The Dead Don't Get Out Much. Mary Jane Maffini
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“If you can call it a tactic.”
“It's what we have.”
Minutes later, back in the living room, while I stood staring at the CD cases with my mind a perfect blank, Alvin said, “That's it!”
“What?”
“The photos!”
“Oh, right. Her war photos. Where are they?”
We both pivoted around.
Alvin said, “Do you think she just moved them?”
“They're always right here on the bookcase, place of honour,” I said.
“Maybe she was looking at them before the ceremony. Perhaps she wanted to honour her old friends, and she just put them down somewhere. Let's take a look.”
It doesn't take all that long to comb through a one-bedroom apartment, particularly if you've already checked it out several times within the hour.
“Not here,” Alvin said.
“Okay,” I said, “thinking strategically, which Mrs. Parnell would want us to do, there's probably some connection with those photos and her departure.”
“Sounds good,” said Alvin. “What do you think it is?”
“No idea. We have to start somewhere. It's better to be off-base than to sit staring at our navels.”
“So maybe she went to see someone in the photo?”
“Yes. Let's operate on that principle.”
“You're starting to talk like Violet,” Alvin said. “What's that about?”
“I don't know. Back to business. Let's start with what we've almost got. Who was in those photographs?” I closed my eyes and tried to imagine them.
“There was one of her husband. Two actually,” Alvin said. “There was another photo of some people in Canadian uniforms overseas, maybe in England. She never talked about them, though. I asked her once, and she changed the subject. She likes talking about the war, although it made her sad, I think, to talk about the people in the photos.”
“I imagine that some of the boys in uniform never made it back from the war.”
“Her husband came back, but he didn't live all that long after,” said Alvin. “She doesn't talk about him either.”
“She talked to me once about being widowed and trying to move on with one's life. She was trying to help me, I think.” I didn't mention that a large quantity of Bristol Cream had preceded the discussion.
Alvin said, “Okay, we still don't have much to go on.”
“Hold on. Back to the photos. Either the person who broke in here took them, or Mrs. P. did.”
“Who would leave electronics and take photos?”
“Good point,” I said nicely. “We have to assume it was Mrs. P. Let's suppose she was going to see someone who was in the photo, and she just wanted it with her to show them.”
“We still don't know who she was going to see.”
“Right, so if we had even one clue as to who the people were, we could contact them to see if they've heard from her.”
Alvin said, “She grew up in Chesterton, down past Kingston. Is that any help? I guess not, after all these years.”
I slapped my forehead. “Of course, her address book. What is the matter with us?”
Alvin said, “There's nothing wrong with me. I already thought of that. Violet keeps her address book by the phone. There's no sign of it.”
“She must have taken it with her.”
I narrowly avoided being knocked over by Alvin as he sprinted to the phone. “Last call redial!” he yelled, as he picked up the receiver. “Remember when Violet used that to find you when you were in trouble?”
“I do.” It hadn't been the only time she'd used technology to save me.
“Oh.” Alvin's face fell. “It's my number.”
“Check the Caller ID to see if anyone has called her.”
Alvin clicked away. “You. Me. You. Me. You. Me. Me. Me. And you. It's only us for the last twenty-five calls.”
“Crap,” I said.
“Agreed.”
“Hey wait, the telephone book is sitting right there. Doesn't she keep that on the shelf as a rule?”
“She does,” Alvin said. “She must have been looking up a number.”
I flipped it open to see if any pages were marked or dog-eared. I checked on the tops of pages to see if she'd written anything. It was Alvin's turn to pace, while I worked my way through it. No luck.
“Face it, Alvin. We're stumped. Okay, what else can we do?”
Alvin slipped into the black chair. “We can't give up on Violet that easily.”
“I'm not suggesting we give up. We can't stay stumped forever. So what would Mrs. P. do now?”
“Soldier on,” Alvin said.
“Exactly.”
“Sometimes older people keep stuff in drawers or chests just to protect it or keep it safe. Not that I think of Violet as an older person. With my grandmother, the more important it was, the deeper it was buried. Her china tea set that I have, you know the one, well, it was in a box on the top shelf of her closet, wrapped in paper. It was her most precious possession.”
“My father's like that with his medals. So let's go through everything. I'll start with the dresser drawers. You take the closets.”
Alvin stopped and said, “You think we're violating her privacy?”
“Like they say, Alvin, forgiveness is easier than permission.”
“I like that.”
I pulled open the first drawer and frowned. “Looks like someone already went through them. I don't think Mrs. P. kept everything in a jumble. I can't tell what's missing. All Mrs. Parnell's clothes are shades of khaki or taupe. They all look alike.”
Alvin stuck his head out of the closet. “Let me check.”
“This feels weird. What if she marches through the door with a smouldering Benson & Hedges and a tumbler full of Harvey's and says what the devil are you doing pawing through my belongings?”
Alvin's eyes got misty. “That would be the absolute best thing that could happen.”
“Right. Okay, let's think. Did she pack before the burglar or after?”
“Before,” Alvin said. “She learned in the army that it takes less time to do something right than to rush through it. She would have straightened up her apartment if she'd come here after him. She wouldn't leave her place like this.”
“Good point. Did she know someone would break in? How could she?”
Alvin stepped down from the step stool he was standing on. “I don't know. Lord thundering Jesus, Camilla, I just thought of something. Where are her laptop and digital camera? Do you think the burglar made off with them?”
“Or she took them herself.”
Alvin said, “Unless they're with the stuff she sent over to my place yesterday.”
I did not yell. “What stuff she sent to your place?”
“Just a box. She asked me to take it home and not to disturb the contents.”
I took a deep, soothing breath. “Did that seem strange? With all the empty space Mrs. P. has?”
“She's