The Devil's in the Details

The Devil's in the Details Read Free

Book: The Devil's in the Details Read Free
Author: Mary Jane Maffini
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coming.”
    BEEP
    â€œMs. MacPhee? Violet Parnell here. Would you be kind enough to come to my apartment, on the double? It’s a matter of some urgency.”
    BEEP
    â€œIt’s Alvin. Holy shit, get over to Violet’s place. Fast.”

    I shouted into Mrs. Parnell’s voice mail. “Mrs. P.? Is something wrong? Alvin? Are you there? What’s happening? I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
    After I left the message at Mrs. Parnell’s, I tried her cellphone. Nada. I tried Alvin’s. Ditto. The apartment superdidn’t pick up. His voice mailbox was full. I tried calling a cab. The dispatcher snickered. Fifty minutes to an hour wait. Holiday weekend.

    Bad scenarios played in my head. Mrs. Parnell was coming up to her eightieth birthday and had been using a walker for a couple of years for balance. She’s had a few shocks to her system and at least one trip to the ICU since she got to know me. Even though I knew she had the smarts to dial 911, I figured I’d better hustle. It’s a fifty-minute hike from downtown to our apartment building near the Champlain Bridge. That’s at the best of times, which this wasn’t.
    I hustled up toward Wellington, keeping an eye out for a cab. No joy. I figured it would be faster to walk. Of course, that was before I discovered my regular walking route home, the path along the Ottawa River, had been disrupted by some emergency behind the Parliament Buildings. Mounties redirected foot traffic on the path, and I had to push though a flock of confused tourists. The detour cost me an extra fifteen minutes.
    I was in a lather by the time I reached our building. Mrs. Parnell’s apartment is the second unit down from mine. I shot out of the elevator on the sixteenth floor and headed straight to her open door. I took a deep breath, wiped the sweat from my forehead, strode into her living room and swore.
    Mrs. Parnell was positioned in front of her oversized black leather club chair, holding a tumbler of Harvey’s Bristol Cream in her left hand and with her right, tracing a pattern in the air. As far as I could make out, she was in the middle of a dramatic re-enactment involving a crippled Allied reconnaissance plane and a nest of German snipers somewherein the mountains of Northern Italy in late 1944. The smoke from her smouldering Benson & Hedges was part of the story. Lester and Pierre, Mrs. Parnell’s evil little lovebirds, shrieked in the background. Her custom-made titanium walker lay idle on the far side of the room.
    Alvin Ferguson perched on the matching leather sofa, leaning forward, listening. His entire bony body was caught up in the drama, eyes wide behind his cat’s-eye glasses. His beaky nose tracked the spiral of the imaginary plane, his ponytail flipped as he followed the arc of the snipers’ bullets. The sun glinting off his nine visible earrings added to the magic of the moment.
    â€œAgainst all the odds,” Mrs. Parnell said, “with only his pistol, the major fought his way through and single-handedly wiped out the entire nest of snipers. Of course, there was no dealing with him afterwards. Still, he reminds me a bit of you in a pinch, dear boy.”
    â€œLord thundering Jesus, Violet, that’s one wicked story,” Alvin said.
    Mrs. Parnell nodded modestly.
    I cleared my throat.
    â€œMs. MacPhee! We thought you’d never get here.”
    I narrowed my eyes. “What’s the emergency?”
    â€œEmergency?”
    â€œYes. You both know goddam well you left me a message.”
    â€œI don’t believe we actually said it was an emergency,” Mrs. Parnell said after a long sip of Harvey’s.
    â€œYou used the word urgency.”
    â€œUrgency, yes, but we had no desire to alarm you.”
    â€œNo? Mind telling me why you didn’t answer your phone?”
    Mrs. Parnell turned to Alvin. “Did you hear the telephone, dear boy?”
    Alvin shook his head.
    I

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