Part 39 (2/2)
”Yet our boy here had one in his pocket. And Temisk bought flake as a pharmaceutical and a murder weapon.”
Even among true believers there is corruption.
”And the sky is blue on a sunny day.”
More cynicism.
”Always. Rooted deeply in everyday observation.” I chuckled. The Ymberian deacon had become a gathering point for kittens. He wasn't pleased. But the more furious he became, the more cats arrived.
He may suffer a stroke.
”Good old apoplexy. That would save some trouble.”
You need something to occupy you.
Oh-oh. Smelled like a job a.s.signment creeping up. ”I was thinking about going over to check on Tinnie.”
And I was thinking you might prepare a report on the Tersize Granary for Mr. Relway and Colonel Block.
”Redhead trumps. Have Singe do it.” Those guys were busy, anyway.
He didn't like my idea. Singe was too slow.
Singe didn't like it, either. It would get in the way of her quest to get rid of the beer supply.
”Too bad pixies can't write.”
Pshaw!
The wee folk were in semihibernation because of the weather. Even Melondie Kadare, now, despite her determination to support Singe in her mighty quest, had been put away at the insistence of her family.
67.
I was exhausted-again-by the time I got to the Tate compound. The snowfall continued, light but persistent. A teenage cousin whose name I couldn't remember let me in. He pretended he was pleased to see me. I pretended I didn't know every male Tate and all their forebears nurtured an abiding desire to see me suffer some debilitating misfortune. Or that Tinnie would come to her senses.
The boy made chitchat. He seemed terribly young and inanely naive. I couldn't help reflecting that if these were the war years, he'd already be engaged in part-time basic training in antic.i.p.ation of his call to the colors.
”It was a bad day,” I told Tinnie. ”Mostly a bad day. You weren't in it. How did yours go?”
She tried giving me the grand glower with rheumy eyes. I was on her list for barging in when she was at less than her ravis.h.i.+ng best.
”Don't start that. You were there when I was dying. Now I'm here.”
”I just have a bad cold.”
Sounded like it, too.
”Tell me about it,” she suggested. Once I had, she said, ”We should've suspected the Tersize people. There had to be a reason they bought a business that has no market for its product.”
”They still do some legitimate baking and milling. You know them?”
She shrugged. ”I never liked them much.”
There would be more to the story. Maybe some history.
She grabbed my hand. ”Don't mind me. I'm glad you're here. You must be exhausted.”
I nodded but didn't go on about it.
”My father wanted me to marry one of the Tersize boys when I was fifteen. He wanted the business alliance. He didn't have his heart set on it. I got around him.”
I couldn't imagine her not manipulating any men before she was out of diapers.
She mumbled, ”I know some of the answers to the questions you still have.”
”Great! How about the meaning of life?”
”Life's a b.i.t.c.h. And then you die.” A moment later, she started snoring.
So I held her hand and fell asleep myself.
A teenage niece popped in. Food and drink were her excuse. Tinnie's people are busybodies, too. Only there're more of them. This was a fifteen-year-old edition of the professional redhead. Sizzling. And knowing it. And stoked up with all the att.i.tude I would've expected of Tinnie at that age. She was disappointed in us old folks. Antiques, just holding hands. And snoring. Not doing anything embarra.s.sing.
Tinnie rips a mean log. Naturally, she'll never admit an accomplishment so unladylike.
We ate. I said, ”You were going to give me the answers to all my questions. After which I'll launch the cult of Saint Tinnie the Delectable.”
She said, ”Kyra, invite yourself out. Please.”
”Please” as an afterthought, in the command form.
Showing a pout that guaranteed she'd lurk in the woodwork, eavesdropping, the apprentice redhead departed.
”Don't be such a chicken, Garrett. Grab hold of my hands again.”
”But then you'll kick me.”
”I might.” She smiled. But she didn't mean it.
Time to be a little less me. ”Sorry.”
<script>