Little Boy Blues (23 page)

Mrs. Parnell cast a worried look at Alvin, but he seemed to be holding up all right.

“Did any of the residents see Jimmy around the time of the fire?” I said.

“A couple of them. They banged on the doors of all the apartments, and they said they saw Jimmy run out into the street. He had a box with him.”

“And then?”

“And then apparently he ran away and fought off a couple of people who tried to help him, including my landlord.”

“Do they have any idea where he went?”

“No such luck.”

“We’d better whisper this news into the furry grey ear of Leonard Mombourquette.”

“And then, we must mobilize our forces to find young Jimmy before it’s too late.” Mrs. Parnell had another sherry to help her mobilization.

“If only we had the postcards. Jimmy might have mentioned something useful,” Alvin said. “Maybe that’s what he had in the box.”

“No. That’s a bit of good news. They’ve been sitting in my briefcase all along.”

“And you never mentioned it?” Alvin’s eyes bugged out. First, I hadn’t wanted to trigger one of Alvin’s states. Then we were in transit. I was about to explain all this when it crossed my mind that I was the only person who had known where they were.

• • •

I only stepped back into my apartment to settle Gussie in and
to check he or she couldn’t open the bedroom door and eat Mrs. Parnell’s cat. Or that Mrs. Parnell’s cat couldn’t open the door to the living room to slash Gussie’s nose.

The phone was ringing when I got there. A few minutes later, despite the fact my sister was on the line from Scotland, I was glad I’d answered. I was a lot further ahead after talking to my father.

“Don’t thank me,” he said. “Of course, I know them.”

“Excellent.”

“Lovely people, the Redmores. Protestant, of course.”

“Oh, well, Daddy. You can’t have everything.”

“They came from Ontario originally.”

“Oh?”

“The father’s dead now, of course.”

“And Honey?” I preferred to avoid the route of dead fathers and any pre facto guilt that could induce.

“Of course, she’s not dead, Camilla. She’s a young woman.”

“I meant do you know where she lives?”

“I don’t know why you didn’t look her up in the phone book. I tried to teach you self-reliance as a child.”

“What?”

“Self-reliance. When a person stands on their own feet and does things for themselves rather than asking others to wait on them.”

“You mean look her up in the Ottawa phone book?”

“Well, where else would you look her up? They all live in Ottawa now.”

“All?”

“The son and the daughter. I believe the mother winters in Florida. Those young people have done very well for themselves. The daughter works on Parliament Hill. Apparently she’s on the staff of the Minister of...let me think,
what is that now. Well anyway, and the son is in the television business. I am sure the mother is very proud of them both.”

“Minister of what?”

“Absolutely no need to yell, Camilla. Did I not teach you manners as a child?”

“Sorry, Daddy. Do you remember what minister she works for?”

“Is that important?”

“Yes.”

“No memory of that. I’ve lost interest in politics. At my age, you know. I thought it was interesting that the son had won several important awards for investigative journalism.”

“Really. That’s great, Daddy. But you don’t remember where Honey works?”

“Who?”

“The daughter.”

“No. I don’t.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t realize she lived in Ottawa. For some reason I expected Toronto or Vancouver, even Halifax. I’ll get her number.”

“I will be glad to see you showing some self-reliance.”

“Thanks, Daddy.”

Before I could hang up, my sister Edwina’s voice rang firmly into my ear. “Just once could you speak to Daddy without getting him all upset? We’re trying to enjoy our trip to Scotland, you know.”

“You and me both,” I said.

“Stan wants to know how the car is. I told him it was fine, and to stop being so overprotective.”

Time to change that subject. I filled her in on Jimmy’s disappearance. I used the arrival of a fleet of Fergusons as a diversion. That brought out the general in her. Jimmy must be
found. Alvin must be looked after. The Fergusons must be made comfortable at all costs. Think what they were going through, she said. They couldn’t be expected to stay in a hotel. As many as needed to could make themselves comfortable at her place, four bedrooms, would that do it? If not, put the overflow at Alexa’s and Donalda’s. I thought I heard Alexa squeak in the background, but she can fight her own battles. I had all their keys. I wanted to get the hell off the phone before Stan grabbed the receiver to ask about his baby blue Buick. And now I was running a hotel.

P. J. caught me before I left again. He said, “But you’re here in town now. You drove non-stop from Sydney and tonight’s performances are going to be amazing and you really wanted to go to this. Remember?”

“That was then, this is now. We have an emergency. We are mobilizing our forces. The whole Ferguson family is coming to town. I have to go back to Mrs. Parnell’s and see what the plan is. Don’t make such a fuss. It’s only a couple of concerts. Try to understand.”

Only a couple of concerts? I never thought I’d hear myself say anything so foolish. “And, anyway, how come you never told me Honey Redmore lives here?”

“I didn’t? You sure? It doesn’t matter, I tracked down her home number for you. Don’t ask me how.”

“You’re a bud, P. J. I wish I could be with you tonight.”

• • •

Gussie was very excited about strolling down the hall to Mrs. Parnell’s apartment. When we got there, Alvin and Mrs. P. were also excited. Alvin had some colour in his cheeks. Mrs. Parnell had a full glass in one hand and a Benson and Hedges
in the other. I continued to marvel at how she managed that walker.

They had indeed been busy.

Five hundred copies of the “Have You Seen Our Jimmy” poster were rolling off Mrs. P.’s Hewlett-Packard 3100. I didn’t think I’d been gone that long, but apparently Alvin had managed a quick run to the stationery shop to get staple guns and more printer paper, plus a vast map of the National Capital Region and a serious box of coloured pushpins. He busied himself taping the map to Mrs. Parnell’s living room wall.

“Great news, Camilla.”

“We need it.”

“I don’t know why it took me so long to figure it out. I’ve been checking the postcards. Look at this one.”

I leaned over. Sure enough, Jimmy had written something about Bluesfest in large cursive letters.

Alvin said, “He might find his way to it. I talked to him about it last year and this year too.”

“But I didn’t think you were at all interested in it, Alvin.”

“I’m not really, but I wanted to give him new information all the time and things to think about. So I mention all the festivals and events. Jimmy loves all kinds of music, so I make a big deal about them. I told him the Matthew Good Band was coming.”

“I noticed them on the program. But I wouldn’t call them a blues band.”

“Whatever. They’re playing on Youth Night. Jimmy knew who they were. He mentioned them himself in two different postcards.”

“Could he find Bluesfest?”

“You can hear the music straight across the river in Hull. So
the thing is, you
should
go to Bluesfest, Camilla, so you can look for him. Violet and I are combing through the rest of the cards one more time, and we’ll make up a grid of locations Jimmy talked about and make sure people blanket those areas with the picture of Jimmy. My family will work on that too.”

Gussie eyed Lester and Pierre and licked his or her lips. Lester and Pierre shrieked. I thought they had a point.

“Young Ferguson will cover his own neighbourhood, as well as the market area and Elgin Street. You could hand out these posters at this music festival, since you have decided to go, Ms. MacPhee. Thousands of people from all over the region will be flocking to it. All ages and types. Someone may have seen him. I shall help get the family settled when they arrive.”

“Jimmy left his money at home. How could he get to Bluesfest?”

“I’m hoping he found my cash in the apartment before it burnt. He would have needed some.”

“But you didn’t have any money. I went all over your apartment for your ID and didn’t see any.”

“Use your brain, Camilla. It was hidden.”

“How would Jimmy know where to find it?”

“We both use the same hiding place. Above the closet door but on the inside.”

“But he couldn’t know that.”

“Sure he would.”

“Do you think he’d steal your money?”

“Not a case of stealing. First of all, he’d need money to survive. Second, he’d borrow it, not steal it. He knows he can pay it back.”

“Okay. I guess it’s good he has money. What else did he say he wanted to see?”

“Well, Parliament Hill, the Peace Tower, the locks, the canal,
the market. Even the Justice for Victims office. All the things I told him about.” Alvin’s ponytail drooped with misery.

Mrs. Parnell’s printer was humming again. “Systematically combing the city, that’s the main thing. Starting with the most likely areas,” she said.

I said, “Systematic is not my best thing. So I’ve also decided to pursue the Honey Redmore angle.”

“I don’t know why you’re so hot and bothered about Honey, Camilla. None of us has seen her for years.”

“You’re probably right, but there’s something strange about whatever happened with her. It’s bothering me. The incident with the Redmores may not be connected to his disappearance, but it’s definitely connected to Jimmy. We’re better off knowing how.”

Ms. Redmore, my name is Camilla MacPhee. I’m a lawyer with Justice for Victims. I’m doing a bit of research on a somewhat sensitive issue to do with justice for victims and policy implications,” I said. “I am sorry to bother you on the week-end, but I think you’d bring a unique perspective to my research. Could you spare half an hour to discuss it? Over a drink perhaps.” I was prepared to argue the case.

“Sure,” she said. “That sounds very interesting. When would you like to meet?”

“This afternoon?” Almost too good to be true. “Are you okay meeting on a weekend?”

“Better than during the week. It’s hard to get away from the office,” she said.

“Great. Five o’clock okay?” Five would give me plenty of time to catch up with P. J. at Bluesfest.

“Five it is.”

“How about meeting at the Black Tomato in the market? Is that convenient?”

“Sounds good, it’s not far from my place,” she said. “See you on the patio if the weather holds.”

I stared at the phone. Honey Redmore had sounded quite pleasant, although I wasn’t so sure how long that would last.

• • •

I found no one who looked like a Honey Redmore in The Black Tomato. I decided maybe something had come up, and maybe I would be cooling my jets for a while. I headed toward the patio and stuck my head outside.

At a table in the shady corner a pretty, dark-haired woman smiled in my direction. I gave her a nod and kept looking.

“Are you Camilla?” she said.

“Yes. Do I know you?”

“I’m Honey Redmore.”

“I don’t know why, but for some reason, I expected a tall blonde.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” she said.

“Who’s disappointed? I have issues with tall blondes. Now I’m in a good mood.”

“I bet there’s a story.”

“Yep. But it would take way too long.”

“I bet I can swap you tall blonde story for tall blonde story.” She had a pale heart-shaped face fringed by very expensive shiny hair the colour of good quality coffee beans. She also had huge almond-shaped eyes with serious eyelashes. She looked great in jeans and a
T
-shirt.

“Buy you a drink?” I said.

“You bet. Corona and lime,” she said, smiling. I figured somewhere an orthodontist had died rich and happy. Honey Redmore didn’t have much to worry about in the looks department. I had been prepared not to like her. I decided I might have to work at that. It was too bad, because she wouldn’t like me much by the time we were finished our cosy chat.

I stuck with coffee. Didn’t want to lose my advantage. I decided to wait until the drinks came before I got to the point. “How did you guess who I was?” I said, stalling for time.

“Recognized you from your picture in the papers.”

“Oh.”

“You got a lot of media coverage last winter.”

This bothered me. “You mean I look like those pictures in the paper? Wet or cold or both?”

“Oh look, here’s our drinks. In the nick of time too,” she said.

My family had videotaped the television coverage of last year’s debacle. “I’m not a vain person, but there are limits,” I said, resisting the urge to dash to the ladies and check my reflection.

She seemed to think this was amusing. She had quite the glint in her eye, or maybe that was the late afternoon sun glancing off the Corona bottle.

It was time to get down to brass tacks. “The reason I wanted to talk to you was about a young man named James Ferguson.”

She put the Corona bottle down with a thump.

“Surprised?” I said.

“Yes. I thought we’d be talking about youth issues and policy implications.”

“This is an issue, but a specific one. You know Jimmy Ferguson?”

“Yes. I know Jimmy.”

“Good. I have a few questions to ask about him.”

She twisted her hands. “Poor Jimmy.”

“What do you mean, poor Jimmy?”

“Well, he
is
missing, isn’t he?

“Oh, you know about that?”

“Of course, it was all over the news. Police bulletins.”

“Really?” I was surprised. I guess Mombourquette had been on the ball about that, or maybe it was the RCMP. Whatever, it was good news.

“And they haven’t found him yet?” Her lower lip quivered.

“No,” I said. “Not yet.”

“There’s no way he’s going to be all right on his own.”

“You mean because of his medical conditions?”

“I mean, he is too innocent and trusting. It’s like someone wearing a KICK ME sign.”