Camilla MacPhee Mysteries 6-Book Bundle. Mary Jane Maffini
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officer's stationed in back. You're in good hands.”
Lindsay's face said it all. She wanted to be in good hands. She wanted to believe three officers outside and five people inside would be enough to ward off Benning. But she couldn't quite believe it.
I didn't believe it either. Rina Benning had been in good hands too, until she had voluntarily gone to meet her death. Now we had nothing to do but wait and hope the cops wouldn't screw up again. So for the moment, pizza was exactly what we needed to take our minds off Benning.
The cardboard box held two thermoses of coffee. “That should do you.” Elaine flipped open the first top. “It's still hot, despite the ridiculous amount of time you kept me waiting outside.”
“You can't be too careful in a pindown situation,” Mrs. Parnell said.
“I hope that's not the bacon and mushroom you're sticking your hands in, Elaine,” I said.
“How about Hawaiian?” Alvin positioned himself.
“Your favourite.” Elaine flung open the second box, to reveal the lethal combination of ham and pineapple. Alvin's earrings twinkled.
Would this little feast leave us in a more vulnerable position than before? But how could it? Still, the primitive part of my brain kept repeating, eat first, think later. I ate mine with my hands.
Mrs. Parnell pronounced that the combination was splendid. Merv swooped in close enough to cut a delicate piece, which he placed on a plate. He added a knife and fork to the plate, folded one of the napkins into a crisp edged triangle and headed back to Lindsay on the sofa. You can count on too much pizza to help you get a grip on a tough situation.
Five minutes later, Elaine took off her lime green coat. I slugged back a large mug of coffee and tried not to sulk when she snatched the entire thermos from me and handed it to Constable James.
“Stop bitching, Camilla,” she said, opening the second thermos. “There's plenty to go around.” Constable James headed back to the cruisers with a couple of slices from each pizza for his colleagues. I caught his sneer.
We all washed down the rest of the pizza with the remaining coffee and tried not to burp. Except for Lindsay, who sipped her coffee but left her little plate on her lap, the neat slice of pizza untouched.
Elaine whispered in my ear. “I picked up some interesting rumours from one of the crown attorneys about how the bastard escaped.”
“Really?”
“Yes. It looks like he must have had an accomplice. You're right about one thing. They're convinced it was someone on the police force.”
“So P. J.'s right after all.”
When Merv's cellphone rang again, we all jumped. Conn McCracken. “We think we have him cornered. Thought you'd like to know. It should be over soon. Hang in. And while you're at it, do you think you could be a bit nicer to your sister?”
As usual, he hung up before I could ask him what, when, where and how.
“Great news,” I said. “That was the police. They think they have him. They expect to have him back in custody soon or…” I watched Lindsay's face for signs of emotion. I didn't suggest Benning would probably be killed. I knew she had loved him and perhaps still did. Just like Rina Benning. “I don't have any details.”
“I'll get back to my post and monitor the situation.” Mrs. P. heaved herself to her feet and wobbled back to the kitchen.
For once, everyone fell silent, until Lindsay began to talk. “He'll be killed.”
No one else said a word.
She was crying softly again. “I know you don't understand how easy it was to love him.”
She had that right. I scanned the sympathetic faces. Merv squeezed Lindsay's hand. Okay. So everyone else understood how a highly educated, beautiful, accomplished, financially successful woman could hand over her self-respect and autonomy to a guy who belonged under a rock. Why did I have so much goddam trouble with the whole idea?
Of course, my opinion was coloured because the only two men I'd ever fallen for were dead. And my sisters always told me any man in his right mind would walk a mile to avoid my black moods. I couldn't even imagine having an agreeable relationship with an attractive, presentable, engaging living man with ginger hair and a gap between his front teeth.
“It's a syndrome, Lindsay,” Elaine said. “They have a technique, these creeps. They make you think you have the love affair of the century, then they gradually erode your self-esteem, they isolate you from your friends and colleagues, they play with your brain, they make you think everything wrong is all your fault. If you were better, smarter, cleaner, nicer, more something, they wouldn't have to hit you. That's how it works. Don't blame yourself.” There was something in Elaine's voice I'd never heard. Maybe I didn't know everything about her.
“He told me no one ever loved him as much as I did,” Lindsay said. The napkin was in bits. “His life wasn't easy. He knew I would always love him.” She didn't say he was right. She didn't have to.
Mrs. Parnell spoke from the kitchen door. “We cannot always choose whom we will love and how.”
True enough.
* * *
Elaine cornered me in the kitchen where I was engaged in breaking up the pizza boxes and hunting for the recycling container. I needed to keep busy to stay awake. Despite the coffee and the large amount of pizza I had wolfed, I was feeling groggy.
“Having a little trouble understanding Lindsay's situation?” Elaine said.
“Why do you ask?”
I don't know. Your expression maybe. Don't be too superior in this area, Camilla. It's easy for this to happen to any woman.”
“I know.”
“I don't think you do. You think it couldn't happen to you.”
She was right, but damned if I wanted to admit it. “You're forgetting I run an agency for victims, Elaine.”
“Not for a minute, Camilla. But you might ask yourself who you are to judge whether a person is a victim or not.”
* * *
I was worried about Mrs. Parnell's cat. Mrs. Parnell was worried about Lester and Pierre. Elaine was worried about potential disaster for the ice sculpture contest. Merv and Alvin were worried the other one would get in some extra shoulder pats. These were nice distractions from the real worry.
Every creak in the building had us all on full alert. At thirty below, the ceiling joists can make some startling sounds. We had been leaping out of our chairs regularly, then looking around, feeling silly. When Conn McCracken's call came in at eleven fifteen, I felt a flood of relief. I wasn't alone. All eyes were on the phone. We needed to hear the word that Benning was secured and Lindsay was safe.
“So,” I said, “is it over?”
“Bad news, Camilla. The son of a bitch got away.”
They were all looking at me when I hung up.
“Lord thundering Jesus, Camilla, you're dead white,” Alvin said.
“My dear Ms. MacPhee, you certainly are.”
Merv looked up. “I've seen flour with better colour than that.”
“What's wrong?” Elaine asked.
Lindsay buried her head in her hands.
* * *
Okay, looking at the team guarding Lindsay, I would be the first to admit the whole thing was like a bad sitcom. Cast of quirky characters in high-tension situation unlikely to occur in real life. Half an hour of snappy dialogue and rigged up conflicts and then a nice neat resolution. Canned laughter and then cut to commercial. Then nothing to do but wait for next week's show.
Except