“G ’morning, Matty.”
“G’morning, “Good morning, Casey. I’m just about to put on the kettle.”
“Sounds like an invitation.”
Casey sat at the kitchen table while Matty made tea. The office could wait. He liked the solid feel to this house. Its smell of furniture polish and cracked leather excited a sharp and satisfying nostalgia in him. It evoked childhood memories of his Aunt Maeve’s house in Belfast, a veritable museum of Edwardian bric-a-brac.
Matty placed the tray on the table. “Albert’s out.”
“Yes, I saw him set off. Y’know, I’ve always liked that coffee table of yours, Matty.” Casey nodded toward the living room. Made from a burl, a wart-like knot cut from the bole of a tree, the table was finished with what Casey guessed was probably a polymer resin. Its unique grain swirled in surreal patterns under its clear glassy surface.
“Albert’s hobby. He spends a lot of time in his workshop. It’s a terrible thing, the murder of that poor woman,” she said, changing the subject as she poured the tea. She pointed to her newspaper on the table and sighed. “Will you be writing a report about it in your paper, Casey?”
“Not likely. My colleague, Jack Wexler, is on the police beat. I take care of the politics and the human-interest stuff.”
“It must be a very interesting job, being a newspaper reporter.”
“The Clarion is only a weekly community paper, Matty, as you know. I like my job, but I don’t cover great events or important issues. Just the small stuff. A tiny brick in the huge skyscraper world of journalism is all I am.”
“Every brick is important, Casey, if the building is to stand. Help yourself to a butter tart. I made them yesterday.”
Casey thought again about his waistline as he helped himself to a tart.
“So what’s the story, Doc?”
“For an old guy of forty, you’re doing not too badly.” Tom Watterson frowned.
“But-”
“But?” Casey buttoned his trousers.
“It’s the weight. Two years ago you were a few pounds over. But now?” Watterson’s black eyebrows disappeared under his untidy gray mop. “Now you’re twenty pounds over.”
“Hmmph.”
“Still happy at the West End Clarion?”
“You’re asking me if I’m a contented man, Tom. You know I am. The job’s fine. So what is it you’re trying to tell me? Out with it.”
“Exercise. That’s what you need, regular exercise. And plenty of vegetables and fruit. Cut out the cinnamon rolls and the pizza. And-” He paused. “You still living alone?”
“I am.”
“People live longer when they have a partner.” He smiled. “Maybe you could find a good woman.”
“Thanks, Tom.” Casey made for the door.
“And come back in a year. Regular checkups would do you no harm either. You’re too young for a coronary.”
He walked to the office.
Too young for a coronary!
Find a good woman!
“Hmmph!”
This time of the day, the Clarion ’s other two reporters were usually out doing legwork. Interviews, story follow-ups, what they called “face-to-face” work. He didn’t expect to find any of them in.
Brenda at the front desk smiled when she saw him. “Messages for you, Casey.”
“Thanks, Brenda.” He examined the yellow slips. “Here. I brought you a Mars bar.” Which wasn’t quite true. He’d bought it for himself to eat while working on his piece about the infighting at the parks board. But chocolate didn’t exactly come under the doctor’s prescription. He should try to shed a few of those extra pounds. Take some of Tom’s advice. The parts about eating sensibly and exercising anyway. The good woman he definitely did not need. He was a loner, always had been.
He’d thought about jogging last summer, but had never got started somehow. He wasn’t sure if he possessed the will or motivation. It was as simple as that. Why struggle? You lived, you died. Who cared if you were a few pounds overweight?
“Thanks, big guy,” said Brenda. “Jack’s been looking for you.”
Jack Wexler was at his desk. Their third reporter, Debbie Ozeroff, was out. Debbie covered the arts, fashion, women’s issues and the environment. There was also a part-time photographer, Doug Duchesne, who was mostly out. The four of them shared an office the size of a jail cell. When the three reporters were all there, the place reminded Casey of the farmer’s market back home in Belfast-noise and chaos unlimited.
Wexler stood and grabbed his jacket off the peg when he saw Casey. “Come on, it’s lunchtime. I’ll buy you a bagel.”
Wexler was over sixty. Lately he’d been telling anyone who would listen that he couldn’t wait to retire and sell his overpriced West End condo. He and his wife Midge would buy a small place near sunny Victoria at half the price. Short and wiry, he looked much younger than his age, even with his balding pink head. He always dressed smartly. Today he wore a dark houndstooth jacket, dark green V-neck sweater over a white cotton shirt, green cords and a pair of brown oxfords. Wexler had been married for almost forty years.
They were early, so they got two seats at the window counter of Hegel’s Bagels looking out toward the beach and seawall at English Bay. Wexler ordered coffee and a gypsy salami bagel. Casey took only a house salad and a glass of water.
“What’s with the rabbit food?”
Casey shrugged. “Doctor says I should lose a few. What’s on your mind, Jack? Anything new from Cop Shop on the murder?”
“Cop Shop” was the daily police information service at police headquarters, held weekday mornings.
Wexler wiped cream cheese off his chin. “Not a thing. Kind of hard to identify someone who’s missing a head.” He bit into his bagel. His glance fell to Casey’s middle, bulging slightly over the belt of his cords. “Look, you wanna lose some weight, you buy yourself some barbells.” He propped his elbow up on the counter and offered Casey a bicep. “Feel that.”
Casey looked into Wexler’s eyes to see if he was serious. He was. He prodded the older man’s arm gingerly with a fingertip.
“Hard, huh? And lookit!” Wexler slapped his stomach. “Steel drum.”
“I didn’t know you lifted weights.”
“Four years. Work out three times a week, mornings at six, before breakfast. Try it for three hours a week, Casey, and you’ll look like me.”
“No comment.”
“I’m serious.”
“Exercising is hard work, Jack. I’ll have to think about it.”