Rough Weather - By Robert B. Parker Page 0,44

college?”

“Penn,” Mr. Lessard said. “Maurice graduated two years ago. Adelaide was a freshman when my son was a junior. We hadn’t really known much about her until he announced they were getting married.”

“How’d you feel about that?” I said.

“We heard she came from a good family,” Lessard said.

“We were thrilled,” Mrs. Lessard said. “Poor Maurice had very few girlfriends. We always feared he might be gay.”

Feared.

They were quiet then, very much with each other. Looking back in their memories at things they would never see again, feeling things they probably couldn’t express.

“Will the ransom payment make a significant dent in the inheritance?” I said.

“Oh, no,” Mr. Lessard said. “No, no. It is a substantial inheritance.”

I nodded.

“And what can I do for you?” I said.

“We don’t know,” Mr. Lessard said. “Do you have any idea why this happened?”

“It’s just so awful,” Mrs. Lessard said. “We can’t let go of it. We have to do something. We don’t even know what.”

“Maybe if somehow we could help you catch him,” Lessard said.

“We have scads of money,” Mrs. Lessard said. “We can pay you anything.”

“No need,” I said. “This happened right under my nose and I didn’t prevent it. I have to even that up.”

“Whether we pay you or not,” Lessard said.

“Yes.”

“You know who shot him.”

“Of course,” I said. “I saw him do it. The police must have told you about Rugar.”

“Yes. But there’s no sense to it,” Lessard said.

“We have to make sense of it,” Mrs. Lessard said.

“Do you have other children?” I said.

“We have a daughter, in her second year at Princeton.”

“Perhaps I should talk with her,” I said.

48

It was late afternoon and dark when Hawk and I finished running intervals at the Harvard track. We walked across the Anderson Bridge, waiting for our oxygen levels to renew themselves, and on up through Harvard Square and along Mass Ave to Linnaean Street. Susan was going to make dinner for us.

“She actually gonna make it herself,” Hawk said, “or is she ordering it on the phone?”

“Says she’s making it herself,” I said.

“Ain’t that kind of dangerous?” Hawk said.

“Yes,” I said.

Susan was still with her last patient when we went into her house and up the stairs to Susan’s apartment, where we had changed into our sweats earlier. Pearl was pleased to see us again, and ran around the apartment with a squeaky toy in her mouth, which made her sound like the Road Runner. Beep, beep.

“She do that every time she see you?” Hawk said.

“When you get out of the shower,” I said, “she’ll do it again.”

“Nothing wrong with enthusiasm,” Hawk said, and went in to take a shower.

While he showered, I fed Pearl, and when Hawk was finished and dressed, I went in and did the same thing. When I came out, Pearl ran around with her squeaky toy. Beep, beep.

“You right,” Hawk said. “She done that with me, too.”

Then, glowing with health, both of us breathing normally again, clean, sober, and looking good, we had a drink.

“Table been set already,” Hawk said.

“She probably did it last night,” I said.

“Plan ahead,” Hawk said.

“Looks nice,” I said. “Tablecloth, crystal, flowers in the middle. Linen napkins.”

“I eat dinner at your house,” Hawk said, “we stand at the counter and eat pizza from the box.”

“I’m an informal guy,” I said.

“She doing this ’cause I’m here?” Hawk said.

“Whenever we eat together,” I said, “just she and I, she does this.”

“She like to do things right,” Hawk said.

“Yes.”

“Me, too,” Hawk said.

“Different things,” I said.

“True,” Hawk said, “but you gonna do it some way, might as well be right.”

Susan came in through the front door. Pearl dashed around. Beep, beep. Susan kissed her, and Hawk, and me.

“I don’t mind you kissing the dog before me,” I said. “But Hawk?”

“He was closer,” Susan said.

“And better,” Hawk said.

“Want a drink?” I said.

“Will you make me a martini while I change?”

“Up with lots of olives,” I said.

“Two minutes,” she said, and went into the bedroom.

I got up and mixed the martini in the shaker and put the olives in her glass. I didn’t add ice to the shaker.

“She like it warm?” Hawk said.

“No, but I don’t want the ice to melt and ruin the martini.”

“She say two minutes.”

“She thinks it will be two minutes. When she comes out, she’ll think it was two minutes.”

“But it won’t be,” Hawk said.

“Be about twenty,” I said.

In fact, it was twenty-five. When she emerged from the bedroom in jeans and a sleeveless top, I put ice in the shaker and finished the martini.

Susan took her