The Dark of Day by Barbara Parker Read Free Book Online

fronds, mahogany-bladed fans slowly revolved in the high ceilings, and orchids decorated the tables. Huge backlit photographs of water birds in their habitat, of mangroves and sawgrass, swamps and sloughs, created the illusion that one might have wandered into the wilderness at dusk.
    Following the hostess past tables and banquettes, C.J. could see through one of the fresh-water aquariums that served as room dividers. Shelby and his party had been given some privacy. When she stepped into view, they turned to look at her. The men rose, and Paul Shelby extended his hand. “Ms. Dunn. Thanks for coming on such short notice. It’s a pleasure to meet you in person. Let me introduce everybody. My wife Diana. My mother, Noreen Finch. Her husband Don.”
    Hands were shaken all around, and Shelby pulled out the vacant chair between him and his mother. He was shorter than he appeared on television, but the wavy brown hair was the same, the gray eyes with lines at the
corners, the downward-slanting brows and quick smile. He asked the waiter to bring a menu.
    â€œJust a club soda,” C.J. said.
    Diana Shelby leaned around her husband. “Oh, have something. An appetizer?”
    â€œThanks, but I have plans for later. Please go ahead, finish your dinner.”
    Diana Shelby’s gray silk dress and neat brown hair reminded C.J. of a nesting bird. Mrs. Shelby was eating salad, and if she was fighting to stay slim, she was losing the battle.
    The congressman’s mother had devoured her meal, and only the bones remained of what appeared to have been a whole red snapper. Her platinum blond hair looked sculpted into place. She had to be in her sixties, but a good surgeon had shaved off a decade or so. As she set down her wine glass, her diamond bracelet caught the light.
    â€œHow do you like Miami, Ms. Dunn?”
    â€œVery much. After seven years, it grows on you. I have no plans to return to Los Angeles.” She realized that they thought California was her home; she didn’t correct them.
    â€œWeren’t you married to a reporter on Channel Ten? I forget his name.”
    â€œElliott Dunn. We met in L.A. When he was offered the job in Miami, we decided to relocate. Elliott was born here, and he’d always wanted to come back.”
    â€œI was real sorry when he died. I liked his style. He had a heart attack, wasn’t it?”
    C.J. nodded. “Three years ago.”
    Quick sympathy appeared on Diana Shelby’s face. “I remember him. He was an excellent reporter.”
    â€œYes. He was.”
    â€œIt’s Miami’s gain that you decided to stay,” Paul Shelby said. “Ms. Dunn’s a partner at Tischman Farmer.”
    His mother smiled at C.J. “Donald and I saw you on TV this afternoon. I figured Harnell Robinson would do time, but you sure pulled his fat out of the fire.” C.J. couldn’t place the accent, but the phrasing said country.
    â€œDon, don’t you think she’s pretty in person?”

    â€œVery.” A smile passed over her husband’s thin lips. Donald Finch held onto a rocks glass—probably not his first, judging from the level of his eyelids. The Finches were patrons of the concert hall. C.J. seemed to recall a million-dollar gift.
    Noticing that his wife’s glass was empty, Finch lifted the wine bottle from the standing ice bucket. “A refill, sweetheart?”
    â€œJust a tad.”
    C.J. asked, “Are you and Don from Miami, Noreen?”
    â€œNo, I can’t claim to be a native. Ha! I’ve only been here forty-five years. I was born in Worland, Wyoming. Give you a dollar if you can tell me where that is. My family had horses, used to rent them out to dude ranches. I grew up shoveling horse shit. Paul did his share of it, too, when we’d go visit.” Chuckling, she nudged C.J.’s shoulder. “I think that’s what got him into politics.”
    The line had to be an old one, but C.J.