Page 37 of The Bone Code
For years, Ryan and I investigated homicide cases together, strictly professional. Colleagues totally focused on murder.
Eventually, Ryan began sweet-talking for more. Eventually, he got it.
We dated. A long, long time.
Recently, Ryan had proposed marriage.
Whoa, boy!
I agreed to try cohabitation.
To demonstrate my commitment to this new arrangement, I built an addition to the annex in Charlotte and sold my beloved condo in Montreal’s Centreville. Ryan and I purchased a unit in a spiffy new high-rise, also downtown. Though blocks from my comfortable old garden-level home, the new place is a galaxy distant in every other way.
I gave my rue Sherbrooke address to the Uber driver, André. Eyeing the cat with distaste, André muscled my suitcase into the trunk of his Maxima, and off we went.
Given the lack of rush-hour traffic on Autoroute 20, the trip into town was reasonably quick. But not quick enough for Birdie.
Arriving at our building, André couldn’t get rid of us fast enough. After yanking my bag out onto the sidewalk, he scowled at the cat and gunned off, gutter gravel and dead leaves spitting from his tires.
The doorman, Sylvain, relieved me of both the pet carrier and my Buick-sized bag, then helped me into an elevator. I was too frazzled to object. Not Bird.
“Grande paire de poumons,” Sylvain said.
“Oui,” I agreed. Great pair of lungs.
We whooshed up in the sleek new elevator car, and Birdie and I entered our sleek new digs.
I had to laugh out loud.
Ryan had hung balloons, draped crepe-paper streamers, and taped a big glittery sign to one wall.Bienvenue!
After rolling my suitcase to the bedroom, I released my exceedingly unhappy traveling companion. Stepping from his prison, Birdie looked around, still irked but curious about the new place. Silent at last.
I was checking the contents of the refrigerator when a text pinged on my mobile.
Safely arrived?
Yes.
Cat happy?
No comment.
Relax. I’ll bring dinner.
Love the balloons.
See you soon.
First off, I set up Birdie’s feline hygiene station. He used it. Didn’t thank me but did a superb job camouflaging his deposit by rearranging litter.
I’d just finished unpacking when I heard the front-door lock click.
“Where are you, sugar lump?” Ryan sang out.
“Call me that again, I won’t be here long.”
Ryan appeared at the bedroom door, a pizza in one hand, a small furry rodent in the other.
