A Bodyguard to Remember (17 page)

The rest of the class went smoothly. Instead of doing katas—the self-defence equivalent of practicing scales for music—Rick spent the class giving us tips on fighting dirty. “You do whatever you have to, to get away, to survive.” He acted as if our scuffle was planned and, as a result, the rest of the class accepted it as such.

“Don’t worry,” he said, when Gina, the youngest in the class, asked if they all could expect to be attacked by him, “I knew I could get away with it with Pru because she’s my landlady.”

Gina seemed disappointed by the news. Whether it was the fact that I was his landlady, or that he wasn’t going to jump her, I don’t know.

We didn’t talk about it. Rick said he had to study after dinner. I told him that I’d be heading to Ottawa after the kids’ self-defence class, Thursday afternoon. I didn’t tell him that I’d arranged with Merrick to borrow his condo, which might have brought things to a head. Instead, the subject was dropped.

We stopped in Belleville in time for a swim before bedtime and arrived in Ottawa late in the morning. This gave us the afternoon for Hope and Boone to visit their former classmates before I had to check in with the convention organizers.

Saturday morning, I was selling and signing books at the table Zeke got us. The kids had been there, done that too many times to be excited. They rendezvoused with Max and his mother, then took advantage of their comped tickets to check out the latest games. They did show up for my panel, but then went home with Max for an overnight visit.

The next day, Zeke joined me with apologies for leaving me on my own on the busiest day. Sunday was slower and interest in us was minimal. The espionage case was old news and we hadn’t developed a strong fan base yet. Zeke and I mostly hung out and swapped story outlines for
Star Trek
adventures, role-playing characters. Eventually, I took the opportunity to fish for information. Merrick never told me—or anyone—anything he didn’t have to. Zeke wasn’t as good at keeping secrets.

“Merrick’s been in the Toronto area quite a bit lately,” I mentioned casually. “From the look of his place, he doesn’t get home much.”

Zeke gave an eye roll.

“He’s used some creative methods to make sure he’s not far from you. He’s still worried about your safety.”

“No one else is?”

Zeke chuckled.

“I am—in a general, ‘I don’t want anything to happen to you way,’ but I’m betting that our information broker has cut his losses and moved on.”

I had a feeling the guy was just laying low. I’d dismiss it as paranoia except I got the impression Merrick felt the same way.

“So,” I said, “why don’t I see you in my neck of the woods? You’re partners, right?”

“Yes and no. We work together well so we get partnered often, but he’s working another case that doesn’t require my expertise—drugs not data.”

“Drugs,” I repeated.

Every account of a Mountie being killed, that I could recall, involved drugs. Admittedly, up until the last year I would have only noticed highly publicized cases, but even so.

“Gees, don’t tell Merrick I told you. It’s not a state secret, but if he hasn’t told you himself, he probably doesn’t want to add to your concerns. Anyway, you don’t need to worry.”

“Zeke,” I said, cutting across his verbal backpedalling, “never, ever, ever say that.”

“What?”

“Not to worry. I worry about you guys all the time. It isn’t a big worry, however. You want to make it big, tell me not to worry.”

“Sorry.”

I wouldn’t let Zeke tell me not to worry, but I told myself, over and over. It wasn’t just Merrick. When I got home, there was a message from Rick. Something had come up and he had to go to Toronto. He wasn’t sure when he’d be back. I was hoping his water pipes burst and he had to get a plumber in—then I remembered that he didn’t have a place to live in Toronto any more, since he’d broken up with his girlfriend.

Maybe she wanted him back.

Maybe Metro Police wanted him back.

He was a pain sometimes, but I was used to having him around.

Don’t worry, I told myself, there’s no point. Instead, I called Geoff and asked if he’d talked to Rick lately. I told him about our class episode and that things were a bit strained between us.

“Well, I can’t see Metro calling him in. He’s taken a leave of absence. And he didn’t live in Toronto. He commuted from Acton.”

“Acton?”

“Yeah, he and Lorraine own a house there. Maybe his lawyer is in Toronto. You should ask your ex about it. From what I understand, Rick is pretty tight with his cousin. That’s how he knew you needed a bodyguard.”

Huh? Then aloud I said, “Huh? I thought you talked him into the job.”

“No, he came up with the idea—or your ex did. Rick thought it would be better if I suggested it—less awkward.”

I sent Seth a text message. “Did you ask Rick to guard me? Just asking.”

Almost immediately, I got a reply. “No. He asked me.” Then a few minutes later, a follow up message came through. “Read about you in paper.”

That made sense, but I was already reporting to Merrick.

After several days, I was at the stage of wanting to do an injury to Rick Court. If he was going to arrange to invade my home, the least he could do is call so I wouldn’t worry about him. His cell phone was off. I had no way to make sure he wasn’t dead in a ditch. For that matter, what if I was dead in a ditch? He wouldn’t know either. Some bodyguard!

Fortunately, the sun was out and the weather mild. It was a perfect day for a walk to the mall and my favourite coffee shop. I texted Nate when I left the house. Unlike some people, he still worried about my safety. I was going to miss him when he returned to Ottawa. Except for a woman who remembered me from one of my bookstore appearances, no one interrupted my writing time. It turned out she was less interested in buying my book as selling her services as a publicist. I took her card and gave her a polite brush-off.

It’s odd, but it was the lack of regulars that finally triggered a memory and cleared up a small mystery. My contact with Seth’s family was limited. In the normal course of events, I might not have met Rick again until the next wedding or funeral. He seemed more familiar because I’d seen him at Starbucks. Not this one, the one on campus. I often met clients there, especially the students needing editorial services. Usually I’d stay to work after the meeting so I could take advantage of the free refill I got with my gold coffee card.

I remember thinking he was Seth’s cousin, but I couldn’t recall his name so I didn’t put myself forward. Besides, the last time we met was under embarrassing circumstances . . . for him. He’d been rather drunk at the time. Maybe he didn’t want to be reminded.

He must have been visiting the campus before registering for courses. Or maybe he’d been a part-time student before his sabbatical started. Acton wasn’t that far away from Guelph. It wouldn’t be a long commute for a weekly lecture.

Walter was cleaning up the front yard when I got home. We had our usual assortment of windblown debris in the juniper. He asked me if I’d got a lot of writing done, then, not waiting for my answer, told me that snow was expected overnight and listed the precautions we should take in the unlikely event it turned into a storm. He interrupted himself when he saw that I was having trouble with my pack. The cold weather was making my old wound ache.

“Here, let me help you.”

He took my backpack brief case off my shoulders and held it while I dug out my keys. My door opened as I reached for the lock. It was Rick.

“I’ll take it from here,” he said, reaching around me to take my pack. “We’ll see you later, Jensen.”

“That wasn’t very nice,” I said, once the door was closed behind me. “Walter was only being helpful.”

“Want me to go out and invite him in for coffee?”

“No.”

He gave a sharp laugh. “I thought as much. I just rescued you and you know it.” Rick put my pack down at the bottom of the stairs so I could take it up to my office. Then he beckoned me to the kitchen.

“Come on,” he said, “I made lunch.”

Meaningful conversation was postponed while we ate warm pasta salad. I forgot about my irritation and most of my other concerns. My one thought was that if I had known sooner that Rick could cook, I would have had him working off his board in the kitchen. Once the plates were cleared, I started thinking about how I was going to ask him about his trip to Toronto without seeming too nosy. Rick pre-empted me.

“What’s the deal with Merrick?” he asked.

I stared, dumbfounded by the directness of the question.

He shrugged. “I know it’s none of my business, but indulge me.”

“Merrick is in charge of the case I got mixed up in . . . and we’re friends.”

“Friends?”

His tone made me want to swat him. I closed my eyes and counted to ten. When I spoke, I tried for calm, but I’m pretty sure a little anger got through.

“
Ever since this mess began, he’s
been part of our lives. It started with the murder investigation but it’s more than that.”

Rick waited.

I considered walking out on the conversation.

“Merrick made sure my children were safe. He gave us a feeling of normalcy when our lives had been turned upside down. He will always be my hero for that. I helped him connect with his son, for which he will always be grateful to me.”

Rick chewed on that for a while then asked the inevitable question, “Are you having an affair?”

“What you see is what we are,” I said. “Now I have a question. What’s all this to you, Rick?”

He shook his head, suddenly deflated. “I don’t know. I really don’t. I just feel protective towards you. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

I laughed, “So naturally you tried to beat me up.”

He smiled in spite of himself. “Naturally.”

“And then you take off to Toronto.”

“I wasn’t running away—not really. I had personal business there.”

“In Toronto or Acton?”

He scowled at me. “What do you know about Acton?”

“I know that’s where you own a house with your ex. I presume she still lives there.”

“How do you know about Lorraine? Did Merrick tell you?”

I smiled and said nothing. I could have found out that way. I’m sure Merrick had run a background check on Rick before letting him stay at the house. I knew he was digging deeper now since finding out that Rick instigated his stay here.

“Pru?”

I grinned and put a finger to my lips. “Shh—it’s a state secret.”

Friday morning, just as I was about to head out to Starbucks, I got a call. I answered it in case it was a prospective client.

“Good morning, Prudence Hartley speaking.”

Click.

The phone rang again.

“Hello?”

Click.

One more time.

“You’re still dialling the same number,” I said. “Can I help you?”

Silence. Then click.

Shrugging, I went back to buttoning up my coat in preparation to leave. Rick poked his head around the corner of the door leading to the basement.

“What’s with the serial phone calls?”

“Got me. Someone seemed to be having trouble accepting that they had a wrong number.”

His face screwed up in an expression of consternation.

“Can I see?”

I passed him the portable so he could check the caller ID. He reacted with a heavy sigh. As if on cue, the phone rang. Rick let it ring.

“Going out?” he asked.

“Going for coffee and to work.”

“Mind if I join you?”

“Only if you explain the calls.”

“You’ve got a deal,” he said, heading back to the stairs. “Just give me five.”

I used the opportunity to clean out my pack of notes I’d scribbled down and long since transferred to my computer, old receipts and business cards. People gave me business cards all the time. If it was a useful contact, I entered the information on my computer. If not, I politely filed them in the side pocket of my pack where they accumulated and possibly bred until I threw them out.

When Rick returned, I was in the process of tearing the cards in half before dropping them into my blue bin.

“Ready?”

I left the pile of cards and notes on the table, pocketing a couple I decided might be useful after all. Rick helped me with my pack, and ushered me out the door. Once we reached the sidewalk, he offered me his arm.

“Those calls,” he said, pulling me as close to him as he could and still comfortably walk, “are my ex.”

“Ah.”

“She wants me back.”

“Oh.”

“She’s having a hard time taking no for an answer.”

“Uh-huh?”

“I’ve agreed to sit down and talk to her tomorrow—so I’ll be away for the weekend.”

“Okay.”

Not my most articulate moment.

He walked me to the mall, giving me more information than I ever wanted to know about his ex and their relationship. It was as if he had suddenly developed verbal diarrhea. I learned that he had engaged a lawyer because he wanted her to either buy him out of their house, or agree to sell it. She wouldn’t agree without him trying couple’s counselling first. “But what Lorraine really needs is psychotherapy. The woman is a nut job!”

I still had no idea why Rick was so upset by Merrick. At least, I had an idea he was jealous, but it didn’t make much sense if he was still so wrapped up in his ex. In any case, I was glad when Rick announced he had a couple of errands to run before he left town.

Once I ordered my
grande
no-fat vanilla latte and set up my laptop, I didn’t feel much like writing. Instead, I piddled away my time doing housekeeping chores, like backing up data and cleaning up my hard drive. Then I remembered the business cards in my pocket. I went online to check them out.

One of the cards was for the promotional agency that the supposed fan owned. Apart from the fact that Zeke did the work for free, the woman had irritated me, but I kept the card and book-marked their website. I wasn’t interested in their promotional services, but they used braille on their cards and audio as well as text in their marketing pitch. Having a legally blind mother made me appreciate these services.