The Last Bridge Read Online Free Page B

said, loudly but slow enough for him to understand.
    “Cripes … can’t a guy buy a lady a drink?”
    “Get lost.”
    The jukebox was playing some sappy half-country half-rock song with lyrics like “I’m gonna love you forever.” Yeah, right. There was a couple snuggling up on the dance floor groping each other as they moved back and forth to some alien rhythm. The girl couldn’t have been more than eighteen while the guy must have been in his forties. In spite of the age difference, they both looked old. In fact, everybody in the bar looked old and tired, including me. The only difference between them and the rest of us was that they looked old and tired and happy. Maybe their happiness had something to do with the fact that she had her hand on his dick.
    “That pitcher for sharing?”
    I looked up at the man who was blocking my view of the hand-on-dick dancers. The face was familiar but not recognizable until I saw the silver pen in his shirt pocket. I signed my mother’s papers with it. It was Andrew Reilly, County Coroner.
    “Hands that touch dead bodies do not come near my beer,” I said.
    He smiled a car salesman kind of smile and laughed awkwardly. “You’re joking, right?” he said as he sat down on the bench across from me.
    “No,” I responded, looking back at the dancers. The guy’s fly was unzipped and her hand was lost in his pants. He was lookingyounger every second. The coroner ordered a beer from the waitress.
    “So, uh … Hal tells me you guys went to school together.”
    “Yup,” I said, not diverting my attention from the impromptu peep show on the dance floor. He looked over at the dancers and then back at me watching them and smiled.
    “That’s some dance move,” he said.
    I stared at him and tried to figure out if he was trying to be funny. I decided I needed more beer.
    We sat in silence as I watched chunks of frost slide slowly off the handle of his beer mug. I felt his eyes on me. I didn’t remember anything about him except his voice and that pen. I tried to remember what he looked like, not for any other reason than to be able to describe him in detail in case something happened to me. It was a little trick I picked up along the way.
    “I don’t think I know your real name,” he said, finally breaking a silence I was prepared to endure for much longer.
    Was he joking? He didn’t look like he was. “You didn’t notice my name on any of the paperwork? What about next of kin, what—”
    “Is your point?” he interrupted.
    “The point is you know my name is Alex … Alex Rucker. So why are you playing this stupid game with me?”
    He sat there stunned, shaking his head. “I wasn’t sure if you were Wendy or Alex. It was busy today; I didn’t check the paperwork that closely. I had to process the body.”
    I lifted my mug. “Well, here’s to processing.”
    He took a reluctant sip while I finished what was left of my beer and poured the last of the pitcher. “People call me Cat.”
    “Well, Alex,” he said as he finished his beer, “I’m sorry about your mother. She was a wonderful woman.” He stood up and put on his coat.
    “You knew her?” I said.
    “Yeah … we used to run into each other at the park after church. She would go there on Sundays to watch her grandson. I would go to read and to get some sun on my face. You know, being in my business …”
    “I’m sorry, but did you say her grandson?”
    “Yeah …”
    “My mother has no grandchildren. You must be thinking of someone else.”
    “Oh …” He hesitated and thought for a moment.
    I felt dizzy but tried to concentrate.
    “On Sundays she watched the kids climb that twisted apple tree with such interest that I assumed—”
    “Nope. No grandchildren.” That wasn’t completely true. I didn’t know for sure that Jared or Wendy had no kids. I reached into my pocket and threw a couple of singles on the table and struggled out of the booth. I felt a wave of nausea pass through me and lost