Much later, as we were getting ready for bed, she was looking pleased with herself. I knew it wasn't about the case (she never preened until she had every question completely answered), but I had an idea what was on her mind. She caught my expression, and I said, "I know that look. This is not the time."
"What do you mean?"
I looked at her, and she made a face.
"You're thinking about the meeting tomorrow night," I said. "Where you will bring up the subject of the non-existence of God, not because it's relevant to vampire murders, but just because you want to."
She looked miffed. "Well," she said after a moment, "you're just a poky old Catholic." She sat down next to me, and I put my arm around her.
"Well, let's take that apart," I said. "Catholic? I haven't been to church in over seven years. By common law, the church and I are divorced."
"That's an interesting theory," she said, drawing her head back to look at me skeptically. "It has the virtue of originality, anyway."
"As for 'old,' that's clearly a relative term, depending on the age of the observer."
"Well, this observer, your fetching young wife, finds you to be old." She nuzzled against my cheek. "Attractive, of course, but in an 'oldish' sort of way." She drew back her head to look at me again. "You're avoiding the question of 'poky.'"
"I am, of course, poky, in comparison to my young and fetching and somewhat lunatic wife. I do have to try to keep her alive, after all."
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