The Icing on the Corpse (31 page)

“Time for you to stop playing detective, Camilla. You're not completely off the hook with the law society yet. Don't make me use that against you.”

I snorted. “You really scare me, Leonard. What about Elaine? Did she get released yet? I imagine that will be worth an internal review.”

He blushed. “Not our fault she was in there. Remember? She was making a political point. The Crown could still take action over the false confession. They could charge her with mischief or even perjury.”

I struggled up to a sitting position. My head tweeted. “You'd better suggest they won't keep a low profile over Assistant Crown Attorney's Mia Reilly's crimes, if they even think about it. I'll personally see to that.”

“You and me both. We found out quite a bit from Mia. She was willing to confide some stuff she didn't tell you. All it took was someone sympathetic.” Was I mistaken or did a rosy blush work its way onto his face? “She claims that when Benning escaped and stole a car and chased after Alvin thinking he was you, she panicked.”

“Yeah right. Use your brain, Leonard. I'm betting she had that car ready for him and she knew exactly what he was going to do. Look for the drill hole. Remember?”

“Do you have to interrupt constantly, Camilla? Then Mia called Elaine at the WAVE office and told her about Benning's escape. Mia suggested Elaine get over and protect Lindsay.”

“Very strategic. Mia didn't know where Lindsay was. So all she had to do was follow. It indicates that the whole attempt to frame Elaine was premeditated and worked out before Benning's escape,” I said.

“Right. Elaine mentioned she'd bring coffee and pizza from the Colonnade, and we're certain Mia used that information to modify her plan and muddy the waters. She probably couldn't believe her luck when Elaine decided to make political hay out of the whole mess. Anyway, the main thing is Elaine's out. She's getting back to normal.”

“Elaine's back to normal? How long have I been in this hospital? Oh crap. Did I miss the wedding?”

“No such luck. You've been out of it for nearly two days, but it's still only Sunday. The wedding's not until tomorrow, Valentine's Day. And you'd better stay conscious.”

“One more thing, Leonard. Since we're buddies again, you can tell me. Who signed that directive? The one where I was persona non grata with the police.”

Mombourquette gave a rodential little chuckle. “Can't believe you fell for that one, Camilla. There was no directive. Randy and Conn and I just wanted you to keep your nose out of the case before you blew our case on Mia. Now it looks like you're out of the way for a while.”

“That's what you think.” I swung my legs to try to get out of bed. Nothing prepared me for the pain that shot through my thigh. I yelped and fell back on the bed, gasping.

“What the hell's wrong with my leg?”

I didn't get a chance to find out before my family hurtled through the door.

It was hours before I had the strength to call P. J. and thank him for the prickly cactus.

Monday, February 14, turned out to be the perfect day for a candlelight wedding, if you like that sort of thing. Soft flakes of snow, set against the indigo winter sky, made a dramatic backdrop for the wedding party's comings and goings. Alexa looked queenly in her pearl French velvet ankle length dress, with five kinds of cream flowers and quite the cleavage. Conn couldn't take his eyes off her. Even Mombourquette came across like one of the higher order vertebrates. As for me, the less said about my crutches the better.

Alexa and Conn had chosen words and music that were deep and meaningful. Alexa's boys stood tall and proud. My father wiped away a tear. The grand duchesses Donalda and Edwina wept like faucets. I was damned glad to be on drugs.

When we finally exploded from the front door of St. Jim's, into the blue winter light and headed off to Hull and the Museum of Civilization for the reception at Les Muses, just about everybody was in the mood to party.

“Nevertheless, don't thank me.” Mrs. Parnell raised her voice to be heard above the roar of the reception. “Least I could do for my comrade-in-arms.”

“It was brilliant, Violet.” My father squeezed her hand. I don't remember ever seeing him quite so animated. “You are a true heroine.”

“All in the line of duty.” Mrs. P. swanned through the receiving line, looking swish. She sported a sweetheart rose corsage that matched her red lacquer cigarette holder. “You are her father. It seemed logical to go up the chain of command.”

“It was very clever of you, Violet.”

“Well, young Fergusons the hero. He saved Camilla's bacon.” She waved to Alvin without spilling a drop of her Harvey's.

Alvin beamed. No wonder. It couldn't have been easy finding a tux in any shade of orange, yet alone that one.

“Great outfit, Violet.
Totally
retro. You look surprisingly good too, Camilla. That makeup really covers your scratches,” he said. “And your dress.
Love
the pink. And the slit is so up to the moment.”

“Thank you, Alvin. I didn't have much choice with this cast.” I smiled back at him. I felt a whole lot mellower than usual. Three days of painkillers will do that.

He pulled me away from the receiving line and whispered. “I'm so sorry.”

I wasn't sure I'd heard correctly. “You're sorry? For what?”

“For blowing it like that.”

I shook my head. “What are you talking about?”

“Mia at the river. Trying to kill us. She was there because I ran into her in the hospital, and I told her I'd found some information that would connect the murderer with Benning. I told her she'd regret the trouble she caused you with the Law Society, because we were just about to blow the case wide open.”

“You think I didn't know that, Alvin?”

“Oh.”

“But you're not to blame for Mia. If it hadn't been that, it would have been someone else, somewhere else, and maybe the ending wouldn't have been so happy.”

I gave him a reassuring pat on the arm and hobbled away before my temporary niceness wore off.

I looked up the receiving line. Surrounded by hundreds of friends, colleagues and family, Alexa and Conn glowed like twin bonfires. Even I had to agree no one had ever been a more beautiful bride. You could hear Donalda chatting and Edwina issuing orders.

At a nearby table Elaine Ekstein fielded her own receiving line of well-wishers. Mombourquette, looking sleek and well-fed in a soft gray suit, stood as close as he could get without wearing her dress.

“Holy moly,” Elaine screamed obligingly when Stan dropped a plastic cockroach into her peach schnapps. Randy Cousins thought that was hilarious. I steered clear of Elaine myself. I didn't feel like getting pissed off all over again.

No one mentioned Mia Reilly. It would take a hell of a long time for the police to sort out the damage she'd done. Some of it would never come to light. I was sorry she wouldn't be having much of a trial. The best I could hope for was to be in court to watch when her sentence was pronounced. If Lindsay worked up the courage to come forward, the sentence would get longer.

But this particular night, none of that mattered. The reception hall was a glittering fairyland. The flowers showed the many subtle shades of cream. The string quartet went for baroque.

I only thought about Paul once or twice during the entire evening. I had to admit, I was happy for Alexa. She deserved a new start. Maybe we all did.

Toward midnight, Alvin's slanty little eyes grew misty. He sidled closer and sniffed. “My conscience is bothering me about it.”

“It's over.”

“But everyone knows I saved you. No one knows you also saved me and, anyway, you wouldn't have been in danger in the first place if I hadn't told Mia about the evidence in the park.”

“And no one's going to find out about it from me. End of story, Alvin.”

It turned out to be one hell of a party, especially when the painkillers met the champagne. Nobody said a word about my unwaxed upper lip, and I didn't have to put up with one single person calling me a hero all night.

Photo by Christine Higgins

Mary Jane Maffini
was a 1999 double-nominee for the Arthur Ellis awards.
Speak III of the Dead
was shortlisted for best first novel and “Kicking the Habit” for best short story.

Her short fiction has appeared in many magazines: from
Chatelaine
and
Storyteller
to
On-Spec
and
Ellery Queens Mystery Magazine
, as well as in Canadian mystery anthologies such as
Cottage Country Killers, Menopause is Murder, The Best of Cold Blood, Over the Edge
and
Fit to Die.

The
Icing on the Corpse
is her second novel, and she is hard at work on the third Camilla MacPhee mystery,
Little Boy Blues
, due out in the spring of 2002.

A native of Sydney, Nova Scotia, and a graduate of Dalhousie University, Maffini lives in Ottawa with her husband and various neurotic pets. In real life, although she is part of The Ladies' Killing Circle, she has never pulled the plug on anyone.