Running from the Law by Lisa Scottoline Read Free Book Online Page A

yeah?”
    “Hah!” my father said. “I got an ass like a baby.”
    But David kept looking at me. “I thought with the harassment suit, you’d be—”
    “I took the night off.”
    “I just heard about that woman, the plaintiff.”
    “Siddown, kid,” Herman said. “I’m waiting for the shoe to drop here.”
    “What’d you hear?” I asked. “That she was a Girl Scout, a budding Cassatt, or—”
    “You don’t know?” David pulled out his vinyl chair.
    “Know what?”
    “She’s dead.”
    “Dead?” I said, stunned.
    “She was murdered. I heard it on the radio in the car.”
    “Patricia Sullivan, murdered?”
    David wiped rain-soaked bangs from his forehead. “They said her throat was cut. They found her at home.”
    It seemed impossible. Patricia, dead? My father’s eyes met mine. They looked worried, which worried me almost as much as what I was hearing. “I have to go,” I said, feeling a warm hand on mine.
    It was Cam. “You all right, Rita?”
    I would have answered him, but for the second time that day, I had no idea what to say.

6
     
    M aybe it was because I had just left a poker game, but when I spotted the Hamiltons they struck me as the king, queen, and jack of diamonds. Satisfied and privileged, face cards all, nestled in a corner of this exclusive Main Line restaurant. They looked surprised as I dripped my way to their table, so I gathered they hadn’t heard about Patricia’s murder. The news had galvanized the city, but the staff wouldn’t disturb their entrees. That was my job.
    “Honey!” Paul said, and both he and his father stood up. “I’m so glad you’re here. Did you leave the game early?”
    Are you kidding? The game is just starting.
    “Hello, Rita,” said Kate warmly. Her face, though lined from the sun, was a handsome one, with high cheekbones and an almost mannish chin. Her hair, a polished silver, fell softly to her shoulders and her wide-set eyes were an unusual shade of gray, with dark eyebrows. Tortoiseshell half-glasses hung from a scarab lorgnette around her neck, for reading the menu. Everything so orderly, about to be disordered. I felt sick for her.
    “Won’t you join us?” Fiske asked. He was still standing, in a dark suit with his napkin in hand, and Paul was, too. I sat down and the men followed. “What would you like for dinner, Rita? The rack of lamb was wonderful, but we can get you a vegetable platter.”
    “Nothing.”
    “Nonsense,” Fiske said. “We’ll order dessert while you have your entree.”
    “No, thank you.”
    “You’re not eating?” Kate asked.
    “So you left the poker game,” Paul said again, taking it as proof of love.
    I wasn’t supplying. “Not that I wanted to.”
    Fiske smiled. “I hope you weren’t losing. I told Paul I’d bet on you any day.”
    Ha. He seemed only half-aware of the irony. I looked at him for a minute. His forehead seemed untroubled and his blue eyes were relaxed under eyebrows just beginning to silver. He had a large face, symmetrical and therefore appealing. But there was no warmth in it, just facial expressions that changed in increments. His was the perfect demeanor for a judge and the worst possible for a human being. Without knowing exactly why, I wanted to destroy his composure. So I said point-blank:
    “Patricia Sullivan was murdered tonight.”
    Kate’s hand flew to her mouth. Fiske blinked once, then twice. “Oh, my,” he said. “Are you sure?”
    What kind of question was that? “Of course. KYW news is sure. Channel 6 is sure. Channels 3 and 10 are probably sure, but I can’t get them on the car radio. Her throat was cut. They think the murder weapon was a hunting knife, but they haven’t found it yet.”
    “I don’t understand,” Paul said, leaning back into his Windsor chair.
    I was only beginning to understand it myself. Fiske had lied to me, gotten me into the middle of something awful. “The radio said her jewelry and valuables were left alone. So robbery was not the