Speak Ill of the Dead. Mary Jane Maffini
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. I’d been hoping for his sister and his niece or something. It had been a long time since I’d felt the pull towards a man, a long time since Paul.
The bar was peach rather than aqua. We settled into peach-patterned tub chairs. The waiter materialized immediately. There are advantages to sitting with the manager. It occurred to me the tension in the tummy was nothing more than nerves, but even so I chose a double order of suicide wings and a light beer to wash them down.
Richard Sandes had a Perrier and a cigarette.
“So,” I said when the order had been taken, “what can you tell me?”
I guess someday I’ll have to work on smoothing out my conversational skills. But he didn’t seem to mind.
“Miss Brochu stayed here whenever she stayed in town. She liked the Harmony and the brass always insisted on making a big deal out of her. There was talk about using her in an ad campaign for the Harmony Hotel chain. She got preferential treatment, so I guess that’s why she chose us over the Hilton or the Westin or the Chateau.”
“Hmm,” I said, “she didn’t strike me as too harmonious.”
“True,” said Richard Sandes, “but she was very well known and popular, well, maybe not popular, but she got good media coverage and people liked to read about her and liked her broadcasts, so it must have seemed like a good idea to the decision-makers.”
“Did she get free rooms?”
“No, but she got the suite for the price of a standard room, provided we weren’t booked solid for a convention or something.”
“How long has that been going on?”
He stopped for a second and looked at me.
Maybe I was getting goopy from those suicide wings. I dabbed at my mouth and fingers with a napkin. I’d lost the habit of worrying about how I looked to a man.
“I don’t know,” he said, “I’ve only been here for six months. I’d have to check the files.”
“Oh,” I said, distracted from my Mitzi probe, “where were you before?”
“Toronto.”
“Quite a change to Ottawa. How does your family like it here?”
Richard sipped his Perrier for a second before answering.
“I’m here on my own.”
I didn’t know quite what to say. There are many reasons for being in a new city on your own. Most of them you shouldn’t pry into.
“Do you like it here?”
He shrugged. “I don’t get out much. I’ve been putting in pretty long hours. But I like that and I like the Harmony.”
“It’s a beautiful hotel. I can see why you like it.”
“Yes. I hope I can stay on.”
“Would they move you without…”
He smiled at me. A crooked smile with a lot of sadness in it.
“I’m the manager at a showcase hotel where a star client was murdered. In a very showy way. The Official Philosophy of Harmony Hotels is to provide a place where clients don’t have to worry. There’s a lot of heat right now. Somebody’s got to carry the can, and I’m the ideal candidate.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Life isn’t always fair, Ms. MacPhee.”
“Right. Tell me about it.”
He waved the waiter over to refill our drinks. I was surprised to see mine was empty. There’s something about suicide wings.
“So,” he said, “what did you want to know about Mitzi Brochu?”
“Everything. How often she came here. Who stayed with her. Who came to see her. What she was like.”
“Oh, is that all?”
I noticed he was laughing.
“Well, whatever you can tell me,” I said, laughing too.
“Let’s see, she came down about once every two months. I have no idea who came to see her. Hotels are not in the business of keeping tabs on clients.”
“What was she doing here?”
“In the hotel?” His eyes twinkled.
“In Ottawa.”
“The scuttlebutt is she was writing a book on federal politicians. On their personal style or something.”
“A book on Members of Parliament?”
“I