Like so many things in life, it was a matter of split-second timing. But I had it all worked out. Sure, there’d been setbacks. For instance, dodging my po-faced new neighbour and his endless complaints about noise from my apartment. Closing the door in his face had put an end to that.
I had to check my phone messages. Might be something urgent. I had a couple of “blocked number” calls. They might be from Ray Deveau, not that it mattered. But wouldn’t Ray have left a message?
Okay, forget him. I had to feed Mrs. Parnell’s little calico cat and Gussie, my purely temporary dog, then take Gussie for a bit of quick relief in the park.
Next, a shower and change of clothes were called for. I had a small box of Godiva chocolates left over from my birthday. They’d make a nice dinner. After that, take the camera and drive like hell for the Quebec side of the Ottawa River and the Festival des Montgolfières, as the balloon festival is officially called. First, I’d have to figure out which of the five bridges would be the least congested. Then snag a parking spot, figure out the French signs, track down the goddam candy-apple red balloon, snap a few shots and head home.
I hadn’t counted on a couple of strangers hammering on my door as I dished out the Miss Meow and Waltham’s Geriatric Canine mix. People don’t just bang on the doors of sixteenth floor apartments. They’re supposed to be buzzed into the building. Gussie howled at every knock. I was steamed as I squinted through the peephole.
Two unfamiliar uniformed police officers stood in front of my door. I wouldn’t win a popularity contest with the Ottawa cops, so what was this about?
It’s hard to see through the peephole, so I attached the chain and opened the door a crack. They seemed nervous and unhappy. In my experience, cops are almost always unhappy and almost never nervous, so maybe it was wishful thinking.
Working as a victim’s advocate, you learn it’s best not to let strange men into your home when you’re alone. Mind you, they wore uniforms, and they appeared clean-cut and apparently well-intentioned. Judging by their precise haircuts, bullet-proof vests and crisp shoulders, they were cops all right. Never mind. I’d had plenty of fuel for my distrust of humanity. A lot of badass types look respectable enough to take home to meet the folks. And how hard could it be to get your mitts on a couple of uniforms?
“Camilla MacPhee?” the shorter officer said.
“Yes.”
“We’d like to speak to you.”
I admit I was curious. “Why?”
Gussie barked all through the answer.
“We’d like to come in, ma’am.” At least that’s what I think he said.
“Quiet, Gussie. What?”
The tall one raised his voice. “It’s better if we come in.”
“I’d like to know why.”
Traffic ticket? Fund-raising? I had no idea.
The shorter one rubbed his upper lip. “We need to speak to you in person.”
“Speak,” I said. That set Gussie off again. “Not you, Gussie.”
“It will be better if you let us in, ma’am.”
“All right. Show me your ID.”
“Can’t hear you with the dog barking.”
“Be quiet, Gussie. Show me your ID cards.”
The tall one flushed. He’d have to control that if he planned to move up in the police force.
“It’s really hard to hear you. Can we please come in? It will make it easier.”
The po-faced neighbour pounded on the wall. This gave Gussie a new focus.
“Be quiet, Gussie. Your ID, please.”
ID cards were pressed forward. Constable Mario Zaccotto and Constable Jason Yee. Looked official. Still, I could think of no reason for the police to seek me out. Whatever it was, given my history, I knew it would irritate the crap out of me. “Sorry, can you come back later? I’m in a rush.”
“I’m afraid it’s important, ma’am.”
I sighed. “Okay, give me five minutes. I need to get dressed.”
You must comply reasonably with police requests if you want to hold on to your license to practice law. Anyway, I was mildly curious.
My brother-in-law, Detective Sergeant Conn McCracken, answered his cell, even at the cottage. I was grateful he didn’t hang up, since he is still not speaking to me.
“No lectures,” I said. “Just tell me why two uniforms are standing in front of my door. Constables Yee and Zaccotto respectively.”
“How would I know? It’s officially the Labour Day weekend here at the lake.”
“What a coincidence,” I said. “It is here too. That’s one reason I’m wondering about these guys. I figure it’s not about the dog tags.”
“Why don’t you ask them?”
“I’m ahead of you there, Conn. They’ll tell me why I need to let them in after I let them in. Is this some kind of harassment to do with Mombourquette?”
“You’re a fine one to talk about harassment. If it wasn’t for you and your crazy schemes, Lennie, who is one of the most dedicated officers, twenty-nine years on the force, coming up on retirement, wouldn’t be getting put through the SIU meat grinder.”
“It wasn’t my fault, and you know it. Anyway, he did the right thing, and he had no choice.”
McCracken said, “I’m hanging up now.”
“I know you’re pissed about Mombourquette, but is that any reason not to answer a simple question?”
“You’re a pain in the ass, Camilla. Call the station.”
“Oh, sure. Press One to get lost. Press Two to sit on hold forever.”
“Goodbye, Camilla.”
I played the wife card. “Alexa will find out for me. Put her on the phone.”
He caved. “I’ll get back to you.”
At least I knew Yee and Zaccotto weren’t there to give me bad news about the family. No one had drowned in the outhouse or blown the gas barbecue sky high. That was good.
Why else would the cops want to talk to me?