I figured Elaine might be awake too. She was always puttering around all hours of the night, painting lampshades, stringing sequins, decoupaging cigar boxes. That’s one of the nice things about obsessives: they don’t relax even when they’re not working.
Plus, even when she has the odd weekend off from her job as executive director of Women Against Violence Everywhere (WAVE), Elaine is unable to refuse help to anyone who asks. I didn’t think twice about dialling her number.
Turned out I was wrong about the awake part. I let her phone ring four times, and when she didn’t answer, I hung up. I remembered how hard it was to wake her up when she does go to sleep. That was dumb. Since I really needed to leave her a message, I dialled again. Elaine fumbled the phone on the third ring.
“It’s me,” I said. “Just need a bit of information.”
“Holy moly, what time is it?”
“Latish.”
“It’s three-thirty in the morning. What’s wrong? Are you in the hospital?”
“No.”
“Jail?”
“Sorry, Elaine, were you sleeping?”
“Sheesh.” It’s not like Elaine to sound grumpy. Wacky yes. Grumpy, no. I guess I’d just caught her at a weak moment.
“Well, I didn’t realize it was quite so late.”
“Can you call me back in the morning?”
“Listen, you make your living rescuing people in distress, battered women, abused children, anyone with a problem. Are you telling me you only take calls during business hours?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. But there’s a big difference between outside of business hours and three-thirty in the morning. Whatever you want, it can wait. And I mean wait until after ten in the morning.” She hung up. That was not at all like her. I figured that, in her sleepy state, she’d dropped the phone.
Since it really couldn’t wait, I called back. How many times had I bailed her out when one of her clients needed a quick off-the-record legal opinion? I’d like to say Elaine’s not quite so impulsive when she gets arrested herself, but in truth, she’s always pretty much the same. If you’re in a real pickle, she’s there for you. She obviously didn’t realize that this constituted a pickle.
Yet.
She answered on the fifth ring.
“Elaine. Quick question.”
Long sigh.
“You remember Laura Brown from Carleton?”
“If I answer your inexplicable question, will you promise not to wake me up again?”
“Sure.” Unless, of course, it was necessary.
“Yes, I remember Laura Brown. What about her?”
“She’s dead.”
“Did you say dead?”
“I did.”
“Oh no, Camilla, that’s awful.”
“Yup.”
“You’re sure it’s the same Laura Brown we knew at Carleton?”
“I’m sure.”
“What happened to her? Car accident or something?”
“No. Do you remember how you met?”
“Gosh, I don’t know. We were probably in a class together. Or maybe the pub. Is that important? Had she been ill?” Elaine isn’t one simply to accept information.
“No, apparently she fell.”
“Fell?”
“Off that escarpment behind the Supreme Court of Canada.”
“Holy moly.”
“The police are saying it was an accident.”
Like me, Elaine is no fan of the police. “Mmm. The police. Listen, I didn’t know you were friends with Laura. Mind telling me why it’s so important to you at three-thirty in the morning?”
“Long story, but I’m the next-of-kin.”
“Oh, you are not next-of-kin.”
“Am.”
“You’ve never even mentioned seeing Laura Brown since Carleton.”
I decided not to mention the will at this point. “Trust me. And I’m just as surprised as you are. It’s unsettling, and I would like to get the whole thing over with. I need to check out a couple of facts for my peace of mind. Then we can both go back to sleep.”
“Well, I can’t go back to sleep now. I’m wide awake.”
“Okay, so who else might have known her?”
“You can’t really expect me to remember that right off the bat.”
“Why not? You never forget anything or anyone.”
“Let me think. She must have known a lot of people, but she kept to herself. Remember?”
“Exactly. I also remember her walking around with one other woman, but I can’t remember her name. I’m grasping at straws here, but I really need to find someone who might know how to reach Laura’s relatives.”
“Check the house.”
“Done. I combed through the whole place thoroughly and didn’t find a single thing.”
“That’s so weird.”
“Tell me about it. Do you remember where she came from? I remember she said it was a small town some place here in Ontario. I thought it began with a C.”
“Really? I always had the impression she was American.”
“American? No, I’m sure she told me Ontario.”
“My mistake. Calaboogie?”
“No.”
“Clayton?”
“Uh-uh.”
“Crow Lake?”
“Sorry.”
“Okay, I’ll try to figure out some names. But now, maybe I’ll just go back to sleep.”
“Thanks, Elaine. I’ll talk to you in the morning. I know, not before ten.”
“I’d say any time, but I’m afraid you’d take me up on it.”
“Hey! What are friends for?” I said.
Maybe Elaine went back to sleep, but I couldn’t. For some reason, I was hungry. I couldn’t really remember the last time I’d had anything aside from coffee and Harvey’s Bristol Cream.
I headed for the fridge, although there’s never all that much to eat in mine. Not like Laura’s. I thought back to the orange juice, the milk, the chicken and vegetables.
I stood staring at a container of margarine and two open cans of pet food lit by my fridge light. There were still a couple of bottles of Moosehead left over from Ray Deveau’s last visit. I picked up a small cappuccino yogurt with a best before date of June 1.
I could feel Gussie’s hot breath on the back of my knees and the swish of Mrs. Parnell’s cat’s tail on my ankles.
“Go back to bed,” I said. I found the box of Godiva chocolates and took them out to the balcony. It was nippy enough to need a blanket. I watched the crescent moon hang over the glittering river. I enjoyed the fact that no one was bugging me. Gussie and the cat snuggled up, but that didn’t count as bugging.
“There’s always something to be thankful for,” my father used to say. I was thankful for pets and for chocolate. Laura probably hadn’t been able to indulge much in that.
Wait a minute.
That was it. If Laura Brown had been diabetic, where was her insulin?