Read Online Don't Look Now by Richard Montanari - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Richard Montanari
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could’ve killed you for that,’ Beth said, laughing. ‘I think she got over that one about a week ago.’
They went quiet for a few moments, Paris turning the handle of his coffee cup around and around. It had been so long since they’d laughed together the sound was foreign to him. Finally, he asked. ‘So how is she, Beth?’
Beth shrugged. ‘She’s still adjusting. She doesn’t cry every day anymore and she’s doing better in school. Her friends are coming around more now. But she still talks about you all the time. Her daddy, the cop. Even
with
the karate lessons, it’s still her most effective playground threat.’
‘She isn’t … she doesn’t have a boyfriend or anything, does she? Like some kid who walks her home or something? Or some kid she goes to the library with or somewhere?’
‘Jack, she’s
eleven
. You think she’s dating?’
‘Well,’ Paris began, feeling a little stupid, ‘she’s going to be twelve and that’s one year away from being thirteen and that’s a teenager. And teenagers
date
.’
‘You are too much, John Paris. I’ll try to keep the little Lotharios in line for a few more weeks. Keep those raging hormones in check.’
Paris tried to keep a straight face, but it was hopeless. They both laughed.
It didn’t last long, though, and soon they were back to their awkward postures. Paris stood up. ‘Gotta run. Thanks for the coffee.’
‘You don’t have to …’
They stood face to face for a few moments, clumsily out of love. ‘Happy Easter,’ Paris said. He leaned forward to kiss her. On the other side of the huge apartment a key turned noisily in the lock.
‘Bethy?’ It was a man’s voice.
Paris made Dr Bill to be about forty, trim and tanned, collegiately handsome, perhaps an inch or two taller than himself. He wore a navy-blue suit with some kind of club tie, and the standard wing tips that befitted a man of his standing.
‘You must be Jack,’ William said, his hand leading him the entire twenty or so feet between the front door and the entrance to the kitchen. Paris waited until the man’s hand was in the same zip code as his own before reacting.
‘Someone has to be,’ Paris said with a smile. ‘I must have lost the coin toss.’ They shook hands. ‘And you have to be William, right?’
‘Yes … yes …’ He looked at Paris, at Beth, back again, not really sure how to react to this rumpled ex-husband-cop-daddy stranger. ‘Hi hon,’ he said to Beth, but didn’t dare lean across and kiss her.
‘Hate to just run off like this but duty calls, I’m afraid,’ Paris said, immediately thinking that he was starting to sound like a TV cop. ‘Nice to have met you,
Bill
,’ he added. ‘Take good care of my girls.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ William said. His frozen grin remained in place and unthawed.
‘Or I’ll arrest you,’ Paris added with a wink. He kissed Beth on the cheek, and once again shook the rather limp right hand of Dr William Abramson, pediatrician, surrogate daddy and brand-new boyfriend.
Paris stopped at Arabica on the Square and picked up a pair of mega-muffins and two large coffees for Tommy and himself. The coffee at the Justice Center on Sundays was generally a lot worse than during the week, due to the fact that one of the detectives was responsible for brewing it. In line he heard two women discussing the morning’s
Plain Dealer
cover story about the killings. They seemed to think that the killer was a mother-hater, sadly deprived of affection when he was weaned, someone from whom the legal and psychiatric communities could learn a great deal if they would only see the poor man as a victim, not some sort of devil.
Deprivation? The only thing Paris wanted to deprive this sick asshole of was air.
He drove up Fairhill, cut across University Circle and got on Chester Avenue just as the churches let out their nine o’clock Easter masses. Paris noticed the families dressed in their finery: snug little units that
They went quiet for a few moments, Paris turning the handle of his coffee cup around and around. It had been so long since they’d laughed together the sound was foreign to him. Finally, he asked. ‘So how is she, Beth?’
Beth shrugged. ‘She’s still adjusting. She doesn’t cry every day anymore and she’s doing better in school. Her friends are coming around more now. But she still talks about you all the time. Her daddy, the cop. Even
with
the karate lessons, it’s still her most effective playground threat.’
‘She isn’t … she doesn’t have a boyfriend or anything, does she? Like some kid who walks her home or something? Or some kid she goes to the library with or somewhere?’
‘Jack, she’s
eleven
. You think she’s dating?’
‘Well,’ Paris began, feeling a little stupid, ‘she’s going to be twelve and that’s one year away from being thirteen and that’s a teenager. And teenagers
date
.’
‘You are too much, John Paris. I’ll try to keep the little Lotharios in line for a few more weeks. Keep those raging hormones in check.’
Paris tried to keep a straight face, but it was hopeless. They both laughed.
It didn’t last long, though, and soon they were back to their awkward postures. Paris stood up. ‘Gotta run. Thanks for the coffee.’
‘You don’t have to …’
They stood face to face for a few moments, clumsily out of love. ‘Happy Easter,’ Paris said. He leaned forward to kiss her. On the other side of the huge apartment a key turned noisily in the lock.
‘Bethy?’ It was a man’s voice.
Paris made Dr Bill to be about forty, trim and tanned, collegiately handsome, perhaps an inch or two taller than himself. He wore a navy-blue suit with some kind of club tie, and the standard wing tips that befitted a man of his standing.
‘You must be Jack,’ William said, his hand leading him the entire twenty or so feet between the front door and the entrance to the kitchen. Paris waited until the man’s hand was in the same zip code as his own before reacting.
‘Someone has to be,’ Paris said with a smile. ‘I must have lost the coin toss.’ They shook hands. ‘And you have to be William, right?’
‘Yes … yes …’ He looked at Paris, at Beth, back again, not really sure how to react to this rumpled ex-husband-cop-daddy stranger. ‘Hi hon,’ he said to Beth, but didn’t dare lean across and kiss her.
‘Hate to just run off like this but duty calls, I’m afraid,’ Paris said, immediately thinking that he was starting to sound like a TV cop. ‘Nice to have met you,
Bill
,’ he added. ‘Take good care of my girls.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ William said. His frozen grin remained in place and unthawed.
‘Or I’ll arrest you,’ Paris added with a wink. He kissed Beth on the cheek, and once again shook the rather limp right hand of Dr William Abramson, pediatrician, surrogate daddy and brand-new boyfriend.
Paris stopped at Arabica on the Square and picked up a pair of mega-muffins and two large coffees for Tommy and himself. The coffee at the Justice Center on Sundays was generally a lot worse than during the week, due to the fact that one of the detectives was responsible for brewing it. In line he heard two women discussing the morning’s
Plain Dealer
cover story about the killings. They seemed to think that the killer was a mother-hater, sadly deprived of affection when he was weaned, someone from whom the legal and psychiatric communities could learn a great deal if they would only see the poor man as a victim, not some sort of devil.
Deprivation? The only thing Paris wanted to deprive this sick asshole of was air.
He drove up Fairhill, cut across University Circle and got on Chester Avenue just as the churches let out their nine o’clock Easter masses. Paris noticed the families dressed in their finery: snug little units that
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