Jan Burke - Sweet Dreams, Irene

Let’s see you get yourself out of this one, Harriman, I thought with a grin.

He turned red and gave me a pleading look. Cassie laughed.

“Well, Cassie, after two weeks of my constant companionship, he’s probably nailed that chair to the floor of my house. Your brother has had hell to pay since the day he brought me back from the mountains.”

“She never used to lie,” Frank said. “Must have been one of the blows to her head. But to keep you from sticking your nose in any farther – Irene never officially agreed to move in. Just this morning she wanted me to take her home.”

That earned him the hairy eyeball from me, but he didn’t flinch.

Cassie looked between us. “Uh-oh. Sorry, Irene.”

I laughed. “Don’t worry, Cassie, Frank is just gloating because he knows I’m not going anywhere, and wouldn’t if I could.”

Frank looked at me in surprise, then turned and said, “Cassie, I love you. Keep talking to her. God knows what she’ll agree to next. I’ll go to the store and pick up some steaks.”

“WELL, IRENE, I have a confession to make,” she said as soon as he was out the door.

I waited, not knowing what to expect.

“I didn’t have any other reason to be in Las Piernas today – although I told Frank I went to a teacher’s supply place down here – well, I did go to it, but only so that I wouldn’t be a complete liar. Anyway, the confession is that I came down here because I just had to meet the woman who was able to get Frank to come back home for Thanksgiving.”

“What?”

“I knew I would be meeting you next week, but Mom will be there and it’s just not the same with the whole family scurrying all over the place. I guess I figured it would take something or someone special to get Frank to come to the house again, and I was right. I mean, I knew that you would be the one, because Frank has been so happy since this summer. There’s been such a change in him since he started seeing you.”

“Cassie, what are you talking about? What about Frank and the house? Which house – your mom’s?”

She looked at me. “Uh-oh, I’ve done it again. He didn’t tell you.”

“Didn’t tell me what?”

She cleared her throat. “Frank hasn’t been inside my mother’s house for three years.”

“Since your dad died,” I said slowly.

“Oh, so he did tell you.”

“Not exactly. I know about your dad, but not about the house.”

“Oh.” She paused. “Oh.” Sighed. “I guess you could say Frank didn’t handle Dad’s death very well. It was hard on everybody, but Dad and Frank were really close. I mean, we all were close, but Frank and my dad especially. Frank blames himself, I think. Maybe that’s over, I don’t know. We never talk about it. Anyway, Dad died at home, and Frank hasn’t been inside the house since that day.”

“But I know he’s been back to Bakersfield since then.”

“Yes, but he comes over to my place, meets my mother there, and drives back home. Once in a great while, he’ll spend the night at our place. He usually refuses to come to Thanksgiving dinner. Sends my mom right over the edge every year. They start arguing about it in October, and don’t stop until after Christmas, which he also spends at our house.”

It was my turn to say, “Oh.”

I guess the look on my face said even more, because she hastily added, “Don’t worry about her. She’s a bit overbearing at times, but she means well. Frank can handle her, and I’ll run defense for you. Oh God, I make her sound like a harridan. I hope I haven’t talked you out of coming!”

“Not at all,” I said, realizing that I might have a way to return some of the kindness Frank Harriman had showered on me since bringing me home.

I smiled, catching myself using that word. Home. Yes, I thought, this was home, even without my famous grandfather or his chair. I didn’t want to go back to my house, but it wasn’t just that. Frank’s house was more than my refuge for the moment.

I looked back over to Cassie, to see her returning my smile.

FRANK CAME BACK in with an armload of groceries. “Is it safe for me to be back in my own home?”

“Our home,” I said.

“Good work, Cassie,” he said. He began unloading the sacks, pulling out a bottle of red wine.

“In fact,” I said, “I was just about to tell Cassie how nice it will be to know somebody besides you when we join the family for Thanksgiving dinner.”

He stopped what he was doing and looked up at me, clearly amazed. He turned to his sister. “Cassie, I may have to have you over more often.”

“What’s with you, Frank?” she asked.

He didn’t reply. He was looking back at me, and I liked being looked at that way. Kyrie eleison.

FRANK WAS GETTING READY for work the next morning when the doorbell rang, so I answered it, and was surprised to see the coroner standing there.

“Good morning, Miss Kelly,” he said, seeming uncomfortable.

“Hello, Dr. Hernandez,” I said, gesturing for him to come inside. “Frank must have forgotten to cancel his order. He changed his mind about killing me yesterday.”

He smiled. Frank had made his way down the hall by then, and also seemed surprised to see Dr. Hernandez. “Carlos? What’s up?”

“Good morning, Frank. Sorry to bother you at home. I, uh, wanted to talk to you away from the office.”

Frank nodded. “Come on into the kitchen, I’ll get you a cup of coffee. Okay if Irene hears this?”

He hesitated. “Only if it doesn’t end up in the newspaper.”

My curiosity was fairly raging. “I’m on medical leave,” I said. “I know it’s hard to see why.”

“You look like you could still use a telephone.”

“You’re right. But I won’t.”

That seemed good enough for him, and he followed us into the kitchen. When we were all settled around the table, he said, “I don’t suppose you or Pete were in contact with anyone from the county lab over the weekend, were you, Frank?”

“No. Pete should be by in a few minutes, but I’m fairly certain he wasn’t, either. Why do you ask?”

“I dropped by on Sunday to review our caseload and to prepare work schedules for next week. I also wanted to do a little more work on the Sammy Garden case. I discovered that between the time I left Friday afternoon and yesterday morning, someone took a look through my computer files.”

“And you thought it was me?” Frank asked, taken aback.

“No,” Carlos said quickly. “I never thought it was you or Pete. That’s why I came by. If you weren’t the ones who asked for the information, I wanted you to be aware of what had happened. I know you have a…” He glanced over at me. “You have a personal interest in the files that were read.”

Frank and I exchanged a look. “Which files?” I asked, the knot in my stomach already predicting the answer.

“Those having to do with the Fremont murder and the Garden case.”

The knot tightened.

“How could you tell?” Frank asked.

“The computer notes the last date and time anyone opens a case file. The display doesn’t show up unless you ask for it, but I check it fairly often, as a way of managing our work – helps me to keep track of which cases aren’t moving.”

“Maybe one of your assistants was in on the weekend,” Frank suggested.

Carlos was silent for a moment, then said, “Maybe. But other than the man who was on duty, no one is admitting it, and he normally wouldn’t be in the part of the building where the computers are. These files are generally accessible on a “read only” basis from either my offices or the D.A.’s office, but it’s too early for any involvement from the D.A. As far as I can tell, the files weren’t accessed randomly, the way a hacker might enter them, and no other files were opened. So who felt they needed to wait until the weekend to take a look? It disturbs me.”