Tess Gerritsen: Whistleblower

“You’re a wonderful lover, Victor.”

“No. Don’t you see, it’s you. You bring it out in me. All the want and need.” He pulled her face close to his and his voice dropped to a whisper. “When you and I made love that night, it was like the very first time for me. No, it was even better. Because I loved you.”

“And I loved you,” she whispered.

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, his fingers burrowing deep into her hair. “Cathy, Cathy,” he murmured. “We’ve been so busy trying to stay alive we haven’t had time to say all the things we should have…”

His arms suddenly stiffened as a startling round of applause erupted above them. They looked up. Three grinning faces peered down at them from a hospital balcony.

“Hit it, boys!” yelled Ollie.

A clarinet, piccolo and kazoo screeched into concert. The melody was doubtful. Still, Cathy thought she recognized the familiar strains of George Gershwin. “Someone to Watch Over Me.”

Victor groaned. “I say we try this again, but with a different band. And no audience.”

She laughed. “Mexico?” “Definitely.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward a taxi idling at the curb.

“But, Victor!” she protested. “What about our luggage? All my clothes-”

He cut her off with another kiss, one that left her dizzy and breathless and starved for more.

“Forget the luggage,” she whispered. “Forget everything. “Let’s just go…”

They climbed into the taxi. That’s when the band on the hospital balcony abruptly switched to a new melody, one Cathy didn’t at first recognize. Then, out of the muddy strains, the kazoo screeched out a solo that, for a few notes, was perfectly in tune. They were playing Tannhauser. Wedding music!

“What the hell’s that terrible noise?” asked the taxi driver.

“Music,” said Victor, grinning down at Cathy. “The most beautiful music in the world.”

She fell into his arms, and he held her there.

The taxi pulled away from the curb. But even as they drove away, even as they left the hospital far behind them, they thought they could hear it in the distance: the sound of Sam Polowski’s kazoo, playing one last fading note of farewell.