X (Kinsey Millhone 24)

“You know Pete was an insomniac. He roamed the streets at night.”

“Right. He was doing that when I knew him way back when.”

“He had a protective streak. He knew Ned was treacherous and he took to hovering over the women who’d come in range of him. Me, Ned’s daughter, his wife, Celeste.”

“His daughter’s name and his wife’s weren’t on the list.”

“Maybe he intended to add them. He told me he’d spoken to both.”

“What about Shirley Ann Kastle? Who is she?”

“Ned’s high school sweetheart. That’s as much as I know about her.”

“I figured all of you were victims of a blackmail scheme.”

“No, no. You’re wrong about that. Pete was a purist.”

“A purist? You gotta be kidding me! The guy was a crook.”

“Not so,” she said. “I saw him as someone so passionate about justice, he was destined to fail.”

I made a sour face. “You met with him, what, twice? I knew him for the better part of ten years.”

“Hold on and just listen to me. I have clients you’d swear up and down were total, unmitigated slobs, but they’re actually the opposite—so hell-bent on ‘clean and tidy,’ they can’t even start. Rather than fail, they give up. Their standards are so high, they’re overwhelmed before they start. To them, it’s better not even tackling the job.”

“That’s a stretch.”

“Talk to Ruth. She understood him better than you did.”

“No doubt.”

“You want my opinion?”

“Are you speaking as a person or as a shrink?”

“I’m always speaking as a shrink.”

“Then I don’t want to hear it.”

She smiled. “I’ll give it to you anyway. No charge to the recipient.”

I raised a hand. “I’m serious. I don’t want to hear it.”

Taryn went on as though I’d never opened my mouth. “This is as much about you as it is about him. You’re entangled with the man. I don’t know how or why, but I can see it as clear as day.”

“I’m not ‘entangled.’ Bullshit. Where’d you get that? I didn’t like him. I disapproved of the choices he made. That’s hardly ‘entanglement.’”

“You felt no compassion for his Marfan syndrome?”

“Oh, come on. We all have a cross to bear. His life was tough, but his problems were self-generated. The Marfan was the least of them. Most were the result of his basic dishonesty, which is something you can’t fix.”

“He didn’t need fixing. He needed to get back to who he was before he lost track of himself.”

“Too late for that now.”

“No, it’s not. That’s what you’re here for, to tie up loose ends.”

“Wait. Excuse me. This is about him. It has nothing to do with me.”

She seemed to be enjoying herself, her manner animated. “You said it yourself. We ‘do much the same job. We study people’s lives, determine what went wrong, and try to make it right.’”

I laughed. “You’re quoting me back to myself? That’s a low blow. I was referring to the two of us. You and me. Not Pete and me.”

“He left work undone. Whatever his plan was, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

“I’ll figure it out? I don’t think so. Since when is this my problem?”

“Since the day he died,” she said.

I shook my head, smirking, as though her comment warranted no legitimate response. Then I noted my body language. I’d crossed my arms over my chest, which I thought she might misinterpret as stubborn and defensive. I uncrossed my arms and then couldn’t think what to do with them. I leaned forward and put my elbows on the desk. “No offense, Ms. Sizemore, but you are full of shit.”

She reached for her bag and rose to her feet. “We’ll come back to this. Right now I have a client coming and I have to run.”

18

“Who asked you?” I called after her. The rejoinder was not only weak, but she’d already left by the time I delivered it.

I turned and peered out the window, catching sight of her as she retreated down my walk. She waved over her shoulder, confident she was having the final word. Well, wasn’t I cranky and out of sorts? I thought therapists were supposed to keep their opinions to themselves. I wasn’t even a client and there she was challenging my view of Pete’s character when I’d known the man for years. I was the one who’d witnessed his moral failings. The idea that I was going to come along in the wake of his death and tidy up his unfinished business struck me as ludicrous. What especially annoyed me was the fact that I’d already been planning to unearth the remaining women on the list and see what they could tell me. In Taryn Sizemore’s analysis, that was tantamount to taking on Pete’s investigation, which was certainly not the case. I had work of my own to do. Sort of.