Jonathan Kellerman - Private Eyes

“No,” said Noel, “Don wouldn’t-”

She cut him off with a slashing diagonal movement of one arm. “You see one side of him, I see another.”

Noel was silent.

Melissa’s eyes got huge. “Oh, God !”

“What is it?” I said.

“Maybe they even had something to do with… with… what happened. Maybe they wanted her money and…”

She shot to her feet, throwing Noel off balance. Dry-eyed, hands fisted. One fist rose to eye level and shook.

“I’ll get them,” she said. “The bastards. Anyone who hurt her will pay !”

Noel stood. She held him at arm’s length. “No. It’s all right. I’ll be all right. I know where I stand now.”

She began walking around the room. Circling, sticking close to the walls, like a novice skater. Taking wide steps and speeding her pace till it was nearly a jog. Scowling and extending her lower jaw and punching her hand with a fist.

Sleeping Beauty roused by the malignant kiss of suspicion.

Anger replacing fear. Incompatible with fear.

I’d treated an entire school that way the previous fall. Had taught her the same lesson years ago.

This child’s anger white-hot. The look on her face almost savage.

I watched and could think of nothing but a hungry animal in a cage.

Psychological progress, I guessed.

Milo showed up shortly after, wearing a brown suit and carrying a shiny black briefcase. Melissa latched onto him and told him what had happened.

“ Get them,” she said.

“I’ll check it out,” he said. “But it’ll take some time. In the meantime, get yourself a lawyer.”

“Whatever it takes. Please. Who knows what they’ve been up to.”

“At least,” he said, “they’re on notice. If they’ve been up to something larcenous, they’ll probably quit for the moment.”

Noel said, “True.”

Milo said to Melissa: “How are you doing, otherwise?”

“Better… I’m going to get through it. I have to… if there’s something you need me to do, I can do it.”

“What you can do, for the time being, is take care of yourself.”

She started to object.

Milo said, “No, I’m not brushing you off. I mean it. Just in case they decide to keep pushing.”

“What do you mean?” she said.

“These guys are obviously out to run the show. If they can convince a judge you’re screwed up, they’ve got a shot at it. I may get dirt on them or I may not. While I’m digging, they’ll be stockpiling ammunition. The better you look- physically and psychologically- the less ammunition they’re gonna have. So take care of yourself.”

He looked over at me. “If you have to scream, scream at him - that’s his job.”

She let Noel take her upstairs. Milo said, “Did it happen the way she said?”

I nodded. “They were a couple of real sweethearts. Came on concerned, then eased into the Grand Plan. Kind of stupid, though, showing their cards like that.”

“Not necessarily,” he said. “In most cases it would work, because the average eighteen-year-old would be intimidated and agree to let a couple of suits handle everything. And plenty of shrinks would go along with what they offered you. For the right compensation.” He scratched his nose. “Be interesting to know what they’re really after.”

“I’d say filthy lucre’s a good guess.”

“Question is how much lucre. Are they out to totally drain the estate or just maintain managerial control so they can beef up their fees a couple of percent. People who live off the rich get into a rut- start thinking they have a right to it.”

“Or maybe,” I said, “they made some bad investments and want to keep it quiet.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he said. “But the thing we’ve got to consider is, despite all these maybes, do they still have a valid point- one that would look good to a judge. Can she handle that kind of dough, Alex? How’s she really doing emotionally?”

“I’m not sure. She’s gone from drowsy to enraged awfully quickly. But nothing pathological when you consider what she’s been through.”

“Say it in court that way, and she’s finished.”

“Forty million dollars would be tough for anyone, Milo. If I were King of the World, I wouldn’t give any kid that much. But no, there’s no psychological justification for declaring her incompetent. I could back her up.”

“Anyway,” he said, “what’s the worst thing that could happen? She pisses it away, has to start from scratch. She’s smart enough- could do something useful with her life. Maybe it would be the best thing ever happened to her.”

“Financial collapse as a therapeutic technique? Good excuse for doctors’ raising their fees.”

He smiled. “In the meantime, I’ll do what I can to check out Anger and the other guy. Though it’s gonna be damned hard to pierce that kind of armor quickly. She really needs legal help.”

“I thought I’d call someone on that.”

“Good.” He lifted his briefcase.

“That new?” I said.

“Picked it up today. Got an image to uphold. This private-eye business is heady stuff.”

“Did you get the message I left with your machine a couple of hours ago?”

“ “Several things to talk about’? Sure, but I’ve been a busy little private bee, scooping up honeycombs of information. How about a share-fest?”

I motioned to one of the overstuffed chairs.

“No,” he said. “Let’s get the hell out of here, breathe some normal air- if it’s okay for you to leave.”

“Let me check.”

I climbed the stairs, went to Melissa’s room. The door was partially open. As I raised my hand to knock, I looked through the crack and saw Melissa and Noel, stretched out on the bed, fully clothed, entwined. Her fingers in his hair. His arm around her waist, rubbing the small of her back. Bare feet, toes touching.

Before they noticed me, I tiptoed away.

Milo was in the entry hall, refusing a plate of food from Madeleine.

“Full,” he said, patting his belly. “Thanks anyway.”

She regarded him as if he were a wayward son.

We smiled and left.

Once outside, he said, “I lied. Actually, I’m hungry as hell and her stuff’s probably tastier than anything we’re gonna get somewhere else. But the place gets to me- after a while, I OD on being taken care of.”

“Me, too,” I said, getting into the car. “Think how Melissa feels.”

“Yeah,” he said, starting up the engine. “Well, now she’ll be on her own. Any suggestions, cuisine-wise?”

“As a matter of fact, I have just the place.”

Start of the dinner hour. La Mystique was empty. As I pulled up in front, Milo said, “Gee. Are we gonna have to wait at the bar?”

I said, “That’s the Gabney Clinic,” and pointed to the big brown house. The windows were dark and the driveway was empty.

“Ah,” said Milo, squinting. “Little spooky.” He turned back to the restaurant. “So what’s this place, your lookout post?”

“Just a warm, kind resting spot for the weary sojourner.”

Joyce was startled to see me again, but she welcomed me as if I were long-lost kin and offered the same front table. Sitting there at this hour would have turned us into a window display, so I asked to be seated at the back.

She took our drink orders and came back with two Grolsches. As she poured, she said, “We’ve got poached striped bass and veal vino for specials,” and launched into a detailed speech about the preparation for each.