was just before nine and I decided to try a few chores to bore me to sleep. Reading the week’s papers, locating the week’s laundry, washing up the week’s dishes. Not that I cherish these chores, just that I find it better in the long run if I attend to them. And they are soporific.
But the visit from my sisters earlier in the week had thrown the schedule off. The laundry was done, and there were only the breakfast dishes in the sink. Most of the papers had disappeared. Figuring I could limp on for another week without indulging in drudgery, I shook the Persian off the remaining papers and retired to the balcony with a lamp, an extension cord and a clear conscience.
My apartment building is perched on the edge of the parkland which borders the Ottawa River Parkway. The balcony looks down on the Ottawa River from sixteen stories. To the North lie the Gatineau hills, green and rippling even in mid-May. I can see the bike and pedestrian pathways like ribbons along the river. And to the East, the green-roofed Parliament and Supreme Court buildings. A turn of the head shows downtown Ottawa, highrise clusters with more blotches of green, some with green rooftops and others consisting of mundane blocks of concrete and glass, creating wind tunnels. I could make out the mellow pink of the Harmony Hotel, the top stories glowing between two office towers.
The Harmony Hotel, where Mitzi Brochu had checked into a spacious peach suite, expecting luxury and finding death.
The Harmony Hotel, where Robin had kept an appointment and discarded her mental health.
The Harmony Hotel, I thought, is the key to understanding everything.
I chucked the papers back into the corner of the living room and lifted a cat from my favourite pair of running shoes.
It was time to start sticking my nose in. And I knew the place to start.
Forty minutes later, I walked into the lobby of the Harmony Hotel.
Another girl with big hair was working the Reception Desk. This one’s tag said Naomi and she didn’t trill, she chirped.
I flashed my driver’s license in front of her, and said, “We found a few gaps in the Mitzi Brochu investigation. Can you confirm a few facts, ma’am?”
It wasn’t my fault if she mistook me for the police. Her eyes widened.
“What kind of facts? I wasn’t on duty that day. But I’m sure one of the others…or even Mr. Sandes could…”
“Don’t worry about it. You’ll be fine. I just need you to check the files to see if anyone was sharing Suite 815 with the victim on this trip. Or on any of her previous trips.”
“One minute, please,” she breathed and vanished through a door behind the counter.
I was drumming my fingers on the marble surface, when a voice behind me said, “Good evening, Ms. MacPhee, will you join me in my office?”
The day had not been good to Richard Sandes, perhaps because he was still at work at night. His hair was a little greyer than I remembered it and there seemed to be extra space in his suit. I remembered him being very sick in the powder room after we’d found Mitzi’s body. Very sick and for a very long time.
“Smoke?” he said, passing me the package.
“No, thanks.”
But his smile was still in working order. His eyes were rich and dark, like Belgian chocolates.
“Naomi seems to be under the impression you are a police detective, Ms. MacPhee. I wonder why?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “What can I say? Young people, they’re very impressionable.”
The crow’s feet around his eyes crinkled up, but his mouth was busy with the cigarette. I couldn’t tell whether or not he actually smiled.
“What can I do for you?” he asked.
“I’d like to know a few things about Mitzi Brochu. How often she came here. And if there was anyone who usually stayed with her.”
“Why?”
“I’m trying to find out why my friend went to see her and asked me to come along.”
“Didn’t she tell you?”
“Well, I didn’t actually talk to her before the murder, it was all accomplished with messages. And after, she hasn’t been well enough to badger about it.”
“I’m sorry?”
“She’s tranked to the ears because she was so traumatized by finding the body. Well, you remember the state she was in when we got there?”
“How could I forget? I was pretty traumatized myself. You mean the poor girl’s still out of it?”
“Right. Can’t or won’t eat. Can’t get out of bed. Starts to shake if there’s the slightest reference to Mitzi Brochu. Dead or alive.”
“That’s too bad.”
“So, you can see why I would like to get a handle on why Mitzi wanted to see her.”
“Weren’t the police any help?”
He raised an eyebrow when I snorted.
“Okay,” he said, “I think I understand how traumatic it must have been to find the body. The whole tragedy is still haunting me.”
“You’re going to help me?”
He shrugged his shoulders and smiled. “I remember the state your friend was in.”
“Thank you.” I slumped back in the chair.
“Do you want a cup of coffee or something?”
“Something,” I said, not knowing what. My stomach was clenched.
“All right, shall we chat in the bar? It’s pretty quiet on Sunday night.”
“Good.”
“I’ll just check a few details and be back in a couple of minutes.”
While I was waiting, I looked around. The office reflected the aqua theme of the Harmony foyer and hallways. Very restful with the oak furniture and the silk flowers. But all business, except for two photos on the bookcase. A plump blonde girl, about ten years old, grinned from one. An older version of the same girl, svelte and elegant, even in sports clothes, stood with Sandes and a woman in front of a boat.
Richard Sandes looked different in the photo. Heavier, happier, casual in beige boating gear.
I was still standing by the photo when he came back.
“Your family?”
He nodded.
“Your daughter?”
“Yes.”
“She’s beautiful.”
He smiled and I realized I was disappointed.
