Read Online The Do-Right by Lisa Sandlin - Free Book Online

penetration.
    â€œOf all things. Quoting Calvin Coolidge. Is that normal for a detective?”
    Phelan smiled. “Just something my grandmother says. A less educated lady than yourself might not have recognized old Cal, and that might have made me look good.”
    She laid her car keys on the table and sat down. Finally.
    â€œI happen to like Calvin Coolidge and especially that speech of his. You couldn’t have known that, Mr. Phelan, so that makes you lucky. And luck can be better than experience.”
    Patty returned with Mrs. Elliott’s scotch and a new Salty Dog for Phelan. Mrs. Elliott stared at the drink.
    â€œI can get you something else,” he offered.
    She put the glass to her lips, tipped her head back, and half the scotch was gone, languidly. She was here at Leon’s and sort of not here, as close as he could figure it. The woman had sounded so contained on the phone that this change in composure now interested him. He put it down to her being already blasted. That could be 90% of it. But there was something else, he felt it.
    She slipped the glasses back on and became very here. “All right, what I want is quite simple. Photographs of my husband with his girlfriend. His car is a black Cadillac Seville, license J5489. I know they went to the Holiday Inn once. I’m not certain they go there every time. You’ll have to find them. Take some pictures of them and give me a call on a Tuesday or a Friday at eight in the morning before I leave for work. Your secretary has the number. I’ll meet you somewhere to pick them up and settle your fee. This is a retainer.”
    During this rapid speech, the Texas in her voice dried up. She pushed an envelope toward him. “Is there anything else I need to tell you?” She edged a knuckle beneath a black lens. It came away wet.
    He took out his small notebook, jotted the license numberand make of car. “This is fine. I’m sorry, Mrs. Elliott. Anyone in your place would be upset. I take it that the photos will be used in a divorce proceeding.”
    Her top lip curled. “I think that’s likely.” She picked the matchbook from the ashtray and idly struck a match. Her head tilted as she studied the fizz of ignition. “Don’t you think that’s likely?”
    Phelan lifted a hand. “Excuse me. Whatever you want the pictures for is your business.”
    â€œA divorce is painful. You’d agree that a divorce could be extremely painful.” The blackened match dropped and a second one flared. “It would hurt.”
    â€œI’d be unhappy.”
    â€œUnhappy.” Her voice was distantly puzzled. “You’d be unhappy.”
    â€œSure. Anybody would.”
    â€œThe loss of your wife, your mate, that would be ungood, it would be unpleasant. Un-nice.”
    â€œMrs. Elliott—”
    â€œIt wouldn’t be…” She lit another match. Behind the yellow flame, the woman’s lips parted and her brow squeezed. The muddy eyes must be squeezing too beneath the black lenses. There was some panting noise caught between her throat and her teeth that did not release, that held itself at bay like a bleeding animal in the dark of a cave.
    Phelan sat up straight and got his feet under him.
    The noise stayed back. Her voice switched on. “That loss wouldn’t be…wouldn’t be, oh, say…eviscerating for you? You wouldn’t feel lacerated into parts that can’t recall how they were ever joined?”
    The black matchstick fell into the ashtray. It had burned her skin. He smelled it.
    â€œI don’t know,” he said. Hairs on his arms shifted.
    â€œMy blessing on you, Mr. Phelan, twenty-nine years old—may you never know.” She vanished the other half of the scotch.
    â€œCan I get you another drink?” Phelan asked.
    Mrs. Elliott flicked away water on her cheekbone. “No, thank you. And don’t get up. Call me when you’ve