Bones to Ashes Part 16

No way, an optimist faction countered. an optimist faction countered.

The pessimists floated an image. Annie Hall Annie Hall. Alvie and Annie separating belongings.

We'd never lived together, but I'd spent nights at Ryan's place, he at mine. Had possessions migrated? Did Ryan want to talk about reclaiming CD's?

I began a mental list of objects at my condo. The wine opener. A toothbrush. A bottle of Boucheron aftershave.

Charlie?

He's over the marital status thing.

He's outta here.

Why the hug?

He's h.o.r.n.y.

"That's it." I hit the radio.

Garou was crooning "Seul." Alone.

I snapped it off.

Birdie greeted me by flopping onto one side, stretching all four limbs, and rotating to his back. Ryan called the maneuver his "drop and roll."

I scratched the cat's belly. He must have felt tension in my touch. Popping to his feet, he regarded me, eyes yellow and round.

Partly Ryan. Partly Obeline. And partly being afloat on coffee.

"Sorry, big guy. Got a lot on my mind."

Hearing my voice, Charlie weighed in. "...love drunk off my hump."

Black Eyed Peas. Good job with the training disc, Ryan.

But why that line?

When its battery dies, my smoke alarm shrills until a replacement is inserted. This occurred once on a weekend when I'd left Charlie alone. The c.o.c.katiel shrilled for the next three months.

It's the rhythm, I told myself. Not the lyrics.

I popped in the c.o.c.katiel training CD, filled seed and water dishes, and fed the cat. Then I wandered from room to room, each time forgetting the point of my going.

I needed exercise.

Lacing on running shoes, I jogged up the hill, then turned west. On the opposite side of Sherbrooke sprawled the grounds of Le Grand Seminaire, recovery site of a dismembered body years ago. One of the first cases I'd worked with Ryan.

Still no rain, but the barometric pressure was at least a billion. Within blocks I was sweating and breathing hard. The physical exertion felt good. I pounded past the Shriner's Temple, Dawson College, Westmount Park.

A mile and a half out, I looped back.

This time, no greetings from Birdie. In my hurry to be off, I'd left the door to the study ajar.

The cat and bird were eyeball to eyeball. Though feathers and seed casings littered the floor, neither feline nor avian looked particularly excited. But there'd definitely been action while I was out.

Shooing Birdie from the room, I hurried to the shower.

While I was drying my hair, the brain cells piped in again.

Mascara and blush.

Tart yourself up for yesterday's news?

Smart looks, smart thoughts.

Puh-leeze!

I spritzed Issey Miyake.

Trollop.

Le Maison du Cari is located in a bas.e.m.e.nt on Bishop, across from the Concordia University library. Ben, the owner, remembers the preferences of each of his regulars. No question about mine. Ben's korma is so rich it prompts a smile from the most jaded diner.

Descending the steps, I saw the top of Ryan's head through the small front window. Dimly. Curry, brilliant. Tandoori, phenomenal. Windex, forget it.

Ryan was drinking Newcastle ale and munching papadum. I'd barely taken my seat when a Diet c.o.ke hit the table. Lots of ice. Slice of lime. Perfect.

After hearing news of Ben's daughter in Sweden, we ordered. Chicken vindaloo. Lamb korma. Channa masala. Cuc.u.mber raita. Naan.

Conversation launched from the neutral ground of Phoebe Jane Quincy.

"We may have a lead. Kid didn't have a mobile, but the best friend did. Finally 'fessed up to allowing Phoebe to make calls she couldn't make at home. Records showed one unfamiliar number. Dialed eight times in the past three months."

"Boyfriend?"

"Photography studio. Low end, over on the Plateau. Rented to a guy named Stanislas Cormier." Ryan's jaw muscles bunched, relaxed. "Cormier was promising to make the kid a supermodel."

"The friend told you?"

Ryan nodded. "Quincy pictured herself the next Tyra Banks."

"You picked Cormier up?"

"Spent a lovely afternoon interrogating the dolt. He's innocent as Bambi."

"His explanation for the calls?"

"Claims Quincy found him in the Yellow Pages. Wanted a photo shoot. Upstanding citizen asked her age, heard thirteen, told her no go without a parent."

"She called eight times."

"Cormier says she was persistent."

"You believe him?"

"What do you think?"

"Did he take the Marilyn shot?"

"Claims to know nothing about it."

"Can you hold him?"

"We'll find a charge."

"What now?"

"Waiting for a warrant. Once it's issued, we toss the studio."

"What about LaManche's Lac des Deux Montagnes floater? Anything pop with the new info I gave you on age and race?"

"She's not in CPIC or NCIC."

The food arrived. Ryan ordered another Newcastle. As we served ourselves, I remembered something from our earlier conversation.

"Didn't you say Kelly Sicard also wanted to be a model?"

"Yeah." Ryan forked curry into his mouth. "Fancy that."

We ate in silence. Beside us, two kids held hands, eyes locked, food cooling on their plates. Love? l.u.s.t? Either way, I envied them.

Finally, Ryan got to it.

Wiping his mouth, he carefully folded and laid his napkin on the table. Smoothed it with a palm.

"There's something I have to tell you. It's not easy, but you should know."

A fist grabbed my gut.

"Lily's problems are worse than I've let on."

The fist eased ever so slightly.

"Three weeks ago she was nailed boosting DVD's from a Blockbuster outlet. I got a courtesy call because I'm on the job. I managed to talk the owner down, made rest.i.tution. Lily didn't go into the system. This time."

Ryan's gaze floated up to the window, went through the gla.s.s to the darkness outside on Bishop.

"Lily's addicted to heroin. She steals to feed her habit."

I didn't blink, didn't look over toward the couple beside us.

"I own a big hunk of blame. I was never there."

Lutetia kept her existence from you. I didn't say it.

Ryan's eyes came back to mine. In them I saw pain and guilt. And something else. The sadness of ending.

The fist retightened.

"My daughter needs medical help. Counseling. She'll get that. But she also needs stability. A home base. The conviction that someone believes in her."

Ryan took both my hands in his.

"Lutetia has been in Montreal the past two weeks."

My chest turned to ice.

"We've spent hours wrestling with this." Ryan halted briefly. "We think we can give Lily the safety net she needs."

I waited.

"We've decided to try to make the relations.h.i.+p work."

"You're going back to Lutetia?" Calm, and wildly out of sync with the turmoil inside.

"This is the most painful decision I've ever had to make. I've barely slept. I've thought of nothing else." Ryan lowered his voice. "I kept remembering you with Pete in Charleston."

"He'd been shot." Barely audible.

"I mean earlier. He had his arms around you."

"I was overtired, overwrought from so much work. Pete was merely calming me down."

"I know. I admit when I first saw you two together I felt betrayed. Humiliated. 'How could she?' I kept asking myself. I wanted to see you burned alive. That first night, I bought a bottle of scotch, took it to my room and got drunk. I was so angry I threw my room phone through the TV screen."

My eyebrows floated up.

"The hotel charged me six hundred bucks." Strained smile. "Look, I'm not criticizing or casting blame. But I've come to understand you're never going to cut Pete loose." Ryan's thumbs caressed the backs of my hands. "That realization made me rea.s.sess. Maybe the poets and songwriters have gotten it wrong. Maybe we do get a second chance to get things right."

"Andrew and Lutetia. The way we were." It was small and mean. I couldn't help myself.