up for dinner, I had to admit his new Buick felt toasty warm. The icy wind whipping along the driveway of my apartment building blew my red hat off my head and almost pulled my hair out by the roots. It was almost enough to make me appreciate Stan.
Almost.
I knew better than to argue with Edwina about having Stan collect me for family gatherings. Shooing him out of the house while she's getting ready for any social event plays an important part in her mental health, not that she'd ever admit it. And with the MacPhees, you have to pick your battles. Especially as this wedding loomed. I would need my strength.
I slid onto the Buick's leather passenger seat after checking it for fake vomit. You don't let your guard down with Stan. Of course, I had threatened him with bodily harm after the last little skirmish. He acted innocent enough. No doubt Edwina had laid down the law before she sent him out to get me.
The new car had a cushioned glide which I enjoyed as we drove along the Ottawa River Parkway in the blue winter light. The steam rose from the river, eerie and beautiful. The dark-shadowed snow covering the ground and dusting the evergreens could have been a painting. The sight of a raised hood and the flash of a tow-truck on the other side of the divided parkway reminded me of reality. Still, I relaxed.
But when my bum started to get warm, I turned to Stan.
“What the hell are you playing at now?”
He simulated one of his special hurt looks. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I don't,” he whined.
“You do. This seat is getting hot. And it better not get any hotter, since it is too cold outside for me to get out of the car, so if it gets any hotter I will push you out and drive myself. They'll find your body when the snow melts in the spring.”
“Of course the seats are heating up. They're heated seats. It's a feature in new cars. I turned yours on so you would be comfortable.”
“Oh.”
Hurt silence radiated from the driver's side. Anyone else but Stan and I might have been tempted to apologize.
Given the kind of day it had been, I was grateful for the bit of quiet until we pulled into Edwina and Stan's driveway. As usual, it looked as though Edwina had buffed it with a toothbrush.
* * *
My sisters were waiting.
I hate that. I pictured three ash-blonde heads together, plotting in Edwina's new maple and granite kitchen before my arrival. It is always three to one. Always has been. I was the accident, born fifteen years after Alexa. It's not easy to be the short, dark one pitted against a coven of beautiful blondes. My sisters might be well on the road to fifty but they look like a bunch of goddam models.