Little Boy Blues (26 page)

“My family is from Sydney. I know it’s a friendly community. People drop in to each other’s homes all the time and are made very welcome. Especially Jimmy. Everyone seemed to like him, and he dropped in to see friends all the time. Is it possible Jimmy believed he could walk into Honey’s place because she was his friend?”

Vince hesitated. “That’s what I thought. He might have got
the signals wrong. But Jimmy said he never went into the Redmores’ place. Jimmy can get the facts wrong, but you can always tell if he is trying to lie. He’s the worst liar in the world.”

“So it looks like he was never in the house, but the family said he was.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. But the Redmores were outraged, and they wanted charges pressed. According to my sources, they were quite insistent.”

“I wonder what happened?”

“The worst part of it is what took place afterwards.”

“Afterwards?”

“When the fuss started, Mr. Redmore actually chased Jimmy right over to George Street and tried to apprehend him.”

“Would Mr. Redmore have known who Jimmy was?”

“Of course.”

“Even if Jimmy had broken into the house, why would he chase him? Why wouldn’t he call your mother?”

“I don’t know. But if he had, maybe he’d be alive today.”

“What?”

“He had some kind of cardiac event while he was chasing Jimmy. He collapsed and was taken to hospital. They said it was brought on by the stress of the chase.”

“And he died?”

“Shortly after. He never really recovered after the first collapse. He had some emergency surgery. Angioplasty or something, and I guess it was too little too late.”

A heart attack triggered by the incident that never happened. No goddam wonder Honey had been upset by my line of questioning.

“Ma tried to talk to the family. We felt awful about whatever Jimmy had done. We wanted them to know he would never mean any harm.”

“And what did they say?”

“No one in the family would talk to her. Mrs. Redmore walked right by Ma after the funeral and wouldn’t say a word. The brother actually told Ma he thought we should have Jimmy locked up forever.”

“My God.”

“Ma was in pretty bad shape about that.”

“But did Honey herself say anything?”

“We never laid eyes on her. She went back to Halifax right away.”

“So was it only Mrs. Redmore who was upset?”

“And the brother.”

“Something pretty weird about the whole thing. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it’s got to have some connection.”

“There’s no connection. It’s history. We’d like to forget the whole thing.”

“Honey didn’t say anything about blaming your family. I got the impression she was quite fond of Jimmy.”

“Try to do something useful.”

“I’ll do whatever I have to. I want to get Jimmy back, safely, and to help Alvin recover.”

“Alvin? Jimmy’s the one we need to think about. We can’t let Alvin’s bid for attention take away from the search.”

“You listen to me. Alvin has done more than the rest of you put together. If you spent a bit more time being family to him instead of always trying to cover your asses, maybe he wouldn’t need attention.”

“Don’t tell me how to deal with my family.”

Tough talk, considering whose sofa his butt was parked on.

“Here’s another news update. I will tell you anything I want and I will ask any question I want until we get to the bottom of what happened to Jimmy. Try stonewalling me again and watch the fireworks.”

It seemed as good a time as any to march back to my bedroom. Gussie made an attempt to come with me, which was not such a good thing. Gussie scratched and whined until I relented and opened the door. “You can’t stand him either,” I said.

Mrs. Parnell’s cat would have to cope.

In the morning Vince was gone, leaving sheets neatly folded on the sofa. Mrs. Parnell told me Alvin had left already, after five hours sleep. He was scouring the city for Jimmy with the rest of his family. I turned down the suggested eye-opener and took Gussie for a constitutional which put a whole new spin on why I am not a dog owner. On the upside, the walk was long enough to help me plan the day. The main plan was to hook up with P. J. and head to Bluesfest with another pile of posters. I’d start by talking to Security, then work the grounds using my head, not just my ears.

Mrs. Parnell was settled in my living room when Gussie and I got back. Apparently, I’m the only person who can’t walk through walls. She had brought a thermos of coffee, so that made everything all right. I filled her in on what I’d learned about the Redmores.

“Something rotten somewhere,” she said. “So you’ll be interrogating this Redmore woman again today about the father?”

“I left her three messages this morning. I wish she’d return my calls.”

“Perhaps I can track her down.”

“I’ve got a lot to do. And this is a big day and night at Bluesfest. After tonight, no events are scheduled until Matthew Good plays for youth night on Wednesday. We need
to find Jimmy well before that. If we’re going to locate Jimmy at Bluesfest, it has to be today,” I said. “If you can find out where Honey Redmore works, I’ll head up to her office on Monday. My father said she’s on staff in some Minister’s office.”

“I would imagine she is trying to avoid you.”

“Maybe, but so what? We don’t have forever to figure out what’s going on here. And I think that as a taxpayer, I should have access to those government buildings.”

“Give me a bit of time. I may be an old soldier, but I want to make a contribution.”

“That’s great, Mrs. P. You keep at that. Pretty soon, I want to make a quick trip over to Gadzooks to make sure Alvin hasn’t lost his new job.”

“Excellent idea, Ms. MacPhee. Young Ferguson has already paid a big price here. Perhaps it’s survivor guilt. I’ve seen that often enough in my career. The boys who came back and lived out their lives felt they didn’t deserve to live after their comrades had fallen.”

“I can understand that. But Alvin wasn’t in a war.”

“These things don’t come from nowhere. There is a lot we don’t know. But remember from what Donald Donnie and Loretta were saying, he was devastated by Jimmy’s accident. Devastated but unharmed.”

“I believe you. And I’d like to know more about the boys they talked about. The Fergusons never even mentioned them. Let’s keep digging, Mrs. P.”

• • •

Deveau called me before I called him. Cross off another thing on the list.

“Reefer Keefer,” I said, before he got in his two cents worth.

“What?”

“Reefer Keefer.”

“Most people say hello, but suit yourself.” I could almost hear his grin.

“Ha ha. This is serious. I saw Reefer yesterday at Bluesfest.”

“Here? Really? That’s amazing.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for him again today. I’ll be checking out the grounds.”

“Maybe I should come along with you.”

“Sorry, my date hates it when I detect.”

There was that chuckle. “A drink then.”

“Sobriety calls,” I said.

“But few are chosen. By the way, Lennie’s had contact with the Hull side. Looks like they’re pretty sure the fire at Alvin’s place was arson.”

I took a deep breath.

“I’ll keep you posted,” he said.

“Thanks, Ray. That’s gotta be connected with Jimmy.”

“Sure looks like it.”

“Something to think about.”

“See you later,” Deveau said.

I hope so, I thought. I really hope so.

• • •

When we hit the Bluesfest site along with the surging Sunday crowds, P. J. was back to his normal mellow self. Even though I made it clear I was going to talk to Security before we did anything else.

“I should have done this yesterday.”

“No problem,” he said. “I filed my story by deadline, so I get
to take the day off like a normal human being. I’m off the hook until tomorrow.”

“The Great Right Hope in church all day, is he?”

“Don’t be like that. He’s in Kingston, meeting with some potential supporters who aren’t ready to show their colours, so the event’s not open to the public. Tomorrow I’ll cover his luncheon speech in Montreal. Quebec’s been a hard sell. Then he’ll be getting mentally prepared for the big interview on
Face Off
on Tuesday.”

“Prepared how? Getting a complete personality transplant?”

“Come on. I keep telling you, underneath, he’s a decent guy.”

“I liked it better when you were young and cynical. Here’s the deal. No politics today. None.”

P. J. sulked after that, but I paid no attention, because I bumped into at least a dozen people I’d known from school or university. All of the women looked at P. J. speculatively. Who could blame them? He was pretty cute with that curly red hair and the little gap between his front teeth, which you could see when he stopped pouting. Too bad he was such a pain in the ass about this political thing.

The last classmate, whose name escaped me, yanked my arm and pulled me over to give me a garlicky whisper. “He’s so cute. But does his mother know he’s out?”

“Funny.” P. J. had turned thirty on his last birthday. Frankly, I didn’t think five years was such a big deal.

“You go, girl,” she said. “How
old
is he?”

“Nineteen. But he’s had a hard life.”

I kept an eagle eye out for Reefer Keefer all the way to the security HQ. No joy.

“Who do you want to hear after this?” P. J. said.

“It doesn’t really matter to me. The important thing is to
make the rounds and hand out these posters of Jimmy.”

“How about catching Mumbo Jumbo Voodoo Combo first? Then we can work our way around from stage to stage.”

“Whatever.” The weather was clearing, and it was Sunday, so probably we’d be dealing with close to thirty thousand people. We’d be busy with the posters no matter where we were.

You could spot the security guys a mile off: black baseball caps, clean cut, stoic. We tracked down a honcho not far from the Main Stage. I passed over the picture of Jimmy and ran through the background on him.

“Yeah. Right. The kid from Nova Scotia. We’re up to speed on that. We got a hundred of our people on the lookout. Not that they haven’t got plenty to do, but the guys will really want to help with this. And we got a couple thousand volunteers. They’ve been informed about him too.”

“Have the police been here already?”

“Cop from down East. Like I said, we’re up to speed.”

“That’s good. So while you’re on it, do you mind keeping an eye out for a guy that looks like Jesus Christ?”

“The Christ guy. Yeah. We’re already on that too.”

As we left P. J. said, “Maybe you should work on your people skills.”

“I’m on edge. This kid could be dying. Will die. If Jimmy’s around Bluesfest, I’ve got to make my time pay off.”

“What are you going to do if you don’t find him today?”

“Tomorrow I’ll track Honey Redmore down at the office, because she’s not answering my calls. By the way, do you know where she works?”

“Forget it. You’ll never get past security. Anyway, the best way to catch her is after work hours. Try six thirty or seven, D’Arcy McGee’s pub on Sparks. She drops in a couple of evenings a week.”

“That’s great, I’ve got plenty to do tomorrow during the day.”

“No guarantees she’ll show, but anyway, you could try talking to her brother.”

“Why? Do you know her brother?”

“You mean, you don’t?”

“Knock it
off
, P. J.”

“He’s the rising star. Television.
Face Off
. Come on, Tiger. Get with the program.”

“I don’t watch TV, you know that. I’ve never seen
Face Off
.”

“It’s got serious audience ratings and a lot of clout. Remember, I just told you Nick is going to be interviewed by Redmore on Tuesday. It’ll be like the dance of death. Redmore is a real hardass when it comes to anything right of Mahatma Gandhi. You want holier than thou, Will Redmore’s your man.”

“I like him already.”

“Watch it once and see if you still agree. Redmore’s a shark. Big good-looking guy, mean as hell. Limousine liberal.”

“You’re worried about your pet politician. Maybe if his feelings get hurt, he won’t have the moral strength to put the screws to welfare moms and street kids.”

“I won’t dignify that with a response, Tiger. But personally, I’d like the interview to be fair. Redmore would shred his mother on camera if it would boost ratings. And the tactic works.”

“Good fodder for you as a reporter, though. Admit it.”

P. J. chose to keep silent rather than incriminate himself. That was okay, I had plenty to listen to. My feet were tapping.

• • •

By Sunday evening, it felt like we’d combed every inch of the grassy commons, traversing the nearly ten acres a half-dozen times and back to P. J.’s car three times for posters.

Criss-crossing Bluesfest means pushing against crowds, tripping over blankets, squeezing in between lawn chairs, stretching on tiptoes to see over heads. I checked all the lines outside the johns. If Jimmy was around, sooner or later, he’d have to pee.

I got a few remarks the third time I walked up and down the rows.

“As dates go,” P. J. said, “this must be among the more unusual.”

“Who’s that guy coming out of the john at the end of the line?” I said. “Never mind, false alarm.”

Every second male at Bluesfest had on a T-shirt and jeans and a high percentage of them had short, dark hair. Ditto baseball caps. I must have tapped hundreds of men on the shoulder only to say, sorry, my mistake, I thought you were someone else.

I had sore feet, beer breath and a sunburnt nose. P. J. looked like a tomato with hair.

“Give up, it’s getting dark,” he said. “Let’s get a seat in the Clubhouse for Jonny Lang.”

“First I want to check the Compact Music tent. I should have given those guys some posters. Maybe they saw him.”

“I thought he didn’t have any money.”

“Alvin thinks he might. You know what, you should do something about that burn. Does it hurt?”

“Na.”

“Liar. You better get something for it.”