Little Boy Blues (20 page)

“What’s so funny?” I was more than a bit miffed.

“If you’re thinking she was the ugly woman, think again, dear. No one ever called Honey Redmore ugly. Did they, Dad?”

“Indeed, they never, Mum.”

“You know her?” I said, realizing as the words tumbled out that, of course, they knew her. This was Sydney.

“Those Redmores thought they were something special. Didn’t they, Dad?”

Donald Donnie’s face flushed. “Indeed. Did some damage.”

I was in a tricky situation. I couldn’t ethically reveal the accusation against Jimmy or suggest Honey was possibly the victim of a sexual attack. Or even that she might have falsely accused Jimmy. Turned out I didn’t have to worry.

“That talk about Jimmy was absolute bullshit,” Loretta said.

“Indeed. As if he’d attack her,” Donald Donnie said.

“Plenty of people believed that story, that’s the worst part of it. And the Redmore family got a lot of sympathy. Things were tough for them next door. Hard for her to keep her nose in the air after that. Sorry, Allie.”

“I imagine,” I said.

“So, Ms. MacPhee, you were asking because you believe it’s connected to the disappearance of young Jimmy.”

“Well, I was really hoping I’d found our ugly woman.”

That was enough to set Donald Donnie and Loretta off again.

• • •

Half an hour later, after talking to our blue-haired buddy and other staff, we had to accept that no one in the video store that
evening fit the description of an ugly woman in denim. The new guy behind the counter said, “We get lots of ugly women in here. But wasn’t anyone like that Canada Day, or I would have noticed.”

“He notices all the women,” one of his co-workers offered. “And he really likes ugly women, so he would have noticed for sure.”

“Shut up.”

“No, you shut up.”

Bottom line, no ugly women in denim with or without scarves. Alvin slumped all the way home.

“It’s a mild set-back on one theory. Pull yourself together,” I said. “She was probably outside when he spotted her. Or maybe he saw her on a neighbouring street and ran to the video store to hide.”

“But who is she?”

“We’ll figure it out. Now I have another idea. Let’s bounce it off Mrs. P. and Loretta and Donald Donnie. They’ve been really helpful so far.”

I left a message for Ray Deveau suggesting he follow up on the ugly woman theory, thus saving him the trouble of checking with the video store.

• • •

“Okay, let’s explore this idea,” I said back at Donald Donnie and Loretta’s when I had everyone’s attention again.

“Go on, Ms. MacPhee.”

“We know he was scared of someone, most likely this woman, and that made him late for Brandon’s barbecue. Suppose he was already agitated and then, on top of that, he witnessed that horrible hit and run.”

Alvin nodded. “That would explain a lot.”

“Exactly. So what would happen?”

“He’d flip out.”

Loretta said, “He would, wouldn’t he, Dad?”

“Indeed, he would. And it will be easy to follow up on, because a lot of people go to Fuzzy’s a couple of times a week.”

“You think they’d come back after seeing a fatal hit and run?”

“Take more than that to keep people away from Fuzzy’s, wouldn’t it, Mum?”

“You’re making me hungry, Dad.”

“The mind boggles,” I said, “but, okay, Alvin, let’s go back down to that area and see if anyone saw Jimmy right before the accident took place. We didn’t really get a clear idea of when he bought his fries. We can follow his steps along the boardwalk and keep thinking like him. We haven’t done that with this new theory in mind.”

“That’s probably a good idea, Camilla. But I keep telling you, Jimmy’s not a good hider. So even if he wanted to, he couldn’t stay out of sight in this town for that long. It isn’t possible. Unless...” He clamped his mouth shut at this point.

I waited. Finally I said, “Unless what?”

“What if this woman is holding him prisoner?”

“Unlikely, Alvin.”

“But possible. And if someone is, we’ll never find him. Jimmy would never figure out how to outwit a captor.”

“Never say never. He seems to have put up a good fight. In this town and this community, it is possible but highly unlikely someone is holding Jimmy prisoner. Admit it.”

Alvin said, “What if you’re wrong?”

“Forget that. Now we need to work on where he is likely to go. The hit and run is our best lead.”

“We already spoke to a lot of people about that.”

“Sure, but we were looking at things differently. We didn’t ask the right questions. Even though some people saw it, most witnesses wouldn’t have been back at Fuzzy’s last night. The reports I read indicated the people were really traumatized by what they saw.”

“Were their names in the paper?”

“No. That’s the problem. We’ll have to ask Ray Deveau. If he won’t tell us the names, maybe P. J. can find out something for me from a colleague. I’ll add it to his list. It will make a nice change from brown-nosing that right wing idiot he’s shadowing.” I picked up my cellphone and pressed P. J.’s numbers.

Alvin was saved from the need to comment by some sort of fracas going on in front of the Ferguson house. You could hear the racket right through the walls. He went over to check. The door slammed behind him.

Mrs. Parnell looked like she was having dark thoughts on some subject. She didn’t even seem to notice when Donald Donnie topped up her glass.

“I feel so useless with these legs,” she said. “Last year, I could have done some of the fieldwork for you. I swear this is the last time I’ll leave home without my computer.”

“You can find a number for this Mrs. Hornyk. You don’t need a computer for that,” I said.

“But it’s ever so much faster. Nevertheless, you can count on me, Ms. MacPhee.”

Before I could give her my vote of confidence, the front door burst open. Alvin flung himself into the room. Tears tracked his skinny cheeks. Loretta gripped her chest. Donald Donnie fumbled the bottle of Harvey’s Bristol Cream. I jumped to my feet.

Alvin wept. “They found him. They found Jimmy.”

Framing the right question was beyond me. Mrs. Parnell alone had the courage to touch Alvin’s leather arm.

“Dear boy, is he alive or dead?”

“He’s alive!”

“It’s wonderful, wonderful news. Don’t you be rushing off, Allie,” Loretta said. “We want all the details, don’t we, Dad?”

“Indeed we do. No one else next door is going to tell us.”

“Sit down, dear boy,” Mrs. Parnell said. “What has happened?”

“He’s in Moncton.”

“Moncton? Moncton? How far is that from here? How the hell did he get to Moncton?” I said.

“Ray Deveau just called Ma. Some transport truck driver got in touch with the cops up there a short time ago. Apparently this guy picked Jimmy up in his truck right here on King’s Road just before ten that night and took him as far as he was going, which was Moncton. He said Jimmy just appeared on the road. This guy didn’t hear the radio alerts, because he only listens to CDs in the truck. Then today he saw Jimmy’s face on the TV at some truck stop.”

“Take a breath, Alvin,” I said. “You’re going to pass out.”

For once, he did what he was told.

“A victory calls for celebration,” said Mrs. Parnell.

“Indeed.” Donald Donnie raced across the room with the sherry.

“Isn’t that a stroke of good luck about Jimmy,” Loretta said.

“Of course, next door they’ll be saying it’s a miracle. They’ll be claiming it’s because of the rosaries, won’t they, Dad?”

I didn’t care if it was a miracle or a stroke of luck or a result of the rosaries. As long as Jimmy was alive. “So where is he now? Can we pick him up? He needs medical attention.”

“That’s the thing, Camilla. Jimmy told the driver he was going to Ottawa to see me. We have to get the hell back before it’s too late.”

• • •

“P. J.” I said when he answered, “I need your help.”

He said, “John Hammond and George Thorogood.”

“That’s great. I might even get to hear them. Jimmy Ferguson’s alive and on his way to Ottawa.”

“You’re kidding.”

“He told the truck driver who picked him up in Sydney he was going to visit his brother, and then he was going to see the sights in Ottawa.”

“What? Hey, Tiger, that’s great.”

“It is, but we’re not out of the woods yet. Jimmy’s in real danger of suffering more seizures if he doesn’t get his medication. It’s been five days, and most likely he’s been under a lot of stress. With luck he’ll head straight for Alvin’s apartment. He could be there already.”

“Could he find Alvin’s place? Isn’t it in Hull? I thought this kid could hardly read.”

“He can read well enough. And he knows Alvin’s address. Jimmy sent postcards to Alvin every week.” I lowered my voice. “And he knows about Ottawa, because Alvin used to talk about the city in the postcards he sent Jimmy. If we don’t
find Jimmy right away, I think the cards will give us a clue about what he’d want to do.”

“Good thinking.”

“Isn’t it? So here’s what I’d like you to do. Head to Alvin’s place…”

“Which would be where?”

“Boulevard St. Joseph, not far from the Armory on Boulevard Alexandre Taché.”

“Okay.”

“Trot on over and check for Jimmy. Maybe you should leave your phone number with Alvin’s neighbours.”

“I do have a job, you know. Between the cat and the birds and this extra assignment, I’m running.”

“That reminds me. Did you think to water the prickly cactus? And stop whining. Any self-respecting reporter would be thrilled to get the inside track on this kind of human interest story.”

“I’m working on becoming a political commentator, remember? But of course, I’ll help with the search for Jimmy.”

“It must be hard to tear yourself away from all those political insights. I appreciate the sacrifice you’re making, I hope you know that.”

“I can read between the lines,” he said. “And by the way, that Honey Redmore, are you still interested in her?”

“You’re the best, P. J. It’s not so urgent now that we know Jimmy’s alive and on his way to Ottawa, but it couldn’t hurt to get an address and phone number. Thanks. Gotta go now.”

I raced off to pack up my few belongings and toss them into the car. Then, in case Mr. Nice Guy Ray Deveau hadn’t thought of it, I left Mombourquette a message to fill him in. He’d know what to do.

Despite the rush, Mrs. Parnell had managed to track down
Lianne Hornyk in New Brunswick. I had to hand it to her. Efficiency or what. Of course, she packs light.

Donald Donnie and Loretta had crammed the Buick with dinner: jumbo bags of sour cream and chive chips. Salsa and nachos. Mars bars and Coke. Alvin made sure we had Jimmy’s extra medication and puffer.” At least we have our vitamins,” I said, as we shot away from the curb. Loretta and Donald Donnie stood, pyjamas flapping in the gentle evening breeze.

We didn’t wait for the convoy of Fergusons who were busy organizing themselves for the trip to Ottawa. We shot out of Sydney, planning to drive all night.

About halfway to the Canso causeway, I wrinkled my nose. That’s when the co-conspirators finally chose to mention that Gussie was along for the ride.

Gussie, they claimed, would help Jimmy get over the trauma.

I wondered what would help me get over Gussie.

• • •

Perhaps it was unwise, considering our need to get to Ottawa fast, but I did it anyway. After Fredericton, I pulled off the highway and drove into a small town. I left Alvin and Mrs. P. at a Tim Hortons restocking essentials.

“We shouldn’t waste time.” Alvin flicked his ponytail.

“I won’t be long,” I said. “Have dinner.”

“This will add hours to our trip,” Alvin said.

“Twenty minutes. Trust me,” I said.

I squealed out of the parking lot and around the corner. I reached the front door of the neat bungalow sooner than I wanted. As much as I needed the information, I almost hoped no one would answer.

But someone did. The woman at the door was tiny. I looked down from my chunky five foot three. It didn’t take a trained eye to see she’d recently lost a lot of weight. Her tank top hung from her bony shoulders.

“Ms. Hornyk,” I said. She stared back at me, her eyes lacklustre.

“My name is Camilla MacPhee. I need to speak to you about an urgent matter.” I was surprised to hear the emotion rising in my own voice. “I’ll be quick.”

She shrugged.

I squeezed into the small dim living room. The most noticeable thing in the room was the proliferation of carnations, lilies, mums, plus a few ferns. Every surface was covered with vases, most of them parked in front of framed photos.

It was obvious she didn’t care much who I was and whether whatever I wanted took a long time or not.

She sat in one of two matched chairs in a trendy minimalist design. The gloom exaggerated the deep circles under her eyes. I wondered how long since she’d slept.

“First, let me say how sorry I am about your husband.” She nodded. “I understand how you feel. I’ll try to make it easy.”

“Why does everyone say that? No one understands how I feel.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I hate that. I always want to tell them to fuck off.”

“Point taken. Five years ago, a drunk driver killed my husband. I understand better than most.”

This time she made eye contact. “Even that doesn’t help me.”

“It will be a long time before anything helps.”

“How long did it take you to feel normal again?”

“I’ll let you know.” No point in avoiding the truth. “But it gets easier.”

She turned and stared at a ten by twelve colour photo of a smiling bride and groom.

“If you say so. We got married in April. This was our honeymoon. We had to wait until school finished.”

“A boy is missing in Sydney,” I said. “He is developmentally challenged and probably in great danger.” She kept her gaze on the photo. “I believe his disappearance and your husband’s death are connected in some way.”

She snapped around. “You think this boy killed Greg?”

That had never crossed my mind. “No. But I think the boy may have witnessed the accident.”