The Target
Page 55
"Hello, Louey," Mason Lord said. "This is your ex-father-in-law. How are you feeling this morning? It is morning, isn't it?"
"Yes, damn you, it's morning. So Molly went home to Daddy, did she?"
"I suggest you get yourself back here, Louey. You can make the Lufthansa flight from Frankfurt to Chicago."
"I can't, I-"
"Today, Louey. There are many things we need to talk about. Perhaps you have some explaining to do."
They heard a woman's voice in the background. "Who is that, Louey? Why are you breathing so hard?"
Molly laughed. "Bring her along, Louey. No one wants you to get lonesome." She hung up.
Ramsey looked ready to burst into laughter. He said, "If it were between a grand jury and your father, I'd bet any day on your dad getting him home."
"Oh yes," she said, and yawned. "He's good at scaring people's socks off."
"I like your hair," he said, surprising both of them.
She blinked at him. "My hair? What did you say? You like my hair?"
"Yes," he said. "I do. It's substantial, your hair. I like all those curls. It's good hair."
"Well, I like your hair too."
He began to laugh. She joined him. The door opened and Mason Lord looked in. "What is going on here? Why are you two laughing?"
Molly just shook her head. "Will we be picking Louey up at O'Hare?"
Mason Lord looked back and forth between them. "I think Judge Hunt should pick Louey up. That would catch the little bastard off guard."
Ramsey merely nodded. "I'd be delighted. I've got lots to say to Mr. Santera. I'll use my old prosecutorial style."
"My daughter," Mason Lord said precisely, "doesn't have nice hair. She looks like a grown-up Little Orphan Annie. She has her grandmother's hair."
He'd had it. Ramsey walked up to Mason Lord. He got right in his face. "Why don't you tell Molly how happy you are to see her after three years? Why don't you tell her that she's got brains and grit and you're about the luckiest guy alive to have her for your daughter?"
Mason Lord turned on his heel and left the bedroom. Ramsey knew he'd gone too far. Mason Lord was enraged, nearly over the edge. But when he turned in the doorway, it wasn't Ramsey he went after. He said, his voice low and vicious, "Don't bother wasting your time sleeping with her. Louey said she was a cold lump in bed. No fun at all. Of course I had to have him disciplined when it got back to me what he'd said, but there it is anyway."
Molly didn't fold at all from the hurt of his words. Instead, she said, her voice filled with amusement, "Well, Louey's the expert, isn't he? Bottom line, Dad, I'm really glad I didn't get some disease from him."
She saw her father pause a moment, and then he was gone from her view.
Ramsey said, "The two of you are quite the duo. Look, Molly, you're an adult. I know it must hurt when he goes after you, but kiss it off. It's not important. There are lots more important things to think about and the most important is standing right there."
"Mama, why is Grandfather angry?"
Emma was standing in the doorway, her hair long and tousled, her nightgown with its pink bows nearly to the floor. She was clutching her piano against her chest. It was nearly as big as she was.
Ramsey said, "She needs a doll."
"Your grandfather wasn't what you'd call really angry, Em. It's late and he's older, you know? Older people get cross quickly when they get tired."
"Boy, what a whopper."
"Be quiet. Em, Ramsey is just trying to make a joke. I'm going to give him lessons. Now, come back to bed. I'll tuck you in."
"I'll come with you." Ramsey walked to Emma and picked her up in his arms. "This piano weighs a ton, Emma. I think I'll have to remove an octave."
Emma reared back in his arms and looked at him closely. "That was funny, Ramsey. Not as funny as Mama, but funny. Has she given you a lesson already?"
"Thank you, Emma. She hasn't yet given me any lessons at all. Actually, I came out with that one all on my own." He took the piano, handing it to Molly. Emma sprawled against him, her head on his shoulder. She sucked her fingers.
There was a queen bed in the bedroom. It was Molly's old room, he realized. There wasn't a ruffle to be had. What there was were bookshelves all up and down one wall, filled with paperbacks and hardcovers, piled indiscriminately. On the other wall were photos, dozens and dozens of photos. Many were framed, most were arranged lovingly and carefully on corkboards.
"Yes, damn you, it's morning. So Molly went home to Daddy, did she?"
"I suggest you get yourself back here, Louey. You can make the Lufthansa flight from Frankfurt to Chicago."
"I can't, I-"
"Today, Louey. There are many things we need to talk about. Perhaps you have some explaining to do."
They heard a woman's voice in the background. "Who is that, Louey? Why are you breathing so hard?"
Molly laughed. "Bring her along, Louey. No one wants you to get lonesome." She hung up.
Ramsey looked ready to burst into laughter. He said, "If it were between a grand jury and your father, I'd bet any day on your dad getting him home."
"Oh yes," she said, and yawned. "He's good at scaring people's socks off."
"I like your hair," he said, surprising both of them.
She blinked at him. "My hair? What did you say? You like my hair?"
"Yes," he said. "I do. It's substantial, your hair. I like all those curls. It's good hair."
"Well, I like your hair too."
He began to laugh. She joined him. The door opened and Mason Lord looked in. "What is going on here? Why are you two laughing?"
Molly just shook her head. "Will we be picking Louey up at O'Hare?"
Mason Lord looked back and forth between them. "I think Judge Hunt should pick Louey up. That would catch the little bastard off guard."
Ramsey merely nodded. "I'd be delighted. I've got lots to say to Mr. Santera. I'll use my old prosecutorial style."
"My daughter," Mason Lord said precisely, "doesn't have nice hair. She looks like a grown-up Little Orphan Annie. She has her grandmother's hair."
He'd had it. Ramsey walked up to Mason Lord. He got right in his face. "Why don't you tell Molly how happy you are to see her after three years? Why don't you tell her that she's got brains and grit and you're about the luckiest guy alive to have her for your daughter?"
Mason Lord turned on his heel and left the bedroom. Ramsey knew he'd gone too far. Mason Lord was enraged, nearly over the edge. But when he turned in the doorway, it wasn't Ramsey he went after. He said, his voice low and vicious, "Don't bother wasting your time sleeping with her. Louey said she was a cold lump in bed. No fun at all. Of course I had to have him disciplined when it got back to me what he'd said, but there it is anyway."
Molly didn't fold at all from the hurt of his words. Instead, she said, her voice filled with amusement, "Well, Louey's the expert, isn't he? Bottom line, Dad, I'm really glad I didn't get some disease from him."
She saw her father pause a moment, and then he was gone from her view.
Ramsey said, "The two of you are quite the duo. Look, Molly, you're an adult. I know it must hurt when he goes after you, but kiss it off. It's not important. There are lots more important things to think about and the most important is standing right there."
"Mama, why is Grandfather angry?"
Emma was standing in the doorway, her hair long and tousled, her nightgown with its pink bows nearly to the floor. She was clutching her piano against her chest. It was nearly as big as she was.
Ramsey said, "She needs a doll."
"Your grandfather wasn't what you'd call really angry, Em. It's late and he's older, you know? Older people get cross quickly when they get tired."
"Boy, what a whopper."
"Be quiet. Em, Ramsey is just trying to make a joke. I'm going to give him lessons. Now, come back to bed. I'll tuck you in."
"I'll come with you." Ramsey walked to Emma and picked her up in his arms. "This piano weighs a ton, Emma. I think I'll have to remove an octave."
Emma reared back in his arms and looked at him closely. "That was funny, Ramsey. Not as funny as Mama, but funny. Has she given you a lesson already?"
"Thank you, Emma. She hasn't yet given me any lessons at all. Actually, I came out with that one all on my own." He took the piano, handing it to Molly. Emma sprawled against him, her head on his shoulder. She sucked her fingers.
There was a queen bed in the bedroom. It was Molly's old room, he realized. There wasn't a ruffle to be had. What there was were bookshelves all up and down one wall, filled with paperbacks and hardcovers, piled indiscriminately. On the other wall were photos, dozens and dozens of photos. Many were framed, most were arranged lovingly and carefully on corkboards.
