The Corpse with the Silver Tongue (35 page)

“Well, thank
you
!” I exploded at the plate.

I was shaking with anger. And terror. And confusion. Why had he said
that
?

I wasn't sure what I should say next, so I made sure I spoke straight from my heart. I tried to be calm, despite the mass of emotions that were welling up inside me and threatening to take over my tear ducts.

“Bud Anderson, you are
quite
something. First of all, you're not repulsive; that's not what I meant and you know it. You've had women of all sorts chasing after you your whole life because of those blue eyes of yours and that wicked sense of humor you've got, and don't shake your head like that because I know it's true—the guys you work with have
all
told me, so there! And, you know what? You might well be right to leave the force, and even sell the apartment and move on to, literally, pastures new. I'll do whatever I can to help with all that, and be as involved as you like, because we're friends. That's what we are, Bud. We're
friends
. We might be the only real friend the other one has, but that's not a reason to ask me to marry you.
It's not fair!
I'm not made of rubber, Bud. There are only so many times I can ‘bounce back,' you know! Everyone seems to assume that ‘Cait will always be fine,' but quite often, Cait isn't ‘fine.' Quite often Cait puts her trust in people and they let her down. Or Cait lets someone into her life and they just use her. Or Cait falls for someone and they turn out to be a violent, alcoholic scumbag who knocks her around, then winds up dead and she gets the blame. I
cannot
allow myself to be used again, Bud. At some point I have to protect myself. I'm breakable, Bud. I'm more than the fat woman in the pub who's one of the boys. I'm more than a life support system for an intellect. I'm not going to step up and make everything lovely for you by replacing Jan.”

“No, no . . . You've got it all wrong—I've said it all wrong. I don't want you to replace Jan!” cried Bud. He looked horrified.

“You might have
said
it all wrong, Bud, but that's not the problem. I've never allowed myself to think of you . . . that way. You were Jan's husband when we met. When Jan died, well, you've spent more time with Marty since then than with me—or anyone else for that matter.
You
might have been thinking about this for two weeks, but I still think of
you
as my
friend
Bud.
Jan's husband
, Bud. I mean, come on, we've never . . . well, we've never
anythinged
! We haven't dated, or held hands, or cuddled, we've never kissed—and we've
certainly
never you-know-what-ed. See? I can't even
say
it! How ridiculous is that? I'm a grown woman, for heaven's sake! A marriage has to be more than two friends settling down together. There have to be feelings, Bud. Feelings.”

Bud looked hurt. “Don't you love me? I thought you loved me, Cait. You act as though you do.”

And there it was, finally. The Question.

The one that really matters.

Not “Will you marry me?” but “Do you love me?”

It was the time for truth.

“Yes, I love you, Bud. I do. I'm not sure that you love me. No! Ssh. Please. Not in the
right way
. I think that you
believe
you love me. But I also think that there's so much upheaval in your heart and in your life right now that this is the worst possible time to say you're ready to make a commitment to another human being. I'm not even sure you should be getting another dog, let alone a new wife. So don't do this. Please? Don't pull me toward something I don't believe you're ready for. Give us time?”

Bud looked resigned but hopeful. “Okay, I'll give us time, but not too much. Life can be over a lot sooner than we think, as we both know.”

I saw red. “That's a
terrible
thing to say! Don't
ever
do that again, Bud! Do
not
hold Jan's death over me, or over ‘us' . . . or anyone else, for that matter. That'll never work. You need to cool off, Bud. You need to think about this—no,
we
need to think about this—for a hell of a lot longer than two weeks! It's . . . well, as you can tell . . . it's taken me by surprise.” I was beginning to catch my breath, to calm down a little. “I tell you what, Bud: if you still want to, you can ask me to marry you again a year from now. Between now and then, you are absolutely
not
to mention it at all. Not to me, or anyone else. How about that?”

Bud nodded. “A year it is,” he said. “And in the meantime . . . ?”

“In the meantime, we'll do . . . well, you know . . . ordinary stuff. We'll be friends, and we can see what feels natural as we go along. Okay?”

“Okay. So, can I kiss you now?” Bud asked very quietly. “Would that feel ‘natural'?”

I couldn't help but smile. In fact, I know I was beaming, and almost in tears. And my tummy was churning. That wasn't because of all the cookies. Well, maybe it was a bit.

“I guess . . . I don't really know . . .” I replied.

So we stood, a bit awkwardly; and reached out to each other, quite timidly; and we held each other, for a long time; and then he kissed me.

“We're going to enjoy doing things together we've never done before,” said Bud, eventually.

“As always, you're right.”

MY IMMENSE THANKS TO THE
following people: Martin Jarvis and Rosalind Ayres—if they hadn't produced my short story “Dear George” for
BBC
Radio 4 in 2007, it's unlikely that I'd have found the confidence to write the two volumes of short stories within which Cait was born and developed; Dr. G. Anderson, School of Criminology, Simon Fraser University,
BC
, who helped me understand the path Cait might have taken to build her career; my friends in the south of France—Monique and Jonas, who allowed me to “use” their apartment, and Anne, my “French connection”—they opened their hearts and homes to me, and showed me a Cote d'Azur I could never have discovered alone; Stephen Halford,
BSc
, a museum technician and “Victorian naturalist” at Simon Fraser University,
BC
, who took the time to talk to me about critical elements of my plot; Ruth Linka, and everyone at TouchWood, who gave Cait a chance to live her life and have her adventures; Frances Thorsen of Chronicles of Crime, my editor, who was very gentle with me; and my family and friends, who have supported and encouraged me in so many ways, especially when I have feared that this novel might never be realized.

Born and raised in South Wales,
CATHY ACE
moved to London after graduation to pursue a career in marketing communications. Since relocating to British Columbia in 2000, she has taught at various universities, and is currently lecturing at Simon Fraser University. Cathy's love of crime fiction began at an early age: she graduated from Nancy Drew to Agatha Christie when she was ten and has never looked back! Cathy makes her home in Maple Ridge,
BC
, with her husband and beloved Labrador dogs.
The Corpse with the Silver Tongue
is her first novel. Please visit
cathyace.com

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The second book in the Casey Holland Mystery series,
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