Book 03 - Cold Copper Tears by Glen Cook Page B

lesser
streaks.
    Dean let me in. “Damn, that smells good,” I
said.
    “It will be,” he promised. He smiled.
“I’ll bring you a beer. Did you learn anything
useful?”
    “I don’t know.” What was this? He wasn’t
himself. “What are you up to?”
    He gave me his kicked-puppy look. I think he practices it.
“Nothing.”
    “What happened while I was gone?”
    “Nothing. Except Maya came. In fact, she just left. When
you knocked.”
    I grunted. She had obviously been working on Dean.
“You’d better count the silver.”
    “Mr. Garrett!”
    “Right. Any sign of Miss Craight?” Walking home
I’d decided she wouldn’t show. What was in it for her?
I was pretty sure she was a gal who didn’t take a deep breath
without calculating her return on investment. Such a shame; all
that beauty wasted.
    “Not yet. She did say it would be a late
dinner.”
    How late was late? “I’m going to freshen up.”
I went upstairs. A wash would help clean the body, but it
couldn’t do anything for the stains on my soul.
    Jill was there when I came back down. She had charmed old Dean
again. He was letting her set the table. Unprecedented.
    They were gossiping like old friends.
    I said, “I hope that’s not me you’re
ripping.”
    Jill turned. “Hi, Garrett. Nope. You aren’t that
lucky.” She smiled. There wasn’t any more heat in it
than in a forest fire.
    “Had a good day?”
    “The best. Business was marvelous. And I talked to my
friend. He apologized for the trouble he’d caused me. He
hadn’t expected it. He’s taken care of it. I
won’t be bothered again.”
    “That’s nice.” I checked her over. I tried not
to be too obvious. She could set dead men panting. Her fear had
gone. “I’m glad for you. But poor Saucerhead will be
brokenhearted.”
    Dean gave me a disappointed scowl. Couldn’t I get my mind
off that for five minutes?
    Are you kidding? I’m not dead yet. But I took his hint. It
wouldn’t be worth the trouble, anyway, just to get turned
down. Sour grapes.
    She got along with him better than she did with me. For us it
was one of those things where nobody could think of anything to
say.
    Garrett tongue-tied around a gorgeous blonde? That did wonders
for my self-esteem. But Dean’s ducks were so good they made
up for the lack of crisp repartee.
    The main trouble was that Jill Craight wasn’t about to
tell me anything about Jill Craight. Not about her now, not about
her then. She was slick, changing the subject or just sliding away
from it so smoothly I didn’t realize what she was doing until
she’d done it several times.
    Giving up on her left me only one area of expertise where I
could talk extensively: Garrett. And a little bit of Garrett goes a
long way.
    I guess the high point was the wine she’d brought. It was
an import. It was almost good.
    To me wine is just so much spoiled fruit juice. It all tastes
the same, with rare exceptions. This was the rarest. It was as good
as the famous TunFaire Gold, which meant I drank most of my
gobletful without sneaking off to wash the taste out of my mouth
with a slug of beer. The ice maiden was on holiday, but this thing
wasn’t going anywhere. I figured as soon as dessert was over
we ought to put it out of its misery.
    Jill was more a lady than I thought. She got us through the
difficulties. We helped Dean clear the dead soldiers, then I walked
her home.
    We’d gone less than a block when I missed something you
can’t miss if he’s in the neighborhood.
“What’s happened to Saucerhead?” It wasn’t
like him to wander off.
    “I let him go. I don’t need him now. My friend
straightened things out.”
    “I see.” Especially why she was willing to let me
walk her home.
    I didn’t say much after that. I watched for shooting stars
but the gods had closed the show. We said good night outside her
apartment building, a refurbished tenement. Jill did not ask me in
for a nightcap and I made no attempt to fish an invite. She gave me
a sisterly