by Joanne Fluke
Even now, when he was supposedly free to act like a responsible adult, his brother had stepped in to fill Oakdale’s role. Michael was supposed to stay behind locked doors, eat right, sleep for eight hours every night, and not get upset for any reason. It didn’t help Michael’s self-confidence at all to know that Stan was afraid that his younger brother would do something thoroughly inappropriate.
Michael jumped up and hurried to his office. He had more than three hours until dinner, and that would be plenty of time to do his revision. He’d just decided to make his main character into a man who’d been dominated by a loving but overprotective older brother.
CHAPTER 13
Lester Robinson was puffing hard as he climbed up the inside staircase and opened the door at the top. For the past three years, when he’d gone in for his annual physical, his doctor had told him to lose weight. He was a heavyset man in his middle forties. He combed his sparse blond hair to cover his growing bald spot and used his wife’s hair spray to hold it in place. Appearance was everything in his profession, and he dressed very carefully in a white shirt and a dark suit every day. He kept a clip-on tie in his office downstairs, all ready to snap on in case it was needed.
“Sarah? Is the coffee on?”
His wife appeared in the kitchen doorway. Quite the opposite of Lester, she was very thin, and she moved with quick, birdlike motions that were surprisingly graceful. Her energy and drive was a real asset to Lester’s profession. She helped him with things that would bother most women, and Lester was very glad he’d possessed the foresight to marry her. She was ten years older than he was, and both families had been against it at first, but Lester knew he’d made the right decision.
“I just made a fresh pot, dear.” Sarah Robinson wiped her hands on a blue checkered towel and sighed as she noticed Lester’s sweating face. “Why didn’t you use the elevator, Lester? All those stairs can’t be good for you.”
“You worry too much, Sarah. I need the exercise and every time I try to go out and walk like the doctor said I should, the telephone rings. Where’s Dad?”
“He’s gone for a little drive, dear. With Mr. Reese. They’re going out to have a piece of strawberry pie.”
“They went out for pie? When you make the best pie in the world right here at home?”
“Thank you, Lester.”
Sarah smiled, and her thin face took on a little color. She looked almost pretty, and that made Lester feel good. He complimented her every chance he got and she was always pathetically grateful. Poor Sarah had been shortchanged in the looks department, but she made up for it in a million other ways.
“It’s good for him to get out, dear. And Mr. Reese came all the way over here to invite him. He said they need a fourth for bridge at the senior citizens’ center, and your dad seemed interested.”
“That would be good for him, as long as he doesn’t forget how to bid in the middle of a game. It’s a good day, then?”
Sarah nodded, and her tightly permed curls bobbed up and down. “He spent an hour this morning telling me all about his first service at Emerald Hills. And he didn’t get confused once.”
“That’s one of Dad’s favorite stories.” Lester grinned and poured himself a cup of coffee. “He’s got hundreds of them, Sarah, a whole lifetime of funny anecdotes. If he ever wrote them down, he’d have a guaranteed bestseller.
“Maybe.” Sarah looked dubious as she sat down at the table with her husband. “I don’t know about that, dear. Some people might think they were in questionable taste.”
“But, Sarah, they’re funny. You’ve got to have a sense of humor in this profession. Did I ever tell you about the time Dad climbed into the top-of-the-line bronze with Mom and had a photographer take their picture?”
“I saw the picture, dear.” Sarah couldn’t help but smile. “My father thought it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen. He had a marvelous sense of humor, too. He used to say you had to have the tact of a diplomat, the disposition of a saint, and the humor of Groucho Marx just to survive in the business.”
“That’s true. I’ve got a rough one down there right now, Sarah. It’s a lot easier for me to handle things if I don’t know them, but I knew this guy pretty well.”
“The artist.” Sarah nodded. “It’s a strange coincidence, Lester. You don’t get many you know personally in a city this large.”
“That’s right, but his mother’s a member of Grace Presbyterian. I’m on the inside track over there. That reminds me, we really ought to drop in at the Saint Agnes fundraiser on Saturday, spend a little money, and shake a few hands. So much depends on public relations. When grief strikes a family, they call the first place they think of.”
“Saint Agnes has always been Kingman’s territory. Do you think we could make a dent?”
“I don’t know, but now’s the time to try. I heard a lot of people say they don’t like the way he redecorated.”
Sarah laughed. “I know, dear. Diane Adams was telling me about it just the other day. Kingman’s had an open house. Can you believe that? An open house at the mortuary! Diane went, naturally. You know what a busybody she is. And she said they had lavender flocked wallpaper in their display room. Belinda Kingman’s never had any sense about what’s proper. That’s what happens when you marry someone from outside.”
“Do I detect a note of sarcasm, Sarah? Maybe a little nudge from the green-eyed monster?”
“Of course not! I know you dated her back in high school, but that was long before you knew me.”
“Well, I’m lucky I had sense enough not to marry her.” Lester reached out and took her hand. “You’ve helped me a lot, Sarah. You’re wonderful with the bereaved, and you always know exactly the right thing to say. You’re the best wife a man could have.”
“Thank you, Lester.” Sarah looked down at her coffee cup and blushed. “Well, I’d better order those remembrance cards for the Wallace family. It takes two days to get them printed.”
“And I’d better get back down there and go to work. At least you don’t have to worry about me falling off my diet today. I don’t think I’ll be able to eat a bite when I’m finished.”
“It’s that bad?”
Lester nodded. “There’s not much to work with, Sarah, but I don’t want to go into details. And Mrs. Wallace insists on an open casket. It’s going to be tough.”
“Do you think you can do it, dear?”?
Sarah looked worried, and Lester stood up to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Of course I can do it. I’ll just have to pull out all the tricks I know. Do you think you’d have time to come down and help me with the makeup in an hour or so? You do the best flesh tone in town.”
“Oh, Lester!” Sarah smiled again. “You know I love to help you. I’ll call down in an hour to see if you’re ready.”
Lester kissed her again and headed for the door. He stopped with his hand on the knob. “If Dad comes back, try to keep him up here, will you? He’s always saying be wants to keep his hand in, but this wouldn’t be a good one. We’ll let him comb the hair or something when we’re all through.”
Michael put down his glass of wine and sighed. It was almost time to go back to his apartment for the call from Stan. Why did his brother feel it was necessary to check up on him every night?
“Toni? I’m sorry, but I have to go now. I’m expecting a call.”
Toni stretched, and the material of her lacy sweater clearly outlined her breasts. Michael could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra.
“You always have to leave in time for a nine o’clock call. Very mysterious.”
“Not really. Those calls are from my brother. He likes to keep in touch.”
“Your brother?” Toni laughed. “And all this time I thought you were getting calls from brokenhearted women you left behind in Cleveland.”
“Your imagination is working overtime, Toni. I’m not the heartbreaker type.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. You’re handsome enough. And those dark brown
eyes of yours are definitely intriguing.”
“Anything else?” Michael was grinning.
“Well, your body’s good. Muscles in all the right places. And . . .” Toni stopped as she noticed his grin. “You’re just fishing for compliments, Mike Kruger!”
Michael stood up. “Of course I am. It makes me feel good to get compliments from a beautiful woman who’s also a gourmet cook and a computer expert.”
Toni blushed and looked embarrassed. “But I’m not really an expert at anything! And I even forgot to print out your disk. I’ll do it while you’re on the phone, and you can come back and get it. Who knows what might develop if you’re here past nine o’clock? If I were you, I’d come prepared.”
Michael stared at her. Her words were bold but she was blushing beet red. She was so embarrassed, she had trouble meeting his eyes. There was a line from Shakespeare floating around in his head. Did it apply to the strange inconsistencies he’d noticed in Toni’s behavior? He was willing to bet it did.
“You’re on, Toni. I’ll be back. And I’ll bring a bottle of cognac. Remember what Dorothy Parker wrote about liquor?”
Toni’s face turned even redder. She remembered that quote very well. It was, Candy’s dandy but liquor’s quicker. Did that mean Mike was actually going to try to seduce her?
Michael turned at the door and took one last look. She was still blushing, and she looked a little dazed by his sudden response to her advances.
“I suppose I could suggest that you slip into something more comfortable, but you look pretty comfortable already.”
Michael chucked as he closed the door. He smiled all the way down the hall, and he was still smiling as he entered his apartment and flicked on the lights. The discovery he’d made about Toni was a real revelation.
He’d thought about Toni a lot during the past few days, but nothing had emerged from all that analysis. It was clear that Toni wanted him to make love to her, but there was something that had made him hesitate.
Naturally, his own uncertainties had played a part, but some stronger instinct had warned him to wait and watch for a while longer. And then, just a few moments ago, that quote had popped into his head. Hamlet had said, The lady doth protest too much, methinks. It was a reversal, the one thing he hadn’t expected, but now he was positive he was right.
Michael got out the cognac and nodded. Everything made sense. The way she’d worn provocative outfits and then blushed when he’d stared. The suggestive remarks she’d made that had sounded forced and unnatural. All Toni’s flirtatious overtures had contained a concealed anxiety that had thoroughly confused him. But tonight he’d finally figured it out, thanks to the Bard.
When the phone rang, Michael picked it up immediately. He’d try to cut Stan short tonight—reassure his brother that everything was fine and that he wouldn’t crack up before tomorrow’s call. And then he’d get right back to Toni’s apartment for the evening they’d barely begun.
Toni slipped the disk into her computer and brought up the print option program. Mike had certainly thrown her for a loop right before he’d left. Of course, she’d been teasing him by wearing that lacy sweater. It had been another of Doris’s suggestions. They’d decided this morning to pull out all the stops. But Toni hadn’t actually thought it would work!
Was Mike serious when he quoted that line of Dorothy Parker’s? Was he really planning on coming back to make love to her? Her hands were trembling a bit as she stacked paper in the printer tray. Naturally she wanted him to. She’d set out with that objective in mind. She’d encouraged him and urged him and practically flaunted herself in front of him to encourage this very reaction.
When it came to the number of copies, Toni hesitated, and then she typed in the number two. She wanted to read Mike’s work, but he might have reservations about showing it to her. If it was terrible, she’d never mention she’d read it. But if it was good, she might be able to help him find a publisher.
The laser printer activated, and sheets of hard copy began to drop in the tray. Ten pages. That was a wonderful start. Toni took the first batch and stacked them on her desk. As the duplicate began to print, she thought about what Mike had said. Cognac. He was bringing cognac. Did that mean what she thought it meant? She had to stop thinking about it right now or she’d drive herself into a tizzy.
Toni turned on her desk lamp and started to read. She supposed she was doing something she shouldn’t, but there was no way she could turn away from an opportunity like this. She wanted to know more about Mike, much more. Perhaps what he’d written would give her some insight into his character.
Luckily, she was a fast reader. It took Toni less than five minutes to finish. It was good. More than good. What she’d read was captivating and sensitive. It didn’t really give her any insight into the man, Mike Kruger, but she could hardly wait for the next batch of work. It was fiction, naturally—the story of a man in a mental institution—but Mike was a very talented writer. She was absolutely amazed by the glow of reality he’d brought to an environment he knew nothing about.
He would be back any moment now. Toni shivered a little as she put her copy in a drawer. That crack he’d made about slipping into something more comfortable was certainly a change for him. He’d never said anything like that before! If she had just an ounce more nerve, she’d actually wear that erotic peignoir set Doris had given her from Frederick of Hollywood.
CHAPTER 14
Stan was still frowning as he mixed his nightly protein drink and poured it into a glass. Mike had seemed anxious to cut their conversation short tonight. He’d claimed he was tired and said he planned to unplug the phone and go right to bed.
Unplug the phone? Stan had thought that was crazy until Mike had explained what had happened. Three wrong numbers in the early hours of the morning, and Mike hadn’t been able to get back to sleep. That had put a different light on things. Mikey needed his sleep.
There was something happening with Mike, and it made Stan nervous. His brother had changed in the past few days. He wasn’t as pliable as he’d been before and he didn’t seem to need Stan’s advice. Even more frightening, Mike didn’t require the long chatty conversations they’d held in the first few days after his escape. That wasn’t a good sign, according to the psychiatrists. Everybody needed someone to talk to, and Mike had seen no one but him. Stan could only conclude that his brother was becoming introverted and secretive, one of the first signs of a deteriorating personality. What if Mike broke down completely before he’d brought this whole thing to a satisfactory conclusion?
The protein drink was far from tasty, but Stan finished it and left the glass on the counter. Maria could wash it when she came in tomorrow. She’d told him that he was throwing away money, that there wasn’t enough work to justify hiring her on a daily basis. But Maria took only full-time positions, and Stan didn’t want to take a chance on hiring someone new. He could trust Maria. She was scrupulously honest, and she didn’t snoop through his things. He knew that for a fact. He’d tested her several times, and she’d passed with flying colors.
Stan went into his office and switched on the light. There was work to do. This problem with Mike had cut into his time for his clients, and now he had to play catch-up.
The first file he pulled out of his briefcase was the Goldstein case. A new will. Old Hal had married again, and he was making quite a few changes. His daughter was out—she hadn’t approved of the marriage—but his son was back in again. It was fairly routine, and it took Stan only a few minutes to pencil in the new material. He’d have Joyce make the changes on the computer tomorrow, and Goldstein could come in to sign it.
The next file was marked with a red tab, which meant it was due to reach the court calendar this month. Stan sighed as he paged through it. An unnecessary lawsuit at best, but they were earning a hefty fee for handling it. Because there were complicated statutes involved, it would be too difficult for a paralegal to handle. He’d give it to one of his junior partners at the staf
f meeting tomorrow.
Mrs. Burke’s file took a little longer. It was never a picnic when you sued the city. But everything was tied up very nicely by the time he’d put in a half hour’s work. He’d plead this one himself. It was a sure winner. As Aunt Alice had been so fond of saying, it would be another scalp to add to his belt.
The last file was Richard O’Connell’s. Stan sighed as he flipped through it. Richard was Joyce’s problem son, and last month he’d been picked up for possession. An ounce and a half of pot. How stupid could the kid be? Everyone knew they slapped your wrist for under an ounce, but one gram over was intent to sell.
When Joyce had first approached him, Stan had told her he didn’t handle narcotics cases. But Joyce was a really good secretary, the best he’d ever had, and he’d given in.
Stan began to smile as he thought of a perfect solution. He’d have a heart-to-heart with Joyce in the morning, tell her that he wanted to do the best for her son but he felt like a fish out of water. He would refer it to an expert at handling this type of case, and offer to pay the fee because of the valuable contribution she was making to the firm. That would impress her, and he would be off the hook. And even if the expert lost the case, which he was sure to do, Joyce couldn’t blame him.
He was all through with his work for the evening. Stan leaned back and sighed. Just a few more things to do and he could get some badly needed sleep.
He opened his file drawer and pulled out Professor Zimmer’s file. Stan had recorded their meeting. He recorded all his conferences and kept the ones that were important. Now he listened to it again, all the way through, and came to the same conclusion he’d drawn earlier. With the professor’s tape for evidence, there was an excellent chance that Mikey would be acquitted. He’d been absolutely correct to proceed with the plan he’d formulated.
