More Than Friends (30 page)

"Do you have a picture of your daughter?" she asked softly. It was a minute before he reacted. Then he drew out his wallet and pulled out a dog-eared snapshot. "She was three." Teke couldn't take her eyes from the little girl's face. "She's beautiful." The child had Grady's eyes and mouth and his raven hair.

"So much like you."

"Not in personality. She's talkative and outgoing. Always jumping around, smiling at people." He stopped short. "At least she used to be that way. It's been a while since I've seen her."

"Wouldn't you like to?"

"Nah. She's older'n that now, and the older she gets, the more she'll see me for what I am."

"There's nothing wrong with what you are."

"Her mother didn't think so."

"Then why did she marry you?"

Grady rubbed the back of his neck. "I've asked myself that a lot. Don't have the answer."

Teke tried to picture the woman. She had known that Grady would have female companionship over the years--he was too virile not to--but in her mind those women were always fleeting shadows with neither faces nor names. The child's face was Grady's. It said nothing about his wife. "Tell me what she was like."

"Sharon?" When Teke nodded he said, "She was five seven, slender, had light skin, brown eyes, and long, dark brown hair."

"She looked like me," Teke concluded quietly. He sighed. " "Fraid so."

"Did you do it deliberately?"

"As the prison therapist would say, I must have known it on some level, but it wasn't one I clued into at the time."

"Was she nice at least?"

"Very nice."

"Did she make you a nice home?"

"I thought so. She thought the place was a hole. Fact was, I owned it, and I felt good about that, but she wanted something more. She thought I had potential. I guess that's it, why she married me. She thought I'd keep moving up and up and up in the world until I owned some big furniture manufacturing plant. Instead I went from job to job, taking each one for what it was. In my free time I'd be building canoes or taking finished ones up the river. Just me and a paddle. I loved that. Sometimes I'd be gone for three days. It used to drive her crazy. That, and your name."

"Oh, Grady."

"I didn't mind her leaving. I miss Shelley, though." Teke studied the snapshot before handing it back. It was bent at spots, much handled, and, in that, heartrending. Grady would have been a wonderful father, she knew. "You can borrow my kids, if you want," she said. "Any one of the three. Of course, you might have trouble prying Leigh away from Jon, Jana will best you in every argument, and Michael will keep you constantly on the go, but they really are great kids."

"I'll take Michael for now," he said, grinning. "Thanks." Against her better judgment, she grinned right back.

Grady stayed only long enough to have lunch with Michael and Teke, but even that was five minutes too long. He was pulling out of the parking lot, his old blue pickup a dead giveaway of his identity, when J.D. pulled in. All the way home Grady thought about Teke and the flak she would be taking, which wasn't what he wanted at all. He went to the rehab center to see Michael and do what he could to cheer the boy, but even more, he went to give Teke a break. He went to bring her coffee or a sandwich. He went to do small somethings to make her life a little easier. No one else seemed to be doing that.

Annoying J.D. wouldn't help her, but what choice did he have? He couldn't leave town until he knew that both Michael and Teke were walking again.

Back in Constance, he took his frustration out on the cedar clapboards he was mounting on the outer rear wall of the carriage house. He was several hours into it, high on a ladder, when the police officers he was coming to know materialized below him.

He looked once, hammered two more nails, looked again. They hadn't moved. He told himself to stay calm, but it was hard when he wanted to yell. He was sure J.D. had sent them, too coincidental, the timing and all.

"Yes?" he asked the nicer one, whose name was Dodd.

"We have to talk, Mr. Piper," Dodd said.

Dutifully, because he hadn't done anything wrong and didn't intend to, Grady dropped the hammer into his carpenter's apron and backed down the ladder. On the ground he tucked his hands in the pockets of his parka against the chill of a gray November day.

"About what?" he asked.

"The Molson place."

"What's that?"

"Don't take us for dummies," Connors warned.

Grady kept his eyes on Dodd, who said, "The Molson place is a mansion on four acres just a bit down the road. It was robbed sometime between ten and eleven this morning. Where were you then?" Grady felt his insides tighten. Ignoring them, he hitched his head toward the new patch of siding.

"The whole time?" Dodd asked.

" Til ten-thirty."

"Where did you go then?"

"McDonald's."

"How long were you there?"

"Five minutes."

"He's a quick eater," Connors muttered.

"I didn't eat there. I got stuff from the takeout window."

"Did you come back here to eat?" Dodd asked.

"No. I went to see Michael Maxwell."

"What in the hell did you do that for?" Connors barked. "You looking for trouble? You know the boy's father doesn't want you around. What do you have, shit for brains?"

"Look, Mr. Piper," Dodd said calmly, "we need to find people to verify that you were where you claim. Mrs. Hart says she can't imagine you'd rob anyone, since you haven't taken anything from her even though you've had plenty of chance to, but the last time she saw you was seven-thirty this morning. Did anyone else see you working here?" Of course not, Grady thought. That would be too easy. "Someone might've seen the truck out front, but they wouldn't have seen me unless they drove around back."

"How about at McDonald's?" Dodd asked. "See anyone you know?"

"I didn't get out of the truck."

"I trust Mrs. Maxwell will vouch for your being at the rehabilitation center?"

"Her, or her boy," Grady said, adding to Connors, "He hates the food at the center. But he loves McDonald's. If his father is annoyed I brought him lunch, it's only because he didn't think to do it first." Connors said to Dodd, "Let's take a look inside."

"Do you have a search warrant?" Grady asked. He knew his rights, and although he wasn't out to antagonize these two, he wasn't having those rights denied.

"This carriage house belongs to Mrs. Hart," Connors told him. "She gave us permission."

"The carriage house is mine while I fix it up. I'm her tenant."

"You paying rent?"

"The work I do is the rent I pay. So this is my home. Without a warrant, any search will be illegal."

Connors looked at Dodd. "He's hiding something."

"But he's right," Dodd said.

"We leave here to get a warrant, and he'll have everything stashed somewhere else by the time we get back."

"Not if we take him with us," Dodd said. "I'm sorry, Mr. Piper, but I'm afraid we'll have to ask you to come to the station. We'll want to ask you a few more questions."

Grady felt the old, familiar terror come to life. "Is there any reason for it, other than that I have a record?"

"That's reason enough," Connors said, taking him by the arm. When Grady pulled his arm free, he asked, "You rather have cuffs?" Grady took a deep breath and straightened. He

looked at Dodd. "I get a phone call. If I make it from here, my lawyer can meet us at the station."

"I told you he had something to hide," Connors said. Dodd spoke more kindly. "You don't really need a lawyer. No one's charging you with anything."

"I want a lawyer," Grady repeated. He'd had it with being watched and followed and questioned. "Do I call from here, or from the station?" Dodd led him into Mrs. Hart's kitchen, where he made his one call. Forty-five minutes later, with apologies for taking so long, Sam Pope walked into the interrogation room of the Constance police station. The officers left them alone.

"Teke told me to call if I ran into trouble," Grady said. "I wasn't sure you'd come, but she said you were an expert when it came to a person's civil rights. That's what I need. They're questioning me about a robbery."

"Did you do it?" Sam asked.

"No. I've never robbed a thing in my life. Murder's my thing, or hadn't you heard?"

"I heard."

"Problem is, there are people in town who don't want me around."

"J.D."

Grady appreciated his bluntness. It made things easier. "They're searching my place, my truck, too, I guess. I told them they needed a warrant, so they're holding me here while they get it. For all I know, they're out there planting something in my truck. What's to protect me from that?"

"Me," Sam said, and went out the door. When he reappeared he motioned Grady out of his chair. "We'll meet them there."

"They said they wanted to question me more."

Sam's expression said they were full of it. "They

have no reason to haul you in here, other than that J.D."s been driving them nuts. If they can convince a judge to give them a warrant, fine. But we'll be there during any search." Hands in his pockets, in a pose of utter confidence, he cocked his head toward the door.

It was nearly five when Sam returned to the office. He had barely started down the hall when J.D. fell into step beside him. "What in the hell are you doing, Sam?"

Sam controlled a flare of annoyance. "What?"

"Defending Grady Piper."

"I'm not defending him. There's no defense necessary. The man hasn't broken any law." He took the messages Joy handed him and turned smoothly into his office.

"That man is not our friend," J.D. stated slowly, as though to a child.

"He is not good for Teke. He is not good for Michael. He is not good for me. The sooner he leaves town, the better."

Sam scanned the messages. "He's a free man, J.D. He can live where he wants."

"That's fine, as long as he doesn't live in my town."

"You live in Boston. Constance isn't your town anymore."

"I'm still a homeowner and a taxpayer. I have a say about what happens there."

"Not," Sam said, raising his eyes but not his head, "when it causes the violation of a man's rights." He did raise his head then. "You can't do that, J.D. You've been hounding the police to hound him ever since the accident. But they can't get him on anything. He's clean. He's doing just what Cornelia Hart hired him to do. Why don't you leave him alone?"

"Why doesn't he leave my son alone?"

"He feels guilty about the accident. He feels badly for Michael, and, hey, it's damn good that he's there. Michael is a man's boy, but who does he have now? You're too angry at Teke to help him, he's too angry at me to let me help him, so Grady's left. You should be grateful." He singled out one of the message slips and tossed the rest on the desk.

"He's after my wife."

"Why should it bother you if he is? You left her."

"She's still my wife."

Sam picked up the phone. "You can't have it both ways, J.D. Either you want her or you don't." He poked out the number on the slip. It was that of Bill Kneeland, whose appeal on a mail fraud conviction Sam was handling.

"Well, what about you?" J.D. asked. "You want it both ways. You claim to be my friend, but you drop everything and run to Constance the minute my enemy calls."

"Grady Piper is not your enemy," Sam told him, then spoke into the phone. "Hi, Bill. Just got your message."

"We're talking loyalty here," J.D. said. "Can't he get another lawyer?"

Covering the phone with a palm, Sam whispered, "He's new to town. I'm the only lawyer he knows besides you." He removed his hand and said to his client, "We'll be filing it first thing Monday morning. I have the motion right here." He searched the top of his desk, lifted files, pushed others around.

"Is he paying you?"

"There's nothing to pay for yet," Sam whispered with his mouth away from the phone. To Bill he said, "Right. I think our chances are good. The judge made some poor calls." He flipped through the papers on the other corner of his desk.

"Your time," J.D. said. "You left this office, drove all the way to Constance to represent him when the police took him in for questioning, then you negotiated his release."

"It'll be a while, Bill. I wouldn't expect a decision for two months, maybe three." He turned and sorted through the files on the credenza.

"The reason we're rushing to file now is on the off chance that we'll benefit from the rush to clean the boards before Christmas, but I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you. Just relax. Once the brief is filed, it's out of our hands. Let me talk with you next week."

"Your time is worth money to this firm," J.D. said.

"Sure. Take care." Sam hung up the phone. "I didn't negotiate anything," he told J.D. while he turned back to the desk and went through the files on top a second time. "All I did was warn the cops that they were inviting a civil suit for harassment. It may come to that, if they keep on him the way they've been, and let me tell you, if it comes to a suit, you'll be named. So back off." Having worked himself into a small temper, he growled, "Where is that goddamned file?

Joy?"

J.D. went out the door as Joy came in.

"Where's the motion on the Kneeland case?" Sam asked her. "Vicki was finishing it up. It should have been typed and ready by now." Joy looked confused. "Vicki went to Providence." That was the first Sam had heard of it, but then he'd been more out of the office than in it of late. "When?"

"Wednesday morning." Two days before.

"What's she doing in Providence?" He tried to remember if she had said something about going on vacation, but he was sure she hadn't. They had talked in depth on Monday about the Kneeland motion. He had outlined everything he wanted done.

She had planned to spend the week on it.

"Uh, I think she's doing something for J.S.," Joy said.

"But Vicki works with me, not with J.S." And it was an unwritten rule that partners didn't steal each other's associates. He looked at the mess he had made of his desk. "Do me a favor and straighten this up, Joy? Maybe I'm looking for it too hard to see the damn folder. I have to talk with J.S."