Read Online School Days by Robert B. Parker - Free Book Online

fit. I never took him again. Doesn’t seem like such a fucking crime.”
    â€œYou ever teach him to shoot?”
    â€œJesus, no,” he said. “His mother would have . . . no. I never taught him to shoot.”
    â€œSomebody did. He and the Clark kid fired thirty-seven rounds and scored on twenty of them.”
    Grant didn’t say anything.
    â€œYou shoot?” I said.
    â€œI know how. I was in the service.”
    â€œOwn a gun?”
    â€œRevolver,” he said. “.357 for plinking burglars.”
    â€œNo semiautomatic weapons?”
    â€œNo. Revolver’s so much simpler,” he said. “And six rounds is enough.”
    â€œWhy do you think he did what he did?”
    Hollis sat for a time, looking at his fist resting on the tabletop.
    â€œI don’t know,” he said. “I think Wilma blames me. I suppose I sort of blame Wilma.”
    He shook his head.
    â€œIs there a Mrs. Grant?” I said.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWas there?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAnd what happened to her?” I said.
    â€œShe left.”
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œJune twelfth, 1993.”
    â€œYou know where she is?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œDo you know if she’s in touch with her grandson or her daughter?”
    â€œNo.”
    Spenser, grand inquisitor, give him a few minutes and he can find the topic to shut off any conversation. Maybe if I moved on.
    â€œYou said Wendell was hard to be close to. Why was that?”
    â€œHis mother filled his head with crap. I mean, she’s my daughter, and I love her, but her head got filled with crap by her mother. Not the same crap, but she was fucked up, and she fucked up her kid.”
    â€œWhat did Wilma’s mother fill her head with?”
    â€œLadylike,” he said. “White gloves. Dinner parties. Her mother filled her head with silly shit, and Wilma rebelled.”
    â€œAnd filled her head with rebellious silly shit,” I said.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œHave you seen Wendell since the shooting?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œBecause?”
    â€œHis mother has denied my access.”
    â€œDo you know Lily Ellsworth?” I said.
    â€œYes. Old money. Everyone knows Lily.”
    â€œShe feels her grandson is innocent. She hired me to prove it.”
    â€œHow you doing?” Grant said.
    â€œSo far,” I said. “He looks guilty as sin.”
    â€œLike Wendell,” Grant said.
    â€œYou know anything that would suggest he didn’t do it?” I said.
    â€œExcept what I read in the papers,” Grant said, “I don’t know anything about the whole goddamned sorry mess.”
    â€œSadly,” I said, “me either.”

18
    S USAN HAD BEEN SO compelling in Durham that one of the Duke professors had asked if she would stay into September and participate with him in his graduate seminar called Post-Freudian Therapy: the Practitioner’s View. I missed her. I wasn’t pleased. But I knew the recognition meant something to her, so I masked my displeasure.
    â€œOh, balls,” I said on the phone.
    â€œI knew you’d understand,” Susan said. “And when I get home, we’ll have a very nice time.”
    â€œSnivel,” I said.
    â€œThat’s my brave boy,” she said.
    We talked awhile about her meetings and my case. Her meetings appeared to be going better. At the end of her call, we talked dirty for a little while, which made me feel less fruitless. When we hung up, I went to the kitchen and made myself a drink and thought about supper. Pearl, in her wily canine way, divined my thoughts at once, and came and sat at my feet and looked at me closely. I gave her a dog biscuit.
    â€œI got some cranberry beans,” I said to Pearl. “And some local tomatoes and corn from Verrill Farm.”
    Pearl ate the dog biscuit.
    â€œI’ll start cooking that and see what develops,” I said.
    Pearl had finished her biscuit.