“An amusing story.”
“Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s what too much wine will do.”
She smiled and shook her head at him. But he couldn’t see. “So, what is next? Oh, aye, your phone. What is a phone?”
“That’s a hard one to explain.”
“Are you smiling?” she asked him.
“Yes. How do you know?”
“I can hear it in your voice,” she said, turning her ear to the wall.
“I can hear it in yours, too,” she heard him say softly. Did he want her to hear him?
“Funny,” he continued, “because I don’t smile all that much.”
“I guessed that. You are infuriatingly impassive.”
“That’s okay,” he mused. “You’re dramatic enough for the both of us.”
“Hmm. I’m not sure I understand how to take your impression of me. No one has ever called medramaticbefore. I know of some dramatic plays, but—”
“Take it as a compliment and forget it.”
“Dramatic. A compliment. Well then, thank you,” she offered.
“Why did you leave Lord Nose-Up-His-Ass today?”
She laughed softly into her hand at the name Michael gave Preston. “He angered me.”
“What is he to you?”
“Why? What does that matter to you?”
“I told you, he’s trouble. I’m looking out for you whether you want it or not.”
“He is important to me,” she confessed. “Only Old John knows how long Preston and I have been the closest of friends. Preston helped me get through some very lonely times. He taught me how to take care of myself. How to live. He was there for me when my parents forgot I existed…and then my father thinks to stop him from being in my life? What does he know?”
“It’s not what he knows, it’s who. Your father knows a lot of judges and other important men.”
She wanted to tell him that Preston knew important men as well. But the less Michael knew, the better.
“Who do you know, Detective? Who is Jimmy?” She wasn’t sure he would answer or if it was too bold of her to ask. “You were quite drunk. Perhaps you still are. I do not mean to bring up—”
“I’m not. I’ve sobered up some.”
“And Jimmy?” she pressed gently.
“I don’t like to talk about him.”
“Why not? Do you only talkwithhim when you are drunk?” She smiled and hoped he did to on the other side. “He haunts you. Why? Who was he?”
“Jim Clements,” he said, giving in. “He was a cop…a law keeper with me. My work partner for two years. My best friend. After I lost my brother, Geoff on 9/11, I was doing poorly. Clements helped. Kept me busy. I spent more time with him than with anyone else. We had each other’s backs.”
His deep, gruff voice was comforting to her ears even though what he spoke about was not. She could hear that this came from a deep place for him by the rhythm of his breath and the slight quaver in his voice.
“You have my sympathies on the loss of your brother.”
