Read Online The Lies that Bind by Judith Van Gieson - Free Book Online

broken ice. “It wasn’t Justine’s fault, Mother. You’ll never understand that. Justine didn’t kill Michael. It was an accident. It’s terrible that Michael’s dead. It’s worse that Justine’s dead too. Sometimes, if you want to know, I don’t think I can stand it.”
    â€œIt’s not my fault.”
    Cindy sighed. “Of course not. Sorry you have to listen to this, Neil.”
    I shrugged. Domestic disagreements were one way I earned my living. Everybody hates them, everybody has them. Most people would rather argue about peas and mint jelly than life and death.
    Martha took the leg of lamb out of the oven and placed it on a platter. “You carve,” she said to Whit.
    â€œBe glad to,” he replied.
    â€œDo you want another drink?”
    â€œA splash.” He handed her his glass, carried the platter to the table and started hacking off pieces of gray meat that appeared to have had every ounce of juice cooked out of it. As a butcher he lacked finesse. A child with a dull knife could have done it better, but the man’s right and obligation to carve the meat were a tradition that remained intact in some families.
    Dinner was served on white linen place mats. The china was white with a gold border. The flatware was engraved with the initials MCC. The candles in the silver candlesticks never got lit. The peas were soggy, the lamb overcooked. The mint jelly quivered in its crystal dish, but nobody broke through the surface tension to take a bite. The conversation concerned real estate and was dominated by Whit. I discerned a once-familiar pattern. The woman of the house was the boss when it came to domestic matters, but when the family sat down to dinner, everybody shut up and let the male dominate, especially when he talked about business—and Whit’s business was real estate. So was Martha’s and so was mine, but I’ve never considered it a fit subject for dinner conversation.
    â€œInterest rates are down to eight percent,” Whit said to nobody in particular, “the lowest point in twenty years. What are you paying on the mortgage here?” he asked Martha.
    â€œNine and three-quarters,” she said.
    â€œIt’s a little soon to think about refinancing. You ought to wait until there’s a full two-point spread.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œI’d give it to next spring. The administration will want to keep the economy pumped, and the Federal Reserve’ll be cutting the prime rate. It ought to get down below eight percent by April.”
    â€œDid you know that Katie Pollock is living in Scottsdale, Neil?” Cindy asked me.
    â€œNo,” I said.
    â€œShe’s opening a day care center, and she wanted me to go into business with her, only we came here.” Her attempt to grab the conversational ball didn’t work; she got blocked by tight end Whit.
    â€œA day care center. Now there’s a great way to lose your shirt,” said Whit. He changed the subject to one that was more to his liking—big money. “Has anybody been watching the Keating trial?” he asked. “CNN has been televising it. Everyone’s out to get Charlie now, but they forget what a boon he was to Arizona. The economy was pumped when he had control of Lincoln.”
    Boondoggle would be more like it. A ton of office buildings, apartments and resorts were built that nobody needed or wanted. Federally insured deposits were used to pay for them and pad the pockets of Keating and his friends to the tune of a couple billion dollars. Now the empty buildings were rotting in the desert, and Charlie Cheating’s boon was going to cost every American taxpayer dearly.
    â€œWhat did he do that was so bad anyway?” asked Whit.
    â€œHow about he invested people’s retirement income in junk bonds?” said I.
    â€œHigh-yield investments are high risk. You pay your money, you take your