Code Blues (24 page)

When I turned back, his eyes flickered from
my legs back up to my face, but mostly he was still laughing. "I'm
going to call you hard core from now on."

"Thanks a lot!"

"Nah. You can say thanks after lunch. You're
going to love it." He took a few long strides to the door and
opened it for me. "Are you vegetarian?"

I shook my head. "I'd like to be."

"Put it off for one more day." He waved me
through the door. "Do you like sausages?"

That must be the funniest question anyone's
ever asked me on a quasi-date. I laughed, he joined in, and I said,
"Sure. Let's try it."

We walked along Péloquin until we reached
the corner of Côte-des-Neiges and crossed the road to a little
restaurant called Chez Better. I raised my eyebrows, but Tucker
said, "No scoffing until you taste the food."

He pulled the chair out
for me on the little
térrasse
made of red paving stone. I sat and made sure my
skirt fanned out to cover everything.

Tucker pulled up his own white plastic
chair, while I belatedly remembered I hadn't applied sunscreen this
morning. I like sun, but not wrinkles or skin cancer. I tilted my
head under the shadow of the forest green table umbrella.

A white guy in a white shirt and apron, with
pinchably rosy cheeks, turned up our glasses and poured us some
water. He left the pitcher on the table along with some menus.
Tucker moved his chair closer to mine to recommend a tasting
platter of three sausages.

I didn't move away. I liked the crisp lines
of his white shirt and the angle of his cheek. Coincidentally, both
of us had dressed up that morning. I also could smell earth and the
pansies in the window boxes, traces of beer, and a tangy, masculine
smell from Tucker. It was not unpleasant.

Tucker greeted the server in German, causing
him to light up and chat back.

Tucker spoke slowly, with
what sounded like a rudimentary vocabulary, but at least ten times
what I could say. Also better than Alex's
auf wiedersehen
. The waiter ended up
calling out to the chef as he walked in the restaurant to place our
order. Maybe we'd get free dessert out of it, or at least sausages
cooked with extra TLC.

I smiled at him. "I didn't know you spoke
German. Is that your background?"

"Nah." He was blushing. "I took it in high
school. But I try to practice if I come here, or if I see any
German patients, and they appreciate it."

Interesting. I gave him a second look. Why
had he annoyed me so at first? I didn't like his pick-up lines. But
maybe he just wasn't good at delivering them. He was probably a
decent guy. And not bad-looking, with a long, straight nose,
enviably long eyelashes, and a sexy bow to his upper lip. We were
sitting close enough that I could see the stubble on his cheek. It
was yellow blond, darker than the hair on his head, but it still
made him a natural towhead.

He said, "I learned a little Japanese in
high school, too. I went on a student exchange."

"Really." I was impressed. "How was
that?"

"Great. But I don't remember any Japanese
except 'Where is the bathroom?'"

I laughed. "Well, that's important!"

"I must have thought so." He grinned back.
"In an ideal world, I'd like to be able to order in the native
language whenever I go to a restaurant."

"Yeah." I leaned back in my chair. The
plastic rebounded gently against my weight. "I never thought of
that. You should do it."

He pursed his lips. "Well, it's a lot of
work. We should tag team. I could take German, you could take
Lebanese—"

"Are you going to stick me with all the hard
ones? Finnish, Urdu..."

He waggled his eyebrows. "You've caught on
to my cunning plan."

I laughed. "We could make Tori do
Finnish."

"Yeah." He frowned a little, probably
because I'd brought in an extra wheel.

I pretended not to notice. I didn't want
Tucker to make plans with me, even as a joke. He was a nice guy,
but I already had Alex, unless he'd changed his mind after I called
him Tucker. I sighed inwardly. Be careful what you wish for,
especially if you wish it would rain men. I decided to change the
subject. "So what do you think about Kurt?"

He took a sip of water. "It sucks."

I blinked. Hello, nutshell.

He half-laughed at my expression. "Sorry.
But that's what it all boils down to. He was a great guy, a great
teacher, way too young. And he would have hated what the tabloids
are doing with it."

I shook my head. "What are you talking
about?"

"Did you see the Gazette this morning?"

"No." I barely got my butt out of bed this
morning.

"You should take a look at it. The lead is
about how he was murdered. But they made insinuations about our
poor security, how dangerous the city has become if you can't even
be safe in a hospital, the police aren't doing enough, blah, blah,
blah. But it's a huge slap in the face for St. Joe's." He ran his
hand over his gelled hair. "It just roasts me, because it's the
last thing Kurt would have wanted, you know?"

"I know." If I'd learned nothing else about
the guy, I knew he loved this hospital. I glanced back along
Péloquin, but the building was too far away and shrouded in
trees.

His hands laced around his
small glass of water. "Now that the Gazette has started,
La Presse
will, too.
You'll see. You'd think his death would be enough, but no. They
have to jack it up."

"That does suck," was all I could think to
say.

"Yeah." He gave me a small smile.

I unfolded the paper napkin and laid my
knife and fork on it. Tucker watched my hands. At last, I cleared
my throat. "So who do you think did it?"

He caught my eye and burst out laughing.
"That's what I like about you. You don't mess around."

I laughed, too. It was true.

He leaned closer and lowered his voice. He
had lovely brown eyes with black specks in the irises, an unusual
combination with his blond hair. "We've all been thinking about it.
It could have been anyone, but my money's on Bob Clarkson."

Abruptly, I remembered hiding under Dr.
Callendar's desk. If the FMC head honcho hadn't called, Dr.
Callendar would've had me for dinner. But come on. Bob Clarkson?
"Why?"

He was watching me, his head tilted slightly
to one side. "Jealousy. Bob always wants to be top dog, and he was
in theory, but Kurt ran the show. We all knew it."

I tried to play the devil's advocate. "It
makes no sense, politically. If Bob ever got caught, his career
would be over. You can't run St. Joe's from jail."

"Or from heaven," Tucker muttered. He poured
some more water for himself. "You want some?"

I bolted down my glass and held it out.

He poured some for me before he refilled his
own. "It wouldn't be for politics. It would be out of jealousy.
He'd never expect to get caught. No one ever does."

I shook my head. "I just
don't see it. It's against everything we stand for.
'First, do no harm.'
"

He just looked at me. "Yeah. And how many
doctors live up to that? You know the doctors who're addicted to
prescription drugs, or the docs who abuse their patients."

"That's not murder," I
insisted. "I've never read about a murder in
Dialogue
. That's the Ontario
disciplinary journal," I explained, since he looked confused. "I
don't know what the Quebec one is called. But have you read about
any murders in it?"

He shook his head. "Still."

"No. It's a whole other boundary. I mean,
yes, we stop treatment all the time." I remembered this one poor
kid with leukemia, and had to shake my head before I continued.
"But you don't see doctors running around with machetes. I know
we're not perfect, Tucker, but most of us do believe in the
sanctity of human life. That's how we got into the game."

Before Tucker could reply, out of the corner
of my eye, I saw a ceramic plate bearing over my shoulder. "Thank
you," I said to the server. It smelled delicious.

Tucker said,
"
Danke schön
,"
and I mentally kicked myself. I could have figured that one
out.

Tucker's eyes crinkled like he knew what I was thinking.
"
Bon appétit
."

"
Bon appétit
." I like how Montrealers
often say this before eating. It's not a prayer, but still a sort
of benediction.

I cut into the Balkan sausage first, trying
not to wince at the grease squeezing on to my plate. "Hey, this is
good!" It actually wasn't as greasy as I'd expected, and had a
strong, meaty flavor which went well with the slightly bitter
sauerkraut.

Tucker pumped his hand in the air. "Yes! I
knew you'd like it."

I laughed, but part of me thought it was
strange. I'd hardly spoken two words to the guy. How would he know
if I liked sausages or not?

Why had he asked me out, anyway? It was
flattering, but I wasn't such a prize that men had bowled each
other over for my number in London.

Could his interest have something to do with
Kurt's murder?

No. That was paranoid. Tucker had respected
Kurt and had no apparent motive. On the other hand, no one had a
motive except Mireille.

Okay. Forget the motive. I
had to think about the means. I tasted some rice. Not as much
flavor, but it helped dampen the
diable
, the hot Italian sausage. "So
what were you up to, over the weekend?"

He smiled wryly. "You mean, what was I doing
on Friday night?"

Darn. This was me at my most subtle. "Well,
sure."

He shook his head. "You don't remember? I
ran into you downtown. Tori and Anu will vouch for me."

"That's right!" I'd been so distracted by
Alex, I'd forgotten all about it.

His gaze was knowing.
"What were
you
doing Friday night?

"Uh, well, I was downtown. I had some
sushi."

"Alone?"

I didn't meet his eyes. I knew what he was
driving at. It was the same thing that had been nagging at the back
of my head since Alex's disappearance and Dr. Kurt's reappearance
in the change room. I said, to my barely-sampled sausages, "It
doesn't mean anything. When we found Kurt, he'd been dead for
hours. It could have happened at 2 a.m. I bet Tori and Anu can't
vouch for you then, right?"

"A lot better than anyone can for Alex,
though. Am I right?"

Silence. I nodded with my eyes on the
sausages.

"Look. Hope." His hand reached for mine, but
I shifted them into my lap. "Fine," he said. "I'm not trying to
tear Alex down because he's the competition. I don't think he
killed anyone."

My eyes flew up to his. "You don't?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "Nah. I've
known the guy for four years. He's not my favourite, but he's
okay." He looked straight into my eyes. "It doesn't mean I like how
he treats women."

I flicked my wrist. "Except for that time on
Friday, he's been pretty good."

His brown eyes never wavered. "You deserve
better."

Okay. I knew what he was saying. "I'm
flattered."

"But?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I hear you. You may well be right. But it's
just where I am right now. I'm willing to give Alex a chance."

"Even though he disappeared on you the night
Kurt got murdered?"

I pleated my napkin against the table,
sharpening the crease with my fingernail. "You said yourself you
don't think he did it."

"He still ditched you."

I winced. I'd said the same thing to myself,
but it sounded worse aloud. "Yeah. You're right."

The corner of his mouth twisted. "You're
still going with the bastard?"

I couldn't explain it
beyond
le coeur a ses raisons que la
raison ne connait point
. But that was so
pathetic. Not rational, not practical, not survival-oriented. I
gave him a sad smile. "I'll ask him more about Friday. I was going
to, anyway."

He gave me a long look. "I could say a lot
more."

My shoulders tightened. "I know."

"Like, why do women do
this to themselves? Why do
you
do this to yourself?" He set his fork down hard
on the table.

I pointed the tines of my fork at him. "Hey.
I am not a type."

"Women and bad boys. They beat you and you
beg for more."

I glared at him. "I am not a masochist! I've
only ever been with one guy, and he treated me fine."

Tucker raised his eyebrows. "Why did you
break up?"

I waved my fork in the air. "Long story.
Basically, long distance. But we loved each other. We did not
cheat. He did not beat me. We were together for four years. I bet
you haven't seen anyone for half as long."

He made a face. "Okay. Sorry. You're right
about that. The longest I've gone is a year and a half. I'm no one
to point a finger—or a fork."

We both stared at my fork jabbing toward his
forehead. I laid it on the table. "Sorry."

He laughed. "I'm sorry, too. Not for the
fork."

I gave him a crooked smile. "So are we
okay?"

He picked up the fork and handed it back to
me, handle first. "Eat your sausages. You're going to need your
strength."

I pretended he meant for emerg. I checked my
watch. The past half hour had galloped by. I positively attacked my
sausages and polished them off, along with most of the sauerkraut
and the rice. When I wiped my mouth, Tucker was shaking his head.
"Eat and run, huh?"

I shrugged. "I'm on emerg. Sorry."