Читать книгу Camilla MacPhee Mysteries 6-Book Bundle - Mary Jane Maffini - Страница 15

“C’mon, Alvin, you can do it.” He looked across the desk at me, arms crossed, mouth a tight little knot, ponytail in full droop.

“Oh sure,” he said, “get me to do all the real scruffy stuff that you don’t have the taste for. Other Duties As Required. Give it to Alvin. The underclass.”

“That’s not true. I very much want to go to the Harmony and prowl around the delivery entrances and the back hallways. But I can’t. The manager there knows me, and he told me he’d call the police in a flash if he caught me snooping.”

Alvin had no way of knowing what Richard had said over dinner the previous night. But I remembered it well.

Be careful had been the underlying theme.

“I just want the name of the 8th Floor maid, Richard.”

“Okay, here it is. But…”

“Thanks,” I said, leaning over and looking at the card with the name Maria Rodriguez written on it. I had to touch his hand to pick up the card.

He was still talking.

“…this is a dangerous situation. Someone knows where you live, knows you have been investigating and wants you to stop. Dead cat, remember?”

“I remember. How would I forget?” It was hard to concentrate with his hand touching mine like that. Hard to keep my mind on our civilized little drink and dinner. And his civilized little warning.

“When does she come on duty?”

“She stopped working here, right after the murder. A lot of these refugees went through some pretty gruesome times in their own country. They want to feel safe in Canada.”

“Where does she live?”

“The address is there, for all the good it will do you. This woman only had a couple of words of English. But, listen, why not give it to the police and suggest that they interview her? They’ll find a translator from the community. One of these rocks you turn over in your investigation is going to have something pretty ugly under it.”

“You’re right,” I’d said, smiling into those chocolate eyes and picking up the card with my free hand. “Why buy trouble?”

So Alvin, not I, would be nosing through the back halls of the Harmony with an armful of photos, trying to pin down just who might have been sneaking in the back way to see Mitzi Brochu before her death. For his own protection, I sent him over to the Rideau Centre to get the roll of film with Richard’s picture developed.

“Alvin,” I said, by way of convincing him of the wisdom of the Harmony mission, “the way I see it, we’re partners, each with our own role to play in solving this gruesome crime. You’ve brought me a lot of useful information.”

“Yeah well, I…“ But I’d had enough of Alvin’s stalling at this point. “Time to hit the road. A rolling stone gathers no moss and all that. We need those photos ASAP. Now get going, partner.”

“But Camilla…“ “Look, my day started with my sister sulking at me over the corn flakes. Then things got a bit more exciting when I transported five, count ‘em five, cats in boxes back to my apartment in the world’s most anti-cat building. Now, here I am, it’s nearly noon. I have to be on the alert for the beautiful suspect and now, instead of being a cooperative partner, you’re getting your back up.”

“Fine,” he snapped, “wait for it then, partner.”

He was out the door before I could clarify just what it was I would be waiting for.

I put in another call to Merv, who also has a tendency to sulk for unexplained reasons.

“Try the city police. I can’t dig up a lot of information without people starting to notice.”

“It’s a situation I understand well, Merv, but I don’t want you to dig up information on a lot of people, just one. Just one person, and I have his picture. And I would rather avoid talking to the city police since they don’t seem to take me seriously.”

There was silence on the line. I shook the phone. “After all, it’s for Robin, in case you’re forgetting, Merv.”

“Yeah, all right. One picture. Drop it by. At the desk. Don’t come in. You’ll just give people ideas.”

“Thank you, Merv.” I stopped short of slathering him with all that partner bullshit.

My last call was to set up a meeting with my old friend, Elaine Ekstein. Elaine was hard at work setting up a support network for refugee women. She was glad to talk to me.

“Sure,” she said, “I’ll find her for you. She’s probably scared to death. Especially if she’s a new arrival and she doesn’t speak much English. I’ll translate for you.”

I just had time to hop into the car and hightail it back to Elmvale Acres. My little visit with Robin confirmed what I’d hoped. Brooke was still home, but preparing to go out. Her mother was parked in front of the television watching Days of Our Lives and steaming Brooke’s going-out outfit. She didn’t even glance over when I snapped a picture of her.

“Be careful,” Brooke called down, “it’s new and it’s linen. I don’t want anything to happen to it, Ma.”

“My God,” said Ma, “can you believe Marlena would let him do that?”

Mr. Findlay followed me up the stairs with fresh sandwiches, chicken on brown bread, cut in little triangles and some lemon custard for dessert. Hot tea, too. That man knew how to put a tray together.

“Say cheese,” I said, capturing the moment on film.

He grinned. “Just like old times, you and that camera.”

From the sounds of preparations and shouted instructions, Brooke was quite a way from take-off. I could enjoy my lunch and try to get Robin to enjoy hers as well.

“Don’t even think about taking my picture,” Robin said.

I knew she meant it.

“How are the pussies?” she asked as we settled in with our little sandwiches and tea.

“Great! They miss you! But they seem to be enjoying life.”

Robin put down her tea cup and stared at me.

My God, I thought, could she tell what had happened to the tabby just by looking at me? Did the words DEAD CAT appear on my forehead?

“They communicate with you?”

“No, but they…purr. And then every now and then they get a faraway look in their little green eyes, and I know they’re thinking about you and about how they want you to get well and go home and be with them again.” I folded my hands in my lap.

Until I noticed that tears were streaming down Robin’s cheeks. She also appeared to have stopped breathing.

“My God, I’m sorry, I’m only trying to…”

“Hahahahahah.” At least she was alive.

“Stop laughing, or I’ll eat all the sandwiches. Then you’ll be sorry.”

“You can tell all that from their eyes? You should go on Oprah.”

The door shot open and Brooke bellowed through: “Keep it down, will you, I’m trying to catch something on the radio.”

Robin’s laugh was cut off mid-whoop.

“Don’t mind her. She can’t help it. She’s under a lot of career pressure lately.”

Nothing like she’s going to be, I thought as I ate my sandwiches.

When I left the Findlay house, still ahead of Brooke, I pulled away from the curb, rounded the corner and pulled in again. I had a few minutes to sit there and admire the trees leafing out in the warm weather.

I was fiddling with the car radio when Brooke drove by in her fire-engine-red BMW. I wasn’t too worried about following her, not even when she checked her rear view mirror. She was far too self-absorbed to notice anyone else.

I drove along with a smile on my face, wondering where she’d be meeting Sammy Dash this time. And what they’d get up to.

It wasn’t always easy trailing Brooke, since she showed a disinclination to signal lane changes or even turns. We wound along Alta Vista and down Pleasant Park to Riverside Drive, and then followed Riverside to Bank. Except for having to keep an eye on Brooke, it was a pleasant drive, water, lots of green space. Brooke turned right on Bank, drove to the Glebe and parked on Fourth Avenue.

I watched, slouched down in my car, as she headed for the ATM. I had to admit, she would make a first-rate representative for “Walk in the Woods”. Her blonde hair just cleared her shoulders and fluttered in the breeze. The vanilla-coloured linen suit with its elegant wrinkles showed off Brooke’s slim shape. The cut of the skirt above the knees confirmed my long-held suspicion that Brooke was eighty percent legs.

She smiled into the sunshine. Her public smile. A middle-aged man stopped walking and stared.

Too bad she’s such a bitch, I thought. Some of my reaction may have been related to my short legs. Who knows.

I almost lost her as we edged onto Bank Street again. Brooke headed for the Queen Elizabeth Driveway, which winds along the canal on the opposite side to Colonel By.

It’s amazing, I thought, this beautiful woman in her red Beamer is cruising along this beautiful road, and her activities are somehow tied to a murder.

I’d been keeping well behind her, and yet I still had to stand on my brakes to avoid her as she whipped, without a signal or a brake light, into Rudy Wendtz’s driveway.

I pulled over to the side of the road and crouched down again.

Seconds later, Wendtz pulled in after her and parked his black Mercedes.

I don’t suppose they see that many passionate clinches on Queen Elizabeth Driveway. But this one would have made up for any lack. Two tall people, pressed together, for all the world to see. Of course, the world wasn’t looking. Only me.

They deserve each other, I told myself, glancing away towards the front door of the house. That’s when I noticed Large-and-Lumpy watching back.

* * *

Elaine kept talking as she ran the red light. I just pressed myself to the back of the seat and tried to remember my Act of Contrition. The Jeep, which accelerated at the green light, missed us by an inch.

“You have no idea,” she said, “how often these people faced death. And how that must feel.”

“I think I do.”

“It’s very difficult for them to find themselves in such a different culture. They’re frightened a lot.”

“I don’t want to frighten her, Elaine. I’m not very frightening, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Elaine took her eyes off the road.

“You believe that, don’t you?”

“Well, yes, Elaine, I do.”

She was still watching me, shaking her head.

“On the other hand, you, Elaine, are terrifying and should not be allowed on the road.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said. “I’m serious. You can be quite intimidating for such a small person. You come on strong and, if you’ll pardon me mentioning it, you can be quite ruthless.”

“I’ll pardon you mentioning it, if you’ll make an effort to avoid getting us decapitated by that truck ahead.”

A squeal of brakes followed.

“Don’t exaggerate, the truck was a good foot away. And back to the topic. These people are sensitive and fearful. They don’t need to be hassled by the police.”

“May I remind you that I’m not the police, Elaine.”

“I realize that. But if Maria has some information, then you may be forced to inform the police, and you know what stormtroopers they can be.”

“I do, indeed.”

“Maria was quite upset by the whole thing with Mitzi Brochu. I mean, she was so close to that dreadful murder. Can you imagine how traumatic that must have been?”

“Yes. I was there myself. So I know only too well.”

“Well then, you understand that we don’t want her to relive that trauma.”

Elaine stood on her brakes as if to punctuate her point. We stopped for seconds at a red light and then screeched away the moment it turned green.

“Let me repeat, Elaine, that I only want to show her some photos and ask if she has ever seen these people near Mitzi’s room. With particular reference to the day of the murder, when she was working right there on that floor.”

We pulled off Scott Street onto Parkdale and Elaine stopped under a No Parking sign.

“Here we are,” she said, opening her car door without looking. A passing driver swerved and turned back to shake his fist. Elaine didn’t notice.

I got out on the passenger’s side and considered mentioning that two wheels of the car were up on the sidewalk, but it didn’t seem worth it.

* * *

Was it just the language barrier? Did she not understand the question Elaine had translated? Elaine and I watched Maria Rodriguez give an affirmative nod to almost every photo. Even the ones that didn’t belong in the set of suspects. Like me, taken at a family dinner.

“You were there,” Elaine commented.

We were sitting around the dinette set in the dining ell on one of the few bits of furniture in Maria Rodriguez’s apartment. Even the sounds of her husband and children laughing at Bugs Bunny in the next room couldn’t lift the tension in the air.

You could see it in Maria’s black eyebrows and the lines around her mouth.

I’d seen it too in the stiff shoulders of both the Rodriguez adults and in the huge, dark eyes of their children. As Elaine said, these were people who’d already had enough trouble.

Maria studied the photos I’d spread out on the beige, formica-topped table. They were a mixture of business and pleasure, friends and family blended with my own crew of suspects.

Deb Goodhouse, Jo Quinlan, Rudy Wendtz, Brooke Findlay, Large-and-Lumpy, Sammy Dash all got the nod from Maria. So did Robin.

She didn’t recognize the rest of my family. Only me.

Maria wasn’t sure about Mrs. Parnell, but after some thought decided she hadn’t seen Mrs. Parnell at the Harmony.

“Sorry,” she said.

“It’s no problem. I’m glad somebody wasn’t there.”

I wasn’t sure how much it helped my investigation to have every suspect confirmed as a visitor to Mitzi Brochu’s suite at the Harmony the day of the murder.

“You sure you saw all these people, Maria?”

Elaine shook her head at me. “You’re pushing too hard.”

I decided to lighten up a bit and pointed to a picture of the cats.

The cats got a clear no.

At least it let the three of us laugh.

* * *

“She recognized all six suspects,” I said, accepting a refill. “So I have to ask myself, did she really recognize them or was she just unclear about the concept? And to think I risked Elaine’s driving, and I still don’t know whether Maria understood the questions or not.”

Richard smiled and sipped his Sambuca.

“It is not amusing,” I growled, before sipping my own.

The Sambuca was just the way I like it, with three coffee beans in the bottom of the snifter, still warm from being flamed. It took the edge off the growl.

“You know, I think I’d like to meet this Elaine.”

“Good idea, I’ll fix the two of you up for a Sunday drive sometime.”

“All kidding aside, any danger you might have been facing from Elaine’s driving is nothing compared to what you’re exposing yourself to if you continue to stalk this killer.”

“I can see you haven’t been in a car with her.”

“Listen to me. You’re dealing with someone who crucified a woman. Talk to the police.”

I was bathed in irritation. This was like lunch with my sisters.

“Sulk if you want. But I like you much better alive,” he said.

I could feel his hand on mine as he spoke. I remembered his daughter. And his wife. I jerked my hand away.

“Or I could talk to the police myself. Tell them you have this interesting stuff and they might like to chat with you about it.”

“You wouldn’t.”

He tapped my nose with his finger and smiled. I would have gotten up and stomped out of the bar at that point except my knees were wobbling.

And of course, I didn’t have my car. I had to ask myself why I managed never to have my car when I was with Richard, so he always had to drive me home. For that matter, why was I wearing a knit dress instead of my chunky suit? And lipstick, for heaven’s sake.

We ended the evening by driving around before heading back to my place. Down Wellington Street and Sussex, past the glass sculpture that is the National Gallery and across the Interprovincial Bridge to Hull, admiring the lights shimmering on the green roofs of the Parliament buildings and the sensuous curves of the Museum of Civilization.

As we crossed back into Ottawa on the Portage Bridge and drove along the Parkway to my apartment, the river glistened in the surrounding blackness. When we stopped in front of my building, I felt disappointment that the civilized dinner and drink were over.

“Okay, I’ll talk to the police. I’ll show them the photos and suggest they might want to have a word with the subjects.” After I’ve had a word with them, of course, I added to myself.

Richard squeezed my hand. “I love it when you’re sensible.”

“You do not.”

“I do,” he said, watching my mouth.

Usually I’m not even conscious of having a mouth. But at that moment, it seemed like the supreme erogenous zone. I was surprised he couldn’t hear my pulse pounding.

I don’t know how long we sat there like that, stopped in time.

Then I remembered his wife.

* * *

I couldn’t sleep, and it wasn’t just the cats lying on various parts of my body either. I lay staring around the room. The eggshell walls were stark in the moonlight. I tried to keep still, because when I didn’t, whatever cat was disturbed by the movement dug its claws into whatever part of my body had moved. And I didn’t feel like kicking cats off the bed. I was already too much of a bad guy.

So there wasn’t much to do. I could think about Richard if I wanted and get up and take a cold shower. Or I could think about Mitzi’s murder and get up and have a drink. Or I could think about dead cats.

For as long as I’d lived in the apartment with the eggshell walls, I’d thought about Paul when I couldn’t sleep. I saved that time for him. Picking up each memory from my mental safety deposit box, touching it, admiring it, feeling it. Remembering the time we first met on campus with the leaves crunching under our feet, remembering sipping cheap wine and munching stale crackers in our first lumpy bed, laughing about crumbs, remembering…but memories of Paul, always so fresh and alive, playing like a new videotape in my head, no longer filled every space in my mind and no longer left their trail of pain. Why was that?

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 myself,” he added.

Half an hour later he was still at his desk, doing nothing as far as I could tell, his scrawny shoulders tense.

I found it hard to concentrate on the Benning brief with Alvin in the room, oozing resentment. I also suspected he was making paper airplanes instead of filing, but confirming that would have meant walking over and checking on him, admitting defeat in our contest of wills.

I said, “Okay, I give up, what other information?”

A paper airplane drifted by.

“Well, I don’t know, but I think you ought to treat me more as a partner and less as an indentured servant if you want information.”

“Don’t push me. What information?”

He couldn’t resist telling.

“Well,” he said, crossing his legs, “the scuttlebutt is that Sammy very much wanted to be Mr. Mitzi.” He watched me through those cat’s eye glasses, waiting for a reaction.

“Mr. Mitzi?”

“Right. He wanted to replace Rudy Wendtz as Numero Uno. He wanted a spot in the Brochu bed. He wanted…”

“I get your drift.”

“So you see what that means.”

I didn’t.

Alvin leaned forward. “Some people say that he was setting up the whole thing. Stringing Brooke along, flirting with her. Finding out her secrets. Making sure Mitzi found out about Brooke and Rudy’s relationship. Letting Mitzi know about Brooke’s problem with her nose. People think that after Mitzi wrote her planned spread about Brooke and her problem, that would have been it for the Mitzi and Rudy show. Brooke’s career would have been ruined. And Sammy would be on the spot to ooze in and comfort poor little Mitzi. And Sammy’s career would prosper as a result.”

“But it doesn’t change anything.”

“What do you mean, it doesn’t change anything?”

“Well, we already figured that Rudy Wendtz engineered Mitzi’s death, even if he was elsewhere.”

“So.”

“So, it may give us a bit more on motivation or background, but it doesn’t solve the murder.”

“Who said it did?” He jammed himself into his leather jacket.

He was out the door before I could say anything else.

* * *

I was kicking around my apartment trying to figure out where the rest of the day had gone and why I hadn’t gotten anywhere with the Benning brief and what the stuff Alvin had found out meant, when the doorbell rang.

“You see what happens?” I said to the cats. “You guys lounge around all day on the furniture, and now someone’s here and there’s not one clean spot for them to sit on.”

They ignored me. They’re only interested in conversations about cat food.

“Who is it?” I squawked into the intercom system.

Alexa squawked back at me. By the time she reached my door, I had managed to sweep the black cat off the only armchair and brush most of the hair off the seat.

“God, that woman’s nosy,” she said, pointing at Mrs. Parnell’s apartment and at Mrs. Parnell, who was lurking in her door, propped up by her walker, the ruby tip of her cigarette glowing.

“It’s for my own good,” I said, giving a little wave to Mrs. P. and scooping up a couple of cats before they could shoot into the hallway.

“What is that smell?”

We both sniffed the air.

“You’ve got to change the kitty litter. Every day. With this number of cats, maybe twice a day. Have you been doing that?”

“Sure,” I lied, adding kitty litter to the growing number of things I was behind schedule on.

“Well,” said Alexa, sinking her black-covered bottom onto the part of the sofa where the grey Persian sleeps, “guess what?”

“What?”

“I called him!”

Just in time, I stopped myself from asking who.

“Isn’t that great?” she added. “I never thought I’d have the nerve.”

I decided to be adult about it.

“So, what did he say?”

“He didn’t say anything. He wasn’t there. But that’s not the point. The point is I got up the nerve to call him.”

“Did you leave a message?”

“Of course I didn’t leave a message. You must be kidding.”

“You baffle me.”

“Look, it took enough to get up the courage to call him. I wanted it to look casual.”

“Okay,” I said, wondering what she wanted with me.

She smiled at me. “Let’s have a little drink. I brought Piña Colada mix. I know you have rum.”

A pyjama party, it turned out. A chance for the girls, in this case Alexa and I were the only two available, to lounge around for hours sharing their deepest secrets.

I wasn’t in the mood to share my deepest secrets with anyone, but I didn’t have a problem listening to Alexa’s.

Alexa, it was revealed after three Piña Coladas, had always been in love with Conn McCracken, especially after what happened on the night of their Senior Prom. Conn, it turned out, had never been far from her mind all those years. From time to time, she had been Filled with Regret.

“You hid it well over those twenty-five years of a marriage that everyone thought was happy.”

“I don’t mean my marriage wasn’t happy and that I didn’t love Greg. It’s just I never lost all my feelings for Conn,” she said, before filling me in on Conn’s many, many good points.

“But you haven’t even seen him, for…how long?”

“Gosh, about thirty years. Since I went away to nursing school.”

I wasn’t sure how to break it to her.

“He’s changed. He’s not the football hero anymore. He’s a middle aged man with a paunch.”

“Sounds cute,” she said, draining her drink.

I tried to feed her a few more Piña Coladas in the hope I’d get some specifics about what happened on the night of their Senior Prom, but no luck. At midnight, after a particularly vacuous remark about his noble spirit, she rolled over and began to snore.

I hadn’t said a word about Richard. Somehow, it wasn’t so romantic, having a crush on a man almost old enough to be my father, with a wife who could reappear at any minute. It was stupid and inconvenient and most unlike me.

I was grateful to Alexa who had kept me from thinking about Richard, Mitzi’s murder and how much I had to fear from Denzil the Deadly.