The Devil's in the Details (29 page)

“Don't you start,” I said. “I have professional guilt inducers in my life, and they're way out of your league.”

Bianca Celestri had a shiny black door. I rang the buzzer.

“I'll ask her to give you a bowl of water. Stop with the dramatics.”

I stabbed at the door again. No answer. I didn't want to think she might have been away for the weekend. I preferred to believe she was implicated in Laura's death, or she was scared shitless.

Gussie sighed. Pointedly.

I leaned against the peephole to see if someone was peeking out at me. The door swung open with my weight, and I fell forward. I landed on my bruised knees on the marble floor of the entranceway.

“Hello. Your door's open. Hello?” Okay. It sounded crazy, even to my ears.

This time I yelled, “Bianca, I need to speak to you.”

It crossed my mind that Bianca might not live alone, and I could encounter some gentleman friend who didn't like strangers falling through the door. But no one appeared. I got to my feet and brushed off my knees. Gussie looked up at me with hope.

When you're wanted for two murders and implicated in two others, why worry about getting the dog a bowl of water? The words “unlawful entering” came to mind, but that seemed like small potatoes.

The tiny but snazzy kitchen was visible from the entrance. I found a lovely blue bowl in a cupboard and filled it for Gussie.
This reminded me to go to the bathroom. When you're on the run, you take opportunities where you find them.

My sisters would have approved of the fashionable powder room. Tuscan colours, nifty sconces, soap from L'Occitane. I was the only discordant element. I stared at myself in the mirror. Scary.

I whipped off the maple leaf baseball cap. That helped, but not much. There I was, in all my dark and stocky glory, with raccoon eyes, looking thoroughly dangerous. And as cool and comfortable as Bianca's house was, I didn't have any business being in it.

“Time to head out,” I said to Gussie.

I thought I heard him moan. What the hell had he eaten now? The blue bowl? But Gussie had already dozed off on the cool marble entryway floor.

I heard the moan again. I closed my eyes and listened. It seemed to come from the stairs leading to the lower level.

“Be prepared to get the hell out of here,” I said to Gussie.

Stairs had been a problem for me. Was this another trap? Was someone lurking? I figured if anyone tried to sneak up on me, Gussie would bark. Of course, I was dizzy enough to fall without any assistance.

I crept halfway down, keeping my back to the wall, and peered into the dim room. At the foot of the stairs was a crumpled mass. I didn't have to look closely to know it was a woman, dark hair spread around her, one sandal on, the other still on the staircase. This was a fine time to realize I'd left Mrs. Parnell's cellphone in the Pathfinder. I glanced over my shoulder, then scrambled down, gripping the banister.

I knelt beside her. A raw wound gaped on the back of her head. I couldn't see her face, but blood had seeped out around her. She moaned softly again. She was alive, with a weak pulse.

“Bianca. I'm calling 911. They won't take long. You'll be okay.”

I pushed the hair from her face. I'm not sure why. But even before that, I knew she was the woman I'd seen lunching with Laura.

The main thing was to call for an ambulance. “Hang in there,” I said. I staggered up the stairs and reached for the portable phone I'd seen in the kitchen. I gave the particulars to the 911 operator.

“Who's calling?” she asked.

“A neighbour,” I said. “I just came in because her door had been open for a while. I heard moaning, and I found her at the bottom of the stairs. Hurry.”

“They're on their way. Stay calm and tell me what happened.”

“I don't know. She has a head wound. Should I do something?”

“Don't move her. The paramedics will be there soon.”

“Okay.” I heard the quaver in my voice. I kept the phone in my hand and wobbled down the stairs again. I put my hand on her back.

“Bianca,” I said. “It's going to be all right.”

Nothing.

“The paramedics are on their way. They will take care of you. You're going to make it.”

“Ma'am?” the dispatcher said.

“Yes?”

“Is she still breathing?”

“Yes, but she keeps making a gurgling sound. What should I do?”

“Just keep calm, ma'am. Help is on its way.”

“Please tell me what I can do, because . . .” I stopped talking, because I heard sirens outside. Then steps in the
hallway upstairs and loud barking from Gussie.

“Down here,” I yelled. “Hurry.”

Two firefighters in rescue gear thundered down the stairs. I knew the fire department and the police often get to a scene before the paramedics.

“What happened?” the first firefighter said.

I said. “I found her here. The front door was open.”

“She fell?”

“I think someone attacked her.”

I started up the steps, nearly colliding with a couple of police officers. Gussie had decided to block their way.

I grabbed his collar. “Sorry, officers. Can you take a look around? Bianca has a serious wound on the back of her head.”

“Who are you?” The first constable had his notebook out. He turned as the paramedics trooped through the door.

“Downstairs. Quick,” I said.

“Wait a minute,” one of the paramedics said, “don't I know you?”

I put my hand over my mouth. “All that blood, I think I'm going to be sick.”

There was a lot of confusion in the entryway. Gussie and I took advantage of it. We slipped out the door and into the Pathfinder in seconds. In hindsight, I should have wiped my fingerprints off the door, the phone, the banister and the bowl Gussie drank from. But I was new at being a fugitive.

Drive first, think later. I hadn't been blocked by the emergency vehicles, so I left without too much trouble, considering my head was swimming. I drove in a random pattern through the neighbourhood streets trying to stay off the main roads, until
I had a plan. At least the cops didn't know what I was wearing, and it might take them a while to connect the attack on Bianca with me. After about ten minutes, I pulled over on a tree-lined street and leaned back. I turned on the radio and caught the nine-thirty news. Might as well know the worst.

According to the announcer, the latest development in my flight from the authorities was shocking: “Police have released video footage of fugitive lawyer Camilla MacPhee following a daring daylight theft of an
SUV
from a downtown parking garage. Surveillance cameras show MacPhee accompanied by a large mixed-breed dog, believed to be vicious. MacPhee is wearing a Canada baseball cap,
T
-shirt and large red sunglasses. She is considered dangerous. A reward has been posted for information leading to her arrest.”

The story was completed by the owner of the stolen vehicle. “I was terrified. The woman drove like a maniac. She had some kind of a wolf with her. I was lucky to escape with my life.”

I argued back. “What are you talking about? You chased me.”

Gussie whimpered. “Sorry, Gussie, I got you into this mess with me. So you're going to have to forgive me for what I have to do next.”

But the radio wasn't finished. Not by a long shot.

“MacPhee's family and friends are appealing to her to turn herself in.”

“Camilla, you get yourself to the nearest police station on the double before there's any more trouble. Do you hear me, Missy?”

Ah, Edwina. In four star general mode.

“Camilla? Please turn yourself in. The police will help get to the bottom of what is going on. Whatever it is.”

Sure, Alexa. You can trust the police. You're sleeping with them.

“Ms. MacPhee. I am confident you will do the right thing. And whatever happens, Young Ferguson and I will be at your side.”

“Lord thundering Jesus, Camilla. You know we're here for you.”

Thanks, guys. Keep up the pretense.

I took a minute to ponder the new state of affairs. Laura's murderer was in high gear, and the police were squandering their resources chasing me instead of the real killer. I might have had a concussion or even two, and I was definitely in deep shit, but, even so, I still had the best chance of getting to the bottom of things.

I thought back to the news broadcast. As usual, Mrs. Parnell had been speaking in her own sort of code. All those World War II habits of enigmatic speech were paying off. Her message told me I could count on her, no matter what. And Alvin too, apparently.

But I had a few pressing problems. Number one, finding a way not to look like the lunatic in the news clips. Since my regular description had also been released, being me was not an option. Shopping was out of the question, so was going home to change, or turning up at the homes of any of my friends.

As my father used to say, when the going gets tricky, the tough get trickier. Something like that. He had many sayings that cropped up at tough moments. Some were more useful than others.

I looked around my pilfered Pathfinder. Unfortunately, it didn't contain a complete set of clothing in my size. I spotted
a pair of jeans in size sixteen on the backseat. The glove compartment and the cargo space revealed nothing useful, unless I was going to go out disguised as someone's discarded McDonald's lunch.

Under the seat, I found a blue and white flowered silk scarf. I slid out of my shorts and into the jeans. They hung loosely, but so what? I rolled the hems. I turned my T-shirt inside out so the tulip disappeared. I popped the red lenses out of the cheap sunglasses, leaving the black frames. The scarf made a lovely hijab, hiding my hair. The “glasses” gave me a studious look and blended with the raccoon eyes.

I could pass for a graduate student at one of the universities until I came up with something better. I hopped out of the Pathfinder and checked the license plate. Still nicely obscured.

I was feeling quite proud of myself as I headed back to Sandy Hill and Mombourquette's little house. I parked a block away and hustled Gussie along the street to the small gated garden.

I opened the side gate, pushed Gussie in and told him not to eat the beautiful plants. I did my best to look like a grad student and not a fleeing felon as I got the hell out of there.

A couple of miles later, I left him a phone message.

“Leonard, no matter how you are feeling about me, Gussie is an innocent bystander. Please don't let him into your garbage or painting supplies. Absolutely No Doughnuts. Thanks. I'll make it up to you.”

Hearing two of my sisters on the nine-thirty news had told me something useful. The third one, Donalda, must have stayed with my father at the cottage. If she'd come into town, I'd have heard her comments too. That meant her house was fair game.
Donalda lived in Alta Vista, much more convenient than Edwina's and Alexa's Nepean homes.

I ditched the Pathfinder in a strip mall on Heron and hobbled onto the bus to Alta Vista. No one gave me a second look. I loved that hijab.

I staggered along to my sister's large bungalow from a strip of green space at the back, feeling worse by the minute. I slid off the scarf and tucked it in the jeans pocket. I wasn't worried about getting in. I know all my sisters' key codes. But at Donalda's, a new keypad had been installed on the back door. The old code didn't work. What word would Donalda choose? I tried
MACP
but no. Then the first four letters of each of their names. No luck. Donalda's toy poodle. Birthdays. Nope.

I thought hard. My brother-in-law lives to fish. I tried FISH. But then again, Donalda detests fishing. What the hell, I tried fish backwards.
HSIF
.

I was in.

Donalda's neighbours would know she was at the cottage. If I switched on any lights, the neighbours would spot them. And unless they were comatose, they would know I was on the run. I decided not to give them something to think about.