Not One Clue_ A Mystery - Lois Greiman [74]
“That’s what happens when you get shot twice through the rib cage.”
I felt myself pale. “When was this?”
“Two months ago.”
So I had been seeing him. And I hadn’t had a clue.
“I’m sorry he was wounded, but I don’t see what this has to do with—”
She raised her chin, scrawny neck stretched. “You know why he did it?”
I struggled with a couple dozen emotions. First of all, I hate to be interrupted and so far I hadn’t completed a single sentence since Grams had entered my office. Second, I felt oddly betrayed that Micky hadn’t shared the truth with me. Which was not only unprofessional, but just dumb-ass stupid. Micky was a client, not a boyfriend.
“I would guess it was partly to assuage the guilt he’s been carrying around ever since Kaneasha,” I said.
She stared at me for a prolonged moment, then, “What else?”
“He didn’t want anyone else to suffer as she had?”
“What else?”
“Knowing Micky as I do I would guess he felt some empathy for the young men and didn’t want them to have to carry the shame of such a hideous crime.”
Her eyes were shining. I didn’t know what that meant. But I found, oddly enough, that I hoped it was approval. “And?” she asked, pursing her lips.
“And sometimes he doesn’t care if he dies; he believes the world would be a better place without him.”
Our gazes held steady and then she nodded slowly.
“There isn’t anyone who will care for that boy better than my grandson,” she said.
“Micky has some issues to work out.”
Her brows lowered. “You know someone who doesn’t?”
Good point. Sound reasoning. “Perhaps not,” I said. “But now there’s the Jackson issue to exacerbate the already existing problems.”
“The boy needs a daddy,” she said.
“I daresay he does—” I began, but she spoke again.
“But not so much as Michael needs the boy.”
Despite my Ph.D., I had never thought of it quite like that. “I’m not sure what you want me to do.”
“I want you to quit tiptoeing around the issue and tell him to take the child in.”
“It’s not that simple. There are laws and—”
“Don’t you worry about that. If my Michael believes it’s the right thing, he’ll do what it takes to make it happen. He’s just not convinced he should move forward.”
“With cases such as this there is often an overwhelming amount of guilt that makes it difficult for the client—”
She stomped her cane again. “You tell him to quit feeling guilty. You tell him he’s got no more time to be selfish.”
“Selfish? I don’t think it’s—”
“What do you call it when you think about yourself more than others?”
“Well …”
“He admires you,” she said, and narrowed her bird-bright eyes at me. “He likes you.”
“Well, I—”
“You tell him to take the boy,” she said, and strode toward the door. In a moment she was gone.
I followed her slowly from my office. Shirley was standing behind her desk, eyes rimed with white by the time I got there.
“You okay?” she asked, turning toward me like a large automaton.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “I think so.”
“She didn’t wrestle you to the floor or nothing?”
“We kept it to verbal combat.”
She nodded. “Good thing you can talk. She was Mr. Goldenstone’s grams, huh?”
I completely forgot to deny. I didn’t even hedge. “Yes.”
“She reminds me of my ex’s mother.”
“Was she made of steel wool, too?”
“Razor wire. She said if I left Harry I’d be haunted till the day I die.”
“Are you?”
“Not sure, I ain’t dead yet. What you gonna do?”
I stared after Mrs. Goldenstone, blinked once, and tried to bring myself back to normal. “What have you got in that drawer?”
“What you think I got?”
I closed my eyes for a moment and sharpened my olfactory nerves. “Two chocolate chip cookies and some Rice Krispie bars.”
“I think you’re losing your edge. It’s shortbread and brownies,” she said.
“I love you more than life,” I said.
“Get the milk,” she said. “We’ve got ten minutes till your next appointment and I can see you need fortifying.”
By the time I left the office I felt as if I’d been filleted and deep-fried. I had seen seven clients in eleven hours. In between I had taken care of paperwork and made some phone calls. I’d asked Shirley