Desperate Measures by Kate Wilhelm Read Free Book Online

had caved in and run home, back East somewhere.
    During the year that Frank had worked on Hilde’s behalf, he had become very fond of her. Mistake, he told himself now, as he had done then, as he did frequently. Don’t form any attachment to the clients, or you could be blind to their shortcomings.
    When Patsy tapped on the door, he got up to admit Hilde Franz. She was even better looking than he remembered, he thought, taking her hands, drawing her toward the comfortable chairs across the office from his desk. He greatly admired her lustrous chestnut-colored hair; a few gray hairs enhanced its beauty, and didn’t add a single apparent year to her. He especially admired her wonderful complexion; she had baby skin. “You look terrific,” he said. “Coffee, wine, anything?”
    She shook her head, smiling slightly. “Later, maybe.”
    Patsy withdrew, and Hilde sat in the chair she had sat in years before. She gazed about the office, then at Frank, and said, “It’s like a time warp in here. Nothing changes. You don’t change.”
    â€œIf it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” Frank said. “What can I do for you, Hilde?”
    â€œDid you read about Gus Marchand’s death?” she asked.
    Frank nodded. “He’s the proverbial bad penny, dead or alive, still bringing trouble. What now?”
    â€œThey suspect I killed him,” she said in a low voice.
    â€œGood God! Why?”
    â€œRight now they’re interested in opportunity; it seems I qualify. But they’ll soon get around to motive, and God knows I had motive.”
    Frank held up his hand. “One thing at a time. Let’s start with motive.”
    â€œHis daughter was in my school….” She told the story simply and completely. “At the PTA meeting he claimed I gave that book to Rachel and that I encourage the girls to wear scanty clothes and use makeup.” She shook her head. “Girls that age-one minute so sophisticated, they could be Parisian courtesans, and the next they paint their tongues green with food coloring and have hysterical fits of laughter. He said he’d fight to impose a dress code, and a makeup ban, segregated classes for the boys and girls, I don’t even know what all. I was so angry, I stopped hearing him. He fought tooth and nail to keep sex-education classes out, drug—education classes, anything he didn’t approve of. He came in with a list of books that he wanted banned, and he forced us to stop an afterschool club that met and played Dungeons and Dragons. There was always something new, something else evil, satanic, corrupting that I manage to sneak in. He said I have a past, and once the district knew about it, I’d be out of education altogether, that a divorcée should never have been hired in the first place. He was raving, a madman.”
    Frank had been listening intently; he saw when her hands began to shake, and saw the anger that flared as she talked about the PTA meeting. When she fell silent, he said, “Now I think we’ll have coffee. Or do you want a drink?”
    â€œCoffee,” she said, leaning back. “Sorry. I got carried away all over again.”
    A few minutes later, after Patsy had brought in coffee, Frank asked, “Did he actually accuse you of anything?”
    She shook her head. “He didn’t know anything. He just said I have a past. Earlier, back in the office, he said he would have me investigated, and that’s what he referred to, I guess.” She looked at the cup she was holding.
    â€œHilde, if anyone actually investigates, will he find something?”
    She put her cup down, leaned back again, and closed her eyes. “Yes,” she said in a low voice. “He might. I have a friend, a male friend. He’s married. Highly respected. His wife is incurably ill, schizophrenia. Now and then she has episodes that put her in a hospital, sometimes for