by Alison Bruce
“Naturally.”
“He says that the boxes going to the dump were damaged by smoke.”
“No doubt.”
“And all the painting and cleaning being done are also because of smoke damage.”
“It must have been a pretty big smoke bomb—I mean, it put Zeke in hospital, right?”
Right now Zeke was my hero for the work he was doing. My insurance company was taking care of expenses, but Zeke was doing all the stuff I would have done if I had been there. He was working mostly on his own time, so I felt I owed him some support, just in case Merrick had a problem with his actions. Merrick just shrugged and gave me one of his Vulcan-like non-smiles.
“You’ll also be happy to know, I paid your library fines.”
I slapped my forehead.
“Oh shit! I forgot about them. I have a book here. It was in my purse. It’s not overdue yet, because I just got it when . . .”
My voice trailed off and my hand covered my mouth as it hung open, jaw dropped.
“Merde,” I muttered.
Merrick waited for me to explain.
“You might just kill me, but I swear it only just occurred to me.”
One eyebrow lifted. Usually I loved the way he could do that. Right now it just made me feel more foolish. I took a deep breath.
“I had a library book with me that day at Starbucks. It was overdue by a day or so and I hadn’t quite finished it, so I read it before I started writing. It was sitting on the table with my laptop when I left the table. I returned it on the way home.”
Merrick stared at me.
“What was the name of the book?”
I gave it to him. It was the latest Louise Penny. I had been on a waiting list for weeks to get it, then it came in when I was in the middle of a rush job . . . but that wasn’t exactly relevant at the moment.
He nodded and pulled out his cell phone. He gave the information to Zeke along with orders to confiscate every copy of the book in the City library system. Then he made a call to arrange for the search of my branch and a trace of where the book had been and in whose hands.
When he hung up, he sunk back in the cushions of the couch, shaking his head in disbelief.
“I’m sorry I didn’t think of it before,” I said, feeling like a total idiot.
“It’s all right. Obviously the only one who had any idea that the book was involved was the man found dead in your living room. For that matter, we can’t be sure that the book was the hiding place, but it gives us another lead.” He gave me an odd smile. “You might be able to go home soon.”
“And we’d be out from underfoot.” Actually, I wasn’t anxious to go back. If only Merrick would say something. “Not that I’m in a rush to leave—I mean, you have a nice place, and I like Ottawa . . . of course, the kids will want to see their father eventually . . .” He just let me babble on and I couldn’t seem to stop. “And my mother misses us all. Yet, if it isn’t too much trouble, I would like to stay to the end of term—if that’s possible. The kids are finally settling in at school and Boone is working on a term project that is actually inspiring him to do extra reading and writing. Hope’s been emailing her best friend every day, but she’s been making friends here too and . . .”
“Hartley.”
I took a breath. Was he roleplaying Valdok or was this what passed for familiarity with this man? Didn’t he like my name? Damn! Now I was babbling in my thoughts.
“Yes, Merrick?”
“You are welcome to stay here as long as you like and return whenever you like.”
I gave him a speculative look. What was he offering here?
I had a mental image of him closing the distance between us, pulling me into his arms and dipping his head to kiss me. After a moment of demure hesitancy, I would respond with equal fervour. Okay, screw being demure, I’d probably be on him like—
He reached out and squeezed my hand. “For the first time in years, Nate and I had a normal conversation without sub-text or filtering. You made this place a home. You are welcome anytime.”
Merrick squeezed my hand again before letting it go. Then he leaned back and turned on the TV.
“Do you want to watch a movie?”
“Sure,” I said.
Don’t get me wrong, I was happy that he was happy. It was just a bit depressing having my romantic bubble burst. So, I agreed to whatever movie he chose, let him set it up while I made tea, then, in the relative privacy of the kitchen, I silently vowed to stay aloof from Sergeant David Merrick. Zeke and Nate were all too right about him.
CHAPTER 7
Visiting a naval frigate was not high on my list of things to do, but Nate, who arranged the tour with a friend of his, was convinced that it would be a valuable experience for me.
It started when I let Nate read my Star Trek novel. He’d heard from Zeke that it was a good story and who was I to deny my fans, right? Two things came out of this. The first was awkward. Nate finally got some of the inside comments his father made to me from time to time. Since Nate was convinced that his father would break my heart—unintentionally of course—he was a bit disturbed by the parallels.
The second outcome was a whole world of trouble, but a good idea. He figured that my story didn’t have to be set in the Star Trek universe at all. It could be set in a nearer future, during an imaginary war, extrapolating from what was going on in the world now. He even came up with a great title: Men in Uniform. Nate fed me no-name stories that illustrated the kinds of activities someone in the Special Forces might be involved in, as well as detailed information about military life. In doing so, he told me more indirectly about his service in Afghanistan than he had ever revealed before.
He emailed me relevant articles, sent me to military web sites and arranged for a family tour of CFB Petawawa. Then he started working on Zeke, because he, it turned out, knew a publisher. With his introduction, I sold the concept and now had to rework my novel, toute de suite.
Meanwhile, a memory card was discovered in the pocket of my library book.
March Break rolled around. The twins went on holiday with Seth and Sarah, and I went to Toronto. Geoff booked time off to play bodyguard. Since Paula was free for the week too, Tom joined us when he could. We did a couple of double dates, bowling one night, playing mini-putt, then, mid-week, Geoff accompanied me on my ship tour.
My goal was to gather background material for the book, since a vessel like this was taking the place of a starship. This would have been a great deal easier if the other people on the tour were as interested in what was being said as I was. I had to strain to hear and sidled up as close to our guide as was seemly. In this, I had competition from a woman I could only describe as a cougar. Dressed to the nines and on the prowl, she was looking for man prey and found it in our guide.
The ensign assigned to us was teen-idol handsome and dance-competition muscular. I appreciated this without being particularly interested. Several women shot him appreciative looks, but only the cougar gave him sustained attention. For reasons beyond me, she saw me as a rival and constantly tried to push me aside. On her side, she was taller, bustier, and more aggressive than me. On my side, I had Geoff running interference. But his job was to keep an eye on everyone, not just a single predatory woman.
We were in the engine room. I managed to inch my way to the head of the line. My reward was a dizzying view of impressively clean, awesomely large machines. They didn’t look anything like the dark and greasy engines you saw in war movies. I filed away the image of a room, cleaner than my bathroom. I concentrated on what our guide was saying so that I wouldn’t think about the fact that I could see down through the grated catwalk and that only a thin chain blocked the near-vertical steps to the deck below. I was caught off guard when Ms. Cougar bumped me to one side with a hip swing and a falsely apologetic, “Oh! I’m so sorry, I just wanted to ask . . .”
It was like a cartoon. For a moment I was suspended over the abyss, arms wind-milling. I caught hold of the railing by my fin
gertips. Then I made the mistake of looking down.
Next thing I knew I was at the bottom of the steps.
Vertigo is a bitch.
I tried to sit up. Strong arms supported my shoulders. I reached out and grabbed a handful of blue material.
“What happened?”
That was the ensign, calling down from the mists above me, or so it seemed to me. He sounded concerned, slightly puzzled, and very far away.
My response sounded hysterical. “That bitch bloody well pushed me. That’s what happened! She bumped me towards the bloody stairs and I lost my damned balance . . . I could have broken my neck!”
I was yelling, almost wailing, and shaking, and still holding onto that handful of material with what could only be described as a death grip. It was the kind of thing I wrote for my hero to do to Sergeant Valdok when she is almost killed by an enemy agent. The thought that I was emulating one of my stories appealed to my sense of the absurd and helped me calm down.
I shut up and concentrated on taking deep breaths.
“Are you okay?” asked the man holding me.
I focussed my attention on him. He was Sears catalogue handsome. There were stripes on his epaulettes. I matched them to a mental picture of a ranks chart Nate had given me to study and came up with Lieutenant Commander. His gaze was concerned and somewhat bemused.
“I think so,” I said, once I’d finished cogitating.
“Ready to let go of my shirt?”
I tried, but my hand didn’t work.
“How about holding onto me instead,” said Geoff. He crouched down and took the hand that was clenched. “Come on Pru, let’s get you on your feet.”
I could stand, with a little help. Geoff held me up on one side, our guide was on the other. I hadn’t been aware of him joining us. The Lieutenant Commander stepped back and smoothed his rumpled shirt.
“Ensign, did you see what happened?”
“Yes sir. Ms. Corben hip-checked . . .” He looked at my name tag. “Ms. Hartley.”
“Any reason why?”
The ensign blushed. He knew why.
I answered, “Ms. Corben wanted me out of the way.”
They both looked up at the group at the top of the stairs. I followed their gaze and discovered that my vision was clearing. I could see that at least a couple of people corroborated my observation with a nod.
Ms. Corben was huffing and shaking her head. “Seriously? The woman is delusional. It was an accident.”
Someone else said, “Like hell it was.”
“Get Ms. Corben’s contact information,” said the commander. “Warn her that she may be charged with assault. Then have the master-at-arms escort her off my ship.”
“Aye, sir.”
“I’ll take care of Ms. Hartley and her escort.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Carry on.” The commander turned to us. “Damn. We had better get you to sickbay. Merrick’s going to have my hide if anything happens to you.”
“You know Sergeant Merrick?” Geoff asked.
“I know Nate Merrick. Last time I saw him he was a corporal.”
“You’re Nate’s friend,” I said a few seconds later, slow to make the connection.
“Yes, ma’am. Peter Andrews, at your service. I was just coming to make your acquaintance when you dropped in on me.”
* * *
I was shipped—no pun intended—off to the nearest hospital, which was, ironically, St Michaels. Commander Andrews took charge of everything. I’m not positive, because frankly I was feeling a little out of it, but I think he got me into X-ray in record time. He flashed his military ID and the next thing I knew I was being told to stay still and hold my breath.
The doctor told Andrews, not me, that I suffered from soft tissue damage only. I was there, but he definitely was directing the report to the lieutenant commander. It pissed me off. Whose life was this anyway?
“Ice on the affected muscles, followed by an Epsom salt bath will reduce the chance of long-term damage,” the doctor told him. “She’ll need to be checked on every couple of hours for the rest of the day and overnight.”
The doctor offered him a sheet with instructions on the care and feeding of head trauma, which Geoff grabbed. Not long after, I was released into Geoff’s care and Andrews took his leave with the promise to give me a personal tour when I was feeling up to it.
“I could call Paula,” I offered, after popping a couple of extra strength Advil capsules and washing them down with the ginger ale a nurse had fetched me. “She’ll stay with me overnight.”
“Uh-uh,” said Geoff. “I’ve taken responsibility for you. You’re still on my watch.”
On the way out, he maintained a light but persistent hold on my elbow, steering me away from the walls that kept veering into me. When the walls disappeared, he guided me to a waiting taxi.
“This feels like déjà vu.”
I was travelling from the same hospital to the same hotel, in the same taxi. Same company in any case. It’s not as if Toronto only had one cab company either.
“No coffee,” I muttered. This was an observation. I had a coffee last time.
“No coffee. I’ll make tea and fetch the ice for your knees and shoulder.”
Evidently, though I remember nothing of it, I had caught myself on the rails, wrenching my shoulder as I did so. Then I slid down the last few steps, scraping my shins and both knees on the way down, before collapsing. It was all very dramatic. Too bad I missed it. I wasn’t really aware until the motion stopped.
“Then,” he continued, interrupting my attempt to remember what happened to me, “I’ll order dinner while you have a hot bath.”
“Got to get Epsom salts first,” I murmured. I was starting to fade.
“Good point. We’ll stop at a drug store first. Pru!”
“Huh?”
He patted my cheek. I supposed I should be grateful he didn’t slap me.
“Don’t fade on me, hon.”
“Hon?”
“Whatever. It’s been a long day.”
“Table salt will do, Geoff. If you can talk room service into sending up table salt and olive oil, I can make a therapeutic bath.”
He sat back and chuckled.
“Add a little vinegar and we can have salad dressing.”
* * *
When I woke up at four in the morning and found Geoff in my bed, I wasn’t alarmed. The last thing I remember was him lying on top of the covers, waking me to make sure I still knew my name. Each time he woke me he was a bit more comfortably attired. My guess was that he got into bed half-asleep. I went to the bathroom, used the toilet, brushed my teeth, and crawled back into bed with him because it was warm there. I fell asleep with us back to back.
Although I never asked, I suspected Geoff was gay the first time he guarded me. After our adventures at the hospital and being debriefed by Merrick over the phone, he confirmed my suspicion.
“Normally on the job I don’t bring it up, but I don’t want you worrying about your chastity when you’re supposed to be resting. Besides, I think we’ve been through enough to say we’re officially beyond the job now in our relationship—if that’s okay with you.”
“If that means we’re friends, it’s okay. If that’s gay-cop speak for something more complicated, explain it to me tomorrow when my brain is working.”
It was nothing more complicated and I was feeling much better by morning. We had breakfast sent up and I was happy to take it easy for the morning, but I was equally happy to get out for our planned double-date with Paula and Tom.
Paula and I grew up in the Beaches, a now upscale neighbourhood east of Toronto Harbour. Thanks to an indecent settlement from her ex, Paula was able to move back to the Beaches. She had the upper condo in a four-plex. Her front balcony overlooked the boardwalk. Who cared that the rest of her flat could fit into the basement of my house?
The Goof was a Chinese restaurant just up the street from Paula’s place. The name came from
the remaining neon letters on a sign that used to spell out “Good Food.” It was our favourite hangout as teens. Despite renovations, they never fixed the sign and, as far as I knew, the same family owned it. That’s where we were meeting for lunch. After that, we were planning to go to a matinee at the Fox Theatre, then hang out on Paula’s balcony—if I made it that far.
Geoff was getting a receipt from the taxi driver when a question popped into my head and out of my mouth.
“Tom isn’t gay, is he?”
Geoff turned and looked at me, wide-eyed.
“I don’t care,” I said quickly, “but half of Paula’s theatre group is gay and the other half married. The only single males at the high school where she teaches are under eighteen. She needs a break.”
“Tom is hetero. He’s just gay-friendly.”
“I know that was the stupidest way to ask. Blame it on my bruised noggin. It’s just . . . between you and me, Paula is really looking forward to this date—as a date—if you know what I mean.”
He laughed and held the door to the restaurant open. Paula and Tom were already at a table and Tom’s arm was draped around her shoulders.
“I don’t think you have to worry.”
Over lunch, Geoff told Paula and Tom about my latest misadventure.
“Not my most shining moment,” I added when he was done.
“I’ll say,” said Paula. “You should have got the number of that handsome commander.”
“Or Geoff should have,” said Tom.
“Too young?” Paula asked. “You did say he was Nate’s friend. Too gay? Too married? Or just too not Sergeant Merrick?”
“No. No. I have no idea. And drop the Merrick issue right now Paula or I’ll tell the guys about the singles cruise you talked me into taking with you last year.”
She surrendered.
After the movie, I begged off the rest of our group date. Tom and Paula didn’t seem to mind. Geoff escorted me back to the hotel and only put up a little resistance to me kicking him out. I had a book to edit. Trouble was, all I could think of was Paula’s comment. How long would all men be “too not Sergeant Merrick?”