Double Take
Page 22
Dix tried to keep his eyes off Charlotte Pallack during dinner, and succeeded for the most part. It was Charlotte, however, who was sneaking looks at him.
He listened to Thomas Pallack speak, amused at how the man wore his wealth like a royal robe. He knew his own importance, his own power, and best of all, he knew how to hide it enough so that people didn’t resent him. He had a lot in common with Chappy, except Chappy was better at it.
Dix accepted a glass of the excellent merlot Judge Sherlock served with dinner. He was pleased he could sip at it and not have his stomach rebel on him. He was still finding it difficult to keep his eyes off Charlotte Pallack—and both she and her husband knew it. Dix knew that if he were Thomas Pallack, he’d want to break the interloper’s face. But the fact was the older man appeared to remain fatuously pleased. Trophy wife, Dix supposed, was the unflattering term for Charlotte Pallack.
He looked up from his plate and said, “Mrs. Pallack—”
“Oh, since you’re a friend of the Sherlocks, do call me Charlotte.”
“Charlotte,” he repeated, nodding, knowing a deaf man could hear that extra warmth in her voice. “I can’t place your accent. Perhaps it’s southern?”
“Why, Mr. Noble, you’ve a very good ear. I’m from back east originally, then my folks moved to Durham. But I’ve been in California for many years now. And your accent, it’s also got a bit of the South.”
He nodded. “I’m from a small town called Maestro, in Virginia. I’m the sheriff there. Do call me Dix.”
“Ah, more law enforcement,” Thomas Pallack said, and flipped his napkin down beside his plate. “A federal judge and a sheriff.” Dix could see that his status had dropped markedly in Mr. Pal-lack’s eyes. He wanted to laugh, but only nodded. “Yes, sir. I am friends with their daughter and son-in-law. As you probably know, both Lacey and her husband Dillon Savich are FBI agents. We worked a local case together a couple of months ago in my town.” He took another small sip of the merlot and heard himself add, “Perhaps you know my father-in-law, Mr. Pallack. His name is Chapman Holcombe—everyone calls him Chappy. His main interest is banking, owns Holcombe First Independent. Well, that’s not quite accurate—to be closer to the mark, I’d have to say his major interest is making money.” And Dix smiled, a man of the world.
Thomas Pallack nodded. “I thought the name of your town sounded familiar. Yes, Chappy and I did business some years ago, very profitably, I might add. However, I haven’t been in touch with him, haven’t seen him since that time. How’s the old curmudgeon doing these days?”
“He’s the same as ever. His son Tony runs the banks now, but Chappy hasn’t entirely dropped the reins. I doubt he will until he passes.”
Judge Sherlock said smoothly, “You said this man was your father-in-law, Dix? Yes, I remember now my daughter Lacey saying you were married to his daughter. I’m sorry, but I don’t know her name.”
“My wife is dead,” Dix said, feeling raw ugly bile in his throat and at the same time admiring Judge Sherlock’s chutzpah and his acting ability. “It’s been over three years now. Her name was Christie.”
“I’m so very sorry,” said Charlotte Pallack. “My own father died when I was young.”
“Well, Dix,” Thomas Pallack said, “you’d best warn Chappy not to bend the law or Judge Sherlock here might send him off to one of our federal gulags.”
“Gulags?” Dix asked, eyebrow raised. “I didn’t know we’d built any here.”
“Our prison system,” Thomas said, sitting forward, eyes fierce, “is a disgrace. Our prisoners are in appalling, overcrowded facilities, and the prison administration system is bogged down and incompetent.”
“I agree with that,” Judge Sherlock said. Thomas Pallack gunned forward. “The only solution is to release some of the inmates, a furlough system, and then reintegrate them back into society.”
Judge Sherlock said, “Don’t you know what the recidivism rate is, Thomas? It’s higher than the state income tax. I’d say the last thing society needs is to let robbers, murderers, drug dealers, rapists, and assorted other lowlifes back on the streets to wreak havoc.” Judge Sherlock paused a brief moment, realizing he couldn’t pound Thomas Pallack like he wanted since the man was his guest, dammit. “But you have a point. We need to overhaul the system—and build more prisons.”
Thomas Pallack opened his mouth, saw Evelyn giving him a hostess’s gimlet eye, and closed it. “Some would agree” was all he said. Dix admired his restraint, but he wondered and questioned: Since Thomas Pallack knew Chappy, had he met Christie, seen her photo in Chappy’s library? Hadn’t he also at least heard Dix’s name? And if he had met Christie, hadn’t he noticed how alike his wife and Christie looked?
He listened to Thomas Pallack speak, amused at how the man wore his wealth like a royal robe. He knew his own importance, his own power, and best of all, he knew how to hide it enough so that people didn’t resent him. He had a lot in common with Chappy, except Chappy was better at it.
Dix accepted a glass of the excellent merlot Judge Sherlock served with dinner. He was pleased he could sip at it and not have his stomach rebel on him. He was still finding it difficult to keep his eyes off Charlotte Pallack—and both she and her husband knew it. Dix knew that if he were Thomas Pallack, he’d want to break the interloper’s face. But the fact was the older man appeared to remain fatuously pleased. Trophy wife, Dix supposed, was the unflattering term for Charlotte Pallack.
He looked up from his plate and said, “Mrs. Pallack—”
“Oh, since you’re a friend of the Sherlocks, do call me Charlotte.”
“Charlotte,” he repeated, nodding, knowing a deaf man could hear that extra warmth in her voice. “I can’t place your accent. Perhaps it’s southern?”
“Why, Mr. Noble, you’ve a very good ear. I’m from back east originally, then my folks moved to Durham. But I’ve been in California for many years now. And your accent, it’s also got a bit of the South.”
He nodded. “I’m from a small town called Maestro, in Virginia. I’m the sheriff there. Do call me Dix.”
“Ah, more law enforcement,” Thomas Pallack said, and flipped his napkin down beside his plate. “A federal judge and a sheriff.” Dix could see that his status had dropped markedly in Mr. Pal-lack’s eyes. He wanted to laugh, but only nodded. “Yes, sir. I am friends with their daughter and son-in-law. As you probably know, both Lacey and her husband Dillon Savich are FBI agents. We worked a local case together a couple of months ago in my town.” He took another small sip of the merlot and heard himself add, “Perhaps you know my father-in-law, Mr. Pallack. His name is Chapman Holcombe—everyone calls him Chappy. His main interest is banking, owns Holcombe First Independent. Well, that’s not quite accurate—to be closer to the mark, I’d have to say his major interest is making money.” And Dix smiled, a man of the world.
Thomas Pallack nodded. “I thought the name of your town sounded familiar. Yes, Chappy and I did business some years ago, very profitably, I might add. However, I haven’t been in touch with him, haven’t seen him since that time. How’s the old curmudgeon doing these days?”
“He’s the same as ever. His son Tony runs the banks now, but Chappy hasn’t entirely dropped the reins. I doubt he will until he passes.”
Judge Sherlock said smoothly, “You said this man was your father-in-law, Dix? Yes, I remember now my daughter Lacey saying you were married to his daughter. I’m sorry, but I don’t know her name.”
“My wife is dead,” Dix said, feeling raw ugly bile in his throat and at the same time admiring Judge Sherlock’s chutzpah and his acting ability. “It’s been over three years now. Her name was Christie.”
“I’m so very sorry,” said Charlotte Pallack. “My own father died when I was young.”
“Well, Dix,” Thomas Pallack said, “you’d best warn Chappy not to bend the law or Judge Sherlock here might send him off to one of our federal gulags.”
“Gulags?” Dix asked, eyebrow raised. “I didn’t know we’d built any here.”
“Our prison system,” Thomas said, sitting forward, eyes fierce, “is a disgrace. Our prisoners are in appalling, overcrowded facilities, and the prison administration system is bogged down and incompetent.”
“I agree with that,” Judge Sherlock said. Thomas Pallack gunned forward. “The only solution is to release some of the inmates, a furlough system, and then reintegrate them back into society.”
Judge Sherlock said, “Don’t you know what the recidivism rate is, Thomas? It’s higher than the state income tax. I’d say the last thing society needs is to let robbers, murderers, drug dealers, rapists, and assorted other lowlifes back on the streets to wreak havoc.” Judge Sherlock paused a brief moment, realizing he couldn’t pound Thomas Pallack like he wanted since the man was his guest, dammit. “But you have a point. We need to overhaul the system—and build more prisons.”
Thomas Pallack opened his mouth, saw Evelyn giving him a hostess’s gimlet eye, and closed it. “Some would agree” was all he said. Dix admired his restraint, but he wondered and questioned: Since Thomas Pallack knew Chappy, had he met Christie, seen her photo in Chappy’s library? Hadn’t he also at least heard Dix’s name? And if he had met Christie, hadn’t he noticed how alike his wife and Christie looked?
