“Will your wife take one, too?”
“She will not. She is far too angry and upset. She would find it humiliating. And she would find it spiritually compromising.”
“Really?” I said. “ ‘Spiritually compromising.’ ”
“My wife is a spiritual person,” he said.
“And God bless her for it,” I said. “For this to have the desired effect, it will need to be a reputable lab, not some DNA-R-Us outfit you found on the Internet.”
“I’ll do it through my local hospital,” Markham said. “It will be legitimate.”
From the bed, Rosie eyed me while she chewed the ball. I felt like Mommie Dearest.
“I applaud your decision, Mr. Markham.”
“Well, I hope once it is done that you will, for God’s sake, leave us alone.”
“I’ll leave you alone when Sarah is confident of her parentage,” I said.
“Bitch,” George Markham said, and hung up the phone. I hung up on my end, and looked at Rosie, glaring at me from the bed.
“Gee,” I said. “He thinks so, too.”
37
At 10:30 in the morning, after Rosie and I had run, and I was having a croissant and coffee at my breakfast table, I called Peter Franklin.
“So,” Peter said, “what happened to you?”
I tried to sound embarrassed.
“I... my ex-husband just got remarried,” I said. “And it knocked me for a loop.”
“So you couldn’t spend the night?”
“I... no, I couldn’t. I’m sorry. I guess I’m still a little fragile.”
“Sure,” Peter said. “Perfectly understandable. I stand ready to help you with that.”
“How kind.”
“I figured it was my fault,” Peter said. “You know, I wake up and you’re gone. I figured Pete, old buddy, you must be losing the magic.”
“That is the most blatant fishing for a compliment I’ve heard,” I said.
“You think?” Peter said.
“Yes. But I’ll give it to you anyway. You have plenty of magic.”
I could hear the amusement in his voice.
“Aw, hell,” he said.
“So,” Peter said. “Why did you call?”
“I wanted to talk with you,” I said.
“Aha,” he said. “The magic lives.”
“Perhaps it is just brought out by the right partner.”
“Talk about fishing for a compliment,” Peter said.
“Okay — you are as magical as anybody I ever slept with,” Peter said.
“How nice of you to say so.”
I broke off a piece of croissant and ate it. I could imagine Peter at the other end of the phone. In his office with his feet up. His coat was probably off. He probably wore suspenders. He was so Princetonian, so good-looking, so nice. His eyes had perfect little crinkles at the corners. His hands were well cared for, and strong-looking. His hair perfectly cut. His cologne charming.
“So,” he said. “That Ike Rosen thing. You ever make any sense of that?”
“No,” I said. “I’m not sure anyone could make sense of Ike Rosen.”
“The bar association never could,” Peter said.
“Do you do entertainment law exclusively?” I said.
“Mostly,” Peter said.
His voice got the serious sound that men get when they talk about their work.
“Is it fun?”
“More fun probably than criminal law.”
Peter’s voice had a smile in it.
“The clientele isn’t necessarily nicer,” he said. “But they’re less dangerous.”
“Have you thought about me meeting Lolly Drake?” I said.
“Mostly I’ve been thinking about why you didn’t spend the night.”
“Do I hear a quid pro quo developing?” I said.
“Practicing law includes the art of negotiation,” Peter said.
“Ever the optimist,” I said. “I know Lolly Drake periodically broadcasts her show from a different city.”
“Sweeps,” Peter said. “It’s a ratings stunt.”
“And I know she’s coming to Boston,” I said.
“She is,” Peter said. “Next month.”
“What better time for me to meet her,” I said.
“That might be possible,” he said. “Under the right circumstances.”
We were both smiling and playful, but we both knew a real negotiation was taking place.
“Of course,” I said, “under the right circumstances.”
“When?” Peter said.
His voice was light and friendly.
“COD,” I said.
“After you’ve met Lolly?” he said.
“Yes.”
“That’s cold,” he said.
“Not long after,” I said.
He made a sound that might have been a short laugh.
“You don’t seem like a drooling fan to me,” Peter said. “Why are you so hot to meet her?”
If there was a connection between Lolly Drake and Sarah Markham, it was through Peter, and he would know it. He would also know that my interest was professional. Pretending hero worship was silly. Directness was often thought charming.
“Sarah Markham’s father worked at the same radio station she did,” I said. “In Moline, Illinois, in 1981 or so.”
Peter didn’t find it charming.
“Jesus Christ,” Peter said. “You want me to arrange a meeting so you can ask her about a case you’re working on?”
“Yes.”
“You’re crazy,” he said. “What the hell has one thing got to do with another?”
“That’s what I want to ask her,” I said.
“Listen, Sunny. I like you. We had a good time together one night. But if you think that entitles you to some kind of special discount... I can’t arrange any meetings for you with Lolly Drake.”
“The night together was what it was, Peter,” I said. “But you can’t blame a girl for asking.”
For a moment the banter went out of Peter Franklin’s voice.
He said, “You stay away from Lolly Drake, Sunny.”
“Will you be coming up to Boston when she does her show?” I said.
He was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was careful.
“I could,” he said.
“I’d be happy to see you,” I said.
“I’d like to see you, too,” he said.
We were quiet for a moment. Then Peter spoke again in the cold voice.
“You understand me about Lolly,” he said.
“Sure,” I said. “Call me when you get to Boston.”
“And you in New York,” he said.
We hung up. Obviously, I couldn’t bribe him with sex. Maybe I should be offended. On the other hand, sex probably wasn’t that difficult for Peter to come by. And Lolly Drake was.
38
Sarah Markham called and said she wanted to see me. I suggested lunch at Spike’s, and when she showed up there at ten after noon, Rosie and I were already in a booth. Spike was behind the bar. He shot his forefinger at Sarah when she came in, and Sarah smiled slightly at him.
“They let you bring your dog?” she said as she sat down.
Rosie wagged her tail and put her face up so Sarah could kiss her if she wished, which, foolishly, she apparently didn’t.
“I’m friends with the owner.”
“Spike,” Sarah said.
“Un-huh.”
“What about the Board of Health?”
“Shh,” I said. “Rosie will hear you.”
Sarah smiled without much energy. Miranda came by. I was having iced tea. Sarah asked for beer.
“I didn’t really have any real reason,” she said, “to ask you to see me.”
“All reasons are real,” I said.
“I feel so isolated. I mean, I’m, like, investigating my parents. Woody is long gone.”
“The boyfriend.”
“Ex-boyfriend. Ever since those two guys beat him up.”