Buried Secrets by Joseph Finder Read Free Book Online

didn’t say I’m giving up. I never give up.” She looked up and noticed Gabe lurking outside my office door. “Anyway, I think your son is getting hungry,” she said with a wink.

    11.

    I took Gabe to Mojo’s, a bar down the street that served lunch. This was a typical Boston bar—five flat screens all showing sports or sports news shows, lots of Red Sox and Celtics memorabilia, a foosball table in the back, pub food like wings and nachos and burgers, a sticky wooden-plank floor. They served good cold beer as well as the infamous local brew, Brubaker’s, which even I had to admit was pretty bad. The patrons were a democratic mix of stockbrokers and cabdrivers. A local reviewer once compared Mojo’s regulars to the cantina scene in Star Wars : that collection of weird-looking intergalactic creatures. Herb, the owner, liked that so much he had the article framed and put on the wall.

    “I like that new girl you hired,” Gabe said.

    “Jillian?”

    “Yeah, she’s cool.”

    “She’s different, that’s for sure. Now, tell me: Is Nana abusing you?”

    “Nah, she’s cool.”

    “How about Lilly? How’s Lilly treating you?”

    Lilly was my mother’s dog, a shar-pei/English mastiff mix she’d rescued from the pound.
    Lilly was not only the ugliest dog in the world but also the worst-tempered. She’d been abandoned multiple times and I could see why.

    “I’m really trying to like her,” Gabe said, “but she’s … I mean, I hate that dog. Plus, she stinks.”

    “She’s the hound from hell. Don’t look into her eyes.”

    “Why not?”

    “The last person who did dropped dead on the spot. They say it was a heart attack, but…” I shrugged.

    “Yeah, right.”

    “You miss being home?”

    “Miss it? Are you kidding?”

    “Life at home not so good these days?”

    “It sucks.”

    “Can I ask you something?”

    “What?”

    “What’s with the earring?”

    He said, defensively, “What about it?”

    “Does your mom know you got your ear pierced?”

    He shrugged. Asked and answered.

    “I forget,” I said. “Does the left side mean you’re gay?”

    He blushed, which turned his acne scarlet. “No. Left is right and right is wrong, ever hear that?”

    “Aha,” I said. “So being gay is wrong?”

    “That’s not what I meant.”

    I smiled. Gabe could be insufferable in that know-it-all teenage way, so I considered it my civic duty to keep him off balance.

    Herb took our order. Normally he was stationed behind the bar, but lunchtimes were always slow. He was a large-framed potbellied guy with a heavy Southie accent. “Yo Nicky,” he said. “How’s the accounting business? You got any tips for me, like how to stop paying taxes?”

    “Easy.”

    “Yeah?”

    “Do what I do. Just don’t pay ’em.”

    He paused, then laughed loudly. It didn’t take much to amuse him.

    “Truth is, I’m an actuary.” The sign on our office door said HELLER
    ASSOCIATES—ACTUARIAL CONSULTING SERVICES. This was an excellent cover. As soon as I told people I was an actuary, they stopped asking questions.

    “Right, right,” he said. “What’s an actuary, again?”

    “Damned if I know.”

    He laughed again. “Gotta hand it to you, man,” he said kindly, “I don’t know how you do it. Crunching numbers all day? I’d go out of my mind.”

    Gabe gave me a quick, knowing smile. I ordered a burger and fries and asked him to make sure they weren’t the “curry fries,” which were inedible. Gabe looked up from the menu.
    “Do you have veggie burgers?” he asked.

    “We have turkey burgers, young fella,” Herb said.

    Gabe furrowed his brow and tipped his head to the side. I recognized that look. It was the supercilious expression that got him beat up at school on a regular basis and sometimes even thrown out of classes. “Oh,” he said, “I didn’t realize turkey was a vegetable.” Herb gave me a sideways glance as if to say, Who the hell is this kid? But he liked