Due Diligence by Michael A. Kahn Read Free Book Online Page B

described the moot court project and said her teacher needed two lawyers to serve as judges.
    â€œCould you be one of the judges, Aunt Rachel?”
    â€œSure,” I told her. “I’d love to.”
    â€œOh, great. It’ll be so awesome having you there, Aunt Rachel.”
    â€œYo, little woman,” Benny said to Jennifer. “You need one more, right?”
    She nodded uncertainly. “I guess so.”
    He raised his eyebrows and beamed. “You mean, ‘I guess so, Your Honor.’ Wait until you see me in my black gown.” He turned to me, stroking his chin in feigned contemplation. “What do you think of pearls?”
    I gave him a puzzled look. “What?”
    â€œPearls, dahling. With my black gown.” He pretended to mull it over. “Yes,” he said with a decisive nod. “Definitely pearls. And black pumps, of course.”
    Later that night, just after we’d opened the door for Elijah, I took Jennifer aside to assure her that Benny was only kidding about the pearls and pumps.
    Still, I’d had my doubts up until the event itself. After all, putting Benny in a room with a group of junior high school kids sounded like a volatile formula. Even under normal circumstances, it didn’t take much for Benny to assume the role of Id the Unchained.
    But not so tonight. He’d been patient and courteous and helpful and impartial and logical—everything you always wanted in a judge but so rarely got. Ironically, Jennifer’s classmates would have had a far more realistic view of the American judiciary with Id the Unchained as their judge instead of Mr. Justice Goldberg.
    I leaned over and kissed him on the nose. “Thanks, Benny.”
    He shrugged, embarrassed by the praise. “I enjoyed it.” As we drove off, he asked, “How’s the rabbi?”
    I realized that David had never returned my calls from that morning. That was odd. I wanted to hear his reactions to the list he sent me, and I wanted to see him. Mostly the latter. I hadn’t seen or talked to him in two days.
    â€œHello?” Benny said to me.
    â€œWould you mind swinging by his house?” I asked. “It’s not that far out of the way.”
    â€œNo problem. What’s up?”
    â€œProbably nothing. He sent me that list of names he mentioned the other night. I tried calling him about it today but couldn’t find him.”
    Two days , I repeated to myself, feeling a little ripple of apprehension. But when we turned onto his street and approached his house, I was relieved to see his car in the driveway. Benny pulled in behind the red Saab. There was a faded Armstrong campaign bumper sticker on the rear fender. He’d be able to put a new one on before long, I thought. Just as soon as Douglas Armstrong officially launched his campaign for president.
    â€œThanks, Benny.” I opened the car door.
    â€œI’ll wait to see if he can take you home.”
    As I approached the house, I noticed that the entire first floor was lit up. The second floor was dark. I rang the doorbell and waited. No answer. I rang it again and waited. From inside I could hear rock music blaring from the stereo system in the living room. The volume was turned way up. Probably too high to hear the doorbell. I reached for the brass door knocker. The force of the first rap pushed the door open slightly. I stared at the doorknob for a moment and then opened the door further.
    Peering in, I called, “Hello? David?”
    The music was too loud.
    I stepped into the foyer. “David?” I shouted. “Hello! Is anyone there?”
    I took three more steps into the house, far enough to see into the living room. All the lamps were on. The stereo was blaring the Rolling Stones’ “Brown Sugar” into an empty room. Uneasy, I walked over to the stereo and turned off the power.
    Dead silence. I waited, straining my ears.
    â€œDavid?” I called. My