Split Second
Page 9
“I think God feels the same way about Dad. All of you know how he could make you laugh, even if you were in a big funk. He could throw out one-liners so fast it was hard sometimes to keep up with him. It was impossible not to wear a perpetual smile around my father, even when I was a teenager and my world was otherwise filled with angst.
“Another thing about my dad—I always knew he was in my corner. No one messed with me, ever, teenage boys in particular.
“When I told him I’d changed my mind and I didn’t want to become a lawyer, that what I really wanted to do with my life was become part of the best cop shop in the world—the FBI—I’ll never forget the look on his face. Surprise, and then tears filled his eyes. I asked him what was wrong, and he smiled at me and hugged me and said it must be fate. When I asked him what he meant, he told me my mother had applied to the FBI only a few weeks before her death. Then he laughed, said he would have to readjust his long-term plans since it didn’t look like he would have a lawyer daughter to support him in his old age. In the FBI I’d do a whole lot more good than most lawyers ever do, but I wouldn’t get paid much for it.”
Lucy paused to let the burst of laughter wash over her. It was as if the entire audience sitting in front of her had drawn a collective breath, and let in some memories of their own.
“My dad loved his snifter of Hennessy Ellipse cognac every evening. He’d sit in his favorite chair, his head against the chair back, his eyes closed, and I’d know he was thinking about my mother. I know my mother and father are together now, and that all heaven laughs.
“My dad was the best of fathers. I will miss him forever.”
When she relinquished the mike to her Uncle Alan and smelled his familiar bay-rum scent when he hugged her, she realized some of her deadening pain was gone. She felt warm again.
Alan Silverman didn’t speak until Lucy was once again seated beside Coop. Alan smiled at her as he said in his deep, booming voice, “I am a lawyer, and Josh often told me the same thing.”
And there was more laughter.
CHAPTER 6
Hoover Building
Tuesday morning
“Please, Dillon, I can do my job. I want to work; I need to work.”
Savich looked beyond Agent Lucy Carlyle’s pale, composed face, beyond the misery sheening the air around her, to the fierce determination in her eyes. They were a darker blue than Sherlock’s, the color of the Caribbean under a cloudy sky. She looked as neat and puttogether as she always did, her chestnut hair, many different shades after the hot sun of summer, plaited neatly in a thick French braid, and her signature small silver hoops hanging from her ears. Her skin was so pale—was it whiter than usual? Grief, he knew, could leach the color out of you. She was wearing black boots and a white blouse and a black pants suit that looked to be a size too large for her. How much weight had she lost in five days?
He said, “What are you going to do with your dad’s house, Lucy?”
Why did he care? “I’m going to sell it. I’ve decided to sell my condo, too.” She drew a deep breath, spit it out. “I’m going to move into my grandmother’s house.”
This surprised him. Savich had heard about Helen Silverman Carlyle’s huge mansion in Chevy Chase, Maryland, one of those fine old houses built at about the turn of the twentieth century, a barn of a place and a bear to heat, he imagined, in the Maryland winters. She’d been quite the philanthropist, a friend, in fact, of his own very famous grandmother, Sarah Elliott.
“Your grandmother died a while ago, didn’t she?”
“Three years. My dad kept Mr. and Mrs. McGruder on to take care of the house and grounds after she died. They live in town, and checked in with my dad several times a month.” She swallowed, looked down at her boots, frowned because she saw some mud on the toe, then looked up at him again.
“Why are you moving into her house, Lucy?”
Why does he want to know all this stuff ? He can get the truth out of a stalk of asparagus, so keep it simple. “I don’t know, it’s just something that feels right.”
A black eyebrow shot up. “It feels right to you?”
Idiot. He can spot a lie even before it’s out of your mouth. He was simply curious, but now you’ve got him focused on it.
She found a smile. “You’re my boss, Dillon, but I know I can keep some things private; it’s in my job description.”
He smiled back at her. “Point taken. Are you going to need some help moving?”
She shook her head. “I’ll take it slow and easy, move a bit at a time. Please, let me work while I’m doing it.”
“Another thing about my dad—I always knew he was in my corner. No one messed with me, ever, teenage boys in particular.
“When I told him I’d changed my mind and I didn’t want to become a lawyer, that what I really wanted to do with my life was become part of the best cop shop in the world—the FBI—I’ll never forget the look on his face. Surprise, and then tears filled his eyes. I asked him what was wrong, and he smiled at me and hugged me and said it must be fate. When I asked him what he meant, he told me my mother had applied to the FBI only a few weeks before her death. Then he laughed, said he would have to readjust his long-term plans since it didn’t look like he would have a lawyer daughter to support him in his old age. In the FBI I’d do a whole lot more good than most lawyers ever do, but I wouldn’t get paid much for it.”
Lucy paused to let the burst of laughter wash over her. It was as if the entire audience sitting in front of her had drawn a collective breath, and let in some memories of their own.
“My dad loved his snifter of Hennessy Ellipse cognac every evening. He’d sit in his favorite chair, his head against the chair back, his eyes closed, and I’d know he was thinking about my mother. I know my mother and father are together now, and that all heaven laughs.
“My dad was the best of fathers. I will miss him forever.”
When she relinquished the mike to her Uncle Alan and smelled his familiar bay-rum scent when he hugged her, she realized some of her deadening pain was gone. She felt warm again.
Alan Silverman didn’t speak until Lucy was once again seated beside Coop. Alan smiled at her as he said in his deep, booming voice, “I am a lawyer, and Josh often told me the same thing.”
And there was more laughter.
CHAPTER 6
Hoover Building
Tuesday morning
“Please, Dillon, I can do my job. I want to work; I need to work.”
Savich looked beyond Agent Lucy Carlyle’s pale, composed face, beyond the misery sheening the air around her, to the fierce determination in her eyes. They were a darker blue than Sherlock’s, the color of the Caribbean under a cloudy sky. She looked as neat and puttogether as she always did, her chestnut hair, many different shades after the hot sun of summer, plaited neatly in a thick French braid, and her signature small silver hoops hanging from her ears. Her skin was so pale—was it whiter than usual? Grief, he knew, could leach the color out of you. She was wearing black boots and a white blouse and a black pants suit that looked to be a size too large for her. How much weight had she lost in five days?
He said, “What are you going to do with your dad’s house, Lucy?”
Why did he care? “I’m going to sell it. I’ve decided to sell my condo, too.” She drew a deep breath, spit it out. “I’m going to move into my grandmother’s house.”
This surprised him. Savich had heard about Helen Silverman Carlyle’s huge mansion in Chevy Chase, Maryland, one of those fine old houses built at about the turn of the twentieth century, a barn of a place and a bear to heat, he imagined, in the Maryland winters. She’d been quite the philanthropist, a friend, in fact, of his own very famous grandmother, Sarah Elliott.
“Your grandmother died a while ago, didn’t she?”
“Three years. My dad kept Mr. and Mrs. McGruder on to take care of the house and grounds after she died. They live in town, and checked in with my dad several times a month.” She swallowed, looked down at her boots, frowned because she saw some mud on the toe, then looked up at him again.
“Why are you moving into her house, Lucy?”
Why does he want to know all this stuff ? He can get the truth out of a stalk of asparagus, so keep it simple. “I don’t know, it’s just something that feels right.”
A black eyebrow shot up. “It feels right to you?”
Idiot. He can spot a lie even before it’s out of your mouth. He was simply curious, but now you’ve got him focused on it.
She found a smile. “You’re my boss, Dillon, but I know I can keep some things private; it’s in my job description.”
He smiled back at her. “Point taken. Are you going to need some help moving?”
She shook her head. “I’ll take it slow and easy, move a bit at a time. Please, let me work while I’m doing it.”
