The Edge of Doom by Amanda Cross Read Free Book Online Page B

without the lunch.”
    “Right you are,” Reed said. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
    “Meaning you had thought of it, I suppose.”
    “Only just, I admit. And I wasn’t sure you’d like me playing the detective at lunch on your behalf. So I’m glad you mentioned it.”
    “I rather like the reversal,” Kate said. “The husband asking the father what his intentions are.”
    “I was worried you might look at it in that light. Why don’t you have the lunch?”
    “I’d rather you would, Reed. Don’t ask me why; I seem to want you to get some facts about the man in order before I continue the relationship. Besides, you’re a lawyer, an ex-D.A., you’re used to asking sharp questions. I dislike personal questions, at least direct ones. Oh, hell, I’m just putting it off on to you. Should I be the one?”
    “No; I’ll be glad to cross-examine the guy. Perhaps I’ll feel better about this whole thing.”
    “I didn’t know it bothered you.”
    “I didn’t either. When it began to bother me, I told you about it right away.”
    “That’s settled then,” Kate said. “Give the man a call and set up a leisurely lunch.”

    Reed and Jay met the next day in the Oak Room of the Plaza for lunch. Reed was following Kate’s rather joking proposal that they meet in the Oak Room since that was where she had wanted to meet Jay in the first place. She had, on that occasion, been denied the Oak Room, given Laurence’s insistence that they meet at his club. Reed now saw no reason not to follow Kate’s suggestion, and therefore found himself in the Oak Room, across from Jay, studying the menu, with less idea of what he was going to say than of what he wanted to eat.
    “Whatever you have on draft,” he said. “Or, if you have nothing on draft, anything at all.”
    Reed had, of course, undertaken many conversations with lawyers, criminals, and students, and had no difficulty with opening remarks or with asking for what he wanted. Still, these skirmishes—one could hardly call them conversations; there were occasionally altercations—had not taken place in such elegant surroundings nor on a subject concerning his wife. Jay guessed at the reasons for Reed’s hesitation, his head buried in the menu.
    “I know what I want to eat,” Jay said, “and I suspect I know what you want to talk about: my intentions toward your wife. Am I right?”
    “Not exactly,” Reed said, deciding on his meal. The waiter appeared to take their orders and reclaim their menus. Jay broke open a roll and buttered it. Then he put it down and reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. He handed the folded paper to Reed.
    “That’s my résumé,” he said. “From 1950 on, all my jobs more or less, though I haven’t gone into details. In fact, I can’t remember all the names exactly. Also, there are a few lacunae when I was in between jobs or between temporary ones, but on the whole it’s a pretty complete picture. That’s what you wanted to know, isn’t it?”
    Reed unfolded the sheet of paper and examined it. “Fortunately you’re not a lawyer,” he said. “When one is admitted to the bar, it is necessary to list every job one has ever had, including summer and temporary ones.”
    “It’s different with architecture. Either you’re working at it, or at something else until you can work at it again.”
    “I gather it’s a rather volatile profession.”
    “Exactly like the stock market, which is a good barometer of architecture’s fortunes. When times are good, people build or, in my case, restore. When there’s a recession, building and restoration are among the first things to be postponed.”
    As their drinks arrived, followed by their food, Reed continued to glance at the paper. “Do you mind if I ask a few questions as I read along?” he asked.
    “Not at all.” Jay began on his salad and then chuckled. Reed looked up. “I was thinking of my wife,” Jay said. “She used to ask me what men talked about when