Rough Weather - By Robert B. Parker Page 0,55

she tells him the truth, Rugar is smart enough to know that you have a handle on this whole thing, and that eventually you may be able to unravel it.”

“Yes,” I said.

“And he must know you well enough to know that you will stay with it, however long it takes.”

“Yes.”

“Which means he may decide it is time to take decisive action.”

“Yes,” I said.

“Why am I hanging around?” Hawk said.

“The two of you are formidable,” Susan said.

Hawk and I both nodded.

“But so is Rugar,” she said to me. “He almost killed you once.”

“I wasn’t around when that happened.”

“True.”

“I am around now,” Hawk said.

“Yes,” Susan said.

“Him against both of us?” Hawk said. “I like our chances.”

Susan nodded slowly. She looked at me. I smiled and nodded. She looked back at Hawk.

“And you’ll continue to hang around,” she said.

“I will,” he said.

“Until it’s over,” she said.

“Until there’s no need for my skill set,” Hawk said.

The waiter brought Susan a second glass of wine. For Susan, that was a binge. She sipped some of it and put the glass down.

“Hawk,” she said, “in regard to me having nice legs?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Thanks for noticing.”

Hawk grinned at her.

“My pleasure,” he said.

60

I was reading the morning Globe in my office with my feet on the desk. I had made coffee and was drinking some. It was a bright day outside, temperature in the forties, and the sun reflecting off the windows of the office tower across the street made my office bright. I read methodically. The newspaper had years ago become a ritual, and I did it every morning, starting at page one, and wading on to the end. Every year there were more stories about shoes, and celebrities, and hot restaurants, so that every year I read less. But I still checked every headline. I still read Doonesbury carefully, and Tank McNamara, and Arlo & Janis. I still took some time on the sports page, though even there, ever more space was devoted to the financial aspects of the games, which interested me less than the Bank of America annual report.

I was studying a strip called Stone Soup, which seemed pretty good, and might fill the void left by Calvin & Hobbes, when Maggie Lane came in to see me. She was wearing jeans, and boots, and a short leather jacket. Her hair was loose and looked sort of soft. She was wearing more makeup than I remembered, and looked somewhat less crisp and businesslike than she had on Tashtego Island. I did not feel passion welling, but she no longer made me think of Dick Butkus.

I offered her a seat. She took it. I gave her coffee. She took that. I went back behind my desk and sat down and tilted my chair back a little.

“What’s up?” I said.

“I am no longer employed,” she said, “by the Bradshaws.”

“Bradshaws?” I said.

“Excuse me?”

“Plural?” I said. “Bradshaws?”

“Yes,” she said. “It’s what I wanted to speak to you about.”

“Okay,” I said.

“When I heard about poor Mr. Bradshaw being killed,” Maggie Lane said, “I . . . The place is like a fortress now. Heidi is terrified. She won’t leave the island except with a bunch of guards.”

“I know,” I said. “What’s she terrified of?”

“I assume whoever killed her husband,” Maggie Lane said.

I nodded.

“I had to get out of there. I was, very simply, frightened. I’m as loyal as the next person, and I stuck with them during that awful time at the wedding. But now Mr. Bradshaw is gone. And I don’t feel close enough to Heidi, and in truth, my salary is insufficient to overcome my anxiety.”

“So you quit,” I said.

“I resigned,” she said. “Yes.”

“And why was it you said that you worked for the Bradshaws plural?”

“I did,” Maggie said. “I was equally assistant to both. Run the household staff, arrange their travel, see to the laundry and dry cleaning, deal with the caterer, manage their social calendar, everything . . . except finances.”

“Who handled the finances?”

“Mr. Bradshaw,” she said.

“Himself?” I said.

“Yes, he was very private about that.”

I nodded.

“And is that what you came here to tell me?” I said. “That you worked for both of them?”

“Well, yes . . . no. I don’t know. I was originally hired by Mr. Bradshaw. But what I guess I really thought you should know is that they weren’t actually separated.”

“Tell me about that,” I said.

“He was at the island often. They were . . . When he came to the island, almost always they . . .”

Maggie’s face got slightly pink.