A Bodyguard to Remember

by Alison Bruce

  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.”

  CHAPTER 12

  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.

  Another card looked intriguing because it had very distinctive, abstract graphics, but it gave no clue what the business was. The web address led to a pornography site.

  “Garbage,” I muttered, disappointed. I was hoping for something more interesting.

  I went off-line and cleared my cache. For good measure, I started a virus check. While it ran, I made use of the washroom. I figured that would be an apt place to dispose of the card. Out of habi
t, I started to rip it in half.

  It wouldn’t rip.

  Fine, I would just push it down into the middle of the washroom garbage with a piece of paper towel. I matched thought to action. Then I washed my hands for thirty seconds, with soap, twice.

  When I returned to my table, one of the baristas was warning a woman away from my computer. I smiled. It pays to be a regular.

  “It is you,” said the woman, turning away from the barista. “I thought I recognized your laptop. I was not going to touch it, however,” she added, raising her voice a little. “We met when you were signing books here last summer and I’ve seen you around.”

  “I remember,” I said, which I did vaguely.

  She was cookie-cutter pretty. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Regular features.

  I sat and started to shut down my laptop. This just wasn’t going to be a good day for working here. I might as well go home.

  “I’m glad I met you again,” she said. “Do you have time for coffee?”

  I smiled politely and shook my head.

  “Sorry. I’ve got an appointment.”

  She forced an equally false smile on her face.

  “That’s too bad. Please, take my card. Maybe we can arrange something.”

  I took it. Maybe I’d find out what she wanted via email—or maybe not. When she’d gone, I pulled the card out and looked at it.

  The card had distinctive, abstract graphics. They were different distinct, abstract graphics, but they had a similar feel to the ones on the card I just threw out. Maybe they were designed by the same graphic artist.

  Slinging my backpack on my back, I made a second trip to the washroom. I took the lid of the garbage can and found where I stuffed the first card. For the lack of anything better, I grabbed a personal products disposal bag and put both cards inside.

  I was almost positive that both cards had been designed by the same person and had a niggling feeling that both had been delivered to me by the same woman. At the same time, I also realized that I might be suffering from rampant paranoia. Even so, instead of going home, I wandered the mall. As I walked, I phoned Merrick.

  “Ms. Hartley. This isn’t a very good time to talk. Is something wrong?”

  I condensed my suspicions regarding the cards down to as few words as possible.

  “It might be a coincidence,” he said when I was done. “I’m sending you two addresses. Send all the cards you’ve accumulated to the first address via Express Post. Use the second address for the return address. I have to go, but I’ll follow up as soon as I can.”

  His formality told me he was in a meeting of some kind. Yet he picked up my call. I decided to feel flattered, since the alternative was that he expected me to be in trouble. At the same time, I picked up my pace as I headed to the postal outlet. I waited for the addresses to arrive via text message and then got the cards in the mail. Then it hit me. With Rick gone, Nate visiting his mother and the kids with their father this weekend, I was going to have to deal with being home alone.

  Merrick called Saturday morning. He didn’t say much, but I could tell by his tone that he wasn’t happy with me being unattended for the weekend. Until then, I wasn’t very happy either, but I found myself excusing Rick, letting Merrick know that I was fine. What could happen?

  “For one thing, if those cards do mean anything, someone might come looking for them.”

  Okay, there was that.

  “Can you stay with Paula?”

  “She and Tom have gone off to Niagara Falls for the weekend. I can’t think of anyone else I could just descend on without notice.”

  He sighed. “You can come here. I don’t want you alone in the house.”

  Smiling to myself, I said yes. That was an offer I couldn’t refuse.

  It wasn’t the Harbour Castle, in fact it was a utilitarian room in a discount hotel, but it was practically downtown so I had a wide variety of places to go, things to do, and coffee shops to hang out in and work.

  “I tried to get you a room,” Merrick assured me, as I unpacked my toiletries next to his. “There’s a convention at one of the larger hotels and this is a secondary venue.”

  “This is fine. This is great. Two beds. No problem.”

  Truth be told, all the tension that had been building in me since that woman gave me her card melted away the moment Merrick met me in the lobby. Despite all the logical arguments I had used to convince myself that I was relatively safe, I had been really afraid.

  In the wee hours of Friday night, I had worked out that I wasn’t in immediate danger. If I was an unwitting courier, either I was no longer considered reliable and would probably be left alone, or I was still useful and therefore safe. The cards probably didn’t mean anything, but if they did, no one knew I had sent them off to be checked. I could just as likely have thrown them out. Speaking of which . . .

  “When will you find out about the cards?” I asked.

  Merrick gave me a half shrug. “The lab will get them Monday. Once they are processed for identification, Zeke will take a closer look. If there isn’t a backlog, we’re looking at a week, but . . .”

  “But?”

  He shook his head. I guess I didn’t have the need to know.

  “I have to work for a few hours,” he said, sounding regretful. “I imagine you won’t want to hang around here.”

  “You imagine right.”

  “I’ll call you around five and find out where you are. We’ll work out dinner plans then.”

  “Sounds good.”

  He hesitated, a worried frown pulling down the corners of his mouth.

  “Would you rather I stay here?” I asked.

  He shook his head and seemed to shake off his concern. Impulsively, I gave him a quick hug.

  “What was that for?” he asked.

  Really, it was affection for my personal guard dog. I wasn’t going to say that, however. Merrick might not think it was a compliment. I just smiled, gathered up my pack and jacket, so I could leave with him.

  In the elevator, it was his turn to surprise me.

  “Hartley.”

  “Yes, Merrick?”

  “Are you and Rick . . . ?”

  I didn’t pretend to not understand what he was asking. I just smiled, shook my head and said, “Funny, Rick asked me the same about you.”

  He didn’t take the bait. He just nodded and, when we reached the lobby, told me to enjoy my afternoon. He continued down a floor to the parking garage.

  It was one of those cold, dark and damp days that made you wish for snow just to brighten the landscape. Gusts of wind whistled through the skyscraper-sided trenches, slicing through exposed flesh. Smart people headed underground, giving the streets a sad, abandoned appearance.

  This perfectly suited the tone of my second book—the sequel to Men in Uniform. In the tradition of second books in a series, this one was going to be grim. I toughed out the cold until my face was numb, then I found a laptop-friendly coffee shop.

  My cell phone chimed.

  My mother.

  “It’s a lovely day,” she announced. “Let’s go for a drive.”

  “It’s cold, wet, and grey, Mom. Let’s not.”

  “Looks fine to me.”

  “That’s because you’re mostly blind. Anyway, I’m out of town. If the weather is nice tomorrow, I’ll come back early and take you for a drive then.”

  “Tomorrow may be too late.”

  My heart skipped a beat. My mother’s health was precarious. Was she trying to tell me something?

  “I think Billy is going to propose,” she continued.

  Relief was followed by stunned disbelief.

  “You still there, Pru?”

  “Yeah, Mom.”

  “Well? What do you think?”

  I hardly knew Billy. Except that he looked a little like Brian Keith, was a volunteer bus driver, and had applied for a guide dog on my mother’s behalf, I knew squat.

  “I don’t know what to think,” I told her.
<
br />   “Zeke says I should follow my heart . . . Are you still there, Prudence?”

  “Zeke told you what?”

  “You know, Pru,” my mother chided, “I think if Zeke can find time in his busy schedule to email me a couple of times a week, so can you.”

  “I didn’t know you had an email account,” I complained. “If I’d known . . . wait a sec, how do you write emails? Or read them for that matter?”

  “Voice recognition software. Billy set it up for me. Maybe I forgot to tell you.”

  “Maybe?” I squeaked.

  “Let’s talk about this in person,” my mother soothed. “I can put him off for a day or two. I’ll bring him over for dinner tomorrow night. We’ll have a nice family dinner.”

  “Not like the last family dinner, I hope.”

  She laughed and I hung up, taking a moment to absorb the information. One of the staff reminded me that I had to make my order at the counter. There’s no such thing as a free seat.

  When my phone rang again, I almost ignored it. Fortunately, I relented. It was an old client wanting to offer me a new job. He worked just a few blocks from where I sitting. Unfortunately, he was out of town. I made an appointment to meet him at his office the following week then ordered a second latte in celebration.

  If I had any illusions about a romantic evening with Merrick, they were quickly dashed. He had picked out a well-known Jamaican restaurant for dinner. While we waited for a table, Merrick had some pictures of known female operatives for me to look at. I didn’t recognize any of them. We talked family over dinner but once we returned to the hotel, it was back to business.

  “I’ve got something to show you,” he said, bringing a glass of water and setting it on the side table between the two beds. He took out a business card and dropped it in.

  “You aren’t going to want me to drink that, are you?”

  “Pay attention Hartley.”

  I stared at the glass, wondering what would happen. It didn’t take long. The card separated into three layers. The outside layers collapsed into a pulpy mess at the bottom of the glass. The core was made of sterner stuff. Merrick pulled it out of the glass and used a tissue to wipe it off before handing it to me.

  It was made of thin plastic and printed on both sides with a series of squares.