Free Speak Ill of the Dead by Mary Jane Maffini Page B

better uses for my energy.”
    I thought her snarl took away from the sincerity of the statement. Deep down, Deb Goodhouse had harboured a red-hot hatred for Mitzi Brochu. Too hot to hide behind a cool exterior. Too hot to cool down even after Mitzi’s death.
    “I’m sure you have.”
    “Anything else you need to know, Ms. MacPhee?” She pointed at her in-basket. “As you can see, I have plenty to do.”
    “You’ve given me lots to think about,” I said.
    I stood up and shook her hand before she could take the initiative. It was sweaty, not at all like a politician’s should be. Stress can do that to you.
    I said good-bye to the beautiful assistant, leaning over her desk to shake her hand.
    “Sorry,” I said, “I didn’t catch your name.”
    “Manon. Manon Bruyère,” she said, with some reluctance. She seemed to think I was up to something.
    I was.
    Deb Goodhouse bellowed for her and I left, smiling.
    I was still smiling as I strolled out of the West Block, through the tourists, and down the Hill to Wellington Street. Eighteen thousand blood-red tulips nodded at me, pleased with my results.
    I thought about the woman I had just visited. The shoulder pads on Deb Goodhouse’s very good red jacket had been designed to draw the eye away from the size of her arms, but in my mind, there was no doubt about it: Deb Goodhouse would have been strong enough to hoist skinny little Mitzi by those ropes. Things were looking up. Another day like this and I hoped to be able to present a package of possibilities to the police.
    *   *   *
    “What kind of knots were used to tie those ropes?” I asked McCracken. I thought coming straight out with it would be the best approach. I thought wrong.
    “That number doesn’t answer,” he said.
    “It doesn’t?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Well, I’m sure it’s her number. I ought to know. I’ve been returning her calls for enough years.”
    “Well, she doesn’t appear to be there.”
    “She could just be out shopping.”
    “I don’t think so. I tried all last night. And this morning from nine o’clock on.”
    “Hmmm, well, I’m kind of busy now trying to find out what kind of knots were used on Mitzi. Once I find out, I could look into why Alexa isn’t answering her phone. In the meantime, I guess you could say I’m tied up.”
    “Reef knots. Some people call them square knots.”
    “What kind of people use square knots?”
    “Sailors and boy scouts among others,” he chuckled.
    “Thanks. Oh, and Conn, I just remembered. Alexa’s spending a couple of days opening up her cottage. Too bad she doesn’t have an answering machine.”
    “Oh, thanks a lot.”
    I could feel the chill on the line.
    “Think nothing of it,” I said.
    For my next phone call, I had to pinch my nose to change the sound of my voice. First, I found Manon Bruyère’s telephone number in the government telephone book.
    “This is Mabel Hubley calling from the Headquarters of the Girl Guides of Canada. We’re double-checking our list of famous former guides. Can you tell me if Ms. Goodhouse is one?”
    “Well, of course, she is. You must know that. She’s been on your Board of Directors.”
    Oops.
    Manon’s voice changed. “Wait a minute. Who did you say you were?”
    But it was too late. I had what I needed.
    *   *   *
    I was alone in the office, planning my next coup, when Ted Beamish knocked. It was time to close up for the day and I’d sent Alvin off to the public library to get some books on knots. I’d made him promise to borrow them officially.
    “Hi,” Ted said.
    “Hi,” I answered, wondering why he was there.
    “Can I come in?”
    “Sure, why not?”
    He settled into the chair, placing his briefcase on the floor and loosening his tie with the little palm trees.
    “Just on my way home from the office and I thought I might check to see if you wanted to try that movie tonight.
    And bring your friend.”
    “Robin’s not in shape for a movie.”
    “Oh.”