A Bodyguard to Remember (16 page)

Billy did look a little like Brian Keith in a general shape and colouring sort of way—which is how my mother would see him. I didn’t hold it against him. He announced that he had put Mom on the list for a guide dog. That made him my new best friend.

Tom escorted Paula to the party. Zeke was called away on another case, but Merrick was there instead, which made my day and annoyed my mother. I think Zeke had confided in her about Merrick’s confirmed bachelorhood.

The real reason for my mother putting together the party was clear. She wanted to suss out Rick as a prospective son-in-law.

“So, Richard, how long will you be staying in Guelph? More than a semester, I hope.”

“Maybe as much as a year. That’s the time I’ve taken off to pursue my Masters.”

“Oh, you’re an academic like Seth.”

“No, not like Seth.” Rick flashed her one of his bright smiles. “I would never have let a catch like your daughter get away.”

This pleased my mother and made me suddenly remember something I’d forgotten in the kitchen. Since I could still hear her giving Rick the third degree, I decided to step outside.

Big mistake. Walter was on his deck sipping a coffee.

“Hi Pru. Getting away from the madding crowd? I’ll bet you’ll be glad when your boarders go home—that should be anytime soon, right?”

“Nate’s moving out at the end of the term. He was only here to take a few courses he couldn’t get at Charlton.”

“And your cousin is only here for a semester too, right? Then he goes back to work?”

“Actually, I’ve just found out he’s completing his Masters first. He’ll be hanging around for at least one more semester.”

Walter’s disappointment was patent. I was almost sympathetic until he made an issue about it.

“Surely he’ll find his own place then. He’s a cop, for heaven’s sake. He can afford it.”

I gave myself a five count to make sure my voice only betrayed some of my irritation. “I don’t mind him staying here. He’s family.”

“Well . . .”

He was going to backpedal. I didn’t need to hear it. I turned to go back inside and ran into Merrick coming outside. He was even more effective at getting Walter to go. One look did the trick.

“Thanks. Do you think anyone would notice if I skipped out on my own party?”

“Your mother would send a posse after you.”

I gave a theatrical sigh.

“I guess I’ll have to go back in then.”

Merrick’s mouth twitched in a tiny smile. He held the door for me and I felt his hand at my back as I passed him. I leaned against it for a moment while I gathered strength.

My hero. I was even more appreciative when Merrick organized a clean-up crew after Mom, Billy and the niece went home. He then sent Paula and I off with a mug of tea each so we could have a tête-a-tête before she and Tom had to drive back to Toronto.

“This is all right,” Paula commented, flopping down on the couch. “I’d throw more parties if I could get a clean-up crew.”

“You throw lots of parties. You’re just smart enough to throw them at restaurants.”

“True,” she agreed.

“Now you have to tell me something earth shattering to justify taking me aside when I should be helping.”

“Tom asked me to marry him.”

Okay, that was close enough to earth shattering to work.

“And?” I prompted.

“And nothing. I haven’t given him an answer.”

“You aren’t going to dump him, are you?”

“No!”

I stifled a sigh of relief. She had been miserable when she broke up with Tom last summer, even though they hadn’t been together that long.

“I don’t want to lose him,” she said. “I just don’t want to get married—at least I’m not sure I want to risk it again.”

When we were in high school, Paula and I hung out together all the time. As teenage girls are wont to do, we fantasised about our future.

I knew I wanted kids, but I had a hard time envisioning having a husband. A ‘be careful what you wish for’ scenario if I ever saw one. In my fantasies, the father of my children was some rich guy always away on business. I didn’t see myself writing for a living because I pictured myself being independently wealthy.

Paula decided that if she married at all, it would be to someone extremely rich and in precarious health. Otherwise, she’d be too busy to settle down. While she was young, she told us, she’d be a pop music star and take ingénue roles on stage and screen. Later she’d only take choice roles—the kind to get her awards—and she would write, direct, and produce plays and movies.

Becoming a high school English and Drama teacher, and belonging to a theatre group, gave her the opportunity do most of what she wanted to do without the fame and fortune. Her husband had been rich but healthy so she became a wealthy divorcee instead of a wealthy widow. I don’t know if she was too busy to settle down, but she hadn’t been inclined—until now.

“Have you told him you don’t want to lose him?” I asked, thinking maybe he’d be patient, if he knew she loved him.

“Not in so many words.”

“Well then?”

She avoided my gaze by staring into her teacup.

“What if I tell him I love him? What if I say yes to marriage? What if I rearrange my life to accommodate a husband—get used to having him around—then he gets himself killed by some random thug who hates police?”

My goggle-eyed stare was lost on her. She insisted on peering into her cup as if the answers to all life’s problems were contained within.

“What if he doesn’t?”

She finally looked up. Her expression was stricken.

“That might be worse. I’m not an easy person to live with—what if he gets to hate me? What if I learn to hate him?” She threw her hands up in the air. “I’d be better off a spinster like you.”

Her waving arms froze in mid-gesture, then she brought her hands down to cover her mouth. Too late. The words were already out.

I suffered a moment of shock, and then I started to laugh. After a moment of righteous indignation, Paula managed a sheepish smile. A self-professed drama queen, she was sensible enough, unlike my mother, to know when she’d just gone off the deep end.

“Pru, you know I didn’t mean—”

I held up my hand. “I don’t think you can technically call a woman with two children a spinster. Regardless, I’m glad I didn’t marry Seth. We weren’t suited in the long run. Maybe I’m not meant to get married, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to find someone to share my life with—even if it comes with the risk of loss.”

“Well, your mother wants you to marry. She’s on the warpath again, I see.”

I shrugged. “What matters is what we want. Right now, I want more tea.”

Our timing was impeccable. There was nothing left to do.

 *    *    *

The following week I returned to my ritual of hanging out at Starbucks on Wednesdays and Fridays, drinking coffee—usually the latte of the season—and writing. It was a bit freaky at first. After all, that’s where I met the man who died in my living room. On the other hand, that was one of the reasons I was going back to my old habits. Maybe I’d notice something, or someone, that I hadn’t remembered. It was a long shot, but it wasn’t exactly a hardship either.

Walter was happy. He always used to join me for coffee for half an hour every two weeks, just before he went to his barber. He’d been trying to get me out again since I moved back home. My bank manager, who stopped by on her way to work, expressed a similar sentiment, though she only ever stopped by my table for a couple of minutes to say hi. One of the baristas even remembered what I ordered after almost a year away. In fact, I never realized how many people I regularly met there, let alone that so many would remember me well enough to miss me.

Kallas preferred to have coffee at the house, but I saw her on duty when I was out. Starbucks was a favourite coffee shop for younger police officers. The older cops tended to prefer Tim Hortons.

Sometimes I’d get to meet Merrick when he was passing through on his way to or from parts west of Toronto. One cold Wednesday in the last week of November, Rick came across us. We were sitting shoulder to shoulder in private conversation. Merrick was sharing his concerns about Nate.

Merrick, head bent, staring at his interlaced fingers as if they belonged to someone else. “He’s getting restless. He’s going to graduate at the end of May. He hasn’t said anything, but I don’t think he’ll stick around long after that.”

I didn’t know what to say. Nate had told me as much.

“He’s being courted for officer’s training,” Merrick said.

I knew that. I also knew that Nate was giving the offer serious thought. With the experience he’d racked up already, if he traded his corporal’s stripes for a lieutenant’s bar, he could be leading covert missions. The idea scared the hell out of me. I could only imagine how Merrick felt.

I covered Merrick’s clasped hands with one of my own.

“He’s also considering the RCMP,” I pointed out. “He told me he requested an application.”

Merrick’s gaze snapped to my face. I shrugged.

“Someday Boone will be telling you stuff that he isn’t ready to tell me.”

He unlaced his hands and took hold of mine.

“I’m grateful you’re here for him to talk to.”

“Cosy,” said Rick, pulling up a chair and joining us.

I think we were both startled, but I was the only one who showed it. Literally taken aback, I might have flipped my chair over if Merrick hadn’t kept a firm hold of my hand.

“What are you doing in town?” Rick asked Merrick.

“Visiting Prudence.”

This was a departure. Merrick never called me Prudence. It was either Ms. Hartley when he was being professional, or Hartley when he was not.

“What are you doing here?” Merrick asked Rick.

“Living with Prudence.”

I gently disengaged my hand and opened my laptop.

“I need to work, gentlemen.”

“I need to go,” Merrick said. He turned to me and his voice shifted from brisk to a tone bordering on intimate. “I should be back this way tonight. Can we continue this discussion over dinner?”

“Of course.”

I stood with Merrick and gave him my hand, which he clasped in both of his. When he released me, I put my hand on Rick’s shoulder and told him I’d see him at his self-defence class this afternoon. Then I focussed on my computer and pretended they had both left already.

I had almost forgotten the incident by the afternoon. Zeke emailed me to tell me that he had set up another book signing in Ottawa. He apologised about the short notice, but we were taking the place of a much more famous author at a science fiction convention.

This led to calling Mom, booking a night in Belleville, leaving a message for Merrick asking if we could stay at his place, then shooting off an email to Max’s mother because I promised Boone we’d visit his friend next time we were in town. The only thing on my mind when I met Rick in the gym was the logistics of the upcoming trip.

“Let’s start clockwise,” he said, after greeting the class.

We started running, jogging or walking briskly, according to our abilities.

“Audrey, pick up those feet. Pru, you can go faster than that.”

The class consisted of seven women ranging in age from twenty-three to seventy. I was the slowest.

I quickened my pace.

“Sometimes the only option is running,” he said. “Sometimes it’s run or die. Run!”

I don’t run. My knees don’t like it and my asthma hates it. I had warned Rick of this before. If I could have run, I would have taken martial arts classes earlier.

“Too slow, Pru. I’m going to catch you.”

I dodged, stopped, and jogged the other way. He overshot me and doubled back.

“I can’t run,” I gasped.

“Then you’ll have to fight.”

I was grossly mismatched. He was bigger, stronger, fitter, and more skilled. I was weaker, smaller, but also slippery. I had learned a few dirty tricks from Nate. Not many could be used in a class setting. So, it was just a matter of time before Rick pinned me. Since he was on my chest, this was bad. Through my respiratory distress, I thought of one thing. I dug my nails into his bare arms.

“Hey! What the hell?”

“When they find my body,” I gasped, “your DNA under my fingertips will help convict you.”

The room was silent except for my laboured breathing. Rick helped me to sit up. The other women in the class stared at us in mute horror. They were shocked and appalled. In their eyes, Rick had become a monster.

“Are you all right?” he asked, oblivious to the rest of the group.

I was in better shape than I used to be and I was smart enough to have my inhaler on me. My breathing returned to normal quickly. I was able to turn my attention away from my own troubles to the trouble Rick had just bought.

I gave him my hand and let him pull me up. “Next time, remember my asthma and don’t sit on my chest.” I turned to the class and smiled. “Except for that, he didn’t hurt me.”

Rick squeezed my hand and pulled it behind his back with his other hand. I could feel the warm sticky wetness of blood and knew he was masking the more visible damage I did him.

“Let’s get you some water,” he suggested. “Edith, you lead the warm up exercises while we’re gone.”

Ms. Edith Turner, a seventy-year-old woman who could run circles around me, directed the class to form a line, keeping an arm’s length away from the person next to them.

“Sorry about the scratches,” I said, once we were out of earshot. I wasn’t really.

He had two deep scratches. One on his left arm. One on his right hand.

“It was a good lesson to me and the class.”

He led the way to the office where he asked for the first aid box. I helped him clean and bandage the wounds. A few words to the student employee minding the phones and we had a can of Coke and two cups. Rick split the can between us.

“I’m sorry I lost it,” he said, after his first gulp. “I’ve been wanting to do a demo like that and I was going to get your permission first but . . .”

“This is about Merrick, isn’t it?”

He swallowed the rest of his portion in the second gulp.

“Let’s talk about this later, okay?”