Little Boy Blues (13 page)

“Indeed, they sure did. That Jimmy used to wait for the mail every day. He’d grab that postcard and hightail it into the house, wouldn’t he, Mum?”

“Indeed he would. It was so sweet and sad to see him waiting by the mailbox.”

“Who were the postcards from? Pen pals?”

“Pen pals!” Loretta screamed. “They were from Allie, in Ottawa.”

“Indeed,” Donald Donnie said. “Of course they were, Mum.”

“But I didn’t realize Jimmy could read all that well.”

“Well, maybe he couldn’t read his way right through the encyclopedia, but he could manage well enough, couldn’t he, Dad? Always reading comic books.”

I didn’t mention that comic books had pictures in them as well as words. “That’s great.”

“Indeed, of course, Allie used to print neatly for him and make things easy.”

“Jimmy brought them over here?” Loretta and Donald Donnie exchanged looks that could only be described as shifty. I decided to push. “Did he?”

“Well, what else could he do? Right, Dad?”

“Indeed.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he didn’t want
them
to see the postcards.”

“You mean the Fergusons?”

“Indeed, who else? You know what they’re like.”

This didn’t seem like any kind of an answer.

“Could you clarify, Loretta?” Mrs. Parnell said.

“I guess it was last year. Vincent was going on about Allie’s cards putting ideas into Jimmy’s head, wasn’t he, Dad?”

Mrs. Parnell and I stared at each other.

“I can’t imagine Alvin sending postcards if his family didn’t want him to. His mother was on the phone to him all the time. She certainly would have reminded him,” I said.

“They probably never told him to stop. But Jimmy was worried about it.”

“Indeed. Loretta overheard Vince telling Tracy that Allie’s postcards gave Jimmy ideas.”

“Wouldn’t want Jimmy to have ideas,” I said.

“So Jimmy always got the mail first, and he picked up the cards and no one in the family saw them. Isn’t that right, Dad?”

“Indeed, seems to be the way.”

I said, “So it might have looked like the postcards from Alvin had stopped. But Jimmy picked them up and hid them. Is that it?”

“Well, we don’t know for sure. We never asked. But
whenever he couldn’t read a word, he brought the card here for us.”

“And yet you didn’t mention this to the Fergusons?”

“Why should we? We’ve always been fond of Allie, and if Jimmy wanted to come over here to show us his postcards, what was the harm in it? Those cards couldn’t have been more innocent, could they, Dad?”

“Indeed, Mum. No one told us they didn’t want Jimmy reading Allie’s cards.”

Loretta said, “Those postcards were so much fun. Allie has a way with words. He’d tell Jimmy what was going on in Ottawa, big things, exciting things, festivals and art galleries and all about his job and his little apartment in Hull. Sometimes, he’d make up stories, and sometimes he’d tell him about his adventures, all kinds of stuff, even you. I loved to read them, myself.”

“Indeed, they meant a lot to Jimmy,” Donald Donnie said.

“They gave him a view of a world he’d never know about otherwise.”

“Alvin kept Jimmy’s postcards too,” I said thoughtfully.“So they were obviously very important to him.”

• • •

After the postcard chat with Donald Donnie and Loretta, I had one less reason to look forward to talking to Vince Ferguson. Even though I had another serious question. When I arrived back at the Fergusons’, Vince’s car was still not in the driveway.

“Alvin,” I said, full of false good humour. “Since Vince is not back yet, why don’t we toddle off for another walk.”

“We already had a walk. I want to join the search parties.”

“Lots of time for that. Let’s build on our momentum.”

Mrs. Ferguson stuck her head in through the door. “That’s a good idea, Allie.”

Alvin gave me a poisonous look. He was still sulking when the door slammed behind us.

“Would you like to hear my plan?” I asked.

“I suppose I will anyway, whether I want to or not.”

“Glad to have the old Alvin in the land of the living,” I said.

I heard no comment from either the old or the new Alvin, so I kept talking. “Let’s go visit Jimmy’s friends. Retrace his steps on the last day he was seen.”

Alvin stared at me. I leaned forward and looked as mean as I could. “If you want to help him, you’re going to have to stop feeling sorry for yourself. When we get him back, you can collapse, but I’ll be back in Ottawa living my own life, and I won’t have to look at you.”

“Nice try, Camilla. But you won’t be winning the bitch of the year award with that little effort.”

“I’ll get worse. I’m practising.”

“Don’t...”

“No, you don’t. Don’t interrupt. Don’t be sarcastic. Don’t be negative. Here’s the plan. We will retrace Jimmy’s steps and see what we find.”

“The police have already done that. They’ve spoken to all his friends.”

“So what? The police don’t know him like you do.” I made sure I used the present tense. “And anyway, they are stretched. They had a hit and run the same night, and they must be investigating that too.”

“My family has talked to the police.”

“Big deal. How many crimes has your family solved, Alvin?”

A slight smile hovered on his thin lips. “Not many.”

“That’s right.”

“Unlike us.”

“Exactly. And I’ve had it with sitting around doing nothing. Time to kick a little butt, Alvin.”

“Got my shitkickers on,” he said.

• • •

First stop was in the North end of town, a small, blue, two-story dwelling with a crooked front porch. The home of Thomas Young. Thomas turned out to be tiny and anxious. I couldn’t tell how old he might be, somewhere between twenty and thirty, I guessed. Gussie was very glad to see Thomas. It was hard to hear over the tail thumping on the porch floor boards.

“Hi, Allie,” Thomas said. “Did you find Jimmy?”

So maybe the kicking wouldn’t start here.

Alvin swallowed. “No. Not yet.”

“But maybe you can help us,” I said.

It looked as though we wouldn’t get asked in. Fine. I’m not crazy about the smell of cabbage.

Thomas occupied the exact centre of a sway-backed sofa on the porch. He sat, twisting his small hands. I perched on the railing. Alvin slumped on the stairs.

“I hope you find Jimmy soon.”

“So do I, Thomas. My name is Camilla.” Thomas nodded gravely. “Alvin and I thought you might be able to help us.”

“I don’t know where he is.”

“But maybe if we can ask you some questions, it might help.”

A doughy, white-haired woman in a baseball cap stuck her head out the door. “Who the hell are you?”

“That’s Camilla, Gran,” Thomas said.

“And who the Jesus is Camilla when she’s at home?”

I stood up and stuck out my hand. “Camilla MacPhee. I’m a lawyer.”

She narrowed her black little eyes. “Lawyer? Get the frig off my property before I take the broom to ya.”

“Aw, Gran, don’t say that,” Thomas said. “She’s nice.”

“Take the broom to me? What for?”

“I said, get the frig out of here.” She reached behind the door and picked up what looked more like a mop than a broom, but it hardly seemed like the time to quibble over semantics.

Alvin stood up. The little misery actually laughed out loud. “Camilla only looks bad, Mrs. Young. But she’s harmless in small doses.”

“Thank you, Alvin,” I said with dignity, considering I was staring into the business end of a mop.

“That you, Allie? Well, look at him, Thomas. Big city boy, now, aren’t ya?”

“That’s me.”

“Home to see what you can do for your ma.”

“That’s right.”

“You always were a good boy, weren’t ya, Allie, no matter what anybody says.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Young.”

“So what’s going on with her, then? Lawyer, me arse.” She indicated me with a sharp nod of her head.

“That’s my boss. She wants to find out what happened to Jimmy.”

“Here from Ottawa, is she? Well, isn’t that something.”

“We’re talking to Thomas about what Jimmy did on Canada Day.”

“And you think you might find out something useful from our Thomas? Good luck to you.”

“Well, Thomas and Jimmy are really good friends,” Alvin said. “He might know something.”

“We’d all like to know what happened. Getting so you can’t step off your porch. Sydney used to be such a safe little town, and now we have every Jesus thing. Hit and runs, disappearances. I’m not letting Thomas out of my sight until things settle down.”

“Good idea, Mrs. Young,” Alvin said. “You can’t be too careful.”

“Disappearances?” I said. “You mean more than one?”

“Tell your
boss
, Alvin, that around here we think one is more than enough. Jimmy’s disappeared. Not like Ottawa, where a life’s not worth a Jesus nickel.”

I opened my mouth, then shut it again.

“Did you say MacPhee?” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Your family from around here?”

“Originally. I was born here.”

“Who’s your father?”

“Donald MacPhee. He was a teacher when he lived here.”

“Of
those
MacPhees. Right full of themselves, if you ask me.”

I hadn’t asked her. And didn’t plan to.

“Camilla’s not full of herself,” Alvin said, the edges of his skinny mouth twitching. “And I asked her to come here to see Thomas.”

“Suit yourself, Allie Ferguson. But don’t you scare Thomas. He’s been up every night with bad dreams since Jimmy went missing. I’m too Jesus old for this kind of life.” She pulled herself back into the house and thundered down the hallway.
I was pleased to note the mop went with her.

It took a minute to refocus. “So, Thomas,” I said, “do you remember Jimmy coming by here on Sunday afternoon?”

“I remember.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing much.”

“Sat around and talked?”

Thomas frowned. “We didn’t talk much. We were trading comics.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. We always trade comics.”

“So you didn’t talk?”

“Not so much.”

“Did Jimmy have comics with him?”

“Yes. He took my new X-Men, and I wanted to read it again. He was going to bring it back in the morning, but he never came.”

“I see.”

“Gran says the X-Men comic is not important compared to Jimmy.”

“I’d say Gran’s right.”

A screech echoed from the cabbage centre of the small house. “You forget about that Jesus comic, Thomas. You got three thousand others to look after.”

Alvin said, “That’s too bad about the X-Men, Thomas.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your comic.” I meant that too. “So Jimmy was going to bring the X-Men comic the next day?”

“That’s what he said.”

“Did Jimmy ever lie to you?”

Thomas’s eyes widened. “Jimmy never told lies.”

Alvin said. “I guess he wasn’t planning on going anywhere. Is that true, Thomas? Jimmy wasn’t planning to go anywhere.”
“He was coming here. The next day. He said so.”

I tried to make eye contact with Alvin. “Okay, and on the day he was here, did he mention anywhere else he might want to go?”

“Canada Day.”

“Yes, do you remember where he was going afterwards?”

“Same as always. He came here first. Then he was going to Brandon’s.”

“But this time,” Alvin said, “he didn’t get to Brandon’s.”

“No, Allie. He didn’t. I was worried.”

“Why were you worried, Thomas?”

“Because Brandon called and said where was Jimmy. Brandon was worried. Then Vince came by and he was really mad. And we don’t know where Jimmy went. Nobody knows.” Thomas had tears in his eyes.

So did Alvin. So did I. Where the hell was Jimmy Ferguson? “Jimmy needs his medications. Or he will die.” Thomas said.

“Yes, he does,” Alvin said. Heroically, I thought.

“And I would like my X-Men comic back.”

Mrs. Young stuck her head out of the door again. “One more word, and I’ll throw those Jesus comics into the furnace, Thomas.”

I glanced at Alvin, but he seemed to be holding up all right. I wanted to understand the triggers that sent him over the edge. Because if it had been me, this intensely sad conversation with Thomas would have done it. But Alvin seemed fine.

Another ten minutes of talking to Thomas yielded no more information. As we stood up to leave, I had one question left. “Did you tell the police about Jimmy’s visit?”

“Yes.”

“Did you tell them about the comic book?”

“The X-Men? No.”

“Why not?”

“They didn’t ask me.”

I sat down again. “What did they ask you, Thomas?”

“They wanted to know who his other friends were.”

“And what did you say?”

“Jimmy was everybody’s friend.”

“And what did they say?”

“They said, any new friends?”

I glanced at Alvin. “And did Jimmy have any new friends?”

“That’s what they asked. Did he meet anybody new at the video store or something? Someone who was supposed to be a secret.”

“And did he?”

“I don’t think so. He never said.”

“Did they ask anything else?”

“Just about special friends,” Thomas said.

“You mean, Jimmy’s special friends?”

“I was Jimmy’s special friend. And Brandon. And Father Blaise.”

“That’s it?”

“They wanted to know what else Jimmy said. But he didn’t say anything else.”

• • •

We dragged our sorry butts past a new Lexus in the brick-paved driveway. The house was a Georgian-looking dealie in an upscale subdivision high on a hill off King’s Road. The home of Brandon, Jimmy’s other special friend.

“Brandon shattered his spine in a diving accident. He hit an
outcrop. He has some brain damage. Let’s hope we can understand him. Sometimes it’s harder than others. Sometimes his speech is clear.”

“This was a long walk for Jimmy.” It had been a long walk for me, and I was used to hoofing it all over Ottawa.

Alvin shrugged. “He loves to walk. Ma and Vince figure it’s good for him. He sees lots of people. He stops and talks to them.”

That would be worth following up. If Jimmy could talk to people, we could talk to them too.