home?”
“He doesn’t answer his phone.”
“Well, he is probably on his way to Gadzooks.” How could an entire family be so stunningly irritating?
“But he wasn’t at his apartment. We started calling last night. We left about ten messages.”
Okay. Tracy might sound like she was ten years old, but we all had to grow up sometime. “Perhaps Alvin spent the night with a friend.”
“Oh.”
“Right.”
“It’s urgent. Because of my little brother, Jimmy. We can’t find him anywhere.”
Unless I was wrong, Alvin’s little brother was twenty-one.
“My mother is really upset. We need to find Jimmy soon.”
“News flash, Tracy. Sometimes young men get distracted and forget about their mothers. He’ll be able to look after himself.”
“But that’s just it. Jimmy couldn’t.”
Not my problem. I thought someone should tell Mrs. Ferguson to let her baby boy grow up. “Everything will work out.”
“It won’t!” Tracy’s voice rose. “He can’t look after himself.” She said something else, but I missed the rest in an explosion of nose blowing.
“Biss BacPhee?”
“Maybe Jimmy felt like a bit of a break.” And no wonder. “He left his medication.
He needs that, or his seizures will start again. He doesn’t have his puffer. And he left Gussie on the road. He’d never do that.”
“Who?”
“Gussie. He loves that dog. He’d never leave her to fend for herself downtown in the traffic. Jimmy has disappeared. He’s absolutely vanished. Now we can’t find Allie, and we need to tell him.”
She had me. Whatever Alvin’s flaws, ignoring his large family wasn’t one of them.
I couldn’t concentrate with incessant calls from the Fergusons. I had no clients scheduled because of the quasi-holiday. Plus the inside of Justice for Victims by this time was one hell of a lot hotter than the Ottawa streets.
“Okay. I’ll do what I can.”
“Thank you. You know Allie thinks the world of you, Miss MacPhee.”
Ah, shit.
• • •
The phone rang as I reached the door. On the off chance it was Tracy calling to say Jimmy had shown up or Alvin calling to apologize for the inconvenience, I shot across the desk and grabbed the receiver.
“I know I am breathtaking, and it’s time you realized it, Tiger.”
My friend P. J. Lynch sounded too cheerful for a reporter who’d been yanked back from a big-time assignment in Charlottetown to deal with his mother’s heart attack.
“How’s your mom?” I asked.
“False alarm. They boosted her meds, she’s home again, ready to rumble.”
“That’s a relief. I’ll send her flowers.”
“Don’t worry about it. Listen, I have terrific news.”
“It is terrific news, P. J. But I’ve got to tear off and find Alvin.”
“Find him? I thought you were ecstatic to lose him. Sorry I missed that party, by the way.”
“I’m out the door. Call you later.”
“Okay. But here’s the good news.”
I knew what made P. J. a first-rate reporter. He didn’t understand any part of no.
“Later,” I said.
“I have a chance to do a restaurant review this week. Hot new spot. Friday night. Want to come with me?”
“Aren’t you covering Nicholas Southern’s Right to be Wrong, Let’s Bore the Country Senseless from Coast to Coast to Coast Campaign?”
“Very funny. The Right to be Right is a serious movement.”
“Sure. Serious bowel movement.”
“I won’t dignify that. Anyway, he’s got some private function that night. Oh, quit laughing, Tiger, it’s not that hilarious. Come with me to the restaurant. It’ll be like undercover work. You can be part of my disguise.”
“Not that I haven’t always wanted to be part of a disguise, but no can do. I’ll be at Bluesfest. Blue Rodeo opens. I am there.”
“But Bluesfest isn’t twenty-four hours a day. You have to eat.”
“No dice, P. J. I’ll eat on the site. Any other time would be great.”
“You don’t understand, Tiger. I’m stretched to the max with this assignment.”
“I hope you’re not complaining. This Nicholas Southern thang is supposed to haul you out of crime reporting and onto the national scene. Make you or break you, I believe you said. Or was that the restaurant reviews?”
“Come on, I’ve the weekend off, at last. You’re supposed to be my buddy. Don’t let me down.”
“Gotta go, P. J.”
I knew the longer we talked, the more persuasive he would become. It takes more than rudeness to shake P. J. Lynch. I hung up.
• • •
I set off to Gadzooks to find Alvin and hold him in a headlock until he called his family. Twentysome minutes later, I hit the far side of the market and strolled up to the small, upscale gallery. Through the plate glass window, I spotted René Janveau, the owner, surrounded by vast, gleaming crystal sculptures.
René knew my name, since I had provided Alvin with an extraordinarily glowing recommendation. I plan to work that off in Purgatory. He kept running his hands through his hip hairdo and spewing anxiety.
I got to the point. “I need to speak with Alvin Ferguson.”
“I am afraid that’s not possible.”
“Well, it’s an emergency.”
“It certainly is. I have to leave for Montreal, and Alvin is not here yet. Where do you think he is?”
I felt a little throb in my temple. “I don’t know. I’m asking you.”
“How ridiculous. I am his employer, and I have no idea.”
“Well, I’m his former employer, and I have
