Read Online While Other People Sleep by Marcia Muller - Free Book Online

now dead by violence, except for distant relatives in the homeland, and in spite of the love and support of all of us who knew her, Habiba often felt alone and insecure.
    “So you're telling the school no?”
    “We're telling them that Habiba'll decide if and when she needs more intellectual stimulation. If she wants private lessons, accelerated courses, fine. But it's got to be when she's ready.”
    I studied my oldest male friend. Behind his horn-rimmed glasses his eyes brimmed with affection for his foster child. “You love her as you would your own daughter, don't you?”
    “Yes, I do. And so does Anne-Marie—which is really something for a woman who used to refer to kids as ‘obnoxious, noisy little creatures.’ Of course, she doesn't have to live with Habiba…”
    Soon after their marriage, he and Anne-Marie had found that they were totally unsuited to living together. His untidiness drove her wild; her meticulous housekeeping drove him wild. Their solution was to occupy separate flats in the two-unit Noe Valley building they owned—with liberal visitation rights, of course. Habiba lived at Hank's, the more child-friendly of the two residences.
    I said, “No, she doesn't have to live with Habiba, but she's the one who's conferring with the teacher.”
    “And the one who taught her to ride a bike, and who helps her pick out her clothes, and who comforts her when she's feeling low. And who will soon become her legal mother.”
    “You're
adopting
her!”
    He nodded, grinning broadly. “Yep. The family in Azad's decided to cut her loose. Tainted blood from the mother's side, you know.”
    “Tainted by her
mother!
Her father was a sociopath, and that whole family is certifiable!”
    “And I thank God they don't want to get their hands on Habiba. I've been meaning to ask you, would it be all right if I gave your name to the social worker handling the adoption, as a character reference?”
    “Sure. It'll be a pleasure to help expedite the adoption. More than a pleasure. This is a wonderful turn of events!”
    “Thanks.” Hank got up and motioned me toward the seating area. “So what's on your mind?”
    “Does something have to be, for me to stop in to chat?”
    “No, but you seem on edge.” He put his hands on my shoulders, massaged them with his thumbs. “Big knots there. What's wrong?”
    I dropped into one of the leather armchairs, and he took the other, his eyes concerned. “Is it a legal problem?”
    “Maybe. Let me lay it out for you.”
    When I finished telling him about my impostor, he asked, “You have any idea who she is or why she's doing these things?”
    “Not the foggiest, and I've given it a lot of thought. She could be anybody, from a disgruntled former client to someone with a personal motive. Or she could've picked me at random. That's the scariest possibility of all.”
    He took off his glasses and polished their lenses, thinking. “Greg filed a report on the break-in?”
    “He said he would. And I faxed him a log of the other incidents, so they'll be on record when I identify her.”
    “When
you
identify her?”
    “Who else is going to do it? The SFPD has more important things to deal with than some woman who's annoying me.”
    Hank nodded, grimacing.
    “What I want to ask you,” I went on, “is if I have any legal recourse against her once I identify her, even if I can't prove she's the person who broke into my house.” I didn't feel uncomfortable about asking Hank for advice; I paid Altman&Zahn a yearly retainer, just as they paid one to me—our way of keeping our personal and professional relationships hassle free.
    He considered for a moment, slouched in his chair, his chin resting on steepled fingers. “Sorry, Shar, I don't see any recourse unless you can prove she did the break-in. Other than that, she's committed no crime.”
    That was what I was afraid he'd say—and exactly what I didn't want to hear. “You mean somebody can go around pretending to be me at