Speak Ill of the Dead 1 by Mary Jane Maffini

Author:Mary Jane Maffini
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: General, Fiction, Women Sleuths, Cozy, Mystery & Detective
ISBN: 9781894917964
Publisher: Dundurn
Published: 1999-08-31T23:00:00+00:00

Twelve

Thank God,” said Alvin when I trooped into the office, after lunching on a very dangerous pair of burritos. “I thought you might be dead or something when you didn’t show up for such a long time.”

He was working on a guilt-inducing look. You’ve hurt me and I don’t expect to ever get over it, his body language said. I’d seen Mrs. Findlay pull the same routine on Robin more than once. No doubt Alvin had picked up the technique from his own mother. It was one of many things I’d missed out on.

“Who the hell are you to talk? You vanished for days without any word at all.” The burritos put a little extra venom into my words.

“That’s different,” he said, with his long, pointed nose in the air. “You gave me assignments, which, might I add, I completed in record time. I can’t be in two places at once. And anyway, don’t you want to know what I found out?”

I did.

His almond-shaped black eyes glittered as he filled me in.

“So you can imagine,” he said, “what kind of career Brooke Findlay would have had, if Mitzi had gone ahead and printed her piece on the ‘Walk in the Woods’ woman as a serious cokehead.”

A serious cocaine user. That explained something about Brooke’s behaviour. And her choice of friends.

“‘The Walk in the Woods’ people would yank little Brookie’s contract in a nanosecond. Adios fame and fortune.” Alvin’s pixie smile twinkled.

“And Mitzi knew it.”

“You bet. And enjoyed knowing it, from what I hear. She was so pissed off about Brooke and Rudy Wendtz, she would have done anything.”

“So Brooke had a real motive,” I said.

“So did Wendtz.”

And Robin, I thought, as I tried to concentrate later, how much had she known about all this? At least it was beginning to make sense. If Robin had any suspicion that Brooke was involved, there was nothing she wouldn’t do to draw attention away from it. Complete collapse, for instance. “I saw nothing,” she’d told me. And told the police. It was probably true enough as far as it went. But what did Robin think had happened in Mitzi’s room?

Alvin seemed to take a certain pleasure in reminding me of outstanding chores.

“A lot of people are hot on your trail,” he said, waving stacks of little yellow messages in my face.

He was right. It was imperative that I call my contacts at the Department of Justice, at two separate provincial offices and at the City. Funding depended on it.

“Some of those people are getting impatient.”

“What have you been telling them?”

“I’ve been telling them the truth, that I have no idea where you are or if or when you’re coming back. And I’ve been offering to take messages.”

“Offering to take messages? Well, well. That is a distinct service improvement. But may I suggest that you varnish the truth somewhat when dealing with real and potential funders and supporters of Justice for Victims. Tell them something compelling, that I’m in conference, that I’m at meetings, that I’m out of town on business.

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