bad.”
“Yes, it is. The police in Cape Breton have done all they can to search for Jimmy.”
“Jimmy. That’s the brother?”
“Right.”
“How old is he?”
“He’s twenty-one.”
“Get real. It happens all the time. The family goes off the deep end, then the guy turns up with a five-alarm hangover and lipstick on his underwear and can’t figure out what all the fuss is about.”
“I wish that were the case here, P. J., but it’s not. Jimmy’s got some developmental problems.”
“Oh. That’s different.”
“I was hoping you’d done a piece on missing kids, and you might be able to tell me what to worry about or how to help the family.”
“Maybe he was abducted. Kids like that are vulnerable.”
“Exactly. So you can see why I’m not thinking about music right now.”
“But we do have Clubhouse passes.”
“I don’t want to hear it. I have to deal with this. Mrs. Parnell thinks Alvin might be shell-shocked. He keeps going into these trance states.”
“Two hundred and fifty dollars each.”
“It’s not like you paid for those passes.” I ignored the choking sound. “You won them, remember? And they’re in my name.”
“Holy crap,” he said.
“So I’ll let you know as soon as we get this thing under control. If all goes well, we can get back for Saturday or Sunday.”
“I don’t know why you’re so grouchy.”
“Who’s grouchy? Do you know anything about post-traumatic stress disorder?”
“What I read in the paper.”
“Don’t push me, P. J. What about missing kids? Do the cops do a good job in that area?”
“Depends on what cops, I guess. The Mounties have a special section to deal with them. You want me to find out who to talk to?”
“Sure. Got any contacts in the media in Sydney?”
“No, but I can ask around. Lots of people from the East coast in this business. Plus I can chase down the missing kid angle for you.”
“Great. But what I really need is for you to feed Mrs. Parnell’s birds and cat. And also to make sure they’re not left alone together. So the cat has to stay at my place.”
“Feed the cat? And birds? Can’t the building super do it?”
“Nope. He’s on vacation. The replacement’s run off his feet.”
“I am too. Remember Nicholas Southern and the …”
“Right. So I really appreciate you doing this for me. I’ll drop off the keys to Mrs. Parnell’s place and mine on our way out of town. You’ve got my cellphone number, but I’m sure we’ll be out of contact for much of the trip. Don’t worry about calling me, I’ll call you.”
“Wait.”
“Thanks, P. J. You’re a bud.”
• • •
“For the last time,” I said, “no way.”
“It is simply not your decision, Ms. MacPhee.”
“The hell it isn’t.”
“If you don’t like it, stay here and attend to your business. I’ve got my marching orders.”
“Look, Mrs. P., it is an eighteen to twenty hour drive to Sydney. We are not going to drive in your twenty-five year old car, and that’s that.”
“Nonsense. My garageman tells me he’s got the old girl purring like a kitten today.”
“Yeah right. So maybe he’ll volunteer to drive it then.”
“Have faith, Ms. MacPhee.”
“Really? And what happens if Alvin has an episode in the middle of nowhere, and the car breaks down?”
“We will find a way.”
I’d already exhausted my opinions on the notion of Mrs. Parnell pelting across country in the ancient LTD with Alvin as a ticking time bomb in the passenger seat and me snarling in the back seat. It reinforced what I already knew. The woman could be unbelievably stubborn.
“I have a better idea,” I said.
“What is it?”
I took a deep breath. “The Buick.”
“You’ll get no argument from me,” she said. “I’m packed, and you’ve got young Ferguson’s kit-bag ready.”
At least she could have put up the semblance of a fight.
“Fine,” I said. “Can you arrange hotel reservations? I have a few urgent things to take care of.” That was code for doing a bit of laundry, washing my hair, picking up some cash, figuring out which files couldn’t wait until I got back and throwing my toothbrush into a satchel.
“I’m on the job,” she said.
“The sooner we leave, the sooner we get back. Let’s get cracking.”
“Now?”
“Two hours to get ready and drop the keys to P. J. and to let the traffic on the Queensway clear up.”
“Excellent.”
“And, one more thing.”
“Name it, Ms. MacPhee.”
“I am absolutely the only driver.”
“Victory will be ours,” she said, “however long and hard the road may be.”
Eight
The trip to Sydney had shades of the lost weekend about it, without the light-hearted fun.
I felt a twinge about commandeering the Buick, but I believed Stan would understand it was almost a matter of life and death. If he didn’t, Edwina would make it clear to him. The plan was to drive straight down to Sydney, deposit Alvin, assure his well-being, get him an appointment with an appropriate therapist and then turbo straight back home to normal life. I would be the only person to touch the steering wheel, so what could go wrong?
We clipped
