Widow’s Walk by Robert B. Parker Read Free Book Online Page B

comfortable in my, ah…” She made a circular gesture with her hands.
    “Circles,” Rita said.
    “Oh, yes, thank you. Sometimes I have such trouble thinking what I want to say.”
    “Lot of that going around,” I said. “You know Felton Shawcross?”
    “Felton? I don’t think so.”
    “CEO of a company called Soldiers Field Development Limited.”
    “I don’t really know anything about companies,” she said.
    “He was on the list of friends you had Larson give me.”
    “Oh, well, mostly Larson keeps that list. They are people who contribute money to things and when I have a big charity event, Larson invites them.”
    “So you don’t know Shawcross?”
    She shook her head sadly.
    “Would Larson have consulted your husband on that invitation list?” Rita said.
    I could tell she was getting bored. She didn’t like being bored. Her voice had a small edge to it.
    “I don’t really know. They were certainly pals,” she said. “They might have.”
    “Larson come to you through your husband?” Rita said.
    Asking questions was better than sitting around crossing her legs.
    “Yes,” Mary said. “He’s so really nice, isn’t he?”
    “Really,” Rita said.
    “How did he know your husband?”
    “Oh God, I don’t know. Some businessy thing.”
    Hard questions made her panicky. I moved on.
    “Could you tell me how much your husband left you?” I said.
    “Money?”
    “Yes.”
    “Oh I couldn’t possibly imagine,” she said. “You’d have to ask Brink.”
    “Brink?”
    “Yes.”
    “Who is Brink,” I said.
    “Our financial advisor.”
    “What would be his full name?” I said.
    “Oh, I’m so used to him just being Brink. He’s a really old friend.”
    “His name?”
    “Brink Tyler. I think Brink is short for Brinkman.”
    “And where would I find him?”
    “He’s got an office in town here,” she said.
    “Under his own name?”
    “No he works for a big company.”
    “Called?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “The name of the company,” I said.
    “Oh, Something and Something,” she said. “I don’t know.” She frowned for a moment. “I have his phone number though.”
    “That would be fine,” I said.
    She stood gracefully and walked regally out of the room.
    “I need a drink,” Rita said.
    “Right after we leave,” I said.
    Mary came back into the room with a pale green sheet of notepaper, on which she had written a phone number in purple ink. Her handwriting was very large and full of loops. I folded the paper and tucked it into my shirt pocket.
    “Are you familiar with Marvin Conroy?” I said.
    “Marvin?”
    “Conroy,” I said.
    The little frown came back. She thought about the name.
    “No,” she said. “I’m really not.”
    We talked for a while longer. Mary remained eager and impenetrable. Finally neither Rita nor I had anywhere else to go. We thanked Mary and assured her that we were making good progress, which was a lie. We were making so little progress that I would have been pleased with bad progress. Mary walked us to the door and said she really hoped she’d been a help. We said she had, and left and went to the Ritz bar and had two martinis each. From our seat in the window I could see a black Lincoln Town Car, double-parked with its motor running, on Arlington Street.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
    Susan and I and Hawk and a woman named Estelle Raphael were having dinner at a place called Zephyour in the Hyatt Hotel on the Cambridge side of the Charles River. There was a lot of glass on the river side of the room and you could look at the river and across it and see the glare of a night game at Fenway Park.
    They made many kinds of martinis here and would serve you a small sampling of three if you wished. Susan and Estelle both wished. Hawk and I stuck with the old favorite.
    “I love how they look in the glass,” Estelle said.
    Hawk smiled and didn’t say anything. Hawk could be comfortable not saying anything for longer than anyone I’ve ever known. Oddly his