[C. MacP #5] The Dead Don't Get Out Much Page 8

  “This is she.”

  “My name is Camilla MacPhee, and I'm a friend of Violet Parnell's, and I am trying to reach some of her…”

  “Violet Parnell? You must have a wrong number. I am not acquainted with…oh, of course, Violet Wilkinson. I never think of her as Violet Parnell. She was always just Violet to us.”

  “That's the one,” I said.

  Alvin's hands poised on the keyboard. His eyebrows lifted in hope.

  “We were great friends in school back in Chesterton. I don't know how good a friend I've been since. I haven't even seen Vi since the forties.”

  “You knew her during the war, Ms. Connaught?”

  “Call me Betty, dear. I must ask, since this call comes out of the blue, is everything all right with Violet?”

  “Something strange happened yesterday, and it seems to have something to do with the war, although we don't know what. Do you mind helping us out?”

  “How can I help?”

  “I'm not really sure. Which probably sounds stupid. The point is she seems to have left town without telling any of us, although she should be in the hospital. It's not like her at all. You are one of the few names we have from her past, so I was hoping she might have contacted you after yesterday. She was talking about seeing dead men.”

  “I'd have been most surprised if Violet called me after all these years. I would have been thrilled to hear from her. You said she left town without telling you. I'm sorry, dear, I don't know about hallucinations. I do know wandering off is one of the big signs of Alzheimer's. Is she still compos mentis?”

  “Her mind is in better shape than mine.”

  “That's a relief. It would be a shame to have that happen to her, of all people. She was so clever.”

  “She still is, believe me. She had some kind of cardiac event, and we are worried it might get worse without medical help.”

  “At our age, these things happen. The last I heard, she married a Captain Walter Parnell and took up residence here in Ottawa. Poor Violet.”

  “I think she likes it here,” I said.

  “Yes, it's a lovely city. I enjoy it here very much, although it would have been much too prim and proper for Violet back in the fifties. I meant ‘poor Violet’ for marrying Walter. That came as a surprise. Of course, he died, not long after.”

  “Wasn't he good to her?”

  “Who?” Alvin said.

  “Shh,” I hissed.

  “I beg your pardon?” Betty said.

  “Not you, Ms. Connaught.”

  “Betty.”

  “Right. Betty. It's just someone on this end who is trying to interrupt. Another of Mrs. Parnell's friends. He has a low frustration point.”

  “Ah. How nice that Violet has such good friends. Now that I am no longer an educator, I suppose sometimes a low frustration point isn't all bad.”

  “Was there a problem with Major Parnell?” I said, not wishing to be distracted by Betty's career in education.

  “No. He was a gentleman always. Intelligent, kind.”

  “Fun?” I said.

  “Fun? No dear. No one ever could have accused Walter Parnell of being fun. Or even having fun, now that I think of it.”

  “She married him.”

  “She did. But of course, he wouldn't have been her first choice, dear.” Betty's voice sank to a whisper.

  “Right,” I said.

  “You could have knocked me over with a feather when I heard. Vi was the smartest, bravest, most adventurous girl I ever met. But that's war for you. People make bad decisions. Everyone feels there might not be a tomorrow. And for many, there wasn't.”

  I didn't want to get sidetracked. “Have you heard from her lately?”

  “No, not for years. You'll forgive me for saying so, dear, but Violet turned into quite a bitter person after her husband died. She certainly wasn't lucky in love. I don't believe she stayed in touch with anyone.”

  My mind switched to Mrs. P. when I first met her. She'd been nosy, argumentative, bitter and without friends, except for the super.

  Betty cleared her throat. “You'll have to excuse me. My nephew has just arrived. He makes such a fuss if I'm the slightest bit behind schedule. Do yourself a favour, dear, and hang on to your driver's license as long as you can. Give me your number, and I'll call you back later.”

  I spelled my name, repeated my number twice and threw in my cell for good measure. “Please call back,” I said. “I'd like you to think about who the dead man might have been.”

  Betty said, “He could have been anybody. At our age, dear, almost all of the men are dead. Certainly anyone that Vi and I knew. I will think about it. Oh, stop fussing, I said I'm coming. The doctor can wait two minutes for me for once. I've waited months to see him.”

  “Betty, one thing quickly, since we're already keeping the doctor waiting. Tell me about Mrs. Parnell's friend, Hazel Fellows. We couldn't find any trace of her.”

  “Oh, Hazel. Heavens. I suppose you might talk to her, although she's a bit of a scatterbrain. She was always a terrible gossip, and I shouldn't say this, but she wasn't always the most truthful person. Take everything she says with a grain of salt. I wouldn't like you to waste your time, dear.”

  “We'll keep that in mind.”

  “She brought Violet some grief. They had a serious falling out to do with Harrison Jones, I believe. I imagine Violet told you about him.”

  “Maybe not everything.” Or anything.

  “Harry was Violet's high school sweetheart. Everyone thought they would marry when he returned. They seemed so suited to each other.”

  “And did Hazel go out with him?”

  “No, no, Harry was much too fine a fellow for Hazel. She just wrote some things to him when he was overseas and ruined everything for Violet. He broke off the engagement. I wouldn't be surprised if that contributed to Violet pulling away from all her old friends. It won't be easy finding Hazel with all those husbands she's had. Married money each time, I imagine. I've lost track of her last names.”

  “And you have no idea where she might be?”

  “None. We really had nothing in common except for growing up in the same town.”

  “Any idea who might know?”

  “I don't want to disappoint you; she may not even be alive. She was such a wild and silly creature. I can't imagine her looking after herself too well.”

  “If you can suggest anyone else who might help, we'd really appreciate it, Betty.”

  “I will do my best, dear. I am coming,” she said. “Young people are so impatient.” I was glad I wasn't on the receiving end of that particular tone. “Please keep me informed about Violet. I'll get in touch with you later. Goodbye.”

  “We're in your debt,” I said to the dial tone.

  Alvin gripped my arm. “What's happening?”

  “Nothing. No damn luck at all.”

  “Oh. Well, at least you don't have to go through the letters again, Camilla. I googled Hazel Fellows and found a reference to Hazel Fellows Stiles Murphy Thurlow. In this article about balcony gardens.”

  “Great.”

  “I couldn't find the article.”

  “Damn.”

  “Have faith, Camilla. I found a H. S. M. Thurlow in Canada411, in Kingston. Here's the number. And this time, since we're a team, let me know what the person is saying.” He held out the number.

  I dialled and stood waiting, tapping my foot. “This whole thing is very frustrating. No answer, of course.”

  After a beep, a chirpy, happy voice said that Hazel would be back soon, and please leave a message.

  “Well, why didn't you leave a message?”

  “Because I am going to drive down there and find her. She's a gossip and a liar, with a tendency to change her name. She's still our best hope, because, face it, we don't have a goddam other thing to go on. I want to be able to look her straight in the eye.”

  “She's not home.”

  “She'll have to come back sometime. Anyway, I'm g
oing crazy here. It's not like I have anything better to do. Conn said it would take a while. If her letters are anything to go by, I think I'm going to learn plenty from Miss Hazel Fellows.”

  “I'm coming with you.”

  “I have a job for you. Call forward Mrs. P.'s phone to your cell. You have Mrs. P.'s key. Head back over to the apartment. You weren't kicked out of the building, and most of the people on the sixteenth floor should recognize you after all these years. Talk to as many as you can. Find out if anyone saw her leave, or saw her talking to anybody. Whatever you can squeeze out of them will be good.”

  Alvin's leather shoulders slumped.

  “Don't sulk, Alvin. You'll get wrinkles. This is really important. Talk to the Super. He doesn't have a problem with you. They've got cameras all over the building. Ask him what happens to the surveillance tapes in the building.”

  “That's brilliant, Camilla. They have cameras everywhere, the stairwells. And the garage. I remember you always used to make faces at them.”

  “Try to get a look at that guy who passed us in the hall. You might find something else relevant. I hoped they're not dopey enough to just keep the tapes on a twenty-four hour loop or something. You can see why you want to get over there soon. We don't know even when she left.”

  “The camera could pin that down.”

  “Good thinking. See if you can get the Super to hand over the tapes.”

  “You think he'd do that?”

  “No, but it's worth a try. We have to get them somehow.”

  Alvin said. “Nudge nudge wink wink.”

  “I'm not suggesting anything illegal. Just making the point that we need those tapes. I'm heading out fast. I'll make sure Conn has my cell number. But just in case…”

  “I know. Answer the phone. And take notes.”

  * * *

  It's a nice enough drive from Ottawa to Kingston if you like the 401, with its big honking transports, and if chunks of Canadian shield are your thing. Despite my coffee cravings, I didn't let myself stop at Tim Hortons, and kept a steady 135 klics all the way. Luck was with me, and I saw no sign of the OPP. I hit downtown Kingston in well under two hours.

  The address I had for Hazel of the many names turned out to be an elegant condo on the waterfront. Large windows and balconies faced a million dollar view of Lake Ontario. I did not have a unit number, the sole shortcoming of Canada411.

  Never mind. Everyone knew who Hazel was. Soon I was lifting the brass knocker on unit ten.

  Perhaps my luck was turning.

  Hazel Fellows Stiles Murphy Thurlow answered her door. She was tiny, with the features of a china doll and soft apricot curls. She held an immense fluffy white cat, which didn't seem too pleased to be confined. She'd kept her trim figure, and the stretchy pale turquoise yoga suit with the white stripe down the sides showed her to advantage. It was hard to believe she was the same age as Mrs. P. She'd opened the door with such a look of expectation on her round pretty face that I felt a stab of distress. I managed a smile. The cat looked at me with contempt. I also positioned myself so that if she tried to close the door, my foot would be in it.

  “Of course, I remember Vi. Like it was yesterday.” The pretty round face fell. “That's the problem. I remember all the yesterdays perfectly. A heck of a lot better than I can remember the todays. Or the real yesterday, meaning Thursday. No matter what, I don't think I could ever forget Vi. Good grief, now what did you say your name was?”

  I hadn't. “Camilla MacPhee. I am a very good friend of hers.”

  “You're lucky then,” she said, with tears in her large blue eyes.

  I stepped into the condo unit and found myself staring past the furnishings. The window revealed the vast expanse of Lake Ontario. Spectacular didn't come close to describing it. Of course, I hadn't driven like a bat out of hell to stare at the scenery. The room had a Florida feel, peach walls, turquoise and pale peach furniture with overstuffed cushions, the kind you sink into and never want to leave. Three soft, unremarkable framed prints covered the walls. The cat went nicely with the colour-scheme, although it could easily be missed in the white-pile wall-to-wall carpet. I pegged the decor at 1990. That had obviously been a good year for Hazel. It had been for me too.

  Despite the summery decor, there was a fire in the fireplace. I've always wanted a fireplace, and this pale-cream surround, mantle and raised hearthstone seemed perfect. I wondered how Ray would look building a fire in it.

  I shook my head. I had business to accomplish, and I was being distracted. Mrs. Parnell would have told me not to lose sight of my target. I kept that in mind as I made myself comfortable. I glanced at the cluster of about two-dozen silver-framed photos, crowding the glass top of the console behind the sofa.

  The dominant feature was silver-haired men, although one bald gentleman beamed in a photo with a slightly younger Hazel. Three smiling couples in late middle-age. Two beautiful blonde girls smiled out in wedding pictures, a pair of babies stared at the camera in another shot. They were held by the same girls looking a few years older.

  Hazel beamed. “My husbands. They were just grand, all three of them. These are my first husband's children. This one's Val. She lives nearby, and she's awfully good to me. Well, a bit of a mother hen, when you get right down to it. You'd think I was a child. I might be eighty-three, but I still like my independence. You never know when romance will strike. And these gorgeous gals are my second husband's children and their children. And the new babies, aren't they the cutest? I am blessed. The kids all treat me like a queen.”

  “I think they're lucky to have you.”

  She clapped her hands together. “What a nice thing to say, sweetie. I like you. Let's have G & Ts! It's late enough.”

  “Not for me, thanks, I have a long drive ahead. If you don't mind answering a few questions, that would be helpful. I'm sure you're busy, and I don't want to take too much of your time.” My strategy was, get in, get info, get going, get home, and get some action out of the cops.

  “I'd offer you coffee or tea, although I'm not supposed to plug the kettle in, just in case I forget it. The nice thing about gin. You can drink it and not burn the place down.”

  “You have one then. I'll watch the kettle for me if you want,” I said.

  “Thank you, dear. I did buy one of those that shut off automatically. I just felt like company.”

  “I'll keep your G & T company in spirit, so to speak.”

  Hazel might have had memory failures, but she hadn't lost her touch with perfect buttery homemade shortbread, or with the mixing of G & Ts, judging by the taste of the cookies and the look of her drink.

  When we finally settled down, I took a good look at her. She could have passed for sixty. My sisters would have known if a cosmetic surgeon had helped with that. My guess was that her beautiful bone structure, crisp cheekbones, still clear jawline and lovely peachy skin were just good genes. And maybe, judging from the laughlines, knowing how to have a good time.

  “What can I tell you, sweetie?”

  “Have you heard from Mrs. Parnell lately?”

  “Who?”

  “I meant Vi.”

  “Right. Mrs. Parnell. Poor Walter Parnell. Poor Vi.” Hazel got a faraway look in her eyes. “So sad.”

  It wasn't the time for yet another critique of the man Mrs. P. had chosen to spend her life with, so I said, “Have you heard from her? A phone call?”

  “No. Well, I don't think so.” Her small shoulders sagged in her pretty sweater. “You know what they say? They say old age is not for sissies. For heaven's sake, what am I talking about? I have waited for so long to hear from Vi, I couldn't forget that. Ever!”

  “Right.”

  “I've never been a sissy, you know. I've been frivolous, but I'm no coward. I was never afraid to go after what I wanted. And now, it looks like I'll have to leave my lovely home one of these days because they're all afraid I'll burn it down. Or drown in the bathtub. I don't really want to end up in a warehouse with a bunc
h of decaying old corpses, you know. I've had a fun life; I'd like to go out on a high.”

  I raised my coffee cup. “I'm with you there, Hazel.”

  “Here's to living life, Camilla.” She raised the G & T.

  “And your friend, Vi, lives life to the fullest too. We're just afraid that something has…”

  “Who's we, sweetie?”

  “My assistant, Alvin Ferguson, and I. He was very keen to meet you, but he's busy checking around Ottawa for Mrs. Parnell.”

  “Nice that she has friends who are so interested in her. I remember hearing that, after Walter died, she kind of kept to herself. That would have been a shame.”

  “Were you in touch with her then?”

  She turned and stared through the window at the icy expanse of water. “I have to tell the truth. Vi and I had an awful falling out during the war, and we never got together again. I never met Walter. I just heard about him from other people. Even though Vi was my best friend, I never laid eyes on her after she left Chesterton.”

  “You would have spoken to her if she'd contacted you?”

  “With pleasure! I was heartbroken when she cut me dead. Sweetie, I've buried lovely husbands with less grief than that.”

  The woman was full of surprises.

  “The names we have from the past are you and Betty Connaught.”

  “Betty! Is she still around? Don't take anything she says seriously. Still bitchy, I imagine.”

  I thanked heavens that Alvin wasn't there, or he would have prompted Hazel for details. Old animosities between these women weren't going to advance my agenda.

  “What about men?” I said.

  “Men? They're like buses. There's always another one coming along shortly.”

  “Specifically, the men you both knew during the war,” I said when I'd stopped laughing.

  “The ones who came back, you mean?”

  “I don't know what I mean. Before she disappeared, Mrs. Parnell said, ‘I'm terribly troubled by a dead man.’ It seemed to be in a World War II context, and I have no idea of how to find out who she meant. That's why I came to you. Betty didn't know much.”

  “She wouldn't, would she? She wasn't exactly the type you'd confide in. Miss Goody-Two Shoes. Does she still look like she's been sucking prunes?”