The Corpse with the Silver Tongue (34 page)

“You want to stay and have something to eat?” I was surprised.

“Cait—they've sent me home from the office, Marty's still at the vet's, I need to eat . . . and the apartment . . . well . . .”

“Empty?”

“Like a vacuum. Every bit of air sucked out of it. Thanks for understanding, Cait. It's times like this that a person needs another person who understands them. And I might need that a fair bit over the . . . I don't know . . .”

“However long it takes,” I said.

“It'll take forever, Cait. There's a whole part of me that's missing. It'll never be the same again.”

“I'm sorry, Bud.”

“I know.”

And there we stood. Two friends with a battered suitcase on the floor between them.

I WOKE WITH A SPLITTING
headache. Everything was dark. I had no idea where I was. “Serves you right for opening that second bottle with dinner last night,” I told myself.
Never again
. Yeah—sure!

I looked across the pillows at the new man in my life and smiled. “Good morning,” I said quietly. His amber eyes gazed deeply into mine, then he planted a big, wet lick on my forehead.

“Marty—yuk! Stop it,” I cried. I knew he wouldn't calm down until I'd let him out and fed him, which I did. Having showered and dressed, I gave Marty a good going over with his special comb. He loved it. His shiny black coat looked magnificent, and he was looking better for having lost the pounds that the vet had insisted he had to take off. Apparently, Marty hadn't been very keen on the first type of diet food he'd been given, then Bud had changed it to something else vet prescribed—it cost an arm and a leg and Marty loved it. So Marty had eaten himself thinner. I wondered if there was a human version.

“Bud will be here to collect you today, Marty,” I told him. As he cocked his head, showing he'd understood every word I'd said, his wonky ear flopped about—too cute! I gave him a cuddle. He didn't object, though I got the distinct impression he was merely tolerating my attentions.

Marty had been my house guest for the past two weeks. Before he'd arrived, I couldn't have
imagined
how different a person's life would become simply because of the presence of a seventy-pound Labrador. Since Bud had brought him over—and the truckful of supplies to accompany him—I'd become completely captivated by this adorable, totally entertaining, and unquestioningly loving creature. I was going to miss him like hell. I'd even begun to contemplate getting a puppy myself, but in my heart of hearts I knew that while I could jiggle my schedule a bit for a couple of weeks, so that Marty wouldn't be alone for too long, there was no way I could ever spend the time I'd need to (or want to) with a puppy.

However, I wondered if Bud might let me ‘borrow' Marty now and again . . . just so I could get my dog-petting fix. It's amazing how quickly I'd become addicted. I decided to ask him when he arrived. I looked at the kitchen clock. It was eight o'clock. Bud's flight was due to land at three. So I had lots of time.

I was hoping he'd had a good break, and a smooth journey home.

Frankly, I'd thought he'd been mad to go, but apparently he and Jan had been promising themselves they'd go to Egypt for years, and they'd booked this trip a month or so before Jan had been killed.

Initially, Bud had wanted to cancel the whole thing. Then he announced he'd decided to go after all. Alone. And would I look after Marty?

Me? The person who'd always found looking after a houseplant a challenge? Caring for a dog for two whole weeks?

Of course I'd said yes.

After that first night, when I'd ended up having to lift Marty onto my bed just so he'd stop whimpering, we'd really bonded. How can you
not
bond with a creature that eats all their meals with you, becomes your bedfellow, wants to follow you into the bathroom and even tells you when it's time to wake up? He was such a good boy.

It was Saturday, so I spent the day tidying up the house, clearing away the detritus that I feel it's only reasonable to allow to gather through a busy work week. I packed Marty's food, bed bags (day beds, of course), grooming kit, medications, and toys into the rubber bins Bud had used to deliver them. Everything was looking pretty good by the time Bud's taxi pulled up at the front of my house. Until Bud emerged.

Marty went berserk. I don't know how he knew that it was Bud out there on the street, but he did, and he ran around the house, upstairs and down, jumping up at me, pulling on my sweater, knocking over the little table inside the front door that had a very nice cactus on it (they really don't need much attention). By the time Bud was actually at the door, the whole place was a mess. I grabbed Marty's collar as I struggled to open the door. He didn't understand that to let Bud in, he'd have to get out of the way. The creature was frantic with excitement, and threw himself at Bud, almost knocking him over.

After a few minutes of frenzy, Bud said, “So, you haven't been feeding him, eh?”

“Yeah—right—he's a waif!” I replied, trying to gather up broken pot shards, soil, and the remains of a very spiny cactus. It wasn't easy, and I was worried about Marty's paws.

Bud tempted Marty away from the perilous cactus and into the kitchen with the promise of a treat that he magically produced from his jacket pocket. I wondered how long it might have been there and if it had made the journey to Egypt with him.

I dumped the contents of the dustpan into the bin beneath the kitchen sink and asked, “Coffee? Or do you just want to load up and be off?”

“Coffee'd be great—thanks,” said Bud. Marty was gradually simmering down, but his tail was wagging so fast that I thought he might hurt himself. Bless him!

I didn't think asking “did you have a great time?” was the right way to go, so I stuck with something more neutral. “How was it?”

“It was tough,” said Bud, petting Marty's head with vigor. “Amazing place. But tough. Jan would have loved it. It was everything we'd ever thought it would be. But bigger. It's
so
much bigger than it looks in the books or on
TV
. You get no sense of scale until you're there, standing next to something that was built with almost no tools, thousands of years ago. My God, it makes you think! We're nothing, aren't we? Just specks. Insignificant.”

“Yes. That's how it made me feel when I was there.”

“Did you prefer Cairo or Luxor?”

“Luxor, and the Valley of the Kings.”

“Yep. Me too. I mean, the pyramids are incredible—but they're so . . .”

“Yep. They are.”

“So, any news?”

“Bud, you're just back from an incredible trip almost half way around the world, and you're asking me if
I've
got any news?”

“Just normal stuff, you know? How's
this
fella been, eh?” Bud and Marty were smiling at each other—I swear.

“He's been a very good boy, haven't you?” Marty all but nodded. “And I shall miss him when he goes. If ever his Dad can bear to loan him out, he's got a taker, hasn't he?” Until then, the way that dog owners talked to their pets had always puzzled me, but now it seemed to make perfect sense.

“I'll bear that in mind,” said Bud, smiling and petting. He was checking out Marty's wonky ear, which had now fully regrown its fur, like my injured head had regrown its hair—thankfully.

“Oh, I
have
got some news for you,” I said, as I poured coffee and dared to put a few cookies on a plate within paw-reach of Marty. “You remember the Widow Tamsin, in Nice?” Bud nodded. “Well, I got an e-mail from Pierre Bertrand this past week.”

“Ah, your little French boyfriend,” teased Bud.

I gave him a suitably withering look. “Oh, come on, he's sweet—all enthusiasm and wide-eyed innocence . . . And he did save my life, after all. Well, he tells me that Tamsin is to marry a Polish count at Christmas. The ceremony will take place in Gerard's gardens at the Palais. He's off his crutches and will be giving the bride away.”

“That'll be fun for them all,” replied Bud. “Will she be going up the aisle with one octogenarian, and back down with another?” I swatted at him. “Well, come on, Cait, I know I never met the woman, but your descriptions of her have been . . . shall we say ‘caustic'?”

I smiled. “Yeah, I haven't been too kind about her, have I? And I have to admit that when I read Pierre's e-mail, I couldn't help but conjure up a mental image of her swooshing up the aisle, bedecked with finery and jewels, on the arm of some rich, withered old guy. And I don't mean Gerard. Which might be doing her a terrible disservice, but I suspect it's not too far from the truth.”

“What about Nazi-boy? Any news yet on when his trial is due to kick off?”

“Pierre said it would likely be in the new year.”

“Yep. That's about as long as it takes here,” noted Bud. But I knew there was a very different trial on his mind. I decided to carry on.

“Apparently, Beni Brunetti went off to Milan and is now back with his wife: they're making quite a splash in the fashion business there.”

“Ah—Beni with the wonderful eyes, and the wonderful teeth, and the wonderful—”

“Bud—don't be mean! You're just making fun of me now. I told you it was just a passing thing. Honestly . . . I'm never going to tell you any secrets ever again if you're going to be like this.”

“Yes, you will . . . Marty, down!” Marty's nose was poking above the table top sniffing out the exact location and recipe of the cookies.

“I guess. Unless I save them all up and tell them all to Marty instead.
He
won't make fun of me, will you Marty? No you won't. You're a good boy!” I got up and petted my new friend as I reopened the packet of cookies. A few more wouldn't hurt.

“
I
have a secret to tell Marty,” said Bud.

“You can tell me too,” I offered.

“Well, it won't be a secret for long, so I guess I might as well. You see, I've been thinking—”

“Don't strain yourself.”

“Ha, ha—very funny. No, this is serious, Cait, I've had a lot of time to think over the past couple of weeks . . .”

I sat myself down. Bud deserved my full attention. “Go on,” I said.

“Well, I know I had that couple of months off work, but there was such a lot going on that . . . well, I guess I was just doing stuff and not really thinking ahead. You know?” I nodded. I'd seen how he'd been: like an automaton, running at full speed, with no direction. “Well . . . I guess that I've finally had a chance to think about where I go from here. How I carry on without Jan. Not day to day. But for
ever
. You see, Jan was the planner. She was the one looking ahead and mapping out our future. And now . . . well, there's no Jan. So no future. At least, not with her. And being in Egypt really affected me. Like I said, it's all so old, so big . . . and so much about dead people. It made me think that I can probably go one of three ways: I could kill myself and be done with it all—and don't think I haven't thought about it.”

“Oh Bud, don't talk like that,” I said quietly.

“Don't panic,” he replied with a weak smile. “I'm past that now. About three months past it. But you need to know I considered it. Seriously. But let's put it to one side. So, if I'm going to be around for a while, I could live my life as a memorial to Jan and keep on living the life that
we
were going to live, doing what
we
were going to do, alone. And that's what I was trying when I went to Egypt. It had been our dream. And being there without her was just awful. So I don't think that
that
option is going to work. So there's one more alternative, and that's what I've decided to do.”

“And that is?”

“I can set about building a new life for myself. I've tried to think about what Jan would have wanted me to do, and I think I'm making the right decisions. They have to be decisions that
I
can live with—not what someone who's not here might, or might not, agree with. Jan will always be a part of my life—but a part that's missing now. She's gone. So . . .” Bud took a big gulp of coffee and looked me straight in the eye. “I've made some pretty big decisions, Cait. It's time. First, I'm going to resign from the force.”

“You're kidding!” It was out before I could stop it.

“No, I'm not. I've put in more than thirty years, and I'll never rise above my current rank. I'll get a good pension and there's Jan's life insurance. It sounds cold, but because of that I can manage to live the rest of my life without working. My heart's not in it any more. And that's not fair—to me, or my colleagues. It could even be dangerous. I could end up putting someone's life at risk.”

I didn't know what to say, so I ate another cookie.

“I'm going to sell the apartment and buy some acreage somewhere out toward the Fraser Valley. Marty'll love it, and, who knows, he might even get a friend to play with—there are lots of dogs at the pound who'd like a few acres to run around and a good friend like this fella. Right?” He was talking to Marty again. “When I'm settled, I'd like you to marry me. How about that?”

“What?” I believed my ears, but my brain was telling me he must be speaking to the dog. He
must
be! He couldn't be talking to
me
!

“I want you to marry me, Cait. Do you want to marry me?”

“Me. Marry you? Don't be ridiculous! Of course I won't marry you. Are you mad?”

Bud looked taken aback. “Okay, okay, calm down. I didn't think I was
that
repulsive.”

I stood to speak, then I sat down again. I reached for another cookie, but the plate was bare.