Patricia Dusenbury - Claire Marshall 01 - A Perfect Victim (35 page)

"There's always a chance the new owner will want us to finish."

Claire reached over and patted his hand. "No thank you. We'll be fine without it." She'd said
the same thing to Paul when he offered to buy the cottage from the estate and have her firm finish
the work. It had been a strange conversation. Claire sensed that he, too, was trying to reverse some
of the damage Frank had done.

"We've got another two months of work here, three weeks on that Lakeview addition. After
that?" he shrugged.

"We're fine," she repeated. "Scott Cantrell called me at home. He and Lori have their
financing and they're ready to go. I'm talking to three more potential clients next week." The
notoriety stemming from her unwitting role in Frank's crimes appeared to be good publicity for her
business. Or maybe these people just wanted to meet her so they could tell their friends they had
talked to the woman who killed Frank Palmer.

"You're shivering and it's not cold. Are you sure you're okay?"

"A goose walked over my grave. That's all. I'm more than okay, but I can't stay much longer.
Remember Mike Robinson, the policeman who kept questioning me? He's taking me out to dinner.
It's his apology."

Jack shook his head. "Flowers are an apology, Claire. If he's taking you out to dinner, it's a
date."

"Then I really better head home and clean myself up. I haven't been on a date since
college." And all those dates were with Tom. She hadn't been on a first date since high school. She
held out her hand and he helped her to her feet.

It was a date and it wasn't. When Mike picked her up at her house, he asked if she'd like to
give Salerno's another chance. Claire, who'd spent half her childhood on horseback, suspected it
was his version of putting her back on the horse that had thrown her. She hit the issue head
on.

"Last time I was there, I thought how nice it would be to come just for dinner, no
unpleasant business to discuss." She managed a smile.

When they walked into the restaurant, the maître d greeted Mike like an old friend. He
showed them to the booth where Mike had been waiting for her when she told him about Frank.
She slid into the booth, wincing when the movement jarred her ribs.

"Sure you're okay being back here?" he said.

"I'm fine. It's my ribs. Three of them are broken. The doctor says there's not much they can
do but tape them and tell me not to laugh or cough for the next month."

"Sheriff Flores told me no one who saw the car you'd been driving could believe you
walked away from the accident."

"It wasn't an accident, Mike."

"You really don't want to be coddled, do you?"

"Nope." She smiled. "But I do want to be fed, and I saw the shrimp special up on the
blackboard."

While they were waiting for their meals to arrive she asked him if they'd been able to track
down any of the money that Frank stole.

"Not yet, but we will."

"I hate what's happened to Bobby Austin. He seemed like a nice person."

"Whether or not we find the money, I'm afraid he's out of a job."

"An article in the paper said that Andrew Walsh had resigned as Director of The Children's
Home. It didn't mention any connection to Frank, but..."

"You might be surprised at the connection. Walsh was blackmailing Palmer, or at least
attempting to. We think that's why Palmer decided to fake his own death."

"Wow. Andrew seemed so mild-mannered. I never would have guessed." And Frank had
bragged about his cleverness but ignored her questions about why he wanted to start a new
life.

"We wouldn't have either if you hadn't told us Palmer was a pedophile. It was the missing
piece, Claire. Once we had that, the rest of it fell into place." He paused. "How long had you
known?"

Claire recognized the real question, and it was one she'd been asking herself. Should she
have told him sooner? What if she'd called him Sunday morning as soon as she read Annie Lewis's
letter? Or she could have read the letter Saturday night and called then. Would Hatch still be alive?
Would Frank be in jail instead of dead? Those were questions without answers, and so she
answered the one he had asked.

"I found out Sunday morning." It was the truth and unless she explained further, he'd
assume she found out during her coffee with Melissa. "I told you Monday."

Mike studied her thoughtfully over the rim of his beer mug. She marveled at how difficult it
was to be completely honest. He must suspect that she was once again telling him part of the truth.
Maybe one day, she could tell him the whole story.

"I wish I'd told you Sunday, before Frank killed Hatch."

"Don't beat yourself up on that count. It wouldn't have made any difference. I didn't know
he'd been released."

"Thank you."

He nodded. "You're welcome."

"What about Melissa?"

"We have no evidence that implicates her, and you told us Palmer planned to leave her
behind."

"That's what he told me."

"As far as she's concerned, Palmer's plan came to fruition. He died an accidental death
while the insurance policy was in force. Melissa gets ten million dollars to start her new life."

"Poetic justice," Claire said. "I hope she has a good life."

"She seems resilient."

"She'd have to be." Maybe Melissa had known about Frank's scheme, maybe not. She'd still
been a fourteen-year-old girl living in an orphanage when he seduced her. Melissa was a fellow
victim, and Claire wished her well.

The waiter placed two steaming bowls of shrimp on the table and asked if they wanted
anything they didn't have.

"I think we're all set," Mike said.

Claire picked up her fork.
"Bon appétit."

Patricia Dusenbury was raised in the northeast, but went south for college, married a
southerner, and currently lives in Atlanta with her husband and two Malamutes. In her
previous career as an economist, she was responsible for numerous boring publications.
She is hoping to atone by writing mystery stories that people read for pleasure.

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